Tag Archives: Stephen Jay Gould

Intelligence, New York and rebellion: three books

I’m not sure when I first read Stephen Jay Gould’s THE MISMEASURE OF MAN — the 1980s, maybe? — but it certainly hasn’t aged at all.

Gould looks back at the long history of efforts to measure human intelligence and to rank it, not merely between individuals but between groups — man vs. woman, black vs. white vs. Native American vs. Aborigine, native-born American vs. immigrant, upper class vs. lower. Why yes, there was a lot of racism involved; even people who were enlightened and liberal routinely accepted that the white Anglo-Saxon male was the summit of human evolution and obviously more intelligent than anyone else. Knowing this unsurprisingly biased the results. The great anatomist Paul Broca, for instance, admitted that women’s brains were smaller than men’s in proportion to their bodies but obviously, as we know women are stupid, their small brains must be the root cause.

Gould argues the fatal mistake in all the theorists he’s covering was the belief that intelligence was a single, fixed, quantifiable thing (a concept that eventually became “IQ”) and that it was an identifiable physical property of the brain, untainted by education, culture, environment, etc. And that attempts to measure it were always undone by bias; when it became obvious that IQ tests of immigrants reflected how long they’d been in America (and therefore exposed to American culture) the response was that obviously the immigrants who arrived earlier were the smarter, more ambitious types and the later arrivals were the degenerate dregs. This is wonkier than his previous books, getting much more into the technical weeds than they did, but it certainly makes its point well.

WILL EISNER’S NEW YORK is an anthology of multiple smaller works by the creator of the Spirit, all focusing on life in the Big Apple. One section tells stories built around windows, fire hydrants and other features of city life. Another looks at four ghosts haunting the site of the building where they died, even though it’s been demolished and replaced. “Invisible People” looks at the ways people can vanish in the teeming crowds; one, concerning a recluse who can’t convince anyone his obituary was wrong (they’ve never seen him, how do they know who he is?), shows similars fears of loss-of-identity to The Net.

It’s great stuff but not Eisner’s best stuff. Like his Life in Pictures, the tone is too bleak and miserable, plus the women are overwhelmingly unlikable and unsympathetic. It’s surprising, given the women of Eisner’s Spirit series are far more interesting and appealing.

Although the publisher lists Henry Kuttner as sole author of FURY, CL Moore says in the introduction that she collaborated on it (they did lots of work on each other’s stories throughout their marriage); Kuttner’s mark is on the Don’t Trust Authority scenes, hers on the Don’t Trust Love moments. Their story dissatisfied me as a teen, probably because it’s about an anti-hero against a decaying society and I wasn’t really ready for that. And Sam, “who was born into a world he had to smash before it smashed him,” isn’t a typical anti-hero.

Following the nuclear destruction of Earth, the survivors escaped to Venus and settled in domed colony cities under the Venusian oceans. A minority of people, affected by radiation, become immortal, and eventually rule the cities. They can be killed but they have advantages: decades of added experience and knowledge and the ability to make long-range plans. They’re also cautious: the confined, unchanging environment of the cities is destroying humanity’s spirit but the Immortals are unwilling to gamble on the long, dangerous challenge of colonizing the hostile Venusian surface land.

Sam was born an immortal but his mother died giving birth to him. His bitter father had Sam brought up among the lower classes. Sam becomes a tough, dangerous criminal, then slowly gains ambition, leading to throwing his weight behind the land-colonization efforts. The Immortals don’t know what to make of him but hope they can either use him or destroy him. And why does it sometimes seem there’s a guiding hand manipulating everything? There’s a lot of interesting ideas in this novel, and Sam makes a memorable protagonist, a guy who’s doing a good job but lacks many of the ennobling qualities anti-heroes often have.

Fury cover uncredited, top cover by Eisner. All rights to images remain with current holders.

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Natural history, cultural history: books

After rerereading Ever Since Darwin I figured I’d continue through Stephen Jay Gould’s work. His second book, THE PANDA’S THUMB: More Reflections on Natural History came out in 1980 and it feels like science is going through a transition.

