Posts Tagged ‘neurology’
bonobo issues
Something I encountered in S J Gould’s book Life’s Grandeur, added to other little encounters in my readings and researchings, has caused a few concerns. In trying to promote bonoboism, of a kind, the last thing I’d want to do is limit humanity’s intellectual pursuits, curiosity, adaptability and general gung-ho cleverness. As if I had the power haha. So whenever I read or hear something that might suggest that bonobos aren’t as smart as chimps I get worried.
Anyway, my reading, as usual, took me on some internet journeys, in one of which I found that the average chimp brain volume is 398 cc while that of bonobos is 348 cc. Remember of course that bonobos used to be known as pygmy chimps, and the average difference in overall size between the two species pretty well corresponds to the difference in brain size, and, as smart corvids and other birds remind us, size isn’t always an indicator of such things.
But there are other worries. I’ve gotten the impression that chimps are very much tool-users, bonobos perhaps not so much. But now, on consulting the literature more closely, I’m finding that maybe this isn’t so, and so I’m losing the point of this post. But of course there are differences, behaviourally, and so cognitively, between the two species, which would be worth exploring, for our future’s sake.
A scientific article, linked below, going back to 2010, and not fully available to amateurs like me, has this to say in its abstract:
Our observations illustrate that tool use in bonobos can be highly complex and no different from what has been described for chimpanzees. The only major difference in the chimpanzee and bonobo data was that bonobos of all age–sex classes used tools in a play context, a possible manifestation of their neotenous nature. We also found that female bonobos displayed a larger range of tool use behaviours than males, a pattern previously described for chimpanzees but not for other great apes. Our results are consistent with the hypothesis that the female-biased tool use evolved prior to the split between bonobos and chimpanzees.
As to their ‘neotenous’ (i.e. eternally childlike) nature, I’m wondering. Are they really any more childlike than chimps? Apparently, that’s the consensus. A more recent piece in Current Biology by Isabel Behncke, ‘Play in the Peter Pan ape’ (Peter Pan being the boy who never grows up) looks into this issue of bonobo neoteny, and play, noting that there’s a ‘small cluster of species in which adult play occurs, such as elephants, primates, social carnivores, cetaceans, parrots and corvids’. These are all highly social species, with otherwise little in the way of evolutionary connection. They do have other connections, though, apart form sociality – longevity, and neural complexity.
Behncke, in studying bonobos in the wild, argues that bonobos are more neotenous and playful than chimps, and one of her reasons for this corresponds with my own thoughts, happily. They live in a relatively abundant calorific habitat, and ‘play is energetically expensive and dwindles in conditions of resource scarcity’. Hence all those videos featuring pets at play. Hence, also, our own playful nature – sport, art, music, salons and pub chit-chat. Even our scientific explorations can be considered a form of play, at a stretch.
And then there’s sex, that Big Issue that humans beat themselves up about. Bonobo play is less solitary than that of chimps, and more sexual. I also would note that the development of tool use, which has, as mentioned, been more associated with females than males, in both bonobos and chimps, is surely associated with play. But much play between bonobos is genital-based. ‘Chasing’, especially around a solitary object such as a tree, and genital-grabbing is common, which of course can be potentially painful, but according to Behncke virtually never results in serious injury. This often happens between members of different troupes, and Behncke points out here a vital difference between the two tightly related primates. Chimps exhibit hostility between troupes, with ‘wars’ sometimes ending in wipeouts, as Jane Goodall and others have reported. Of the often fatal injuries sustained, mutilated genitals are high on the list.
So, about the sex. But first, it should be noted that communal or paired play is often about trust. The ‘hanging’ game, for example, is often played between an adult and a juvenile bonobo, in which the adult lets the child dangle from her arm, from a more or less high tree branch. Like bungee jumping, without the elasticity, but with much of the thrill. Also, play (and sex) occurs with a multitude of partners, with attendant advantages:
Play-partner diversity is important when thinking about adaptability: playing 100 times with the same individual requires less variation and adjustment of behaviour than playing 10 times with 10 different individuals. Playing with individuals of different sizes, personalities and sex requires learning about contextual-dependent behaviour: with whom and when a bite is appropriate, a chase over a push, a gentle tickle rather than a stomping slap, and so on.
So, much of this research has assured me that we’re on the right track in becoming more bonoboesque humans, in spite of Trump, Putin, Musk and other throwbacks. I’m hoping that even the USA will have a female President some time in the 21st century, and if they progress even further along the bonobo line, they might scrap their worthless semi-monarchical Presidential system altogether…
Okay, maybe in the 22nd century…
Sorry, never really got round to the sex.
References
on the origin of language – nature over culture?
what think??
So, as someone who has been a language teacher for a fair proportion of my working life, I’m naturally interested in exploring this remarkable activity and ability that separates us from other primates, and indeed from all other species, certainly in terms of range, variety and flexibility.
First, there are structural and anatomical developments, in brain and body, that have enabled us to turn sound into speech. The hyoid bone, a sort of free-floating (well, not quite) horse-shoe shaped bone that sits near the top of the throat, above the larynx (aka the voice-box) and below the tongue, is one of many structural elements facilitating speech, though it serves other functions and is present in many other mammals. The pyramid-shaped larynx… well I’ll quote Wikipedia:
The larynx houses the vocal cords, and manipulates pitch and volume, which is essential for phonation. It is situated just below where the tract of the pharynx splits into the trachea and the esophagus.
The human larynx, hyoid bone and lower jawbone are apparently morphologically unique in the way they ‘move apart together and are interlocked via the muscles, while pulled into a vertical position from the cranium’. I’m guessing – I should say hypothesising, much more impressive – that these morphological developments came in tandem with neurological developments connecting sounds to meanings, if you’ll excuse my amateurish way of putting things. But before exploring language in terms of neurology, it’s important to be very clear about the anatomical differences between humans and other primates re these structures. Here’s a summary from a hopefully reliable website, linked below:
In adult primates the hyoid is a horseshoe shaped bone, located in the neck, just below the mandible and above the thyroid cartilage. In humans, the hyoid body is flat and bar-shaped and lies below the inferior margin of the mandibular body, just below the tongue root. However, in great apes the hyoid is placed superior to the inferior margin of the mandibular body and lies behind the tongue root.
In chimpanzees, bonobos, and gorillas there is a cup-shaped extension of the hyoid bone called the hyoid bulla, which is believed to keep open the connection between the vocal tract and pharyngeal air sacs. Modern humans lack this hyoid bulla. Fossil evidence tracks the loss to somewhere between Australopithecus afarensis (~3.3 million years old), which shares the Great ape hyoid bulla morphology, and a ~530 thousand year old Homo species ancestral to Neanderthals (sometimes included in Homo heidelbergensis) which shares the modern human hyoid shape. This loss is proposed to be adaptive for human speech development due to pharyngeal air sac impediment of forming easily perceptible speech sounds.
Much of this is still speculative I think, but the extraordinary range of human speech sounds, together with our ability to connect that variety of sounds to meanings, whether linguistic or paralinguistic, suggests that neurological and anatomical developments are interconnected in giving birth to speech and language.
Speech sounds are one thing, but the varieties of language and meaning, the complex structures and connections that we appear to effortlessly form into the thousands of languages that we know to exist, that’s something else. Over the years there’s been a lot of argument about whether this seemingly endless variety of languages can be explained in terms of one particular type of neurologically determined, evolutionarily developed, ordering system. Noam Chomsky was one of the first to propose that there are common and unifying characteristics to all languages, and it seems to me that the fascinating evidence of how new creole languages can develop out of pidgin languages really strikes a blow for a natural selection basis to all human language. To be definitionally clear: ‘A creole is a pidgin language that has become the native language of the children of adult pidgin speakers’. While pidgin is a makeshift, make-do language, with limited fixity, creole, the creation of which takes a mere generation or two, is as fully-fledged as any other established language.
Most languages have no written form, but there is no culture that we know of, either today or throughout the history that we can be clear about, going back some thousands of years, that lacks language. The Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies (AIATSIS) recognises more than 250 indigenous languages, including around 800 dialects, and it’s impossible to pinpoint their origins in time. Most children have learned much of their native language by the age of three, with almost no tuition. Clearly there’s something going on here at the ‘unconscious’, that’s to say, neurological, level.
Daniel Everett, and many others, make the claim that Homo Erectus was the first user of full-fledged language, but we certainly can’t prove this via neurology, and we lack clear evidence of the above-mentioned anatomical structures required for modern speech. So, if Homo Erectus had ‘language’, did she have it in much the same way as H Sapiens? Does the term ‘proto-language’ have any clear meaning? This is a problem, as natural selection is generally seen as a gradual process. An opponent of this gradualist theory of language development, the linguist Liz Bates, puts this objection:
What protoform can we possibly envision that could have given birth to constraints on the extraction of noun phrases from an embedded clause? What could it conceivably mean for an organism to possess half a symbol, or three quarters of a rule? … monadic symbols, absolute rules and modular systems must be acquired as a whole, on a yes or no basis – a process that cries out for a Creationist explanation.
