It’s one of those days when everything comes together in an almost lyric perfection of coherence. And today’s message is: Survival of the fittest!
In reading John Crowley’s The Translator (subtle, beautiful, humane — look for a full review later in the week), I ran across this gem, the marching song of the Nietzsche Study Group.
Nietzsche loves me, this I know.
Zarathustra told me so.
Little ones to US belong.
They are weak but WE ARE STRONG. – John Crowley
This made me laugh so much I tweeted it.
abostick59 responded: Are you sure that was JOHN Crowley?
And that comment led me to check with my local Thelemite expert, who confirmed that Aleister Crowley admired Nietzsche sufficiently to include him in the list of Gnostic saints, which also includes Pan, Siddhartha*, Charlemagne, Richard Wagner, and Roderic Borgia, AKA Pope Alexander the Sixth. (Check the link for the whole list.)
But where are the women on that list? Where are Cleopatra, Messalina, Theodosia, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Margaret of Anjou, Diane de Poitiers, Catherine the Great?
Meanwhile, gramina shared a link with me about mantis shrimp, which have astonishingly sensitive eyes which can see ten times as many colors as humans, but otherwise seem like God’s justification for hating all shrimp.
“They’re enchantingly violent,” he said in an affectionate, almost paternal tone. “They catch other animals by either spearing it through the heart or smashing it to pieces. Unlike most predators that grab prey, these pummel it and destroy it. When they interact with each other over a burrow, they use their armored front appendages and smash each other on the face. Whenever they get into any type of situation, they smash things. You can’t pick these up. They’re really great animals to have around.”
I learned from Wikipedia (and confirmed elsewhere) that these foot-long lobster-like creatures pack a punch so powerful that they occasionally smash aquarium glass. They strike at the same speed and with about the same force as a .22 caliber bullet. The videos have to be slowed down so you can see the creature moving.
Also, they sometimes do somersaults to get back into the ocean if they’re stranded on the shore. For as far as 2 meters. Imagine a creature looking like a deranged lobster, a foot-long half-armored thing with multiple mouths hanging out on stalks, doing somersaults on the beach. You’d swear off alcohol forever.
Happily, they have their own web site, where you can watch videos and read up on their behavior, assuming you can read white letters on pale blue ground. Maybe it’s only for mantis shrimp with their superior eyesight.
*Sorry, but this made me think of the line from A Fish Called Wanda: “The central tenet of Zen Buddhism is not ‘Every man for himself’.”
ETA And then serrana mentioned the Nazi super-cows, which turn out to be attempts to breed back to the aurochs. This site is named for the aurochs and includes cow solitaire.
For April 18, anniversary of the great San Francisco Quake, we have one of the great poems of geology:
Lay of the Trilobite
A mountain’s giddy height I sought,
Because I could not find
Sufficient vague and mighty thought
To fill my mighty mind;
And as I wandered ill at ease,
There chanced upon my sight
A native of Silurian seas,
An ancient Trilobite.So calm, so peacefully he lay,
I watched him even with tears:
I thought of Monads far away
In the forgotten years.
How wonderful it seemed and right,
The providential plan,
That he should be a Trilobite,
And I should be a Man!And then, quite natural and free
Out of his rocky bed,
That Trilobite he spoke to me
And this is what he said:
‘I don’t know how the thing was done,
Although I cannot doubt it;
But Huxley – he if anyone
Can tell you all about it;‘How all your faiths are ghosts and dreams,
How in the silent sea
Your ancestors were Monotremes -
Whatever these may be;
How you evolved your shining lights
Of wisdom and perfection
From Jelly-Fish and Trilobites
By Natural Selection.‘You’ve Kant to make your brains go round,
Hegel you have to clear them,
You’ve Mr Browning to confound,
And Mr Punch to cheer them!
The native of an alien land
You call a man and brother,
And greet with hymn-book in one hand
And pistol in the other!‘You’ve Politics to make you fight
As if you were possessed:
You’ve cannon and you’ve dynamite
To give the nations rest:
The side that makes the loudest din
Is surest to be right,
And oh, a pretty fix you’re in!’
Remarked the Trilobite.‘But gentle, stupid, free from woe
I lived among my nation,
I didn’t care – I didn’t know
That I was a Crustacean.*
I didn’t grumble, didn’t steal,
I never took to rhyme:
Salt water was my frugal meal,
And carbonate of lime.’Reluctantly I turned away,
No other word he said;
An ancient Trilobite, he lay
Within his rocky bed.
I did not answer him, for that
Would have annoyed my pride:
I merely bowed, and raised my hat,
But in my heart I cried: -‘I wish our brains were not so good,
I wish our skulls were thicker,
I wish that Evolution could
Have stopped a little quicker;
For oh, it was a happy plight,
Of liberty and ease,
To be a simple Trilobite
In the Silurian seas!’–May Kendall
* He was not a crustacean. He has since discovered that he was an Arachnid, or something similar. But he says it does not matter. He says they told him wrong once, and they may again.
I have no idea if May Kendall is a relative; she was an English poet and reformer, and my ancestors of that ilk came to this side of the Atlantic four hundred years ago.
Also, go buy a copy of Earthquake Weather, a stunning collection of poems by Janice Gould.
