Dog telepathy and the octopus's guide to time
deconstructing time and "Arrival": the hidden meaning
I recently read an article about octopuses, and for some reason, it reminded me of a journal entry from a while back. At that time of said journal entry, I was in – let’s say – a weird state of mind, believing that my dog was sending me telepathic messages, which I, in turn, believed I was decoding with remarkable precision. Whether there was truth to this telepathic exchange remains a conundrum wrapped in an enigma.
It was an odd experience, obviously. However, the peculiar perception I experienced in that state was the sensation of seeing my dog’s emotions or feelings being cast in the vast, uncharted expanse of the cosmos. I was essentially seeing my dog be sent into the void of space; and the messages from my dog created an infinite ripple effect in the cosmos, originating from my insignificant moments in time–me, relaxing on the couch, in my basement, with my dog, at 3 AM on a Wednesday.
Nice.
I mentioned all of this because it’s caused me to think about time and our perception of it in relation to how we view the world, how we formulate our beliefs, and…like…you know…existence.
So, time…
And this thinking about time has led me to thinking about octopus, because this is how my brain works.
Let's begin with octopuses. This topic often leads me to think about the film "Arrival," because every time I consider octopuses, I'm reminded of how thought-provoking that movie is. Additionally, the aliens in "Arrival" resemble octopuses, which I assume is intentional, though I haven't researched it. Regardless of the intention, it's the first thing that comes to mind when I see the Heptapods.
You should also watch the documentary “My Octopus Teacher.” It’s about a dude who becomes friends with an Octopus and you the viewer also become friends with an Octopus and learn from the Octopus and you should watch it because it's awesome.
Also, this entire essay is about how octopuses have pushed me to reevaluate my understanding of time. In a way, it’s my personal version of the documentary.
Okay, to talk about octopi…
(Side note. Yes, I googled if it’s proper to say “octopuses” or “octopi,” and it turns out both are acceptable. I should have remembered this, but sometimes things I’ve learned in the past simply fall out of my brain. Time, dude. Yeah… I learn the most random things when I go down these rabbit holes. It’s awesome. End of side note.)
To discuss octopi in this context, I’d like to bring up the concept of embodied cognition, which suggests that our cognitive processes are deeply intertwined with the body’s interactions with the world.
What does this mean though?
Our physical movements and orientation are not just byproducts of our perception of time; they are fundamental to its very foundation.
An octopus, an invertebrate with movement as fluid as the water it lives in, offers a compelling subject for examining the concept of embodied time perception. Unlike humans, whose upright posture and forward movement may contribute to a linear and progressive sense of time, an octopus interacts with its environment in a fundamentally different manner.
For starters, octopuses have a decentralized nervous system, with a significant number of neurons located in their arms or tentacles. This arrangement is quite distinctive. It likely results in varied processing speeds and the integration of sensory information, which could influence their perception of time.
They also exhibit independent limb control. The semi-autonomous nature of an octopus's arms, capable of performing complex tasks without the brain's direct command, implies that their perception and response to stimuli might be localized and immediate. This could suggest that their experience of time is more fragmented or distributed than the centralized experience that humans have.
Bringing this back to humans and "Arrival":
The octopus, with its decentralized nervous system and semi-autonomous limbs, provides a fascinating parallel to the Heptapods from "Arrival" in terms of perceiving time. Just as the octopus's tentacles operate with a degree of independence, processing and reacting to environmental stimuli in a localized and immediate fashion, the Heptapods display a consciousness that transcends linear time. Their use of complex, circular logograms reflects a holistic view of time, where events are not perceived sequentially but as a simultaneous entirety.
This decentralized and non-linear method of interpreting the world stands in contrast to the human experience of time, which is predominantly shaped by our centralized nervous system and the sequential nature of our cognition. Humans generally view time as a linear progression—a story with a beginning, middle, and end—mirroring the way we navigate our environment: moving forward, on two legs, with a definite trajectory. The octopus, however, glides effortlessly in any direction, its tentacles operating with a level of independence that implies a more immediate and potentially non-sequential engagement with its environment.
