Magic
Today began as a routine morning. After coffee and responding to email I headed to the gym where I greeted some other regulars, did my exercise routine, and listened to some Ted Talks. This morning I listened to a Ted talk by Donald Hoffman, “Do we see reality as it is?” Donald D. Hoffman is Professor of Cognitive Science, University of California, Irvine and author of Visual Intelligence: How We Create What We See and coauthor of Observer Mechanics: A Formal Theory of Perception. (http://www.cogsci.uci.edu/~ddhoff/HoffmanPubs.html)
I am fascinated by the fact that through the “magic” of light waves, density of the material it is bouncing off of, the 130 million photoreceptors , the billions of neurons and trillions of synapses, the chemical balance in my body, the experiences and labels my brain has stored, my brain allows me to process the light refractions, identify something I will call a color (if not color blind) and/or a shape, and very often label that which I am perceiving. What we perceived can be affected by a change in any of these or related factors. Yet, if not careful we can end up not very far removed from a small animal in Australia which Dr. Hoffman talks about. In his Ted talk he says:
“The Australian jewel beetle is dimpled, glossy and brown. The female is flightless. The male flies, looking, of course, for a hot female. When he finds one, he alights and mates. There's another species in the outback, Homo sapiens. The male of this species has a massive brain that he uses to hunt for cold beer. (Laughter) And when he finds one, he drains it, and sometimes throws the bottle into the outback. Now, as it happens, these bottles are dimpled, glossy, and just the right shade of brown to tickle the fancy of these beetles. The males swarm all over the bottles trying to mate. They lose all interest in the real females. Classic case of the male leaving the female for the bottle. (Laughter) (Applause) The species almost went extinct. Australia had to change its bottles to save its beetles. (Laughter) Now, the males had successfully found females for thousands, perhaps millions of years. It looked like they saw reality as it is, but apparently not. Evolution had given them a hack. A female is anything dimpled, glossy and brown, the bigger the better. (Laughter) Even when crawling all over the bottle, the male couldn't discover his mistake.”
Very often, as was true for the Australian beetle, we humans are convinced that what we perceive is the entirety of the object which could be a person, a seemingly inanimate object, or what appears to be a process such as light changing, or movement such as that which is created in the process of creating an animated film.
When the beetles discovered the bottles their brains apparently connected the color and the shape with that of the female beetle with whom they would then try to mate. I am not sure that the thought process of the beetle is the same as it is for we humans, but we do know that we humans sometimes seem to have a habit or an instinct which directs our behavior. Very often, though, either because of some interaction with light or sound waves we have what we have come to describe as a thought. These thoughts might be largely dependent on past experiences or what we sometimes call assumptions.
As I was listening to Dr. Hoffman I began to think about the process of first “seeing” and then incorporating that into my expectations or past experiences to form a thought. I might even put concepts or ideas into a new patterns and have what is, for me, a new thought – words or concepts put together in a new way. This led me to a new/old thought/question about what is actually happening in the brain at moment.
Ask google! Eventually, I was taken to a site, “engineering.mit.edu” and a section on that site entitled “Ask an engineer.” I found the following in the body of a larger article:
“When you read these words, for example, the photons associated with the patterns of the letters hit your retina, and their energy triggers an electrical signal in the light-detecting cells there. That electrical signal propagates like a wave along the long threads called axons that are part of the connections between neurons. When the signal reaches the end of an axon, it causes the release of chemical neurotransmitters into the synapse, a chemical junction between the axon tip and target neurons. A target neuron responds with its own electrical signal, which, in turn, spreads to other neurons. Within a few hundred milliseconds, the signal has spread to billions of neurons in several dozen interconnected areas of your brain and you have perceived these words. (All that and you probably didn’t even break a sweat.)
The fact that you are then able to convert the perception of these shapes into symbols, language, and meaning is a whole other story—and a good indication of the complexity of neuroscience. Trying to imagine how trillions of connections and billions of simultaneous transmissions coalesce inside your brain to form a thought is a little like trying to look at the leaves, roots, snakes, birds, ticks, deer—and everything else in a forest—at the same moment.”
So, if the reader has humored me thus far, he or she is wondering if I have a point. After all, if the reader wants to study all the latest research on how we create or form a thought in our brain, there are many papers and books on the subject. No reader is going to read a blog to earn his or her PhD on how our human brain arrives at what we are calling a thought.
