Authors: Frank Tallis
This discovery raised other issues. For example, if all incoming sensory information was given a thorough analysis, what happened to information that was analysed, but still not selected for entry into awareness? Could such information – now invested with meaning – influence the processing system in a more genera! sense?
It is interesting that, in spite of all the work conducted on perceptual defence, subception, and filter theories in the 1940s and 1950s, interest in preconscious processing diminished dramatically in the next decade. There are many reasons for this. Unfortunately, preconscious processing was still linked in the minds of many psychologists with the old psychoanalytic and romantic unconscious. To suggest that parts of the mind enjoyed a certain amount of independence smacked of hypnotism, spiritualism, and exotic sub-personalities. The nineteenth century in fact. In a post-war world keen to embrace a bright new future, many were disinclined to investigate a phenomenon that seemed tarnished by a somewhat disreputable past. Cognitive psychology had only just been provided with a powerful new metaphor and vocabulary – it wanted to distance itself from any hocus-pocus. Consequently a number of cognitive psychologists sought to enhance the scientific standing of their discipline by attacking any work purporting to examine the preconscious processing capacity of the brain.
Such criticism certainly had prima facie validity. Many argued that the unconscious plays a relatively minor role in the context of day-to-day mental functioning; therefore, logically, cognitive psychologists might be more profitably engaged in the study of more substantial phenomena (e.g. memory and reasoning). Moreover, they argued that the experimental procedures employed to investigate the unconscious militate against common sense. As a general principle, we are not affected by things that we don’t experience. If an unpleasant car accident occurs five miles away from our current location we do not feel any distress. Why should we be affected by events and information occurring beyond awareness? The idea that psychological and physical reactions might be provoked by exposing subjects to stimuli at such low intensities that they were effectively ‘not there’ seemed wholly implausible.
In a short space of time the official information-processing model of the brain rejected the unconscious altogether. It was assumed that unattended stimuli and latent memories were not capable of affecting conscious mental operations, and that the results of experimental studies suggesting otherwise could be dismissed on account of their poor design. (In other words, positive results had been mistakenly attributed to preconscious processing, when in fact they could be accounted for by other factors.)
Finally, in a decade dominated by liberal ideas, the concept of conducting experiments in which the participants are necessarily deceived was anathema. Clearly, in studies designed to investigate preconscious processing, experimental subjects cannot give informed consent with respect to their involvement. This would entail discussion of specific subliminal stimuli, thus undermining the subliminal nature of the experiment. Non-consensual experimentation seemed even more offensive after the so called ‘subliminal scandal’ of the late fifties. Subliminal messages were employed by an advertising company to increase food and drink consumption in American cinemas. (This affair will be examined more closely in
Chapter 9
.) The subsequent furore helped to bury research into preconscious processing for the next decade – or so it appeared.
In 1971 Norman Dixon published
Subliminal Perception: The Nature of a Controversy.
In this comprehensive work, Dixon carefully examined the evidence for subliminal perception; it was later much expanded and reissued in 1981 as
Preconscious Processing.
This encyclopaedic review is not only an outstanding work of scholarship but also a kind of ark. It ensured the survival of important work that might otherwise have sunk into obscurity. This is particularly true of many studies conducted during the period when research into preconscious processing had become deeply unfashionable.
Fortunately, Norman Dixon was an individual who displayed a healthy disregard for academic fashions and partisan squabbles. This may have had something to do with his unusual background. Before opting to study psychology in 1950, Dixon had experienced ten years of service in the Royal Engineers, nine of which were as a regular officer in the bomb-disposal team. During this time, he was severely wounded (requiring the amputation of an arm). Even so, Dixon possessed an extraordinary, sanguine temperament, and cheerily maintained that he had sustained the wound through his own incompetence. He later demonstrated a gift for rescuing something positive from personal misfortune by writing an original and entertaining book titled
On the Psychology of Military Incompetence
(1976) – a work highly regarded by the military. In 1974 Dixon was awarded the University of London Carpenter Medal for work of exceptional distinction in experimental psychology.
In the foreword to
On the Psychology of Military Incompetence
Brigadier Shelford Bidwell describes Dixon as ‘a bold man’, with a character ‘moulded in a corps where intellect habitually meets danger’. When Dixon chose to champion preconscious processing, he chose an area where, again, intellectual demands habitually met danger.
Preconscious Processing
is a highly erudite work which expertly guides the reader across an academic minefield. Just the kind of accomplishment that one would expect from a man all too familiar with the consequences of making a wrong move in a hostile environment.
Dixon’s conclusions are solidly in favour of the reality of preconscious processing. He suggests that, typically, preconscious processing involves a sophisticated analysis of subliminally presented information. Moreover, sub-liminally presented stimuli – presented in any sensory modality – may have a marked effect on the conscious mind. Perception, motivation, thought, and emotional state, can all be influenced by subliminal stimuli, as can the functioning of memory, the content of dreams, and the progress of a psychiatric illness. Dixon also suggested that experimental evidence favoured the somewhat counterintuitive view that subliminal presentations of decreasing intensity are accompanied by larger effects. In other words, the more brief or faint the subliminal exposure, the more significant its consequences.
Dixon supports his conclusions by examining a vast body of experimental research, some of it little known and dating back to the nineteenth century. Moreover, Dixon draws from several and diverse sources. Unlike many partisan theorists, he is comfortable with both psychoanalytic and cognitive frameworks. Consequently processes that operate outside awareness are viewed with welcome neutrality. The terms unconscious and preconscious processing had acquired very different connotations: the former associated with the hot, teeming world of the id and the latter associated with the cool, mechanical world of the computer. However, in many respects, the two terms are merely different ways of describing the same stratum of mental life. Thus, in Dixon’s work, Freudian concepts are discussed in chapters that also include flow charts showing the serial processing of information.
