Anybody Out There?—Part 2

Getting back to intelligent life out there, civilizations on other worlds could be billions of years older than ours, or have yet to develop. If humans have come so incredibly far in a few thousand years, what may have happened on planets where life originated several billion years earlier? If life evolved there anywhere like it did here, we can't begin to imagine how advanced they've become.

And those questions (or speculations, because we yet do not have any evidence that intelligent life has arisen elsewhere) lead yet to another fascinating and significant question: If intelligent life is far ahead of us someplace out there, why have we not yet had it knocking on our earthly door? Where is it? Humans have played with the concept of space travel for at least a couple of hundred years. We've even begun taking baby steps to the Moon and Mars. “Star Trek” and other science fiction tales describe interstellar and intergalactic space travel, but is such travel really possible?

Distances across vasts spans of space are difficult to wrap our heads around. Even at the speed of light—which we may never approach—the length of time required to negotiate these distances is daunting. “Star Trek” engineers could shift the Enterprise into “warp” speeds: faster than light, but those speeds may forever remain fiction.

That said, how about considering an intelligent species on the other side of the galaxy that is a mere million years ahead of us? Couldn't they have reached cosmic speeds and brought transit times down to within maybe hundreds of thousands of years? Or where might we be in space a million years from now? Such transit times are incredibly long, but not beyond the reach of a civilization that may have been around for a few million years.

So where are these intelligent, advanced space travelers? Why haven't we heard by now, if they're so much more developed than we are? Couldn't a super-advanced civilization have spanned the universe by now—or at least the galaxy? Once again there may be no answer to these questions... they may even be the wrong ones to be asking. I'm sure that in another decade or so (a cosmic instant) we'll come up with a better set of questions. Until then, these are the ones we ask.

Some people suggest that the absence of any contact can be explained by the fact that there are no intelligent civilizations out there. Maybe so, but that is no reason to stop looking. What's more, humans were once inclined to believe that we were special, that Earth was the only source of life in the universe. As more and more planets and life possibilities are found, our specialness may not be true.

One rather disturbing answer brought up by some researchers as to why we're still unaware of other intelligent civilizations (if they're out there) is that there might be a limit as to how long a technological civilization can endure. The dinosaurs lasted something like 150 million years. We humans have been around only a couple of hundred thousand years. We have a long way to go, before we demonstrate our longevity. There are many informed prognosticators who raise the possibility that we may not last that much longer. Our technology races forward, with little thought to its dangers, virtually out of control. We tend to do things that we later regret—such as create an atomic bomb or pesticides that are subsequently shown to cause human birth defects and diseases. So far, most of the dumb things we have done have been small and on a local scale, but we are now playing with fire on a planetary scale, via global warming, habitat degradation, nuclear arms, etc. If we keep up our pace, we could render Homo sapiens extinct.

Our extinction is a real possibility. If so, it would terminate Earth's current experiment of evolving “intelligent” life. Of course, not all life forms on our planet would be eradicated—many of them are far tougher and resilient than we are. (Think of ants.) The evolutionary clock for the development of intelligent life on planet Earth would simply be reset. There's at east another billion years or two for the experiment to be rerun, before our sun expands and cooks all life on the planet.

So many questions. So many possibilities. Most are beyond the imagination of our minds. It's an exciting—as well as a sobering—time in our evolution. We are yet infants in the cosmos. We have time to correct our dangerous ways and see where evolution may take us in the far future. It'd be nice if we do, and are able to join other forms of intelligent life in universal kinship.

Addendum

Here's a neat way to get a feeling for the extraordinary length of time the Earth has been around and how short a time we've been here. (The following simile comes from an online course I'm currently taking: “Astronomy: Exploring Time and Space,” from Arizona Sate University, offered by Professor Chris Impey.)

Let a 1,000 page book represent the age of the Earth; thus each page of this massive tome represents 45 million years. Here are a few fascinating facts about this hypothetical book:

• For the first 10-20 pages of the book, no life is present on Earth. It's a barren planet.
• Fish first appear on page 500; half way through the book.
• The dinosaurs become extinct on page 985. (Only 15 more pages to reach to today!)
• Our ape-like ancestors appear halfway down page 1,000.
• Modern humans enter the scene on the book's very last line.
• Everything we humans pride ourselves on, everything from 40,000 year old cave paintings to the recent discovery of the Higgs boson, is contained within that last word on page 1,000.

All of modern humanity's accomplishments are enclosed within the very last word of a 1,000 page book! We humans may consider ourselves the “last word,” but we sure are the Johnny-come-latelies on the planet! I hope that our story does not end there. I hope that we find a way to put out a new edition some day that far exceeds 1,000 pages.

Anybody Out There?—Part 1

One of the most intriguing questions that has increasingly become the subject of scientific investigations, as well as popular media speculation, is the possibility of extraterrestrial life. Are we alone in the universe? I have played with this question in several past postings of this blog. I recently read an article on the subject that raised another fascinating aspect to the question. Here's the essence of it.

Science has edged relentlessly closer to the hypothesis that, indeed, there may well be life out there, for several reasons. (1) We now know that there are billions of planets just in our galaxy alone—something for which we had no evidence just a few years ago. (2) Researchers are getting better at understanding the conditions under which life may have spontaneously originated; if so, it could have done so in many locations throughout the universe. (3) Our space probes have discovered complex organic molecules on other bodies in space, such as comets; which were present at the beginning of our solar system, 4.5 billion years ago. There is a strong possibility that these molecules may be able to initiate life, when conditions allow. (4) Science has widened the conditions under which life can survive, if not thrive—conditions we only recently thought would be too hostile, until we discovered life thriving there, right here on Earth. (5) We also now know that some forms of life can survive the incredibly harsh environment of space, which potentially makes it possible for life to travel (as hardy microorganisms) from one planet to another.

Clearly extraterrestrial life has not yet been found, but we seem to be much closer to discovering it, if it's out there. Recent findings by the Mars rovers have directed our attention to that planet—giving us greater expectation that life may be found there. Scientists are excited by the prospect of this age-old question soon being answered. Thus many of them are turning their attention to what we may discover, if we do find life out there. We'd best prepare so that we are not taken by unpleasant surprises.

