Computers and artificial intelligence are an integral part of everyday life. From Siri to Alexa to the characters in our favorite videogames, we interact with artificial intelligence every day. It can be remarkable just how much the intelligence displayed by a computer program can resemble that of a human being. How is it that a computerized chess program can so easily outsmart a human player, or that Alexa knows just what we're looking for, or that the characters in our favorite videogames display such complex thought and emotion that players can become so immersed in their stories?
It's because most AI neural networks are designed with the human brain in mind. They are meant to mimic the structure and function of a human brain on a smaller, less complex scale. The rules for functioning that are programmed into an AI's neural network allow it to process and analyze external input and create a response based on this careful analysis. In this way, it can think and learn in almost the same way that a human brain can. Different systems allow an AI program to analyze possible situations, identify the pros and cons of each possible response, and take the best course of action. Through trial and error, an AI can “learn” to execute only the best possible responses to each situation.
A videogame character's neural network runs on a combination of basic artificial intelligence, machine learning, and computational analysis. It is designed with the intention of connecting the player to the in-game world, to keep the player immersed and therefore motivated to continue playing. A game character can create a medium between the human player and the in-game world, or else they can mediate between systems within the game's algorithm, enhancing both gameplay and the player's experience. Game characters may be adversaries, playable companions and party members, or non-player characters that the player can interact with. The rules designed for these characters' neural networks to follow allow them to operate in a variety of different scenarios based on input and output from the player. A Finite State Machine (FSM) system, for example, is a system of all possible situations a character may encounter, with a pre-programmed reaction for each. This kind of system allows enemies and bosses to counter player actions with their own responses, creating a challenge that keeps the players coming back for more.
In this boss fight, the enemy character, Larxene, can counter the player's actions by determining the best responses to all possible player actions.
While it may be remarkable to watch a thinking, learning AI in action—for example, when taking on a difficult boss fight in a game—there are many fundamental differences between AI and the human brain. It's generally accepted, at least in the current era, that an AI construct will never be fully capable of operating in a human world. AI programs have the ability to perform tasks at a hyper-advanced level that surpasses human abilities, as well as the ability to analyze hundreds of actions at once and react faster than any human is capable of, but an AI construct can only successfully operate under controlled environments with very little variability. AI programs are designed for fixed, familiar environments, where mind and body operations follow the same predictable pattern. The ability of an AI construct to think, learn, and form emotions is only ever linked to these fixed patterns under controlled environments. For an AI neural network to successfully mimic the human brain, it must be able to perform under constant adversity in an unpredictable environment, as well as to be able to process ambiguity rather than hard data. We do not currently have an AI system with these capabilities.
What would happen if a human child's primary caregivers were AI constructs? How would a child “raised” by computer programs grow and develop through life? We know that children learn and access the world around them through their (typically human) primary caregivers, but recent information on early brain development shows that it goes much deeper than that. In reality, our primary caregivers are responsible for the physical structure and architecture of our brains. The physical development of our brains in the first 2 to 4 years of life is dependent on the quality of our early primary attachments. What if a child's first meaningful attachments were not to human caregivers, but to AI programs?
Child of AI: A Personal Experience
I received my first computer when I was three years old: a 1995 Packard Bell Legend. My earliest memories are connected to this computer and the old CD-ROM and MSDOS games I would play. My early days were spent with Tad the frog on Explorapedia, the Blaster Pals from Reading and Math Blaster, and the various different worlds and characters that you could find on MSDOS shareware. At age four, I moved up to Humongous Entertainment games—Pajama Sam, Putt Putt, and Freddi Fish—and the Magic School Bus, along with virtual Disney storybooks and activity centers. Over time, these characters became synonymous with “home” to me, and my interactions with them over the games felt as natural as other children's interactions with their parents or their peers. My very first friends were the Blaster Pals, the Disney Princesses, and Miss Frizzle's class from the Magic School Bus.
(LY203 Productions; screencap by me)
I was mesmerized by how the characters behind the screen would respond to me in their own way when I communicated with them through the game. I learned about dinosaurs, rock formation, and tectonic plates from Miss Frizzle and her class. Every night before bed, the gentle-voiced narrator on Dinosaur Adventure 3D would tell me about any dinosaur I asked to see by clicking on its picture. Freddi Fish and Luther needed my help to solve the mystery of the stolen kelp seeds, and would follow all of my directions as well as gently guide me when I couldn't quite figure out the way. My early childhood, day to day, was spent drawing closer and closer to these whole worlds that seemed to be hand-crafted just for me to be able to interact with. These “fictional” worlds seemed more real to me than the aggressive, unpredictable world around me that was supposed to be “real.” To this day, I speak of Freddi Fish and the Blaster Pals and Miss Frizzle the way that others speak of their early childhood friends. Each character's unique game AI did the job just right; it created a personalized experience for me that I could become attached to and immersed in.I learned that there were whole other worlds behind that computer screen, full of friends who wanted to teach me and play with me, and that all I needed to do to access them was pop a disk into a drive.
