Deviate

Deviate Plot Summary

Introduction

When you open your eyes, do you see the world as it really is? This seemingly simple question has puzzled philosophers for centuries, but neuroscience now has a definitive answer: we don't. Our brains didn't evolve to perceive reality accurately; they evolved to help us survive. This paradox forms the foundation of Beau Lotto's groundbreaking exploration of human perception. What we experience as sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell isn't a direct window to reality but rather our brain's interpretation of meaningless sensory information, shaped by millions of years of evolution and our personal experiences. Understanding perception matters because it underpins everything we think, know, and believe. Our sense of self and how we understand existence begins and ends with perception. Yet most of us don't know how or why our perceptions work the way they do. By exploring the neuroscience of perception, we can learn to see ourselves see, becoming active participants in our own perceptual experiences. This awareness opens doors to creativity, innovation, and new ways of engaging with the world around us. Through fascinating experiments, illusions, and real-world examples, we'll discover how our brains create meaning from meaningless information and how this understanding can transform our lives.

Chapter 1: The Illusion of Reality: Why We Don't See the World as It Is

In 2014, a photo of a dress went viral on the internet, dividing viewers worldwide: some people saw it as white and gold, while others insisted it was blue and black. This phenomenon became known as #TheDress, and it captured public attention not just because it was a viral sensation, but because it revealed something profound about human perception. What shocked people wasn't the illusion itself, but that they were seeing it differently from friends and family whose perception they otherwise trusted. This simple dress example reveals a fundamental truth about how our brains work: we don't see reality. The brain doesn't provide us with a faithful representation of the external world; instead, it constructs a useful interpretation based on our evolutionary and personal history. This is why you and another person can look at the same dress and see entirely different colors. Our five senses are merely like keyboards to a computer—they provide the means for information to get in, but they have very little to do with what we actually experience. The mechanism behind this can be demonstrated with simple visual experiments. Look at two identical gray squares placed against different backgrounds—one light, one dark. The square on the dark background will appear lighter than the identical square on the light background, even though they are physically the same shade of gray. This isn't a flaw or weakness in our visual system; it's how our perception is designed to work. Understanding that we don't see reality isn't just an interesting curiosity—it's liberating. Our perceptions aren't failing us when they differ from physical reality; they're doing exactly what they evolved to do: provide us with useful interpretations that helped our ancestors survive. The brain's job isn't to show us reality but to help us navigate our environment effectively. Throughout our evolutionary history, seeing accurately was less important than seeing usefully. This realization is the starting point for understanding how to consciously influence our perceptions. If our brains naturally create our reality rather than simply reflecting it, then by becoming aware of this process, we can begin to actively participate in shaping our perceptual experiences. This awareness gives us the power to see differently—to deviate from habitual patterns of perception and discover new possibilities.

Chapter 2: The Meaninglessness of Raw Information

We live in the Wiki Age, where information flows freely and abundantly. Our phones connect us to virtually unlimited data, yet having more information doesn't necessarily translate to better understanding. This is because all information, in and of itself, is meaningless. The photons entering our eyes, the vibrations in our ears, the chemicals landing on our tongues—these are just energy or molecules without inherent meaning. We sense changes in the world, not the world itself. The meaninglessness of raw information becomes clear when we consider a simple fact: the same sensory input could signify countless different things. When light hits your retina, there's no instruction manual telling your brain what it represents. Is that red patch a ripe apple, a stop sign, or blood? The information itself doesn't specify. Your brain must interpret this information based on past experience and context to create perception. This is why perception is more like reading poetry than recording reality—you are constantly interpreting what things mean. Consider light entering your eye. The quality of that light is determined by three different sources: the illuminant (like the sun), the reflectors (surfaces that bounce light), and transmitters (the space between you and objects, like air). With all these variables interacting, the same physical object can create different patterns of light on your retina depending on circumstances. Your brain's job is to determine what object most likely caused that pattern based on your past experiences. The complexity is even greater when we consider that different physical objects can create identical sensory patterns. A small object nearby and a large object far away might create the same size image on your retina. Mathematically speaking, this is like being given the answer to a multiplication problem (the sensory input) and being asked to figure out which two numbers were multiplied together—there are infinite possible combinations. Scientists call this the "inverse problem," and it's fundamentally unsolvable without additional information. This ambiguity extends to all our senses and experiences. A smile could indicate joy, sarcasm, fear, or countless other emotions depending on context. The information itself—the curved shape of lips—carries no inherent meaning about the emotional state behind it. We constantly navigate this sea of ambiguous information, yet rarely notice we're doing so because our brain makes the process seem effortless and automatic. Understanding the inherent meaninglessness of information reveals why we need to actively engage with the world to make sense of it. Through trial and error—from evolutionary timescales to moment-by-moment learning—our brains build a database of what certain patterns of information have meant in the past. This history of meaning-making becomes the lens through which we perceive the present, allowing us to transform meaningless stimuli into a coherent, useful reality.

