Bear-Faced Assault--Part 1

For 28 years we have lived in the northern Shenandoah Valley and (knocking on wood) have never been attacked by anything more fearsome than a fat old raccoon—and he was more confused than threatening. (I think he got lost on his way to his girlfriend’s den, one spring morning.) Upon moving out here from the city, urban friends imagined all sorts of invasions that thankfully never came. What sort of invasions? Dastardly things, such as motorcycle gangs, pumas, wolves, vampires, and a stray sasquatch or two. Life has been pretty tame here though, with garden-raiding deer the major menace so far.

So far, that is, until a few nights ago. Shortly after rousting from bed one morning, I peered out the window to see what birdies might be at the feeder, to be greeted with the sight of it in strewn in pieces on the ground. Normally, it hovers about five feet above the grass, swinging safely above leaping squirrels and raccoons—saving its offerings for songbirds. The damage was far more than just a suspension cable somehow snapping and dropping the feeder to the ground. It looked as if it had been savagely disassembled with a sledge hammer.

I let the dog out, to investigate the scene of the crime, while I threw on some clothes. I watched him gingerly sniff over the debris, spookily jumping every few moments, as if the smell of something frightening lingered in the air. Convinced the coast was most likely clear, I followed the dog out. Something big had visited in the night… big enough to reach up, tear the feeder apart, and pull its remains from its perch. Not a seed was left.

Deciding to patrol the area for other possible evidence of vandalism, I next saw the trash can on its side, with its once neatly-ensconced bags torn asunder and scattered over the yard. Looking closer, I noticed two significant holes punctured in the can’s heavy plastic sides, as if some large mouth with piercing teeth had wrestled with it and won. The can’s twist-lock, “secure” top had been untwisted, unsecured, and cast aside.

Looking off along the trail of trash into the woods, I saw the beehive toppled from its perch and busted into several pieces. The dog continued to sniff the scene, jumping back every few moments. His nose and my eyes were painting an intimidating picture.

More on the attack next time…

Tulip Poplar Blossom

Darwin's Battle--Part 2

Darwin gathered an immense amount of material during his trip. Back home in England, his probing mind drew him evermore deeply into the mystery. He gradually developed (over 20 years) his theory of evolution—although he did not use the term “evolution.” He preferred to describe it as the “origin of species by natural selection.” He was not introducing evolution to the world—which had much earlier been proposed—as a means by which species originate. What he did introduce was a concept that came into direct conflict with established religion.

Darwin was saying that nature selected which changes will survive and which will perish. When those spontaneous changes are passed on from parent to child and grow over time to create new kinds of critters, a new species is born. God had not laid out every tiny and final detail; instead, Mother Nature has decided as she went along, and is continuing to decide. In other words, God is not a micro-manager; the task is accomplished by the natural world, which has an unsettling way of operating in a seemingly random or even mindless manner. The problem many people had was accepting that this seemingly haphazard process could have led to such an intelligent result.

He couldn’t have published his book at a worse time or place than England in 1859. The advanced scientific community was already beginning to find itself engaged in a growing struggle with the Anglican Church. Most of the “scientific” studies of the natural world in Darwin’s time, however, were being conducted by parish priests. They had the time between Sundays to study bugs and animals and trees and to ensure that their findings were disseminated in accordance with the church’s philosophy. England was definitely a God-fearing country.

Another dogmatic belief that English society had adopted was the pastoral viewpoint that, not only was nature fixed and final, but that it exhibited evidence of God’s peaceful Earth—wherein the lion reclines with the lamb and all critters are benign comrades. The English pastoral garden scene (long before having been rid of any big carnivores) was envisioned to be, like the scene on Noah’s Ark, one in which all creatures got along in polite fashion.

Darwin’s insight shattered both of these perceptions. Not only was the natural world’s progression wrenched from the purview of God, but natural selection was far from a peaceful process. He found the so-called Peaceful Kingdom to be a battleground, wherein competing species were “red in tooth and claw.” Constant killings occurred; often brutal and without compassion.

These two findings were a hard sell to English society. Organized religion—already beginning to feel suspicious about science—resisted these radical ideas, and fought back. The struggle continues 150 years later. It’s not that Darwin’s conception was all that radical, as much as that it shattered the dogmas of a fixed, pleasant world. It was the rigid viewpoint of the religious establishment that was being challenged. And that establishment did not release its grip without a fight.

It is sad that so many people today—mostly because of fundamentalist religious interpretations—continue to oppose evolution. Of course, most spiritually and religiously mature people are completely acceptable of evolution… it’s the close-minded, literalist faction that insists on the old perception.

Evolution is an elegant and beautiful process. It is one that a truly wise designer God would have set up, and then sat back and watched the show. The process envisioned by Darwin is far more intelligent than any so-called “intelligent design.” It does not exclude the divine; it only relieves the divine from and endless process of micro-managing.

Dog-treed Raccoon

Darwin's Battle--Part 1

 

In his early twenties, when he was still trying to decide what he wanted to be when he grew up, Charles Darwin latched onto a future-altering job as naturalist aboard the English research vessel HMS Beagle. His task was to collect specimens during the ship’s voyage around the Americas and return them to England for examination by the country’s scientists. The goal was to add to the burgeoning knowledge of the natural world that his Victorian homeland was gathering.

