Cicada Coming Out Party

The other night we came home to spot this cicada on the handrail. It had recently emerged from its exoskeleton, and was still clinging to it, waiting in the dark to fully dry out. Note the wings have dried and how gorgeous they are! Click to enlarge.

Trolley Quandary—Part 1

There is a classical thought experiment that has been wrestled with by practitioners in the fields of ethics, psychology, and cognitive science; often termed the “trolley problem.” It was conceived of the the mid 20^th century as a way to explore how people would respond to a hypothetical ethical situation, in which they were faced with the imminent death of either one person or five people—positing that the observer had the ability to choose between one or five deaths, but must choose one or the other. In the hypothetical scenario you can't choose neither... it's either one death or five.

The scenario is often described thusly: a trolley car is barreling down train tracks. You are standing next to a lever that can divert the trolley off to a sidetrack. If the trolley keeps on its present course, you can see that five people (who are either disabled or tied to the tracks) will be run over. If you flip the lever, however, the trolley will be diverted to the sidetrack, where only one person is tied down and will be killed. What do you do? Do you passively watch five people get run over, or take action to save them (flipping the switch), which kills only one person?

The trolley quandary has been described in several alternative scenarios—maybe some of them more likely than others. It has been a common thought experiment that illustrates the essence of the concept of utilitarianism—an ethical philosophy that seeks to maximize the well-being (or minimize the harm) of all creatures involved in a situation. It is sort of a numerical approach that tallies up suffering and happiness and chooses the path of least suffering... or maximum happiness. In the trolley car dilemma it is clear that a utilitarian wouldn't hesitate to pull the lever—thus sacrificing one person to save five. The mathematics is simple and straightforward—the choice is clear. One or five.

I find myself objecting to this thought experiment, however, because it seems to me to be a rather far-fetched scenario. It's unlikely I'd ever find myself in such a situation, and if I were, I doubt that the details of the dilemma would be as clean as described. I rebel at the narrow and even unrealistic choices presented. So much for my hangup with the scenario.

Psychologists and philosophers have a ready answer to my objection, by positing any number of more likely scenarios—each of which just presents the same dilemma: I must choose to sacrifice either one or five lives. Which would it be? What would I do? Quit prevaricating and choose!

For argument's sake, here's another scenario that may be a little more realistic: I'm a transplant surgeon who has five patients who will soon die, if they don't get an organ transplant. Along comes a bum, an itinerant hobo who happens to be a perfect match for all five patients. Would it be ethical for me to sacrifice that neer-do-well guy, in order to save the five patients?

More trolley quandary next time...

Garden Flox

These beauties are at their zenith now. The plants are three feet (one meter) tall. They come back, year after year. What more could one ask for? Click to enlarge.

Fidgety Fowls

I am sitting in my outdoor tub, soaking in the hot water—my attention momentarily turned outwards, to the natural world surrounding me. What attracts my observations at the moment is not the breeze wafting through the trees, or the insects calling forth, but a single bird singing from the woods up on the hill. It's a wood thrush—who I tend to regard as the top songster around here.

I hear him call out several times from a location up the slope a ways. Then he pauses, sings again, and I soon realize he's flitted to a new perch a hundred feet or so away from his initial singing post. After a few more songs offered from there, he moves again to yet another location and bursts out in song again.

I aurally follow this fidgety fowl, as he flits and sings a few more times, with no apparent (to me) pattern to his movements. Then I hear another wood thrush singing from time to time, from a more removed place deeper in the woods. Is this a rival?

So what's going on here? Why does the closer bird call half a dozen songs from each location, before flying to a new perch? I can't discern any method to his position changes. Is it random? Does he have a game plan that escapes me?

And what's the purpose of his singing this evening? Is it a mating call? Is he defining and defending his territory? Is it just an urge to sing from various perches, to see how glorious his call can be?

If he is mounting a defense of his domain, do the various singing posts he occupies define the boundaries of his realm? Is he letting the opposition—maybe that farther-off thrush—know where his frontiers lie? Maybe he's looking to expand his territory, and is testing the response of any rivals, to see how successful his feints might be. “If I cross over my boundary a bit, will the other guy take offense? Can I fake him out and claim an expanded stake?”

But maybe he's really seeking a mate. If he changes position from time to time, maybe his song will travel a little deeper into the woods from a specific perch—just enough to reach a receptive female. Maybe his song flies through the trees much more melodiously from one specific perch... more than that perch over there.

But he also may be alert to possible threats—that sharp-shinned hawk was spotted earlier today and the thrush can't afford to remain in any one location for more than a few quick calls, lest the hawk zero in on him.

How I wish I could interview this bird and pose some of these questions to him. He could enlighten me. He could clear up the mystery. That's not going to happen any time soon, so I guess I'm relegated to a solitary soaking in the tub, as I speculate on what this wood thrush is up to. So I do have other than a hedonistic purpose for spending all this time soaking in the tub: I'm conducting experiments in the natural world. This is science—not self-indulgent soaking!

Cecil's Snake

Cecil the cat has a propensity to go after snakes. He cornered a black snake (not venomous) a couple of days ago. The snake was not amused. The cat wisely backed down. (Click to enlarge.)