Chapter 3: The Brain as a History Machine

Ben Underwood lost both his eyes to cancer when he was just three years old. Yet as a teenager, he could ride a bike, play basketball, and even navigate crowded spaces without a cane or guide dog. His secret? He taught himself to use echolocation—making clicking sounds with his tongue and interpreting the echoes to "see" the world around him. This remarkable adaptation showcases how our brains construct perception based on experience rather than being limited to conventional sensory inputs. Ben's story exemplifies how the brain functions as a history machine. Our brains don't simply record reality; they actively construct it based on a historical record of what has proven useful in the past. This history encompasses three timeframes: evolution (spanning millions of years), development (throughout our lifetime), and learning (occurring moment by moment). Every perception you have right now is built upon this layered history of experiences that sculpted your neural architecture. This process works at the cellular level. The trillions of connections between neurons in your brain aren't fixed at birth; they're constantly being reshaped by experience. When you encounter new information, it triggers changes in your neural network, strengthening some connections and weakening others. The physical structure of your neurons changes based on what you do, what you sense, and how you engage with the world. Scientists call this neuroplasticity—the brain's ability to reorganize itself in response to experience. A classic experiment demonstrates this beautifully. Researchers placed kittens in two groups: one allowed to move freely and explore their environment, the other carried in baskets, experiencing the same visual stimuli but unable to actively engage with it. The freely moving kittens developed normal vision and coordination, while the passive kittens, despite seeing the same things, remained effectively blind. The difference wasn't in what information reached their brains, but in how they actively engaged with that information. Similarly, adult humans can develop new perceptual abilities through active engagement. In one fascinating study, participants wore special belts that vibrated to indicate magnetic north for seven weeks. Over time, they developed an entirely new sense of orientation—they could "feel" directions and navigate spaces in ways previously impossible. Their brains had created new meaning from the vibration patterns by correlating them with their movements through space. The key insight here is that engaging with the world is neurologically necessary. To change your perception, you must change your brain, and to change your brain, you must actively participate in trial-and-error experiences. This is why passive consumption of information rarely leads to profound changes in understanding. Our brains evolved to match their environment through action and feedback—creating a history of what worked and what didn't. By actively experimenting with our perceptions, like Ben Underwood did with echolocation, we can expand our brain's repertoire of possible interpretations and literally see the world differently.

Chapter 4: The Context Effect: How Perception Changes Meaning

In 1824, Louis XVIII of France faced an unusual problem. Customers of the royal tapestry factory complained that the colored threads they saw in the showroom looked different when they took them home. The king appointed chemist Michel Eugène Chevreul to investigate this mystery. After extensive research, Chevreul made a remarkable discovery: the physical material of the yarns hadn't changed, but the context had. Colors appeared different when placed next to other colors than when viewed in isolation. This discovery reveals a fundamental principle of perception: context is everything. Our brain doesn't perceive absolute values; it perceives relationships. The same gray square appears lighter against a dark background and darker against a light background. The same musical note sounds different in different melodies. The same facial expression carries different emotional weight depending on the situation. This isn't a flaw in our perception—it's precisely how it's designed to work. The brain's reliance on context makes evolutionary sense. By focusing on differences rather than absolutes, our visual system can function across an enormous range of lighting conditions. We can recognize a red apple at noon in bright sunlight or at dusk in fading light, even though the actual wavelengths reaching our eyes are entirely different in these scenarios. This adaptability helps us survive in a constantly changing environment. Context effects extend far beyond vision. Consider how we interpret language. Read this sentence: "ca y u rea t is." Most people automatically fill in the missing letters to read "Can you read this?" even though many letters are missing. Your brain isn't passively processing the letters on the page; it's actively applying its history of English language patterns to make meaning. This reveals how powerfully context shapes even basic perceptual processes. Our dependence on context also explains why what we commonly call "illusions" aren't actually failures of perception. If your brain evolved to see reality accurately, then illusions would exist when perception differs from reality. But since your brain evolved to see usefully rather than accurately, these so-called illusions are simply your brain applying its normal interpretive processes. In fact, either everything we perceive is an illusion, or nothing is. The latter is closer to the truth. Understanding the context-dependent nature of perception gives us a powerful tool for changing how we see. By manipulating the context—both external and internal—we can transform our perceptual experiences. Artists have understood this intuitively for centuries; Chevreul's color wheel became foundational to art theory, showing how juxtaposition could create effects that no single color could achieve alone. Similarly, by changing the conceptual contexts we bring to situations, we can literally see them differently, opening doors to creativity and innovation that were previously invisible to us.