What tickled my mind, once again, was the sheer magic and complexity of the human brain In fact, the entire world and how all the parts interact seem very magical to me. I am again aware of how easy it is for we adult humans to let go of this sense of magic. One of the qualities which I most appreciate about my six-year-old friend, Sam, is that she still has much of that sense of magic or awe about the world. Her 12-year-old brother, Paul, still retains much of that same sense of magic, but already, less so than Sam.
I am not ready to concede that we adults have to give up this sense of magic or, if we have lost it along the way, that it is impossible to reclaim it. Many of the people to whom I listen on Ted Talks have that sense of magic. Many of my friends who are artists in various fields are childlike in their pursuit of and enjoyment of that magic. Whether it is a new piece of music, a new play, a novel whose characters explore the unknown, a scientist or a doctor who is exploring a new approach to treatment, a chef who passionate about flavors and textures, or a teacher who loves helping the students blossom into flowers, the magic is everywhere. Some may attribute this magic to a god of their understanding. Some may just enjoy it as magic. Regardless, I think we can help each other hold on to that child-like excitement. We can paradoxically have a thought about the magic of thought. We can imagine all those protons, neurons, synapse, chemicals, light waves being delighted with playing with each other.
Just like that little engine that could:
“A little railroad engine was employed about a station yard for such work as it was built for, pulling a few cars on and off the switches. One morning it was waiting for the next call when a long train of freight-cars asked a large engine in the roundhouse to take it over the hill. "I can't; that is too much a pull for me,” said the great engine built for hard work. Then the train asked another engine, and another, only to hear excuses and be refused. In desperation, the train asked the little switch engine to draw it up the grade and down on the other side. "I think I can," puffed the little locomotive, and put itself in front of the great heavy train. As it went on the little engine kept bravely puffing faster and faster, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."
As it neared the top of the grade, which had so discouraged the larger engines, it went more slowly. However, it still kept saying, "I—think—I—can, I—think—I—can." It reached the top by drawing on bravery and then went on down the grade, congratulating itself by saying, "I thought I could, I thought I could." (Wikipedia – one version of the story)
Written February 15, 2016
Today began as a routine morning. After coffee and responding to email I headed to the gym where I greeted some other regulars, did my exercise routine, and listened to some Ted Talks. This morning I listened to a Ted talk by Donald Hoffman, “Do we see reality as it is?” Donald D. Hoffman is Professor of Cognitive Science, University of California, Irvine and author of Visual Intelligence: How We Create What We See and coauthor of Observer Mechanics: A Formal Theory of Perception. (http://www.cogsci.uci.edu/~ddhoff/HoffmanPubs.html)
I am fascinated by the fact that through the “magic” of light waves, density of the material it is bouncing off of, the 130 million photoreceptors , the billions of neurons and trillions of synapses, the chemical balance in my body, the experiences and labels my brain has stored, my brain allows me to process the light refractions, identify something I will call a color (if not color blind) and/or a shape, and very often label that which I am perceiving. What we perceived can be affected by a change in any of these or related factors. Yet, if not careful we can end up not very far removed from a small animal in Australia which Dr. Hoffman talks about. In his Ted talk he says:
“The Australian jewel beetle is dimpled, glossy and brown. The female is flightless. The male flies, looking, of course, for a hot female. When he finds one, he alights and mates. There's another species in the outback, Homo sapiens. The male of this species has a massive brain that he uses to hunt for cold beer. (Laughter) And when he finds one, he drains it, and sometimes throws the bottle into the outback. Now, as it happens, these bottles are dimpled, glossy, and just the right shade of brown to tickle the fancy of these beetles. The males swarm all over the bottles trying to mate. They lose all interest in the real females. Classic case of the male leaving the female for the bottle. (Laughter) (Applause) The species almost went extinct. Australia had to change its bottles to save its beetles. (Laughter) Now, the males had successfully found females for thousands, perhaps millions of years. It looked like they saw reality as it is, but apparently not. Evolution had given them a hack. A female is anything dimpled, glossy and brown, the bigger the better. (Laughter) Even when crawling all over the bottle, the male couldn't discover his mistake.”
Very often, as was true for the Australian beetle, we humans are convinced that what we perceive is the entirety of the object which could be a person, a seemingly inanimate object, or what appears to be a process such as light changing, or movement such as that which is created in the process of creating an animated film.
