Название: Other Minds: The Octopus and the Evolution of Intelligent Life
Автор: Peter Godfrey-Smith
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Философия
isbn: 9780008226282
isbn:
Michael Trestman, another philosopher, has offered an interesting way of looking at all these animals. Consider, he says, the category of animals who have complex active bodies. These are animals who can move quickly, and who can seize and manipulate objects. Their bodies have appendages that can move in many directions, and they have senses, such as eyes, which can track distant objects. Trestman says that only three of the major animal groups produced some species with complex active bodies (CABs). Those groups are arthropods, chordates (animals like us with a nerve cord down their back), and one group of mollusks, the cephalopods. This trio might seem to make up a large category, because these are the sorts of animals that tend to come to our minds, but it is a small group in many ways. There are about thirty-four animal phyla – basic animal body plans. Only three phyla contain some animals with CABs, and within one of those three, the mollusks, the only animals that count are cephalopods.
With these ancient stages of the historical story in place, I’ll return to the divide between two views of nervous systems and their evolution – the sensory-motor and action-shaping views. Earlier I introduced the distinction, linked it to two roles that signals can have in social life (sexton and Revere versus the rowboat), and noted that the two roles are different but also compatible. What might be the historical significance of this divide? Can the distinction be fit in some natural way onto the march of millennia from the Ediacaran, to the Cambrian, to more recent times? It does seem possible that there was a shift in the roles nervous systems were performing. Although tracking events in the outside world might always be worth doing to some extent, the Cambrian sees a great increase in the importance of this side of life. There’s more that’s worth watching, and more that needs to be done in response to what’s seen. Not paying attention, for the first time, means getting eaten by the swooping anomalocarid. Perhaps, then, the very first nervous systems primarily served to coordinate actions – first animating the body of an ancient cnidarian, then shaping the actions of Ediacarans. But if there was such an era, by the Cambrian it was over.
This is one possibility among many, though, and our imaginations, shaped by lives lived in modern bodies, underestimate the range of options. Possibilities abound. Here is one developed by the biologist Detlev Arendt and his colleagues. As they see it, nervous systems originated twice. But they don’t mean that they evolved in two kinds of animals; rather, they originated twice in the same animals, at different places in the animal’s body. Imagine a jellyfish-like animal shaped like a dome, with a mouth underneath. One nervous system evolves on the top, and tracks light, but not as a guide to action. Instead it uses light to control bodily rhythms and regulate hormones. Another nervous system evolves to control movement, initially just the movement of the mouth. And at some stage, the two systems begin to move within the body, coming into new relations with each other. Arendt sees this as one of the crucial events that took bilaterians forward in the Cambrian. A part of the body-controlling system moved up toward the top of the animal, where the light-sensitive system sat. This light-sensitive system, again, was only guiding chemical changes and cycles, not behavior. But the joining of the two nervous systems gave them a new role.
What an amazing image: in a long evolutionary process, a motion-controlling brain marches up through your head to meet there some light-sensitive organs, which become eyes.
~ The Fork
The bilaterian body plan arose before the Cambrian, in some small and unremarkable form, but it became the bodily scaffold on which a long series of increases in behavioral complexity was laid down. Early bilaterians also have another role in this book. Sometime soon after they appeared, probably still in the Ediacaran, there was a branching, one of the countless evolutionary forks that take place as the millennia pass. A population of these animals split into two. The animals who initially wandered off down the two paths might have looked like small flattened worms. They had neurons, and perhaps very simple eyes, but little of the complexity that was to come. Their scale was measured perhaps in millimeters.
After this innocuous split, the animals on each side diverged, and each became ancestor to a huge and persisting branch of the tree of life. One side led to a group that includes vertebrates, along with some surprising companions such as starfish, while the second side led to a huge range of other invertebrate animals. The point just before this split is the last point at which an evolutionary history is shared between ourselves and the big group of invertebrates that includes beetles, lobsters, slugs, ants, and moths.
Here is a diagram of this part of the tree of life. Lots of groups are omitted from the picture, both outside and inside the branches shown. The moment we’re talking about is labeled “the fork.”
On each path downstream of the fork, more branchings occurred. One side eventually sees fish appear, then dinosaurs and mammals. This is our side. On the other side, further branchings give rise to arthropods, mollusks, and others. On both sides, passing from the Ediacaran into the Cambrian and beyond, lives become entangled, the senses open, and nervous systems expand. Until, in one tiny example of this sensory and behavioral entangling, a rubber-encased mammal and a color-changing cephalopod find themselves staring at each other in the Pacific Ocean.
* If you’ve seen the word “sensorimotor” instead, please treat this as the same.
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Mischief and craft are plainly seen to be characteristics of this creature.
– Claudius Aelianus, third century A.D.,
writing about the octopus
In a Sponge Garden
Someone is watching you, intently, but you can’t see them. Then you notice, drawn somehow by their eyes.
You’re amid a sponge garden, the sea floor scattered with shrub-like clumps of bright orange sponge. Tangled in one of these sponges, and the gray-green seaweed around it, is an animal about the size of a cat. Its body, though, seems to be everywhere and nowhere. Much of the animal seems to have no definite shape at all. The only parts you can keep a fix on are a small head and the two eyes. As you make your way around the sponge, so too do those eyes, keeping their distance, keeping part of the sponge between the two of you. Its color matches – exactly, perfectly – the seaweed around it, except that some of its skin is folded into tiny tower-like peaks, and the tips of these peaks match – nearly as exactly – the orange of the sponge. You keep coming round its side of the sponge, and eventually it raises its head high, then rockets away under jet propulsion.
A second meeting with an octopus: this one is in a den. Shells are strewn in front, arranged with some pieces of old glass. You stop in front of its house and the two of you look at each other. This one is small, about the size of a tennis ball. You reach forward a hand and stretch out one finger, and one octopus arm slowly uncoils and comes out to touch you. The suckers grab your skin, and the hold is disconcertingly tight. Having attached the suckers, it tugs your finger, pulling you gently in. The СКАЧАТЬ