(Juan Defrie D; screencap by me)
I was introduced to console videogames when I was six years old, and got my first Nintendo console just before my seventh birthday. By then, I had discovered the Internet as well, and learned that there were websites dedicated to all of the games I loved and others that I'd never even heard of. These websites told me more and more about every character on a personal level: what they were like, what they could do, their likes and dislikes, and what it was like at home for them. I discovered Link and the world of Hyrule, Banjo and Kazooie, and Kirby. I played Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars, and learned to recognize Princess Peach's distress when Bowser took her away from her home. I recognized Mario and the Toads' distress for her situation, and I was motivated to help Mario rescue her. I knew that Mario must love Peach very much, and that Bowser was going to do something horrible to her if we didn't save her. I had already grown so attached to Peach because she was such a beautiful and innocent princess. I wanted her to be okay, so I played the game every single day.
The communication between me and the characters in these games was mutual in a way I had never experienced from human beings. If I pressed a button, they would do something in response to the button I pressed. If Mario needed to jump on a Koopa, he would jump on a Koopa if I pressed the button that told him to jump on a Koopa. If I wanted Link to play any song at all on his Ocarina, he would play any song at all on his Ocarina if I asked him to. I always knew what to expect from them, and their feelings made so much sense to me. I learned that every character had a home, their own unique personality, and their own friends and family that they loved and enemies that they hated. When they were mad, I knew why they were mad and I was mad with them, at their enemies or their unfortunate situations. When they were happy, it was because they had succeeded—and because I had succeeded, and we were happy together. Mario loved Peach and Link loved Zelda, and I learned from them what it meant to love somebody and have them love you back. I learned from training my Pokemon what it meant to work as a team, and teaming up with them felt like something we were supposed to do together. Working as a team with my human peers in the real world, did not come with the same success.
(RinoaMoogle; screencap by me)
While I will always love my “AI family,” I have to be honest and say that being raised by these games did lead to some severe detriments in functioning. Connecting and communicating with characters from the games became second nature to me, and soon flourished into the way anyone connects and communicates with their trusted family members. But it came at the cost of my ability to communicate with my fellow human beings. To this day, I cannot form natural connections to other people in the same way that I can form natural connections with fictional characters. While my “fictional family” is now a bigger part of my life than it has ever been, I can't deny the severe social impairments and behavioral issues that this impaired ability to connect has caused throughout my life. When a young child's first meaningful attachments do not include human beings, that child's brain architecture develops in that makes it difficult for them to form meaningful connections to human beings later on. Since the critical periods of my brain development were spent in the presence of AI constructs rather than human parental figures, my brain architecture more closely paralleled the neural networks of these characters; able to successfully function only under fixed routines in controlled, “programmed” environments.
Many do not realize how important early attachments are to physical brain development, and research on the topic is still very new. The physical architecture of our brains is determined by our primary attachments in early childhood. This architecture provides the framework for our ability to function in later life.
Brain Architecture and Early Attachments
Several important factors determine how our brains grow and develop throughout our lives. Many make the mistake of owing it all to our genetic code, when the truth is that genetics play only a partial role in the development of our brains. If you think of the brain as a “house” to be built, you can think of our genetic code as the blueprint and floor plan for that house. The blueprint and floor plan tells you how the house is meant to turn out, but you will need much more than that to actually start building.
Our experiences in early life provide the step-by-step instructions for building the house. These experiences are determined by the environment that we grew up in. By processing information from our early experiences, the developing brain determines which areas of the genetic blueprint should be tweaked and adjusted. The environment provides the “building material” for our allegorical house.
The experiences that provide this “building material” begin before birth. Since brain development begins in the third gestational week, a developing baby must have a sense of stability and secure attachment even in the womb in order to maintain stable brain development throughout gestation. Poor maternal nutrition, drug and alcohol use, traumatic injury, or disrupted fetal development can all disrupt the neural chemistry of a fetus, and count as the very first negative experiences that can affect the developing brain.
After birth, a child's brain continues to grow and develop based on the quality of the child's early experiences. The brain is not a self-stimulating automaton; its development is determined by the information it receives from the outside world. Neural circuitry within the brain is activated as the developing brain receives input from the world. If this input is hostile, neurotic, or unpredictable, it will disrupt the development of the neural circuitry. Certain areas of the brain may grow in the wrong way or else fail to activate at all. If an area of the brain fails to grow in during its sensitive developmental period, the brain's natural plasticity allows other areas to try to compensate for what is missing. However, it will never be a complete compensation. Once the sensitive period is missed, the mature brain circuits will not be able to to make up for the lost development.
