The Extended Mind: The Power of Thinking Outside the Brain

by Annie Murphy Paul

In all too many books the reader can sense the seated body, doubled up, stooped, shriveled in on itself.” My seated body shifted guiltily in its chair, which it had occupied all morning. Far more conducive to the act of creation, Gros continues, is “the walking body”—which, he says, is “unfolded and tensed like a bow: opened to wide spaces like a flower to the sun.” Nietzsche, he reminds us, wrote that we should “sit as little as possible; do not believe any idea that was not born in the open air and of free movement.” The philosophers were ganging up on me; I closed my laptop and went for a walk.

In all too many books the reader can sense the seated body, doubled up, stooped, shriveled in on itself.” My seated body shifted guiltily in its chair, which it had occupied all morning. Far more conducive to the act of creation, Gros continues, is “the walking body”—which, he says, is “unfolded and tensed like a bow: opened to wide spaces like a flower to the sun.” Nietzsche, he reminds us, wrote that we should “sit as little as possible; do not believe any idea that was not born in the open air and of free movement.” The philosophers were ganging up on me; I closed my laptop and went for a walk.

Our culture insists that the brain is the sole locus of thinking, a cordoned-off space where cognition happens, much as the workings of my laptop are sealed inside its aluminum case. This book argues otherwise: it holds that the mind is something more like the nest-building bird I spotted on my walk, plucking a bit of string here, a twig there, constructing a whole out of available parts. For humans these parts include, most notably, the feelings and movements of our bodies; the physical spaces in which we learn and work; and the other minds with which we interact—our classmates, colleagues, teachers, supervisors, friends.

Our culture insists that the brain is the sole locus of thinking, a cordoned-off space where cognition happens, much as the workings of my laptop are sealed inside its aluminum case. This book argues otherwise: it holds that the mind is something more like the nest-building bird I spotted on my walk, plucking a bit of string here, a twig there, constructing a whole out of available parts. For humans these parts include, most notably, the feelings and movements of our bodies; the physical spaces in which we learn and work; and the other minds with which we interact—our classmates, colleagues, teachers, supervisors, friends.

our history books spin tales that attribute world-changing breakthroughs to individual men, thinking great thoughts on their own. Yet a parallel narrative has existed in front of us all along—a kind of secret history of thinking outside the brain. Scientists, artists, authors; leaders, inventors, entrepreneurs: they’ve all used the world as raw material for their trains of thought. This book aims to exhume that hidden saga, reclaiming its rightful place in any full accounting of how the human race has achieved its remarkable feats of intellect and creativity.

our history books spin tales that attribute world-changing breakthroughs to individual men, thinking great thoughts on their own. Yet a parallel narrative has existed in front of us all along—a kind of secret history of thinking outside the brain. Scientists, artists, authors; leaders, inventors, entrepreneurs: they’ve all used the world as raw material for their trains of thought. This book aims to exhume that hidden saga, reclaiming its rightful place in any full accounting of how the human race has achieved its remarkable feats of intellect and creativity.

it’s the stuff outside our heads that makes us smart—a proposition with enormous implications for what we do in education, in the workplace, and in our everyday lives.

it’s the stuff outside our heads that makes us smart—a proposition with enormous implications for what we do in education, in the workplace, and in our everyday lives.

Over many years of elementary school, high school, and even college and graduate school, we’re never explicitly taught to think outside the brain; we’re not shown how to employ our bodies and spaces and relationships in the service of intelligent thought. Yet this instruction is available if we know where to look; our teachers are the artists and scientists and authors who have figured out these methods for themselves, and the researchers who are, at last, making these methods the object of study.

Over many years of elementary school, high school, and even college and graduate school, we’re never explicitly taught to think outside the brain; we’re not shown how to employ our bodies and spaces and relationships in the service of intelligent thought. Yet this instruction is available if we know where to look; our teachers are the artists and scientists and authors who have figured out these methods for themselves, and the researchers who are, at last, making these methods the object of study.

Our society is facing unprecedented challenges, and we’ll need to think well in order to solve them. The brainbound paradigm now so dominant is clearly inadequate to the task; everywhere we look we see problems with attention and memory, with motivation and persistence, with logical reasoning and abstract thinking. Truly original ideas and innovations seem scarce; engagement levels at schools and in companies are low; teams and groups struggle to work together in an effective and satisfying way.

