Thought Experiment: What if you could download the human mind?

A few weeks ago during class we began exploring the topic of context with regard to spoken language and the written word, and the vectors through which these modes of communication can travel. We experienced first-hand how unsettling it can be to blur the lines between verbal, face-to-face conversation, technology-enabled conversation via a computer or writing utensil, and written words that are not conversation so much as they are the products of thought processes in a distant person’s head that they have converted into written language for anyone to access. Then I started thinking about how technologies have advanced to the point that, as long as a piece of information is uploaded onto the Internet, it doesn’t matter how distant or obscure someone is. You can still experience their thoughts within a tiny fraction of time that it might take to track down a hard copy of that information. So in a sense, the Internet is the ever-expanding collaborative result of a mass upload of the minds of the human race; with the added benefit that you don’t have to be a psychic to read it. And every time someone takes a piece of information from the Internet they have just downloaded a part of the collaborative mind into their own. When I incorporated the concept of language metaphorically corresponding with the physical behaviors of parasitic organisms, I started wondering if this concept of uploading and downloading information could be taken from the biomass at large and used at the level of the individual. What if we could figure out a way to download one person’s mind and upload it into another person?

It’s a vague statement, I know, but I don’t think that it’s as far-fetched as you might initially think. There’s lots of technologies out there right now that are capable of doing part of what would theoretically be necessary in order to achieve this goal. For instance, functional magnetic resonance imager (fMRI) machines are able to actively view the activity of neurons in the brain because of a material composed of oxygenated hemoglobin (deoxyhemoglobin) chemically bound to glucose molecules that is injected into the subject’s bloodstream. The deoxyhemoglobin acts as a visible marker and the glucose is used by the neurons that are currently expending the most energy. So when one area of the brain is working harder than the rest, glial cells (support cells in the nervous system) transport the glucose to that area to supply those neurons with sustenance and that area lights up on the fMRI since the deoxyhemoglobin markers are bound to the glucose molecules. If we could isolate a signature pattern of movement of neurons while a subject is learning a specific piece of information, we might be able to replicate that singularly unique pattern. The problem is that an fMRI won’t give detail at a cellular level so it wouldn’t be able to give us that pattern on it’s own. However, an oscilloscope has the capability of transducing the action potential at an individual neuron or junction between two neurons into a readable pattern for the computer, which then transduces it again into a comprehendible pattern on a screen. If an fMRI could be enhanced with the ability of an oscilloscope to pick up minute electrical impulses and take that information and transduce it into a set of each individual neuron’s activity during the event, perhaps it could yield a list of all the activity in that part of the cortex and collaborate it into an electronic copy that the computer can read and replicate. Of course the list would be very, very, very long but that’s okay because just like we trust that a typed sentence will be the same on one computer as it is on another computer once the information is sent, we would also rely on this computer to act as a volume manager in which every single idiosyncratic electrical impulse would be saved exactly as it was recorded.

I’m the first to admit that this is a rough and fairly implausible concept, especially with our current level of understanding about the human brain. It would be a process that would have to record all neural activity in the brain that was related to the process of external stimuli being received, understood, and passed on to memory storage which results in a new connection or multiple connections being formed at the cellular level. Since brain damage can cause you to forget things, and we can see brain damage, I would be willing to bet that there was neural connection in that part of the brain, prior to the damage, that we would be able to notice was no longer intact after the brain damage, if we had known how to locate and identify it.

This is where the signature pattern comes in. If a pattern could be isolated that was specific to the neural connection(s) pertaining to a piece of information, it could be electronically documented. If it were saved as a electronic file, that process could then be reversed in order to re-create an exact copy of what would essentially be a neural program that, once installed would instigate a set of neural commands that would induce precisely the same neuronal activity in that area of the brain and create a copy of that event in the new brain. This would, of course, require the invention of another highly technical and most likely improbable piece of equipment that would basically function as a reverse-oscilloscope. Where a normal oscilloscope detects, transduces, and presents neural activity to us, the reverse-oscilloscope would detect the stored neural program from the computer, transduce it back to neural signals, and present it to the cortex.

