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<font size=4>I find that I must respond to this post—something which
rarely--- if ever--- I have done. In the course of an otherwise
excellent understanding and review of my colleague, David Smith's book
<i>Why We Lie</i>,</font><font face="Arial, Helvetica" size=4> a long
standing pet peeve of mine was introduced which I would like to
take the opportunity clarify. I do this because the object of my pet
peeve generally haunts the research on unconscious processing, and more
specifically continues to haunt my own work on unconscious
communications—which David so kindly cites. <br>
To wit: When the term ‘unconscious’ is encountered, it is most
always is automatically assumed to be of the Freudian kind. The
short of it is that while most psychoanalytic concepts are based in
unconscious processing, not all that is unconscious processing is based
in psychoanalysis (While all As are Bs, not all Bs are As).<br><br>
The concept of the unconscious was around before Freud (granted, he
systematized the concept within a specific framework). See, Ellenberger’s
<i>The Discovery of the Unconscious</i>, and LL Whyte’s <i>The
Unconscious Before Freud</i>. And certainly, modern concept of a
cognitive unconscious in cognitive science has a wealth of non Freudian
research and theory. <br><br>
</font>For an extended explanation of this issue, see my Chapter
Five, “Discovering Deep Listening: What Freud Didn’t Know But
Almost Did—and Should Have” of Haskell, R. E. (2001). <i>Deep
listening: Uncovering hidden meaning in conversations.</i>
Cambridge, MA: Perseus books.<br><br>
See also the following where I point out that unconscious communications
do not need to be linked to psychoanalytic theory. Haskell,
R.E. <font face="Arial, Helvetica" size=4> (1999). Unconscious
Communication: Communicative Psychoanalysis and Sub-literal
Cognition. <i>Journal of the American Academy of Psychoanalysis</i>, 27,
(3), 471-502.<x-tab> </x-tab> <br><br>
</font>See too, Chapter Twelve of : Haskell, R. E. (1999).
<i>Between the Lines: Unconscious meaning in everyday conversation</i>.
New York: Plenum/Insight Books (taken out of print by author but still
available on the web).<br><br>
Finally, see, the following framework for unconscious
communications. Haskell, R.E. .(2003) A Logico-mathematic,
Structural Methodology: Part I, [of III]. The Analysis and Validation of
Sub-literal (SubLit) Language and Cognition. Journal of Mind and
Behavior, 24 (3/4) 347-400.<br>
<br>
If list members are interested in this issue, I would more than gladly
cite some of the above material and clarify further. Thanks.<br><br>
<br><br>
At 11:00 AM 7/24/2005, Premise Checker wrote:<br>
<blockquote type=cite class=cite cite="">Thos. E. Dickins: A Necessary
Pain in the Heart<br>
<a href="http://human-nature.com/ep/reviews/ep03175178.html" eudora="autourl">
http://human-nature.com/ep/reviews/ep03175178.html</a><br>
5.7.10<br>
[Thanks to Laird for this.]<br><br>
Evolutionary Psychology 3: 175-178<br><br>
Book Review<br>
A Necessary Pain in the Heart*<br><br>
A Review of Why We Lie: The Evolutionary Roots of Deception
and the<br>
Unconscious Mind by David Livingstone Smith. New York: St
Martin's<br>
Press. ISBN 0-312-31039, 2004.<br><br>
Thomas E. Dickins, School of Psychology, University of East
London and<br>
Centre for Philosophy of Natural and Social Science, London
School of<br>
Economics, London E15 4LZ, United Kingdom.<br><br>
* This is a line from Stevie Wonder's song Ordinary Pain, on
his album<br>
Songs in the Key of Life, 1976. This song advocates a
stringent<br>
functionalism about emotional responses.<br><br>
Six years ago, at the annual Human Behaviour and Evolution
Society<br>
conference, I sat down to dinner with a group of fellow
evolutionary<br>
behavioural scientists. Everyone was in high conference
spirits and<br>
everyone at my table was male. Soon conversation moved from
social<br>
gossip about fellow delegates to talking about
relationships, and one<br>
of our number posed the question "does working in this
field hinder<br>
your romantic relationships?" The table was divided,
with half of the<br>
men claiming no influence whatsoever, for in those
intimate<br>
circumstances their behaviours simply played out naturally.