(in Gazzaniga, p80)
I’m presuming she doesn’t mean Creationist in the religious sense, but who knows? But just as the human brain, including its regions for processing language, evolved slowly – and this is hardly a controversial claim – it surely follows that language too, evolved in complexity over time.
Today we know of a number of brain regions that are key to language production, such as Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area, as well as language reception – the primary and secondary auditory areas. We also know that, after surgically dividing the two brain hemispheres, ‘only the left hemisphere is capable of using syntax to aid comprehension’ (Gazzaniga). Syntax and word order, and case markers such as genitive, nominative and accusative, are all expressed and or implied in different ways in different languages, but Chomsky and others have argued for an underlying or deep structure which is neurologically determined. Whether this is entirely provable – or has in fact been proven – is still a burning question, but it seems to me that the emergence of creoles – fully fledged languages – without deliberation, and the development, in regions like Australia and New Guinea, of hundreds of individual, essentially untaught languages separated by vast distances or impenetrable mountains and jungles, supports the claim for nature over culture.
References
When we first talked, PBS Eons video
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creole_language
Michael Gazzaniga, Nature’s Mind (esp. Chapter 4 ‘Language and selection theory’), 1992
https://aeon.co/essays/tools-and-voyages-suggest-that-homo-erectus-invented-language
on hypnotism and hype
why the watches?
I promised myself I would do a piece on hypnotism, which has long struck me as completely bogus, though I was left scratching my head and wondering as a kid when I saw people acting in a humiliating fashion at the behest of a stage hypnotist. Insofar as I’ve thought deeply about it since, I can’t imagine any mechanism by which this ‘spell-casting’ could really work. The Mayo Clinic appears to give it the green light, with certain caveats, but is silent on the proposed mechanism, the science of the thing, which seems to me completely derelict. And Time magazine has a 2022 article entitled How Hypnosis Works, According to Science, which tells me nothing about the science. That science would, of course, be neurology. And since our brains share many similarities with other primates, I wonder why nobody has tried to hypnotise a chimp or a bonobo? It wouldn’t make sense to argue that only humans would be susceptible to such treatment, surely? I did learn, something from the Time article, though. Hypnotists no longer use the term ‘trance’, replacing it with ‘hypnotic state’. Sounds more sciencey. By the same process alternative medicine is now called ‘integrative’, ‘holistic’ or ‘complementary’ – and all such practitioners spruik the positives of hypnotherapy.
So where can I find real scientific evidence about hypnosis? When I try the internet I’m almost invariably taken to psychology sites which cite the benefits and dangers, but don’t even try to describe the mechanism.
But finally I’ve found an article, ‘The Neuroscience of Hypnosis’, which promises to reveal all, and it’s only a few months old, and it’s in an Australian magazine, Psychology Today. So, before launching into it, I’m guessing that much of that neuroscience will pertain to brain regions more or less exclusive to our species, and that it will be at best speculative.
So, we’re told that, despite a lot of mystical pabulum, ‘the science behind the practice is profound’. The article, the principal author of which is Dr Ran Anbar, a professor of Paediatrics and Medicine in the US, and a hypnotherapist, claims that hypnosis is efficacious ‘in treating conditions such as pain, anxiety, depression, headaches, irritable bowel syndrome, eating disorders, phobias, OCD, shortness of breath and substance use disorder’, though with the large caveat that ‘research is necessary to validate whether observations made with individual people can be reliably generalised’. I suspect that a ‘reliable generalisation’ will never be achieved, one obvious reason being that some people are just not going to be susceptible to this procedure. It’s a safe bet, methinks, that never, here, will always mean never, as is the case with other such treatments. Some people are highly suggestible, some are not (though of course, here as with other treatments, there are endless ‘I used to be a thorough skeptic’ stories). I can also accept that telling people, under hypnosis (but I’ve yet to comprehend what that actually means) that they are feeling pain (for example), can make them truly feel pain, measurable in neural activity. Such measurable activity, I’m guessing, would also be evident when a person dreams of being in pain. And a quick look at the research on this opens up a whole can of worms, such as real pain felt in an amputated limb, and the difficulty of separating the neurological signs of anticipated versus actual pain.
So the article goes on to name the five different types of brain waves (from fastest to slowest they are gamma, beta, alpha, theta and delta), and cites research finding that ‘hypnosis… is associated with increased theta waves and thus may be a state different from awake and sleep states’. A good term for this state, I reckon, would be ‘the twilight zone’. Apparently theta waves are slower and of greater amplitude (suggesting greater strength or energy) than other brain waves. But let me admit right now that I’m not sure what brain waves (neural oscillations) actually are. They’re generally detected and measured by electroencephalographs (EEG), and it’s these machines that display the electrical activity as waves, so…
All of these different wave effects are interpreted as measuring different types of neural activity, though whether we’re interpreting correctly is obviously a question. In any case the Healthline article linked below gives a summary of each kind of wave, or electrical activity, and its effects:
Fast gamma waves are produced when we’re intensely focussed, concentrating very hard on something. I say ‘we’ but I doubt that I’ve ever experienced them myself.
Beta waves are more about ordinary focus, paying attention, though they range in speed from pretty intense focus to a more general mulling over the disaster that your life has become.
Alpha waves are your more general existential waves, like when you’re sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Delta waves, at the bottom of the spectrum, are generally the deep sleep waves.
So, again, theta waves, the ‘dream’ waves, the border-between-sleep-and-awake waves are most associated with hypnosis, which is hardly surprising, but how does your hypnotist get people to relax, perchance to dream? And use that state to reduce their anxieties, or bark like a dog?
So I’ve just found and watched a video, linked below, by someone who seems to be on the same wavelength, so to speak, as myself with respect to this – phenomenon, let’s call it. The real issue being, WTF is it, actually? At the end, he describes himself as a convert, but with many many caveats, and I would definitely recommend watching it. The major caveat would be that, along with other treatments (it just doesn’t seem to work as a stand-alone treatment) it’s essentially, and unsurprisingly, effective, and only effective, for conditions that have a psychological component, many of which I’ve mentioned above, but I could add PTSD, bipolar disorder and no doubt many others unknown to myself. And psychology, without a solid neurological basis, is never, to me, entirely convincing as a ‘science’.
So I wouldn’t call myself a convert, actually, and it seems that much of the research is divided between those trying to prove that it’s real and those trying to prove it’s bogus, and I suspect it’s genuinely hard to find people sitting on the fence, so it’ll likely be a controversial topic for a while to come. I’m not for banning it or anything, I just wish there was better evidence about how it works, beyond, and well beyond, the undoubted, but individually highly variable, power of suggestibility.
Also, for ‘mesmerism’ and animal magnetism read my review of Aldous Huxley’s Island.
References
what’s on my mind, and in my brain?
The mind is certainly a very mysterious organ, I reflected,.. about which nothing whatever is known, though we depend upon it so completely.
Virginia Woolf, A room of one’s own, 1928
ah yes, it all makes sense now…
So there’s still plenty to learn about the mind, and maybe calling it the brain is only giving us a false sense of the matter (and I’m thinking of ye olde ‘what’s mind, it doesn’t matter, what’s matter, never mind’ jibe), though we’ve made great neurophysiological strides in recent decades. But having just read Virginia Woolf’s thoughts on the position of women almost a century ago, and being old enough to remember texts like ‘Women are from Venus, men are from Mars’, which sought to ‘explain’ and make the best of the pigeonholes the author presumably believed in, I’ve decided to have another quick look at the current expert views on the neurophysiological and hormonal differences between the sexes.
What I’ve found is that it’s still a contested issue. When I last reported on it, I found myself very happy to accept that there are statistical differences between male and female brains, but no categorical differences. That’s to say, both male and female brains vary widely, and it’s reasonable to say that the differences within each gender are as great as the differences between them. Another striking way to think about it is to say that, were you to hand a still living but completely disembodied human brain (just imagine!) to a trained and experienced neurologist, they’d be unable to say categorically that it was M or F.
Well, the first website I’ve come to disputes this claim. It’s from PNAS (often fondly vocalised as ‘penis’, which may or may not be relevant) and it’s a short essay with only one author, Marek Glezerman. My initial sense of it is that he misses the point, and seems disturbingly emphatic. To give an obvious example, the title of the piece is “Yes, there is a female and a male brain: Morphology versus functionality”. In his opening paragraph (but the essay only has two paragraphs), Glezerman summarises the conclusion he disagrees with, a conclusion I based my own essay on years ago:
The authors conclude that brains of women and men are not dimorphic and not categorically different, as are the genital systems of the two genders, but resemble more an overlapping mosaic of specific functional regions and therefore cannot be distinguished as male and female brains.
