Lehrer, Jonahan. How We Decided

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if it's just a subtle hunch. These psychological interpretations aren't quantifiable—you can't summarize a person in a proba­ bility— but they still inform Binger's betting decisions.

When there are only five players left, Binger begins to make his move. "It started when I got dealt a pair of kings," he says. "I decided right then and there to make a rather aggressive bet." A few hours before, Binger had bluffed one of the five, a player named Paul Wasicka, out of a big pot. Although Binger had been dealt a poor hand, his aggressive bet convinced everyone else to fold. Binger could tell that Wasicka was still seething. "I knew Paul thought I was just trying to bluff him again," Binger re­ members. "He thought that I only had a small pair. But I had pocket kings."

Binger wanted to draw Wasicka deeper into the hand. In tac­ tical moments like this, poker transcends its probabilities. The game morphs into a deeply human drama, a competition of deci­ sion-making. Binger needed to make a bet that would convince Wasicka he was trying to steal another pot, that he was once again making an aggressive bet with nothing but a low pair. "I decided to go all in," Binger says. "By overplaying my hand—by pretending to act strong—I was actually acting weak, at least in his eyes. I then tried to exude weakness, but without making it obvious, because then he would know that I was only pretending to bluff, which is a sure sign that I've actually got a good hand." Binger's best friend and brother were both watching the tourna­ ment on closed-circuit television. The best friend was convinced that Binger was bluffing and that he was about to get knocked out of the tournament. The signs of repressed anxiety were un­ mistakable: Binger's fingers were manically tapping on the table, and his teeth were digging into his lower lip. "Only my brother knew better," Binger says. "I guess he knew how to read my face. He said I looked too weak, so I must be strong."

Wasicka took the bait. He was so certain that Binger was bluffing that he ended up betting millions of chips on a weak

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hand. Binger won the pot and doubled his chips. "That bet had nothing to do with math," Binger says. "I'd gotten high pairs before, and not done much with them . . . But at that moment, as soon as I saw my cards, I knew what I needed to do. To be hon­ est, I don't know why I went all in on that hand. If I'd really thought about it, I might not have done it. The bet was damn risky. But it just felt like the right thing to do. You can do all the probabilistic analysis in the world, but in the end it all comes down to something you can't quite explain."

1

Professional poker players are a fatalistic bunch. They live in a deterministic world shaped by mysterious forces. Everything is possible, and yet only one thing ever happens. You might get the card you need on the river, but you might not. There's a possibil­ ity you'll make the straight, but you probably won't. Poker is a game of subtle skill and exquisite odds, but it's also a crapshoot.

This undercurrent of chance is the defining feature of the game. It's what makes the psychological aspects of poker—the subtle reads, the convincing bluffs, the inexplicable intuitions —so essential. Chess, by contrast, is a game of pure information. There are no secrets or shuffled decks or hidden cards; the mov­ ing parts of the game are all perfectly visible, right there on the chessboard. As a result, computers can consistently beat grand masters; they can use their virtually unlimited processing powers to find the perfect move. But poker isn't so amenable to micro­ chips and mathematics. Great poker players aren't just gambling statisticians. They need to bring something else to the table, to possess that inexplicable talent for knowing when to risk every­ thing on a pair of kings. "Poker is a science, but it's also an art," Binger says. "To be good, you have to master both sides of the game."

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What Binger is alluding to is the fact that there are always two ways to look at a poker hand. The first approach is mathe­ matical. It treats every hand like a math problem and assumes that winning the game is simply a matter of plugging the proba­ bilities into a sophisticated equation. According to this strategy, poker players should act like rational agents, looking for bets that minimize risk and maximize gain. This is what Binger did during the opening rounds of the WSOP, when he was only bet­ ting on high-percentage hands. Making money was just a matter of getting the odds right.

But Binger knows that poker isn't merely a set of math prob­ lems. When he talks about the art of the game, he's alluding to everything that can't be translated into numbers. The laws of statistics couldn't have told Binger how to lead Wasicka into his trap, or whether he should bluff with a middling pair. Even the most carefully calculated odds can't eliminate the unpredictabil­ ity in a shuffled deck of cards. This is why the best poker players don't pretend that poker can be solved. They know the game is ultimately a mystery.

