Archive for the ‘evolution’ Category
women and the future
8,000 years ago….
My previous post reminded me of some pieces I wrote (about a year ago), which I’ll reference below. I’m quite proud of these pieces – it seems indignation can bring out the best…
By the way, what happened to evolutionary psychology? To judge from Ryan Ellsworth’s efforts, it was a questionable enterprise, especially in trying to cement patriarchy into our biology. I would guess that it was never a ‘field’ that attracted female intellectuals. Here’s a passage from Ellsworth in his critique of a book by Susan Block called The Bonobo Way, which I criticised (his critique, not the book) in my earlier piece. Obviously I’m still fuming!
Block refers to babies to care for, and reputations to protect, but does not seem to understand the significance of these two things for understanding human sex differences in sexual desire. Perhaps she privately does, but to acknowledge the significance of these forces on the evolution of human sexuality would severely compromise her arguments, as it demands recognition of the fact that women are not expected to have desires for sexual variety and quantity identical to men. To argue that females are as interested as males in sexual variety is to buy into a sexist worldview wherein the male is the typical specimen of the species by which to compare females (Saxon, 2012). Although ostensibly parading under the guise of liberation, such a position is no less sexist or anti-feminist than is the oppression of women’s sexuality.
One has to read this passage a couple of times to let it sink in. Or at least I did – smarter people might’ve recognised the bullshit straight away. It’s there in the first two sentences (okay, the second sentence takes up most of the passage). The first sentence states as fact that there are ‘human sex differences in sexual desire’. So that must be why it’s okay to call men ‘studs’ and women ‘sluts’, or as Ellsworth puts it, we must recognise the fact that ‘women are not expected to have desires for sexual variety and quantity identical to men’. And it would seem to follow that if they have such desires they should be ostracised and shamed. Ellsworth even tries to argue that to suggest that women might have such pluralist desires is sexist because it (sort of) turns them into men, stripping them of their identity as caring mothers or potentially caring mothers, which is their evolutionary role.
Evolutionary psychology doesn’t seem to have lasted long, which I think is a good thing. It seemed to be wanting to find an evolutionary explanation for what many might find to be shifting social-psychological phenomena, and I don’t think that works. For example, in the WEIRD world we’ve shifted from larger families to smaller, often single-parent families, and family roles have changed. Marriage isn’t so essential to the reproductive process as it was, and of course it only came into being relatively recently, and as for monogamy, we have no idea whether that was practiced by humans, say 200,000 years ago. None of this has to do with evolution in a Darwinian sense – we often describe society as having ‘evolved’ in the last couple of centuries, but this nothing to do with the Darwinian concept.
So, back to monogamy. It’s seen as the norm for we humans, especially when it comes to bringing up children. And yet, neither chimps nor bonobos are monogamous, and clearly they manage to reproduce, and their offspring are just as well-adjusted as their parents. So when and why did we or our ancestors become so, and will we ever cease to be so? Ellsworth claimed in his essay that there have never been any successful or lasting matriarchal societies, but absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence, and of course it would not be of interest to him to mention the controversial but undeniably thought-provoking finds at Çatalhöyük suggesting plenty of goddess-worship. As I’ve often pointed out, the double male god-worship that constitutes Christianity was both born of and a template for thousands of years of patriarchy, still championed by the Catholic Church, so it’s intriguing to wonder about the society around Çatalhöyük, a mere 9,000 years ago. Believing in females with godly powers just doesn’t fit with a male-dominated society, and even those who argue against evidence that the undoubtedly remarkable society that created Çatalhöyük was matriarchal tend to argue for gender egalitarianism, which is remarkable in itself (though I’ve read anthropological studies on some Australian Aboriginal societies that have come to similar conclusions).
All of this makes me wonder again about early humans and their ancestors, Australopithecus and the like, especially considering that bonobos are clearly matriarchal and chimps are clearly patriarchal. Of course, size matters, pace bonobos, and it has recently been found in a study published last year that both A. afarensis and A. africanus, and especially the former, were more sexually dimorphic than present-day humans. But size matters less in the modern WEIRD world, where brute strength is of decreasing importance. I suppose these days we should be looking more at brain size, or rather brain complexity, and I very much doubt if we found any real difference there, which is doubtless why nobody much studies gender-based brain complexity, whether in dogs, cats or humans (I did once have a university friend who seriously asserted that men were naturally more intelligent – and she spoke of neurological complexity – than women; but she was young, and I let it pass, probably due to shock).
Generally, though, I feel optimistic about the greater empowerment of women in the future (the future is long, and I’m getting old, so I’m not worried about being proved wrong). This in spite of Trump and Putin and the Ayatollahs and the Sudanese and so many other African and Middle Eastern nations/regions. We describe them as living in the past for a reason. And Australia, far from the madding crowd of backward-facing nations, with more and more women in government, both nationally and in my home state, can and hopefully will set a small example that exhausted and disillusioned humanists elsewhere might take notice of…
References
Angela Saini, The Patriarchs: how men came to rule, 2023
the little life of just another reader
Reading and writing have been my mainstays, FWIW, and worth is the word, they seem to, or seek to, plug the many holes in my ego. Reading, of course takes me away to many places, and back to many times, that I can’t access physically. I’ve always been too poor to do much extensive travelling, and too timid to actually meet and converse with interesting people, so I converse, sort of, with books. Sometimes having terrible, exhausting arguments with them, other times brought to tears.
I limit myself to six books at a time, though usually one, or maybe two, grab my attention to the detriment of others, sort of. At the moment it’s the second volume of Janet Browne’s totalling gripping biography of Charles Darwin, The power of place. What a fascinating, admirable, complex character he is, how richly brought to life by Browne’s writings and researches. At the moment I’m reading of his new-found fascination with orchids and their pollination. It seems that he developed this interest partly to take his mind off the endless controversies surrounding his Origin of species, but, not surprisingly, he soon found that their pollination by particular insects supported what came to be known as co-evolution, a whole new field of evolutionary studies.
And yet, reading about this extraordinary and complex bloke (his Descent of Man is on my six-book list, somewhat neglected at the moment), who is still vilified today, and not just by creationists, I still get annoyed at all his upper-class advantages. Not his fault of course, but connections handed him his trip on the Beagle, his marriage to a member of the super-rich Wedgewood family, his university education at Edinburgh and Cambridge, and so forth. At least his life provides a good argument against libertarianism.
So the other four books on the six-book list are Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel (I have a policy of making at least one book a work of fiction) and Lost connections by Johann Hari – these two books I’m completely ignoring at present, for no good reason – and the other two books, which I’ve brought with me to my exile in the Adelaide Hills, Kingdom of fear by Hunter S Thompson (apparently the ‘S’ is necessary when referring to him) and Shattered lands by Sam Dalrymple.
I bought Shattered Lands the other day at Shakespeare’s Books here in Blackwood, because I couldn’t resist the bookshop’s name, and once inside, I’d feel guilty if I didn’t buy. I also assumed, correctly, that Sam was the son or close relative of William Dalrymple, a writer often recommended to me by a friend, but whom I’ve never read. So I was influenced but didn’t want to be too influenced. Another influence on the purchase was Anna Reid’s Borderland, so informative about a land exotic to me, Ukraine. Shattered Lands promised to tell stories about a world equally exotic, in time rather than place – the British Raj.
