Category: psychology

Don’t Go Chasing Eel Testicles: A Brief, Select History of Sigmund Freud

RilalyLeave a comment

We envy those who knew, at a relatively young age, what they wanted to do for a living. We may have experienced some inspirations along the way, but we either lost interest quickly, or we never follow through. Whatever the case was, no one I know read medical journals, law reviews, or business periodicals in our formative years. We preferred reading the latest NFL preview guide, a teenage heartthrob magazine, or one of the many other periodicals that offer soft entertainment value. Most of us opted out of reading altogether and chose to play something that involved a ball. Life was all about fun for the kids in our block, but there were other, more serious kids, who we wouldn’t meet until we were older. They may not have known they would become neurosurgeons, but they were so interested in medicine that they devoted huge chunks of their young lives to learning everything their young minds could retain. “How is that even possible?” we ask. How are they able to achieve that level of focus when they were so young? Are we even the same species?

At an age when we’re so unfocused, some claim to have had tunnel vision. “I didn’t have that level of focus,” some said to correct the record, “not the level of focus to which you are alluding.” They might have diverged from the central focus, but they had more direction than anyone we knew, and that direction put them on the path of doing what they ended up doing, even if it wasn’t as specific as we might guess.

The questions regarding what we should do for a living has plagued so many for so long that comedian Paula Poundstone captured it with a well-placed joke, and I apologize, in advance, for the creative paraphrasing: “Didn’t you hate it when your relatives asked what you wanted to do for a living? Um, Grandpa I’m 5. I haven’t fully grasped the importance of brushing my teeth yet. Now that I’m forty, I’ve finally figured out why they asked that question,” Paula Poundstone added with a comedic pause. “They were looking for ideas.”

Pour through the annals of great men and women of history, and you’ll find that some of the greatest minds of science didn’t accomplish much of anything until late in life. Your research will also show that most of the figures who achieved success in life were just as dumb and carefree as children as the rest of us, until something clicked. Some failed more than once in their initial pursuits, until they discovered something something that flipped a switch.

Even those who know nothing about psychology, know the name Sigmund Freud. Those who know a little about Freud know his unique theories about the human mind and human development. Those who know anything about his psychosexual theory know we are all repressed sexual beings plagued with unconscious desires to have relations with some mythical Greek king’s mother. What we might not know, because we consider it ancillary to his greater works, is that some of his theories might have originated from Freud’s pursuit of the Holy Grail of nineteenth-century science, the elusive eel testicles.

Although some annals state that an Italian scientist named Carlo Mondini discovered eel testicles in 1777, other periodicals state that the search continued up to and beyond the search of an obscure 19-year-old Austrian’s in 1876.[1] Other research states that the heralded Aristotle conducted his own research on the eel, and his studies resulted in postulations that stated either that the beings came from the “guts of wet soil”, or that they were born “of nothing”.[2] One could guess that these answers resulted from great frustration, since Aristotle was so patient with his deductions in other areas. On the other hand, he also purported that maggots were born organically from a slab of meat. “Others, who conducted their own research, swore that eels were bred of mud, of bodies decaying in the water. One learned bishop informed the Royal Society that eels slithered from the thatched roofs of cottages; Izaak Walton, in The Compleat Angler, reckoned they sprang from the ‘action of sunlight on dewdrops’.”

Before laughing at these findings, we should consider the limited resources those researchers had at their disposal. As is oft said with young people, the young Freud did not know enough to know how futile the task would be when a nondescript Austrian zoological research station employed him. It was his first real job, he was 19, and it was 1876. He dissected approximately 400 eels, over a period of four weeks, “Amid stench and slime for long hours” the New York Times wrote to describe Freud’s working conditions. [3] His ambitious goal was to write a breakthrough research paper on an animal’s mating habits, one that had confounded science for centuries. Conceivably, a more seasoned scientist might have considered the task futile much earlier in the process, but an ambitious, young 19-year-old, looking to make a name for himself, was willing to spend long hours slicing and dicing eels, hoping to achieve an answer no one could disprove.

Unfortunate for the young Freud, but perhaps fortunate for the field of psychology, we now know that eels don’t have testicles until they need them. The products of Freud’s studies must not have needed them at the time he studied them, for Freud ended up writing that his total supply of eels were “of the fairer sex.” Some have said Freud correctly predicted where the testicles should be and that he argued that the eels he received were not mature eels. Freud’s experiments resulted in a failure to find the testicles, and he moved into other areas as a result. What kind of effect did this failure have on Freud, professionally and otherwise? 

