Volume 13: pp. 21–24

Musings on Comparative Directions for Situated Cognition

Michael F. Brown

Villanova University

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Abstract

This commentary endorses Cheng’s message that situated cognition should be considered more broadly in the field of comparative cognition and that our understanding of situated cognition would profit from a comparative perspective. Additional phenomena that can be framed in terms of distributed cognition are identified. Hybrid machine–animal intelligence is offered as another possible case of situated cognition. The analogy of the extended phenotype is suggested as relevant to comparing conservative and liberal versions of situated cognition. Examination of the evolutionary history and function of situated cognition is identified as a contribution that comparative analysis can provide.

Keywords: situated cognition, distributed cognition, comparative cognition, hybrid intelligence, extended phenotype

Author Note: Michael F. Brown, Department of Psychological and Brain Sciences, Villanova University, Villanova, PA 19085.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Michael F. Brown at michael.brown@villanova.edu


Cheng’s target article provides a good overview of the various ways in which cognition has been considered to extend beyond the boundaries of the brain. As he points out, this idea comes in a variety of forms that have developed in very different research traditions. The conceptual foundation of cognition extending beyond the central nervous system has been extensively explored in philosophy of mind and by those in the cognitive sciences with a more philosophical bent. Many examples of empirical support for this approach have been explored in the domain of human cognition. Cheng provides an excellent review of some cases of nonhuman cognition that can be understood in the framework of situated cognition. He distinguishes “conservative” versions of situated cognition, preserving the essence of cognition in representations and operations on those representations, in contrast to “liberal” versions, which accommodate the extension of cognition beyond the central nervous system by reframing the nature of cognition in one of several ways (see also Wilson, 2002).

I agree with Cheng that exploring situated cognition from a comparative perspective is likely to be productive, both for our understanding of animal cognition and for our understanding of situated cognition. Following Cheng’s lead of offering a “showcase to start a dialog” (p. 2) about the directions that situated cognition might take the field of comparative cognition (and be taken by it), I offer some thoughts on several directions that a comparative approach to situated cognition might lead.

Distributed Cognition: The Scope of Comparative Examples

Cheng suggests eusocial insects as a good starting point for consideration of (socially) distributed cognition. The wide range of complex, highly coordinated, and sophisticated social behavior makes them an excellent place to explore the possibility that cognitive processes are distributed over individual animals in a manner that meaningfully shifts the unit of information storage and processing from the individual animal to the group.

Other cases that appear likely to support distributed cognition include the complex coordination of group movement found in fish schools and bird flocks. Couzin (2009) reviewed collective decision making in this context that suggests processes best understood as situated in the group rather than individual animals. The tendency of many fishes to spatially align with close neighbors, for example, results in “amplification” of the ability of schooling fish to detect and react appropriately (change swimming direction) to a threat more reliably than an individual fish could. The process is similar to feedback systems in neural circuits that amplify signals. On the surface, at least, the models described by Couzin (e.g., from Couzin, Krause, James, Ruxton, & Franks, 2002) meet the Kaplan (2012) mutual manipulability criterion championed by Cheng; information flows between individual-level mechanisms and group-level mechanisms controlling movement. As an aside, it is worth mentioning that cognition distributed among animals moving in groups may be in a fuzzy boundary between Cheng’s species of distributed cognition and enacted cognition.

Even in animals with much less complex social interactions, considering social processes as a form of (or a component of) cognition may have merit. In pairs or small groups of foraging laboratory rats, for example, social interactions are generally considered to be part of the environmental input that is stored and processed in the brains of individual rats (e.g., Brown, 2011). But work focused on the dynamics of group formation and interactions among individual foragers suggests processes that might be best understood in terms of information stored and processed by the group of rats rather than by each individual (Weiss, Segev, & Eilam, 2015). The extent to which reframing social interactions as part of cognitive processes involved in social behavior rather than part of the environmental input to those processes helps us understand those processes is, at this point, an open question. I agree with Cheng it is well worth pursuing.

Distributed Cognition and Hybrid Intelligence

In the wake of advances in artificial intelligence and machine learning, several approaches to integrating artificial intelligence with naturally occurring behavioral and cognitive processes have emerged. Smart (2018) reviewed the state of these approaches from the machine learning perspective. Talwar et al. (2002) provided an early example of a cyborg behavioral control system. Stimulation of sensory areas of the brain associated with whiskers on the left and right side of the rat and in the medial forebrain bundle (a known “reward center”) allowed the movement of rats through a complex environment to be partially controlled. Specifically, the rats could be steered by the relative level of stimulation to the sensory areas corresponding to the left- or right-side whiskers. Recently, Yu et al. (2016) used Talwar et al.’s cyborg system to develop a case of what they termed “cyborg intelligence.” Rats’ movement through a maze was partially controlled to conform to information determined by a maze-solving algorithm, but choices also varied as determined by the rat. Yu et al. compared the performance of the maze-solving algorithm, rats not controlled by the system, and the rat–algorithm cyborgs in an attempt to understand how the machine and rat determinants of choice behavior are integrated.

The specifics of Yu et al.’s (2016) attempt to integrate artificial and rat spatial memory and spatial control have important limitations. But it encourages work combining machine learning with animal cognition and points the way to using the interaction between elements of cyborg cognitive systems that are artificial and those that are natural as a new means to test cognitive theories (Brown & Brown, 2017). Future interdisciplinary work integrating cognitive processes in nervous systems with intelligent machines seems likely to force an understanding not only of how cognitive processes can be situated in machines but also of how such artificial intelligence can be integrated with cognitive processes situated in brains. Such an approach is a special case of situated cognition in which natural and artificial cognitive processes share their traditional platforms of brains and silicon chips and work together in yet-to-be-determined ways.

Conservative versus Liberal Situated Cognition: A Useful Analogy from Evolutionary Biology?

It has been previously noted that the idea of extended or situated cognition is reminiscent of Richard Dawkins’s (1982, 2004) concept of “The Extended Phenotype” (e.g., Schulz, 2013). Dawkins’s idea is that the scope of natural selection extends beyond the bodies and behavior of organisms to include parts of the environment with which the organism interacts. Artifacts created by animals (e.g., beaver dams) are one kind of example. Other organisms with which there is a parasitic or symbiotic relationship are another. The processes central to natural selection—variation, selection, and reproduction—can operate on these parts of the extraorganism environment just as they operate on the body and behavior of the organism. Thus, the scope of genetic influences extends to the social, interspecific, and physical environment of the animal.

Likewise, the forms of situated cognition reviewed by Cheng expand the scope of cognitive processes beyond the central nervous system. In what Cheng terms “conservative versions” of situated cognition (p. 2), the representational basis of cognition is preserved, but the platforms in which information can be stored and on which it can be processed are expanded from the central nervous system to other parts of the body, to other animals, and to parts of the environment with which the animal interacts.

Schulz (2013) rejected the idea that an extended phenotype view provides direct support for extended cognition but considered the value of the former as analogous to the latter. In both cases, the essence of the processes and principles involved (in natural selection and cognition, respectively) is preserved, but the platforms to which they apply are extended. Framing the platforms on which cognitive processes operate as extending beyond the central nervous system (conservative versions of situated cognition) rather than as requiring fundamentally different conceptualizations of cognition itself (liberal versions) is likely a more fruitful approach for comparative cognition, just as considering the effects that genes have beyond the body as part of the phenotype on which natural selection operates has arguably been more fruitful in evolutionary biology than reconceptualizing the processes of natural selection.

Evolutionary History of Situated Cognition

Examining cognition from a comparative perspective not only allows a much wider range of cognitive processes to be studied but also can allow ideas about the evolutionary function and evolutionary history of cognitive processes to be tested (e.g., Shettleworth, 2010). The same arguments for comparative work can be applied to situated cognition, as Cheng makes clear.

Beyond the general point, however, there appears to be a (implicit, as far as I am aware) view that some forms of situated cognition, at least, are recent evolutionary developments. For example, Gallagher (2013; used by Cheng as a primary example of radical situated cognition) pointed to human social and cultural structures as the platform of extended cognition. On the other hand, the wide range of apparent cases of situated cognition in nonhuman animals and its phylogenetic scope suggest that situated cognitive process may be evolutionarily ancient. Which came first, cognition or brains? What are the necessary and sufficient conditions for cognitive processes? Did they evolve once, or was there convergent evolution of cognition—in neural and non-neural platforms—among different groups of organisms? These questions can be addressed only from a comparative perspective.

References

  1. Brown, M. F. (2011). Social influences on rat spatial choice. Comparative Cognition and Behavior Reviews, 6, 5–23. doi:10.3819/ccbr.2011.60003

  2. Brown, M. F., & Brown, A. A. (2017). The promise of cyborg intelligence. Learning and Behavior, 45, 5–6. doi:10.3758/s13420-016-0249-7

  3. Cheng, K. (2018). Cognition beyond representation: Varieties of situated cognition in animals. Comparative Cognition and Behavior Reviews, 13, 1–20. doi:10.3819/CCBR.2018.130001

  4. Couzin, I. D. (2009). Collective cognition in animal groups. Trends in Cognitive Science, 13, 36–43. doi:10.1016/j.tics.2008.10.002

  5. Couzin, I. D., Krause, J., James, R., Ruxton, G. D., & Franks, N. R. (2002). Collective memory and spatial sorting in animal groups. Journal of Theoretical Biology, 218, 1–11. doi:10.1016/j.tics.2008.10.002

  6. Dawkins, R. (1982). The extended phenotype. Oxford, England: W.H. Freeman.

  7. Dawkins, R. (2004). Extended phenotype—but not too extended. A reply to Laland, Turner and Jablonka. Biology and Philosophy, 19, 377–396. doi:10.1023/B:BIPH.0000036180.14904.96

  8. Gallagher, S. (2013). The socially extended mind. Cognitive Systems Research, 25–26, 4–12. doi:10.1016/j.cogsys.2013.03.008

  9. Kaplan, D. M. (2012). How to demarcate the boundaries of cognition. Biology & Philosophy, 27, 545–570. doi:10.1007/s10539-012-9308-4

  10. Schulz, A. W. (2013). Overextension: The extended mind and arguments from evolutionary biology. European Journal for Philosophy of Science, 3, 241–255. doi:10.1007/s13194-013-0066-1

  11. Shettleworth, S. (2010). Cognition, evolution, and behavior (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

  12. Smart, P. R. (2018). Human-extended machine cognition. Cognitive Systems Research, 49, 9–23. doi:10.1016/j.cogsys.2017.11.001

  13. Talwar, S. K., Xu, S., Hawley, E. S., Weiss, S. A., Moxon, K. A., & Chapin, J. K. (2002). Rat navigation guided by remote control. Nature, 417, 37–38. doi:10.1038/417037a. PMID:11986657

  14. Weiss, O., Segev, E., & Eilam, D. (2015). “Shall two walk together except they be agreed?”: Spatial behavior in rat dyads. Animal Cognition, 18, 39–51. doi:10.1007/s10071-014-0775-7

  15. Wilson, M. (2002). Six views of embodied cognition. Psychonomic Bulletin & Review, 9, 625–636. doi:10.3758/BF03196322

  16. Yu, Y., Pan, G., Gong, Y., Xu, K., Zheng, N., Hua, W., … Wu, Z. (2016). Intelligence-augmented rat cyborgs in maze solving. PLoS ONE, 11, e0147754. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0147754

Volume 13: pp. 1–20

Cognition Beyond Representation: Varieties of Situated Cognition in Animals by Ken ChangCognition Beyond Representation: Varieties of Situated Cognition in Animals

Ken Cheng

Department of Biological Sciences
Macquarie University

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Abstract

The notion that cognition comprises more than computations of a central nervous system operating on representations has gained a foothold in human cognitive science for a few decades now. Various brands of embodied, extended, enacted, and distributed cognition, some more conservative and some more liberal, have paraded in philosophy and cognitive science. I call the genus including all such species situated cognition and go on to depict selected cases in nonhuman comparative cognition. Distributed cognition is often used as another term for situated cognition. But behavioral biologists have used the term in another sense, to mean the reduction of cognitive capacities arising from team work in cooperative societies. Hymenopteran insects have been studied as cases. The octopus displays embodied cognition, with some of the computational work offloaded to the periphery. Web-building spiders showcase extended cognition, in which objects external to the animal—the web, in the case of spiders—play a crucial causal role in cognition. A criterion of mutual manipulability, in which causal influence flows both ways between organism and extended object, serves to delimit the scope of extended cognition. Play in dogs features intelligence on-the-run, arising out of action, a key characteristic of enactive cognition. I discuss other cases in which action entwines with central representational cognition to achieve goal-directed behavior. Considering situated cognition in diverse animals leads to myriad research questions that can enrich the field.

Keywords: action, embodied cognition, extended cognition, enactive cognition, distributed cognition

Author Note: Ken Cheng, Department of Biological Sciences, Macquarie University, Sydney, NSW 2109 Australia.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Ken Cheng at ken.cheng@mq.edu.au.

Acknowledgments: I thank John Sutton, David Kaplan, Marcia Spetch, and three anonymous reviewers for comments on earlier drafts of this article.


Here. It’s all right here in my noodle. The rest is just ­scribbling.
Scribbling and bibbling, bibbling and scribbling.

—Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Amadeus
(Internet Movie Database, n.d.)

Introduction

In a line from the movie Amadeus (Zaentz & Forman, 1984) the gist of which is memorable to me, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart indicated that an entire composition resided in his brain and that the rest was clearly subordinate to centralized cognition. This view of centralized cognition still dominates cognitive science in general and comparative cognition in particular. In this view of Cartesian cognition, the ratiocinations of the brain, typically cast as operating on a consortium of representations the nature of which is argued over, are placed on the throne. The rest of the supporting cast of the emotions, the body, and the environment is given the measly connotations of scribbling and bibbling. But recent calls can be heard to extend comparative cognition and situate it beyond the central operations of the brain, following some two decades of such rumblings in human cognition. This article explores some selected cases of situated cognition in nonhuman animals.

Thoughts on this topic arose from writing a reference book on animal thinking for the popular audience (Cheng, 2016). Interesting cases across a range of animal taxa have now accumulated on how bodily parts outside the brain, external objects, and action work with the brain in cognition. My views here are more formative than definitive, with this article being more a showcase to start a dialogue than a position statement.

Varieties of Situated Cognition

The idea that cognition reaches beyond the brain started with the term distributed cognition (Michaelian & Sutton, 2013), and although that term is still used, I am sticking to another common term, situated cognition. This term serves at a genus level, referring to the general class encompassing cognition beyond the brain of a single animal. The term distributed cognition, on the other hand, now takes on a different sense at the species level, in which cognition is spread among different animals. Eusocial insects, especially hymenopterans, provide case studies here. If the cognition required for different tasks is spread among different animals, each can be less brainy in both cognitive and anatomical senses. A second species of situated cognition features cognition devolved to parts of the body other than the central nervous system; this variety is most commonly called embodied cognition. Although the term often reaches its tentacles to incorporate the environment and objects in the environment, I stick with the use of body parts in cognition. Another variety, extended cognition (Clark & Chalmers, 1998), refers to cognition encompassing physical objects in the world, often objects constructed by the animal. The spider’s web features in a well-defined case (Japyassú & Laland, 2017). In a social variety of extended cognition, cognition can be extended to other social agents, including what they create (Gallagher, 2013). Finally, I use the term enactive cognition to refer to a position in which action is at the heart of cognition, dragging brain, body, and the environment into the cognitive realm (Merritt, 2015a, 2015b). Our familiar best friend Canis familiaris will take center stage in this segment.

The genus of situated cognition comes in conservative and liberal versions (Merritt, 2015b; Michaelian & Sutton, 2013). In the conservative versions, the extension adds a component to standard cognitive theory based on representations and operations over representations, a component outside of the central nervous system. Thus, nervous control embodied in the arms of an octopus or extended to the web of an orb-web spider adds such a component to standard cognitive theory. The liberal versions recast cognition as something fundamentally different from the standard cognition of representations. For example, to Gallagher (2013), cognition in humans arises from a socially extended mind, “constituted not only in social interactions with others, but also in ways that involve institutional structures, norms, and practices” (p. 4). In this liberal view, not only bodies and objects but also entire historical institutions such as the law or scientific paradigms of research make up cognition. Merritt’s (2015a) ideas about dog cognition stem from a radical liberal perspective taking on stage action, including coordinated action between individual animals. As might be expected, such views are not without their critics, and I end with some critical discussion.

Although I am contrasting situated cognition to a view called Cartesian cognition, the latter is a modern caricature of René Descartes. Descartes is known as a rationalist philosopher championing dualism, the separation of mind and body. The father of modern philosophy, however, was also a mathematician and natural scientist, and perhaps a forerunner of embodied and extended cognition. In Optics, Descartes (1985) wrote of a blind man’s walking stick allowing him to see the environment, that the “stick is the organ of some sixth sense” (p. 153). And I am indebted to John Sutton for pointing out that in a letter to Mersenne in April 1640, Descartes (1991) wrote that “a lute player … has a part of his memory in his hands: for the ease of positioning and bending his fingers in various ways” (p. 146). In the same letter, he wrote of “local memory” (quotation marks in the original) outside of us, for example, as found in a book. Descartes the rationalist might have foreshadowed Clark and Chalmers (1998) more than three and a half centuries earlier.

Distributed Cognition

Distributed cognition in the species sense means that cognition required for tasks is split among different individuals so that each individual can cognize less, and perhaps function on smaller nervous systems, saving metabolic costs. Recent cases examining hymenopterans focused on brains rather than the analysis of cognitive requirements of tasks (Kamhi, Gronenberg, Robson, & Traniello, 2016; O’Donnell et al., 2015) and provided mixed evidence.

O’Donnell and colleagues (2015) focused on 29 species of wasps, including both solitary and social species. The authors measured the relative sizes of mushroom body calyces in these species. The mushroom bodies form a key processing center in insect brains (Giurfa, 2003; Menzel, 2001). O’Donnell et al.’s distributed cognition hypothesis predicts that the more social species would have smaller mushroom body calyces. Their hypothesis was confirmed only in part. Mushroom bodies were smaller in social species than in solitary species. But among the social species, the degree of sociality was not related systematically to mushroom-body size.

Kamhi et al. (2016) compared two species of ants of different social complexity (all ant species are eusocial): the highly complex Australian weaver ant Oecophylla smaragdina and the socially basic Formica subsericia. In relative mushroom body size, Kamhi et al. found the opposite of the predictions of the distributed cognition hypothesis: O. smaragdina had if anything bigger mushroom bodies. But they also found that O. smaragdina compensated for the costs of bigger brains to an extent by having metabolically less energetic nervous systems.

The distributed cognition hypothesis (O’Donnell et al., 2015) is opposite to the social brain hypothesis as applied to, for example, primates (Dunbar, 1998). The social brain hypothesis predicts that brain size—in particular, neocortex size—increases with the social complexity of the species. The distributed cognition hypothesis, as applied to eusocial species, predicts the opposite: Brains can be smaller in theory because nest mates form a cooperative team with common interests and can divide up tasks. Social primates remain very much individuals, in competition with one another for resources and reproductive opportunities, with this competition supposedly driving cortical size. The social brain hypothesis has been much criticized for neglecting other factors that drive brain evolution (Reader, Hager, & Laland, 2011) and other parts of the brain than the neocortex that have evolved in mosaic fashion in the primate line (de Winter & Oxnard, 2001; lay summary: Cheng, 2016, Chapter 17).

The distributed cognition hypothesis has so far been examined only in brain anatomy, as I do not know of work systematically comparing behavior as a function of level of sociality in eusocial insects. However the hypothesis fares, it remains conservative. In fact, all it posits is a bit less of standard cognition in individual eusocial animals because they share tasks with teammates. But the hypothesis can turn liberal if we reconceive an entire nest or hive as an organism. Queller (2000) argued that highly eusocial insect colonies, such as honeybees, operate as a whole with minimal conflict much like the cells of multicellular organisms. Although conflict between colony members is not zero, neither is conflict within the body of a multicellular animal—think of autoimmune diseases, for example. If we take the cells of a multicellular animal to make up an organism, the parallel argument can be made for the individuals of a honeybee hive, a termite mound, or an ant nest, so argued Queller, who would call them organisms and not use the makeshift term superorganism. When we cast an entire hive as a cognizing unit, we hit the liberal front in situated cognition. I do not know of any current literature arguing this way.

Embodied Cognition in Cephalopods: Multiple Brains?

The common cuttlefish (Sepia officinalis) and the common octopus (Octopus vulgaris) are much studied coleoid cephalopods of the phylum Mollusca, the branch of cephalopods tagged as “live fast, die young” (Grasso & Basil, 2009), evolving to compete in the demanding world of teleost fishes. Cuttlefish and octopuses display a wide range of learning (Darmaillacq, Jozet-Alves, Bellanger, & Dickel, 2014; Darmaillacq, Lesimple, & Dickel, 2008; Grasso & Basil, 2009; Shomrat, Turchetti-Maia, Stern-Mentch, Basil, & Hochner, 2015) and navigational prowess (Alves, Boal, & Dickel, 2008; Mather, 1991). In two cases, the multifaceted camouflage in S. officinalis and arm movements in O. vulgaris, substantial parts of the job are thought to be devolved to peripheral nervous systems in the body outside of the brain. These constitute embodied cognition in a literal sense: Some cognitive control takes place in the body, outside of the central brain.

The anatomy of coleoid nervous systems displays a clue for embodied cognition, with the octopus perhaps the best studied model. Much of the octopus’s nervous system lies outside the central brain. Hochner (2013) gave an estimate of half a billion neurons in the entire nervous system. Of the neuronal population, some 50 million reside in the central brain, connected with two big optic lobes each with about 60 million neurons. An estimated 320 million dwell in the arms, about 40 million in each arm. Although the central brain is, of course, connected to the peripheral nervous system, the connecting fibers are few in comparison to the number of neurons, more than two orders of magnitude fewer.

One possible case of embodied cognition is camouflage in the cuttlefish (Chiao, Chubb, & Hanlon, 2015). The camouflage is based on neural control, as the various organs that don the disguises—chromatophores, leucophores, and iridophores—are packed with muscles that contract to fan out or relax to shut down their colorful displays (Hanlon & Messenger, 1988). With millions of organs organized into tens of units, the degrees of freedom to control look daunting.

Chiao et al. (2015) suggested that central control is vastly reduced because all camouflage in cuttlefish comes in three flavors, each with further wrinkles (literally and metaphorically speaking): uniform, mottle, or disruptive (Figure 1). Action selection might consist mainly of choosing one of the three major patterns, with perhaps a few other degrees of freedom to settle on for controlling how wrinkled the skin looks and how the arms are oriented. Lower levels, still in the central brain, take care of details. Many variables, not discussed here, determine which of the three major types of camouflage is displayed so that we have a funneling in at the input end. The central brain might have only a few major switches to operate, a manageably low number of degrees of freedom.

Figure 1. Three kinds of camouflage found in cuttlefish (Sepia officinalis): uniform (left), mottled (center), and disruptive (right). The disruptive camouflage features a prominent white square in the middle of the back. Adapted with kind permission from Springer and the authors: Chiao, C.-C., Chubb, C., & Hanlon, R. T. (2015). A review of visual perception mechanisms that regulate rapid adaptive camouflage in cuttlefish. Journal of Comparative Physiology A, 201, 933–945, from their Figure 1 on p. 934

Figure 1. Three kinds of camouflage found in cuttlefish (Sepia officinalis): uniform (left), mottled (center), and disruptive (right). The disruptive camouflage features a prominent white square in the middle of the back. Adapted with kind permission from Springer and the authors: Chiao, C.-C., Chubb, C., & Hanlon, R. T. (2015). A review of visual perception mechanisms that regulate rapid adaptive camouflage in cuttlefish. Journal of Comparative Physiology A, 201, 933–945, from their Figure 1 on p. 934

Our understanding of the neural control of chromatophores, leucophores, and iridophores—the workhorses in engineering cephalopod camouflage—is currently murky. One exciting recent discovery, however, raises the intriguing prospect of local neural control at the skin: machinery for making photosensitive molecules (Kingston, Kuzirian, Hanlon, & Cronin, 2015). Transcripts that encode rhodopsin and retinochrome have been found in the chromatophores of several species of cuttlefish. These suggest photoreceptive capacities in the skin. Leaping ahead—and here I leap further than Kingston et al.—it is conceivable that photomuscular loops in the skin help to control or modulate details of camouflage. This would make a small amount of embodied cognition in cuttlefish camouflage. Such ideas, however, remain currently speculative, lacking any firm support.

In octopus, control over its eight arms presents challenges. Unlike marine arthropods with their hard exteriors, such as crabs and lobsters, or teleost fishes with their hard internal bones, the octopus is soft bodied, inspiring the field of soft robotics (Pfeifer, Iida, & Lungarella, 2014; Shen, 2016). Its arms can bend anywhere along their length, with only one fixed point of reference where they emerge from the body. With suction cups along the lengths of their arms, octopuses have the freedom to grab food anywhere on the arm. In contrast, we primates almost always grab food at the distal end of our limbs, with our hands, or in a few species with tools held in the hands. Primate arms bend in only one place, at the elbow joint. The octopus has infinite degrees of freedom in bending its limbs, a gift from dispensing with both hard exo- and endoskeletons. But this gift is also a nightmare to control neurally: The limb has too many degrees of freedom. Embodied cognition is the solution to such control problems, devolutions for reducing the number of degrees of freedom to a manageable count.

A chief proponent of embodied cognition in the octopus is Hochner (2012, 2013) and his lab (Figure 2). Hochner’s conception of embodied cognition in the octopus portrays the central brain, the peripheral nervous system, and the environment, schematized in Figure 2, all as contributing to embodied cognition. But the chief innovation is devolving substantial control to the periphery, the nervous system in the arms. Decentralized control plays the starring role in fetching food to the mouth.

Figure 2. An illustration of embodied cognition, based on Hochner (2012). The activity of the brain in behavior is supported by the motor system and the sensory feedback that it provides, as well as the environment. Continuous dynamics rather than top-down hierarchical orders are said to characterize the behavioral system.

Figure 2. An illustration of embodied cognition, based on Hochner (2012). The activity of the brain in behavior is supported by the motor system and the sensory feedback that it provides, as well as the environment. Continuous dynamics rather than top-down hierarchical orders are said to characterize the behavioral system.

In fetching food, the octopus basically constructs a makeshift elbow with a peripheral neural trick (Flash & Hochner, 2005). Synchronous waves of neural activity propagate from the suction cup holding the food and the base of the arm, the one fixed reference point. Where the waves meet, somewhere near the midpoint between suction cup with food and base, an elbow forms, with the muscles along both waves stiffening to make a quasi-articulated arm, to use Flash and Hochner’s (2005, p. 662) term (see their Figure 1 for illustration). The environment seems to contribute little in this case.

I am indebted to David Kaplan for pointing out that the quasi-articulated arm used by the octopus to handle food illustrates excellently morphological computation (Pfeifer, Iida, & Bongard, 2005; Pfeifer et al., 2014). The shape, structure, and texture of the body take care of some of the computation that the central nervous system needs to do, facilitating the offload of computation; morphological computation might just as well be called decomputation because it mostly cuts down the need for computation (see V. C. Müller & Hoffmann, 2017, for a detailed discussion, but the term ­decomputation is my invention). For example, the way that human limbs swing like a pendulum from shoulder or hip joints reduces the computation needed to move the limbs and yields energy efficiency. In the octopus, the work of the muscles illustrates morphological computation. To simplify the computations, it is crucial to stiffen the muscles on either side of the elbow. If the muscles do not stiffen, we end up with a kink in the elbow, but the rest of the degrees of freedom remain, an overwhelming lot. The degrees of freedom are reduced from infinite to infinite minus 1, amounting to no reduction at all. The muscles supplying the needed morphological computation/decomputation are controlled by the peripheral nervous system. In this case, the peripheral nervous system shapes muscles to reduce the degrees of freedom. The arms of the octopus seem endowed with such intelligence that Grasso (2014) suggested that the octopus has a second brain in the arms.

Embodied cognition in the octopus fetching food also sits firmly in the camp of conservative situated cognition. The peripheral nervous system takes over key controlling roles, but much of the cognition generated can be and has been cast in the standard mode. The system still works with input signals from the sensory systems and representations, on the basis of which motor outputs are planned and controlled. The stiffening muscles around an elbow cuts out much need to represent the arm. Thus, morphological computation/decomputation spares a load of the cognitive work.

Other patterns of movement also show a conservative brand of embodied cognition. The larvae of ­Drosophila flies offload computation to peripheral control, even in directed movement such as tracking a chemical, the behavior known as chemotaxis. Basic patterns of movement are orchestrated by peripheral nerves. The larvae crawl with peristaltic movements along the length of their body, and they also turn side to side with regular oscillations (Wystrach, Lagogiannis, & Webb, 2016). The two kinds of rhythmic oscillations are not coupled. These kinds of rhythmic movements are controlled by peripheral nerves along the body, as silencing the central brain and the supoesophageal ganglia, the more central headquarters of the nervous system, does not disrupt the oscillatory movements (Berni, Pulver, Griffith, & Bate, 2012; see further details in Berni, 2015), leading Riedl and Louis (2012) to write in a commentary that crawling in Drosophila larvae is a “no-brainer” (in their title). These basic movements can be modulated to achieve goal-directed movements, for instance, toward a chemical gradient that the larva has learned to associate with food (Wystrach et al., 2016). Thus, if a right turn leads to a smaller chemical signal, a modulation to increase the size of the next left turn in the side-to-side oscillation serves to steer the larva up the gradient. Representations in the central nervous system are thought to accomplish this dial turning of the gain of the servomechanism. The dial can also be turned in the negative direction to steer the animal away from a chemical source. The chemotaxic behavior requires the central nervous system (Berni et al., 2012), as silencing it abolishes chemotaxis. Localized control links intimately with central modulation, and oscillators work intimately with the servomechanism, two of the basic units of behavior postulated by Gallistel (1980), to navigate to a goal.

Widening the Web: Extended Cognition in Spiders

Among spiders, jumping spiders, the speciose family Salticidae, pops into mind as exhibiting a range of cognition (Jackson & Cross, 2011, 2013, 2015; Jackson & Nelson, 2012; Nelson & Jackson, 2012; lay summary: Cheng, 2016, Chapter 11). From the behaviors required to live as an ant mimic to tactics in hunting other spiders to discrimination abilities needed to specialize on mosquitoes, the family parades a wide range of interesting cognition. But extended cognition has been proposed for garden-variety web-building spiders. Japyassú and Laland (2017) proposed a conservative version of extended cognition with regard to the web of web builders. Their claim is that aspects of the web forms part of the cognitive system of spiders.

One criticism of extended cognition of the type proposed by Clark and Chalmers (1998) is that it is bloated. The dread is that so much affects an organism’s cognition in some way that much of the world in Gaia-like fashion becomes part of the cognitive system. A child walking home by a brook sees that some rocks have been placed along a bank to stem erosion; this affects how the child thinks about the ecology of water: Does the babbling brook then become part of the child’s extended cognition? Ultraliberal views of cognition simply reject cognitive bloat as an argument against extended cognition, taking a let-it-bloat attitude. Entire social institutions, for example, could become part and parcel of cognitive systems (Gallagher, 2013). But Japyassú and Laland (2017) deflate the bloat decisively with a well-defined restrictive philosophical criterion, the mutual manipulability criterion (Kaplan, 2012).

Japyassú and Laland’s (2017) extended cognition considers when objects in the world, often objects of an animal’s own making, become a part of the animal’s cognitive system. The mutual manipulability criterion trims the list. At stake is the set of entities that have constitutive relevance to a cognitive system. Sticking to physical entities for now, although mutual manipulability could apply to abstract entities as well, a physical object constitutes part of a cognitive system when causal influence flows both ways, from object to brain and from brain to object. Rephrasing Kaplan (2012), systematic manipulations of the object must affect the animal’s cognition, and changes in the animal’s cognition must affect the object, via some causal chain. Only when this two-way flow has been established can the object be considered part of the animal’s extended cognition.

Necessary background conditions that support cognition are ruled out as not constituting a part of extended cognition. For example, oxygen in the air is necessary for brain and cognitive functions, but the cognitive state of an animal does not affect the oxygen content of the air. Oxygen makes a part of the causal background conditions but does not constitute a part of extended cognition.

The spider’s web provides key examples for Japyassú and Laland (2017). The web-weaving spider extends its cognition in adjusting the tension of web threads (Japyassú & Laland, 2017). The tension affects attentional processes in the web builder: the tighter the threads, the smaller the disturbance needs to be to catch the builder’s attention. Thread tension thus calibrates threshold level for attention. When tight, tinier objects such as prey items are registered, satisfying the causal chain in one direction. The spider in turn adjusts its web tension based on its state. A hungrier spider tends to tighten the web, the functional reason being that when hungry, even small prey items are worth paying attention to. That establishes causal flow in the other direction to satisfy the mutual manipulability criterion.

The web-building spider also extends its cognition in building the web (Japyassú & Laland, 2017). To start with, the web builder’s cognitive state affects how the web is built. Thus, spiders learn to adjust how they build their webs depending on which part of the web captures most prey (Heiling & Herberstein, 1999; Nakata, 2012). Japyassú and Laland argued for causal flow in the web-spider direction as well because in building the web, the spider relies on previously built parts in construction. For example, in weaving the spirals, interstring gaps—the distances between concentric spirals—are determined in good part by the spirals that have already been built, especially the spirals right next to the one being woven. This saves a lot of memorizing. The authors ask readers to imagine how much needs to be remembered and programmed if the spider has to go through the motions of building its web but leaves no actual physical silk threads. The path that needs to be memorized looks complex indeed. Extended cognition functions to reduce that formidable memory load.

To Japyassú and Laland (2017) then, the function of extended cognition in their conservatively defined sense is to reduce cognitive and presumably attendant brain requirements. They suggested that such reduction of cognitive load is especially important for small animals, the brains of which must be small for allometric (scaling) reasons alone. In line with a key theme of this article, they called for more comparative studies of extended cognition.

In pointing out the restrictive work done by the mutual manipulability criterion proposed by Kaplan (2012), Japyassú and Laland (2017) also pointed out cases ruled out of court by this criterion. Matched filters sensu Wehner (1987; see also Cheng & Freas, 2015) do not form extended cognition. Matched filters are simplifying devices to bypass or much reduce computational challenges. In cognitive systems, matched filters are peripheral systems specifically tuned to particular limited aspects of information in the sensory world. Such tricks do not solve the problem head-on with mathematically elegant solutions but provide roundabout approximations that work well enough most of the time in the range of problems that nature poses for the animal, natural selection presumably selecting for what works rather than mathematical elegance. A classic example given by Wehner and repeated by Japyassú and Laland is a parasitic wasp figuring out—metaphorically speaking, as it is doubtful that the wasp is figuring anything out at all in this case—the size of the insect egg that it is infesting with its own eggs. The physicist and mathematician’s elegant solution is to measure the curvature of the to-be-infested egg and then do some spherical geometry. The wasp instead determines how much it needs to extend a contrivance on its head called the scapus to plant it on the surface of the egg: the smaller the egg, the farther the scapus needs to move to get planted on the egg, and the greater the angle between scapus and head. Such sensory tricks might make up a large chunk of insect cognition, even in complex tasks such as navigation (Cheng & Freas, 2015; Wehner, 1987). Japyassú and Laland pointed out that although matched filters decidedly affect the animal’s cognition, the causal flow in the other direction is typically absent. With perhaps a few exceptions, the animal’s cognitive state does not affect the matched filter. This is especially true of anatomical features such as the distribution of foveal regions in vision.

Sticking to the weaving theme, perhaps another illustration of extended cognition sensu Japyassú and Laland (2017) is displayed by nest-weaving ants of the genus Oecophylla (Hölldobler & Wilson, 1977, 1983; Wilson & Hölldobler, 1980; see also Bochynek & Robson, 2014), which have already appeared in the section on distributed cognition. Oecophylla represents one pinnacle of social evolution, with colonies of hundreds of thousands, complex division of labor, and multiple nests in trees, the construction of which may represent a case of extended cognition. It is a theme well worth exploring.

In constructing a nest, weaver ants work as a team to pull the leaf into shape, bending the foliage as a chain of ants holding on to the edges tugs (Bochynek & Robson, 2014; Hölldobler & Wilson, 1977, 1983). Then workers need to glue appropriate edges together, and this glueing process may exhibit extended cognition. Larvae that secrete sticky substances to spin silk are used as glue sticks. The ideal silk-dispensing larva to be chosen is not too old (by which stage the larva is ready to spin a cocoon for itself) and not too young (at which stage it does not produce as much silk). The glue stick must be held in a particular fashion, and Hölldobler and Wilson (1983) conjectured that the larva must be tapped in a particular way to induce it to secrete the glue. The implication, not yet supported by evidence, is that the worker communicates to the larva some signal that results in the larva’s secreting glue. Then the worker holds the silk-secreting larva for so long at the starting edge, takes her across to the other edge, and holds the glue stick there for another, shorter duration.

Although detailed studies of this glueing behavior have not been conducted, I conjecture that causal flow in both directions takes place, satisfying Kaplan’s (2012) mutual manipulability criterion. The worker would likely adjust her behavior depending on the larva, which is after all a live animal that varies one from the other. In the larva-worker causal direction, it is crucial that some form of communication takes place between worker and larva. That is, taking one of the criteria in the definition of a signal offered by Maynard Smith and Harper (2003), some aspects of the behavior of the worker affect the behavior of the larva, another organism. In this way, adjustments of the worker’s tapping are causally dependent on the behavior of the larva. In the other causal direction, the worker’s cognitive state in turn likely affects how she uses her glue stick, including how long to hold the larva in one place, where to take the silk secreter next, and when to declare the job done and take the larva back to her abode in the colony. Those who have worked with and observed weaver ants have seen flexibility in building nests. Oecophylla smaragdina, for example, has been observed in lab conditions to build nests in a plastic tub or around a light (J. F. Kamhi, personal communication, February 2017; Figure 3). The nest around the light attracts a good number of insect prey, some of which can be discerned in Figure 3B and many of which are voraciously attacked by the weaver ants. This might provide the functional reason for this unusual behavior.

