18 The following TED talk is very interesting: Stefano Mancuso, “The Roots of Plant Intelligence,” TED, 13:50, July 2010, http://www.ted.com/talks/stefano_mancuso_the_roots_of_plant_intelligence.
19 “LINV at First Glance,” International Laboratory of Plant Neurobiology, http://www.linv.org/linv_about.php (accessed October 27, 2013).
20 “Scientific Research Has Shown Plants Can Hear Themselves Being Eaten,” news.com.au, July 3, 2014, http://www.news.com.au/technology/science/scientific-research-has-shown-plants-can-hear-themselves-being-eaten/story-fnjwkt0b-1226976987480 (accessed July 4, 2014).
21 Charles Darwin and Francis Darwin, The Power of Movement in Plants (London: John Murray, 1880), 572, http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5605/pg5605.html (accessed October 27, 2013)
22 Natalie Angier, “Sorry, Vegans: Brussels Sprouts Like to Live, Too,” The New York Times, December 21, 2009, http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/22/science/22angi.html?_r=0 (accessed October 27, 2013)
23 The proper word is whom.
24 I don’t find it curious at all, but rather exactly what we should expect.
25 Please excuse the scare quotes. They were in the original. No human supremacist can conceive of plants having memories: instead, they only have “memories.”
26 Which could, of course, be a mechanistic way to describe our memories as well. Of course I don’t believe that our memories are only stored at the cellular level, but my point with this footnote is that if one does believe that this is what memories are, the same would be true for both animals (human and otherwise) and plants, which makes the scare quotes all the more out of place.
27 Michael Marder, “If Peas Can Talk, Should We Eat Them?” Opinionator, The New York Times Online, April 28, 2012, http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/04/28/if-peas-can-talk-should-we-eat-them/ (accessed May 8, 2012).
28 In my defense, I have Crohn’s disease, which means I absorb food very poorly, so most of this wasn’t being metabolized, but rather simply pooped out about three hours later.
29 Anthony Trewavas, “Green Plants as Intelligent Organisms,” Trends in Plant Science, 10, no. 9 (September 2005): 413-419, http://www.linv.org/images/about_pdf/Trends%202005%20Trewavas.pdf (accessed October 27, 2013).
30 Ibid.
31 John H. Bodley and Foley C. Benson, “Stilt Root Walking by an Iriarteoid Palm in the Peruvian Amazon,” Biotropica, 12, no. 1 (1980: 67, JSTOR Database, http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/2387775?uid=3739560&uid=2129&uid=2&uid=70&uid=4&uid=3739256&sid=21102823699901 (accessed October 27, 2013).
32 Trewavas, “Green Plants as Intelligent Organisms,” 413–419.
33 Interestingly enough, according to Wikipedia, when fungi put haustoria into plants, the “host plant appears to be functioning according to signals from the fungus and the complex appears to be under the control of the invader.” From “Haustorium,” Wikipedia, http://www.wikipedi.org/wiki/Haustorium (accessed February 6, 2016).
34 Richard Alleyne, “Tomatoes Can ‘Eat’ Insects,” The Telegraph, December 4, 2009, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/earth/wildlife/6727709/Tomatoes-can-eat-insects.html (accessed November 25, 2013).
35 Michael Pollan, “The Intelligent Plant: Scientists Debate a New Way of Understanding Flora,” The New Yorker, December 23, 2013, http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/12/23/131223fa_fact_pollan?currentPage=all (accessed December 31, 2013).
Chapter Three
Moving the Goalposts
There was no arguing his belief that what most men consider their rationally selected actions are in fact idiosyncratic responses (again, established during the decisive experiences of childhood) that have grown strong enough through repeated use, to overpower other urges and reactions—that have won, in other words, the mental battle for survival.
CALEB CARR
I just read an article in Wired titled “Fish Photographed Using Tools to Eat.” It begins, “Professional diver Scott Gardner has captured what are believed to be the first images of a wild fish using a tool. The picture . . . shows a foot-long blackspot tuskfish smashing a clam on a rock until it cracks open, so the fish can gobble up the bivalve inside.