When the beetles discovered the bottles their brains apparently connected the color and the shape with that of the female beetle with whom they would then try to mate. I am not sure that the thought process of the beetle is the same as it is for we humans, but we do know that we humans sometimes seem to have a habit or an instinct which directs our behavior. Very often, though, either because of some interaction with light or sound waves we have what we have come to describe as a thought. These thoughts might be largely dependent on past experiences or what we sometimes call assumptions.
As I was listening to Dr. Hoffman I began to think about the process of first “seeing” and then incorporating that into my expectations or past experiences to form a thought. I might even put concepts or ideas into a new patterns and have what is, for me, a new thought – words or concepts put together in a new way. This led me to a new/old thought/question about what is actually happening in the brain at moment.
Ask google! Eventually, I was taken to a site, “engineering.mit.edu” and a section on that site entitled “Ask an engineer.” I found the following in the body of a larger article:
“When you read these words, for example, the photons associated with the patterns of the letters hit your retina, and their energy triggers an electrical signal in the light-detecting cells there. That electrical signal propagates like a wave along the long threads called axons that are part of the connections between neurons. When the signal reaches the end of an axon, it causes the release of chemical neurotransmitters into the synapse, a chemical junction between the axon tip and target neurons. A target neuron responds with its own electrical signal, which, in turn, spreads to other neurons. Within a few hundred milliseconds, the signal has spread to billions of neurons in several dozen interconnected areas of your brain and you have perceived these words. (All that and you probably didn’t even break a sweat.)
The fact that you are then able to convert the perception of these shapes into symbols, language, and meaning is a whole other story—and a good indication of the complexity of neuroscience. Trying to imagine how trillions of connections and billions of simultaneous transmissions coalesce inside your brain to form a thought is a little like trying to look at the leaves, roots, snakes, birds, ticks, deer—and everything else in a forest—at the same moment.”
So, if the reader has humored me thus far, he or she is wondering if I have a point. After all, if the reader wants to study all the latest research on how we create or form a thought in our brain, there are many papers and books on the subject. No reader is going to read a blog to earn his or her PhD on how our human brain arrives at what we are calling a thought.
What tickled my mind, once again, was the sheer magic and complexity of the human brain In fact, the entire world and how all the parts interact seem very magical to me. I am again aware of how easy it is for we adult humans to let go of this sense of magic. One of the qualities which I most appreciate about my six-year-old friend, Sam, is that she still has much of that sense of magic or awe about the world. Her 12-year-old brother, Paul, still retains much of that same sense of magic, but already, less so than Sam.
I am not ready to concede that we adults have to give up this sense of magic or, if we have lost it along the way, that it is impossible to reclaim it. Many of the people to whom I listen on Ted Talks have that sense of magic. Many of my friends who are artists in various fields are childlike in their pursuit of and enjoyment of that magic. Whether it is a new piece of music, a new play, a novel whose characters explore the unknown, a scientist or a doctor who is exploring a new approach to treatment, a chef who passionate about flavors and textures, or a teacher who loves helping the students blossom into flowers, the magic is everywhere. Some may attribute this magic to a god of their understanding. Some may just enjoy it as magic. Regardless, I think we can help each other hold on to that child-like excitement. We can paradoxically have a thought about the magic of thought. We can imagine all those protons, neurons, synapse, chemicals, light waves being delighted with playing with each other.
Just like that little engine that could:
“A little railroad engine was employed about a station yard for such work as it was built for, pulling a few cars on and off the switches. One morning it was waiting for the next call when a long train of freight-cars asked a large engine in the roundhouse to take it over the hill. "I can't; that is too much a pull for me,” said the great engine built for hard work. Then the train asked another engine, and another, only to hear excuses and be refused. In desperation, the train asked the little switch engine to draw it up the grade and down on the other side. "I think I can," puffed the little locomotive, and put itself in front of the great heavy train. As it went on the little engine kept bravely puffing faster and faster, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."
As it neared the top of the grade, which had so discouraged the larger engines, it went more slowly. However, it still kept saying, "I—think—I—can, I—think—I—can." It reached the top by drawing on bravery and then went on down the grade, congratulating itself by saying, "I thought I could, I thought I could." (Wikipedia – one version of the story)
Written February 15, 2016
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