Suppose we do come across life elsewhere. It may come in a form that is utterly different from what we expect. Will we even recognize it as life? And the big question: Will it be intelligent—whatever that means? If so, will its intelligence resemble our own? We tend to regard our high-tech smart phones as evidence of our acumen. The guy who invented velcro was very smart; so was the team that discovered the Higgs boson last year. Ants are dumb, by human standards, but they've been around for over 100 million years. Is that not an example of a kind of intelligence? So if there is intelligent life elsewhere, its type of intelligence may be completely unexpected by us. We'd best keep our minds open.

There's another fascinating aspect about discovering intelligent life out there: technologically speaking it may be millions (or even billions) of years ahead of us, or just getting started. Earth is some 4.5 billion years old and life appears to have begun on our planet less than a billion years after it formed. So life has been here for maybe as long as four billion years. Think about that: it took some four billion years for humans to attain the advanced technological state we now find ourselves in. And our highly developed civilization is only a few hundred years old. Where might we be in another 100 years? Or 1,000 years? We can't begin to guess. Any of our predictions in the past have been far wide of the mark. And science fiction is of little help; their scenarios are usually quite naive.

More on life out there, next time...

Red Bellied Woodpecker at Feeder

Click to enlarge.

Idle Activeness

We modern humans often find ourselves frenetically engaging in one activity after another. Modern life pushes us to multitask and be constantly on the go. Our smart phones keep us ceaselessly in touch with a wide variety of people and events, threatening to rob us of any “down time” or quiet time, during which we can rest our mind and rejuvenate. Thus many of us go to great efforts to take a break to come down from our high alert state.

This is one reason why yoga and meditation have come to have so much appeal to moderns. People consider these practices to be of value to them, because the mind is considered to be doing nothing when we meditate; to become idle, to become blank, to rest. Once we go into mental idle mode for a while, both body and mind become refreshed and we're ready to jump back into the fray. It's as if our brain is connected to an on/off switch, that either allows it to be busy or renders it dormant. We flip from one mode to the other, as if our mind is polarized—it's either doing everything or nothing. There seems to be no gray area (sort of like American politics: it's either right wing or left wing, with no middle ground). Our life continues in either case, but nothing changes; no progress can occur, because we can't escape inhabiting and getting stuck in either extreme.

Modern neuroscience is bringing us a new understanding of what's going on in our mind while we rest it in meditation (or sleep). Even when we believe we've entered a blank, meditative state, magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) machines show that certain parts of the brain (those that are mostly below the level of consciousness) actually become more active during meditation. These various regions of the brain do their own kinds of business and problem solving, autonomously, so that when we reengage with the world, we may find ourselves more creative, happier, and more effective.

But it's not that we've allowed the whole mind to “veg out” and recharge; we've let the conscious part of it become idle, as the unconscious part cranks up to do some work on its own. So we have more than just the binary on/off situation in our brain; it has other modes wherein the subconscious part automatically keeps chugging away, even during meditation, sleep, or idle times.

Creative people know that some of their biggest insights come when they are on idle, or even while daydreaming. Many of them have found that, after actively banging their heads against a wall, trying to figure out a problem, the solution comes unbidden after they go into idle mode.

So meditation is not just a process of turning the mind off, so we can let go our stress for a while—then jump back in, refreshed and ready to do battle again, just as we did before. It's more a process of getting the conscious “higher” part of the brain to turn activities over to other regions that can engage with life's issues and concerns, find ways to connect those regions and get them collaborating, so we can bring insightful and fresh ways to manage life.

Sore Nuthatch

Here are two photos of a white-breasted nuthatch that slammed into a window and stunned himself, allowing me to get close to snap a photo. He later flew off, thankfully. Click to enlarge.

Dopamine Dupes

There has been plenty news in recent years about the impact that dopamine and opioids have on our brains. They are chemicals created in the brain. They strongly influence our moods—causing us to feel good, and often get us hooked on these feelings, making us want more and more. In fact, some people become so hooked that they become dopamine (or opioid) dupes. But let's back up a bit first.

The brain creates two kinds of chemicals that get us excited and feeling pleasurable: dopamine and opioids. They are so desirable that many people seek external sources of these chemicals to flush their brain with, in order to get or sustain those good feelings. Opioids make us feel pleasure. When they get released into the brain, we can become content to sit around in a satiated stupor. When the British wanted to control the Chinese population in the middle 1800s, they made opium cheap and available—literally transforming the Chinese into comatose zombies. Today's heroin-use epidemic is another example of over-the-top opioid craving.

Popular belief thinks that the dopamine system in the brain is about pleasure, but that's not really true. It's more about seeking. The dopamine system is stronger than the opioid system, but they are also complementary; they work together. Dopamine stimulates your curiosity and spurs you into action. If that action finds something good, your opioid system gets you to pause and soak up the pleasure.

Evolution gave us these brain chemical enjoyments. The dopamine system makes us curious; gets us motivated to seek the things we need to survive; such as food, sex, and creative ideas. It urges us to check out what may be around the corner or over the next hill. It makes us want things. It stimulates desire.

Although dopamine was once crucial for our very survival and existence, it can today cause some problems. Unlike our hominid ancestors, we are surrounded by objects that can bring us instant gratification—toys that constantly seize our attention and promise excitement. Our smart phones ring at us, promising rewards; apps entice us to use them for thrilling awards. Twitter and texting ping at us—offering instant communication and the possibility of novel stimulation. We go online—maybe even for a good reason—and find ourselves a couple of hours later aimlessly cruising the internet. We turn on the TV and all kinds of enticing images suck us in. We can't stop the dopamine-induced loop that hooks our brain. We've become a dopamine dupe.

Where our forbears benefited from the brain rushes of dopamine and opioids, we are in danger of becoming addicted. Our ancestors found rewards and pleasures to be scarce. They needed to keep seeking, in order to survive. Manufacturers and advertisers of the countless items that pique our curiosity are almost holding us ransom in an opioid stupor—much like the Chinese in their 1800s opium dens. Our high-tech toys are certainly addictive.