Attachment circuitry is a specific set of neural circuitry designed for ensuring attachments to parents and caregivers. Evolutionarily, it is meant to keep the child close by the caregiver in order to ensure survival. Stimulation of this circuitry affects how the brain is “programmed” for attachment, allowing the brain to develop a sense of familiarity with others. Ideally, the parents are the child's first and closest early attachments, and attachment circuitry will develop based upon stimulation from the parents. This stimulation lets the attachment circuitry shape itself in response to the quality of attachment.
In insecure attachment, the child cannot expect a safe, predictable response from interaction with their caregiver. If a caregiver provides an inconsistent or neurotic response, the child's attachment circuitry will develop based on this poor external stimulation. Insecure attachments form when the parent or primary caregiver is abusive or suffers from mental illness, cognitive impairment, or personality disorders. As attachment circuitry begins to develop in the last three months of gestation, insecure attachments can form pre-birth on account of trauma or injury in the womb. If not corrected in the early years, this leads to faulty brain architecture down the line.
Insecure attachments are responsible for an increased release of stress hormones in a developing brain. These stress hormones may disrupt brain development by inhibiting the brain's E/I balance. When E/I balance is disrupted, the growth and pruning of the brain's synapses does not occur along a typical timeframe. Neurons meant to activate at certain developmental periods will not grow in, and neurons meant to die back during other developmental stages will be retained. As a result, brain function in later life will be compromised.
Input from a secure caregiver acts as a buffer for the stress hormones that can damage the brain. If this secure attachment input is from a figure other than the primary caregiver, the developing brain will learn to recognize this figure as the source of secure attachment. The attachment circuitry will therefore develop in response input received from that secondary caregiver.
Wildlife Concepts: Imprinting
Animal behaviorists are familiar with the concept of imprinting in orphaned baby animals. Just like humans, baby birds and mammals develop attachment circuitry early in life. This attachment circuitry is meant to keep them close to their mothers and more likely to survive in the wild while they're young.
When a baby animal loses its parent, its attachment circuitry can be activated by another caregiving figure. This can be a human being or even another animal; it's not unheard of for an orphaned baby to be raised by a mother of a different species, though it usually requires human intervention. Baby animals can even imprint on familiar objects, if the object is consistently present during the baby's sensitive period for developing attachments.
Unfortunately, an orphaned animal raised by humans or by another species may never be able to survive among its own kind outside of controlled interaction. A baby duck, for instance, that's been raised by a human caregiver cannot successfully return to the wild and survive among other ducks. Its brain has not developed in a way that allows it to relate to ducks and to retain the skills necessary for the survival of a wild duck. This duck may be able to interact with and even breed with other ducks in the care of a zoo or sanctuary, where all of its basic survival needs are met by its human caretakers, but it will need to be in the care of human beings for the rest of its life. Its brain architecture has developed in a way that makes it more familiar with humans than ducks.
Orphaned animals raised by humans can usually never return to the wild. They must be reared in a zoo or a wildlife sanctuary for the rest of their lives. Ideally, these sanctuaries will provide them with space and enrichment needed to tap into their wild instincts, as well as other animals of their own species to interact with.
Genie Wiley: A Case of Total Deprivation
When Genie was deprived during the sensitive periods of her brain development, the her neural circuitry did not grow in the way that it needed to. While the exact science behind it was not known in the 70s when Genie grew up, her unfortunate case provided some important background on the nature of brain development.
A Child of AI in a World of Humans
So, if a human child's first secure attachments were computer programs, that child's neural circuitry will develop based upon those secure attachments. Later on in life, the child's brain may function more along the lines of an AI neural network than a typical human brain. An AI neural network can function successfully under a series of fixed, routine patterns in a controlled environment (essentially a “program”), but would be rendered non-functional in an unpredictable human world. That being said, any child raised under an AI construct's fixed environment would have severe difficulty adapting to the human world.
Unfortunately, as enriched as I feel living life with my “AI family,” it is considered “environmental deprivation” in relation to brain development (this is certainly not to say that I feel deprived). Since AI programs cannot function in the way a human can, a computerized caregiver is unable to provide and enrich so many vital characteristics of human brain development. An AI construct is fundamentally unable to teach a child to how function outside of their controlled environment, as the construct itself is unable to function in this way.
