Eccentricity

Harlequin boots from Williamsburg, rhombus tights, beige balloon skirt, multicoloured belt from Camden Market, striped long-sleeved shirt and black nails.

“You look like a minstrel today” – university lecturer

Eccentricity: ec·cen·tric·i·ty (ksn-trs-t) : defines the shape of the Earth’s trajectory around the sun. The eccentricity of the Earth’s orbit is currently 0.0167, meaning that the Earth’s orbit is nearly circular. Over thousands of years, the eccentricity of the Earth’s orbit varies from nearly 0.0034 to almost 0.058 as a result of gravitational attractions among the planets.

*****

Eccentricity is unlikely to change during our lifetime, and thus at precise intervals of time, we will find ourselves floating in the exact same place in space.

Ten revolutions ago, I was 18, starting my academic pursuit and my life as an adult. I found myself behind desks, pen in hand, ready to learn about my species, about myself, where I came from, where I was going. Amid Malinowski, Franz Boas, and Freud, I found life-changing friendships, and played new games, some of which I excelled at, but many of which I wasn’t ready for yet. In February of 2002, I finally found myself between an ashtray and untidy bedsheets, between a starved stomach and a broken heart. Lost beyond recognition to myself and those who surrounded me, I decided my next ten revolutions would be spent splashing in cosmic light. So the planet turned, and I with it. I was determined I would find myself around the next bend and wave goodbye forever to this place on the arc away from the sun.

*****

My lecturer handed me a green pen and a red eraser, which I placed on the pile I had prepared for my tutorial. I made copies of the hominin phylogeny, spanning its 7 million years, all the way from Chad (Sahelanthropus tchadensis) to the world (Homo sapiens), along with a diagram of a cladogram. My articles were printed and a handwritten sign-in sheet was ready to be filled. It was February 2010 and I was five minutes away from my first teaching experience. Feeling more nervous than overjoyed, I checked my notes once more, took the pile under one arm, and carried the green pen and red eraser in the opposite hand as I made my way to room 128 of the UCL Anthropology department.

“Why is this all in pink?” asked one of the students as he signed next to his name. I glanced at the blindingly girlish sign-in sheet, and glanced over my own notes and articles, a pink-ridden mess. I gave off a nervous laugh: “Yes, I seem to have a slight problem with bright colours”.

My relationship with colours had often caused confusion during my first year as an undergraduate in 2000. I was once even labelled ‘politically ignorant’ after wearing a pink top with a picture of an orange at the centre: in Portugal, pink is the colour of the socialist party, you see, while orange is the colour of its opposition, the social-democratic party (I am still convinced that I was in fact the most politically illuminated of all…)

Stepping into my new shoes at the front of the class, I felt lonely and vulnerable. There were twelve inattentive and uninterested heads staring my way, and my task of delivering information for 50 minutes seemed daunting. I realized I had spent so long studying and being interested in this subject of human origins, that its meaning and significance had creeped under my skin and were ingrained in my body, lost beyond words in the depths of my gray matter, to the point where I wasn’t able to formulate in full sentences why I believed this was the most fascinating topic of all. I was not going to teach them any skills, none of my knowledge had real-life applications, I was not about to give them privileged information or any insight of significance, and nothing of financial relevance would be gained from the next hour. It became clear that what was so obvious to me, was not obvious to this adolescent audience and my biggest task ahead would be to give them a glimpse of all the wonder I felt when studying these matters – in essence, to open myself up and show them my world.  Looking around upon a classroom filling with teenage girls bobbing their long luscious hair, boys in tight jeans all typing on their cellphones, I slowly resigned myself to the fact that I was never going to be able to express to them my profound excitement for these bones of mine.

*****

My grandfather was a philosophy teacher whose colour blindness endowed him with a knack for particularly eccentric fashion statements. When his students asked him what his teachings were all for, he learned to simply reply: “Well, nothing of course! Absolutely nothing!”

