I have become fascinated with eyes after finishing the chapter on spookfish in Jackie Higgins’ boo, “Sentient” and after learning more about scotopic vision, how it works for us, and its relation to where rods and cones are in human and animal eyes, especially in so far as they’re different.
The author is smart to have so closely connected animals and humans as what better way to illustrate how miraculous each of our senses is, as well as our physical bodies that process inputs like photons, sound waves and so on.
If, like me, you’re now curious about how vision works, this video does a good job of explaining things. It even mentions the pirate eye patch theory I talked about in my last post.
Once I’d learned a little more about the remarkable way our eyes work, and indeed how eyes of creatures that rely on seeing in the dark work, I began thinking about how awful scuba divers really are for the underwater world. Were we to dive with biology in mind, surely we wouldn’t do half the things we do?
For example, fish often have far more rod photoreceptors on their retinas, which means they’re very sensitive to light. Why then do we dive with focused beams and intense lights? Yes, we need them for night dives and murky cold water areas, but surely we don’t need the intensity? Surely a flood on low would be much better? No diving organization I know of advocates for diving a primary light that is a flood light because it’s better for the fish. Always the focus is on what’s best for the human (the pinnacle of evolution, unless of course you ask Justin Gregg, author of “If Nietzsche Were a Narwhal: What Animal Intelligence Reveals About Human Stupidity” in which case really we’re probably at the pinnacle of stupid). Never mind all the divers and underwater photographers and videographers who film fish and other invertebrates using strong video lights. Notice all those squinting octopus you see in underwater photos? Yeah, they’re not happy. Ever seen a cuttlefish do everything possible to try to get away from your light? Or perhaps an eel recoil? And, on a night dive, what about a sleeping fish, a shark, or a turtle jerk awake thanks to intense light, then smack into a rock as they’re temporarily blinded.
Unfortunately, it feels a bit to me like we bulldoze our own way of seeing the world into other worlds, when really we should be the ones adapting. If that underwater world is indeed light sensitive, let’s change the way we dive. Low floods, critter inspections from peripherals, and, if you’re going to take photos, use strobes so the poor fish aren’t blinded. I’m sure there’s more to learn in this realm.
It’s not just the underwater world that’s affected either. As I’ve moved on to the next chapter in Sentient—which is all about owls and our sense of hearing—I begin to wonder about places like the raptor center I visited in Eugene, Oregon. If an owl’s sense of hearing is so exquisitely sensitive, why weren’t there signs everywhere letting people know to whisper, or at least to be quiet? Surely for these animals kept in cages, it’s torture to hear kids running around yelling, or even loud conversations from adults? Never mind the fact that many of these centers don’t provide hide-out spaces for the animals so those not interested in seeing humans can get away. Truly I don’t feel like we build spaces that take an animals umwelt and innenwalt to heart. It’s time for us to change, not for the animals to change for us, not if we’re the ones rehabbing them, keeping them for science or conservation purposes, or indeed as companion animals.