Doctor Doolittle attainable?

 kw: book reviews, nonfiction, zoology, sociology, communication

How do animals communicate? Why do they do so? What do they have to talk about? What are they saying? Can we eavesdrop? Can we horn in?

The first question has numerous answers, and has motivated a great lot of literature. The answers to the third and successive questions are still elusive at best, and impossible (to date) to answer. But the second question, now: Ah, that's a good one. Why, indeed, do animals communicate? To narrow the focus quite a bit: Why do animals talk?

Why Animals Talk: The New Science of Animal Communication by Arik Kershenbaum takes up precisely that question. Were I the editor I would suggest adding a word to the title: Vocally. Dr. Kershenbaum states in the Introduction that this book focuses only on auditory communication, to keep the book's size manageable. And while I am making suggestions, may I offer that the cover picture, of a frog nose-to-nose with a snail, is way off the point? Frogs eat snails, and snails are remarkably mute. There's a pair with nothing, but nothing, to talk about!

In the context of biological evolution, vocalizing, in common with all kinds of communication, must serve the needs of the creature in its environment. Take up the question for yourself: what needs to you have? Shelter, food, a mate, and enjoyment. Each of these needs is different in detail from the similar needs of any animal in its own environment. Also, for most animals larger than a limpet, a fifth need would be a sense of purpose, even though that may be largely wrapped up in both providing and securing the first four needs.

The author illustrates the range of animal talk by discussing seven animals: Wolf, Dolphin, Parrot, Hyrax, Gibbon, Chimpanzee, and Human. In each chapter the animal's unique vocalizations are examined with this question in view: Is it Language? And a corollary: Is it a stepping stone towards language?

At first it seem to me that the order is a bit odd: Hyraxes weigh a pound or two, with a correspondingly small brain; dolphins are the heaviest on the list and, after humans, have the largest brain in relation to body size. I finally recognized a specific order, that of successive degrees of verbal complexity. I wondered why Dolphins were brought in so early. Most of us think of them has being closest to having a language. However, their whistles are variable, not repeatable, and nobody has yet been able to discern a vocabulary of "dolphinese". The author stresses in this chapter and others that language does not necessarily require discrete words. I am strongly skeptical about that. I personally tend to put "wordlessness" as distinctive on non-language, but I am willing to withhold judgment for now.

Can wolf howling be considered linguistic in any way? It must be pre-linguistic, as it is a kind of singing. Howling wolves are clearly enjoying the experience; howling is emotional. Considering that, in humans, the brain structures that support song are larger and more deeply established than those that support speaking and speech hearing, it is evident to me that song came long before speech, and perhaps by a million years or more…or perhaps by several millions of years.

The first animal treated that seems to have word-like utterances is the hyrax, a little marmot-sized relative of elephants—they even have little tusks! It may seem a stretch to call their chippy, chittery vocalizations as songs, but the author thinks they are. They are not random strings of the five distinct sounds a hyrax makes; they seem to have a syntax. That is, certain sounds never occur one after the other, while others are usually found in succession. Just as we have words that contain several syllables, it may be that, if hyraxes actually have "words", many are of several syllables. (In human speech, contrast monosyllabic Chinese with polysyllabic Japanese.)

Putting gibbons next in order, we find certain similarities in their "songs" to hyrax "songs" except that gibbons have 27 (or 28, the text says both at different points) distinct utterances, with a much more complex syntax than that of hyrax "songs".

Parrots are a really mixed bunch. While most parrots, and several other birds such as Mynah birds and ravens, can mimic human speech sounds (and doorbells, gunshots and sirens), they don't use these sounds in meaningful ways, with an exception or two. A bird named Alex, an African Grey Parrot, became famous for his ability to hold a simple but meaningful conversation with a human. Getting Alex to this point took a lot of training, of a special type described in the Parrots chapter. Alex has died, and another African Grey Parrot is being trained; stay tuned.