In speaking of this to my once-wife, Sarah, she looked up William Dalrymple, and I was shocked but not surprised. Get this, from Wikipedia:
William Benedict Hamilton-Dalrymple was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, on 20 March 1965 as the youngest son of Major Sir Hew Hamilton-Dalrymple, 10th Baronet (1926–2018), Lord Lieutenant of East Lothian from 1987 to 2001, and Lady Anne-Louise Keppel, a daughter of Walter Keppel, 9th Earl of Albemarle; through this line of descent he is a third cousin of Queen Camilla, both being great-great-grandchildren of William Keppel, 7th Earl of Albemarle. He is a great-nephew of the writer Virginia Woolf. His brother Jock was a first-class cricketer. Dalrymple, the youngest of four brothers, grew up in North Berwick on the shores of the Firth of Forth. He has described his childhood as being old-fashioned and “almost Edwardian”. Among his forebears is a Mughal princess who married a Dalrymple ancestor.
I, too, was born in Scotland. My father was an unskilled labourer, and sometime amateur boxer, the last of a number of male children to a Dundee shipwright – a reasonably classy occupation. That’s all I know of that side of the family, and I’ve never been much interested in tracing ancestry. My mother was a Stewart, and her father, a coal-miner, was Daniel Stewart, hence I’m named Stewart Daniel Henderson. The Stewarts came over the channel with William the Bastard in 1066. They were Stewards then, but changed ‘d’ to ‘t’ when given swathes of land in Scotland for helping William to slaughter the Anglo-Saxon aristocracy. Then, when one branch of the ever-branching Stewart family looked like becoming Kings of Scotland they changed their name to Stuart, further removing them from the Stench of Stewardship. And those Stuarts went on to…
To cut a long story short, with a bit of trimming and tweaking, I could’ve/should’ve/would’ve been the current monarch of the British Commonwealth of Nations, and life just isn’t fair.
So, where was I? Kingdom of fear is the first book by this author I’ve read, and likely the last. I suppose I chose it because the reading group I’m with have dealt with Ken Kesey’s One flew over the cuckoo’s nest and Kerouac’s on the road, and I though I’d continue a bit with the hobo libertarian stuff of the USA, which is sometimes entertaining, and often food for thought for a non-libertarian such as myself. At least it’s more appealing than right-wing libertarianism, which really is the pits.
Thompson’s political views chime fairly well with my own, though he’s a bit long-winded about it all, and it of course is all set in the gun-toting US of A, which I’ve just about had enough of. At the same time it’s much more familiar to me than the Burmese-Indian and Hindu-Moslem clashes of the 1930s and beyond, which have me constantly referring to maps to locate Gujarat, Rawalpindi, Kanniyakumari and the like. And the Hindu caste system is surely one of humankind’s greatest grotesqueries.
So that’s all. I’m nowhere near the end of any of these books, but I’m generally enjoying where they take me, especially the Darwin stuff. The Indian stuff too, as my history reading has generally had a western bias, understandably enough.
References
Janet Browne, Charles Darwin: The power of place, 2002
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Dalrymple
Sam Dalrymple, Shattered lands, 2025
Hunter S Thompson, Kingdom of fear, 2003
on sentience
I’m reading Dennett’s 1996 book Kinds of minds, which, from my dilapidated copy, I must’ve read before, but… anyway, I’m a bit disappointed so far, as I was hoping it would be about the minds of other creatures – cetaceans, elephants, bonobos and such – but so far, nearly halfway through, it’s been dealing with much more basic species, as well as the more complex systems created by humans as of 30 years ago. He does have some interesting things to say about that slippery concept known as sentience, though, so I thought I might think on those thoughts. A brief escape from the political scene.
So here’s Dennett’s first take on the concept:
Since there is no established meaning to the word ‘sentience’, we are free to adopt one of our own choosing, if we can motivate it. We could refer to the slow but reliable responsiveness of plants to their environment as ‘sentience’ if we wanted, but we would need some reason to distinguish this quality from the mere sensitivity exhibited by bacteria and other single-celled life forms…
Kinds of minds, p66
It’s groping at the idea of some kind of awareness which certainly isn’t consciousness but above ‘mere sensitivity’. But these are just words. It suggests something on a certain level of complexity which isn’t quite mammalian – or rather it embraces a complexity which starts at a pre-mammalian stage. Something which provides focus. Descartes, in his attempt to capture human consciousness, imagined that there was a central focussing medium in the human pineal gland. Of course he was wrong, but the idea of such a central processing medium or system, from which sentience emerges, hasn’t died.
If we replace ‘sentience’ with, say, ‘self-awareness’, something that we’d likely deny to plants, and grant to mammals, cephalopods, fish (whose status in self-awareness, and general intelligence, as bestowed by humans, has risen in recent years, I’ve noticed), and maybe crustaceans, but not to oysters and other such mollusks….and then what about insects?
So the more I think on the term, the more uncertain I am about its usefulness. Perhaps that’s because the more we look into particular species or genera, the more we feel we should grant sentience to them. That’s to say, our system of valuing broadens. Lately I’ve been reading about whales, and watching recent videos about them. The history of human relations with cetaceans has been marked by a complete transformation in the past 150 years, more complete, arguably, than that for any other mammal, but the fact is, the more we investigate any living beings, the more we’re made to think along ‘what is it like to be a bat?’ terms, which becomes a kind of ‘transference of sentience’ to other life forms.
So here’s a story. A few days ago, I was at the state library here in Adelaide with my laptop, writing. I was at a long white bench stretching across the back wall, with other people working in a seemingly similar way at a fair distance from me on either side – a kind of Edward Hopper scenario. My researches were interrupted though by a mildly insistent buzzing to my left. I looked over to the young woman some metres away staring intently at her computer. Perhaps she was watching a video. I tried to ignore it – it wasn’t too loud, but monotonous, stopping sometimes, then starting again. I looked over again, puzzling at it, and then I noticed a black speck moving in circles on the bench between us. It was a blowfly, and the sound was its wings beating on the bench. It was upside down and desperately trying to right itself. Issue resolved, I focussed again on my writing, and meanwhile the fly’s struggles brought it closer to my workspace. I had a bag on the bench beside my computer, and the fly managed to get itself, still upside-down, on the bag’s strap, which meant that it was no longer horizontal but tilted slightly towards normality. It remained there, immobile for a while – no more wing-beating. It seemed to be resting, gathering strength, summing up its new scenario. Then it flipped back onto the bench, right-way up. It remained still for quite a while, almost lifeless it seemed. I went back to work, and when I looked again, it was gone.
