The Unthinkable Truth, page 12
‘I never thought about it that way,’ Grinberg said with a grin. ‘But that’s exactly what seems to happen.’
Max held his hand up and waved it awkwardly. ‘Sorry to spoil the party, but I still have a major concern.’ He rubbed his hands as if preparing for a fight. ‘It’s true that the main criticisms about the Libet Experiment were adequately addressed in these fMRI studies, but my main concern remains. Can we really extrapolate from the simple decision of which button to press to the much more complex decisions people make throughout their lives? Well, anyway, at least some people make complex decisions.’
Grinberg turned to Max. ‘I see you are not easily pleased or impressed.’
Max grinned. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to say that.’
‘Okay, if you expect to have a similar study for each and every human behaviour, that’s simply ludicrous. But there are two fascinating studies with abstract decisions just for sceptics like yourself.’
Max shook his head, but Grinberg seemed to ignore that and plunged ahead with vigour. ‘In the first one, again by researchers from the famous Max Planck Institute’ – he shot a glance at Max – ‘the subjects had to decide freely which mental arithmetic task to perform on two numbers, an addition or a subtraction, and at what time. They then had to report when they made the decision and, of course, the result. Interestingly, although the nature of the decision was not motor – as you know, calculation does not require muscles – the same two brain areas we mentioned earlier were involved and the decision was detected there up to four seconds before the person became aware of it. Taking into account the delayed response we have already talked about, it means that the actual intention was formed a few seconds earlier, around seven seconds before the conscious decision. The analysis could also predict with a high degree of accuracy when the participants would make their conscious decision.’
Max was nodding, but remained silent.
‘The second study, by Australian scientists from the University of New South Wales, looked at imagery. The subjects were asked to choose between two predefined images, one with horizontal green and vertical red gratings and the other with the opposite colour and orientation. They then had to imagine their chosen image as vividly as possible and finally report their choice and the level of vividness. Well, in this vastly different paradigm, they found pretty much the same results. Activity patterns in four brain areas could predict the mental imagery content as early as eleven seconds before the person made a conscious and voluntary decision of what to imagine. In case you are wondering which areas, they included cortical areas, specifically the visual and frontal, as well as the thalamus and pons, which are deep inside the brain. Surprisingly, even the future vividness of the imagery could be predicted by the activity pattern in the primary visual cortex.’
‘Aha,’ exclaimed Gertrude. ‘How can you be so sure that the subjects reported the decision time accurately? Isn’t it possible that they reported the onset of imagery after they actually started doing it?’
‘That would be very unlikely,’ Grinberg said. ‘With a gap of eleven seconds, the mistake would just be too great, so we could pretty much rule that out. But the researchers didn’t take any chances and confirmed the reliability of the decision time using a clever psychophysical test.’
‘Psycho-what?’ Meghan asked.
‘Psychophysical,’ Grinberg said patiently. ‘They used an objective test that participants simply could not control or cheat on to confirm the accuracy of the reported decision time. This was done by comparing free decision and forced decision using a well-known phenomenon called binocular rivalry. Now, without getting into the technical details, the important finding was that the reported timing of the free decision was proven categorically to be accurate.’
Very nice, thought George. With the potential weakness ruled out, he was satisfied that this study was solid.
Grinberg rose to his feet. ‘For our purposes, the bottom line of all these studies is that between the two options – you control your brain or your brain controls you – the latter is correct.’ He paused for a while. ‘So … if anyone has any other concerns or criticisms, please raise them now.’
There was silence in the room for a long while. George surveyed the faces around the table. Most looked relaxed but speechless. Ben was also looking around, but his stiff, upright posture and clenched jaw betrayed his tension. The person who had brought them here and encouraged them to come to a conclusion seemed, for some reason that George still couldn’t decipher, visibly upset.
‘Not a criticism,’ George said. ‘Just wanted to say that these additional results are truly remarkable.’
Grinberg nodded in agreement. Max and Gertrude exchanged glances but said nothing.
Grinberg scanned the faces around the table for a long while before slumping down in his chair. ‘Very well then! But don’t feel bad about it – the sharpest scientists in the field failed to find holes in these studies, so you are in good company. I think that this last study more than the others gives us a clue as to how decisions are made, at least for imagery. Sensory-like neuronal activity emerges spontaneously before volition, and when it’s strong enough, passing a certain threshold, we experience it as our own free will. This, of course, may vary with different modalities, but it’s clear that in a variety of decisions – whether about making a move, doing mental arithmetic or imagining something – brain activity representing the decision itself emerges well before the conscious decision is formed.’
Gertrude held her head with both hands. ‘Just to make sure I’ve got this right. You’re saying that when I make what feels to me like a completely free decision, what actually happens is that my brain has already made the decision for me in a very discreet fashion, behind the scenes and well in advance, correct?’
‘That’s what the evidence shows. We’re following instructions without knowing it, but still feel in control.’
‘Professor Grinberg, it sounds to me that based on this, we are actually just automatons.’