In our teenage and young adult years, most of us had low-paying, manual labor jobs. We did these jobs to get paid when no one else would pay us. We bussed tables, took bags to hotel rooms, parked cars, and did whatever we had to to get paid. Our only goals in life were to do the job well enough to keep the boss off our back. We had no direction, and no one I know did what they did to end up in the annals of history. When we got fired or quit, we just moved onto the job that paid us more. We didn’t think about rewarding or fulfilling. We just knew we didn’t want to do that (whatever we did in the first job) anymore. 

Was Freud’s search for eel testicles the equivalent of an entry-level job for him, or did he believe in the vocation so much that his failure devastated him? Did he slice the first 100 or so eels open and throw them aside with the belief that they were immature? Was there nothing but female eels around him, as he wrote, or was he beginning to see what plagued the other scientists for centuries, including the brilliant Aristotle? There had to be a moment, in other words, when Sigmund Freud realized that they couldn’t all be female. He had to know, at some point, that he was missing the same something that everyone else missed. He must have spent some sleepless nights struggling to come up with a different tactic. He might have lost his appetite at various points, and he may have shut out the world in his obsession to achieve infamy in marine biology. He sliced and diced over 400 after all. If even some of this is true, even if it only occupied his mind for four weeks of his life, we can imagine that the futile search for eel testicles affected Sigmund Freud in some manner.

If Freud Never Existed, Would There Be a Need to Create Him

Every person approaches a topic of study from a subjective angle. It’s human nature. The topic we are least objective about, say some, is ourselves. Some say that we are the central focus of speculation when we theorize about humanity. All theories are autobiographical, in other words, and we pursue such questions in an attempt to understand ourselves better. Bearing that in mind, what was the subjective angle from which Sigmund Freud approached his most famous theory on psychosexual development in humans? Did he bring objectivity to his patients? Could he have been more objective, or did Freud have a blind spot that led him to chase eel testicles throughout his career in the manner Don Quixote chased windmills?

After his failure, Sigmund Freud would switch his focus to a field of science that would later become psychology. Soon thereafter, patients sought his consultation. We know now that Freud viewed most people’s problems through a sexual lens, but was that lens tinted by the set of testicles he couldn’t find a lifetime ago? Did his inability to locate the eel’s reproductive organs prove so prominent in his studies that he saw them everywhere he went, in the manner that a rare car owner begins to see his car everywhere, soon after driving that new car off the lot? Some say that if this is how Freud conducted his sessions, he did so in an unconscious manner, and others might say that this could have been the basis for his theory on unconscious actions. How different would Freud’s theories on sexual development have been if he found the Holy Grail of science at the time? How different would his life have been? If Freud found fame as a marine biologist with his findings, he may have remained a marine biologist.

How different would the field of psychology be today if Sigmund Freud remained a marine biologist? Alternatively, if he still made the switch to psychology after achieving fame in marine biology, for being the eel testicle spotter, would he have approached the study of the human development, and the human mind from a less subjective angle? Would his theory on psychosexual development have occurred to him at all? If it didn’t, is it such a fundamental truth that it would’ve occurred to someone else over time, even without Freud’s influence?

We can state, without fear of refutation, that Sigmund Freud’s psychosexual theory has sexualized our beliefs about human development, a theory others now consider disproved. How transcendental was that theory, and how much subjective interpretation was involved in it? How much of the subjective interpretation derived from his inability to find the eel testicle? Put another way, did Freud ever reach a point where he began overcompensating for that initial failure?

Whether it’s an interpretive extension, or a direct reading of Freud’s theory, modern scientific research theorizes that most men want some form of sexual experience with another man’s testicles. This theory, influenced by Freud’s theories, suggests that those who claim they don’t are lying in a latent manner, and the more a man says he doesn’t, the more repressed his homosexual desires are.

