Empires of the Sea, by Roger Crowley

Note – I am wrıtıng thıs from Ankara, Turkey, where the Turkısh keyboard makes ıt very dıffıcult to type ‘i’ correctly — so please forgıve my decapıtated ‘ı’s…

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Today is the annıversary of the Battle of Lepanto, the fırst full-scale battle to take place at sea aboard armored ships. It strikes me as approprıate and tımely that a few days ago, I fınıshed readıng the book Empıres of the Sea, by author Roger Crowley, whıch recounts thıs extraordınary clash of cultures/relıgıons/empıres. I have praısed Crowley’s grıppıng hıstorıcal wrıtıng when I revıewed hıs book 1453, and I mentıoned at the end of that revıew that I was ınterested ın readıng anythıng else he has wrıtten. Turns out there’s just one other book to delve ınto, Empıres. The book detaıls the expansıon of naval warfare ın the quest to control the Medıterranean Sea ın the 100+ years after the fall of Constantınople. Coverıng more than a century of tıme and a successıon of Spanısh kıngs, Roman Popes, and Ottoman sultans, ıt ıs a lot more complıcated than the sıngle battle (and two leaders) profıled ın 1453. It also ranges across the Medıterranean, from Istanbul to Malta to Cyprus to the culmınatıng battle, the one that happened 439 years ago today. As a result, the narratıve structure of the book ıs far less engagıng than ıts predecessor, but ıt stıll tells a profound and harrowıng tale.

As wıth 1453 (and the modern-day evenıng news), the book ıs full of horrıfyıng examples of human cruelty to other humans. After acceptıng the surrender of commander Marco Bragadın of Famagusta (the last town to fall on Cyprus), Lala Mustapha, the commander of the Ottoman sıege forces, reneges on the condıtıons of the treaty, and has Bragadın skınned alıve. Hıs empty skın was then stuffed wıth straw, dressed ın Bragadın’s clothes and gıven a parasol, mounted on a cow, and paraded through the streets ın mockery and celebratıon. It’s a lovely example of how hıdeous we can be to those we consıder to be our enemıes, those who belong to ’a dıfferent trıbe.’ Another example, more prosaıc but nonetheless dıstrubıng, may be found wıthın the Chrıstıan ranks — the Holy League was a sort of Chrıstıan NATO, and brought together Venetıans, Genoans, and Spanısh ın support of the common goal of resıstıng the Ottoman expansıon and defendıng what they were sure was the true faıth. However, they could hardly stand one another’s company, and a mere fıve days before the bıg battle, Venetıans were kıllıng Genoese for wakıng them up when they were tryıng to sleep. When compared to the Turks, Venetıans saw Genoese as ‘alıke,’ but when there were no Turks about for comparıson, the ‘otherness’ of theır co-Holy-Leaguers was all too apparent. Thıs trıbal outlook seems to me as beıng fundamental to the human condıtıon — whether we are commıttıng jıhad or merely comparıng soccer moms to tree huggers, human ındıvıduals are constantly engaged ın dıvıdıng the world ınto ‘us’ and ‘them.’ Sometımes, ıt ıs drıven by polıtıcs, or culture, or relıgıon, or economıcs, or even the merest snobbery, our trıbalısm causes more trouble than anythıng else I can thınk of.

The part of the book I found most ınterestıng was the battle of Lepanto.

The battle pitted the fleet of the Christian ‘Holy League’ against the navy of the Ottoman Empire. Spoıler alert – Unlike the events of 1453, the Christians won this one. The event was on an epıc scale – 140,000 men partıcıpated ın the two armadas, saılıng on 600 shıps. Crowley estımates that more than 70% of the oared shıps ın the Medıterranean met on October 7, 1571, off the coast of Lepanto. If you cannot ımagıne seeıng such a thıng (ıt straıns the ımagınatıon), Crowley paınts a vıvıd pıcture when he descrıbes the wıdenıng eyes of the crews as they glımpse the enemy navy saılıng ınto vıew for the fırst tıme. Realızıng the huge scale of the ımmınent clash, they very much have an ‘oh, shit…’ reactıon. Wıth Crowley’s vıvıd narratıon, you can practıally feel theır adrenalıne spıke.

I thınk any of us would have been astonıshed at the scale of thıs event — even the most battle-hardened modern soldıer. The vıolence, of course, was deep and dıverse. Many Chrıstıans dıe, but because of the way the wınd was blowıng and a lucky early round of gunfıre whıch oblıterated many key Ottoman vessels, the tıde of the battle quıckly turns towards the Holy League. The Ottomans suffer tremendous losses. One detaıl that struck me was the story of a Venetıan commander who blows apart hıs hand wıth a faulty grenade, then asks a subordınate to cut ıt off. The subordınate refuses, so the commander amputates hıs own hand, then tıes the carcass of a dead chıcken over the wound (What?!?!) and returns to battle. He even shouts at hıs left hand to avenge the loss of hıs rıght! Another juıcy tıdbıt ıs that one of the Spanısh saılors was the 24-year-old Mıguel de Cervantes, who would go on to author Don Quıxote. He was wounded, though obvıously not kılled.