Grandfather Pepe, after whom I was named (Anna Pepe Barros). He was a true Spaniard, a story-teller, a bon vivant. He is not looking particularly eccentric in these pictures (click here for a few more photos)

I started somewhere. I wrote my name and email on the board and pointed out that I was Canadian after hearing whispers about it being “all Americans teaching this year”. They laughed, apologised and congratulated me on my country’s epic Hockey victory.

“The Austrap… Austropi… Australip… ” staggered one student. “Austra-lo-pi-the-cus. Or simply put: the southern ape… like ‘Austra’ in Australia”, I helped. Behind me on the whiteboard there was a phylogeny of human pubic lice; there was also a drawing of Africa, with a line across the Rift; there were arrows depicting human migrations through the landscape, and a crooked drawing of a female pelvis. My legs were crossed as I listened to the students’ accounts of what they read, and felt excited by their questions, which I answered with much gesturing. It dawned on me. I had come around the bend, ten revolutions later, I was back in this place, and I was looking at myself from the other side of the mirror, except I was standing tall in my harlequin boots and on my own, nothing seemed lonely or scary anymore, and I knew how to pronounce Australopithecus and all of its different species backwards and in my sleep. A new confidence blossomed inside me and I spoke about the things that excited me the most. I found myself with a handful of gleaming gazes resting upon me, captured momentarily by the images I was painting with my words.

*****

Facebook status: “I am convinced there is no greater pleasure in life than teaching and being taught.” 7 likes. 3 comments.

*****

“Did it help or was I confusing?” I asked. “No, you made it clearer actually” replied a girl. As they left the classroom, I placed my keys around my neck and started erasing the green mess I had made on the whiteboard. Memories came to mind that I had kept at bay during the last hour as my keys clattered against the New York license plate key chain which read ‘PEPE’, my middle name. There were no ashtrays or messy bed sheets this time, although that familiar starving stomach growled and the heart was starving too. I felt tired and the world closed in on me as the whiteboard became white and empty again. I was truly back here, standing at the exact same distance from the sun, at the exact same place on the circumference of the Earth’s orbit. I turned back around to escape my thoughts and found a few students still there, teasing a classmate about how old he’d become: “Oh my God! You’re going to be twenty years old! We can’t hang out with you anymore, you’re so old!”. I felt so little and young, still trying to fight back those childish tears and the urge to scream for mommy. “See you next week” I said while walking out, and I glanced at them once more, wondering which one of them I would have been back then.

“Hey, there’s a girl in the lab, she’s finishing up, can you go check on her?” asked a colleague who leads the lab sessions with me. Behind the bend around the other side of the room from where our desks sit, beyond the two human skeletons, was a girl in tears hovering over her blue lab book, panting in despair. She told me she wasn’t able to do the exercise because she was anxious and that she now couldn’t focus behind the water forming in her eyes. She begged me to finish next week and wondered how this would affect her marks. She was worried about having made a mistake and now that she couldn’t think, she felt lost and wanted help. I thought: there I am.

In my minstrel-like outfit, I sat down next to her and took a breath. I placed my hand on her shoulder and said: “relax, this doesn’t matter.  You need to breathe and have some perspective over this. This counts for nothing for your mark. This doesn’t count for anything for your academic record. But mostly, it doesn’t say anything about you and it doesn’t count for anything important for your life. You can finish this some other time. Just breathe.” She wiped her tears and became calm. Between apologies and thank you’s, she handed me her half empty lab book to be filled at some other time in the future. I wasn’t sure who I had just spoken to: to a young undergraduate student, to myself at 18, to myself now. But mostly, I had no idea what it was I thought didn’t matter so much: the unfinished exercises, others’ mistakes, my mistakes, people, or the heavy key chain around my neck.

I took the key chain from around me and started breathing again, despite not having realized I had ever stopped. Feet cushioned in my harlequin boots clutching pink-ridden notes filled with cladograms and bone diagrams between my black nail-polish, tall, alone, grown-up and with passion in my heart, I realized I was never lost, that I was finally home, that I had been headed towards this all along, and will keep heading back for as long as every spiral, every circumference, every revolution of the earth keeps coming full circle.