Our society is facing unprecedented challenges, and we’ll need to think well in order to solve them. The brainbound paradigm now so dominant is clearly inadequate to the task; everywhere we look we see problems with attention and memory, with motivation and persistence, with logical reasoning and abstract thinking. Truly original ideas and innovations seem scarce; engagement levels at schools and in companies are low; teams and groups struggle to work together in an effective and satisfying way.

The modern world is extraordinarily complex, bursting with information, built around non-intuitive ideas, centered on concepts and symbols. Succeeding in this world requires focused attention, prodigious memory, capacious bandwidth, sustained motivation, logical rigor, and proficiency with abstractions. The gap between what our biological brains are capable of, and what modern life demands, is large and getting larger each day. With every experimental discovery, the divide between the scientific account of the world and our intuitive “folk” understanding grows more pronounced. With every terabyte of data swelling humanity’s store of knowledge, our native faculties are further outstripped. With every twist of complexity added to the world’s problems, the naked brain becomes more unequal to the task of solving them.

The modern world is extraordinarily complex, bursting with information, built around non-intuitive ideas, centered on concepts and symbols. Succeeding in this world requires focused attention, prodigious memory, capacious bandwidth, sustained motivation, logical rigor, and proficiency with abstractions. The gap between what our biological brains are capable of, and what modern life demands, is large and getting larger each day. With every experimental discovery, the divide between the scientific account of the world and our intuitive “folk” understanding grows more pronounced. With every terabyte of data swelling humanity’s store of knowledge, our native faculties are further outstripped. With every twist of complexity added to the world’s problems, the naked brain becomes more unequal to the task of solving them.

We urge ourselves and others to grit it out, bear down, “just do it”—to think harder. But, as we often find to our frustration, the brain is made of stubborn and unyielding stuff, its vaunted plasticity notwithstanding. Confronted by its limits, we may conclude that we ourselves (or our children or our students or our employees) are simply not smart enough, or not “gritty” enough. In fact, it’s the way we handle our mental shortcomings—which are, remember, endemic to our species—that is the problem. Our approach constitutes an instance of (as the poet William Butler Yeats put it in another context) “the will trying to do the work of the imagination.” The smart move is not to lean ever harder on the brain but to learn to reach beyond it.

We urge ourselves and others to grit it out, bear down, “just do it”—to think harder. But, as we often find to our frustration, the brain is made of stubborn and unyielding stuff, its vaunted plasticity notwithstanding. Confronted by its limits, we may conclude that we ourselves (or our children or our students or our employees) are simply not smart enough, or not “gritty” enough. In fact, it’s the way we handle our mental shortcomings—which are, remember, endemic to our species—that is the problem. Our approach constitutes an instance of (as the poet William Butler Yeats put it in another context) “the will trying to do the work of the imagination.” The smart move is not to lean ever harder on the brain but to learn to reach beyond it.

Our efforts at education and training, as well as management and leadership, are aimed almost exclusively at promoting brainbound thinking. Beginning in elementary school, we are taught to sit still, work quietly, think hard—a model for mental activity that will prevail during all the years that follow, through high school and college and into the workplace. The skills we develop and the techniques we are taught are those that involve using our heads: committing information to memory, engaging in internal reasoning and deliberation, endeavoring to self-discipline and self-motivate. Meanwhile, there is no corresponding cultivation of our ability to think outside the brain—no instruction, for instance, in how to tune in to the body’s internal signals, sensations that can profitably guide our choices and decisions. We’re not trained to use bodily movements and gestures to understand highly conceptual subjects like science and mathematics, or to come up with novel and original ideas. Schools don’t teach students how to restore their depleted attention with exposure to nature and the outdoors, or how to arrange their study spaces so that they extend intelligent thought. Teachers and managers don’t demonstrate how abstract ideas can be turned into physical objects that can be manipulated and transformed in order to achieve insights and solve problems. Employees aren’t shown how the social practices of imitation and vicarious learning can shortcut the process of acquiring experti...

