I trained a neural network to describe images, then I gave it dementia

This blog post is a summary of my work from earlier this year: Dropout during inference as a model for neurological degeneration in an image captioning network.

For a long time, deep learning has had an interesting connection to neuroscience. The definition of the neuron in neural networks was inspired by early models of the neuron. Later, convolutional neural networks were inspired by the structure of neurons in the visual cortex. Many other models also drew inspiration from how the brain functions, like visual attention which replicated how humans looked at different areas of an image when interpreting it.

The connection was always a loose and superficial, however. Despite advances in neuroscience about better models of neurons, these never really caught on among deep learning researchers. Real neurons obviously don’t learn by gradient back-propagation and stochastic gradient descent.

In this work, we study how human neurological degeneration can have a parallel in the universe of deep neural networks. In humans, neurodegeneration can occur by several mechanisms, such as Alzheimer’s disease (which affects connections between individual neurons) or stroke (in which large sections of brain tissue die). The effect of Alzheimer’s disease is dementia, where language, motor, and other cognitive abilities gradually become impaired.

To simulate this effect, we give our neural network a sort of dementia, by interfering with connections between neurons using a method called dropout.

robot_apocalypse.jpg

Yup, this probably puts me high up on the list of humans to exact revenge in the event of an AI apocalypse.

The Model

We started with an encoder-decoder style image captioning neural network (described in this post), which looks at an image and outputs a sentence that describes it. This is inspired by a picture description task that we give to patients suspected of having dementia: given a picture, describe it in as much detail as possible. Patients with dementia typically exhibit patterns of language different from healthy patients, which we can detect using machine learning.

To simulate neurological degeneration in the neural network, we apply dropout in the inference mode, which randomly selects a portion of the neurons in a layer and sets their outputs to zero. Dropout is a common technique during training to regularize neural networks to prevent overfitting, but usually you turn it off during evaluation for the best possible accuracy. To our knowledge, nobody’s experimented with applying dropout in the evaluation stage in a language model before.

We train the model using a small amount of dropout, then apply a larger amount of dropout during inference. Then, we evaluate the quality of the sentences produced by BLEU-4 and METEOR metrics, as well as sentence length and similarity of vocabulary distribution to the training corpus.

Results

When we applied dropout during inference, the accuracy of the captions (measured by BLEU-4 and METEOR) decreased with more dropout. However, the vocabulary generated was more diverse, and the word frequency distribution was more similar (measured by KL-divergence to the training set) when a moderate amount of dropout was applied.

metrics.png

When the dropout was too high, the model degenerated into essentially generating random words. Here are some examples of sentences that were generated, at various levels of dropout:

sample.png

Qualitatively, the effects of dropout seemed to cause two types of errors:

  • Caption starts out normally, then repeats the same word several times: “a small white kitten with red collar and yellow chihuahua chihuahua chihuahua”
  • Caption starts out normally, then becomes nonsense: “a man in a baseball bat and wearing a uniform helmet and glove preparing their handles won while too frown”

This was not that similar to speech produced by people with Alzheimer’s, but kind of resembled fluent aphasia (caused by damage to the part of the brain responsible for understanding language).

Challenges and Difficulties

Excited with our results, we submitted the paper to EMNLP 2018. Unfortunately, our paper was rejected. Despite the novelty of our approach, the reviewers pointed out that our work had some serious drawbacks:

  1. Unclear connection to neuroscience. Adding dropout during inference mode has no connections to any biological models of what happens to the brain during atrophy.
  2. Only superficial resemblance to aphasic speech. A similar result could have been generated by sampling words randomly from a dictionary, without any complicated RNN models.
  3. Not really useful for anything. We couldn’t think of any situations where this model would be useful, such as detecting aphasia.

We decided that there was no way around these roadblocks, so we scrapped the idea, put the paper up on arXiv and worked on something else.

For more technical details, refer to our paper:

I trained a neural network to describe pictures and it’s hilariously bad

This month, I’ve been working on a neural network to describe in a sentence what’s happening in a picture, otherwise known as image captioning. My model roughly follows the architecture outlined in the paper “Show and Tell: A Neural Image Caption Generator” by Vinyals et al., 2014.