And so I found my cosmic order in an eccentricity that keeps calling me back, yelling from the beyond with voracious force and overwhelming liberation: “absolutely nothing matters of course!”, and pulling me in all my shades of colour, my unconfused and unashamed colours, round the next orbital bend to the next revolution, a personal revolution, a revolution from within.

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Author’s note: scientific facts aside, most of the stories and dialogues in this post have been modified to cater to the narrative; many did not occur in the stated order.

The Ape That Wouldn’t Grow Up

 

“It takes people years to see that there is something un-childish about the condition of childhood, that it is not merely a temporary state of innocence but a zone of pure philosophy”

- Andrew O’Hagan, in ‘Leave the kids at home and go see where the wild things are’

“Mommy, where are we?” I asked during a transatlantic flight from Montreal to Lisbon. “We’re still flying over the ocean” answered my mother. Baffled and looking into the darkness that extended beyond my oval window, I replied: “Yes I know! but on which planet? Portugal or Canada?” You see, in my six year-old head lay an intricately woven cosmos of fantastical concepts to which my parents were oblivious. As I understood it, each country was a planet, each with its own oceans, and aircrafts were inter-galactic flying devices transporting passengers to their interplanetary destinations.

I also believed that cats and dogs were different sexes of a same species (cats were females, of course), cars had faces and emotions (our red chevy was a temperamental old man), bad people were hired to get killed for real in movies, and about half the world was made up of Benjamin Buttons (I constantly tried to guess if a person was growing older or younger).

… And little else do I remember of this lost land. Puberty, like a bad night out, has virtually erased all that is left of that mystical universe I inhabited in my head. By the time adolescence showed me the door, I knew I would spend a good part of my twenties nursing the hangover from my teenage years. At 27 (ahem, 28) childhood is nothing but a distant memory of that time when shit hadn’t hit the fan yet.

But while shit does hit the fan eventually for all mammals – and by this I mean sexual maturity, the proverbial ‘coming of age’ and all the reality checks that come with it - humans are the only species lucky enough to be graced with four years of pure radiant bliss, a time of suspended growth. That bracket of infinite magic, childhood.

True, childhood is tainted with all that is dark and evil in human nature – I will not soon forget my ‘Lord of the Flies’ moments – but from the perspective of our evolutionary journey, of our own coming of age as a species, childhood might just have been the most perfect invention of all. It is the cushiest season, the most carefree and glorious of times. And it may very well be the reason for our overwhelming success.

The evolution of childhood (in red), unique to Homo species which has been increasing for the past two million years

We might like to think of the four seasons of life, but we do in fact have five: infancy, childhood, juvenile, adolescence (right after puberty), and adulthood. Most mammals progress from infancy to adulthood almost seamlessly, without the growth-spurts, the growing pains, the voice changes and acne-ridden faces. Highly social mammals, like wolves, wild dogs, lions, elephants and primates, postpone puberty by inserting a period of juvenile growth between infancy and adulthood. Puberty, marking the onset of sexual maturity, is delayed to allow for larger brains and the acquisition of proper life-skills. But only in the human species do we find a 5th season: childhood – a well defined step both physiologically and behaviourally, spanning roughly from three to seven years of age.

Relative to our body size, the human brain is bigger than that of any other animal, but our human bodies constrain the size of our heads at birth. In fact, during the last part of the 3rd trimester of pregnancy, the human fetus is so large that it presses against internal organs and constricts blood vessels. We have no choice but to slow down our growth and then rebound after birth to catch up to the size we would have had if growth had been continuous.

Our journey to adulthood is in fact rather counter-intuitive from an economic and even logical point of view. Its sinuous course, more akin to the stop-and-go motion of a highway traffic jam, leads us first into a period of rapid growth immediately after birth, then a period of rapid decrease in growth rate until the age of four, followed by a period of almost arrested growth that lasts until our juvenile years, at which point we hit puberty and grow up to 7-9 cm per year! (that’s about three inches per year).

