Posts Tagged ‘elephants’
Animals r us, but also…
kinds of trunks
The video world that we now seem suddenly steeped in – I write from the perspective of someone who was almost 40 when the internet suddenly swept over us – has its pluses and minuses of course, and one definite plus for me is cute and often fascinating vids of non-human creatures doing smart stuff. I try not to get addicted, but it’s tough. I’m especially interested in ‘exotic’ creatures, which for me is anything I can’t encounter in my local park-lands or zoo. These videos bring such exotica into the living rooms of people like me, who worry about the time, effort and money involved in getting into the next suburb never mind darkest America or the hinterlands of Tunbridge Wells.
So I’m reading – slowly and savouringly, if that’s a word – Carl Safina’s Beyond Words, the first few pages of which – about elephants – literally brought tears to my eyes. Such exquisitely elegant and sensitive things – and that’s just the trunk.
Getting further into this inspiring book, it’s not just about elephants and other creatures whose superlative sensitivities, when brought more forcibly to our attention, are both exciting and mildly intimidating, it’s about the endless ways that complex lives can be lived. It even makes me think of the sudden surge in ‘AI’ over just the past few years, and where it will be in a few generations, as it adapts to ever more complex and challenging conditions. It ain’t going away.
But to return to conscious beings – assuming that AI hasn’t achieved consciousness quite yet – it wasn’t long ago that we preferred to believe we humans were the only ones. Safina looks at the issue early on in his book. It’s taken a long time for us to accept that we’re animals (millions, if not billions, refuse this label), and even those who have mostly believe that we’re massively exceptional, and consciousness, inter alia, is a thing that sets us apart. But what, exactly is consciousness? The neurologist Christof Koch calls it ‘the thing that feels like something’ [Safina, p21]. This subtle definition is certainly worth pondering. It doesn’t require language, it seems to me – language being another item we use to claim exceptionalism – even though we humans can name that thing – fear, anger, boredom, love, fatigue, hunger, pain etc – of which we are conscious. A hungry dog feels hungry. She’s conscious of her hunger, and that consciousness will make her start pestering her owner who’s late in feeding her.
These feelings are all in the mind. It follows that anything with a mind has consciousness. And yet we lose consciousness, when deeply asleep or under anaesthetic. Do we then lose our minds? A strange kind of thought experiment came to me recently when I noticed, without much originality, that upon waking up, it was somewhere between 6 and 7 in the morning, whereas the last time I was aware of myself it was around midnight. During that time I was ‘dead to the world’ as they say. My mind had ceased to exist. If someone had crept into my room during those hours, and gently slit my throat, would there be any real difference to my state?
Of course we know that deep sleep, or unconsciousness, isn’t the same as death, and some of us know a thing or two about REM and the three phases of non-REM sleep, but we don’t know it from experience. What we experience is the same – mostly nothingness. Non-experience. We know, because we have learned, that in those death-like states we still breathe, and blood is still pumped through our bodies. Our mind, though, has gone. We’ve ‘lost’ consciousness. It’s really quite bizarre.
Even so, it’s as common as life. Every animal sleeps, after all. Every animal loses consciousness, so every animal has a consciousness to lose. Fish sleep too, without closing their eyes, as they don’t have eye-shutters like we do. So do birds, insects, crustaceans, worms. They all lose, or greatly reduce, consciousness, so they all have consciousness to lose and recover. They all have experiences to be conscious of and learn from.
So what about plants? I mean, how low can you go? Most scientists today would agree that plant consciousness isn’t a thing, but the boundaries are certainly shifting. Early on in Daniel Dennett’s Kinds of minds he considers the development of consciousness in humans. A human’s life starts when she (or it?) becomes a fertilised egg – that’s to say, one single cell, known as a zygote. Just to confuse us, it’s also known as a diploid cell, as it contains the genetic material from two parents. Let’s accept that zygotes don’t have minds. What about blastulae? They’s mostly undifferentiated globs of cells which – well without getting into details, there’s no mind at this stage, so let’s go on to the foetal stage which starts at around eight weeks, and lasts until birth. That’s a lot of development, and presumably consciousness is one of the things that starts developing at this time, if not before…
Of course it all has to do with neural or brain development in animals. Yet many mysteries remain. Safina tells this story:
A thirty-year-old man named Roger lost about 95% of his cortex due to a brain infection. Roger can’t remember the decade before the infection, can’t taste or smell, and has great difficulty forming new memories. Yet he knows who he is, recognises himself in a mirror and in photographs, and generally acts normal around people. He can use humour and can feel embarrassed. All with a brain that does not resemble a human brain.
