In college I was pre-med, which meant that I studied mostly science. I was a biology major, with a minor in microbiology. Noticeably absent from my college transcript is any trace of botany. Plants played no role in my biology education. It’s not as if there were no plants on the campus. The university was known for its Ginkgo trees, for example. The walking paths around campus were shaded by a variety of trees. There were on campus parks with beautiful shrubs and flowering bushes. I was “plant-blind.”
US botanists Elizabeth Schussler and James Wandersee coined the term “plant-blind” in 1998. [1] They defined it as “the inability to see or notice plants in one’s own environment.” There is a long history of humans giving plants scant attention or respect. In his De Anima, Aristotle, for instance, referenced plants as defective animals and the lowest life-form. To be fair, Aristotle was not familiar with modern-day politicians.
Plants make up over 80% of the biomass on planet Earth. Of the over 1,300 [2] endangered or threatened species in the United States, 776 are plants. Despite these facts, because plants are not free to move about and have no brains or neurons, we humans tend to overlook them. Plants are nothing like us, and we have a strong tendency to notice creatures that are most similar, a preference called “biobehavioral similarity.” Sure, we are familiar with plants that we grow as food or decoration, but we also lump huge tracts of plants together with such phrases as “I took a walk in the woods today.” Green is green, as it were.
“I think plants are massively taken for granted. I think they are extremely sophisticated organisms. They are adapting exquisitely well to the changes around them all the time. I think we can learn a hell of a lot from plants philosophically. “ ~ Claire Grierson, plant biologist, University of Bristol
A characteristic of humans is that we have the ability to manipulate our external environment to extend our cognitive capacity. [3] For example, as I was preparing to write this essay, I did research and took notes. I took notes because, I do not possess a photographic memory. I cannot read an article once and retain it forever. My notes, therefore, extended my cognitive capacity. As a surgical intern and resident, I carried a small three-ring, loose-leaf notebook full of medication protocols and the like, because I could not remember all that information. That notebook extended my cognitive capacity. Nowadays, my iPhone performs a similar function. In terms of cognitive capacity, it is a fair question to ask in regards to my notes, notebook or my iPhone, “Where do ‘I’ end and my external environment begin?”
We humans tend to think that we are the only creatures with this ability to extend our cognitive capacity. Not so! Consider the humble web-forming spiders. The silken webs they weave are a means for them to extend their cognitive capacity. Such spiders generally rest at the center of their webs. They are exquisitely attuned to disturbances in their webs. When such a disturbance occurs, a spider can apply tension to the portion of the web involved and assess, for example if the disturbance is just a breeze or perhaps a trapped insect. The spider can then respond accordingly. One can reasonably ask, “Where does the spider end and the web begin?”
“Do plants have any similar ability to extend their cognitive capacity?” one might ask. The short answer is maybe. Not a very satisfactory answer, but it’s the best we have right now. We know for sure that plants lack brains and neurons. So the definitive answer, one would think, must be “No!” However, in science (and life), the answers to questions often depend on the definition of the words used in formulating the question. In this instance, we might start by asking, “What does ‘cognition’ from the perspective of a plant mean?” That is a discussion for another day. I want to discuss a much more interesting issue instead.
“Depending on how you define consciousness or intelligence, you could have a definition that would include what plants do, or you could have a definition that wouldn’t. Plants use a huge portion of their genes to sense their environment, make decisions about how best to look after themselves and act on them. Whether this is ‘consciousness’ or ‘intelligence,’ I can’t say, but it is certainly complex and interesting.”
~ Claire Grierson, plant biologist, Universtiy of Bristol
If you have practiced mindful meditation, you have noted that we humans experience a nearly constant stream of “thoughts.” This endless, persistent stream of thoughts has been called our “monkey minds,” not because monkeys necessarily have similar streams of thought (or do they?), but because, like noisy monkeys, our minds hardly ever stop chattering with these thoughts.
Where do these thoughts arise from? The standard answer is that thoughts arise in our minds or consciousness. OK, so where are our minds? Where is our consciousness? Many people who meditate describe feeling that their minds or centers of consciousness are located somewhere behind their eyes. Yet, there is no anatomic or neuro-physiological evidence that our minds are located somewhere behind our eyes, or anywhere else in our brain or body for that matter.
All this raises several questions about the concept of “mind.” What is mind? Where is mind? Who or what has mind? How do we know? Lots and lots of questions. Profound questions. Unanswered questions. Many folks have sought and are seeking answers to these and related questions.
One such person was Gustav Theodor Fechner. In 1848, Fechner published a book entitled, Nanna, or On the Soul Life of Plants.” Nanna is the Norse goddess of flowers. To Fechner, “souls” carried nearly the same meaning as “mind” does in our modern terminology. Essentially, Fechner was asking, “Do plants have souls (minds)?” He asked the question, and he replied in the affirmative. “Yes,” he said in so many words, “Plants have souls (minds).” This is another way of saying that plants have consciousness. Wow!
Today, the prevailing scientific opinion is that mind, or consciousness, arises from complex neural networks in our brains. In plain language, “mind” is what our brain does. But plants don’t have brains, so how could they possibly have minds? Unfortunately for you and me, dear reader, the answer to this question is, “We don't know.” Yet, that is.
For the sake of argument, let us assume that plants do indeed have minds, that they are conscious. What would that mean to our relationship to plants? Further, what if other beings have minds or consciousness too?
Some folks believe that humankind has dominion over the Earth and its creatures. Much of modern mankind seems to have taken “dominion” to mean “dominance.” Dominance is defined as “The act of being in control or having power over something or someone” and is often expressed in terms of force or aggression. Dominion, on the other hand, is defined as “The right to govern or rule over something or someone.” Dominion is often expressed in terms of caring, responsibility and stewardship. Right now, to many of us, humankind seems hellbent on dominating and destroying the planet.
“We would rather murder the world than permit it to expose us to change.” ~ Stanley Cavell, in “The Claim of Reason,” (1979)
What are the potential implications for we humans if plants and other beings have minds or consciousness? Under such conditions, what are our rights, responsibilities, and obligations to plants and other beings?
I have thoughts about this which I may share in some future essay. For now, suffice to say, for me this raises the question, “Are we humans separate from the rest of creation, or are we one with all of creation?”
I know what I think. What do you, think dear reader?
REFERENCES:
[1] Why ‘plant-blindness’ matters—and what you can do about it, BBC.com
[2] Endangered Species, epa.gov
[3] Extended cognition in plants: is it possible? tandfonline.com
[4] Is Plant ‘Intelligence’ Just a Human Fantasy? gizmodo.com
[5[ The radical new experiments that hint at plant consciousness, new scientist.com
Love this - it’s weird, even though I am in the woods daily , I am plant blind too (except for the trees that are hard to miss - maple, pine , oak etc ). So many shrubs and flowers - is it a lack of interest or something else ? .
From what I understand, trees recognize their “offsprings “ and can dedicate more nutrients towards them through the mycelium network. This selective behaviour is somewhat conscious- like . But where is the Brain, the CPU? I feel like it’s somewhere in the junction of the roots and trunk , lol .
Maybe a botanist can shed some light on this.
VERY much enjoyed this essay! Resonates strongly with me and my own personal beliefs and practices. And let’s not even mention the Fungi Kingdom! Talk about a network of underground communication, symbioses, and consciousness.
Write that next essay, Craig. I’ll be a’readin’ it.