The Anatomy of Intuition: What's your Intuition Quotient?

by Daniel Cappon,

Psychology Today, Issue 26(May-June) 1993
 
We've been running on a very narrow spectrum of human intelligence, and it's landed us in social and environmental crises. Our very survival now depends on reclaiming other, wiser parts of our minds. Enter the IQ2.

 

Intuition is like a very old whore who is now being revitalized and rejuvenated and who is on her way to becoming a very respectable lady. She is, in fact, the archetypal jewel in the crown of human intelligence. The old whore previously inhabited the red light district at the intersection of Psychics Lane and the mystic Lunatic Fringe Boulevard. Today the lady is being courted by reputable scientists, by major corporations, and of course, by all the arts. She is thriving in my psychology lab.

For the past three years, several colleagues and I have been busy developing a test that, we believe, measures intuition, that most elusive way of knowing. I call it the Intuition Quotient Test, or IQ2. The "quotient" does not refer to chronological age, as in the traditional intelligence test, but to that proportion of general intelligence that intuition makes up. Although a trained scientist and great believer in rational thought, I am convinced that intuition is the older, wiser, and perhaps greater part of human intelligence.

It has taken many years for my interests in science, humanity, and the environment to coalesce into a formal exploration of intuition. But that, it turns out, is just typical of intuition, where zigzagging activities are integral to the process.

As a psychiatrist, I was painfully aware that there was really no such thing as mental science. Psychiatry was treating patients after the damage was done. Early on I decided that prevention offered the only chance for "cure" Increasingly, I came to believe that the key to prevention was the environment, the natural physical environment, the man-built environment, and the social environment. After all, illness rarely develops in a vacuum. York University was founded in Toronto in 1959. In 1969 it established a faculty for environmental arts and sciences and I became its first full-time professor. My goal was to protect the health of humans and of the environment by preventing its many hazards.

Although a scientist, I became increasingly familiar with the limitations of science and its application to such problems. Fact-based, deductive, and analytical thinking is too late; it goes after the fact. Nor is it sensitive to circumstance, or the complexity, contradictions, and variability of human nature and especially relationships. It is simply not enough for the many challenges and constancy of change of modern life.

I began to marvel at the phenomenon of intuition and determined to study it. Over this time, my clinical experience with some patients has allowed me to make many constructive observations.

I was aware, of course, that intuition had a bad reputation. It was seen, at best, as a woman's gift in a man's world. Intuition is denigrated by a Western culture obsessed by "facts" and science. it struck me that the only way intuition could be accepted was to subjugate it to the methods of science itself-an apparently absurd contradiction. I've since learned that like all the either/or arguments, such as nature vs. nurture, the fact is that neither really has primacy. Both interact. And can be made to reflect each other.

My clinical experience has convinced me that intuition is very democratic -- everyone has some capacity for it. Not everyone uses it. And not all those who apply it use it equally. Nor was Carl Jung right in making a personality type out of it; there's no evidence that a particular personality favors intuition, although elements of personality, such as rigidity vs. openness, influence it. Armed with the IQ2, psychologists will be able not merely to test people for their intuitive capacity, but to help further its development. Preliminary evidence from the IQ2 itself demonstrates that intuition can be trained.

INTUITION FROM INSTINCT

Intuition has always been a vital part of human intelligence. It encompasses skills that have always been critical to human life. In a sense, intuition is responsible for the survival of the species. Its long evolutionary history has made it a deeply buried power of the mind.

Intuition most likely has its origins in ancestral instincts for survival and adaptation. There is no way that our human ancestors could have survived without intuition. There could not have been much conscious thinking before speech evolved, some 250,000 years ago, yet Pithecanthropus erectus goes back some 4.5 minion years. Old Pith could not possibly have survived predators or such natural threats as the melting of the ice age without intuitive decisions-where to make a fire, when to store meat, when to move to the highlands. There was no time for thinking or laborious logic. Responses often had to be instantaneous. The sound of movement in the brush required an immediate reaction. Those who failed to respond were removed from the gene pool by voracious predators. For Old Pith, intuition was likely the only form of organized preverbal intelligence.

