My So-Called Penis

The slow march towards obsolescense

I’ve commented in the past on the observation, made by many, that creative, artistic types seem to become less creative with time. In the realm of music, art, film etc., an artist past age 50 or so is over the hill and assumed to be no longer capable of exciting work. Their output may have a technical mastery, but no soul.

Today, a possible evolutionary reason for this struck me. Let’s presume that the main “purpose” of artistic talent (from an evolutionary perspective) is to attract a mate. Artists are fundamentally  honing their skills to be seen as talented by attractive consorts. These consorts are presumably “thinking” (on a subconscious level), “This artist has skills. As such, our progeny would also have skills and be able to earn a mate and thus carry on my genes. It would be in the interests of my cellular lineage to mate with this artist.” However, it’s at around 50 or so that people become physically unattractive and their abilty to solicit sex dissolves. Our bodies know that at this age all the talent in the world won’t make up for our hideous appearences, our flabby wrinkled flesh, our inabilty to control our own flatuence, etc. As a result, there is no longer a reason to inspire any kind of creative drive, to perculate the creative juices, to stoke the artistic embers. Our brain essentially gives up and resolves itself to watching Cheers reruns with a martini in hand, immolating our once great frontal cortex in alcohol and mediocrity.

Curse yourself happy, continued

The millions of frequent readers of this blog are doubtless familiar with a theory I’ve been intermittently ruminating on: the idea that swearing offers some kind of cathartic release for a subconscious part of the brain/mind. In essence, when you swear in anger, you’re giving voice to some part of yourself that is not often allowed to speak. This part may be what Freud would refer to as the id.

Part of what got me thinking about this was people with Tourette’s syndrome — they seem to have this uncontrollable need to swear. I’m also reminded of several cases of people who were in horrible accidents and lost much of their frontal cortex. These people could not use language, but they could swear. The famous Phineas Gage who lost some of his prefrontal cortex in an accident and went from being a responsible prude to a degenerate brute famous for swearing (a real-life Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation) might also offer anecdotal evidence. And frankly, just my own experience with the catharsis of swearing makes me think it’s offering some release of tensions held deep within the mind.

It turns out that there’s actually been a lot of academic investigation in this topic, much of it nicely summarized in this Time magazine article. First the article discusses a study investigating how cursing alleviates pain.

To figure out why, psychologists at Britain’s Keele University recruited 64 college students and asked them to stick their hands in a bucket of ice water and endure the pain for several minutes. One group was allowed to repeat a curse word of their choice continuously while their hands were in the water; another group was asked to repeat a non-expletive control word, such as that which might be used to describe a table. The result was that swearing not only allowed students to withstand the discomfort longer, but also reduced their perception of pain intensity. Curse words, the study found, help you cope.

The article then takes comments from famed psychologist/scientist Steven Pinker, who offers a theory remarkably similar to my own.

That’s probably because humans are hardwired to swear cathartically, says Steven Pinker, a Harvard psychologist and author of The Stuff of Thought, an exploration of the psychology of language. Pinker distinguishes cathartic cursing from using profanity descriptively, idiomatically, abusively or for emphasis, and points to similar behavior in animals that suggests its evolutionary roots. If you step on a dog or cat’s tail, it will let out a sharp yelp of pain, for example. “Swearing probably comes from a very primitive reflex that evolved in animals,” Pinker says. “In humans, our vocal tract has been hijacked by our language skills,” so instead of barking out a random sound, “we articulate our yelp with a word colored with negative emotion.”

