Nine years earlier Elaine Morgan had developed Alister Hardy's theory of the 'aquatic ape': we evolved not on the savannahs, but on the seashore. The theory fits a number of human peculiarities: we like water (newborn babies can swim), we have a funny pattern of hair on our bodies, and we walk upright. Go to any Mediterranean resort and you see at once that an awful lot of naked apes think that the seashore is the place to hang out.
Brains are fascinating. They are the physical vehicle for minds, which are even more interesting. Minds are (or, at least, give their owners the vivid impression that they are) conscious, and they have (or, at least, give their owners the vivid impression that they have) free will Minds operate in a world of 'qualia', vivid sense impressions like red, hot, sexy. Qualia aren't abstractions: they are 'feelings'. We all know what it's like to experience them. Science has no idea what makes them the way they are.
Brains, though ... we can make progress on brains. On one level, brains are a kind of computational device. Their most obvious physical components are nerve cells, arranged in complicated networks. Mathematicians have studied such networks, and they find that what networks do is to carry out interesting processes. Give them an input and they will produce an output. Allow their interconnections to evolve by selecting for specific associations of input and output, such as responding to an image of a banana but not to an image of a dead rat, and pretty soon you've got a really effective banana-detector.
What makes the human brain unique, as far as we can tell, is that it has become recursive. As well as detecting a banana, it can think about detecting a banana. It can think thoughts about its own thought processes. It is a pattern-recognition device that has turned its attention to its own patterns. This ability is what lies behind human intelligence. It probably underpins consciousness, too: one of the patterns that the pattern-recognition device has learned to recognize is itself. It has become 'self-aware'.
As a result, brains operate on at least two levels. On a reductionist level they are networks of nerve cells sending each other incredibly complex but ultimately meaningless messages, like ants scurrying around inside an anthill. On another level, they are an integrated self, the anthill as a personality in its own right. Douglas Hofstadter's Godel, Esther, Bach includes a sequence where Aunt Hillary (who is an anthill, use the American pronunciation of 'Aunt') has a meeting with Dr Anteater. When Dr Anteater arrives, the ants go into a panic, they change their actions. To Aunt Hillary, who operates on the emergent level, this change represents the knowledge that Dr Anteater has arrived. She is entirely happy to watch Dr Anteater consuming a meal of 'her' ants. Ants are a virtually inexhaustible resource, she can always breed new ones to take the place of the ones that got eaten.
The link between the ants and Hillary's 'anthilligence' is emergent, felicitously, it. operates across what we have termed 'Ant Country'. The same action means one thing for the ants, but something quite different, and transcendent, for Hillary. Replace Hillary by yourself, your self, the 'you' that you feel is experiencing your thoughts, and ants by brain cells, and you're contemplating the connection between mind and brain.
Now you've gone self-referential.
Neural networks are what the brain is built from, but there's more to evolving a brain than just assembling big neural nets. Brains operate in terms of high-level 'modules', a module for running, another for recognizing danger, another for putting the whole animal on the alert, and so on. Each such module is an emergent feature of a complex neural network, and it wasn't designed: it evolved. Millions of years of evolution trained those modules to respond instantly and exquisitely.
The modules aren't separate. They share nerve cells, they overlap, they're not necessarily a well-defined region in the brain, any more than 'Vodafone' is a well-defined region of the telephone network. According to Daniel Dennett, they are like a collection of demons, operating by 'pandemonium'. They all shout, and at any given instant, whoever shouts loudest wins (quite a lot of the Internet has borrowed this design).
Modern humanity has built a culture around those modules, an idea that we'll explore later, and in so doing has subverted them to new purposes. The module for spotting lions has become, in part, a module for reading Discworld books. The module for sensing bodily movement has, in part, turned into one for doing certain kinds of mathematics, those parts of mechanics where a physical 'feel' for the problem may well be precisely that. Our culture has rebuilt our minds, and our minds have in turn rebuilt our culture, over and over again, in each generation.
Such a radical restructuring must have simpler precursors. A key step towards the human mind was the invention of the nest. Before there were nests, baby organisms could carry out only very limited experiments in behaviour. If every time you try out a new game you get gobbled up by a python, novelty will not carry a premium. In the comfort and relative safety of the nest, however, the error part of trial-and-error is no longer automatically fatal. Nests let you play, and play lets you explore the phase space of possible behaviours and find new, sometimes useful, strategies. Further along the same path lies the family, the pack, and the tribe, with certain shared behaviours and mutual protection. Meerkats, a kind of mongoose, have an intricate tribal structure, and take turns doing the dangerous (because more exposed) job of Lookout.
Humans have turned such tactics into a global strategy: adults devote huge amounts of time, energy, food, and money to the task of bringing up their children. Intelligence is both a consequence of this brilliantly successful strategy, and a cause.
The Dean would be well advised to take this link between family life and intelligence into account. He's trying to educate the apes by the direct route (R ... O ... C ... K ...) but all they have on their tiny minds is S-E-X. Many school teachers will sympathize ... but if only he realized that sexual bonding is a major factor in humanoid family life, and family life engenders intelligence ,..