How do we keep from getting hooked on the release of these brain chemicals? Awareness is a good first step... awareness of our propensity to seek pleasure and then veg out, when we get it. And we can turn off the electronic devices, or at least adjust them so we don't get constant notifications of the arrival of the next email, tweet, or text. Are you willing to wean yourself from their promise of yet another dopamine hit, or another opioid jolt?

Six Years of Saturn

Here are photos of Saturn--by NASA--taken over a six year period. Over this span of time our view of the rings changes, as their angle changes. Click to enlarge.

Ethics from Awe?

Awe is an emotion I have experienced much more often, after having moved from the big city three decades ago to a rural setting in the woods. As I slowed down and opened myself up to the many wonders of my world, the experiences of awe and reverence occurred much more often. Where I once seemed to require a trip to some distant land to invoke a feeling of awe, it now seemed as if very simple things, like the sight of a bird taking flight or the swaying of a tall tree, could bring about that sense of amazement.

I have often used the word “awe” to describe my feeling of wonder, without always pausing to be sure I am using it properly or really delving deeper into the meaning of the word. My wonderings about the deeper meaning of awe was recently piqued when I read about the results of a study of awe conducted at the University of California at Irvine. The results helped me to realize how powerful and influential awe really can be.

First, consider the definition of awe, as given by the Oxford English Dictionary: “a feeling of reverential respect mixed with fear or wonder.” Yes, that seems to capture the emotion, but I was intrigued by the use of the word “fear” in the definition. As I pondered it, I realized that when we feel awe, it's often because the thing we're viewing not only is magnificent, but can also cause us to feel very small and timid in its presence. Standing atop a mountain and gazing out at some vast scene can put us in our place—not just to feel diminished, but also to feel that we are a tiny part of a vast universe; a universe both fantastic and intimidating. Watching a thunderstorm brings about both wonder and alarm.

In fact, the researchers at UC Irvine found that people who experienced awe were more inclined to be generous and kind afterward. That is a fascinating finding! Their study discovered that awe can literally cause us to reduce the focus on ourselves; that we begin to forgo self-interest and become more inclined to want to improve the welfare of our world and other people. In other words, awe can not only invoke a reverential feeling, but induce us to become more ethical in our behavior. That's a causal connection I'd never realized before, but it seems logical that after being moved by the wonder of some experience, one would be more likely to act more altruistically. In contrast, I'm certainly not going to want to feel kindly toward others after I have had a shocking and revolting experience!

So I wonder: has a more frequent experience of awe made me a more ethical person? That's a judgment I don't feel inclined to make, but I do appreciate reading about research to this effect. It helps me feel gratitude that awe comes more often to me these days. It also is a good reminder that it can be counterproductive to try to bring the world down to my size; to render it something within my dominion or under my control. If I can let go of that feeling of mastery and allow myself to feel amazed—even a little fearful—it just might become beneficial to my behavior.

Alignment of Moon and Planets

The Moon and three planets (Jupiter, Venus, and Mars) were aligned this morning before dawn (Nov 4, 2015). Click to enlarge.

Einstein's Errors—Part 2

So Einstein is still king of physics... his ideas remain true. Yet many an experimental physicist over this last century has planned a test with the secret desire of showing Albert to be wrong in one of his basic ideas. One reason is that scientists always try to show a theory is wrong... and if they fail, it gives them more confidence that the theory is right. But also, if an experimenter could demonstrate a major flaw in one of Einstein's theories, wouldn't that gain him everlasting fame? If E = mc² was not correct, wouldn't that knock the socks off the scientific world? If something was discovered to move faster than the speed of light, how might that rattle the foundations of science?

In fact, four years ago worldwide headlines frenetically trumpeted that an experimental research team in Europe had announced that their measurements indicated that neutrinos traveled faster than the speed of light. That news set off a string of wild speculations in the public mind. Einstein—the god of physics—wrong? The absolute upper speed limit of the universe broken? It was almost as dramatic as demonstrating that the sun does revolve around the Earth. Many people chuckled knowingly, contending that they hadn't believed in Albert's speed limit anyway.

Most scientists were quoted as being convinced that something in the neutrino experiment had to be flawed—the whole foundation of physics rested on the fact that nothing moved faster than light. Even the team of researchers who ran the experiment doubted their result, but their measurements had repeatedly found the same thing. In fact, their announcement was partly intended to get the world's physicists to examine their work and find a flaw. A flurry of activity occurred over the following year and suggested modifications were tried. The measurement error was found, soliciting a collective scientific sigh of relief that the speed of light had prevailed.

I find it interesting that the popular press has been far more subdued in announcing that Einstein was right, than when they snickered about his error. It's similar to someone tweeting some fantastic phony claim (“Obama is a Muslim!”) that goes viral, spreading instantly across the globe's viewing screens. Careful fact checking soon disproves the false assertion, but the damage has been done. The correction never gets the equal notoriety that the first phony claim did. (Day one headline: “Obama was not born in America!” Day two correction in tiny print on page 17: “Yes he was.”)

I think, that here on the 100^th anniversary of Einsteins' general theory of relativity, there is more to a scientist's motivation for trying to disprove his ideas than wanting to go down in history as the guy who out-thought the great man. There is a propensity for people to make someone like Einstein a hero or create a god-like vision of him. The public image grows over the years, as the vision expands. But other people dream of knocking the hero down from the pedestal, to show that he's a fake after all.

I'm not sure what all motivates some people to want to see that Einstein was wrong. The case of the faster-than-light neutrino was a recent spectacular example. I take comfort from the fact that Albert broke the physics mold over a century ago and that his insights are still very much intact. You rock, Albert!

Einstein as a Halloween Pumpkin Carving

Einstein's Errors—Part 1

One hundred years ago the world was notified by an obscure patent-office clerk in Switzerland (one Albert Einstein), that its notion of how gravity worked was wrong. For more than 200 years before that, Newton's description of the “universal law of gravitation” had been considered irrefutable: gravity was a force that can be expressed as an attraction between two or more bodies. Thus, if I hold out a ball, the Earth attracts the ball toward it through a gravitational force, and when I release the ball, gravity pulls it straight down.