So it seems it doesn’t take as much as we think to make us conscious. And of course other consciousnesses, or minds, or even ways of living, can be just as impressively adaptive. Charles Darwin, in the feverish years after his Beagle adventure, was proudly intrigued by the subject, as his notebooks show:
It is absurd to talk of one animal being higher than another… People often talk of the wonderful event of intellectual Man appearing – the appearance of insects with other senses is more wonderful… Who with the face of the earth covered with the most beautiful savannahs & forests dare to say that intellectuality is only aim in this world…
Needless to say, Darwin was far more circumspect on these matters in his published work. Yet on the subject of plants he surely would’ve been chuffed to learn that, though they have no nervous system, they produce the same chemicals – including serotonin, dopamine and glutamate – essential for neurotransmission in animals like us (Safina, p23).
None of this should surprise us, I suppose, as we’ve come to learn that all life is connected. We have a relationship with every other living being on this planet, which we could trace, if we had all the time in the world…
References
Carl Safina, Beyond words: what animals think and feel, 2016
Daniel Dennett, Kinds of minds: towards an understanding of consciousness, 1996
Janet Browne, Charles Darwin, voyaging, 1995
a bonobo world, and other impossibilities 14
graph showing the rising number of PhDs in neuroscience compared to other sciences
is it all about sex? a few thoughts on sex and behaviour
When I was young there were always a lot of books around, fortunately. My mother was a psych nurse who went on to be a teacher of nursing, so psychology textbooks were plentiful, and I learned with some fascination early on about the id, the ego and the superego. But my greatest excitement was reserved for two other Freudian terms, sublimation and polymorphous perversity. They allowed me to think of sex in a kind of superior way.
Sublimation refers to the process of transformation from a solid to a gas, without the intermediate step of melting into a liquid. You can observe it simply by opening your freezer door, especially if you have an old-style freezer caked with ice. But Freud’s use of the word was much hotter, to my teenage self. To Freud, there were two driving instincts, eros, the sex drive, and thanatos, the death drive. That’s enough about thanatos. Freud proposed these two opposing drives in Beyond the Pleasure Principle and other essays, but I probably got them from pamphlets floating around the house, summarising Freud’s ideas in a few paragraphs. As I understood it, eros was life-affirmative, but it needed to be harnessed, reigned in, sublimated to a more general, civilising and creative (rather than procreative) force. So it was all just sex diverted to science, technology, empire-building and the like. Sounded perfectly cromulent to me, even before that word was invented. So everything was polymorphously perverse; church spires, slippery-dips, kindergartens and business schools, they all manifested the perversity of our drive, in an infinitude of stop-thinking-about-sex-but-do-this-instead ways. Having discovered the secret of civilisation thanks to Meister Sigmund, I took great secret pleasure in upending said civilisation by masturbating like there was no tomorrow.
I realise now of course that sublimation isn’t always about channelling out the sexual impulse, it’s about any equally unacceptable impulse, such as murderous rage. But being me I wanted to keep the sex, and stuff all the civilisation. Or couldn’t we somehow keep both sex and civilisation, and dispense with the murderous rage?
Many anthropologists would agree that bonobos have a culture, but none would say they have a civilisation. So what exactly is the difference, and does civilisation require the degree of sexual repression that we generally suffer from? Though there are the odd erotomanic subcultures, in no established nation is it acceptable, or legal, to walk about naked, let alone have sex, in public. It’s generally called indecent exposure. A loincloth, and some extra bits of cloth for females, might protect you legally if not socially, but what precisely is so upsetting, currently, about those parts we’re obliged to hide, and will we ever socially evolve out of this condition?
Freud believed we were born polymorphously perverse, little libido capsules, and some of his observations – such that we’re all born bisexual, seemed obvious to me from the get-go. However, Freud knew nothing about bonobos, who were barely known to humanity at the time of his death. His theories of masculinity might have benefitted from such knowledge, and in fact the incredibly rapid pace of our neurological knowledge from the beginning of the 21st century – as the neurologist and primatologist Robert Sapolsky points out in his monumental book Behave – has wrought havoc with psychoanalytic and other theories that seek to understand human behaviour without attending to their detailed neurological underpinnings. The shaping of masculinity and femininity by culture has been a problem that psychologists, feminists and all other interested parties have long wrestled with. Which culture, after all? And are there differences beyond culture? Can culture be separated from biology?