For five years, young Charlie dutifully collected thousands of samples of animals, plants, and rocks. As he became absorbed in his activities, his inquiring mind began to probe evermore deeply into nature’s wonders, wonders that he was thrilled to be seeing first hand. He gradually came to understand that the English worldview that he’d inherited had some significant flaws; a worldview that had entangled its Victorian Christian beliefs with a growing body of scientific findings. Those who had constructed this worldview had not yet experienced any internal conflict between the prevailing religious and scientific beliefs; but that struggle was just over the horizon.

The English—who were then at the forefront of the natural sciences—were confident that the magnificently complex world that they were studying had been created as is, by the deity. The natural world was viewed as an intricate, peaceful, and beautiful creation that had been exquisitely fashioned; every creature and every plant just so, in a perfectly-meshed jigsaw puzzle. It simply remained for humans to discover how the puzzle had been assembled. Like the heavens above, they believed it was a grand plan that was flawless and enduring. Set in place by the Christian God, the world was so perfect that it never needed to change. It was this perspective that allowed them to blend science and religion, and not see the many dichotomies.

Charlie was very accepting of the English worldview when he shipped out on the Beagle. There was no internal conflict within him. He had recently enrolled in seminary and was being urged by his father to become an Anglican pastor. He was simply hoping to delay his lifelong assignment to some staid countryside parish, by grabbing a thrilling chance to see the world. He returned from the voyage with a transformed viewpoint and a passion for what he really wanted to do with his life: continue to pursue his studies of nature, rather than tend to the souls of parishioners.

He had experienced several revelations on his five-year odyssey: the main one being that the world was not fixed and unchanging. He saw many examples of nature having transformed from some earlier manifestation into what he was observing during his trip. For example, in Argentina he found fossil bones from what appeared to be several long-dead species of gigantic creatures. He knew there were much smaller living animals of almost identical species, which were roaming about the land. They must be related, he realized; yet the fossils provided evidence of extinct species—something long gone. Wasn’t this a case of nature having evolved over time—rather than having been created once, never to change?

More on Darwin’s battle next time…

Oxe Eye Daisy among May Apple Leaves

Tool-less Dogs--Part 2

In my last post, I gave several examples of wild animals that make and use tools. There are myriad other examples from nature that I could site, to demonstrate that we humans are now understood not to be the only tool fabricators and manipulators. So much for the dumbness of wild critters. This thought brings up a question: Are there domesticated critters that use tools?

Here’s an example that recently gave me a striking display of its disinclination to fashion or use tools: the domesticated dog. (I specifically use the adjective “domesticated” here, because wild dogs have been observed using tools. As I mentioned earlier, wild creatures are smarter than their domesticated cousins.)

I was watching a particular dog—my dog—who was deeply and contentedly absorbed in chewing on a bone: a cow’s thick leg bone, with loads of tasty and nutritious marrow inside. The bone was too strong to crush in his teeth, so he had to be satisfied with sticking his tongue as far down the core of the bone as he could get. Each lick was bringing him only the tiniest taste of marrow. It was an excruciatingly slow process. A human—or even a wild crow—would have been pondering alternative assaults on the bone that would have immediately yielded more of the desired marrow.

I was admiring the tenacity that he exhibited, when the thought came to me that, with a knife or other pointed implement, I could quickly dig out most of that marrow for him. A follow-up thought: If I were a dog, I’d grab a stick, have that bone cleaned out in short order, and move on to other adventures. Why did this not occur to my doggie—a critter who I consider to be well above normal canine intelligence? He has demonstrated his mental aptitude in many other delightful ways. Why be so dull now? Couldn’t he figure out how to seize a twig in his teeth, jam it down the center of the bone, and withdraw it, covered in delicious marrow? Hey, a crow can do it! Isn’t my dog smarter than a crow?

I was becoming a little disillusioned with my canine pal, when yet another thought came to me: Why does a dog need to use tools? He can rely upon humans to do the work for him! Just a few tens of thousands of years ago, the dog transformed himself from a wild beast to a cuddly companion of Homo sapiens. He endeared himself to our ancestors, by eating our trash and scaring off the many demons who lurk in the dark. (Most of the demons are illusory, but it’s to a dog’s advantage to spice our imaginations and then act as though he is saving us.) The dog thus morphed from a drab-colored, wolf-like creature to the adorable and cute companion who has been at our side ever since.

That was a very smart move on the part of my dog’s canine ancestors. They morphed themselves from hungry, lonely outcasts to pampered sidekicks. They willingly submitted to our control, in exchange for a far cushier lifestyle. We may view them as submissive and malleable slaves… they don’t care. They have no face to lose. They’re not proud. They’ve gotten what they want from us: comfort and regular meals. Who is smarter—us or them?

So, maybe my dog is much more astute than I give him credit for. Why should the dog put all that effort into learning how to make and manipulate tools, when he can get us to do it for him? We do have that opposable thumb, after all. The dog can allow us to do all the work, as he benefits from all the dividends. He also probably feels that the wild animals can go ahead and show off with their tools. They may appear to be clever, but simply haven’t realized that life is all about training humans to do the work for them, so they can lie around, endlessly chewing on bones. My dog feels sorry for his wild compatriots… they’re not half as clever as domesticated dogs are.