The Williams Institute at UCLA School of Law, a sexual orientation law think tank, released a study in April 2011 that stated that 3.6 percent of males in the U.S. population are either openly gay or bisexual.[4] If these findings are anywhere close to correct, this leaves 96.4 percent who are, according to Freud’s theory, closeted homosexuals in some manner. Neither Freud nor anyone else has been able to put even a rough estimate on the percentage of heterosexuals who harbor unconscious, erotic inclinations toward members of the same sex, but the very idea that the theory has achieved worldwide fame leads some to believe there is some truth to it. Analysis of some psychological studies on this subject provides the quotes, “It is possible … Certain figures show that it would indicate … All findings can and should be evaluated by further research.” We don’t know in other words, there’s no conclusive data and all findings and figures are vague. Some would suggest that the facts and figures are so ambiguous that Freud’s theories were nothing more than a provocative and relatively educated and subjective guess.[5]

Some label Sigmund Freud as history’s most debunked doctor, but his influence on the field of psychology and on the ways society at large views human development and sexuality is indisputable. The greater question, as it pertains specific to Freud’s psychosexual theory, is was Freud a closet homosexual, or was his angle on psychological research affected by his initial failure to find eel testicles? To put it more succinct, which being’s testicles was Freud more obsessed with finding during his lifetime?

 

[1]https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eel_life_history

[2]http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2010/oct/27/the-decline-of-the-eel

[3]http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/25/health/psychology/analyze-these.html

[4]https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demographics_of_sexual_orientation

[5]http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/assault/roots/freud.html

Octopus Nuggets II

Rilaly2 Comments

“Beware the Kraken!”

The Vikings of Nordic lore cried after encounters with the primal, savage beast we call the octopus, and to the uncharted waters in which they feared encountering larger and more primal, savage beasts, the Vikings added: “here, there be monsters”. They knew the extent of their travels and the beasts they encountered there, and anything beyond that excited their imagination in the most horrific ways. We can laugh at such assumptions now, as we know more about those uncharted waters, the octopus, the squid, and the various cephalopods that roam our seas, but we still have the propensity to fill in the gaps of our knowledge by designating anything we don’t understand as monstrous. The subjects of our fear might vary, but our animal instinct provokes us to fear that which we don’t understand.

When the Vikings witnessed these boneless sacs of flesh display high levels of intelligence and emotion, the cephalopods they encountered probably freaked them out so much that they assigned evil characteristics to it. When they didn’t understand it, they assigned a “here, there be monsters” moniker to their unimaginable extent of their intelligence. We know enough about the psyche of the octopus now that we’ve removed that moniker, but we’re still fascinated by the capacity for their levels of intelligence, emotion, and even friendliness.

The problem for those of us with more modern knowledge and understanding is that when we witness the characteristics that freaked the Vikings out, we tend to exaggerate our findings in the opposite direction, in our attempts to right the wrongs of the bygone era. “They’re not beasts or monsters. They are emotionally complex, very intelligent creatures,” observers of the octopus now report. “They’re sophisticated beyond our comprehension, and we just don’t know what we don’t know yet, but I can tell you what I know and what I saw.” Our propensity to exaggerate what we don’t understand can be equal to the Vikings’, in the opposite direction. The Vikings assigned primal, beastly, and supernatural characteristics to that which they didn’t understand, and we assign anthropomorphic, spiritual, and ‘beyond our current comprehension’ qualities to fill in the blanks of what we don’t understand. As with the Vikings, we see what we want to see, and we deduce what we want to deduce from our observances, and the truth probably lies somewhere in the middle.  

“Octopuses may have originated from another planet!”

If you’re anything like me, you’ll click on any article that lists the octopus in its title. I don’t know if the popularity of such stories speaks to the popularity of the octopus, aliens from another planet, or our love of scary stories that play on our fear, but the story that someone suggested that octopuses may have originated from another planet was everywhere in my newsfeeds. 

Before reading these articles, I realized that the whole idea that octopuses-are-aliens from another planet, offers a very natural gravitational pull that links them together in our psyche. All we have to do is look at them to think there might be some link. If you’ve ever run your hands along their suckers, it doesn’t take much to imagine that they are not of this planet. As much as some of us love them, we don’t get defensive when someone suggests that the way they move is a little creepy. Then, when we hear that researchers suggest that the octopus might have a level of intelligence beyond our comprehension and alien enthusiasts always say that if we ever meet an alien, we’ll discover a level of intelligence “beyond our comprehension,” it makes sense that they might be from another planet. The latter is speculative, the former might be so exaggerated as to be speculative. I know, we don’t know what we don’t know, but that’s pretty much what speculative means when it comes to conjecture of this sort. If we take a step back and view these two separately, it makes sense that so many of us link them together.