Reading this made me wonder, and I thought back to the night before – ahhh, the night before – when I spent time at a well-frequented pub full of individuals, male and female, well beyond the first flush of youth. It occurred to me that there wasn’t a single person there whose sex I would feel mistaken about. Many of the men, and none of the women, were balding, bearded and paunchy. Some did have breasts, I admit, that could’ve competed with the females, but I doubt if they’d have managed the same expression, so to speak. And though there was a lot of variety in the voices, it was easy enough to distinguish males from females in that characteristic. Of course there were also differences in dress, mannerisms and choice of drink, but those could be put down to ‘culture’ and dismissed. Even so there might be enough evidence on display to suggest a categorical difference – a morphological difference – traceable to the brain and hormones.
So, what did Glezerman mean, exactly, by ‘morphology versus functionality’? Well, here’s a long, but essential quote from his essay.
Whenever the terms “female brain” and “male brain” are used, the intention should be functional and not morphological, qualitative and not quantitative. Functionally, brains of women and men are indeed different. Not better, not worse, neither more nor less sophisticated, just different. The very brain cells differ chromosomally. The male brain is exposed to a completely different hormonal environment during intrauterine life than the female brain. The available scientific data as to the crucial effect of testosterone on the developing male brain is overwhelming.
Glezerman provides references for his claim about testosterone and its effects, a subject of great interest to me, but I’ll leave that for another essay. But one wonders if this isn’t a storm in a teacup. Going back to my pub reference, of course there were differences within the sexes – some males seemed more ‘feminine’ than others, whatever that may mean, and some women more ‘masculine’. This may again be a matter of hormone expression rather than personal choice, or a complex combination. I find it fascinating that male hormone levels (i.e testosterone) are dropping in the WEIRD world, a matter of concern to some, but not me…. oh, but that’s for that other essay, or did I already write that one?
PNAS has a reply to Glezerman’s essay, which I’ll now focus on. And I should note how polite and civilised these scientific disputes are: far from the world of social media. This response is even shorter that Glezerman’s little essay (I’ll bet that was by design!), so I’ll reflect on it here, passage by passage.
As Marek Glezerman (1) rightly points out, there are differences between females and males in brain and behavior. Glezerman overlooks, however, the fact that such differences may be different and even opposite under different environmental conditions. That is, what is typical under some conditions in a brain composed of cells with an XX chromosomal complement residing in a body with low levels of testosterone, may be typical under other conditions in a brain composed of cells with an XY chromosomal complement residing in a body with high levels of testosterone.
Being a person who spreads himself thinly over a wide variety of intellectual topics (i.e master of none), I had to look up XX and XY (remember mate, two kisses female, one kiss male – which is surely typical). What the response (which has three authors) appears to be saying is that what is typical for a low-testosterone female in some conditions, may also be typical for a high-testosterone male under quite different conditions, in spite of the fact that one set of brain cells carries an XY chromosomal complement, while the other carries XX. Not sure if this carries the day though. But to continue:
Such “reversals” of sex effects have also been reported when the manipulation of environmental conditions was done in utero (by manipulating the dam) and the offspring were tested in adulthood (reviewed in refs. 2 and 3). These observations led to the hypothesis that brains are composed of a “mosaic” of “male” and “female” features rather than of only “male” features or only “female” features, as expected of a “male brain” and a “female brain,” respectively (2, 3)
Wasn’t sure what ‘manipulating the dam’ meant, but a dam is a dam, something that reduces or stops flow, so I suppose this was done in non-human test species? Presumably if you’re able to change hormonal conditions in utero via such methods – or by changing environmental/social conditions, as bonobos appear to have done – you will change the mosaic of behaviour. Bonobos can be quite aggressive, but it appears to be more tilted towards the male of the species. Also, the drop in male testosterone is surely due to changed conditions and expectations for males over a relatively short period – for example in the mere century since A room of one’s own was written, but even more so in the past few decades of mechanisation and anti-machismo, at least in the WEIRD world.
Our study (4) is the first to empirically test whether brains are “male” or “female” by assessing internal consistency in the degree of “maleness-femaleness” of different elements within a single brain. We found that brains with both “female-end” and “male-end” characteristics were more prevalent than brains with only “female-end” or only “male-end” characteristics. This was true for both the volume of brain regions and the strength of connections between regions (assessed in a similar way to ref. 5), in contrast to Glezerman’s assumption that “Other imaging methods might have yielded different results.”
This is claiming evidence for mosaic traits in a majority of the brains under study, both for individual regions in isolation and for brain connectivity. All I can say is that this seems eminently plausible, indeed I would’ve expected such a finding. Not sure, of course, what ‘male-end’ and ‘female-end’ characteristics are exactly. There is a question here, though, about what Glezerman meant by ‘other imaging methods’.
To corroborate our analysis of different aspects of brain structure assessed using MRI, we also analyzed brain function, as revealed in people’s behaviors, personality characteristics, preferences, and attitudes. Also here there were many more people with both “feminine” (i.e., more common in females compared with males) and “masculine” (i.e., more common in males compared with females) characteristics than people with only feminine or only masculine characteristics (4).
Behaviour, over time, can affect brain function and brain regions mightily. An obvious case is language, spoken and written, which is a behaviour that has had considerably impact on the brain, as, for example Maryanne Wolf recounts in Proust and the squid. You’d hardly expect those brain regions that have been adapted/co-opted for language production/reception to have been much affected by gender. The same would go for other skills and practices, such as mathematics. As to the different physical characteristics of males and females (my pub observations), how connected are they to our brains? They certainly have much to do with hormones, of which we have at least fifty types, many of which are connected to/stimulated into action by the pituitary gland, which is in turn stimulated by the hypothalamus, but these regions account for a minuscule proportion of the brain.
There is no doubt that sex affects the structure and function of brain cells. However, the fact that sex can affect brain cells does not necessarily entail that the form and function of brain cells are either “male” or “female” nor that the brains comprised of these cells can be divided into two distinct categories. For such claims to be true it is necessary that the effects of sex are dimorphic, resulting in the formation of distinct “male” and “female” types, as well as internally consistent (2, 3, 6).
I think what’s being said here is that just because our brain cells, indeed all our somatic cells, have either an XX or XY chromosomal complement in their nuclei, this doesn’t dictate essential expressed traits – our intelligence, our humour, our physical skills, our bodily needs, and so forth. As this essay suggests, ‘manipulating the dam’ in utero is likely to have a far greater effect on human development than gender does, unless of course you’re born into a culture in which one gender is significantly undervalued. But let’s not go too near that hornet’s nest.
So to the last lines of the reply to Glezerman:
Hopefully, future studies looking at the relations between sex and other systems in which sex differences have been documented (e.g., the immune system, the cardiovascular system) will assess both internal consistency and degree of overlap, to reveal whether the relations between sex and other systems are more similar to the relations between sex and the brain (mosaicism) or to the relations between sex and the genitalia (dimorphism).
And no doubt there will be differences, especially in relation to hormonal levels associated with the reproductive system, but also in those associated with diabetes, the heart and the circulatory system and so forth, but these are not easily predictable based solely on gender. And there’s another problem with fixating on sex differences in a hard and fast way. It’s not exactly coincidental that male supremacists are all for favouring such differences. That’s why the bonobo example needs to be known and promoted far more than is currently the case.
References
https://www.pnas.org/doi/10.1073/pnas.1600791113#core-r2
What do we currently know about the differences between male and female brains in humans?
the male and female brain, revisited
free will, revisited
yet to be read
I’ve written about free will before, here , and especially here, (the commentary at the end is particularly interesting, IMHO), and probably in other posts as well, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, so maybe it’s time for a refresher (though, if I say so myself, those earlier posts stand up pretty well).
I first became acquainted with and absorbed in the ‘philosophical’ argy-bargy about free will way back in the seventies, when I read Free Will and Determinism, a collection of essays edited by Bernard Berofsky. It was published in 1966, and is, amazingly (since I’ve moved house about 50 times), still in my possession. Glancing through it again now brings back memories, but more importantly, the arguments, which mostly favour compatibilism, aka soft determinism, seem both naive and somewhat arrogant, if that’s the word. That is, they’re mostly variants of ‘of course we have free will – we display it in every decision we make – but many of us find it hard to present a rational explanation of it, so I’ll do it for you’. Only one philosopher, from memory, John Hospers, argued for ‘hard determinism’, that’s to say, for the absence of free will. And though I found his argument a bit clunky (it was largely based on Freudian and neo-Freudian psychology), it was the only one that really stuck in my mind, though I didn’t quite want to be convinced.