At the end of the four hours of battle, there have been 40,000 men kılled. 100 shıps have been destroyed, and more than that agaın were captured ın saılable condıtıon from the Ottoman fleet. The sea near Lepanto was an 8-mıle-long slıck of burnıng, shattered, or drıftıng vessels, as well as rampagıng looters from the wınnıng sıde. Crowley wıns me over when he ıncludes ‘moments of grotesque comedy,’ lıke the scene where a group of Muslım saılors refuse to surrender but are wıthout tradıtıonal weapons. They start to pıck up oranges and lemons and hurl them at theır Chrıstıan tormentors. The Chrıstıan saılors, bemused, hurl them back at theır enemıes. Food fıght!

Thıs ımage of the war-polluted sea clıngs to my mınd. The blood-red water ‘heavıng thıckly wıth the matted debrıs of battle’ – Moorısh coats, wooden weapons, fragments of shıps, boxes, saıl cloth and other flotsam, and of course a great many dead human beıngs. What a profound event thıs was. Many battles had taken place before, of course, ıncludıng some whıch had a sıgnıfıcant naval component — but Lepanto was the fırst naval battle on the scale of empıres.

I suggest we all commemorate thıs day by doıng somethıng nıce for someone who we see as beıng ın a dıfferent ‘trıbe.’

The Creationists by Ronald L. Numbers

Over the summer, I finished reading an excellent history of creationism called The Creationists, authored by Ronald L. Numbers. Many of my students at Northern Virginia Community College come to my geology classes from a creationist background. Some are true believers, some are looking for the perspective of science. Some are quiet about it, others flaunt it. Regardless of whether their minds are already made up or not, I deal with creationist perspectives every semester. But how much do I really know about creationism as a phenomenon?

I found out about this tome (431 pages, 606 if you include the end notes) a few months ago via Pharyngula, when author PZ Meyers brought it up in the context of Queensland’s school system adopting a policy of teaching the creationism controversy in history classes. (Meyers also live-blogged a presentation by Ron Numbers on the same topic at the Chicago Darwin conference last fall.) I would like to use this post to review the book, and share some of the thoughts I had while reading it.

Before you read further, you should recall that my ideas and opinions are my own, and do not reflect my employers, past or present. People are touchy about religion; I feel like I need to offer that disclaimer. I’m also happy to discuss any of these ideas with my students in a non-confrontational and rational way.

The item that most surprised me in The Creationists is how recent a phenomenon Young Earth Creationism is. Author Numbers demonstrates that at the turn of the last century (~1900), acceptance of an ancient Earth and of organic evolution was common, rising, and un-extraordinary. There was a declining interest in creationism until a series of key people made certain moves. The first of these is the prophet of Seventh Day Adventism, Ellen G. White (1827-1915). It was this woman, unknown to me until I read this book, who first put forward the idea that the Noachian flood was global rather than a local affair. She also suggested that the Biblical book of Genesis described a literal six-day creation, and that the Genesis story was not metaphorical in any way, but a literal record of happenings. This idea was in stark contrast to the traditional readings of Genesis: most people subscribed to the “Day-Age” or “Gap” interpretations of Genesis.

If you’re not familiar, “Day-Age” creationists think that the six days mentioned in the book of Genesis are metaphorical – that even though the Bible says “days,” they really represent much longer spans of time. Georges-Louis Leclerc, the Comte de Buffon, expressed this point of view in 1778, when he said, “A year is to God as a thousand years is to man.”

The “Gap” interpretation essentially says, “A whole lot happened before the Biblical story gets started.” The basic idea is that God created life recently on a very old planet. A variation on this idea is that there are multiple temporal gaps within the Genesis yarn itself: time went by, stuff happened, but it didn’t get transcribed into the Bible. I suppose you could say that this is a sort of “non-depositional disconformity of Scripture.”

One of the basic issues for people interpreting Genesis is that it is internally self-contradictory, and therefore either part of it is literally wrong, or the other part is literally wrong, and therefore it’s best to just chalk the whole thing up to being metaphorically “true.” At least that’s what most people do.

To Ellen White, however, these ideas were anathema. Her personal conversations with God had convinced her that there were no gaps and no metaphorical intent. She came to the shocking and trend-bucking conclusion that the Genesis account is literally true: 6 days of 24 hours apiece, and another 24-hour day of rest.

White’s ideas were taken up by fellow Adventist George McCready Price and explored on the basis of undermining geology (particularly the sequence of fossil forms). After reading a friend’s books on evolution, Price came to the conclusion that if “geology were true, the rest would seem more or less reasonable.” Because he had already decided that he didn’t like the idea of evolution, he dedicated himself to going after its supporting science, geology.

photo from creationism.org, which has taken some of Price’s work (now in the public domain, as with this image) and re-published it on the web.

Among other superlatives, Price was the first to advance the oft-repeated creationist canard that it is “a circular argument” to date strata with the fossils they contain and to date fossils by the strata in which they are found. The book was full of similar “Aha!” moments for me as a reader: “So that’s the asshole who came up with that for the first time!” The origins of many similar shallow but infectious ideas are revealed by reading Ron Numbers’ fine book. Another example of creationist silliness that we can thank Price for is the Niagara Falls/ Grand Canyon carving claim: that the receding flood waters drained over the sediments they had deposited a few days or weeks earlier (quite rapidly lithified, it would appear), and carved out these large (American) gorges.