A high level overview: the neural network first uses a convolutional neural network to turn the picture into an abstract representation. Then, it uses this representation as the initial hidden state of a recurrent neural network or LSTM, which generates a natural language sentence. This type of neural network is called an encoder-decoder network and is commonly used for a lot of NLP tasks like machine translation.

1.pngAbove: Encoder-decoder image captioning neural network (Figure 1 of paper)

When I first encountered LSTMs, I was really confused about how they worked, and how to train them. If your output is a sequence of words, what is your loss function and how do you backpropagate it? In fact, the training and inference passes of an LSTM are quite different. In this blog post, I’ll try to explain this difference.

2.pngAbove: Training procedure for caption LSTM, given known image and caption

During training mode, we train the neural network to minimize perplexity of the image-caption pair. Perplexity measures how the likelihood that the neural network would generate the given caption when it sees the given image. If we’re training it to output the caption “a cute cat”, the perplexity is:

P(“a” | image) *

P(“cute” | image, “a”) *

P(“cat” | image, “a”, “cute”) * 

(Note: for numerical stability reasons, we typically work with sums of negative log likelihoods rather than products of likelihood probabilities, so perplexity is actually the negative log of that whole thing)

After passing the whole sequence through the LSTM one word at a time, we get a single value, the perplexity, which we can minimize using backpropagation and gradient descent. As perplexity gets lower and lower, the LSTM is more likely to produce similar captions to the ground truth when it sees a similar image. This is how the network learns to caption images.

3.pngAbove: Inference procedure for caption LSTM, given only the image but no caption

During inference mode, we repeatedly sample the neural network, one word at a time, to produce a sentence. On each step, the LSTM outputs a probability distribution for the next word, over the entire vocabulary. We pick the highest probability word, add it to the caption, and feed it back into the LSTM. This is repeated until the LSTM generates the end marker. Hopefully, if we trained it properly, the resulting sentence will actually describe what’s happening in the picture.

This is the main idea of the paper, and I omitted a lot details. I encourage you to read the paper for the finer points.


I implemented the model using PyTorch and trained it using the MS COCO dataset, which contains about 80,000 images of common objects and situations, and each image is human annotated with 5 captions.

To speed up training, I used a pretrained VGG16 convnet, and pretrained GloVe word embeddings from SpaCy. Using lots of batching, the Adam optimizer, and a Titan X GPU, the neural network trains in about 4 hours. It’s one thing to understand how it works on paper, but watching it actually spit out captions for real images felt like magic.

4.jpgAbove: How I felt when I got this working

How are the results? For some of the images, the neural network does great:

COCO_val2014_000000431896.jpg“A train is on the tracks at a station”

COCO_val2014_000000226376.jpg“A woman is holding a cat in her arms”

Other times the neural network gets confused, with amusing results:

COCO_val2014_000000333406.jpg“A little girl holding a stuffed animal in her hand”

COCO_val2014_000000085826.jpg“A baby laying on a bed with a stuffed animal”

COCO_val2014_000000027617.jpg“A dog is running with a frisbee in its mouth”

I’d say we needn’t worry about the AI singularity anytime soon 🙂

The original paper has some more examples of correct and incorrect captions that might be generated. Newer models also made improvements to generate more accurate captions: for example, adding a visual attention mechanism improved the results a bit. However, the state-of-the-art models still fall short on human performance; they often make mistakes when describing pictures with objects in unusual configurations.

This is a work in progress; source code is on Github here.

Publishing Negative Results in Machine Learning is like Proving Dragons don’t Exist

I’ve been reading a lot of machine learning papers lately, and one thing I’ve noticed is that the vast majority of papers report positive results — “we used method X on problem Y, and beat the state-of-the-art results”. Very rarely do you see a paper that reports that something doesn’t work.

The result is publication bias — if we only publish the results of experiments that succeed, even statistically significant results could be due to random chance, rather than anything actually significant happening. Many areas of science are facing a replication crisis, where published research cannot be replicated.

There is some community discussion of encouraging more negative paper submissions, but as of now, negative results are rarely publishable. If you attempt an experiment but don’t get the results you expected, your best hope is to try a bunch of variations of the experiment until you get some positive result (perhaps on a special case of the problem), after which you pretend the failed experiments never happened. With few exceptions, any positive result is better than a negative result, like “we tried method X on problem Y, and it didn’t work”.