In more recent years, after reading Sam Harris’ short book on free will, and Robert Sapolsky’s treatment of the issue towards the end of his monumental book Behave, I’ve felt as if the scales have dropped from my eyes. Another factor I should mention was a talk I gave to the SA Humanist Society a few years ago on the subject, which didn’t quite go all the way on ‘no free will’, and a pointed question from one of the attendees left me floundering for a response. It was likely that experience that made me feel the need to revisit the issue more comprehensively. So, for memory lane’s sake, I’m going to reread these old essays and then comment on them. And hopefully I’ll be able to slip in a bonobo mention along the way!
I should mention, as Sapolsky does in Behave, that neurology has come a long way since the 1970s. More papers have been published in the field in the first two decades of the 21st century than in all the centuries before, which is hardly surprising. With this, and our greater understanding of genetics, epigenetics. developmental psychology and other fields relevant to the topic, it will behoove me to be fair to the thinking of intellectuals writing a number of generations before the present. However, I’m not interested in giving a historical account – how Cicero, or Augustine of Hippo, or Spinoza, or John Stuart Mill conceptualised the problem was very much a product of the zeitgeist of their era, combined with their unique gifts. The era I live in, in the particularly WEIRD country (Australia) that is my home, religion is fast receding, and the sciences of neurophysiology, endocrinology, genetics and primatology, among others, have revolutionised our understanding of what it is to be human, or sentient, or simply alive. And they help us to understand our uniquely determined situation and actions.
So let me begin with Berofsky’s introduction, in which he raises a ‘problem’ with determinism:
The fact that classical mechanics did not turn out to be the universal science of human nature suggests that contemporary proponents of determinism do not ally themselves to this particular theory. Many ally themselves to no particular theory at all, but try to define determinism in such a way that its rejection is not necessitated by the rejection of any particular scientific theory.
This takes us back to the effect upon the general public of such notions as ‘quantum indeterminacy’ and its manipulation by pedlars of ‘quantum woo’ (for example, The tao of physics, by Fritjof Capra, which I haven’t read). But clearly, however we might understand quantum superposition and action-at-a-distance, they have no effect at the macro level of brain development, genetic inheritance and the like, and they certainly can’t be used to defend the concept of free will. The ‘no free will’ argument does rely on determining factors, and openly so. Our genetic inheritance, the time and place of our birth, our family circumstances, our ethnicity, our diet, these are among many influences that we don’t see as ‘theoretical’, but factual.
Berofsky goes on to worry over types of causes and causal laws in what seems to me a rather fruitless ‘philosophical’ way.
A determinist, then, is a person who believes that all events (facts, states) are lawful in the sense, roughly, that for event e, there is a distinct event d plus a (causal) law which asserts, ‘Whenever d, then e’.
The extremely general or universal character of this thesis has raised many questions, some of which concern the status of the thesis. Some have held the position as a necessary or a priori truth about the world. Others have insisted that determinism is itself a scientific theory, but much more general than most other scientific theories.
As you can imagine, none of this is of any concern to a working neurologist, biochemist or primatologist. In trying to determine how oxytocin levels affect behaviour in certain subjects, for example, they won’t be reflecting on a priori truths or causal laws, they’ll be looking at all the other possible confounding and co-determining factors that might contribute to the behaviour. It seems to me that traditional philosophical language is getting in the way here of attributing effects to causes, however partially.
Berofsky points out, in the name of some philosophers, that determinism isn’t a scientific theory in that it’s essentially unfalsifiable (my language, not his), as it can always be claimed that some so far undiscovered causal factor has contributed to the behaviour or effect. But scientists don’t consider determinism to be a theory, but rather the sine qua non of scientific practice, indeed of everyday life. We live in a world of becauses, we eat x because we’re hungry/it’s tasty/it’s healthy/it reminds us of childhood, etc. We don’t think like this in terms of laws. We needn’t think of it at all, just as a dog wags her tail when she sees her owner after a long absence (or not, if he’s also her abuser).
So much for determinism, over which too much verbiage has been employed. The real issue that exercises most people is free will, freedom, or agency. Here’s how Berofsky introduces the subject:
It has been maintained that if an action is determined, then the person was not performing the action of his own free will. For surely, it is argued, if the antecedent conditions are such that they uniquely determine by law the ensuing result (the action), then it was not within the power of the person to do otherwise. And a person does A freely if, and only if, he could have done something other than A. Let us call this position ‘incompatibilism’. Incompatibilists usually conclude as well that if a person’s action is determined, then he is not morally responsible for having done it, since acting freely is a necessary condition of being morally responsible for the action.
This is a long-winded, i.e. typically philosophical way of putting the ‘no free will’ argument, which is usually countered by an ‘of course I could’ve done otherwise’ response, and the accusation that determinists are not just kill-joys but kill-freedoms. Presumably this would be a ‘compatibilist’ response, and many find it the only common-sense response, if we want to view ourselves as anything other than automatons.
But there are obvious problems with compatibilism, and here’s my ‘death by a thousand cuts’ response. There are a great many Big Things in our life about which we, indisputably, have no choice. No person, living or dead, got to choose the time and place of their birth, or conception. No person got to choose their parents, or their genetic inheritance. They had no choice as to how their brain, limbs, organs and so forth grew and developed whilst in the womb. So, no freedom of choice up to that time. When, then, did this freedom begin? The compatibilist would presumably argue – ‘when we make our own observations and inferences, which starts to happen more frequently as we grow’. And there would be much hand-waving about when this gradually starts to happen, until we’re our own autonomous selves, who could’ve done otherwise. And here we get to the response of Sam Harris and others, that this ‘self’ is a myth. I would put it differently, that the self is a useful marker for each person and their individuality. These selves are all determined, but they’re each uniquely determined, and at least this uniqueness is something we can salvage from the firm grip of determinism. What is mythical about the self is its self-determined nature.
As Berofsky puts it, guilt and remorse are strong indications, for compatibilists, that free will exists. I would add regret to those feelings, and I would admit, as does Sapolsky, that these strong, sometimes overwhelming feelings, based largely on the idea that we should have done otherwise, are our strongest arguments for rejecting the no free will position.
This issue of guilt needs to be looked at more closely, since our whole legal system is based on questions of guilt or innocence. I’ll reserve that for next time.
References
Bernard Berofsky, ed. Free will and determinism, 1966
Robert Sapolsky, Behave: the biology of humans at our best and worst, 2017
Sam Harris, Free will, 2012
language origins: some reflections
smartmouth
Jacinta: So a number of readings and listenings lately have caused us to think about how the advent of language would have brought about something of a revolution in human society – or any other society, here or on any other planet out there.
Canto: Yes, we heard about orangutan kiss-squeaks on a New Scientist podcast the other day, and we’re currently reading Rebecca Wragg Sykes’ extraordinary book Kindred, a thoroughly comprehensive account of Neanderthal culture, which we’ve clearly learned so much more about in recent decades. She hasn’t really mentioned language as yet (we’re a little over halfway through), but the complexity and sophistication she describes really brings the subject to mind. And of course there are cetacean and bird communications, inter alia.
Jacinta: So how do we define a language?
Canto: Yeah, we need to define it in such a way that other creatures can’t have it, haha.
Jacinta: Obviously it evolved in a piece-meal way, hence the term proto-language. And since you mentioned orangutans, here’s a quote from a 2021 research paper on the subject:
Critically, bar humans, orangutans are the only known great ape to produce consonant-like and vowel-like calls combined into syllable-like combinations, therefore, presenting a privileged hominid model for this study.
And what was the study, you ask? Well, quoting from the abstract:
… we assessed information loss in proto-consonants and proto-vowels in human pre-linguistic ancestors as proxied by orangutan consonant-like and vowel-like calls that compose syllable-like combinations. We played back and re-recorded calls at increasing distances across a structurally complex habitat (i.e. adverse to sound transmission). Consonant-like and vowel-like calls degraded acoustically over distance, but no information loss was detected regarding three distinct classes of information (viz. individual ID, context and population ID). Our results refute prevailing mathematical predictions and herald a turning point in language evolution theory and heuristics.
Canto: So, big claim. So these were orangutan calls. I thought they were solitary creatures?
Jacinta: Well they can’t be too solitary, for ‘the world must be orangutan’d’, to paraphrase Shakespeare. And interestingly, orangutans are the most tree-dwelling of all the great apes (including us of course). And that means a ‘structurally complex habitat’, methinks.
