Neurobiology student Sara Matiş takes a close look at the world around her – and the lessons to be learned from nature. In this column, she reflects on spiders, memory, and the fear of being forgotten.

Whenever I go on a walk with one of my best friends, we take the same route that crosses a bridge over a small body of water in my neighborhood. The sides of the bridge are lit up and in between the railings, dozens of spiders, up to the size of an apricot pit, come out at night. Against the darkness, their glinting webs form nimbuses. They look almost hypnotic, floating on spirals of light. What a perfect place they found, protected from rain, with plenty of prey from the surrounding pond, attracted by the illuminated railing. I know it likely comes down to their instincts, yet I couldn’t help but think to myself, such smart creatures.

There is this scientific idea that spiders outsource some of their cognitive processing to their webs. They seem to adjust the tension of the strands and the dimensions of their webs depending on their hunger level, the type of nutrients they need, the place their past catches got trapped and the size of their local prey – one might argue this is planning. Despite having so many eyes, most web-weavers have very poor vision. They need to rely on the vibration of their strands. If previous experiences influence the architecture of their webs, which then changes the way they sense the environment and therefore affects their future weavings, doesn’t this imply that, somewhere entwined with those silk strings, there are memories? This line of thought sparked the concept that spiders ‘think’ with their webs, that they are capable of so-called extended cognition. Maybe it isn’t just instinct after all.

The notion of extended cognition was first introduced in the context of humans, proposing that mental processes ‘spill’ outside of our brain into the physical world. We take notes, journal, store phone numbers, use a calendar to remember events. There are critics who claim that spiders don’t actually show extended cognition, but rather, their webs are an adjustable component of their sensory system. These scientists raise important points – but as I was writing this, my roaming eyes in search of words landed on a spider weaving its web outside the window. The coincidence made me smile. For a few minutes, I couldn’t look away from its meticulous strands and precise leg movements. At least in a poetic way, the idea of watching its thoughts being revealed right in front of me, in such a fragile, impermanent structure, was so mesmerising. 

‘When I was younger, I was terrified of being forgotten’

When I was younger, I was terrified of being forgotten. I would spend hours wondering if I could make my thoughts last forever. Now, leaving merely temporary traces behind feels strangely calming. I cannot undo my existence, and neither do I wish to do so, therefore I am inevitably woven into this physical world, albeit briefly. I am bound to leave some marks, a spider bound by instinct to produce silk. I write my thoughts all the time, but these cobwebs of memories will eventually fade. Every piece of my mind will probably eventually fade. But while I’m here, may the silk I weave be both strong and a soft place to land. And may it be at least almost as beautiful as the spirals of light the spiders are making on the bridge.