My Academic bias
With my academic background in Cognitive Science and Clinical Psychology, I’ve always focused more on observed behavior, lived experience, and psychological explanations and interventions. In fact, my PhD supervisor actively discouraged physiological or brain-based explanations, often invoking what he called the “nominal fallacy”—the mistake of thinking that simply naming a phenomenon explains it. He applied this critique especially to treatments for depression. I remember sitting in on sessions where a psychiatrist would tell a patient that their medication was effective because of some specific change in the brain—when, in fact, there was no direct evidence to support that claim. Understandably, I became somewhat jaded. At the time, neuroscience was still in its early stages compared to what we know today. That’s why I’ve recently begun diving deeply into current brain research and applying it to the real world. I did that in my last post, exploring differences in brain structure and political leanings. In this post, I’ll look at emerging insights on hemispheric differences—and relate them to my own personal experience, which I’ll get to shortly.
A Great conversation
On a Zoom call with a wonderful Habits for a Better World colleague, Nazli Eve Usta, we got onto the topic of hemispheric specialization and cultural differences. I shared a story about a conference I attended in Nanjing, China in 2010. I delivered a keynote (as did Don Norman) and served on a panel exploring cultural differences that designers should be aware of in their work. One of the other panelists shared research by Takashi Masuda and Richard Nisbett.
Participants were shown images featuring a central figure in front of a group. American (Western) participants tended to make judgments—such as whether the person was happy or sad—based on the central figure alone, largely ignoring the background. Japanese (Eastern) participants were more influenced by context—they considered the expressions or behavior of the group in the background before deciding on the emotional state of the person in front.
Nazli then mentioned that she was reading a fascinating book that discussed exactly this kind of brain hemisphere specialization: The Master and His Emissary: The Divided Brain and the Making of the Western World by Iain McGilchrist. I immediately bought and read it.
Key insights from the book
The book begins by pointing out how, for decades, popular culture has oversimplified brain hemisphere specialization into simple stereotypes: left-brained people are logical and analytical, right-brained people are creative and emotional. This reductive dichotomy became so widespread that it nearly discredited the entire field.
McGilchrist makes the case that the body of research from the past twenty years not only deserves renewed legitimacy—it may hold the key to understanding how we perceive, think, and live.
As both a psychiatrist and a literary scholar, McGilchrist synthesizes decades of neuroscience to show just how differently the left and right hemispheres engage with the world. The left hemisphere favors abstraction, categorization, and control. It isolates and defines. The right hemisphere, in contrast, is focused on context, nuance, connection, and the living whole. It doesn’t just process information—it experiences it.
What’s particularly eye-opening is McGilchrist’s argument that we now live in a civilization dominated by left-hemisphere thinking—prioritizing efficiency over empathy, predictability over depth, and systems over relationships. In doing so, we may be sidelining the very capacities that make life meaningful and sustainable. And yet, he argues, it’s the right hemisphere that should be leading, with the left as its capable “emissary”—not the other way around. There’s much more to the book—it can be a dense read at times—but I highly recommend it.
My story and experience
While reading the book, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own recent neurological journey. I was diagnosed with a benign brain tumor—a vestibular schwannoma or acoustic neuroma—on the right side of my brain, affecting the auditory nerve. This tumor has gradually diminished the hearing in my right ear. But what’s fascinating is that I’ve recently noticed significantly increased acuity in my left ear. At first, I thought I might be imagining it. But upon further reflection—and with the insights from McGilchrist’s work—I began to see it as another example of the brain’s remarkable plasticity.
Neuroscience has shown that when one sense or function is compromised, the brain doesn’t simply accept the loss. It adapts, amplifying other capacities to maintain equilibrium. In my case, it seems likely that the right hemisphere (which processes input from the left ear) has increased its auditory sensitivity to compensate. The signals coming from the ear haven’t improved—it’s the brain’s processing of information from my left ear that has.
The tumor also affects the vestibular nerve, which controls balance. I’ve been experiencing some slight instability, but vestibular rehabilitation exercises are helping. Again, the brain’s plasticity is at work—strengthening my left vestibular system to reduce the imbalance. It’s a powerful, personal reminder of the brain’s adaptability—and of the intricate interplay between biology, experience, and perception.
To further support my brain’s neuroplastic response to the hearing loss in my right ear, I’ve been consciously engaging both hemispheres through a variety of activities. I focus on language, reading aloud, planning, and problem-solving to stimulate left-hemisphere functions, and I engage my right hemisphere through listening to music, walking in nature, and practicing mindfulness. I also incorporate cross-body movement—such as balance exercises and VR workouts using Supernatural on my Meta Quest—which helps strengthen coordination between hemispheres. I regularly switch between focusing on details and stepping back to see the big picture. These small but intentional practices are helping me optimize how my brain adapts and maintains overall balance.
a broadened view of the brain including my own
The Master and His Emissary has opened up a far more nuanced and inspiring view of the brain than I’d imagined. It’s not just a book about neuroscience—it’s a call to rethink how we live, learn, lead, and relate. And for those of us navigating unexpected neurological challenges, it offers something even more valuable: insight into the deeply intelligent systems that support us, often without our awareness.