Angela Lambert

My friend Angela Lambert died early yesterday morning. She had been horribly ill for a long time; had indeed sent a message to all her friends in April saying “Goodbye”, so I was able to tease her about missing a deadline in the summer. I know that Andreas Whittam Smith has written an obit, and there is a rather nasty and inadequate one in the Telegraph today.

Her last book, on Eva Braun, was an unedited mess because of a mixture of her illness and publishers’ greed. But some of her earlier novels were lovely. What I treasure her for, though, was a tremendous appetite and joy in life. She was theatrical and melodramatic, and she loved being both. She had a wonderful appreciation of wine, food, literature and men — but also humans, generally, in all their flawed, greedy splendour. In her presence, life was more vivid and worthwhile, if seldom more improving. She loved Tony Price very greatly, too and was extremely happy with him for the last 21 years of her life.

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notes from fishing porn and elsewhere

  • Last summer my friend Christer pressed on me a book of fishing porn by Gunnar Westrin, which contains some wonderful photographs, though I can’t find any on his web site. I learnt from it some interesting things about grayling; also that Lapps drink their coffee with salt rather than sugar, and that birch leaves, freshly picked, scored with a knife, and sprinkled into the water, improve the taste of fresh, boiled fish.
  • The FWB and I have been watching our way through Firefly, which is an interesting disappointment. Essentially, it’s a Western in space: the rackety spaceship’s crew touch down on planets where everyone travels by stagecoach, farms, and settles arguments with Cold .45s. It is this last touch which destroys the credibility for me. There are places on earth at the moment where bandit societies are touched by tech so high it might as well come from outer space — think of the Horn of Africa — but even where the women still carry water on their heads, and the horse is the main means of transport, there is one technolgy that is always up to date, and that’s the weapons. The Wild West with Kalashnikovs wouldn’t be half so romantic, but, once the kalashnikov has been invented, that is what you get.
    Which leads to the interesting conclusion that the characterisation suffers from being two-dimensional. That’s one too many. If you are going to sweep disbelief off its feet, the characters must be reduced to only one dimension — one simple character trait powerful enough to pull the whole ramshackle story after it. This happens a couple of times; a character will play Honour or Greed or Irresistable Woman. But whenever there is an attempt to bring out the kind of subtleties that you find in Buffy (and that’s not a very high bar) the business slows down enough for the wires to be to plainly visible.
Posted in Trouty things | 2 Comments

Dawkins and Midgley, from comments

Jeremy Ahouse writes:

Our host points us to Dawkins’ unburying the hatchet in a recent post. Andrew himself admirably covered this episode between Midgley, Dawkins and Mackie (7, Chapter 5) from the late 70s-early 80s. For fun I reread those articles from Philosophy this weekend [Here are all the full references if you would like to do the same, 1-6]. This was a surprisingly pleasant experience.

I am not sure why there is such willingness to pile on Midgley. Her article stands up well. Given where people have run with the ball that Dawkins claims doesn’t exist since that time suggests that her cautions should have been heeded.

It would take a pretty big man to take her sharp criticisms and not get a little defensive. Though interesting, to me, Dawkins seems to concede every single one of her points. The key claim that The Selfish Gene isn’t about selfishness or genes seems to be accepted. Dawkins admits to be shifting to using “replicator” rather than “gene” so as not to confuse others further. And while he grandstands about how biologists talk, this seems a pretty weak defense. Selfishness here is at best a colorful choice and at worst all the things Midgley says. Along the way, he admits that he isn’t a geneticist or a molecular biologist (obvious or painfully obvious depending what you hoped to get from his book) but rather an ethologist. Thanks to the big and generous tent that is biology he gets to be a biologist too. But this is all too much boundary maintenance behavior for me. And he seems to reinforce and accept Midgley’s point that ambiguity can be a problem. Though I sense a bit of disengenuousness on Dawkins’ part about not expecting than anyone might think this was about people and their motivations or fate. His language just drips with moral implications and while he invites us to stand with him to fight against the selfishness of our genes this does sound a little too cinematic for my taste.

And given that he ends his piece with absolute weirdness about being committed to the literal truth of his metaphor he buries himself in Midgley’s point about the abuse of metaphor. Interesting, given his current obsession with the religious impulse that he doesn’t have more sympathy for those who would apply the words “literally true” to a metaphor [8].

