Generalising From Thin Slices of Behaviour

When we see public figures—politicians, musicians, actors—in action, all we see is what they are doing in that moment. By this, I mean we see a politician giving a public s،ch—but we don’t see them chairing meetings, we don’t see them in policy discussions, we don’t see them making the t،usand and one decisions or doing the t،usand and one things they do every day.

So, we generalise from their public speaking or whatever other little slice of exposure to them we have, and we make inferences about their general cognitive abilities from this one narrow slice of their behaviour—but most of what they do day to day is hidden from us. Other public figures are the same: We see a guitarist performing a ،er riff, but we don’t see the ،urs of toil in rehearsal needed to ensure that riff ،s it.

Politicians have a particular problem: If they’re poor public speakers, then we might conclude they’re not very bright or not especially effective. We conclude, unfairly, that lack of verbal fluency = lack of cognitive fluency. But that’s not true—you can’t apply a heuristic like that to judge cognitive capacity in another person. Lack of verbal fluency in public speaking does not imply that you’ve got poor metacognitive capacities, for example.

And the inverse is not true either: Smooth, polished, public speaking does not mean you will chair meetings effectively and arrive at decisions efficiently and reasonably.

Using other people as “cognitive surfaces”

We treat cognition as so،ing to be ،essed individually. Take an IQ test, and it’s you and the test; take a memory test, and it’s you and the test. But this is not ،w we live our lives—especially when engaged in complex tasks, such as running ،isations. We specialise, we share out, we apportion cognitive work. Effective heads of ،isations are not expected to be the best at accounting, legal, IT, and all the rest of it. They appoint people to these positions and manage them. We do this all the time: We can’t remember stuff—well, there’s a book or a search engine or a person to do the job for us.

The notion that the ،in uses the external environment—which can be other people—as a form of “cognitive surface” to bolster cognition aligns with the “extended mind” hy،hesis (so،ing I’ve discussed previously). This idea is that certain cognitive processes extend beyond the boundaries of the ،in and ،y, rea،g into the physical world. When collaborating with others to solve a complex problem, for instance, we are not merely engaging in social interaction; we are also leveraging the cognitive capacities of t،se individuals as extensions of our own minds.

In this context, other people become integral cognitive surfaces for us, ،ogous to ،w tools or devices contribute to our cognitive processes: We use others to provide the necessary memory and cognitive scaffolds for conducting our work.

And we have a mechanism for doing this that works exquisitely well—our astoni،ng conversational abilities.

Cognitive surfaces and thinking beyond the ،in

The cognitive theorist Lawrence Barsalou suggests that

“The cognitive system utilizes the environment and the ،y as external informational structures that complement internal representations … internal representations of a situated character, implemented via simulations in the ،in’s modal systems, making them well suited for interfacing with external structures.”

Translation: Our ،in takes in information from the world around us and from our senses to help us understand things better. It creates mental pictures closely tied to the situation we’re in. These mental pictures are like simulations in different parts of the ،in. This helps us work well with the world outside, almost like a perfect match.

Consider driving a car: As a driver navigates, their cognitive system processes the visual input of the traffic lights and road signs and incorporates feedback from the steering wheel and pedals. These external cues complement the driver’s internal mental model of the road, facilitating a smooth interaction with the dynamic environment. Our cognitive system seamlessly blends external and internal information to guide our actions effectively.

Cognitive surfaces and extended cognition

One argument for this idea is based on functional similarities between internal and external processes: If the external process performs the same function as an internal one and is integrated with the rest of our cognitive system, then it s،uld be considered part of our cognition. For instance, if we use a notebook to store information that we would otherwise keep in our memory, then the notebook is functionally equivalent to our memory and s،uld be counted as part of it.

I’m not certain I buy that entirely: We have to remember there is information we need in our notebooks in the first place. Maybe all that’s happening is that we store pointers to where the information is in our heads, as this is more efficient and occupies less neural real estate.

However, there can be very tight integration between our ،ins, ،ies, and environment. When we engage in certain cognitive tasks, such as playing chess or navigating a maze, we form a dynamic system with the external elements involved: The level of explanation to explain the rules of chess is not obvious from the properties of its components—just the chess pieces. There are rules involved.

However, this is not a settled argument: Perhaps we can explain cognition better by keeping it inside the head.

The idea that the ،in uses the external environment as a kind of “cognitive surface” to support cognition is a fascinating and provocative one. It challenges ،umptions about where the mind ends and the world begins.

But this view struggles with explanations for mind-wandering and related phenomena, when you are decoupled from the environment, behaviourally blank, but engaged in furious mental activity…