Gentle Giants

Both whales and porpoises are intelligent mammals who, millions of years ago, decided to evolve from a land critter back to one of the sea. That was an interesting return to life's origins—the sea. All of life began in the oceans and for a few billion years resided solely there, until some fish-like creatures crawled up on land, over 350 million years ago, and took up residence as terrestrial animals. Over time, mammals and many other species of animals evolved from those primitive, limbless, cold-blooded vertebrates; and then even later some of them (whales and porpoises) decided to return to the seas.

Whales subsequently evolved to become the largest animals on the planet—especially the blue whale, which at some 110 feet (33 m) long and 150 tons (136,000 kg), is the largest critter ever. Porpoises and dolphins are related to whales—both of which are often defined as “small-toothed whales.” The porpoise has a blunt snout and the dolphin a beaklike snout. Whales, dolphins, and porpoises are also called cetaceans, which is derived from the Greek word ketos, “whale.”

What's more, these cetaceans are very intelligent creatures, whose languages are far more complex than our simple human communication. Yes, that's right... their language is much more intricate than ours. In fact, the density of the information in their songs is such that they can transmit up to 10 million bits of data every half hour. That's about the same amount of information contained in Homer's Odyssey. So, within a half hour, they sing to each other the same amount of data that takes us a few days to read. Pretty smart, eh?

It seems sadly paradoxical that we humans have hunted down and slaughtered millions of whales, over the centuries. We obviously don't take into consideration their intelligence or their sophisticated communication, when we kill them. We don't view them as bright creatures—just as food.

What I find fascinating is that whales, being so much larger and more powerful than humans, have not used their advanced communication and brainpower to revolt and declare war on us. Scuba divers swim around whales that are up to 20 times larger and outweigh them by tens of thousands of times—yet aren't harmed. One flip of that powerful whale tail and the human is extinguished. Yet when we are in the water with them, cetaceans are overwhelmingly friendly.

Why should they be so gentle? Given how badly we've treated them, I find it remarkable that they've not turned on us. Why do they not perceive us as their enemy? They must be able to comprehend all the harm we've done to them. If they had chosen to battle us, we long ago would either have made peace with them, or eliminated them entirely—which we've done with many large land mammals. It seems to me that we could use a few lessons in nonviolence from these gentle giants. Too bad we're not smart enough to understand their language. They'd probably have a few useful things to tell us.

Allokataplixis Awe

So what is that impressive six-syllable word in the title trying to say? It's a sure bet you won't find it in any dictionary you might have, as it's been recently coined by Professor Liam Heneghan of DePaul University in Chicago. Why did he invent such a clumsy moniker, and what does it mean? Professor Heneghan wanted to express the wonder that we experience, when we encounter novel things in a foreign land—things whose residents have long ago learned to ignore. Fresh eyes often see fascinating features that accustomed eyes don't.

The professor noticed this phenomenon when he began taking some of his college students on a visit to Ireland each year. Having been born and raised on the Emerald Isle himself, but a long-time resident of the US, his eyes were neither fresh nor any longer habituated to Irish peculiarities, such as the smell of the air, eccentric architecture, local expressions, and novel foods. But his students marveled at and delighted in these and many other small things they'd never before seen.

So he coined the word allokataplixis, which is a conjunction of two Greek words: allo, meaning “other,” and katapliktiko, meaning “wonder.” He feels that the word captures the amazement and fascination that his students expressed so many times during their visits to Ireland.

I immediately identified with and was struck by this idea, as it describes a feeling I've had, whenever visiting a place I've never been before. There are so many details that capture my attention—details I find myself photographing or listing in my travel journal, each night. I often later chuckle at how many of these features are really quite ordinary, and thus become rather invisible to me, after a few days.

Sure, the magnificent views that I hoped to experience in Italy and Ireland were indeed magnificent and awe inspiring, but on the way to that overlook or that charming village, many small objects caught my attention and demanded that I pause to enjoy them. That's the biggest reason why I always keep a loose and flexible schedule when I travel: it allows stopping and smelling the flowers along the way. Many of my fondest memories of visiting a foreign land are composed of those small delights, and how they often led me to a fascinating discovery that I'd otherwise have missed, had I a strict itinerary to adhere to.