The lifespan of a blowfly is three to four weeks on average, and I suspect this event would’ve been momentous for this blowfly. Would it be remembered? Perhaps yes, but of course not in any human sense. Sentience, though is generally seen as more basic – Wikipedia starts out with a simple sentence: ‘Sentience is the ability to experience feelings and sensations.’ Sentience is an ability? Is there a difference between a feeling and a sensation? Language so often confuses with distinctions without differences. Was this piece of sentience or experience life-changing for this fly, rendering it in some way different from other flies? Changing its future pattern of behaviour? But that would go beyond sentience to a kind of learning. But what would sentience be for, other than that? A sensation that tells or teaches us to move towards or away from. So sentience is about more than just sentience. There is a purpose to it, a survival purpose, and possibly more. An evolutionary purpose – those who have more effectively learned from their sensations – or simply have had more or a greater variety of sensations to learn from, to survive, will live to copulate and multiply, producing more of their kind of effective learners. Something along those lines was how Darwin thought, surely, and then genes were uncovered, adding more complexity, for how ever could experience be encoded?
Evolution has no purpose, I’ve heard. It’s just that sentience of a certain kind has survival value. The more sentience, the more value? A battle of the sentiences? A battle of the codes for sentience? How could all this be related to nucleic acid sequences? It’s all too mind-boggling, just shut up and connect….
How much sentience is too much? It’s all so exhausting, and then we die, like flies…
References
Daniel Dennett, Kinds of minds, 1996
stuff on sexual selection, and our humanity
As perhaps mentioned, I’ve started reading The descent of man, or to be accurate, I started reading it a while ago, then stopped, what with all the other pleasurable and thought-provoking reading I’ve been doing. In fact one of those books is Matt Ridley’s Birds, sex and beauty: the extraordinary implications of Charles Darwin’s strangest idea, to give its full title, and it’s maybe a bit of a spoiler, because I’ve heard that The descent contains a section on sexual selection, that ‘strangest idea’ aforementioned, an idea that, as Ridley tells me, was found more questionable than general evolution by many scientists of his time, and even afterwards. Wallace, who developed his evolutionary theory independently of Darwin, and became a close associate afterwards, was quite skeptical, along with most of Darwin’s other backers, and Ridley, quite rightly I think, points to the reason. Evolution was obviously a rather serious assault on religion – and is still felt that way – whereas sexual selection was an assault on patriarchy, though many of its detractors may have been oblivious of the fact. Patriarchy’s so insidious that many people still think it’s normal! Duh…
So what exactly is sexual selection? Well, just about everyone points to the obvious case of the peacock, with his extravagant tail feathers. Can such a stunningly colourful but ungainly mass to drag around you be anything but a hindrance? It’s kind of exhausting just to look at them. Can a peacock actually fly? Well, yes, but certainly not like an eagle. And how does it sneak up on its prey? Does it only eat blind mice? Actually they’re omnivores, but probably easier to be veggo with all that get-up. And of course they can be prey as well as predators, and you should be able to guess the rest – one minute you’re a mate, next you’re dead meat. It’s just a matter of getting things in the right order.
So sexual selection is about males so impressing females, whether by looks, dancing displays or some other spectacle, that the female offers herself happily, or complacently, to him. And males are often in competition with other males for the honour, the point being that it’s the female who sexually selects. This type of selection goes on in species of birds, fish (eg guppies), insects (eg fruit flies), mammals (eg elephant seals) and reptiles (eg most lizards). It also goes on in humans (eg party hardcore, referenced below), but not generally for the purpose of reproduction. As for bonobos – well, that’s another story, and it’s complicated, much as with humans.
So what about humans? We like to think we’re too complex and sophisticated for that sort of categorisation, and anyway, we in the WEIRD (non-Catholic) world don’t connect sex so tightly with reproduction. Even so, when we do decide on reproduction, we surely, male and female, do it on the basis of having selected, more or less mutually, the best partner available. This is of course a best-case scenario – we can be fooled, perhaps by our hormones, into being convinced that this person will be the best father/mother for our child/children, not to mention a variety of other scenarios which result in pregnancy. If we think of sexual selection in terms of pairing rather than pregnancy, it may be that neoteny, the preservation of youthful characteristics, including by artificial means – make-up, cosmetic surgery, mode of dress and so forth – has played a role, but this doesn’t appear to be a scenario in which only the female does the selecting. Certainly it’s less clear ‘who’s zoomin who’, if anyone. Darwin, I think wisely, considered sexual selection in humans has worked in both ways, with hairlessness in females being selected for by males, and males’ reduced hair ‘going along for the ride’ to some degree (also because of ‘genetic correlation’, though Darwin didn’t know about genes, and so could not consider genotype-phenotype examples), while reduced sexual dimorphism and, in contrast, the greater difference between the voices of adult males and females, are being selected for by their opposites. The reduced sexual dimorphism argues for greater monogamy (compare gorillas). Even so, females may in general be selecting for height, muscularity, and deeper voices. I give up.
Seriously, the scenario is complex for humans, which is to be expected. From Wikipedia:
In a study measuring female attraction to males with varying levels of masculinity, it was established that women had a general masculinity preference for men’s voices, and that the preference for masculinity was greater in the fertile phase of the menstrual cycle than in the non-fertile phase. There is further evidence from the same study that in fertile stages of the menstrual cycle, women also had a preference for other masculine traits such as body size, facial shape, and dominant behavior, which are indicators of both fertility and health. This study did not exclude males with feminine traits from being selected, however, as feminine traits in men indicate a higher probability of long-term relationship commitment, and may be one of several evolutionary strategies.
I don’t want to think too much about male dominant behaviour being indicative of fertility or health – especially mental health – but this finding that the menstrual cycle affects female preference seems just too ‘beyond our control’ for my liking, which isn’t to say it’s not true. As other sources have pointed out, there’s a sort of more-or-less understandable ‘muddle’ between selecting for ‘tough guys’, in both physical and emotional senses, or for caring-and-sharing softies who’ll be reliable providers – they hope. But isn’t that typical of women – they can never make up their effing minds.
Clearly, though, there are two strategies that are more or less blindly operating in humans. A video by ‘Brainstorm’, linked below, puts it neatly:
Sexual selection is an extremely powerful tool to explain much of evolutionary change in behaviour in animals – in humans it becomes a bit more complicated – we’re neither clearly a tournament species [males fighting for dominance (e.g gorillas)] with huge extremes re sexual dimorphism, nor are we sexually identical in behaviour, aggression or life expectancy… we do see dimorphism in bone structure, muscle mass and levels of aggression…
These male-female differences are not extreme, and we might just be able, with work, to make them less extreme. Wouldn’t it be great if we could actually work toward this. The sexual dimorphism among bonobos is minimal, and it would make sense, given their society, that it is diminishing, though we have no substantial evidence that this is so. Humans, of course, still have a way to go, given all the warfare and violent confrontations that are still occurring.
Anyway, once again, vive les bonobos. We have so much to learn…
References
Charles Darwin, The descent of man, and selection in relation to sex, 1871
Matt Ridley, Birds, sex and beauty, 2025
Darwin and me – one more time
As some of my posts might indicate, I’ve become a bit of a Darwin obsessive over the years, and I think I’m often more interested in personalities than ideas. I’ve even become quite protective of him, even though I have every reason to be pissed off by the privileges he benefitted from. Darwin was brought up amongst the ‘whig aristocracy’, his father being a wealthy doctor and a smart investor, closely associated with his wife’s Wedgwood wealth, and I really mean wealth. Basically, he inherited smarts as well as wealth. I only inherited smarts, but comparisons are odorous, I’m told.