Canto: So here’s an even more recent piece (December 2022) from ScienceDaily:
Orangutans’ tree-dwelling nature means they use their mouth, lips and jaw as a ‘fifth hand’, unlike ground-dwelling African apes. Their sophisticated use of their mouths, mean orangutans communicate using a rich variety of consonant sounds.
Which is interesting in that they’re less close to us genetically than the African apes. So this research, from the University of Warwick, focused a lot on consonants, which until recently seemed quintessentially human productions. Researchers often wondered where these consonants came from, since African apes didn’t produce them. Their ‘discovery’ in orangutans has led, among other things, to a rethinking re our arboreal past.
Jacinta: Yes, there’s been a lot of focus recently on vowel and consonant formation, and the physicality of those formations, the muscles and structures involved.
Canto: Well in this article, Dr Adriano Lameira, a professor of psychology who has long been interested in language production, and has been studying orangutans in their natural habitat for 18 years, notes that their arboreal lifestyle and feeding habits have enabled, or in a sense forced, them to use their mouths as an extra appendage or tool. Here’s how Lameira puts it:
It is because of this limitation, that orangutans have developed greater control over their lips, tongue and jaw and can use their mouths as a fifth hand to hold food and manoeuvre tools. Orangutans are known for peeling an orange with just their lips so their fine oral neuro-motoric control is far superior to that of African apes, and it has evolved to be an integral part of their biology.
Jacinta: So they might be able to make more consonantal sounds, which adds to their repertoire perhaps, but that’s a long way from what humans do, putting strings of sounds together to make meaningful ‘statements’. You know, grammar and syntax.
Canto: Yes, well, that’s definitely going to the next level. But getting back to those kiss-squeaks I mentioned at the top, before we get onto grammar, we need to understand how we can make all the sounds, consonantal and vowel, fricative, plosive and all the rest. I’ve found the research mentioned in the New Scientist podcast just the other day, which compares orangutan sounds to human beatboxing (which up till now I’ve known nothing about, but I’m learning). Dr Lameira was also involved in this research, So I’ll quote him:
“It could be possible that early human language resembled something that sounded more like beatboxing, before evolution organised language into the consonant — vowel structure that we know today.”
Jacinta: Well that’s not uninteresting, and no doubt might fit somewhere in the origins of human speech, the details of which still remain very much a mystery. Presumably it will involve the development of distinctive sounds and the instruments and the musculature required to make them, as well as genes and neural networks – though that might be a technical term. Neural developments, anyway. Apparently there are ‘continuity theories’, favouring gradual development, probably over millennia, and ‘discontinuity theories’, arguing for a sudden breakthrough – but I would certainly favour the former, though it might have been primarily gestural, or a complex mixture of gestural and oral.
Canto: You’d think that gestural, or sign language – which we know can be extremely complex – would develop after bipedalism, or with it, and both would’ve evolved gradually. And, as we’re learning with Neanderthals, the development of a more intensive sociality could’ve really jump-started language processes.
Jacinta: Or maybe H sapiens had something going in the brain, or the genes, language-wise or proto-language-wise, that gave them the competitive advantage over Neanderthals? And yet, reading Kindred, I find it hard to believe that Neanderthals didn’t have any language. Anyway, let’s reflect on JuLingo’s video on language origins, in which she argues that language was never a goal in itself (how could it be), but a product of the complexity that went along with bipedalism, hunting, tool-making and greater hominin sociality. That’s to say, social evolution, reflected in neural and genetic changes, as well as subtle anatomical changes for the wider production and reception of sounds, perhaps starting with H ergaster around 1.5 million years ago. H heidelbergensis, with a larger brain size and wider spinal canal, may have taken language or proto-language to another level, and may have been ancestral to H sapiens. It’s all very speculative.
Canto: Yes, I don’t think I’m much qualified to add anything more – and I’m not sure if anyone is, but of course there’s no harm in speculating. Sykes speculates thusly about Neanderthals in Kindred:
Complementary evidence for language comes from the fact Neanderthals seem to have had similar rates of handedness. Tooth micro-scratches and patterns of knapping on cores [for stone tool-making] confirm they were dominated by right-handers, and this is also reflected in asymmetry in one side of their brains. But when we zoom in further to genetics, things get increasingly thorny. The FOXP2 gene is a case in point: humans have a mutation that changed just two amino acids from those in other animals, whether chimps or platypi. FOXP2 is definitely involved with cognitive and physical language capacity in living people, but it isn’t ‘the’ language gene; no such thing exists. Rather it affects multiple aspects of brain and central nervous system development. When it was confirmed that Neanderthals had the same FOXP2 gene as us, it was taken as strong evidence that they could ‘talk’. But another, subtler alteration has been found that happened after we’d split from them. It’s tiny – a single protein – and though the precise anatomical effect isn’t yet known, experiments show it does change how FOXP2 itself works. Small changes like this are fascinating, but we’re far from mapping out any kind of genetic recipe where adding this, or taking away that, would make Neanderthals loquacious or laconic.
Rebecca Wragg Sykes, Kindred: Neanderthal life, love, death and art, pp 248-9
Jacinta: Yes, these are good points, and could equally apply to early H sapiens, as well as H ergaster and H heidelbergensis. Again we tend to think of language as the full-blown form we learn about in ‘grammar schools’, but most languages today have no written form, and so no fixed grammar – am I right?
Canto: Not sure, but I understand what you’re getting at. The first English grammar book, more like a pamphlet, was published in 1586, when Shakespeare was just starting out as a playwright, and, as with ‘correct’ spelling and pronunciation, would’ve been politically motivated – the King’s English and all.
Jacinta: Queen at that time. Onya Elizabeth. But the grammar, and the rest, would’ve been fixed enough for high and low to enjoy Shakespeare’s plays. And to make conversation pretty fluid.
Canto: Yes, and was handed down pretty naturally, I mean without formal schooling. It’s kids who create new languages – pidgins that become creoles – when necessity necessitates. I read that in a Scientific American magazine back in the early eighties.
Jacinta: Yes, so they had the genes and the neural equipment to form new hybrid languages, more or less unconsciously. So much still to learn about all this…
Canto: And so little time….
References
Kindred: Neanderthal life, love, death and art, by Rebecca Wragg Sykes, 2021
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC8478518/
https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2022/12/221220112426.htm
https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2023/06/230627123117.htm
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Origin_of_language
https://humanorigins.si.edu/evidence/human-fossils/species/homo-heidelbergensis
dyslexia is not one thing 4: the left and the right
a one-sided view (the left) of the parts of the brain involved in language and reading processing
Canto: So we’re still looking at automaticity, and it’s long been observed that dyslexic kids have trouble retrieving names of both letters and objects from age three, and then with time the problem with letters becomes more prominent. This means that there just might be a way of diagnosing dyslexia from early problems with object naming, which of course starts first.
Jacinta: And Wolf is saying that it may not be just slowness but the use of different neural pathways, which fMRI could reveal.
Canto: Well, Wolf suggests possibly the use of right-hemisphere circuitry. Anyway, here’s what she says re the future of this research:
It is my hope that future researchers will be able to image object naming before children ever learn to read, so that we can study whether the use of a particular set of structures in a circuit might be a cause or a consequence of not being able to adapt to the new task of literacy (Wolf, p181).
So that takes us to the next section: “An impediment in the circuit connections among the structures”.
Jacinta: Connections between. And if we’re talking about the two hemispheres, the corpus callosum could’ve provided a barrier, as it does with stroke victims…
Canto: Yes, connections within the overall reading circuit, which involves different parts of the brain, can be more important for reaching automaticity than the brain regions themselves, and a lot of neuroscientists are exploring this connectivity. Apparently, according to Wolf, three forms of disconnections are being focussed on by researchers. One is an apparent disconnection ‘between frontal and posterior language regions, based on underactivity in an expansive connecting area called the insula. This important region mediates between relatively distant brain regions and is critical for automatic processing’ (Wolf, p182). Another area of disconnection involves the occipital-temporal region, also known as Brodmann area 37, which is activated by reading in all languages. Normally, strong, automatic connections are created between this posterior region and frontal regions in the left hemisphere, but dyslexic people make connections between the left occipital-temporal area and the right-hemisphere frontal areas. It also seems to be the case that in dyslexics the left angular gyrus, accessed by good beginning readers, doesn’t effectively connect with other left-hemisphere language regions during reading and the processing of phonemes.
Jacinta: And it’s not just fMRI that’s used for neuro-imaging. There’s something called magnetoencephalography (a great word for dyslexics) – or MEG – that gives an ‘approximate’ account of the regions activated during reading, and using this tool a US research group found that children with dyslexia were using a completely different reading circuitry, which helps explain the underactivity in other regions observed by other researchers.