The part of the brain that accounts for the urge to swear — or yelp, in the case of animals — is deep within, suggesting its primitiveness. Studies of non-human primates show that vocalization is nearly always attributed to subcortical processes in the brain, in those regions that control primal, raw emotions, says Diana Van Lancker Sidtis, a professor of speech language pathology and audiology at New York University. In humans too, the urge to swear likely stems from primitive parts, but it is usually overridden by commands from the brain’s more complex cortex — the abundant gray matter on which humans rely for language and reason, among other sophisticated abilities. “We have intact frontal lobes, which inhibit these responses,” Sidtis explains. But in certain circumstances — either because we don’t bother to inhibit them or because the shock of pain or discomfort momentarily surpasses the safeguards — our impulse for obscenity takes over. “In that way, it’s like the dog when you step on his tail,” Sidtis says.

Or, in the case of Phineas Gage and others who suffered cortex destroying accidents, the inhibition of cursing is no longer possible, because the brain parts that do the inhibiting are now splattered outside the brain. And in the case of people with Tourette’s, perhaps the ability of the cortex to inhibit the behavior of their primitive brain is somehow itself inhibited.

Can swearing offer catharsis and help relieve pain? Fuck yeah! I said, fuck yeah you stupid shit eating cunt hole!

(Sorry, I’m just doing this for my health. I feel better already.)

The God part of the brain

I’ve been reading an interesting book called “The God Part of the Brain.” It’s written by an author who freely admits that he had a bad acid trip as a young man which sent him on a decade-plus search for the roots of spirituality. His thesis is that human spirituality is an evolved function, much like language, passed through genes. Up to the point that I’m at in the book, he’s made two arguments — one that man, a creature whose only defense is his intelligence, is the only animal who realized his own mortality, thus setting off a kind of existentialist crisis for the species. Second, man, with his acumen with numbers, was the only creature to be able to contemplate notions of infinity which are integral to religion and spirituality. These notions of mortality and infinity were a kind of psychological attack, and in order to weather them, man had to develop his religions.

I’m not entirely sure I buy this, or at least it sounds more like a skeleton of a theory than a fully fleshed out idea, but it’s pretty interesting.

Were our ancestors too stupid to appreciate pain?

When you think about pain, especially chronic pain, you have to wonder about the supposed cleverness of the body’s design. Certainly immediate, sharp pain — say, from stepping on a nail — has a clear and useful message: get away from this nail (and tend to your foot.) But if that pain persists with you for months or years (in a muted form) what’s the point? Certainly one could ask what’s the point of phantom limb pain which is pain from a part of the body that doesn’t even exist anymore.

I’m reading an interesting book called “The Emotion Machine” by Marvin Minsky, an author most famous for his contributions to the realm of artificial intelligence in computers. He makes similar comments about the “injustice” of pain.

It seems fair to complain that, in this realm [pain], evolution has not done well for us — and this must frustrate theologians: Why are people made to suffer so much? What functions could such suffering serve?

He then offers a theory as to why we might suffer from chronic pain.

Perhaps… the bad effects of chronic pain did not arrive from selection at all, but simply arose from a “programming bug.” The cascades that we call “Suffering” must have evolved from earlier schemes that helped us to limit our injuries — by providing the goal of escaping from pain with an extremely high priority. The resulting disruption of other thoughts was only a small inconvenience before ancestors evolved new, vaster intellects. In other words, our ancient reactions to chronic pains have not yet been adapted to be compatible with the reflective thoughts and farsighted plans that only later evolved in our brains.

Basically, if you’re Neanderthal moron and you’re sitting there thinking “Duuuuuuuhhhh…” all day, you don’t really mind the intrusion of pain in your thoughts. But as humans evolved and became highly intellectual creatures, that constant nag induces what Minsky refers to as “Suffering.”

This explanation seems to be missing something — there’s more to the quality of pain than just disruption of our thoughts. But it’s an interesting idea.

The great mystery of genetics

I’ve been thinking a bit lately about what I consider to be the greatest mystery in the realm of neuroscience and genetics. Since I have no doubt you will be fascinated by this, I will describe it here.