Was Alex an exceptional genius among birds? For one thing, his verbal abilities indicate that the arrangement of a bird's brain might be quite a bit more efficient and economical than that of a mammal's brain. His brain was the size of a shelled walnut and weighed less than a quarter ounce. A typical house cat has a one-ounce brain, and only a very exceptional cat can learn to recognize more than their name and the sound of a can opener. Regardless of Alex's skills, it is evident that parrots in the wild don't use language in any humanlike, or even Alex-like, way.

So, gibbons sing. Chimpanzees don't. What some (stress: some) chimps can do is learn either rudimentary ASL (American Sign Language) or other physical means of indicating a small number of words. Sentences longer than "give banana" seem to be beyond them. The gorilla Koko learned more ASL and was a better conversationalist. But neither chimps nor gorillas have a vocal apparatus that can produce uttered language, and it is pretty clear that they don't have the flexibility of mentation to support humanlike language at the level of a two-year-old human. Somehow, Alex the parrot could hold his own with a six-year-old human.

The author stresses again and again that animals communicate according to the needs imposed by their environments. The complexity of their utterances—and again, he is reporting only on audible communication—generally reflects the complexity of their social environment. It appears that only humans can maintain relationships with potentially thousands of other humans (The number of names in the Picasa face-name directory for my photos comes to about 1,200. There are a few hundred other people I know by name and face and converse with more frequently than yearly, whom I have not photographed). The largest chimpanzee "village" is less than 100. Similarly for dolphins, orcas, and their kin.

How and where and when did humans make a breakthrough that allows an actual infinite range of expression? We may not make many more unique sounds than the sound-repertory of a gibbon (English phoneme lists range from 44 to 46, and Mandarin Chinese requires 88 phonemes, but Hawaiian gets by with 24). We combine them endlessly, and we can distinguish them. Thus, most English speakers can speak and recognize about 10,000 one-syllable words, 30,000-35,000 2-syllable words, and a total of 60,000-100,000 total words, plus all the case inflections and conjugations needed to make grammar work. The author stresses this point: No other animal has grammar, or at least nothing like a grammar that we can recognize.

What conclusions can we draw from all this? Firstly, that a great deal of research lies ahead, for us to begin to understand what any particular species of animal "means" by its utterances. Secondly, whether "words" really are necessary for the kind of flexible communication we call "human communication," which is what we usually mean when we use the term "language."

What Dr. Kershenbaum has given us is not the answer to "Why animals talk," but a few foundation stones, of a set of unknown size, the groundwork for learning why they do talk, and eventually, what they are saying (which we may find out is not anything we'd enjoy hearing!).

Had a good chat with your houseplant today?

 kw: book reviews, nonfiction, science, botany, research, plant consciousness, communication, signaling, plant movement, plant intelligence

In the human realm, "talking to the animals" like Dr. Doolittle is fictional. In the plant realm, it may be commonplace. What constitutes "communication"? There is more philosophy than science wrapped up in any attempt to answer that question. Even more so for the words "consciousness" and "intelligence". We may not have definitive answers in the next few decades, and perhaps we never will. In The Light Eaters: How the Unseen World of Plant Intelligence Offers a New Understanding of Life on Earth, author Zoë Schlanger doesn't provide the answers, though some of those she interviewed offered nascent attempts at doing so.

The eleven chapters of Light Eaters delve into several strains of research that are on the verge of redefining what a "plant" really is and re-settling our understanding of the rôles plants play in the biosphere. As we find from numerous lines of research, plants have several routes of plant-to-plant signaling: chemical, electrical, acoustic, and possibly bacterio-genetic. Plants discriminate. They are found to send differing signals to siblings versus non-siblings of the same species; plants of one species can also "eavesdrop" on signals of another species. Furthermore, plants send signals intended for animal species! An example of the latter is the plants that emit a pheromone that attracts a certain species of parasitic wasp when a caterpillar that the wasp parasitizes begins chewing on the plant's leaves. It's rather like a youngster who gets attacked and calls on his older brother for help, but in this case the "older brother" is a different species. Plants getting chewed on also emit other volatile chemicals that alert nearby plants, which respond by altering the chemistry of their leaves to be distasteful or even toxic to the caterpillar.