The difference between math problems and mysteries is im­ portant. In order to solve a math problem, all you need is more rational thought. Some poker hands, of course, can be played by relying on the math: if you're dealt a pair of aces, or get a straight on the flop, then you're going to make an aggressive bet. The odds are in your favor, and a little statistics will lead you to make the correct decision. But this rational approach can't be applied to the vast majority of poker hands, which are utter mys­ teries. In these situations, more statistical analysis won't help the player make a decision. In fact, thinking too much is part of the problem, since all that extra thought just gets in the way. "Some­ times, I have to tell myself to not focus on the math," Binger says. "The danger with the math is that it can make you think you know more than you do. Instead of thinking about what the other player is doing, you end up obsessing over the percent-

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ages." The first part of solving a mystery is realizing that there is no easy solution. Nobody knows what card is coming next.

This is where feelings come into play. When there is no obvi­ ous answer, a poker player is forced to make a decision using the emotional brain. And so that vague intuition about his hand, that inexplicable hunch about his opponent, ends up becoming a decisive factor. This decision won't be perfect—there's too much uncertainty for that—but it's the best option. Mysteries require more than mere rationality. "I know that my mind assimilates many more variables than I'm actually aware of," Binger says. "Especially when it comes to reading other players, I'll often make strong and accurate reads without knowing what signals I'm picking up on. And as I've gained experience, I've felt my poker instincts just get better and better, to the point where I al­ most never doubt them. If I get a strong feeling, then that's what I go with."

Remember Damasio's card-playing experiment? In that gam­ bling game, players had to turn over about eighty cards before they could consciously explain which card deck was the best op­ tion. Their conclusions were rational, but they were also rather slow. It takes a while to do the math. But when Damasio meas­ ured people's emotions, he discovered that their feelings were able to identify the good decks after only ten cards. Whenever people reached for the risky decks, they experienced a surge of nervousness, even though they couldn't say why they felt so ner­ vous. The subjects who trusted their emotional brains—who lis­ tened to their sweaty palms—made the most money.

The different strategies used by poker players illuminate the benefits of having a mind capable of rational analysis and irra­ tional emotion. Sometimes it helps to look at cards from the cold perspective of statistics, to bet on hands only when the odds are on your side. But the best poker players also know when not to rely on the math. People aren't particles. To play the game is to accept the limits of statistics, to know that numbers don't know

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everything. Binger realizes that in certain situations, it's impor­ tant to listen to his feelings, even if he doesn't always know what they're responding to. "As a physicist, it can be hard admitting that you just can't reason your way to the winning hand," Binger says. "But that's the reality of poker. You can't construct a per­ fect model of it. It's based on a seemingly infinite amount of in­ formation. In that sense, poker is a lot like real life."

2

Ap Dijksterhuis, a psychologist at the University of Amsterdam, had a scientific breakthrough while shopping for a car. Like most consumers, Dijksterhuis was slightly overwhelmed by the variety of makes and models. There were just so many alternatives to consider. Before he could find the right car, Dijksterhuis needed to take a dizzying number of variables into account, from fuel economy to trunk space. And then, once he made up his mind, Dijksterhuis had to figure out which options he wanted. A moon roof? A diesel engine? Six speakers? Side air bags? The list of possibilities seemed endless.

That's when Dijksterhuis realized that buying a car exceeded the limits of his conscious brain. He could no longer remember whether the Toyota or the Opel had a bigger engine, or if it was the Nissan or the Renault that offered the attractive lease. All the different variables were blurred together; his prefrontal cortex was confused.