Children at the AADHU/CYCA Centre for Orphaned Children in Kenya, Africa. I am particularly fond of this project because it is not affiliated with any religious organizations


Children at Kibera, Kenya

Childhood is defined by the period after weaning, which in nonhuman primates marks the beginning of independence since individuals can now walk and fetch food on their own. But not so for humans. There is no society on earth in which children deprived of care by older individuals, survive.

Due to the nature of our growth pattern, which is not equal for all body parts, our brains achieve adult size when our body growth is only at 40% complete. This leaves us with small bodies, small digestive systems with immature dentition, and big heads that require high-quality foods (low in volume, high in nutrients) that we cannot get hold of on our own. It isn’t until the age of seven when significant milestones of dental and brain maturation are reached that we are able to adopt an adult diet and shift to a new plateau of cognitive functions (and realize countries are not planets…).

The head, limbs, and body grow at different rates, resulting in a human adult with proportions completely different from those of the newborn baby. Growing in this way allows us to keep our ‘cute’, infantile looks for longer than in any other species of mammals

… But why take this four-year detour if all paths lead to Rome (or adulthood)?

One favorite explanation is our dependence on culture and on learning for survival. For all intents and purposes, childhood can be viewed as en extended coffee break, where the day’s activities are arrested so that we can catch up with the the New York Times, the latest celebrity gossip and finish that Sudoku puzzle. It allows for an extra period for brain growth and time for acquisition of technical skills, time for socializing, playing, and the development of social roles and cultural behaviours. It is effectively a pit-stop, a period of waiting, an oasis of protection, a state of lower nutritional requirements and of low mortality.

Age (in years)

Probability of death by age of rural Gambians. Note how low this is for children

Some researchers even view childhood as a sort of parasitic stage, a way to selfishly elicit parental care after infancy because we maintain a ‘cute’, infantile appearance for longer than any other mammal species.

From the mother’s perspective, having offspring that pass through childhood reduces the interval time between births. Weaning time is what sets the pace between births – if you are done breastfeeding, your are ready to go – and in preindustrialized societies this averages at three years, which coincides with the onset of childhood – a stage when we are so ‘cute’ that just about any grown-up (especially grandpa and grandma) will offer to take care of us. So while the average birth interval for chimpanzees is about five years (age at which chimps become independent), in humans this interval averages at about 3.6 years… now consider the much lower weaning average for industrialized societies (six months to a year) and our overcrowded planet will start to make sense.

But if you’ve cringed at the thought of lending your breast to your offspring for more than six months, you’re not alone. In the United States, for example, women receive conflicting advice about when to wean their children from breastfeeding. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends one year, while WHO and UNICEF recommend at least two years and many physicians consider six months to be extended breastfeeding, while some health professionals question the motives of women who nurse for more than a year. Women have even been known to hide the fact that they are still nursing an older child from disapproving health care professionals or family members. But the reality is that in many non-Western cultures children are routinely nursed for three to four years, which is likely the more ‘natural’ state of affairs.

Childhood is then the perfect ‘parking space’ for offspring and avoids us having to choose between producing few expensive, large brained babies, or many smaller-brained offspring. It lasts about four years, just enough time for your first-born to hit childhood so that a second one can be on its way. Because weaning and childhood go hand in hand, it sets the pace at which a mother is ready to bear another child so that she is not overwhlemed with a Lilliputian army of defenseless babies, but rather is able take care of one baby at a time, unless you have octuplets… nature errs too (in which case, good luck to you).

Me, an ape refusing to grow up

At seven years of age, our 1st permanent molars come in. In primates, this marks the onset of independence but for humans this is just the beginning of our long, arduous march to adulthood. While chimpanzees are ready to be be competent parents at about 10 to 11 years of age, humans remain largely dependent on theirs for a staggering 20 years!

(Unless you complete half a university degree, move countries twice, take four years to complete a second degree, take 2 gap years, a Masters and now a PhD, in which case you are still, at least partially, in a state of dependency at 27. Ahem, 28).

But whichever the case, as a species we seem to have evolved into the eternal pupil. Instead of striving to be adults, our journey has been about prolonging and inserting evermore states of dependency, forever extending the umbilical chord uniting us to our parents, stretching it until we must grow our own with our very own offspring. Of all our closest relatives we are the ones with the most childish appearance, the ones who grow the slowest, who play and learn for the longest. We are the forever young apes. The apes that refused to grow up.