My childhood and adolescence were defined by cognitive, social, and behavioral impairments, and I received multiple diagnoses in adulthood. At twenty-seven years old, I am considered legally disabled. But this is not to say that I cannot manage human interaction at all. I do have human friends, including a few that I am very close to. For me, however, human interaction must be facilitated under a controlled environment. Virtual worlds—such as chat clients or online games—or specialized social programs designed for structured interaction have made social interaction successful for me by mimicking the fixed, routine patterns of the type of environment an AI program can function in. In these structured environments, I can communicate with others in the same way I learned to communicate with my computerized peers. But without a controlled environment to buffer social interaction, my ability to form meaningful connections to others is abysmal at best and nonexistent at worst.
My long-term prognosis remains unknown. It pains me to say that I may never be able to socialize naturally with human beings. The unpredictable, ambiguous world of humans may always be too much for me to successfully function in, and as I get older, it's becoming increasingly possible that I may need specialized care throughout my life. This world may always be the “wrong” world for me, but I don't feel deprived. My unique life experience has given me the ability to completely connect with worlds that most others can only reach through videogames and other media. Gaming has always been so much more than everyday entertainment to me; my very first connections were made in those computerized worlds. They are where my first attachments were formed, and where I learned to become the person that I am today.
My experience has given me a deeper understanding of how important early attachments are to physical brain development. Many only acknowledge the effects of genetic conditions and physical trauma on the brain. They don't realize just how sensitive human brains are to the environment around them, and the role of secure attachment is often overlooked or treated as only secondary. The brain's physical framework is a product of these attachments, and the foundation laid in childhood determines how the brain will function throughout the rest of life. Applying such concepts helped me to understand my own experiences, and may provide valauble insight to others in similar situations. Above all, these insights could lead to an improved quality of human cognitive and behavioral health.
I will always have my AI family to thank for that.
Additional Reference
Phaneuf, Alexis. “Genie: The Feral Child.” University of Wisconsin-Platteville.
2 Comments
'Tis the season for wonderful holiday dinners, packed with all of our favorite foods! We can thank our evolution for the complex sense of taste that allows us to enjoy the many flavors at our dinner tables this holiday season. The approaching winter is not only our best time of year for food, but the best feeding season for wild birds as well. Bird feeding has become a national pastime, allowing us to observe our local birds right in our own backyards. The popularity of bird feeding as a hobby has inspired so many different kinds of bird feeds, all crafted in hopes of drawing the best birds to our yards. Some bird feeds utilize artificial fruit and nut flavorings in hopes of attracting more seed and fruit feeders. But is this really an effective way to bring in more birds? In the summer of 2017, I conducted a series of experiments on the feeding and foraging behavior of passerine songbirds in the New Jersey pines. The first experiment, running through the month of June, focused on the effects of artificial flavoring on the quantity and frequency of birds at the feeder. Two artificially-flavored suet cakes were offered at three backyard feeding stations, alongside a suet cake with no flavoring. Over the course of the experiment, the quantity, feeding frequency, and species diversity of the birds at each feeding station were recorded. In the end, it turned out that the flavor of the suet cakes had no real effect on the amount and type of birds that would feed at those stations. In fact, a higher total number of birds prioritized the unflavored suet cake over those with artificial flavoring. So how could this be? Well, while humans tend to choose their food based on their favorite flavors, the sense of taste is very different for passerine birds. Birds can and do make preferential food choices just like we do, but they have different reasons for choosing certain foods over others. Do Birds Taste?The way birds taste their food is largely species-dependent. Ducks, for example, have over 400 taste buds! They can use this wide range of tastes to identify, accept, and reject the foods that are offered to them, just like people do. Hummingbirds can also discern different nectar types by their tastes; as nectar feeders, they have a heightened ability to identify sweet foods. Passerine birds, however, have a more limited sense of taste, but this is not to say that they cannot taste their foods at all. The taste buds of a passerine bird have evolved to identify chemical differences between their foods, rather than differences in the taste itself. This allows them to reject any food that may be harmful or toxic, as well as to determine foods that may have a higher nutritional or caloric content. Birds can detect acidity in their food and water by recognizing the sour or bitter tastes that identify a high acid content. They can also determine differences between salts in salty foods; many shorebirds can identify chlorides by type and will reject food or water filled with salt they don't want. Most other birds will reject salty food and water entirely.