“Tool use was once thought to be exclusive to humans, and was considered a mark of our superior intelligent and bulging brains. In recent decades, though, more and more animals have shown an ability to work with tools and objects.
“Elephants pick up branches with their trunk to swat flies and scratch themselves, a laboratory crow improvised a hooked tool from a wire to extract an insect and primates use sharpened sticks as spears, rocks to smash nuts and sticks to poke into ant nests.
“Tool use in fish, however, is much more rare, and there’s never been any photo or video evidence to prove it—until now. ‘The pictures provide fantastic proof of these intelligent fish at work using tools to access prey that they would otherwise miss out on,’ said Culum Brown of Macquarie University in Sydney in a press release.
‘It is apparent that this particular individual does this on a regular basis judging by the broken shells scattered around the anvil.’”
I bring this up not so much because it’s surprising that some fish use tools—it isn’t, particularly, at least to me—as to highlight the responses to this article at Wired online and to an excerpt of it at Field & Stream.36 A fair number of the responses—far more than I would have guessed—accept this as tool use. One person wrote, “At first what the fish is doing doesn’t seem that remarkable, but a little thought reveals its activity is actually highly complex. First of all, it’s demonstrating a grasp the shell contains something worth the effort to acquire; then it’s demonstrating a grasp of both the shell and the rock’s differing properties, such that the properties of one can be used to counteract the properties of the other, (which mightn’t sound that much until you realise it’s demonstrating a grasp [that] seaweed, say, or sand can’t provide the same function); then it’s demonstrating a grasp [that] the two objects must be manoeuvred and made to act in relation to each other in a particular way, or the shell will remain intact; then it’s demonstrating a grasp that initial failure can be overcome by tenacity and persistence; it’s also demonstrating memory, either of a previous time it succeeded, or when it witnessed another fish succeeding; it’s also demonstrating foresightedness, i.e., the ability to conceive and carry out a certain project for a certain reward.” Someone else wrote, “Actually a photo was taken some years ago of salmon lining up along a suburban street during a rainstorm. They needed to get from water on one side to water on the other. They waited until a car passed, leaving a wake in the rain, then used the wake to wiggle across. They were lined up as if waiting for a bus.” Another wrote, “I’ve seen blue jays dropping walnuts in front of cars to be run over. I’ve seen another bird picking up a snake many times and dropping it on the road in front of our car. [I’ve seen this as well.] Cars and roads . . . nut crackers and snake killers . . . I never thought of it.” Yet another mentioned vultures who search for the right size rocks to throw at ostrich eggs in order to break them open.
And there was this: “Regardless of how smart the fish is, you can’t ignore the important fact that it still doesn’t have hands. This is about the highest possible level of fish tool use I can imagine a fish ever achieving (even if it was the smartest thing on earth), short of coercing another marine life form to do something for it.” I mention this one because it makes clear something that will be a theme in this book, and something that is certainly a theme in this culture: the conflation of tool use, intelligence, or both with domination, or the ability to coerce another.
Another theme in this book, of course, is the moving target for what human supremacists believe constitutes intelligence. We’ve already seen this in the brain size discussion, and in the mechanistic scientist saying a nonhuman
would have to act outside of its nature in order to convince him of its intelligence. Here’s another example. In response to the fish using a tool, someone commented that “tool usage isn’t a true sign of intelligence. Tool creation is. The ability to perceive of a future use for something and then creating a tool to match your needs is a sign of forethought, deep pondering and the mechanics of the universe, meaning u understand who u are, what u can do, where u are and where u might end up in the future, and in addition an ability to think abstractedly. . . . Best human example is the ‘Rambo’ style survival knife, multi functions built into the handle, ferocious-looking blade and oversize too. but also created in the last leg of the red danger-time and showing as much people’s fears of external danger from other intelligent people as practicality.” I have to admit I’d never before considered the Rambo style survival knife as the ne plus ultra of human creativity, but I think he has a point. And one final comment: “That doesn’t seem much like a fish using a tool. It seems more like the fish was hungry and just busted open the clam. . . . I do not think that a fish could be dumb enough to eat your bait and get hooked yet is smart enough to use a tool.”
