Some of the most enjoyable parts of writing the Yoga Psychology book involved weaving stories of the amazing exploits of various animals.  It was great fun putting together the story about the “waggle” dance.  When we were looking for information on intelligence in birds, stories seemed to start popping up here there and everywhere (the crows who learned they could crack walnuts by leaving them at traffic intersections were amazing).  And of course, the lovable Alex, the African Grey parrot – whose last words (he died a few years after the book was published) were, “good night, see you tomorrow, I love you.”

The Emergence of Consciousness in Animals over the Course of Evolution

As consciousness evolves, the organism becomes capable of distinguishing more of the world. That is, it knows more of the world, has a wider range of feeling about it, and a wider array of responses to it. This progression ranges from the slime mold’s extremely limited registration of external stimuli, to the sea anemone’s ability to recognize distinguishable patterns, the bee’s capacity to “understand” some simple relationships between those patterns, the lizard’s ability to define a particular territory, and the crow’s capacity to engage in complex problem-solving within and around its territory.

Whatever the nature of the primitive intelligence Nakagaki identified in a single-celled organism, the way in which it experiences the world would be unimaginable to us. What kind of consciousness could one possibly ascribe to such a primitive creature?  At best, we might imagine its experience to be little more than the faintest blur. It has no sense organs, yet is able in some way to detect the presence of food, indicating it has a primitive “knowing” of its environment. The fact that it was able to determine that the substance was desirable is thought to indicate the presence of a primitive form of “feeling.”  Its response to the food – arranging itself to optimally obtain it – reflects a primitive form of “willing.”

What began as a faint glimmer of knowing in the most primitive creatures was greatly enhanced in early multi-cellular organisms by the emergence of primitive sense organs. The dim blurry world of the true slime mold became a world of distinguishable patterns. The senses of a sea anemone living in a rock pool, for example, are stimulated by certain patterns in its environment. In response to these patterns the anemone registers a “feeling” – slightly more differentiated than in the slime mold – that is positive, negative or neutral depending on whether the pattern is perceived as friendly, unfriendly or irrelevant to its survival. If the pattern signifies food, in a primitive act of “will” it will grab at it; if it signifies a threat, it will attack or retreat. These responses are even subject to a primitive form of learning known as habituation. For example, if you gently tap a tentacle, the anemone will initially withdraw. If however, repeated taps prove to be harmless, it will cease to respond.

In multi-cellular creatures, the specialized sensory cells developed into sense organs. A primitive nervous system emerged which could coordinate the information taken in by the various senses and a more complex external world of hue and shape began to emerge on the canvas of consciousness. The more complex capacities for knowing, willing and feeling that accompanied these changes are evident in the “waggle dance” ritual of the honeybee.

In the course of its search for nourishment, when a bee sees a patch of flowers that promises to be a rich source of nutrients, it will retrace its route several times in order to memorize the location. Returning to the hive, it performs a complex series of movements that has come to be known as the “waggle dance.”  Moving in the form of a figure eight, “its orientation indicates the direction of [the] find relative to the position of the sun. The speed of her movement, the number of times she repeats it, and the fervor of her noisy waggling indicate the richness of the food source.”[i]  The observing bees assess the intensity of her movements and thus discern the relative value of her find.

In this ritual, the bees demonstrate several acts of knowing which include judgment, memory, and the performance of some fairly complex calculations. Both the ability of the dancing bee to perform her highly detailed movements, and the concentration required of her audience, indicate a more highly developed capacity for willing than that of either the sea anemone or slime mold. Scientists have not yet developed techniques or technology for distinguishing levels of complexity of feeling between creatures as primitive as the slime mold, sea anemone and bee. However, assuming that consciousness evolves in an integral fashion, it seems likely that whatever level of feeling is present is to some extent commensurate with the bees’ capacity for knowing and willing.