So Darwin was born with ‘connections’, and lived in a large Shrewsbury estate with servants and plenty of land for hunting and collecting and an inheritance that included grandad Erasmus with his many intellectual and sensual pursuits. Some 150 or so years later, I lived in a rental purchase home in Elizabeth, a working class region north of Adelaide, South Australia, where I started my first job at 15 or 16 in a washing-machine factory. I’d recently left school after having been slapped very forcefully in the face by the headmaster for chewing gum while he was talking to me. I’ve had fantasies ever since of slicing his penis off, ripping his intestines out and observing his reaction. Sorry about that – but Edward II, the so-called ‘hammer of the Scots’, got away with doing that kinda thing to William Wallace… that’s the upper classes for you.
As a young man, Darwin was sent to Edinburgh to finish his education. He mostly studied medicine and the natural sciences, but he couldn’t cope with dissection, not to mention the Scots’ murder of the language, and after some family discussion he transferred to Cambridge. In both institutions, his family name and fame provided him with a number of intellectual connections, and that’s how he got the Beagle assignment. This was definitely the making of him as a naturalist, though his role was supposed to be that of a gentleman’s gentleman to Captain Fitzroy, who, as a Tory toff, didn’t much like the idea of being cooped up for some years in an almost embarrassingly tiny boat with a lot of unlettered sea urchins. The voyage lasted nearly five years and ultimately circumnavigated the globe. Darwin was 22 years old when it set out.
In my five years from the age of 22 I spent much of my time on the dole, having previously worked in two washing-machine factories, a factory that made mobile classrooms for over-crowded schools, a factory making metal pipes for various purposes, a foundry making metal baskets also for various purposes, and a stint as a nurse’s aid in an institute quaintly named The Home for Incurables.
So, after all that, at 22 I moved into a share-house with an art student of the same age, and a much older social worker (at 28!) who was openly homosexual and never wore clothes in the house. It was a very happy period for me, I began to write a regular diary and found myself on the fringes of an arty-farty crowd. My main literary influences then were, I’d say, two very different self-obsessives, Michel de Montaigne and Franz Kafka, and I began to take a little pride in my intellect.
In my 24th year I enrolled in a College of Advanced Education (CAE), an education facility created in the 70s and 80s, above high school but not quite a university, doing a thing called Communication Studies. A couple of essays I wrote caused enough interest that the head of the college invited me into his office and suggested that, with his help, I could be transferred to Flinders University, perhaps to study philosophy. On further questioning, though, he found that I was failing in at least one subject, mathematics, which I was more or less completely ignoring, and he changed his mind. I dropped out of the college at the end of my first year.
Over the next few years I moved from share-house to share-house and lived with a number of interesting characters. It was a carefree, easy-going time of reading, writing, and chit-chat. I lucked into a job as a kitchen-hand in a swank French restaurant and became quite interested in cooking, which raised my status among share-house comrades.
And then Darwin arrived back in England. He’d gained much self-confidence and something of a reputation, having sent off some intriguing fossil specimens from his labours in South America, and soon made contact with Charles Lyell, whose first volume of Principles of Geology he’d read on his travels, as well as his erstwhile associates Henslow, Sedgwick and Fox. He published his ‘Journal of researches’ in 1839, and subsequent geological and biological works earned him membership of the Geological Society and the Royal Society, and acquaintance with such worthies as William Whewell, Richard Owen and John Gould, and later with up-and-comers Joseph Hooker and Thomas Huxley, among many others. Also in 1839, at the age of 29, he married his cousin Emma Wedgwood.
At the age of 29 I started studies at Adelaide University, where I remained for nine years, shifting from subject to subject – a little philosophy, a very little biology, a major in French, and some months of teacher training, until finally, forced for financial reasons to get a factory job once more, at Rupert Murdoch-owned Griffin Press (now defunct), chucking unbound books onto a conveyor belt during the afternoon and attending university classes, very bleary-eyed, in the mornings. I earned enough to go full-time again and obtain a fairly useless but quite easy Honours degree in English, thus ending my university career, aged 38, as unemployable as before.
Into his thirties, married and with children in quick succession, Darwin became more and more interested, even obsessed, with the dangerous concept of the transmutation of species. Lamarck had been one of the first to broach the idea, with the publication of Philosophie zoologique in 1809, which was much ridiculed in British intellectual circles in the 1830s and 40s, including by Darwin himself, albeit with a difference. Lamarck may have missed the causal principles of transmutation (as did Darwin, since genes were unknown in his day), but the extent to which he ‘got it right’ is still debated. But Darwin was certainly on the trail of an evolutionary theory, as many of his notes show. The appearance, in 1844 of the controversial bestseller, Vestiges of the natural history of creation, published anonymously by Robert Chambers (another very clever Scot), which Darwin and many of his natural philosophy friends devoured, taught him above all else how fractious the topic of species and their origins could be, and he was constitutionally averse to controversy. Having moved with Emma and his growing brood to a rambling country estate in Kent, courtesy of his wealthy family, he made a decision, of sorts, to narrow his biological focus to one particular class of Crustacean, barnacles – though he didn’t give up on his other species explorations and their human connections.
So, having finished with university, and being somewhat buoyed by the odd academic compliment on my writing abilities (though I received a bare pass and a screed of sarcastic comments from a philosophy lecturer for an overdue essay I wrote, methinks under the affluence of inkahol), I had the bright idea of writing to the editor of a local news-and culture rag, The Adelaide Review, offering my services as a journalist-writer of sorts. I made the letter très jazzy and up-beat, suggesting a number of possible topics, including something about my mis-spent youth in working-class Elizabeth. To my great surprise the editor called me more or less instanter, quoted with amusement some witty line I’d written, and asked me to send a piece on Elizabeth. It was published in the next issue, and I found myself a published writer, in miniature. I was rather nonplussed at how easy it had been. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Could I make my living as a writer somehow? The Adelaide Review piece was a one-off, I quickly realised, but maybe I could expand it into a memoir-novel of hijinks and wit, or what might pass for it. I had recently moved into a share-house with an older, twice-married woman (I’d been desperate to move out of a house I shared with another older woman whose interest in me I was unable to reciprocate), and we began a romantic liaison – again my cooking skills appeared to be key. I think, though, that I’d already written most of my Elizabeth novel by the time we became a couple. I suppose I should check my journals, which I never read.
So we were now in the mid 1990s, and, perhaps through the auspices of The Adelaide Review, my expanded writings about my Elizabethan childhood were sent to and accepted by Wakefield Press, and I was given a State grant to help me along. I bought my first computer and began to navigate that Great New Thing, the internet. The novel was completed in 1996, my fortieth year, but it was put through an exhaustive editing process, which I like to think, for vanity’s sake, was standard practice. It was published in late 1997, and for a brief period my life became public. I was written up in the The Advertiser’s Weekend Magazine, together with a full-page pic of my handsome dial, and I was interviewed on local TV and radio. Over the next week or two I received two dismissive reviews, one in Adelaide University’s weekly rag, On Dit, which was a real piss-off (private school kid, no doubt), and one tiny positive one, from somewhere. And so began and ended my public career as a writer.