Figure 3. Nests woven by weaver ants (Oecophylla smaragdina) in unusual circumstances: (A) Inside a plastic tub. (B) Around an outdoor light. Nests around the light were observed to attract many insect prey, which the weaver ants attacked. Photos by J. Frances Kamhi.

Figure 3. Nests woven by weaver ants (Oecophylla smaragdina) in unusual circumstances: (A) Inside a plastic tub. (B) Around an outdoor light. Nests around the light were observed to attract many insect prey, which the weaver ants attacked. Photos by J. Frances Kamhi.

Radical Enactive Cognition in the Dog

The cases of situated cognition featured so far have been conservative. It is time for one liberal case inspired by the domestic dog. Dogs display a panoply of what can be considered intelligent behavior (Miklósi & Kubinyi, 2016; Reid, 2009) and have specialized in evolutionary and recent history in “inveigling” (to reuse Wynne’s, 2016, memorable word) another more powerful and more intelligent species to do much with it and for it. In Merritt’s (2015a) enactivist view, “dogs almost always think with us” (p. 824, emphasis in the original).

Merritt’s enactivist argument is that for both humans and dogs, many acts of intelligence do not fit neatly into the Cartesian mode of deliberate manipulations of and operations on representations. Merritt (2015b) put improvised dancing on center stage as a display of intelligence that is difficult to fit into the Cartesian mode. The moves of improvisational dancers are decidedly nonrandom, recognizable as dance rather than flailing about, and yet the intelligence so displayed is hardly deliberative but comes across on the fly. In her radical enactivism, the thinking is in the moving, leading to the catchphrase in the title “Thinking-is-Moving” (Merritt, 2015b, p. 95, emphasis in the original). In the case in which more than one dancer improvises onstage, the on-the-fly intelligence includes extended social cognition, on-the-fly reactions to the movements of others, a form of making sense together that has been called participatory sense-making (De Jaegher & Di Paolo, 2007). Intelligence comes out of movements of partners on the fly, in loose cahoots with one another. Merritt’s position is that such enactive intelligence on the fly must be added to—although not replace—the standard Cartesian mode in the full repertoire of cognition.

When it comes to the dog, Merritt (2015a) gave a number of examples of intelligence that does not fit the Cartesian mode. Some of it concerns emotional reactions. The coevolutionary history of Canis familiaris and Homo sapiens has surely forged some mechanisms of bonding between the two species. Indeed, a recent study has found that mutual gazing releases a “positive loop” of increased oxytocin levels in both dog owner and dog (Nagasawa et al., 2015; the quoted term from their title). This oxytocin–gaze link has presumably been borrowed (exapted) from such a loop in mother–infant bonding in mammals, and in the words of the authors, “supported the coevolution of human-dog bonding by engaging common modes of communicating social attachment” (Nagasawa et al., 2015, p. 333). Dogs have been trained to keep still inside of functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging devices (Berns & Cook, 2016; Thompkins, Deshpande, Waggoner, & Katz, 2016). The noninvasive neural measuring technique has revealed other reward pathways tuned to human voices and smells (Berns & Cook, 2016; Thompkins et al., 2016). The exploits of the Border Collie named Chaser (www.chaserthebordercollie.com) was also featured by Merritt (2015a), as perhaps a case of understanding human linguistic expressions to an extent. Under a dedicated formal educational regime of operant training proffered by Pilley (Pilley, 2013; Pilley & Reid, 2011), Chaser learned to do various things (such as pick up in the mouth or poke with the nose) to more than 1,000 toys upon verbal command (e.g., take Lamb). Although Chaser’s cognitive achievements look standard, a liberal extended-mind theorist could suggest that the social achievement of operant psychology forms part and parcel of extended social cognition (Gallagher, 2013) in this case. But the most emblematic case raised by Merritt (2015a), although not discussed in depth, is that of wild justice (Bekoff, 2004, 2014; Bekoff & Pierce, 2009; Pierce & Bekoff, 2012; lay summary: Cheng, 2016, Chapter 16) displayed in canid play, because play in dogs parallels improvised dancing the most of all the cases just mentioned.

Canid play is characterized by unstereotyped, freewheeling behavior, with the lack of stereotypy being one of the defining characteristics formulated by Burghardt (2015). Amidst the freewheeling, Bekoff (1977, 1995; Bekoff & Pierce, 2009) identified one highly stereotyped signal typically displayed during play: the play bow. The front legs are bent, the dog lowers the head near the ground, and the rear end is held up in the play bow. The play bow is more likely to be displayed after playfully aggressive incidents, and it is displayed more by canids that play more aggressively (infant coyotes); Bekoff (1995) suggested that the function of the play bow is to keep the social interaction going. To Bekoff and Pierce (2009), play bows and other unwritten and unrefereed rules of fair play function to maintain canid wild justice, the term “wild” signifying that this brand of morality is not codified formally and is specific to each social species that exhibits wild justice. Apes, for example, would have a different brand of wild justice. Ensuring fair play might in turn serve to make sure that the fair player has interactants to play with. Based on studies on wild coyotes, Bekoff (2014) suggested that unfair players are more likely to get excluded, and those excluded from play survive less well.

The to-and-fro and give-and-take of canid play best exemplifies that thinking-is-moving enactive cognition in action that Merritt (2015b) championed. Ongoing play has rules of its own that need to be obeyed on the run (Bekoff & Pierce, 2009). Another of Burghardt’s (2015) definitions of play is that play must not cross the line into veridicality. Play aggression is no longer play when it turns into real aggression. Other on-the-line improvisations are called for in occasional role reversals (Bekoff & Pierce, 2009). For example, the normally dominant dog might display a submissive role in a segment of play. Indeed, canid play bears flavors of improvised dance.

The flavor of improvised dance emanates perhaps even more strongly in human–dog play, fitting the thinking-with-humans theme raised by Merritt (2015a). Humans improvise and create variations on a theme in play with their canine companions, especially familiar ones (Mitchell, 2015; Mitchell & Thompson, 1990, 1991). Mitchell and Thompson called a run of theme and variations of a repetitive sequence of actions a project. Throwing a ball for the dog to chase is a common human activity in playing with canine partners. But the project of throwing the ball could be readily turned into fake-out, actions on the part of the human of pretending to throw the ball in order to get the dog to move in the anticipated direction of the throw. A familiar dog might in turn concoct the compatible project of avoid fake-out, in which the idea is to react as little as possible to fake throws and run after the ball only when it is really thrown.

The link to the improvised dancing of a dyad and Merritt’s (2015b) enactivism could be rendered palpable if I play variations-on-a-theme with a line that Mitchell (2015) wrote in characterizing creativity in Homo-Canis play. The intelligence of the dancers arises as part of a collaborative dyad in which each dancer tries to gain and retain expertise in her routines within the accepted constraints of the improvisation. Mitchell actually described human–dog players as “part of a collaborative dyad in which each player tries to gain and retain expertise in his projects within the accepted constraints of the game” (p. 33). Mitchell does not write of enactivism, but Merritt could have drawn such a parallel and emphasized human–dog play more in her enactivism.

The parallels between human–dog play and dancing should not be taken too far. It can be argued that dancing is art, whereas human–dog play is not. The issue is complex, and a stand on that front is not needed for the current discussion. For recent thoughts on the matter, see Noë (2017b) and discussion (Carroll, 2017; Eaton, 2017; Guyer, 2017; Hyman, 2017; Noë, 2017a).

These cases of enactivism, both improvised dancing and human–dog play, might also fit the confines of extended cognition according to the mutual manipulability criterion. It is likely that each of the two dancing or playing parties is causally influencing the cognition of the other party. How much of cooperative communication satisfies the mutual manipulability criterion remains to be explored.

Whereas Merritt (2015a, 2015b) contrasted enactive on-the-run actions as a different brand of cognition from the standard Cartesian representational brand, the two brands make a merger in some cognitive enterprises, such as in the Cartesian stronghold of navigation. This case is best made for insect navigation, a much studied domain in which a large chunk of research has been conducted in the field, the actual habitats in which wild insects navigate.

Although much of the work on insect navigation concerns the nature of what is encoded to do the job of navigating home or finding a food site (reviews: Cheng, 2012; Cheng & Graham, 2013; Collett, Chittka, & Collett, 2013; Webb & Wystrach, 2016; Zeil, 2012), a small corpus has examined how the ant moves to look at her environment, in learning about it, or in using it to navigate. Would-be foraging ants take learning walks around their nest before setting off on food-searching excursions (North African desert ants: Fleischmann, Christian, Müller, Rössler, & Wehner, 2016; Fleischmann, Grob, Wehner, & Rössler, 2017; Wehner, Meier, & Zollikofer, 2004; South African desert ants: M. Müller & Wehner, 2010; Australian desert ants: Muser, Sommer, Wolf, & Wehner, 2005). Well-choreographed preforaging learning routines have also been demonstrated in flying hymenopterans, honeybees (Degen et al., 2016) and in detail in wasps (Stürzl, Zeil, Boeddekker, & Hemmi, 2016; Zeil, 1993a, 1993b). Recent work provides evidence that the ants’ (the North African Cataglyphis fortis) orchestrated walks lead them to learn about the surrounding scene (Fleischmann et al., 2016).

Turning on the spot and looking are behaviors commonly reported in the literature on the tests done in the field on ants; the ants often turn and look before setting off in a definitive direction. Most of the literature, including studies from my group, gives short shrift to such pretravel movements because we have been focused on more Cartesian aspects of cognition as revealed, for example, in the initial heading direction. But in two Australian ants, such looking behavior has been examined in some detail: in the bull ant Myrmecia croslandi (Zeil, Narendra, & Stürzl, 2014) and the desert ant Melophorus bagoti (Wystrach, Philippides, Aurejac, Cheng, & Graham, 2014). Such head and body saccades, as Zeil et al. (2014) and Wystrach et al. (2014) called them, are not random, but choreographed movements. The language of dance proved irresistible in describing the learning walks of the South African Ocymyrmex robustior: M. Müller and Wehner (2010) used the term “pirouette” in quotes. The quotes were absent in Fleischmann et al.’s (2017) terminology. These authors described pirouettes, which are saccadic turning movements with stopping points, and voltes, which are tight turns without stopping points, in the learning walks of three Cataglyphis species.

Although terms connected with dancing are used to describe ants’ scanning movements, differences between such scanning behavior and improvised dancing should be noted. Ants’ scanning is a stereotyped behavior that contrasts with the variable and creative nature of improvised dancing. Scanning is also thought to have a survival function: to learn the scenery in learning walks and to refamiliarize the well-traveled navigator with the scene after some gap of time. Wystrach et al. (2014) documented that the navigating M. bagoti was more likely to scan on the first trip of the day. These latter authors also think that systematic scanning is a reaction to uncertainty in general, as the ant also scans more when wily experimenters have conjured up an unusual change in the scenery in the name of research.

Such a turn–look–find-the-way routine has been recently chronicled in a clever study on another uncommon navigational behavior in ants—but one observed occasionally by most researchers watching navigating ants in the field—walking backward (Schwarz, Mangan, Zeil, Webb, & Wystrach, 2017). Unlike wasps, whose saccades pirouette with side-sweeping arcs of controlled flight (Stürzl et al., 2016), ants cannot walk sideways. But they do walk backward when they luck out on the bonanza of a big chunk of edible morsel. The size of the booty requires them to drag it while stepping backward. Schwarz et al. (2017) tantalized desert ants in Spain, Cataglyphis velox, with large chunks of cookies to induce backward walking. With unsteady gait facing away from the goal direction, in which the scene looks different, this presents a navigational challenge. Does the desert ant somehow rotate the scene in its head, a piece of challenging but standard cognition, to figure out and keep to the correct direction to walk in?

Nothing of the sort, so the research revealed (Schwarz et al., 2017). Instead, the backward-walking ant keeps walking in the general direction it has been walking, with some meandering from the exertion of dragging her large booty. Occasionally, the backpedaler drops her cookie briefly, then turns around and looks at the environment. It is at such moments that course correction takes place. The ant often adjusts her course in dragging her booty backward after such scans. Schwarz et al. concocted a winding track home for the ants using low walls that did not block the ants’ view of the surrounding scene. Course adjustments postscanning became obvious if the scan took place after the ant entered a bend in the course home. The backward-walking direction is referenced with respect to celestial compass cues, forging a newly discovered link between celestial and terrestrial cues, but such details are not needed for the current account.

Such choreographed pirouetting movements and looking, in Schwarz et al.’s (2017) Spanish desert ants, in Wystrach et al.’s (2014) Australian desert ants, and in Zeil et al.’s (2014) Australian jackjumper bull ants, all link up with the standard Cartesian mode of operation in visual navigation. Whereas view-based navigation in ants is still being worked out, the going view is that the ant represents some palette of features in the surrounding scene, such as the skyline (Graham & Cheng, 2009), or the fraction of the scene that is to the left (or right) of the goal direction (Lent, Graham, & Collett, 2013), and then moves in the direction that best matches remembered characteristics (Möller, 2012; Wystrach, Beugnon, & Cheng, 2012) or that looks familiar (Baddeley, Graham, Husbands, & Philippides, 2012), all standard cognitive accounts. It is possible that the pirouetting and scanning ant has not figured out or computed (to use a more formal standard cognitive term) the direction of travel; otherwise it would turn once, the extent of pivot computed by central cognition, and then move in that direction. Instead, the pirouetting functions in, and is necessary for, arriving at the correct direction in which to travel. The choreographed dance of navigating ants supports the Cartesian cognition of wayfinding, and is in fact necessary for it.

If we accept the link between pirouetting and standard accounts of wayfinding in ants, then the pirouettes fit the bill for extended cognition sensu Kaplan (2012) and Japyassú and Laland (2017), with actions extending cognition rather than physical objects. The mutual manipulability criterion is satisfied. Accepting the previous paragraph, the pirouetting is in the causal loop for the ant’s setting off on a direction of travel. It affects the (standard) cognition of the navigating ant. The ant might change its direction of travel after scanning, as Schwarz et al. (2017) clearly demonstrated. In the other causal direction, the (standard) cognitive state of the ant affects the ant’s pirouetting. Thus, the standard cognitive state of uncertainty, in the guise of the first trip of the day or a change in the usual scenery, at least increases the amount of pirouetting, as Wystrach et al. (2014) documented. The current data are pointing to both sides of the mutual manipulability criterion.

In general, information-seeking behavior that supports a cognitive enterprise often satisfies the mutual manipulability criterion. Kaplan (2012) gave the example of saccadic eye movements in humans to look repeatedly at a target to support working memory. To satisfy the mutual manipulability criterion, certain cognitive states must cause more or different kinds of information seeking, and the information seeking must help the enterprise. Examples might include rats looking down an arm of a radial maze before entering the arm, a behavior that has been called a microchoice (Brown, 1992), and various primates looking when they are uncertain as to the location of hidden food (Beran, 2015; Hampton, Zivin, & Murray, 2004; Marsh & MacDonald, 2012). In primates, the causal link in both directions are well established. Looking helps them locate the reward, and they look more under some cognitive conditions, those of uncertainty. Whether such information seeking means metacognition on the part of the animals is argued (Beran, 2015; Crystal & Foote, 2011), but for the mutual manipulability criterion, it does not matter whether knowledge of their own cognitive states (metacognition) or some rules based on associative learning are driving the behavior. The bidirectional causal links are present in either case.

Discussion

Situated cognition has been bantered in philosophy and cognitive science for some time now (Michaelian & Sutton, 2013). Its connection with nonhuman animals has a more recent history, as indicated by the dates of the key literature cited in this article. Criticism of situated cognition also continues apace (Adams & Aizawa, 2001, 2010; Goldinger, Papesh, Barnhart, Hansen, & Hout, 2016). Goldinger et al. (2016) aimed their many darts at embodied cognition, but they could have expanded the attack to extended and enactive cognition as well. The basic argument is that many kinds of phenomena in cognitive psychology do not take on any embodied explanation and in fact need standard representational theories and models to explain. The phenomena that they unpacked in some detail include word frequency effects and face perception. One of those phenomena has comparative roots: stimulus generalization. The authors argued that it is hard to see how accounts of such phenomena can escape references to representations. Indeed, similar arguments could be made about various phenomena currently studied in comparative cognition, such as transitive inference, spatial search in an arena, or classical conditioning. It seems impossible to eschew entirely talk of the nature of what is encoded in the brain, of central cognition, in accounting for these phenomena. Ziemke (2016) accused Goldinger et al. of misunderstanding and misconceiving embodied cognition but, unfairly, did not indicate in what way.

While admitting a role, perhaps a central role, for standard cognition, other forms of cognition may well be fruitfully added in comparative cognition. The conservative stripe of situated cognition is worth exploring, to provide interesting research leads. Each of the three e-words, embodied, extended, and enactive, emphasizes a different supporting actor to complement the lead star of standard cognition, respectively, the peripheral nervous system, objects, and actions.

The embodied cognition of cephalopods takes on a different flavor from the embodied cognition envisaged for humans. In the former case, it means neural and cognitive processing, of the standard brand, outside of the central brain. In the latter case, it generally refers to contributions to cognition from processing motoric and bodily information, still in the central brain. In the comparative context then, the taxa to look for embodied cognition would be ones with little or no central, cephalized groups of neurons known as a brain. Assuming that it requires a nervous system to exhibit cognition (see Godfrey-Smith, 2016, for a discussion), the phyla characterized by nerve nets come to mind, namely, Cnidaria and Ctenophores. Neither of these taxa have been much studied, as cognitive research and zoological research in general has concentrated on bilaterian animals.

Cnidaria encompass jellyfish, hydra, and anemones. They exhibit movements such as escape behavior and possess sense organs, suggesting some minimal cognition. And indeed, various forms of learning are found in Cnidaria: classical conditioning in sea anemone (Haralson, Groff, & Haralson, 1975) and habituation (in hydra: Rushforth, Burnett, & Maynard, 1963; Rushforth, Krohn, & Brown, 1964; in sea anemone: Logan, 1975; Logan & Beck, 1978; in jellyfish: Johnson & Wuensch, 1994). Sea anemones fight (Ayre & Grosberg, 1995, 1996), engaging in what has been called trench warfare (Knowlton, 1996). Jellyfish show a range of behavioral servomechanisms and are said to have a mind (Albert, 2011). Cnidaria possess a distributed nerve net, with some hydra species having a ring of neurons at the head end (Koizumi, 2007); they lack a centralized brain. The neuroanatomy suggests that embodied cognition might well rule the day.

Ctenophores encompass comb jellies, not to be confused with jellyfish, which are Cnidaria. They are known for the rows of cilia known as combs (Tamm, 2014). With a distributed nervous system, they move and hunt for food (Dunn, Leys, & Haddock, 2015; Tamm, 2014). Ctenophores are of interest because a number of molecular analyses suggest that they are the outgroup when it comes to animal evolution (Halanych, 2015; Moroz, 2015; Moroz & Kohn, 2016; Ryan, 2014; Ryan et al., 2013; Whelan, Kocot, Moroz, & Halanych, 2015), although this phylogenetic placement is disputed (Moroz & Halanych, 2016; Telford, 2016). Moroz (2015) wrote of the Ctenophores’ independent evolution of a nervous system. Much about their nervous system is known (Tamm, 2014), but their learning and cognition are open vistas. Beside another angle on embodied cognition, studying them can shed new light on the evolution of cognition.

Extended cognition sensu Kaplan (2012) and Japyassú and Laland (2017) offers opportunities for research to figure out whether some extended phenomena constitute a part of cognition. Putting a definite empirical stamp on the issue was one of the desiderata championed by Kaplan (2012) in formulating the mutual manipulability criterion. Sorting out causal directions of phenomena requires empirical research beyond pure philosophy and gedanken-experiments. Kaplan (2012) called it laying down a clear gauntlet (p. 567), but I would rather put it as an invitation embossed in gold to do interesting empirical research. I have already discussed one relevant phenomenon in the weaving behaviors of weaver ants. Many animals manipulate objects. No doubt, readers could come up with other cases in need of research. This call echoes Japyassú and Laland’s (2017) concluding words, that “increasing attention to the possibility of extended cognition may open up exciting new opportunities for novel research” (p. 389).

Enactive cognition emphasizes action in cognition. Actions are key ingredients of play, and I have made the suggestion that actions that are far from cognitive in flavor—the choreographed pirouettes of ants—may be a key ingredient in navigation. I flag a new theme of research for comparative cognition and neuroethology: noncognitive actions playing a causal role in cognitive feats and satisfying the mutual manipulability criterion. Navigation may well be deeply intertwined with action, as the whole point of navigation is to move somewhere, not just think of space. In the past, I have cast much of navigation as servomechanisms (Cheng, 1995), and I still think this a good characterization of most navigational feats (Figure 4). A servomechanism has components of both representation and action. The representational component, the comparator, compares readings of variables with settings of what that variable should be. The discrepancy, the error, drives action—which, if the system is working well, reduces the error. In depicting this action–representation loop, I have typically emphasized the box doing the representational work: The box containing the cogitive activities of the central brain was much larger in the figures in Cheng (1995). If talk of enactive cognition tilts the navigation researchers and the entire field of comparative cognition to pay more attention to action, that would be an advance. It is time that we paid more attention to the scribbling and bibbling.

Figure 4. Depiction of a servomechanism then and now. In a servomechanism, action is generated that feeds back on the central nervous system that in turn adjusts the action. (A) The proportions of various components of the servomechanism as depicted in figures in Cheng (1995). Processes taking place in the brain dominate, with the area of the box containing brain processes 11 times the area of the box for action generation, which itself is still a brain process. Actions are depicted only on the link to the brain processes. (B) A current depiction showing brain processes, action, and feedback from sensorimotor processes in a continuous loop with approximately equal emphasis on each.

Figure 4. Depiction of a servomechanism then and now. In a servomechanism, action is generated that feeds back on the central nervous system that in turn adjusts the action. (A) The proportions of various components of the servomechanism as depicted in figures in Cheng (1995). Processes taking place in the brain dominate, with the area of the box containing brain processes 11 times the area of the box for action generation, which itself is still a brain process. Actions are depicted only on the link to the brain processes. (B) A current depiction showing brain processes, action, and feedback from sensorimotor processes in a continuous loop with approximately equal emphasis on each.

In short, consideration of matters of situated cognition, beyond sustaining interesting philosophical discussion, promotes research themes for comparative cognition and for neuroethology as well. The mutual manipulability criterion should excite the field in promising new vistas of research, a new toy akin to a versatile submersible for plumbing the depths of cognition. Scientists of cognition, dive in.

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Volume 12: Note

Note: Two New Article Types to CCBR

Co-Editors:

Marcia L. Spetch
Department of Psychology, University of Alberta

Anna Wilkinson
School of Life Sciences, Joseph Banks Laboratories, University of Lincoln

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We are delighted to introduce two new article types to CCBR.

Comparative Cognition Innovations (CCI)

These articles will focus on recent trends in the field of comparative cognition. They can summarise exciting new data or simply outline new ideas that will move the field forward. The aim is to provide a forum for the communication of innovative ideas to those working in comparative cognition.

How-To Articles

These are explanatory articles that work in two ways: they can either provide those working in the field of comparative cognition with a clear and targeted overview of another field, or provide those working in another field with a clear and relevant overview of comparative cognition. There is no limit to the subject area. The ultimate aim is to encourage more interdisciplinary discussion.

If you are interested in contributing a manuscript to CCBR, then please do get in touch with Anna or Marcia.

Volume 12: pp. 83–103

ccbr_06-mcmillan_v12-openerIt’s All a Matter of Time: Interval Timing and Competition for Stimulus Control

Neil McMillan
Department of Psychology, University of Alberta
Department of Psychology, University of Western Ontario

Marcia L. Spetch
Department of Psychology, University of Alberta

Christopher B. Sturdy
Department of Psychology and Neuroscience
and Mental Health Institute, University of Alberta

William A. Roberts
Department of Psychology, University of Western Ontario

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Interval timing has been widely studied in humans and animals across a variety of different timescales. However, the majority of the literature in this topic has carried the implicit assumption that a mental or neural “clock” receives input and directs output separately from other learning processes. Here we present a review of interval timing as it relates to stimulus control and discuss the role of learning and attention in timing in the context of different experimental procedures. We show that time competes for control over behavior with other processes and suggest that when moving forward with theories of interval timing and general learning mechanisms, the two ought to be integrated.

Keywords: interval timing, reversal learning, inhibition, cue competition,
peak procedure, pigeons

Author Note: Neil McMillan, Department of Psychology, University of Alberta, 11455 Saskatchewan Drive, Edmonton, Alberta, T6G 2E9, Canada.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Neil McMillan at neil.mcmill@gmail.com.

Acknowledgments: This research was supported by Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada Discovery Grants to M. L. Spetch, C. B. Sturdy, and W. A. Roberts. Parts of this document previously composed thesis dissertation chapters by N. McMillan.


Many modern humans explicitly experience time through its cultural constructs: We check our watches to determine if we have to leave for a meeting, we give directions based on how many minutes one should walk down a particular street before turning, and we hit snooze on our alarm clocks and dread the 10-min countdown to when we must roll out of bed. However, these daily experiences represent a sliver of how much time affects our lives, and our reliance on language-based social constructs such as “seconds” and “hours” belies an impressive, evolutionarily inbuilt system of timers that constantly govern behavior and cognition. It is not until we observe the breadth and accuracy of timing in nonhuman animal species that we can truly grasp how important these systems are.

Interval timing is the timing of stimulus durations of seconds to minutes to hours, and has been of great interest to researchers in a wide variety of behavioral and cognitive neuroscience disciplines (Buhusi & Meck, 2005). Whereas circadian timing is coordinated by the suprachiasmatic nucleus and is concerned with regulating daily (24-hr) patterns such as the sleep cycle and feeding, and millisecond timing is a largely cerebellar process that assists mostly in motor coordination, interval timing is possibly distributed over a complex striato-thalamo-cortical pathway and is useful over a huge range of timescales and for different purposes. Interval timing is pervasive across species (Richelle & Lejeune, 1980) and wherever the environment features temporal regularities (Macar & Vidal, 2009); is necessary for survival in dynamic environments (Antle & Silver, 2009); and is frequently considered in the literature to be an obligatory, automatic process (e.g., Roberts, Coughlin, & Roberts, 2000; J. E. Sutton & Roberts, 1998; Tse & Penney, 2006; Wynne & Staddon, 1988). All events occur at some place within some time, so it is perhaps not surprising that animals seem to rely heavily upon timing to best predict the occurrence of salient events.

Compared to spatial and numerical cognition, temporal cognition is arguably less well represented in the literature and in lab groups across the world, and tends to exist in isolation rather than being connected to other fields in perception and cognition. This may speak to the ineffable nature of time: Whereas space and number are at least superficially straightforward representations of the relationship between physical objects, time can be an extremely difficult construct to define. Time is not perceived as energy emanating from the environment, as all other stimulus domains inevitably are; instead, timing is an internal process derived partially from the change in those other stimuli, and indeed can be perceived even while incoming sensory information is blocked. Likewise, it has proven difficult to narrow down individual brain regions responsible for interval timing beyond a complicated network of interconnected areas (Merchant, Harrison, & Meck, 2013). Nonetheless, a number of recent reviews have been aimed at summarizing, for example, how time is ubiquitously important to animals (and thus well represented across theories of behavior; Marshall & Kirkpatrick, 2015), encompasses a breadth of integrative research (Balci, 2015), and can be connected with multiple areas of cognition despite the subjectivity of its experience (Matthews & Meck, 2016). We do not rehash these reviews of the concepts and processes of time; instead, here we focus on how time competes with other dimensions more traditionally perceived as “stimuli” for control over behavior, with the overarching goal of presenting interval time in the framework of behavior as not just a cognitive dimension but a stimulus in and of itself.

Given the insular nature of timing research, one of the greatest paradoxes in the literature is that many studies include time as a parameter in some form. Interval time plays a defining role in contiguity, memory, and any calculation of rate, so in some ways it might be one of the most studied elements of learning and cognition. On the other hand, most of these studies are unconcerned with how time is actually processed, or variations in time are assumed to correspond to straightforward changes in the process being studied without specific input from a “clock” process (e.g., longer durations of or between sample and choice affecting short-term memory; Roberts & Grant, 1974, 1976, 1978). Because studying interval timing tends to be divorced from studying other learning processes, interactions that the two systems might have are largely overlooked. Although time is relevant in many experimental procedures, most studies explicitly examining interval timing in animals use one of two procedures: the temporal bisection task or the peak procedure. We briefly review those procedures, as well as current understanding of the mechanisms of interval timing, before returning to the question of integration of interval timing with other processes.

In the temporal bisection task (Church & Deluty, 1977), generally an animal is provided two response alternatives, one of which is correct after a stimulus presentation that is “short” (e.g., a 1-s tone burst) and the other correct after a “long” stimulus duration (e.g., a 4-s tone burst). Trained durations and task specifics vary across studies, but the main findings include that animals are able to discriminate between durations and respond appropriately; further, under testing conditions with untrained intermediate stimulus durations, animals tend to bisect functions at the geometric rather than the arithmetic mean between the anchor durations (e.g., at 2 s rather than 2.5 s, with the previous examples; see Church & Deluty, 1977; Meck, 1983).

In the main alternative to temporal bisection for studying interval time, the peak procedure (Catania, 1970; S. Roberts, 1981), subjects are trained on a fixed-interval (FI) reinforcement schedule in which, repeatedly, the first response after a fixed period is rewarded. Then unreinforced peak probe trials are introduced, typically of double or triple the length of the contingent FI. Thus, rather than making a discrete response to different intervals, animals are asked to “produce” the interval. Curves showing rate of response over the course of peak trials typically show a normal distribution of responses over the interval, with the peak at or around the expected point of food reinforcement (S. Roberts, 1981; see Figure 1A for an example). Although individual trials tend to involve break-run-break periods of all-or-nothing responding (Cheng & Westwood, 1993; Gibbon & Church, 1990; see Figure 1B for an example), averaging trials that start and stop at different times yields smooth Gaussian-like curves. The width of the curve around the peak, the response duration spread, represents noise in the representation of time and exhibits scalar properties (Gibbon, 1977). Peak-trial responding is thus consistent with Weber’s Law, wherein the degree of error (i.e., response spread) is proportional to the mean of the produced interval. Scalar variability is one of the primary findings in the peak procedure that all models of timing must account for.

Figure 1. (A; Left Panel) Example of a typical peak-time curve, generated from previous data in our lab by averaging data gathered on empty peak trials for birds trained on 10-s or 30-s FIs. Response data relativized to a maximum of one response per second. (B; Right Panel) Example of responding on a single empty peak interval trial from a bird trained with a 30-s FI in a previous study in our lab. This illustrates the characteristic break-run-break function in responding, which when averaged across trials and subjects produces a graded response curve similar to that in Panel A. Start time reflects the shift from low to high states of responding, and stop time the change from high to low states of responding; middle time is presumed to reflect the expected time of reinforcement.

Figure 1. (A; Left Panel) Example of a typical peak-time curve, generated from previous data in our lab by averaging data gathered on empty peak trials for birds trained on 10-s or 30-s FIs. Response data relativized to a maximum of one response per second. (B; Right Panel) Example of responding on a single empty peak interval trial from a bird trained with a 30-s FI in a previous study in our lab. This illustrates the characteristic break-run-break function in responding, which when averaged across trials and subjects produces a graded response curve similar to that in Panel A. Start time reflects the shift from low to high states of responding, and stop time the change from high to low states of responding; middle time is presumed to reflect the expected time of reinforcement.

What’s Time Without a Clock? Models of Interval Timing

Many theories have been developed to explain the data obtained with the peak procedure; there are conspicuously about as many theories of timing as there are labs focused on studying the construct. In the most cited of these theories, scalar expectancy theory (typically used interchangeably with the later scalar timing theory), the internal clock consists of a neural pacemaker that emits pulses, a switch that closes when a signal indicates the beginning of an interval to be timed, and an accumulator that sums pulses from the pacemaker (Gibbon & Church, 1984, 1990; Gibbon, Church, & Meck, 1984). The number of pulses accumulated at the moment of reinforcement on training trials is stored in reference memory, and these numbers are randomly retrieved as criterion values on subsequent trials. A comparator mechanism continually compares accumulated pulses in working memory with the criterion value and initiates responding when the difference between the accumulator and criterion drops below a threshold. Because the difference between the accumulator and criterion is recorded as an absolute value, the comparator also stops responding when the difference threshold is exceeded. Because the theory uses the same comparator process to start and stop responding, the symmetry of peak-time curves is predicted. Although scalar timing theory predates most modern knowledge of neuroscience, and it has been succeeded by other theories, it still has ardent supporters (e.g., see Wearden, 2016) and tends to be the model against which all others are judged.

In the most popular alternative theories of timing, behavioral judgments of time are more closely related to traditional associative processes. The behavioral theory of timing (Killeen & Fetterman, 1988) suggests that a pacemaker initiated at the beginning of an FI advances an animal through successive adjunctive behavioral states and that the behavioral state present at the moment of reinforcement will be conditioned to elicit responding. Because the pacemaker advances according to a Poisson process, this theory predicts the gradient of responding around the FI on peak timing probe trials. However, one of the issues facing the behavioral theory of timing is that there has been little success in showing these deterministic patterns of behavior during the temporal interval (Lejeune, Cornet, Ferreira, & Wearden, 1998). Machado (1997) offered a similar dynamic behavioral model based on real time, called the learning-to-time model, in which a stimulus that initiates an FI activates a series of behavioral states. Each state becomes associated to some extent with the reinforced operant response, but responding during nonreinforced states is weakened through extinction. Important to note, because time is based on the diffusion of activation across many states, this model does not experience the same problems as standard behavioral timing theory when faced with variable behavior as subjects time. The learning-to-time model has been applied recently to understanding how temporal generalization gradients can explain a wealth of behavioral data (de Carvalho, Machado, & Vasconcelos, 2016).

Contrary to models based on behavioral state-based clocks, trace-based clocks are assumed to measure time based on continuous neural traces. For example, in Staddon and Higa’s (1999) multiple-time-scale model, timing is based on the formation of associations between the reinforced response and the strength of a memory trace of a signal that began the interval to be timed. These traces of the starting signal decay, and traces with strengths near those of previously reinforced intervals will evoke more responding than those that are either stronger (shorter intervals) or weaker (longer intervals). In the conceptually similar spectral timing model (Grossberg & Schmajuk, 1989), different spectra of gated neurons are active at different times after the onset of a conditioned stimulus, providing a cascade of different timing signals, with the peaks in these traces becoming differentially associated with the unconditioned stimulus.

Finally, many recent theories of timing have focused on neural oscillators as the foundation of the clock process, such as the multiple-oscillator model (Church & Broadbent, 1990). Oscillating neurons fluctuate back and forth from –1 to 1 states sinusoidally, such as seen in the neurons (or neural networks) guiding heart rate, breathing rate, and circadian rhythms. Theories of timing involving oscillators generally suggest that the onset of the conditioned stimulus synchronizes the period of many oscillators, which then beat at different rates. At the time of reinforcement, the current set of states across the oscillators is stored, and this stored state serves as the measure of time. The striatal beat-frequency model (Matell & Meck, 2000, 2004) similarly suggests that timing results from detection of coincident oscillator states by spiny neurons in the striatum. Like trace models, oscillator clocks are biologically plausible because they make use of actual features of neural networks. Recent evidence has also suggested that animals have a nonlinear sensitivity to time, which is consistent with oscillator models (see Crystal, 2012, 2015). The striatal beat-frequency model, in particular, is attractive because of its combination of the biologically grounded beat frequency model (Miall, 1989) with principles from the well-studied scalar expectancy theory.

Many timing models presume the interval clock to be an internal neural process that is not affected by outside stimulation other than the initial CS (i.e., the cue to start) and the US (the cue to stop). Although these models thus tend to be variably successful at predicting results of relatively complex timing experiments (e.g., timing multiple stimuli simultaneously), they also tend to be silent on how time might be processed in competition with nontemporal processes. Typical models of timing do not generally include explicit parameters for signal characteristics (e.g., different modalities of stimuli to be timed), attention sharing, or reward value effects, and instead tend to assume that time is automatically processed by the internal clock. A wealth of literature has shown various effects of nontemporal aspects of stimulus presentation on the timing of intervals or gaps in intervals, with accuracy affected by stimulus modality (Meck, 1984; Roberts, Cheng, & Cohen, 1989), stimulus intensity (Wilkie, 1987), reward value (Galtress & Kirkpatrick, 2009, 2010; Ludvig, Balci, & Spetch, 2011), and filled versus empty intervals (Miki & Santi, 2005; Santi, Keough, Gagne, & Van Rooyen, 2007; Santi, Miki, Hornyak, & Eidse, 2005). Common theories of timing typically must be amended in a post hoc manner to account for attentional or stimulus dimension effects; for example, attentional models of timing in humans (Block & Zakay, 1996) explicitly create a gating mechanism representing attentional control, fluctuations in which lead to “loss” of accumulated pulses and a tendency to underestimate interval duration. More commonly, models of timing simply remain mute to nontemporal inputs.