The other thing these stories did for me was reignite my fascination with the octopus, and in my research I found a scientifically-backed theory that might blow your mind. I’m not going suggest that the reader take a seat, as I am almost biologically predisposed to avoiding clichés like, “You might want to sit down for this,” but if anything happens to anyone while reading the final third of this piece, I hereby absolve myself of any responsibility for injuries that occur if you’re not making sure you’re seated by the time you reach this info. Some readers might also want to consider purchasing the pelvic strap and waist restraints the medical supplier Pinel provides before continuing. 

Those of us who love stories about the surprisingly complex brain of the octopus have heard a myriad of stories regarding the ability the octopuses have to figure out puzzles and mazes. We’ve also heard tales of how they can escape the best, most secure aquariums, and we’ve heard about how a couple of SCUBA divers played hide and seek with an octopus, but have you ever heard that scientists now suggest that octopuses might be able to manipulate their molecular structure? Woh! What? I know, hold on, we’ll get to that. 

Why do We Study Them?

A writer for Wired, Katherine Harmon Courage, has presumably heard all of the stories, and she has an interesting, provocative idea for why we should continue to explore the octopus for more stories though research, as they might prove instrumental in developing a greater understanding of the human mind.

“If we can figure out how the octopus manages its complex feats of cognition, we might be closer to discovering some of the fundamental elements of thought –and to developing new ideas about how mental capacity evolved.”

Arms Have Rights Too!

As stated in the previous installment of this series Octopus Nuggets I, the octopus has more neurons in its arms than it does in its brain, and we all assume the arms and brain work in unison to achieve a prime directive, but what if one of the arms disagree? As Scientific American states, “Like a starfish, an octopus can regrow lost arms. Unlike a starfish, a severed octopus arm cannot regrow another octopus.” So, if the octopuses central brain directs one of the arms to perform a particularly dangerous task, do the arms have the cognitive capacity to rebel against the central brain? Do the arms ever exhibit self-preservation qualities? Does an arm ever say something equivalent to, “I saw what you did to arm four last week, and I witnessed you grow another arm, good as new, in such a short time. I do not consider myself as expendable as arm four was. As you’ve witnessed over the last couple years, I am a quality arm who has served you well,” the sixth arm says to brain. “Why don’t you ask arm number seven to perform what I consider an unnecessarily dangerous task? We all know that he has been less productive year over year.” I am sure that no arm has an independent consciousness of its own existence in this sense, and that they largely function to serve the greater need, but how much autonomy do these arms have?

Blue Bloods 

How many of us believed the tales our grade school friends passed around that human blood is actually blue, and that it only turns red when introduced to oxygen? I believed it in grade school, because why wouldn’t I? I could see my veins, and they were blue. One plus one equals two. The fella who dropped that fascinating nugget on me was far more intelligent than I was, and he was far more sciencey. Laurie L. Dove writes in How Stuff Works that the octopus actually does have blue blood, and it’s crucial to their survival.

“The same pigment that gives the octopus blood its blue color, hemocyanin, is responsible for keeping the species alive at extreme temperatures. Hemocyanin is a blood-borne protein containing copper atoms that bind to an equal number of oxygen atoms. It’s part of the blood plasma in invertebrates.” She also cites a National Geographic piece by Stephan Sirucek when she writes, “[Blue blood] also ensures that they survive in temperatures that would be deadly for many creatures, ranging from temperatures as low as 28 degrees Fahrenheit (negative 1.8 degrees Celsius) to superheated temperatures near the ocean’s thermal vents.”

Freakishly Finicky

A Wired piece reports, “If you asked Jean Boal, a behavioral researcher at Millersville University about the inner life of octopuses, she might tell you that they are cognitive, communicative creatures. To illustrate her claim Jean Boal told a story about how she attempted to feed stale squid to a row octopuses in her lab. She says that one cephalopod, the first in line, sent her a clear message: It made eye contact when she returned to it after feeding all the others, and it used one of its arms to shove the stale squid down a nearby drain, effectively stating that anytime Jean Boal attempted to feed it stale food in the future, it, too, would be discarded in a similar manner.”

Most animals are not finicky. Animals who fend for themselves in the wild, in particular, will eat just about anything they can find to sustain life, but depending on what they eat, it could cause disease and death. They don’t know any better, of course. The idea that a more domesticated animal, might display more preferences is not the fascinating element of this story, as for most of them food is not as scarce. 