So that’s it about me. Darwin ended his love-hate affair with barnacles in about 1849, his fortieth year, but his explorations and speculations re speciation continued apace. He’d also managed to father a large family. I’m not sure how this was done, having no experience in the matter. He suffered the death of his favourite child, Annie, from scarlet fever, and he suffered his own aches and pains – biliousness, flatulence – for which he tried the water cures that had become super-popular in mid-nineteenth century England, especially among the upper classes. They seemed to work for him, and his embarrassments aren’t so much mentioned into the 1850s (all this from Janet Browne’s bio). He grew and crossed various plant species, raised pigeons, and kept up a rich correspondence with breeders and fanciers throughout Britain, and overseas. He became particularly interested in how seeds could be dispersed over long distances, in sea-water, or in the feathers of birds, or even via the poop of any number of species. He worried, though, that he was unable to see the forest for the trees. He was building up a great load of possibly related information, for a thesis he clearly trembled over, but was driven by….
References
Janet Browne, Charles Darwin: Voyaging, 1995
Stewart Henderson, In Elizabeth, 1997
Charles Darwin and me
Erasmus Darwin, senior, progenitor, from whom Charles got some ideas, and his big nose
It seems I should be quite an expert on Darwin by now – last year I read The Origin of Species for the third time, and I followed that up, at the end of the year, with his Voyage of the Beagle. I’ve even read the first 20 pages or so of The Descent of Man (not quite into it yet), and I’m currently reading, and have nearly finished, Janet Browne’s superlative (and I really do mean that) Charles Darwin – voyaging, the best biography I’ve ever read, of anyone. I’d venture to say that the intimacy with which she deals with just about every aspect of his public and private life is – not quite what only a woman could achieve, but something women generally do so much better than men. And this is only the first volume, leading up to his writing of The Origin. I’ll definitely be buying volume 2, Darwin – the power of place, in the near future. I should also say that Rebecca Stott’s Darwin and the barnacle, which I read some 15 years ago, was totally gripping and memorable (except that I can’t recall too much of it now – not her fault, I’d be saying the same about any book after 15 years, sadly. Still, I must read it again…).
So just to further prove my soi-disant expertise, I’ve also read Adrian Desmond and James Moore’s biography, simply called Darwin, and which is described in the back-cover blurbs, as a tour de force, definitive, enthralling, rivetting, compellingly readable and more. I probably found it so at the time, but twenty or so years later I can’t remember a thing about it. And the same goes for David Quammen’s The Kiwi’s Egg: Charles Darwin & natural selection, bought for me in 2008 by my closest friend, and read more or less immediately, I’m sure. All I remember about it is that I definitely read it, honest. I may even have written about it, and the other books mentioned here, in some of my earlier, long-forgotten blogs. And to round things off I’ve just been given, for my birthday, Matt Ridley’s most recent (2025) book, Birds, sex and beauty: the extraordinary implications of Charles Darwin’s strangest idea. I really do love this stuff, honest again. I just this morning watched a video on octopuses and – well I wish I was young and magically proficient at scuba diving so that I could connect with these brilliant creatures.
But thinking about Darwin’s life, activities and achievements (compared to my own, haha), I can’t help thinking about free will and determinism, a long term interest of mine, about which I’ve written a number of times. Darwin was born into a very rich, science-minded family, including a somewhat notorious, larger-than-life grandfather, Erasmus (father of at least 14 children, some of whom were ‘legitimate’, a term I’ve always loathed), philosopher, poet, botanist, inventor, abolitionist and Lamarckian-style evolutionist (before Lamarck). He (Charles) was sent to a couple of Britain’s best universities, Edinburgh and Cambridge, where his family name gave him entrée to a world of intellectuals, leading to an offer to join The Beagle on its round-world voyage of scientific exploration. It was his class rather than any scientific knowledge he’d acquired that recommended him to Robert Fitzroy, the ship’s commander, who felt the need of a ‘gentleman’ to keep him company. But Darwin made the most of this opportunity, which effectively was the making of him as a natural philosopher. His geological researches, and the fossilised specimens he sent home, quite quickly raised his reputation among intellectual and scientific circles in Britain, including the geologist Charles Lyell, the polymath William Whewell, and even one of his own great heroes, Alexander von Humboldt.
So Darwin, in the 1840s, richly married, well-connected, member of the Geological Society and the Royal Society, was basically a privately funded researcher into all, or many, things biological and geological, and in correspondence with professors, cattle breeders, horticulturalists, bug collectors and the like, all the while worreting over the consequences of his increasingly dangerous ideas. And so again, vis-à-vis free will, had I been born in early nineteenth century England, I’d have been more likely, as a pint-sized skinny kid, to die of chimney sweeps’ carcinoma just as I reached my teens, than to have been cosseted and educated and sent as a gentleman’s gentleman on a voyage of exploration around the world. Which doesn’t, I should add, lessen my interest in and admiration for Darwin and his life’s work. I suspect I will indeed reread all those Darwin books I’ve mostly forgotten, and read new ones. In fact, I’m wondering if I’ve actually read Daniel Dennett’s book Darwin’s dangerous idea. I seem to recall, but I’m not sure….
References
Janet Browne, Charles Darwin: voyaging, 1995
Various other Darwin biographies read by me, or not….
Animals r us, but also…
kinds of trunks
The video world that we now seem suddenly steeped in – I write from the perspective of someone who was almost 40 when the internet suddenly swept over us – has its pluses and minuses of course, and one definite plus for me is cute and often fascinating vids of non-human creatures doing smart stuff. I try not to get addicted, but it’s tough. I’m especially interested in ‘exotic’ creatures, which for me is anything I can’t encounter in my local park-lands or zoo. These videos bring such exotica into the living rooms of people like me, who worry about the time, effort and money involved in getting into the next suburb never mind darkest America or the hinterlands of Tunbridge Wells.
So I’m reading – slowly and savouringly, if that’s a word – Carl Safina’s Beyond Words, the first few pages of which – about elephants – literally brought tears to my eyes. Such exquisitely elegant and sensitive things – and that’s just the trunk.
Getting further into this inspiring book, it’s not just about elephants and other creatures whose superlative sensitivities, when brought more forcibly to our attention, are both exciting and mildly intimidating, it’s about the endless ways that complex lives can be lived. It even makes me think of the sudden surge in ‘AI’ over just the past few years, and where it will be in a few generations, as it adapts to ever more complex and challenging conditions. It ain’t going away.
But to return to conscious beings – assuming that AI hasn’t achieved consciousness quite yet – it wasn’t long ago that we preferred to believe we humans were the only ones. Safina looks at the issue early on in his book. It’s taken a long time for us to accept that we’re animals (millions, if not billions, refuse this label), and even those who have mostly believe that we’re massively exceptional, and consciousness, inter alia, is a thing that sets us apart. But what, exactly is consciousness? The neurologist Christof Koch calls it ‘the thing that feels like something’ [Safina, p21]. This subtle definition is certainly worth pondering. It doesn’t require language, it seems to me – language being another item we use to claim exceptionalism – even though we humans can name that thing – fear, anger, boredom, love, fatigue, hunger, pain etc – of which we are conscious. A hungry dog feels hungry. She’s conscious of her hunger, and that consciousness will make her start pestering her owner who’s late in feeding her.
