Posts Tagged ‘thought’
limerence and bonobos
You know I’ve never met anyone quite like she before
Temptation, New Order
How can I even try, I can never win…
You’ve got to hide your love away, The Beatles
I’m reading Alexis Wright’s dauntingly long book Praiseworthy for a book group, and I was stopped short by this passage:
… in the all-twisting, all-turning immersion of limerence, skyrocketing in an out-of-proportion infatuation that would never be consummated.
Alexis Wright, Praiseworthy, p25
Limerence? I had to look it up. As a lifetime writer and therefore amateur wordsmith, I’m always surprised and a little shocked, at my age, to be confronted by something new in the field. But the shock was even greater on learning the meaning:
Limerence is a state of intense romantic infatuation or obsession with someone else. People experiencing limerence may have intrusive thoughts, feel melancholic, or have tragic concerns for the person they are infatuated with. They may also constantly obsess about whether their feelings are reciprocated
This definition comes from a ‘generative AI’ website, which is pretty hilarious, but I digress. The word was coined by a psychologist, of course, and to me it has huge resonance, both personal and intellectual. In fact I once wrote a novel, Sextet, never published, in which I tried to make comic play of what I might now call ‘polymorphous limerence’, an infatuation with a number of women, each of which might be the ‘one true one’, or not. The central character is ‘bowled over’ by not just one but a number of impressive young women, and feels more or less unworthy of them all. Being tongue-tied and hapless before each of them, but having more faith in his writing than his speech, he decides to send hand-written letters to six potential paramours (a concept completely spoiled by the startlingly swift onset of the internet). Whittling the number down to a mere six is a major task in itself, but anyhow it all falls apart in a tragicomic way (I can’t even remember how it ended).
There’s no doubt though, that I was playing with a theme that has ever fascinated me, the powerful myth of ‘true love’ that’s at the heart of monogamy (well, apart from the arranged/forced marriage type). Which brings me to bonobos.
I’ve often speculated fruitlessly about human monogamy and its origins, considering that neither bonobos nor chimps practice it. Indeed monogamy is a strangely arbitrary ‘system’ of species-furtherance, practised by many bird species, eschewed by many others (though the most recent bird research reveals that their sex and breeding practices are every bit as complex and nefarious as ours). Amongst primates, about 30% of species are monogamous, up from between 3 and 5 percent in the whole mammalian world (10% according to other sites). It’s speculated that human monogamy began with H erectus about two million years ago, but who knows? There’s also a distinction between social and genetic monogamy – but all this is taking me far from the very human concept of limerence, and its apparent absence in our closest living relatives, who certainly seem to be full of fellow-feeling. It seems that concepts of possession, or possessiveness, are key here. Ownership and jealousy play their part, promoted by social expectations, as well as yin-yang perfect fits, and of course for those who are partnerless, loneliness, in a human world that is so much more internal than external compared to other primates (but then I’ve never been a bonobo – maybe next time?).
There’s not much in the way of isolation in bonobo communities. Everyone tends to rub shoulders, euphemistically speaking, with everyone else, so hiding your love away is hardly an option. Also, the plague-paradise of internal thought, so unique to humans among the primates, and perhaps among all living beings, and so much intertwined with language, the language of desire, hope, anxiety, despair, longing and – limerence – is what has brought about our transcendence as a species. Not only the negatives, if such they are, but the positives – the transformative ruminations of Newton, Einstein and Darwin, among so many others (some of them even female). Limerence might be an unfortunate by-product of all that busy neural thought-language activity – but hey, it has often produced great music, and for that humanity will ever be grateful. A limerence shared is a limerence halved, maybe!
References
Alexis Wright, Praiseworthy, 2022
https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC7416880/
Why some birds mate for life – and why some play the field (and the trees, ponds and rooftops)
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/