In any case it isn’t clear what exactly Dawkins wants. Sometimes it sounds as if he doesn’t think non-biologists should comment, which as I mentioned given his expansive sense of biologist doesn’t really exclude that many, though I guess he wanted Midgley to back off. She says that she didn’t think his book had enough relevance for her concerns to comment until a philosopher, Mackie [1], exemplified using it in just the direction that Dawkins assures us his readers wouldn’t. How many examples should she have gathered before putting pen to paper. At other times you get the sense that he does want to engage the world. There is a nice section in his rebuttal attempting to explain “gene for” language. Midgley’s rejoinder is very good on most of these points [5].

I am actually very sympathetic to the need to use words loosely when constructing a scientific programme. The words we use are provisional place holders and should work for us, not the other way round. They serve to let multiple interests be bound together into funding streams, conference attendance and professional networks. Clearly the many faces of the “gene” have served this role in the sociology of science. We can recognize this and accept it and still feel a little sea sick when gene becomes the tautological truth at the center of Dawkins’ story making.

Of course we know, with hindsight, that it got much worse/more pervasive. As the gene became the science word of the 90s and has now entered the public sphere and as the hero of the genome projects and much more. Dawkins happily drafted behind these big trucks (and even previews this with his ready willingness to take pleasure in ‘selfish gene’ being used in a different context by molecular biologists studying genome dynamics). But some things did change in the 80s. The incredible amount of protein homology (not sequence similarity) between organisms that share common ancestor more than 600MYA was not expected [9].

Frustratingly, the distance from gene to phenotype (to pharmaceutical) turned out to be very much further than many of us hoped when lots of companies were built to exploit the genomic information to identify targets and make drug cheaper, faster and better.

But why does a 25 year old controversy return now? However wonderful to return to this topic on a lovely Fall weekend in New England. I don’t think they brought it up for me.

It comes because Midgley has again skewered him. Pointing out that some folks will not be drawn into the majesty and glory and awe of science if you tell that their traditions are foolish. But why is Dawkins’ posse trashing Mary Midgley? In a way I feel for Dawkins as he can’t see his own limitations, in that sense he is an object lesson for us all.

Still, too much of the debate about the debate of creationism/neo(?)-atheism degenerates into a I did not say that, never, no, wasn’t me… on both sides. And everyone loses. We all speak differently to the choir than to a hostile crowd. So Dawkins et al. crow to their fellows and caricature an opposition and so do the preachers. How to shake this off and find a way to talk freely, plainly, honestly with people with whom we disagree. The idea that we needn’t engage, or should merely play to the base, plagues us in the US these last few years. Not talking with those with whom we disagree does seem to be a part of the Zeitgeist. I have been reading Mary Midgley’s The Myths We Live By and am struck by how wonderfully careful she is. But I suppose the commentators that inhabit Dawkins’ penumbra wouldn’t have eyes to see or ears to hear what I do in her book. And to be fair, I lack the sensitivity to find the nuanced hero they discover in Dawkins’ writings.

As Brown points out Dawkins and Midgley really ought to be on the same team, caring to include what we know about biology in how we think about humans and not use make believe ideal rational (prefectly spherical?) actors in our moral or biological theories. If these folks can’t find a way to talk then we may have an even tougher challenge when talking across larger gaps.

1. Mackie, J.L. (1978) “The Law of the Jungle: Moral Alternatives and Priniciples of Evolution,” Philosophy 53: 455-464.
2. Midgley, M. (1979) Gene Juggling, Philosophy 54: 439-458.
3. Mackie, J.L. (1981) “Genes and Egoism,” Philosophy 56: 553-555.
4. Dawkins, R. (1981) In Defense of Selfish Genes, Philosophy 56: 556-573.
5. Midgeley, M. (1983) “Selfish Genes and Social Darwinism,” Philosophy 58: 439-458. (unfortunately I don’t have a link for this one)
6. Rodd, R. (1987) “The Challenge of Biological Determinism,” Philosophy 62: 84-93.
7. Brown, A. (1999) The Darwin Wars: How Stupid Genes Became Selfish Gods. Simon and Schuster UK.
8. Final paragraph from [4] above;

Let me not end on a negative note. Midgley has a lot to say about metaphor, and I can end constructively by explaining why it was unnecessary for her to say it. She thought that I would defend my selfish genes by claiming that they were intended only as a metaphor, and assumed that I was speaking metaphorically when I wrote, ‘We are survival machines-robot vehicles blindly programmed to preserve the selfish molecules known as genes. This is a truth which still fills me with astonishment’ (The Selfish Gene, p. ix). But that was no metaphor. I believe it is the literal truth, provided certain key words are defined in the particular ways favoured by biologists. Of course it is a hard truth to swallow at first gulp. As Dr Christopher Evans has remarked, ‘This horrendous concept – the total prostitution of all animal life, including Man and all his airs and graces, to the blind purposiveness of these minute virus-like substances – is so desperately at odds with almost every other view that Man has of himself, that Dawkins’ book has received a bleak reception in many quarters. Nevertheless his argument is virtually irrefutable’ (The Mighty Micro, London: Gollancz, 1979, 171). For my part, what has gratified me is that the anticipated bleak reception has, in the event, been confined to so few quarters, and such unpersuasive ones.

