Eric The Blue

Authors: Charles Darwin

A couple of weeks ago I got for a song in a used bookstore the Oxford World's Classics edition of Evolutionary Writings, including the autobiographies, of Charles Darwin, which I've been dipping into occasionally and enjoying more than 3 out of the last 4 basketball games I've watched. Even the Chronology printed before the text proper begins is interesting. I did not know, for example, that between On the Origin of Species (1859) and The Descent of Man (1871), Darwin published On the Various Contrivances by which British and Foreign Orchids are Fertilised by Insects (1862), On the Movements and Habits of Climbing Plants (1865), and The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication (1868).  Other of his works include The Structure and Distribution of Coral Reefs (1842), Insectivorous Plants (1875), and The Formation of Vegetable Mould, through the Action of Worms (1881). 

Judging just by the titles, these are not the work product of the Darwin we might think we know from current controversies—that is, a determined general in one of the Culture War's opening skirmishes. To the degree that the works are of a piece, the fabric is scientific, not cultural (and still less polemical). The experience of reading Darwin could hardly be at a greater remove from what one probably expects. Here is the Enemy of Religion and All that is Holy coming toward the conclusion of The Descent of Man:

A brief summary will here be sufficient to recall to the reader's mind the more salient points in this work. Many of the views which have been advanced are highly speculative, and some no doubt will prove erroneous; but I have in every case given the reasons which have led me to one view rather than to another. It seemed worth while to try how far the principle of evolution would throw light on some of the more complex problems in the natural history of man. False facts are highly injurious to the progress of science, for they often long endure; but false views, if supported by some evidence, do little harm, as everyone takes a salutary pleasure in proving their falseness; and when this is done, one path towards error is closed and the road to truth is often at the same time opened.

The main conclusion arrived at in this work, and now held by many naturalists who are well competent to form a sound judgment, is that man is descended from some less highly organized form. . . .

This tone of colorless detachment is maintained so scrupulously as to sometimes elicit a smile, though I'm pretty sure the effect is unintentional:

Sexual selection has been treated at great length in these volumes; for, as I have attempted to show, it has played an important part in the history of the organic world. . . .

It cannot be supposed that male birds of paradise or peacocks, for instance, should take so much pains in erecting, spreading, and vibrating their beautiful plumes before the females for no purpose. We should remember the fact given on excellent authority in a former chapter, namely that several peahens, when debarred from an admired male, remained widows during a whole season rather than pair with another bird.

I like a lot about this passage but probably nothing more than the diction, which, whether it be attributed to the author's inclination or to his considered judgment, deploys "debarred from an admired male" to distinguish winners from losers in the sexual sweepstakes. Also, "pair."

Darwin's reputation for atheism is not wholly undeserved, though he isn’t  the crusader one sometimes encounters in Culture War screeds. The only account of his religious views is in his autobiographical writings, and he suppressed their publication during his lifetime. Some crusader! Then, after he died, the sections discussing his religious views were suppressed by his kids, in order not to distress their mother. Finally, in a subsequent edition, the publication of which was overseen by a granddaughter, the sections discussing religion were restored.

I'm not sure that "atheist" is as apt a descriptor as, say, "skeptic." Though famous, or infamous, for having contradicted a literal understanding of the creation stories in the Book of Genesis, views concerning the Bible seem to have made only a small contribution to his store of religious skepticism. The biggest part was due to innocent suffering, and it's interesting, given his field of expertise, that with respect to humans he allows that suffering can enlarge sympathies and have an overall improving effect upon character (though he acknowledges too that sometimes it just grinds you into the grave). What he cannot abide, because there's no "vale of soul-making" defense, is the suffering of other "sentient beings"—in other words, animals. His exposition is calm, and the only agitation one detects arises when he expresses disgust with the idea of hell and damnation. His scientific works created a new literary genre, the "crisis of faith" narrative in which the once placidly devout were converted into great gnashers of teeth who wondered whether God and Nature must then be at strife, etc., etc., but Darwin, who as an undergraduate had considered ordained ministry as a career, says he lost his faith so gradually, by degrees, that he hardly noticed when it had almost wholly dissipated. 

Darwin lovers enjoy collecting unusual facts and tidbits about him. For example, he shares a birthday, February 12, 1809, with Abraham Lincoln. His family tree includes several eminent scientists, but a grandson, Bernard, bucked the family tradition and studied law. He hated the practice of law, however, and gravitated toward journalism, eventually establishing himself as the most distinguished golf writer in the British Isles.  From the Wikipedia article on him:

He played the game at an excellent level himself well into middle age, and competed in The Amateur Championship on 26 occasions across five decades between 1898 and 1935, with his best results being semi-final appearances in 1909 and 1921. In 1922, while in the United States to report on the first Walker Cup amateur team match between Britain and Ireland and the US, and also appointed as non-playing captain, Darwin was pressed into service at the last minute as a player, when one of the British team members, Robert Harris, was unable to play. He lost his team match, but won his singles match.