These are examples of chemical signaling. Other stressors such as drought result in plants making tiny clicking noises as low-pressure bubbles collapse; it is similar to the popping knuckles most people engage in. It's hard for me to determine what kind of research showed other plants responding to these barely audible sounds, but Chapter 5, "An Ear to the Ground" presents the evidence. 

What about electrical signals? Within a plant, it has been found that cutting a leaf initiates a wave of electrical activity that sweeps through the plant. These images of a small plant leaf, taken just before a scissor cut, then one second after, and then seven more seconds later. The plant had been grown from seed containing engineered genes that cause the calcium channels (every cell has them) to trigger Green Fluorescent Protein (GFP) when they emit or pass an electrical signal. The electrochemical signal moves as a wave through the whole plant. These images were clipped from this video. If the video doesn't work (they can be ephemeral), search for "gfp plant signaling". This is just one of several.

As the narrator in the video explains, the signal moves through the whole plant in about a minute along the veins, and spreads from the veins throughout all the plant's tissues at a slower rate.

This got me thinking. We know that while an electrical signal in a metallic wire is very fast, roughly the speed of light, the electrochemical signals in animal nerves are much slower. I had the neural conduction speed measured in my arm one time, after an injury. It was 60 m/s, which is normal. The fastest neural conduction speed in mammals is about twice this, and some nerves, where speed is less critical, are as slow as the range 2-5 m/s. Plants don't have nerves; at least none that we can recognize. But the veins seem to have a similar function, albeit slower, in the range of about 1 mm/s. That is between 2,000 and 120,000 times slower than animal neurons.

Put that together with a statement later in the book. The author had a hint of an idea (one I was toying with as I read): What if we think of the entire plant as a brain? She asked one scientist, who said, "I think you're right. I just don't talk about it." Let's speculate a bit. If you get jabbed in the leg with a pin, you'll react within about a quarter of a second. In the little plant shown in the video, which is about 10 cm across, the signal "I've been cut!" reaches the whole plant in less than two minutes. The "reaction" of the plant is to begin to synthesize noxious chemicals in the leaves, which takes a few hours. From this we can extract a couple of ratios:

1. We can infer the signaling time between your leg and brain as about 1/30 second. If signaling through the plant took 100 seconds, the ratio is 3,000:1.
2. Your physical flinch and "Ouch!" begin after about 1/4 second, while chemical synthesis in the plant gets underway in an hour (3,600 sec), for a ratio of 14,400:1.

If, then, the whole plant is, or contains, a distributed brain, it runs several thousand times more slowly than an animal brain. This is in accord with the rate that twigs grow on many woody plants, compared with the rate of animal motions. Animals move at about "the speed of gravity", by which I mean that rapid animal motions, such as swatting at a fly, happen at speeds similar to that of an object dropped a meter or so. Time-lapse videos of plants either growing or "doing" various things, such as the "reaching" of bean tendrils for something to cling to, show their motions to be hundreds to thousands of times slower than animal motions. It seems plausible that, if plants "think", they do so correspondingly slowly. While we cannot consider plants to have a nervous system, perhaps a term such as "signal conduction system" or "signal transduction system" can be used.

Do they think? Plant "intelligence" has been a fiercely contentious issue for decades, and that doesn't seem to be slowing down. Focusing on just three things: speed of motion, speed of communication, and speed of reaction, I (and, I think, Ms Schlanger) consider plants to be doing most things animals do, but on a time scale around 10,000 times slower. If we learn to talk to plants, and to hearken and understand what they are saying, we'll need enormous patience. Perhaps a translating SI (simulated intelligence) application can craft a signal at a rate the plant can accept, patiently receive its reply, and signal a human (who is doing something else in the meantime, because it could be hours) to come "read" the response. Even if the human then requires several minutes to decide what to say next, to the plant, the signal coming back, through the app, seems to begin almost instantly.

