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44 pages 1 hour read

Zoë Schlanger

The Light Eaters: How the Unseen World of Plant Intelligence Offers a New Understanding of Life on Earth

Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 2024

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Chapters 3-5Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Chapter 3 Summary: “The Communicating Plant”

As Schlanger steps out the front door of a house she is staying in during a fellowship, she notes the smell of the plants in the air. She wonders if this smell indicates that they are communicating with one another. In addition to “intelligence” and “consciousness,” the word “communication” is controversial among botanists. The term implies intent: To communicate is to share knowledge with purpose. However, Schlanger points out that communication is the key to all cellular development: “For life to open to the possibility of multicellularity, individual cells had to coordinate among themselves” (55). Even a single seed contains an embryonic root with a cluster of cells communicating about the exterior conditions and the right moment to emerge.

The debate about whether plants communicate traces back to a 1979 paper published in Plant Resistance to Insects by zoologist David Rhoades-Davey, who was interested in a caterpillar population that had been feeding on trees at the University of Washington campus. One year, the caterpillars abruptly started to die. Rhoades’s research revealed that the trees had changed their chemistry, sickening and killing the caterpillars. Even more surprisingly, Rhoades discovered that faraway trees, ones nowhere near where the caterpillar infestation, also changed their chemical composition.

Rhoades’s hypothesis was quickly dismissed by the academic community and negatively impacted his career. However, since the 1970s, other researchers have discovered the same occurrence. One scientist even found that trees can detect cicada eggs on their limbs and encase them in a woody callus, suffocating the eggs.

New research reveals that plants participate in complicated patterns of communication. They are more likely to communicate with other plants of the same species, especially family members. Some plants, like sagebrush, create highly specific chemical compounds to conceal their message from competitors. Furthermore, plants appear to have personality types, exhibiting more risk-averse or risk-taking behaviors than their kin.

Chapter 4 Summary: “Alive to Feeling”

Schlanger turns her attention to whether plants feel. Some botanists argue that plants utilize electricity to sense the world around them. Schlanger explains that plants, just like humans and other animals, have waves of electricity coursing through their anatomies. For humans, these waves head to the brain, where information is carried and stored. While plants do not have a centralized nervous system, Schlanger points to neuroscience developments that point to electrical wave patterns as the foundation for consciousness.

When a person runs a finger along the stem of the Mimosa pudica, the sensitive plant, its leaves fold inward. Slime molds, constructed of one giant cell with thousands of nuclei, move by shooting electrical waves throughout the body. Humans have long known that plants can sense touch. Early farmers advocated for whipping some crops to build a heartier plant. Some plants respond to touch differently, becoming more elastic and flexible under the pressure of outside forces.

The Secret Life of Plants offered several unsubstantiated claims and biased research about plant sensitivity and feeling. Despite its faults, the book inspired some young scientists to question how plants experience the world. Studies into electrical impulses in plants led to many interesting discoveries. One researcher, Van Volkenburgh from the University of Washington, realized that plant cell membranes act similarly to human cell membranes by overseeing the flow of electricity. Volkenburgh found a channel in the membrane that allows the flow of electrical currents.

Proof of ion channels did little to combat the stigma surrounding research into plant behavior. In his 1995 State of the Union address, President Clinton declared that he would cut wasteful spending into studies that focus on “stress in plants.” Scientists found it increasingly difficult to fund research into electrical activity in plants. Instead, the research community shifted its attention to genetics, an area of study with more financial support and opportunity. However, renewed focus on plant electricity is rapidly advancing the field. Scientists have determined that Venus flytraps, the famous insect-eating plant with jaws that snap shut, use electrical bursts in their spiky hairs to detect touch and even count how often something touches them.

Schlanger traveled to Wisconsin to visit botany professor Simon Gilroy, who offered an opportunity to witness how plant electricity works. Gilroy and a colleague discovered that plants experience and understand gravity in a similar way to animals. Humans have canals in their inner ears with trigger hairs and crystals suspended in liquid that shift as we move and interact with gravity. Similarly, plants have granules housed in their cells; how plants process information from those granules is still a mystery.

Gilroy, who knew that gravity sensing in animal ears triggered a jolt of calcium, wondered if he could study whether plants behave similarly using a jellyfish protein that would make calcium in plant cells visible. The jellyfish protein proved highly effective in revealing the electrical path of a plant. At Gilroy’s lab, Schlanger experimented with pinching plant leaves with tweezers dipped in a glutamate solution that helps boost electrical signals. The plants responded with a ripple of bioluminescence. The correlations between how humans and plants process and sense information are striking. Gilroy, a respected researcher who was hesitant to draw connections between plants and humans, suggests that plants’ electrical signaling resembles a nervous system. However, while humans electrical signaling is directed toward and around the brain, scientists still do not know what plants do with their electrical impulses.

Chapter 5 Summary: “An Ear to the Ground”

Schlanger interrogates a traditional understanding of “hearing,” extending the mode of sensation to plants. She discusses the long-tongued bat in Cuba, a mammal that uses echolocation to find nectar. Marcgravia evenia, a ruby flower caught in an evolutionary partnership with the bat, is the prize. Scientists wondered how bats identified flowers that still had hidden pollen keels from those that did not. The flowers with intact pollen keels exhibit an appendance that acts as an echo amplifier, signaling to the bats that the flower is ready for them.

