An American Darwin?

It has now been some considerable time since I last wrote for this weblog, but I have recently made an exciting discovery which compels me to put pen to paper (or rather, phalanges to keyboard) once more under my anagrammatic nom de guerre. Thus far I have discussed this discovery only with individuals with whom I am personally acquainted, but I have decided that it will probably do no harm if I allow it a (slightly) more public airing.

While poring over some nineteenth-century works of science and pseudoscience (a thing I am surprisingly wont to do) I accidentally discovered a work by a now-forgotten American lawyer and phrenologist named James Stanley Grimes. Grimes, who born in Boston in 1807, published a book entitled Phreno-Geology in 1850. In this work Grimes proposes a theory of evolution by natural selection about nine years before the appearance of Darwin's Origin of Species, thus making him (a) the first self-avowed American evolutionist and (b) one of only a handful of persons who conceived of evolution by natural selection before the Origin came out in 1859. Grimes appears to have reached his conclusions primarily through the study of geology, paleontology, embryology, and neuroanatomy. Unlike Darwin, Grimes does not appear to have drawn on information from animal husbandry, or to have had recourse to the analogy between artificial and natural selection, in forming his theory of organic evolution.

With regard to the mechanism underlying evolution, Grimes's fundamental concept was that as geological and environmental conditions alter there may happen to appear within species a minority of individuals bearing "variations" or "idiosyncracies" (what we would now tend to call mutations) that permit them to adapt to new conditions and survive better than do other members of the same species, such that over time the accumulation of these variations in succeeding generations may constitute new species even as older species are driven to extinction. This is essentially the same mechanism that Darwin propounded in the Origin of Species. (In common with Darwin, Grimes does assign a role--though a far more limited one--to other evolutionary mechanisms, such as the inheritance of acquired characteristics; like Darwin, however, Grimes explicitly rejects the non-selection-based evolutionism of Lamarck and Robert Chambers.)

Given my academic training in the history of biology, I was able to recognize the extent to which Grimes anticipated Darwinian evolutionism, and I am now preparing a paper on Grimes that I hope to see published this year or next: 2009 will be the 150th anniversary of the Origin of Species and the 200th anniversary of Darwin's birth.

Because I am discussing Grimes and his theory in great detail in the paper I am now writing, it would be tiresome and redundant and premature to go too much more into the subject here; however, I will mention that Grimes was demonstrably a devout Christian, whose faith seems hardly to have waned over the course of his long life. This certainly distinguishes him as a co-discoverer of evolution by natural selection, since Darwin, A. R. Wallace, and other putative co-discoverers are generally regarded as having been agnostics or deists.

Grimes died in 1903, having protested several times after 1859 that he had published a theory of evolution by natural selection before Darwin. Neither Darwin nor any other scientist, it seems, was willing to investigate or acknowledge Grimes's claims. In 1958, Loren Eiseley, an historian of evolutionary biology, considered Grimes's Phreno-Geology and concluded, based (I can only assume) on a very cursory examination, that Grimes was not an evolutionist. This is clearly incorrect, since in that treatise Grimes unambiguously describes how species of animals, including Homo sapiens, evolved from one another over the slow course of geological ages; how humankind and apes likely have a common ancestor; how we all descend from creatures that were aquatic, and later semi-aquatic; how all human beings were probably once dark-skinned, and how lighter skin evolved as an adaptation to changing conditions; how the first animals must have evolved from plants; how the human nervous system is the product of evolutionary forces progressively augmenting the nervous systems of antecedent species; and so forth. Given these statements, and the failure of any historian before or after Grimes's death to bring his evolutionism properly to light, I believe a monograph on Grimes is now long overdue, and so I am eager to complete my own paper on Grimes and to see it published. Adieu.