Chapter 5: The Delusion Advantage: Imagination Reshapes the Brain

Can you think of a colorless apple? This seemingly simple request reveals something profound about human perception: we are wonderfully, productively delusional. Our brains can imagine possibilities that don't exist in our immediate sensory experience, and these imagined realities can be as powerful in shaping our behavior as physical ones. This capacity for delusion—for seeing beyond what is directly presented to our senses—is perhaps the brain's most beautiful feature. Functional MRI studies have shown that when we imagine seeing something, our visual cortex activates in patterns remarkably similar to when we actually see that thing. The same applies to imagined sounds, touches, tastes, and smells. This means that for your brain, the line between reality and imagination is blurry at best. Elite athletes use this neural mechanism to their advantage through visualization techniques; research shows that mentally rehearsing a physical skill can improve performance almost as effectively as physical practice. What makes this even more powerful is that imagined experiences become part of your perceptual history, influencing future perceptions. Remember that your brain constructs perception based on past experiences of what was useful. Critically, these past experiences include not just what you've physically encountered, but what you've imagined as well. When you vividly imagine scenarios, you're literally programming your brain with new experiences that shape how you'll perceive similar situations in the future. The power of delusion extends beyond individual mental imagery to our collective imagination. Consider art: Kazimir Malevich's famous painting "White on White" is simply one white quadrilateral on another white quadrilateral. Physically, it's just pigment on canvas. Yet in 2008, it sold for $60 million. What was being purchased wasn't the physical object but the meaning layered upon it—the historical and cultural context, the revolutionary artistic statement, the emotions it evokes. This layering of meaning upon meaning is how human perception operates at all levels. We can harness this delusional power intentionally. Try this experiment: look at the bottom corner of this page where there's a simple drawing of a diamond. Flip through the pages quickly to create an animation. The diamond appears to spin in one direction. Now, imagine it spinning in the opposite direction—and flip the pages again. Remarkably, your perception will change to match your imagination. You just experienced your brain's delightful delusionality in action. The implications are profound: since your perception is constructed rather than received, you have agency in what you perceive. By choosing certain mental patterns over others—what psychologists call "cognitive reframing"—you can literally change what you see. Optimistic people don't just feel better about the world; research shows they actually see more possibilities in ambiguous situations. This isn't delusion in the clinical sense but rather the brain's natural ability to construct reality in different ways. By understanding and directing this process, we can expand our perceptual horizons and discover creative solutions that were previously invisible.

Chapter 6: Questioning Assumptions: The Path to Innovation

When presented with a candle, a box of thumbtacks, and matches, and asked to mount the candle on a wall so it can burn properly, most people struggle to find a solution. The typical approach involves trying to tack the candle directly to the wall or melting wax to stick it—both ineffective. The solution becomes obvious once you question a hidden assumption: that the box is merely a container for the thumbtacks rather than a potential shelf. Empty the box, tack it to the wall, and place the candle on it. This simple puzzle illustrates why most of us find creative thinking difficult: we're blind to our own assumptions. Our brains operate according to assumptions built from our past experiences, creating what neuroscientists call "attractor states"—stable patterns of neural activity that represent our habitual ways of thinking. These assumptions aren't just abstract ideas; they're physically encoded in the connections between our neurons, forming pathways of least resistance for electrical signals in our brains. Innovation begins with questioning these hidden assumptions. When Charles Darwin proposed his theory of evolution, he wasn't merely connecting disparate ideas; he was questioning fundamental assumptions about the fixed nature of species. The history of science is full of such moments: Copernicus questioning that Earth was the center of the universe, Einstein questioning Newtonian physics, Marie Curie questioning assumptions about radioactivity. In each case, the revolutionary insight came not from knowing more, but from questioning what everyone "knew" to be true. The process of innovation isn't mysterious or magical. It's about changing your "space of possibility"—the range of ideas your brain can access based on your current assumptions. Inside this space are all the thoughts you might potentially have, arranged so that some are more accessible than others. Your current assumptions determine the dimensions and boundaries of this space, making certain ideas easy to reach while others remain invisible or seemingly impossible. What we call "genius" insights aren't giant leaps across this space; they're actually small, logical steps that become possible once a limiting assumption has been removed. When someone questions an assumption that we still hold, their insight appears to us as a creative leap. But from their perspective, with their reconfigured space of possibility, it was simply the next reasonable step. This explains why innovations often appear obvious in hindsight—once an assumption is questioned, the new perspective becomes accessible to everyone. Complexity science helps explain why questioning certain assumptions can have such dramatic effects. Our assumptions form a network, with some being more foundational and connected to many others. When you question a peripheral assumption, it might change only one aspect of your thinking. But question a core assumption, and the entire network reconfigures, like pulling one thread that unravels an entire fabric. This is why asking "why" about fundamental assumptions can trigger cascades of new insights that transform entire fields. The path to innovation, then, isn't about making giant creative leaps but about identifying and questioning the assumptions that limit your thinking. This requires awareness of your own thought patterns and the courage to step into uncertainty by temporarily suspending beliefs you've long taken for granted.