Canto: And leads to provocative suggestions of a differently arranged brain in some people. Which takes us to the last of the four principles: ‘a different circuit for reading’. In this section, Wolf begins by recounting the ideas of the neurologists Samuel T Orton and Anna Gillingham in the 1920s and 1930s. Orton rejected the term ‘dyslexia’, preferring ‘strephosymbolia’. Somehow it didn’t catch on, but essentially it means ‘twisted symbols’. He hypothesised that in the non-dyslexic, the left-hemisphere processes identify the correct orientation of letters and letter sequences, but in the dyslexic this identification was somehow hampered by a problem with left-right brain communication. And decades later, in the 70s this hypothesis appeared to be validated, in that tests on children in which they were given ‘dichotic tasks’ – to identify varied auditory signals presented to different ears – revealed that impaired readers didn’t use left-hemisphere auditory processes in the same way as average readers. Other research showed that dyslexic readers showed ‘right-hemisphere superiority’, by which I think is meant that they favoured the right hemisphere for tasks usually favoured by the left.
Jacinta: Yes, weakness in the left hemisphere for handling linguistic tasks. But a lot of this was dismissed, or questioned, for being overly simplistic. You know, the old left-brain right-brain dichotomy that was in vogue in popular psychology some 30 years ago. Here’s what Wolf, very much a leading expert in this field, has to say on the latest findings (well, circa 2010):
In ongoing studies of the neural of typical reading, the research group at Georgetown University [a private research university in Washington DC] found that over time there is ‘progressive disengagement’ of the right hemisphere’s larger visual recognition system in reading words, and an increasing engagement of left hemisphere’s frontal, temporal, and occipital-temporal regions. This supports Orton’s belief that during development the left hemisphere takes over the processing of words (Wolf, p185).
Canto: Yes, that’s ‘typical reading’. Children with dyslexia ‘used more frontal regions, and also showed much less activity in left posterior regions, particularly in the developmentally important left-hemisphere angular gyrus’. Basically, they used ‘auxiliary’ right-hemisphere regions to compensate for these apparently insufficiently functional left regions. It seems that they are using ‘memory’ strategies (from right-hemisphere structures) rather than analytic ones, and this causes highly predictable delays in processing.
Jacinta: A number of brain regions are named in this explanation/exploration of the problems/solutions for dyslexic learners, and these names mean very little to us, so let’s provide some – very basic – descriptions of their known functions, and their positions in the brain.
Canto: Right (or left):
The angular gyrus – which, like all other regions, is worth looking up on google images as to placement – is in a sense divided in two by the corpus callosum. Described as ‘horseshoe-shaped’, it’s in the parietal lobe, or more specifically ‘the posterior region of the inferior parietal lobe’. The parietal lobes are paired regions at the top and back of the brain, the superior sitting atop the inferior. The angular gyrus is the essential region for reading and writing, so it comes first.
The occipital-temporal zone presumably implies a combo of the occipital and temporal lobes. The occipital is the smallest of the four lobes (occipital, temporal, parietal, frontal), each of which is ‘sided’, left and right. The junction of these two lobes with the parietal (TPO junction) is heavily involved in language processing as well as many other high-order functions.
Jacinta: Okay, that’ll do. It’s those delays you mention, the inability to attain automaticity, which characterises the dyslexic, and it appears to be caused by the use of a different brain circuitry, circuitry of the right-hemisphere. Best to quote Wolf again:
The dyslexic brain consistently employs more right-hemisphere structures than left-hemisphere structures, beginning with visual association areas and the occipital-temporal zone, extending through the right angular gyrus, supramarginal gyrus, and temporal regions. There is bilateral use of pivotal frontal regions, but this frontal activation is delayed (Wolf, p186).
Canto: The supramarginal gyrus is located just in front of and connected to the angular gyrus (a gyrus is anatomically defined as ‘a ridge or fold between two clefts on the cerebral surface in the brain). These two gyri, as mentioned above, make up the inferior parietal lobe.
Jacinta: Wolf describes cumulative research from many parts of the world which tends towards a distinctive pattern in dyslexia, but also urges skepticism – the human brain’s complexity is almost too much for a mere human brain to comprehend. No two brains are precisely alike, and there’s unlikely to be a one-size-fits all cause or treatment, but explorations of this deficit are of course leading to a more detailed understanding of the brain’s processes involving particular types of object recognition, in visual and auditory terms.
Canto: It’s certainly a tantalising field, and we’ve barely touched on the surface, and we’ve certainly not covered any, or very much of the latest research. One of the obvious questions is why some brains resort to different pathways from the majority, and whether there are upsides to offset the downsides. Is there some clue in the achievements of people known or suspected to be have been dyslexic in the past? I feel rather jealous of those researchers who are trying to solve these riddles….
References
Maryanne Wolf, Proust and the squid: the story and science of the reading brain, 2010
https://www.kenhub.com/en/library/anatomy/angular-gyrus
https://academic.oup.com/brain/article/126/9/2093/367492
dyslexia is not one thing 3: problems with automaticity
Q Canto: So the next hypothesised basic source of dyslexia is ‘a failure to achieve automaticity’, that’s to say the sort of rapid, more or less unconscious processing of sounds into letters and vice versa, which probably means effective connection between brain regions or structures.
Jacinta: Perhaps because one of the structures is somehow internally dysfunctional.
Canto: wYes, and it often begins with vision. Researchers have found that many dyslexic individuals couldn’t separate two rapidly succeeding visual flickers as clearly as other individuals – an apparent processing problem. Similar research with dyslexic children found that, though they could identify stimuli initially as well as the non-dyslexic, they fell behind with added complexity and speed. This occurred more or less equally whether the stimuli were aural or visual. The connections just didn’t come ‘naturally’ to them.
Jacinta: So what about the connection between language – I mean speech, which is tens of thousands of years old – and reading and writing, a much newer development for our brains to deal with? Do dyslexic people have problems with processing good old speech? Are they slower to learn to talk?
Canto: Yes, a good question. Wolf describes research in which children with dyslexia in a number of languages, including English, ‘were less sensitive to the rhythm in natural speech, which is partly determined by how the sounds in words change through stress and ‘beat patterns’’ (Wolf, p177). Others have found breakdowns in processing in various motor tasks involving hearing and seeing. That’s to say, in the automaticity of such tasks. One psychologist who studies dyslexic children found an extensive range of problems with processing speed, especially a time gap or asynchrony between visual and auditory processing, and this observation has become commonplace.
Jacinta: But does this relate specifically to learning to speak? I’ve heard that Einstein was slow at that as a child.
Canto: Yes it’s said that he didn’t learn to speak full sentences before the age of five. But here we’re just talking about ‘naming speed’, and how it appears to use the same neurological structures as reading, as problems with one is predictive of problems with the other.
Jacinta: And the problem isn’t so much with naming per se, but the speed, the gap.
Canto: Yes, the lack of automaticity. Neurologists working in this field have developed ‘rapid automised naming’ (RAN) tasks which have become the most effective predictors of reading performance, regardless of language. Wolf herself has developed a refinement, rapid alternating stimulus (RAS), which, as the name suggests, gives more weight to attention-switching automaticity. Here’s an interesting quote from Wolf:
If you consider that the whole development of reading is directed toward the ability to decode so rapidly that the brain has time to think about incoming information, you will understand the deep significance of those naming speed findings. In many cases of dyslexia, the brain never reaches the highest stages of reading development, because it takes too long to connect the earliest parts of the process. Many children with dyslexia literally do not have time to think in the medium of print.
Jacinta: It makes me think of the unconscious, but not the Freudian one. A processing that you don’t have to think about. So that you can think about the info, not the form that encapsulates it.
Canto: Yes, and none of this explains why some have these problems with automaticity – which brings us back to neurology. Are dyslexic individuals using a different circuit from the rest of us, and does this explain their skills and abilities in other areas? Remember the names – Einstein, da Vinci, Gaudi, Picasso… not that dyslexia guarantees genius or anything…
Jacinta: Yes, far from it, I’d say, but it’s a fascinating conundrum.
Canto: So, neurology. And this takes us to how the ‘reading brain’, a very new phenomenon, evolutionarily speaking, came into being. fMRI images appear to confirm hypotheses that the brain ‘uses older object recognition pathways in the occipital-temporal zone (area 37) to name both letters and objects’ (Wolf, p179). It’s a process described as ‘neuronal recycling’. And it takes us to brain regions associated with particular tasks. For example, the left occipital-temporal area is apparently more associated with object naming, a much older task, evolutionarily speaking, than letter naming, and one that takes up more cortical space. The more streamlined, specialised use of this region for letters, and the development of automaticity for that purpose, is a prime example of our much-vaunted neuroplasticity.
Jacinta: What they’ve called RAN is always faster for letters than objects – that’s perhaps because letters are a small, even quite tiny subset of the near-infinite set of objects.