I'm not the world's most masculine man . . .

Sometimes I get a social media notification and—true story—it soon develops that it's of no interest to me: high school classmate, not the valedictorian, has updated his story with yet another juvenile MAGA meme, something like that. Big thinkers say we're "entertaining ourselves to death" but I don't feel entertained.

Usually I don't. My roommates are gone and, with them, the Taylor Swift soundtrack to the days and nights around here. Following my own inclinations, I found and enjoyed the following two performances, covers of songs 40-plus years old, on the theme of gender confusion. I guess it wasn't invented yesterday just to annoy amateur biologists who've read the first couple chapters of the Book of Genesis. COVID got them in the habit of conducting their own research, and I sometimes think it's regrettable that Ivermectin isn't even worse for you. Like when checking my notifications.

Anyway, here they are: I'm always amazed by how good people can be without "making it big." The first group plays small festivals that look a lot like a house party. They're stars compared to the woman who covers the Replacements on her ukelele (in 10 years, 1900 views, 20 of them by me today).

 

 

Vote blue for stocks

 

The above clip is from the last debate of the 2020 presidential campaign, on October 22, 2020. I could do without hearing ever again about how Biden is a ham-and-egger from Scranton, but when was the last time Trump was right about anything? I don't know what Ted Cruz's wife looks like—if she resembles a horse, I guess that would be a candidate. Here Trump predicts that the stock market will crash if Biden is elected. On the day he made the prediction, the Dow closed at 28,211. A couple weeks later, Biden was elected, and yesterday the Dow closed north of 40,000 for the first time. 

Because Republicans are widely regarded as the pro-business party, people tend to assume that the stock market performs better during Republican administrations. It's not true, as this fun interactive graphic from macrotrends shows. Over the 40 months of Biden's presidency, the Dow is up 33 percent. At the same point in their presidencies, it was up 28 percent under Trump, up 55 percent under Obama, up 71 percent under Clinton, and down 6 percent under Geo W Bush. That's going back several presidencies. Of course the picture doesn't change if you go back to the days of Hoover and FDR. Nor is it altered by exchanging the 40-month mark for end-of-term results. Here is the figure for the endpoint of the four most recently concluded two-term presidencies: Clinton, +229%; Obama, +148%; Reagan, +147%; GW Bush, -27%. 

I don't know why this is true. Probably has something to do with The Deep State. 

News consumption

The evidence presented at Trump's criminal trial has not so far raised my estimate of the defendant's moral character.

In other news, I read today that last month was the hottest April in the temperature register, and that it was the eleventh month in a row to set the record: March was the hottest March ever, February was the hottest February ever, and so on, going back to June of 2023, which was the hottest June ever. Meanwhile, the ten hottest years on record are . . . the last ten. 2005 was the first year in the 21st century to be the hottest on record, but it has now fallen to twelfth place.

Said criminal defendant's response to these data points is to yammer on about a climate "hoax" and to invite oil-and-gas execs to Mar-a-Lago, where, according to attendees, he promised to rescind the Biden admin's regulatory rules in exchange for super-sized campaign donations. I don't know why they'd sign up for that deal: he'd already promised to rescind the rules if elected, and any money you give him just makes bigger numbers on the Form 1040s of his lawyers, assuming they're more honest than he is. 

Local teams hot

I have from the beginning liked the pitch clock in baseball, as well as the other rule changes that have sped the pace of play, but never felt the urge to broadcast my support on the Internet till now, the day after a home Twins game with a 6:40 start time ended before the Timberwolves tipped off in Denver at 9 local time. The outcomes of the games probably contributed to my rosy feelings. My favorite line in the box score for the T-wolves win in Game 1 of their series against the Nuggets belonged to Jaden McDaniels. He played 39 minutes, missed all 7 shots he attempted, did not score a single point, had 8 rebounds, an assist and a turnover. Since he wasn't making marks in any statistical column, the question might be why he played 39 minutes, which was more than any other Timberwolf except superstar Anthony Edwards (who played 42 minutes and scored 43 points—there's no mystery about why the coach wanted him out there). 