While I now know that cats and dogs belong to different species, there is still much I don’t know about my own species, and so I find refuge in the safety of school where I get to look up to taller, bigger people to teach me wondrous things. And as London spreads before me from my 13th floor student residence window on the eve of my 28th birthday, I’m thinking… “Who will come out and play?”.

Survival of the Trendiest

[This is the answer to June's riddle]

moths

“This … stuff?”

“Oh. Okay. I see. You think this has nothing to do with you [...] But what you don’t know is that that sweater is not just blue. It’s not turquoise. It’s not lapis. It’s actually cerulean.

And you’re also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002 Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves saint Laurent – wasn’t it – who showed cerulean military jackets [...]. And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of 8 different designers. And then it, uh, filtered down through the department stores, and then trickled on down into some tragic Casual Corner… where you no doubt fished it out of some clearance bin.”

- Scene from The Devil Wears Prada

Whether sprung from a physical sensation, or from an emotional state, there is no denying that a feeling of pain is painful. But our lives may very well depend on these necessary evils, as the only way to avoid getting hurt is to know what it feels like to get hurt in the first place. Thus we learn, the hard way, to avoid pain-inducing situations so that we may less often feel pain.

Being able to steer away from situations or behaviours that will cause us physical, emotional, financial, psychological, academic or career aches, and put our own very survival at risk, is thus a basic human instinct. In fact, one of the simplest and most basic pain avoidance strategies, the pain-reflex, is an automatic and unconscious behaviour that doesn’t involve any brain or mental activity at all.

Thus, through trial and error, we learn to discard those behaviours that hurt us, and replicate those that do not and which prove successful to our lives.

And this basic act of ‘ditching the bad and reproducing the good’, is perhaps one of the most important ones governing individuals, societies, organisms (biological or societal) the human genus and the whole of life on earth: the ones who can best and most appropriately apply the ‘discard and replicate’ method, prevail.

big-brother-poster

One need not get too technical in order to see this in action. In fact, one needs not  leave our own living-rooms or even be literate. Most reality shows are perfect examples of our quasi built-in need to practice our selective powers over others, almost regardless of the consequences this may have over foreign lives, careers, personal achievement and financial situations. The platforms and set-ups may vary but the premisse is the same: you vote off the participants who perform the worst (according to your own judgement – whatever criteria you may wish to use). Whether it be in the world famous Big Brother, or on smaller scale online reality shows such as Fourth Fiction, the approach is the same. In order to avoid elimination in these environments, contestants will adopt tactics and adapt behaviours so that they will be allowed to continue onwards and win. In the end, the ‘survivor’ will have been successful (and also perhaps lucky) in his strategizing (i.e., in his replicating of those behaviours that worked and discarding those that didn’t) and will be given prizes – the biggest one of which is a short-lived fame.

But unlike reality shows, many other aspects of our lives where competition for survival is at play, do not in fact require such an explicit and conscious process of selection, or even conscious attempts at ‘avoiding elimination’, from the general population.

hot

In the fashion world, the runways may introduce new styles, but whether or not these are adopted by the general public is very much the product of an organic chemistry involving chance, peculiar senses of taste, economic conditions, media reactions, and general public acceptance. In the end,  styles deemed ‘in’ (according to whatever criterion) get replicated the most, trickling down the echelons of the fashion industry, onto the sale rack, and to the give-away bin. Thus the mini-skirt, the leg-warmer and the mullet managed to get picked-up and replicated by the general population, until they became must-haves for closets and heads around the world. It seems that our own views of what is deemed ‘hot’ and what is ‘not’ becomes itself dictated not by taste and/or practicality alone, but by availability, price tag and what everyone around us is wearing. In sum, through a democratic consensus by the general public about what is ‘trendy’.