Canto: Yes, and here I’m going to quote a difficult passage by Wolf at some length, and then try, with your help, to make sense of it:
…culturally invented letters elicit more activation than objects in each of the other ‘older structures’ (especially temporal-parietal language areas) used for reading in the universal reading brain. This is why measures of naming speed like RAN and RAS predict reading across all known languages. It is also why, side-by-side, the brain images of the object- and letter-naming tasks are like comparative evolutionary photos of a pre-reading and post reading brain (Wolf, p181).
Jacinta: So this is a bit confusing. Culturally invented letters are new, evolutionarily speaking. And there are older language structures used for reading. Repurposed? Added onto? A bit of renovation? And what exactly is ‘the universal reading brain’?
Canto: Good question, and a quick internet research reveals much talk of a ‘universal reading network’. Here’s a fascinating abstract from a 2020 study, some ten years after the publication of Wolf’s book. It’s entitled “A universal reading network and its modulation by writing system and reading ability in French and Chinese children”:
Are the brain mechanisms of reading acquisition similar across writing systems? And do similar brain anomalies underlie reading difficulties in alphabetic and ideographic reading systems? In a cross-cultural paradigm, we measured the fMRI responses to words, faces, and houses in 96 Chinese and French 10-year-old children, half of whom were struggling with reading. We observed a reading circuit which was strikingly similar across languages and consisting of the left fusiform gyrus, superior temporal gyrus/sulcus, precentral and middle frontal gyri. Activations in some of these areas were modulated either by language or by reading ability, but without interaction between those factors. In various regions previously associated with dyslexia, reading difficulty affected activation similarly in Chinese and French readers, including the middle frontal gyrus, a region previously described as specifically altered in Chinese. Our analyses reveal a large degree of cross-cultural invariance in the neural correlates of reading acquisition and reading impairment.
So this research, like no doubt previous research, identifies various brain regions associated with reading ability and impairment, and finds that the same automacity, or lack thereof, is associated with the same regions, such as the middle frontal gyrus, in both alphabetic and ideographic reading systems. I think this is further confirmation of the research work Wolf is citing. Of course, I don’t know much about these brain regions. A course in neurology is required.
Jacinta: But what Wolf appears to be saying in that earlier quote is that you can get brain images (via fMRI) of object naming (older brain) tasks and put them side by side with images of letter naming tasks (younger brain), and it’s like seeing the results of evolution. Sounds a bit much to me. I suppose you can see a different pattern. Isn’t fMRI based on the magnetism of iron in the blood?
Canto: Yes yes. This is complex, but of course it’s true that the neural networking required for reading and writing is much more recent than that for language – and remember that of the 7000 or so languages we know of, only about 300 have a written form, which suggests that the Aborigines, before whities arrived, and the Papua-New Guineans, who have about 700 different languages on their island, were unable to even be dyslexic, or were all dyslexic without knowing it, or giving a flying fuck about it, because they had no writing, and no wiring for reading it.
Jacinta: So it would be interesting, then, to scan the brains of those language users – and there are no humans who aren’t language users – who don’t have writing. Take for example the Australian Aborigines, who became swamped by white Christian missionaries determined to ‘civilise’ them, more or less overnight in evolutionary terms, through teaching them to read and write. And then would’ve been characterised as backward for not picking up those skills.
Canto: That’s an interesting point, but it’s the same even in ‘cradles of civilisation’ such as Britain, where the vast majority were illiterate, and encouraged to be so, 500 years ago. At that time the printing press was a new-fangled device, church services were mostly conducted in Latin, and it was convenient to keep the peasantry in ignorance and in line. And yet, when it became more convenient to have a literate population, the change appears to have been relatively seamless, dyslexia notwithstanding. So it seems that, from a neurological perspective, little change was required.
Jacinta: Yes, that’s a good point, and it points to brain plasticity. Curiouser and curiouser – so it’s not so much about evolution and genes, but relatively rapid neural developments…. to be continued…
References
M Wolf, Proust and the squid, 2010
A bit about schizophrenia – a very bizarre ailment
Having, for a book group, read a strange novel written a little over 50 years ago, by Doris Lessing, Briefing for a descent into hell, the title of which may or may not be ironic, and being reasonably interested in the brain, its functions and dysfunctions, I’ve decided to use this post to update my tiny knowledge of schizophrenia, a disorder I’ve had some acquaintance with.
Lessing’s book may or may not be about schizophrenia, because it doesn’t concern itself with labeling any mental disorders, or with the science of brain dysfunction in any way. The focus is upon the imaginative world of an Oxbridge academic, a lecturer in classical mythology or some such, who, having been found wandering about in some Egdon Heath-type landscape, with no identification papers or money, and a lack of proper lucidity, is brought into a psychiatric facility for observation and treatment. The vast bulk of the book is told from this individuals’s perspective. Not that he tells the story of his illness, he simply tells stories – or Lessing tells stories on his behalf. Somehow the reader is allowed to to enter the main character’s inner landscape, which includes a voyage around the Pacific Ocean, another voyage around the solar system (conducted by classical deities) and harrowing, but fake, war-time experiences in the Balkans. Along the way we’re provided with the occasional dazzling piece of insight which I think we’re asked to consider as the upside, or mind-expanding nature, of ‘madness’ – somewhat in the spirit of Huxley’s Doors of Perception and Timothy Leary’s psychedelia. At the end of the book the professor is returned to ‘normality’ via electric shock treatment, and becomes, apparently, as uninteresting a character as most of the others in the book, especially the doctors responsible for his treatment, only known as X and Y.
So, there are problems here. First, Lessing’s apparent lack of interest in the science of the brain means that we’re at a loss to know what the academic is suffering from. Madness and insanity are not of course, legitimate terms for mental conditions, and Lessing avoids using them, but offers nothing more specific, so we’re reduced to trying to deduce the condition from what we know of the behaviour and ramblings of an entirely fictional character. I’ve come up with only two not very convincing possibilities – schizophrenia and brain tumour. A brain tumour is a useful literary device due to the multifaceted nature of our white and grey matter, which constitutes the most complex organ in the known universe, as many an expert has pointed out. A benign tumour – one that that doesn’t metastasise – may bring on a multiplicity of neurons or connections between them that increase the ability to confabulate – though I’ve never heard of such an outcome and it’s more likely that our ‘imagination’ is the product of multiple regions spread throughout the cortex. Schizophrenia only really occurs to me here because the professor was found wandering ‘lonely as a cloud’, far from home, having had his wallet presumably stolen, so that it took some time to identify him. This reminds me of a friend who has from this condition, and has suffered a similar experience more than once.
One of the symptoms of schizophrenia is called ‘loss of affect’, which means that the sufferer become relatively indifferent to the basics – food, clothing and shelter – so caught up is he in his mental ramblings, which he often voices aloud. It’s rare however, for schizophrenia to make its first appearance in middle-age, as appears to be the case here. Another reason, though, that my thoughts turned to schizophrenia was something I read online, in reference to Briefing for a descent into hell. I haven’t read any reviews of the book, and in fact I had no idea when the book was published, as I’d obtained a cheapie online version, which was undated. So in trying to ascertain the date – 1971, earlier than I’d expected, but in many ways illuminating – I happened to note a brief reference to a review written when the book came out, by the US essayist Joan Didion. She wrote that the book presented an ‘unconvincing description of mental illness’ and that the book displayed the influence of R D Laing. A double bullseye in my opinion.
I read a bit of R D Laing, the noted ‘anti-psychiatrist’ in the seventies, after which he went decidedly out of fashion. His focus was primarily on schizophrenia – as for example in his 1964 paper ‘Is schizophrenia a disease?’ – though he treated other psychoses in much the same way as ‘a perfectly rational response to an insane world’. This is doubtless an oversimplification of his views, but in any case he seems to have given scant regard to what is actually going on in the brain of schizophrenics.
Since the sixties and seventies, though, and especially since the nineties and the advent of PET scanning, MEG, fMRI and other technologies, the field of neurology has advanced exponentially, and the mental ailments we suffer from are being pinpointed a little more accurately vis-à-vis brain regions and processes. I’ve noted, though, that there’s still a certain romantic halo around the concept of ‘madness’, which after all human society has been ambivalent about since the beginning. The wise fool, the mad scientist and the like have long had their appeal, and it may even be that in extremis, insanity may be a ‘reasonable’ option. As for schizophrenia, maybe we can live with our ‘demons’, as was apparently the case for John Nash after years of struggle, but it’s surely worth trying to get to the bottom of this often crippling disorder, so that it can be managed or cured without resort to disabling or otherwise unhealthy or inconvenient dependence on medication.