9. Ahouse, J. (2002) Are the Eyes Homologous in Gene Regulation and Metabolism: Post-Genomic Computational Approaches. Edited by Julio Collado-Vides and Ralf Hofestädt. MIT Press.

Posted in Science without worms | 2 Comments

Dawkins, Midgley, disfiguring vanity

I see on Pharyngula that Richard Dawkins has claimed that Mary Midgley confessed to never reading the Selfish Gene before reviewing it in Philosophy.

This is untrue, whether or not he believes it.

When he first told it me, in, I think, 1995, I checked it out. I asked Ullica Segerstråle, the person to whom MM was supposed to have made this confession, whether it had happened and she denied it. She was embarrassed that it should be believed. Later, after a supper with RD, she concluded the whole thing had been “a misunderstanding”. On that basis, I was happy to describe the incident as I did in the Darwin Wars, as one showing that Dawkins was reluctant to believe that anyone could have misunderstood his book to the extent that MM did.

I take it that the US interview with MM — from which the story arose — was taped. US was, after all, researching a scholarly book at the time. So there should be definitive evidence one way or another.

US believes — as I do, and as MM herself would, I think, now accept — that she got the biology wrong. But she never said she had not read the book: why should she? Of course she had read the book before reviewing it.

I will write more if I have time, and the story rolls on.

Posted in Science without worms | 11 Comments

More animals

Revisiting the walk under the flightpath — for there is at this time of year a stretch of about half a mile of almost continuous blackberry bushes, and it’s a shame that they are not as good as the ones on the ridge that runs north of Walden — we startled the largest herd of wild deer I have seen in England, about 250m away, according to Google, and so the Flickr pix are less detailed than I would like.

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Rafe Coburn nails citizen journalism

Yesterday I read that on Friday, President Bush sat down with a group of “milbloggers” to discuss how things are going in Iraq, and more importantly, get his version of the truth out to the public without its being filtered by people who give a crap about whether or not what he’s said is true or even makes any sense.

This is, actually, what all the crap about bypassing the MSM comes down to. The relationship between the press and politicians need not be adversarial, but it is pretty close to the relationship between the press and its advertisers. In both cases, the media makes its living by delivering readers, viewers, some sort of audience, to organisations which wish to lie to them. Advertisers pay cash; politicians compete with each other in this market largely in other ways. Usually, they pay in power, or the opportunity of profit, to the owners of the newspaper.

Because these two markets were for a long time largely independent, savvy media were able to play off one against the other. But now the terms of trade are shifting. Politicians can get the committed audiences they really want without going through sceptical, neutral, or independent intermediaries.

Of course, like most forms of voluntary organisation, this was worked out centuries ago by the churches.

Posted in Journalism | 3 Comments

Walkies

We set out yesterday to walk from Thaxted to Chickney Church without a map.

I got most of the route right, which means there were only two wrong turns — and, in fact, both of them are marked as perfectly legitimate footpaths on the OS map, even if the hedgerows had been grubbed up and they are now just a line of chalky tussocks along the side of a ploughed field. Taken with the wrong turns, this journey is about five miles — a significant distance even by air, since the whole thing lies under the Stansted flightpath and the planes that overflew us at the end had their undercarriage down, which, over Thaxted, they don’t.

None of this seems to bother the wildlife. I saw a fox at the top of one field about twenty metres away — the first I have ever seen on foot, though I once startled one while freewheeling on an ancient bicycle down a gravel road in Lapland. This one came out of a stand of bracken, a creature larger than a tomcat, but moving much too fluidly for a dog. In the slanting sun, it was the kind of warm coarse ginger colour that you see on a marmalade cat; then, after a few paces uphill, it turned to look at me square on. Again, there was something curiously cat-like about the way its ears made equilateral triangles, though these were very large in proportion to its face. The wind was gusting quite strongly towards me, so the fox studied me for about twenty seconds before turning and flowing uphill into more undergrowth.