Our efforts at education and training, as well as management and leadership, are aimed almost exclusively at promoting brainbound thinking. Beginning in elementary school, we are taught to sit still, work quietly, think hard—a model for mental activity that will prevail during all the years that follow, through high school and college and into the workplace. The skills we develop and the techniques we are taught are those that involve using our heads: committing information to memory, engaging in internal reasoning and deliberation, endeavoring to self-discipline and self-motivate. Meanwhile, there is no corresponding cultivation of our ability to think outside the brain—no instruction, for instance, in how to tune in to the body’s internal signals, sensations that can profitably guide our choices and decisions. We’re not trained to use bodily movements and gestures to understand highly conceptual subjects like science and mathematics, or to come up with novel and original ideas. Schools don’t teach students how to restore their depleted attention with exposure to nature and the outdoors, or how to arrange their study spaces so that they extend intelligent thought. Teachers and managers don’t demonstrate how abstract ideas can be turned into physical objects that can be manipulated and transformed in order to achieve insights and solve problems. Employees aren’t shown how the social practices of imitation and vicarious learning can shortcut the process of acquiring experti...

the historical, cultural, and psychological bases of our assumptions about the mind—that its properties are individual, inherent, and readily ranked according to quality—give them a powerful punch. Such assumptions have profoundly shaped the views we hold on the nature of mental activity, on the conduct of education and work, and on the value we place on ourselves and others. It’s therefore startling to contemplate that the whole lot of it could be misconceived.

the historical, cultural, and psychological bases of our assumptions about the mind—that its properties are individual, inherent, and readily ranked according to quality—give them a powerful punch. Such assumptions have profoundly shaped the views we hold on the nature of mental activity, on the conduct of education and work, and on the value we place on ourselves and others. It’s therefore startling to contemplate that the whole lot of it could be misconceived.

the kind of information we must deal with is increasingly specialized and abstract. This difference in kind is especially significant. The knowledge and skills that we are biologically prepared to learn have been outstripped by the need to acquire a set of competencies that come far less naturally and are acquired with far more difficulty. David Geary, a professor of psychology at the University of Missouri, makes a useful distinction between “biologically primary” and “biologically secondary” abilities. Human beings, he points out, are born ready to learn certain things: how to speak the language of the local community, how to find their way around a familiar landscape, how to negotiate the challenges of small-group living. We are not born to learn the intricacies of calculus or the counterintuitive rules of physics; we did not evolve to understand the workings of the financial markets or the complexities of global climate change. And yet we dwell in a world where such biologically secondary capacities hold the key to advancement, even survival. The demands of the modern environment have now met, and exceeded, the limits of the biological brain.

the kind of information we must deal with is increasingly specialized and abstract. This difference in kind is especially significant. The knowledge and skills that we are biologically prepared to learn have been outstripped by the need to acquire a set of competencies that come far less naturally and are acquired with far more difficulty. David Geary, a professor of psychology at the University of Missouri, makes a useful distinction between “biologically primary” and “biologically secondary” abilities. Human beings, he points out, are born ready to learn certain things: how to speak the language of the local community, how to find their way around a familiar landscape, how to negotiate the challenges of small-group living. We are not born to learn the intricacies of calculus or the counterintuitive rules of physics; we did not evolve to understand the workings of the financial markets or the complexities of global climate change. And yet we dwell in a world where such biologically secondary capacities hold the key to advancement, even survival. The demands of the modern environment have now met, and exceeded, the limits of the biological brain.

A team of scientists who set out to evaluate all the peer-reviewed intervention studies cited on the websites of leading brain-training companies could find “little evidence” within those studies “that training improves everyday cognitive performance.”

A team of scientists who set out to evaluate all the peer-reviewed intervention studies cited on the websites of leading brain-training companies could find “little evidence” within those studies “that training improves everyday cognitive performance.”

WE CAN BETTER grasp the future of thinking outside the brain by taking a look back at the time when the idea first emerged. In 1997, Andy Clark—then a professor of philosophy at Washington University in St. Louis, Missouri—left his laptop behind on a train. The loss of his usually ever-present computer hit him, he later wrote, “like a sudden and somewhat vicious type of (hopefully transient) brain damage.” He was left “dazed, confused, and visibly enfeebled—the victim of the cyborg equivalent of a mild stroke.” The experience, distressing as it was, provided fodder for a notion he had been pondering for some time. His computer, he realized, had in a sense become a part of his mind, an integral element of his thinking processes. His mental capacities were effectively extended by the use of his laptop, allowing his brain to overachieve—to think more efficiently and effectively, more intelligently, than it could without the device. His brain plus his computer equaled his mind, extended.

