by Paul Pietsch
He tested his hypothesis on monkeys with what he called "the alternating test," a modified version of the shell game as he describes it.[23]
In the alternating test, the monkey sits in front of two inverted cups, one with a peanut under it, the other not. To win the peanut, the monkey must turn up the cup opposite the winning choice on the last trial (thus the name 'alternating'). At the end of a trial a screen descends, blocking the monkey's view of the cups and remaining down anywhere from a few seconds to several hours. Monkeys find the game easy, and, after a little experience, readily win peanuts, even after the screen has been down all day long. But following frontal lobotomy, Pribram found the monkey "will fail at this simple task even when the interval between trials is reduced to three seconds."[24]
It occurred to Pribram that "perhaps the task appears to these monkeys much as an unparsed passage does to us." What would happen, he wondered, if he organized the message for the lobotomized monkey? He thought he could do the parsing by alternating short and long pauses between trials. In the original test the interval between trials was randomly selected (for statistical prudence). Now, though, the animal would sit in front of the cups, as before, and would again win a peanut by selecting the cup opposite the correct choice on the previous trial. But the screen would remain down for either 5 or 15 seconds. Alternating short and long pauses was to akin to converting an amorphous sequence, as for example LRLRLRLR, into sets like (L+R) (L+R) (L+R), the 5-second pauses representing the plus signs and the 15-second pauses the parentheses.
How did the lobotomized monkeys make out? In Pribram's words, "immediately the monkeys with frontal cortex damage performed as successfully as the control animals whose brains were intact."[25]
Pribram's findings have practical implications that go beyond far beyond the frontal lobe. It might be possible to develop strategies to assist a damaged brain in carrying out functions it has only apparently lost. Such clinical strategies could conceivably evolve from exercises like finding the common denominator in the functions of the rat versus human hippocampi.
***
Primates seem to parse information rather well in comparison to other highly intelligent organisms. The forward growth of the cerebrum, a hominoid characteristic, would seem to coincide with parsing capabilities. But potential pitfalls await us if we oversimplify any brain function. Consider this anecdote Alexander Luria relates about the English neurologist Sir William Gower.
Gower had a patient with a speech aphasia that surfaced when the person tried to repeat certain words, 'no' being one of them. During one session, after several failed attempts to repeat Gower's sentence, the patient became exasperated and declared: "No doctor, I can't say 'no.'"[26]
It was as though Gower's patient housed at least two disconnected mental universes. (The observation seems akin to split brain.[27]) Obviously, if the two independent universes can't communicate, they can't integrate (or parse, for that matter). The psychologist, Julian Jaynes[28] has proposed that human consciousness evolved, and history dawned en passant, following the development of new connections between the left and right temporal lobes[29]. A capacity for acute self-awareness, Jaynes cogently argues, is a cardinal characteristic of present-day human beings. According to Jaynes, when a prehistoric person reported, for instance, hearing the voice of the gods, he or she probably heard himself or herself without recognizing the actual source. Our ancestors, in the Jaynes's theory, had "bicameral" minds--minds like the U. S. Congress divided into a Senate and House.
I don't know if Jaynes is right or wrong. (And I have no advice as to how to test his hypothesis experimentally.) But the harmonious blending of mentalities, like Buster and animals in the looking up-experiments, is consistent with the hologramic principle of independence--but on a cosmic scale. The smooth, continuous blending of one universe with another is something the hologramic continuum can do very easily, in theory. Nor would we need a lobotomy to separate dimensions; that could be done with signals producing the equivlance of desgructive interference--jamming!
***
In chapter 8, when we were optically simulating calculations, I demonstrated that identical phase-dependent memories can be produced both a priori and a posteriori. Thus one principle we can infer directly from hologramic theory is that the ancient argument between rationalists and empiricists (i.e., whether ideas are innate or learned) is a phony issue in the quest of mind-brain. On the one hand, we can use learning rates to evaluate memory from but can't define or reduce the hologramic mind to learning and experience. Conversely, the question of whether nature or nurture or a combination of both create(s) a given memory is something we have to establish from empirical evidence, not a priori with our theory. Yet the empirical evidence contains many surprises that often appear contradictory and preposterous in the absence of a theoretical explanation. Let's consider two examples: language and social behavior.
***
Until about thirty years ago, nothing seemed less innate and more dependent on experience than the grammars of human languages. Yet one fundamental tenet of contemporary theoretical linguistics is that all human languages develop from common, universal, a priori rules of syntax.[30] Since many specific languages and cultures have emerged and developed in total isolation from others, yet exhibit common rules, those rules must be present at birth, so the reasoning goes.
If we accept the latter idea, does it necessarily follow that the genes determine grammar? Maybe. But in terms of constructing a phase code, there's at least one other possibility: imprinting during interuterine life. It this sounds wacky, consider the fact that the behavior of ducklings can be profoundly influenced by sounds they hear while still unhatched, in the egg.[31]
We, as fetuses, receive sonar vibrations set up by our mother's voice and her heartbeat. The rhythm of the heart and the resonance of the human vocal apparatus share common features independent of culture, and the modulating effects of the human body would be the same whether Mom lives on Madagascar or Manhattan. Now, I'm not asserting that this heart-beat hypothesis is correct. Hologramic theory really doesn't provide the answer. But it would be very useful to know if interuterine experiences can set the stage for the development of language. Science aside, imagine what a poet could do with the idea that language has its genesis not in our embryonic head but in the hearts of our original host.
