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Anatomy of the Mind
OXFORD SERIES ON
COGNITIVE MODELS AND ARCHITECTURES
Series Editor
Frank E. Ritter
Series Board
Rich Carlson
Gary Cottrell
Robert L. Goldstone
Eva Hudlicka
Pat Langley
Robert St. Amant
Richard M. Young
Ron Sun
1
1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Preface xiii
v
vi Contents
References 405
Index 429
Preface
xiii
xiv Preface
Press in January 2010. After a round of very thorough reviews of the book
proposals by the publisher, the contracts for the two books were signed
in May 2010. The writing of this book was sporadic and largely put off
until the summer of 2011. Since that time, efforts were made to finish
the book. The manuscript was sent to the publisher at the end of 2013.
The history of the Clarion cognitive architecture started, of course,
much earlier than that. Back in the summer of 1994, the ONR cognitive
science basic research program issued a call for proposals, which prompted
me to put together a set of ideas that had been brewing in my head. That
was the beginning of Clarion. The grant from the ONR program enabled
the development and the validation of the initial version of Clarion.
During the 1998–1999 academic year, I had my sabbatical leave at the
NEC Research Institute. A theoretically oriented book on Clarion took
shape during that period, which was subsequently published. Starting
in 2000, research grants from ARI enabled the further development of a
number of subsystems within Clarion. Then, from 2008 on, new grants
from ONR enabled the extension of the work to social simulation and
other related topics.
I would like to thank Frank Ritter for his solicitation of thorough
reviews of the two book proposals and for his suggestions regarding
the organizations of the books. Thanks also go to the eight reviewers
of the book proposals for their helpful suggestions. Later I received
detailed critiques of the entire book manuscript from Frank Ritter and
two anonymous reviewers, whom I gratefully acknowledge as well. I
would also like to acknowledge useful discussions that I have had with
many colleagues, including Paul Bello, Michael Zenzen, Larry Reid, Jeff
White, Jun Zhang, and Deliang Wang, regarding motivation, emotion,
personality, ethics, learning, modeling, and so on. I am also indebted
to my many collaborators, past and present, including Sebastien Helie,
Bob Mathews, Sean Lane, Selmer Bringsjord, Michael Lynch, and their
students. I also want to acknowledge my past and current graduate
students: Jason Xi Zhang, Isaac Naveh, Nick Wilson, Pierson Fleischer,
and others. Some other students contributed to the work on Clarion as
well. The work described in this book is theirs as well as mine.
Clarion has been implemented as Java and C# libraries, available at
(courtesy of Nick Wilson and Michael Lynch):
http://www.clarioncognitivearchitecture.com
xvi Preface
1
2 Chapter 1
Why would one want computational models for the sake of under-
standing the human mind? Why are computational models useful
exactly?
Generally speaking, models of various forms and complexities
may be roughly categorized into computational, mathematical, and
verbal-conceptual varieties (Sun, 2008). Computational models present
algorithmic descriptions of phenomena, often in terms of mechanistic and
process details. Mathematical models present (often abstract) relation-
ships between variables using mathematical equations. Verbal-conceptual
models describe entities, relations, or processes in informal natural lan-
guages (such as English). A model, regardless of its genre, might often be
viewed as a theory of whatever phenomena that it purports to capture.
This point has been argued extensively before (by, e.g., Newell, 1990 and
Sun, 2009b).
Although each of these types of models has its role to play, I am mainly
interested in computational modeling. The reason for this preference is
that, at least at present, computational modeling appears more promising
in many respects. It offers the expressive power that no other approach
can match, because it provides a wider variety of modeling techniques
and methodologies. In this regard, note that mathematical models may
be viewed as a subset of computational models, because normally they
can lead readily to computational implementations (even though some
of them may be sketchy, not covering sufficient mechanistic or process
details). Computational modeling also supports practical applications
(see, e.g., Pew and Mavor, 1998; Sun, 2008).
4 Chapter 1
5. This is not the case for Noam Chomsky’s theory of language, which thus serves as
an exception.
8 Chapter 1
MARRIAGE SONG
BEGGARS’ SONG
AN ORPHAN’S WAILING
FROST
There was once an old man who had a wife and three daughters.
The wife had no love for the eldest of the three, who was a step-
daughter, but was always scolding her. Moreover, she used to make
her get up ever so early in the morning, and gave her all the work of
the house to do. Before daybreak the girl would feed the cattle and
give them to drink, fetch wood and water indoors, light the fire in the
stove, give the room a wash, mend the dress and set everything in
order. Even then her step-mother was never satisfied, but grumbled
away at Márfa, exclaiming:
“What a lazybones! What a slut! Why, here is a brush not in its
place, and there is something put wrong, and she has left the muck
inside the house!”