WE CAN BETTER grasp the future of thinking outside the brain by taking a look back at the time when the idea first emerged. In 1997, Andy Clark—then a professor of philosophy at Washington University in St. Louis, Missouri—left his laptop behind on a train. The loss of his usually ever-present computer hit him, he later wrote, “like a sudden and somewhat vicious type of (hopefully transient) brain damage.” He was left “dazed, confused, and visibly enfeebled—the victim of the cyborg equivalent of a mild stroke.” The experience, distressing as it was, provided fodder for a notion he had been pondering for some time. His computer, he realized, had in a sense become a part of his mind, an integral element of his thinking processes. His mental capacities were effectively extended by the use of his laptop, allowing his brain to overachieve—to think more efficiently and effectively, more intelligently, than it could without the device. His brain plus his computer equaled his mind, extended.

research in the vein of the extended mind finds that experts actually do more experimenting, more testing, and more backtracking than beginners. They are more apt than novices to make skillful use of their bodies, of physical space, and of relationships with others. In most scenarios, researchers have found, experts are less likely to “use their heads” and more inclined to extend their minds—a habit that the rest of us can learn to emulate on our way to achieving mastery.

research in the vein of the extended mind finds that experts actually do more experimenting, more testing, and more backtracking than beginners. They are more apt than novices to make skillful use of their bodies, of physical space, and of relationships with others. In most scenarios, researchers have found, experts are less likely to “use their heads” and more inclined to extend their minds—a habit that the rest of us can learn to emulate on our way to achieving mastery.

Our schools, our workplaces, the very structure of our society are based on the assumption that some people are able to think more intelligently than others. The reason for such individual differences is taken as self-evident: obviously it’s because those people are smarter—because they have more of the stuff called “intelligence” inside their heads. Research on the extended mind points to a different explanation. That is: some people are able to think more intelligently because they are better able to extend their minds. They may have more knowledge about how mental extension works, the kind of knowledge that this book aims to make accessible. But it’s also indisputable that the extensions that allow us to think well—the freedom to move one’s body, say, or the proximity of natural green spaces; control over one’s personal workspace, or relationships with informed experts and accomplished peers—are far from equally distributed. When reading the chapters that follow, we should keep in mind the way access, or lack of access, to mental extensions might be shaping the thinking of our students, employees, co-workers, and fellow citizens.

Our schools, our workplaces, the very structure of our society are based on the assumption that some people are able to think more intelligently than others. The reason for such individual differences is taken as self-evident: obviously it’s because those people are smarter—because they have more of the stuff called “intelligence” inside their heads. Research on the extended mind points to a different explanation. That is: some people are able to think more intelligently because they are better able to extend their minds. They may have more knowledge about how mental extension works, the kind of knowledge that this book aims to make accessible. But it’s also indisputable that the extensions that allow us to think well—the freedom to move one’s body, say, or the proximity of natural green spaces; control over one’s personal workspace, or relationships with informed experts and accomplished peers—are far from equally distributed. When reading the chapters that follow, we should keep in mind the way access, or lack of access, to mental extensions might be shaping the thinking of our students, employees, co-workers, and fellow citizens.

TO UNDERSTAND HOW interoception can act as such a rich repository, it’s important to recognize that the world is full of far more information than our conscious minds can process. Fortunately, we are also able to collect and store the volumes of information we encounter on a non-conscious basis. As we proceed through each day, we are continuously apprehending and storing regularities in our experience, tagging them for future reference. Through this information-gathering and pattern-identifying process, we come to know things—but we’re typically not able to articulate the content of such knowledge or to ascertain just how we came to know it. This trove of data remains mostly under the surface of consciousness, and that’s usually a good thing. Its submerged status preserves our limited stores of attention and working memory for other uses.