***
A sizable and controversial body of literature exists on the language capabilities of gorillas and chimpanzees. [32] Some critics of the idea define human language in such a way that, by definition, the sign language and symbolic capabilities exhibited by apes are 'behavior,' not 'language.' Hologramic theory won't resolve the controversy. But if a gorilla and a man encode and transform the same phase spectrum, they hold a similar thought, whether its the sensation of an itchy back or the statement, "I'm famished!" Still, if we invoke the hologramic principle of dimension and also admit the existence of local constants, we would not reduce the ape's and the man's behaviors to "the same thing."
***
Turning to social behavior, nothing seemed less learned and more instinctive to the experts of a generation ago than the social behaviors of nonhuman animals. Herds, coveys, packs, bands, prides, schools....tend to exhibit rigid, stereotypic order, showing the same attributes today as when the particular strain of the species first evolved. But much evidence of social ambiance within animal groups has come to the fore, especially since Jane Goodall's work with chimps and George Schaller's studies of mountain gorillas put ethology on the map in the 1960s.[33] One study I'm particularly fond, by an ethologist named Gray Eaton, involved a troop of Japanese monkeys.
Eaton had relocated from southern Japan to a large fenced-in field in Oregon. Social behavior in these animals is highly structured with a dominance order among females as well as males. At the top of the entire troop is the co-called alpha male, which a collaborator of mine, Carl Schneider, use to call, "the Boss." What makes for the Boss? Is he the monkey with the sharpest
fangs, quickest fists, meanest temperament, highest concentration of blood testosterone? In Eaton's troop, the Boss was a monkey known as Arrowhead. And nobody messed Arrowhead. Nobody!
Yet Arrowhead was a one-eyed, puny little guy who would have had a tough time in a fight with most females, let alone any of the other alphas. Eaton even found lower blood levels of male sex hormone in Arrowhead than among some of his subordinates. Nor was he aggressive; didn't strut around displaying his penis; didn't beat up on other monkeys to show everybody else who was in charge. The troop didn't respect Arrowhead's primacy because of a machismo he really didn't have but because of a highly complex interplay of social behaviors and group learning! And the circumstantial evidence suggested that his position in the troop was an outcome of the females' dominance order. The play of baby monkeys often turns into furious if diminutive combat. Now mother monkey is highly protective. Howls for help from two small disputants usually bring two angry females head-to-head. Of course, the weaker mother usually takes her little brat by the arm and scrams, leaving the field to the stronger female and her infant. Monkeys with weak mothers grow up learning to run away. Of course, the male monkey with the dominant mother grows up expecting others to yield to his wishes, which they tend to do.
Maternalism doesn't end as the male monkey matures. Eaton described Red Witch, who help establish her grown son as the second-ranking member of the troop. The son had challenged the second-ranking male who was the tougher the two. But when her son cried out for help, Red Witch came running. She jumped into the fight and together they established sonny as number two monkey.
Curiously, Red Witch didn't make her son the Boss. Scrawny Arrowhead was no match for her. The study didn't really answer the question. But the prospects challenging Arrowhead seemed like one of those critical taboos that, violated in a human society, often leads to downfall of the community.
Look at it like this. The job of the Boss is to lead the troop from imminent danger. He must know the direction from which a hungry leopard may suddenly appear and the quickest possible escape route. Should a threat come, the Boss must direct an orderly and efficient retreat: mothers and infants first, he and his hefty lieutenants last, to put up a fight and, if necessary, die to save the troop (and their gene pool). Somewhere in the intricate behavior of the group, even Red Witch leaned not to mess with the Boss of her troop.
***
Jane Goodfield is an historian who has raised insightful questions about science and scientific ideas. "Why, with very few exceptions," she once wrote, "have these themes or these people never stimulated great works of literature or art?"[34] She went on to observe, "somehow sciences manages to extract the warmth and beauty from the world."[35]
June Goodfield's words make me feel guilty, and I wish I could deny her contention. But I can't. And I used to wonder if hologramic theory would so perfect our understanding of mind-brain as to let no place in the human psyche for art. Has science finally claimed the last major mystery in Nature? Is mind now fated to become perfected and boring -- and dehumanized?
I'm not really sure. But I began to phrase the question in terms of what hologramic theory suggests about intelligence. The result was the final two chapters of this book.
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chapter eleven
Intelligent Holograms
"CIVILIZATION, LIKE LIFE," wrote Durant, "is perpetual struggle with death."[1] The powerful urge to survive against the worst possible odds is one of the birthmark of intelligence, even intelligence in its most primitive form. A block of granite is far better able to survive than the mightiest among us. Yet when the shadow of a sledge hammer cuts across its surface, the stone is utterly helpless in the face of the impending blow. The granite block plays no active role in its own destiny. But even a micro-intelligence can perceive danger while the peril is still abstract. Even a lowly mind cares about its fate and can amalgamate its past memories with its present percepts before the ideal future becomes the present reality.