The original instincts, now distilled as intuition, were probably based on a rapid access or fast-track system, separate from conscious thought, unencumbered by hesitation and doubt. Once speech was developed, allowing the transfer of information, the brain began its rapid expansion and evolved the ten-billion-cell neocortex. Here, logical, speech-promoted intelligence took over at the expense of experiential-based instinct. And the mind developed barriers, or censors, to protect the concentrated attention of clear, alert reasoning from invasion by all else stored in the brain; we now know that these barriers become porous during dreaming, defective in psychopathology, and collapse altogether in senility.

Intuition is, in my view, the product of all the processed ancestral instincts of the species, through which unconditioned reflexes become conditioned and organized into patterns of adaptive behavior called instinct. Ultimately instincts coalesce into intuition, the capacity for

which is stored deep in the brain. The wisdom of language suggests that this is so. Despite the fact that many people have little respect for the concept of intuition (in these days of over-reasoning), all of us still refer to intuition as instinct. "It was an instinctive reaction." "I have a good instinct for this." Of course, the greatest evidence is simply the survival of the species in the face of extreme and unpredictable events of nature.

 

CRITICAL CONDITIONS

Intuition, then, is necessarily processed unconsciously. As a result, it has been reduced to a myth and allowed to sink into the province of mystics and fringe groups. Nevertheless, the descent of intuition from prehistory as a means of surviving changes and predators and finding ways to deal with enemies ensures that it is still the intelligence of everyday life. Human relationships, especially child-rearing, matching oneself to a mate and a job-these are the chief provinces of intuition. In its wholeness, intuition is the form of intelligence that includes our social sense, familiar with the endless variety of human relationships and deeds.

In elevating rational-scientific thinking, and dismissing intuition, the Enlightenment confined its approval to a very narrow band of human intelligence-logical, deductive, proof-oriented mental operations. That intelligence has brought us the scientific revolution, high technology, and a great many material goods. But it does not take an intuitive genius (all geniuses are) to observe that the wanton application of this line of thinking now endangers human society and its terrestrial home. The earth is so terribly befouled and overpopulated that our very advances now threaten our very survival. By their very nature, the study and control of these titanic forces cannot be accomplished by exact science.

Increasingly over the last decade, businesses have begun to realize that analytical thinking arrives too late for a 24-hour global marketplace. In its quest for an edge, private enterprise has become very receptive to the idea of intuition-although intuition has yet to make inroads in public management, marketing, or advertising.

As a way of advancing both the research and application of intuition, particularly in the business world, a Global Intuition Network (GIN) was set up in the late 1980s by Weston Agor, Ph.D., former professor of management at the University of Texas, at the behest of an American industrialist. Comprised of people all over the world who are working independently on intuition, the network sponsored its first conference in 1991, in Hawaii. Last summer, I convened the second GIN conference, in Toronto. By this time, there was important representation of serious scientists paying attention to research in intuition-engineers, mathematicians, and psychologists. Intuition is clearly undergoing rehabilitation.

But it isn't just scientists and business leaders who are interested in this power of the mind. Inquiries come from people in all walks of life-people eager to know that there is more to intelligence than science and technology have given us. They perceive the limits of the technological way of looking at things. They sense that a larger spectrum of intelligence needs to

be brought to bear on the world's problems. Of course, creative artists have always known that creativity is cradled in intuition. If intuition were not already available today it would have to be invented.

 

MOWED DOWN IN THE FIELD

In my studies of intuition, I started where all scientific ventures start -- the hunch, itself an intuitive skill. I set out to prove the hypothesis that intuition is the secret of success in most endeavors, and especially in business.

I began with a field study of organizations, to see whether those that were successful had intuitive people at the helm. I wanted to see where those given to intuition-intuits were located on the organizational ladder, whether they were at key decision-making jobs. And to see whether those who weren't so located were unsuccessful. Success would be measured in terms of the world of business-bottomline profitability, efficiency, productivity, and effectiveness, with job satisfaction running as the dark horse.