I sometimes wonder something similar about members of this culture. I do not think a human could be stupid enough to swallow and get hooked on the belief that you can destroy a planet and live on it, yet be smart enough to use a tool.
•••
One reason fish strike at hooks is that they, like all of us, make decisions based on cost/benefit and risk/reward analyses. I’m hungry and need food. Some food chunks are fatal, but nearly all are nutritious. I need to weigh the risk of this particular piece of food killing me versus the gain of nutrition.
Humans make similar decisions every day. I’m hungry, so I’m going to drive to the grocery store. I’m going to get into a big metal missile and hurtle myself frighteningly close to other big metal missiles at high rates of speed. More than 30,000 people died in the United States last year in automobile accidents. I’m making a calculated decision, risking my life to get some food. And then there are the risks assumed once I’ve reached the grocery store, like buying potato chips and chicken nuggets.
We all make these sorts of decisions, so it’s not a sign of stupidity on the part of fish when the decision ends up killing them.
That’s one of the heartbreaking things about life: one decision can change everything. This was true when I was in the car wreck that broke my mom’s neck; had we decided to stop for the evening five miles earlier, she would not now be functionally blind. Likewise, had a fly I earlier heard buzzing frantically as she was progressively bound by sticky silken threads decided a few moments earlier to go left instead of right, she would not have been caught by a spider. Had the snail not been exactly where she was and had I not unwittingly put my foot where I did . . .
Fish are really smart. They have good memories. Fish who have been caught are generally more difficult to catch again. And if fish are nearly caught by a predator at a specific place, they may avoid that place for several months. There are fish who can remember the human call announcing food for at least five years. We’ve been told that goldfish have a two-second memory. Not true. They can remember the color of a tube for dispensing food a year later. Other fish can remember signals associated with food for months. They can learn how to avoid traps, and if presented with the same trap eleven months later, still know how to avoid it.
Fish have complex social relationships. They remember the behavior of others in their groups and change their own behavior accordingly, for example avoiding fish who have bullied them. They also choose to associate with fish who are better rather than worse foraging partners.
Fish understand properties of transitivity. Scientists set up fights between males of a certain species of cichlid, and had other males watch. They learned that if the fish in question witnessed fish A beat up fish B who beat up fish C who beat up fish D who beat up fish E, they would consistently choose to associate with fish D over fish B, even though each had beaten up another once and been beaten up once. They choose to associate with the least dominant one.
Also, fish can deceive each other.
And they can learn from each other. Scientists captured some French grunts and released them in a new spot. Many grunts travel daily from sleeping to eating areas and back. The newly transplanted grunts followed the native grunts, and when the scientists removed the native grunts, the transplanted grunts continued to forage and rest at the places they’d been taught. Fish also learn from each other what are good food sources, and how to avoid predators. They can learn the scent of a predator by being exposed to that smell at the same time they see another fish who is frightened.
Of course fish can cooperate, swimming in shoals or schools, and hunting in packs. They sometimes and in many contexts work with fish of other species. For example, if a roving coralgrouper sees prey hiding somewhere the grouper can’t get to, she might visit a local moray eel and shake her head outside the eel’s lair. The eel knows this is an invitation to hunt. The grouper leads the eel to the hiding place, the eel heads on in, and either catches the prey or flushes it out for the grouper.
And we’ve all heard of cleaner wrasses and cleaner shrimp, right? Wrasses are tiny fish (and the shrimp are, well, shrimpy) who swim into the mouths of other fish. On purpose. Even those with big teeth. Why? To clean the big fish’s teeth. Wrasses (and cleaner shrimp) eat the food that gets stuck there, and swim into the fish’s gills and all over their bodies to eat parasites and clean off torn or worn scales. The big fish open their mouths wide, and float patiently (and presumably blissfully, like you would if you were getting a nice gentle exfoliation from your teeny tiny friend).