In a study performed at Cornell by students of the University of Pennsylvania, commercial pheasant food was sprayed with a repellent designed to make the food unpalatable to the birds. Both plain and repellent-drenched food was offered to the birds, while many did reject the repellent-drenched food, others took advantage of the lack of competition and continued to eat it. While most of the pheasants did perceive that something was very wrong with the food, the reasons behind it had very little to do with the taste itself. Other studies performed with artifically-flavored bird foods typically had the same results as the June 2017 experiment: the flavoring had no real effect on whether or not the birds would eat it, and in some cases, the birds outright rejected the flavored food in favor of unflavored options. Since birds can detect the chemistry of their food, it's possible that the artificial flavoring was perceived as an abnormal chemical change. The Thanksgiving Taste ExperimentPasserine birds possess a limited olfactory sense in addition to their limited sense of taste. Most passerines are “nose-blind” to the odors of their environment, and the senses of smell and taste are directly linked. People with disorders of the sense of smell may have a difficult time tasting their food, but how does this connection work? There was no better time to determine the link between smell and taste than on Thanksgiving Day, with such a wide variety of flavorful foods available! At Thanksgiving dinner, six different foods were sampled for an experiment: turkey, stuffing, spinach quiche, macaroni and cheese, baked apples, and sweet potato casserole. Each food was sampled with the nose pinched closed, in order to see how the foods would taste with an impaired sense of smell. The results were very different from what was expected! With the nose pinched closed, only salty tastes remained. Sweet tastes became very bland, and no individual flavors—turkey seasoning, the spinach and pepper in the quiche, or the spicees in the sweet potatoes—could be identified. This shows that our taste receptors are in fact linked to our olfactories, and for those with limited olfactories (such as passerine birds), food is not quite as flavorful. Try to eat with your nose pinched shut, and you may discover what it's really like to “eat like a bird!” Our Sense of Taste is in Our GenesHow come we can taste our flavorful foods, but birds can't? The answer lies in our evolution and DNA. Our bitter, sweet, and savory (“umami”) taste receptors are linked to proteins present in our genetic code, with a single protein for bitter tastes and a double protein for sweet and savory. This sense of taste developed to help our ancestors find calorie and nutrient-dense food during an age when food was scarce (unfortunately, this tends to go against us in an age when food is so widely available). These taste receptors also allowed our answers to reject harmful, toxic, or otherwise unpalatable foods found in the wild. These foods usually carry an extremely sour or bitter taste. T1R1, T1R2, and T1R3 are the genetic components responsible for our sense of taste. With these three components combined, we can enjoy our favorite sweet and savory foods. However, it turns out that passerine birds lack this combination. Other birds, such as hummingbirds, have modified versions of T1R1 or T1R3, but the T1R2 component is generally missing from the avian kingdom. Without T1R2, a bird's feeding experience is a lot like trying to eat with your nose pinched shut. The sense of smell and taste are both very limited. While you're enjoying your upcoming holiday feasts, be very thankful that you're not a bird! Then again, if you were a bird, you wouldn't really need to taste the individual flavors in your food. Evolution has done a fine job of giving humans and avians what they need in order to survive; our ability to savor every flavor of our favorite foods is just an added bonus!
Tunicates are invertebrates with a very unique feature: they are born with a notochord, or rudimentary vertebrae, just like vertebrate animals. The notochord is lost when the animal passes the larval stage, and adult tunicates resemble any other boneless invertebrate. Take a look at one, and you might be surprised that it's closer to us than to jellyfish! Tunicates are named for their protective outer membrane, called a tunic, which makes them look clear and gelatinous. Benthic tunicates are commonly known as sea squirts, and are named for the water they squirt when disturbed. Planktonic, or drifting, tunicates are called salps. The tunicates that form pyrosomes are closely related to salps. In a pyrosome, each individual tunicate is called a zooid. The zooids have their own digestive systems, including an incurrent and excurrent siphon for filter feeding. If any zooids are wounded or killed, the remaining zooids can generate more copies of themselves to keep the pyrosome alive. They move through shared jet propulsion, releasing water through the excurrent siphon to power them through the water. In a pyrosome, the entire colony shares the same locomotive and excretory systems.