Allokataplixis can happen closer to home as well. Several decades ago I moved to the woods of northern Virginia—just a handful of miles from the West Virginia border. I found myself one day crossing for the first time the state line on my motorcycle, riding into West Virginia, where I began noticing several small, different, and novel sights—thinking, “Wow! I'm in unfamiliar and interesting territory!” Now that I've traversed that same state line countless times, it's no longer novel—it's become my familiar, ordinary neighborhood.

Professor Heneghan had another thought in mind, when he invented the word allokataplixis: that a newcomer's fascination with novel details in a new place can be contagious for long-term residents. It can reignite in them an appreciation for their surroundings. It can wake up jaded denizens. In this way, allokataplixis can become a gift to the residents of a place where travelers visit. It can show residents that there is the marvelous in the everyday. Mindfulness can do the same thing, as it can draw us out of our inattentive state of mind, to put attention to special little things. If something—anything—causes us to pause and absorb the mundane, we can come to realize it too is a true wonder.

Red Oak Grain

This is a piece of red oak that has been oiled to display the intricate grain and show the beauty of this hardwood. Click to enlarge.

Jumping Genes

When we think about who we are—our appearance, our susceptibility to diseases, and many other of our characteristics—we tend to think about our parents. We've inherited most of our traits from them, which they in turn got from their parents. That's the way evolution works. The key process is that when DNA is reproduced, tiny errors may happen, and those errors get passed down the hereditary path. If the errors are beneficial, those who possess them are more likely to survive than those who don't, and so those genes pass on the fortunate error. This is the essence of “survival of the fittest.”

So, our genetic makeup comes to each of us in this manner: from parent to child; and the child later becomes a parent and passes those genes on to their children. Our genome is mostly species specific.

Now, in addition, we do share many of our genes with the chimpanzees, because we and they have a common ancestor that lived some seven million years ago, who passed its genes to both of our species. In fact, we have about a 98% overlap with chimps. But don't we also share a few genes with cows and mice (other mammals), as well as with birds and even lizards? Don't we even share a few genes with trees and mushrooms? Yes, but again, it's simply because all life on Earth descends from the “first ancestor,” which passed on its genes to all of us.

Thus, even though we share a number of genes with other species, most of us have come to understand the story of our personal genes coming primarily through inheritance from our parents. But as so often happens in science, the accepted stories periodically become corrected and updated; a new story emerges—an improved theory comes to light.

Out of research at the University of Adelaide in Australia comes a recent update on the gene inheritance story: it seems that a portion of our genes do not come from mom and pop, but from what's termed a “horizontal transfer” of genes between significantly different species. These “jumping genes” are dubbed “retrotransposons.” The Adelaide scientists traced two particular genes across more than 700 species of plants, animals, and fungi. They found this particular pair of genes appeared repeatedly—and they also verified that these genes were not inherited from parents, but had entered the organisms, after birth, as foreign DNA.

These foreign genes behave sort of like a parasite—in that they can disrupt normal genes. In fact, the researchers conclude that retrotransposons have been a key driver in the rapid evolution of mammals over the past 100 million years. After the dinosaurs disappeared 65 million years ago, the tiny, ineffective mammals who survived were ready to rapidly evolve...and subsequently came to dominate the planet.

How do some genes jump from one kind of species to another very different species? How does a gene from a dandelion become a part of the genome of a human? As yet, the mechanism remains a mystery. Scientists theorize that the horizontal transfer process may be caused by ticks, mosquitoes, leeches, locusts, and viruses. Even bedbugs! Yikes!

Fascinating! This development raises a few crucial questions: Am I related to my tomatoes? Am I committing a crime—or even cannibalism, when I eat french fries? Am I a monkey's uncle? That last one plays upon my Mom's expression of mild disbelief in something, when she'd utter, “Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle.” I used to laugh, because she couldn't be anybody's uncle, but now I perceive a new slant on that old expression, thanks to jumping genes.

Wren Babies

Count the Carolina wren babies. How many are there? Four? Five? Click to enlarge.

