Constitutional Curbs

The US Constitution is a momentous document that is recognized around the world as establishing one of the world's earliest forms of democratic governance. It was written and ratified two and a quarter centuries ago, and continues to provide the fundamental principles of our country's legal procedures. Many more recently-written constitutions of other countries have modeled themselves on the US Constitution, but have often included changes that reflect the progression of democracy in the last two centuries; while ours often appears mired in an outmoded era.

The US Constitution is a peculiar document, that was created in a particular situation, which possessed two foundational perspectives: (1) having just acquired independence from Britain, the constitution's framers were extremely wary of setting up a government that might allow a despot (a monarch) to possess inordinate power to quash individual rights, and (2) the struggle of balancing the concepts of freedom and citizen rights with a Southern economy that depended on slavery (which denied rights and freedom to millions of Africans).

Thus, the constitution became a charter that mostly describes what the federal government cannot do—rather than define what it should do. In essence, it is about negative law. It's mostly not about positive law, because it focuses on various checks on government... it literally curbs the authority of government. It's more about protecting the rights of citizens and the states. The US has always been a country that values rights and freedoms of its citizens. Americans hate to have their autonomy restricted in any way. After all, many of our first immigrants were fleeing constraints on their lives and viewed the New World as a chance to conduct themselves as they pleased. These same ideals helped spawn the French Revolution, just a few years after our revolution.

With the emphasis on freedom from government interference and one's rights, particularly in the context of the constitution's negative laws, the US Constitution is largely unconcerned with citizen welfare—such as the right to education, health care access, or even food. These welfare rights are often suspiciously regarded in the US as possessing socialistic values. Thus they are seen as privileges, which are outside the purview of government, or that even can be denied or taken away by the government. Even the Bill of Rights—which prescribes rights that the government must not abrogate—says nothing about welfare.

Only in the 1970s did the US Supreme Court come to regard welfare as a citizen right—rather than a privilege. Why did it take so long? It was largely because by then a significant portion of citizens lived in urban environments, rather on the farm—where they had once owned land... that was their property. While property has always been considered a basic right in the US (a fundamental tenet of capitalism), 20^th century landless Americans needed welfare to survive (having no longer held property), so welfare became their new right. Yet socialism remains a disfavored form of government.

Next time: a more troublesome feature of the US Constitution…

Cicada Emergence

We  are having an amazing emergence of what is called Brood X cicadas, in the eastern US. Billions of these critters have been living in their larva stage for 17 years, and then emerged here, a few weeks ago. What emerges is hard exoskeleton shell that contains the adult cicada. The first photo shows the cicada emerging from its shell. The second photo shows its tiny wings just beginning to unfold. The next two photos show the wings gradually flattening out. The process takes about half an hour. The last photo shows the fully dried and darkened cicada, about half an hour later. Notice the red eyes. (Click to enlarge)

These critters climb up trees or other vertical surfaces and then begin their mating game. The males call out, trying to entice females for sex. Over a few weeks the din of millions of them is extremely loud. They do not eat, and after copulation the males die, the females last until they lay eggs, deposit them on tree branches and then they die. In a week or so the eggs hatch, the larva drop to the ground, they drill down a foot or so (30 cm) into the ground and begin to suck on tree roots for 17 years, when they'll emerge and start the process again. 

Amazing! I am very happy that this happens only once every 17 years.

 

 

Life's Labors.

Leading a successful life is not a given for any one of us. We may all begin with the greatest of expectations—we toast every baby's potential to reach the ultimate of possibilities—but reality soon sets in. We are all beset with numerous threats and menaces that challenge our ability to achieve that potential. Life seems to toss out many roadblocks to our fulfillment...  even our survival. If we are to succeed in life, we must toil for it.

The miraculous birth of a baby bird witnesses it pecking its way out of its egg and entering into an incredibly short period of a few weeks of growth, during which it transforms into a creature fully capable of flying and taking charge of its own life. But numerous dangers lurk, that threaten to terminate that young bird's life. There is no time for being lazy. Some 50% of birds in the wild do not survive their first year.

Modern human beings enjoy a survivability well in excess of a birds's 50%, yet life for us is not without its dangers and labors. Compared to wild animals, humans have become stratified on many levels. The inequities of these hierarchical levels have divided humans into different classes. Those who fall on the lower levels can find life most precarious. They face threats that are truly existential—any menacing challenge can push them over the edge, into oblivion. Life is very hard for for them

Yet even the advantaged and prosperous among us can struggle. The First Noble Truth of Buddhism declares that life is dukkha—the struggle of dealing with the various kinds of unsatisfactoriness of life. There may no longer be an existential threat—lingering just offstage to terminate the existence of the rich and powerful—but those who have plenty can still struggle with a deep sense of unease and despair. The more you have, the greater the threat of loss. Even they cannot escape the need to work.