Like discussions about plant intelligence, communication, and consciousness, research into whether plants take advantage of and even participate in the world of sound is controversial. However, new research reveals a distinct correlation. Researchers Rex Cocroft and Heidi Appel, two scientists in different fields, met at a conference and began designing experiments investigating whether plants can use and make sense of insect vibrations. They discovered that plants responded to their predators’ sounds the same way they would if the insects were physically present. The sounds were enough to cause plants to release their defense mechanisms, such as bitter tannins or chemicals that cause caterpillars to eat one another.

Appel and Cocroft were suspicious of their own findings, understanding the huge ramifications of such a discovery. They scoured their notes, looking for evidence of a mistake. However, the more they interrogated their work, the more they found confirmation. Schlanger argues that Appel and Cocroft’s findings raise the question of what else plants can “hear.”

This branch of study is called phytoacoustics. For plants, the ability to sense vibrations has an evolutionary advantage. New interest in the field is driven by utilitarian gain: If scientists can determine how to use sound to prompt plants to change their chemical compounds, this could have many commercial benefits. For example, lavender oil and mustard oil are both predatory responses that could potentially be made more concentrated through phytoacoustics.

Studies emphasizing ecological relevance reveal that the relationships between plants and their surroundings are built on complex interactions between sounds and cells. Flowers respond to the vibrations of a buzzing bee by increasing the sweetness of their nectar, and desert plants respond to thunder by preparing their cells to take in as much water as possible. How plants “hear” has striking correlations to human auditory processing. Hairlike structures on leaves, called trichomes, take in sensory information much like the sensitive organs inside animal ears.

Monica Gagliano at the University of Western Australia is a polarizing figure in the scientific community who blurs the lines between science, philosophy, and spiritualism. Her research has provided profound insight into how plant roots utilize sound vibration. Her experiments utilize many of the same principles as experiments with mice, such as using mazes to understand how plants decide where to place their roots. The vibration of water through sealed pipes causes roots to change direction toward the rush of hydration. Gagliano’s methods have been scrutinized for her lack of controlled environment and her writing about her use of psychedelics. Schlanger notes that the controversy about whether plants can “hear” speaks to a larger conflict in the science community about the relationship between science and spirituality.

Chapters 3-5 Analysis

Schlanger explores three key ways plants experience the world: communication, feeling, and hearing. Though Schlanger uses these words, she acknowledges that they are not often used by the scientists she interviews. In fact, many of them reject such language altogether. When reading Schlanger’s work and other popular science texts, it is important to consider how language shapes an argument.

In The Light Eaters, Schlanger uses these words intentionally. Concepts like “communication” and “intelligence” evoke the human experience, and Schlanger capitalizes on that to accomplish two things. First, this technique fosters understanding by putting complex ideas into an accessible and tangible context. Second, it draws a connection between humans and plants, which supports Schlanger’s thematic argument about Plant Consciousness, which posits that, like humans, plants have conscious experience.

As Schlanger discusses the role of language in scientific rhetoric, she also explores what it might mean if plants have their own form of language. She cites research that suggests plants communicate with each other, then defines what communication means:

Communication implies a recognition of self and what lies beyond it—the existence of other selves. Communication is the forming of threads between individuals. It’s a way to make one’s life useful to other lives, to make oneself important to other selves. It turns individuals into a community (53).

What Schlanger describes in this passage is more than mere intelligence, it is consciousness. After focusing Chapters 1 and 2 on the divisive debate about plant intelligence, Schlanger’s rhetoric in this section decidedly falls on one side of the argument.

Schlanger notes that communication implies intention, which may lie at the heart of consciousness. The idea that plants communicate with one another about predators or environmental factors suggests that they are choosing to do so. Variations in the “personalities” and behaviors among plants of the same species indicate that different plants may have different intentions.

As she explains how plants use electrical signals to detect and respond to touch, Schlanger uses a word that exemplifies her rhetorical technique: “Plants are fully aware of our contact with them” (81). By categorizing plants’ recognition of touch as awareness, Schlanger deepens the connection between plants and humanity. She then uses scientific research to further support this idea, such as when she cites a study that used anesthesia to conclude that the sensory systems of plants can be put to sleep much the same anesthesia used to put humans to sleep before surgery. However, Schlanger simultaneously reminds readers that she is not a botanist and that scientists have a very different way of thinking about language. Her goal is not to provide a strictly scientific exploration of plant intelligence. Instead, she aims to blend science and philosophy, encompassing the ecological approach that dominates contemporary popular science literature.

In all three chapters, Schlanger reveals The Constant Motion of Biological Creativity. Research by David Rhoades-Davey and other scientists shows that plants communicate with one another about predators through airborne chemical processes. They use this information to alter their chemical makeup, making their leaves more bitter or even poisonous to insects. Some plants, like goldenrod, tailor their communication based upon who is listening, prioritizing their own kin over other plants of the same species. Other plants alter their shape to benefit their pollinators and even respond to the sound of pollinators and predators around them. These examples show that plants are constantly changing and responding to their environments, enacting creative solutions to complex problems.

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