AI's Outlook—Part 2

Continuing the second of three concerns about artificial intelligence begun last post:

2. Super-intelligence becomes a concern when we develop robots who are far smarter than we are—not just in a narrow sense (such as in chess or Jeopardy!), but in a more general sense. To date, AI's intelligence is narrow—that is, computers exhibit super-intelligence in only one area. But we soon will be seeing machines that exhibit what is called artificial general intelligence (AGI). When that comes about, will AGI decide to control us? Would it even care about us?

Another huge question is what impact AGI will have on human employment. AI already has stepped into mundane jobs (think of assembly line robots), but will soon disemploy many more people. What will we do with the millions of people who will no longer have work, because they've been replaced with robots? Very soon we'll see even rather sophisticated human careers—doctors, lawyers—terminated. We aren't prepared to deal with that problem.

Not a lot of effort is currently being applied to the issue of super-intelligence. Most researchers are rushing into the future, unable or unwilling to deal with this concern. Government barely understands the basics, let alone is currently prepared to address this matter.

3. Consciousness brings up another big question for which we currently have no good responses. Today's AI machines are most likely not conscious. But when—as evermore complex computers are built—will computers become conscious, or even sentient? Will they ever do so? Scientists are still struggling to define consciousness in humans and other life forms, let alone machines.

Is consciousness a continuum or is there a line which consciousness does not cross? Is a newborn baby conscious? A monkey? A tree? A rock? These questions are impossible to answer as we don't even yet know how to measure consciousness.

If AI machines do become conscious—after they become complex enough—will they be able to subjectively experience something? Could they experience pleasure or pain? How would we know? And would robots deserve rights, if they become conscious?

There are many unanswered questions about the future of AI. These machines may be a threat, or they may offer humans some type of salvation. Nobody knows at this point. Unfortunately, too few people—especially those in the public policy arena—are seriously considering these issues. Like so many technological innovations of the past, we may soon be dealing with huge problems, without having looked at the issues before they became problems.

AI's Outlook—Part 1

Artificial intelligence (AI) is upon us. From those primitive programming of computer decision-making capabilities just a few decades ago, we now have software that can beat humans at their most intellectually- and creatively-demanding tasks. Recent programs have shamed human champions at chess, Jeopardy!, and even the complex and ancient Eastern game of Go. Other recent spectacular feats of AI include sophisticated robots and self-driving autonomous vehicles.

These incredibly fast and impressive developments have some people ecstatic at the possibilities of future AI applications and other people frightened at what these smart machines may do. What happens when an AI robot becomes far smarter and stronger than humans? Do we need to fear what they might do to us? So far, AI has proven to be superior to the human brain only at narrowly-defined tasks (such as chess and Go), but what will the future bring?

I have been taking an online course from the Delft University of Technology in the Netherlands. One of their researchers did a fine job of scoping out the future of AI. It's pretty complex and replete with differing interpretations, but here's my try at summarizing what he said.

When considering the future of AI, it helps to understand it by looking at three different issues: (1) autonomy, (2) super intelligence, and (3) consciousness.

1. Autonomy is the ability of robots and AI to do things on their own, without human oversight. That said, autonomy is not a crucial issue on its own, since even the thermostat that regulates your household temperature does it on its own. This is important—it's not the autonomy that's the key, it's what the robot will do, and what control might we have over its actions.

Specifically, the concern about the autonomy of AI comes in when it deals with ethical dilemmas. Will the robot's actions be commensurate with human moral values or not? This question comes into focus when we ponder the choice that a self-driving car would make in an emergency. Will it, for example, decide to prioritize its passengers' welfare or that of pedestrians that are in the vehicle's path? How should the AI software program be designed to appropriately reflect human values? Do we even know what that means?

Self-driving vehicles certainly will drastically reduce the many thousands of highway deaths each year due to driver error or inattentiveness. There's no question about that benefit. But what about that one accident in which an autonomous vehicle made a “bad choice” in our eyes? We've already seen a couple of instances; for example, when a self-driving car killed a pedestrian in Arizona last March.

How do we program AI vehicles? We're a long ways away from knowing how. And who is liable, when a self-driving car causes a death? The vehicle manufacturer? The AI programmer?

This concern about autonomy is significantly greater for AI that is used in military robots and drones. Can an autonomous robot, sent in to a dangerous situation (in which the threat to the lives of military personnel might be avoided), appropriately discern the difference between a crouching enemy with guns and a frightened family that contains several children?

More on AI next time...