So life is at the very least laborious and sometimes even hazardous. There is no assurance that life will become glorious by either a favorable birth or by diligent and virtuous work. Yet we also know that life is precious and fully worth the effort to persevere and do our best. Evolutionary science tells us that procreation is our greatest drive... the urge to send our genes into the future. That drive is a subconscious one and directs much of our behavior—such as to eat, in order to continue living, and engage in sex, in order to propagate those genes. Yet we also know that it is crucial to flourish—to make the most of this life today. And our ability to thrive involves more than our accident of birth... it is also greatly dependent on our willingness to work for it.

Unfounded Fear

Modern society's behavior is often driven by fear. It is ironic that many of those fears are unfounded. We create most of them in our heads. What is paradoxical about the situation is that today's societies are much less threatened than our ancestors' were. They had good reason to be apprehensive of their world, since they were not nearly as powerful as many of the predators they faced. An adequate level of fear was appropriate for them—much like the trepidation exhibited by small and vulnerable critters like mice and birds.

However, today's humans have become the most powerful creatures on the planet, so we no longer need to feel anywhere near the fear level that our deep ancestors did. We are top dog. So why are we so frightened? I believe there are two principle reasons: (1) the more power we acquire, the more we worry that some human stranger will take over and wield power over us, and (2) our polarized society readily turns our opponents into wicked enemies.

In the first case our problem is that we instinctively seek power, whenever we feel uncertain or not in control. We believe that if we build and impenetrable wall or a formidable weapon, we can intimidate any potential foes. They will fear us and leave us alone. And yet, this belief usually leads to an arms race, as our newly-acquired power now seems like a threat to them. So they will seek ways to fortify themselves, to ward us off. Whichever side acquires the greater power at any time, will often find themselves drawn into using that power—not necessarily out of fear, but as much due just to the temptation to see what we can gain by using it.

In the second case we easily succumb to the fear of the opposing clan in a polarized society. There is little inclination to try to understand them, since we become convinced that they are bad and we are good. We readily respond to that primordial feeling of dread of the other. We readily adopt stories of their evilness or unworthiness. This deep-seated fear rises quickly within us, as we experience a rush of adrenaline—which again was useful, when long ago we were surrounded by fearsome threats. Emotions such as anger, ignorance, and misunderstanding feed the problem. 

How do we counter our fears? There are several antidotes, such as fostering empathy, respect, and understanding of the other—which are the core aspects of nonviolence. It's not easy. It's work. It can help to appreciate that feelings such as fear once made more sense for our species, when we were weak, but can be lessened, now that we are strong. It's time to grow up.

Brood Intrude

In mid April I was wandering past the lawnmower storage area—an open, but roofed lean-to where I stash various outdoor tools. A bird flew from its hiding place as I walked by. Maybe it was pecking around on the ground for stray seeds that had overwintered there? A little later I walked by in the other direction and the bird once again flushed from the same place. This time I noted that it was a Carolina wren.

This bird likes to build its nest in secret places that we humans create for them—inside sheds, in secluded corners of buildings... even in the pockets of garments hanging on the clothesline! Its second flight that morning suggested to me that somewhere in the tool area it had constructed its nest. With the bird now temporarily gone, I carefully began to inspect various possible wren-favored cubbyholes, to see if I could locate a nest. After spotting its brooding place, I could then be careful not to disturb its family plans and even watch, as the eggs hatched and the wee babies quickly grew into fledglings in just a couple of weeks. I have observed and photographed this process in the past. It is fascinating.

I soon located her egg-filled nest—unfortunately hidden deep inside the grass catcher for the lawnmower, which was perched on top of the mower. I quickly retreated, trying not to disturb its nest. Now I was in a quandary. It would be at least three weeks until the eggs would hatch and the babies fledge, before I could use the mower; yet in another week or so the weeds and grass would grow enough that mowing would be demanded—lest the unruly vegetation begin to harbor chiggers, ticks, and other biting critters. What to do? I was caught between permitting this choice of a secret nesting place (thus helping the local birds) and intruding to gain access to the mower, terminating the bird's effort to procreate. What to do?

I did not have to wait long to resolve my dilemma. The next morning—a very chilly morning—I cautiously passed by the bird's hiding place, but no parental flight occurred. A short time later I walked by again, with still no action. That was worrisome, as mom would surely be warming the eggs on a cold morning. She must have abandoned the nest—probably because I had inadvertently disturbed it, the day before. In another hour or so, I became convinced that she had vacated her nest and her babies would perish. I had meddled in Nature.