Einstein rewrote our concept of the physics of gravitation when he published his general theory of relativity in December 1915, titled “The Field Equations of Gravitation.” Instead of the Earth pulling a ball downward, the mass of the planet literally bends or warps space around it. Then, as the ball travels, it's forced to follow the warped space field, right into the planet. The image is a little easier to grasp if we ponder the Sun, whose huge mass warps space so much around itself that Earth, “thinking” it's following a straight line, actually circles the sun. The “straight lines” of space have literally been curved by the sun's huge mass.

Not many scientists—let alone average people—in 1915 bothered to heed the scribblings of a lowly German patent clerk in Switzerland. But four years later a prominent English astronomer used Einstein's equations to explain an anomalous shift in the apparent position of a distant star as its image passed behind our sun during an eclipse. Overnight Einstein became a science rock star. For the next 40 years Albert remained in the physics limelight, as he continued his researches. He remained in the public limelight also; abetted by his fascinating personal idiosyncrasies, wild hairdo, and otherwise photogenic appearance.

Few scientific figures have ever approached Einstein's fame. (Maybe today, Steven Hawking is close.) His discoveries came from his unique ability to blend a keen skill at mathematics, with a penetrating insight into experimental measurements, but topped off by his talent at conducting thought experiments. His thought experiments were a crucial ingredient in his work, because most of what he studied could not at the time be tested by physical experiments. Humans had yet to visit space or build the required complicated test equipment to run the necessary experiments. These came later, when they subsequently verified every abstract equation and thought experiment that he had run inside his head.

Over the last 100 years Einstein's theories have repeatedly shown to be correct. Not one significant error has been found. He was not perfect, and physicists love to mention his small errors, but they have never denied his fundamental insights. The man has been right on.

More on Einstein's errors next time...

My Owl--by Night and by Day

Our Best Friends

Numerous scientific studies have unequivocally shown that dogs—considered by many people to be “man's best friend”—descended from the wolves. This result comes from DNA studies of wolves and dogs. The estimated date of when dogs became our buddies is as yet a little hazy: anywhere from about 13 thousand years ago to as long ago as 30 thousand years. The relationship between wolves and dogs is also demonstrated in their scientific names: Canis lupus (for wolves) and Canis lupus familairis (for dogs). We certainly are more familiar with dogs.

A tougher question about the evolution of wolves to dogs is: How did the first dogs transform from wolves? By what process did those pioneer wolves come in from the wild and buddy-up to our ancestors? The answer to questions like these cannot be investigated by DNA experiments in the laboratory, nor are there any historical documents waiting to be discovered (since no human was able to write at the time). Nonetheless, recent research is offering some insights to understand how dogs evolved from wolves.

A common belief for many years has been that dogs evolved when an enterprising hunter-gatherer encountered some cute wolf puppies and carried a couple of them home to the cave to adopt. In time the little wolves became tame and the rest of the story is history. That tale has been debunked. The lifestyle of our hunter-gatherer ancestors was too nomadic to allow them to carry out such a lengthy process. In addition, modern studies of wolves have shown that, although wolves can be socialized and even tamed, they retain a large degree of wildness, that keeps them from connecting with people as deeply as dogs do. Finally, what sane hunger-gatherer parent would allow a wild wolf to get cozy with their kids?

Research has shown instead that humans did not domesticate wolves... wolves did it themselves. Dogs are thus self-domesticated wolves. They chose us. Why? How? Very recent studies have shown that dogs are a rare type of critter who possess a kind of intelligence that allows them to interpret our intentions. They read our behavior and body language and perceive what we literally are thinking. In humans this ability is called “theory of mind.” Here's how it works: I know that I have a mind, I assume that other people do, and further, I assume that how I respond to things is similar to how other people do.

Dogs do not have this level of cognitive ability, but they do have a remarkable ability to read our intentions. It is a capability that allowed them to domesticate themselves and learn to live with us, long ago. They were clever enough to perceive that life would be much easier if they became our buddies. We would be their source of food (our leftover garbage) and rather than compete with us in hunting down animals (as have their wolf cousins), they could partner with us and benefit from our skills (and vice versa).

As an example, the dog is unique among animals in understanding that when we point at something, we are drawing their attention to it. Wolves can't do it. Even our closest relatives, the chimpanzees and bonobos, can't do it. This ability allows dogs to make inferences about our intentions and to flexibly and creatively solve new problems for themselves—things that neither wolves nor apes can do.

So we humans have more in common with dogs than we've previously thought. When we evolved from apes into Homo sapiens, we later developed the theory of mind, which has allowed us to develop a unique form of communication and to cooperate to achieve impressive things. When dogs evolved from wolves (on their own initiative) they developed a similar ability, that gives us and them a unique form of communication and cooperation. Does that not make them our best friends?

Unknown Fly

I discovered this fly recently. I have no idea of what it is. Click to enlarge.

Earliest Ag?

A seminal event in the evolution of our species Homo sapiens occurred when we transitioned from a hunter-gatherer existence to a horticultural/agricultural way of life. For hundreds of thousands of years or longer we lived in small bands of a couple dozen or so closely-related people—surviving on what we could scavenge in the way of wild plants and animals. We were hunter-gatherers. When food became scarce in one location, we'd move on, seeking places that offered more sustenance. We were wanderers.

An enormous change in our lives happened when we discovered that we need not gather and eat only what Mother Nature provided freely, but that we could select for and encourage those plants that were tastiest and most nutritious. We transitioned from hunter-gatherers to cultivators. We also discovered that the meat we'd come to crave didn't always have to be hunted down in the wild, but that we could domesticate some of the more tame critters to supply our protein. Very slowly we transitioned from wanderers to settled people—living all year long in one location and building permanent dwellings.

One of the biggest changes that this development brought to Homo sapiens—and one we continue to struggle with—is that our communities grew larger. Whereas hunter-gatherer bands contained at most a few dozen people, we began forming villages of several hundred or more people. It made life a lot more challenging to find ways to allow humans to live together in crowded situations, without constantly getting in each others' faces. Violence and its associated moral dilemmas are problems that we have struggled with ever since. While we had hundreds of thousands (maybe millions) of years to find out ways to get along as hunter-gatherers, we've had only several thousand years to figure out how to live in crowded conditions, without waging constant wars. We're still working on it.

