This year, six volunteers will step into an isolation tank in Moscow. The door will shut. And it won't open again for at least 520 days. During that time—designed to simulate the lengthy trip to Mars—the volunteers will eat,
sleep, work, exercise, and
socialize in cramped modules, utterly sealed off from the rest of humanity. They will communicate with the outside world via e-mail and radio only, draw from a limited supply of dehydrated food, make do without a single shower. Outside the tank, psychologists will be monitoring the participants' every move. What's happening to their moods? Are
stress and exhaustion impairing their
cognitive function? Is the group cohering or collapsing?
Social scientists are becoming increasingly interested in how the human psyche functions in extreme environments—studying people who spend their days in the vast emptiness of space or the endlessly dark and cold Antarctic winter, contending with all sorts of hazards.
"We're seeing people at the boundaries of what's possible for physical and psychological endurance," says Jason Kring, a psychologist at the University of Central Florida and president of the Society for Human Performance in Extreme Environments. "It allows us to see people living or working at the edge of existence."
This research naturally has profound implications for countries—including the U.S.—that are ramping up their plans for longer and more ambitious manned space flights. It's also yielding insights that could help keep soldiers sane or communities functioning in the aftermath of natural disasters. What's more, studies of extreme environments are also producing lessons that could help us all identify stresses, improve office life, and face our own earthbound challenges with more gusto.
COLD, HARD WORLD
In the summer, Antarctica is abuzz with activity. Scientists flock to the continent to study marine biology, geology, astronomy, and more. The days are full, with researchers taking advantage of the nonstop light.
Then people leave. Stations that house a thousand people in the summer see their populations drop to a few hundred. The temperature at the Pole plummets to a bone-rattling -74 degrees Fahrenheit, and the constant light is replaced by unending darkness. Air travel becomes impossible, and for the eight-month polar winter, no one can come to or leave the frozen continent.
That means no new supplies and no possibility of an evacuation in an emergency. (In 1999, a doctor working at the South Pole discovered a lump in her breast. She performed a biopsy on herself, enlisting the help of a welder she'd trained for the task. When the results were suspicious, she was forced to treat her own cancer until the weather changed.) Scientists spend most of the winter indoors, confined to the small research stations where they eat, work, and sleep.
"Although the environment outside is awesome and beautiful, after a while it gets a little monotonous, especially if you're looking at it only through the window," says Peter Suedfeld, a professor emeritus at the University of British Columbia who has studied the psychological effects of working in Antarctica and in space. "The food gets monotonous. The work gets monotonous."
It's enough to make someone crazy, and indeed it has. Explorer Frederick Cook wrote of the psychological struggles experienced by the members of his 1898-99 Antarctic expedition. "The curtain of blackness which has fallen over the outer world of icy desolation has descended upon the inner world of our souls," he wrote. Even though participants must undergo rigorous psychological screening, five percent still experience symptoms of a diagnosable psychiatric disorder, most commonly mood disorders.
Christian Otto, an emergency physician at the University of Ottawa, spent 370 straight days as the South Pole doctor. During his time there, he witnessed depression, anxiety, insomnia, and more. As the winter progressed he saw people withdraw into themselves, especially at mealtimes.
"The first month and a half, you'll go into the galley and there's a lot of camaraderie," Otto says. But a few months later, "it's completely barren. People come in, get their food, and go to their room. You see tension and irritability building."
Once, he came across a colleague suffering from what's known as "the polar stare." "I recall one individual who was having a complete out of body experience. Just staring off into space." Otto also vividly remembers a video chat he had with a friend back home. He remembers being struck by the wide smile on his friend's face. This "brightness," he says, "really contrasted with the mood of those in the station."
Given the connection between darkness and depression (psychologists have long known that insufficient sunlight can contribute to melancholy), it's not surprising that eight months without sunlight would influence mood. But work in the Antarctic has revealed another sanity saboteur: the cold. The thyroid gland, located in the neck, produces hormones that have a variety of functions, including regulating body temperature. During long-term exposure to cold, these hormones are so busy trying to keep the body warm that the brain, which also relies on these substances, gets shortchanged. "As a result, people begin to experience depression," says Lawrence Palinkas, professor of social work and anthropology at USC. "Cognitive functioning also suffers."
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