In order to detect the likelihood of intuitiveness, in 1989 I developed my own survey tool, the Cappon Intuition Profile, a 15-page descriptive questionnaire designed to see who is intuitive, who is not. This profile simply asks people to describe themselves and what others have said about them; whether or not they know it of themselves, people usually hear that they are intuitive from the reflection of others. The profile does not get at the intuitive capacity itself, or its accessing variables-that is, what kicks it off. I wanted to see whether there was a correlation between intuitive people, as picked up by the profile, and organizational and personal success.

I didn't get very far. I soon found out that the more intuition-sensitive the company, like advertising and polling, the more they shut their doors to such in inquiry. These were largely companies dealing directly with people and services, where science is minimal and "flying by the seat of one's pants" is maximal. Sure they used market research. But clearly they felt the public would lose faith in them if they were found to be running on gut feeling as well. The only exception was a pollster who made no bones about the use of fact-based intuition, which made his predictions so precise. Interestingly, companies that produced things rather than services-manufacturers of all kinds-opened their doors with a welcoming smile.

This, it turns out, is an irony that parallels the position of intuition in the academic community. Modern psychology, and especially cognitive psychology, yearns for much of the certainty of science ephemeral and illusory as it is-and eschews intuition. Only a handful of brave researchers have worked to bring intuition into the realm of science in this century, and one of them at my very own university, Malcolm Wescott, Ph.D.

Yet mathematicians, physicists, and hard scientists have embraced intuition all along. They are high-minded-enough to admit to it. Einstein was intuitive and said so. I interviewed Nobelists Linus Pauling, Albert Szent Gyorgyi, Lord Adrian, and Jonas Salk. They said, "Of course, we 

have hunches. We know the answer before we work it out." Science, at its best, is the working out of things out later.

 

WINNIE (CHURCHILL), THE POOH, AND PIGLET

One of the difficulties in tackling the proper study of intuition has been the lack of an agreed upon definition-although this sort of thing has not stopped conventional psychometrists from inventing the original IQ tests while operating without the license of a generally approved definition of intelligence. I started by carefully compiling a comprehensive list of everything everybody ever said about intuition. I drew on the expressions they used in describing it, and their feelings and speculations about their experiences. I paid particular attention to what was said by established "self-avowed initiates"--a term applied to intuits by the Italian writer and scholar Umberto Eco. I surveyed Eco and other writers, including Aldous Huxley, Isaac Azimov, Mary Stuart on Merlin, Patrick Suskind's Perfume, and Benjamin Hoff on The Tao of Pooh and ne Te of Piglet.

I interviewed and studied the writings of Nobel laureate scientists, including Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of penicillin, with whom I had once worked. After all, all great science begins with a hunch, an intuition, with is then pursued painstakingly through what may be years of experimentation. I devoured biographies of historical figures like Churchill. And I drew on my own population of patients, whom I had asked to rate themselves on intuition.

Looking at the essence of good decision-making, intuition can be called the essence of common sense" -- which, we all know, is all too uncommon. Hoff says that "intuition is being sensitive to circumstance. Efraim Fischbein, an Israeli scientist, defines intuition as "direct self-evident knowledge . He differentiates a cognitive type of intuition, dubbed affirmatory, from a global, unhesitant form of insight, which he dubs anticipatory. Others-- and I am one of them -- see intuition as closely related to creativity.

Looking epistemologically, it's obvious that the rational intellect is analytical, fragmenting, sequentially linear, syllogistic, and favours deductive reasoning. Intuition, on the other hand, is consistently described as a more holistic, mosaic, "big picture," insight-oriented intellect favoring inductive reasoning.

Most everyday descriptions of intuition get at bits and pieces of the whole, and usually point more at its emotional traces than at intuition itself. The emotion may be somatized as in "gut feeling," which implies a feeling of certitude through the stomach. But emotion is only an accompaniment, not the main thing. Like a "flash," "a nose for it," these are accessories, the visible emotional traces intuition leaves so that we can access this unconscious process again. They are reminders that intuition has to be called up from somewhere else in the mind.

Cerebrally, intuition is sometimes referred to as lateral thinking. But that is not a definition; it simply suggests that intuition, unlike logic, is not sequential and forward-moving; it moves 

sideways. Perhaps my favorite description of intuition occurs in William Manchester's biography of Winston Churchill. The statesman was a notoriously poor student academically. But, as Manchester observes, he had "a zigzag lightening of the brain."