TO UNDERSTAND HOW interoception can act as such a rich repository, it’s important to recognize that the world is full of far more information than our conscious minds can process. Fortunately, we are also able to collect and store the volumes of information we encounter on a non-conscious basis. As we proceed through each day, we are continuously apprehending and storing regularities in our experience, tagging them for future reference. Through this information-gathering and pattern-identifying process, we come to know things—but we’re typically not able to articulate the content of such knowledge or to ascertain just how we came to know it. This trove of data remains mostly under the surface of consciousness, and that’s usually a good thing. Its submerged status preserves our limited stores of attention and working memory for other uses.

“Nonconscious information acquisition,” as Lewicki calls it, along with the ensuing application of such information, is happening in our lives all the time. As we navigate a new situation, we’re scrolling through our mental archive of stored patterns from the past, checking for ones that apply to our current circumstances. We’re not aware that these searches are under way; as Lewicki observes, “The human cognitive system is not equipped to handle such tasks on the consciously controlled level.” He adds, “Our conscious thinking needs to rely on notes and flowcharts and lists of ‘if-then’ statements—or on computers—to do the same job which our non-consciously operating processing algorithms can do without external help, and instantly.”

“Nonconscious information acquisition,” as Lewicki calls it, along with the ensuing application of such information, is happening in our lives all the time. As we navigate a new situation, we’re scrolling through our mental archive of stored patterns from the past, checking for ones that apply to our current circumstances. We’re not aware that these searches are under way; as Lewicki observes, “The human cognitive system is not equipped to handle such tasks on the consciously controlled level.” He adds, “Our conscious thinking needs to rely on notes and flowcharts and lists of ‘if-then’ statements—or on computers—to do the same job which our non-consciously operating processing algorithms can do without external help, and instantly.”

when a potentially relevant pattern is detected, it’s our interoceptive faculty that tips us off: with a shiver or a sigh, a quickening of the breath or a tensing of the muscles. The body is rung like a bell to alert us to this useful and otherwise inaccessible information. Though we typically think of the brain as telling the body what to do, just as much does the body guide the brain with an array of subtle nudges and prods. (One psychologist has called this guide our “somatic rudder.”) Researchers have even captured the body in mid-nudge, as it alerts its inhabitant to the appearance of a pattern that she may not have known she was looking for.

when a potentially relevant pattern is detected, it’s our interoceptive faculty that tips us off: with a shiver or a sigh, a quickening of the breath or a tensing of the muscles. The body is rung like a bell to alert us to this useful and otherwise inaccessible information. Though we typically think of the brain as telling the body what to do, just as much does the body guide the brain with an array of subtle nudges and prods. (One psychologist has called this guide our “somatic rudder.”) Researchers have even captured the body in mid-nudge, as it alerts its inhabitant to the appearance of a pattern that she may not have known she was looking for.

The body not only grants us access to information that is more complex than what our conscious minds can accommodate. It also marshals this information at a pace that is far quicker than our conscious minds can handle. The benefits of the body’s intervention extend well beyond winning a card game; the real world, after all, is full of dynamic and uncertain situations, in which there is no time to ponder all the pros and cons. If we rely on the conscious mind alone, we lose.

The body not only grants us access to information that is more complex than what our conscious minds can accommodate. It also marshals this information at a pace that is far quicker than our conscious minds can handle. The benefits of the body’s intervention extend well beyond winning a card game; the real world, after all, is full of dynamic and uncertain situations, in which there is no time to ponder all the pros and cons. If we rely on the conscious mind alone, we lose.

recent research suggests a rather astonishing possibility: the body can be more rational than the brain.

recent research suggests a rather astonishing possibility: the body can be more rational than the brain.

a technique she calls “shuttling”—moving one’s focus back and forth between what is transpiring internally and what is going on outside the body. Such shifts are useful in ensuring that we are neither too caught up in external events nor too overwhelmed by our internal feelings, but instead occupy a place of balance that incorporates input from both realms. This alternation of attention can be practiced at relaxed moments until it becomes second nature: a continuously repeated act of checking in that provides a periodic infusion of interoceptive information. The point is to keep in close contact with our internal reality at all times—to train ourselves “to pay attention and notice what’s happening while it’s happening,”

a technique she calls “shuttling”—moving one’s focus back and forth between what is transpiring internally and what is going on outside the body. Such shifts are useful in ensuring that we are neither too caught up in external events nor too overwhelmed by our internal feelings, but instead occupy a place of balance that incorporates input from both realms. This alternation of attention can be practiced at relaxed moments until it becomes second nature: a continuously repeated act of checking in that provides a periodic infusion of interoceptive information. The point is to keep in close contact with our internal reality at all times—to train ourselves “to pay attention and notice what’s happening while it’s happening,”

AN AWARENESS OF our interoceptive signals can assist us in making sounder decisions and in rebounding more readily from stressful situations. It can also allow us to enjoy a richer and more satisfying emotional life. Research finds that people who are more interoceptively attuned feel their emotions more intensely, while also managing their emotions more adeptly.