For April 19, one of the great poems of American history
Concord Hymn
Sung at the Completion of the Concord Monument,
April 19th, 1836By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream that seaward creeps.On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set today a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.Spirit, that made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.–Ralph Waldo Emerson
The poem I promised the other day. It works well with the hushed, suspended feeling of Holy Saturday, although there is no evidence whatsoever that Dickinson meant it as an Easter poem.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes—
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs—
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?The Feet, mechanical, go round—
Or Ground, or Air, or Ought—
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone—This is the Hour of Lead—
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow—
First—Chill—then Stupor—then the letting go———Emily Dickinson
From a poster at FMyLife.com:
See, proofreading does matter. Yes, he’s the one in trouble. But she had to look at the picture.
FMyLife.com allows you to read other people’s miseries and vote on whether they asked for the trouble or their life is indeed fucked. I wish there were a third option for “That’s not so bad.” All the kids complaining because they didn’t get brand-new cars for their sixteenth birthdays? Please.
You can comment on individual posts if you register and log in, but I haven’t bothered, since they allow you to vote without registering.
In addition to the classic sources of embarrassment (parents, kids, banana peels), modern life offers new and horrifying high-tech ways to humiliate each other. Texting or sexting the wrong person is a big one. So is porn on computers at work, at school, at home with the family. And the trend of kids staying home through their early 20s means that parents have to deal with their kids’ sex lives, and vice versa — apparently a traumatic process for all concerned.
It’s an interesting exercise in group morality. Plenty of teenagers (at least, I hope they’re teenagers) post about doing stupid things or playing nasty pranks and then being embarrassed. The vote totals on these posts are overwhelmingly “you deserved it.” The ultimate fail:
As I write this, the vote totals are 137062 to 5584 that the poster deserved that one.
Bad news tonight: 20-something brother of a friend was killed in a car accident. I ache for her and her family. For the long, long road of grief they’re starting to walk.
Futility
Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.Think how it wakes the seeds, -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved – still warm, – too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?–Wilfred Owen
Jesus, people, stop dying young. It is not romantic. It is not beautiful. It’s an ugly, horrible waste and a miserable drain on the survivors.
And live well, and love each other. That’s all we have.
Florence Bascom became fascinated with geology while taking a driving tour with her father (president of Williams College) and a geologist friend of his. An unremarkable genesis for an earth science career, except that the driving tour must have been done by horse and carriage: Florence was born in 1862.
To put this in perspective: In the United States, 1862 was the second year of the Civil War, and one of the bloodiest: Shiloh, the Seven Days, Antietam. The Gatling gun and the iron-clad ship were the big military innovations.
President Lincoln wrote the Emancipation Proclamation. He also signed into law the Homestead Act and the Pacific Railway Acts, which provided for the first transcontinental railroad, thus shaping the American West.
It was the year of Lady Audley’s Secret, Les Miserables, and Salammbo. Thoreau died at 44. Alice in Wonderland was written. Gustave Klimt was born (same day as Florence Bascom). The Albert Memorial and Westminster Bridge were opened. Princess Alice, Queen Victoria’s daughter, married Prince Louis of Hesse. Her daughter would become the last Empress of Russia.
In this world, higher education for women was a rarity. Nevertheless, Florence Bascom earned a BA and then an MS from the University of Wisconsin at Madison. She became the first woman to be granted a PhD from Johns Hopkins.* She had to attend lectures behind a screen; women are not yet admitted to the university.
Then she started teaching at Bryn Mawr College, establishing their world-class geology department and training many of the great female geologists of the early twentieth century. Bascom is quoted as frequently saying that she didn’t want to be the only woman geologist. She did her best to make sure she was not.
Often, though, she was the only woman in the room or in the field. Her list of firsts is impressive:
- first woman geologist hired by the USGS
- first woman to present a scientific paper at the Geological Society of Washington
- first woman officer of the Geological Society of America
Florence Bascom isn’t important just for being the first woman. She made major contributions to earth science. She invented techniques that used microscopic analysis in the study of oil-bearing rocks. She was a major pioneer in igneous petrology. Her analysis of the complex orogeny of the folded-and-faulted Appalachians is still the basis for understanding certain aspects of Pennsylvania geology.
Nor was she merely an armchair geologist; she emphasized the importance of fieldwork. She also strongly encouraged independent thinking in her students, which is how she and two of her former students became involved in the Wissahickon controversy, the first all-female scientific controversy. They conducted their disagreement with scholarly courtesy. (Yes, Florence was right, although recent discoveries have fine-tuned the picture.)
Even after being acknowledged as one of the top 100 geologists in the United States, she continued learning. In 1906 she visited Germany to study theories of petrology. What she learned there helped her understand the formation of the Appalachian Mountains.
After her death, this observation was found among her papers:
The fascination of any search after the truth lies not in the attainment…but in the pursuit, where all the powers of the mind and character are brought into play and are absorbed by the task. One feels oneself in contact with something that is infinite and one finds joy that is beyond expression in sounding the abyss of science and the secrets of the infinite mind.
*One other woman had earned a PhD, but the university did not actually grant the degree until 1926. Male chauvinism or incompetent paperwork? You decide.
A friend of mine is getting married tomorrow. What’s the best advice you can give to newlyweds?
Say thanks for all the little things. Appreciation is like lube. Makes everything go more smoothly.
Learn how to handle disagreements — with respect, honesty, love, commitment, understanding. That is the one vital skill you need to survive everything.
This font geek loved The Periodic Table of Typefaces. Thanks to hitchhiker for the link.
(I was particularly glad to see Stone sans serif on the list; it’s one of a relatively new series of font families that also includes serif, humanist, and casual typefaces. They’re all elegant and readable.) Sumner Stone is a hell of a good font designer.