Typology
Article
Scopes
Culture
“Intelligence and awareness are not the sole purview of animals but are woven into the fabric of life itself.”
As we venture deeper into the intricate world of social biomimicry, we find ourselves grappling not only with the patterns of nature but also with the very consciousness that resides within it. In the second module of the Social Biomimicry course, Paco Calvo, a renowned cognitive scientist and philosopher of biology from the University of Murcia, introduced the groundbreaking field of plant intelligence. Paco Calvo is part of MintLab, a multidisciplinary research group and the world’s first laboratory in the philosophy of plant signaling and behavior. His book Planta Sapiens: Unmasking Plant Intelligence explains that plants “plan ahead to achieve goals” and “proactively engage with their surroundings”, as they grapple with gradual changes in the soil or the sudden appearance of a predator.
Are plants sentient beings?
Are plants sentient beings? This is the core question of this line of research, which seeks to prove it through empirical evidence, characteristic of the scientific methods. At first glance, the idea that plants (yes, even the basil on your balcony) might possess intelligence seems fantastical. But here we are asked to step outside (or at least try) of our anthropocentric view and recognize our “bellybutton-centrism”, our obsession with ourselves. Paco asks “Why is it so hard for us to appreciate that we are only one among the species on planet Earth?”. I don’t have an answer to this.
The concept of plant consciousness, though provocative, does not demand that plants possess the same reflective or self-conscious capabilities as humans. “Intelligence doesn’t necessarily require a central brain or hierarchy (as in animals), it can also emerge through a network of interactions and responses”, said Paco in his second session. This invites us to consider a minimal form of consciousness, one that entails basic awareness or sentience. Understood this way, plant consciousness might involve a primitive awareness of environmental stimuli or internal states, providing an evolutionary advantage by enhancing adaptability.
Recent advancements in plant neurobiology lend support to this hypothesis. While plants lack a central nervous system, they exhibit sophisticated signaling mechanisms, including electrical and chemical communication, that facilitate sensorimotor integration. These processes suggest that plants, like animals, process information in ways that could give rise to a form of subjective experience.
Paco showed us experiments about plants having jet lag due to a disruption of their circadian rhythm, plants having systems of explorations (through their roots), and plants having a distributed memory.
Can scientific research and traditional, indigenous knowledge go hand in hand?
As I reflect on this, I find myself grappling with how these scientific insights complement Indigenous knowledge systems, which have long recognized plants as sentient beings with intrinsic value and intelligence. Indigenous traditions often emphasize the interconnectedness of all living things and see plants as active participants in the ecosystem, much like the findings of plant neurobiology suggest. The question, then, is how these two ways of knowing, scientific inquiry and Indigenous and traditional knowledge, can go hand in hand, enhancing our understanding of the living world. For me, this remains an area of exploration and learning.
“Plants are republican, while animals are more monarchical. ”
Looking at my notes from Paco’s second session, I see a sentence highlighted in yellow: Plants are republican, while animals are more monarchical. As I look at the basil plant on my window, this sentence makes me smile. An intriguing metaphor that highlights the fundamental differences in how plants and animals organize and interact with their environments. This analogy draws attention to the decentralized and distributed nature of plant behavior, where every part of the organism (roots, leaves, stems) acts autonomously while still contributing to the well-being of the whole. In contrast, animals often exhibit a hierarchical system of control, where centralized structures, such as a brain, dictate and coordinate the behavior of the organism. Just like a republic, plants show a collective and non-hierarchical way of functioning, a system that thrives on cooperation and adaptability.
Intelligence and awareness are not unique to animals.
I recognize that this module conveyed numerous take-home messages, presented in layers that could resonate differently depending on one’s prior knowledge. What I’m taking with me is the realization that even within the framework of Western science, it is possible to reimagine our role in the ecosystem as collaborators and partners, an approach we are only beginning to explore. I will also bring with me the reminder that science must continually be challenged, and its assumptions reevaluated.
Ultimately, the study of plant cognition and consciousness compels us to rethink what it means to be human. It challenges anthropocentric and zoocentric biases, urging us to view life as a continuum of interconnected processes. Plants, through their remarkable behaviors and potential sentience, remind us that intelligence and awareness are not the sole purview of animals but are woven into the fabric of life itself. As research continues to unfold, it opens new avenues for understanding the evolutionary roots of cognition and consciousness, while inviting us to reflect on the ethical and philosophical implications of recognizing sentience in plants.
Now, I would like to imagine the story of a sentient basil plant, named Basiliex. This is the fruit of my imagination and of thoughts sparked by the interesting sessions by Paco. Surely, Paco Calvo himself would disagree with this short story, as I project anthropogenic perspectives on sentience on a basil plant. After all, I am the product of a “bellybutton-centric” society and my frame of reference is my human mind. So I invite you to take what follows just as a short story and to learn about Planta Sapiens from more legitimate sources.
Basiliex
Planted in a modest clay pot on the kitchen windowsill, Basiliex lived a quiet life overlooking a bustling urban street. To the family that watered them each morning, Basiliex was nothing more than a culinary companion, a sprig of freshness for pasta sauces and salads. But within Basiliex's vibrant green leaves lay an inner world. Basiliex’s life was one of anticipation, learning, and decision-making. When the sun rose, they turned their leaves toward the light, not merely as a reflex but as an act of purpose. They could feel the warmth, measure the hours, and adjust their growth to maximize the sun’s exposure.
One day, the family decided to take a trip to the countryside, bringing Basiliex along. For the first time, they were transported beyond the kitchen. As the car sped past forests and fields, Basiliex stretched their awareness, sensing the unfamiliar vibrations of new plants. The air was alive with volatile organic compounds (VOCs), whispers of communication that Basiliex could interpret: warnings of pests, notes of drought, and greetings exchanged between trees. When they arrived at a rustic cottage, Basiliex was placed on a garden table under an open sky. For the first time, they felt the symphony of nature around them. Nearby oak trees shared stories from their long lifes, grasses murmured about the coming rain, and wildflowers debated the best way to attract pollinators.
Life in the garden wasn’t all idyllic. A nearby mint plant, sprawled and assertive, began to encroach on Basiliex’s space. Mint released allelopathic chemicals, signaling dominance and claiming resources. Basiliex had to think fast, or as fast as a plant could. Drawing on their anticipatory behavior, Basiliex adjusted their growth strategy. They directed more energy to their upper leaves, reaching higher for sunlight, while their roots spread cautiously, avoiding direct competition with the mint. It was a delicate dance, showing their ability to adapt and strategize. One evening, a curious cat knocked Basiliex’s pot off the table, spilling soil everywhere. The family carefully repotted them, but the accident left Basiliex shaken. Over the next few days, they learned to recognize the vibrations of approaching paws, stiffening their stems when the cat came near. It was a rudimentary form of memory, an example of the habituation described in experiments with the Mimosa Pudica.
After some weeks, Basiliex was planted in the garden permanently. They became attuned to the rhythms of that environment and could sense the subtle electric signals traveling through their roots, connecting them to the vast underground network of fungi and plant roots. Through this network, Basiliex began to share resources with struggling plants and even receive warnings about distant threats. In these moments, Basiliex felt something akin to awareness. It wasn’t the self-reflective consciousness of humans, but a deep, integrated sense of belonging to the world around them.