Well, in a game the Timberwolves won by 7 points, they were +14 when McDaniels was on the court, compiling his lousy line in the box score. For context, they were +10 when Edwards was playing. When the T-wolves have the ball, McDaniels sometimes sets picks. Besides that, he misses the occasional open shot and otherwise stays out of the way. Maybe someone else's missed shot bounds his way. But when the other team has the ball, as they do approximately half the time, he's terrific. In the prior series, against Phoenix, I heard that players guarded by him, almost always one of the Suns' top scorers, made under 30 percent of their shots. With his height (6-9), wing span (about equal to that of a jet airliner), and quick feet, he's like a one-man double team, and Nickeil Alexander-Walker, who comes off the bench, isn't far behind. Not to mention that Rudy Gobert, who didn’t play in Game 2 (new baby), was recently named the NBA's Defensive Player of the Year.

By the looks on the faces of the opposing players, it must feel like the Wolves have eight guys on the court. There is also the problem that no one person can guard Edwards (who, by the way, is also a good defender). Now that the Twins have lost a game in May, the Wolves own the longest winning streak in town, and it's all in the NBA playoffs: 6-0, including four road games. If I hadn't declared my love, I doubt anyone could beat them. 

Ole on Jeopardy

Several days ago I was busy prosecuting the weekday routine: home from school in the early afternoon, I'd made a lunch, eaten it, cleaned up, walked the dog, greeted the girls when they got home from school, driven one of them to a park for practice and told the other one, no, Bea's house is, like, four blocks from here, walk, and the two of you can then continue on to Starbucks, if that is your plan. When I was alone again, I made a cup of coffee and settled in to watch Jeopardy, because I already know that Trump is a criminal. The show had begun, Ken was just beginning to interview the contestants, and when he got to the defending champion, an ER doc in Milwaukee, he said something like, "Amy Hummel, you are a graduate of St. Olaf College, in Northfield, Minnesota. Tell me something about the school." Had my full attention now since I spent four years there, though not the same four as the 35ish practitioner of emergency medicine. 

"Well, Ken," she said, "St. Olaf has maybe the only fight song in three-four time, so that if you wanted, you could waltz to it."

Ken: "Would you sing it for us?"

Dr. Hummel: "Sorry, I only know the obscene version."

The official version would have elicited some laughs from the studio audience:

We come from St. Olaf
We sure are the real stuff
Our team is the cream of the college's great.
We fight fast and furious, our team is injurious
Tonight Carleton College will sure meet its fate!

Um ya ya! Um ya ya! Um ya ya! Um ya ya!
Um ya ya! Um ya ya! Um ya ya ya!

That this doesn't always make a lot of sense shakes my confidence in the general accuracy only very slightly. Carleton College was our cross-town rival. When I was a student, St. Olaf had some good football teams, and the Carls were weak, weak. Late in the first quarter the score would be 21-0, or worse, and their students would begin chanting

We have higher board scores! We have higher board scores!

before, possibly inspired by a rising blood alcohol content, switching to:

We will never hire you! We will never hire you!

Unless there have been new developments, the Carls are also responsible for the obscene version referred to by St. Olaf's Jeopardy champ. St. Olaf was founded by Norwegian immigrants and is affiliated with the Lutheran church. I have reason to believe that Carleton kids, especially the males, labored under the impression that our campus was infested with blonde goddesses who, however, would not, you know, put out. I had a roommate who assured me they exaggerated the scruples of St. Olaf women, but my goal here is just to shed light on the back story to the Carls' version of our fight song, which commenced

The Lord is our leader
We won't touch our peter

and then proceeded methodically to a bluntly profane twist on the um-ya-ya refrain. If you were favorably disposed toward them, you might say that the Carls were full of the kind of prankishness recommended by an ancient Greek philosopher. Of course by the late 1970s they had jettisoned such accoutrements as cheerleaders and a dance line. I remember a basketball game on a Saturday night, gym packed, Carls on one side, Oles on the other, and at half time the St. Olaf dance line was to perform. They pranced onto the court, arms entwined, little leotards, fishnet stockings, lots of cosmetics, and assumed their position at center court. They formed two lines and stood back-to-back, half facing the Oles, half facing the Carls, who hurled at them catcalls and worse. Unbelievably, there were "technical difficulties," and the music did not start for maybe a half minute or so, with the result that half the dancers could do nothing but grin stupidly toward their tormentors. The delay was sufficient for the random shouted insults to give way to a loud and steady chant of

Take it off! Take it off! 

which then persisted through the high-stepping performance, almost drowning out the tinny scratchy music that eventually began playing over the PA. This may have been the last engagement of the St. Olaf dance line. 

While enjoying my reverie of past life I kept one eye on the TV, where Amy Hummel was ripping through categories you'd expect a doc to know about (Science Stuff) and others, like Poets and Poetry, for which her ready answers might have impressed even a Carleton grad. Maybe she will hire one to advise about how she might ease the tax burden on her considerable Jeopardy earnings. I understand she eventually qualified for the Tournament of Champions while I was driving kids hither and yon.