The other<br>
half saw knowledge about evolved mating behaviours as a
hindrance to<br>
their interactions, for they often failed to seize the
moment and<br>
instead went off-line and observed the interaction with a
critical<br>
eye. I placed myself in this latter camp.<br><br>
At the time the conversation was an amusing conceit and I
thought<br>
little more about it. But during the course of the following
six years<br>
my personal life continued and, as it turned out, my
relationship<br>
history unfolded somewhat unfortunately. When my wife and I
separated<br>
I quite naturally tried to think about the situation from
an<br>
evolutionary perspective and I asked myself whether I
could<br>
conceptualize the failure in our relationship in terms of
what I knew<br>
about mating decisions. Of course, I soon chastised myself
for trying<br>
to jump from statements about human universals to an
analysis of the<br>
fine-grained sequences of behaviour that constituted my
marriage.<br>
Nonetheless, I had started down a particular road in my
thinking. I<br>
did not understand the nature of the emotional pain I felt,
but I<br>
recognised that it was patterned; I did not understand my
motivations<br>
for saying certain things during the separation process, but
I saw<br>
that they achieved certain specific effects. Surely, these
things were<br>
not idiosyncratic to me and surely there must be a
functional story to<br>
tell about this aspect of psychology?<br><br>
Whilst I reflected on this I remembered the conversation at
the<br>
conference and realised that no one on the table had claimed
that an<br>
evolutionary perspective could help a relationship; the only
expressed<br>
options were no effect or hindrance. Perhaps, I rather
grandly<br>
reasoned, an evolutionary account of the emotions felt
around<br>
separation might form the foundation of a useful therapeutic
tool.<br>
During discussions with a number of patient colleagues, one
of them<br>
reminded me of Freud's ambitions. Freud had hoped to
integrate an<br>
account of personal-level psychological machinations with
contemporary<br>
neurological science. Freud, of course, failed in this
attempt but his<br>
expression of the problem can only be seen as
useful.<br><br>
Recently, Timothy D. Wilson (2002) has more formally
resurrected<br>
Freud's project in his book Strangers to Ourselves. The
subtitle of<br>
this book is Discovering the Adaptive Unconscious, which
captures<br>
Wilson's thesis that much of our psychology is unconscious
and adapted<br>
to solve specific problems. Our conscious, or
personal-level<br>
processing is perhaps best seen as a calibrational tool, or
set of<br>
tools, that finesses work done by the unconscious. In making
this<br>
claim, Wilson brings the Freudian project into contact with
modern<br>
evolutionary approaches. However, Wilson does not offer a
detailed<br>
adaptationist analysis of our unconscious psychology and
instead<br>
tantalisingly hints at a variety of possible functions that
are served<br>
by such processes. David Livingstone Smith's book, on the
other hand,<br>
sets out to achieve an adaptationist decomposition of at
least one<br>
aspect of our unconscious psychology; that which
delivers/underlies<br>
social manipulation.<br><br>
The first half of the book is an introduction to
evolutionary<br>
psychology and to theories of deception and self-deception.
It is from<br>
this half that the book gains its title. For those well
versed in<br>
evolutionary approaches to the behavioural sciences this can
be<br>
skipped: however, for those who are not, its light touch and
pace will<br>
bring them rapidly to a point Smith's core thesis can be
digested.<br><br>
It is as follows. We tell stories; or rather we construct
narratives<br>
about much of what goes on in our lives. These narratives
are for our<br>
own private consumption, to explain events as well as to
shape and<br>
predict futures. Our stories find public uses too, for they
act as<br>
communicative structures. However, most of our
conversational<br>
machinations are not, in fact, under personal-level control,
but<br>
instead are under the unconscious or sub-personal-level
control of a<br>
social module. This module is a domain-specific device, in
keeping<br>
with contemporary assumptions in Evolutionary Psychology,
and it<br>
delivers (small-p) political insight, in keeping with
the<br>
Machiavellian Intelligence Hypothesis, as well as more
general social<br>
scanning. The key point is that this module renders us
highly<br>
sensitive to other people and it influences our narration in
such a<br>
way as to deliver unintended messages. At the personal-level
we tell<br>
ourselves we are delivering message x, but our
sub-personal-level<br>
cognition is in fact causing us to send message y.<br><br>
An example of such coded communication happened when I once
entered a<br>
public house in the U.K. with a fellow academic. We were
engaged in a<br>
debate about some aspect of cognition, vigorously
disagreeing with<br>
each other while we found somewhere to sit. We eventually
perched on<br>
the edge of a shared bench and continued arguing, seemingly
oblivious<br>
to the world around us. At one point my antagonist, who had
grown<br>
frustrated with my line of argument, declared that
"your argument is<br>
about as useful as a one-armed man on a building site."