Bonobos are the perfect model for the Dean's sex-mad apes. They are promiscuous in the extreme, making use of sex where we would be content with a smile and a wave or a gentlemanly handshake. Female bonobos have serial sex with dozens of males, or with females, almost in passing; the males do likewise. Adults engage in sexual activities with children, too. It all seems very casual. It helps bond the tribe. For them it seems to work fine.
Ordinary chimps are promiscuous by the standards of orthodox human morality, though probably no more than many humans are. Pairs of males and females will disappear together for a few days, and then form new partnerships ... Humans generally mate for life (a term meaning 'until we get fed up') and one reason is the enormous amount of effort that a human couple must put into raising the kids. Sex helps to cement the parental relationship, encouraging each parent to trust the other. This .may be why, even in an allegedly sexually relaxed age, most people see extramarital flings as a form of betrayal, and why, despite that, the erring partner is more often than not allowed back into the family fold.
It's not surprising that we have sex on the brain: our brains have been moulded by sex. The Dean should let sex take its course, for intelligence will surely follow ... You just have to think on the scale of Deep Time. There's no rush.
39. OOK: A SPACE ODYSSEY
RINCEWIND SAT IN A CORNER of the High Energy Magic building. It was deserted at the moment. News had got around that the project was really being ended this time, and wizards had drifted away to lunch.
The round world spun in its protective globe and also, by means of a physics only a wizard might understand, in a space that was infinite only on the inside.
'Poor old bloody place,' he said, to the world in general. 'Never really stood a chance, did you.'
'Ook.'
It was a small grunt, from the other side of the huge room. Rincewind wandered over, and found the Librarian peering into the omniscope.
'Oh, they've got sticks now,' said Rincewind, looking down at a ragged party of apes. 'And a lot of good it'll do them, too.'
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'Ook?'
'The lizards had sharp shells on the end of theirs, and are they around today? I don't think so. And the crabs were doing well. Even the blobs were trying to make a go of things. There were some bear sort of things that looked promising. Doesn't matter. One winter the snow doesn't melt, next thing there's a two-mile wall of ice laminating you to the bedrock. Or there's a funny light in the sky and then you're trying to breathe burning water.' He shook his head wearily. 'Nice place, though. Nice colours. Particularly good horizons, once you get used to them. Lots of dullness, punctuated by short periods of death.'
'Ook?' said the Librarian.
'Well, maybe they do look a bit like you,' said Rincewind. 'Most of the lizards looked a bit like the Bursar. Maybe it's just coincidence. Everything has to look like something, after all. As above, so below.'
In the omniscope, some distance behind the ape clan, something lean and powerful was tracking them in the long grass.
'Eeek!'
The Librarian thumped on the desk.
'Sorry. It's not up to me. "Live and let live", you know that's always been my motto. Well, "let me live", really, but that's almost the same thing.'
Hands waving wildly over his head, which only happened when he was really in a hurry, the Librarian ran out of the room.
Rincewind caught him up as he entered the main building, and then trotted along after him as the ape wound his way through the university's less salubrious regions, the realm of broom cupboards, old storerooms and the studies of the very much lesser members of staff. Even using all the shortcuts, it still took quite a while to reach the office of the Egregious Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography, with the name 'Rincewind' written on it in chalk.
The orangutan flung the door back and knuckled purposefully towards the big stack of boxes.
'Er ... that's the rock collection,' said Rincewind. 'Er ... I was filing them ... er ... they belong to the University, I really don't think you should be throwing them out like that...'
'Ook!'
The Librarian straightened up, bearing aloft a couple of large rocks that Rincewind recognized as noduley, sharp, brittle, unfriendly rocks.
'Er ... why are you ...' Rincewind began.
The Librarian walked across to the Luggage and gave it a kick. The lid opened obediently, and the rocks were thrown inside. The ape went back for more flints.
'Er ...' said Rincewind, but left it at that. This did not seem to be a time to raise objections.
He had to run after the Librarian and the Luggage all the way back to the High Energy Magic Building. By the time he got there, the ape was pounding heavily on one of HEX's keyboards.
Rincewind tried again.
'Er ... should you be ...'
He was interrupted by the rattle of the machine's writing device.
It spelled out: +++ New Suit Parameters Accepted +++
On the far side of the room, where the skeletal virtually-there suits flicked on the verge of non-existence, one changed shape. The shoulders widened. The arms grew longer. The legs shortened…
+++ Adjustment Complete. On You It Looks Good +++
Rincewind backed away as the Librarian, cradling a large flint nodule in each arm, stepped in the magic circle and began to shimmer as the suit enclosed him.
'You're not going to interfere, are you?' said Rincewind.
'Ook?'
'No, no, that's fine, fine, no problem at all,' said Rincewind. It is never wise to argue with an ape holding a rock. 'It's about time someone did.'
The Librarian flickered, and became a ghost in the air.
Rincewind stood alone in the empty room, whistling nervously. In its alcove, HEX began to sparkle, as it always did when it was trying to allow a wizard to interact with the project.
