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.)

Silence Stimulates

I live in a very rural area, that experiences minimal traffic noise or other urban disturbances. In fact, many friends consider it to be the far-out boonies. I need the tranquility. Over the last few decades researchers have documented many ill effects that society's noise has on people. Epidemiologists have shown a high correlation between noise and high blood pressure, heart disease, sleep loss, and immune system damage. Five years ago the UN's World Health Organization found that some 340 million Europeans (a bit more than the population of the US) annually lose over a million years of healthy life, due to noise. That's one hell of a toll!

Noise pollution has been recognized for a couple of generations as having a deleterious impact on human health and well being. As a person who built a career on studying the mechanics of noise reduction, I'm not at all surprised at the negative impact of noise on people. It's what my career was all about! It's also a major reason why I took leave of the urban life three decades ago and sought refuge and a healthier (and quieter) life in the woods of Appalachia.

I sought solace in the quiet I found out here. I avoid noisy machines—rototillers, tractors, and other small engine devices—in favor of doing as much by hand as possible. It is not only cheaper and more peaceful, but gives my body the exercise that it needs.

I have written before on this blog about my desire for tranquility and solitude. In quiet moments I seek calmness, I tune into inner thoughts, I can even come to sense the oneness of existence. I have found quiet to be soothing and healing—especially knowing that noise is unhealthy. The root of the word noise is the Latin word nausea, meaning “seasickness.” (The Latin word naus means “ship.”)

But that reasoning suggests that quiet (or silence) is primarily an escape from something. It's replacing a “thing” with “no thing.” Quiet, in this sense, is just an absence of noise; silence is just the lack of sound. Is silence really just a negative entity?

The key here is what's going on in the brain—our ultimate sensory response either to noise or quietness. The science of brain scans has exploded in recent years and is providing lots of evidence of what's going on in the brain, as it responds to various sensory inputs. Some recent research is showing that activity in the brain is stimulated by silence, just as much as when we hear sounds. A certain network of neurons lights up when sounds are heard, but quite a different set of neurons fires when quiet ensues. So the brain is just as active when quiet prevails. To the brain, silence is not a negative entity. Mental work is happening then too.

These recent findings fuel my need for quiet even more. Where silence once represented an escape from a clamorous world for me, I have come to see that it's not an escape from, but a coming to something: a state wherein my brain stays engaged—but no longer in an unpleasant way. It's now active in an agreeable and even creative way. In fact, it's doing the healthy work of silence. As Paul Simon wrote over 50 years ago,

              And the vision that was planted in my brain

             Still remains

             Within the sound of silence.

Spring Beauties

I have posted photos of these wildflowers before, but I can't help myself from doing it again. Of all the cultivated flowers I have coddled over the years, wild spring beauties seem to outdo them all. These little blossoms (about one-half inch or one centimeter wide) shine forth in all their glory for two months. And if I care for them, they will return next spring and bless me for many more weeks. What can one ask for more, in a flower? (Click to enlarge.)