Finally, do plants see? Plants that mimic neighboring species hint that this is so. How can a South American vine Boquila take on the appearance of at least a few dozen other plants, just by growing in the vicinity? Moreso, if part of this vine is near one kind of plant, and another part is near another, it mimics both! To a lesser extent Mistletoe plants do something similar. One researcher believes the "signal" received by a Boquila plant is not visual, but bacterio-genetic, some kind of genetic signal from the neighboring plant's cloud of symbiont bacteria. All animals and all plants are inhabited by and surrounded by their own microbiome. Each breath we exhale contains members of our microbiome. Your own bacterial "envelope" changes every time you make a new friend and begin spending lots of time with him or her. The author finds a visual hypothesis more parsimonious, and I agree. Plants do have photoreceptors; they are chloroplasts. There are also other colored bodies in plants, in colors other than green. They may also receive light as well as reflect it, or they may provide color filters for chloroplasts to detect colored light. The author points out that this is similar to cuttlefish, which have color-blind eyes, yet they can still mimic the patterns and colors of the surface they are sitting on, probably because their whole skin surface is covered with photoreceptors that must provide the color signal.

I suggest a "red hat" experiment. Start with a number (12 at least) of plants that are wired to detect stress. Once they have recovered from being wired the experiment begins. Whenever the person who cares for the plants wears a red hat, that person also takes a snip from the end of one leaf of half the plants, chosen by a prearranged formula, and let some of the plants never be snipped. Let the interval between snipping incidents be a few days. I conjecture that after a few weeks at most, the plants will all react whenever the caretaker enters wearing the hat, before any snipping is done. This should indicate something visual on the part of the plants. It is likely that the never-snipped plants will react differently from the others. However, it is always possible that the caretaker is in a different mental state on "snipping days", and this causes an airborne chemical signal that the plants can detect and react to. I am not sure how to control for that.

Plants are fascinating, even more so now to me, after reading this book. What a great read!

-----------------------

A couple of quibbles and contentions:

1. On p 39 the author coined the adjective "Descartian", referring to René Descartes. The adjective "Cartesian" already exists and is easier to say.
2. On p 156 we read, "In the United States alone, as many as 11,000 farmworkers are fatally poisoned by pesticides each year, and another 385 million are severely poisoned…". 'Scuse me, but the entire US population is about 360 million, of whom two million are farmworkers. The CDC states 10,000-20,000 "poisonings" without saying how many are fatal. Sundry reports are all over the place. One appears to be the author's source for 11,000 fatalities yearly, while another states that 60,000 nonfatal incidents occurred in five years, or 12,000 per year. The author needs to dig a bit deeper.

Relating for communicating

kw: book reviews, nonfiction, communication, improvisation

An actor who is any good must become an expert at relating with an audience. This usually means inducing people to care about the character. The best actors may not win all the Oscars, but they are the ones people care about the most. This is distinct from the odd quality of being a "celebrity".

If people watching a play or movie empathize with the character, does that mean that the actor portraying that character also has a lot of empathy? Sometimes, maybe most of the time. Of course, some actors are totally faking empathy, having learned to induce sympathetic feelings in a cynical way, even a psychopathic way (psychopaths are frequently very charming, but it is surface only).

Alan Alda had learned to act what he feels, and became the host of Scientific American Frontiers and several other series because of his unparalleled ability to genuinely relate to the people in the episodes and to the audiences. In his book If I Understood You, Would I Have This Look on My Face?: My Adventures in the Art and Science of Relating and Communicating, Alda relates that it was not always so. Even after a successful career in improv, stage, and screen acting, when he first interviewed a scientist, he made at least five blunders that he never would have made had he made the connection between how an actor projects a character to an audience, and how an interviewer relates to the subject of the interview and to the audience who will watch it. (At 23 words, the book's title is one of the longest on record, and it has my personal "Bravo!" for projecting clarity in a title that long!) The book describes many of the tools, borrowed primarily from improvisational theater, and the "games" used by improv coaches, that Alda and his colleagues at his Center for Communicating Science (now at Stony Brook University) use to improve the communications skills of those least likely to have developed any: working scientists.

I was in drama club in high school, and acted in a repertory company my first two years of college, but I never learned improv. I was strictly a "by the script" actor. But as I read I gradually learned how to relate to the stories Alda tells, and the principles they embody.