The freaky almost unnerving elements of this story, for me, lay in the inferred details of the Jean Boal’s story. The idea that an animal might exhibit a food preference relays a higher level of intelligence, but I’m not sure if that level of intelligence surpasses that of the dog or the cat. The eerie part occurred in contemplating how the octopus relayed its message to Boal. Boal suggested that she fed the stale squid to a number of her octopus subjects, in their respective tanks, but after she finished feeding all of the octopuses, she returned to the first octopus she fed, and in her characterization of the episode, she declared that it waited for her to return. It looked her in the eye when she returned, and it established eye contact with her. Once it felt it established that it had her attention, the octopus shoved the stale squid down the drain, maintaining eye contact with her throughout the act. We weren’t there, of course, so we can only speculate how this happened, but Boal makes it sound as if the octopus made a pointed effort to suggest that not only was it not going to eat stale squid, but it was insulted by her effort to pass it off as quality food, and it wanted to correct her of engaging in such foolish notions in the future.

We all anthropomorphize animals. Even if it operates from a flawed premise, it’s entertaining. It helps us connect with some animals from our perspective on the world. Dogs and cats might display dietary preferences, for example, but how many of them wait for their human owners to return, so they can be assured that the message will be received that they don’t care for the food they’re being served, and how many will look the humans in the eye before discarding the food in such an exclamatory manner? I don’t know if you’re like me, but the thought that creeps me out is I thought I had a relatively decent frame for how intelligent these beings were, and that frame was a generous one. Boal may have been more generous in her characterization of this moment, but it remains fascinating to think the octopus might have these capabilities.  

Rewriting the RNA

The following section contains elements I warned you about in the disclaimer. If you’re anything like me, you’ve found the details of the research on the octopus as fascinating, illuminating, and a little unsettling as I have. I write unsettling, because we find comfort in the idea that humans are so much more intelligent than than every other species. In many cases, our superior intellect is the reason we’ve been able to survive so many scrapes with other animals, and it’s the primary reason we’ve survived so long. It’s for this reason, and others, that I consider this next part so mind-blowing that I feel the need to reiterate the need for the reader to set up some reinforcements behind you if you insist on remaining upright while reading. 

Recent scientific discoveries suggest that the octopus can edit their own ribonucleic acid (RNA). Boom! How are you doing? Did you forget to remove all sharp objects behind you? If the only thing keeping you upright is that you kind of, sort of, don’t know what RNA is? Don’t worry, I had to look it up too. The Google dictionary defines RNA as an enzyme that works with deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) in that it “carries instructions from DNA for controlling the synthesis of proteins, although in some viruses RNA rather than DNA carries the genetic information.”

For those who don’t consider the octopuses ability to edit its RNA a “Holy stuff!” fact, think about this. The next time you’re in your man cave engaged in a spider solitaire marathon, some octopus somewhere is in their cave re-configuring their molecular structure to redefine their characteristics in a manner that they hope will help them survive their next shark attack. An example of this might be the defense tactic we discussed in Octopus Nuggets I: the pseudomorph. The difference between the regular ink cloud an octopus shoots out and the pseudomorph is a little murky, so let’s illustrate it with an octopus named Ralph who we’ll anthropomorphize for your reading pleasure. 

Ralph just barely escaped a harrowing shark attack unharmed. It scared him of course, and as he cooled down in his den, allowing his heart rate to slow, he realized that that shark was nowhere near as confused by his ink cloud as shark’s had been his whole life. Was that shark an aberration, Ralph wondered, or do I now have to develop an adaptation to the shark’s adaptation? Ralph didn’t know if what he just survived was a freak occurrence, in that one shark had such experience with ink clouds that it knew better, or if all sharks had adapted, but he knew he could no longer rely on a simple ink cloud if he wanted to survive. Ralph decided he needed to reconfigure his normal ink cloud settings. If Ralph were human, he might add texture additives to his paint, some kind of gel medium, or modeling paste, but as much as we want to anthropomorphize Ralph, he doesn’t have the ability to run out to an art store for supplies. No matter how much octopus enthusiasts speculate about their intelligence being beyond our comprehension, Ralph also doesn’t have the wherewithal necessary to earn the money necessary to complete such a transition, and even if he did, most enthusiasts would concede that Ralph doesn’t have the physical or cerebral capabilities necessary to complete such a transaction. Even if he does, one day, Ralph’s interactions with the clerk might lead to whole bunch of confusion, screaming, and possible violence that would inhibit Ralph’s attempts to get the materials he needs. Ralph’s store of supplies is almost entirely internal, and we add the word almost because some octopuses use tools. For this particular need, however, Ralph has few external resources. He knows he must create a more substantial cloud to fool predators better, because today’s narrow escape was way too close for him. Next time, he decides, he will need to add more mucus to his ink cloud to make it more substantial. He needs to make a better, more convincing self-portrait that we call the pseudomorph. As I wrote in Octopus Nuggets I, the pseudomorph may not be so rich in detail that anyone would confuse it with the pieces Van Gogh left behind, but as long as they’re able to confuse sharks for a necessary second, it will serve its purpose.  

