Chapter 16: Alexei
“Any man could, if he were so inclined, be the sculptor of his own brain.”-Santiago Ramón y Cajal
— Alexei Rakovsky, 27 December 2015, 12:28 AM. Tweet.
You may call these methods “hypnosis” if you please, but the truth is that we have far surpassed traditional hypnotic techniques of mere suggestion. By the end of the training, the mental combatant will demonstrate pervasive control over their adversary’s nervous system.
― Emmett Ramsey, Principles of Mental Conflict
⦿ Early Awakening Era: Stanford University, 2018
At the northeast end of campus, hundreds of undergrads, graduate students, alumni, and donors sat stacked in an amphitheater. Their eyes were fixed on a powerpoint slide of a brain. Beneath the brain was a graphical banner displaying a book alongside text that read, The Stubborn Brain. In front of the brain stood world-renowned Stanford professor, Dr. Hildebrandt.
Hildebrandt brandished his laser pointer as if it were a fencing sword toward the slide behind him. Its red dot lanced across a region toward the rear and bottom part of the cortex.
“The VWFA, or the Visual Word Form Area,” he said, gesturing toward the slide. “Located in the left fusiform gyrus, it has been called the human ‘letterbox’ – the area we use to process the written word. It is highly unlikely that we evolved the VWFA. Does anyone know why?”
Hands rose in the audience. Hildebrandt pointed into the audience, his arm seemingly magnetized toward a young woman with bright tattoos along her neck. For a moment, he stuttered, struck by her blue-white hair and blue-green eyes. “Uhm…yes?”
“Because…” The word penetrated the ears of the audience like a church bell, as if to signal to the faithful that some moment was nigh. She continued, “On evolutionary timescales, the alphabet was invented only recently.”
Higher up in the balcony, a 30-year-old man leaned forward.
“…Yes, precisely. Evolution takes time. A long time. It is thought that the first alphabet was developed in the Levant during the second millennium B.C. Around 4000 years ago. How long does lasting evolutionary change take?”
Hildebrandt saw the blue-haired girl raise her hand again. He nodded toward her, smiling.
“About one million years.”
“Good, good. Are you a student here?”
“Yes, professor.”
“Why don’t you join my weekly seminar on neurobiology?” With some effort, Hildebrandt tore his eyes away from the blue-haired girl and smiled at the audience. “That’s an invitation to all of you of course.” He seemed to falter for a moment and then recall the rest of his lecture. “Anyway, moving on, here is what activation looks like in the VWFA for those who learned to read early in life.” The slide transitioned to a computer-generated image of a gray-colored brain, with the VWFA lit up red and yellow like a heat map. “And here is what the area looks like for those who only learned how to read late in life.” The next slide showed the VWFA with considerably less activation. “Accordingly, the reading comprehension levels of these late-learners are also much lower.”
A mocking cackle sounded out from the amphitheater’s balcony level. A few audience members searched for the source, but swiftly returned their eyes to the stage as Hildebrandt continued lecturing.
“In summary,” the slide transitioned to one with the heading, Conclusion, “We see that the brain is stubborn, hence the title of my new book, The Stubborn Brain. In early childhood, yes, we see a fair amount of neuroplasticity – dramatic changes in the strength of synapses, new neurons being born, neuronal migration, and so forth. But while the brain is malleable in early childhood, it tends to stay in whatever shape it gets molded into throughout the rest of the lifespan.”
From the balcony, the same voice as earlier cried out, “Bullshit!”
Hildebrandt paused for a moment, caught off-guard, and then continued, “This view of the brain has important implications for how we conduct our society. If we stubbornly are the person we were raised to be, then how should we run – for example – our criminal justice system? Do people deserve to be punished for simply being products of their environment? And perhaps more controversially, ought we be spending so much money on prisoner rehabilitation programs when the evidence says that you really can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Furthermore, The Stubborn Brain theory may have implications for therapeutic interventions. Perhaps psychotherapists might advise people my age to stop trying to fix themselves, and instead simply accept that they are who they are.”
“Making! Making! Making!” the voice from the balcony shouted.
This time the entire amphitheater turned.
The voice continued: “Your life is craft, your supple body molded by word! Sculpted by desire, fired by deed. You poise yourself between life and fate, the will of men and the will of gods. In the beat of a heart, the suck of breath, you are the universe. Making. Making. Making.”
Hildebrandt squinted, searching for the source of disruption. He found it in a figure that walked to the front of the balcony. It was a young man with a shock of blonde hair atop eyes bright with genius…and playful cruelty. He wore a gray, rough-knitted, long-sleeved shirt over a strapping frame. The man leaned on the railing commandingly, staring down at the lecturer.
“Did you have a question for me, young man?” Hildebrandt asked.
“Oh I have a number of questions!” the man jeered. “For example: why would you cite seven studies in your book that have failed to replicate? Or: Why would you ignore recent work showing full-blown neurogenesis in fully grown adults? But mostly: What do you have to gain from lying to people about what they are?”
Several audience members gasped. Some grinned. Some scoffed. The blue-haired girl and her companion – an older man who looked like a British dandy – both turned. They stared up toward the balcony as if to judge the questioner’s animating principle. The older man glanced at the girl meaningfully. She nodded. He took out his cell phone to make a call.
Hildebrandt shielded his eyes from the overhead lights to look up at the provocateur. “Very precocious. Are you a student here?”
