Mental Effort

If you wish to experience your System 2 working at full tilt, the following
exercise will do; it should br"0%e ca Tting you to the limits of your cognitive
abilities within 5 seconds. To start, make up several strings of 4 digits, all
different, and write each string on an index card. Place a blank card on top
of the deck. The task that you will perform is called Add-1. Here is how it
goes:
Start beating a steady rhythm (or better yet, set a metronome at
1/sec). Remove the blank card and read the four digits aloud.
Wait for two beats, then report a string in which each of the
original digits is incremented by 1. If the digits on the card are
5294, the correct response is 6305. Keeping the rhythm is
important.
Few people can cope with more than four digits in the Add-1 task, but if
you want a harder challenge, please try Add-3.
If you would like to know what your body is doing while your mind is hard
at work, set up two piles of books on a sturdy table, place a video camera
on one and lean your chin on the other, get the video going, and stare at
the camera lens while you work on Add-1 or Add-3 exercises. Later, you
will find in the changing size of your pupils a faithful record of how hard you
worked.
I have a long personal history with the Add-1 task. Early in my career I
spent a year at the University of Michigan, as a visitor in a laboratory that
studied hypnosis. Casting about for a useful topic of research, I found an
article in Scientific American in which the psychologist Eckhard Hess
described the pupil of the eye as a window to the soul. I reread it recently
and again found it inspiring. It begins with Hess reporting that his wife had
noticed his pupils widening as he watched beautiful nature pictures, and it
ends with two striking pictures of the same good-looking woman, who
somehow appears much more attractive in one than in the other. There is
only one difference: the pupils of the eyes appear dilated in the attractive
picture and constricted in the other. Hess also wrote of belladonna, a pupildilating
substance that was used as a cosmetic, and of bazaar shoppers
who wear dark glasses in order to hide their level of interest from
merchants.
One of Hess’s findings especially captured my attention. He had noticed
that the pupils are sensitive indicators of mental effort—they dilate
substantially when people multiply two-digit numbers, and they dilate more
if the problems are hard than if they are easy. His observations indicated
that the response to mental effort is distinct from emotional arousal. Hess’s
work did not have much to do with hypnosis, but I concluded that the idea
of a visible indication of mental effort had promise as a research topic. A
graduate student in the lab, Jackson Beatty, shared my enthusiasm and we
got to work.
Beatty and I developed a setup similar to an optician’s examination
room, in which the experimental participant leaned her head on a chin-andforehead
rest and stared at a camera while listening to prerecorded
information and answering questions on the recorded beats of a
metronome. The beats triggered an infrared flash every second, causing a
picture to be taken. At the end of each experimental session, we would
rush to have the film developed, project the images of the pupil on a
screen, and go to work with a ruler. The method was a perfect fit for young
and impatient researchers: we knew our results almost immediately, and
they always told a clear story.
Beatty and I focused on paced tasks, such as Add-1, in which we knew
precisely what was on the subject’s mind at any time. We recorded strings
of digits on beats of the metronome and instructed the subject to repeat or
transform the digits one indigits onby one, maintaining the same rhythm.
We soon discovered that the size of the pupil varied second by second,
reflecting the changing demands of the task. The shape of the response
was an inverted V. As you experienced it if you tried Add-1 or Add-3, effort
builds up with every added digit that you hear, reaches an almost
intolerable peak as you rush to produce a transformed string during and
immediately after the pause, and relaxes gradually as you “unload” your
short-term memory. The pupil data corresponded precisely to subjective
experience: longer strings reliably caused larger dilations, the
transformation task compounded the effort, and the peak of pupil size
coincided with maximum effort. Add-1 with four digits caused a larger
dilation than the task of holding seven digits for immediate recall. Add-3,
which is much more difficult, is the most demanding that I ever observed. In
the first 5 seconds, the pupil dilates by about 50% of its original area and
heart rate increases by about 7 beats per minute. This is as hard as
people can work—they give up if more is asked of them. When we
exposed our subjects to more digits than they could remember, their pupils
stopped dilating or actually shrank.
We worked for some months in a spacious basement suite in which we
had set up a closed-circuit system that projected an image of the subject’s
pupil on a screen in the corridor; we also could hear what was happening
in the laboratory. The diameter of the projected pupil was about a foot;
watching it dilate and contract when the participant was at work was a
fascinating sight, quite an attraction for visitors in our lab. We amused
ourselves and impressed our guests by our ability to divine when the
participant gave up on a task. During a mental multiplication, the pupil
normally dilated to a large size within a few seconds and stayed large as
long as the individual kept working on the problem; it contracted
immediately when she found a solution or gave up. As we watched from
the corridor, we would sometimes surprise both the owner of the pupil and
our guests by asking, “Why did you stop working just now?” The answer
from inside the lab was often, “How did you know?” to which we would
reply, “We have a window to your soul.”