If successful, the brain that received this information would then theoretically have the same neural connection(s) as the original cortex did. In this case, it would not just be like reading the same paragraph as someone else, it would be like reading the same paragraph, while sitting in the same chair, at the same time, wearing the same clothes, remembering the same memories inspired by the paragraph, with the same people sitting around you, receiving the same amount of additional information from the same lecturer, at the same lecture, feeling the same emotions, for the same reasons, and noticing the same distractions as the original reader of the paragraph. It would be an exact replication of the both the external and internal context in which that paragraph was stored in the original brain. The significance of this is that information is constantly distorted by differences in context and interpretation from one person to another. If you could identify and record a piece of information such as what happened during a specific event directly from the cortex of an eye-witness and transmit that event in the form of a neural program into the brain of someone who wanted to know what had happened during the event but wasn’t there to witness it, this would be the closest that we could ever get to preserving the exact details and context of the event.

Then we have to ask: what would the result of this neural programming process coming into existence and perhaps even being popularized one day be? In this case it could potentially make the Internet and maybe even language, as we know it, obsolete. A mass availability of technology like this could yield volumes and volumes of files, each containing information about a specific thing directly from the brain of the person who witnessed it, or wrote it, or thought of it, depending on what the thing is. Libraries would become museums dedicated to the remembrance of the written word since reading and writing would no longer be necessary or optimal for obtaining information that came into existence in or near the instigation of neural programming because all information pertaining to knowledge, medical advancement, current events, fiction and non-fiction stories, etc. would be catalogued in a master computer, or possibly multiple computers, that would represent the informational archives of the future.

In addition, crimes like murder and rape would be easily documented and accessible, so long as the perpetrator could be found and the neural connection(s) relevant to the event downloaded into an electronic file. Prosecution would then be a simple matter of uploading this file into the brains of the jurors and the judge. But what would the lawyers do then, you ask? Well that brings me to the definite negative consequences of neural programming. Just like with any other computer program, someone will inevitably figure out how to hack or re-write neural programs. This would be the new job description of a lawyer, and chances are they would be illegal since court representation would no longer be necessary. It would be this new breed of lawyer’s job to access and download the event from either the persecutor’s brain or the master computer, re-write it, and re-upload it as seemingly the same file before it could be viewed as evidence. On an even greater scale, this kind of technology could be the ultimate biological warfare or terrorist attack. If some diabolical hacker figured out to write a computer virus equivalent within a neural program and uploaded it into the public archives in the place of some particularly popular neural program (like a neural you-tube video or something), it could destroy the central nervous systems of every person to access that file and upload it into their cortex.

What it comes down to is that history, as we know it, might be wrong because we only know what the people who recorded it or re-told it wanted us to know. This is also true for every event that wasn’t witnessed first hand, and every conversation that you didn’t personally hear. This is the loss of context that occurs with each removal from the primary source. We live in a world of human language but this inevitably means that we also live in a world of distortion. So if we could download the human mind, we would be able to replicate and propagate context.

Parasite Blog Two

A few weeks ago during class we began exploring the topic of context with regard to spoken language and the written word, and the vectors through which these modes of communication can travel. We experienced first-hand how unsettling it can be to blur the lines between verbal, face-to-face conversation, technology-enabled conversation via a computer or writing utensil, and written words that are not conversation so much as they are the products of thought processes in a distant person’s head that they have converted into written language for anyone to access. Since then I’ve thought a lot about what exactly context is and how it relates to the interpretation of language in any form it might take. It is the comparison of context and interpretation that leads me to propose that context and interpretation are the Siamese twins of the comprehension of language; you cannot have one without the other. I believe that they share much of the same DNA and, even though they have differing aspects of their personalities, it is often difficult to figure out where one of them ends and the other begins. Or, to put it another way, interpretation of something like a conversation or the description of any event requires context, however context is subject to interpretation.