My Affection for Olde Bookes

I have a great love for old books; by which I mean not only books that are individually long in the tooth, but also books whose authors first put their contents to paper long ago. The picture at the left represents me reading the physically oldest volume that I own, a copy of John Tillotson's Complete Works from 1704. (Tillotson was an archbishop of Canterbury who had a formative influence on the thought of the English philosopher John Locke. I purchased the book several years ago, in the course of my dissertation research, because I could not obtain Tillotson's works in a contemporary edition.) The book is bound in sheepskin, which is now dessicated and cracked with age; yet the pages within are more or less free from blemishes, and remain very readable. I continue to find it a truly pleasurable exercise of the imagination to ponder all of the endless ways in which the world has changed since this book first appeared in a bookstall in London, or Norwich, or wherever it happened to be, in an age when men wore periwigs and had ornamented buckles on their shoes. I can sometimes achieve a similar effect with something other than a book: I own a Roman Egyptian coin from the reign of Diocletian, over sixteen centuries ago; and at times I like to hold it in my hand and attempt to picture to myself the persons whose fingers must have fished it from their pockets or purses to make their customary purchases, everyday items that many a museum of antiquities would now be happy to add to its collections. Old buildings have also stirred my thoughts in this way, from dilapidated houses to European cathedrals. Yet it is books that retain the strongest influence over me in that way, as perhaps it always will be. The distant past has always had a greater fascination for me than it has for most people, and also (what I think is somehow related to this) I am far more prey to nostalgia than are most of the people that I know. I have read a few studies (and not more than a few yet exist) of persons, now adults, who were placed for adoption as infants. These studies reveal that adopted persons tend to have a more intense interest in the past, in history, and in tracing the origins of things than do their non-adopted contemporaries; perhaps because our own past, our own history, and our own origins are shrouded in obscurity. It is disturbing, at times, to think that my interest in history may have been imprinted on my unconscious mind even from infancy, so that my decision to pursue a doctorate in history may not have been as free a choice as I once assumed. Yet it remains an infinitely engaging field of inquiry for me, even now, and if I was impelled to the study of it partly by psychological forces of which I was unaware, than this is almost certainly true of all of the important choices that every one of us must make about how we shall carry on with our lives. Adieu.

A Rare Snowfall Prettifies Washington for My Birthday

Today is my birthday, and so I thought I would post a photograph of myself taken this afternoon (principally so that I can later be reminded of what I looked like on the thirty-eighth anniversary of my birth) and also briefly mention that it has been a unusual day here in the nation's capital: For the first time since I have lived here, it has snowed in Washington on the seventh of April. Since this is also the time of year when the cherry blossoms are in bloom, this morning an uncommon sight presented itself: The branches of the cherry trees that line my street were spangled both with white blossoms and with a bright, millimeters-thick coating of wet snow. One need not have an especially poetic soul to recognize the special beauty of this occurrence--nor to wish that it were not so ephemeral. By mid-afternoon, the sun had grown stronger, the temperature had climbed above freezing, and the snow had vanished away entirely. But it was a gratifying thing to witness while it lasted. Adieu.

Addendum: There are those who contend that this day is also the birthday of the Internet. Visit the following URL for details:

www.wired.com/science/discoveries/news/2007/04/dayintech_0407

Shall Tanning Be the New Smoking?

Last week I had lunch with an old (but non-elderly) friend of mine--I will refer to her here as Mona, though that is not her real name--who is a student at Georgetown University's School of Nursing. As we were preparing to leave the restaurant, Mona asked me if I would keep her company while she stopped by a tanning salon to make an appointment. I agreed. When we arrived, another acquaintance of mine, a young woman who is also a student at Georgetown, was already there for an appointment of her own. I have since been assured by one of my housemates--who has herself spent many an hour in a tanning bed--that this establishment's clientele includes many female students from both Georgetown University and nearby George Washington University.

I had never been to any such place of business before, and, as I waited for Mona to conclude her business there, I began thinking along the following lines: I am myself by nature exceedingly fair-skinned, and long hours spent in the sun do little to improve my appearance: My skin grows red, and becomes painful to the touch, and in extreme cases has even developed blisters; and blisters, technically speaking, are indicative of a second-degree burn. Ever since I was an adolescent, therefore, I have practiced the fine art of sun-avoidance: I wear sunglasses all the year round; I walk, whenever possible, on the shady side of the street; and my sunblock is never less powerful than SPF 30. The sun and I are old, implacable enemies, and as summer nears we look to one another with gathering hostility and suspicion. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that I have never been an unabashed supporter of suntanning, artificial or otherwise. But my own prejudices (however legitimate) aside, it seems to me a question worth pondering whether Americans' long-standing love affair with bronzed skin will not eventually come into conflict with their ever-increasing concern over issues of personal health.

We remember that once, a generation or two ago, smoking was tolerated by Americans far more than it is today: Cigarettes had not yet been banned from most workplaces, the citywide prohibitions that we see today were hardly dreamt of, and smokers were subject to virtually none of public and private attacks on their tobacco-use that bombard them today. The times are very different now, of course. It may seem unlikely that any such change of fortune could one day overtake sunworshippers and the industry that supports their habit. What, one may ask, has sunlight to do with tobacco? UV rays are not physically addictive (so far as we know), and no one has ever contracted cancer through second-hand tanning. Yet consider these three parallels:

1. Whether it be real or simulated in a tanning parlor, sunlight, like tobacco, is a proven carcinogen. With sunbathing, as with smoking, the greatest and most recognized danger is cancer. Prolonged exposure to the sun's ultraviolet rays may lead to melanoma or other kinds of cancerous lesions, and hours spent in a tanning salon are at least equally hazardous. Polls reveal that cancer remains highly unpopular among Americans; to the extent that tanning is linked to it, therefore, its own popularity may eventually decline.

