Summary
In his article, “The Intelligent Plant,” Michael Pollan
summarizes the checkered history and current debate surrounding plant “neurobiology.”
Amidst the countless and interesting examples of experiments and scientific
findings, Pollan gives a critique of the debate itself. In profiling three
scientists with diverging views on the prospect of plant intelligence, he
reveals that a large part of the debate focuses on a disagreement about what
kind of terms are appropriate for describing the data and hypotheses in
relation to inanimate flora. Given that the current debate is mired in what
boils down to a mere problems of semantics, it is quite telling that Pollan’s
clear favorite among the three scientists was inspired by a science fiction
story. Though never said explicitly, the article leaves the reader with the impression
that the scientific community as a whole would benefit from the sort of
intellectual exercise that only literature and poetry can provide.
Some of the more compelling and productive examples of the
research on plant intelligence include:
Plant roots seeking out water by “hearing” it flowing is
especially interesting in relation to Shelley’s description of the sensitive
plant’s dreams being filled with music, whilst the other plants dream of silence.
Plant roots and trees abilities to discern its relative
kinship with nearby plants and trees, and the cooperative behaviors one engages
in according to kinship…
Also with regard to kinship, the learning behavior exhibited
by the Mimosa pudica, called “habituation,”
is regarded as an elementary type, and the movement of root systems as
explained by a Darwin ‘acts like the brain of one of the lower animals’. These
two tidbits encourage us to see similarity across taxonomic boundaries. It would be nice if Pollan’s piece offered any
fodder for thinking about gardens in general since the context of the poem is a
garden, and if it did it might be related to this point, but I can’t really see
a clear connection…
The use of chemical signals which function as a kind of
plant language, eliciting responses from flora and fauna alike…
And most pertinent to the poem, the role time-relativity
plays in confounding observation and understanding of plant behavior and
intention… Similar to the problems differences in our experiences of time
present, the idea of the chemical signals, of which there could be said to be
thousands of individual ‘signs’, as a language presents the human observer with
the impossibility of understanding these signals without the help of complex apparatuses.
The poem ends by grounding the reader with a reminder of the limitations on our
perception.
There is a moment when the science seems to almost argue for
a kind of legitimacy in personifying or anthropomorphizing the Mimosa pudica: “When the fernlike leaves
of the mimosa are touched, they instantly fold up, PRESUMABLY TO FRIGHTEN
INSECTS.” That last bit is terribly interesting for two reasons. (1) The plants
must know what it is to be frightened in order to (2) have the intention of
frightening a predator away.
Especially with regard to Consciousness:
One scientist posits that there is ‘some unifying mechanism
across living systems that can process information and learn’. This sounds more
like the second definition of consciousness given later – “being awake and
aware of one’s environment,” an “outward” kind of consciousness as opposed the “inward
awareness of oneself experiencing reality” of the first definition.
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