 

Some people call intuition "the sixth sense," but that is misleading for several reasons. Most importantly, intuition goes way beyond its perceptual base.

To paraphrase Mark Twain, "Everyone has an opinion on intuition but no one does much about it"
 
 

Public Address:

Coming Home: Body Image and Breast Cancer
 by Lynn Grodzki, LCSW, MCC


Presentation for George Washington Breast Cancer Center Luncheon, 10/16/08. This talk is copyright 2008 by Lynn Grodzki, all rights reserved. Reprint by permission only.
 

Thank you for inviting me to be here with you today. This is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and breast cancer has been in the news. Christina Applegate, the star of the TV show called Samantha Who, was recently featured on Oprah and in People magazine as the “modern woman” with breast cancer. She is 36 years old and had a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction. She told People magazine that she saw one upside of her situation. Christina said: “I will have cute boobs until I’m 90.”  
 
I love it when we can find humor in difficult situations and her remark points to the topic I want to talk about today: breast cancer and body image. I know that some people, in the face of the seriousness of breast cancer, don’t see a need to discuss body image. They say: why bother talking about how your body looks after your treatment? The important thing is that you caught it, you treated it, and you are healthy. Move on.
 
I agree that breast cancer is serious and life-threatening: it’s the second leading cause of cancer deaths in women today (after lung cancer.) According to the American Cancer Society, 200,000 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year alone, and about 40,000 women died last year from this disease. I belong to a breast cancer support group in my Silver Spring neighborhood and we lost two women just this past year. So yes, the first order of business is to diagnose, treat and hopefully remove the cancer. That is what matters most.
 
But moving on means living, day-to-day, with the after-effects of your treatment. It means making peace with your altered body. And research shows that moving on, psychologically, is not easy. Studies find that 50% of all breast cancer survivors reported feeling anxious, sad, and depressed, even years after treatment is complete, based on having trouble reconciling the way they look. They cite the loss of loving relationships, intimacy, and quality of life. As a psychotherapist, treating other breast cancer survivors in my office, I have heard the following:
 
A client says: “My absent breast has become a barrier to normal intimacy. My boyfriend hesitates to put his arm around me, while we watch TV. He doesn’t want his hand to come anywhere near my missing breast.”
 
Another client, married for 30 years says: “My husband doesn’t look at me the same way.”
 
I ask her, “Can you talk to him about this?”
 
She said, quietly: “What would I say? I can barely look at myself either.”  
 
A young woman admits: “My friends ask me what happened to my proud warrior stance. I hunch my shoulders and try to minimize the space I take up. I don’t feel like myself anymore.” 
 
Body image matters to our psychological well being. But how we feel about our bodies is malleable. We are not born with our body image. It’s formed over time, from our family of origin, our cultural situation, and our real-life experiences. It is highly subjective. If you don’t like the way you look, no one and no amount of data can convince you otherwise. The body image problems found in breast cancer survivors, according to the research, fall into three main areas:  
 
1) negative feelings about our sexuality  
 
2) anxiety regarding intimate relationships   
 
3) confusion regarding a sense of identity: Who am I now?  
 
The good news is that problems with body image can be shifted. The bad news is that it is not a quick-fix, but a process. After cancer, we often face feelings of loss. Many of us are familiar with the stages of loss:

  • Denial (this isn't happening to me!)
  • Anger (why is this happening to me?)
  • Bargaining (I promise I'll be a better person if...)
  • Depression (I don't care anymore)
  • Acceptance (I'm at peace and ready for whatever comes) 

When it comes to processing through loss, acceptance is the end stage.  
 
But when it comes to improving body image, acceptance is the starting point.  
 
Dr. David Spiegal of Stanford University is a leader in the field of psychosomatic research and treatment about breast cancer. He ran groups of breast cancer survivors in the ‘70’s, and he found that by having them share and talk about their cancer and their feelings, they lived beyond their initial prognosis. Spiegal found that the key to psychological wellness after breast cancer was the following:  “Accept, embrace, and ultimately learn to love your changed body.”
 
I want to show you how this happens. I considered offering you a case example to illustrate this process, but then decided it would be best to use my own story.  
 