Octopus researchers aren’t sure why they edit their RNA, but we have to assume it has something to do with predation, either surviving it or finding nuanced ways to perfect their own. If you’re nowhere near as fascinated with this idea as I am, at this point, you will have to excuse my crush on these cephalopods in the ensuing paragraphs.

An article from Business Insider further describes the difference between DNA and RNA as it applies to editing, by stating, “Editing DNA allows a species to evolve in a manner that provides a more permanent solution for the future survival of the species. When a being edits their RNA, however, they essentially “try out” an adaptation to see if it works. I consider this practice impressive on its face, but imagine how many humans fail to edit their RNA enough to practice the ‘if one thing doesn’t work, try another’ principle. 

One other note the authors of this piece add to this subject is that “Unlike a DNA adaptation, RNA adaptations are not hereditary.” Therefore, we can only guess that if an octopus discovers a successful RNA rewrite that could be used as a survival tactic, they would have to teach it to their friends and offspring, or pass it along by whatever means an octopus passes along such information. (Octopuses are notorious loners who don’t communicate with one another well, and they’re often dead before their offspring reach maturation, so I don’t know who they might be teaching.)

A quote from within the article, from a Professor Eli Eisenberg, puts it this way: “You can think of [RNA editing] as spell checking. If you have a word document, and you want to change the information, you take one letter and you replace it with another.”

Research suggests that while humans only have about ten RNA editing sites, octopuses have tens of thousands. Current science is unable to explain why an octopus edits their RNA, or when RNA editing started in the species. If this is the case, I ask current science, how can we determine, with any certitude, that an octopus edits their RNA. I’m sure that they examine the corpses of octopuses and compare them to others, but how can they tell that the octopus edits their RNA themselves? How do they know, with this degree of certitude, that there aren’t so many different strains of octopuses that have a wide variety of different RNA strands? How did they arrive at the different strands? Did they edit them themselves, or did they come equipped with them by another means? This topic fascinates me, but I’m sure an octopus enthusiast, a researcher, and a geneticist can tell how ignorant I am on this subject, and I’m sure these findings are scientifically sound, but I’ve read numerous attempts to study the octopus, and almost all of them characterize the octopus as notoriously difficult to study. Some have described the octopuses’ rebellious attempts to thwart brain study as obnoxious. If that’s the case, then I have to ask if the conclusions they reach are largely theoretical based on these notoriously difficult studies of octopus corpses.

The final answers to my questions might circle us back to Katherine Harmon Courage’s provocative notion that “If we can figure out how the octopus manages its complex feats of cognition, we might be closer to discovering some of the fundamental elements of thought in general –and to developing new ideas about how mental capacity evolved.”

If we are able to do that, Gizmodo.com quotes scientists who suggest we might be able to root out a mutant RNA in our own strands to see if we can edit them in a manner that might aid in our own survival. 

We can marvel at the adaptations the octopus is able to make, and as the article illustrates, I will join you in that open-mouthed awe, but do they prove intelligence? They can solve puzzles though, and those who work with octopuses know that if they don’t provide an octopus mental stimuli the octopus gets bored, frustrated, and unruly. Most zoo patrons enjoy the experience of viewing otherwise wild animals, but they also feel sorry for them for being caged up. The latter is often misplaced, in my opinion, because I think most animals enjoy their experience. They no longer have to hunt for food, because they know they’ll receive a feeding at about three o’clock every day. Plus, most of them have never known a wild existence, as they’ve been semi-domesticated their whole lives. The idea that the octopus needs constant mental stimuli and cerebral engagement, even among those who have been semi-domesticated their whole lives, does suggest a level of intelligence beyond most in the animal kingdom, but how much do we glamorize and exaggerate our observances and findings to fit our narratives in the same manner the Vikings of Nordic lore did with theirs centuries ago?    

