23The Extended Mind
Andy Clark and David J. Chalmers, Analysis 58(1), pp. 7–19, 1998
Linked to 17 chapters: supports 8 · contradicts 4 · mechanism 7 · same claim 3 · pairing 1
Where does the mind stop and the rest of the world begin? Clark and Chalmers open with that question and decline both of the answers usually given to it. One draws the line at skin and skull. The other, impressed by the argument that the meanings of our words are not in the head, lets externalism about meaning carry over into externalism about mind. Their third position is an active externalism, resting on the part the environment plays in driving cognitive processes as they happen. The argument comes in two stages. The first is about process: a player of Tetris who presses the rotate button rather than turning the shape in imagination is doing outside the head what would be called thinking if it were done inside. The second is about states: Otto, who has Alzheimer's disease and carries a notebook everywhere, believes the museum is on 53rd Street in the same sense that Inga, who remembers the address, believes it. It then asks how far the thesis reaches, names the four features of Otto's case that make the ascription clear, and ends with a self it takes to be extended too.
Extended cognition
The argument begins with three people at a computer screen, each asked whether a two-dimensional shape will fit a socket. The first must judge the fit by rotating the shape mentally. The second can either do that or press a button that rotates the image on the screen, which is somewhat faster. The third, in a cyberpunk future, has a neural implant that rotates as fast as the computer, and must choose which internal resource to spend attention on. All three, Clark and Chalmers say, are on a par. The implant case is plainly cognition, and the button case has the same computational structure, distributed across person and machine instead of packed inside the person. To call it different in kind one would have to point at the boundary of skin and skull, which is exactly what is in question.
The first two cases are not hypothetical. They are the options open to a player of Tetris, where falling shapes must be steered quickly into a slot in the structure building up below. David Kirsh and Paul Maglio measured both routes in 1994: rotating a shape through ninety degrees on screen takes about 100 milliseconds, plus about 200 to select the button, against about 1000 milliseconds to rotate it in the head. Players also rotate a piece not only to line it up but to work out whether it fits at all. An action of that sort Kirsh and Maglio call epistemic: it changes the world to aid recognition and search, as against a pragmatic action, wanted for the change itself. Long multiplication on paper and letter tiles rearranged in Scrabble divide the labour the same way.
Epistemic action, Clark and Chalmers argue, demands a spread of epistemic credit. The rule they state has since been called the parity principle. If, as we confront some task, a part of the world functions as a process which, "were it done in the head, we would have no hesitation in recognizing" as part of the cognitive process, then that part of the world is part of the cognitive process. The principle tests consistency rather than resemblance: it asks what would be said of a process whose location was unknown, and forbids the answer to change once it is given.
Active externalism
In these cases the organism is linked to an external entity in a two-way interaction, and the two together make a coupled system that can be treated as cognitive in its own right. Remove the external component and the system's competence drops, as it would if part of the brain were removed.
This is not the externalism of Putnam and Burge. There, the external features that make my belief about water differ from my twin's are distal and historical: teleport me to Twin Earth and my beliefs still concern ordinary water, because of my history. Those features are passive, driving nothing in the present, which is why the twins' actions are physically indistinguishable and why many have complained that such content does no explanatory work. Clark and Chalmers decline to settle that dispute and note only that their own position is untouched by it, since holding internal structure fixed and changing the external features can change behaviour completely. Their footnote sharpens the difference: the question worth asking may not be whether mind is in the head but whether mind is in the present.
Two objections are taken up. The first, that cognition is conscious while a notebook is not, settles nothing, since much that is uncontroversially cognitive is already unconscious: memory retrieval, linguistic processing, the acquisition of skill. The second is portability, behind which lies a picture the authors call the Naked Mind, a package of resources available for any task, which coupled systems fall short of because they are too easily decoupled. The moral of that intuition, they reply, is that coupling must be reliable, not that it must be internal. A calculator or a Filofax that is always there when needed is coupled reliably enough, and the biological brain is itself vulnerable to damage and loses capacities in sleep, intoxication and emotion. It may in any case have evolved on the assumption of a manipulable environment, the example they press being the sea of words a child grows up inside: language complements inner states rather than mirroring them.
From cognition to mind
A reader might grant all this about processing while holding that the genuinely mental — experiences, beliefs, desires — stays in the head. The second stage denies that for belief. Inga hears of an exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art, recalls that the museum is on 53rd Street, and walks there; she believed the address before she consulted her memory, and that the belief was not occurrent is true of most of our beliefs. Otto has Alzheimer's disease and keeps a notebook: new information goes in, old information is looked up. He hears of the same exhibition, consults the notebook, and walks to 53rd Street. He too, Clark and Chalmers say, believed the address before he looked, because the notebook plays for him the role memory plays for Inga. The alternative credits him with a belief about what the notebook says plus the accessible fact of what it says, an extra term that would then have to appear in every explanation of every action the notebook figures in. It is one step too many: "in an explanation, simplicity is power."