These feelings are all in the mind. It follows that anything with a mind has consciousness. And yet we lose consciousness, when deeply asleep or under anaesthetic. Do we then lose our minds? A strange kind of thought experiment came to me recently when I noticed, without much originality, that upon waking up, it was somewhere between 6 and 7 in the morning, whereas the last time I was aware of myself it was around midnight. During that time I was ‘dead to the world’ as they say. My mind had ceased to exist. If someone had crept into my room during those hours, and gently slit my throat, would there be any real difference to my state?
Of course we know that deep sleep, or unconsciousness, isn’t the same as death, and some of us know a thing or two about REM and the three phases of non-REM sleep, but we don’t know it from experience. What we experience is the same – mostly nothingness. Non-experience. We know, because we have learned, that in those death-like states we still breathe, and blood is still pumped through our bodies. Our mind, though, has gone. We’ve ‘lost’ consciousness. It’s really quite bizarre.
Even so, it’s as common as life. Every animal sleeps, after all. Every animal loses consciousness, so every animal has a consciousness to lose. Fish sleep too, without closing their eyes, as they don’t have eye-shutters like we do. So do birds, insects, crustaceans, worms. They all lose, or greatly reduce, consciousness, so they all have consciousness to lose and recover. They all have experiences to be conscious of and learn from.
So what about plants? I mean, how low can you go? Most scientists today would agree that plant consciousness isn’t a thing, but the boundaries are certainly shifting. Early on in Daniel Dennett’s Kinds of minds he considers the development of consciousness in humans. A human’s life starts when she (or it?) becomes a fertilised egg – that’s to say, one single cell, known as a zygote. Just to confuse us, it’s also known as a diploid cell, as it contains the genetic material from two parents. Let’s accept that zygotes don’t have minds. What about blastulae? They’s mostly undifferentiated globs of cells which – well without getting into details, there’s no mind at this stage, so let’s go on to the foetal stage which starts at around eight weeks, and lasts until birth. That’s a lot of development, and presumably consciousness is one of the things that starts developing at this time, if not before…
Of course it all has to do with neural or brain development in animals. Yet many mysteries remain. Safina tells this story:
A thirty-year-old man named Roger lost about 95% of his cortex due to a brain infection. Roger can’t remember the decade before the infection, can’t taste or smell, and has great difficulty forming new memories. Yet he knows who he is, recognises himself in a mirror and in photographs, and generally acts normal around people. He can use humour and can feel embarrassed. All with a brain that does not resemble a human brain.
So it seems it doesn’t take as much as we think to make us conscious. And of course other consciousnesses, or minds, or even ways of living, can be just as impressively adaptive. Charles Darwin, in the feverish years after his Beagle adventure, was proudly intrigued by the subject, as his notebooks show:
It is absurd to talk of one animal being higher than another… People often talk of the wonderful event of intellectual Man appearing – the appearance of insects with other senses is more wonderful… Who with the face of the earth covered with the most beautiful savannahs & forests dare to say that intellectuality is only aim in this world…
Needless to say, Darwin was far more circumspect on these matters in his published work. Yet on the subject of plants he surely would’ve been chuffed to learn that, though they have no nervous system, they produce the same chemicals – including serotonin, dopamine and glutamate – essential for neurotransmission in animals like us (Safina, p23).
None of this should surprise us, I suppose, as we’ve come to learn that all life is connected. We have a relationship with every other living being on this planet, which we could trace, if we had all the time in the world…
References
Carl Safina, Beyond words: what animals think and feel, 2016
Daniel Dennett, Kinds of minds: towards an understanding of consciousness, 1996
Janet Browne, Charles Darwin, voyaging, 1995
more on ‘evolutionary psychology’, humans and bonobos
bonobo kids have plenty of baby-sitters
So Ryan Ellsworth’s attempt to dismiss the possibility that bonobos can serve as any kind of model for sexual and political behaviour in humans has obviously got my dander up, as this is my third post on the matter, and it has renewed my interest in searching for the origins of patriarchy, and in how we can reduce patriarchal attitudes, at least in the WEIRD world – and especially among the soi-disant intelligentsia.
One important resource I’ll be relying on in this exploration is Angela Saini’s The patriarchs: how men came to rule, but I’ll start again with Ellsworth’s critique of Block, and in effect others who advocate ‘free love’ and other such fantasies through ‘misinterpreting’ bonobo culture, as well as advocating that we [i.e. women] ‘release our inner bonobo’. Of course there seems to be some naïveté in Block’s praise of bonobos, which I find quite forgivable, unlike Ellsworth:
It is egregiously naïve to conclude that, “bonobos reveal that an incredible range of sexual diversity is normal for animals like us” (p. 99, emphasis in original).
The fact is that humans do engage in an incredible range of sexual diversity – though not all at the same time. On the other hand, humans, especially under patriarchal religion over the last few millennia, have sought to stifle sexual diversity with a vengeance, especially among women. And considering that writing to any copious degree has only existed for a few millennia, our sexual practices, dating back to our primate ancestors, are something of a black box – though orgiastic practices get a mention here and there.
Of course one of the obvious barriers to ‘sexual licence’ in humans is clothing – making ourselves ‘decent’, which we learn in childhood, becoming early aware that there are parts of our bodies that it would shock others to see. But would we be shocked if we weren’t told, virtually from birth, that we should be shocked? If we were taught that clothes were solely for decoration and warmth, and were entirely optional? And when did this clothing business start? We can give some sort of vague starting date – say 100,000 years ago – but we also know that Australian Aborigines were shamelessly wearing nothing, or nothing much, when we started wiping them out with guns and germs a little over 200 years ago. So, it was culture wot done it. There seem to have been a mixture of factors – to wrap someone in clothing makes them unavailable to the general public, in sexual terms, and it also becomes a form of decoration, conveying status, or clubbish belonging – business suits, cycling togs, pyjamas (well, maybe not) and haute couture, whatever that may be.
So in modern Australia Aboriginal people will be arrested for indecent exposure if they were wear nothing but strings around the waist for carrying dilly bags and such. This reminds me of an Aboriginal man, of impressive physique, who used to walk up and down a busy street near my home wearing nothing but the skimpiest of budgie smugglers – a fascinating clash of manliness and cultural cringe, or something like that.
So, clothing – the fact and the concept – has played a major inhibiting role. There’s also monogamy, which, for most of its history has been about male ownership of females – though, in some societies the very upper classes got away with polygyny, as described in Joseph Henrich’s The WEIRDest people in the world, and also in Korean historical dramas (though they present a rather tame version for modern susceptibilities).
