ENTANGLED LIFE

In Adventures of Ideas, the originator of process philosophy, Alfred North Whitehead, writes that 'no science can be more secure than the unconscious metaphysics which tacitly it presupposes.' He continues that the certainties of science are hedged around with unexplored limitations and that our handling of scientific doctrines is controlled by the diffused metaphysical concepts of our epoch. He distinguishes two aspects of scientific ideas, formed by 'the meeting of two orders of experience. One order is constituted by the direct, immediate discriminations of particular observations. The other order is constituted by our general way of conceiving the Universe. They will be called, the Observational Order, and the Conceptual Order.' He continues: 'the first point to remember is that the observational order is invariably interpreted in terms of the concepts supplied by the conceptual order… We inherit an observational order, namely types of things which we do in fact discriminate; and we inherit a conceptual order, namely a rough system of ideas in terms of which we do in fact interpret.' Merlin Sheldrake's radical and ground-breaking book is quite remarkable in that it proposes modifications to both orders and initiates a reframing process - what he calls the 'loosening of categories' in relation to our understanding and experience not only of the fungal world but of life itself and the very notions of individual autonomy and independence, which are in fact always contextualised in relationships.

Merlin received his PhD in tropical ecology from Cambridge, where he took an additional First in history and philosophy of science. In the epilogue, he describes his introduction to the fungal world through his biologist father Rupert and a pile of chestnut leaves in their garden, which he put into a bath tub before submerging himself 'buried in the rustle, lost in the curious smells.' He found that the pile sank over the months and that the damp handfuls began to resemble soil, also with worms. He asked his father why this was happening and on receiving the answer asked why again: 'no matter how many times I asked why he always had an answer.' And, typically for Rupert, he proposed an experiment, cutting off the top of a clear plastic bottle and placing 'alternating layers of soil, sand, dirt leaves, and finally a handful of earthworms.' Merlin found that nothing stayed still, 'sand crept into soil and leaves crept into sand. The hard edges of the layers dissolved into each other.' This activity was also the result of tiny creatures invisible to the naked eye 'able to mix and stir and dissolve one thing into another.' He reflects that 'composers make pieces of music. These were decomposers, who unmake pieces of life. Nothing could happen without them.' This then leads to the thought that 'unless decomposers unmake, there is nothing that composers can make with. It was thought that changed the way I understood how life happens.' Similarly, Goethe once said that death was nature's way of making more life. Just in this passage, the reader can experience a microcosm of the lyrical brilliance that pervades the book as a whole (Merlin is also a professional accordionist).

Now back to the beginning: Entangled Life takes the reader on an epic journey into the amazing world of fungal intelligence using a scintillating blend of unique personal experience, in-depth conversations with world experts in the field and a hugely impressive grasp of the scientific literature - there are over 80 pages of notes and references. The reader immediately gains a clear idea of the scope of the book in the introduction where Merlin describes that fungi are 'eating rock, making soil, digesting pollutants, nourishing and killing plants, surviving in space, inducing visions, producing food, making medicines, manipulating animal behaviour and influencing the composition of the Earth's atmosphere.' These activities are vividly and engagingly described in the chapters that follow, in the course of which readers will have their ideas about the central importance of fungi totally transmuted, for instance by sentences such as 'plants are socially networked by fungi' (p. 13), 'many sophisticated problem-solving behaviours have evolved in brainless organisms' (p. 16), 'biological dark matter' (p. 19), and 'in scientific circles imagination usually goes by the name of speculation and is treated with some suspicion… Sneak backstage and one might not find people at their most presentable (p. 21). So Merlin wants to 'let these organisms lure me out of my well-worn patterns of thought' while hoping that the book will analogously loosen some of the reader's certainties - it certainly has in my own case.

In bringing fungi alive, Merlin relates a series of incidents and experiences involving fungi, including hunting for truffles, being submerged in hot rotting wood chippings, taking part in an LSD experiment while reflecting on how this changes his understanding of his work, investigating lichen in British Columbia, undergraduate brewing experiments, and scrumping for apples in Cambridge - not just any apples, though, but apples tenuously connected with Newton's tree – see below. As indicated above, these experiences lead to lively discussions with world experts in the various fields and a detailed consideration of the relevant scientific literature, further explored in the notes. The result is a richly woven and textured narrative that carries readers along while helping them navigate this complex subterranean realm.

In his chapter on lichen, Merlin notes that their behaviour 'presents ways for humans to think beyond a rigid binary framework: the identity of lichens is a question, rather than an answer known in advance.' (p. 102) Mechanistic binary frameworks tend to use linear analysis involving control rather than symbiosis, whereas lichens are dynamic systems (this is also the approach of the Gaia hypothesis) involving complex symbioses. Later (p. 236), he criticises the use of mechanistic metaphors to understand organisms: 'organisms grow; machines are built. Organisms continually remake themselves; machines are maintained by humans. Organisms self-organise; machines are organised by humans.' He reminds us that our bodies are also dwelling places and that 'life is nested biomes all the way down.' In a chapter on mycelial minds, he refers to the effect of psilocybin in reducing brain activity in the Default Mode Network, which 'lets the brain off the leash', resulting in an explosion of cerebral connectivity, which also has documented therapeutic effects. He reminds us that it is people rather than brains who have experiences and that this process of ego dissolution results in a feeling of merging with something greater, exactly parallel with the outer activity of fungi 'in challenging our well-worn concepts of identity and individuality', but this time 'in the most intimate possible setting: inside our own minds.' (p. 124)