Twin Otto sharpens it: a duplicate of Otto from the skin in, he wrote 51st Street by mistake and so believes the museum is on 51st. The twins of Putnam and Burge behave identically; these two walk to different streets.
The differences an opponent might appeal to are then worked through and found shallow. Inga's access is more reliable, though not perfectly: a surgeon might tamper with her brain, and she might have too much to drink. Otto's comes and goes — he showers without the notebook and cannot read it in the dark — but Inga's belief is not said to vanish while she sleeps, and what counts is availability when the information is needed. His link to the notebook is lower in bandwidth, but Lucy, whose biological memory connects poorly to her central systems, believes all the same. His access is perceptual, but from the standpoint of the system in question the flow between notebook and brain is not perception at all.
The authors offer no account of standard usage and do not care to argue about it. Their claim is that belief ought to be used in the wider way, because so used it picks out something closer to a natural kind: deeper, more unified, more useful in explanation.
Beyond the outer limits
If the thesis is accepted, how far does it go? The puzzle cases arrive at once: the amnesic villagers of One Hundred Years of Solitude, who hang labels on everything; a Filofax; the Internet. There are no categorical answers, the authors say, and they attempt none. They name instead the features of the central case that make the ascription clear there.
The notebook is a constant in Otto's life: where its contents are relevant, he rarely acts without consulting it. Its information is directly available without difficulty. On retrieval he automatically endorses what he finds. And what is there was consciously endorsed in the past and is there because of that endorsement. The fourth they immediately qualify — beliefs might be acquired through subliminal perception or through tampering with memory — and they rest the case on the first three. Constancy and past endorsement also make history partly constitutive of belief, a cost they flag rather than pay.
The ascription falls off gradually as the features drop away. A Filofax consulted as a matter of course stands where Otto's notebook stands; one whose owner often answers relevant questions with "I don't know" does not. The Internet is likely to fail on several counts at once, unless its user is unusually reliant, facile and trusting. Other people can serve as well, where there is trust, reliance and accessibility: in an interdependent couple one partner's beliefs may play for the other the role the notebook plays for Otto.
The last question is the self. Most of us already accept that the self outruns consciousness, since dispositional beliefs are part of who we are; those boundaries may then fall beyond the skin as well. Otto is best regarded as a coupling of organism and external resources, and to resist that, the authors argue, one would have to shrink the self to a bundle of occurrent states and give up its psychological continuity. Two consequences are noted in passing and left there: interfering with someone's environment may carry the moral significance of interfering with their person, and some of what we classify as communication might be better classified as thought.
Since 1998
The paper carries almost no evidence of its own; its one set of measurements is borrowed from Kirsh and Maglio, and its standing has come from the objections it provoked. A footnote on the first page lists the two authors in order of degree of belief in the thesis, which puts Clark first.
Fred Adams and Kenneth Aizawa made the durable objection: the argument slides from coupling to constitution, and a process coupled to a cognitive system is not thereby part of one. Robert Rupert pressed a different line in 2004: the wider notion of memory is not the better one, since organismic memory has well-established properties a notebook does not share, so a science covering both would predict less. The reply that has worn best is John Sutton's, that external resources earn their place by being unlike biological memory rather than by resembling it, which puts complementarity where parity was. Clark carried the thesis into Natural-Born Cyborgs in 2003 and Supersizing the Mind in 2008, then moved to predictive processing, where the boundary question returns as a question about which loops the brain's predictions run through.
The experiments arrived later and test the conditions rather than the thesis. Betsy Sparrow and colleagues reported in 2011 that people who expect information to stay available remember it less well and remember where to find it better. Evan Risko and Sam Gilbert gathered that work under the name cognitive offloading, and it turns the first three features into measured variables: whether a reminder is set depends on the load, on how reliable the external store is taken to be, and on a person's confidence in their own memory rather than on its accuracy.
What the conditions were not written for is the store that nobody wrote. Otto's notebook holds what Otto put there, which is why automatic endorsement is reasonable and prior conscious endorsement available as a fourth feature at all. A store filled by other hands satisfies constancy and availability while breaking both endorsement conditions — the difficulty the authors saw coming in the one sentence they spent on the Internet.