*  *  *  

On a cold afternoon in November, 2005, while I was waiting for my next psychotherapy client to arrive, I hurriedly phoned the hospital for my biopsy results. I was sure that they were negative. (I was in a bit of denial myself.) Instead, I was put through to my doctor who told me that my biopsy showed early stage, but widespread cancer, requiring a mastectomy of my left breast. I remember walking out of my office to the waiting room to cancel my next client’s session, and then breaking down in tears.
 
During the next month leading up to surgery, I was given all the data and information and options to medically consider. We have so much to learn in the time between diagnosis and treatment. As I factored in my own thoughts and feelings, I found that I was considering what others might judge a radical choice. What if I removed the right, unaffected breast as well? And what if I opted out of breast reconstruction?  
 
One friend suggested that I would just be returning to the upper body I had when I was ten years old. I liked that idea: finding my inner pre-teen self. But pre-teens have a hint of the breasts that yet are to come. My situation would be more accurately described in the words of my son, a motorcycle mechanic with multiple tattoos. He referred to my upcoming surgery as “your amputation.” His stark assessment was correct: I would be living with two 10-inch scars running straight across an unnaturally flattened chest. I felt sure that my body would heal better without implants, but I didn’t know how my body image would fare.  
 
I was scared about taking this step – removing both of my breasts without reconstruction. It made sense to me intellectually for many reasons. But emotionally, I was verklempt – a Yiddish word meaning very emotional. This was a big risk. Once done, it couldn’t be undone. I asked others for advice.  
 
My breast cancer buddy, a woman older than I who had also opted for double mastectomy with no reconstruction, voted for the natural look. “I am happy without breasts and tell people I finally have a true pear shape,” she chuckled.  
 
My surgeon expressed reservations. “You are still a young and healthy woman. Why opt out of reconstruction? If you delay and do it later, the results will not be as good. I am concerned you may regret this decision.”  
 
An older acquaintance, a doctor herself undergoing similar breast cancer treatment, was horrified. “I am doing everything I can to conserve my breasts and you should too,” she stressed. “Having breasts means everything to me. I would not be the same without them. I would be lost.”   
 
My husband was a source of calm: “The decision to remove one or both breasts, and to have implants or not is totally yours. I can’t promise you that I won’t have some feelings about your new look, but I can promise you that you will always be desirable to me, no matter what. I love you, not your breasts.”  
 
I had been part of a women’s personal support group for 6 years. We met once a month and talked openly about our lives and no topic was taboo. The month after my diagnosis, the group met and asked how to support me.  I told them: It would really help me if we could talk about what our breasts mean to us. I’d like to hear each one of you tell me: What do your breasts mean to you? How would you feel if you were in my situation?  
 
Listening to each of you, I am hoping I can better discern my own truth. Each woman had a different perspective. In between all the stories I began to get a better sense of my own desires. I knew what I needed to do for myself.  
 
On February 14, 2006, Valentines Day, I gave a love letter or a life letter to myself: a double mastectomy with no reconstruction. I felt at peace with my decision.
After surgery, the way my body looked and felt -- my scars, “my amputation” -- was as I expected. Each morning I stepped from the shower and caught my reflection in the mirror. I would think: weird. But on the heels of that thought would come: “This was the right choice for me.” Because I felt that I had a chance to assess and evaluate and make my own choices, I was able to really accept my altered body.  
 
But I did not embrace it.   
 
Embracing means putting your arms around something or someone and drawing them close. For me, embracing my altered body would mean looking at my scarred chest with affection and fondness. I told a friend that seeing myself naked in the mirror, was tough. “Then why look?” she asked. But I looked because I wanted to feel differently about what I saw. I wanted to embrace my altered body. I just didn’t know how.
 
On a more immediate level, I had an additional concern. My surgeon had cleared me for exercise and I knew I needed to follow her advice, but I couldn’t get moving. One day, I was out in front of my house and saw my neighbor, Andrew, who lives across the street from me. He was playing with his dog, a very fetching basset hound. Andrew, who was 20, mentioned that he taught basketball classes to young children at the Y. I asked if he could help me get into better shape and he eagerly agreed to become my personal trainer. I started spending 2, then 3, sometimes 4 hours a week with him doing strength training, flexibility, and learning to play basketball.
 