Alternative theories of timing account for nontemporal effects on timing by omitting the clock process altogether. Ornstein (1969) suggested that timing is simply a deduction of elapsed duration by the amount of information processed: Shorter intervals naturally allow for less processing, whereas long intervals allow for a greater amount of processing. According to this theory, filled intervals and high-intensity stimuli are predicted to be timed as longer than empty intervals or low-intensity stimuli because more information processing occurs and thus time is perceived as subjectively longer; this effect is commonly observed in data (e.g., Santi et al., 2005; Wilkie, 1987), though “information processing” is left vaguely defined. Likewise, a number of more recent theories have attempted to fit clockless associational models (e.g., Arcediano & Miller, 2002; Dragoi, Staddon, Palmer, & Buhusi, 2003; Kirkpatrick, 2002; Savastano & Miller, 1998; R. S. Sutton & Barto, 1981), with the general suggestion that interval timing can arise simply through the competition between reinforced and nonreinforced behaviors across an interval and the memory for recent reinforcement, or with associational strength increasing as a function of time during a trial. In essence, an operant response is emitted not because the time of reinforcement is predicted, but rather because the operant response (or bout of operant responses: Kirkpatrick, 2002) is consistently more successful as the interval elapses (i.e., there is an increasing hazard function of reinforcement). Clockless models are attractive because they integrate seamlessly into existing information processing or learning theory without the need to conjure an independent timing mechanism or localize discrete brain regions for interval timing.

Learning to Time in the Peak-Time Procedure

Regardless of the type of clock (or lack thereof) used in timing models, each model must account for the observed data in peak-time procedures. Recent evidence now suggests that different learning processes may be responsible for the pre- and postpeak limbs of the peak-time curve. For example, Matell and Portugal (2007) found that rats trained to make a nose-poke response at an FI of 15 s showed a narrowing of the peak-time curve on extended test trials compared to brief initial test trials. This effect was asymmetrical, however, because rats stopped earlier on later trials than on earlier trials but showed no difference in start times between earlier and later trials. Kirkpatrick-Steger, Miller, Betti, and Wasserman (1996, Experiment 1) also showed a similar effect in pigeons, wherein birds were trained on 30-s FI discrete trials, followed by testing with 120-s peak trials. Responding increased rapidly toward the 30 s expected FI across all peak trials, but on the first peak trial, responding decreased only very gradually after 30 s, and peaks only narrowed by the end of the first six-trial block. A mostly symmetrical peak was noted on Days 25–30 and did not change substantially thereafter.

Even more dramatic effects were reported by Kaiser (2008), who trained rats to press a lever for food reinforcement on signaled FI 30-s trials. In the peak-time curve found when nonreinforced probe trials were introduced, averaged responding gradually changed from a flat curve to a more symmetrical Gaussian-like curve over 10 blocks of testing. This change in the peak-time curve was primarily caused by an initially shallow right limb of the curve that became progressively steeper over sessions. Of interest, this dramatic change in the shape of the peak-time curve was most marked when nonreinforced probe trials were introduced on 10% or 25% of the training trials but not when they were introduced on 50% of the training trials. If one assumed that the increased steepness of the right limb of the peak-time curve results from extinction of post-FI responding, this finding is puzzling, because a higher percentage of nonrewarded trials should lead to faster extinction.

One final example is found in a study of C3H mice trained to press a lever for milk reinforcement on a light-signaled FI 30-s schedule (Balci et al., 2009). Responding on non reinforced probe trials showed a consistent rise in responding over the first 30 s that changed little over 16 days of testing. On the other hand, mice showed no cessation of responding after 30 s on Day 1. Over successive test days, the right limb of the curve declined until it looked like the typical Gaussian peak-time curve by the final days of testing. Analysis of individual trials suggested that individual mice abruptly adopted stop behavior at different points during testing.

These findings suggest that the typical FI scallop seen in the left limb of the peak-time curve may develop early in FI training as a consequence of reward expectation. The right limb of the peak-time curve, however, may be controlled by extinction or learned inhibition of responding that occurs specifically during nonrewarded trials during the test phase. Such findings indicate some problems inherent in applying ideas of timing to real-world data, including the supposition that “starting” and “stopping” a clock have symmetrical effects on performance. They also emphasize the importance of associative learning in studies of timing and suggest that other learning processes might be involved in the study of behavioral timing. This is of particular interest given observations of cue competition effects in timing (e.g., Gaioni, 1982; Jennings, Bonardi, & Kirkpatrick, 2007; Jennings & Kirkpatrick, 2006; McMillan & Roberts, 2010). For example, McMillan and Roberts (2010) showed that pigeons could learn to time a compound stimulus with one stimulus element presented for 30 s and the other presented with 10 s remaining in the interval; pigeons demonstrated accurate fixed-interval responding on compound trials, as well as to either the “short” (10-s) or “long” (30-s) stimulus presented alone on probe trials. However, when pigeons were pretrained with the short (10 s) stimulus interval, the subjects failed to show accurate timing of a long (30 s) stimulus trained later in compound with the short stimulus. In this latter experiment, pigeons appeared to attend to only the most temporally proximal stimulus onset and failed to time a longer-duration stimulus despite pigeons in other conditions showing no such deficit with timing the 30-s stimulus. Whereas training both intervals together produces no “overshadowing” effect (McMillan & Roberts, 2010), pretraining with a short interval “blocked” learning of a longer interval when both were later compounded together. Although effects of cue competition between intervals have been somewhat mixed in the literature, initial findings suggest that processing of time may be subject to attention and competition for stimulus control, similar to competition frequently illustrated with low-level stimulus features such as shape and color.

We have also studied competition for stimulus control between temporal and nontemporal cue dimensions using the peak procedure (McMillan & Roberts, 2013a). Half of our pigeons were trained and tested with timed reinforcement occurring on a 60-s FI, whereas the other half were trained with pecks during a green stimulus reinforced on a 60-s FI and pecks to a red stimulus not reinforced after 60 s. After 20 sessions of training, these contingencies were reversed between groups. Regardless of order, pigeons showed typical peak-interval timing behavior while trained with 60-s FIs presented alone but showed profoundly flattened peak performance on identical 60-s FIs presented in context of other nonreinforced trials. Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the overshadowing of temporal control by salient visual stimuli is that although interval time is not a valid predictor of whether food would be available, it was still valid for predicting when reward would be available. In a follow-up experiment we showed that pigeons would still time stimuli for a 50% chance at eventual reward, suggesting that time was important for efficient use of resources (i.e., reducing peck rate early in each trial, a time when food was not forthcoming). However, the mere presence of visually predicted nonrewarded trials led to a failure of temporal control over responding on rewarded trials. This suggests that time was treated similarly to visual identity as an attribute of each of the stimuli. Where time is often considered as a higher order cognitive capability of animals, processed separately and automatically in order to drive efficient responding, this research shows that time is nonetheless still processed as a component of stimuli and is subject to attention in the same manner as other stimulus dimensions.

One possible explanation for the effect of relative cue validity is that 60-s intervals were used in both reinforced and nonreinforced trials, creating a conflict between timed durations for predicting food that did not exist in the color dimension (i.e., green and red as 100% predictors of food vs. no food). This may be especially true because the competition effect was most pronounced on the right limb of the curves, consistent with a disruption in extinction learning; having very long S– trials may have limited the discriminability of S+ probe (extinction) trials relative to S– trials. We collected subsequent data presented next in order to rule out these possibilities.

Experiment 1: Relative Cue Validity Is Not Driven by Similar Duration

We trained four naïve adult White Carneaux pigeons (Columba livia) at the University of Western Ontario with S+ and S– stimuli appearing on alternate trials, followed by sessions with only S+ stimuli. All details of the procedure were identical to those previously used by McMillan and Roberts (2013a) for Group S+/S–  S+, except that the S– stimuli were presented for 15 s instead of 60 s.

For 20 sessions of 44 trials each, S+ and S– stimuli each appeared on 22 trials in random order. On both types of trials, the center key was lit white to start the trial, and pecks on the center key were recorded in 1-s bins. On S+ trials, the left sidekey also was lit with green light for two pigeons or with a white circle on a black background for the other two pigeons. The first peck made on the center key after a 60-s FI yielded 5 s of access to grain reinforcement. The center key and the S+ sidekey stayed on until either the first reinforced peck to the center key or 120 s had elapsed since the start of the trial. On S– trials, the center key appeared with the left sidekey lit red for the two birds that saw green as the S+ and lit with a white triangle for the two birds that saw circle as the S+. Pecking the center key was never reinforced on S– trials, and the keys turned off after 15 s. After a reinforced keypeck on S+ trials or the end of 15 s on S– trials, the chamber was darkened for an intertrial interval that varied randomly between 40 s and 80 s. After birds completed 10 sessions of training with S+ and S– stimuli, they were given 10 further sessions in which probe trials were introduced. Four nonrewarded probe trials were randomly interspersed among the 44 training trials. On probe trials, the S+ stimulus was presented for 120 s, and pecks were recorded throughout this period.

All birds showed increasing peck rates over the FI on S+ trials. By the third session of training and thereafter, responding on S– trials was negligible. Figure 2 shows relative response rates plotted over 120 s of S+ presentation on nonrewarded probe trials, compared with previous data collected by McMillan and Roberts (2013a). Particularly noticeable is that the right limb of curves for S+/S- training phases shows little decline in response rate past the FI (60 s), whereas the curve for pigeons without an S– present during training shows a clear decline in response rate. We have previously established that the effect of S+/S– training does not depend on whether it preceded or followed training with the S+ alone. Although most studies have pigeons responding on the timed stimulus, and here we train pigeons to respond on a center key in order to detach the response from the separate stimuli, the red and green sidekeys are well within the pigeons’ lateral vision, and McMillan and Roberts (2013a) have clearly demonstrated learning of an S+ condition with attention to a sidekey (see also Figure 1a of this article).

Figure 2. Peak-time curves generated by pigeons’ responding during the presence of a stimulus predicting FI 60-s reinforcement in the described experiment (Group 15-s S–), compared to responding by pigeons in Experiment 1 of McMillan and Roberts (2013a) with similar S+/S– training (Group 60-s S–) or only S+ training (Group No S–). All data taken during Sessions 11–20 across groups. The data have been relativized to a peak rate of 1.0 and plotted as a function of 5-s time bins.

Figure 2. Peak-time curves generated by pigeons’ responding during the presence of a stimulus predicting FI 60-s reinforcement in the described experiment (Group 15-s S–), compared to responding by pigeons in Experiment 1 of McMillan and Roberts (2013a) with similar S+/S– training (Group 60-s S–) or only S+ training (Group No S–). All data taken during Sessions 11–20 across groups. The data have been relativized to a peak rate of 1.0 and plotted as a function of 5-s time bins.

These results are consistent with previous results shown by McMillan and Roberts (2013a) on a very similar procedure, and suggest that similar durations cannot account for the overshadowing of time by stimulus color on this task. Instead, relative cue validity (i.e., color as a cue for food vs. no food; time as cue for temporal location of food) alone determined the control of time over pigeons’ behavior on this task. Together with previous results in associative learning studies examining cue competition effects between intervals (e.g., Gaioni, 1982; Jennings et al., 2007; Jennings & Kirkpatrick, 2006; McMillan & Roberts, 2010), it is clear that timing is not automatic and instead that time is a cue dimension that competes with other cues for control over behavior. Further, even the control by time that exists in a typical peak procedure is the result of excitatory and inhibitory training. These results paint time as a discriminatory cue not divorced from other associational or operant processes, but rather very similar to the visual and auditory cue dimensions that make up the holistic stimuli from which time is derived.

Ordering Events in Time

Despite the usefulness of the peak-time procedure and temporal bisection task for studying timing from a general systems point of view, one problem with typical interval timing studies is their artificial nature; it is unlikely that animals in the wild frequently need to exactly reproduce an interval of time or compare two stimulus durations. Sometimes these kinds of tasks are explained in the context of monitoring foraging patch payoff or replenishment times, and although for some nectivorous animals this may be highly relevant (e.g., see Boisvert & Sherry, 2006; Henderson, Hurly, Bateson, & Healy, 2006; Toelch & Winter, 2013), this is not an ideal explanation for a common usage of time across species that could explain its ubiquity. Instead, it is more likely that interval timing is most useful for monitoring contiguity and the relationship of events across time. Although time is an important variable across a huge variety of behavioral tasks, which in turn helps explain its universal usefulness (Marshall & Kirkpatrick, 2015), one particularly relevant function is in determining order and duration across events. In this section we discuss two procedures that touch directly on these functions—serial pattern and time-place learning—in setting the stage for a related area of more recent study, midsession reversal.

Animals’ ability to represent serial order has been studied in a number of tasks, such as the delayed sequence-discrimination (DSD) procedure, where subjects are serially presented a number of stimuli in different sequences followed by a test stimulus, pecks in the presence of which are reinforced. Pigeons peck more on the test stimulus after the correct sequence than after incorrect sequences, showing successful discrimination on DSD tasks (e.g., Weisman, Duder, & von Konigslow, 1985; Weisman, Wasserman, Dodd, & Larew, 1980). Although timing has rarely been specifically invoked as part of the explanation in sequence learning procedures such as the DSD, solving these tasks could utilize an implicit temporal representation of the sequence. For instance, if presented with the sequence red–green–blue in successive order, knowing that red precedes blue is a temporal judgment; the subject must somehow represent when red happens relative to blue. Important to note, this judgment need not carry any interval information; whether red occurs 10 s or 100 s before blue in sequence is irrelevant to its order so long as the order is always red followed by green and then blue. Thus, if pigeons are capable of representing ordinality, they should be able to track both the identity of the sequence based on order of the stimuli across time (e.g., red–green–blue vs. green–red–blue) and the current position in the sequence relative to food (e.g., blue is proximal to food reward, green is less proximal, and red is least proximal). Other serial pattern procedures have explicitly studied the function of time within serial pattern learning, for example, the seminal work of Stephen Fountain (e.g., Fountain, Henne, & Hulse, 1984).

In their discussion of different types of timing, Carr and Wilkie (1997) described a relevant theoretical cognitive representation of time they referred to as ordinal timing. Ordinal timing was defined as the representation of events in a certain sequence over a period of time; for example, a bee may visit a particular sequence of flowers for the duration of each foraging bout (traplining). This concept is interesting because it is possible for ordinal and interval timing mechanisms to be separate representations of time with overlapping purposes of anticipating events using short-time temporal information (i.e., using either an ordinal sequence or interval timer to anticipate a particular future event). Most of the evidence Carr and Wilkie pointed to for this phenomenon was from field observation, with a single study in rats’ time-place learning as the lone laboratory example. Subsequent time-place experiments ruled out that rats used ordinal measurement to track food locations, and instead use either or both of interval and circadian timing to predict the locations of food (Crystal, 2009; Pizzo & Crystal, 2002, 2004, 2007). We also demonstrated that pigeons have difficulty learning a sequence of stimuli presented across a variable interval with one terminal reinforcer (McMillan & Roberts, 2013b). With extensive training, pigeons were able to demonstrate weakly rank-ordered responding to up to five stimuli in sequence, but only with explicit training wherein one sequence terminated in food and others did not. We suggested that this ability was likely derived from timing the interval across stimulus presentations, and perhaps rather than a discrete mechanism, ordinal “timing” results from the recruitment of more basic processes such as interval timing. Just as complex behavior organized across time can arise from simple timing processes (de Carvalho et al., 2016), so too may complex arrangements of stimuli be ordered using these processes; this capacity will be examined further in the next section.

When Happens Next? Time and Midsession Reversal

Recently, how behavior is organized across time has been extensively studied with a novel task arrangement dubbed midsession reversal (for a complete review, see Rayburn-Reeves & Cook, 2016), based nominally on serial reversal tasks. Where sequence discrimination tasks require attending to stimuli presented serially over time, reversal tasks involve flexibly altering behavior to static stimuli with changing task contingencies over time. In a prototypical serial reversal procedure, animals are trained with a simultaneous discrimination (e.g., reinforcement for responding to blue and not to yellow) with a reversal of contingencies occurring once the task is acquired (e.g., reinforcement for response to yellow and not to blue), with a reversal following each successive acquisition of the new discrimination (Mackintosh, McGonigle, Holgate, & Vanderver, 1968). With successive reversals, a variety of animals show improved speed to reacquisition relative to baseline, suggesting that behavioral flexibility is adaptively valuable (Shettleworth, 2010), and this phenomenon has been studied using many models of choice (e.g., Davis, Staddon, Machado, & Palmer, 1993).

The midsession reversal procedure makes only one small change to the serial reversal task: Instead of reversals occurring between sessions after meeting a criterion, reversals instead occur during each session. Generally, a subject is presented with two stimuli; responding to one is correct for the first half of trials, and responding to the other is correct on the second half of trials. As in the typical reversal procedure, the optimal strategy in the midsession reversal task is to respond based on the outcome of the last trial: If the response on the last trial was reinforced, then the animal should make the same response on the next trial, and if the response was nonreinforced then the subject should shift and respond to the other stimulus on the next trial (referred to as win/stay, lose/shift). However, pigeons (see Figure 3A) make a large number of anticipatory errors (i.e., responding to the second-correct stimulus before the reversal) and perseverative errors (i.e., responding to the first-correct stimulus after the reversal) in contrast to the performance by humans (Rayburn-Reeves, Molet, & Zentall, 2011) and rats (Rayburn-Reeves, Stagner, Kirk, & Zentall, 2013; but see McMillan, Kirk, & Roberts, 2014). These errors suggest that, rather than remembering the response and outcome from the previous trial to obtain optimal reinforcement, pigeons rely on an alternate strategy to predict the occurrence of the reversal.

Figure 3. (A; Upper Panel) Choice of the first-correct stimulus (S1) by pigeons in a simultaneous-choice midsession reversal procedure, and (B; Lower Panel) comparison of “go” responses to S1 and S2 in a successive-choice midsession reversal procedure. Data averaged across the last 25 sessions of training, at 80 trials per session. Vertical hatched lines indicate contingency reversal (after Trial 40). Data previously presented in McMillan et al. (2015).

Figure 3. (A; Upper Panel) Choice of the first-correct stimulus (S1) by pigeons in a simultaneous-choice midsession reversal procedure, and (B; Lower Panel) comparison of “go” responses to S1 and S2 in a successive-choice midsession reversal procedure. Data averaged across the last 25 sessions of training, at 80 trials per session. Vertical hatched lines indicate contingency reversal (after Trial 40). Data previously presented in McMillan et al. (2015).

There are only two obvious cognition-based explanations by which the pigeons could predict the reversal point. One strategy is to track the approximate number of trials (or reinforcers) until the change in contingencies (“The reversal occurs after 40 trials”). Alternatively, the pigeons could be tracking the interval time since the start of the session (“The reversal occurs after about 300 seconds”), taking advantage of the asymptotic speed at which they proceed through the session to predict the midpoint. In either of these cases, anticipatory and perseverative errors subsequently occur because the representations of number and time in animals are noisy estimates (and/or because of the slow shift in associative states across time; Machado & Guilhardi, 2000). Based on results of injecting large empty temporal gaps during sessions (Cook & Rosen, 2010) or altering the duration of intertrial intervals (McMillan & Roberts, 2012), it has been suggested that pigeons’ gradual switch behavior is exclusively governed by elapsed time. Delaying session onset has also been shown to disrupt performance (McMillan et al., 2015), suggesting that at least one interval used by pigeons is simply the duration starting from being placed in the operant chamber. Nontemporal endogenous cues, such as levels of satiety, have also been ruled out as potential switching factors (Cook & Rosen, 2010). This time-based explanation makes the midsession reversal procedure conceptually as well as procedurally similar to the free-operant psychophysical procedure (Stubbs, 1980).

This procedure has been performed with conditional reversals in matching-to-sample/oddity-from-sample discrimination (Cook & Rosen, 2010; Daniel, Cook, & Katz, 2015), simultaneous discrimination (e.g., McMillan & Roberts, 2012; Rayburn-Reeves et al., 2011), and sequential go/no-go discrimination (McMillan, Sturdy, & Spetch, 2015). If all three procedures are compared based on choice accuracy, behavior looks highly similar (see Figure 1 from Rayburn-Reeves & Cook, 2016) and can be robustly fit with a logistic function describing a gradual change in performance based on proximity to the reversal. Fundamentally, pigeons’ responding across these sessions appears to be probabilistic rather than categorical, despite that the reversal itself is from 100% to 0% probability of reward (or vice versa). Research has soundly demonstrated the robustness of the midsession reversal timing errors even with variable, difficult-to-predict reversal points (Rayburn-Reeves, Laude, & Zentall, 2013; Rayburn-Reeves & Zentall, 2013; Smith, Pattison, & Zentall, 2016). Even when actual switch points vary wildly across sessions, pigeons appear to form molar aggregate computations to anticipate the switch, and make only modest corrections based on a molecular “follow the reward” rule (Rayburn-Reeves, Laude, et al., 2013).

Subsequent research in our lab (McMillan et al., 2014) showed near-perfect maximization of reward in pigeons in a variable-trial midsession reversal procedure, where the key distinguishing manipulation was the presentation of stimuli as a visual-spatial discrimination; where prior tasks had most commonly presented red and green discriminative cues counterbalanced between sides across trials, we presented red always on one side and green always on the other. Pigeons’ performance was noticeably better than even similar results found by McMillan and Roberts (2012), and the data showed that at least one pigeon had abandoned timing in favor of only following local reinforcement rates. Individual differences were also noticed in strategy use, with some pigeons still not optimally following reward. This suggests that what was previously reported as a species difference on the midsession reversal task is likely due to individual differences and artifacts of memory tasks presented spatially in operant chambers. Some pigeons are capable of reward-following on a spatial reversal, which could be a result of spatially orienting to the left or right sidekey during the intertrial interval, essentially “cheating” the memory component of the procedure (McMillan et al., 2014; Rayburn-Reeves, Laude et al., 2013).

We also trained rats on a spatial-discrimination midsession reversal on a T-maze (McMillan et al., 2014); food was available on one side for the first 12 trials of a session and on the other side for the remaining 12 trials. We found that rats made similar anticipatory and perseverative errors as found with pigeons on a visual discrimination task, and in direct conflict with previous work examining midsession reversal with a spatial discrimination (Rayburn-Reeves, Laude, et al., 2013). That rats show good reversal performance on a spatial discrimination in the Skinner box (Please change to Rayburn-Reeves, Stagner, Kirk, & Zentall, 2013) but not in a T-maze (McMillan et al., 2014)—where the choice point is spatially distinct from the start position—corroborates the suggestion that animals are capable of following local reinforcement on the midsession reversal procedure by prospectively orienting during the delay between trials. Broadly, animals will use a win/stay-lose/shift strategy in midsession reversal when working memory load is light but will instead use interval timing when working memory load is heavy (i.e., when tasked to remember both the response and the consequence of the last trial over a 6-s delay).

The relative immaturity of the midsession reversal literature is most sorely felt in comparative research; other than some conflicted reports of human and rat behavior on the task, there is little to describe what species differences exist in midsession reversal, and what those differences might be based on (e.g., avian vs. mammalian; different foraging histories). Recently we have attempted to expand the procedure to black-capped chickadees. Whereas previous midsession reversal tasks have illustrated anticipatory and perseverative errors in brief, highly structured sessions, we sought to demonstrate temporally based switching in a task that might be more relevant to typical foraging. For this purpose we used six wild-caught black-capped chickadees in a pseudo-free-operant procedure, wherein subjects were maintained in operant chambers for several months and were free to initiate and complete trials throughout the course of each day. The Sturdy lab specializes in auditory go/no-go discrimination tasks with chickadees, and having previously demonstrated anticipation and perseveration on go/no-go tasks in pigeons (McMillan et al., 2015; see Figure 3B) we created an analog task using auditory stimuli (2 kHz and 4 kHz pure sinewave tones) for use with chickadees. Chickadees completed trials throughout the day, with responses to 2 kHz tones reinforced with food and responses to 4 kHz tones punished with a timeout; these contingencies reversed every 40 trials, creating trial blocks roughly equivalent to those in typical midsession reversal procedures. Because such procedures normally are not presented in such a cyclical fashion, we trained three of the six chickadees with a 5-min signal light preceding “Trial 1” of each block of trials in order to demarcate the start of a “session.” Results from individual chickadees are presented in Figure 4. None of the chickadees showed any indication of successful discrimination, let alone reversal; this was true regardless of whether the start of the “session” was signaled with a signal light or not. We have subsequently illustrated this failure with trial blocks of up to 240 trials (and a reversal at Trial 120: McMillan et al., in press). We subsequently showed that the chickadees were perfectly capable of learning the basic go/no-go discrimination, as well as to reverse their behavior; however, even those chickadees that learned a reversal task later failed to perform the reversal when returned to the midblock reversal task. It was not until chickadees were trained with midday reversals that they were capable of successfully reversing their behavior, and even in this case showed no tendency to anticipate.

Figure 4. Go/no-go discrimination performance on a midsession reversal procedure in six black-capped chickadees: O-103, O-120, and O-135 were trained without a red cue light; O-108, O-126, and O-140 were trained with red cue light between sessions. Vertical hatched lines indicate contingency reversals after Trial 40.

Figure 4. Go/no-go discrimination performance on a midsession reversal procedure in six black-capped chickadees: O-103, O-120, and O-135 were trained without a red cue light; O-108, O-126, and O-140 were trained with red cue light between sessions. Vertical hatched lines indicate contingency reversals after Trial 40.

Chickadees’ difficulty in learning a pseudo-midsession reversal task is difficult to resolve against previous data. The main difference between our procedure with chickadees and that used previously with pigeons and rats is in the temporal structure of a session. Pigeons and rats in previous midsession reversal research have been limited to single daily sessions of between 20 and 240 trials each: Session durations rarely exceed several minutes and are remarkably consistent within-subjects, making timing the typical duration between the onset of the session and the reversal straightforward. By contrast, chickadees’ trial blocks were marked by inconsistent time between trials and only one cue to distinguish different “sessions.” It was likely very difficult for chickadees to learn any particular timing rules, in contrast to the very specific rules that pigeons have been suggested to learn (e.g., “only respond to S2 after 3 min”: McMillan et al., 2015).

To study this phenomenon more closely, we trained four pigeons in a visual go/no-go task identical to that used by McMillan and colleagues (2015) except that the first-correct stimulus (S1+) for each session alternated across sessions (i.e., the S1+ for one session was the S2+ for the next, and vice versa). Importantly, this manipulation prevented pigeons from being able to memorize a single time-response pattern (e.g., “always wait 3 min to respond to green”) while otherwise maintaining all of the same features of a typical midsession reversal task (e.g., trial time and number, session time, reversal location). This was meant to determine whether black-capped chickadees’ lack of discrimination was particular to that species or procedural preparation, or rather if discrimination in midsession reversal hinges on having strict session temporal structure. In other words, we sought to bridge the results of McMillan et al. (2015), which had found successful discrimination and reversal performance on a go/no-go midsession reversal task in pigeons, with the failure to discriminate shown by chickadees on an otherwise-similar task (McMillan et al., in press).

Experiment 2: Pigeons Do Not Inhibit Incorrect Responses on a Go/No-Go Midsession Reversal Task Without Temporal Structure

On each trial for 80 trials per session, pigeons were presented with a blue-filled circle in the center of a gray background on the touchscreen. A single peck within the perimeter of the blue stimulus began the trial, leading immediately to the presentation of either a green- or red-filled circle on either the left or right side of the screen (with presentations of red vs. green and left vs. right randomized in blocks of four trials across the session). If the red or green stimulus was not pecked within 3 s of presentation, the stimulus was removed and was followed by a 3-s inter-trial interval (ITI), with the screen background still lit gray, followed by a new trial. On odd-numbered sessions, a peck to the red circle was correct for the first 40 trials and a peck to the green circle was correct for the latter 40 trials; these contingencies were reversed for even-numbered sessions. A single peck within the perimeter of the green or red circle led to the immediate removal of the stimulus: Pecking the currently correct stimulus was subsequently reinforced with 1-s access to food (measured from the time that the pigeon first tripped the photobeam in the hopper); if the pigeon pecked the currently incorrect stimulus, the screen was blackened for 10 s (time out) before the next trial. Either result was followed by a 3-s ITI, with the screen background lit gray, subsequently followed by a new trial. Subjects were run for 50 sessions.

Pigeons’ midsession reversal performance over the last 20 sessions is illustrated in Figure 5. Similar to the data observed in chickadees, and in contrast to previous results in pigeons on a go/no-go midsession reversal task (McMillan et al., 2015; also see Figure 3B), discrimination performance by pigeons on the current task was generally poor. Only one subject (#18) showed any appreciable separation between response rates on each stimulus across time; three of four subjects responded completely nondifferentially throughout sessions.

Figure 5. Go/no-go discrimination performance on a midsession reversal procedure in four pigeons. Vertical hatched lines indicate contingency reversals after Trial 40.

Figure 5. Go/no-go discrimination performance on a midsession reversal procedure in four pigeons. Vertical hatched lines indicate contingency reversals after Trial 40.

Attention to Temporal Structure in the Midsession Reversal Task

We have recently published similar data in pigeons on a simultaneous discrimination task (McMillan, Sturdy, Pisklak, & Spetch, 2016) in which the first-correct stimulus was alternated or randomized across sessions. Similar to results in a go/no-go tasks with pigeons and chickadees just described, pigeons on this procedure showed no control by time over behavior, and in this case began sessions at chance performance and only gradually improved prior to the reversal, and then shifted gradually after the reversal; there was no evidence of anticipation of the reversal under these conditions. It is thus clear that the basic structure of the midsession reversal task is fundamentally important for whether birds use time to predict the reversal.

Further, we have also replicated previous results of midsession reversal in humans (Rayburn-Reeves et al., 2011), but with both simultaneous and go/no-go task preparations and fixed versus alternating S1+s across blocks of trials (McMillan & Spetch, in prep) between four groups. With 10 blocks of 40-trial “sessions” and a reversal after Trial 20 each block, we found that several individuals illustrated errors qualitatively similar to pigeons’ with the same S1+ each block; contrarily, with alternating S1+s, humans, like pigeons, abandoned a timing-based approach, but they used only a “reward-following” rule in both cases (in contrast with pigeons, who simply show standard reversal functions; McMillan et al., 2016). We suggest that errors made on midsession reversal are qualitatively consistent across species, and that rats and humans are simply better at inhibiting erroneous time-based responding; further, animals (including humans) show no control by time in situations where time is either difficult to attach to simple “rules” across a session and/or when other strategies (such as postural cues during an ITI) are made dramatically more valid predictors of food.

Taken together, these results all paint a confusing picture of the role interval time plays in midsession reversal. In many versions of the task, time is a primary driver of pigeons’ behavior, even in cases where it results in many errors. In other procedures with only slight modifications, pigeons’ behavior shows little control by time, which subsequently results in few errors (McMillan et al., 2014; McMillan & Roberts, 2012) when there is an easy alternative strategy, or an enormous number of errors (McMillan et al., 2016; McMillan et al., in press) when there is not. The most consistent thread throughout these studies is that time “trades off,” competes, and/or integrates with other processes (including exogenous modulatory cues; see Rayburn-Reeves, Qadri, Brooks, Keller, & Cook, in press). Time rarely has total or zero control over behavior but instead is used based on its relative utility compared to other cues, similar to the results of McMillan and Roberts (2013a). The conflict between time and other processes does not seem to impact reaction times across the session (Rayburn-Reeves & Cook, 2016), which could suggest that these processes exist in a “horse race” to exert stimulus control over behavior, especially during the reversal-proximal intermediate phase of the session where time and reinforcement conflict maximally.

Conclusion: Timing and Attention

Timing has previously been suggested to be an automatic process (Roberts et al., 2000; J. E. Sutton & Roberts, 1998; Tse & Penney, 2006). Most theories of interval timing consider the clock as an internal neural mechanism, detached and independent from other learning processes. However, the work described in the present review suggests that the interval timing mechanism (a) fails to control behavior when placed in competition with more salient visual cues for reward versus nonreward, (b) can compromise with other serial learning processes to solve cognitively demanding ordinal or time-place learning tasks, and (c) competes with other decision-making processes in midsession reversal tasks based on how stimuli are presented. Overall, the use versus nonuse of interval time throughout these very different procedures is governed by relatively simple modifications of cue dimension and reward versus nonreward contingencies. Together, these results suggest that timing is much more affected by and integrated with other learning processes than commonly thought.

It is frequently difficult to disentangle attentional effects on timing behavior with actual changes to the clock described in various timing models. For example, dopaminergic agonists have previously been shown to produce peak-curve shifts and time estimates consistent with speeding up of the internal interval clock (and the opposite effects are observed with dopaminergic antagonists), whereas cholinergic drugs produce effects more consistent with changes to memory for time rather than processing of time (Meck, 1983, 1986). However, other evidence has questioned these explanations of dopaminergic effects on interval timing, suggesting that observed data may be driven by the attentional effects of dopamine rather than only adjustments in the internal clock (Santi, Weise, & Kuiper, 1995; Stanford & Santi, 1998). Consistent with these attentional interpretations of biases in duration estimates, in the human literature, predictable biases are introduced in timing when participants are required to perform any of a wide variety of nontemporal tasks while required to time an interval: In general, the less attention paid to time, the shorter the estimates of elapsed time (Block & Zakay, 1996; Brown, 1997, 2008). Participants are capable of attention sharing between concurrent timing and nontemporal processing, but systematically limiting attentional resources to timing produces “short”-biased estimates of time. This effect has also been shown in animals (Lejeune, Macar, & Zakay, 1999; J. E. Sutton & Roberts, 2002). These effects are sometimes interpreted as being caused by a switch (in the same language as scalar expectancy theory) that “leaks” accumulated pulses when interrupted, such as by being stopped and restarted; other models conjure an entirely separate attentional gate (Zakay & Block, 1995).

Rather than showing systematic biases in timing accuracy as is common in other studies of attention to time, the focus of the current review is on studies that involve subtle manipulations that affect the control exerted by time over behavior. For example, in the two novel experiments presented, pigeons opted to use salient visual cues that predicted reinforcement or local reinforcement rates under some arrangements of stimulus dimension and reinforcement contingencies, where in other conditions pigeons showed control by timing. These disruptions in temporal control could be due to attention shifts; for example, in considering scalar expectancy theory, attentional control could be attributable to the switch process, determining whether the organism times a particular interval. However, this does not specifically explain why a pigeon would fail to accurately time a 60-s interval when presented with nonreinforced intervals, especially if it has previously been subject to good control by time on 60-s reinforced intervals presented alone. Many timing theories also assume that intervals are timed based on the onset of a particular stimulus with a discrete reinforcer ending the interval, an assumption that is challenged both by successful timing of multiple stimuli presented in sequence and by timing an interval from the onset of the session rather than between stimuli or between reinforcers, as shown in the midsession reversal procedure. Just as motivational properties of timing performance are useful for discriminating between timing theories (see Daniels & Sanabria, 2016), so too does how well a theory integrates time with other stimulus control processes.

A central limitation of most traditional theories of timing is that they are only prospective timing models: They only speak to that timing that occurs with the onset of a stimulus in preparation for delivery of reinforcement, and not to retrospective situations such as incidental timing (e.g., as shown in pigeons by Roberts et al., 2000). The inflexibility of the clock mechanism in these models is hardly coherent with the human experience of timing: If you were asked how long you had been reading this paragraph or this review, you could produce ballpark estimates without having any discrete cue with which to “start a clock.” Ought the timing mechanism in nonhuman animals be radically different, simply because this was a distinction made 40 years ago (see Hicks, Miller, & Kinsbourne, 1976)? Midsession reversal also holds special interest as an exception to the typical rule in interval timing models that the clock is synchronized to individual reinforcer deliveries (but see Bizo & White, 1994); as compared to typical timing experiments, where animals time between reinforcers, in midsession reversal they time across them. In general, timing seems both more flexible and more fragile than models of timing frequently account for.

Clockless models that consider timing an emergent property of information processing (Ornstein, 1969) or behavior (Dragoi et al., 2003; Kirkpatrick, 2002; Machado, 1997) are immediately amenable to attentional effects on timing and temporal control, and more conventional models of timing would benefit from being more closely integrated with learning models to explain effects like those observed in the present review. Examples of attempts for integrative timing theories include the temporal delay hypothesis (R. S. Sutton & Barto, 1990), the learning-to-time model (Machado, 1997), and the behavioral economic model (Jozefowiez, Staddon, & Cerutti, 2009). These theories generally describe how subjects learn about time and its relationship to reinforcement. Crucially, each theory commonly predicts that particular behaviors and responses become more closely associated with food as the interval elapses, essentially making the animal’s own behavior the clock rather than necessitating separate pacemakers. In the general case, these theories of timing allow for direct integration of timing with attentional and learning processes, by virtue of timing being treated as an intrinsic property of behavior rather than as an independent neural mechanism.

Traditional models of time (notably scalar timing theory) and strictly neural-based timers (such as striatal beat-frequency) are not necessarily incompatible with the current results. Attentional processes are capable of acting on different aspects of these models, though they are not always well described; for example, the striatal beat-frequency model involves frontal-striatal neural pathways (Matell & Meck, 2000, 2004) the implicated roles of which also include attention, suggesting one possible avenue for integrating these models. Important to note, the results summarized here cannot rule out that subjects failed to time. In any of the negative cases, pigeons could have accurately timed the contingent interval but not shown stimulus control by timing. Lejeune and Wearden (1991) compared interval timing across a variety of species and found that certain species showed greater timing accuracy than others; however, the authors concluded that differences in observed timing ability were in large part due to differences in tasks (e.g., a fish tank is quite different from a rat operant chamber) and the ability to inhibit nontimed behavior (e.g., cats are better able to inhibit random responding than are pigeons), rather than species differences in sensitivity to time. In the same manner, the present results could be compatible with the interpretation that pigeons timed the contingent intervals but that time failed to control behavior in competition with other nontemporal processes. Behavioral control by time appears to be modulated by relative cue validity, the presence of more proximal predictors for reward, and attentional or working memory load for other processes.

In sum, the results reported in this review show differences in how animals use timing in a variety of procedures with simple manipulations of stimulus and reward presentation. These results are inconsistent with interval timing being purely an automatic contributor to behavior, mechanistically processed internally and not affected by external factors. Instead, time should be considered an important element of the complex stimulus compounds that comprise all environments, as well as a very important component of standard learning processes. Behavior- and associational-based theories of timing may be better situated to explain many of these results, but other models of timing should be integrated with associative approaches to better model the links between learning, timing, and attention.

