Posts Tagged ‘other minds’
other minds, other ways: killer whales etc
So in my quest to find inspiration as a wannabe female supremacist, I’ve been learning bits and pieces about octopuses (fascinating but way too bizarre and solitary to be role models), elephants, coyotes, lions, killer whales, lemurs, and of course bonobos. So in this piece I’ll focus on cetaceans, and killer whales in particular.
I’m coming close to the end of Carl Safina’s book Beyond Words: what animals think and feel, which is just what the matriarch ordered. Not that all the social animals he describes are matriarchal, but they’re all intelligent, complex and very much worth reflecting upon and valuing, especially considering how much we have done to them and to the environments they rely on.
So cetaceans are all complex ocean-dwelling mammals. There are about 90 species and they’re generally divided into whales, dolphins and porpoises. Safina introduces killer whales as ‘the world’s largest dolphins’, and quotes a remark from Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, ‘Exception might be taken to the name bestowed upon this whale… for we are all killers’. Humans particularly. Safina’s first chapter on them is called ‘Sea Rex’, and introduces them so:
Feared in our own time by even the sea’s greatest whales, killer whales exert power without peer since dinosaurs sighed out, sixty-five million years ago. But the killer’s subtle, sensitive side makes a hunter with complex notes that T rex could never have hoped to emulate: intelligent, maternal, long-lived, cooperative, intensely social, devoted to family. They are, like us, warm-blooded milk-makers, mammals whose personalities are really not much different from ours. They’re just a lot bigger. And notably less violent.
I knew before reading this book that these whales were also called orcas, and in fact thought the ‘orca’ term was a replacement, a less pejorative term, but maybe not, as it’s a latin reference to a demonic underworld. The Latin name is Orcinus orca, and there are various other names bestowed on them by sea-faring cultures. Safina prefers the term ‘killer’, always bearing in mind human capacities in that regard.
They’re matriarchal, the females being, as with elephants, the knowledge-keepers and the guides for the pods in their long migratory travels. And they’re very sexual, always a big interest of mine. In describing a party-style gathering that combined three pods, Safina noted the ‘x-rated’ style of their play. Male-male sex play is particularly notable, due to those things males have – ‘three-foot wangers draped over each other’, was one description re the adult males, and as for the youngsters, ‘soon after they stop nursing, there’s a lot of rolling around with their little snakes out’. This sex play is common to many dolphin species, and according to Safina, bottlenose dolphins engage in more same-sexual behaviour than any other known creature. Clearly bonobos need to lift their game.
Unsurprisingly, Safina makes comparisons with elephants:
As with elephants, each killer whale family’s elder decision-making matriarch has memorised the family’s survival manual, maintaining knowledge of the region, the routes and island passes, the rivers where salmon concentrate in their seasons, and so on. She’s often out in front.
But one glaring difference is that killer whales kill, even other, much bigger whales, while elephants are strictly vego. And they’re quite ruthless killing machines, though they’ve never been known to kill humans, in or out of the water – they’re too intelligent for that.
But their relations with humans are even more interesting, if the stories told to Safina are to be believed – stories told about various dolphin species. For example, killer whale pods (the term given to particular extended-family groups that hunt and play together, as I understand it), appear able to distinguish between vessels carrying nice humans and those nasty ones out to hunt or capture them. At a time just before laws were introduced to prevent organisations like Sea World from capturing baby whales, whole whale pods would hang around observer boats that they knew to be friendly and safe. Another story told of a whale pod guiding a small whale-friendly boat out of Puget Sound in a dangerously thick fog. Safina relates other stories told to him of captive dolphins (killer whales also being dolphins) engaging in highly intelligent trickery to wangle extra food from their captors. So much of this and other behaviours indicate that we’ve barely begun to comprehend the minds of these creatures, adapted to environments so far removed from our own.