There are a wide variety of reasons the octopus has managed to survive, in various forms, for 330 million years. Is it intelligence, emotional intelligence, or an incredible, almost unprecedented, ability to adapt. All animals have a survival instinct, and they use all the tools at their disposal to achieve it. Some of the tools they have can blow our mind, such as those mentioned above, camouflage techniques, and the ways animals and plants mimic one another for the purpose of defense and predation. To equate those incredible tools to incredible levels intelligence, however, strains credulity at times. The species has survived 330 million years, but the individual octopus dies after five years, and they do not pass knowledge onto their offspring, so how much intelligence can they accrue and pass along?   

There is a conceit in the human brain (of the ever-present present tense) that these are the best of times in terms of knowledge, understanding and science, but some scientists concede that we just don’t know what we don’t know yet. We know our level of knowledge is great in the present tense, at least compared to the past, but some part of us knows that the leaps and bounds we’ve achieved will be achieved by leaps and bounds by future researchers and scientists to a degree that future scientists will regard our level of scientific knowledge as almost primitive by comparison. To those future scientists who seek guidance on the idea of further editing RNA, the authors of the Business Insider, David Anderson and Abby Tang suggest that they, “Can learn a thing or two from these cephalopod experts.”

We can now read the first article by clicking on this link: Octopus Nuggets

Willie and Kenneth

RilalyLeave a comment

“I have a death voice,” Kenneth Greene informed us after interrupting a conversation I was having with my fellow employees on lunch break. Kenneth Greene was the manager of this restaurant, and the only time he interrupted our conversations in the breakroom was to inform us that the restaurant was so busy that we would have to cut our breaks short to help the staff out. When he first entered our break room we thought that’s what he was doing, but he looked so insecure about it.

Kenneth Greene operated from a baseline of insecurity. Kenneth didn’t think the staff took him seriously enough in the first few months of his tenure as our manager, so he grew a Fu Manchu. Kenneth’s Fu Manchu did not have handlebars, a la Salvador Dali, it was more late 60’s Joe Namath. Kenneth would never admit that he grew a Fu Manchu for the sole purpose of generating respect from his peers, but when that Fu Manchu grew to fruition, the psychological effect was all but emanating around his head. Kenneth Greene went from a greasy, overweight ginger with a mullet to a greasy, overweight ginger with a mullet and a Fu Manchu.

The psychological influence of the Fu Manchu became apparent when he progressed from a manager that asked his employees if they wouldn’t mind cutting their breaks short for business needs to a manager that instructed us to do so. Thus, when the new Kenneth Greene stepped into our breakroom, it appeared that the Fu Manchu might have lost its psychological influence. After a moment of hesitation, in which it appeared that Kenneth had something to say, he left without saying a word. When he returned, after apparently recognizing how vital this moment was to the new Kenneth Greene, he stared at me with renewed conviction.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I have a death voice,” Kenneth Greene he repeated.

“What’s a death voice?” I asked.

“I front a death metal band,” Kenneth said. “In my off time.”

Kenneth Greene’s goal, I can only assume, was to display a talent that matched the subjects of the discussion he interrupted. In that discussion, a friend and I spoke about the various artistic talents of those on the staff, and Kenneth Greene wanted us to know that he had a talent equivalent to those that we were discussing. He wanted us to know that he was much more than a manager of a low-rent restaurant chain that would go out of business within a year, and he wanted us to know that this death voice was his gift and artistic calling.

‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ is an expression that dates back, in various forms, to the Ancient Greeks. The reason such a notion exists, as Benjamin Franklin’s version of the expression states, is that at the core of one’s definition of beauty is an opinion.

I would never consider myself an arbiter of art, in other words, but I thought Kenneth Greene would have a tough road ahead of him if he hoped to convince those of us sitting in a restaurant break room that we should consider a skilled death voice for our conversation of artistic talents. I was, as I always am, eager to have another prove me wrong.

I didn’t know what to do with this information, however, so I assumed that he wanted to show us. After several attempts to goad him into it, Kenneth decided against performing his death voice for us. I think he saw something in our faces that suggested that the moment after one lets loose a death voice in the middle of a restaurant breakroom, they become the person that let a death voice loose in the middle of a restaurant breakroom. When he invited us to hear it, in person, at one of his shows, I could tell he knew we wouldn’t attend, but he needed to say something to get out of the uncomfortable situation he created.