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Volume 12: pp. 57–82

ccbr_05-beran_v12-openerTo Err Is (Not Only) Human: Fallibility as a Window Into Primate Cognition

Michael J. Beran
Georgia State University

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Abstract

Human cognition affords our species an excellent toolbox for solving problems. Many nonhuman animal species appear to share with humans some of these tools. However, human cognition also is fallible. Susceptibility to perceptual illusions, misrepresentation of probabilities, cognitive biases, faulty memory, and heuristics all present sources of error from which behavior is suboptimal in the pursuit of goals. Some nonhuman species share these perceptual and cognitive biases with humans. Examples of this are described for nonhuman primates, ranging from perceptual illusions to humanlike failures on games of probability such as the Monty Hall Problem. Sometimes the performances of nonhuman primates mirror those of humans, but there are exceptions. Given that other species do experience things erroneously and make errors in judgment, it is an exciting question of whether they also might generate any strategies to offset their fallibility. Two examples to suggest that they do are provided from research with chimpanzees. One is of strategic self-distraction in the face of tempting rewards in a delay of gratification task. The other is of information-seeking behaviors in different contexts where chimpanzees have different types of information. This research, and that of many other groups, shows the value of examining perceptual and cognitive errors across species, and how different individuals and different species may be equipped psychologically to deal with the possibility of these errors occurring.

Keywords: primate cognition, perception, illusions, self-control, metacognition

Author Note: Michael J. Beran, Department of Psychology and Language Research Center, Georgia State University, Atlanta, GA 30302.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Michael J. Beran at mjberan@yahoo.com.

Acknowledgments: Much of what is presented in this article is adapted from the author’s 2014 Presidential Address entitled “To Err Is (Not Only) Human: Fallibility (and Success) in Comparative Approaches to Cognition,” which was presented at the 106th annual meeting of the Southern Society for Philosophy and Psychology. The various research projects discussed in this article were supported by funding from the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development (grants RO1HD-061455, PO1HD-060563, and PO1HD-38051), the National Science Foundation (grants BCS – 0924811 and BCS – 0956993), and the College of Arts and Sciences at Georgia State University. I offer my thanks and appreciation to the people at the Language Research Center who make this research possible, including the staff members who take excellent care of the animals. I offer special thanks to Ted Evans, Audrey Parrish, Bonnie Perdue, and Christian Agrillo, who all played central roles in these research projects, and more often than not were the driving force behind those projects. This article is dedicated to chimpanzee Mercury, who sometimes was the “poster child” for studies of errors in decision making but who also taught us a lot about chimpanzee cognition, and to chimpanzee Lana, who was the first to talk to us using lexigrams, which she continued to do for nearly 45 years. These chimpanzees died in 2016 and will be missed, both for their contributions to science and for their willingness to let us learn from them.


Introduction

The 20th century saw a shift in how humans thought about nonhuman animals (hereafter, animals), their behavior, and the cognitive processes that might underlie their behavior. Comparative cognition emerged as a strong discipline in the second half of the century, largely as a result of the broader cognitive revolution in human psychology, continued developments in ethology, and new opportunities to study a diverse range of species (Shettleworth, 2010). Earlier comparative psychologists certainly took an interest in aspects of cognition (see Dewsbury, 1984, 2000, 2013), but researchers in the second half of the century provided new approaches to understanding animal minds. Initially these approaches focused largely on traditional aspects of human cognitive psychology, including memory, perceptual capacities, and learning phenomenon (e.g., Honig & Fetterman, 1992; Hulse, Fowler, & Honig, 1978; Roitblat, Bever, & Terrace, 1984), as they might reflect the use of mental representations and other information-processing approaches for interacting with the world. Later, research increasingly focused on questions that covered nearly every topic found in a human cognitive psychology textbook, and even questions that were not typically discussed in such sources (e.g., theory of mind, deception, mind reading, cooperative decision making, metacognition, mental time travel, and others; e.g., Beran, Brandl, Perner, & Proust, 2012; Byrne & Whiten, 1988; Dugatkin, 1997; Maestripieri, 2003; Tomasello & Call, 1997; Vonk & Shackelford, 2012; Zentall & Wasserman, 2012).

Much of the research that occurred toward the end of the 20th century and into this century was dedicated to demonstrations of what animals could show us about the proficiency and effectiveness of their cognitive abilities. Often, the research strategy was to demonstrate some new capacity in a given species and to relate such capacities to the evolution of human cognition. This has been a wildly successful approach. We now know far more about the minds of many species than we did 20, 50, and certainly 100 years ago, and the field of animal cognition (or, if you prefer, comparative cognition, comparative cognitive science, or cognitive ethology) continues to generate new and exciting evidence for the cognitive capacities of animals. In many instances, changes in methodological approaches have provided us with more reliable estimates about the cognitive capacities of nonhuman species. To give just one example, closely related to my own research interests, one can look at research into numerical cognition. Although a favorite topic of early comparative psychologists (see Boysen & Capaldi, 1993), this area of research suffered because of methodological shortcomings, overinterpretation of data, and a general failure to interpret animal behavior cautiously, even in cases in which the behaviors seemed extraordinary (Davis & Perusse, 1988; Pfungst, 1911). The so-called Clever Hans effects seen in some of these cases led to a backlash against research in this area, and it took many decades to overcome this (Candland, 1995). However, new approaches and a more conservative interpretation of the data they generated has led to a more reliable understanding of the numerical abilities of nonhuman animals and how they compare to those of humans (e.g., Cohen Kadosh & Dowker, 2015; Geary, Berch, & Mann Koepke, 2015). We now know that formal counting in animals and other exact calculation capacities are unlikely. Instead, we have learned that animals exhibit a foundational but approximate sense of numerosity and that this is true also for humans (e.g., Brannon & Roitman, 2003; Cantlon & Brannon, 2006; Huntley-Fenner & Cannon, 2000). Thus, the “hunt” shifted from being about “counting animals” to being about basic, phylogenetically widespread mechanisms that might support a formal system of mathematics in our species. From that new perspective, we then learned much about the psychological (e.g., Gallistel & Gelman, 2000) and neurobiological (e.g., Dehaene, Dehaene-Lambertz, & Cohen, 1998; Nieder & Dehaene, 2009) mechanisms of quantitative cognition.

I began working in this field pursuing the question of “Can animals count?” but ended up instead asking, “How do animals process quantitative information?” largely because of the restrictions that were discovered in animals’ quantitative cognition. For example, animals represent quantities imperfectly, with more variable representations emerging as a function of increasingly larger true array sizes (Brannon & Roitman, 2003; Cantlon, Platt, & Brannon, 2009; Jordan & Brannon, 2006). Such difficulties stem from the use of an “approximate number system” rather than a true counting routine that is mastered by human children around the age of 5 years (Gelman & Gallistel, 1978). This means that it is harder for most animals to process and accurately represent a set of six items than a set of three items, for instance, when they must then collect sets of items to match Arabic numerals (e.g., Beran & Rumbaugh, 2001). It is also harder for most animals to discriminate between eight and 10 items than to discriminate between two and four items (e.g., Beran, 2007; Cantlon & Brannon, 2006). From these outcomes, and other experiences, I realized that errors were interesting, too. And so a large part of the research we have done in my lab in recent years has been focused on errors rather than successes. Human cognition, of course, operates to allow our species to flexibly and proficiently interact with our environment, in so-called “physical cognition” and “social cognition” contexts (a distinction I do not really like). However, many of those cognitive processes are fallible. They lead to interesting error patterns, or failures that would appear to be bad when they occur but also appear to be necessary for the otherwise well-oiled “machine” to work well in providing our species with generally reliable information-processing routines that can operate quickly.

Humans are a highly visual species, and we rely on visual perception to provide us with information that goes beyond the physical sensations that are recorded by the retina. This normally works well because our visual perception allows us to represent and accommodate figures, shapes, and other kinds of conceptual information (such as size or quantity) that may not necessarily equate with what we sense from the environment. This allows us to deal with occluded stimuli as whole things, to perceive continuity of stimuli, to anticipate future directional movement of stimuli, and to accommodate things such as shading and the relative sizes of things at different distances and spatial scales. Perceptual illusions are the cost for these benefits, as they sometimes result from these basic principles of organization that otherwise provide us with a beneficial psychological interaction with the real world. Humans also rely on an intuitive sense of statistical probability to support rapid and typically accurate decision making. However, the cost of such heuristics comes in the form of biases that result from misunderstanding base rates (i.e., the true probability of events happening) and not recognizing the role that context plays in how we view individual options (e.g., anchoring and framing effects). In addition, acquiring a resource more immediately rather than after a delay conveys advantages (e.g., in foraging or mating contexts), but the cost in always taking something immediately is that sometimes an opportunity is missed for a better reward that is more delayed. Here, there is conflict between impulsivity and self-control, or waiting for a better but more delayed outcome. Such impulsivity is another form of behavioral fallibility that results from suboptimal choice in certain contexts (e.g., when waiting would benefit an organism more than taking something immediately).

We have looked at areas in which “failures” of certain processes are known to occur in human cognition in specific contexts. We (and others) have asked whether animals err in ways like and unlike humans with regard to various cognitive processes. We have focused on perceptual errors, largely through studying visual illusions, as well as decisional errors that might reflect failed attentional processing, mistaken understanding of probability, and susceptibility to context cues that might cause animals to rely on heuristics that sometimes lead them astray. I discuss some of that research, and then transition into the question of how nonhuman animals might deal with their own fallibility. Here, our focus has been on two areas: self-control and metacognition. These two areas are of long-standing interest in studies of human psychology, largely because of their importance for healthy decision making in the case of self-control and proficient information processing and decision making in the case of metacognition.

I should note that this review is particularly focused on work with nonhuman primate species, because those are the species I study primarily. My goal is to give the reader some sense of how failures and limitations in cognition have motivated our research team to present tasks to these species, and then to see if and when they fail or succeed and whether they can overcome these limitations through cognitive control mechanisms. In each of these areas I discuss, our research team owes a great debt to other cognitive, comparative, and developmental researchers whose methods or ideas we often have borrowed and adapted. For each of the areas I discuss, ranging from perceptual illusions to strategic self-distraction in self-control tests, there are many other research teams doing excellent work, and with an impressive variety of species. Even if I do not cite all of those efforts, they have inspired us and taught us just as much as have our own data. Recognizing the long-standing and continuing need to make our comparative psychology more comparative (Beran, Parrish, Perdue, & Washburn, 2014; Burghardt, 2013; Wasserman, 1997), I hope the reader will forgive the primate-heavy descriptions to come as being merely an indication that sometimes you have to go with what you know best. However, as you will read, if I should ever be a contestant on Let’s Make a Deal, I promise I will take a pigeon with me, not a monkey, and for good reason.

Perceptual Illusions

As noted, I began my career studying numerical and quantitative abilities of nonhuman primates. Initially, this focus was on counting-like skills, but the focus then shifted more to relative quantity and number judgments with an emphasis on trying to understand the nature of how nonhuman species represent and process quantitative information. As I worked with chimpanzees and monkeys to study their quantity judgments, I learned about certain illusions that occur when humans judge quantities. One of these, the regular-random numerosity illusion (Ginsburg, 1976, 1978, 1980), occurs when humans tend to overestimate the quantity of items in an array that has a consistent and regular arrangement, such as having all items lined up in rows and columns versus one that has a random arrangement. When rhesus monkeys and humans were given the same task, both species showed evidence of this illusion (Beran, 2006). Humans also show a tendency to underestimate the number of items in an array when those items are nested within each other (as with concentric circles) compared to when they are spatially distinct (Chesney & Gelman, 2012), and we found the same bias in rhesus monkeys (Beran & Parrish, 2013). These results were encouraging because they suggested to us that the mechanisms that generate quantity representations across primate species are equally susceptible to illusory phenomena and therefore might reflect fundamental aspects of perceptual processing in at least primates. However, the story may not be this simple.

Another perceptual/quantitative illusion that was first reported with humans (including children) is the Solitaire illusion (Figure 1). Even after being told that there are exactly 16 black and 16 white dots in each of these two images, people believe there are more white dots than black dots in the image at left and more black dots than white dots in the image at right. This is a fairly robust phenomenon in humans (Frith & Frith, 1972; Ginsburg, 1982), but apparently not so for some nonhuman primates. For more than a decade, we have tried to demonstrate that nonhuman primates also experience the Solitaire illusion, but we have little to show for those efforts. We presented chimpanzees with two intermixed arrangements of food items, where one type of food item was of high preference and the other of low preference (Agrillo, Parrish, & Beran, 2014). When there was a true quantitative difference between the two sets (i.e., one set had more high-preference items and fewer low-preference items, whereas the other was reversed), the chimpanzees chose the set with more of the high-preference item. However, when we presented the two arrangements in Figure 1, but with high-preference items centrally located or peripherally located, the chimpanzees were indifferent between the choices, as they should have been if no illusory experience occurred. Humans, given photographs of these food arrays, consistently selected the array with the centrally located higher preference items, though, suggesting a species difference in this illusion. We then presented the identical computer task to chimpanzees, rhesus monkeys, capuchin monkeys, and adult humans in which they had to choose one of two arrays that had more dots of a certain color. All species were proficient when there were real differences in numbers of dots. Humans also showed a bias to choose the array with centrally located dots of the target color versus peripherally located dots when both sets actually had equal numbers of each color. Chimpanzees showed no such illusion, and the evidence for the illusion from the monkeys was weak (Agrillo et al., 2014). We subsequently presented that task to human children and found that younger children were less susceptible to the illusion than older children; we also found that some capuchin monkeys seemed to experience the illusion (Parrish, Agrillo, Perdue, & Beran, 2016). However, it remains unclear as to whether there is something fundamentally different in how various species respond to this kind of stimulus arrangement. If humans are unique in robustly perceiving this illusion, this could highlight specific brain-based or environmental factors that contribute to such illusory experiences. It would be informative to assess this illusion across human cultures, which in conjunction with a broader phylogenetic assessment could tell us something about the role of experience in perceiving this illusion. To our knowledge, this illusion has not been presented to other species beyond those we have tested. We hope this will change in the near future, because broad phylogenetic assessments of other illusions have given us interesting insights into perceptual similarities and dissimilarities across species.

Figure 1. Top. The Solitaire illusion. Despite both figures having 16 white and 16 black dots, humans’ initial impressions of these arrays often is that there are more white dots than black dots in the array at left and more black dots than white dots in the array at right. These stimuli were presented in Agrillo et al. (2014) and Parrish et al. (2016) to children, chimpanzees, and monkeys. Bottom. The Ebbinghaus-Titchener illusion. As a result of the juxtaposition of circles, the central orange circle surrounded by blue large circles (left image) appears smaller than the central orange circle surrounded by small blue circles (right image).

Figure 1. Top. The Solitaire illusion. Despite both figures having 16 white and 16 black dots, humans’ initial impressions of these arrays often is that there are more white dots than black dots in the array at left and more black dots than white dots in the array at right. These stimuli were presented in Agrillo et al. (2014) and Parrish et al. (2016) to children, chimpanzees, and monkeys. Bottom. The Ebbinghaus-Titchener illusion. As a result of the juxtaposition of circles, the central orange circle surrounded by blue large circles (left image) appears smaller than the central orange circle surrounded by small blue circles (right image).

For example, there are sometimes opposite reactions across species to visual stimuli. One example of this is Ebbinghaus-Titchener illusion (Ebbinghaus, 1902; Weintraub, 1979; Figure 1), which has been presented to a variety of nonhuman animal species but with highly variable results. Baboons do not experience the illusion (Parron & Fagot, 2007) despite showing other visual illusions (e.g., Barbet & Fagot, 2002; Benhar & Samuel, 1982). This might suggest human-uniqueness in seeing this illusion, as would the reported reversed Ebbinghaus-Titchener illusions in pigeons (Nakamura, Watanabe, & Fujita, 2008) and bantam chickens (Nakamura, Watanabe, & Fujita, 2014). However, the story again is not that simple, as other nonprimate species have shown evidence of perceiving this illusion in the direction shown by humans (dolphin: Murayama, Usui, Takeda, Kato, & Maejima, 2012; domestic chicks: Rosa Salva, Rugani, Cavazzana, Regolin, & Vallortigara, 2013; redtail splitfin fish: Sovrano, Albertazzi, & Rosa Salva, 2015). And, as outlined in more detail next, our work suggests that monkeys show evidence of a related illusion called the Delboeuf (1865) illusion (Parrish, Brosnan, & Beran, 2015). In all of these cases, the key issue is that studying illusions across species rather than just in humans tells us about factors that might contribute to their occurrence. Those factors likely are not the result of differences in sensory experiences but instead reflect differences in brain processes that deal with those sensory experiences, perhaps in combination with specific individual experiences with particular kinds of stimuli.

Biases and Context Effects

Perception impacts decision making, and context affects perception, thereby also impacting decision making and choice behavior. Many context effects have been studied in humans (e.g., Coren & Girgus, 1978; Gigerenzer & Goldstein, 1996; Hastie & Dawes, 2010; Kahneman, 2003; Tversky & Kahneman, 1981), highlighting another area of fallibility in human judgment and decision making. For example, framing questions in terms of wins versus losses can impact choices that people make, and usually with greater risk aversion when choices are framed in terms of losses. There is growing interest in those kinds of context effects in nonhuman animals (e.g., Lakshminarayanan, Chen, & Santos, 2011; Ludvig, Madan, Pisklak, & Spetch, 2014; B. Marsh & Kacelnik, 2002). These effects often can be shown in food-choice experiments, which are particularly appealing because one does not need to train an animal to try to obtain the best or largest food reward. Rather, one can use this natural food choice paradigm (Silberberg, Widholm, Bresler, Fujita, & Anderson, 1998) to look at spontaneous decisions that might be affected by contextual cues that are not directly related to food amount or quality.

Chimpanzees are excellent discriminators of food amounts, sometimes rivaling human performance in telling apart very small differences (E. W. Menzel, 1960, 1961; E. W. Menzel & Davenport, 1962). In addition, like adult humans, they and other great apes appear to understand conservation of quantity (e.g., Call & Rochat, 1996; Muncer, 1983; Suda & Call, 2004, 2005; Woodruff, Premack, & Kennel, 1978). However, they also sometimes show biases that are suboptimal to the goal of obtaining the most food. For example, they will choose a smaller overall amount of food from one set of items over a larger amount of food in another set if that first set contains the largest individual food item (e.g., Beran, Evans, & Harris, 2008; Boysen, Berntson, & Mukobi, 2001). Thus, we were interested to see if they might be as susceptible as are humans to biases that come from stimulus presentation even in a context in which optimizing intake was the motivation behind choice behavior.

We used this approach with chimpanzees to examine in more detail the Delboeuf illusion (Figure 2), and particularly in a setting in which this illusion is reported to underlie human errors in food estimation. When humans look at food, their perception of portion sizes can be strongly affected by the context in which that food is presented. The size, the color, and the shape of containers holding food directly impact how people estimate the amount of food they are looking at (e.g., Wansink, 2004, 2006; Wansink & Cheney, 2005; Wansink, Painter, & North, 2005; Wansink & van Ittersum, 2003; Wansink, van Ittersum, & Painter, 2006). For example, people will serve themselves less food when given a small plate and more food when given a large plate, apparently without realizing that they are doing this; their estimates of food amounts also are affected by plate size (e.g., Van Ittersum & Wansink, 2007). This also is true in situations such as feeding one’s dog, where container size impacts how much is served (Murphy, Lusby, Bartges, & Kirk, 2012). For our purposes, we created a task for the chimpanzees to match that used with humans in which portions on small plates were reported to be larger than the same portions served on large plates. Like humans, chimpanzees made the same mistake in overestimating food quantity on small plates compared to large plates (Parrish & Beran, 2014b). The chimpanzees chose between round slices of food or piles of cereal pieces (Figure 2). When plate size was controlled (i.e., both plates were large or both were small), the chimpanzees selected the larger amount of food. When equal amounts of food were on plates of different sizes, they showed a bias to choose the smaller plate, presumably because they perceived it as holding more food. In some cases, they even selected a truly smaller amount of food presented on a smaller plate, thereby showing that this contextual effect negatively impacted performance in a way that directly affected intake.

Figure 2. (A) The Delboeuf illusion. When two same-sized central circles (shown here as black dots) are surrounded by concentric circles of difference sizes, people tend to perceive the dot inside the smaller concentric circle to be larger than the dot inside the larger concentric circle. (B) and (C) Food stimuli presented to chimpanzees in Parrish and Beran (2014a). These arrangements were used to mimic the Delboeuf illusion in a food discrimination task. In (B), the food portions are equal, but chimpanzees tended to prefer the portions on the smaller plate. In (C), the smaller plate actually holds less food than the larger plate. The chimpanzees tended to be indifferent between these options despite an objective difference in the amounts on these plates. Reprinted from “When Less Is More: Like Humans, Chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes) Misperceive Food Amounts Based on Plate Size,” by A. E. Parrish and M. J. Beran, 2014, Animal Cognition, 17, p. 428. Copyright 2014 by Springer.

Figure 2. (A) The Delboeuf illusion. When two same-sized central circles (shown here as black dots) are surrounded by concentric circles of difference sizes, people tend to perceive the dot inside the smaller concentric circle to be larger than the dot inside the larger concentric circle. (B) and (C) Food stimuli presented to chimpanzees in Parrish and Beran (2014a). These arrangements were used to mimic the Delboeuf illusion in a food discrimination task. In (B), the food portions are equal, but chimpanzees tended to prefer the portions on the smaller plate. In (C), the smaller plate actually holds less food than the larger plate. The chimpanzees tended to be indifferent between these options despite an objective difference in the amounts on these plates. Reprinted from “When Less Is More: Like Humans, Chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes) Misperceive Food Amounts Based on Plate Size,” by A. E. Parrish and M. J. Beran, 2014, Animal Cognition, 17, p. 428. Copyright 2014 by Springer.

Other context effects also impact food choice in chimpanzees. Humans show a “less-is-better” effect when they value things such as ice cream. If a large container holds more ice cream than a small container, people tend to place greater value on the smaller amount of ice cream, because it appears to more completely fill or overflow its container (Hsee, 1998). Chimpanzees fall prey to the same bias. When given marshmallows or gelatin in small or large transparent cups, they preferred cups that looked more filled, even if those contained a smaller amount of food (Parrish & Beran, 2014a; Figure 3). Even aspects of food items that do not impact their quality or quantity, such as their wholeness, seem to affect chimpanzee choice behavior. For example, chimpanzees sometimes prefer sets of snack chips that contain less overall food if those chips are whole compared to sets of more overall food but broken pieces. This is true even though there is no difference in how long it takes the chimpanzees to eat the food (Parrish, Evans, & Beran, 2015a). Something about the wholeness of the items increases their subjective value without having any seeming connection to their objective value (or, conversely, it may be that brokenness decreases subjective value). Of course, one can imagine a heuristic that could account for this bias, such as “Choose sets with the best individual items in them.” This heuristic may be adaptive for certain foraging environments in which the best items to acquire are not necessarily those in the greatest abundance (i.e., quantity) but those that have specific characteristics (such as being the largest items, which may correlate with things like ripeness). That such heuristics may be shared across species speaks to the nature of a general cognitive system that balances “shortcuts” for speedier choices against mechanisms that otherwise are excellent at representing quantities accurately.

Figure 3. Example trials presented to chimpanzees in Parrish and Beran (2014b). (A) Equal-sized cups hold eight items (left) and 12 items (right), and chimpanzees were highly proficient at choosing the larger amount. (B) The smaller cup holds more items, making this a very easy discrimination. (C) Cups differ in size, but each holds 15 items. Chimpanzees sometimes showed a preference for the smaller cup, which appears to be more full. (D) The smaller number of items is in the smaller cup, and this condition also sometimes produced errors in chimpanzees. Reprinted from “Chimpanzees Sometimes See Fuller as Better: Judgments of Food Quantities Based on Container Size and Fullness,” by A. E. Parrish and M. J. Beran, 2014, Behavioural Processes, 103, p. 189. Copyright 2014 by Elsevier.

Figure 3. Example trials presented to chimpanzees in Parrish and Beran (2014b). (A) Equal-sized cups hold eight items (left) and 12 items (right), and chimpanzees were highly proficient at choosing the larger amount. (B) The smaller cup holds more items, making this a very easy discrimination. (C) Cups differ in size, but each holds 15 items. Chimpanzees sometimes showed a preference for the smaller cup, which appears to be more full. (D) The smaller number of items is in the smaller cup, and this condition also sometimes produced errors in chimpanzees. Reprinted from “Chimpanzees Sometimes See Fuller as Better: Judgments of Food Quantities Based on Container Size and Fullness,” by A. E. Parrish and M. J. Beran, 2014, Behavioural Processes, 103, p. 189. Copyright 2014 by Elsevier.

Other context effects also are evident across species. Take, for example, the well-known decoy effect, in which one’s preferences among two items shift when a third item is introduced, even though one has no desire to choose the third item. Yet that weaker item, which is dominated in comparison to either of the two other choices, changes how one feels about those two other choices (Huber, Payne, & Puto, 1982). For example, if offered the choice between front-row seats to a concert for $200 or 50th-row seats for $100, you may see both options as equally appealing. However, if you then were offered the choice of 50th-row seats for $150, not only would you reject that choice immediately but you may see the $100 tickets for the 50th row as a better choice than the front-row seats. Decoy effects have been documented in situations where human consumers evaluate products (e.g., Pettibone & Wedell, 2000; Wedell, 1991) and evaluate mate choices (Sedikides, Ariely, & Olsen, 1999). There is also evidence that animals may be affected by decoy stimuli (e.g., honeybees: Shafir, Waite, & Smith, 2002; hummingbirds: Bateson, Healy, & Hurly, 2002; Hurly & Oseen, 1999; starlings: Bateson, 2002; Schuck-Paim, Pompilio, & Kacelnik, 2004; cats: Scarpi, 2011).

For monkeys, such decoy effects occur even for nonedible stimuli in computerized tasks. We presented rhesus monkeys with a size discrimination task (Parrish, Evans, & Beran, 2015b). This approach came from work with humans in which they were asked to judge the size of rectangles in various orientations (Trueblood, Brown, Heathcote, & Busemeyer, 2013). When an asymmetrically dominated decoy was present on a trial, it changed how people responded to the other stimuli. We adapted this test for monkeys by first training them to choose the larger of two rectangles on-screen in terms of area. One rectangle was taller and less wide, and the other was wider and less tall, thereby giving us two dimensions (height and length) that could factor into a global area “value” for that option. Once monkeys were proficient in choosing the larger rectangle, we could introduce our decoy, which was the smallest of the three options on-screen but matched the orientation of one of the other options. When it matched the truly larger rectangle’s orientation, performance improved even more in terms of the monkeys selecting the largest item. When it matched the orientation of the smaller of the other two rectangles, it decreased performance. Thus, although the decoy rarely was selected itself, it changed how the monkeys appeared to perceive the other two options, and in a way that reflected perceptual-processing biases much like those that occur when people are trying to compare options that can vary on nonperceptual factors (such as cost and distance in the example about concert seats).

The response time data in that experiment (Parrish et al., 2015b) also were interesting. When monkeys made a correct choice of the largest rectangle, they did so the fastest when a “helpful” decoy was present (i.e., the decoy matched the orientation of the truly larger of the other two rectangles). However, when the decoy was potentially “hurtful” (i.e., it matched the orientation of the smaller of the other two choices), it took the monkeys longer to make the correct choice, as if they had to expend extra time processing the stimuli more effortfully. When monkeys made errors, they took the longest time to respond when the decoy was actually helpful, perhaps because the decoy was doing its job and drawing attention to the truly largest rectangle, even though the monkeys hesitated and then chose incorrectly. Thus, normally excellent perceptual discrimination skills in monkeys can be disrupted by objectively irrelevant information such as a decoy that is rarely chosen. That decoy illustrates a susceptibility to failure at an otherwise easy task because of contextual information.

The Monty Hall Problem and Misrepresenting Probability

The Monty Hall Problem is one of my favorite examples of how poorly humans understand probability, and how readily we make assumptions that, at face value, feel so accurate that we do not consider whether they might be incorrect. The problem itself was part of the basis for a popular game show called Let’s Make a Deal that first aired in the 1960s and featured host Monty Hall. In the game, you are given three choices of possible locations of a reward, with the two incorrect choices giving you nothing.1 After you choose one of the options, basically randomly because you cannot possibly know where the reward is located, you are then shown one of the unchosen places that does not hold the reward. Then you are asked if you want to keep your first choice or switch to the third choice, before seeing what is under both. The correct decision is to switch, because you double your odds of winning (Selvin, 1975), but few people appreciate why that has to be true (Krauss & Wang, 2003). More often, people will stick with their first choice because they are afraid to find out they were right but then switched (Burns & Wieth, 2004; Gilovich, Medvec, & Chen, 1995), or they will switch (or stay) because they say it no longer matters, and the odds are 50:50 for winning. However, the odds of winning by sticking with the first choice are actually only 33%, whereas the odds of winning by switching are 66%. The first part is a little easier to understand, because of course in choosing at the outset you know you have a 1:3 chance of being right, and then, if you think about it, by not switching you just stick with that 1:3 chance. It is the revelation of an empty (or joke prize) location that confuses people. They do not readily understand that the omnipotent game show host (or whoever is running the game) is forced to inform the contestant indirectly about the winning location two thirds of the time because two thirds of the time the player has picked one of the two empty (or joke prize) locations! Thus, only the other loser location can be shown, and the winning locations is thus the choice to which one can switch.

If you followed that, excellent! If not, even better, because it turns out you are not alone among your species (Friedman, 1998; Granberg, 1999; Granberg & Brown, 1995; Granberg & Dorr, 1998) or even among the primates. We tested rhesus monkeys and humans on the same computerized version of this game and gave them many trials to try to figure out how to maximize their wins (Klein, Evans, Schultz, & Beran, 2013). At first, both species showed indifference when asked whether they wanted to switch. With greater experience and many repeated trials, some humans and some monkeys began to switch more often than they stayed with their first choice, but only one monkey (out of seven) and only three humans (out of 15) switched at or near 100% of the trials by the end of the experiment. Many members of both species remained indifferent (Figure 4).

Figure 4. The percentage of switch choices for each monkey and each human participant tested in Klein et al. (2013). The data are divided into 100-trial blocks for each participant. An asterisk located above or below an individual bar indicates a significant switch or stay bias, respectively. An asterisk located above or below a bracket indicates an experiment-wide significant switch or stay bias, respectively. Reprinted from “Learning How to “Make a Deal”: Human (Homo sapiens) and Monkey (Macaca mulatta) Performance When Repeatedly Faced With the Monty Hall Dilemma,” by E. D. Klein, T. A. Evans, N. B. Schultz, and M. J. Beran, 2013, Journal of Comparative Psychology, 127, p. 106. Copyright 2013 by the American Psychological Association.

Figure 4. The percentage of switch choices for each monkey and each human participant tested in Klein et al. (2013). The data are divided into 100-trial blocks for each participant. An asterisk located above or below an individual bar indicates a significant switch or stay bias, respectively. An asterisk located above or below a bracket indicates an experiment-wide significant switch or stay bias, respectively. Reprinted from “Learning How to “Make a Deal”: Human (Homo sapiens) and Monkey (Macaca mulatta) Performance When Repeatedly Faced With the Monty Hall Dilemma,” by E. D. Klein, T. A. Evans, N. B. Schultz, and M. J. Beran, 2013, Journal of Comparative Psychology, 127, p. 106. Copyright 2013 by the American Psychological Association.

This was an interesting result for us, and suggested another clear commonality across species in terms of seeing failures to earn rewards as a spotlight on how probability estimation works (or, more accurately, fails to work), even with repeated experience. Once again the story was not that simple, if one decided to ask pigeons how they would play the Monty Hall game. It turns out that if you want advice on how to best play the game, ask a pigeon. Herbranson and Schroeder (2010) gave pigeons and humans repeated chances to play the Monty Hall game and found, again, that humans failed to adopt optimal strategies, even with extensive training. But pigeons came to switch on nearly all trials, and thereby achieved nearly optimal levels of reward. Additional tests showed that the failure by humans and the success by pigeons came from different approaches to the repeated testing. Pigeons learned exactly what sequence to repeat across trials by finding the one with the highest reinforcement rate and just repeating that sequence of responses to the stimulus arrangement. Humans, however, continued to vary their responses throughout the experiment in terms of first “door” chosen, and so forth, possibly in an effort to find a strategy that they thought might afford them more wins than was possible using the truly optimal strategy of just switching every trial (Herbranson & Wang, 2014). In other words, humans erroneously thought that there might have been a strategy that led to more wins, in addition to showing the biases that emerge from use of faulty reasoning about probability and other heuristic response strategies (see Herbranson, 2012, for more discussion). This is a case in which monkeys matching humans in task performance highlights the suboptimality of those species compared to a more phylogenetically distant species such as the pigeon. Perhaps this is because of shared cognitive biases that reflect approaches to information processing that are quite different in primates from some other species. It is the fallibility of the primates (human and nonhuman) that is fascinating in relation to the proficiency and seeming mastery of pigeons in this task. Those species differences remind us of the importance of considering evolutionary histories of species as they are reflected in response strategies (Herbranson, 2012), although it is important to note that in other cases, pigeons demonstrate suboptimal choices similar to those seen in humans (e.g., McDevitt, Dunn, Spetch, & Ludvig, 2016; Zentall, 2015). Thus, there is not a clear picture of what factors best predict susceptibility to decisional biases across species.

Dealing With Fallibility: Strategic Delay of Gratification

One of the most striking “failures” repeatedly demonstrated in comparative cognition comes from the reverse-reward contingency task. This task involves presenting animals with two sets of food items and giving them the one they do not choose. Boysen and Berntson (1995) were the first to report that chimpanzees continually failed to learn to point to the smaller amount of food to receive the larger amount, and in fact even struggled to point to smaller amounts of rocks over larger ones to gain the bigger reward (Boysen, Mukobi, & Berntson, 1999), even though they could succeed when symbolic stimuli (Arabic numerals) were used (Boysen, Berntson, Hannan, & Cacioppo, 1996). Chimpanzees are not alone in these failures, as lemurs (Genty, Palmier, & Roeder, 2004; Genty & Roeder, 2007), squirrel monkeys (Anderson, Awazu, & Fujita, 2000), mangabeys (Albiach-Serrano, Guillén-Salazar, & Call, 2007), tamarins (Kralik, Hauser, & Zimlicki, 2002), macaques (Murray, Kralik, & Wise, 2005; Silberberg & Fujita, 1996), and the other great apes (Uher & Call, 2008; Vlamings, Uher, & Call, 2006) also show limited or no success on this task. Although a number of studies carefully look at what is necessary to generate better responding (see Shifferman, 2009, for an overview), the point here is that this task seems to highlight a real difficulty with a form of behavioral inhibition when food items are used. When I first read the early work in this area (and confirmed that the chimpanzees I worked with also struggled with this task), it led me to think about other ways in which primates might show good inhibition, particularly in tasks that required delay of gratification. The goal at first was to see if they could delay gratification, and then to see how nonhuman primates might attempt to deal with their own fallibility in terms of their intertemporal choices.

To do this, we adapted from the developmental literature (e.g., Toner & Smith, 1977) a task now commonly referred to as the accumulation task. Originally, chimpanzees and an orangutan showed that they could wait as food items accumulated, one at a time, within their reach, with the only rule being that more items accumulated as long as the apes did not eat any (Beran, 2002). Subsequent experiments involved fully computerized apparatus controlling the accumulation, to prevent any experimenter cuing (e.g., Beran & Evans, 2006). Chimpanzees had to perform a computer task to accumulate food rewards that they also had to inhibit eating if they wanted to maximize what they could earn for the sessions (Beran & Evans, 2009). We consistently found that chimpanzees waited to accumulate rewards, as do other apes (Parrish et al., 2014; Stevens, Rosati, Heilbronner, & Mühlhoff, 2011).

Monkeys show more variable performances on accumulation tasks and other delay of gratification tasks (e.g., Addessi et al., 2013; Anderson, Kuroshima, & Fujita, 2010; Evans & Beran, 2007b; Evans, Beran, Paglieri, & Addessi, 2012; Pelé, Micheletta, Uhlrich, Thierry, & Dufour, 2011). Showing self-control through delay of gratification also can be incredibly difficult for humans, with failures in the form of overeating, smoking, drug use, and inadequate financial savings all leading to highly negative future outcomes. Yet there are strategies that can lead to improved delay of gratification in humans, including children, such as reducing the visibility of the reward, transforming how one thinks about the reward, or even self-distraction techniques to provide alternate foci for attention (e.g., Mischel, 1974, 1981; Mischel & Baker, 1975; Mischel & Ebbesen, 1970).

Can chimpanzees use any of these strategies? It turns out they can. Evans and Beran (2007a) gave chimpanzees an accumulation test in one of three conditions. In the first, there was simply an accumulating set of reward items they could take at any time (but at the cost of ending any additional accumulation). In the second, the chimpanzees also were given items they could engage with (paper, crayons, magazines, and other toys) while the reward items accumulated. As expected, there was a difference in how long the chimpanzees waited between these two conditions, with longer wait times in the condition with something else to do. This might have been solely due to the necessary distraction that such items provide just through their presence and how they attracted the attention of the chimpanzees. Although this would facilitate better delay of gratification, those conditions alone cannot tell one anything about whether chimpanzees have an awareness of their fallibility in this situation, or whether they might somehow appreciate the conflict they are under when facing preferred rewards that they want to eat but also having the chance to get even more of those rewards, if they can. This is where the third test condition came into play. In that condition, the chimpanzees again had the items to play with during trials, but now the accumulating set was never in reach. Instead, exactly the same number of items was dispensed as on a yoked trial in the condition where toys were present, and the chimpanzees had to inhibit eating the accumulating food rewards. The only difference between these conditions was that one required self-imposed delay of gratification and one condition placed an externally imposed delay on the chimpanzees. If the chimpanzees engaged the toys specifically because they needed a distraction, then toy use should have been more frequent in the self-imposed condition compared to the externally imposed condition. Three of four chimpanzees showed this pattern, reflective of self-distraction—a form of cognitive control that allowed them to deal with an apparent sense of their own fallibility in this task. Whether other species, including other primates, might employ such self-distraction techniques is not known, although there is some suggestive evidence that a grey parrot engaged in self-distraction strategies during a delay of gratification test (Koepke, Gray, & Pepperberg, 2015), and other bird species can succeed in delay of gratification tasks (e.g., Auersperg, Laumer, & Bugnyar, 2013; Hillemann, Bugnyar, Kotrschal, & Wascher, 2014).