Sitting next<br>
to him, further along the bench, was a one-armed man who was
clearly<br>
manipulating pints, wallets, cash and handshakes in a
different manner<br>
than most. No one had mentioned this man, and my protagonist
claimed<br>
he had not even seen him; but, according to Smith, the
likelihood is<br>
that my colleague had seen him, had registered his loss of
an arm, and<br>
had had a series of thoughts about the consequences of such
an injury.<br>
Such features are of importance to a social animal, and
according to<br>
Smith, are the kind of thing we might comment on to the
extent that<br>
even if we do not directly discuss the issue, it will find a
way to be<br>
expressed in our conversation.<br><br>
Smith has many examples of situations in which public
pronouncements<br>
indirectly (and not always too subtly) convey messages about
key<br>
social facts. One striking example is of a conversation
among some of<br>
Smith's students. Three students had turned up to a class on
a harsh<br>
winter's morning, and the remaining four had not. Whilst
they were<br>
waiting for the class to start a conversation ensued that
included the<br>
following exchange:<br><br>
Amy<br>
: I heard a horrible story on the news, but I
can't remember what<br>
it was.<br><br>
Michelle<br>
: There was this guy who drove up into the
mountains with his<br>
three-year-old child. He went out hunting and
left the kid all by<br>
himself in the truck. When he came back his son
was frozen to<br>
death. He just went off to enjoy himself, and
when he came back his<br>
son was dead. (p. 129)<br><br>
Smith claims that this conversation was a coded way of
commenting on<br>
the absence of the other class members, and that the
"man in the story<br>
appears to stand for the absent students and his abandoned
child<br>
stands for the three students who turned up for class"
(p. 130). Amy<br>
and Michelle would not necessarily have been aware of this,
but their<br>
concerns were filtering through, none the less.<br><br>
It is clear from the above examples that Smith has retained
much of<br>
the Freudian project. Here we have an attempt to uncover
unconscious<br>
motivations by attending to the content of conversations,
which is<br>
reminiscent of psychoanalysis. Analysing conversations in
this manner,<br>
as Smith readily admits, appears to stretch credulity at
points: what<br>
external measure do we have to validate such claims?
Nonetheless,<br>
Smith is not putting this forward as a fait accomplis but
rather as an<br>
open hypothesis for future refining and testing.<br><br>
Smith's thesis presents an interesting counter to many
social<br>
scientists working in the constructionist tradition (see
Dickins, 2004<br>
for a discussion of this tradition and its weaknesses). In
its mild<br>
form this tradition claims that much of our knowledge about
the world<br>
is socially constructed in a language that does not directly
represent<br>
reality. Instead, we create narratives that reflect our
various<br>
interests, and that are malleable in the face of small-p and
big-p<br>
political forces. Such narration impairs our ability to
deliver<br>
objective knowledge about the world, according to some
theorists. A<br>
typical (and adequate) retort to this position is to
undermine the<br>
wholesale application of the concept of narration and
present some<br>
form of realist philosophy of science. Smith has extended
this reply<br>
by treating human narrative practices, in social situations,
as a<br>
phenomenon to be explained; as something that is patterned,
seemingly<br>
designed and therefore open to an adaptationist analysis.
Smith has in<br>
effect asked the question - "if we generate narratives
then what are<br>
their properties and how do we understand them?" His
answer is that<br>
they are highly social and indirect forms of communication
that are<br>
influenced by a Machiavellian module.<br><br>
Although the book is well written and engaging, it is not
entirely<br>
clear how to relate the discussions of deception with the
discussion<br>
of unconscious influences on our narratives. One possible
link is<br>
through the discussion of self-deception, in which Smith
outlines the<br>
familiar argument that the best way to deceive others is by
deceiving<br>
ourselves. In this way we are so certain of the untruth that
we will<br>
not give away any "tells" that might undermine the
necessary<br>
deception. Such an idea is clearly an aspect of the
relationship<br>
between personal- and sub-personal-level interactions;
but<br>
functionally this is quite distinct from the indirect
signalling<br>
functions of our narratives. At most, all that can be said
is that<br>
both deception and indirect signalling are about social
manipulation,<br>
but this is too coarse-grained analysis to yield a useful
evolutionary<br>
psychology. Instead it seems that Smith has discussed two
aspects of<br>
the evolutionary Freudian project.<br><br>
I opened this review by asking whether or not, as with the
original<br>
Freudian project, evolutionary psychology could ever hope to
deliver<br>
understanding of human troubles, and perhaps even some order
of<br>
therapeutic intervention. Smith has not attempted to do this
(despite<br>
a therapeutic background) but his thesis must surely be of
interest to<br>
those involved in the "talking therapies"; indeed,
some of Smith's<br>
examples come from therapeutic conversations. By turning
an<br>
adaptationist eye to the possible sub-textual social
signalling of our<br>
narratives we might begin to recognise patterns of
expression that are<br>
indicative of malaise and low-mood. We might also begin to
see how<br>
seemingly normal conversations between people, in whatever
form of<br>
relationship, are encoding and signalling discontent and
frustrations.<br>
Just as we are uncovering the necessary elements of
emotional pain, so<br>
we might uncover the ordinary sub-personal signals of
everyday<br>
conversation.<br><br>
References<br><br>
Dickins, T. E. (2004.) Social Constructionism as Cognitive
Science.<br>
Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour, 34 (4),
333-352<br><br>
Wilson, T. D. (2002) Strangers to Ourselves: Discovering the
Adaptive<br>
Unconscious. London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University
Press.<br><br>
Citation<br><br>
Dickins, T. E. (2005). A Necessary Pain in the Heart. A
Review of Why<br>
We Lie: The Evolutionary Roots of Deception and the
Unconscious Mind<br>
by David Livingstone Smith. Evolutionary Psychology,
3:175-178.<br><br>
[9]Thomas Dickins<br><br>
References<br><br>
9.
<a href="mailto:t.dickins@uel.ac.uk" eudora="autourl">
mailto:t.dickins@uel.ac.uk</a><br>
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