But if Dijksterhuis couldn't keep track of the different cars, then how could he ever make a decision? Was he destined to pick the wrong car? What was the best way to make a difficult choice? To answer these questions, Dijksterhuis decided to conduct a practical experiment; it was later published in Science. He got several Dutch car shoppers and gave them each descriptions of four different used cars. Each of the cars was rated in four differ-

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ent categories, for a total of sixteen pieces of information. Car number 1, for example, was described as getting good mileage but having a shoddy transmission and a poor sound system. Car number 2 handled poorly but had lots of legroom. Dijksterhuis designed the experiment so that one car was objectively ideal, with "predominantly positive aspects." After showing a subject these car ratings, Dijksterhuis would give him a few minutes to contemplate the decision. In this "easy" situation, more than 50 percent of the subjects ended up choosing the best car.

Dijksterhuis then showed a different selection of people the same car ratings. This time, however, he didn't let each of them consciously think about the decision. After he gave the automo­ tive facts, he distracted the subject with some simple word games for a few minutes, then interrupted the fun and suddenly asked the person to choose a car. Dijksterhuis had designed the experi­ ment so that the person would be forced to make a decision us­ ing the unconscious brain, by relying on his or her emotions. (Conscious attention had been focused on solving the word puz­ zle.) The result was that these subjects made significantly worse choices than those who were allowed to consciously think about the cars.

So far, so obvious. A little rational analysis could have pre­ vented the "unconscious choosers" from buying a bad car. Such data confirms the conventional wisdom: reason is always better. We should think before we decide.

But Dijksterhuis was just getting warmed up. He repeated the experiment, only this time he rated each car in twelve different categories. (These "hard" conditions more closely approximate the confusing reality of car shopping, in which consumers are overwhelmed with facts and figures.) In addition to getting infor­ mation about the quality of the transmission and the engine's gas mileage, people were told about the number of cup holders, the size of the trunk, and so on. Their brains had to deal with fortyeight separate pieces of information.

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Did conscious deliberation still lead to the best decision? Dijk­ sterhuis found that people who were given time to think in a ra­ tional manner—those who could carefully contemplate each al­ ternative—now chose the ideal car less than 25 percent of the time. In other words, they performed worse than random chance. However, subjects who were distracted for a few minutes—those who were forced to choose with their emotions—found the best car nearly 60 percent of the time. They were able to sift through the clutter of automotive facts and find the ideal alternative. The best car was associated with the most positive feelings. These ir­ rational choosers were the best decision-makers by far.

But perhaps this data is an artifact of the lab, an effect of making people choose cars under artificial conditions. So Dijk­ sterhuis ventured out into the real world. He began by surveying shoppers in a variety of different stores, asking them what in­ formation they considered when making their decisions. Based on these responses, he assigned a "complexity score" to a list of consumer products. Dijksterhuis found that some products, such as cheap kitchen tools (can openers, vegetable peelers, oven mitts, and so on) and home accessories (light bulbs, toilet paper, umbrellas, and so on), were relatively easy for shoppers to select. People didn't weigh many variables when making up their minds, because there weren't that many variables to consider. Since most stores carried only a few different brands of vegetable peelers and toilet paper, shoppers were able to quickly focus on the most important factors, like price. Making these simple consumer choices was the equivalent of choosing a car after learning only four attributes.

And, sure enough, when Dijksterhuis studied people shop­ ping for modest cooking accessories, he discovered that spending more time thinking about their decisions led to more satisfaction later on. In general, people did best when they carefully com­ pared all of their options and reasoned their way to the best veg­ etable peelers. They tended to regret their impulse purchases,

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since they'd end up with kitchen tools they didn't want or like. When buying easy consumer products, it's a good idea to take a few moments and reflect on the purchase.

Dijksterhuis then studied a more complicated shopping expe­ rience. His survey found that choosing furniture is one of the hardest consumer decisions, since it involves so many different variables. Consider a leather couch. First, you need to figure out if you like the way it looks and feels. (As Timothy Wilson dem­ onstrated with strawberry jam, simply deciphering one's own preferences can be a very difficult cognitive task.) Then, you need to think about whether the couch will work at home. Will it clash with the coffee table? Match the drapes? Will the cat scratch the leather? Before you can make a good decision about the couch, this long list of questions needs to be answered. The problem is that the prefrontal cortex can't handle this much in­ formation by itself. As a result, it tends to fix on just one variable that may or may not be relevant, such as the color of the leather. The rational brain is forced to oversimplify the situation. Look, for instance, at the doctors who relied on MRIs to diagnose the causes of back pain; because the MRI provided them with so much anatomical data, they ended up focusing on spinal disc ab­ normalities, even though these abnormalities probably weren't the cause of the pain. This resulted in a lot of unnecessary sur­ gery.