In various essays Gould discusses the growing arguments for birds as direct descendants of dinosaurs and that “Down’s syndrome” is replacing “mongoloid” as a scientific term (the essay explains why the latter term was every in use). It also has an essay emphasizing a belief Gould would lean into more over the years, that intelligence is a fluke that would never have existed if things had been even slightly different. He also discusses dubious theories about brain size and intelligence which would play a larger role in his next book.

As always Gould’s a fascinating science historian. Here’s where I learned exactly what Lamarck’s theory of heredity was, who might have faked the legendary Piltdown man (a supposed missing link) and that no, the legendary geologist Charles Lyell, who argued that slow gradual processes could explain the world, was not entirely right. The title essay refers to the panda’s thumb — not a thumb like ours but an extension of its wrist bones — as an example of how natural selection and adaptation can only work with the materials they’re given.

When I first read GROWING UP WITH DICK AND JANE: Learning and Living the American Dream by Carole Kismaric and Marvin Heiferman, I found it fascinating as a look at the once legendary readers and a parallel look at childhood through the decades from the 1930 debut until they gave up the ghost in 1970 (like a lot of older “timeless” material they couldn’t keep up with the changes in society). Rereading recently, I discovered it had been hit by the suck fairy, as they say.

Partly that’s because it’s analysis of childhood and America isn’t that deep — I’ve seen much better elsewhere. Partly that’s because of how much time they spend writing profiles of the characters (Dick, Jane, baby sister Sally, their dog, their parents) when they’re two-dimensional creations who don’t need that much deep thought. Not that this is a flaw in the books — they were written to teach reading, not as literature — but they just ain’t that interesting.

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Have we been complicit since Darwin? Books read

In COMPLICIT: How Our Cultures Enables Misbehaving Men, Reah Bravo (one of Charlie Rose’s harassment victims) acknowledges she’s stepping into a minefield by discussing how women enable harassers — however she’s very clear she doesn’t mean “she asked for it” but that women have internalized lots of myths. That they should give a guy emotional support and not confront him. That being a jackhole is “part of his creative process.” That being able to succeed in a challenging field requires being tough so just grit your teeth and endure the harassment.

While Bravo’s persuasive and the many first-person accounts she offers are compelling, she also invokes bullshit science such as paleofantasies of how all these behaviors were hardwired into us in the stone age. And I’ve read accounts from women who say they sucked it up because they needed the job or they were terrified of retaliation and Bravo doesn’t get into that very much. Interesting and worth reading, even though uneven.

My friend Ross rereading Stephen Jay Gould’s EVER SINCE DARWIN: Essays in Natural History a while back convinced me to dig out my own copy. Gould, a paleontologist, wrote a natural history column for years and this was the first collection of his essays. In it he discusses why Darwin was on the HMS Beagle (to provide educated company to the captain), the errors of sociobiology (an early example of the paleofantasy), the flaws in Immanuel Velikovsky’s science, why natural selection is not “survival of the fittest” and the impact of Cesare Lombroso’s 19th century theory criminals are evolutionary throwbacks (something I’d been meaning to reread for its obvious relevance to Jekyll and Hyde).

Gould’s an excellent writer but what draws me back to him is that he’s so good at showing science is the product of fallible human beings, not some inexorable natural force, and that it’s messier than we realize. The geologist Charles Lyell is praised for rejecting catastrophism — geological change comes in spectacular, epic upheavals — in favor of slow gradual change; in reality his view was more complicated, and wrong, than history paints it.

Gould also refuses to mock crackpot theories of the past such as preformationism, which believed every egg in a woman’s womb contains the seed of her predestined children, her children’s predestined children, her children’s children’s … Yes, it’s wrong, yes it’s absurd but Gould is more interested in how the idea developed and why its supporters thought it made sense. I’ll be rereading more Gould down the road.

#SFWApro. Cover by Jack Sparling, all rights to images remain with current holders.

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