For most of us, breakdown of communication has one source: FEAR. I once took a "Business Writing" class my company sponsored, and the pre-assignment was to "improve" a badly-written business letter. I turned in two versions. One was a re-write based on principles of business writing that I knew already. The second was much shorter: brief, to the point, and totally forthright; to it I attached a note, "Here is how we would write if we didn't fear one another."

The games Alda describes and the other methods he uses for breaking down barriers between any two people who want to communicate to one another, all drive out fears in one way or another. For example, one of the first "games", Mirroring, gradually shows the participants that they are not so different. The better the "follower" gets at following the actions of the "leader", even learning to anticipate and thus mirror without delay, the more both learn how similar they are. An advanced version, "leaderless mirroring", drives the point even deeper.

I am such a purist, I had a harder time than most will, to "get" what the author is sharing. Finally, though, the message on one significant point became clear to me: most "lecturing" is answering questions that have not been asked, just as most "help" is presented so as to help the helper (or how the helper imagines needing to be helped); rather, effective communication requires knowing, or learning, enough about the opposite party, so that we elicit the right questions, spoken or not, and then the other is ready to receive the "answers". This solidified a realization I had about the "Golden Rule", which grew into several steps of increasing value:

• The SILVER rule (attributed to Confucius and others): "Do not do to another anything that you don't want done to you."
• The GOLDEN rule (from the sayings of Jesus in the Bible): "Whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them."
• The PLATINUM rule: "Do unto others as they wish to have done to them."
• The DIAMOND rule: "Ask first".

Alda writes much about empathy and Theory of Mind, which allow us to, in part, "read" others' minds. If we know how to listen, though, nothing beats a well-crafted question.

Though I feel quite dull of senses, in an emotional sense at least, I got much from this book, so I think practically anyone can gain much.

Advice for the unadvisable

kw: book reviews, nonfiction, psychology, relationships, communication

In the past eighteen years a multitude of reviews of the book have been written, so I'll make no more than passing notes here. It is Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus: A Practical Guide to Improving Communication and Getting What You Want in Your Relationships by John Gray, Ph.D. I seldom read psychological self-help books. This one caused quite a flurry when it came out in 1992, but I didn't read it then. I happened across a copy in a thrift store, and decided for half a dollar I could give it a quick read.

It seems the only ones who don't already know that men and women use different "dictionaries" for the same words are the ardent feminists who are trying to make women into men with "other equipment". The usefulness of Dr. Gray's book is in providing a basic translation aid. As to differing behaviors and differing approaches to life's problems, the basic tool set is simple:

• When faced with a problem, women talk it out and men think it through.
• Taken by surprise or upset, a man retreats into silence, while a woman wants to talk through the feelings.
• Women feel cared for if they are listened to, but not if they are lectured. Men feel loved if they can help without being corrected.
• Both men and women go through cycles of being more or less affectionate. Get used to it.
  

In 35 years of marriage, I've learned to let my wife talk about her concerns without trying to "fix" them. If she wants advice, she asks for it. To at least some extent, my wife has learned that when I go silent, it doesn't mean I am ignoring her, but that I am thinking. I have learned to talk about feelings more than I did when I was young and insecure. This is the key to this book: a lot of people are insecure, and they get into all sorts of relationship problems for that reason alone. With maturity and growing security and sense of self, most of these problems take care of themselves.

My pet peeve is still this: being told to do something I've already begun to do. Women are experts at this. It is amazing that they can observe the least detail of someone's dress and accessories, but don't notice a man on the way to the door with the garbage bag, when they say, "Take out the trash." Young men, be prepared to get used to this, or it will result in an endless series of arguments about her being "controlling." She's not being controlling, she's just not thinking. It is a kind of reflex, and you are unlikely to change it.

The best advice is, go for a long courtship, and make sure your partner is perfect already (it helps to observe how a woman treats her father or brothers, and how a man treats his mother or sisters). Nearly nothing will change after marriage (or whatever you substitute for marriage). Any imperfections that show up later, resolve to grin and bear 'em. The best advice for couples is something I didn't find in the book. Learn to close your "eyes". Don't "see" the other too much. Overlook more and you'll fight less.