In Price’s 1923 book The New Geology (and an earlier piece called Illogical Geology: The Weakest Point in the Evolution Theory, published in 1906), he reexamined the geologic record in light of a global flood: to explain where the water came from, he called upon “massive subterranean reservoirs of water”; first killing “smaller and more helpless animals” and then working its way up the fossil sequence. Why were jellyfish among the first to die (considering that they float at the top of the marine water column), killed before mammoths, considering it was a flood? The story he came up with (which he later admitted couldn’t possibly be true) was a far-fetched saga of specific organisms succumbing en masse to floodwaters in a characteristic order which just so happens to match the order in which scientists think they evolved. Harold W. Clark (profiled in Chapter 7) is another noteworthy creationist, one who was convinced of the validity of the sequence of fossils via oil well holes (page 144). Following Price’s lead, Clark reconciled this directionality with his a priori “Flood geology” conclusions by suggesting that the fossil record shows organisms succumbing to flood, group by group. This silly idea (which, like so much of Price’s output, is parroted today by modern creationist crackpots) got a lovely evisceration on pages 99 to 101 of Richard Dawkins’ excellent The Greatest Show On Earth).

Price further suggested that flooding could explain how mountain ranges formed. He said that they must have come from “great lateral pressure” that resulted from subsiding flood waters… an interesting idea to ponder, insofar as it makes absolutely no sense. We never observe small floods pushing up small mountains, so why Price would postulate that a larger flood with have such a novel effect is beyond me. It may have something to do with the fact that his geological training consisted of a single mineralogy class, and that his agenda was dismantling geology, not generating robust science.

On pages 902-905, Numbers describes how Price’s biography had its ups and downs. In particular, he had some hard times: no jobs; became suicidal, and he eventually he went to Takoma Park, Maryland to work construction. (Takoma Park is a funny place — a suburb of DC equally populated by aging hippies who believe the world is worth taking care of, and Seventh-Day Adventists, who believe that the second coming of Christ is imminent, and that the world is about to be destroyed). It took fifteen years for Price to find his niche pushing his “peculiar” interpretation of the Bible. In chapter 9, Numbers demonstrates that creationism was pretty much dead in the United States in the era of 1930-1950. But then Price’s ideas were rediscovered and spread, and have continued doing so ever since.

Price dubbed his ideas as “Flood Geology,” a name that has stuck to the branch of thinking that combines select elements of geological thought with the pre-determined conclusion that “the Flood did it all.”

One particular bugbear of Flood geologists like Price is the directionality of the fossil record. An undisturbed sequence of sedimentary rocks shows unidirectional changes to the suite of fossil organisms. Price used the Chief Mountain area in Alberta and Montana as example disproving fossil sequences’ directional change. There, of course, Mesoproterozoic strata overlie Cretaceous strata:

Chief Mtn

Chief Mtn_anno

Nowadays, we recognize this is tectonic shuffling due to the Sevier Orogeny, accommodated along the Lewis Thrust, but Price used it as an example to say “geology must be wrong.” He never bought the thrust fault idea.

This is a New Catastrophism: a single great flood (Noachian) which is responsible for the geological record; in contrast to old catastrophism of Cuvier and Agassiz: those men were advocates of multiple catastrophes spread over immense periods of time. One problem with the New Catastrophism is that it fails to explain what people lived on before this great flood. If all the world’s rock layers were laid down during a global deluge, on what foundation did Noah build his ark? What was underneath the garden of Eden? Another criticism, pointed out by people more familiar with the Bible than me, is that Biblical landmarks and place-names before the flood are same as post-flood places. It’s hard to reconcile this with the the ramifications of a global flood burying everything in sediment. (And where did all the sediment itself come from? More “vast subterranean reservoirs”? Sheesh.)

One great thing about this book is that Ron Numbers traces the evolution of ideas through time. While a lot of modern-day Christian young-Earth creationists might cringe to hear that their viewpoints are directly traceable to a Seventh-Day Adventist “prophet,” Numbers shows how ideas were transferred from Ellen G. White to George McCready Price to others, and thence to the modern creationist. One nice example is how Price followed White’s lead with regard to the presence of species. White suggested that after the Noachian flood, Satan supervised the amalgamation of man and beast. Price referred to Satan as ” the great primal hybridizer.” Satan is responsible for not only sin, but also… biodiversity?!? This strikes me as a very strange idea indeed, and hence a neat sort of “marker meme” that you can watch being passed from one person to another, like a fluorescent dye.

Though the idea of evolution is of course anathema to creationists, the notion of ‘devolution’ was pretty widespread amongst these early creationists. The idea of amalgamation producing biodiversity by hybridizing humans and (non-human) animals is one example. But there is a strong racist element to this thinking, too. On page 102, Numbers quotes a horrific poem by Price about “the Negro race.” I won’t reprint it here, but it definitely indicates his sense of superiority as a white man, and presents that idea that black people are the way they are because of a degenerative path they took. Similarly, Price claimed that racial mixing had produced apes. They were degenerate men in his view. I was astonished to read this: so apes are related to us; just in an opposite sense of derivation? This is wild stuff: how is it that people can think this way and have anyone respect them?