Fish, predator and prey alike, line up outside the wrasse cleaning station, like humans waiting in queue for buses, or to use better examples, waiting at the dental hygienist’s office, or for a pedicure. The wrasse will make its way down the line.
If the wrasse sees a non-local fish passing by, the wrasse will put this one at the front of the line, presumably knowing that if she doesn’t take care of this one right now, the fish will pass on to another cleaning station, as opposed to the locals, who may perceive this station as their only option. Frankly that seems ungrateful to me, and not a business model I would choose, but wrasse have been doing this for millions of years, and I’ve never once stuck my head in a moray eel’s gaping and toothy maw, so in this case I’ll refrain from giving advice, something that is very difficult for a middle-aged white male to do. I hope I don’t pull a muscle. Sometimes wrasse get cheeky, and take a tiny bite out of the fish they’re cleaning (their clients? Patients? Customers? Neighbors?). For obvious reasons they’re far more likely to do this to herbivores than carnivores. And if the client takes umbrage and starts to swim away, the wrasse will swim after the client and make a big fuss, then give the client a little back massage with her fins as a way of apology.
•••
The more I learn about the real world, the more wonderful I think it is, and the more honored I am to be here.
•••
Oh, and by the way, some spiders use stones as tools as well.37
•••
Remember the guy above, who thought the best human example of tool-making is the Rambo-style knife, and who said, in true moving target fashion, that tool-making and not tool use is the “true” sign of intelligence? Well, I wonder what he’d say about cockatoos making tools.
Researchers put a cockatoo outside a wire cage that contained a nut. They gave the cockatoo a thin piece of wood that was too wide to fit into the cage. He pretty quickly figured out how to break off a sliver slender enough to slide in. The cockatoo put one end in his mouth and used the other to bat the nut out of the cage. The cockatoos who watched him learned from him how to do this, and when given the opportunity to do it, not only used his technique, but refined it by figuring out better ways to make the sliver fr
om the original thin slab.
A few of the comments on the article were decent. But a lot were precisely what we’d expect. One commenter, who had the screen name John Gault, insisted that those who care about nonhuman welfare need to “get a life,” and suggested that the fact that humans can reflect on whether nonhumans are intelligent is a sign that humans have superior, to use his spelling, “intelect” (to which someone reasonably responded, “How are you so sure that other species don’t reflect on things?” and to which I might add, “And how are you so sure they don’t ask themselves whether or not humans are intelligent?”) He also commented—and this might be my favorite human supremacist comment of all time—“Most men display sentienticity way above any animal.”
•••
Don’t ever let anyone tell you that most men don’t display more sentienticity than every other being on the planet.
•••
Did you know that caterpillars self-medicate? No, not for depression (that we know of), although sometimes being a caterpillar can be tough: not only do human supremacists systematically poison you and destroy your habitat, but lots of species of flies and wasps lay eggs inside of caterpillars. The eggs hatch, then feed on the caterpillar’s internal organs before bursting forth like tiny versions of the creature from that scene in Alien—you know the one. That’s enough to make a caterpillar depressed right there. But instead of wallowing in depression, caterpillars do something about it: they eat leaves from senecio plants and others, and flood their bodies with alkaloids, chemical compounds that are often toxic (and sometimes have pharmacological uses; caffeine, morphine, and cocaine are all alkaloids, as are nicotine, atropine, muscimol, quinine, psilocybin, ergotamine, yohimbine, and strychnine). Scientists don’t know whether the alkaloids kill the parasites directly, or if they boost the caterpillars’ immune systems. The point is: it works. And it ends up that infected caterpillars eat more alkaloid-containing leaves than do those who don’t need the cure. Healthy caterpillars still eat small doses of the leaves, presumably to make themselves taste bad. The caterpillars have to know how much to eat. If they eat too much, they end up shortening their own lives, probably much like many humans who over-medicate.
The Myth of Human Supremacy Page 6
