Do plants feel? A tree’s cry when cut down might be real. Shocking research reveals: Are plants afraid? The truth will astound you.

The hidden world of plants, a realm we’ve long reduced to mere silent background in our world, static green beings furnishing the scene without genuine interaction. Aristotle himself discussed plant souls, but with a specific interpretation of his belief that plants possess only a nutritive soul, incapable of sensation or thought. This historical perception solidified a stereotypical view of these fascinating organisms.

Carl Linnaeus, the father of modern taxonomy, included plants in the plant kingdom. The irony lies in the fact that even in medicine, we use the term “vegetative state” to describe a state of profound unconsciousness, inadvertently reinforcing the idea that plants are insensitive beings.

This view has been ingrained over time, becoming an integral part of our collective consciousness. It’s embodied in art and literature, where plants are often depicted as static decorative elements, not as living organisms actively interacting with their environment. We even suffer from “plant blindness,” a human tendency to overlook plants in our immediate surroundings, highlighting the limitations of our awareness of their complexity and richness.

Even our early agricultural practices often treated plants as resources to be exploited, not as living beings deserving of understanding and appreciation. Cleve Backster’s studies in 1973, which claimed that plants showed emotional responses to human thoughts, are often criticized for their lack of reproducibility and weak methodology, negatively impacting the image of serious scientific research in this field. This deeply rooted belief that plants are passive and insensitive beings calls for reconsideration.

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Plant Anatomy: What Are Plants Missing?

Let’s now embark on exploring the essence of what distinguishes plants. What gives a plant its identity? The answer is rooted in its remarkable anatomy.

Imagine a world without a command center, without a governing brain, and without a guiding spinal cord. This is the anatomical reality of a plant. In contrast to the neural complexity of animals, a plant lacks any equivalent structure capable of processing sensory information in the way we know it. There are no neurons in the traditional sense, no intricate network of synapses that transmit electrical signals at lightning speed. But does this necessarily mean a complete absence of sensation? Not necessarily at all.

Instead of relying solely on electrical signals, plants use a complex and astonishing chemical language, in addition to electrical signals. Hormones, volatile organic compounds… these are the chemical messengers that carry vital information between cells and tissues. This chemical language enables the plant to coordinate and respond effectively to diverse environmental stimuli, from the glare of the sun to the pull of gravity, and from attacks to wounds.

Let’s not forget cellulose, the substance that makes up plant cell walls. This solid material provides the structural support and rigidity needed, ensuring that plants remain upright in the face of strong winds and harsh conditions. Cellulose, this compound that animals cannot produce, is the cornerstone of remarkable plant architecture.

And we cannot overlook chloroplasts, those tiny organelles found inside plant cells. Here, photosynthesis takes place: light is converted into vital energy, and carbon dioxide and water are transformed into sugar and precious oxygen. This process, the cornerstone of life on Earth, is absent in animals, making plants truly unique organisms.

Now, imagine a life of continuous and relentless growth. While animals reach a defined size, plants continue to grow and produce new cells and organs throughout their lives. Roots extend deep into the soil, in a constant search for water and vital nutrients. Leaves unfold and expand, ready to capture sunlight.

Roots, those specialized structures that absorb water and nutrients from the soil, are essential organs for plant survival. This vital function, absent in animals, is key to understanding the plant’s deep dependence on its surrounding environment.

Finally, let’s consider stomata, those tiny openings on plant leaves. Here, the necessary gas exchange takes place: carbon dioxide enters, and oxygen exits. This vital process, essential for photosynthesis and respiration, closely links plants to the surrounding atmosphere.

Amazing Discoveries: The Hidden Language of Plants

Behind the apparent silence that envelops forests lies a complex world of communication, a world we couldn’t have imagined a few decades ago. In the 1960s, some sources suggest that Dr. Fritz-Albert Popp may have discovered that plants, when faced with danger, release volatile organic compounds (VOCs), but this information needs a documented source. These are not just random cries for help, but rather early warnings, alerting neighboring plants to imminent danger.

In 1983, some studies suggest that willow trees, when attacked by insects, communicate effectively with each other, but the specific study led by David Rhoades needs to be mentioned to support this claim. This communication leads to a coordinated response, where neighboring trees increase the production of tannins in their leaves, chemicals that make the leaves less attractive to pests.