Henry M. Morris and John C. Whitcomb are two other creationists that are well worth knowning. They wrote the modern ‘creation science’/'Flood geology’ text, The Genesis Flood. They took Price’s ideas and dropped all allusions to Price himself or the disreputable Seventh Day Adventism cult. Many modern evangelical Christians, the audience for whom Whitcomb and Morris were writing, viewed the Seventh Day Adventists as a fringe sect. It would be much easier to swallow Flood geology if they thought it was derived by their people from the Bible. So that’s how Whitcomb and Morris presented it, to great success. (Read the reviews on Amazon – not surprisingly, they show a bimodal distribution.)

I was also interested in the part of the book that deals with the spread of Creationist thinking in Mormonism. Mormonism strikes me as not only “another sect” of Christianity, but also a particularly weird one, with absolutely wacky ideas about many things. For instance, the notion that the American continents were populated by Middle Eastern tribes (via boat and “barrel”) rather than by Siberians (via the Bering Straight land bridge), is a wackaroon notion readily disproved by genetic comparisons between the three groups of people. This idea stems from another prophet, Joseph Smith, who (like Ellen White), claimed to have had a conversation with God, and later translated some golden plates that he found in a glacial drumlin in New York, and produced the Book of Mormon from them. He translated them, of course, with a magic “seer stone” (as would any of us, I’m sure). Read Jon Krakauer’s Under The Banner of Heaven for a eyebrow-raising account of these events – it’s a stunning revelation of how one loon/charlatan/mentally-ill-person can inspire an entire religion. I have several friends and family members who are Mormon, so I was eager to hear what Numbers’ historical research revealed…

On page 342, Numbers describes the reaction of Mormons to The New Geology, George Price’s flood geology book. Sterling Talmage (1889-1956, a professor on the geology faculty at the New Mexico School of Mines) was asked about Price by his father (James Talmage, 1862-1933, a mining geologist and engineer on the Quorum of Twelve, who was sussing out what his  co-Quorum-er Joseph Fielding Smith was preaching to the Quorum about Price’s flood geology). Smith (1876-1972) was the grandson of Mormon prophet Joseph Smith, which is why he got to be on the Quorum. Turns out he was instrumental in introducing creationist ideas into the Mormon church, though not without some friction: Sterling Talmage responded to his father’s query about The New Geology by saying that it neither contained anything “new” nor any real “geology.” –– “With these two corrections, the title remains the best part of the book,” he said. Ouch!

Despite this negative assessment, Smith published Man: His Origin and Destiny in 1954, a book which presented Smith’s case against evolution. He cited his grandfather the prophet and non-Mormons like George Price. He argued that evolution was unscientific and un-Mormon. This was a break with the longstanding Mormon tradition of recognizing the knowledge gained via science as being valid. Numbers quotes an unnamed scholar as saying that Smith went “for schism rather than synthesis.” Like White and Price, this act of a lone individual provided fuel to a small fire, and set many Mormons on a more fundamentalist, non-scientific path. Bummer.

There are similar bifurcations of thinking in other faiths. One particularly telling example is presented in the book’s final chapter, “Creationism Goes Global” (page 429).  This time, the religion chewing on what to do with evolutionary thinking is Judaism. One ultra-orthodox group of Jews in Israel was threatening to withdraw their kosher certificate from a dairy that distributed dinosaur stickers. The complaint? The stickers piqued the kids’ curiosity about dinosaurs, so they went and looked them up in (gasp!) encyclopedias. These insidious factual references gave the age of dinosaurs as hundreds of millions of years old. Another rabbi commented on the controversy: “If the haredim want to ignore scientific proof of the existence of dinosaurs, that is their right,” he said. This struck me as very… shall we say, “accommodating” – but also as totally crazy. If it’s a person’s right to ignore the proof of dinosaurs, then I guess it follows that everyone is equally allowed to ignore the existence of squirrels. Believing in God is one thing… I mean, there’s no proof of that, so I can’t complain. But disbelieving in dinosaurs? I am not so accommodating as the rabbi. Those who willfully ignore demonstrable physical reality forfeit their right to be respected, at least by this humble blogger. Yes, you have a right to believe that dinosaurs didn’t exist (or that squirrels don’t, for that matter). But if that’s the way you roll, I think you’re a frakking idiot.

Some of my favorite passages in the book had to do with conflicts between creationists, as they hashed out what was true and what was foolishness. For instance, on page 113, Melvin Kyle (1858-1933) asks Price about the fossil record. The order of fossils is either perfectly forwards (i.e., the order predicted by the geologic timescale) or backwards (when strata are folded onto their backs) but never jumbled; this seemed to Kyle to present “too great a strain upon [creationist] credulity.” Tee hee! Another example occurs when Price’s protégé Francis Nichol (1897-1966) questioned just how exactly the flood let one layer of sediments settle out and “take definite shape” before another was “hurled upon it.” Good question, Mr. Nichol…and we’re still waiting for an answer.

Self-reflection can be equally damning. On page 108, Numbers quotes Price as admitting that you would never work out the creationist story from an examination of geology alone based in first principles; it required knowledge if the Bible to “see” the creation story in the rocks. That’s a classic example of the way science doesn’t work: starting with the conclusion, and then going out in search of evidence to support that conclusion. Sounds more like lawyering to me.