By the very nature of existing as living organisms, I would argue that how we receive, translate, consolidate, and recall initial experiences or contexts is, at the base of it all, controlled by our individual physiological and, at the next level up, psychological capacities. Differences in physiology that are unique to an individual or a certain set of individuals, if significant enough, will inevitably cause the effected organ or organ system to function atypically when compared to whatever the determined norm happens to be. If this incident of physiological abnormality turns out to affect a function that is necessary for receiving information, in some or all forms, it is likely that it will also subsequently affect that individual’s interpretation of the context, based on what external stimuli they received and were able to process and comprehend. An extreme example would be the malfunction or total lack of function of a sense like sight or hearing. Both of these are crucial in order to communicate verbally and, in the case of sight, to read. Communication can still occur within both of these mediums, even with sensory deprivation, but compensatory measures like sign language or books written in Braille must be taken, which automatically removes the individual from some of the most basic and inherent modes of context interpretation that we have.

Taking this concept even a little further, I’m not sure we can assume that even those with so-called normal physiological attributes could really, legitimately be awarded the absolution of knowing that what they see and hear is the same as any other given person. This is summed up rather nicely in the philosophical question of “what is green?” Can you describe it with words and be sure that it would embody the essence of green in another person’s mind? Or when you and another person look at a lawn comprised of green blades of grass and you both agree that the lawn is green, can you be sure that they’re seeing the same color you are? I know that I wouldn’t be able to say that I was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt. The point is, that even at the level of the autonomic functioning of our physiology we can’t really know that we’re all pretty much looking through the same eyes.

In comparison to the knowledge that by the time you finish reading this paper your body will have performed hundreds upon thousands of small bio-functions without your direct knowledge or consent in order to keep you alive and focused, the idea of subconscious thought seems almost simplistic to access and control. Unfortunately nothing about the human psyche is simplistic and we don’t usually encounter the luxury of stumbling into profound realizations about our subconscious and what it all means, if it means anything at all. Even at a conscious level our individual mentalities are subject to change on an unpredictably frequent schedule. Every time we experience something new, we store that information somewhere in our brain in some form and at level of detail that varies depending on the impact of that experience. Every time we experience something multiple times, such as a phrase like “I love you,” for example, chances are that the context is not exactly the same from one experience to the next and we remember that. We log it into the collection of events, occurrences, incidents, and encounters throughout each of our lives that have culminated thus far into how each one of us will interpret the phrase “I love you” next time we hear or read it.

Of course the immediate external context in which the phrase is received will influence how it is interpreted but context is rarely completely apparent at any given time. It is revealed only as much as the mode of language and the surrounding circumstances allow. For example, a face-to-face transmission of language gives you tools such as tone of voice, inflection and body language, as well as the environment in which this person chose to talk to you in. All of these things are pretty solid indications of the context. Then again, much of how language is passed from one mind to another suffers a loss of one or more of these context hints. Phone conversations lose body language and environment, text messages and online “chat” conversations remove you from the context even further by the additional loss of tone of voice, and the knowledge that you’re really talking to who you think you are. Books and other published writings are some of the most severe instances of context deprivation. Chances are you’ve never met the author of the book that you’re reading and, unless they’re reading their work out loud directly in front of you, you don’t have any outlets from which to judge context other than the context given to you by the author’s text; which is just their interpretation of the context and what aspects they decided to share with you.

So, we fill in the blanks representing uncertainty with interpretive assumptions about the unverifiable elements of the context based on personally specific associations and feelings about something like “I love you.” Left to interpret this phrase with absolutely no context provided from the environment or situation, such as the words “I love you” written on a piece of paper that you find caught up in a gust of wind while you’re walking down the street, the only mechanism left at your disposal is speculation since all original context has been removed. This will most likely manifest itself in an imagined scenario that corresponds with your strongest associated feelings with “I love you.”

It is because of this tangled web of cyclical influence and entanglement that I have personally not been able to logically separate context and interpretation and, in fact, I’ve come to doubt that either is a legitimate concept without the other. If I try and surgically separate the two, I get a bloody mess on the floor and two parts of what should’ve perhaps more appropriately have been assembled as one whole. As such, context and interpretation must remain conjoined in order to ensure the survival of both. Through this convoluted thought process I have come to conclusion that it would probably be best if we just shoved them together until they become something like a chimera. We could call it “conterpretextion” or perhaps “intextricomption.” And that, my friend or whoever you are, is my plan of action.