'Blast!' said Rincewind at last, striding over to the suits. 'He's bound to muck it up ...'
Lightning fried the evening sky, turning it purple and pink.
Above the little hollow in the cliff, where the tribe clustered and flinched, a sleek black shadow moved like an extension of the night. It wasn't hurrying. Dinner wasn't going anywhere. When the lightning faded its eyes gleamed for a while.
Something grabbed its tail. It spun around, snarling, and a fist extended on the end of a very long arm hit it right between the eyes, lifting it off the ledge.
It landed heavily on the ground, jerked for a moment, and lay still.
The ape horde scattered around the rocks, screaming, and then stopped to look back.
The big cat didn't move.
Another bolt of lighting hit the ground nearby, and a dead tree exploded into flame. Against the violet corona of the storm, red in the light of the burning tree, a huge figure stood holding a large stone in the crook of each arm.
As Rincewind said, it was a vision you were unlikely to forget.
* * *
Rincewind couldn't eat here. Well, not in the usual, definitive way. He thought he could probably manipulate lumps of food into his mouth, but since the food would technically remain in a different universe to his, he was afraid it might drop straight through him, to general embarrassment and the puzzlement of spectators.
Besides, he didn't feel like flame-grilled leopard.
The Librarian had been working furiously. He'd turned the area into a boot camp for people who were barely upright and wouldn't know what to do with a boot anyway. The apemen had taken to fire quite quickly, after a few misdirected attempts to eat it or have sex with it, and several of them had progressed to setting fire to themselves.
They'd learned cookery, too, initially on one another.
Rincewind sighed. He'd seen species come, and he'd seen them go, and this one could only have been put on the world for entertainment value. They had the same approach to life as clowns, with the same touch of cheerful viciousness.
The Librarian had progressed to lessons in flint-knapping, using the flints brought in via the Luggage. They'd certainly picked up the idea of hitting rocks against other rocks, or anything else in range. Sharp edges intrigued them.
Finally Rincewind wandered over to the Librarian and tapped him on the shoulder.
'We've been here all day,' he said. 'We'd better get back.'
The orangutan nodded, and stood up. 'Ook.'
'You think it'll work?'
'Ook!'
Rincewind looked back at the apemen. One of them was industriously hacking at the corpse of the cat again.
'Really? But they're just like ... hairy parrots.'
'Eek ook.'
'Well ... yes. That's true.' Rincewind took a final look at the horde. Two of them were squabbling over the meat. Monkey see, monkey do ...
'I'm glad it was you who said that,' he said.
Less than a Discworld second had passed by the time they returned. By the time they looked in the omniscope, several fires were already visible on the night side of the world.
The Librarian looked pleased. 'Oook,' he said.
Progress means smoke. But Rincewind was not entirely convinced. Most of the fires were forests.
40. EXTEL OUTSIDE
PROGRESS MEANS SMOKE ... The human race has certainly made a lot of progress over the years, then. How did we do that? Because we're intelligent, we've got brains. Minds, even. But other creatures are intelligent, dolphins, especially. And all they seem to do is enjoy themselves in the sea. What have we got that they haven't?
Many discussions of the mind treat it essentially as a question about the architecture of the brain. The viewpoint is that this determines what brains can do, and then the various things that we associate with minds, the difficult problems of free will, consciousness and intelligence, come out of neurophysiology. That's one approach. The other common one is to view the problem through the eyes of a social scientist or an anthropologist. From this viewpoint the mind's capabilities are pretty much taken as 'given', and the main questions are how human culture builds on those capabilities to create minds
able to think original thoughts, feel emotions, have concepts like love and beauty, and so on. It may seem that between them these two approaches pretty much cover the territory. Link them, and you have a complete answer to the question of mind.
However, neurophysiology and culture aren't independent: they are 'complicit'. By this we mean that they have evolved together, each changing the other repeatedly, and their mutual coevolution built on the unpredictable results of that ongoing interaction. The view of culture building on, and changing, brains is incomplete, because brains also build on, and change, culture. The concept of complicity captures this recursive, mutual influence.
We call the brain's internal capabilities Intelligence'. It is convenient to give a similar name to all of the external influences, cultural or otherwise, that affect the evolution of the brain, and with it, the mind. We shall call these influences extelligence, a term that HEX has picked up thanks to once-and-future computing. Mind is not just intelligence plus extelligence, its inside and outside, so to speak. Instead, mind is a feedback loop in which intelligence influences extelligence, extelligence influences intelligence, and the combination transcends the capabilities of both.
Intelligence is the ability of the brain to process information. But intelligence is only part of what is needed to make a mind. And even intelligence is unlikely to evolve in isolation.
Culture is basically a collection of interacting minds. Without individual minds you can't have a culture. The converse is perhaps less obvious, but equally true: without a shared culture, the human mind cannot evolve. The reason is that there is nothing in the environment of the evolving mind that can drive it towards self-complication, becoming more sophisticated, unless that brain has something else fairly sophisticated to interact with. And the main sophisticated thing around to interact with is minds of other people. So the evolution of intelligence and that of extelligence are inextricably linked, and complicity between them is inevitable.
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