Chapter 7: Embracing Uncertainty: The Ecology of Creativity

Humans fear uncertainty almost as much as they fear death. From an evolutionary perspective, this makes perfect sense: our ancestors who successfully predicted where to find food and how to avoid predators survived to pass on their genes. Those who wandered into uncertainty often didn't. Our brains evolved primarily to resolve uncertainty, not to seek it out. This is why creativity can feel so uncomfortable—it requires us to venture into the unknown, the very place our brains evolved to avoid. Studies show that people experience more stress from uncertainty than from knowing something bad will definitely happen. When participants in an experiment were told they might receive an electric shock, their stress levels were higher than when they knew for certain they would be shocked. This aversion to uncertainty shapes everything from our social structures to our personal habits. We create governments, religions, and routines precisely to make our world more predictable. Yet the most successful biological systems aren't those that avoid uncertainty—they're those that adapt to it. In environments that are constantly changing, the ability to experiment with new approaches becomes essential for survival. This is why play exists across many species, particularly in intelligent ones. Play allows animals to experiment with behaviors in low-risk settings, expanding their behavioral repertoire for when they might need it. When bonobos play, they're not just having fun; they're building cognitive flexibility that helps them thrive in changing circumstances. The most innovative human environments mirror this playful approach to uncertainty. Effective creative spaces balance what researcher Robert Full calls "play with intention"—combining the open-ended exploration of play with the purposeful direction of scientific inquiry. Full's Poly-PEDAL Lab at Berkeley exemplifies this approach, studying how animals move to inspire innovations in robotics. His secret weapon? Undergraduate students who don't yet know what "can't be done" working alongside experienced researchers who can recognize valuable insights. This ecology of innovation thrives on five principles: celebrating uncertainty instead of fearing it; remaining open to diverse possibilities; fostering cooperation across different perspectives; maintaining intrinsic motivation (doing things for their own sake); and acting with awareness and intention. Together, these principles create an environment where creativity can flourish despite our neurological bias toward certainty. The most effective innovation processes cycle between two phases: expanding possibilities through play and experimentation, then refining and implementing the best ideas through efficiency. Traditional management often emphasizes efficiency at the expense of exploration, but nature shows that both are necessary. Successful organisms go through periods of diversification (exploring many traits) followed by selection (keeping what works best). Similarly, companies like Apple iterate through numerous prototypes before selecting the most promising design to refine. Embracing uncertainty doesn't mean abandoning structure or purpose. Rather, it means creating safe spaces where people can experiment without fear of devastating consequences when they inevitably make mistakes. The role of a leader in this context isn't to have all the answers but to ask good questions and create conditions where others can safely explore uncertainty. This approach requires trust—the bedrock that makes stepping into the unknown feel less threatening. By understanding our brain's natural aversion to uncertainty and deliberately creating environments that make uncertainty feel safer, we can overcome our evolutionary programming and access the creative potential that exists beyond our current assumptions. The most profound innovations emerge not from what we already know, but from what we're willing to discover.

Summary

At its core, Deviate reveals a profound truth about human perception: we don't see reality; we see what was useful for our ancestors to see. Our brains construct a subjective version of the world based on meaningless sensory information, shaped by millions of years of evolution and our personal experiences. This isn't a limitation but our greatest strength—it allows us to adapt to our environments and even change how we perceive them. By understanding this process, we gain the power to see ourselves see, becoming active participants in our own perceptual experiences rather than passive recipients of a fixed reality. The journey toward seeing differently begins with awareness of our assumptions and continues through active engagement with uncertainty. When we understand that our perceptions are constructed rather than received, we can question the hidden assumptions that limit our thinking and deliberately expand our perceptual horizons. This awareness gives us access to creative possibilities that were previously invisible to us, whether in relationships, work, art, or science. The most powerful question we can ask is simply "why?"—challenging what we think we know and opening doors to new ways of seeing. In embracing this uncertainty with courage and compassion, we discover that deviation isn't just a path to innovation—it's the essence of what makes us beautifully human.

About Author

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Beau Lotto

Beau Lotto is a visiting scholar at New York University. His research explores how the brain adapts to uncertainty at the cellular, computational and perceptual levels with the aim of understanding the fundamental principles of biologically-inspired innovation.

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