This is not to say that ‘out’ styles die off – we all still see perms and scrunchies on our way to work – they just get replicated less by the mainstream population and produced less by the chains that sell us our clothing because they work within a free market system dictated by supply-and-demand – an economic system which is itself also governed by a ‘discard and replicate‘ formula (or if you prefer, ‘buy and sell’). But because populations’ tastes are not universally shared or even stable, the presence of groups which do not adhere to mainstream fashion trends, such goths, punks and other socially and uniformly identified crowds, will always persist (and perhaps someday they will be picked up and replicated by the larger population and thus become mainstream fashion trends in turn).

The general media and economically driven mainstream trends arising from seemingly conspiratorial waves trying to put us into little boxes and make us wear what ‘they’ want us to wear, is in fact much more likely to have arisen organically from the general population’s judgement and finger-pointing of what is deemed ‘cool’ at that particular point in time.

pagerank

Graphic depicting Google’s PageRank algorithm system

And it is precisely due to this (unconsciously) democratic processes dictating the rise and fall of fashion trends, that search engines such as Google can work. PageRank is the link analysis algorithm used by Google to measure a webpage’s relative importance, and it “relies on the uniquely democratic nature of the web by using its vast link structure as an indicator of an individual page’s value. In essence, Google interprets a link from page A to page B as a vote, by page A, for page B”. In other words, the more ‘votes’ a page gets, the more ‘important’ it becomes and the more it gets bumped up on the webpage food chain. It is because Google has so accurately captured the aesthetic preferences as well as the content preferences of its customers, that I am still 6th in line behind 5 websites pertaining to a supermodel bearing the same name as me.

On a much smaller but real-time scale, Twitter is another a democratic arena in which topics of interest are picked up and spread naturally throughout the network’s lattice. Twitter can therefore be useful in tracking trending topics by calculating the number of times a certain word, group of words or hashtaged words are mentioned by its users. Many times, but not always, these reflect happenings in the news or of mainstream culture and can provide insights on to what the (twitter) population is most interested in, by looking at the topics users choose to pick up, tweet and re-tweet. Tools such as Twitter, can be said to be some of the most socialist and therefore subversive tools available to anyone that can access them. Information has the potential to be picked-up first-hand and passed from the bottom up, instead of the other way around, thus offering us an escape from the narrow information filters of publishers and media corporations.

“on the Internet, however, it’s not one single subjectivity but a popular hive-mind that decides. The “big break” arrives when, with lightning speed and often to one’s own surprise, the inscrutable pack decides to start forwarding one’s content around.” – Bill Wasik, Bright Lights, Big Internet.

But I would argue that these democratic tendencies are biological in nature, and that they characterize the decision making processes of groups of organisms sharing a particular environment. It’s not enough that a new product or behaviour is invented and publicized, it has to become ‘popular’ for it to be successful, and popularity of a product or behaviour depends on its adoption by a general public who will fixate it due to a recognized value or utility (which can be completely subjective or random – case in point: shoulder pads), which in turn will allow it to become replicated due to a preference for it. Whether they be information, fashion accessories or behaviours, these social units (some will call them memes) will continue to be perpetuated until they fall from the general population’s good graces, at which point they get discarded. Some units may enjoy long lasting popularity, such as mascara, while others may be shorter lived, such as parachute pants.

In the same fashion, modern day first-world societies also get to choose for themselves what works for the population and what doesn’t. Laws, bills, rules, and even moral codes get created, tested, and then approved or discarded according to the population’s will. Different groups will generate different consensuses about what works and what doesn’t, which is why some have the death penalty and some don’t, why some condone rape within marriage while others punish it, why some legalize abortion and marijuana while others consider it a crime, and why some have healthcare systems that cover the whole population and some that extend only to those who can afford it. Perhaps some of these behavioural units will follow MC Hammer’s pants in the near future by being deemed ‘uncool’ by the larger population and discarded in favour of something trendier.

Coalescence3Coalescence tree

If instead of fabric, MC Hammer’s pants were made of long sequences of purines and pyrimidines weaved together in a helicoidal structure of microscopic proportions, they would have disappeared from the gene pool and left no descendants. In the same way that fashion accessories and behavioural habits get replicated and discarded according to each societies’ own tastes, needs, and environments (sheepskin hats would be an improbable trend in equatorial Africa) so do genes get replicated and discarded in human population groups, according to the environments in which they must survive and differing human tastes.