Parasite Blog One

A short while ago, with the commencement of spring quarter and the class Writing in Context: Parasites, I began the endeavor of attempting to philosophically connect the concept of physical parasitic creatures and their ways of infiltrating a desired host to the metaphorical parasite of language and its ability to spread from one person’s mind to another. Now and then you might hear about the occurrence of a parasitic infection within the body of another animal. Of course this most often refers to a physical parasite finding its way into a desired host body and causing harm or some other effect to the point where it has become noticeable to the scientific community. This whole concept of infiltration, infection, subsequent effect, and further transmission can certainly be applied to that of language. When I engage in a conversation with someone, my ear receives incoming auditory stimuli that cause vibrations to travel down through my inner ear. These vibrations go through a number of changes but ultimately are received by part of my brain, which causes the incoming mechanical stimuli to be transduced into electrical signals at the point when the stimulus reaches some of my neurons and causes action potentials. Through a series of very complicated things that I don’t fully understand and which happen faster than I can comprehend, the incoming auditory stimuli are transformed into a type of signal that I recognize as incoming words. My brain then does another assortment of complex activities that allow me to recall past relevant memories, previous knowledge, and any other applicable bits of information from which I then formulate and verbalize a response.

The information I received from the other person will be stored in my short-term memory and, if it was interesting enough, will most likely move into my long-term memory for permanent storage. Through this set of actions, I have just been “infected,” so to speak, by a piece of information that was verbally transmitted to me by another person. This also applies to the written word in the sense that if I read something that has previously been recorded in writing by another person, their opinions, ideas, and/or thought processes become stored in my memory. In both cases, the infiltration of language by one mode or another inside my brain will inevitably contribute on some level to how my cognitive processes work, what opinions I might form, and what I choose to verbalize or write with respect to affected neurological information from the point of infection onward. Next time I speak to someone else, I may very well bring up information that I acquired from my previous conversation. As soon as those auditory signals leave my mouth and enter their ear, the infection will begin to spread in them as well. It is in this manner that language could be viewed as a communicable parasitic disease that blurs the lines between the metaphorical and physical realms.

While listening to the Radiolab broadcast on parasites I was particularly intrigued by the parasitic wasp. The wasp lays eggs in a host body with the intention of utilizing that creature to try and ensure the optimal survival rate of the wasp larvae. Once the larvae hatch within the host, they procure sustenance in the form of the host creature’s non-vital fluids and tissues. Through this method, the larvae are able to live inside the host while keeping it alive just long enough for them to become strong enough to survive without the use of the host body. This makes even the youngest parasitic wasp larvae seem brutally evil. The question that I pose is: at what level of cognitive functioning and mental capacity must an organism operate at in order to be accused of being evil? In the case of the parasitic wasp and its larvae, both the full-grown wasp and the larval stage of the wasp commit acts upon other creatures that are not only cruel and deadly, but also calculated and complex. It seems to me that these wasps are acting under the singular influence of their instincts. For example, the parasitic wasp instinctually knows what species to target and exactly how to deliver a toxin that incapacitates but does not kill, just as the larvae instinctually know which internal tissues and fluids to eat and which ones to leave alone. I’m guessing that the parasitic wasp has never given a second thought to why it does what it does; it just knows that that’s what it’s supposed to do. Given this thought process, would you then classify the wasp’s actions as an act of nature or as inherently evil? I don’t know how to answer this myself. I guess I would say that it’s both at once but not all the way either one.

This is relevant to language (in my mind, anyway) because the infiltration of language within the mind can be just as inherently evil in some ways. Specific pieces of information that may be inert to one person may be a source of obsession or addiction for a different person. As a parasite may have the power to control its host, the information one receives via spoken and/or written word may be so important or so intriguing to that person that they are driven by mental forces that they can’t control to seek out more of this information. They may experience an inability to prevent their mind from becoming entangled in the infectious information, which could result in insomnia, distress, lack of reason, obsessive behavior, and other signs of mental degradation. As the parasitic wasp sees the cockroach as a safe place for it’s young to grow up, they fail to appreciate the cockroach’s right to not be a disposable incubator. As one person mentions a rumor they heard as a mildly interesting anecdote, they fail to comprehend the devastating effect that it has on you.