In "Arrival," the Heptapods challenge the human characters to transcend their inherent conception of time's progression. In a similar vein, contemplating the octopus's perception encourages us to reevaluate our own experiences constrained by time. If the octopus's sense of time is indeed more fragmented or dispersed, it might more closely resemble the Heptapods' experience than our own. Each tentacle, capable of independent action, could represent a distinct temporal event, with the octopus's central brain synthesizing these events into a coherent yet non-linear experience.
The communication system of the Heptapods, which Louise Banks comes to understand, enables her to perceive time as they do—as a continuous entirety rather than a series of consecutive events. This might be comparable to how an octopus processes sensory input from its tentacles concurrently, merging inputs into a collective perception that does not favor one moment over another.
In both scenarios—the case of Louise with her newly acquired understanding of the Heptapod language, and the octopus with its decentralized nervous system—there is a central entity tasked with synthesizing diverse pieces of information into a unified whole. This points to a concept of consciousness that is expansive and non-hierarchical, where the perception of time is not confined to a singular, forward-moving trajectory but is instead a comprehensive awareness of various potentialities and outcomes.
Octopuses likely perceive time in a fragmented manner, and the Heptapods experience time similarly, albeit with the added unique ability to also foresee potential futures—a major distinction, indeed, but we are also talking about a work of fiction, so stick with me.
What I'm trying to highlight is the notion that time is not an objective reality but rather a construct experienced and shaped by the physical, social, and cultural contexts in which it is encountered. The part about it being shaped by the ‘physical’ will become important later.
But in "Arrival," Louise begins to perceive time differently because she has been immersed in a radically different social and cultural environment.
It's a fascinating concept to consider: Our human experience of time is not just a mental abstraction but also an embodied one. Our upright stance and bipedal movement contribute to a forward-looking perspective, both literally and metaphorically.
The octopus's experience might be less bound by linear progression and more akin to a web of fragmented present moments, with each limb potentially experiencing and responding to stimuli in its own temporal context.
The Heptapods' language, which is non-sequential and non-linear, mirrors a view of time that is all-encompassing and simultaneous. Their mode of communication captures entire concepts or events within a single glyph, indicating a cognitive process that perceives time not as a linear sequence to be followed but as a whole to be observed in its entirety.
This could indeed suggest that they are, at least in part, 4-dimensional entities, but that's a conversation for another time.
Taking this conversation about time deeper requires us to delve into Assembly theory.
Assembly theory serves as an intellectual framework that merges principles from physics with Darwinian evolution. It suggests that complexity, as we observe in nature and in human-engineered systems, isn't a product of randomness. Instead, it's the result of a directional and cumulative process—a 'memory' embedded within the fabric of various forms of life.
In this context, 'memory' isn't just a metaphor. It's a tangible property, a metric of the complex sequence of events and interactions that have shaped an entity's present condition. This implies a more physical interpretation of time, viewing it as an intrinsic component of the universe and its physical laws, rather than as a mere backdrop or an illusion.
Thus, memory and time are seen as quantifiable attributes, gauges for the intricate series of events and interactions leading to the current state of an object.
Assembly theory introduces an 'assembly index' to quantify the complexity of an object's history. This index doesn't merely document existence; it narrates the evolutionary and developmental paths that have been navigated.
Here’s something that helped me visualize this: Imagine a large box of LEGO bricks. Each time you construct something—regardless of how random or peculiar it may seem—there are specific steps and pressures at play leading to the final creation. Each LEGO brick contributes to the index or narrative of the construction process, and this is significant.
It's as if they're suggesting that everything has a history detailing its formation, and this history is crucial. It informs us of the simplicity or complexity of an object, serving as a record of all the steps involved in its creation.
For instance, a biological human is more complex than a life-sized human figure made of LEGO bricks, so the biological human's story is longer and involves more stages. Scientists can apply this concept when searching for life in outer space, as living organisms have unique and extensive histories about their origins.