Andrew began to introduce me to my new body. I noticed two changes. Always stoop shouldered and suffering from upper back pain, once my sagging breasts were removed my back straightened up naturally. I stood taller, effortlessly. And without the intrusion of breasts, I could run, jump, and play with a surprising freedom of movement. After a year of this training, I started to feel very fond of my body. I could see the results of our training, especially the results of playing basketball on my upper body and on my self-confidence. I wanted to share this experience with others and in the fall of 2006, Andrew and I begin offer monthly clinics for breast cancer survivors that we call “Healing With Basketball”
www.healingwithbasketball.com
 
We bring 2 dozen women together in a gym. Most have never played basketball or even held a basketball. Using a combination of sharing our stories, doing strength drills, and then playing ball together, I watch the transformation as they, too, begin to embrace their new bodies.  
 
One woman who attends the clinics wrote me a letter to say:
 
I can tell you from personal experience that I've quickly progressed from a person who would curl into fetal position if a ball (of any shape or size) was thrown my way to a person who puts my hands out ready to catch the ball.  I'm now re-inventing myself as an athlete. I am brave, I can dribble, and I can shoot. I stand straighter. Who knew my body could do this?     
 
Like this woman, I felt re-invented as an athlete. Now when I stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror, looking back was a basketball-ready body. I felt respect and affection for my body. I was an athlete. I shifted from acceptance to embracing.  
 
This was good. But Speigal says the path has one more step: “Accept, embrace, love.” As a therapist, I felt challenged to go all the way to feeling love. I can’t help my clients achieve something that I have not experienced myself. So I got curious about the difference between embracing and loving.  
 
The difference, to me, is the following: Think about a person, place or thing, maybe a pet, place in nature, that you unconditionally love. Think about someone or something you love without and reservations, easily, naturally, with your whole heart. When you do this, an inner smile usually starts to cross your face. When I thought about my post cancer body I could say: Accept yes, embrace, yes. Love unconditionally, smile at…no. I am not there yet.
 
I wanted to make this shift to love. So I did what many therapists do. I went back into some psychotherapy to see if anything was holding me back and yes, there were still some feelings and thoughts I had about my body and my cancer I needed to work through. I did some “body work” -- deep tissue massage, other methods of releasing tension and found that there was some trauma from my cancer surgery that was trapped inside deep muscles – what we call muscle memory. That helped too. But I was still looking for an “aha” moment, something that would help me make the shift from embracing to loving.   
 
Sometimes help comes from the most unlikely places. I was watching a movie on Lifetime TV. It was not a very good movie: A divorced woman was rebuilding her life and thinking about dating again. She asked her neighbor, a cute young man, what he, as a man, noticed first about women. “You won’t like hearing this,” he tells her. “Men see a woman’s breasts. The bigger the better. They are like a lighthouse, a beacon, calling a guy home.”  
 
Ouch. But later that night, while I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep, I was thinking back to what he said. My sagging breasts had never been beacons to me. I was already married and wasn’t interested in attracting other men. But I liked the metaphor of a beacon, a lighthouse. What about my current body would be MY beacon, calling my love home?   
 
I thought about those people and things I love, and how they call to me. What if I let my body, just as it is, call me, in a deeper way? It could call to me based on the things that I love most about it – strength, spirit, resilience, aliveness.  
 
I found a poem that spoke to this, about meeting your body, letting it call to you, remembering who you really are.

Love After Love,   
 
by Derek Walcott
 
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
 
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
 
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
 
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.


Today, I am still in process. When I get out of the shower each morning and look at myself in the mirror, I see my long scars. My chest looks strange. But I don’t look away. I know what my scars signify. I bless them and feel gratitude for my state of health.
 
I also see my shoulder muscles and strong legs. I am an athlete. I smile and send a message of love to my body. This is the new me, the future me. In the words of Walcott, “I love again the stranger who was myself.”  
Dr. Spiegal says:  Don’t hide your cancer from yourself or anyone else. Live beyond it. Just as he suggests, everyday, my cancer-free body beckons me to come home -- and if I listen closely, I can hear her call, loud and clear.

 

 

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