This area of research serves as another reminder of why broad assessments across species, and the use of differing methods within species, can change how we think about animal choice behavior. Much of the early research with pigeons and rats indicated that animals showed little or no self-control, often discounting future rewards even on a scale of a few seconds (see Logue, 1988). However, using new tests such as the accumulation task, as well as tasks that make use of food exchanges to obtain delayed, more valuable rewards (e.g., Beran, Rossettie, & Parrish, 2016; Dufour, Pelé, Sterck, & Thierry, 2007; Dufour, Wascher, Braun, Miller, & Bugnyar, 2012; Pelé, Dufour, Micheletta, & Thierry, 2010), or tasks that require animals to move farther to obtain better rewards (e.g., Stevens, Hallinan, & Hauser, 2005), or tasks that substitute tokens for food rewards (e.g., Jackson & Hackenberg, 1996; Judge & Essler, 2013), indicate that animals sometimes do show self-control and can delay gratification. In addition, varying aspects of experimental design shows that some species that normally are impulsive will make use of opportunities to force themselves to choose the later reward (Ainslie, 1974; Grosch & Neuringer, 1981; Rachlin & Green, 1972). Species differences also emerge on the same task and can be accounted for by differences in ecology (e.g., Stevens et al., 2005). For some species such as chimpanzees, there are tasks that require certain forms of inhibition that they seem to lack, such as pointing at less food to obtain more food (Boysen & Berntson, 1995), whereas in other tasks, such as the accumulation task, they perform very well (Beran, James, Whitham, & Parrish, 2016). Thus, as is true with humans, there does not appear to be a single “self-control” ability in other animals, but rather a range of performances from very impulsive to highly self-controlled. This highlights the value of continued comparative research to study the success and fallibility of self-control in delay of gratification tasks and intertemporal choice tasks.

Dealing With Fallibility: Information-Seeking Responses

Metacognition often is referred to as thinking about thinking (Flavell, 1979; Metcalfe & Shimamura, 1994; Nelson, 1992), and its utility, in large part, comes from how it allows organisms to recognize their own cognitive strengths and weaknesses in terms of perception, memory, knowledge, and problem-solving ability. Humans use metacognition when they decide if they know enough to act, or are at risk for error, and then adapt their behavior accordingly. When the risk of error is deemed too high, they hesitate, ask questions, seek information, or wait for clarification. Here, again, there is evidence that other animals may do this also.

There are a wide range of tasks given to animals to assess their metacognitive abilities, and this area of research remains contentious with regard to how best to interpret the data that result from those tasks (e.g., Carruthers, 2008; Crystal, 2014; Crystal & Foote, 2009, 2011; Hampton, 2009; Jozefowiez, Staddon, & Cerutti, 2009; Kornell, 2009, 2014; Le Pelley, 2012; Smith, 2009; Smith, Beran, Couchman, & Coutinho, 2008; Smith, Couchman, & Beran, 2012). A special section of one issue of Comparative Cognition and Behavioral Reviews (2009, Volume 4) highlights these debates and the great interest in the question of animal metacognition. My goal here is not to rehash those debates but instead to suggest that some of the tasks that have been developed do provide a window into how and when nonhuman primates attempt to overcome their fallibility by seeking needed information.

Call and Carpenter (2001) introduced the information-seeking task to the field using a simple but compelling approach. Chimpanzees, orangutans, and children either saw rewards being hidden in one location within an array or did not, and then they either could look for those items or just reach for them. The idea was that if they saw the item, and therefore knew where it was, there was no need to look first. But if they had not, then they needed to look. This was the pattern that was observed. Later, it was reported that rhesus monkeys showed a similar response pattern (Hampton, Zivin, & Murray, 2004). Criticisms emerged regarding how best to interpret why the animals differentially responded to these two objectively different conditions (seeing the item hidden or not), and whether metacognition had to underlie such performance (e.g., Carruthers, 2008; Crystal & Foote, 2011). From these critiques came new empirical efforts, showing more flexible response patterns by great apes across varied conditions that increased or decreased the effort needed to obtain information and other manipulations. Call (2010) presented all four great ape species with the information-seeking task and manipulated the degree of visual access the apes had to the baiting, as well as the effort required to look for baited items. He also manipulated the time between baiting and when the apes could make a choice, and he manipulated food quality. These apes performed well in choosing the correct location when they saw the baiting, and they looked for information more often when they had not seen the baiting. They were more likely to look before choosing after a longer delay between baiting and when they could choose. However, when they were given auditory information (when experimenters shook the opaque tubes) that could inform them as to where the reward was hidden, they relied less on looking into the tubes before choosing. This suggests a type of inference that replaced the need for visual information. Increasing the cost of checking also reduced that behavior before choosing. H. L. Marsh and MacDonald (2012a) also showed that orangutans could make inferences that replaced the need to look for more information, highlighting that something like a generalized search strategy (a nonmetacognitive account) was not responsible for choice by those orangutans. H. L. Marsh and MacDonald (2012b) gave orangutans a variety of tests like those used by Call; they reported that the orangutans would more often search for information when it was easy to do so rather than hard. They also searched more often for information when the odds of making an error were greatest and when the reward amount was greater. In all of these studies, the apes’ behavior suggests that information-seeking behaviors are flexible and spontaneously employed, as is true for humans.

Our contribution took a slightly different form, largely because we had the opportunity to ask our chimpanzees what they knew (or not) about the identity of items rather than the location. Language-trained chimpanzees can name what they see or remember (e.g., C. R. Menzel, 1999), and this allows us to present a new version of the information-seeking task (Beran, Smith, & Perdue, 2015). Our chimpanzees always knew where food was located, but it was consistently in an opaque container. Sometimes they knew what the food was because we showed them before we moved the container, but other times they did not. They had to name the item correctly in order to receive it, and so in our task, seeing an item allowed the chimpanzees to name it more immediately but not seeing it would require going to look into the container first before trying to name it (and this added time and effort to the trial). The chimpanzees were significantly more likely to look into the container first before naming when they had not seen the item being placed in the container than when they had (Figure 5).

Figure 5. Chimpanzee information-seeking results from Beran et al. (2013). In this experiment, each chimpanzee completed 10 trials where they already saw food in the container that was moved to the naming area (known condition) and 10 trials where they saw food, but in the container that was not moved (unknown condition). In the latter case, the container that was in the naming area had unknown contents, and thus the chimpanzees should have been more likely to look into that container before trying to name anything. Reprinted from “Chimpanzee Cognitive Control,” by M. J. Beran, 2015, Current Directions in Psychological Science, 24, p. 355. Copyright by M. J. Beran. The data shown in the figure originally were reported in “Language-Trained Chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes) Name What They Have Seen, but Look First at What They Have Not Seen,” by M. J. Beran, J. D. Smith, and B. M. Perdue, 2013, Psychological Science, 24, p. 664. Copyright 2013 by the Association for Psychological Science.

Figure 5. Chimpanzee information-seeking results from Beran et al. (2013). In this experiment, each chimpanzee completed 10 trials where they already saw food in the container that was moved to the naming area (known condition) and 10 trials where they saw food, but in the container that was not moved (unknown condition). In the latter case, the container that was in the naming area had unknown contents, and thus the chimpanzees should have been more likely to look into that container before trying to name anything. Reprinted from “Chimpanzee Cognitive Control,” by M. J. Beran, 2015, Current Directions in Psychological Science, 24, p. 355. Copyright by M. J. Beran. The data shown in the figure originally were reported in “Language-Trained Chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes) Name What They Have Seen, but Look First at What They Have Not Seen,” by M. J. Beran, J. D. Smith, and B. M. Perdue, 2013, Psychological Science, 24, p. 664. Copyright 2013 by the Association for Psychological Science.

These results helped address some of the nonmetacognitive accounts for earlier tests, but these results also faced another possible nonmetacognitive interpretation. Perhaps the chimpanzees learned to name what they saw, and if they saw nothing, to name nothing. Such a strategy would be effective but would not require attending to one’s own knowledge state. To see if this strategy was at work, we modified the task. Now chimpanzees always saw a food item in one of two containers, but the contents of the second container remained unknown. Then, one of the two containers was moved to the area where the chimpanzees could name or could look into the container to see what was inside. In this case, there was always a food to be named but only half of the trials involved that food being the one that should be named. When the chimpanzees saw the container with the known food item being moved to the area where they could name it, they named it directly. When the other container, with the unknown item, was the one they were questioned about, they were more likely to first look inside before naming anything.

These patterns suggest that the chimpanzees monitored their knowledge states. When they could name items, they did, and when they could not, they recognized in some way this inability and remedied it by seeking more information. Of course, we do not know how this felt to the chimpanzees as they did it, and whether they had any metarepresentational awareness of themselves in these states of ignorance or knowledge. These results, now with various apes in different information-seeking tasks (Call, 2010; Call & Carpenter, 2001; H. L. Marsh & MacDonald, 2012a, 2012b), suggest that, as with the delay of gratification situations, great apes can deal with fallibility adaptively, and in ways that appear controlled and strategic in the sense that information is gathered, resources are used effectively, and goals are accomplished in the face of competing response strengths such as taking accumulating items early or naming whatever one has seen.

Great apes are not the only species that seek information. Rhesus monkeys, given a variation of the Call and Carpenter (2001) paradigm, also looked into tubes more often when they did not view the baiting of those tubes (Hampton et al., 2004). Interesting to note, capuchin monkey did not perform well with this task (Basile, Hampton, Suomi, & Murray, 2009), and this result matched later research using psychophysical discrimination tasks that also showed a lack of uncertainty monitoring in capuchin monkeys relative to rhesus monkeys (Beran, Smith, Coutinho, Couchman, & Boomer, 2009). This apparent species difference in metacognition may reflect a difference in risk sensitivity between these species (Beran, Perdue, & Smith, 2014), although more work is needed on this question. It is clear that some species, in some circumstances, reflect on what they do or do not know, and can control information-seeking responses in a way that allows them to avoid making errors.

Conclusions

Comparative approaches to studying cognition offer important insights that allow us to more fully appreciate human cognition. The study of other animals and how they interact with their environments, process information, and generate responses provides us with a psychological account of how minds work—not just human minds, but all minds. In addition, a comparative approach gives us a context in which to view human behavior and cognition, and that context takes into account the evolutionary history, ecology, and experiences of organisms. Often, we find commonalities across species that are useful for thinking about how and why we think and act the way that we do. In many cases, this happens when we learn that other animals are capable of modes of thinking that might otherwise be considered uniquely human. In other cases, some impressive aspects of human cognition remain at least partially distinct from the cognition of other species, or perhaps manifest to a degree as yet unseen in other species. In those cases, differences are relevant.

Not all that humans do is impressive, productive, and successful with regard to cognitive processing of information from the environment. Misperceptions, biases, and fallacies produce bad decisions in our species, and comparative approaches are valuable here too. I have discussed some cases where we share fallibilities with other species, and in at least one case (the Monty Hall Problem), I have shown that we suffer where another species may thrive on a certain kind of problem. There are many other similar cases to that one, and those comparisons are important too, especially if one views cognitive processes less from the perspective of seeing those processes as leading only to “intelligent” decisions but instead also seeing cognitive processes as being susceptible to errors, biases, and flawed decision making.

Much of what I presented in this article was focused on nonhuman primates, and often the focus in these areas of research is on chimpanzees, the closest living relatives of humans. Although this is a great starting point, our comparative investigations need to be more comparative (e.g., Beran, Parrish, et al., 2014; Burghardt, 2013; Wasserman, 1997). In some cases, data from other species are being collected, but in many instances we have yet to even begin to fill in a “phylogenetic” map regarding perceptual illusions, cognitive biases, and the use of heuristics. We need to determine whether other animals fall prey to illusions such as the Delboeuf illusion and other perceptual illusions. Regarding decisional biases, we need to expand how many species are tested. For example, although primates and pigeons vary in their ability to master the Monty Hall Problem, we know nothing about whether rats, corvids, marine mammals, dogs, or other species would perform more like pigeons or primates. It would be exciting, as another example, to present more species with the Solitaire illusion, largely because that illusion seems to occur so strongly in humans but only fleetingly in other species. The stimuli are readily accessible to any species that relies on vision, and there are many ways one could see how animals perceive those arrays. We also need to examine other forms of biases such as anchoring effects on choice behavior. Although recent years have shown increased testing of nonprimate species on metacognition tasks (Adams & Santi, 2011; Castro & Wasserman, 2013; Foote & Crystal, 2012; Roberts et al., 2008; Smith et al., 1995; Sutton & Shettleworth, 2008), more work is needed to understand how and when animals might monitor and control their perceptions, memories, and decisions. In some areas, broad species assessments have been made. For example, tests of inhibition presented across many species have been informative (MacLean et al., 2014), and excellent approaches have been offered to examine evolutionary pressures that may impact things such as intertemporal choices (e.g., in primates: Stevens, 2014). It would be fairly easy to test more species using a task such as the accumulation test, to look at self-control and delay of gratification across a wide variety of species, and some of this work has begun (e.g., Koepke et al., 2015; Vick, Bovet, & Anderson, 2010).

Although data from nonhuman primates remain essential in comparative cognitive science, the best way to understand human cognition and its evolution requires a wider lens. To understand what makes humans unique requires understanding what other species can do. This is true for accurate perceptual experiences and successful decision making, but also for failures. As a field, we continue to develop methods that can be used with many species and that can highlight aspects of cognitive evolution (see MacLean et al., 2012). From that perspective, we should try to understand how other animals not only apply successful cognitive processes to problems but also unsuccessful cognition to problems that generate errors. Flawed and error-prone animal minds are valuable in understanding flawed and error-prone human minds and in understanding the utility of cognitive processes not only for their successes but also for their occasional failures.

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1 Or, in the case of the classic television game, you might “win” something like a goat rather than the sports car you presumably had hoped to win. I always wondered how many contestants who “won” the goat (and there were a lot!) actually wanted to take it home. I would have. I bet many of you would too, given how little we know about goat cognition (but see Baciadonna, McElligott, & Briefer, 2013; Briefer, Haque, Baciadonna, & McElligott, 2014; Nawroth, Brett, & McElligott, 2016; Nawroth, Prentice, & McElligott, 2016), and how nice it would be to have some help with the yard work.

Volume 12: pp. 45–56

ccbr_04-cook_v12-openerMusic Perception in a Comparative Context: Relational Chord Perception by Pigeons

Robert G. Cook
Tufts University

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Abstract

Evidence of human creativity and artistic expression goes back more than 40,000 years. Understanding the evolutionary precursors of these human cognitive capacities has increasingly focused on comparative investigations testing animals. Here we review new evidence about triadic chord perception in pigeons to evaluate their auditory and cognitive mechanisms for potentially experiencing musical-like sequences. Pigeons add an important perspective to comparative investigations because they are a nonsongbird with an unlearned vocal repertoire. Using observations collected using a relational same/different discrimination, pigeons showed a capacity to discriminate five chord types. The relative similarity perceived among the chords was similar to that previously found in humans. Further analyses of this discrimination suggest pigeons may possibly process the individual tones that compose the larger harmonic structure of the chords. The results reveal that pigeons can discriminate, remember, and compare sequential harmonic structures over several seconds. Despite these auditory capabilities, doubts are raised as to the ultimate “musicality” of these kinds of discriminations in this particular bird species.

Keywords: auditory perception, auditory discrimination, pigeons, chord perception, music

Author Note: Robert Cook, Department of Psychology, Tufts University, 490 Boston Avenue, Medford, MA 02155.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Robert Cook at Robert.Cook@tufts.edu.

Acknowledgments: This research and its preparation was supported by a grant from the National Eye Institute (#RO1EY022655). I express my appreciation for the contributions of Emily McDowell, Ryan Oliveira, Matthew Murphy, Daniel Brooks, and M.A.J. Qadri to various parts of this research effort. Home page: www.pigeon.psy.tufts.edu.


Evidence of human artistic and creative expression stretches back more than 40,000 years (Morriss-Kay, 2010). Over this period, a number of recognizable expressions of art and aesthetics have been found, stemming from the imagination and technical skills of the human ancestors producing it. This expression is easily visible in the plentiful sculptures and cave paintings left by our predecessors. Whatever their motivations for creating these “art”-ifacts at the time, the cognitive activity underlying their design, and the likely emotional resonance they may have generated, are hard to deny.

Slightly more perplexing to interpret are the historical remnants of the different instruments presumably used to generate musical sounds (Conard, Malina, & Münzel, 2009; Sachs, 2012). The ephemeral and momentary nature of sound and music makes for a particular challenge to understanding the meaning and function of such instruments and their contributions to creating sounds. Given the universal nature of music in modern human culture, it is easy and natural to presume that our ancestors were engaged in this activity. How the different artifacts identified as musical instruments were used to produce specific sounds and their relationship to the forms of music we understand today remains elusive. A wide variety of approaches, ranging from archaeology to psychology, have been brought to bear toward understanding the origins and manipulation of sound and its musical impact within the human experience (Wallin, Merker, & Brown, 2000).

Because understanding the evolution and development of musicality is a central part of these issues, comparative approaches examining different animals make valuable contributions to answering such questions (Fitch, 2006; Hauser & McDermott, 2003; Hoeschele, Cook, Guillette, Brooks, & Sturdy, 2012; Hoeschele, Merchant, Kikuchi, Hattori, & ten Cate, 2015; Marler, 2000). Musicality attempts to identify the basic cognitive, biological, developmental mechanisms that contribute to more formal activities like music (Honing, ten Cate, Peretz, & Trehub, 2015). This is a useful distinction; it is unlikely that music emerged in our hominid ancestors fully formed and invites a more comparative approach looking at such capacities in nonhuman animals. By understanding the cognitive and biological precursors of musicality that might exist in different classes of animals that are similar and dissimilar to humans, it should contribute insights as to how music, language, and cognition arose within our hominid lineage.

The ubiquitous nature of bird vocalizations has always made this group of animals particularly attractive for such comparisons. The complexity of these vocalizations and their activation of our internal appreciation of tonality and musicality has even resulted in calling them “songs.” Although these vocalizations serve clear mating and territorial functions and are not as open-ended as true human music or language, the fact that many birdsongs are learned and modified after birth in many species makes understanding how birds process complex sequences of sounds a compelling area of investigation (Bolhuis, 2013). For example, Patel’s recent hypothesis regarding the relationship between music perception, beat induction, and vocal learning is one of several ideas that has put bird vocalizations in the theoretical spotlight (Patel, 2008). He suggested that vocal learning is fundamental to the ability to understand and process beat-based rhythms from complex sound sequences. His reasoning is that this type of musical entrainment may rely on the same tight linkage between the auditory and motor circuits used in vocal learning. One implication of this vocal learning in rhythmic synchronization hypothesis is that animals that do or do not learn their vocalizations may differ in their capacity to process auditory sequences with a musical-like entrainment (Hagmann & Cook, 2010; Patel, 2014; Patel, Iversen, Bregman, & Schulz, 2009; Schachner, Brady, Pepperberg, & Hauser, 2009).

One portion of the research in my laboratory has focused on testing auditory processing in pigeons. Some of these investigations have included auditory stimuli that involve music-derived elements (Brooks & Cook, 2010; Hagmann & Cook, 2010). Because of the proposed impact of vocal learning on auditory perception and potentially understanding music, we have focused on pigeons precisely because they do not learn their limited number of vocalizations (Baptista & Abs, 1983). By looking in detail at the auditory behavior and cognition of a nonvocal learning bird species, like a pigeon, and comparing its abilities to those species that do learn their vocalizations, we can gain further insight into what aspects of sound and music are critically tied to experience, vocal learning, and the cognitive and neural mechanisms underlying auditory processing.

What is currently known about auditory and musical processing in this common bird species? It has been known for some time, for example, that pigeons can discriminate among musical compositions created by different composers. Porter and Neuringer (1984) found that pigeons could be eventually trained to discriminate extended pieces of music by Bach from those composed by Stravinsky. This discrimination seemed independent of note sequence and overall intensity. Following this training, the pigeons also categorized novel excerpts of music along lines that matched human judgments of the same excerpts. Given the considerable differences in musical style, instrumentation, and other distinctive elements of these composers and the specific musical compositions tested, the actual musicality of the pigeons’ discrimination is difficult to interpret. Nonetheless, this intriguing finding provides a foundation for exploring this general topic in more detail.

The complexity of music is one of its creative wonders but simultaneously its greatest challenge to experimental analysis. Rather than attempt to investigate the discrimination of music in its totality, we have concentrated instead on looking analytically at several separate and essential components or building blocks of music. Broadly, these components examine the processing of rhythm, harmony, and melody within extended auditory sequences. By examining each of these domains in relative isolation, we can better identify those features or components of auditory and musical-like processing that pigeons may or may not share with humans and other animals (Brown & Jordania, 2013; Honing & Ploeger, 2012). When these domains are then collectively examined together, the results should help clarify how top-down cognitive and bottom-up auditory mechanisms interact to produce the acoustic experience of this avian species and any potential musicality it may or may not possess. Within this larger framework, the present article focuses on discussing new information related to the relational processing of harmonic structure by pigeons. Specifically, this article examines how concurrent tones that fit the human notion of musical triads or chords are processed by these birds.

The vast majority of Western musical conventions’ basic structure centers around the notion of chords and their relations. Chords are created by the simultaneous sounding of multiple notes (arpeggios being “broken” chords in which the notes are played in succession). The major triad is a chord built from three notes. These notes consist of the first, third, and fifth notes of the diatonic musical scale. It is the composition of the intervals between these notes that gives this musical structure its distinctive and stable musical structure that can be recognized across different tonal centers or keys. Major chords are often recognized as stable anchors in a piece of music and generally associated with melodic and emotionally happy motifs. Other types of chords can be created from this basic structure by altering different notes by a half step or a semitone. A minor chord can be created by lowering its third by a semitone relative to the major chord. This type of chord is often associated with sadder emotional states. A suspended fourth or sus4 chord can be created by raising the third by a semitone. A flat five chord can be created by lowering the fifth by a semitone, whereas an augmented chord can be created by raising the fifth by a semitone. The major, minor, sus4, and augmented chords regularly appear in different types and genres of music, whereas the flat five chord is typically played in musical contexts by also including the seventh to create to a minor seventh flat five chord. Humans can easily hear and respond to the distinctive qualities of these harmonic structure. The notes of these five chord types are depicted in Figure 1 using standard musical notation (audio examples of these five chords are also included).

Figure 1. The five chord types tested previously by Brooks and Cooks and tested here using a same/different discrimination. This musical notation captures the alterations in the third and fifth notes of the diatonic scale that create these triadic harmonic structures. In the current observations, the root note of each chord varied over four values and were additionally transposed over three octaves.

Figure 1. The five chord types tested previously by Brooks and Cooks and tested here using a same/different discrimination. This musical notation captures the alterations in the third and fifth notes of the diatonic scale that create these triadic harmonic structures. In the current observations, the root note of each chord varied over four values and were additionally transposed over three octaves.

Our original question was whether pigeons could do so also. Brooks and Cook (2010) found that pigeons, like humans, could learn to discriminate among these different types of musical triads. Using a go/no-go discrimination task, the pigeons received food during trials when a C-major chord was being played from two speakers located in the testing chamber’s right and left walls by pecking at a centrally located purple square on a frontally placed computer monitor. This major chord was the S+ stimulus in this study, and pecking during it was compared to the four other described chord types and that were played as negative S– stimuli on other trials. On those S– trials, the pigeons received no food for pecking during the presentation of a minor, sus4, augmented or flat five chord. All of these chords were created in the key or tonal center of C.

They found in their first experiment that the majority of pigeons could learn to discriminate among these chords. All four S– chords elicited significantly fewer pecks in comparison to the rewarded S+ major chord in three of the five pigeons tested. Further, manipulations of the fifth as expressed in the flat5 and augmented chords supported better discrimination than did the comparable manipulations of the third in the minor and sus4 chords. As measured by the differences in peck rate during their presentations, the augmented chord was seemingly perceived as being the most dissimilar from the major chord, whereas sus4 chord was perceived to be the most similar. These outcomes generally align to the similarity judgments of humans comparing such chords (Hoeschele et al., 2012; Roberts, 1986). The results were also consistent with the possibility that the pigeons were sensitive to the consonance and dissonance of the chords, as sus4 and minor chords are typically judged to be more consonant or smoother sounding than the other two types of chords, which are perceived as having a rougher or clashing quality.

These pigeons were then shifted to a new root or tonal center based on a D diatonic scale and tested with these chords. By shifting the chords to a new root, the relative interval structure of the chords remains constant, but the absolute frequencies involved are changed. In this second experiment, they generally performed more poorly than the first. They showed little immediate transfer from the previous C-rooted training despite the same harmonic relations present in these D-rooted chords. With additional training, the pigeons did eventually learn to discriminate at above-chance levels, but the learning process was clearly difficult and not robust, with most of the learning occurring primarily with the chords containing manipulated fifths.

Unlike the pigeons, humans readily show transfer in such shifted situations (Hoeschele et al., 2012). This ease results from our sensitivity to relative, but not absolute, pitch. This allows us to be flexible and hear transpositions of music across different musical keys (Dowling & Fujitani, 1971). Hoeschele et al. (2012) also found that chickadees more readily learn this type of root shift than did the pigeons. Overall, it seems that pigeons were not as flexible in recognizing this type of harmonic information across these different pitch contexts. One distinct possibility is that pigeons may rely on attending to more of the absolute pitch properties of these complex auditory stimuli to discriminate them (Murphy & Cook, 2008). If so, this would limit any capacity to relationally shift or modulate to a new root or other values (e.g., Friedrich, Zentall, & Weisman, 2007; Hulse & Cynx, 1985; Weisman, Njegovan, Williams, Cohen, & Sturdy, 2004). In this special issue, Hoeschele nicely reviews the evidence on how birds use both relative and absolute pitch information in learning a variety of discriminations.

With visual stimuli, several factors seem to influence whether pigeons use absolute and relational features in learning discriminations (Cook, Levison, Gillett, & Blaisdell, 2005; Cook & Smith, 2006; Cook & Wasserman, 2006). When given a few exemplars or highly repetitive training, pigeons in visual tasks are readily able to memorize the absolute properties of stimuli (Cook et al., 2005). Stimulus control of this type is reflected in poor transfer or generalization when tested with novel stimuli. In contrast, when consistently challenged by larger sets of exemplars, pigeons are able to abstract also the relational properties of visual stimuli by exhibiting excellent transfer to novel stimuli (e.g., Katz & Wright, 2006). Thus, the nature of training is one important influence on what birds learn in visual discriminations. By extension, these same factors likely influence the relative use of relational and absolute factors in auditory discriminations (Cook & Brooks, 2009; Murphy & Cook, 2008).

Within the auditory modality, one good example of relational discrimination learning by pigeons involves their behavior in a sequential same/different (S/D) discrimination. Cook and Brooks (2009) found that pigeons could be readily trained to discriminate among same and different sequences of sounds. Using large sets of tonal (e.g., single notes from different instruments) and complex stimuli (e.g., recorded bird songs), pigeons discriminated sequences where a randomly selected sound was repeated 12 times in succession (a same trial) from sequences that consisted of 12 different sounds sequentially presented (a different trial). Using a go/no-go discrimination, the pigeons were rewarded for pecking during trials with different sequences (S+) being played but not during same sequences (S–). Finally, in this procedure, a small fraction of different trials were programmed not to be rewarded. These probe trials allowed peck rates to be measured without the contamination of eating from the food hopper or being signaled by the hopper (all discrimination results presented subsequently are derived exclusively from such probe trials).

In the S/D procedure, the pigeons learned to differentially peck during these two sequence types and exhibit good transfer of this learning to sequences composed of novel auditory stimuli of different types. This successful transfer indicates a discrimination learned by comparing the same and different auditory relations of successive sounds. This flexibility created opportunities to explore not only same/different learning but also how animals process different types of auditory stimuli (cf. Cook, Qadri, & Oliveira, 2016; Dooling, Brown, Klump, & Okanoya, 1992; Dooling, Brown, Park, & Okanoya, 1990; Dooling, Brown, Park, Okanoya, & Soli, 1987). The latter emphasis was used here to further explore how pigeons process harmonic information in chords.

A Relational Same/Different Approach to Chord Discrimination

Here, the S/D discrimination approach is used to examine several questions opened up by Brooks and Cook’s aforementioned research on pigeon chord perception. One of the more important of these questions concerned whether the pigeons could discriminate chords based on the relational structure of the intervals composing a triad. The limited transfer found when their birds were shifted from C- to D-rooted chords suggests that absolute factors may have been importantly involved in learning the discrimination. To examine the issue properly, it is necessary to test chord perception relationally by changing the tonal center or absolute pitch information within a session. This was not the case in Brooks and Cook’s experiments, where only one tonal center was tested at a time. By having unpredictable tonal centers, the pigeons are required to process the interval relations within the chords rather than relying on absolute properties, as might have been encouraged by Brooks and Cook’s (2010) use of a single tonal center and limited number of stimuli.

A second and related question was tied to revealing more about the perceived similarity structure among chords. Brooks and Cook’s (2010) procedure revealed similarity relations only relative to the major chord. It would be valuable to know how each of the different chords is perceived relative to one another. For instance, Dooling has used multidimensional scaling procedures to fruitfully investigate the similarity relations of a variety of sounds primarily in budgerigars (e.g., Dooling et al., 1992; Dooling et al., 1990).

Finally, we wanted to examine if pigeons could use short-term memory to make sequential comparisons of different chords across time. Given their design, Brooks and Cook’s (2010) pigeons heard only one chord type on each trial. Thus, their discrimination of the chords must have involved using a reference memory comparison of the currently presented chord against a long-term representation of the S+ major chord. The more immediate juxtaposition of the chords possible with the S/D approach might potentially reveal new or different aspects of the processing of these stimuli not allowed by their isolated presentation. Further, musical structures rely on this ability to remember and compare sounds over time to create rhythm, melody, and expectations. Because of its procedural flexibility and analytical tractability, the S/D task is well suited for exploring such theoretical questions.

Accordingly, we introduced and tested musical triads with four experienced pigeons already quite familiar with this type of auditory S/D task. This experience involved tests with a wide variety of simple and complex auditory stimuli. At the point where we introduced the chord stimuli, the pigeons were being tested daily with S/D trials composed from a library of 540 tonal stimuli and 72 complex sounds (26 bird sounds and 46 man-made and nonavian animal sounds). The tonal stimuli were generated from 14 musical instrument timbres and pure tones playing single notes over a range of three chromatic octaves. Some discussion and analysis of the processing of these types of sounds by the pigeons can be found in Cook et al. (2016).

At the start of these observations, these “baseline” sounds were being presented each session in different and same trials consisting of sequences of twelve 1.5-s presentations of the individual sounds. On the same trials, one randomly selected sound was repeated 12 times in succession within a trial (e.g., AAAA . . .). On the different trials, 12 randomly selected different sounds of a particular type were played once to form the 12-item sound sequence (e.g., ABCD . . .). Each 1.5-s presentation was separated by a 50-ms interstimulus interval of silence. The different trials were further composed from category-like groupings of the sounds. Thus, a different trial might consist of just tonal sounds or birdsongs, but not a mixture of the two. These acoustic groupings comprised (a) pitch differences over three octaves involving a randomly selected musical instrument timbre (labeled pitch trials), (b) different musical timbres played using the same note (timbre trials), (c) pure tones (pure tone trials), (d) birdsongs (birdsong trials) and (e) nonbirdsong complex sounds (complex sound trials). Comparisons of these five classes of different trials were made only to same sequences from the same class of auditory stimuli. Audio examples of typical same and different trials using stimuli from the bird song set of sounds are included.

All four pigeons were performing well with each of these different classes of acoustic stimuli at the beginning of these observations. Figure 2 shows baseline S/D results during the initial phase of the experiment. The pattern displayed is typical of the dynamics of within-trial discriminations observed in this type of go/no go task across both auditory and visual modalities (Cook, Kelly, & Katz, 2003; Cook & Roberts, 2007; Koban & Cook, 2009; Qadri, Sayde, & Cook, 2014). The figure shows the mean number of pecks across the serial position of the 12 sound presentations composing each trial. Because the different trials were rewarded on a variable interval schedule, peck rates during these S+ sequences are high from the beginning to the end of each trial as measured again from probe trials. Because the S– same trials were never rewarded, the number of pecks systematically decline with each repetition of the sound in a sequence. The large difference in peck rates by the end of each trial type represents clear evidence of an S/D discrimination. We have found that pigeons can reliably discriminate a wide variety of sounds in this procedure and measurably begin to do so by the third or fourth sound presentation of a sequence. Although not shown, the pattern of discrimination in this figure reflects how the pigeons do with each of the classes of auditory stimuli previously mentioned (Cook et al., 2016).

Figure 2. Baseline same/different discrimination results for all four birds in these observations. Shown are the mean number of pecks across the 12 individual sounds presented sequentially on each trial. All-different (ABCD . . .) and alternating conditions (ABAB . . .) were S+ sequences, whereas the same condition (AAAA . . .) was an S– sequence. The individual sounds on each trial were drawn from a large pool of sounds (see text for more details). The higher rates of pecking in the all-different and alternating conditions in comparison to the same condition are indicative the pigeons’ capacity to make auditory same/different discrimination.

Figure 2. Baseline same/different discrimination results for all four birds in these observations. Shown are the mean number of pecks across the 12 individual sounds presented sequentially on each trial. All-different (ABCD . . .) and alternating conditions (ABAB . . .) were S+ sequences, whereas the same condition (AAAA . . .) was an S– sequence. The individual sounds on each trial were drawn from a large pool of sounds (see text for more details). The higher rates of pecking in the all-different and alternating conditions in comparison to the same condition are indicative the pigeons’ capacity to make auditory same/different discrimination.

Figure 2 also shows behavior during a second type of different trial programmed to occur within a session, but with less frequency. These consisted of different sequence trials composed of only two sounds that alternated over the course of a trial (e.g., ABAB . . .). Because only two sounds are involved, these alternation trials allowed for a more precise determination of the features controlling the detection of their differences. We have found that such alternating trials consistently produce lower rates of responding within a trial than do all-different trials containing 12 different sounds. There are at least two possible reasons for that result. The first possibility is that two items are simply more difficult for the birds to discriminate than 12 different items. This might be related to their difference in acoustic entropy, for example (Wasserman, Young, & Nolan, 2000; Young & Wasserman, 2001; Young, Wasserman, Hilfers, & Dalrymple, 1999). A second possibility is that with each presentation within a trial, alternating trials also begin to have a larger two-item repeating pattern which the pigeons may interpret as “sameness.” Given their previous S– training with repeated sameness, this would correspondingly reduce their pecking similar to a single-item same trial. We do not know which of these reasons is responsible for the slightly reduced peck rate on such trials at the moment. That said, the analytic value of such alternation trials remains unchanged because of their precisely binary nature.

Prior to testing for the relational effects of chord structure, we thought it would be valuable for the pigeons to have a working familiarity with these new sounds, but without necessarily engaging in explicit training to discriminate them. To do so, we introduced the five chord types tested by Brooks and Cook into the pigeon’s daily training for an initial period of 18 sessions (the period for the baseline S/D results shown in Figure 2). The chords consisted of the major, minor, suspended fourth, augmented, and flat five triads made using a French horn timbre. Unlike long 20-s chord durations in Brooks and Cook’s procedure, the individual duration of each of the 12 chord presentation was only 1.5 s, matching the baseline stimuli duration. Finally, instead of using just one root note, four root notes were used (C, C#, D, D#), and these were tested across the three octaves with which the pigeons were already familiar from their tonal trials (i.e., pitch-only and timbre-only trials). As a result, a set of 60 chord/root combinations were available.

These chord stimuli were then used to compose different and same trials that were mixed into the ongoing baseline S/D trials. The different trials with chords consisted of a randomized mixture of 12 different chord stimuli as picked randomly from the 60 available stimuli. Thus, these trials consisted of random mixtures of the five chord types with different root notes over three octaves (e.g., D3-augmented, C5-major, D#4-sus4, . . .). Because of their prior experience with discriminating pitch in the baseline sequences, we thought that any discrimination on such trials was likely mediated by their considerable changes in pitch between stimuli rather than the unfamiliar chord structure within each sound. The same trials consisted of 12 repetitions of a chord type at one of the randomly selected 12 root values. The structure of these initial sessions consisted of 12 chord trials randomly intermixed with the ongoing baseline values of 12 bird song, 12 pure tone, 12 pitch, 12 complex sound, and 12 timbre trials. Each of these subgroups further consisted of six different and six same trials, with two of the six different trials being conducted as probe trials.

Overall, the four pigeons showed significant transfer to these chord-based S/D sequences, showing a within-trial pattern of discrimination highly similar to the baseline stimuli over these 18 sessions (not shown in Figure 2). Although the chords were being discriminated in one sense, it was not possible to determine how the trials were being discriminated given the redundant nature of these stimuli and the design of the different trials (variable root and variable chord type). The next phase of the experiment was aimed specifically at examining if just the structural properties of the chords could be discriminated in this relational S/D context.