How long ago did that transition to agriculture occur? When did we settle down and begin to create cities and nations? Until recently, the accepted date was about 12 thousand years ago. Archaeological evidence suggested that humans invented agriculture and domesticated animals in the Middle East about then. Of course, the transition took some time—it wasn't an “overnight sensation.”

A recent discovery in Israel, however, seems to push that date much further back—to about 23 thousand years ago. Ancient settlements along the Sea of Galilee from that time have been carefully examined. Researchers found permanent huts, hearths, stone tools, and animal and plant remains. Precursors to domestic plants were also discovered; such as wheat, barley, lentils, figs, grapes, etc.

What I find fascinating is that the clincher to the fact that these 23-thousand-year-old people were farming is that they fought weeds invading their food plantings. What kinds of weeds? The same two prolific varieties that pester farms in Israel today. It seems that after humans clear some land, cultivate the soil, maybe fertilize it a little, what comes next? Weeds. Mother Nature abhors a cleared piece of land, so she created weeds. Our deep ancestors cultivated some of the first crops that humans grew, and had to deal with the same weedy critters that we do today. Fascinating.

Does it matter that we've now discovered that Homo sapiens settled down much longer ago that we'd thought? Maybe not. Maybe it tells us that we've had nearly twice as long to accommodate to an urban lifestyle, and that we should be further along than we are. That could be fodder for evolutionary psychologists who try to understand why our minds work the way they do. Maybe it tells us that we shouldn't get too locked into one theory of how we evolved. Maybe it has deeper implications about human nature, that we have yet to figure out. Maybe it's just more evidence that weeds are here to stay in our human-horticultured world.

Radcliffe's Dagger Moth Caterpillar

I found this guy walking across the hot tub. When I closed in for the photo, he reared up, as if to show me his fearsome front legs, warning me not to come any closer. Click to enlarge.

Cardinal Mate Swap

For at least a half-dozen years we have enjoyed watching our resident pair of cardinals go about the business of foraging, feeding, and rearing their young. We've been treated by their song, their beauty, and antics of the babies. I have written before that, because of the distinctive coloring of the male and female, we can easily tell them apart. Moreover, because the male is very territorial, he prevents any other male from setting up residence in our clearing; therefore, this is the only pair of cardinals we've seen around the homestead. In fact, we've watched them so many times over the years that we've gotten to know both of them—almost as family members. Their behavioral quirks have become quite familiar.

That's why I was rather startled when I watched an adult female cardinal fly to the feeder, a week or so ago. I was surprised because this was not our resident female. The breast of this bird was much lighter in color, her body was more slender, and her wings were a more somber shade of brown. I wondered if she was just passing through, which is odd in the middle of the brooding season; or if she'd soon be chased away by the larger resident female.

The new bird flew off and I went about my chores. A day or so later I spotted the newcomer again. I also recalled that I'd not seen the familiar old female in the meantime. Then I was surprised to see the male fly to the feeder one evening and join the new female. His behavior around her—eating with her, chipping back and forth as they did so, and then flying off with her—was exactly as he had done for years with his long-time mate. It hit me that this must be his new mate! I'm sure that he would not be cavorting with another female—unless his former mate was gone.

Over the next several days I watched the newly-mated pair come and go from the feeder—continuing to act like a typical cardinal couple. Something had happened to his old mate. I pondered the possibilities. I doubt that she's still alive—she'd not have surrendered her queendom of the clearing without a fight. I had watched her assertive ways for too many years to accept the fact that another female would likely dethrone her.

Cardinals may mate for just one season or for life—as our pair seemed to have done. What happens when one of the mates dies? Do they mourn the loss of the partner they've had for several years? Some people have observed the death of a mated bird, watched the behavior of the survivor, and interpreted it as grieving. This may be, but we humans have a propensity to read how we would feel in the situation into an animal's behavior. It's called anthropomorphism.

We humans will likely never know how an animal really feels. I once watched a black snake raid a bluebird nesting box, then kill and eat two babies, before I chased it off. The parents fought the snake noisily and gallantly, but I observed no mourning on their part, after the incident was over. Very soon they resumed feeding their two surviving babies (one of which I had picked up off the ground and put back in the box), behaving as if nothing had happened. They had important things to do.

As for my male cardinal and his new mate: How had he behaved at the loss of his former mate? Was he present when she met her end? Did she actually die? I can't believe that, as a settled pair for so long, he'd simply dump her. It seems odd that this would happen in the middle of the brooding season, but if she did die, why should he not promptly carry on? That indomitable spirit is what has kept this species going for millions of years.

This is yet another of those examples of what happens when you have the time to delve into an event in Mother Nature's wonderful world. You are able to learn some fascinating things—but for every single piece of knowledge you gather, you just uncover at least two more puzzling questions. It's what keeps my life here on the homestead an endless, interesting quest to understand the secrets of the natural world.

Horsefly Closeup

I've posted photos before of a horsefly. Here's a couple from a few days ago. Note the multiple-lens eyes and that nasty stinger on the bottom photo. Click to enlarge.

Witnessing a Healing Sisterhood

I have recently been privileged to witness a team of women surround and lend crucial support to a member who encountered a critical health threat. Sally (not her real name) was diagnosed with uterine cancer. Her surgeon told her that it may well be confined to her uterus and that its removal would likely free her body of the disease. Rather straightforward surgery was scheduled and performed. Sally went home the next day, to await the report of the pathology lab—to be delivered in a week's time.

Her recovery appeared to be uneventfully rolling along, but problems quickly set in: Sally began to experience significant levels of pain and her temperature rose, as she became feverish. She went to the emergency room, unable to get in touch with her surgeon, to get his advice. She was diagnosed with an infection that likely was started during her surgery. Over the next few days Sally fought pain and intestinal problems, had to return a second time to the ER, and finally saw her infection begin to abate.

I will not delve further into Sally's struggles here—or her mistreatment at the hands of her surgeon, as well as the ER. Her case is just another example of countless others who come up against the foibles of the American healthcare system (which too often seems neither caring nor healthy). She did recover and soon found out that the cancer had been confined to her uterus; she is now almost back to normal. What I want to describe is the remarkable support that she received from the sisterhood, especially when complications set in.