Why publication bias is not so bad

I just described a cynical view of academia, but actually, there’s a good reason why the community prefers positive results. Negative results are simply not very useful, and contribute very little to human knowledge.

Now why is that? When a new paper beats the state-of-the-art results on a popular benchmark, that’s definite proof that the method works. The converse is not true. If your model fails to produce good results, it could be due to a number of reasons:

  • Your dataset is too small / too noisy
  • You’re using the wrong batch size / activation function / regularization
  • You’re using the wrong loss function / wrong optimizer
  • Your model is overfitting
  • You have a bug in your code

lattice2.pngAbove: Only when everything is correct will you get positive results; many things can cause a model to fail. (Source)

So if you try method X on problem Y and it doesn’t work, you gain very little information. In particular, you haven’t proved that method X cannot work. Sure, you found that your specific setup didn’t work, but have you tried making modification Z? Negative results in machine learning are rare because you can’t possibly anticipate all possible variations of your method and convince people that all of them won’t work.

Searching for dragons

Suppose we’re scientists attending the International Conference of Flying Creatures (ICFC). Somebody mentioned it would be nice if we had dragons. Dragons are useful. You could do all sorts of cool stuff with a dragon, like ride it into battle.

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“But wait!” you exclaim: “Dragons don’t exist!”

I glance at you questioningly: “How come? We haven’t found one yet, but we’ll probably find one soon.”

Your intuition tells you dragons shouldn’t exist, but you can’t articulate a convincing argument why. So you go home, and you and your team of grad students labor for a few years and publish a series of papers:

  • “We looked for dragons in China and we didn’t find any”
  • “We looked for dragons in Europe and we didn’t find any”
  • “We looked for dragons in North America and we didn’t find any”

Eventually, the community is satisfied that dragons probably don’t exist, for if they did, someone would have found one by now. But a few scientists still harbor the possibility that there may be dragons lying around in a remote jungle somewhere. We just don’t know for sure.

This remains the state of things for a few years until a colleague publishes a breakthrough result:

  • “Here’s a calculation that shows that any dragon with a wing span longer than 5 meters will collapse under its own weight”

You read the paper, and indeed, the logic is impeccable. This settles the matter once and for all: dragons don’t exist (or at least the large, flying sort of dragons).

When negative results are actually publishable

The research community dislikes negative results because they don’t prove a whole lot — you can have a lot of negative results and still not be sure that the task is impossible. In order for a negative result to be valuable, it needs to present a convincing argument why the task is impossible, and not just a list of experiments that you tried that failed.

This is difficult, but it can be done. Let me give an example from computational linguistics. Recurrent neural networks (RNNs) can, in theory, compute any function defined over a sequence. In practice, however, they had difficulty remembering long-term dependencies. Attempts to train RNNs using gradient descent ran into numerical difficulties known as the vanishing / exploding gradient problem.

Then, Bengio et al. (1994) formulated a mathematical model of an RNN as an iteratively applied function. Using ideas from dynamical systems theory, they showed that as the input sequence gets longer and longer, the result is more and more sensitive to noise. The details are technical, but the gist of it is that under some reasonable assumptions, training RNNs using gradient descent is impossible. This is a rare example of a negative result in machine learning — it’s an excellent paper and I’d recommend reading it.

3.pngAbove: A Long Short Term Memory (LSTM) network handles long term dependencies by adding a memory cell (Source)

Soon after the vanishing gradient problem was understood, researchers invented the LSTM (Hochreiter and Schmidhuber, 1997). Since training RNNs with gradient descent was hopeless, they added a ‘latching’ mechanism that allows state to persist through many iterations, thus avoiding the vanishing gradient problem. Unlike plain RNNs, LSTMs can handle long term dependencies and can be trained with gradient descent; they are among the most ubiquitous deep learning architectures in NLP today.


After reading the breakthrough dragon paper, you pace around your office, thinking. Large, flying dragons can’t exist after all, as they would collapse under their own weight — but what about smaller, non-flying dragons? Maybe we’ve been looking for the wrong type of dragons all along? Armed with new knowledge, you embark on a new search…

4.jpgAbove: Komodo Dragon, Indonesia

…and sure enough, you find one 🙂