The casual observations we made from the corridor were sometimes as
informative as the formal experiments. I made a significant discovery as I
was idly watching a woman’s pupil during a break between two tasks. She
had kept her position on the chin rest, so I could see the image of her eye
while she engaged in routine conversation with the experimenter. I was
surprised to see that the pupil remained small and did not noticeably dilate
as she talked and listened. Unlike the tasks that we were studying, the
mundane conversation apparently demanded little or no effort—no more
than retaining two or three digits. This was a eureka moment: I realized that
the tasks we had chosen for study were exceptionally effortful. An image
came to mind: mental life—today I would speak of the life of System 2—is
normally conducted at the pace of a comfortable walk, sometimes
interrupted by episodes of jogging and on rare occasions by a frantic
sprint. The Add-1 and Add-3 exercises are sprints, and casual chatting is
a stroll.
We found that people, when engaged in a mental sprint, may become
effectively blind. The authors of The Invisible Gorilla had made the gorilla
“invisible” by keeping the observers intensely busy counting passes. We
reported a rather less dramatic example of blindness during Add-1. Our
subjects were exposed to a series of rapidly flashing letters while they
worked. They were told to give the task complete priority, but they were
also asked to report, at the end of the digit task, whether the letter K had
appeared at any rored at antime during the trial. The main finding was that
the ability to detect and report the target letter changed in the course of the
10 seconds of the exercise. The observers almost never missed a K that
was shown at the beginning or near the end of the Add-1 task but they
missed the target almost half the time when mental effort was at its peak,
although we had pictures of their wide-open eye staring straight at it.
Failures of detection followed the same inverted-V pattern as the dilating
pupil. The similarity was reassuring: the pupil was a good measure of the
physical arousal that accompanies mental effort, and we could go ahead
and use it to understand how the mind works.
Much like the electricity meter outside your house or apartment, the
pupils offer an index of the current rate at which mental energy is used. The
analogy goes deep. Your use of electricity depends on what you choose to
do, whether to light a room or toast a piece of bread. When you turn on a
bulb or a toaster, it draws the energy it needs but no more. Similarly, we
decide what to do, but we have limited control over the effort of doing it.
Suppose you are shown four digits, say, 9462, and told that your life
depends on holding them in memory for 10 seconds. However much you
want to live, you cannot exert as much effort in this task as you would be
forced to invest to complete an Add-3 transformation on the same digits.
System 2 and the electrical circuits in your home both have limited
capacity, but they respond differently to threatened overload. A breaker
trips when the demand for current is excessive, causing all devices on that
circuit to lose power at once. In contrast, the response to mental overload
is selective and precise: System 2 protects the most important activity, so
it receives the attention it needs; “spare capacity” is allocated second by
second to other tasks. In our version of the gorilla experiment, we
instructed the participants to assign priority to the digit task. We know that
they followed that instruction, because the timing of the visual target had no
effect on the main task. If the critical letter was presented at a time of high
demand, the subjects simply did not see it. When the transformation task
was less demanding, detection performance was better.
The sophisticated allocation of attention has been honed by a long
evolutionary history. Orienting and responding quickly to the gravest threats
or most promising opportunities improved the chance of survival, and this
capability is certainly not restricted to humans. Even in modern humans,
System 1 takes over in emergencies and assigns total priority to selfprotective
actions. Imagine yourself at the wheel of a car that unexpectedly
skids on a large oil slick. You will find that you have responded to the threat
before you became fully conscious of it.
Beatty and I worked together for only a year, but our collaboration had a
large effect on our subsequent careers. He eventually became the leading
authority on “cognitive pupillometry,” and I wrote a book titled Attention and
Effort, which was based in large part on what we learned together and on
follow-up research I did at Harvard the following year. We learned a great
deal about the working mind—which I now think of as System 2—from
measuring pupils in a wide variety of tasks.
As you become skilled in a task, its demand for energy diminishes.
Studies of the brain have shown that the pattern of activity associated with
an action changes as skill increases, with fewer brain regions involved.
Talent has similar effects. Highly intelligent individuals need less effort to
solve the same problems, as indicated by both pupil size and brain activity.
A general “law of least effort” appd t” alies to cognitive as well as physical
exertion. The law asserts that if there are several ways of achieving the
same goal, people will eventually gravitate to the least demanding course
of action. In the economy of action, effort is a cost, and the acquisition of
skill is driven by the balance of benefits and costs. Laziness is built deep
into our nature.