“I’m on the board of trustees.”
Mishearing him, Hildebrandt said, “Well, graduate students are also welcome join my weekly seminar on neurobiology. Anyway to wrap up—“
“Ah! One last thing!” The man shot out his hands.
Hildebrandt and the rest of the amphitheater looked up at the man, baffled.
“Some of us here understand that we are far more than products of our environment,” the boy projected. “If this describes you, then join me right after this lecture in Turing Auditorium across campus. That’s Turing Auditorium, friends. There will be a dramatic demonstration of adult neuroplasticity. In the meantime, enjoy the remaining drivel from this man, goodbye!”
With this, the man climbed to the double doors under the Exit sign, knocked them open with a stiff arm, and walked out of the amphitheater.
He was not far into his walk when he heard the voice someone behind him.
“Hey.”
The man looked over his shoulder. The blue-haired girl from Hildebrandt’s lecture had caught up to him. He found – somewhat strangely – that he had been half-expecting her.
The man continued on his route. “Hello there. Let’s walk if that’s fine with you. I have to make it to the auditorium in time.”
The girl looked him up and down, seeming to approve of whatever she was assessing. “Your quote from earlier. ‘Making. Making. Making. That was from the Egyptian Book of the Dead, wasn’t it? The Normandi Ellis translation.”
“I prefer the original Egyptian title, The Book of Coming Forth by Day, but yes. You were the one back there who knew things about evolution, weren’t you?” he said, feigning ignorance.
“Hail Thoth, architect of truth, give me words of power that I may form the characters of my own evolution.” She grinned and tapped her nose ring. But there was something deadly serious behind these playful gestures. He could see it.
The man examined her curiously, like a fanged lizard studying a viper, and then stared ahead to the approaching Stanford Oval. “I see your Visual Word Form Area is well-developed enough to read words of power.”
“Maybe your neuroplasticity demo will inspire its further development.”
The man cast out his hand as the two crossed the green. “I’m Alexei.”
She shook it, sending a peculiar shock up Alexei’s spine. “Astra.”
Alexei glanced down at their hands and frowned, then withdrew his own. He glanced over Astra’s blue hair and tattooed skin. “Astra…. What made you learn spells by heart Astra?”
“My father taught me. He was an Oxford neurologist but had a soft spot for esoteric traditions. ‘The ancients understood the mind far better than we do,’” she said, imitating a gravely British accent.
This girl appears to know just what to say to intrigue me, Alexei thought. “Was a neurologist? Has he passed?“
“Is is what I meant to say.” Her blue-green eyes watched him evenly. He felt drawn into them, like two vortices.
The two walked past Herrin Hall and Serra Grove.
Astra spoke again. “You know that the Ancient Egyptians believed that words, uttered in a certain way, could form magical spells.”
“Yes I do know that.”
“Do you believe the same?”
Alexei spat on the ground. “Pah! While I have seen some…strange effects in my life,” his expression became remote, then alert again, “I don’t believe in magic. I believe in…. Physics.”
“You don’t need to disbelieve in physics to believe in magic.”
He jerked his head to the side, considering. His expression went remote again. “You might be right. But how do you mean?”
“Ah, you see? I cast a spell of confusion over you. My mouth produced vibrations in the air, which reached your ear, tickling some hairs inside of it, which stimulated a neural circuit eventually leading to your Wernicke’s area – responsible for language comprehension—”
“I know—“
“—From there, neurons fired, causing more neurons to fire, like dominoes tipping over, producing the feeling and behavior of confusion, all from some changes in air pressure that I sent in your direction. Similarly, I could send some sounds your way, like ’notice each person wearing black that we pass.’ Subsequently you would need to make a conscious effort to not notice.”
Alexei smirked. “If you’re simply saying that words are not simply dull dispatchers of information but also causal instruments, I would agree. By speaking, the speaker might produce an effect in another, automatically. Granted, not everyone comprehends the extent of this. But it doesn’t make me want to call words something all fancy, like ’spells,’ as you say.”
Astra paused, causing Alexei to stop and turn.
“Hm?” Alexei chirped.
“You know everything about everything don’t you?”
“I know enough t—“
“Everything is in time, and all the time we know is now. A moment in time is a moment in time, time moves through us and time moves around us.”
Something was strange about the way Astra was speaking, like her words were somehow…more immediate. Alexei shook his head.
“Another confusion spell?”
“Time moves beneath awareness, regardless of awareness, awareness tangles in time, time passes and awareness is fleeting, awareness is blinking and time continues, time moves objectively, time blinks subjectively, and before we know it a day in time is passed, a week, a year in time, leaving us asking where the time went as we reach our destination.”
In the background, the world had become blurry. In the foreground, Astra’s fingers were in front of his face. He strained to focus on them. They snapped, and suddenly the world unblurred. Astra and Alexei were standing in front of Turing Hall.
“Wha— Ni figa sebe!” he exclaimed in Russian. Alexei took a few steps back, his eyes wide. “We were just passing Herrin Hall. That’s…ten minutes away. What in Christ’s name?”
“Yes, that was ten minutes ago. Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll help set up before the others arrive for your demonstration.”
“Others….” Alexei suddenly beheld Astra with apprehension in his eyes. “You’re one of those freaks. What did you do to me?”
Astra looked through him. “Just physics.”