Grinberg nodded slowly. ‘I’m afraid so. It’s like we are all puppets on strings in the theatre of life, only the strings are invisible, such that the illusion of self-control is just perfect.’
‘So who is the puppeteer?’ Ben asked, frowning.
‘The puppeteer? Well, that’s just the laws of physics and chemistry that govern the functioning of the brain. Obviously, brains are different from each other due to differences in genetics, environment and the experiences we all had, but we hold no power whatsoever over the brain that governs us, just like the string puppet has no power over the puppeteer.’
Ben chuckled and got to his feet. All the tension seemed to have left his body. ‘Well, well, well. That’s a dramatic way to finish the last session for today. It looks like we all have something to think about, at least those of us who haven’t heard this before. Have a good trip to your hotel and I’ll see you all here in the morning.’ He turned away and left the conference room in a hurry.
George didn’t move. It was still only early afternoon, but Ben obviously considered the meeting over. His mind was flooded with questions and thoughts. Have we reached the Holy Grail? Was he just a string puppet obeying rules he hardly understood? Maybe there really was nothing he could do to save Ella. He wished he could talk to her now – share all of this with her.
14
On the Métro from the hotel the next morning, George spotted a familiar head with long, glossy dark hair at the far end of the carriage. His full head height above most people in a densely packed train had its advantages. He told Helen, who immediately made her way through the crowd, with George trying to catch up.
‘Hey, Meghan, you’re positively beaming!’ Helen said with a grin. ‘Does this remind you of the trains at home?’
Meghan glanced at her in surprise. ‘Not at all. The trains in The Hague are rarely this busy.’
‘You’re lucky. They are in New York. Can we join you?’
‘Absolutely. I could do with the company. I had a lovely chat with Olivier this morning. He wants to come over here once I’m free.’
‘Ah, that’s sweet.’
‘Yes. It’ll be our first mini-holiday together. Very exciting!’
‘Nice,’ Helen said. A crackling announcement in French blared over the speakers, followed by a wave of exasperated responses from the passengers. Looking through the carriage window, Helen stood on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the station’s name just before they entered the tunnel. ‘Next stop is ours.’
‘Not today,’ George said. ‘They’ve just announced that the train will not stop at the next two stations. We’ll probably have to get a taxi if we still want to arrive on time.’
‘Strange they didn’t say it in English too,’ Meghan said.
‘Maybe something has just happened, so they haven’t had a chance to prepare a translation.’
‘Did they give any reason?’
‘Only that the stations had to be closed for safety.’
Four minutes later, the train came to a stop at Edgar Quinet Station, and they all piled out. When they finally emerged at street level with the large crowd, the only two taxis in sight were already being mobbed, so Meghan pulled out her phone and brought up a map of Paris. ‘We’re only twenty-five minutes away on foot. Shall we walk?’
George looked around. A few streets away, the traffic seemed to be at a standstill. Sporadically beeping horns came from the junction ahead, and he wondered if that was the reason for the closed Métro stations. A small group of people stood on the pavement near the junction, all peering to their right. Something was going on, and he could now hear drumbeats and loud chanting. A large procession of mostly young people was flooding the road. In the increasing cacophony, he could hear a male voice shouting something in French through a megaphone, the crowd answering back in unison.
‘What are they saying?’ Meghan asked.
‘I can’t hear it very clearly!’ George replied, raising his voice over the increasing din.
‘Let’s get closer – I want to read the placards.’
He glanced at Helen, but she just shrugged. ‘We don’t have much time.’ Meanwhile, Meghan was already moving ahead towards the demonstrators, without looking back. They kept up with her. If she got swallowed by this crowd, they’d lose her for sure.
Meghan pointed to a placard written in English, held by a middle-aged woman with short grey hair.
WE APOLOGISE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE DURING
ESSENTIAL GLOBAL IMPROVEMENT WORKS
‘This is great! George, look at that one over there – what does it say?’
It was written in French, so George obliged. ‘Fear is the currency of control.’
‘How about that one?’
He read the next placard. ‘Put the world’s people first.’
‘I think we should leave,’ Helen said.
‘Wait, there’s another one over there!’ Meghan stepped off the pavement and into the crowd to read it better. ‘Wow, that’s brilliant.’ The sign read:
MAKE ORWELL FICTION AGAIN
Before George could stop her, she approached a young man with shoulder-length hair. ‘What’s the protest about?’ she shouted.
‘We are sick and tired of corporate greed and control by big institutions,’ he shouted in a heavy French accent. ‘The government is not listening to the people and we’ve had enough.’
‘Good luck!’ she yelled, and turned around, but she’d only taken one step when he took the paper flower garland off his neck and put it around hers. She just smiled.
The crowd started moving faster, as if pushed by an invisible force, and George quickly lost sight of Meghan as the sea of people engulfed her.
He scanned the crowd. At the far end of the street, a line of horse-mounted police moved towards the mass of people. There were perhaps five or six of them and the horses looked skittish, but the crowd kept moving, pushed from behind. Then one of the horses reared, causing people to leap out of the way, some falling over each other in panic. The shouts turned angry. It was impossible to stop the momentum.