Of course, with such ‘other-worldly’ creatures, it may be hard to tell myth from reality. They have saved dogs from drowning – plausible, they would have noticed dogs hanging around humans, and would not recognise them as potential food. Other behaviours, from playful to life-saving, towards humans they know to be whale-friendly, are more mysterious and perhaps simply indicate that we’re a long way form understanding minds so differently adapted from, and yet comparably complex as, our own. I’ve just started reading Dennett’s now 30-year-old Kinds of Minds, wondering if whales-dolphins will be looked at. I suspect not, or not much.
Finally, is there a way to associate those cetacean species that are female dominant as being different from those that aren’t? Or is their water-world so alien to us that it’s, so far, difficult to tell? And yet, their ancestry is terrestrial…
Wikipedia lists 94 species, all of which are uniparous (giving birth to one child at a time) as far as we know, and maternal care of offspring is intense and long-lasting, with paternal care being minimal at best – though pods are generally close-knit. Reproductive rates are low. This quote from a Royal Society paper, ‘Causes and consequences of female centrality in cetacean societies’, linked below, might help:
… every cetacean calf is a significant investment, and offspring care is central to female fitness. Here strategies diverge, especially between toothed and baleen whales, in terms of mother–calf association and related social structures, which range from ephemeral grouping patterns to stable, multi-level, societies in which social groups are strongly organized around female kinship. Some species exhibit social and/or spatial philopatry [remaining in same group or place, or returning there for breeding] in both sexes, a rare phenomenon in vertebrates. Communal care can be vital, especially among deep-diving species, and can be supported by female kinship. Female-based sociality, in its diverse forms, is therefore a prevailing feature of cetacean societies. Beyond the key role in offspring survival, it provides the substrate for significant vertical and horizontal cultural transmission, as well as the only definitive non-human examples of menopause.
The paper goes on to emphasise what Safina also points out, that ‘we know almost nothing about the social structure of most…. cetacean species’. What Safina does provide is a fund of pretty convincing anecdotal evidence of the complex understanding of human behaviour displayed by those species we’ve had contact with, in the wild and in captivity. And considering the obvious importance of females in those cetacean societies we’ve observed, I’m heartened by the paper’s emphasis on my own great topic of interest:
This [understanding of female roles in cetaceans] has important implications for understanding socio-cultural changes in modern human societies, where, for example, a comparative understanding of female social roles can guide thinking about sources and solutions to the problem of underrepresentation of women in positions of leadership.
So I haven’t yet fully digested this lengthy paper, so I’ll leave it to my next piece to report on it.
References
Carl Safina, Beyond words: what animals think & feel, 2016
the short life and strange brains of the octopus, and other thoughts
a meeting of minds?
Canto: So we’ve been reading about the strange world of the octopus, and her fellow cephalopods, the squid and the cuttlefish, and what they might tell us about other intelligent forms of life. So what might they?
Jacinta: This is quite a new field of investigation, but certainly an exciting one. The octopus appears to be the most intelligent invertebrate on earth, though we still have lots to learn about it, and we know even less about its cephalopod cousins.
Canto: And we need to be careful about the ‘it’ word, as there are at least 300 species of the beasties, which vary considerably in size, habitat and even quite possibly in life-span.
Jacinta: Yes, some octopuses appear to have very short life-spans, a mere two years, but so little is known about so many of the deeper water species out there…
Canto: They’re predators, of course, feeding mainly on crabs, but some of the shallow-water species are known to scavenge off human activities, stealing bait and the like. They have incredibly flexible, almost amorphous bodies that aren’t co-ordinated simply by a central brain. In fact their nervous systems are still very much a source of mystery.
Jacinta: Like our own. Well, okay we know a helluva lot more about ours. Some other facts: they have three hearts, their eight arms or tentacles are made up of four pairs, they’re all more or less venomous, they’re famously able to match their colour to their surroundings pretty well instantly, they can unscrew the lids of jars to get at the contents, some species collect shells to use as constructions around their homes, they have very high brain-to-body mass ratios, and they appear to be very quick to learn new stuff.