The girl held her peace, and wept; she tried in every way to
accommodate herself to her step-mother, and to be of service to her
step-sisters. But they, taking pattern by their mother, were always
insulting Márfa, quarrelling with her, and making her cry: that was
even a pleasure to them! As for them, they lay in bed late, washed
themselves in water got ready for them, dried themselves with a
clean towel and did not sit down to work till after dinner.
Well, our girls grew and grew, until they grew up and were old
enough to be married. The old man felt sorry for his eldest daughter,
whom he loved because she was industrious and obedient, never
was obstinate, always did as she was bid and never uttered a word
of contradiction. But he did not know how to help her in her trouble.
He was feeble, his wife was a scold and his daughters were as
obstinate as they were indolent.
Well, the old folks set to work to consider—the husband how he
could get his daughter settled, the wife how she could get rid of the
eldest one. One day she says to him:
“I say, old man! Let’s get Márfa married.”
“Gladly,” says he, slinking off (to the sleeping-place) above the
stove. But his wife called after him:
“Get up early to-morrow, old man, harness the mare to the sledge
and drive away with Márfa. And, Márfa, get your things together in a
basket, and put on a clean shift; you are going away to-morrow on a
visit.”
Poor Márfa was delighted to hear of such a piece of good luck as
being invited on a visit, and she slept comfortably all night. Early next
morning she got up, washed herself, prayed to God, got all her
things together, packed them away in proper order, dressed herself
(in her best things) and looked something like a lass! a bride fit for
any place whatsoever!
Now it was winter-time, and out of doors there was a rattling frost.
Early in the morning, between daybreak and sunrise, the old man
harnessed the mare to the sledge, and led it up to the steps, then he
went indoors, sat down in the window-sill, and said:
“Now then! I have got everything ready.”
“Sit down to table and swallow your victuals!” replied the old
woman.
The old man sat down to table, and made his daughter sit by his
side. On the table stood a pannier; he took out a loaf, and cut bread
for himself and his daughter. Meantime his wife served up a dish of
old cabbage soup and said:
“There, my pigeon, eat and be off; I have looked at you quite
enough! Drive Márfa to her bridegroom, old man. And look here, old
greybeard! drive straight along the road at first, and then turn off
from the road to the right, you know, into the forest—right up to the
big pine that stands on the hill, and there hand Márfa to Morózko
(Frost).”
The old man opened his eyes wide, also his mouth, and stopped
eating, and the girl began lamenting.
“Now then, what are you hanging your chaps and squealing
about?” said her step-mother. “Surely your bridegroom is a beauty,
and he is that rich! Why, just see what a lot of things belong to him:
the firs, the pine-tops and the birches, all in their robes of down—
ways and means anyone might envy; and he himself a bogatýr!”
The old man silently placed the things on the sledge, made his
daughter put on her warm pelisse and set off on the journey. After a
time, he reached the forest, turned off the road and drove across the
frozen snow. When he got into the depths of the forest, he stopped,
made his daughter get out, laid her basket under the tall pine and
said:
“Sit here, and await the bridegroom. And mind you receive him as
pleasantly as you can!”
Then he turned his horse round and drove off homewards.
The girl sat and shivered. The cold pierced her through. She would
fain have cried aloud, but she had not strength enough; only her
teeth chattered. Suddenly she heard a sound. Not far off, Frost was
cracking away on a fir. From fir to fir was he leaping and snapping
his fingers. Presently he appeared on that very pine under which the
maiden was sitting, and from above her head he cried:
“Art thou warm, maiden?”
“Warm, warm am I, dear father Frost,” she replied.
Frost began to descend lower, all the more cracking and snapping
his fingers. To the maiden said Frost:
“Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, fair one?”
The girl could scarcely draw her breath, but still she replied:
“Warm am I, Frost dear; warm am I, father dear!”
Frost began cracking more than ever, and more loudly did he snap
his fingers, and to the maiden he said:
“Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, pretty one? Art thou
warm, my darling?”
The girl was by this time numbed with cold, and she could scarcely
make herself heard as she replied:
“Oh! Quite warm, Frost dearest!”
Then Frost took pity on the girl, wrapped her up in furs and
warmed her with blankets.
Next morning the old woman said to her husband:
“Drive out, old greybeard, and wake the young people!”