And consider the phrase "once upon a time" that we use to begin stories. These scientists propose that "time" is not just an interval we observe on clocks but is actually embedded in everything's story. It's akin to suggesting that the time required to create something is an integral component of its complexity, just as LEGO bricks recount the story of whatever they assemble.
Okay, but why does this matter to our previous part of the discussion? Well, time baby.
So: The octopus, with its decentralized nervous system and remarkable problem-solving abilities, exemplifies a high assembly index. Each tentacle, capable of independent action yet part of a cohesive whole, represents a complex evolutionary pathway.
The distinct intelligence and movement of the octopus could be viewed as a physical expression of its evolutionary 'memory'—the sum of adaptive responses accumulated over time. Assembly Theory might offer a way to quantitatively grasp the intricacy of the octopus's evolutionary process, shedding light on how its perception of time—possibly non-linear and multidimensional—has been molded by its biological history.
In Arrival, the Heptapods' language and perception of time challenge the human understanding of sequential events. Their circular logograms, which convey meaning in a non-linear fashion, could be the result of a 'memory' that encompasses all temporal dimensions simultaneously. This suggests that their evolutionary path has led to a form of intelligence where time, as a physical dimension, is fully manifest in their cognition and communication.
And as humans, we experience time as a linear sequence, heavily influenced by cultural constructs and the physical reality of our existence. Our 'assembly index' would reflect the evolutionary pressures that have favored a perception of time as a tool for survival, planning, and coordination.
However, Assembly Theory could also suggest that our linear conception of time is not an absolute truth but a particular outcome of our evolutionary journey. It implies that our temporal 'memory'—the accumulation of cultural, biological, and cognitive developments—shapes how we perceive and interact with time.
Assembly Theory's proposition that time has a physical size and is a property of objects aligns with the idea that time is not merely a backdrop for action but a constituent element of reality. The octopus's distributed intelligence, the Heptapods' holistic time perception, and human cultural metaphors for time all point to a universe where time is as tangible as space. This suggests that time, much like the complex structures it helps to shape, is an active participant in the cosmos, with its own 'memory' and evolutionary significance. Time becomes a physical dimension.
Woooo...
I hope all of this makes sense.
Connecting Assembly Theory to the discussion of octopuses, Heptapods, and human time perception, we can assume that the complexity we observe—be it in an octopus's arm, a Heptapod's logogram, or a human's narrative—is a reflection of the intricate interplay between spatial and temporal dimensions. The 'memory' encapsulated within the assembly index is not just a record of what has been but a map of what could be, revealing the potential for diverse forms of intelligence and temporal perception.
In this light, the octopus's possible non-linear time perception, the Heptapods' transcendent communication, and the human tendency to view time as a linear progression are all different expressions of how the fabric of time is woven into the very essence of beings.
So, I hope all of this provides a new lens to view the complexity of existence itself and also invites a reevaluation of the fundamental nature of time itself—as a dimension that is both shaped by and shapes the evolutionary history of all complex systems.
Now, go make friends with an octopus.
Or maybe just go watch Arrival.
Stay curious. And get out of my labyrinth.
Assembly Theory is new to me. Very interesting. I've been playing with the idea that our reality is Bayesian on a variety of levels and think this is parallel. Take our perceptions. They've evolved as a 'tested hypothesis' about what we need to perceive. Stepping down from there to the immediate...it isn't. We're generally behind the immediate at a point where we can synthesize the different speeds of our senses. Sound is slower than light. Tall people actually are less immediate than short people coz they're structured around the time nerve signals need to get up from their feet (seriously). We're building models. And all this is sampled against an assumption about what we're seeing based on a test and correct method. We begin with a model of what there because we couldn't function if we had to in some sense start over every time we walked out the door. Hypothesize, sample, correct, ie our reality is Bayesian. Which I thinks brings us to something very much like AT. Our evolutionary and personal history are embodied in our moment to moment 'reality.' Just a thought:-)
Thanks for writing.