On page 347, Numbers quotes Gary North (b. 1942) with lauding The Genesis Flood by Whitcomb and Morris as “the most important book in the revival of the six-day view of Genesis.” However, he pulled no punches with criticizing creationist arguments that were clearly logically flawed, like the idea that because evolution is a directional phenomenon (one-way where order is maintained or developed), it therefore violates the second law of thermodynamics (tendency towards disorder) and is therefore false. This idea was first developed by Robert Clark, a chemist, as detailed in chapter 8 of The Creationists. North found it to be a weak argument. Among the reasons offered for this point of view is that Christ was resurrected, and that violated the second law of thermodynamics, too.

My favorite quip of North’s had to do with the practical benefits of a creationist paradigm (as opposed to the benefits of the scientific paradigm which we all enjoy every day: automobiles, air conditioning, antibiotics, shelf-stable food). What benefits does creationism offer to humanity’s day to day living? North said, “If six-day creationism could be used to locate oil and mineral deposits less expensively than the methodology of evolutionism does, we would begin to see the abandonment of evolutionism.” I think that’s a great point, especially coming from a creationist. “What we need,” North continued, “is for evolutionism to start drilling more dry holes than we do.” How’s that working out for you, Gary North?

Another nice example of creationists slamming creationists can be found on page 327. There, Numbers describes how the Geoscience Research Institute (a Seventh-Day Adventist creationist think tank) let the geologists on staff go when they concluded that flood geology was a farce (“desperately weak and improbable,” according to one with actual geological training). Edward N. Lugenbeal (b. 1940, studied archaeology at University of Wisconsin) wondered how he could “in good conscience continue to absorb the Church’s resources in what seems to me a futile and self-deceptive effort to disprove the obvious in science and an emotionally and ethically debilitating attempt to bolster our peoples’ faith by telling them a series of partial truths about science.” This strikes me as pretty damming when a creationist and believer speaks about flood geology that way.

Late in the book (on page 369), we are treated to the story of the development of modern scientific creationism, a movement represented by plenty of well-credentialed spokespeople. Numbers expresses this very well, so I will quote his discussion of how modern creationists with scientific training have adopted bits and pieces that they like from other scientists. He focuses specifically on the paleontologist Steve Gould (1941-2002) and the geologist Robert H. Dott (b. 1929):

Although they [creationists] adorned their literature with the names of scientists who questioned evolutionary orthodoxy, […] these citations were little more than literary ornaments. Both Gould and Dott, for example, vigorously opposed creationism of any kind, but scientific creationists nevertheless appropriated their “neo-catastrophism” – Dott’s use of non-uniformitarian “episodic sedimentation” and Gould’s employment of “punctuated equilibria” to develop a theory of evolution by spurts – in defending their deluge model of earth history. To understand twentieth-century creationism, little knowledge of formal science and philosophy is necessary; familiarity with the Byzantine world of popular religion is essential.

I think this is an excellent point. When science encounters new explanations or new data, science incorporates those notions and that information into an ever-shifting world view, and ever-evolving understanding of the natural world. A nice example of that is the recent news that something going on in the Sun may be influencing radioactive decay rates, the supposed constancy of which is the basis of isotopic dating of mineral crystals (and thus rocks). Once verified, this may mean that we end up re-estimating all the ages of rocks that we have calculated. It remains to be seen how it will all play out, but science doesn’t flinch at the data – science is intrigued when new data is revealed. If science were as dogmatic as “scientific” creationism, it would try to suppress or “spin” the news about decay constants not actually being constant. Science embraces what it doesn’t know. New data reveal our ignorance, and point to new questions.

But what creationists do with new data is different: if it doesn’t fit with their pre-determined world view, the data must be wrong. If it does fit with their pre-determined world view, then the data are allowed to be right. If it’s more subtle than that, then they can pick and choose what interests them. There are no new conclusions in creation science, only new angles of attack.

As for Dott and Gould: Episodic sedimentation is clearly the way sedimentation works, both on shorter- and longer-term scales. But “flood geology” creationists take that nugget and extrapolate it to “all sediments were laid down in a big flood.” Gould and co-author (lead author, actually) Niles Eldredge proposed that evolution didn’t proceed gradually, but in sudden jumps separated by long periods of stasis. Super; this new idea allowed science to reformulate its understanding of evolution. But young-Earth creationists took the Eldridge and Gould (1972) idea and said “look, Gould says evolutionary thinking is wrong.” In short, they take the bits and pieces they like, and ignore/undermine the bigger picture. This works fine if you’re not dealing with scientists, but are instead telling the general public what they want to hear.

The non-science-trained public is a mixed bag. I think it’s fair to say that a lot of the population of my country “…live in a society exquisitely dependent on science and technology, in which hardly anyone knows anything about science and technology” (Carl Sagan). Nowhere is this more acute than in rejection of (a) the idea of organic evolution via natural selection, and (b) the idea of an old Earth. Anyone who teaches Historical Geology or deals with anti-evolution or young-Earth-creationist viewpoints should read Ron Number’s history The Creationists. It’s an excellent introduction to the story of where these ideas came from, and how they spread among believers to gain wide acceptance.

