The indifference of cuttlefish

I’m reading chapter 5 “Making Colors” of Other Minds. 
Peter Godfrey-Smith now focuses on cuttlefish, because among cephalopods, they are the pinnacle of colour-changing, or at least, the most colourful. 





The book, as you can see in the excerpts in my previous blog post, is written in a formal, academic style, unlike Sy Montgomery’s or Philip Hoare’s (author of Leviathan, the book about whales I read a few years ago). Godfrey-Smith seemingly tries to be as clear, objective, and factual as possible. 
But now and then something takes over. 
Take this passage about a hostile cuttlefish (which is rare, by the way): 

“On these cases he produced the most murderous-looking displays I have ever seen: burning orange colors, arms like horns and sickles, and skin-folds resembling bent iron armors. Sometimes his inner arms were held high, contorted. At 1 point he held nearly all his arms aloft and twisted together, with just 1 set of arms below and his face between. I thought: he looks like the jaws of hell. It was as if he in his molluscan way had a sense of what is frightening for a human, and was trying to produce a vision of damnation, something intended to strike at our hearts.” 

The tone and style are different. It’s like, I don’t know, he’s under some Melville influence.  
Godfrey-Smith is a philosopher of science, and also a scuba diver, so he goes on to write more about his interaction with cuttlefish in the wild: 

“Touring cuttlefish can sometimes be friendly or at least curious, stopping to peer at you before swimming on. But some are able to ignore you no matter how close you swim—even if you are right alongside their eye. Once I was being ignored so perfectly that I planted myself directly in the animal’s path, just to see what he would do. What followed felt like an existentialist game of “chicken”. He came closer and closer, refusing to acknowledge my presence, until he was just a foot or so away. Then he looked up at me, with an expression that I cannot describe at all except to say that he seemed deeply unimpressed, edged past and swam on. 
What role do we have then? What are we to them? Surely we are registered as large, mobile creatures. Surely, then, we might be potentially dangerous, or at least something of interest? Other cuttlefish do see us that way—as visitors to study, or to chase off with a wild display. But sometimes it appears that we do not come across as living beings at all. Being ignored so deeply makes you wonder if you are entirely real in their watery world, as if you are one of those ghosts who does not realize they are a ghost.” 

That is thought-provoking indeed. 




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From what Godfrey-Smith has written, I gather that cuttlefish are not as smart as octopuses, or at least, do not show hints of intelligence such as using tools or solving puzzles. They don’t seem to be as curious and interesting either. 
He also writes, “When it comes to camouflage, octopuses are unsurpassed”, because “unlike cuttlefish, octopuses have almost no hard parts in their bodies, and can assume just about any shape at all”. 
My fascination is with octopuses. But Godfrey-Smith seems to be more interested in the enigmatic and little-studied cuttlefish, and I’m now more curious about them. They change colours not only for signalling or camouflage. The colours are their expressiveness, even if their eyes can’t see the colours themselves. 
Read my blog post about octopuses and colours.