In the week or so after her surgery, as her pain increased, Sally was swept up in the healing net of a loving and skilled circle of female friends. The team members responded spontaneously and capably—going to her home to help her in many ways: from food preparation to house cleaning to medical assistance. It helped that some of the team members are nurses, so they could also give able assistance, as well as serve as interlocutors with the hospital authorities to get her the appropriate aid.

As I watched the sisterhood swing into action, it occurred to me (full disclosure: I'm a male) that I was observing a vital role that women have performed for humanity, for as long as we've been a species on this planet. That role is often sorely underrated by the dominant half of our species: men. Just as history is written by the victors, society's values have been defined by authoritative men, who don't give adequate recognition to what women do to nurture and care for those among us who are stricken with ailments.

Women have literally provided the glue that holds civilization together. That may sound a little overstated, but I believe it is true. Women's role in sustaining the family has long been understood, but their efficacy extends far beyond the family unit. Without their crucial role, humanity would be nowhere near as cohesive and robust as it is.

Watching the sisterhood circle Sally and give her the care she badly needed, I felt privileged to witness the love and connections they brought to the occasion. It was beautiful. Long live the sisterhood!

Wren Babies at 6 Days

Wren Babies at 9 Days

Wren Babies at 13 Days

Stalwart Life

Over the last few decades scientists have discovered life thriving in environments that were once considered to be too hostile and barren. For example, dozens of miles under the sea surface, where it's inky black and noxious fumes vent from smoky fumeroles, organisms thrive in water as hot as 200^oF. Deep in underground mines (some 2 ½ miles down), far from the sun and its life-giving rays, microorganisms feed on minerals and soak up heat from radioactivity, in lieu of any photosynthetic processes. In extremely acidic water, near its boiling point (such as in Yellowstone National Park), other organisms prosper. Only a few decades ago scientists would have been convinced that life (as they then knew it) could not survive in such harsh environments.

These discoveries of life's robustness have forced biologists to revise the conditions under which they believe life could survive. The very definitions of what constitutes life and what life requires to take root and thrive have been dramatically amended.

A recent example of another unlikely site for life has been the discovery of robust creatures deep under the Antarctic ice shelves, far from sunlight, in a location that was expected to be dark, cold, and lifeless. After having drilled a half-mile deep hole through the ice shelf, 500 miles inland from the open ocean and that far from any sunlight, researchers found microbes and small fish—in a completely dark location. How did these critters get there? How do they survive? I won't go into the details here, but the scientists were dumbfounded, when they lowered an underwater robot and photographed creatures. It blew their minds.

These recent discoveries have caused scientists to revise their theories about what life requires to survive, as well as to recognize the new kinds of life they've found in these hostile environments. The requirements for life on Earth have been significantly broadened. Maybe life doesn't require water—once thought to be absolutely necessary. Maybe it doesn't require photosynthesis of the sun's energy—which most every life form must have. Maybe it can use the energy and heat emitted by radioactive decay deep underground. Indeed, these are all true.

We are thus expanding our understanding of the extremes under which life can survive. We are getting past our myopic view that life must be very much like us, in order to exist. Microbes have been proven to be incredibly robust. Some have even been attached to the exterior of the International Space Station, where they have been exposed to high radiation, extreme temperature changes, and a total lack of atmosphere for over a year... and they survived!

What fascinates me is the implications that these discoveries have had on our guesses about the existence of extraterrestrial life. Earth offers very cordial conditions for life, compared to the harsh environments found elsewhere. Life thrives on our planet, in countless forms and in many pleasant ecosystems. Until these recent discoveries of life existing in harsh locations, scientists were inclined to discount the possibility of life other than on Earth. Many people thought that our little planet could be the only place in the universe where life arose. This is turning out to be a narrow-minded viewpoint.

Now we are thinking differently. In fact, right here in our solar system life may have gained a toehold in places other than Earth. Mars is looking more and more likely that it may have had life, a few billion years ago. Europa—an ice-covered moon of Jupiter—is thought to harbor an internal ocean of water; in conditions not that much different from Antarctica. Researchers are making plans to visit Europa and run experiments to see if life may be found there. Other moons in our solar system may have conditions where life may be able to survive. Farther out in space, thousands of planets have been discovered orbiting their stars. Preliminary findings suggest that some of them may be conducive to life. Life almost seems simply to be waiting for us to find it.

The existence of extraterrestrial life has, until the last couple of decades, either seemed doubtful or was confined to the realm of science fiction. Humanity is beginning to realize that life just may be abundant in our universe. Stay tuned... the answer may come in another decade or two.

Wren Babies

A Carolina wren built a nest right over the doorway. Here are two very new babies. Click to enlarge.

Capitalism and Evolution: Alike? (Part 2)

Last time we looked at a few similarities between evolution and capitalism that are regarded by some people as evidence that capitalism is the best economic way to go. But there are some key differences between them that we might also consider, to be more thorough in our examination. One big difference is how waste is handled. Nature recycles. One species' detritus becomes another's valuable resource. Decaying dead bodies are sustenance for many kinds of critters—even excrement is valued. Capitalist economies, however, create garbage that no creature wants. Moreover, it's often very toxic. Exhausted electronic devices become hazardous trash. Abandoned industrial sites pollute the environment.

Another difference is that capitalism is usually a zero-sum game: somebody wins only when somebody loses. This is a necessary result of economic competition for finite resources. Since capitalism does not recycle much at all, the resources it uses are limited. In contrast, nature often plays a nonzero-sum game, if, for no other reason than that it recycles. One species' waste, if it does well, provides even more resources for other species. They both do well.

Cooperation can also often be found buried deeply within nature's competitive process. Two complementary species, who, at first glance are seemingly in competition, can find themselves mutually beneficial to one another in the long run. A lean-and-mean corporation, however, is rarely concerned with anything beyond its immediate sphere of influence.