But it goes beyond that. Tobacco plants (Nicotiana attenuata) use these volatile compounds in a more complex and surprising way. They not only warn other plants, but also attract predators that feed on the attacking caterpillars. It’s a complex defense mechanism, akin to summoning unseen allies to their rescue.

And beyond the aerial realm, plant communication extends into the dark depths of the earth. Some research suggests that biologist Stefano Mancuso may have discovered that plant roots use electrical signals to communicate with each other, but this claim needs to be documented with a specific reference. These signals allow plants to exchange vital information about the availability of water and nutrients, forming a complex underground information network.

In 2013, some reports indicate that a study published in the journal Oecologia confirmed that plants are able to accurately distinguish between chemical signals emitted by plants of the same species and those emitted by plants of different species, but a specific citation of the study should be provided. This indicates an astonishing level of discrimination and recognition, far beyond what we thought possible.

What’s more, mycorrhizal fungi play a crucial role in this complex network. These fungi act as a vital intermediary, transmitting signals and nutrients between different plants, creating a complex communication network that connects the entire ecosystem into a single fabric.

Even bean plants (Phaseolus lunatus) exhibit amazing abilities. When attacked by caterpillars, they release volatile chemicals that attract parasitic wasps that attack those predatory caterpillars. It’s a complex defense mechanism activated by chemical communication, demonstrating that plants are not just passive organisms, but active participants in a complex web of interactions. These discoveries raise fundamental questions.

A Crucial Moment: Caterpillar Attack!

Here, the tables turn completely, and it’s not just a cry for help, but a complex chemical symphony. Imagine a peaceful tomato field, bathed in the warmth of the sun. Suddenly, fierce caterpillars launch a coordinated attack on one of the seedlings. The leaves crumble under their deadly grip, and the caterpillars devour them voraciously. But what happens next is what turns everything upside down.

In the midst of this destruction caused by the caterpillars, the affected plant releases a barrage of volatile organic compounds, akin to a precise coded signal. Not just one compound, but an elaborate mixture, a unique chemical synthesis. Ethylene, one of these compounds, acts as a key, opening the door wide to a collective defensive response.

But the wonder doesn’t stop there. Some reports indicate that scientists at Kyoto University discovered that neighboring tomato plants receive this signal, and in turn begin producing protease inhibitors, but this discovery needs to be documented with a specific reference to the study. These inhibitors act as a sophisticated defense mechanism, making their leaves less palatable to caterpillars, as if poisoning their potential food before they even dare to approach.

What’s truly amazing is that this is not a uniform global response. Some plants, such as tobacco, take a completely different path. Instead of making themselves unattractive, they release a unique blend of volatile organic compounds to attract unexpected allies: parasitic wasps. These wasps lay their eggs inside the caterpillars, condemning them to a slow and certain death, as if hiring a private army to eliminate the invaders.

The Fungal Network: An Underground World

Deep in the soil, another world is formed, a world hidden from our eyes, but which controls the fabric of plant life: the world of fungi.

Plants form complex partnerships, remarkable symbiotic relationships, with these mysterious organisms. It’s an exchange of mutual benefit: the plant feeds the fungus with precious sugars produced through photosynthesis, while the fungus, in turn, provides the plant with water and essential nutrients, extracting them efficiently from the depths of the soil.

But this is not just a separate relationship, but a vast interconnected network, a complex fabric that connects the roots of plants to each other in an amazing connection. Scientists call it the mycorrhizal network, or the Wood Wide Web, an expression that embodies its vastness and importance.

But the function of this network goes beyond just exchanging vital resources. It serves as a sophisticated means of communication. Research has shown that plants use this network to transmit signals, early warnings of imminent danger.

Imagine a bean plant being fiercely attacked by aphids. Instead of succumbing to its fate, it sends rapid chemical signals through the mycorrhizal network. These warning signals reach neighboring bean plants, immediately prompting them to release defensive chemicals, even before the invading insects reach them. Amazing proactivity, as if they received an advance warning of the impending danger.

And this amazing communication is not limited to the same type of plant. Some sources indicate that Canadian biologist Suzanne Simard discovered that large spruce trees, the wise mother trees, use this complex network to transfer carbon and other resources to small, weak seedlings, greatly increasing their chances of survival and growth, but this discovery needs to be documented with a specific reference. True environmental generosity, and vital support that ensures the continuation of life