In a lecture I caught on video, neuroscientist Robert Sapolsky described an interesting behavior exhibited by a certain kind of monkey or ape — I can’t remember the specific creature. This particular beast lives in a harem style social network — there’s one male and he gets all the chicks. This alpha male usually has a two or three-year run before a younger, stronger male beats him up and takes control the harem. What does this younger, stronger male do upon ascending to the throne? He finds all the infants currently being nursed by the females in his harem and kills them. As brutal as this may be, it makes a certain sense. This new alpha male has a limited window of time to pass his genes on via sex. Nursing mothers can’t get pregnant, so he needs to do whatever it takes to get them fertile again.

Of course, the question is: how does this monkey know this? Monkeys don’t have language, and even if they did I’m not sure they could understand such complex topics as the timing of fertility. (To be honest, even I was unaware that nursing mothers couldn’t become pregnant while nursing until I watched the video, and I’m a pretty smart monkey.) Since this information can’t be passed on through learning or culture, it must be passed on genetically.

At first, that seems preposterous — how can bands of DNA and RNA pass on something like, “kill your predecessor’s children in order to make sure your new harem will become fertile”? But animals have all sorts of behavioral instincts that seem to be programmed into them by evolution. Dogs circle around three times before taking a nap, for example.

What’s happening in this monkey’s head when he decides to kill these infants? Presumably he’s driven into an excitable, murderous rage — his heart races, adrenaline shoots through his body, muscles tense. And somehow he knows the targets of this rage — baby monkeys. But how can information encoded into DNA “know” that the creature it’s coding for will ever encounter baby monkeys? In a sense, DNA is dumb enough to not even know what kind of creature it is coding for. (Humans share 50% of their DNA with a banana.) How does DNA code for complex behaviors? (Complex always being a relative term.) That is the great mystery of genetics.

My best guess at an answer is somewhat cloudy. I would presume DNA is not saying, “if you ever get to be king alpha monkey, make sure you kill everybody’s kids.” DNA is operating on a much more basic level. Let’s turn to computers for an analogy. You might be running an e-mail program. But that program can be deconstructed to the raw program code written in a particular language like Visual Basic. And that code can be broken down further to what’s called machine language which appears to the human eye as an indecipherable series of meaningless characters. And even that can be broken down to electrical signals traveling the circuitry of your computer. You could say the same for the reality we sense about us. If I am an alpha monkey and I see a baby monkey, what’s really happening is that I’m sensing the light waves reflecting off that baby monkey. Those light waves are hitting my retinal cells, firing off neurons in being interpreted as a psychological construction — a baby monkey — in my brain. And that psychological construction is somehow the connection of lots and lots (thousands? Millions?) of neurons. So perhaps the DNA is programming at this simplified, deconstructionist level. It’s not saying, “when you see a baby monkey, kill it!” It’s saying, “when you encounter a certain pattern of sensory information deconstructed to this very basic level then fire off a complex set of behaviors (which ultimately will lead to the monkey killing the baby monkey.)” This is complex stuff to think about, but I’m essentially saying DNA programs on the biological analogue to the most basic level of computing: the firing of electrical signals.

Atlas hugged?

Andrew Sullivan, at his blog, has been collecting a series of posts called “growing up objectivist.” (Here’s one.) Generally speaking, it’s commentary from people who were influenced — positively or negatively — by the objectivist philosophy of Ayn Rand. (It’s worth noting that a film adaptation of the first of three parts of her infamous novel “Atlas Shrugged” has just been released.)

Rand’s writing takes a lot of hits in these posts. I have somewhat conflicting feelings on the topic. I recall reading her short novel, “Anthem,” somewhere around the time of being a teenager and finding it to be a largely ignorable science-fiction dystopia novel. A couple years later I tried reading “The Fountainhead” and only made it a couple chapters in. But three or four years ago I took another stab at “The Fountainhead” and found it to be a quite enjoyable large-scale narrative with interesting character arcs and attention to detail that, while quite overwhelming, really made the story feel “real.”