Though impressive, this ritual dance is largely instinctive. The bees’ capacity for learning is limited, and their response patterns can be quite inflexible. For example, “if placed in a maze with a glass cover, they perform as well as rats up to the point of reaching the food reward, but they are incapable of turning around and going back to where they have come from. Once bees eat, they are rigidly programmed to fly upward,”[ii] and will thus remain trapped in the maze.

With the appearance of reptiles, we see a further development of knowing, willing and feeling. The reptile can process sensory information in more complex ways than either the sea anemone or bee. A lizard, for example, can “understand” the notion of territory, and engage in behaviors such as defining, patrolling and defending that territory against trespassers. The world it experiences is somewhat richer by virtue of the primitive feelings of safety, anger, fear and competitiveness associated with its knowing of a territory, and its activities related to that knowing. While these behaviors are instinctive and automatic, the lizard’s larger repertoire of responses represents a further complexity of will.

With the appearance of mammals and birds, we see the emergence of more complex abilities for learning, memory and problem solving. While many may have observed these capacities in such familiar mammals as dogs, cats, or the neighborhood raccoon, it may be surprising to hear the extent to which birds demonstrate them as well. Several newspapers and magazines have recently carried the story of Japanese carrion crows who congregate at traffic intersections waiting for a red light. When the traffic stops, the crows fly down to the road to place walnuts they’ve gathered in front of the cars. When the light turns green, the cars move forward, cracking open the nuts. When the road is clear, the crows return to enjoy the feast.[iii]

Perhaps less well known is the astonishing memory of one particular species of crow, the Clark’s nutracker, who can remember as many as 30,000 hiding places for the seeds it gathers and buries. After burying the seeds, he then recovers them over the course of the next 11 months, using them as his primary diet during the winter.[iv]

With mammals and birds, as opposed to more primitive organisms, it becomes much easier to observe emotional reactions. However, it is quite unusual to find an animal that can verbally articulate his feelings. Alex, an African Grey parrot trained for over 20 years by Dr. Irene Pepperberg, has a vocabulary of more than 100 words. As familiar as Dr. Pepperberg was with Alex’s abilities, even she was startled one day when she dropped him off for an overnight stay at a veterinary hospital to have lung surgery. Apparently upset at being left in a strange place, Alex called to her as she was leaving, “Come here. I love you… Wanna go back.”[v]

With primates came the ability to make use of more complex symbols, making possible a simple form of reasoning. For example, a chimp, spotting a banana outside his cage just beyond arm’s reach, can conjure up the image of a stick and think about how he might use it to retrieve the banana. This capacity freed primates from adherence to rigid instinctive behaviors, allowing for innovation and a far greater degree of flexibility in coping with new situations. The ability to use symbols also allowed for a new form of communication – that of symbolic language.

While chimpanzees and gorillas may not be able to speak as we do, it is for want of a larynx, rather than a deficiency of their brains. The world-renowned and much beloved gorilla, Koko, was taught the deaf sign language and showed a remarkable ability to use it to communicate.[vi]  She now has a vocabulary of more than a thousand words, and is able to compose simple sentences. Her ability to make use of symbolic language gives her a greater capacity than reptiles and most mammals to comprehend the relationship between herself and the things and creatures of her environment. This makes it possible for Koko to have a more highly developed social life, with more complex familial and other interpersonal ties. These more intimate relationships bring the possibility of deeper, more complex emotional feelings and responses. They also facilitate the passing on of social norms to a new generation, giving birth to the possibility of culture.[vii]

With the appearance of human beings something radically new began to emerge – the sense of an individual self with a past, present and future, and the capacity to be aware of and reflect upon the nature of that self. We’ve moved from the blurry inchoate world of the amoeba to a highly differentiated world of multi-dimensional relationships – between past, present and future, and between an individual and his environment. With a greatly enhanced capacity for memory, analysis, and strategic planning, human beings can arrive at complex theories for making sense of their world. We’ve graduated from simple feeling responses of pleasure and pain to the complexities of romantic love, self-sacrifice, compassion and remorse. And along with the capacity for self-awareness has come the power to change ourselves and reshape our environment.