For this, we introduced alternating AB probe tests using pairwise combinations of the five chord types. To eliminate the large within-sequence pitch differences in chord root note that were previously available, each test pair used the same root note, so only differences in chord structure were present (although the semitone pitch differences remained to define each chord type). This root note was randomly selected across trials to continue ensuring relational processing. These test sessions were conducted in four blocks of five sessions each, with a number of baseline sessions conducted between each one. Within a block, each test session tested a different chord type in combination with every other chord type (e.g., augmented vs. minor, augmented vs. major, etc.). As a result, all the pairwise combinations of the five chord types were presented twice within a block.

Figure 3 shows the discrimination of the chords by the four pigeons combined over the 20 total test sessions. The figure displays the mean number of pecks from the all-different chord trials, the probe trials with the alternating chords, and all of the same trials that were constructed from chords. As mentioned, the high peck rates to the all-different chord sequences is not particularly revealing because of the redundant differences in pitch and chord structure in such sequences. More revealing is the difference between the sequences with the alternating chords and the same trials.

Figure 3. Chord-based same/different discrimination results for all four birds during the test sessions. Shown are the mean number of pecks across the 12 individual sounds presented sequentially on each trial. The all-different (ABCD . . .) comprised sequences in which the rote note and chord types were selected randomly. The alternating condition (ABAB . . .) tested only two chord types involving the randomly determined common root note. The significantly higher rates of pecking relative to the same conditions are indicative of the pigeons’ capacity to make chord-based same/different discriminations.

Figure 3. Chord-based same/different discrimination results for all four birds during the test sessions. Shown are the mean number of pecks across the 12 individual sounds presented sequentially on each trial. The all-different (ABCD . . .) comprised sequences in which the rote note and chord types were selected randomly. The alternating condition (ABAB . . .) tested only two chord types involving the randomly determined common root note. The significantly higher rates of pecking relative to the same conditions are indicative of the pigeons’ capacity to make chord-based same/different discriminations.

The pigeons found the novel pairwise chord trials more challenging. Although the difference in peck rate is considerably reduced, the birds showed peck rate differences between these alternating different and same conditions. These differences were significant for three of the four pigeons over the last six serial presentations. The fourth pigeon showed a smaller difference than the other birds, with the alternating condition being regularly and numerically higher across bins, but statistical tests could identify only a difference that was marginally significant.

Besides the challenges related to item discriminability and any possible emergent AB “sameness” considered earlier, these alternating chord trials potentially contained additional difficulties for the birds. The pigeons never had been specifically trained to discriminate chord structure before, for example. The large and significant drop in peck rate in comparison to the all-different chord trials suggests that the large difference in root pitch among the different chords in that condition probably added a lot to the discrimination. This may even have overshadowed paying attention to the more subtle differences in chord structure as a result. Nonetheless, the pairwise differences between chords were being detected and discriminated. Moreover, this discrimination continued in a context of ongoing differences in the root note or tonal center of the chords from trial to trial. Thus, the pigeons were capable of discriminating based on just the relational differences among the chords. This extends the results of Brooks and Cook (2010) considerably, in which the pigeons did so based on only a single tonal center and with reference to only a single major chord.

Besides establishing for the first time the capacity of pigeons to discriminate chords in a relational context, the pairwise structure of the trials allows one to examine the similarity structure of the chords as experienced by the pigeons. The results found that some chord combinations were consistently easier for the birds to discriminate than others. For instance, alternating trials testing a sus4 chord produced greater peck differences when being compared to an augmented for flat5 chord than a major and minor chord. To better examine the issue of the chords’ relative similarity and its effect on discrimination given all the chord combinations tested, multidimensional scaling techniques were brought to bear on the results.

Multidimensional scaling is a data-reductive process that attempts to reveal the underlying structures within a set of data using a distance matrix. In animals, multidimensional scaling has a history of revealing similarity relations and structures in different types of complex stimuli (e.g., Blough, 1982, 1985; Blough & Blough, 1997; Dooling et al., 1990; Dooling, Okanoya, & Brown, 1989). Our goal was to generate a representation that would reveal the underlying psychological structure of the chords as judged by the pigeons.

For these analyses, we examined the number of pecks over the last four presentations for all the alternating chord trials and same trials over the 20 test sessions. We employed PROXSCAL scaling procedures to examine the average number of pecks for each pairwise combination of chords based on all four pigeons. Given their training, we used the number of pecks as a distance metric of similarity, with low peck rates indicative of “same” perception or high similarity and higher peck rates as indicative of “difference” and greater dissimilarity. We tested a variety of dimensional solutions but found little explanatory benefit for solutions with more than two dimensions.

Shown in Figure 4 is the best-fitting two-dimensional solution. Based on their behavior, the birds seemed sensitive to the frequency composition of the chords as reflected in their tonal structure. Four of the chord types fit into a relatively rectangular structure, with the major chord located internally among them. Although the identities of the underlying dimensions are not provided by the scaling solution, two candidates seem to describe the relations exhibited in this overall pattern. Located on the left side of the figure are the two chords in which the frequency of the third scale note in the triad (minor and sus4) was manipulated, whereas the two chords on the right side involved manipulations of fifth scale note (augmented and flat5) of the triad. Their relative location on the vertical axis seems to correspondingly reflect whether the altered note of each chord was increased or decreased by a half step. Thus, the two chords with the raised third and fifth notes are located toward the top, whereas the two chords with the lowered third and fifth notes are at the bottom.

Figure 4. The best-fitting two-dimensional PROXSCAL solution based on the mean number of pecks for the combined results of four pigeons from the alternating chord trials.

Figure 4. The best-fitting two-dimensional PROXSCAL solution based on the mean number of pecks for the combined results of four pigeons from the alternating chord trials.

It is perhaps important that the major was not precisely located in the center of the rectangle. This was true across several solutions and found for each bird. It was more consistently located nearer the sus4 for three of the birds and nearer the minor chord for the last bird. That the location of major chord was not in the center suggests that part of the discrimination of these chords was not just a simple frequency computation. Rather, the major chord’s biased location suggests it had a greater perceived similarity with the minor and sus4 chords. This outcome is consistent to what was observed in the earlier chord study in which the sus4 and minor were the most difficult for the birds to distinguish from the major chord. It is also similar to the judged similarity perception of these chords as reported by humans (Roberts, 1986).

If the major is perceived as most similar to the sus4 and minor, a possible alternative description of the horizontal axis in Figure 3 is one based on the configural concept of chord consonance versus dissonance (see Toro & Crespo-Bojorque in this special issue for more on this general topic). Support for this alternative comes from the generally more consonant chords (major, minor, sus4) clustering toward one side of the dimension, whereas the more dissonant chords (augmented and flat5) cluster toward the other end of the dimension. This interpretation would suggest that the birds perceived the harmony created by the three simultaneous notes within each chord, perhaps a feature of the simpler frequency ratios associated with consonant intervals. Whatever the mechanism, the pigeons seem to hear the major, sus4, and minor chords as being more alike than not. We have now seen this result in two separate studies testing different procedures, root notes, and pigeons.

Despite this configural possibility, the strong structural regularity within the scaling solution suggests that the frequency of the individual notes within triads was also perceived by the pigeons. Besides potentially knowing which notes were altered, they also appeared to know in which direction the note was altered. Humans readily perceive that minor and sus4 sound different from the major, for example, but it is likely that few outside of experienced musicians would recognize that these changes are by-products of half-step alterations of the third of a triad, much less whether this note was being sharpened or flattened. The same would likely apply for augmented and flat5 chords as well. Their dissonance would be readily perceived by most of us, but outside of musicians, few would recognize that this is derived from semitone alterations of the fifth. The pigeons, on the other hand, seem to readily recognize and react to this internal structure as reflected in the separation of the notes in Figure 4. This capacity suggests that the pigeons are sensitive to the individual frequencies composing the chord stimuli. If the pigeons can independently perceive or sample the individual notes, we may need to consider more elemental or featural explanations of their harmonic perception.

D.S. al Coda

The observations just reviewed reveal several new facts about pigeons’ perception of musical chords. One is the important demonstration that pigeons are not dependent on absolute frequency content to make chord discriminations. The four pigeons here were able to make chord-based relational S/D judgments within a trial over an unpredictable range of three octaves and four root notes within each octave. Thus, unlike the pigeons in Brooks and Cook’s (2010) chord discrimination experiment, these birds were more flexible over a broad frequency range with which they had prior experience. This indicates that the harmonic relations of the contrasting notes and intervals within the chords allowed the pigeons to discriminate the auditory sequences using short-term memory to make successive comparisons. This capacity is consistent with their established ability to make S/D discriminations across a wide variety of auditory stimuli (Cook & Brooks, 2009; Cook et al., 2016).

With that said, the pigeons’ discrimination with just two alternating chords did appear to be challenging. Although significantly different from same trial presentations, the differences in peck rates were not large, especially in comparison to other auditory discriminations previously investigated. As already considered, there are potentially many factors that might have directly or indirectly contributed to this difficulty. Future research will need to determine, for example, whether this is a case of chords being difficult material to discriminate or whether the absence of direct training contributed to the relatively poor discrimination of AB presentations of these stimuli caused the reduced peck rate differences. Chord discriminations of various types have not always been easy for all tested individuals of the several bird species that have been examined (Brooks & Cook, 2010; Hoeschele et al., 2012; Hulse, Bernard, & Braaten, 1995; Watanabe, Uozumi, & Tanaka, 2005). In each case, a few individuals of each species failed or had great difficulty in learning the discrimination. Thus, chords may be hard for birds to discriminate potentially because of the considerable similarity in terms of overall frequency content. Of course, of some interest is that not all the chords were equally difficulty to discriminate, with some contrasts supporting better discrimination than others. The scaling results that become available from testing S/D judgments provide some illumination.

The patterns in the scaling results are consistent with the more rudimentary findings of Brooks and Cook. Both studies revealed that the semitone manipulations of the third and fifth notes of the chords were available to the pigeons. The structural regularities in the scaling solution further suggests that the raised and lowered semitones in these different notes of the triads were also likely perceived. So in addition to the suggestion that pigeons configurally process the chord, the pigeons may also have access to the individual spectrum of the frequencies tied to specific notes within each chord. This access to the separate elements of the chords likely resulted in the regular and rectangular scaling of the chords by their third and fifth notes and their directional manipulation. If so, then the three simultaneous notes within each triad present a dilemma to the pigeons in making a S/D judgment. The two shared parts of the chords would have indicated a “same” trial. The first shared component would be the common root note, whereas the second would be the unmanipulated note. Only one note remains, differing by one or two semitones, to differentiate the two chords. As a result, most of the pitch content would be signaling the birds to respond “same,” whereas only a small portion of the content would be signaling “difference.” Thus it might not be too surprising that pigeons showed such a tendency toward “same” responding during the course of the AB probe trials.

Certainly one direction for future research is to look at the combinational and independent effects of pitch. Although our research shows that pigeons possess the ability to hear the harmonic relations among chords that has at least a surface similarity to chord perception in humans, it is not clear there isn’t more involved. We will need to see at a deeper level how the perception of the fundamental frequency of individual pitches and the composite of the entire frequency spectrum are processed by birds. It will be important to determine how these parts and wholes influence their use of relational and absolute frequency information (Hoeschele, this issue; Weisman et al., 2004). There are certainly plenty of open questions regarding how birds produce, process, and use successive and simultaneous pitch information. What has emerged from different lines of experimental work is that our own mammalian experience is not a direct guide as to the avian experience of the acoustic world.

From the current S/D research, it is pretty clear that pigeons can discriminate, remember, and compare auditory sequences at least over several seconds. These sequences can vary in both sequential and harmonic pitch content, including musical triads. Given this information, we could hypothesize that pigeons can hear a simple “melody” of notes over several seconds. These results further indicate that the capacity for vocal learning is not particularly critical to being able to hear and compare temporally extended complex auditory stimuli. Pigeons seem readily able to do that. More consistent with Patel’s original hypothesis regarding the role of vocal learning in beat induction, we have found little evidence that pigeons are particularly good at complex rhythm perception (Hagmann & Cook, 2010). Our recent excursions into auditory processing and cognition in pigeons has revealed their acoustic world to be more complex than previously assumed. It remains an open question as to whether pigeons can experience the musicality of human music. On the latter point, however, we find ourselves beginning to agree with Stravinsky—“To listen is an effort and just to hear is no merit. A duck hears also.” Although we have found that pigeons have many of the auditory capabilities needed to hear the fundamental elements of music, we increasingly suspect the latter may be beyond their cognitive grasp.

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Volume 12: 33–44

ccbr_03-toro_v12-openerConsonance Processing in the Absence of Relevant Experience: Evidence from Nonhuman Animals

Juan M. Toro
ICREA
Universitat Pompeu Fabra

Paola Crespo-Bojorque
Universitat Pompeu Fabra

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Abstract

Consonance is a major feature in harmonic music that has been related to how pleasant a sound is perceived. Consonant chords are defined by simple frequency ratios between their composing tones, whereas dissonant chords are defined by more complex frequency ratios. The extent to which such simple ratios in consonant chords could give rise to preferences and processing advantages for consonance over dissonance has generated much research. Additionally, there is mounting evidence for a role of experience in consonance perception. Here we review experimental data coming from studies with different species that help to broaden our understanding of consonance and the role that experience plays on it. Comparative studies offer the possibility of disentangling the relative contributions of species-specific vocalizations (by comparing across species with rich and poor vocal repertoires) and exposure to harmonic stimuli (by comparing populations differing in their experience with music). This is a relative new field of inquiry, and much more research is needed to get a full understanding of consonance as one of the bases for harmonic music.

Keywords: consonance, interval ratios, vocal learning, rats

Author Note: Juan M. Toro, ­Universitat ­Pompeu Fabra, C. Ramon Trias ­Fargas, 25-27, 08005, Barcelona, Spain.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Juan M. Toro at juanmanuel.toro@upf.edu.

Acknowledgments: This research was funded by the ERC Starting Grant contract number 312519. We thank the contributions of three anonymous reviewers who greatly contributed to improve this article.


Introduction

In this review we describe experimental work studying the underlying mechanisms involved in the perception of consonance. More specifically, we focus on data exploring whether innate auditory constraints give rise to consonance perception and whether the complexity of species-specific auditory signals (and presumably the perceptual mechanisms that support them) impact consonance perception. Consonance is one of the most salient features of harmonic music, and it has been associated with pleasantness. More specifically, here we describe how experimental research with nonhuman animals can make important contributions to our understanding of how experience might modulate consonance processing. The term consonance comes from the Latin consonare,meaning “sounding together.” In Western music a smooth-sounding combination of tones is considered to be consonant (pleasant), whereas a harsh-sounding harmonic combination is considered dissonant (unpleasant). Consonant intervals are usually described as more pleasant, euphonious, and beautiful than dissonant intervals, which are perceived as unpleasant, discordant, or rough (Plomp & Levelt, 1965). Thus, the terms consonance and dissonance make reference to the degree of pleasantness or stability of a musical sound as perceived by an individual.

One of the most widespread explanations for the perceptual phenomena of consonance and dissonance is related to the simplicity of the frequency ratios between the tones composing a chord. In Western musical traditions, the earliest associations between consonance and simple frequency ratios are attributed to Pythagoras. The simpler the ratio between two notes, the more consonant the sound. For example, the frequency ratio between the two notes composing an octave is 1:2. Conversely, the more complex the ratio between two notes, the more dissonant the sound. For example, the frequency ratio between the two notes composing a tritone is 32:45 (see Table 1). Many studies suggest that in fact there is a connection between the complexity of frequency ratios and innate auditory constraints that give rise to consonance perception. As explained by Bidelman and Heinz (2011), consonant intervals contain only a few frequencies that pass through the same critical bandwidth of the auditory filters in cochlear mechanisms. This creates pleasant percepts that contrast with those emerging from a higher number of frequencies competing within individual channels that are presented in dissonant intervals.

Table 1. Consonance Ordering for Two-Tone Intervals from Helmholtz (1877) Decreasing in order of “Perfection” from the Most Consonant to the Most Dissonant.


Table 1. Consonance Ordering for Two-Tone Intervals from Helmholtz (1877) Decreasing in order of “Perfection” from the Most Consonant to the Most Dissonant.

The relation between ratio complexity and auditory-processing mechanisms that are widely shared across species has reinforced innate consonance perception hypotheses. There are in fact various sources of evidence suggesting strong biological constraints in the processing of consonance. Studies across different periods and different countries have reported similar judgments about the degree of consonance over tone combinations of the chromatic scale, with some tone combinations consistently ranked as consonant and others consistently ranked as dissonant. More important, musical traditions from disparate cultures often make use of many of the exact same intervals and scales (e.g., Burns, 1999; Gill & Purves, 2009), suggesting an overall preference for certain sound combinations over others. Furthermore, from a developmental perspective, infants have been shown to prefer consonance to dissonance (e.g., Trainor & Heinmiller, 1998; Trainor, Tsang, & Cheung, 2002; Zentner & Kagan, 1998), and newborns have been observed to react differently to consonant and dissonant versions of melodies (Perani et al., 2010; see also Masataka, 2006).

However, recent studies have challenged the universality of consonance judgments and suggest a central role for experience in the development of consonant preferences. A series of experiments showed that chord familiarity modulates consonance ratings. If listeners are trained to match the pitches of two-note chords, they will rate these chords as less dissonant than untrained pitches independent of their tune (McLachlan, Marco, Light, & Wilson, 2013). A study with 6-month-old infants showed that after a short preexposure to consonant or dissonant stimuli, infants do not show a preference for consonance over dissonance. Infants paid more attention to the stimuli to which they were preexposed (the familiar stimulus), independent of whether it was consonant or dissonant (Plantinga & Trehub, 2014). A study with members of a native Amazonian society provided additional empirical support to the idea that experience plays a pivotal role in preferences for consonance (McDermott, Schultz, Undurraga, & Godoy, 2016). The authors compared ratings of the pleasantness of sounds between populations from the United States and three populations from Bolivia, including indigenous participants with presumably little exposure to Western music. Results showed cross-cultural variations, such that participants in the United States showed clear consonance preferences but indigenous Bolivian participants did not. The results thus suggested that consonance preferences might not emerge universally across cultures but rather from long-term exposure to a tonal system in which consonance is central to harmonic music (see also Fritz et al., 2009).

A Comparative Approach to Consonance Processing

Comparative work is central to exploring questions about the initial state of knowledge of music and how this initial state is transformed by relevant experience. Experiments testing nonhuman animals are relevant in this field for two reasons. First, musical exposure can be carefully controlled under laboratory conditions. Unlike experiments with human adults and infants, animals can be deprived from any musical stimuli. Thus, any music-related perceptual biases found in animals cannot be the result of musical exposure. Second, because animals do not produce music, any musical biases exhibited by them would presumably reflect general auditory mechanisms not specific to music (e.g., McDermott & Hauser, 2005). Hence, the comparative approach can provide data that would be challenging to obtain in other ways.

Studies exploring the perception of consonance and dissonance in nonhuman animals have been limited, with only a small variety of species tested so far. However, research tackling consonance perception in nonhuman animals has explored the phenomenon from different perspectives, including discrimination, preference, and neurophysiological studies (see Table 2). Discrimination studies have tested the perception of isolated consonant and dissonant chords primarily in avian and primate species. In these studies, Java sparrows (Watanabe, Uozumi, & Tanaka, 2005) and Japanese macaques (Izumi, 2000) were trained to discriminate between consonant and dissonant chords (e.g., the octave and the major seventh in the experiment with macaques, and triadic chords in the case of sparrows). Both species successfully discriminated consonance from dissonance and transferred the learned behavior to other sounds with novel frequencies. Successful discrimination of chords based on relative pitch changes has also been reported in black-capped chickadees (Hoeschele, Cook, Guillette, Brooks, & Sturdy, 2012), pigeons (Brooks & Cook, 2009), and European starlings (Hulse, Bernard, & Braaten, 1995). Neurophysiological studies corroborated the ability of animals to discriminate musical intervals based on consonance (for a review, see Bidelman, 2013). Different neural responses for consonant and dissonant stimuli have been observed in the auditory nerve (Tramo, Cariani, Delgutte, & Braida, 2001) and inferior colliculus (McKinney, Tramo, & Delgutte, 2001) of cats, as well as in the primary auditory cortex of monkeys (Fishman et al., 2001). Thus, with proper training, different species seem to be able to tell apart consonant from dissonant chords.

Table 2. Species Tested for Consonance Processing and Their Performance in Different Tasks.

Table 2. Species Tested for Consonance Processing and Their Performance in Different Tasks.

 

 

Beyond perceptual differences, studies have also revealed spontaneous preferences for consonance over dissonance in nonhuman animals. In these studies, newly hatched domestic chicks (Chiandetti & Vallortigara, 2011) and an infant chimpanzee (Sugimoto et al., 2010) were presented with consonant and dissonant versions of complete melodies. Results showed that chicks preferentially approached a visual imprinting object associated with consonant melodies over an identical object associated with dissonant melodies. Similarly, the infant chimpanzee consistently produced, with the aid of a computerized setup, consonant versions of melodies for longer periods than dissonant versions of those same melodies. However, no preferences have been observed in other species when tested with isolated consonant and dissonant chords. McDermott and Hauser (2004) tested cotton-top tamarins in a V-shaped maze and found that the animals spent the same amount of time next to a loudspeaker presenting consonant sounds as to one presenting dissonant sounds. Similarly, Campbell’s monkeys equally approached two opposing sides of an experimental room that produced consonant or dissonant sounds (Koda et al., 2013). Thus, neither tamarins nor Campbell’s monkeys show any preference for consonance over dissonance. However these animals did have preferences for some features of acoustic stimuli such as softness over loudness. Further studies should explore the possibility that differences observed across studies on consonance preferences might be linked to the type of stimuli used in the experiments. Preferences might be observed only when stimuli include complete melodies but not when the stimuli are isolated chords. If it is confirmed that preference for consonance in animals is observed only for complete melodies and not for isolated chords, this would be a difference with respect to humans, which in many studies have been shown to have preferences for single consonant chords over single dissonant chords (e.g., Butler & Daston, 1968; Trainor & Heinmiller, 1998). Other than stimulus type (complete melodies vs. isolated chords), it would be interesting to explore the differences observed across experiments that could be due to testing of adult versus young animals, or to the specific experimental methodology used (e.g., place preference vs. joystick vs. imprinting). A final factor worth exploring is the ecological relevance of the stimuli, and possible stress induced by separation of animals from their social group.

Together these findings demonstrate that at least some sensitivity to consonance is not uniquely human. However, research in this area has just begun, and much work is still needed to understand all the factors underlying the perception of consonance. For instance, most of the results come from avian species that have a complex vocal system that involve the production and perception of relatively long sequences of harmonic sounds. It is thus important to explore the role of vocal production in consonance perception. Producing complex vocalizations has been considered a constraint for the structure of music (Merker, Morley, & Zuidema, 2015). Thus, testing species with no vocal learning abilities could shed light on whether consonance perception is affected by production. At the same time, experimental work on species other than primates might provide information regarding analogies in the emergence of traits necessary for musical processing.

Consonance Perception in a Rodent

Recent studies with rats have explored whether the perception of consonance in animals that lack relevant experience (in terms of vocal production and exposure to harmonic stimuli) resembles that of humans. The rat (Rattus norvegicus) is a species in which there is no evidence of vocal learning (e.g., Litvin, Blanchard, & Blanchard, 2007) that produces at least three classes of ultrasonic vocalizations, with both negative and positive related affective states. Although some of their calls have harmonic components (e.g., Brudzynski & Fletcher, 2010), the rats lack long-term exposure to complex harmonic sounds (as those produced by songbirds) and to musical stimuli prior to the experiments when they are reared and tested under controlled laboratory conditions.

In a series of experiments, rats were tested on their ability to properly perceive and discriminate consonance from dissonance (Crespo-Bojorque & Toro, 2015). Animals were trained to discriminate sequences of three consonant chords (e.g., the octave [P8], the fourth [P4], and the fifth [P5]) from sequences of three dissonant chords (e.g., the tritone [TT], minor ninth [m9], and minor second [m2]). The animals received reinforcement (sweet pellets) for their responses (pressing a lever in a response box) after the presentation of consonant chords but not after the presentation of dissonant chords. Of importance, to make sure that the principal cue for the discrimination task was the interval ratios between the tones composing the chords and not their absolute pitch, stimuli were created in three octaves. After training there was a test phase. In the test phase, rats were presented with sequences containing new consonant (e.g., major third [M3]) and dissonant chords (e.g., major seventh [M7]) implemented at novel octaves not used during training (thus, fundamental frequency of stimuli was different from training to test). The responses to the novel consonant and dissonant stimuli were then registered. Results showed that rats successfully learned to discriminate consonant from dissonant sequences during training. They pressed the lever more often after consonant than after dissonant chords. However, the animals were not able to generalize such discrimination to sequences containing new consonant and dissonant chords presented during the test. There were no differences in responses to novel stimuli. This failure to generalize suggested that the animals might not be learning a categorical difference between consonance and dissonance. Rather, rats might be learning to discriminate just the specific sounds presented during training. Once the properties of these sounds change (in terms of absolute frequency) by being implemented in a different octave, the rats cannot discriminate among them (for a similar result with speech stimuli, see Toro & Hoeschele, in press).

A follow-up experiment explored whether the rats were in fact organizing the target stimuli around categories of consonance and dissonance or were only memorizing the specific stimuli presented during training. Rats were tested on their ability to discriminate between two sets of dissonant stimuli and generalize them to novel octaves. Thus, in this experiment, stimuli differed in the interval ratios between tones but not in terms of consonance and dissonance. Stimuli presented during the test were the same set of chords used during training, but they were implemented in novel octaves (so the interval ratios between the tones were the same but the absolute frequencies were different). Results were very similar to the ones observed in the previous experiment. Rats learned to discriminate stimuli during training, so they were able to discern two sets of dissonant chords. However, there was no indication that the animals generalized the discrimination to novel items. This result was even more striking because the stimuli from training to test differed only in their absolute frequencies and not in terms of the interval ratios between tones. The results from these two experiments suggested that the animals might be memorizing the specific items presented during discrimination training. But there is no evidence that the animals were creating categories in terms of consonance and dissonance that could be extrapolated to stimuli in different octaves. The fact that rats failed to generalize the learned discrimination to chords implemented at different frequency ranges suggests that this rodent species might be facing difficulties while performing whole octave transpositions.

In contrast with the lack of generalization across octaves observed in the rats, previous research has shown that adult humans easily perform whole octave transpositions (e.g., Hoeschele, Weisman, & Sturdy, 2012). In fact, when human participants were tested with exactly the same stimuli presented to rats, they succeeded to generalize to new consonant or dissonant sequences and to different octaves. Thus, when faced with the same stimuli as rats, humans performed whole octave transpositions without much difficulty (Crespo-Bojorque & Toro, 2015). There are thus limitations that rats face while processing sounds in terms of consonance and dissonance. A major one seems to be their difficulties creating categories that can be generalized to novel stimuli. In contrast, the creation of such categories does not seem to be a major problem for consonance processing in humans. One of the reasons for this difference could be the lack of extensive exposure to harmonically complex sounds in the rats both in terms of production of interspecific vocalizations and experience with harmonic music (see the following).

Processing Advantages

In contrast with rats, humans seem to be able to use consonance and dissonance as different categories that inform perceptual decisions. In fact, processing differences between consonant and dissonant chords have also been identified in both human adults (Komeilipoor, Rodger, Craig, & Cesari, 2015; Schellenberg & Trehub, 1994) and infants (Schellenberg & Trehub, 1996). Consonant chords and melodies seem to be better processed than dissonant ones. In the studies by Schellenberg and Trehub (1994, 1996), adult and infant participants found it easier to detect changes in patterns when they were implemented in acoustic stimuli composed of consonant intervals compared to dissonant intervals. Similarly, in a recent study, Komeilipoor and colleagues (2015) found that participants’ performance in a movement synchronization task, using a finger-tapping paradigm, was better after the presentation of consonant stimuli than after the presentation of dissonant stimuli. Results showed a higher percentage of movement coupling and a higher degree of movement circularity after the exposure to consonant sounds than to dissonant sounds. Thus, several experiments suggest that aesthetic preferences for consonance seem to be also linked to processing advantages.

It might be the case that simple ratios defining consonant intervals facilitate processing by favoring their detection, storage, and retrieval. If so, the roots of the consonant advantage observed in humans would be a product of the physical properties of consonant chords (for a recent review of relevant literature, see Bidelman, 2013). A recent study used a comparative approach to explore whether the processing benefits for consonance could also be observed in other species (Crespo-Bojorque & Toro, 2016). If the processing advantages observed in humans are a result of the physical properties of consonant chords, it is possible that these advantages could also be observed in nonhuman animals. In the study, rats and humans were trained to produce responses (lever presses and button press, respectively) after the presentation of chord sequences following an abstract AAB pattern but withhold responses after an ABC pattern (where A, B, and C represent different chords). After the training phase, they were tested on their ability to discriminate novel AAB and ABC sequences. Experiments tested rule learning and generalization with sequences containing consonant chords (e.g., AAB: P8-P8-P5; ABC: P8-P5-P4; see Table 1), dissonant chords (e.g., AAB: TT-TT-m2; ABC: TT-m2-M7; see Table 1), or a combination of consonant and dissonant chords in a sequence where consonance would always be mapped to A positions in the sequence, whereas dissonance would always be mapped to B positions in the sequence (e.g., AAB: P8-P8-TT; see Figure 1).

Figure 1. Schematic representation of the three experiments testing processing advantages for consonance in both human and nonhuman animals. Note. Reinforced sequences (+) always followed an AAB pattern, whereas nonreinforced sequences (–) followed an ABC pattern. In the consonance condition, all intervals were consonant (P4, P5, P8). In the dissonant condition, all intervals were dissonant (m2, M7, TT). In the mapping categories condition, consonant intervals were always used in the A position of the sequence and dissonant intervals were always used in the B position of the sequence.

Figure 1. Schematic representation of the three experiments testing processing advantages for consonance in both human and nonhuman animals. Note. Reinforced sequences (+) always followed an AAB pattern, whereas nonreinforced sequences (–) followed an ABC pattern. In the consonance condition, all intervals were consonant (P4, P5, P8). In the dissonant condition, all intervals were dissonant (m2, M7, TT). In the mapping categories condition, consonant intervals were always used in the A position of the sequence and dissonant intervals were always used in the B position of the sequence.

 

 

Both rats and human participants succeeded at discriminating and generalizing the abstract auditory rules in all the experiments. They both learned abstract rules over sequences of tones. This result suggests that the computational mechanism(s) required for performing such generalizations is present in both species. However, human participants’ performance was significantly better when the target sequences included consonant chords (as in P8-P8-P5) than when the sequences included dissonant chords (as in TT-TT-m2). In contrast, rats showed no differences across experiments. Their performance did not significantly change depending on whether the rules were implemented with consonant or dissonant chords. Furthermore, when the abstract structure was mapped to consonant and dissonant chords (such that A tokens in the AAB structure would always be consonant and B tokens would always be dissonant), humans’ performance in the rule-learning task was improved, showing an additional advantage over both consonant and dissonant sequences. This additional advantage suggested that consonance and dissonance act as categorical anchors for humans, thereby facilitating the discrimination of elements in the structure. In sharp contrast with the human results, there was no evidence that the rats benefited from this mapping between consonance and categories within a structure. Thus, although rats were able to learn and generalize the abstract rules, the difference between consonance and dissonance did not translate into a processing advantage for them (Crespo-Bojorque & Toro, 2016). Human participants on the contrary were able to use consonance contrasts to facilitate abstract rule extraction.

Experience and the Emergence of Consonance Preferences

Why did the rats not benefit from consonance and show improvement of their performance in the rule-learning task? As we mentioned earlier, there is a growing consensus that experience with harmonic stimuli plays a pivotal role in the development of the abilities supporting consonance processing (e.g., McLachlan et al., 2013). There are thus two types of experience that could be relevant for consonance processing that might explain why rats tested in the previous experiments did not benefit from consonance. One is the production of complex species-specific vocalizations, and the other is the exposure to harmonic stimuli. In species for which harmonic vocalizations play an important role in social behavior, the second possibility is subsumed by the first. In species in which harmonic vocalizations do not play an important role in social behavior, exposure to harmonic environmental sounds (or exposure under laboratory conditions) could provide experience with target sounds.

Although vocal production has been considered as an important constraint for the structure of music in general (Merker et al., 2015), few studies have been devoted to determining which features of music might be affected by this capacity (but see Bowling, Sundararajan, Han, & Purves, 2012; Gill & Purves, 2009; Juslin & Laukka, 2003). It has been suggested that the preference for consonance and its processing advantages might arise from the statistical structure of human vocalizations, the periodic acoustic stimuli to which humans are most exposed (Schwartz, Howe & Purves, 2003; Terhardt, 1984). The hypothesis is that extensive experience producing and perceiving harmonic sounds facilitates the emergence of consonance preferences (Bowling & Purves, 2015). Support for this hypothesis comes from studies showing that the consonance of intervals is predicted by ratios emphasized between harmonics in speech (e.g., Schwartz et al., 2003). Additional support could come from experiments showing good consonance processing in species that produce complex harmonic vocalizations and poor consonance processing in species with a more limited vocal repertoire. On the contrary, evidence against this hypothesis could come from experiments showing that species for which harmonic vocalizations play an important role in social behavior lack consonance preferences, or can be trained to prefer dissonance just as easily. In fact, preferences for consonance are affected at least to some degree by exposure to Western harmonic music in humans (McDermott et al., 2016). Thus, comparative experiments with nonhuman animals will certainly offer a more complete picture of this issue.

A complementary issue is whether producing complex harmonic vocalizations helps in the creation of sound categories along a consonance–dissonance continuum independently of the specific frequency of the individual intervals. There are indications that some birds can generalize to novel chords based on the consonance defining them (e.g., Hoeschele et al., 2012; Hulse et al., 1995; Watanabe et al., 2005; see Table 2). However, several experiments have reported strong limitations in nonhuman animals in their abilities to generalize across frequencies and perform pitch “transpositions” (an ability that would be pivotal for proper generalization across frequencies as it is observed in humans; see Patel, in press). European starlings (Bregman, Patel, & Gentner, 2012; Hulse & Cynx, 1985), rats (Crespo-Bojorque & Toro, 2015), pigeons (Brooks & Cook, 2009; see also Friedrich, Zentall & Weisman, 2007), and chickadees (Hoeschele, Weisman, Guillette, Hahn, & Sturdy, 2013) seem to be strongly constrained by absolute pitch in how they process acoustic stimuli, showing no evidence of generalization across octaves. This lack of generalization observed in both songbirds (starlings) and species with no documented vocal learning abilities (rats and pigeons) calls for further studies. It is necessary to explore the exact role that experience producing and perceiving harmonic sounds plays during the creation of categories around stimuli that vary in frequency ratios that would allow for proper generalization across octaves. As has been shown by Bregman, Patel, and Gentner (2016), birds (European starlings) rely on acoustic cues other than absolute pitch to generalize to novel stimuli. Instead of using the absolute frequency of the sounds, they prioritize their spectral shape. It would thus be interesting to further explore the cues that are used to identify and categorize novel acoustic stimuli.

Several studies have addressed the idea that the capacity to learn to produce complex sequences of vocalizations is at the root of important music-related abilities, such as rhythm perception (for a review, see Patel, 2014). At a neural level, the capacity for vocal learning has been linked to specialized neural circuitry supporting strong connections between primary auditory and motor pathways (Bolhuis, Okanoya, & Scharff, 2010). This circuitry presumably facilitates the coordination of perception and production, allowing species-specific vocalizations (songs in the case of birds, speech in the case of humans) to be efficiently learned and produced, and might form the basis of, for example, rhythm synchronization. Studies have shown that some avian species (budgerigars: Hasegawa, Okanoya, Hasegawa, & Seki, 2011; cockatoos: Patel, Iversen, Bregman, & Schulz, 2009) but not rhesus monkeys (Honing, Merchant, Háden, Prado, & Bartolo, 2012) have the capacity to synchronize to a beat. Honing and collaborators observed that the monkeys were not able to display synchronization to a sequence of regular beats at different tempi even after a long period of training. On the contrary, rhythm synchronization has been observed after training in a sea lion (see Cook, Rouse, Wilson, & Reichmuth, 2013). Similarly, the ability to produce and process highly complex harmonic stimuli might also contribute to the development of other important musically related abilities. For example, it might help in the creation of sound categories that are relevant while distinguishing consonant from dissonant sounds.

Work with humans across different ages and different cultures suggests that exposure to harmonic stimuli might be an important factor for the emergence of preferences for consonant sounds. As several experiments have demonstrated, preferences for consonance over dissonance are greatly influenced by preexposure to consonant stimuli (e.g., Plantinga & Trehub, 2014). Evidence from both neuroimaging and electrophysiological studies has shown that neural correlates for consonance and dissonance can change as a function of musical expertise. Musicians with extensive training have different brain activations for consonant and dissonant stimuli when compared to listeners with no formal musical training. As revealed from functional magnetic resonance imaging data, the areas of activation for consonant chords are right lateralized for nonmusicians and are much more bilateral for musicians (Minati et al., 2009). Likewise, in electroencephalogram studies, different event-related potential components were elicited from musicians and nonmusicians in response to consonant and dissonant intervals, suggesting that musicians discriminate intervals at earlier processing stages than nonmusicians (Proverbio & Orlandi, 2016; Regnault, Bigand, & Besson, 2001; Schön, Regnault, Ystad, & Besson, 2005). Thus, long-term exposure to harmonic stimuli not only helps in the development of aesthetic preferences for consonance but also modulates the brain responses that are triggered in response to consonant and dissonant chords (although see Bidelman, 2013).