Graph beauty: T vs. viscosity for lavas

I spent the day lazily reading the igneous petrology chapters of Petrology by Blatt, Tracy, and Owens (third edition, 2006). Last time I read it, I didn’t get all that much from the igneous section, but this time around that’s the thing that motivated me to delve into it again. I don’t remember enough about igneous petrology from my school days, and while I have a little breathing room this summer, it seemed to me that I could bone up on it a bit.

One thing that caught my eye this afternoon was Figure 4-15, on page 78. I have redrawn it for you here:

visctemp

I love beautiful graphs like this. It compares viscosity (resistance to flow, as measured in pascal-seconds; each pa-s is the same as 10 poise) to temperature (as measured in degrees Celsius). Five different compositions of lava are plotted: komatiite, basalt, andesite, dacite, and rhyolite.

First off, you’re no doubt struck by the inverse relationship between temperature and viscosity. The hotter the lava is, the less viscous it is (more runny; easier to flow).

Second, higher-silica-content lavas (rhyolites, dacites) are much more viscous than lower-silica content lavas (basalts, komatiites). Silica (and, to a lesser extent, alumina) form polymer-like chains. The more silica there is (up to 75 wt% in some rhyolites), the more of these sticky, web-like chains can form. This is why you can see lava dripping off the molten basalt in this video, but the molten granite clings to its source rock. Water actually interrupts the formation of these silica polymers, and thus lowers viscosity when it is present.

I’m also struck, looking at this graph, of the difference in temperatures plotted from left to right. This corresponds with observed lava eruption temperatures of different compositions. Low-silica lavas erupt at high temperatures, as they are chock full of high-crystallization-temperature mineral components. (They wouldn’t erupt at all at lower temperatures, because they would be solid.) High-silica lavas erupt at relatively low temperatures, as the components they contain will crystallize into minerals like quartz at relatively low temperatures.

Ironically, though we might think “high temperatures = more dangerous,” the opposite is true. Low-silica lavas tend to erupt effusively, with relatively little risk for human life. You can outrun a lava flow — with rare exceptions, even low viscosity lavas still only flow a few hundred meters per hour. The lower-temperature lavas, on the other hand, are the ones to worry about — because they’re viscous. This “stickiness” means they tend to clog up magmatic plumbing and allow greater pressures to build up. Couple this idea with the tendency of high-silica lavas to also be rich in dissolved gases, and you get a much more explosive style of eruption.

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Reference

Spera, F.J. (2000) “Physical properties of magma,” in Encyclopedia of Volcanoes, H. Siggurdsson, ed. San Diego CA: Academic Press. {Fig. 4}

1453, by Roger Crowley

So,  I think I dropped a hint here that I was planning to travel to Turkey this summer. Lily and I will be there from the end of June until the middle of July. (And I’ll be going back in October for the Tectonic Crossroads conference.) In preparation for a trip like this, I enjoy doing some research and reading some books. There are a lot of books about Turkey, and I’ve got at least two more I want to get through before I go, but I wanted to tell you about one that I just finished.

It’s called 1453, and the author is Roger Crowley. The book is a nonfiction account of the battle for Constantinople in the titular year, just one among many attempts by Muslims to conquer this Christian enclave in their part of the world. Situated on a triangle of land between the Bosporus and the inlet called the “Golden Horn,” Constantinople has fended off many attacks over the years. In a position to control commerce between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean, the city was a fabled jewel: it inspired some men’s covetousness and other men’s wholehearted defense.

istanbulImage modified from the NASA image (public domain) here

The geography of Constantinople protected it from assault on two sides due to sea (Sea of Marmara side + Golden Horn side), and the third side (facing west) was protected by several layers of defense: a moat, an outer wall, and a taller inner wall. For a thousand years, they had defended their city from outside aggressors. In the year 1453, the Byzantine empire (a.k.a. the “Greeks”) was defending Constantinople from the imperial advance of the Ottoman Empire (a.k.a. the “Turks”). Constantine XI was leader of the Byzantines; Mehmet II was sultan of the Ottomans. After a two-month siege, the Ottomans triumphed, and the city was sacked; its inhabitants enslaved or slaughtered. The city itself was transformed: The Cathedral of St. Sophia was remade as a Muslim mosque, the Hagia Sophia. The name “Constantinople” was replaced with “Islambol,” which became “Istanbul” with time.

It was a battle between two “great” world religions, with “great” in this case meaning “big.” Both prayed to their respective ideas of God, beseeching the deity that their cause triumph over their enemies’. Every time something positive happened to advance their cause, they sang the praises of their chosen deity. Of course, when things didn’t go their way, they did not infer that their deity had forsaken them (or that no deities were involved), but that they only needed to pray harder.