The old man harnessed his horse and drove off. When he came to
where his daughter was, he found she was alive and had got a good
pelisse, a costly bridal veil and a pannier with rich gifts. He stowed
everything away on the sledge without saying a word, took a seat on
it with his daughter, and drove back. They reached home, and the
daughter fell at her step-mother’s feet. The old woman was
thunderstruck when she saw the girl alive, and the new pelisse and
the basket of linen.
“Ah, you wretch!” she cries, “But you sha’n’t trick me!”
Well, a little later the old woman says to her husband:
“Take my daughters, too, to their bridegroom. The presents he’s
made are nothing to what he’ll give them.”
Well, early next morning the old woman gave her girls their
breakfast, dressed them as befitted brides and sent them off on their
journey. In the same way as before the old man left the girls under
the pine.
There the girls sat, and kept laughing and saying:
“Whatever is mother thinking of? All of a sudden to marry both of
us off! As if there were no lads in our village, forsooth! Some
rubbishy fellow may come, and goodness knows who he may be!”
The girls were wrapped up in pelisses, but for all that they felt the
cold.
“I say, Praskóvya! The Frost’s skinning me alive. Well, if our
bridegroom doesn’t come quick, we shall be frozen to death here!”
“Don’t go talking nonsense, Máshka; as if suitors turned up in the
forenoon! Why, it’s hardly dinner-time yet!”
“But I say, Praskóvya! If only one comes, which of us will he take?”
“Not you, you stupid goose!”
“Then it will be you, I suppose!”
“Of course, it will be me!”
“You, indeed! There now, have done talking stuff and treating
people like fools!”
Meanwhile, Frost had numbed the girls’ hands, so our damsels
folded them under their dresses, and then went on quarrelling as
before.
“What, you fright! You sleepy face! You abominable shrew! Why,
you don’t know so much as how to begin weaving; and as to going
on with it, you haven’t an idea!”
“Aha, boaster! And what is it you know? Why, nothing at all except
to go out merrymaking and lick your lips there. We’ll soon see which
he’ll take first!”
While the girls went on scolding like that, they began to freeze in
downright earnest. Suddenly they both cried out at once:
“Whyever is he so long coming? You know, you have turned quite
blue!”
Now, a good way off, Frost had begun cracking, snapping his
fingers and leaping from fir to fir. To the girls it sounded as if
someone were coming.
“Listen, Praskóvya! He’s coming at last, with bells, too!”
“Get along with you! I won’t listen; my skin is pealing with cold.”
“And yet you’re still expecting to get married!”
Then they began blowing their fingers.
Nearer and nearer came Frost. At length he appeared on the pine,
above the heads of the girls, and said to them:
“Are ye warm, maidens? Are ye warm, pretty ones? Are ye warm,
my darlings?”
“Oh, Frost, it’s awfully cold! We are utterly perished! We’re
expecting a bridegroom, but the confounded fellow has
disappeared.”
Frost slid lower down the tree, cracked away more, snapped his
fingers oftener than before.
“Are ye warm, maidens? Are ye warm, pretty ones?”
“Get along with you! Are you blind, that you can’t see our hands
and feet are quite dead?”
Still lower descended Frost, still more put forth his might and said:
“Are ye warm, maidens?”
“Into the bottomless pit with you! Out of my sight, accursed one!”
cried the girls—and became lifeless forms.
Next morning the old woman said to her husband:
“Old man, go and get the sledge harnessed; put an armful of hay
in it, and take some sheepskin wraps. I dare say the girls are half
dead with cold. There is a terrible frost outside! And, mind you, old
greybeard, do it quickly!”
Before the old man could manage to get a bite, he was out of
doors and on his way. When he came to where his daughters were,
he found them dead. So he lifted the girls on the sledge, wrapped a
blanket round them and covered them up with a bark mat. The old
woman saw him from afar, ran out to meet him and called out ever
so loud:
“Where are my girls?”
“In the sledge.”
The old woman lifted the mat, undid the blanket and found the girls
both dead.
Then, like a thunder-storm, she broke out against her husband,
abusing him and saying:
“What have you done, you old wretch? You have destroyed my
daughters, the children of my own flesh, my never-to-be-gazed-on
seedlings, my beautiful berries! I will thrash you with the tongs; I will
give it you with the stove-rake.”
“That’s enough, you old goose! You flattered yourself you were
going to get riches, but your daughters were too stiff-necked. How
was I to blame? It was you yourself would have it.”
The old woman was in a rage at first, and used bad language; but
afterwards she made it up with her step-daughter, and they all lived
together peaceably, and thrived, and bore no malice. A neighbour
made an offer of marriage, the wedding was celebrated and Márfa is
now living happily. The old man frightens his grandchildren with
(stories about) Frost, and does not let them have their own way.—
From W. R. S. Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales.