Belle, our tiny owl monkey, was seated in her special chair inside a soundproof chamber at our Duke University laboratory. Her right hand grasped a joystick as she watched a horizontal series of lights on a display panel. She knew that if a light suddenly shone and she moved the joystick left or right to correspond to its position, a dispenser would send a drop of fruit juice into her mouth. She loved to play this game. And she was good at it.
Belle wore a cap glued to her head. Under it were four plastic connectors. The connectors fed arrays of microwires—each wire finer than the finest sewing thread—into different regions of Belle's motor cortex, the brain tissue that plans movements and sends instructions for enacting the plans to nerve cells in the spinal cord. Each of the 100 microwires lay beside a single motor neuron. When a neuron produced an electrical discharge—an “action potential”—the adjacent microwire would capture the current and send it up through a small wiring bundle that ran from Belle's cap to a box of electronics on a table next to the booth. The box, in turn, was linked to two computers, one next door and the other half a country away.
In a crowded room across the hall, members of our research team were getting anxious. After months of hard work, we were about to test the idea that we could reliably translate the raw electrical activity in a living being's brain—Belle's mere thoughts—into signals that could direct the actions of a robot. Unknown to Belle on this spring afternoon in 2000, we had assembled a multijointed robot arm in this room, away from her view, that she would control for the first time. As soon as Belle's brain sensed a lit spot on the panel, electronics in the box running two real-time mathematical models would rapidly analyze the tiny action potentials produced by her brain cells. Our lab computer would convert the electrical patterns into instructions that would direct the robot arm. Six hundred miles north, in Cambridge, Mass., a different computer would produce the same actions in another robot arm, built by Mandayam A. Srinivasan, head of the Laboratory for Human and Machine Haptics (the Touch Lab) at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. At least, that was the plan.
If we had done everything correctly, the two robot arms would behave as Belle's arm did, at exactly the same time. We would have to translate her neuronal activity into robot commands in just 300 milliseconds—the natural delay between the time Belle's motor cortex planned how she should move her limb and the moment it sent the instructions to her muscles. If the brain of a living creature could accurately control two dissimilar robot arms—despite the signal noise and transmission delays inherent in our lab network and the error-prone Internet—perhaps it could someday control a mechanical device or actual limbs in ways that would be truly helpful to people.
Finally the moment came. We randomly switched on lights in front of Belle, and she immediately moved her joystick back and forth to correspond to them. Our robot arm moved similarly to Belle's real arm. So did Srinivasan's. Belle and the robots moved in synchrony, like dancers choreographed by the electrical impulses sparking in Belle's mind. Amid the loud celebration that erupted in Durham, N.C., and Cambridge, we could not help thinking that this was only the beginning of a promising journey.
In the eight years since that day, our labs and several others have advanced neuroscience, computer science, microelectronics and robotics to create ways for rats, monkeys and eventually humans to control mechanical and electronic machines purely by “thinking through,” or imagining, the motions. Our immediate goal is to help a person who has been paralyzed by a neurological disorder or spinal cord injury, but whose motor cortex is spared, to operate a wheelchair or a robotic limb. Someday the research could also help such a patient regain control over a natural arm or leg, with the aid of wireless communication between implants in the brain and the limb. And it could lead to devices that restore or augment other motor, sensory or cognitive functions.
The big question is, of course, whether we can make a practical, reliable system. Doctors have no means by which to repair spinal cord breaks or damaged brains. In the distant future, neuroscientists may be able to regenerate injured neurons or program stem cells (those capable of differentiating into various cell types) to take their place. But in the near future, brain-machine interfaces (BMIs), or neuroprostheses, are a more viable option for restoring motor function. Success in 2002 with macaque monkeys that completed different tasks than those we asked of Belle has gotten us even closer to this goal.