Comparative experiments could provide much information that would help to clarify the role that experience with harmonic sounds actually plays for the emergence of consonance preferences. One could think of experiments in which rats are preexposed from birth to harmonic music and are tested later for their preferences to consonant and dissonant sounds. Such experiments would be telling regarding the extent to which experience determines consonance preferences. In the domain of language, comparative studies have advanced much of our understanding of the role that experience plays in some remarkable linguistic phenomena (for a review, see Toro, 2016). For example, with appropriate experience, nonhuman animals display categorical perception for speech sounds (Kuhl & Miller, 1975) and are able to use linguistic rhythm to tell languages apart (Ramus, Hauser, Miller, Morris, & Mehler, 2000), both abilities once thought to be uniquely human. Studies on consonance processing could paint a similar picture, showing that given enough experience, nonhuman animals might display consonance preferences for isolated chords.

As we have suggested before, exposure to harmonic music might be at the base of processing advantages for consonance (Komeilipoor et al., 2015; Schellenberg & Trehub, 1994, 1996). Preference for acoustic stimuli defined by simple frequency ratios between their composing tones could be a prerequisite to benefit from differences between consonance and dissonance as has been observed in human participants (Crespo-Bojorque & Toro, 2016). Experiments exploring the role of exposure to harmonic music on processing advantages for consonant chords could also test whether such exposure results in similar advantages in non-Western listeners who have not had massive exposure to popular Western music or for whom their own traditional music does not include harmonic tone combinations. Thus, interesting lines of work regarding the emergence of consonance preferences and advantages are still open and are very much worth exploring.

Conclusion

Like the ability for language, the ability for music has been documented in all human societies and has been claimed to be unique to our species. However, little is known about its evolutionary history and the cognitive mechanisms essential for perceiving and appreciating music (e.g., Patel, 2008). One way to advance our knowledge of the basic mechanisms that allow the emergence of the musical ability is to explore the initial state of music knowledge prior to experience and how relevant experience alters this state (Hauser & McDermott, 2003). In this article, we have shown how our understanding of consonance (a key feature in harmonic music) greatly benefits from experiments with nonhuman animals. Research suggests that, contrary to humans, rats do not seem to create categories grouping consonant and dissonant chords. This translates to observed difficulties while performing whole octave transpositions. Furthermore, the processing advantage for consonance over dissonance that has been documented in human listeners does not seem to be observed in nonhuman animals. The origins of such differences are still to be understood and could be linked to different sources of relevant experience. Comparative work across a wide range of species and musical traits is thus pivotal to advance in our understanding of our very special music ability and the different components that it involves.

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Volume 12: 19–32

ccbr_02-patel_v12-openerWhy Doesn’t a Songbird (the European Starling) Use Pitch to Recognize Tone Sequences? The Informational Independence Hypothesis

Aniruddh D. Patel
Tufts University
Azrieli Program in Brain, Mind, & Consciousness,
Canadian Institute for Advanced Research (CIFAR)

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Abstract

It has recently been shown that the European starling (Sturnus vulgaris), a species of songbird, does not use pitch to recognize tone sequences. Instead, recognition relies on the pattern of spectral shapes created by successive tones. In this article I suggest that rather than being an unusual case, starlings may be representative of the way in which many animal species process tone sequences. Specifically, I suggest that recognition of tone sequences based on pitch patterns occurs only in certain species, namely, those that modulate the pitch and spectral shape of sounds independently in their own communication system to convey distinct types of information. This informational independence hypothesis makes testable predictions and suggests that a basic feature of human music perception relies on neural specializations, which are likely to be uncommon in cognitive evolution.

Keywords: music, pitch, songbirds, speech, evolution

Author Note: Aniruddh D. Patel, Department of Psychology, Psychology Building, Room 118, Medford, MA 02155.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Aniruddh D. Patel at a.patel@tufts.edu.

Acknowledgments: I thank Frederic Theunissen for information about the modulation of spectral shape by songbirds; Tim Gentner for providing the starling song spectrogram in Figure 1; Tecumseh Fitch, Bob Ladd, Shihab Shamma, and Chris Sturdy for helpful feedback on the ideas in this article; and Marisa Hoeschele for careful and thoughtful editing.


Introduction and Questions Addressed

Cross-species studies of music perception allow one to investigate the evolutionary history of specific components of music cognition (Fitch, 2015; Hoeschele, Merchant, Kikuchi, Hattori, & ten Cate, 2015; Honing, ten Cate, Peretz, & Trehub, 2015; Patel, in press; Patel & Demorest, 2013). For example, a fundamental aspect of human music cognition is the ability to perceive a beat in rhythmic auditory patterns and to synchronize body movements to this beat in a predictive manner across a wide range of tempi. It has recently been shown that some nonhuman animals have this capacity, whereas others (including, surprisingly, nonhuman primates) may lack it (see Patel, 2014, for a review). This suggests that the capacity may reflect specialized neural mechanisms present only in certain animal lineages. Studying which animals do versus do not have this capacity can give us clues to what these mechanisms are and why they evolved.

Turning from rhythm to melody, how do other species process instrumental (nonvocal) human melodies? Darwin (1871, p. 333) believed that basic aspects of melody (and rhythm) perception reflected ancient brain mechanisms widely shared among animals, writing that “the perception, if not the enjoyment, of musical cadences [i.e., melodies] and of rhythm, is probably common to all animals, and no doubt depends on the common physiological nature of their nervous systems.” One way to test this idea is to ask if other animals rely on the same perceptual attributes as humans when recognizing tone sequences (cf. Crespo-Bojorque & Toro, 2016).

In human music, melodic sequences typically employ tones that have complex spectral structure. Often these are complex harmonic tones, consisting of a fundamental frequency and harmonics that are integer multiples of the fundamental. This acoustic structure is characteristic of many instruments (e.g., the clarinet, trumpet, etc.) and of the human speaking or singing voice when producing vowels (Stevens, 2000; Sundberg, 1987). Melodic sequences have many perceptual attributes, such as patterns of pitch, duration, timbre, and loudness. Yet humans regard a tone sequence played on different instruments (i.e., with distinct timbres) as “the same melody” if the pattern of pitches is the same. Of course, humans also recognize that the instrument has changed (e.g., a clarinet vs. a trumpet), but we gravitate to pitch patterns as the basis for tone sequence recognition. This is a fundamental aspect of human music cognition.

Is using pitch as the primary cue for recognizing tone sequences a basic and widespread feature of auditory processing? Songbirds, long considered among nature’s most musical creatures (Marler & Slabbekoorn, 2004), are an excellent animal model for addressing this question. Consistent with the view that melodic processing taps into ancient brain mechanisms, it has long been thought that songbirds, like humans, rely on pitch for tone sequence recognition (albeit absolute pitch rather than relative pitch, as discussed below). However, a recent study has challenged this view, because it shows that European starlings (Sturnus vulgaris) do not use pitch for recognizing sequences of complex harmonic tones (Bregman, Patel, & Gentner, 2016). Instead, recognition appears to be based on the pattern of spectral shapes created by the successive tones. These results raise several questions, three of which are addressed in the current article:

  1. Why would starlings gravitate to spectral shape, not pitch, for tone sequence recognition?
  2. Why do humans show the converse pattern, spontaneously gravitating to pitch patterns for tone sequence recognition?
  3. Which way of processing tone sequences, starling or human, is more evolutionarily ancient and widespread among animals?

The purpose of this article is to offer answers to the first two questions based on considering the role of pitch versus spectral shape in starling versus human communication systems. The answer to the third question must of course await further cross-species work. However, at the end of this article I suggest that the human way of perceiving tone sequences may be relatively rare. This suggestion is framed as a hypothesis about the evolutionary prerequisites for perceiving tone sequences based on pitch patterns.

Before addressing these three questions, it is first necessary to clarify the relationship between pitch, timbre, and spectral shape. Pitch is the “highness or lowness” of a sound. In a complex harmonic tone, the pitch typically corresponds to the fundamental frequency (F0), although the neural mechanisms that derive pitch are not simple “F0 detectors” and instead involve analysis of the tone’s spectral and temporal structure (Oxenham, 2013). Thus the fundamental frequency can be physically absent from a complex harmonic tone and yet still be perceived as the pitch of the tone (the “missing fundamental”). Pitch is therefore a perceptual (vs. purely acoustic) attribute of sound. Further evidence that pitch is a perceptual attribute is the fact that for certain harmonic complexes, individuals can show salient differences in the pitch they perceive (Ladd et al., 2013). Timbre, or sound quality, is what distinguishes two sounds when they have the same pitch, intensity, and duration, yet remain discriminably different (e.g., a clarinet vs. trumpet playing the same note). Timbre is a perceptual attribute derived from many aspects of a sound’s acoustic properties including its spectral structure, amplitude envelope, and how both of these change over time. (For a brief introduction to timbre, see Patel, 2008, Chapter 2; for more detail, see McAdams, 2013). Spectral shape is one aspect of a sound’s structure that contributes to timbre, and is less detailed than its full spectral structure because it refers to the overall distribution of energy across frequency bands. Spectral shape is also distinct from pitch, because the same spectral shape can be realized with different fundamental frequencies (e.g., when a person utters the same vowel with low vs. high F0) or with the presence or absence of pitch (e.g., when a person produces a voiced vs. whispered version of the same vowel). As an illustration of spectral shape, Figure 1 shows the spectra of two vowels spoken at the same F0.

Figure 1. Frequency spectra for the vowels /i/ (in “beat”) and /æ/ (in “bat”) are shown in panels A and B, respectively. In these spectra the jagged lines show the harmonics of the voice and the smooth curves show the spectral shape or “spectral envelope.” The formants are the peaks in the spectral envelope. The first two formant peaks (F1, F2) are indicated by arrows. The vowel /i/ has a low F1 and high F2, and /æ/ has a high F1 and low F2. These resonances result from differing positions of the tongue in the vocal tract. From Music, Language, and the Brain (p. 57), by A. D. Patel, 2008, New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Copyright 2008 by Oxford University Press. Reprinted with permission.

Figure 1. Frequency spectra for the vowels /i/ (in “beat”) and /æ/ (in “bat”) are shown in panels A and B, respectively. In these spectra the jagged lines show the harmonics of the voice and the smooth curves show the spectral shape or “spectral envelope.” The formants are the peaks in the spectral envelope. The first two formant peaks (F1, F2) are indicated by arrows. The vowel /i/ has a low F1 and high F2, and /æ/ has a high F1 and low F2. These resonances result from differing positions of the tongue in the vocal tract. From Music, Language, and the Brain(p. 57), by A. D. Patel, 2008, New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Copyright 2008 by Oxford University Press. Reprinted with permission.

The vertical jagged lines show the harmonics of the voice, and the spectral shape of each vowel is traced by a thin black line draped along the top of the spectra. Note how this thin line does not preserve the fine details of spectral amplitudes across frequencies: Instead it shows the overall distribution of energy, that is, its spectral shape or “spectral envelope” (I use “spectral shape” and “spectral envelope” interchangeably in the remainder of this article). Research on speech perception has shown that spectral envelopes (and their pattern of change over time) carry a good deal of information regarding the identity of phonemes, independent of pitch. Specifically, if spectral envelope patterns are retained, speech remains highly intelligible even if all pitch information is removed (i.e., if noise is used as the carrier signal). The technique used to demonstrate this, called “noise vocoding” (Davis, Johnsrude, Hervais-Adelman, Taylor, & McGettigan, 2005; Shannon, Zeng, Kamath, Wygonski, & Ekelid, 1995), was used by Bregman et al. (2016) to show that spectral shape, not pitch, was the primary cue starlings use to recognize sequences of complex harmonic tones.

I now turn to addressing the three questions listed above, beginning with a review of the research that led to these questions, including the findings of Bregman et al. (2016).

Previous Findings on Tone Sequence Recognition by Starlings

Research with European starlings (henceforth, starlings) has played a key role in cross-species studies of music cognition. Starlings are excellent candidates for such research because they rely on complex auditory processing in their own communication system. These vocal-learning songbirds produce long, acoustically rich songs in nature (Gentner & Hulse, 2000) and are vocal mimics, capable of imitating nonconspecific sounds including the calls and songs of other birds (Hindmarsh, 1984). In terms of auditory psychophysics, starlings are among the best studied nonhuman species and show several broad similarities to humans, including their audiograms and auditory filter widths (Dooling, Okanoya, Downing, & Hulse, 1986; Klump, Langemann, & Gleich, 2000). Furthermore, although birds lack the six-layered neocortex found in mammals, neuroanatomical research has revealed that the songbird auditory pallium is functionally analogous to the mammalian auditory cortical microcircuit (Calabrese & Woolley, 2015; Karten, 2013). Consistent with this finding, experiments have shown that starlings, like humans, perceive the pitch of the missing fundamental of harmonically structured tones (Cynx & Shapiro, 1986). These observations, combined with the fact that the avian auditory system follows the general vertebrate plan (Carr, 1992), might naturally lead one to expect that starlings and humans would share basic features of melody perception.

One basic feature of human melody perception is the ability to recognize a familiar melody when it is “transposed” in pitch (shifted up or down in log frequency). For example, when the “Happy Birthday” tune is played on a piccolo versus a tuba, a human listener effortlessly recognizes the tune in both cases, even if that person has never previously heard it played in such a high or low pitch register. This shows that human melodic recognition does not depend on the absolute pitches of notes but on the pattern of relations between pitches, or “relative pitch” (the pattern of pitch intervals between notes, which remains constant across different transpositions). Although humans do show some memory for the absolute pitch of familiar tunes (Creel & Tumlin, 2012; Levitin, 1994), and a small percentage of people develop the ability to recognize individual tones based on their absolute pitch (Levitin & Rogers, 2005), most humans strongly rely on relative pitch for melody recognition, beginning in infancy (Plantinga & Trainor, 2005).

At first glance, melodic recognition based on relative pitch seems a basic ability, likely to be common among animals. Indeed, early Gestalt psychologists used the recognition of transposed melodies as an example of holistic perception whereby objects retain their identity when relations between their parts are maintained even if the identity of individual parts is changed (Rock & Palmer, 1990). Gestalt principles are generally not assumed to be uniquely human, because many animals need to recognize objects based on relational rather than absolute features. Thus it is reasonable to expect that starlings, like humans, would readily recognize familiar melodies when they were transposed.

In this light, a series of experiments by Stuart Hulse and colleagues (commencing with Hulse, Cynx, & Humpal, 1984) produced surprising results. These studies showed that starlings could easily be trained to discriminate between different tone sequences (e.g., ascending vs. descending in pitch), but they did not generalize this discrimination when the sequences were transposed outside of the training range. (When transpositions remained within the training range, they did show some generalization, a finding termed the “frequency range constraint”; Hulse, Page, & Braaten, 1990). Subsequent work replicated this finding and revealed that it was not unique to starlings (reviewed in Hulse, Takeuchi, & Braaten, 1992). Nonrecognition of transposed tone sequences was also observed in several other avian species; in rats; and even in a primate, the capuchin monkey (D’Amato, 1988; though see Wright, Rivera, Hulse, Shyan, & Neiworth, 2000, for different results with Rhesus macaques). These findings led to the widespread belief that songbirds recognize tone sequences on the basis of absolute (rather than relative) pitch, that is, based on the specific frequencies used in tone sequences (Weisman, Williams, Cohen, Njegovan, & Sturdy, 2006; though see Hoeschele, Guillette, & Sturdy, 2012). This view was strengthened by the finding that songbirds can readily learn to categorize a large set of pure tones (spanning more than two octaves) into eight alternating “go” and “no go” frequency bands based on their absolute frequency, a task on which most humans (i.e., those without musical absolute pitch) do poorly (Weisman, Njegovan, Williams, Cohen, & Sturdy, 2004).

This lack of relational pitch processing in starlings was even more surprising given that these birds are capable of relational processing for other aspects of tone sequences. For example, starlings can learn to discriminate between tone sequences that increase versus decrease in loudness and can generalize this discrimination to different loudness ranges (Bernard & Hulse, 1992). They can also discriminate isochronous from arrhythmic tone sequences and generalize this discrimination to new tempi (Hulse, Humpal, & Cynx, 1984).

Thus it seems that recognition of frequency-shifted tone sequences (i.e., melodic recognition based on relative pitch) may rely on specialized (vs. ancient and widespread) neural mechanisms. Consistent with this idea, neuroimaging work with humans has revealed that recognition of transposed melodies involves a complex network of regions including interactions between auditory and parietal cortex (Foster & Zatorre, 2010).

Testing With More Complex Acoustic Stimuli

When an animal seems to lack a seemingly “basic” perceptual or cognitive capacity seen in humans, such as recognition of transposed tone sequences, it is important to determine if testing with different methods or stimuli would lead to different results. In particular, it is important to consider whether more naturalistic stimuli or tasks would reveal capacities that might otherwise remain hidden (de Waal, 2016). Inspired by these concerns, and by evidence for songbird brain regions sensitive to conspecific vocalizations (Doupe, 1997), Bregman, Patel, and Gentner (2012) tested whether starlings could recognize conspecific songs that were shifted up or down in frequency. Specifically, starlings were trained to discriminate between different conspecific songs and tested for their ability to recognize these songs when they were shifted up or down in frequency (by up to 40%). Unlike previous findings with melodies, the starlings readily recognized the shifted songs for shifts both within and outside the training range.

The findings of Bregman et al. (2012) inspired us to think about how stimulus characteristics might have influenced the results of past studies on starling recognition of transposed melodies. Most such studies used pure tones, which are quite unlike the sounds used by starlings in their own communication system. Starling songs are spectrotemporally complex, with a rich mix of tonal, noisy, broadband, and narrowband elements (see Figure 2 for an example).

Figure 2. An excerpt of European starling song, illustrating its spectrotemporal complexity.

Figure 2. An excerpt of European starling song, illustrating its spectrotemporal complexity.

Thus we hypothesized that if starlings were trained to recognize tone sequences with spectrotemporal variation, they would recognize the sequences if transposed. We tested this hypothesis in Experiment 1 of Bregman et al. (2016), in which starlings were trained to discriminate between sequences of complex harmonic tones distinguished by both pitch patterns and spectral patterns (Figure 3). Variation in spectral patterns was achieved by having each tone produced with a distinct musical timbre. As previously noted, spectral structure is an important acoustic attribute contributing to timbre, thus by varying timbre from note to note we varied spectral structure in a controlled way.

Figure 3. (A) Schematic of the operant panel used for behavioral testing in Bregman et al. (2016). Three response ports, the food port, and playback speaker are labeled. (B) Schematic of the six training stimuli used in Experiment 1. Colored boxes indicate complex harmonic tones, and numbers in each box are the fundamental frequencies of each tone. (These numbers have been rounded to the nearest integer value for display purposes: actual values in Hz [and corresponding Western musical note names] were: 466.16 [Bb4], 523.25 [C5], 578.33 [D5], 659.25 [E5], 739.99 [F#5], 830.61 [G#5]). Colors indicate musical instrument timbre (blue, oboe; red, choir “aah”; green, muted trumpet; purple, synthesizer). Each of the three ascending and three descending tone sequences are connected with black lines. (C) Mean proportion of correct responses for each of the five subjects (one color per subject) over the course of training. From “Songbirds Use Spectral Shape, not Pitch, for Sound Pattern Recognition,” by M. R. Bregman, A. D. Patel, and T. Q. Gentner, 2016, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 113, p. 1667. Copyright 2016 by National Academy of Sciences. Adapted with permission.

Figure 3. (A) Schematic of the operant panel used for behavioral testing in Bregman et al. (2016). Three response ports, the food port, and playback speaker are labeled. (B) Schematic of the six training stimuli used in Experiment 1. Colored boxes indicate complex harmonic tones, and numbers in each box are the fundamental frequencies of each tone. (These numbers have been rounded to the nearest integer value for display purposes: actual values in Hz [and corresponding Western musical note names] were: 466.16 [Bb4], 523.25 [C5], 578.33 [D5], 659.25 [E5], 739.99 [F#5], 830.61 [G#5]). Colors indicate musical instrument timbre (blue, oboe; red, choir “aah”; green, muted trumpet; purple, synthesizer). Each of the three ascending and three descending tone sequences are connected with black lines. (C) Mean proportion of correct responses for each of the five subjects (one color per subject) over the course of training. From “Songbirds Use Spectral Shape, not Pitch, for Sound Pattern Recognition,” by M. R. Bregman, A. D. Patel, and T. Q. Gentner, 2016, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 113, p. 1667. Copyright 2016 by National Academy of Sciences. Adapted with permission.

 

Specifically, the birds were trained to peck one key if they heard a sequence of four tones rising in pitch (with tonal timbres in the order O, C, M, S, where O = oboe, C = choir “aah,” M = muted trumpet, S = synthesizer) and another key if they heard a sequence of four tones falling in pitch (with timbres in the order M, O, S, C). Thus the pattern of pitches and timbres provided redundant cues for perceptual discrimination. Once the birds learned this discrimination (which they did readily; cf. Figure 3C), we tested their ability to recognize (i.e., generalize their discrimination to) transposed versions of these sequences, both within and outside the training range.

Contrary to our hypothesis, the birds showed no generalization, even for small transpositions within the training range. This finding seemed consistent with the idea that the birds use absolute pitch (AP) to recognize tone sequences. Indeed, it seemed that their commitment to AP might even be strengthened when sequences contain spectrotemporal variation versus when sequences are made from pure tones. Recall that when tested with pure-tone sequences in prior research, starlings recognize sequences transposed within the frequency range of the training stimuli (the frequency range constraint). In contrast, the starlings in our study failed to recognize transpositions that stayed entirely within the training range, for example, an upward shift of just one semitone relative to the lowest ascending-–descending sequence pair in Figure 3B.

However, before concluding that the starlings were using AP as the primary cue for recognizing tone sequences in our study, we felt it was necessary to obtain positive evidence that this was the case. We reasoned that if AP was the primary cue used to recognize melodies, then starlings should generalize to sequences matched in AP to the training sequences but differing in timbre. Thus in Experiment 2 of Bregman et al. (2016), we tested if starlings would generalize their discrimination to a rising versus falling melodic pair identical in AP to one of the training pairs (the lowest ascending–descending pair in Figure 3B) but differing in timbre (made from piano tones). We found that the birds did not generalize to these AP-matched sequences, indicating that that AP was not the essential cue for tone sequence recognition.

Evidence for the Use of Spectral Shape, not Pitch, in Starling Tone Sequence Recognition

Experiments 1 and 2 of Bregman et al. (2016) showed that when starlings learn to recognize a tone sequence, they use neither relative pitch (Experiment 1) nor absolute pitch (Experiment 2) as the primary cue for recognition. Another way to put this is that starlings do not recognize a familiar melody if it is transposed in pitch when its sequence of timbres is preserved (Experiment 1), nor (conversely) if its sequence of pitches is preserved but its timbre is changed (Experiment 2). This suggests that pitch and timbre are not good descriptors of the cues used by starlings to recognize tone sequences and/or that these perceptual attributes are not independent for the birds (a possibility also suggested by Hoeschele, Cook, Guillette, Hahn, & Sturdy, 2014).

If starlings do not use pitch for tone sequence recognition, what perceptual cues are they using? We reasoned that they might be using a cue more directly related to the acoustic structure of sounds, namely, the spectral shape of sounds. As noted above, spectral shape is known to be an important cue in speech recognition in humans.

To test the spectral shape hypothesis, we created noise-vocoded (NV) versions of our training sequences, using 16 frequency bands spanning 50–11,000 Hz. (In noise vocoding, the number of frequency bands determines how faithfully the spectral envelope traces the underlying spectral structure: more bands result in more detailed tracing. 16 bands has been shown to result in high intelligibility in speech perception research; Shannon, Fu, & Galvin, 2004). Experiment 3 of Bregman et al. (2016) tested whether starlings would generalize their discrimination of the melodic training sequences (cf. Figure 3B) to NV versions of these sequences. This experiment used a transfer paradigm, whereby the three pairs of ascending versus descending training sequences (which were discriminated with a high degree of accuracy by the starlings) were replaced with their NV counterparts. Success of transfer is indicated by the strength of the initial transfer and by the subsequent acquisition rate. By both measures, the starlings showed strong transfer to the NV sequences. To directly compare the strength of this transfer to the ability to recognize melodies on the basis of AP, the second part of Experiment 3 tested transfer from the original training sequences to piano-tone versions of these sequences matched in AP to the training sequences. In this case, the starlings showed poor generalization, even though these birds had prior experience with the transfer task (i.e., via the NV experiment).

These results indicated that spectral shape, not pitch, was a key cue for tone sequence recognition by starlings. We know that spectral shape rather than detailed spectral structure (or pitch) was important for recognition because NV preserved the overall spectral structure (i.e., the spectral envelope) while eliminating pitch information. It is important to note, however, that simply retaining spectral envelope is not enough to guarantee tone sequence recognition by starlings. In Experiment 1, the training sequences retained their spectral envelopes when transposed (because the sequences were simply shifted up or down in log frequency), yet the birds did not recognize the transposed tone sequences. This suggests that it is not just spectral envelope that is important for starling tone sequence recognition but “absolute spectral envelope,” that is, the overall pattern of spectral amplitudes across particular frequency bands.

Given these findings, we can now reinterpret the results of prior experiments on avian tone sequence recognition that employed pure tones. In pure tones (which have just one frequency), the absolute spectral envelope corresponds directly to pitch, which can lead one to interpret the results of such studies in terms of absolute pitch as a recognition cue. It is only when one uses more spectrally complex sounds that one can dissociate spectral envelope and pitch, and test whether pitch patterns are truly the basis for tone sequence recognition.

Challenges to the Idea of Absolute Spectral Envelope as a Recognition Cue

The idea that starlings use absolute spectral envelope for tone sequence recognition faces challenges from four findings that seem to contradict this idea. First, in Bregman et al. (2012), starlings readily recognized conspecific songs when they were shifted up or down in frequency. Such shifts do not preserve the absolute spectral envelopes of songs, because the original songs are shifted into different frequency bands. Thus we suspect that absolute spectral envelope is not the only cue starlings use for recognizing conspecific songs. Starling songs are spectrotemporally complex and provide a number of nonspectral cues that might be used for recognition (and that would not be affected by frequency shifting), including amplitude modulation patterns, the timing of syllable onsets, and the timing (and/or serial order) of other acoustic landmarks. Thus the importance of different cues for sound pattern recognition may depend on the stimuli used and the listening task. Further research is needed to determine what cues starlings use to recognize frequency-shifted songs. I suspect (contra our original interpretation in Bregman et al., 2012, but in line with Bregman et al., 2016) that the relevant cues do not concern pitch patterns within the songs.

Second, prior work has shown that songbirds can recognize similar spectral structures at different absolute frequencies (Braaten & Hulse, 1991; cf. Hoeschele, Cook, Guillette, Brooks, & Sturdy, 2012). Such structures would have different absolute spectral envelopes, again challenging the idea of absolute spectral envelope as a recognition cue. However, the distinct spectral structures used by Braaten and Hulse (1991) may have also differed in other perceptual properties, such as degree of consonance or dissonance, which can drive generalization (Hulse, Bernard, & Braaten, 1995).

Third, starlings perceive the missing fundamental of harmonic complexes. This has been shown by training the birds to discriminate between two pure tones and testing their ability to generalize this discrimination to harmonic complexes containing four consecutive higher harmonics of these tones. Starlings show immediate and accurate performance on this generalization task (Cynx & Shapiro, 1986), which implies that they perceive the missing fundamental. For the current purposes, the relevant point is that this generalization occurred even though the absolute spectral envelopes of the training and test stimuli were quite different (e.g., one training stimulus was a 200 Hz pure tone, whereas the associated harmonic complex had frequencies of 800, 1000, 1200, and 1400 Hz). Although this generalization cannot be based on absolute spectral envelope, it is important to note that Cynx and Shapiro (1986) studied the perception of individual tones that lacked any spectrotemporal variation, whereas Bregman et al. (2016) studied the perception of tone sequenceswith spectrotemporal variation. Thus the use of absolute spectral envelope as a key cue for tone sequence recognition may apply when tones are acoustically complex and are in sequences where spectral structure varies.

Fourth, as noted earlier, when starlings are trained to discriminate ascending from descending pure tone sequences, they can generalize to transposed versions of these sequences within the frequency range of the training stimuli (the frequency range constraint). Such transpositions do not preserve the pattern of absolute spectral envelopes of tone sequences. However, pure tones have no variation in spectral structure from one sound to the next, because each tone consists of single frequency. As noted earlier, when Bregman et al. (2016) used sequences of complex harmonic tones with variation in spectral structure, they found no generalization to transpositions that lay entirely within the training range (including transpositions of just one semitone). This points to the need for further studies that vary the acoustic complexity of tones and the amount of tone-to-tone variation in spectral structure to determine at what point spectral envelope becomes a primary cue for tone sequence recognition. It may be, for example, that pitch plays a role in starling tone sequence recognition if complex harmonic tones are less acoustically complex than real musical instrument sounds, and/or if the spectral structure of complex harmonic tones does not vary from tone to tone. Consistent with this idea, Bregman et al. (2012) found that starlings trained to discriminate short melodic sequences made from piano tones could recognize transpositions of such sequences by one or two semitones. Because these sequences were made entirely of piano tones, there was little variation in spectral structure from tone to tone. Thus pitch may have been given more weight as a cue for tone sequence recognition than in the study of Bregman et al. (2016), where spectral structure showed considerably more variation from tone to tone.

From these considerations it is clear that future work on avian tone sequence recognition should vary the acoustic complexity (and degree of spectral ­modulation) of complex harmonic tones in order to determine how the hierarchy of cues used by birds for tone sequence recognition depends on stimulus structure. It will also be important to know whether this hierarchy differs between species. As a comparison to starlings, zebra finches (Taeniopygia guttata) would be interesting to study because their songs have many harmonically structured elements and because these finches have been studied in terms of their sensitivity to aspects of spectral shape and pitch as recognition cues for natural sounds (e.g., Uno, Maekawa, & Kaneko, 1997; Vignal & Mathevon,2011).

Having reviewed the background and findings of Bregman et al. (2016), we can now turn to the three questions raised at the opening of this paper.

Why Would Starlings Use Spectral Shape, not Pitch, for Tone Sequence Recognition?

In seeking to understand why starlings use spectral shape rather than pitch to recognize tone sequences, a logical starting point is to think about the roles these two factors play in the bird’s own communication system. As just noted, starling song is spectrotemporally complex, and to human ears it often sounds as if more than one pitch is being produced simultaneously (which could reflect the two sides of the avian syrinx producing different sounds). Starling songs also contain frequent inharmonic sounds that do not yield a clear pitch. In other words, unlike in “tonal” birdsongs, which are dominated by just one time-varying frequency, starling songs do not project a clear, unitary pitch sequence. This may be one reason why these birds don’t rely on pitch patterns when recognizing tone sequences.

It is important to note that the non-use of pitch for tone sequence recognition by starlings is not due to an inability to perceive pitch. As previously stated, starlings perceive the pitch of harmonic complexes, as shown by research on perception of the missing fundamental. Yet even though they can perceive the pitch of harmonically structured tones, the results of Bregman et al. (2016) show that they do not use pitch patterns for tone sequence recognition. In other words, humanlike pitch perception of individual tones (e.g., as recently documented in the common marmoset Callithrix jacchus by Song, Osmanski, Guo, & Wang, 2016) does not automatically lead to humanlike processing of tone sequences.

If starlings do not use pitch for tone sequence recognition, why do they rely on spectral shape for this task? One idea is that attending to the spectral shape of sound sequences is beneficial in the animal’s own communication system. A recent acoustic study of the full vocal repertoire of another songbird that produces spectrotemporally complex sounds (the zebra finch) revealed that their 10 call types were primarily distinguished by spectral shape (Elie & Theunissen, 2016). These variations in spectral shape are driven by changes in the shape of the vocal tract (Riede, Schilling, & Goller, 2013). Thus starlings may use spectral shape as a primary cue in distinguishing between different conspecific call types. Spectral shape patterns may also be important in starlings’ ability to recognize other individual starlings based on their songs (Gentner & Hulse, 1998).

The exact spectral structure of a sound is a very detailed acoustic property. The results of Bregman et al.’s (2016) Experiment 3, and of the study of Elie and Theunissen (2016), suggest that the full details of spectral structure are not necessary for sound pattern ­recognition/discrimination by songbirds. Instead, the spectral envelope (which conveys the overall distribution of energy across frequency bands) appears to be sufficient. This is an interesting parallel to speech perception in humans (Shannon, 2016).

Returning to pitch perception, if starlings perceive the pitch of sounds but don’t use pitch patterns for sound pattern recognition, what function does pitch perception serve for them? A possible answer is suggested by the findings of Elie and Theunissen (2016). They examined a large number of acoustic features to see which best discriminated between different types of zebra finch vocalizations. As noted previously, spectral shape was a key feature, but an important secondary feature was pitch saliency, which distinguishes noisy sounds from tonal or harmonic sounds. Thus, pitch perception may play an important role for starlings as a cue in distinguishing call types based on pitch saliency.

Why Do Humans Use Pitch for Tone Sequence Recognition?

Why do humans (unlike starlings) gravitate to pitch as a key attribute when recognizing tone sequences? This tendency may have its roots in human tendency to modulate pitch independently of spectral shape for communicative purposes. For example, human singing often contains phrases in which the same pitch pattern is used with different words (which are largely cued by spectral shape patterns), as in the verses of certain popular songs, where the same melodic patterns are paired with different words. Conversely, in speech it is not uncommon to hear the same sequence of words spoken with different pitch patterns (e.g., “It’s your birthday!” vs. “It’s your birthday?”). Thus pitch and spectral shape exhibit a significant degree of “informational independence” in human auditory communication. This may be why humans automatically perceptually separate pitch and spectral shape when processing tone sequences and (because spectral shape patterns in tone sequences convey no lexical information) attend to pitch as a key feature for tone sequence recognition.

Is Using Pitch to Recognize Tone Sequences Evolutionarily Ancient or Recent? The Informational Independence Hypothesis

Starling’s use of spectral shape rather than pitch to recognize tone sequences raises the question of how widespread this tendency is among nonhuman animals. If using pitch to recognize tone sequences reflects ancient, widespread brain mechanisms of sound pattern recognition, then this trait should be common among animals, and starlings should be an exception to the rule. If, on the other hand, tone sequence recognition based on pitch is a recent evolutionary trait, then humans may share this trait with few other species.

I suspect that the use of pitch to recognize tone sequences may be a rare trait, present only in animals with certain types of communication systems. These are systems in which pitch and spectral shape patterns are modulated independently in acoustic sequences to convey distinct types of information (cf. the previous section). I call this the informational independence hypothesis. Underlying this hypothesis is the idea that the perceptual separation of pitch and spectral shape in sound sequences reflects auditory neural specializations driven by specific communicative needs. In this light, it is interesting to note that human auditory cortical brain regions involved in pitch perception appear to be partly distinct from those involved in the analysis of spectral shape (Norman-Haignere, Kanwisher, & McDermott, 2013; Warren, Jennings, & Griffiths, 2005).

What other species exhibit informational independence of pitch and spectral shape in their communication systems? A signature of such systems is the use of similar pitch patterns with different sequences of spectral shapes and/or the use of different pitch patterns with similar sequences of spectral shapes. From a comparative perspective, such systems may be quite rare in animal communication. To be sure, many bird and mammal species modulate spectral shape and pitch for communicative purposes (e.g., Elie & Theunissen, 2016; Fitch, 2000; Pisanski, Cartei, McGettigan, Raine, & Reby, 2016), for example, to distinguish affiliative from agonistic calls (Morton, 1977). However, this does not prove that they are modulated independently in sequences to convey distinct types of information. In searching for other species that exhibit informational independence of spectral shape and pitch, it may be useful to examine animals that produce communicative sequences employing harmonic sounds with clear pitch, and in which these sounds can be ordered in different ways for communicative purposes. In this regard, Campbell’s monkeys (Cercopithecus campbelli) and Bengalese finches (Lonchura striata domestica) would be promising species to examine (Abe & Watanabe, 2011; Okanoya, 2004; Ouattara, Lemasson, & Zuberbühler, 2009; Schlenker et al., 2014). Common marmosets also merit study because they produce numerous tonal calls (Pistorio, Vintch, & Wang, 2006) and are well studied in the laboratory (e.g., Miller, Mandel, & Wang, 2010).

The informational independence hypothesis makes a testable prediction: If an animal does not exhibit informational independence of pitch and spectral shape in its own communicative sequences, it will not use pitch to recognize tone sequences. Note that this prediction pertains to the recognition of sequences of complex harmonic tones that vary in spectral structure and could be tested using the stimuli and methods form the noise-vocoding experiment of Bregman et al. (2016). Thus the hypothesis makes the counterintuitive prediction that birds that sing “tonal” songs dominated by just one time-varying frequency, such as the Common Yellowthroat (Geothlypis trichas), will not use pitch to recognize tone sequences. Such bird songs sound very musical to human ears, yet because they largely consist of a single time-varying frequency, spectral shape, and pitch are not dissociable and thus are not modulated independently during song production. (In searching for species to study in order to test this prediction, it will be important to examine a species’ songs as well as its calls. One would want to test animals where there is no evidence of informational independence of pitch and spectral shape in either the songs or the calls.)

If the informational independence hypothesis is supported by future work, an interesting question will be the extent to which other species can learn to use pitch to recognize tone sequences. Ferrets (Mustela putorius furo) would be an interesting species to study in this regard. Neural research suggests that ferret auditory cortical neurons sensitive to pitch are also typically sensitive to timbre (Bizley, Walker, Silverman, King, & Schnupp, 2009), an auditory attribute in which spectral shape plays a key role (Caclin, McAdams, Smith, & Winsberg, 2005). Thus pitch and spectral shape may not be well separated in the brains of these animals. If these animals (like starlings) tend to use spectral shape for tone sequence recognition, then one could address the learning question just alluded to. Specifically, if young ferrets were raised in an acoustic environment where pitch and spectral shape patterns were varied independently in sequences of complex harmonic tones to convey distinct “meanings” (e.g., related to food availability or other meaningful environmental variables), would the animals (as adults) use pitch to recognize tone sequences? If so, this would suggest that the human tendency to recognize tone sequences based on pitch patterns need not reflect evolved neural specializations and could emerge through experience-dependent neural plasticity (Fritz, Shamma, Elhilali, & Klein, 2003) driven by the informational independence of pitch and spectral shape in human auditory communication.