But what also struck me about “The Fountainhead” was its delicious contrarianism. 98% of all fiction in almost any form of media is filled with standard messages of “sharing is good, we should look after each other, it’s only by standing together that we can achieve anything, blah blah…” “The Fountainhead” appeared deliberately oblivious to these sentiments and unapologetically presented Rand’s argument that selfishness is good.

I’ve never really bought Rand’s philosophy for reasons I’ll get to in a minute, but I have always squirmed at the saccharine, lovey-dovey “let’s all love each other” dribble you find in most narratives. As such, reading “The Fountainhead” offers a wonderful catharsis. (I’ve never read “Atlas Shrugged” — probably considered Rand’s magnum opus — mainly because it’s another thousand plus page novel and I’m generally familiar with the crux of it. Maybe I’ll give the movie a try.)

But there’s something that’s always seemed askew about Rand’s vision. And I think it boils down to the fact that as humans, we take a certain pleasure in helping each other. Engaging in some kind of discipline in which we attempt to purge ourselves of sympathy and compassion just sounds like too much work. (Which makes one wonder: did Rand herself achieve this? She definitely has a personal reputation as a bit of a oddball; her family did undergo the trauma of collectivization in early 20th-century Russia — perhaps that burned out her emotional circuits.)

The discipline of evolutionary psychology argues human sympathy — what you might call altruism — is hardwired into the brain. Humans, evolving in small groups, had to have an unspoken insurance plan: “you look out for me, and I’ll do the same in return.” As such, looking out for the other guy is really looking out for our own interests, and as a result, genes that create bodies that reward altruistic behavior with pleasurable sensations thrive. (The classic “joy of giving.”) Of course, there’s an irony here: by this definition, our altruism is ultimately selfish.

The evolution of grouping

Most of us understand or at least appreciate the concept of “grouping” in art e.g. showing reoccurring patterns or colors. I recently came across an interesting article that offers a theory as to why man evolved to appreciate aesthetic grouping. First the author defines the grouping concept:

Grouping is a well-known law frequently used by both artists and fashion designers. If you look at the classical Renaissance painting in figure 5, you will notice how the same azure blue color repeats all over the canvas — the sky, the robes, and the water. And the same tint of brown is used for clothes, skin, soil, etc. The artist uses a limited set of colors rather than an enormous range of colors.
…
The same holds for fashion. When you go to Nordstrom’s to buy a red skirt the salesgirl will advise you to buy a red scarf and a red belt to go with it…. what’s all this really about? Is there a logical reason for doing this? Is it just marketing and hype, or is it telling you something fundamental about the brain? This is the why question.

Yes, why? The question is enough to drive one mad.

…think of one of your arboreal ancestors trying to spot a lion hidden behind a screen of green splotches (a tree branch in front of it). What’s visible is only several yellow splotches — lion fragments. But the brain “says” (in effect): “What’s the likelihood that all these fragments are exactly the same color by coincidence? Zero. So they probably belong to one object. So let me glue them together to see what it is. Oops! It’s a lion — let me run!” This seemingly esoteric ability to group splotches may have made all the difference between life and death.

Earlier in the article, the author makes an inadvertently funny comment.

Chennai (Madras), the city in Southern India where I was born, dates back to the first millennium B.C. I often return to it as a visiting professor at the Institute of Neurology to work on patients with stroke, with phantom limbs following amputation, or a sensory loss caused by leprosy. During one three-month visit, we were going through a dry spell; there weren’t many patients to see.

Yes, it’s really a shame that stroke, phantom limb pain and leprosy are on the decline.

The deficiencies of the social marketplace

In the past, I’ve spoken about what I term the “social economy” — the concept that human social interactions can be thought of as an exchange of favors. It’s the idea that we keep tabs on who we’ve done favors for, and who has done us favors, and are less inclined to help people who we feel have shortchanged us. It’s what evolutionary biologists call “reciprocal altruism.”