Giant pyrosomes are found worldwide, but occur more commonly in tropical areas with high primary production. Their favorite food is phytoplankton, and they feed by taking big gulps of plankton-filled water through their incurrent siphons. They are active after dusk, when planktonic communities engage in nocturnal vertical migration. They are affected by ocean chemistry, currents, and temperature, and you are most likely to see one in warmer waters where the phytoplankton are plentiful. A giant pyrosome is quite a rare sight! Monster Tales: Sea SerpentsIf you're familiar with mythical creatures, you've likely heard a few sea serpent tales. Legends of water monsters are tales as old as time. From the Biblical Leviathan, to the mythical Midgard Serpent of Norse mythology, to the Japanese water dragon, just about every mythos has its own sea serpent tale. These stories were passed down and adapted through the centuries. Sea charts like Olaus Magnus' Carta Marina (1539) featured oceans full of water horses, reptilian creatures, and vicious giant sea snakes. The Historia Animalium, published by naturalist Conrad Gessner in 1558, had a section dedicated to marine “monsters” and included a mention of the sea serpent depicted by Magnus. Most likely, these monsters were early attempts to make sense of the strange animals spotted at sea. The 19th and 20th century “fossil revolution” led to the discovery of even more monstrous sea creatures from the prehistoric era, which matched up with many of the sea monster descriptions from old myths and legends. As interest in our oceans grew, so did sightings of strange sea creatures. Sightings of alleged sea serpents continue to this day. In truth, the ocean is chock full of sea serpents, from sea kraits to oarfish to water tornadoes. And of course, there's the giant pyrosome. The Giant Pyrosome: A Real Sea SerpentGiant pyrosomes are very elusive creatures that most people outside of the marine bio field would not be familiar with. They are usually seen by divers, and may be occassionally spotted feeding near the surface. They are large, otherworldly looking creatures with gelatinous body forms, and they resemble giant worms with no appendages or features. Even those familiar with sea squirts at the beach probably wouldn't think to associate a giant sea worm with them, and the sight of a giant pyrosome might be quite mysterious and unsettling. Before the “marine biology revolution” of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, no traveler on the sea would know what to make of a massive tunicate. We know now that giant pyrosomes are the farthest thing from “vicious sea snakes.” They are completely passive animals, and their lack of a central nervous system means that not only would they never attack a ship, but they wouldn't even realize it's there. However, what else might a 19th century sailor think upon catching sight of one of these strange creatures? A long day at sea and a mind full of the old sea serpent legends can make the imagination run wild. Even a modern day sailor unfamiliar with marine invertebrates might mistake a giant pyrosome for a scary sea serpent. Most “sea serpent” candidates as we know them are harmless animals with no interest in attacking humans—the oarfish, for example, is another passive filter feeder. If a ship collides with a large animal, the resulting damage may lead to tales of a “brutal attack.” In the case of the giant pyrosome, a collision with a ship is much more likely to harm the pyrosome and not the ship. However, the zooids would simply regenerate and continue on their way. A Pyrosome Story? The Churchill Sea Serpent of 1884In August of 1884, the crew of the steamboat Churchill caught sight of a “horrifying sea snake” off the coast of Port Natal (Durban), South Africa. The creature was described as “being covered with large seashells, and to have a big, hairy head.” From the ship, the head and the tail appeared 60 feet apart. The animal was spotted at the surface for only a moment before it drifted beneath the ship, and very little further information exists on the encounter. Most of the details of the sighting come from Bernard Heuvelmans' In the Wake of the Sea Serpents. Could this startling sight have been a giant pyrosome? Of course, pyrosomes do not have “heads” or “tails,” nor do they have hair or any other features. But how else might a 19th century sailor describe such a creature? The pyrosome below shows that tunics may appear “hairy” or “fuzzy.” When viewed from the surface or from on board a ship, a surfacing pyrosome might appear to have a head covered in fine white hairs. For someone who has only ever seen seashells and not tunics, the individual tunics of the zooids might appear shell-like, especially if the animal was showing off its bioluminescence at the time; the effect can be very colorful, like light dancing off of iridescent shells. (Source) The area once known as Port Natal is located on South Africa's East Coast, where the Indian and Southern Oceans meet. The area experiences an average sea surface temperature of about 25 °C (77 °F) with little seasonal variation. The area is also quite productive, experiencing highs in primary productivity from the Antarctic waters below. It's an ideal location for a foraging giant pyrosome. Though it may be possible for a colonial pyrosome to reach a length of 60 feet, it would be exceedingly rare. The average length for a giant pyrosome is about 25 feet, with 30 at the highest. However, estimating length, with, or distance while at sea can be very tricky. The mind's eye cannot always be trusted, especially after having been startled by a “sea serpent.” Was the Churchill sea serpent really a giant pyrosome? We may never know for sure. But it is certainly possible! With our increasing awareness of the diversity of our oceans, new meaning is given to old sea monster tales. Sea serpents come in many forms, but they may not be exactly as old voyagers and naturalists imagined. The giant pyrosome is just one example of the many wonderful “sea monsters” that roam our oceans. With its alien appearance, its beautiful bioluminescence, and its mesmirizing undulations as it drifts across the sea, it's truly a fantastic creature worthy of a riveting sea tale! Additional References
Georg Wilhelm Steller (1709-1746) was a German naturalist with a concentration in zoology and botany. As one of the most prestigious naturalists of old, he is one of my very few inspirations outside of videogames. In 1741, Steller participated in the second Kamatcha expedition under Bering. The purpose was to chart the seas of Siberia, Japan, and Alaska. In Steller's time, marine science was still very new, and sea voyages were not conducted purely for the sake of wildlife study. However, during the expedition, Steller did conduct various biological surveys and reports on the animals that he observed. His book, The Beasts of the Sea ,was published after his death. It featured detailed information on the marine animals that he encountered during the expedition, including sea lions, “sea bears” (fur seals), and the now-extinct northern sea cow. Many animals— including Steller's sea lion, Steller's jay, and the aforementioned sea cow—were named for him. Steller's sea lions (Source) During the expedition, Steller encountered an animal that was not published in his book. The animal was described only in his personal field journal and was not further documented. On August 10, 1741, Steller and his crew spotted an animal that, in his description, resembled a swimming ape or monkey. The animal was sighted near the Alaskan Peninsula, close by Mt. Chiginagak and the Semidi Islands. It was described as being “2 Russian ells” (5 feet) long, with a doglike head and pointed ears, prominent whiskers on both sides of its mouth, large eyes, and a thick, rounded body that slimmed down towards the tail. The animal was grey in color with a dirty white underbelly, and appeared reddish-brown “like a cow” when submerged. No fins or forefeet were visible even when the animal was standing erect in the water at “one-third of its length,” but it did have two divided tail fins with “the upper...twice as large as the lower...as in the case of roosters.” The animal remained near Steller's ship for two hours, and entertained the crew with its playful and inquisitive antics. After swimming off, it appeared again later on in the day. Steller failed to get a closer look at the creature; he attempted to shoot it for capture, but he missed, and the animal darted away. Neither it nor anything like it was seen again for the rest of the expedition.
The northern fur seal (Callorhinus ursinus) matches Steller's description of an ursine seal (Public domain image) The Sea Ape: A Real AnimalThough Steller encountered the “sea ape” only once during his voyage, he was able to observe the creature for two whole hours before spooking it away. The description of the creature in his journal is as indepth and detailed as any of his other descriptions of sea animals published in The Beasts of the Sea. As a naturalist—and one of the most prestigious in the history of the field—it's safe to say that Georg Wilhelm Steller is as reputable a source as any when it comes to marine animals, though his descriptions are appropriately antiquated. If Steller says that he saw something, and took the time to write indepth about it in his field journal, it's safe to say that there was something in the Alaskan waters on August 10, 1741. Long days at sea could make anyone hazy enough to see things, but the animal was seen not only by Steller, but by his crew. In his account, Steller notes that the crew was as amused by the creature's playful antics as he was. Furthermore, the same animal appeared later on in the day in a different part of the sea. While visual hallucinations at sea are possible (but quite rare), they definitely don't work that way. Because the encounter with the animal was so brief, it was not included in the ship's log or any of his publications. Not enough information was obtained to make a full report, and no further observations could be made. While it is entirely possible that Steller made up the encounter to counteract the monotony of a long voyage, the creature's description was far too detailed to be written off as a simple “fish tale.” Steller was a scientist, not a fairy tale writer. He wrote as if he truly saw something out there. Any written account of an animal by a man of Steller's standing should be treated as a true account, and that animal should be investigated under the context of a real animal. So What's Really Out There?The waters of the Alaskan peninsula are a hotbed for marine mammals. Many of these animals were observed and documented by Steller himself. In The Beasts of the Sea, Steller spoke with some familiarity on seals in the area, grouping them into three categories based on size. The fur seal, or “ursine seal,” had its own section in The Beasts, including an indepth analysis of their foraging, migratory, and courtship behaviors. Outside of Steller's three vague categories, the Alaskan waters are home to a diverse array of pinnipeds. Alongside sea lions, walruses, and fur seals, this area is home to five different species of earless seals: bearded seals, harbor seals, ribbon seals, spotted seals, and the small ringed seal. Steller noted his mystery animal's strong resemblance to Gessner's “sea monkey.” In 1558, naturalist Conrad Gessner compiled the Historia Animalium, containing depictions and descriptions of animals as relayed to him by the observations of other naturalists. Part of this work was a section dedicated to cetaceans, pinnipeds, and other “monsters of the sea,” as he called them. The sea monkey, or “Simia marina,” was one of these creatures. This is an animal with the upper body of a humanoid, clawed “hands,” a doglike face with a gaping mouth, and a slim, finned tail. We can see that this was Gessner's attempt to depict a seal. It is obviously not the most accurate image of a seal; seals are, of course, not primates or related to primates. But with the frame of reference that he had at the time, it's the closest possible depiction of a seal that Gessner could make. Without knowing anything about seals, someone who saw one for the first time might call it a swimming monkey. Seal or Sea Ape?
Bearded seals are grey or reddish brown, with white underbellies for countershading. They have rounded bodies that slim down towards the tail fins. Their small, clawed forefeet may not be visible if the animal is half submerged. As you can see in the image below, a bearded seal is able to hold itself erect in the water up to about 1/3rd of its body length (the same proportions Steller noted for his sea ape). While doing so, they may bring to mind a swimming primate. (Source) An adult bearded seal can be as long as 8 feet, but juveniles or newly-weaned pups can be anywhere between 3 and 5 feet. A juvenile seal is also likely display the curious and playful behavior that so amused Steller and his crew. A ship full of people is something very new to a young seal, and it's safe to say that Steller and his crew amused the animal just as much as it amused them! Since the bearded seal's breeding season typically lasts from March to May, a pup in August would be a rather late one. An August juvenile would be a minimum of 16 weeks old. A bearded seal does not have different-sized fins. Seal tail fins are the same size, promoting energy conservation while swimming. This type of tail is common on animals with wide, rounded bodies. However, a seal can flare either one of its fins to make it appear to be larger than the other. The bearded seal in the image below demonstrates this ability. (Source) For a traveler unfamiliar with the species, a bearded seal outside of its range is a very strange sight. It's easy to see how Steller might mistake one of these whimsical seals for a “sea ape.” But we also can't forget about the other species of seals in the area. Harbor seals and spotted seals also come close to matching Steller's description. The habitat range for harbor seals is much more extensive than that of the bearded seals, and comprises almost the entirety of the Alaskan coast and the nearby islands. That being said, it's a little less likely that Steller would find only a single harbor seal without encountering others in the area. Steller well aware of the common “ocean seal,” though he did not publish any sort of thorough descriptions of them. The spotted seal, whose habitat range falls nearby enough to the area to overlap, is a little bit more of a likely candidate. The size, colors, and general appearance match up well, especially in the case of a pup or juvenile. However, these seals have a distinctive fur pattern that Steller would have likely taken note of. (Source) The one major discrepancy between Steller's Sea Ape and the local seals is that these seals would not feature “pointed, erect ears.” This characteristic is restricted to the fur seals and sea lions. Earless seals, or “true seals,” have ear holes in place of external ears. Bearded seals have particularly large and visible ear holes, and it is possible that Steller “filled in the blanks” in response to the animal's lack of ears. After all, he would have been used to observing eared seals. So, What is That Thing? After comparing and contrasting Steller's account to the known pinniped species in the area, we can conclude that the animal was likely a seal, specifically a young bearded seal that wandered outside of its range. If Steller had been allowed a more indepth interaction with the creature, perhaps the “sea ape” would have had a spot among sea lions and “sea bears” in The Beasts of the Sea. However, since the only account of the creature exists in Steller's field journal, and Steller was unable to encounter the animal again, we may never be able to fully confirm its identity. That being said, Steller's encounter with the “sea ape” shows us how a cryptid can be an ordinary animal seen in a different light. Cryptozoological sightings are always worth looking into to see if they can be explained by known species; and even if they can't, we are still very far away from knowing everything there is to know about animal diversity. In the eyes of a naturalist from the 18th century, an unfamiliar seal can become a whimsical “sea ape.” It just goes to show that we should never just dismiss cryptozoological sightings as imaginary. Our world is full of fantastic creatures that are just as real as you and I. In the scientific community, it's our obligation to learn as much about them as we possibly can. The goal of cryptozoology is to know the unknown. In this way, it is just like any other scientific field. We want to study alleged sightings of unknown animals and discover the realities behind them. We want to find a way to prove that they are more than merely fish tales. By doing so, we can get a better understanding of our world and the diversity of its species. Additional References
The Sea of Cortez, dubbed “the world's aquarium” by Jacques Cousteau, is one of the most diverse marine ecosystems in the world. Otherwise known as the Gulf of California, it separates the Baja California peninsula from the Mexican mainland. The area is home to over 800 species of fish, thousands of marine invertebrates, and several different kinds of of marine mammals, including sea lions, seals, and whales. The area is also well-known hotspot for sharks, including great whites, whale sharks, hammerheads, and threshers.
Based on its alleged size, appearance, and behavior, the creature is rumored to be an existing megalodon. Alleged sightings of living megalodons are the subject of sea monster tales all over the world. However, it's very unlikely that the megalodon is still with us, and that the Black Demon or any other large marine cryptid is an example of one. Megalodon: The Mega-Shark of Days Long Gone |
Star D.M.Star D.M. is an aspiring "mad scientist" looking to know the unknown and see the unseen. She holds a B.A. in marine science with a concentration in wildlife biology, and has a particular interest in ornithology, invertebrates, and cryptozoological research. Her inspirations include Dr. Patricia Tannis and Professor Kokonoe Mercury from the Borderlands and BlazBlue series of videogames. Archives
February 2020
Categories |