2. Like smoking, tanning is a practice that makes us more attractive in the short term, at the cost of making us less attractive in the long term. It is the consensus of the medical community in this country that smoking can cause premature aging of the epidermis: leathery skin and deep wrinkles may emerge in our early thirties, which owe their origin to the tobacco we consumed in our teens and twenties. Tanning is acknowledged to have a similar effect: Photoaging, or aging of the skin from exposure to ultraviolet rays, may eventually give us the complexion of an old cowhide jacket. Tanning is also associated with the formation of fine red veins on the cheeks, nose, and ears. As a friend of mine's grandmother used to say, "Tan now is wrinkles later."

3. Like their counterparts within Big Tobacco, authorities in the tanning industry have refused to concede--strong warnings from the medical community notwithstanding--that what they are selling is hazardous to Americans' health. Tanning is big business and is rapidly getting bigger: The indoor tanning industry brought in $4.2 billion in 2000 and is projected to take in about $7.5 billion in 2008. The stakes are large, therefore, and Big Tanning is determined to protect them. The National Institutes of Health has called for better public education regarding the hazards of tanning parlors, and is on record as supporting stricter regulation of these facilities. The Department of Health and Human Services has mandated that "no facility may state in any advertising, written or verbal, that tanning has any health benefit or that tanning device is free of hazards from ultraviolet radiation." Yet not only do the owners and operators of these facilities fail to adequately warn their patrons about the risks of tanning, they also make claims about the benefits of tanning that recall some of the most ludicrous statements about the benefits of smoking that were abroad in the 1950s. Among the problems for which tanning may be efficacious, according to various members of the industry, are the following: Psoriasis, acne, obesity, seasonal affective disorder, stress, hypertension, tachycardia, and high cholesterol. Tanning has also been credited with increasing both muscular strength and resistance to infection. Truly, it is a panacea for our age.

Given these similarities, it is not inconceivable to me that one day the self-appointed watchdogs of Americans' health, the same men and women who are now ranged against smokers, may refocus their efforts against those who would rather bake their own skins than blacken their own lungs. I have never been a smoker, but I have always been prepared to stand with my many friends who do choose to smoke as they have borne the persecutions heaped upon them by the prudent and the self-righteous; and if and when my friends who are wont to go a-tanning someday suffer similar threats and indignities, they may rest assured that my own regard for them shall never be undone by the imprecations of fanatics. Adieu.

The Good Doctor Considers His Own Name and That of This Weblog

To begin with, I believe I should confess immediately that I am writing under a pseudonym. "Hector Lewis Errorladen, Ph.D." is in fact an anagram of my true name (first, middle, and last), regarding which I have decided to remain reticent for the time being. I do, however, have a doctorate; I am prone, sadly, to the committing of many errors; C. S. Lewis has been a rolemodel of mine, not least as a stylist, for many years; and in the course of any blogging I might do I shall inevitably hector my readers insupportably. For these reasons I do not think it is inappropriate for me to lay these posts before the public under the guise of Dr. Errorladen.

Next, I think I should explain the words composing the title of this weblog: Drolleries seems fitting, since I have always had difficulty remaining solemn or soberminded about anything, as many of my friends can testify; and so I imagine that these posts will more often be attempts to amuse and divert than to enlighten or reform. Orphan I chose for two reasons: First, because I have never known my biological parents, and so am something of an orphan myself; and second, because I fear that these posts will themselves eventually be orphaned, abandoned by their author to time and the elements, by the force of which they shall eventually disintegrate into half-phrases and semiwords and, finally, collapse into dust and stray serifs. Wretched, I think, is self-explanatory--or shall become so. Finally, in company with my nom de plume, "Wretched Orphan Drolleries" is an anagram of my real name--yet so perfect a heading for these little outbursts that I would keep it even without the additional tincture of cleverness that this circumstance provides. Adieu.

Some Preliminary Remarks

This, gentle reader, is my first, hesitating attempt at web-logging. It is entirely conceivable to me that I will delete this first post, indeed delete this blog completely, and so return to the relative safety and obscurity of the non-blogging part of the human race. But first, let me just get a notion of what a post looks like on this blog when everything is properly set up. I will sleep on it tonight; and if tomorrow it still does not seem too foolish for me to do so, then perhaps I will elect to proceed (or not) with what would appear to be an increasingly popular pastime for wastrels and windbags. Adieu.