The various kinds of interactions between nature's many species also leads to another significant difference between evolution and capitalism: Evolution breeds diversity. A rich and healthy ecosystem is populated by a wide variety of interconnected species. Mother Nature tends to seek a sustainable balance in an ecosystem that finds a large number of plants and animals working together in a complex, symbiotic manner. As capitalism grows, however, the number of players dwindles. Monopolies emerge and grow ever larger—think Walmart or Microsoft. Since a monopoly can afford to be abusive (it has few effective checks and balances), it tends to care little for anything other than its quarterly economic bottom line.

It's interesting that scientists have come to see evolution as a “blind” process. That is, it has no intent, no design, and yet it has brought about a beautiful, complex, and effective process that has done extremely well for billions of years. In contrast, capitalism is very intentional and has a narrow and specific goal: maximization of profit. It works well in the short term (creating that quarterly profit), but often is not sustainable over the long run. Otherwise, would we pollute the planet as we do, or be causing the climate change we are? Greed—an inevitable part of capitalism—does not seem to play much of a role in evolution's game.

So, yes, capitalism and evolution do share some qualities... competition being the obvious one. “Survival of the fittest” plays a role in each system. It's useful to note, however, that Darwin, in presenting his elegant theory, never used the term “survival of the fittest.” He was really interested in the “natural selection” process of evolution, and realized that it is the cornerstone of nature's elegant and sustainable way. He also saw that nature's competition eventually even brought about cooperation.

And that factor of sustainability is crucial: evolution has worked beautifully for a few billion years now. Capitalism is an upstart that's been around for only a couple of hundred years. How much longer will it last?

Impatient

Hey! Quit hogging that flower. Leave me some nectar. (Click to enlarge)

Capitalism and Evolution: Alike? (Part 1)

Charles Darwin realized over 150 years ago that competition is the driving force behind evolution: similar species compete for limited resources and will duke it out until the “fittest” begins to dominate, while the less-fit may eventually become extinct. The process usually occurs when one species is better able to adapt to a particular environmental niche than another. The more-adaptable species will be more successful at reproduction and its offspring will dominate.

Most people in the business world see a similar situation playing out in a capitalist economy: competition between organizations or corporations winnows out the less-well functioning ones, leaving the successful ones to dominate. Similar to critters, corporations also compete for limited resources, with the “fittest” surviving, while the less-fit ones die off (or are bought up... a form of consumption?). In each case the argument is often made: leave the market or the natural world alone; this allows the competitive process to create an efficient and well-oiled world. The markets and nature will become well-tuned and balanced, if we don't mess with them. Just look at how splendidly nature has evolved! Capitalism, it is argued, is simply using the same principles as nature to become the most successful economic system, to the benefit of all.

So both nature and the marketplace operate in an atmosphere of competition, wherein limited resources promote rivalry. Here's another similarity: from time to time there is a variation introduced into the situation by one of the competitors—maybe a new marketing idea in a corporation or a genetic mutation in a plant or animal. If the idea or mutation is more suitable to the existing environment, those who posses it will do better. The modified corporation or critter can more effectively fill a niche. A similar situation occurs if the environment should change and one corporation or species is better able to adapt to that change.

I think we might take a closer look at the comparison between capitalism and evolution, however. How similar are they, really? Is the argument that capitalism is best—because it resembles evolution—a good argument? The resemblances described above may indeed seem to provide for some people a good argument to conclude that capitalism is the best economic system; and it indeed is the dominant one today. Mother Nature has done very well for billions of years with evolution, so maybe humans have come upon a similarly excellent system to govern their economy? There are a few significant differences to consider, however, before concluding that capitalism is so ideal. Let's look at some of them next time...

Mushrooms and Blossoms

Plentiful rain brings beautiful 'shrooms and blooms. Click to enlarge.

Bird Ruminations

I'm sitting in my outdoor tub as twilight approaches, listening to the unfolding of the bird sounds and activities, as dusk begins to come over the land. There is such a variable chorus of birdsong all through the day—from the first pre-dawn hesitant outbursts, to the glorious morning ensemble of messages, to the midday business announcements of daily bird goings-on, to the late afternoon showy serenades, to the evening sign-offs that precede their settling in for the night.

As dusk approaches the calls become more like individual solos, as some of the birds retire, while others can't resist a few last pronouncements. After awhile, I find myself listening to what at first seems to be the last two birds calling out, into the approaching gloom. As I tune into their songs, I begin to realize that they are far more in sync with each other than I first thought. How do they coordinate their songs so well? But I soon come to understand that what seemed to be two birds singing from two nearby locations is really one bird, with two distinct calls.

Then I realize that what is really going on is that this single bird has both a lower-pitched song that I can associate with its true location, and a second, higher-pitched song that is being scattered back to me from the leaves of trees up in the woods. My acoustics training helps me to understand that the lower frequency song travels through the woods, unmindful of the trees leaves, so I can discern the bird's true position: over there in the clearing. But the higher-pitched part of his song has much shorter wavelengths—wavelengths that I realize are about the size of the leaves, so these shorter waves “see” the leaves as much bigger than the low-frequency waves. They reflect off the leaves, back to me, making me think that the bird is somewhere up in the woods where the trees are, rather than over in the clearing.

It's similar to when you drive at night with your headlights on. On a clear night your beams penetrate into the distance, illuminating the road ahead. You can see far off, knowing where the road ahead is, and see the distant oncoming cars by their headlights. On a foggy night, however, the air is saturated with water droplets whose size is “seen” by the waves of light from your car's beams—just like the tree leaves for the high-frequency birdsong. The result: your headlights' glow is reflected back to you, dramatically altering your view. Your eyes are dazzled by your own headlight reflection and you lose perspective of where you really are, or even where those approaching cars are.

This phenomenon (for birdsong or headlights) is called “backscatter.” It can disorientate you—even make you think there are two birds out there, rather than one late caller who is about to retire for the evening. A closer listen helped me tune in to see what's really happening. “One bird in the ear is worth two in the tree.”

Crested Coral Mushroom

It's been very wet recently, so these (and other varieties of) mushrooms have been popping up everywhere. They are only about half an inch (one centimeter) wide. Click to enlarge.