Dixon’s theoretical equanimity is characteristic of a trend that developed in the 1970s, which involved the re-examination of Freudian ideas through the lens of contemporary cognitive psychology. Guided by the computer metaphor, theorists were talking about filtering and selectivity rather than censorship; executive processes instead of the ego; working memory instead of consciousness. Suddenly, there were routines, sub-routines, programmes, and software, rather than psychic structures and agencies of the mind. The new vocabulary helped legitimise discussion of certain Freudian ideas that only a few decades earlier had been rejected as absurd and unscientific. Thus, the psychoanalytic edifice was renovated. Its fussy nineteenth-century ornamentation was removed, giving it a sparer appearance, more pieasing to modern preferences. Once this process was complete many theorists were able to consider the concept of the unconscious again with a clear scientific conscience, and many subsequently concluded that something vital had been missing from mainstream models of the human mind for many years.
Although mainstream psychology had taken a dim view of the unconscious during the 1960s, cognitive psychology had in fact produced models of the mind which assumed preconscious processing stages without ever making these explicit. Certain boxes in their flow diagrams were not shown – but must necessarily precede the stages of processing described in other boxes. The renovation of psychoanalytic ideas had made discussion of the unconscious acceptable again. It was now possible to believe in the unconscious without loss of credibility. Consequently the unconscious – as described using the new vocabulary-was reintroduced into mainstream academic textbooks. It was soon permissible to say things that Freud himself would have agreed with – but without being in any sense a Freudian. By the early 1980s textbooks had begun to suggest that conscious phenomena had perhaps been overemphasised as most mental operations must necessarily take place outside of awareness. In an extraordinary U-turn, preconscious processing was not only uncontroversial but a fundamental feature of virtually al! information-processing models of the mind.
The old distinction between conscious and unconscious domains was subsequently reformulated in terms of
controlled
and
automatic
processing. The former is initiated by an act of will, is maintained through sustained effort, and progresses in a serial fashion. The latter is likely to be triggered by environmental demands or stimuli, is maintained without effort, and can involve procedures that progress in parallel. Calculating an arithmetic sum is a typical example of controlled processing whereas driving a car on a familiar route is a typical example of automatic processing. The first task requires conscious attention while the second requires virtually none. A skilled driver on a familiar route can concentrate on a conversation or listen to the radio while all the physical movements necessary for driving are simultaneously co-ordinated in response to continuously changing environmental demands, without conscious effort.
The concept of automatic, unconscious processes operating in the brain had appeared erratically in philosophy, psychology, and neurology since Leibniz; however, the computer metaphor allowed such processes to be understood in a more satisfying way. They could be construed as a program. Once initiated, automatic processes tend to run a predetermined course unless interrupted. The fact that such automatic programs exist in the brain was supported by work on what came to be known as
control
or
capture errors.
When distracted or preoccupied, people often do things that they don’t mean to. For example, they might absent-mindedly open a cupboard door, switch on a light, or put on a second pair of glasses. When unintentional actions take place they tend to be selected from a repertoire of very common action patterns. It is as though, while consciousness is otherwise engaged, a triggering stimulus is analysed outside of awareness and accidentally ‘switches on’ a program that can automatically orchestrate a routine set of connected behaviours. The program may run to completion, or, alternatively, the program might be interrupted if the person becomes aware that he or she is functioning on ‘autopilot’.
Some automatic programs are clearly innate – for example the program in the brain responsible for keeping the heart beating; however, automatic programs of the kind so far discussed – the kind activated while opening cupboards or driving cars – are clearly learned. First, the elements of the skill are co-ordinated through controlled processes; however, after much rehearsal, performing the skill requires less and less mental effort. Eventually the skill is executed more or less automatically. Indeed, what we call proficiency is really the degree to which a skill has become automated. It is interesting to note that when a highly complex skill has become automated, individuals lose the ability to explain how it is performed. Professional athletes and musicians, for example, are notoriously bad at analysing their own abilities. Moreover, they tend to shy away from self-analysis because self-awareness during the operation of automated skills seems to cause problems – mistakes are made more frequently. Once a program has been installed in the unconscious it is best left alone.
The tendency for skills to become automated seems to reflect a general principle that guides the operation of the brain. As soon as a skill is learned, it is automated as swiftly as possible. This makes a great deal of sense, because consciousness – although limited and slow – is absolutely necessary when it comes to dealing with new situations. Controlled processes are essential for planning and the acquisition of new skills. Consequently, achieving maximum availability of controlled processing resources is extremely useful.
From an evolutionary perspective this arrangement has obvious advantages. An organism that deals with familiar situations quickly and efficiently, but is always ready to adapt to new challenges, is surely optimising its chances of survival.
Once again, the transfer of skills from conscious to unconscious domains was reflected in a procedure familiar to computer technicians –
knowledge compilation.
This is the procedure that changes the format in which data is represented.
Automated behaviour suggests blind, mechanical processes – implying that the unconscious is not very intelligent; however, blind, mechanical processes, when operating quickly and in parallel, are capable of producing remarkable results. A particularly good example is the so-called
time-gap experience.
After a long journey it is not uncommon for motorists (and particularly long-distance lorry drivers) to arrive at a destination and have no conscious recollection of how they got there. When the conscious mind is absent without leave, the unconscious can take the wheel and demonstrate extraordinary levels of competence.