Ellsworth claims that “Sex differences in promiscuous impulses are minimized in Block’s account”, which is an odd remark, because in order to know whether such sex differences are minimised, or maximised, we need to know what they are. And surely this is more an individual thing than a sex/gender thing. But clearly, Ellsworth is claiming that he knows. It’s funny that, just yesterday, I received a ‘shorts’ video on my feed – presumably ‘shorts’ being a rival to ‘tik-tok’, in which a young woman was admitted to hospital after having sex with 500+ men in one day. According to the video it was all her idea, but she reflected that it was probably ‘a bit much’, as she’d never had sex with more than 29 men in one day before – or was it 59, I’m not sure, and these ‘shorts’ videos disappear as suddenly as they arrive – one day of fame at most. And of course, whether this was promiscuity or an obsession with breaking records is unclear. Anyway, here’s more from Ellsworth, and I’ll make it the last:
Block refers to babies to care for, and reputations to protect, but does not seems to understand the significance of these two things for understanding human sex differences in sexual desire. Perhaps she privately does, but to acknowledge the significance of these forces on the evolution of human sexuality would severely compromise her arguments, as it demands recognition of the fact that women are not expected to have desires for sexual variety and quantity identical to men.
I may have commented on these remarks before, but they’re worth revisiting. Caring for her baby is a mother’s role, but assistance in this task is varied depending on culture. Bonobo females help with birth, supporting both mothers and infants in the post-partum period. Bonobo males also play with and support young infants. The degree to which humans do this is dependent on culture, not to mention class, with wet-nurses and such. As described in previous posts, the pressure in patriarchal societies on women’s sexual behaviour, regardless of their proclivities, has been enormous and often life-threatening. This is all about culture, not evolution in the Darwinian sense.
The sexism in Ellsworth’s paper is obvious to me, and I assume, or hope, that others have pointed this out before me, as it was published back in 2015. Then again, evolutionary psychology doesn’t have a great reputation, so maybe it’s best ignored. Meanwhile, Angela Saini’s work is much more recent and much more interesting, so that will be my focus in the immediate future.
References
Angela Saini, The Patriarchs: how men came to rule, 2023
https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/147470491501300115
Joseph Henrich, The WEIRDest people in the world: how the west became psychologically peculiar and particularly prosperous, 2020
Darwin’s On the origin of species, some reflections
I’m just finishing off my third reading of On the origin of species, and hopefully I’m a little wiser. It’s likely I read it the first time, in Penguin Modern Classics, just to be able to say I’d read it – but unfortunately, nobody asked. Many years, perhaps decades later, I read it again, the same copy. I remember nothing about it, or the whys and wherefores. This time I’ve read it as part of the four-volume set, edited by James Watson, including The Voyage of the Beagle, which I very much enjoyed, and The Descent of Man and The expression of the emotions in man and animals, which I look forward to with some trepidation, due to the wealth of detail he presents, and the archaic language, which I struggle with.
The thesis that Darwin presents, so threatening and generally offensive to the much more religious world of his time, is natural selection, or descent with modification. In presenting the thesis he had to provide a multitude of examples, from his own observations and experiments, to those of colleagues in the ‘naturalist’ world, many of whom – no doubt the majority – were hostile to that thesis. For those of us who aren’t naturalists or biological scientists, or inhabitants of the 19th century with its often out-dated nomenclature, this makes for difficult, though often enlightening, reading. And I’m left impressed with the detail of his analysis, the work he did not only on cirripedes (barnacles) and pigeons, but various plants, beetles, ants and bees, amongst other beasties. Reading his Beagle book, with all its descriptions of the wildlife and geology (and the ‘savages’) of South America in particular, was good preparation for this third reading – just as The Origin will surely prepare me for The Descent of Man, though I’m still feeling a bit daunted, pre-embarkation. First I’ll finish reading Janet Browne’s biography, which is a joy.
I’ve been trying to process this wealth of detail, while being well aware that it’s only a fraction of what has since been discovered. Bats, as he notes, are able to inhabit, to carve out a niche for themselves, in islands far from other lands, due to their powerful flight systems, while other mammals are scarce in such isolated places, or are more unique in their anatomy. Island birds’ wings become vestigial due to a lack of predators and an abundance of ground vegetation, but why did they develop wings in the first place? Darwin hints at what we now know – that the Earth’s activity may have connected or separated today’s islands or continents, over a period of history far greater than was previously thought. His friend Charles Lyell’s geological observations were far from accepted at the time, though Darwin himself (doubtless influenced by the first volume of Lyell’s 3-volume Principles of Geology, which accompanied him on the Beagle voyage) found shell fossils in the mountain regions of western South America. Generally speaking, many of his researches raised more questions than answers, but those questions couldn’t be resolved by the accepted creationist model. Blended inheritance, from what I’ve read, tended to be his explanation for minute differences developing over eons, but this conjecture, I think, isn’t mentioned in The Origin.
Darwin’s thoroughness, the multitude of examples he presents, are the best sign of his realisation that what he was presenting was revolutionary – ‘Darwin’s dangerous idea’, as Daniel Dennett termed it. Its impact, as we know, was massive, and somewhat negative at first, but it surely helped in the acceptance of the genetic thesis in the 20th century, and led to the greater scientific grounding of biology and biochemistry. Darwin’s doggedness, his unrelenting recognition of the importance of his theme, while recognising that so much more remained to be discovered, so many questions remained unanswered, gives the work a modern feel, though that’s often undermined by what we now consider archaisms, and the sense, accurate enough, that he was a wealthy amateur aiming his work at other wealthy amateurs (more or less exclusively male), who nevertheless held the future of science in their hands. The situation is better these days – somewhat.
Reference
James Watson, ed, Darwin: the indelible stamp: four essential volumes in one, 2005
the evolution of complexity
Gould’s view of the movement to complexity
I’m not sure if this is a controversial topic – perhaps it depends on whether you think complexity is in some sense superior to simplicity regarding organic life, and I suspect that we humans are a bit biased on the issue.
Bacteria and archaea are still thriving in our biosphere, in vast numbers. These two classes or domains of prokaryote differ in various ways. The eukaryotes, the third domain into which organisms have been divided, are believed to have evolved from an ancestor of modern archaea.
A question. With such forms of life thriving from billions of years ago, why become more complex? In what way would it have been more advantageous? But in thinking of advantage, aren’t we thinking outside of the prokaryotic box? Shouldn’t scientists (I’ve seen this written) confine themselves to ‘how’ questions rather than ‘why’ questions? But since I’m neither a scientist nor a philosopher, I don’t know what to think.
In any case, ‘how’ questions seem quite a bit easier to answer. One way to think about it, I suppose, is to think of ‘accidents’, or simply differences, that confer an advantage. What might be called imprecise (or just varied) replications mostly wouldn’t survive, but some would turn out to be beneficial to survival, and so, over eons – complexity.
Problem solved.
Stephen Jay Gould provides an explanation for complexity in his book Life’s Grandeur, which I find overly verbose, but I think I can simplify it, in my simple way. These early prokaryotes would’ve replicated themselves almost perfectly, but not quite. Sometimes, very rarely, they would’ve missed something, or messed something up, during replication, called binary fission in prokaryotes. This would mostly have made the next generation non-viable, because generally prokaryotes are so tiny and simple that if they were any simpler they’d come up against a ‘wall’ of non-viability. The only way a different but viable next gen could be created would be if something was added rather than subtracted.