After shadowing shoppers at IKEA, the furniture warehouse, Dijksterhuis found that the longer people spent analyzing their options, the less satisfied they were with their decisions. Their rational faculties had been overwhelmed by the furniture store, and they ended up choosing the wrong leather couch. (IKEA of­ fers more than thirty different kinds of sofas.) In other words, furniture shoppers did best when they didn't think at all and just listened to their emotional brains.

Remember the experiment involving the fine-art posters and the funny cat posters? In that study, led by Timothy Wilson, sub-

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jects were less satisfied with their choices when they consciously thought about what to choose; analyzing their own preferences caused them to misinterpret those preferences. Wilson concluded that for selecting things like posters or strawberry jam, people are better off listening to their initial instincts. One of Dijksterhuis's most recent experiments involved replicating Wilson's study, but with a twist: he wanted to see if letting people engage in wwconscious decision-making—they looked at posters and then were distracted by a series of anagrams for seven min­ utes—could lead them to make even better decisions.

The answer, it turns out, is a resounding yes. Consciously contemplating the posters once again led to the worst decisions —these people were the least satisfied with their choices when they were interviewed three weeks later. But the most satisfied subjects were those who let the poster options marinate in their unconscious brains for several minutes and then chose on the basis of which poster was associated with the most positive emo­ tions. Dijksterhuis speculates that art posters benefit from such subterranean thought processes because they are complex choices requiring people to interpret their own subjective desires. It's not easy to figure out if you prefer van Gogh to Rothko, or if you'd rather look at an Impressionist landscape than an abstract ex­ pressionist canvas. "Imagine being at an art auction in Paris," Dijksterhuis says. "There's a Monet for sale for a hundred mil­ lion, and a van Gogh for a hundred and twenty-five million. How should we make this choice? The best strategy may be the following: First, take a good look at both of the paintings. Then leave the auction and distract yourself for a while (which is easy to do in Paris), and only then decide."

These simple experiments shed light on a very common prob­ lem in everyday life. We often make decisions on issues that are exceedingly complicated. In these situations, it's probably a mis­ take to consciously reflect on all the options, as this inundates the prefrontal cortex with too much data. "The moral of this re-

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search is clear," Dijksterhuis says. "Use your conscious mind to acquire all the information you need for making a decision. But don't try to analyze the information with your conscious mind. Instead, go on holiday while your unconscious mind digests it. Whatever your intuition then tells you is almost certainly going to be the best choice." Dijksterhuis argues that this psychologi­ cal principle has far-reaching consequences and can also be ap­ plied to decisions that don't involve shopping. Anyone who is constantly making difficult decisions, from corporate executives to poker players, can benefit from a more emotional thought process. As long as someone has sufficient experience in that do­ main—he's taken the time to train his dopamine neurons—then he shouldn't spend too much time consciously contemplating the alternatives. The hardest calls are the ones that require the most feeling.

At first glance, this idea might be a little difficult to accept. We naturally assume that such choices require the analytical rigor of the rational brain. When trying to decipher a compli­ cated situation, we believe that we need to consciously reflect on our options, to carefully think through the different car models or compare all of the possible couches at IKEA. Simple situa­ tions, on the other hand, are generally deemed suitable for emo­ tions. You might trust your gut to choose a main course for din­ ner, but you wouldn't dream of letting it select your next car. That's why the average American spends thirty-five hours com­ paring automotive models before he or she makes a decision about which car to purchase.

But the conventional wisdom about decision-making has got it exactly backward. It is the easy problems—the mundane math problems of daily life—that are best suited to the conscious brain. These simple decisions won't overwhelm the prefrontal cortex. In fact, they are so simple that they tend to trip up the emotions, which don't know how to compare prices or compute the odds of a poker hand. (When people rely on their feelings in