Bicamerality in pets?
Posted: Thu May 16, 2024 5:17 pm
I was reading one of the criticisms of Jaynes’ work (and the response to it posted on this site), and the criticism hinged on how the “man” half of the brain would be able to obey the “god” half’s instructions, if it wasn’t already conscious?
I think part of the problem might be the use of “god” and “man” to describe the two halves of the bicameral mind. This implies (at least to some readers) that the “man half” functioned more or less the same as a modern human mind, and the “god half” was something extra that just happened to disappear at some point.
Perhaps a better analogy would be to describe the bicameral mind (at least in earlier times) as having been composed of a god half and a dog half, with the latter obeying commands due to conditioning (the same way domesticated animals such as dogs can learn to obey verbal commands despite not actually “understanding” language as a whole). That would sidestep the aforementioned objection altogether.
Later on, though, the “dog half” probably did become more human-like, in the sense that it could occasionally challenge or argue with the “god half” (reflected in ancient myths where people openly argue with gods, and occasionally get them to change their minds). This was an example of the bicameral arrangement starting to become unstable, before it broke down altogether.
Yet even today, such internal “conflicts” still happen; they just aren’t experienced as arguments with deities anymore, but between one’s ego and one’s superego or conscience (e.g. “I should do X, because other people want me to, but I really want to do Y…”)
But back to dogs. If there really was a parallel between how early bicameral humans obeyed their “god voices” and how domesticated animals obeyed their owners, that also raises a completely different question: could pets be bicameral? And could that be what distinguishes the mentality of a domesticated animal (e.g. a dog) from its wild counterpart (e.g. a wolf)?
Obviously, the parallel cannot be exact, because most pets can’t speak (mimic) human language, they can only respond to it. (There are a few exceptions, most of which have feathers rather than fur). In general, it would have to be a “one-way” bicamerality.
But it seems plausible to me that a dog might hallucinate the voice of a human owner when the latter is not physically present, and act accordingly. There might even be a way to test this hypothesis scientifically! The experiment might go something like this:
1. Teach a dog a new verbal command which means to perform a specific action in a specific location. E.g., you could make up a word and train the dog to sit on a certain pillow in a certain room (not just any pillow anywhere) when you say it. Ideally you’d want the command to be something as specific as possible, making false positives less likely.
2. Now, begin monitoring the dog’s brain activity under the following conditions:
It’s quite plausible, then, that when you were away from home, your dog hallucinated your voice giving that command, and then obeyed it: a rudimentary form of bicamerality! It’s impossible to prove, since you can’t actually experience what your dog is experiencing, but it would at least lend support to the idea.
Another piece of evidence that pets may experience some sort of bicamerality is that they sometimes maintain a degree of devotion to former owners (or even other humans they used to know) who have since died; think of all the stories about dogs continuing to visit gravestones, for instance. This could be viewed as almost akin to a religious ritual. Behaviors like this are seldom seen in wild animals (except for a few highly intelligent ones, like elephants—probably not coincidentally, the same species invariably also have unusually sophisticated ways of communicating amongst themselves, even if it does not quite pass the threshold of what humans would call a language).
I think part of the problem might be the use of “god” and “man” to describe the two halves of the bicameral mind. This implies (at least to some readers) that the “man half” functioned more or less the same as a modern human mind, and the “god half” was something extra that just happened to disappear at some point.
Perhaps a better analogy would be to describe the bicameral mind (at least in earlier times) as having been composed of a god half and a dog half, with the latter obeying commands due to conditioning (the same way domesticated animals such as dogs can learn to obey verbal commands despite not actually “understanding” language as a whole). That would sidestep the aforementioned objection altogether.
Later on, though, the “dog half” probably did become more human-like, in the sense that it could occasionally challenge or argue with the “god half” (reflected in ancient myths where people openly argue with gods, and occasionally get them to change their minds). This was an example of the bicameral arrangement starting to become unstable, before it broke down altogether.
Yet even today, such internal “conflicts” still happen; they just aren’t experienced as arguments with deities anymore, but between one’s ego and one’s superego or conscience (e.g. “I should do X, because other people want me to, but I really want to do Y…”)
But back to dogs. If there really was a parallel between how early bicameral humans obeyed their “god voices” and how domesticated animals obeyed their owners, that also raises a completely different question: could pets be bicameral? And could that be what distinguishes the mentality of a domesticated animal (e.g. a dog) from its wild counterpart (e.g. a wolf)?
Obviously, the parallel cannot be exact, because most pets can’t speak (mimic) human language, they can only respond to it. (There are a few exceptions, most of which have feathers rather than fur). In general, it would have to be a “one-way” bicamerality.
But it seems plausible to me that a dog might hallucinate the voice of a human owner when the latter is not physically present, and act accordingly. There might even be a way to test this hypothesis scientifically! The experiment might go something like this:
1. Teach a dog a new verbal command which means to perform a specific action in a specific location. E.g., you could make up a word and train the dog to sit on a certain pillow in a certain room (not just any pillow anywhere) when you say it. Ideally you’d want the command to be something as specific as possible, making false positives less likely.
2. Now, begin monitoring the dog’s brain activity under the following conditions:
- When you issue the command at home, and the dog obeys it.
- When you issue the command somewhere else like outdoors, such that the dog can’t follow it because the specific pillow is not nearby. (The dog will probably act visibly frustrated or confused at this point)
- When you leave your dog at home, and there is a camera that shows your dog sitting on the specific pillow under its own accord. Pay close attention to your dog’s brain activity right before it sits down.
It’s quite plausible, then, that when you were away from home, your dog hallucinated your voice giving that command, and then obeyed it: a rudimentary form of bicamerality! It’s impossible to prove, since you can’t actually experience what your dog is experiencing, but it would at least lend support to the idea.
Another piece of evidence that pets may experience some sort of bicamerality is that they sometimes maintain a degree of devotion to former owners (or even other humans they used to know) who have since died; think of all the stories about dogs continuing to visit gravestones, for instance. This could be viewed as almost akin to a religious ritual. Behaviors like this are seldom seen in wild animals (except for a few highly intelligent ones, like elephants—probably not coincidentally, the same species invariably also have unusually sophisticated ways of communicating amongst themselves, even if it does not quite pass the threshold of what humans would call a language).