I don’t think so. Our brains function the way they do because of the environment in which they were nurtured since conception – every environment different of course. And there’s also evolution – what might be called pre-conceptual, or historical, or prehistorical influences. Researchers have often tried to pinpoint essential differences between the male and female brain in humans. They’re far less concerned to pinpoint such differences between male and female cats, dogs or mice, presumably because their overall catty, doggy and mousey natures tend to overwhelm minor gender differences. Recent research has found statistical differences only, rather than categorical differences between male and female brains. In other words, female brains don’t have a vagina and male ones don’t have a penis. Even if you’ve devoted a lifetime to neurological research, studying the brain in all its white-and grey detail, you wouldn’t be able to state categorically that the warm, disembodied human brain placed in your hands to somehow keep alive and probe its electrochemical circuitry and its hormonal flow, belonged to a male or a female. Researchers who want to find key differences between Venus and Mars will find them, but the differences among female brains are greater than those that separate them from male brains.
And yet, statistics are important. Statistically speaking, males are more violent than females, regardless of nation, culture or time period (going back to the first days of statistical data). It seems to have to do with hormones, and group behavior. Young males often join gangs – bikie gangs, street gangs, crime gangs, ethnic gangs, white supremacist gangs, nogoodnik gangs, whatever. Females, not so much. The largest cause of violent death and injury in long-peaceful countries such as Australia is a young male aged 15-24 or so behind the wheel of a motor vehicle. This is about risky and show-offy behaviour – they kill and injure themselves as much as others. Such behaviour is seen too in male chimps, in young bull elephants during musth, and in male dolphins – all very smart and social animals. Does all this relate to sex? Apparently, in more or less roundabout ways. For chimps it’s not so roundabout. It’s called the sexual coercion hypothesis, for which much evidence has been collected from various East African field sites:
Males who directed aggression at certain females mated more often with those females than did other males. Moreover, these aggressive males were actively solicited for mating by those females at the time of peak fertility. Critically, aggression over the long term had a greater effect than violence in the immediate context of mating.
This aggressive disposition apparently leads directly to reproductive success. So male domestic violence isn’t all bad?
Elephants in musth – which literally means ‘drunk’ – have very highly elevated testosterone levels, but how this links to aggression is unclear. Sapolsky has much to say about cause-correlation between testosterone -and androgens generally – and aggression in humans, which is relevant here. Social learning appears to play an important role in male aggression, which raises testosterone levels, and so we have a chcken-and-egg issue. As to elephants, the aggression they display during musth makes close scientific analysis a bit problematic, but it’s known that the secretion of temporin from the temporal glands in this period, and the accompanying swelling of those glands, causes irritation, which can be acute in some cases. This extreme irritation may cause aggressive behaviour, as when Dad kicks the cat after Mum has berated him for the previous two hours. Interestingly, aggressiveness, sometimes murderous, in young bull elephants, most often happens in the absence of older males. Their presence has a tempering effect. In any case, the violence displayed during musth, which is the male reproductive period, seems more of a side-effect than a ‘turn-on’ for females. Older males learn to use this period effectively, becoming more energetic in moving around and increasing territory in search of females, and preserving their energy during the warmer, non-musth months.
Dolphins are not generally the fun-loving joyful creatures of contemporary myth, and male dolphins often gang up on females and rape them, to use a term humans like to reserve for themselves. I could go on, but the general point is that we, as humans, might want to learn how not to behave as well as how to behave from other species, especially those most like us – not just in their closeness genetically, but in their smarts, and in their negative or positive treatment of others, of their own and other species.
References
R Sapolsky, Behave: the biology of humans at our best and worst. Bodley Head 2017
https://asunow.asu.edu/content/aggression-male-chimpanzees-leads-mating-success
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Musth
https://besjournals.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/1365-2656.13035
https://slate.com/human-interest/2009/05/the-dark-secrets-that-dolphins-don-t-want-you-to-know.html
http://www.bbc.com/earth/story/20160204-cute-and-cuddly-dolphins-are-secretly-murderers