Schizophrenia is certainly weird, and its causes are essentially unknown. There’s a genetic element – you’re more likely to suffer from it if it runs in the family – but it can also be brought on by stress and/or regular drug use, depending no doubt on the drug. It’s currently described as affecting a whopping one in a hundred people (with enormous regional variation, apparently), but perhaps if we’re able to learn more about the variety of symptoms we might be able to break it down into a group of affiliated disorders. There is no known cure as yet.
One feature of the ‘neurological revolution’ of the last few decades has been the focus on neurotransmission and electrochemical pathways in the brain, and dopamine, a neurotransmitter, was an early target for understanding and treating the disorder (and may others). And that’s still ongoing:
Current research suggests that schizophrenia is a neurodevelopmental disorder with an important dopamine component.
That’s from a very recent popular website, but research is of course growing, and pointing at other markers. A reading of the extensive Wikipedia article on schizophrenia has a near-paralysing effect on any attempt to define or describe it in a blog post like this. Glutamate, the brain’s ‘most abundant excitatory neurotransmitter’, has been a major recent focus, but it’s unlikely that we’ll get to the bottom of schizophrenia by examining brains in isolation from the lived experience of their owners. Genetics, epigenetics, stress, living conditions and associated disorders, inter alia, all appear to play a part. And due to its strangeness, its apparent hallucinatory nature, its modern associations of alienation and dystopia – think King Crimson’s ’21st century schizoid man’ and much of the oeuvre of Bowie (mostly his best work) – it’s hardly surprising that we feel something of an urge to venerate the schizoid personality, or at least to legitimate it.
Meanwhile, research will inevitably continue, as will the breaking down of intelligence and consciousness into neurotransmission pathways, hormone production, feedback loops, astrocytes etc etc, and ways of enhancing, re-routing, dampening and off-on switching neural signals via increasingly sophisticated and targeted medications… because a certain level of normality is optimal after all.
Meanwhile, I’m off to listen to some of that crazy music….
References
https://www.verywellmind.com/the-relationship-between-schizophrenia-and-dopamine-5219904
https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-dopamine-5185621
still bitten by the bonobo bug…
Having written quite a few essays on a future bonoboesque world, I’ve found myself in possession of a whole book on our Pan paniscus relatives for the first time. All that I’ve gleaned about these fellow apes until now has been from the vasty depths of the internet, a gift that will doubtless keep on giving. My benefactor apologised for her gift to me, describing it as a coffee-table book, perhaps more pictorial than informative, but I’ve already learned much that’s new to me from the first few pages. For example, I knew from my basic research that bonobos were first identified as a distinct species in the late 1920s or early 1930s – I could never get the date straight, perhaps because I’d read conflicting accounts. De Waal presents a more comprehensive and interesting story, which involves, among other things, an ape called Mafuka, the most popular resident, or inmate, of Amsterdam Zoo between 2011 and 2016, later identified as a bonobo. The zoo now features a statue of Mafuka.
More important, though, for me, is that everything I’ve read so far reminds me of the purpose of my bonobo essays, but also makes me wonder if I haven’t focussed enough on one central feature of bonobo society, probably out of timidity. Here’s how De Waal puts it:
It is impossible to understand the social life of this ape without attention to its sex life: the two are inseparable. Whereas in most other species, sexual behaviour is a fairly distinct category, in the bonobo it has become an integral of social relationships, and not just between males and females. Bonobos engage in sex in virtually every partner combination: male-male, male-female, female-female, male-juvenile, female-juvenile, and so on. The frequency of sexual contact is also higher than among most other primates.
In our own society, definitely still male-dominated but also with a legacy of religious sexual conservatism, this kind of all-in, semi-masturbatory sexual contact is absolutely beyond the pale. I’m reminded of the Freudian concept of sublimation I learned about as a teen – the eros or sex drive is channelled into other passionate, creative activities, and, voila, human civilisation! And yet, we’re still obsessed with sex, which we’re expected to transmute into sexual fulfilment with a lifelong partner. Meanwhile, the popularity of porn, or what I prefer to call the sex video industry, as well as the world’s oldest profession, indicates that there’s much that’s not quite right about our sex lives.
This raises questions about monogamy, the nuclear family, and even the human concept of love. This is ancient, but nevertheless dangerous territory, so for now I’ll stick with bonobos. As with chimps, female bonobos often, though not always, move to other groups at sexual maturity, a practice known as philopatry. Interestingly, this practice has similarities to exogamous marriage practices, for example among some Australian Aboriginal groups. It’s interesting, then, that female-female bonds tend to be the strongest among bonobos, considering that there’s no kinship involved.
Needless to say, bonobos don’t live in nuclear families, and child-care is a more flexible arrangement than amongst humans, though the mother is naturally the principal carer. And it seems that bonobo mothers have a subtly closer relationship with their sons than their daughters:
the bond between mother and son is of particular significance in bonobo society where the son will maintain his connection with his mother for life and depend upon her for his social standing within the group. For example, the son of the society’s dominant female, the strong matriarch who maintains social order, will rise in the ranks of the group, presumably to ensure the establishment and perpetuation of unaggressive, non-competitive, cooperative male characteristics, both learnt and genetic, within the group.
Considering this point, it would be interesting to research mother-son relations among human single-parent families in the WEIRD world, a situation that has become more common in recent decades. Could it be that, given other support networks, rather than the disadvantages often associated with one-parent families in human societies, males from such backgrounds are of the type that command more respect than other males? Particularly, I would suspect, from females. Of course, it’s hard to generalise about human upbringing, but we might be able to derive lessons from bonobo methods. Bonobo mothers rarely behave punitively towards their sons, and those sons remain attached to their mothers throughout their lives. The sons of high-status females also attain high status within the male hierarchy.
Yet we are far from being able to emulate bonobo matriarchy, as we’re still a very patriarchal society. Research indicates that many women are still attracted to high-status, philandering men. That’s to say, they’ve been ‘trained’ to climb the success ladder through marriage or co-habitation than through personal achievement. They’ve also been trained into the idea of high-status males as dominating other males as well as females. It is of course changing, though too slowly, and with too many backward moves for the more impatient among us. Two macho thugocracies, Russia and China, are currently threatening the movement towards collaboration and inclusivity that we see in female-led democracies such as Taiwan, New Zealand and a number of Scandinavian countries. It may well be that in the aftermath of the massive destruction wrought by these thugocracies, there will come a reckoning, as occurred after the two ‘world wars’ with the creation of the UN and the growth of the human rights movement and international aid organisations, but it is frustrating to contemplate the suffering endured in the meantime, by those unlucky enough to be born in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Now of course all this might be seen as presenting a romanticised picture of bonobos (not to mention female humans), which De Waal and other experts warn us against. The difference in aggression between bonobos and chimps is more a matter of degree than of type, perhaps, and these differences can vary with habitat and the availability of resources. And yet we know from our studies of human societies that male-dominated societies are more violent. And male domination has nothing to do with simple numbers, it is rather about how a society is structured, and how that structure is reinforced. For example I’ve written recently about how the decidedly male god of the Abrahamic religions, originally written as YWH or Elohim, emerged from a patriarchal, polygamous society in the Sinai region, with its stories of Jacob and Abraham and their many wives, which was reinforced in its structure by origin myths in which woman was created out of a man’s rib and was principally responsible for the banishment from paradise. The WEIRD world is struggling to disentangle itself from these myths and attitudes, and modern science is its best tool for doing so.
One of the most interesting findings, then, from modern neurology, is that while there are no categorical differences between the male and the female brain in humans, there are significant statistical differences – which might make for a difference in human society as a whole. To explain further: no categorical difference means that, if you were a professional neurologist who had been studying the human brain for decades, and were presented with a completely disembodied but still functional human brain to analyse, you wouldn’t be able to assert categorically that this brain belonged to a male or a female. That’s because the differences among female brains, and among male brains, are substantial – a good reason for promoting gender fluidity. However, statistically, there are also substantial differences between male and female brains, with males having more ‘grey’ material (the neurons) and females having more ‘white’ material (the myelinated connections between neurons), and with males having slightly higher brain volume, in accord with general sexual dimorphism. In a 2017 British study involving some 5,000 subjects, researchers found that:
Adjusting for age, on average… women tended to have significantly thicker cortices than men. Thicker cortices have been associated with higher scores on a variety of cognitive and general intelligence tests.
This sounds promising, but it’s doubtful that anything too insightful can be made of it, any more than a study of bonobo neurophysiology would provide us with insights into their culture. But, you never know…
References
Frans De Waal & Frans Lanting, Bonobo: the forgotten ape, 1997.
https://www.humancondition.com/freedom-the-importance-of-nurturing-in-bonobo-society/
on the origin of the god called God, part 2: the first writings, the curse on women, the jealous god