There’s one pronounced downside to the system. As individuals, we love to be complimented, and hate to be criticized. As such, if someone gives us an empty compliment, we feel we owe them a favor. (You often see this in the interaction of women. “Oh, Judy, I love your blouse!” “Thank you, Margaret. You have the cutest shoes!” (Men are usually too busy dealing with important pursuits, such as thinking great thoughts or running the world to be bothered with such trivialities.)) Conversely, if someone gives us honest and useful criticism, we are prone to being angered.

This often leads to an “Emperor’s new clothes” scenario. A person who has great wealth and power will find it hard to get an honest opinion out of his sycophants because they are hoping their empty compliments will be returned in gifts of actual money or power. This is probably what happened to Egypt’s soon-to-be outgoing Pres. Mubarak. None of his counselors were willing to tell him that the people were growing restless, and thus, when riots broke out, he was caught by surprise. I’m also reminded of Keith Richards. A friend of mine recently saw him perform live and said he was just plain awful. Of course, the crowds loudly applauded each horrible guitar solo and Richards himself seemed unaware of his deficiencies. He too is probably surrounded by an entourage unwilling to inform him that his abilities have waned.

Thus the powerful suffer in the social economy. But so does one other group. Great thinkers — such as myself — who think outside the box, who challenge the conventional wisdom of the moment are seen as threats precisely because we do not offer up empty platitudes or meaningless compliments. The stinking, snoring mediocrities that make up most of the human population remain determinedly oblivious to our greatness; they ignore, even ostracize us. And we are deprived of the steady access to wealth, fame and large breasted Asian school girls in bondage we so richly deserve.

Good-looking people also more intelligent

Refuting every dumb bimbo joke, a new study confirms what one would presume to be obvious: attractive people are smarter. The gist:

Lead researcher Satoshi Kanazawa said: “In the samples, physical attractiveness is significantly positively associated with general intelligence, both with and without controls for social class, body size and health. The association between physical attractiveness and general intelligence is also stronger among men than among women.”

Why would this point seem obvious? It follows the rules of evolutionary psychology, as explained by the researcher.

Kanazawa added: “If more intelligent men are more likely to attain higher status, and if men of higher status are more likely to marry beautiful women, then, given intelligence and attractiveness are heritable, there should be a positive correlation between intelligence and physical attractiveness in the children.”

Doubtless some social critics will make the argument that attractiveness is not an absolute quality, but rather one determined by changing standards of the culture and time period. But you can’t help but notice how unattractive those critics are.

Of course, if you need a specific example of the attractiveness/intelligence correlation, you need look no further than your humble blogger. I’m often mistaken for Johnny Depp, and my advanced cognitive abilities are beyond dispute.

Patterns or consistency

I was recently talking about a Ted talk delivered by Steven Pinker. He commented on a number of things, including the idea that the human brain is wired for certain aesthetic preferences, particularly patterns. He argued that much of the highbrow art and music of the 20th century ignored these preferences, falling under the spell of the “blank slate” hypothesis — the idea that humans are born with no innate biases. As such, much of that art and music never caught on with the public.

As I noted, this makes a lot of sense in terms of atonal music (by composers such as Stravinsky, Webern.) It’s music without discernible patterns such as repeating rhythmic phrase, or recurring structures (like four chords over and over for a verse.) Pattern loving humans should be frustrated by atonal music’s lack of patterns, and thus one would predict that atonal music would be only appreciated by tiny crowds of music nerds — exactly what has happened.

However, I’m not quite sure that it’s patterns which humans have a preference for. I think a better term might be consistency. If I see a plant with several leaves, and all the leaves are green, then there is no real pattern, but it is consistent that all the leaves have the same color. And if there was one purple leaf, it would stand out (e.g. that’s the inconsistently leaf.) I would propose that for much of evolution people were analyzing the consistency of their natural surroundings and became wary of inconsistency (“don’t eat the purple leaf!”) and now we apply this preference for consistency to our art forms.