The chapter on mycorrhizal fungi is a revelation, for instance that they are 'so prolific that their mycelium makes up between a third and a half of the living mass of soils' where 'the total length of mycorrhizal hyphae in the top 10 cm of soil is around half the width of our galaxy.' (p. 142) Merlin explains that plants and mycorrhizal fungi are in active polarity, where shoots engage with light and air while fungi and roots engage with the solid ground. Astonishingly, the amount of carbon dioxide and oxygen in the atmosphere and therefore global temperatures, 'all varied according to the efficiency of mycorrhizal exchange.' And the carbon found in soils 'amounts to twice the amount of carbon found in plants and the atmosphere combined.' (p. 161) He recounts the history of the concept going back to Albert Frank in 1885, along with the resistance it encountered, paralleled more recently with the initial reception of Lynn Margulis' ideas on endosymbiosis.

He reports a study published in 2018 suggesting that the 'alarming deterioration of the health of trees across Europe was caused by a disruption of their mycorrhizal relationships, brought about by nitrogen pollution.' (p. 159) This takes him back to the work of Sir Albert Howard, whose seminal Agricultural Testament appeared in 1940, and who was 'a passionate spokesman for mycorrhizal fungi.' Merlin finds Howard's concern for the life of the soil more than justified by recent studies finding an abundance of mycorrhizal fungal communities in organically managed fields compared with none in conventionally managed fields - this represents an arguably unsustainable 'ecological sacrifice'. Then there are further parallels in the ecology of our gut microbiome, the importance of which is now being increasingly recognised. He rightly concludes that we need to question some of our categories and alter our behaviour accordingly, so as to ensure sustained mutual cultivation between plants and fungi.

The chapter on Wood Wide Webs provides a more critical and nuanced account of the phenomenon, beginning with a quote from Alexander von Humboldt with his expression 'net-like, entangled fabric'. Trees can share a mycorrhizal network leading to what Sir David Read calls 'a distribution of resources within the community.' For instance, 'a study published in 2016 find out 280 kg of carbon per hectare of forest could be transferred between trees via fungal connections.' (p. 171) Some old trees act as 'hubs' and Kevin Beiler found that the most well-connected tree in a particular area was linked to 47 other trees. Here again, we need a variety of metaphors and imaginative tools, any single one of which is problematic. With his incredibly fertile mind, Merlin suggests a number: super-organism, metropolis, living Internet, socialism in the soil, fungal feudalism, and even a deregulated market 'with fungi jostling on the trading floor of a forest stock exchange.' (p. 191)

The chapter on radical mycology begins with Merlin lying naked in a mound of hot decomposing wood chips, which leads him to wonder about the remedial potential of fungi as well as its contribution in terms of decomposition to carbon emissions amounting to 85 gigatons annually, compared with 10 gigatons from fossil fuels. Among the innovations emerging from the work of Peter McCoy and building on that of Terence McKenna and Paul Stamets are the development of fungi that can thrive on a diet of used diapers, polyurethane plastic and cigarette butts (over 750,000 tonnes are thrown away every year) - this is 'myco-remediation' and there are also 'mycofiltration' processes to filter polluted water. A further innovation is the fabrication of mycelial products, for instance in packaging. Such trends, Merlin reflects, could go 'fungal' rather than 'viral'.

The final chapter introduces the role of yeasts, also in relation to brewing and alcohol with its power to 'forge and corrode human cultural categories' (p. 229). Merlin recounts his own experiences beginning at University, including experimenting with recipes from historical texts, one of which resulted in what he calls 'bottled havoc'. This chapter culminates in such a good story about fermenting overripe fruit - in this case Newton's apples - that I read it out loud last night. There is an amusing interplay of myth and fact around the Newton apple incident (Merlin quotes the account of a 1726 conversation between William Stukeley and Newton). At any rate, the director of the Cambridge Botanical Garden told him that he couldn't pick any apples as they have to be seen by the tourists to fall from the tree. He located a community apple press which had been successfully used to manage a problem with young people using the fruit as missiles: 'community violence was pressed into juice. Juice was fermented into cider, cider was drunk into community spirit. The principle was sound. Human crisis was being decomposed by a fungus.' (p. 245) Merlin and a friend harvested the 'Newton' apples surreptitiously by night, leaving a few on the tree for the sake of the myth. This turned into 30 litres of juice, resulting, to his amazement, in the transformation of bitter and sour apples into a delicate floral and taste - he called the cider Gravity, in Newton's honour.

Entangled Life positively bristles with insight, dry humour and a passionately curious intelligence more interested in raising fresh questions than in reaching definitive conclusions. The book is a landmark achievement with profound implications for how we collectively contribute as partners with nature in shaping a sustainable – even regenerative - future for the whole of life on the planet. I would recommend keeping Entangled Life firmly on the top of your pile lest it be submerged in accumulating layers of other reading material subject to a 'bookworm' effect.