What do we actually mean by intelligence? I think we could defend the notion that civilization is one manifestation of it. We might point to poetry and pinochle as other examples. But a crisp definition requires something more than simply pointing toward examples.
In defining a subject, we draw a line around it and stake out not only what goes into the discourse but also what stays out. The rendering of an explicit definition implies that we already know the universe of our discourse--the coordinate system containing our subject. The moment we define our universe, we virtually guarantee in advance the presence or absence of certain features in our subject. Indeed, get good enough at the definitions business and you can prove or disprove just about anything you please. And definition can pluck so much off a subject that it's merely the skeletal remains of the original subject.
In ordinary mathematics, recall, we define relations between X and Y (or W and Z) within a prescribed coordinate system. Even when we are not conscious of it, we actually assume the nature of the coordinate system in advance. Our descriptions of X or Y, then, must always fit within boundaries imposed by our definitions. Should we want to transfer X and Y (or Z) to some other coordinate system, we must obey the rules we've imposed on ourselves. Thus, by definition, we can't begin on a Cartesian graph and make a transformation to any and all conceivable sorts of coordinates. But with tensors in a Riemannian kind of universe, we're able to make any transformations we please. How's come? The answer, remember, is that with tensors the coordinate system doesn't come in advance. Tensors reverse the conventional wisdom. With tensors the definition follows rather than leads the description. We must calculate the universe. It's not ours by divine revelation. To reach for the tensor is to imply an admission: we're too tiny to survey all that is and too dumb to know in advance where the edge of the world lies before our journey begins. We need a description of intelligence before we can even attempt a definition.
***
There's more to intelligence than dimension. Yet if I correctly judge the reader's feelings by my own, there's just too much pi in the abstract sky for us to move directly from analytical hologramic theory to a description of intelligence that will ring true to our intuition. Thus instead of proceeding analytically, let's open with an imaginary experiment.
Let's reach into the technological future and invent a new kind of holography. Lets invent a hologram of a play, but a hologram whose reconstructed characters are life-sized, full-color, warm, moving and whose voices are in "holophonic" sound. Let's even give our characters bad breath and body odor. In short, let's invent the wherewithal for an imaginary experience far more eerie than my very real one with the dissected brain that wasn't there.
Now let's enter the theater while the play is in progress. Let's assume that out mission is to find out if the actors are at work or if they've taken the night off and are letting their holograms carry the show. What test can we use? We might try touching them. But wait! If we were at a séance, touching wouldn't be reliable, would it? If we pass a hand through a ghost, so what? Ghosts aren't supposed to be material, anyway. Just real. Thus for want of adequate controls, we'd better think up a more imaginative experimental test than touching. Suppose we sent a 515-pound alpha male gorilla up to the stage. What would live actors do? Although, their behavior would change, we could never specifically predict just how.
What about holographic images? We can accurately predict their responses with a single word: nothing! If the holographer stays on the job, the show will go on as though our gorilla isn't there at all. Indeed, as far as the holographic scene is concerned, the gorilla isn't there. He is of the present. They are of the past.
What's the theoretical difference between our live players and their holograms? Both depend on the same basic abstract principle--relative phase. And holography can be done with tensors. Yet the holographic players cannot let our gorilla into their universe. Our poor live actors wouldn't have had an
y choice.
The informational universe in our physical hologram is like a cake that has already been baked. If we want it continuously round (no cutting) instead of square, if we want the gorilla in the scene, we must make up our minds about that during construction--before the abstract dough congeals in the theoretical oven. The tensor calculations have already been made. The coordinate system has already been defined; it is what the philosopher would call, determinate. We cannot add the new dimensions of information our gorilla brings up on the stage.
Our live players? Their informational universe is still being calculated; it is still fluid. Their coordinates are not yet defined-- and won't be while they're still alive. Our live actors' minds are continuously indeterminate. This feature--continuous indeterminacy (ugh!)--accounts for the addition of new dimensions, as well as for our uncertainty about the outcome of the experiments with live players.
Let me review this argument from a different perspective. Remember that any segment of a curve (and our continuum is curves) is an infinite continuum between any limits. In a determinate system, where the calculations have already been made, we know which points along a curve connect with independent dimensions. In our indeterminate system, we never know just which points will suddenly sprout new axes or discard old ones. Indeterminacy is the principle feature of living intelligence!
***
So far, only living minds let today continuously blend with yesterday. Maybe topologists of the future will teach holographers of their day how to deal with infinitely continuous indeterminacy in an N-dimensional universe. A friend of mine placed a cartoon about holograms in my mailbox a few years back. It depicts a receptionist standing with a visitor next to an open laboratory door. The door has on it "Holography" and "Dr. Zakheim." Dr. Zakheim is apparently standing in the room looking out and at the visitor. But in the caption, the receptionist is warning, "Oh that's not Dr. Zakheim. That's a hologram."