AN AWARENESS OF our interoceptive signals can assist us in making sounder decisions and in rebounding more readily from stressful situations. It can also allow us to enjoy a richer and more satisfying emotional life. Research finds that people who are more interoceptively attuned feel their emotions more intensely, while also managing their emotions more adeptly.

we can choose to reappraise debilitating “stress” as productive “coping.” A 2010 study carried out with Boston-area undergraduates looked at what happens when people facing a stressful experience are informed about the positive effects of stress on our thinking—that is, the way it can make us more alert and more motivated. Before taking the GRE, the admissions exam for graduate school, one group of students was given the following message to read: “People think that feeling anxious while taking a standardized test will make them do poorly on the test. However, recent research suggests that arousal doesn’t hurt performance on these tests and can even help performance. People who feel anxious during a test might actually do better. This means that you shouldn’t feel concerned if you do feel anxious while taking today’s GRE test. If you find yourself feeling anxious, simply remind yourself that your arousal could be helping you do well.” A second group received no such message before taking the exam. Three months later, when the students’ GRE scores were released, the students who had been encouraged to reappraise their feelings of stress scored an average of 65 points higher.

we can choose to reappraise debilitating “stress” as productive “coping.” A 2010 study carried out with Boston-area undergraduates looked at what happens when people facing a stressful experience are informed about the positive effects of stress on our thinking—that is, the way it can make us more alert and more motivated. Before taking the GRE, the admissions exam for graduate school, one group of students was given the following message to read: “People think that feeling anxious while taking a standardized test will make them do poorly on the test. However, recent research suggests that arousal doesn’t hurt performance on these tests and can even help performance. People who feel anxious during a test might actually do better. This means that you shouldn’t feel concerned if you do feel anxious while taking today’s GRE test. If you find yourself feeling anxious, simply remind yourself that your arousal could be helping you do well.” A second group received no such message before taking the exam. Three months later, when the students’ GRE scores were released, the students who had been encouraged to reappraise their feelings of stress scored an average of 65 points higher.

Research suggests that looking our conversational partner directly in the eye increases our interoceptive attunement, as does a brief touch on the hand or the arm.

Thinkers have long mused on how it is that we can regard ourselves as unique and persistently existing entities. “What makes me the same person throughout my life, and a different person from you?” wondered the late philosopher Derek Parfit. Their answers have usually had something to do with the brain—with our thoughts or our memories. As the French philosopher René Descartes declared, “I think, therefore I am.” According to neuroanatomist and interoception expert A. D. Craig, it would be more accurate to say, “I feel, therefore I am.” Craig maintains that interoceptive awareness is the basis of the “material me,” the source of our most fundamental knowledge of ourselves. Because our hearts beat, because our lungs expand, because our muscles stretch and our organs rumble—and because all these sensations, unique to us, have carried on without interruption since the day of our birth—we know what it is to be one continuous self, to be ourselves and no other. Interoception, says Craig, is nothing less than “the feeling of being alive.”

moving our bodies changes the way we think. Scientists have long known that overall physical fitness supports cognitive function; people who have fitter bodies generally have keener minds. In recent years, however, researchers have begun to explore an exciting additional possibility: that single bouts of physical activity can enhance our cognition in the short term. By moving our bodies in certain ways, that is, we’re immediately able to think more intelligently.

Children spend an average of 50 percent of the school day sitting, a proportion that increases as they enter adolescence. Adults in the workplace move even less, remaining seated for more than two-thirds of the average workday. We inherited a “mind on the hoof,” in the phrase of philosopher Andy Clark—but in today’s classrooms and offices, the vigorous clatter of hoofs has come to an eerie halt.