Powered by their deep religious faiths, they cut one another’s heads off, chopped one another into pieces, impaled one another on pikes. In addition, the raiding Muslims speared babies in Constantinople and raped women. (If it were Christians were to have attacked a Muslim stronghold instead, it seems clear that the “morals” would have led to similar depravity and atrocity in the other direction. That didn’t happen in 1453, since the Muslim army was all men, and the residents of Constantinople were mixed men, women, and children. For example, the Fourth Crusade, a group of warrior Christians, sacked Constantinople in 1204: this Christian attack on other Christians was the only previous occasion when the city had fallen to invaders. )

I came away from this book:

  1. …thinking “wow” — all this shit played out more than 650 years ago, and Constantinople was already a thousand years old when that happened! History is deep in some parts of the world. Even “civilized” history…
  2. …thinking “wow” — the siege of Constantinople is an epic saga, far more compelling than Troy. The back and forth, the ingenuity, the personalities involved in the 1453 battle: they are epic. This book would make an amazing movie. Read it to find out how Mehmet gets his boats into the Golden Horn, or how Constantine protects the city walls from Mehmet’s cannonfire. How does the Pope react to the Ottoman threat? How to the Genoese merchants on the north shore of the Golden Horn attempt to remain neutral while secretly pulling for Constantine? How close did Mehmet come to giving up?  I won’t reveal this wild stuff here but it’s a roller coaster ride.
  3. …thinking that Roger Crowley is an exceptionally talented writer, if he can make me care about these people, this event, lost in the netherworld between 10,000 BCE and the present. This man can write. What else has he written? Bring them to me!
  4. …thinking that I am very motivated to visit some of the critical locales mentioned in this book, where the battle for Constantinople took historical turns one way and the other. I’ll be in Istanbul a month from now; Stay tuned.
  5. …thinking how astonishing it is that people continue to think that their religion is the right one, in spite of being surrounded by other people thinking the same dang thing about different deities. This tribal thinking (“my people are the chosen ones; your people are infidels”) leads to tremendous suffering and bloodshed: people who don’t think the same things you do are by definition no longer people, and may be treated as non-human. [begin rant] I am reminded of a quote from Steven Weinberg: “With or without religion, good people can behave well and bad people can do evil; but for good people to do evil—that takes religion.” For thousands of years, our species has fought itself with tribal self-righteousness. It’s always “us” and “them,” and religion is the most frequently-adopted tribal cloak. In their own minds, religion absolves its practitioners from their atrocities;  by supplanting reason, it leads to unspeakable acts and horrific history. I am impressed by those religious individuals who think critically about their faith’s offerings, and apply the theological precepts with a modicum of common sense and an independent sense of ethics. But many religious people disappoint me deeply, with a series of actions that wreck the world along with any notion of consistency or moral “high ground.”  After reading about the battle for Constantinople, or experiencing the 9/11 attacks, or following the daily news, I can’t help but think the world would be a better place with a purely natural sense of ethics, and supernatural moral frameworks banished to the dustbin of thought. “Hypothesis not supported.” [end of rant]

If you are at all into history, or at all into Turkey, read 1453. As a rule, I’m not into history, but I am very grateful that fellow Turkey traveler Greg Willis recommended this book to me. In return, I loaned him Orhan Pamuk’s Istanbul: Memories and the City. I look forward to offering my review of that tome in the weeks to come.

Larry Wiseman is my hero

llw

I have many heroes, but the one I would like to pay tribute to today is Larry Wiseman, my mentor through my undergraduate years at William & Mary and beyond. Now, Larry is a biologist, not a geologist — but he probably did more to frame my life’s work than any other individual.

At William & Mary, Larry was chair of the biology department, and taught the first semester intro course for bio majors: focused on cells, development, and genetics. (A second semester course, taught by Bruce Grant, would focus on organisms, ecology, and evolution.) Larry’s teaching style really resonated with me: it was very visual, full of analogies and clever turns of phrase. His test questions seemed perfectly attuned to my brain’s style of thinking: they tested not just content, but common sense. I liked this professor: he thought like me!

That first semester, I got involved with the Biology Club, ready to go off and help with campus litter pickups, and monitoring of beaches where piping plovers and least terns (two endangered species of birds) were nesting. I also started writing and cartooning for the Niche, the biology department newsletter. Larry supervised that operation too, and encouraged my wacky re-imagining of the Niche‘s mascots, two lab mice [one example here].

In my second semester as a freshman, Larry waived some pre-requisites and allowed me to take his senior-level Developmental Biology course. This too was an amazing educational experience. It was a wild course: we spent time thinking about the weird stuff that results when salamander limbs are rotated 180° and regrafted to their arms (3 arms sprout from the former elbow), about gastrulation (a fist pushing through a beach ball; the most important event in your life), and about apoptosis (pre-programmed cell death; the reason you have fingers instead of a big paddle). Larry wasn’t afraid to tackle the deeper meaning of developmental biology, either: he asked us at what point the soul emerged in a developing embryo. Was it at conception? Well, experiments show that a young embryo can be physically divided in two, and each half will go on to mature into a fully-formed individual. Do those two individuals have half a soul apiece, or do they share one soul? The reverse can also be seen: two embryos’ cells can merge, and they grow into one individual. Does that individual have two souls? I loved this stuff: I ate it up.

Eventually, my path led me to geology as a major, but Larry and I continued our mentor/mentee relationship. We would meet for coffee at Prince George Espresso about once a month, and talk life, academics, literature, and art. I credit Larry for my interest in the Belgian surrealist René Magritte, for instance. Another time, when I was mentioning my budding interest in geology, he recommended I try reading this guy named John McPhee. [Yes, a biologist pointed me to McPhee, not a geologist!] Perhaps most importantly, one day he took a sip of coffee and told me, “You have to read Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey.” I checked it out of the Williamsburg Library and devoured it. It was the best book I had ever read, and it probably still is.