This event solved my mowing need, but left me sad that my interference had disrupted Nature's process. I was responsible for the extinction of five baby wrens, despite my care. Without my intrusion the propagation of this family may have been successful.

I retrieved the nest with its five precious eggs—thus freeing my lawnmower. I will honor the lost five lives by placing the nest in my meditation hut and contemplating this unfortunate event. Was my role helpful in some sense, because I potentially provided a safe place for the wren to raise her babies—possibly away from a marauding snake—or was it harmful, because these are five birds never to fly... never to sing? There are no facile answers... only vexing questions. The preserved nest in my meditation hut will become a contemplative icon for me to ponder on.

Mortal Meddling

When you live close to Nature, you encounter both the sacred side of creation, as well as its disturbing side. The sacred side is the beautiful side—which causes me to pause whatever task I'm into and stand in awe of what I'm experiencing. The disturbing side is the obverse face of nature's beauty—when you encounter something repugnant, such as a predator in the act of ruthlessly killing and devouring its prey or encountering a dead and decaying body in the woods that beetles and maggots are consuming.

Then there are those times when you are not just the observer of Nature's unfolding, but an actor in the scene. I prefer to be a participant in the sacred side, but sometimes I play a role in the distressing side. Both sides are part of the complete experience. I rejoice when I can assist Nature's beautiful aspects—such as when I can assist a modest flowering tree into becoming a gorgeous, audacious, and blossoming exhibitionist or clear the saplings and competition around an oak tree and watch it proudly grow into a noble giant.

But there are those obverse troublesome occasions when I seem to interfere with Nature and transform a sacred event into one that almost becomes profane. I can excuse myself when in the past I was ignorant of Nature's plan, but it is harder to accept in recent times, when I should know better and am simply not mindful enough. I can blunder into a situation where I disturb the natural process. It is a precarious balance—wherein I am often not sure how to proceed; will I help things along or will I harmfully intrude?

Before my wife and I moved out to this corner of Nature's heaven, the local ecosystem had been rolling along naturally on its own—without the interference of humans. Nature had achieved its own balance out here, with various flora and fauna playing out their roles. It's not that our forest homestead had never experienced the meddling of man... it had been partially farmed nearly a century ago, but after the departure of humans, the ecosystem had settled into a new kind of order. It was directing its own enterprise. The wisdom of Nature was once again in charge.

Then we appeared on the scene about four decades ago. We tried to be gentle and fit into the ecosystem as best we could; causing as little disturbance as we could, but our mere presence altered the natural order. We cleared trees, dug some holes for a home, and planted a garden. But disturb Nature we did—although we attempted to keep our intrusions to a minimum. Our objective was to benefit the local ecosystem as much as possible, but that was often unattainable.

Next time: an example of an unfortunate interference...

Immortal Ants

I have written a few times about the intelligence and sophistication of ant colonies. They offer an exemplary model of what may be described as emergent cognitive qualities, in that the ant collective exhibits far greater acumen than any single ant possesses. Thus, while an individual ant is a simple critter with very little conscious capabilities, the whole colony exhibits highly developed behavior that almost seems to demonstrate an elevated level of cognizance… in fact, a kind of intelligence.

The result is that an ant colony is centered around the life of its queen, who may live for as long as 30 years. During that reign the group acts as a superorganism—an entity that exhibits capabilities far beyond any one individual’s potential, which expires only when the queen reaches the end of her existence; when the colony finally threatens to collapse.

There is one species of ant, however, that displays a kind of immortality. Their colonies do not cease when a 30-year-old queen finally dies, but find a way for a daughter ant to assume the queen's role, allowing the community to carry on.

This exceptional ant species is named the Indian Jumping Ant... and it's indigenous to India—not the Americas. For this species of ant, the queen will, at some point, actually die; but rather than have the colony collapse with Her Royal Highness, a group of “chosen” workers—all sisters—compete to assume her throne. This process begins by their ovaries expanding, while their brains shrink. A successful queen need not be at all smart, as she is reverently cared for and fed, while her main duties are to churn out eggs.

After the queen dies, half a dozen or so of the chosen sisters find their ovaries swelling to some five times their unproductive size, as their brains shrink some 20-25%. Since a brain is an energy hog, this allows more energy to be sent to egg production. Eventually one candidate queen triumphs and becomes the new queen—creating what is essentially an ongoing immortal colony.

What is even more extraordinary is that the losing queen candidates find their ovaries shrinking, as their brains once again grow.  The individual brain may be primitive, but the collective cognition emerges as very intelligent. Wouldn't it be nice if human brains—once relieved of the requirement of procreation, could expand and become wiser?