The tasks that we studied varied considerably in their effects on the
pupil. At baseline, our subjects were awake, aware, and ready to engage
in a task—probably at a higher level of arousal and cognitive readiness
than usual. Holding one or two digits in memory or learning to associate a
word with a digit (3 = door) produced reliable effects on momentary
arousal above that baseline, but the effects were minuscule, only 5% of the
increase in pupil diameter associated with Add-3. A task that required
discriminating between the pitch of two tones yielded significantly larger
dilations. Recent research has shown that inhibiting the tendency to read
distracting words (as in figure 2 of the preceding chapter) also induces
moderate effort. Tests of short-term memory for six or seven digits were
more effortful. As you can experience, the request to retrieve and say aloud
your phone number or your spouse’s birthday also requires a brief but
significant effort, because the entire string must be held in memory as a
response is organized. Mental multiplication of two-digit numbers and the
Add-3 task are near the limit of what most people can do.
What makes some cognitive operations more demanding and effortful
than others? What outcomes must we purchase in the currency of
attention? What can System 2 do that System 1 cannot? We now have
tentative answers to these questions.
Effort is required to maintain simultaneously in memory several ideas
that require separate actions, or that need to be combined according to a
rule—rehearsing your shopping list as you enter the supermarket,
choosing between the fish and the veal at a restaurant, or combining a
surprising result from a survey with the information that the sample was
small, for example. System 2 is the only one that can follow rules, compare
objects on several attributes, and make deliberate choices between
options. The automatic System 1 does not have these capabilities. System
1 detects simple relations (“they are all alike,” “the son is much taller than
the father”) and excels at integrating information about one thing, but it
does not deal with multiple distinct topics at once, nor is it adept at using
purely statistical information. System 1 will detect that a person described
as “a meek and tidy soul, with a need for order and structure, and a
passion for detail” resembles a caricature librarian, but combining this
intuition with knowledge about the small number of librarians is a task that
only System 2 can perform—if System 2 knows how to do so, which is true
of few people.
A crucial capability of System 2 is the adoption of “task sets”: it can
program memory to obey an instruction that overrides habitual responses.
Consider the following: Count all occurrences of the letter f in this page.
This is not a task you have ever performed before and it will not come
naturally to you, but your System 2 can take it on. It will be effortful to set
yourself up for this exercise, and effortful to carry it out, though you will
surely improve with practice. Psychologists speak of “executive control” to
describe the adoption and termination of task sets, and neuroscientists
have identified the main regions of the brain that serve the executive
function. One of these regions is involved whenever a conflict must be
resolved. Another is the prefrontal area of the brain, a region that is
substantially more developed in humans tht un humans an in other
primates, and is involved in operations that we associate with intelligence.
Now suppose that at the end of the page you get another instruction:
count all the commas in the next page. This will be harder, because you will
have to overcome the newly acquired tendency to focus attention on the
letter f. One of the significant discoveries of cognitive psychologists in
recent decades is that switching from one task to another is effortful,
especially under time pressure. The need for rapid switching is one of the
reasons that Add-3 and mental multiplication are so difficult. To perform
the Add-3 task, you must hold several digits in your working memory at the
same time, associating each with a particular operation: some digits are in
the queue to be transformed, one is in the process of transformation, and
others, already transformed, are retained for reporting. Modern tests of
working memory require the individual to switch repeatedly between two
demanding tasks, retaining the results of one operation while performing
the other. People who do well on these tests tend to do well on tests of
general intelligence. However, the ability to control attention is not simply a
measure of intelligence; measures of efficiency in the control of attention
predict performance of air traffic controllers and of Israeli Air Force pilots
beyond the effects of intelligence.
Time pressure is another driver of effort. As you carried out the Add-3
exercise, the rush was imposed in part by the metronome and in part by
the load on memory. Like a juggler with several balls in the air, you cannot
afford to slow down; the rate at which material decays in memory forces
the pace, driving you to refresh and rehearse information before it is lost.
Any task that requires you to keep several ideas in mind at the same time
has the same hurried character. Unless you have the good fortune of a
capacious working memory, you may be forced to work uncomfortably
hard. The most effortful forms of slow thinking are those that require you to
think fast.
You surely observed as you performed Add-3 how unusual it is for your
mind to work so hard. Even if you think for a living, few of the mental tasks
in which you engage in the course of a working day are as demanding as
Add-3, or even as demanding as storing six digits for immediate recall.
We normally avoid mental overload by dividing our tasks into multiple easy
steps, committing intermediate results to long-term memory or to paper
rather than to an easily overloaded working memory. We cover long
distances by taking our time and conduct our mental lives by the law of
least effort.
Speaking of Attention and Effort
“I won’t try to solve this while driving. This is a pupil-dilating task. It
requires mental effort!”
“The law of least effort is operating here. He will think as little as
possible.”
“She did not forget about the meeting. She was completely
focused on something else when the meeting was set and she
just didn’t hear you.”
“What came quickly to my mind was an intuition from System 1. I’ll
have to start over and search my memory deliberately.”