George wiped beads of anxious sweat from his forehead. This doesn’t look good. I really shouldn’t be here. ‘I can’t see Meghan!’ he shouted to Helen.
‘Shall we join the protest and look for her?’
‘I guess we’ll have to! Take my hand.’ He stepped into the churning crowd, Helen just behind him.
George searched the weaving bodies for a stripy blue-and-white blouse, but there was no sign of Meghan. Three shots rang out behind them. As the vigorous pushing and shoving propelled them forward, a cloud of thin white smoke spread over the crowd, stinging his eyes. He let go of Helen’s hand and rubbed them, but the pain got worse, pulsating now with increasing intensity. He peered through his tears, searching for Helen. She stood frozen just a few metres ahead. Moving quickly towards her, he grabbed her hand tightly.
‘Let’s move,’ he shouted. ‘They’re using tear gas.’
Some of the protesters put on gas masks. Others covered their faces with scarves or pieces of cloth. George stooped low, hoping to hide from the gas among the moving bodies. He dragged Helen back to the relatively empty pavement. Her hand felt small and fragile in his. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘You’re properly crying.’
‘I’m surprised you’re not,’ he said, wiping the tears with his shirtsleeve and looking around. ‘Christ, there she is!’
Meghan was leaning with both hands against a wall, coughing hard. They ran towards her, lifted her by an arm on each side and walked away as one. ‘Let’s find a café and wash off this horrible stuff,’ Helen said. ‘But please, no more detours.’
15
When George, Helen and Meghan finally made it to the conference room, they found the others already seated, but there was no sign of Ben, which was surprising. Perhaps he too had been held up by the protest. Skudder, in a livid green tie and white shirt, was pacing back and forth by the window wall, and he looked furious. He stopped and faced them as they entered.
‘Oh, here you are,’ he growled. ‘I bet you were held up by those damned demonstrators, right?’
‘Yeah, you could say that,’ George said as he took his seat between Helen and Meghan. ‘The police were using tear gas. We had to clean up.’
But Skudder wasn’t finished. ‘Well, I apologise for the unacceptable chaos you’ve all experienced in recent days,’ he said, ‘on behalf of the mayor of Paris, not to mention the useless government now in power.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Meghan said, taking off the colourful flower garland and placing it carefully on the table. ‘After all, it’s quite commendable that free speech is not only legally protected here but actually practised.’
Skudder fixed her with a hard stare. ‘Commendable? What’s commendable? The chaos on the streets and the Métro? The widespread disruption to ordinary citizens going about their lives?’
George gazed at Skudder. The man had obviously avoided the protest. Why was he so angry? Protests were normal in Paris. Parisians were well known for voicing their opinions.
‘Well, maybe that’s a small price to pay,’ Meghan said, ‘when something is seriously rotten and needs fixing.’
‘What do you mean?’ Skudder demanded, placing his hands on his hips and stretching his turtleneck towards her.
‘Perhaps it’s history repeating itself. The French Revolution completely changed the social and political structure of this country, and those new ideas helped shape many of Europe’s modern-day governments. So maybe something positive could come out of these peaceful demonstrations.’ After a pause she added, ‘And it’d help if the police weren’t so heavy-handed.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Skudder said, nodding absent-mindedly. He glanced at the door as Ben entered, mug in hand. The smell of coffee was intense. ‘There are much more peaceful and effective crowd control methods out there. Thankfully, science and technology have all the necessary tools to restore law and order and create the obedient society we all wish for.’
George glanced at Skudder in surprise. What sort of crowd control has this man got in mind? He looked around the table to see if he was the only one worried by this statement. Takahashi was squinting, as he often did when struggling to make sense of something, and Meghan had an eyebrow raised. Okay, I’m not being paranoid. Skudder did sound like a radical. Since when did an innocent demonstration mean a disobedient society? And in France of all places?
‘Only baseless fears stop us from achieving this,’ Skudder continued, his eyes gaining a disconcerting brightness. ‘But not for long. Okay, enough of me jabbering away.’
George glanced at Helen. She was also staring at Skudder.
‘Thank you,’ Ben said, his gaze following Skudder as he left the room. He turned to the group and took a sip of coffee, looking embarrassed.
‘You’ve not gathered us here so that we can hypnotise the commander-in-chief and put you in charge instead, have you, Ben?’ Takahashi asked. George recognised Takahashi’s dry sense of humour, but the provocation sounded serious.
Ben spluttered into his mug, but quickly regained his composure and dabbed at the spillage on his sleeve. ‘If only life was that simple, Professor Takahashi,’ he said with a weak smile.
George noticed the inscription on the mug: “WORLD’S BEST DAD”.
‘Where did he nick that mug from?’ he whispered into Helen’s ear.
‘Oh, don’t be so cynical,’ she whispered back with a cheeky grin. ‘Maybe he’s a great dad.’
‘Okay, as we saw yesterday,’ Ben said, ‘evidence from neuroscience is firmly against free will, and I wonder if there is any way around this from physics or philosophy, or anything else …’