Conclusion

Cross-species studies of music perception have recently begun to grow in number and scope. Such studies provide an empirical approach to studying the evolutionary history of music cognition (Patel, in press). In this article I have focused on a major difference in how songbirds (European starlings) versus humans recognize sequences of complex harmonic tones that vary in spectral structure. For humans, the pitch pattern of the tones is a key cue for recognition, whereas for starlings the pattern of spectral shapes, not pitch, is key for recognition. I suggest that this difference has its roots in the way pitch and spectral shape are used in the natural communication systems of starlings versus humans and propose that recognizing such tone sequences based on pitch patterns is likely to be an unusual trait, reflecting auditory neural specializations that are rare in cognitive evolution.

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Volume 12: pp. 5–18

ccbr_01-hoeschele_v12-openerAnimal Pitch Perception: Melodies and Harmonies

Marisa Hoeschele
University of Vienna

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Abstract

Pitch is a percept of sound that is based in part on fundamental frequency. Although pitch can be defined in a way that is clearly separable from other aspects of musical sounds, such as timbre, the perception of pitch is not a simple topic. Despite this, studying pitch separately from other aspects of sound has led to some interesting conclusions about how humans and other animals process acoustic signals. It turns out that pitch perception in humans is based on an assessment of pitch height, pitch chroma, relative pitch, and grouping principles. How pitch is broken down depends largely on the context. Most, if not all, of these principles appear to also be used by other species, but when and how accurately they are used varies across species and context. Studying how other animals compare to humans in their pitch abilities is partially a reevaluation of what we know about humans by considering ourselves in a biological context.

Keywords: pitch, music, acoustics, perception

Author Note: Marisa Hoeschele, Department of Cognitive Biology, University of Vienna, Vienna, Austria.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Marisa Hoeschele at marisa.hoeschele@univie.ac.at.

Acknowledgments: Marisa Hoeschele was funded by a Lise Meitner Postdoctoral Fellowship (M 1732-B19) from the Austrian Science Fund (FWF) during the writing of this manuscript. This paper is part of a special issue that is based on a symposium organized by the author entitled “Evolution of Music” at the Comparative Cognition Conference in March 2016.


Introduction

Music is found in all human cultures and, much like language, there are universals in musical systems across cultures (Brown & Jordania, 2011). Because music appears to be part of what it means to be human, it follows that researchers have become interested in the biology of music: What is it about human biology that causes us to have music (Fitch, 2006; Patel, 2003)? One way to shed light on this question is to compare humans to other species. Comparative studies have suggested that many abilities found in humans that relate to our passion for music are not unique to our species (Hoeschele, Merchant, Kikuchi, Hattori, & ten Cate, 2015).

Because human music is also influenced greatly by the general human trait of complex cultural evolution, sometimes the complexity of present-day music is taken as a sign that human music is quite unlike anything that other species produce. However, the universals we find across cultures, such as discrete pitches and the use of pitch intervals with simple interval ratios (Brown & Jordania, 2011; Burns, 1981; Carterette & Kendall, 1999), are sometimes also found in isolation in other species (e.g., Cator, Arthur, Harrington, & Hoy, 2009; Doolittle & Brumm, 2013; Doolittle, Gingras, Endres, & Fitch, 2014). Because pitch plays a central role in the discussion of human music universals, it is the focus of the current special issue on animal music perception (see preface in this issue for an introduction).

Pitch is a percept of sound that is correlated with fundamental frequency (Dowling & Harwood, 1986). When we describe human female voices as being “higher” than male voices, or a melody going “up” and “down,” we are talking about changes in pitch. Pitch is a very important attribute of sound that carries information in human speech, human music, and the vocalizations of many nonhuman species (Doupe & Kuhl, 1999; Rothenberg, Roeske, Voss, Naguib, & Tchernichovski, 2014). Pitch information transmitted by animal species is sometimes based in physical acoustics. For example, larger objects tend to make lower pitched sounds, and animals have been shown to exploit this fact in order to sound larger (Fitch & Hauser, 2003). Pitch information can also be learned, such as the role of pitch the Vietnamese word môt, which can mean either “trendy” or “one” based on the pitch inflection (Kim et al., 2016).

It is important that we disambiguate pitch from timbre, both of which are based on the spectral properties of a sound. Whereas pitch is correlated with the fundamental frequency of a sound, timbre is derived from the rest of the spectral information (Dowling & Harwood, 1986). Timbre gives sound its quality, for example, the difference between the same note played on the piano and on the violin. A piano and a violin following the same note pattern on sheet music are playing the same pitches but not the same timbre. As one can see from this example, in music pitch and timbre are clearly separated. The notes written on sheet music are pitch, whereas the expression and instrumentation of this sheet music is the timbre.

Because of this definitional distinction between pitch and timbre, it is often taken for granted that humans also perceive these two aspects of sound as distinct. In some sense, this is true. For example, the tune “Happy Birthday” is recognizable whether it’s being hummed or whether it’s being played by a violin. As such, timbre has been referred to as a “surface feature” rather than a deeper structural feature of music (e.g., Halpern & Müllensiefen, 2008; Schellenberg, Stanlinski, & Marks, 2013; Warker & Halpern, 2005). However, we know that timbre contributes to how pitch information is processed (Lange & Czernochowski, 2013; Weiss, Vanzella, Schellenberg, & Trehub, 2015). In addition, it is so difficult to extract pitch information from a recording of modern music that there is so far no trusted algorithm to do so (Benetos, Dixon, Giannoulis, & Kirchhoff, 2013). Instead, researchers analyzing pitch in music rely heavily on transcriptions of the music into musical notation by expert human listeners, such as the McGill billboard project (Burgoyne, Wild, & Fijinaga, 2011). As pitch transcription in songs that have many instruments is extremely difficult and sometimes even impossible for expert listeners (Klapuri & Davy, 2006), it is very unlikely that the average human listener can always clearly separate pitch and timbre in the music they encounter.

Despite this, focusing on pitch in isolation is a good starting place to begin to understand how pitch information is used across species. Outside of the complex music we listen to today, the individual vocal signals we encounter have much simpler pitch information. In speech, pitch alone can change both emotional and semantic information (Bowling, Gill, Choi, Prinz, & Purves, 2010; Curtis & Bharucha, 2010; Filippi, 2016). In addition, there is evidence that both mammalian and avian species perceive fundamental frequency (the acoustic correlate of pitch) even if it has been removed from the signal (Cynx & Shapiro, 1986; Heffner & Whitfield, 1976; Tomlinson & Schwarz, 1988), an ability already present in human infants (Lau & Werner, 2012). This ability to break down acoustic stimuli to assess fundamental frequency allows animals to parse pitch information even in signals where the lower frequencies are lost or masked. A common example of this ability being put to use is found in humans: We are able to recognize the low pitch of a male voice over the phone, even though the lower frequencies that distinguish the male voice from female have been lost in the transmission process.

Another reason to study pitch separately from timbre is that pitch perception is quite complicated, even in humans. From our initial description just presented, one might imagine that pitch perception is simply the ability to identify a 220 Hz tone as 220 Hz and a 440 Hz tone as 440 Hz. However, humans are typically quite poor at this. Instead, we might treat these two notes as the same note, because they are harmonically related. Harmonics are overtones that occur at integer multiples of the fundamental frequency. Because 440 Hz is an integer multiple of 220 Hz (2×) it is also a naturally occurring harmonic of 220 Hz. We also might assess two notes in a relative way: 440 Hz is higher than 220 Hz by 12 semitones, which sounds similar to notes separated by a distance of 11 or 13 semitones. Relative assessments can get more complicated still: We might say the ratio of 220 to 440 Hz is 1:2, a simple ratio, which sounds similar to other simple ratios such as 2:3, which are only seven semitones apart. With all these different ways of assessing pitch, there is no simple answer as to how a pattern of notes will be perceived even in our own species. Next I discuss each of these methods of assessing pitch in more depth and outline what we know about each of them across species. Finally, I discuss where the combined results suggest we should go in future research.

Absolute Pitch

What Is Absolute Pitch?

In music, absolute pitch (also known as “perfect pitch”) refers to the ability to identify a musical note without an external reference, for example, identifying 220 Hz or 440 Hz as an “A” note. This is a rare ability that has been said to occur in as few as one in 10,000 people (Bachem, 1955). People are typically defined as either having absolute pitch or not having it. When we are just discussing our own species, separating humans into these two groups makes a lot of sense because the ability does appear to be mostly categorical, not continuous (Athos et al., 2007), at least when it comes to generalization across timbres (Baharloo, Johnston, Service, Gitschier, & Freimer, 1998; Lockhead & Byrd, 1981).

However, the story changes when we consider our species in context with other species. Do people who lack musical absolute pitch as just described have no sense of absolute pitch at all? A quick thought experiment makes it clear that the answer is “no.” Absolute pitch is the first piece of information we use to discriminate male and female voices (Latinus & Taylor, 2012). And when asked to sing a popular recorded song, about two thirds of participants reproduced the absolute pitches from the recording fairly accurately (within two semitones) without prompting (Levitin, 1994). People are also quite good at identifying frequency shifted versions of a melody they know well (Schellenberg & Trehub, 2003). Tones heard frequently, such as a dial tone on a home phone line, are also recognized at their normal pitch (Smith & Schmuckler, 2008). The majority of humans are simply not accurate enough as absolute pitch assessors to label specific musical notes.

Pioneering work by Stewart Hulse and colleagues showed that several avian species appear to be quite different from humans in their perception of both absolute and relative pitch (Hulse, Bernard, & Braaten, 1995; Hulse & Cynx, 1985, 1986; Hulse, Cynx, & Humpal, 1984; MacDougall-Shackleton & Hulse, 1996; Page, Hulse, & Cynx, 1989). In response to this work, Ron Weisman and many colleagues (Friedrich, Zentall, & Weisman, 2007; Lee, Charrier, Bloomfield, Weisman, & Sturdy, 2006; Weisman et al., 2010; Weisman, Balkwill, Hoeschele, Moscicki, & Sturdy, 2012) systematically assessed the absolute pitch abilities of humans and other mammalian and avian species when presented with tones using a simple operant conditioning task. The animals were rewarded for responding to some tones but not to other tones. The tones were divided into either three or eight frequency ranges of alternating reward contingency: For example, the lowest frequencies might be unrewarded, followed by a rewarded range, followed by unrewarded, and so on. Overall, the studies showed that the majority of humans and rats (Rattus norvegicus) were able to solve a three-range task but failed at an eight-range task, pigeons did a little better showing some success at the eight-range task, whereas several vocal learning bird species were able to solve both tasks with high accuracy (Weisman, Mewhort, Hoeschele, & Sturdy, 2012).

The preceding data, with highly comparable methodology across species, makes the story we can tell about absolute pitch seem quite simple: Overall, mammals are less accurate relative to birds, especially birds that are vocal learners. However, it is difficult to draw such a sweeping conclusion from so few species, especially when we have not fully considered what we know about humans. What about those humans with musical absolute pitch abilities? Have we really told the whole story about humans relative to other species without taking these exceptions into account? It turns out humans with musical absolute pitch do very well at this task, and approach the level of discrimination that some of the birds had. However, they make some very striking errors, responding at chance level to some tones in the middle of a reinforced range (Weisman et al., 2010). These data made it clear that there was more to the absolute pitch story than we had initially anticipated.

Pitch Height versus Pitch Chroma

The initial work spearheaded by Ron Weisman focused on treating the perception of pitch much like how we assess most other stimuli that range in some continuous parameter such as size, brightness, loudness, and so forth: according to Weber’s law. Weber’s law is quite intuitive in many cases. If we compare a set of two objects to a set of three objects, it is easy to identify that the second set contains more objects. Whereas, if we compare a set of 100 objects to a set of 101 objects, it may be difficult to tell which set is larger even though both set comparisons involve adding one additional element. Pitch height is the perception of pitch according to Weber’s law alone, where we perceive differences in frequency on a log linear scale.

Pitch chroma, by contrast, is what caused the humans with musical absolute pitch to make errors in the eight-range discrimination task, just described (Weisman et al., 2010). It is a circular way of perceiving pitch, where pitch repeats each time frequency doubles. For example, in Western music, if we begin on an A note on the piano and ascend the keyboard labeling the note of each key we pass, after 12 notes we have another A note and the pattern repeats. Each repetition is referred to as an “octave.” In the range discrimination task, our participants treated tones that were double the frequency of other tones as the same tone. In other words, an A note was always an A note, regardless of its frequency. In cases where tones separated by an octave were reinforced differentially, participants were more likely to make errors. In other words, they were perceiving pitch in a circular fashion. Their absolute perception of pitch turned out to be more complicated than simply log linear. It repeated each time frequency doubled.

It appears that all humans, including those with musical absolute pitch, have a weak sense of pitch height. In the human range experiments, musical absolute pitch was identified in participants by a standardized test of musical absolute pitch (Athos et al., 2007). In the test, participants were required to name the note that they heard and indicate the octave that the note came from. Octaves were labeled with numbers 1 to 6, and we reminded all participants that the fourth octave is where one can find “middle C” on the piano. We found that when it came to labeling what octave a note came from, participants with absolute pitch were no better than participants without absolute pitch (Weisman et al., 2010). It turns out that this is a commonly observed phenomenon: Humans with musical absolute pitch do not have better pitch height judgments than those without musical absolute pitch (Carroll, 1975; Deutsch & Henthorn, 2004; Lockhead & Byrd, 1981; Miyazaki, 1988, 1989; Takeuchi & Hulse, 1993).

Now it was clear that all humans share a roughly similar ability to assess pitch height, regardless of whether they had musical absolute pitch. People with musical absolute pitch relied on their perception of pitch chroma to solve an absolute pitch task designed to assess pitch height perception. Our next question concerned human participants without musical absolute pitch: Did they also hear pitch chroma and were just not as accurate at identifying it? There is some evidence that all humans attend to pitch chroma. Given how poor humans are at pitch height but how well humans do at recognizing and producing familiar melodies and notes at their normal pitch (Levitin, 1994; Schellenberg & Trehub, 2003; Smith & Schmuckler, 2008), it is possible that they are using pitch chroma to solve these tasks. Humans also appear to remember pitch chroma based on how their own voice and dialect make use of it (Deutsch, 1991). It seems that all humans have some level of implicit pitch chroma perception, but it does not typically present itself outside of context. How, then, can we study it in other species?

Before turning to other species, it is important to discuss pitch chroma in more detail, because it otherwise may sound like an arbitrary phenomenon that we should not expect to find in other species. Pitches with the same chroma but different pitch height are separated by one or more octaves. A note and its octave have an integer ratio of 1:2, the simplest ratio outside of unison (1:1). Octaves are found in the harmonics of natural vocalizations. The harmonics found in vocalizations are integer multiples of the fundamental frequency. Because of this, the relationship between the first harmonic of an acoustic signal and its fundamental frequency is always an octave. Many of the other harmonics also have octave relationships to the fundamental frequency. See Figure 1 for a visual depiction of this information. It is common in the human literature to talk about how the octave is “special” and how humans treat notes separated by an octave as being the same. In some sense it is clear that this is the case. When humans with different vocal ranges sing together, such as a child and his or her father, they are said to be singing the “same thing” when they match chroma even if they are singing in different octaves. This may seem like an arbitrary convention, but in fact it makes a lot of sense when one considers the acoustic signal. On average, human male and female voices are roughly an octave apart (Titze, 2000). It is therefore natural to produce vocalizations separated by an octave. Also, because the octave has a simple acoustic relationship naturally found within harmonics, octave transposition of the fundamental frequency produces the closest harmonic match to the original signal (other than reproducing the same fundamental frequency; see Figure 1). As an imitating species in which individuals have different vocal ranges, it makes a lot of sense for humans to utilize the properties of the octave to approximate the vocal sound they are trying to imitate. This separation in vocal range among humans may thus underlie why the octave is “special” in our species.

Figure 1. The pitch interval with the greatest harmonic overlap (outside of unison) is the octave. Here we demonstrate this with an example using 220 Hz (A3) and 440 Hz (A4). The upper portion of the figure shows the fundamental (F0) and first eight harmonics (F1–F8) of both 220 Hz and 440 Hz side by side. Below, the fundamental frequencies are displayed on their own as sinewaves to show the simplicity of the ratio between them that allows them to be heard as one sound by a listener as they pulse in time with each other.

Figure 1. The pitch interval with the greatest harmonic overlap (outside of unison) is the octave. Here we demonstrate this with an example using 220 Hz (A3) and 440 Hz (A4). The upper portion of the figure shows the fundamental (F0) and first eight harmonics (F1–F8) of both 220 Hz and 440 Hz side by side. Below, the fundamental frequencies are displayed on their own as sinewaves to show the simplicity of the ratio between them that allows them to be heard as one sound by a listener as they pulse in time with each other.

Even though the octave plays an important role cross-culturally in vocal production and musical theory, perceptual evidence of the related chroma phenomenon in humans is difficult to find. Although several tests have been developed to test humans for accurate pitch chroma perception without musical training (Ross, Olson, Marks, & Gore, 2004; Weisman, Balkwill, et al., 2012), most humans do fairly poorly at these tasks. In addition, when asked to rate the similarity between two notes, human participants tend to focus on differences in pitch height rather than chroma, especially nonmusicians (Allen, 1967; Krumhansl & Shepard, 1979). However, if participants were given options only with similar chroma, not pitch height (e.g., rating the similarity of notes that were either an octave apart or almost an octave apart), only then would they attend to pitch chroma (Kallman, 1982). A study with rats showed that the rats generalize across octaves (Blackwell & Schlosberg, 1943), but it was later criticized for not controlling for harmonics that would have included octave information (Burns, 1999). One study showed evidence that rhesus monkeys (Macaca mulatta) attend to octaves when recognizing melodies (Wright, Rivera, Hulse, Shyan, & Neiworth, 2000). Another study showed that European starlings (<i”>Sturnus vulgaris) do not show octave equivalence (Cynx, 1993). However, the design used was much like the human studies that failed to show chroma perception (Allen, 1967; Kallman, 1982; Krumhansl & Shepard, 1979). Later, my colleagues and I showed that, indeed, humans also fail at the task that was used with this species, also relying on pitch height rather than pitch chroma (Hoeschele, Weisman, & Sturdy, 2012), much like humans in previous studies. As a response to this literature, we designed our own octave perception task using a similar three-range operant conditioning task to the ones used to test for pitch height by Weisman and colleagues. Here we trained participants to differentially respond to notes presented in one octave and then tested them in a different octave to avoid pitch height effects as much as possible. We were successfully able to show attention to chroma by even nonmusician humans in this task (Hoeschele, Weisman, et al., 2012). A follow-up study with chickadees (Poecile atricapillus) showed that this songbird did not appear to attend to chroma in this same task (Hoeschele, Weisman, Guillette, Hahn, & Sturdy, 2013). Thus, to date, only the more closely related rhesus monkey has been shown in a perceptual task to attend to the octave as humans do, but little work has been conducted on this topic.

As humans readily show octave generalization in their vocal production, it may make more sense to study the vocal production of other species. There is some evidence that other species also attend to harmonic structure when producing pitch. A dolphin (Tursiops truncatus) trained to imitate sounds was able to octave transpose sound outside her preferred range (Richards, Wolz, & Herman, 1984). In addition, both hermit thrushes (Catharus guttatus; Doolittle et al., 2014) and musician wrens (Cyphorhinus arada; Doolittle & Brumm, 2013) tend to sing intervals with small integer ratios, including the octave ratio of 1:2 and other ratios found within the harmonic series such as 2:3 (perfect fifth). A study with great tits (Parus major) showed that male dominance is correlated with their ability to produce simple ratios in their song (Richner, 2016). Another study with a mosquito species (Aedes aegypti) showed that males and females matched the harmonics of their flight tones to perform a courtship duet in a simple ratio of 2:3 (Cator et al., 2009). This suggests that the simple harmonic relation between a note and its octave, but also between a note and other harmonics, may contribute to how some animals produce acoustic signals. Although very few species have been shown to use simple ratios to date, it is unclear yet whether the use of simple ratios is uncommon or simply undiscovered. Further study of the natural vocalizations and imitation abilities of other species may thus help us answer whether the octave and other simple integer ratios is important to other species. Perhaps imitating species with different vocal ranges, like humans, are especially likely to attend to the octave relationship.

Relative Pitch

What Is Relative Pitch?

Except for people with musical absolute pitch, our absolute pitch abilities are not fine enough to assess the more subtle differences among notes in music. When hearing an A note followed by a D note, the majority of people would not be able to identify the notes they are hearing but instead could tell you the direction of pitch change (up or down; McDermott, Keebler, Micheyl, & Oxenham, 2010), and people can be easily trained (normally through musical training) to identify the size of the interval (e.g., perfect fourth). This comparison of pitches is known as relative pitch. Comparing the pitches of notes allows us to recognize a tune, such as “Happy Birthday,” even when it begins on a different note.

Although relative pitch is thought to be quite critical to the human musical capacity, it seems on the surface to be somewhat limited in other species. Songbird species that were trained to identify note patterns of two or more notes (such as patterns that were ascending rather than descending in frequency) tended to rely on the absolute frequencies and their positions within the pattern to learn the task (Hulse & Cynx, 1985, 1986; Hulse, Cynx, & Humpal, 1984; MacDougall-Shackleton & Hulse, 1996; Njegovan & Weisman, 1997; Page et al., 1989; Weisman, Njegovan, & Ito, 1994). When presented with new patterns that followed the same relative pitch rule but at a novel absolute pitch, the birds needed to be retrained to respond appropriately if the notes fell outside of the training range (Hulse & Cynx, 1985). However, the birds did use the relative pitch information to some degree, by applying a relative rule to transpositions that were within the training range (Hulse & Cynx, 1985) and, for example, learning an absolute pitch task when they were provided with additional relative pitch information more quickly than the same task without relative pitch information (Njegovan & Weisman, 1997). Similar work with a dolphin showed that the dolphin was able to learn a relative pitch rule and generalize this rule to novel stimuli with different absolute pitches after extensive training (Ralston & Herman, 1995).

The work just outlined might suggest that relative pitch information is not normally encoded by nonhuman animals. However, additional studies make this conclusion unlikely. For example, by making sure that absolute and relative pitch were not in conflict with one another, researchers showed that starlings would encode both absolute and relative pitch in ascending and descending note patterns (MacDougall-Shackleton & Hulse, 1996). In addition, other work suggests that relative pitch is used quite readily by nonhuman species with other types of stimuli. When notes are presented simultaneously, rather than sequentially, several mammalian and avian species have been shown to be able to learn relative pitch rules (Brooks & Cook, 2010; Hoeschele, Guillette, & Sturdy, 2012; Hulse et al., 1995; Izumi, 2000; Watanabe, Uozumi, & Tanaka, 2005). It is unclear why this is the case, but there are a couple possible interpretations of this data: First, presenting the notes simultaneously means that the animals can compare the fundamental frequencies of tones without needing to rely on auditory memory. Second, the animals are not attending to pitch in isolation but are attending to some other properties of the sound such as timbre, spectral shape (see Patel, in this issue), or some other “Gestalt”-like aspect of the sounds. In humans, identifying individual notes may allow us to identify the vocal part of one individual in a group. In contrast, birds can produce more than one frequency simultaneously with their vocal apparatus, the syrinx (Suthers, 1990). For avian species it therefore may make sense that they are evaluating the sound as a whole rather than attending to the individual pitches within a chord. In fact, in a follow-up study with humans and chickadees, we found that chickadees did not respond to novel timbres based on the pitch information with which they had been trained (Hoeschele, Cook, Guillette, Hahn, & Sturdy, 2014). Similar results have also been found in starlings (Bregman, Patel, & Gentner, 2016).

However, relative pitch can be important in species other than humans in a more biological context than the aforementioned asks. For example, black-capped chickadees have a song that consists of two whistle-like notes that are separated by a relative pitch interval. This relative pitch interval is important to the birds, as it is more accurately produced by dominant males (Christie, Mennill, & Ratcliffe, 2004). In the field, birds will respond more readily to intervals that mimic the one found in their song. In the lab, when tested for relative pitch abilities with sinewave tones, they did not perform very well (Njegovan & Weisman, 1997). However, when presented with notes from their own song, and, to a lesser extent, sinewave tones mimicking the relative pitch relationship of these notes, they showed much more rapid acquisition of the task (Hoeschele, Guillette, et al., 2012). This is an example that reminds us that how we test animals can greatly affect the results. A similar result was found in European starlings: They also did not do well on traditional laboratory relative pitch tasks but readily recognized transposed versions of their own song (Bregman, Patel, & Gentner, 2012). However, it is likely that they were not directly using pitch in this task but spectral shape information from which both pitch and timbre are derived (Bregman et al., 2016).

Grouping and Consonance/Dissonance

Similar to absolute pitch, relative pitch can be evaluated in several ways. In some cases, simply the direction of pitch change is important. In stress-timed languages, including English and German, listeners often attend primarily to relative pitch to identify stress (e.g., Kohler, 2012). In tonal languages, such as Mandarin and Vietnamese, the direction of pitch change within a word can change its meaning (Kim et al., 2016). It has recently been shown that both zebra finches (Spierings & ten Cate, 2014) and budgerigars (Hoeschele & Fitch, 2016) also attend to pitch information when identifying stress patterns in human speech.

Relative pitch may be used more generally to group stimuli. For example, when humans hear a repeating pattern of two notes that differ only in frequency, they will group the notes so that the note higher in pitch comes first. This is part of what’s known as the iambic-trochaic law (Bolton, 1894). There is evidence that, at least as far as pitch is concerned, the iambic-trochaic law applies to several other species, including rats (de la Mora, Nespor, & Toro, 2013) and zebra finches (Spierings, Hubert, & ten Cate, in press) as well. Because other species group patterns based on pitch alone, similar to humans, it appears that nonhuman animals are listening to and processing relative pitch information.

In other cases, the size of an interval is important. Depending on the size of an interval in music, it may induce different emotions (Bowling et al., 2010; Curtis & Bharucha, 2010). The perfect intervals found in Western music are also very commonly found in other cultures and tend to be viewed as the most consonant or pleasing intervals (Burns, 1999). These intervals have simple ratios of 1:2, 2:3, and 3:4, in order from most common (octave) to least common (perfect fifth followed by perfect fourth). Notes separated by simple ratios have many overlapping harmonics, and thus they can be perceived as a single sound instead of two. Intervals with simple ratios are often identified as consonant, or pleasing. Complex ratios with little harmonic overlap are often identified as dissonant, or displeasing. Consonant sounds tend to blend together as one, whereas dissonant sounds grate against each other. However, consonance and dissonance are assessed differently across cultures and time (Carterette & Kendall, 1999), thus there is no objective measure of consonance and dissonance. Although some cross-cultural studies have shown core similarities in the perception of consonance across cultures despite some differences (N. D. Cook, 2006; Fritz et al., 2009), others suggest that the perceptual similarities across cultures may be limited (McDermott, Schultz, Undurraga, & Godoy, 2016). The issue of consonance and dissonance in music is additionally complicated by the fact that timbre also affects spectral structure and thus can influence which sounds are perceived as consonant and dissonant (Kameoka & Kuriyagawa, 1969). Recent work has shown that humans attend to consonance information to distinguish intervals when presented with a piano timbre but not when presented with sinewaves that lack harmonic information. Instead, when presented with sinewaves, the relative size of the intervals determines their discriminability. Black-capped chickadees, on the contrary, only attended to the relative size of the intervals in all cases (Vilinsky et al., in prep.).

However, there is evidence that other species attend to consonance and dissonance (see also Toro & Crespo-Bojorque, in this issue). For example, newly hatched chicks (Gallus gallus) were given the chance to imprint on an object that was correlated with either consonant or dissonant music. The chicks were more likely to imprint on the object that was presented together with consonant music (Chiandetti & Vallortigara, 2011). A biological attraction to consonant sounds makes sense if you consider that a chick would normally imprint on its mother, which would be producing simple harmonic vocalizations that show similarities to consonant intervals (Bowling & Purves, 2015). However, a similar study with cotton-top tamarins (Saguinus oedipus) showed no preference for consonant over dissonant intervals (McDermott & Hauser, 2004). However, it is unclear from this study whether these animals attended the differences between the consonance and dissonant stimuli and simply were uninterested, or whether they did not notice a difference.

In addition, consonance and dissonance can explain the response patterns of both the mammalian and avian species that were trained to discriminate simultaneous pitch intervals. For example, pigeon and chickadee error patterns were similar to the error patterns of human subjects with errors reflecting level of similarity in consonance/dissonance (R. G. Cook & Brooks, 2009; Hoeschele, Cook, Guillette, Brooks, & Sturdy, 2012). In addition, both Java sparrows (Lonchura oryzivora) and Japanese monkeys (Macaca fuscata) showed generalization to novel chords with similar consonance and dissonance (Izumi, 2000; Watanabe et al., 2005). However, keep in mind that in a study where timbre was altered, the response patterns of chickadees were quite different than what was observed in humans (Hoeschele et al., 2014).

To conclude, despite the early evidence that animals pay little attention to relative pitch, relative pitch appears to be used in a variety of contexts at least in some species. Nonhuman animals also appear use relative pitch for perceptual grouping, identifying harmonic information that is similar to natural vocalization, and in other biologically relevant contexts, sometimes even in cases with pure tones where other features of sound are controlled for (e.g., Spierings et al., in press). It is possible that the humans we can test today tend to be more general relative pitch listeners, perhaps because of their exposure to instrumentation in music. We are used to many different sounding instruments playing melodies that we might originally have only been able to sing, which might strengthen the need to attend to the pitch over timbral information in stimuli. Our large cultural groups today mean that common songs, such as “Happy Birthday,” do not have a set starting pitch, making relative pitch even more important for recognizing melodies. Testing for the use of relative pitch with a broad range of stimuli makes it clear that relative pitch perception is not just a human phenomenon. However, these tests are also a reminder that, although evaluating pitch in isolation has been tremendously helpful, context can change immensely what features of stimuli animals evaluate. For humans, relative pitch is highly relevant because we create harmonies not only with our voices but also with instruments that in many ways mimic the harmonic spectra of the voice. Studying animals that also produce signals that coincide with the harmonic series may be the key to understanding the biology underlying our use of relative pitch.

Conclusions

Thoroughly breaking down pitch has led to some interesting general conclusions about how humans compare to other animals. Many other animals do appear to attend to harmonic structure to identify pitch as exemplified by responses to stimuli with missing fundamental frequencies. We can thus say that animals generally do attend to pitch in harmonic signals. We can also be fairly confident in saying that many vocal learning avian species are more accurate at identifying pitch height in a signal, and they do this more readily than identifying relative pitch relationships, especially if the notes are not presented simultaneously. However, animals can pay attention to relative pitch and do so in a variety of more biologically relevant contexts. Similarly, all humans do pay attention to and encode absolute pitch at a surprisingly higher level than is normally thought. Thus, overall we have found that perceiving pitch, both in an absolute and relative manner, is common across the animal kingdom, but when and how it is assessed can vary.

While breaking down pitch and determining what it means to humans in order to study it in other animals, it becomes clear how little we actually know about humans directly through empirical testing. Much of what we know about humans and pitch is based on theory and verbal responses. Studying other animals has made it clear that pitch perception in humans is anything but simple. The things we take for granted, such as the perception of the octave relationship, turn out not to be easily shown even in humans.

Conducting comparative studies between humans and other species has made it clear that humans and other animals are perhaps less different than might be expected from music theory. It has made us appreciate some biological differences between humans and other animals, such as the potential importance of differences in vocal range between males and females in human octave perception and the potential relevance of musical instruments in human pitch perception. Pitched musical instruments, tools for which pitch can be altered to perform acoustic displays, have yet to be discovered in other species as far as I know.

Recent work suggests that the perceptual border of pitch and timbre is less clear than has been suggested in the human literature (see also Patel, in this issue). Rather than focusing on pitch in future research, which is defined as a percept, we should focus on features of sound and in what contexts these features are relevant, such as fundamental frequency, ratio of fundamental frequencies, and spectral information as a whole such as spectral shape. This may also change how we view pitch in humans, who may also rarely break down a signal purely into pitch and timbre as is supposed in music theory.

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Volume 12: pp. 1–4

Preface to the Special Section on Animal Music Perception

ccbr_00-preface_v12-opener

Marisa Hoeschele
University of Vienna

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Author Note: Marisa Hoeschele, Department of Cognitive Biology, University of Vienna, Vienna, Austria.

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to Marisa Hoeschele at marisa.hoeschele@univie.ac.at


Music is found around the world in all human cultures, no matter how isolated. Although its function is still debated (Fitch, 2005; Honing, Cate, Peretz, & Trehub, 2015; Justus & Hutsler, 2005; Masataka, 2009), music clearly plays an important role in human life. The fact that music is ubiquitous suggests that music is part of our biology.

The biological study of music has recently gained momentum. Only three years ago, Henkjan Honing put together a workshop at the Lorentz Center with people from many different disciplines around the world, all of whom were interested in the question, What makes us musical animals? (See Lorentz Center, 2014)

Twenty-three key researchers from psychology, biology, music, neuroscience, anthropology, and computer science came together to discuss the problem of how we can approach studying the biology of music. From there, we wrote a special issue for Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences (see introduction; Honing et al., 2015).

My aim within this workshop and special issue was to present the goals and challenges when using a comparative approach to study the biology of music (see Hoeschele, Merchant, Kikuchi, Hattori, & ten Cate, 2015). Comparative biomusicology is still a relatively new area of study, with only a handful of studies having occurred prior to the 2000s. In comparative biomusicology, we try to understand the evolution of music by considering the factors of our musical faculty that are relevant to other species. Because human musical systems have, of course, grown immensely because of cultural evolution, we focus on musicality rather than music itself. Musicality refers to the traits, or core abilities and behaviors, that constitute our natural ability to produce and perceive music. Are aspects of human musicality found in other species? Are they widespread? Or do they depend on specific phylogenetic or biological niche factors?

Recently, a lot of attention has been placed on rhythm perception and production in animals. Especially since Aniruddh Patel’s (Patel, Iversen, Bregman, & Schulz, 2009) study on Snowball, the dancing cockatoo and his ability to track and move to the beat in music, there has been much focus on rhythmic entrainment across the animal kingdom. Fantastic recent neural research in primates has been produced (see Merchant & Bartolo, 2017, for review), and a recent special issue on the evolution of rhythm cognition had quite a few comparative contributions as well (Benichov, Globerson, & Tchernichovski, 2016; Dufour, Pasquaretta, Gayet, & Sterck, 2017; Gamba et al., 2016; Hartbauer & Römer, 2016; Hoeschele & Bowling, 2016; Norton & Scharff, 2016; Ravignani, Fitch, Hanke, & Heinrich, 2016; Rouse, Cook, Large, & Reichmuth, 2016; Spierings & Cate, 2016; Ten Cate, Spierings, Hubert, & Honing, 2016).

However, there has been relatively less excitement and focus on pitch perception across species in recent years. One of the goals of the Lorentz workshop was to outline human musical universals that are ripe for study from a biological perspective. For example, besides beat perception and metrical encoding of rhythm, Honing et al. (2015) pointed out that relative pitch and tonal encoding of pitch are potentially basic components of musicality. Other relevant candidates might be octave generalization (Crickmore, 2003) and consonance (Cook & Fujisawa, 2006). All of these pitch-related issues are the focus of the current issue and are explained and discussed in detail with reference to cross-species work in the following four articles.

This special issue is especially timely given a recent article in Nature (McDermott, Schultz, Undurraga, & Godoy, 2016) that pushed the interpretation that much of human appreciation for particular pitch relationships is based in cultural evolution rather than any innate predispositions. This has stirred up much debate among researchers because, as with any nature/nurture debate, there is evidence supporting both the role of nature and nurture in our acoustic preferences. This entanglement is further made complicated by increasing globalization and the difficulty finding people who are truly culturally isolated from one another. Studying other species can hopefully add another perspective to help untangle these issues.

Our goal with this issue is to bring attention to the study of pitch perception across species in order to both stimulate further comparative research and also force us to rethink what we know about humans. Much of the work we have done suggests that the music-theoretical view of human pitch perception may be at odds with how both humans and other animals perceive sound. We ask readers of this special issue to keep two questions in mind:

  1. Are humans unique in their approach to
    pitch perception?
  2. Can we use the results of experimental non-human animal work to enhance the study
    of human pitch perception?

In conclusion, because pitch plays such an important role in human music (see Burns, 1999) and appears to be a relevant factor in the core universals of music (see Honing et al., 2015), we hope that our discussion of pitch can work parallel to the work being conducted on rhythm to shed light on the evolution of music.”

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Burns, E. M. (1999). Intervals, scales, and tuning. In D. Deutsch (Ed.), The Psychology of Music (Second, pp. 215–264). San Diego: Academic Press.

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Crickmore, L. (2003). A re-valuation of the ancient science of harmonics. Psychology of Music, 31(4). doi:10.1177/03057356030314004

Dufour, V., Pasquaretta, C., Gayet, P., & Sterck, E. H. M. (2017). The extraordinary nature of Barney’s drumming : A complementary study of ordinary noise making in chimpanzees. Frontiers in Neuroscience, 11. doi:10.3389/fnins.2017.00002

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Hoeschele, M., & Bowling, D. L. (2016). Sex differences in rhythmic preferences in the Budgerigar (Melopsittacus undulatus): A comparative study with humans. Frontiers in Psychology, 7, 1–10. doi:10.3389/fpsyg.2016.01543

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