***

I thought Willie Bantner was a real character when I met him. Willie and I found that our backgrounds were similar, and I thought this was odd considering that our outlooks were so dissimilar. Willie’s worldview was foreign to my own, yet there was something about him I couldn’t quite put my finger on. This sense of familiarity became so hard to deny that it stirred feelings of déjà vu, until Willie revealed to me the actual character he was playing in life.

My initial inclination was the once one meets a significant number of odd characters in life they begin some overlap. There are only so many odd characters out there, in other words, and I thought Willie reminded me of one of them.

These odd, weird sensibilities were the reason I was so fascinated with Willie Bantner. It was the reason I would go to him with very specific scenarios. I wanted to learn what he thought, why he thought what he did, and how someone can arrive at such a notion. The funny, thought-provoking things he said were the reasons that we became friends. This friendship lasted for over ten years. Over the course of those ten years, I grew so familiar with Willie that his peculiarities were not so peculiar, but there was still that nagging sense of familiarity about him that plagued me.

When we began one of those lists that seem indigenous to the male gender, this one of the best television shows ever, we mentioned the usual shows that we considered the best of their day. When we entered into the list of what we thought should be on a list of honorable mentions, the list was lengthy. I mentioned the show Family Ties. Willie agreed that show should be on the list of honorable mentions. I added, “If nothing else, the show gave us Michael J. Fox, and the character Alex P. Keaton, and I think Alex P. Keaton was one of the best TV characters ever written.”

“I modeled my life after him,” he said. After some confusion, Willie clarified that he did not model his life after Michael J. Fox. He modeled his life after Alex P. Keaton.

Over the years, I’ve learned that one of the reasons young men swear so often is that they lack confidence. They don’t know how to articulate an opinion in a manner that will impress their peers. They are also unable, at this point in their lives, to provide detailed analysis of the subject of their opinion, so they choose to coat those opinions in superlatives that they hope will provide cover for any unformed intellect. If one person says that Marlon Brando was the best actor of all time, another may agree with that person. Rather than enter into a detailed discussion of that sense of spontaneity Brando brought to his roles, or the fleshed out nuances he brought to method acting that influenced a generation of actors, they say, “I’ve built a personal shrine to him in my bedroom.” When one person says that a movie was the scariest movie they’ve ever watched, another might say, “That movie was so scary that I didn’t sleep right for weeks.” In most cases, there were no shrines built or hours of sleep lost, but in the absence of detailed analysis, a young man thinks he has to say something over the top to pound the point home. I thought this was all Willie when he said he modeled his life after Alex P. Keaton. The more I chewed on it, however, the more I began to see a truth mixed into that admission.

I would watch him, going forward, with that admission in mind. The idea that the man modeled his reactions, his physical gestures, and his life after a situation comedy character became obvious once I had a conclusion for my search for that nagging sense of familiarity. Once I saw that elusive sense of deja vu for what it was, I couldn’t believe I didn’t see it earlier. 

I was also disappointed that my initial assessment of Willie Bantner proved so prescient. I thought he was a character, and he was, but not in the general sense that I intended. I was disappointed to learn that individual experiences did not inform Willie Bantner’s personality as much as I thought, unless one considers tuning into NBC’s early to mid 80’s, Thursday night lineup at 7:30 central to be an individual experience.

Willie Bantner made me think, he made me laugh, and I thought he earned it all with ingenious, individualistic takes. After his admission, I began to wonder how many of those comments were off the cuff, and how many of them he lifted from Family Ties’ scripts. The unique personality that I wanted to explore became, to me, a carefully manufactured character created by some screenwriters in a boardroom on Melrose Avenue. The odd sense of familiarity plagued me as I wrote, but I can’t remember putting much effort into trying to pinpoint the core of Willie Bantner’s character. If I had, I probably would’ve over-estimated what influenced his core personality, but that’s what young men do. Even if I was able to temper my search to more reasonable concepts, I don’t think I would’ve considered something as banal as watching too much TV to be the sole influence for what I considered such a fascinating personality, until he admitted it.

Now, I have no illusions that I’ve scrubbed the influence of TV characters from my personality. I imagine I still have some remnants of the Fonz in my cavalcade of reactions, and I’m sure that Jack Tripper is in there somewhere. I also know that an ardent fan of David Letterman could spot his influence somewhere in how I react to the people, places and things that surround me, but I think it’s almost impossible to develop a personality without some degree of influence from the shows we watched every week for years. To model one’s entire life on one fictional, television character, however, speaks of a level of insecurity I think the American Psychiatric Association should consider in their next edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.