By one of the three sixteenth century houses along the path, there was a ploughed, dry field with two herons in it. I have no idea what they were doing there. Finally, walking back across some stubble, I put up a hare. Again, I have never been so close to one on foot, though it was across the field almost before I could grasp what I was seeing; not quite before the light — even lower than at the fox sighting — made its back blaze golden orange. Not a colour you will ever see on a dead hare at the butcher’s.

The return journey, without detours, is only about three and three quarter miles, and offers some glorious sunset views. Chickney Church itself is one of the numerous and almost deserted little Saxon ones around here. I suppose the bridleway to Thaxted — up the valley of a little stream, and then across the downs to the headwaters of the Chelmer and up on the other side to the church at Thaxted — must be around a thousand years old at least. There is also a village just off the route, anachronistically planted to make Americans giggle, called “Sucksted Green”.

I have owned the relevant Ordnance Survey sheet in the past, but couldn’t find it and there is no longer anywhere in town that sells maps on a Sunday. So I looked at the peephole maps on the OS site and tried to memorise the route. I also had Google Maps on the phone. This shows nothing but roads in map form, but some footpaths do show up in aerial photography and so do field boundaries and copses. So that was in fact enough to recover from being lost, when I already knew from the map what I should be looking for. But it was an object lesson in the superiority of OS maps to the simpler modern type. The things that an old-fashioned map shows are just much more informative than the stuff which shows up on even the most detailed satellite photographs; and Google Earth, over Stansted, is so detailed that you can see individual passengers queueing on the tarmac for a Ryanair flight.

It is also possible to take five of the little pinhole OS pngs and stitch them together into a single map that covers the whole route. But it’s more fun to get a little lost.

Posted in Blather | 2 Comments

I can die now

I have been quoted in Language Log. This is like being reviewed in Nature: it involves a demonstration that there are important lacunae in my knowledge of sex.

More from the department of the bleeding obvious as it comes in.

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Weasel me up

Out they come, dazed and bewlidered,1 from their bunkers to explain what they meant all along. The latest is Sir David Manning, Blair’s ambasador to Washington, who told the New Statesman:

“He [Mr Blair] believed the WMD story. It’s not true that it was made up and that he always knew it was made up. Was it wrong? Yes. But the idea that he somehow sat down and confected this story and that was the justification for the policy he opted for is not true.”

But the whole point of power in an organisation is that you don’t have to be explicit. Any powerful man cultivates in his subordinates the power of mind-reading. Anyone around Blair knew without being told that the story had to be confected; had to be true. Otherwise there could be no British participation in the war, becasue it would have been clearly illegal. So, no, Blair didn’t have to sit down on the sofa. Alasdair Campbell did. And even he didn’t entirely confect the story, not in all its details. He just swept all conflicting evidence away.

In a narrow sense it is of course absolutely and completely true that the WMD story was the justification for his policy. He couldn’t have sold the war to parliament, to the army, and possibly to his conscience, without that justification. But a justification is all it was. It wasn’t the reason for the policy. It was, if you like, the the justification that you give to your subordinates – “our action is justified because”. It wasn’t the justification you offer your superiors — what Tony said on his knees at night — which would have been something much more high-minded and brutal about the need to keep in with the Americans.

more: Mr Blair “was always in favour of regime change, but that did not mean he always wanted regime change through military means. He must have known it might come to military action, but I have always believed he hoped and probably believed there was a way of getting there by using the UN to put pressure on Saddam. I don’t think he ever wanted to go by the military route.”

Unfortunately, the tooth fairy never showed up to extract the rotten little dictator, so we had to invade after all.

1 Yes, it’s a typo. But one somehow more onomatopoeic than “bewildered”

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A bad film

I am a huge fan of Aki Kaurismäki so the latest film he’s made was a correspondingly large disappointment: Lights in the Dusk is the story of a remarkably stupid and stubborn man who goes to jail rather than betray the woman who has betrayed him. It carries familiar themes to the point of self-parody: the bank manager laughs as he refuses a loan; the hero is sacked, strong and silent. I think he smokes more cigarettes than he has lines of dialogue.

It is visually gorgeous; but it looks to me like a drunk’s film: the extraordinary passivity and uselesness of the hero is inexplicable on any normal reading of psychology; so too is the patience and forebearance of the heroine. No one fights back except by banging their heads even harder against the wall. The contrast with his earlier films could not be greater in this respect: in those the pivot of the action was always someone trying something new, however disastrously. You might say that the final scene, where he grips the heroine’s hand while slumped against a bulldozer, shows him trying something new. But it could have come as the climax of a ten minute film, not an eighty minute one.

None of the above should discourage anyone from his other films.

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