Canto: Apparently tentacles are out, they’re called arms. Tentacles are another thing. A cuttlefish has two tentacles and eight arms. Snails have tentacles. As to the brain and nervous systems of octopuses, here’s what we know. Two thirds of its neurons are to be found in its arms, and they can allow the arms to act independently to some extent. Interestingly, although octopuses have complex motor systems, they don’t have an internalised map of the body as vertebrates apparently do. It’s called a somatotopic map, and it’s found in humans in the primary somatosensory cortex, at the top of the brain. Octopuses’ brains/nervous systems are organised quite differently, and that’s the point – their relationship to us on the evolutionary bush is very distant indeed.
Jacinta: Yes, that’s exactly what makes them fascinating – they’ve evolved a complex nervous system on a completely different plan, like aliens.
Canto: Not quite – they still have neurons after all, and DNA. But the link between humans and octopuses probably goes back at least 500 million years, to some of the earliest complex life forms.
Jacinta: Not so complex by modern standards…
Canto: Indeed, something like a sea worm or sea sponge. Anyway, although they appear to have highly developed intelligence, their learning capacity is really hard to ascertain. They’re not highly social animals like many primates and cetaceans are, and they certainly don’t learn from their parents, since both parents ‘fall apart’ and die shortly after breeding.
Jacinta: They’re quite inventive, even playful, they’ve been observed pushing objects into circular currents and catching them. They also board fishing boats in search of food and find ways of getting out of lab aquariums. Their ability to flatten and elongate or bunch up when required makes them very slippery little suckers, you always have to keep an eye on them.
Canto: Well no doubt researchers will be keen to learn more about their neurology, but this relatively new understanding of their smarts raises questions about their treatment by researchers – not to mention eating them en masse.
Jacinta: Well just sticking with lab treatment, I remember reading in The Lab Rat Chronicles how the rather complacently cruel treatment of lab rats, and all experimental animals, is being questioned more and more, leading to the use of less invasive neurological and other operational approaches..
Canto: Which would in any case be a good thing – the more we can learn without destroying the living thing we’re seeking to learn about, the better, for obvious reasons.
Jacinta: Rats are really smart animals – and just about the most successful animals on the planet – and they certainly feel pain and become depressed, and it’s clear that octopuses do too. In fact some countries have rules against surgical procedures without anaesthetic for octopuses, presumably based on a growing body of knowledge about them.
Canto: They often lose an arm to predators – which by the way they’re able to regrow – and have been observed to favour and tend to damaged or lost arms and other parts, which is a clear sign of ‘feeling’ the damage. But really, the idea that animals don’t feel pain – any animal – has surely had its day.
Jacinta: So what about eating them? I gather that in some parts, eating them live is a thing.
Canto: Well I’ve always been of two minds about this, about eating other animals. And Peter Wohlleben argues for the smartness and the communal life of trees and plants, so that doesn’t leave us with anything to eat at all, if we’re being truly sensitive to others. But there’s no doubt we’re eating too much, we’re destroying the habitats of huge number of species, on land and sea, to feed our growing and increasingly voracious human population. Nobody knows how that’s going to end, though some are hoping, as ever, for technological fixes – artificial meat, ways of creating bumper harvests using less and less land and so forth.
Jacinta: Another whole realm of discussion, but getting back to octopuses, can they tell us anything about consciousness, given their vastly different origin, compared to us?
Canto: Well I don’t want to get into consciousness now – that’s such a massive subject – but they can tell us a lot about a different neurological system, obviously. The fact is, though, that we observe whales, crows, elephants, octopuses, rats and other creatures that are vastly different from each other behaving in ways we, in our indulgent and sometimes condescending manner, consider intelligent, but we know barely anything about, to paraphrase a philosopher, what it’s like to be any of those creatures. Do they have thoughts like us? Or do they have thoughts, but nothing like our own? Which of course raises the question, what exactly is a thought? Can it be reduced to brain processes or do we lose too much in the reduction? Will our endless and increasing probing of human and other brains definitively answer this question?
Jacinta: I think we’ll have to wait till after we die to find out…
References
Other minds: the octopus and the evolution of intelligent life, by Peter Godfrey-Smith
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Octopus
https://onekindplanet.org/animal/octopus/