Superorganism Ann—Part 2

Like all creatures, Ann also has some qualities that uniquely define her. She is deaf and blind—but in compensation, she possesses superior senses of smell, taste, and touch. Living underground in one location all her life, she neither needs to see nor hear. But oh, her sense of smell! For instance, she can emit some 12 different chemical signals, which she can combine in a highly skilled manner—deciding when, where, and why to release pheromones, as well as to mix them on certain occasions. She has a chemical communication system analogous to the chemical signals our guts and brains emit, as they successfully carry out their functions.

Ann could be perfectly happy if she never met another being of her kind. She is a hermit (I can relate to that). But similar beings do live nearby. She knows they’re out there and she occasionally encounters one of them. And they are usually not friendly meetings—as she and each of her rivals (I’ll call them Judy and Sally) need a minimal amount of territory to survive. Evolution has seen to it that there is plenty of competition for the available space and food. When Ann was younger she was robust and virile. Neither Judy nor Sally dared to challenge her then.

But when Ann reached 30, something fateful happened: the queen died. It was as if one of our vital organs became diseased and began to shut down. Our intelligent bodies would try to fight off the problem, but if the disease seized the upper hand or if we are simply too old to keep up the struggle, we will at some point succumb.

Ann began to falter and weaken. Judy lived right next door and began to sense her advantage. At first, Judy tentatively challenged, as Ann bravely put up a front. But in time Judy sensed her rival’s frailty and launched an all-out invasion. In a matter of a few days Ann lost the battle and perished. Judy now prospered with her expanded territory. Ann had lived a full and lengthy life. She did well. But like all creatures, death is the final destiny.

I like thinking of an ant colony as a specific individual. It puts the story of the life of this superorganism on a par with that of a bird or a rabbit. I can ponder the intelligent behavior of the colony and not get stuck with the unlikely image of how a collection of dumb creatures could possibly do all that. Instead, I imagine Ann, and her amazing accomplishments then seem more reasonable to me. (Besides, it’s fun.) The next time I come upon an anthill, I’ll picture the blind and deaf creature who lives down there—a creature whose sense of smell is just amazing. Thanks, Ed Wilson!