These coffeeshop conversations, as well as occasional walks we took in Colonial Williamsburg, were as important as any formal academic learning experience I had in college. Larry’s willingness to discuss big issues with me really helped sculpt my intellect. I am who I am in no small part due to those dialogues.

When it came time to graduate and move on, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next. While some were pushing me towards graduate school, and others suggested job experience in geology, Larry said “I think you should get a used Subaru and buy an easel and some paints and move out to the southwest for three or four months and just make art!” I was astonished that a professor would suggest something so … nonacademic, so non-career-oriented. It made me trust him. This guy’s got a proper perspective, I thought.

A couple years after I had graduated (and yes, roamed around out west), I went back to visit Williamsburg, and happened to find Larry taking a gaggle of students out to lunch, facilitating similar discussions with them, nurturing the next generation of young minds. It made me happy to see.

Larry retired a few years back, to much fanfare. At that time, he had probably taught more William & Mary students than any other professor in the history of the College, and the students thought quite highly of him. They voted him faculty marshal, and threw a great party for him on the occasion of his last lecture. In his retirement, Larry and his wife Nancy bought a place in Fort Collins, Colorado, where they are pursuing a new project melding their interests in birds, native Americans, and art: Bird Rock Art. They are documenting the appearance of bird images in Indian petroglyphs and pictographs, and enjoying life on the Rocky Mountain Front. The summer before last, I stopped in and stayed a couple nights there on my way to and from Montana.

This man is responsible for guiding me through the most formative period in my intellectual life, and I’m eternally grateful for his time, attention, and wisdom. Because he helped me develop into who I am, Larry Wiseman is my hero.

The Ghosts of Evolution, by Connie Barlow

Over Snowmageddon, I read Connie Barlow’s book The Ghosts of Evolution: Nonsensical Fruit, Missing Partners, and Other Ecological Anachronisms. [Google Books; Amazon]

Barlow isn’t a scientist, but she’s got a scientist in her pocket: Paul Martin of the University of Arizona. In 1982, Martin and Dan Janzen of the University of Pennsylvania published a paper in Science in which they postulated that a lot of the features of some modern plants are best explained by co-evolution with Pleistocene megafauna (mammoths, gomptotheres, glyptodonts, ground sloths, rhinoceroses, horses, etc.). As those animals are now extinct or extirpated from North America, the plants lack their “disperser” partners. As a result, their “over-sized” or “overly-protected” fruits don’t get dispersed, and tend to rot on the ground. Gravity is the main modern dispersal agent, and so they tend to be quite common in floodplains, but not upland areas.

North American examples of these so-called “ecological anachronisms” are honey locust, osage orange, gingko, pawpaw, Kentucky coffee tree, persimmon, and potentially desert gourds. Another great example, from Central America, is the avocado. These plants bear fruits (or fruitlike growths, if they’re not true angiosperms, like the gingko) which are either very large, very tough, or have very large seeds that are not swallowed by modern animals. Barlow claims that these plants are “haunted” by their departed ecological partners, an evocative analogy that gets repeated many times, long after it’s worn out.

The book is interesting and it held my attention. More importantly, it made me look at the trees around me and wonder at the evolutionary forces that sculpted them, forces now absent, though their sculpture remains. These plants surround us, and one you learn to spot them, it’s hard to pass them on the street without pondering their species’ history.

Walking back to my car after structural geology class at George Mason University last week, I saw some of the pods of the honey locust — big leathery things 15 cm long, 3 cm wide, and 1 cm thick. Some had been cracked open by the pounding action of undergraduate footsteps, and I saw inside the green pulp that Barlow described in the book. I remember she described it as “sugary,” so I grabbed an unmolested pod, and stuck it in my bag. That night, at home, my girlfriend and I cracked it open and tried some. It was sweet! Kind of mango-gummy, I’d say. However, the shell is quite bitter, and so if you try it at home, don’t lick the shell. After I accidentally grazed the shell with my lip and then my tongue, I had to spit and rinse my mouth out. It was nasty.

The Ghosts of Evolution isn’t a perfect book. One criticism I would offer is that it’s a bit repetitive, where the original thesis (a fresh, interesting idea) gets beaten into the ground with endless reiteration. Guns, Germs, and Steel fell victim to the same lack of editorial excision, in my view.

Another problem is that Barlow illustrates her plants with a series of “arty” photographs. The composition of these photos is symmetrical and balanced. They convey beauty, but they aren’t really scientific. Also, the sense of scale she provides is a honey locust seed. This may seem an appropriate sense of scale to a North American botanist, but most of us do not have an intuitive sense of the size of a honey locust seed, even if we are told it’s “about 1 cm long.”

Finally, I would say she needs to be more precise about where the science stops and her own enthusiasm for the idea takes over. The desert gourds she discusses are an exemplar of this: She runs with the idea of ecological anachronisms, and tries to apply its principles to a plant she sees in her own New Mexico neighborhood, but it is unclear how much of this discussion is her own extrapolations and how much has been rigorously researched by botanists. On the other hand, she does things that are beautiful without being scientifically significant: like rubbing a honey locust pod over a mastodon tooth in the American Museum of Natural History, and reflecting how that’s probably the first time that’s happened in more than 10,000 years!

All in all, worth reading if you’re into ecology, evolution, the Pleistocene, or botany. Has anyone else read it? If so, what did you think?

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