Philosophical Reflections

I have come rather late in life (in my mid 70s) to the study of philosophy. I have written several times in this blog about my struggles with trying to wrap my head around philosophy and its manner of looking at our world and our human place in it. In so many ways philosophy and science (the latter is my academic training and career field) view the world quite differently and thus employ quite different language. Science is empirical—it's concerned with measurement and objective observation. Philosophy is about logic—it's concerned with reasoning and argument. Science is about what is. Philosophy is more about why and what ought (to be).

So having retired long ago from a career of scientific pursuits, I've been free to try to explore philosophy. It ain't been easy for me. It's like learning a new language after reaching adulthood: not only is it new, but one has to unlearn a few ways of perceiving the world, in order to think in unaccustomed manners.

What has helped my mission is several free online courses (MOOCs, Massive Online Open Courses) that are being offered these days... wonderful resources. A recent course that I have begun is offered by FutureLearn, out of the UK. This course, “Introduction to Philosophy,” comes from the University of Edinburgh. Right out of the starting gate, the philosophy professor gave a definition of philosophy that I could relate to: “Philosophy is the activity of working out the right way to think about things.” This interpretation has two aspects to it that appeal to me: (1) philosophy is an activity—not just a process of mental gymnastics and (2) it's about “working out the right way to think about things.” Thus, when philosophically involved, one is both animated and engaged in an ongoing process: figuring things out. The latter aspect suggests that philosophy is not necessarily about solving problems and reaching answers, but about asking open-ended questions.

The lecturer went on to say that there are many disciplines that people may engage in, such as science, law, medicine, etc. Then there are the philosophies of each of these subjects: philosophy of science, philosophy of law, and philosophy of medicine. What's the difference? The disciplines themselves involve people doing things, while their respective philosophies take a step back and ask “why?” Why do we do those things? Are we doing them appropriately and morally? Should we be changing how we do them? What ought we to be doing?

The lecturer likens philosophy to something children naturally do: when they persistently ask “why?” But philosophy is also an adult activity, in that the one who asks questions is also (like the child's parents) seeking answers. So the adult philosophical task becomes, What do we need to do, to find those answers?

The lecturer also spoke to my personal struggles with philosophy, when he acknowledged that philosophy is difficult. Why? Because it challenges our usual way of thinking about and looking at the world. Philosophy demands that we let go of our customary (and comfortable) paradigms and venture into uncertainty. It demands that we admit to our ignorance of the world and dive into the unknown. That's not easy for us to do.

It's a struggle, but I think I'm beginning to get a handle on it. These kinds of questions are important to ask. The answers may not be forthcoming for some time, but the process keeps us evaluating and weighing what we do and why. That's a crucial process, and probably why philosophy is one of the oldest disciplines (excuse me... activities) of our species. Has it not brought us significant moral progress?

Eight Eyes

The better to see you! Click to enlarge.

Alice-in-Wonderland Reality—Part 2

Now that I've shrunk myself several million times in order to see these blobs of atoms, why not shrink even more, to see what's inside the atoms, in order to view those protons, neutrons, and electrons? So I shrink a few more thousand times.

Now that I'm even tinier, I'm astounded by the fact that that blob of an atom—that Greek “fundamental” building block—is mostly nothing! It is mostly empty! It is just as if I were many trillion times larger—big enough to allow me to take in the whole of our solar system—I'd also see that it is mostly empty space... mostly nothing. There's the heavy sun (comprising some 99% of the solar system's mass) sitting at the center, while the insubstantial planets revolve way out there, through mostly empty space. So much vacuum! So much void!

And that's what the atom is like! To me—who is now a few billion times smaller than when I began this adventure—this ever-so-minuscule atomic nucleus can be seen to be surrounded by a cloud of electrons. Virtually all the “substance” of the atom (just like the solar system) is contained within that tiny, central ball of protons and neutrons. The atom turns out to be 99% nothing! It's mostly empty space. In fact, the whole universe is mostly empty space! All matter—even the tree and the bird—is primarily a vacuum, with its vanishingly small nuclei scattered so far apart, that my tiny self can see only the closest atom. It's lonely down here!

But it gets even more amazing. In the last century or so scientists have delved ever deeper into the atom. Now they know that those protons and neutrons—the tiny things that contain virtually all of the atom's mass—are not unimaginably dense lumps of matter, but are themselves constituted from even smaller particles. Is there no end to it all? Maybe not.

Inside each proton and neutron in that nucleus is a trio of yet smaller particles. Yes, each proton and neutron is made up of three even tinier building blocks called quarks. Quarks are truly weird things that come in several varieties, to which quantum physicists have given eccentric names such as up, down, charm, top, bottom, and strange. It's as if this sub-subatomic world is so bizarre that scientists have given up trying to come up with sober names, but have let themselves go bonkers in this Alice-in-Wonderland fantastic world.

Well, I've shrunk a few billion times by now, so why not go a few hundred times more and see what a quark looks like? Dwindling even more, I peer inside the nearest proton. But maybe I've gone too far this time: I spot three sort of solid-looking entities that I take to be quarks, but the whole scene is pulsing and dancing. In addition to the bizarre trio of quarks, I see a soup of fuzzy things that look sort of like quarks, but are continually appearing and disappearing. Right before my eyes, things come into existence and then just as quickly pop out of existence! It's all unstable and causing me to feel a little nauseous.

Physicists on the cutting edge of quantum physics tell us that these exotic states of matter confound even them. It's a hotbed of current research that is so bizarre that it seems unreal. At these quantum levels matter is almost not matter. In fact, it's bubbling energy fields wherein we begin to lose all distinctions between matter and energy, as these particles slip in and out of existence or from one form of existence to another. Yikes!

My infinitesimal eyes are tired and blurry. My infinitesimal head is spinning, as if I too were popping in and out of reality. I close my eyes and, like Alice, take a pill and swell back up to my original size.

The bird has flown away, but the tree is still there—solid and substantial as can be. Whew! Gone is my fanciful ability to observe the quarks, protons, electrons, nuclei, atoms, and molecules. I'm back to my colorful and more sane world. Ooh, a bright red cardinal just flew in! Lying back, I let the hot water soften me a little more, as I thrill to my macroscopic, gorgeous world. Welcome home.