But how could this happen? Well, the ‘addition’ might be something genetic, but let’s not go there for now – Darwin didn’t need genetics to develop his theory of natural selection, nor did he need a concept of progress, though, unsurprisingly, he fell into that trap now and again. I’ve not looked deeply into binary fission but maybe the fission might occasionally lead to something not quite the same as its predecessor, in the way that archaea are not quite the same as bacteria, or that the first eukaryotes weren’t quite the same as those ancestral archaea. That’s the funny thing about the term ‘evolved from’ – it’s so easy to say, but a lot harder to pin down precisely. Anyway, maybe some kind of genetic ‘doubling up’ made some difference, a hardiness, a more diverse diet – if prokaryotes can be said to have diets. In any case, it was all about ‘more’ – a very all-encapsulating four-letter word. For example, think of stromatolites, those colonies of cyanobacteria. Was it colonisation from the start, or did some genetic change create this kind of super-organic effect?
All of this is as hard to pin down precisely as life from non-life, but we know it happened. And we also know that once life got itself well started, it thrived pretty much everywhere, not just over our planet, but quite deeply under the surface, in the most unlikely places. And considering the vast numbers, all of them replicating, the possibility of something more complicated surviving and battening on to others in an advantageous way becomes plausible, surely.
So, prokaryotes to eukaryotes. Were there intermediate stages? Let’s look at the differences. Eukaryotes are all the life we see. Prokaryotes are invisible to us without microscopes, etc. We’ve divided them into archaea and bacteria, based on a number of differences, notably the structure of their cell walls, but these structures also differ between species of bacteria. Gould has explored the issue of ‘progress’ and complexity from a bacterial perspective in the lengthy penultimate chapter of Life’s grandeur, entitled ‘The Power of the Modal Bacter, or Why the Tail can’t Wag the Dog’. I looked up Modal Bacter online and came up empty, which is why Gould irritates me so, as a writer for ‘the general public’. I’m guessing it means the bacterial mode of life. I’m going to use Gould’s chapter for the rest of this post, which looks like being a long one. So, at the beginning of the chapter, he writes this:
… simple forms still predominate in most environments, as they always have. Faced with this undeniable fact, supporters of progress (that is, nearly all of us throughout the history of evolutionary thought) have shifted criteria and ended up grasping at straws. (The altered criterion may not have struck the graspers as such a thin reed, for one must first internalise the argument of this book – trends as changes in variation rather than things moving somewhere – to recognise the weakness).
I’m not quite sure what this means, but ‘progress’ sticks out. We can make progress in learning a language/trade/sport, but has life made progress? I would tend to agree that this term isn’t useful from an evolutionary perspective. The criterial shift is surely toward complexity, and this is surely happening in the human line of development. Unfortunately we can’t measure neural complexity in our most recent ancestors – the closest living connections we have are chimps/bonobos, and here’s something from the Cambridge University Press website:
while chimpanzee brains are markedly smaller than those of humans, their brain anatomy is so similar that a discourse comparing the two might be little different from this declaration: The chimpanzee brain is a human brain with one-third of the neurons (Herculano-Houzel & Kaas, 2011).
This odd observation – very similar anatomy with one third of neurons – is a head-scratcher. I would have thought that neural organisation, perhaps especially in the prefrontal cortex, would be key here. After all, isn’t this the point of such comparisons? We’re looking at neurology to help us understand the differences we see in the culture and behaviour of Pan troglodytes and Homo sapiens, are we not? And it’s surely fair enough to say our human behaviour is more complex, what with our language, our science, our culture, our cities and whatnot? To point this out is not to be hubristic. In pointing this out we need to be aware, and many of us are, of the downsides – our altering of the atmosphere, our responsibility for species loss, and so on. I should also point out, since I’ve mentioned hubris, that free will is a myth, as I’ve argued in more than one previous post. I didn’t choose to be human, it just happened to me. Not my achievement. Nothing to be proud or ashamed of. Just something to make sense of, as best I can.
So, bearing this in mind, human complexity is worth studying, and it’s not about patting ourselves on the back. This particular complexity of humans – and it may be that, in the vastness of the universe, different living complexities have evolved – is clearly a product of evolution. We wouldn’t be here without the ‘Modal Bacter’, as Gould calls it, or without the chain of connection that goes back to the earliest life forms.
So, it seems to me, that Gould, in trying to question, or demolish, the pedestal he believes we have placed ourselves on, and to give himself credit for so doing, is missing the point by raising up the ‘Modal Bacter’, as if it should somehow be given obeisance for being the great survivor and the great progenitor, while we are the mere accidental offshoots. Take this quote (along with my insertion):
Wind back the tape of life to the origin of modern multicellular animals in the Cambrian explosion [or indeed to the ‘Modal Bacter’ millions of years before], let the tape play again from this identical starting point, and the replay will populate the earth (and generate a right tail of life) with a radically different set of creatures. The chance that this alternative set will contain anything remotely like a human being must be effectively nil, while the probability of any kind of creature endowed with self-consciousness must also be vanishingly small.
S J Gould, Life’s grandeur, p 214
There’s an obvious flaw in the logic here. If you take the tape back to the Cambrian explosion or any other point in time and replay it, you’ll get the same result, because it’s the same tape! What he presumably means, is that if some condition was changed back in the Cambrian, or earlier, then a very different result would ensue for later generations. Or, that we humans are just ‘accidents’ resulting from particular initial, or previous, conditions. And so with all life, including his much-vaunted bacteria. Not to mention all planets, stars, etc. This should hardly be seen as a revelation. Which makes me wonder just what Gould is on about.
So let’s explore further. Here’s another of his ‘critiques’:
Under the traditional model of evolutionary history as a ‘cone of increasing diversity’, life moves ever upward to greater progress, and outward to a larger number of species – from simple Cambrian beginnings for multicellular animals to our modern levels of progress and range of diversity. Under this iconography, pathways actually followed run along predictable courses that would be at least roughly repeated in any replay.
Again I find this sort of writing overly tendentious. Either life has become more diverse in expression or it has not, and this has nothing to do with progress. And researchers are exploring this question, hopefully without recourse to ‘iconography’. It may be, as Gould argues, that vertebrates were in a ‘tenuous position’ before the Cambrian explosion and that, with some tweaking of prehistory, they wouldn’t have survived and we wouldn’t be here. So presumably this means we should be more humble and less overlordly. But is this something to be humble about, or proud of? Maybe it’s worth being aware of, just as I wouldn’t exist if my parents hadn’t met. But the fact is, they did, and vertebrates didn’t go extinct. So, if we stick with the facts, life would be a little more tractable. And no need to worry about progress or perhaps even complexity. We find complexity everywhere, from bacteria to the biosphere, and on to black holes and big bangs. It’s such a fun world to explore! And that’s the thing that easily makes me remain ‘umble. The world’s complexity isn’t my doing, obviously, and I hardly comprehend even the tiniest part of it….
References
Archaea vs. Bacteria
Stephen Jay Gould, Life’s grandeur, 1996