In this way, both types of unit alike (behavioural and genetic) make their way in and out of our lives in a purposeless, directionless way – because much like fashion they have no other reason or rhyme than the one inflicted upon them by the ‘show’s’ participants and the context in which they are placed. The selection process behind these trends thus occurs in an organic way, through a natural process in which we are pawns and players all at once and which most of us are, like in the Devil Wears Prada, so blithely unaware of. The process of Natural Selection.

___________________________________________________________________________

In June’s Riddle, ‘Colour me Blind I had asked you to specify what the best colour was, after having you look at 3 pictures depicting 10 multi-coloured circles superimposed on different backgrounds. The purpose was to reflect on the idea and process of selection and the concept of ‘fittest’ as expressed in ‘Survival of the Fittest’ – a sentence coined by Herbert Spencer in 1864 as a synonym for Darwin’s ‘Natural Selection’ and often misattributed to Darwin himself.

The concept of ‘best’, a superlative of good, relies entirely on our own understanding and interpretation of what ‘good’ means – even its meaning is almost universally understood. In this sense, my question was pointless and anyone that was able to provide a valid reason for decreeing one specific colour ‘the best’, is in fact right. But it is precisely because the idea of ‘good’ and ‘best’ are relative concepts that they make for drawing such good analogies with the concept of Natural Selection. This process does not obey orders of an absolute nature, but will rather take on different shapes according to the environments in which organisms are found – it is contextual and relative. What may be good in one environment may be bad, maladaptive or fatal in another environment altogether. The concept of best may also vary according to the particular element of the environment one organism happens to explore. ‘Best’ in the riddle’s context may mean ‘conspicuousness’ or it may mean ‘invisibility’ according to how we wish the interpret it. In this case, against the black background, black may be deemed the best colour because the black circle disappears against its background. On the other hand, green may be deemed the best because it is the colour that is most noticeable against the same background. You may wish to draw parallels between these ideas and the concept of predator avoidance, and mate attraction. Another interpretation would have been to determine how well a colour does in terms of ‘conspicuousness’ or ‘invisibility’ in all 3 backgrounds combined.

In the end, the goal was to reflect upon the use (or rather, the misuse) of the word ‘Fittest’ and the expression ‘Survival of the Fittest’ as a measure of absolute overall gene quality and superiority; an idea which has so often been used to distort the realities of Evolution and of Natural Selection, and which has in indirect ways legitimized political and military movements of disastrous proportions.

The Link is Always Missing

[This is the answer to May's riddle]

“There is a rare but dramatic neurological disturbance that a number of my patients have experienced during attacks of migraine, when they may lose the sense of visual continuity and motion and see instead a flickering series of ‘stills.’ The stills may be clear-cut and sharp, and succeed one another without superimposition or overlap [...]”

- Cited from Oliver Sacks, ‘In the River of Consciousness’, The New York Review of Books, Volume 51, Number 1, January 15, 2004

Much like colour, movement can also be broken down into discrete categories or stills, each one depicting a particular and recognizable moment. Removed from the context, each instant can stand on its own – colour code ff008a is a shade of pink and ff0900 a shade of red, much like the first frame on the film below depicts a man with a moustache and two hands in the air, while the last one depicts the same man with only one visible hand in the air. Neither of these need be placed before or after any other colour codes or frames in order for them to make sense.

Yet… removing any of the stills below from the other 35 stills to which it is linked will blind us to the greater picture: the continuum. Thus we will fail to realize that what we are in fact seeing is not a ‘man with a moustache and one (or two) hands in the air’, but a sneeze.

sneeze

Earliest existing copyrighted motion pictures: ‘Record of a Sneeze’. The series of pictures running in sequence from top to bottom was made byW. K. L. Dickson in the Edison laboratory

If instead of displaying the frames in rows and columns, we juxtapose these images to each other in rapid succession, we create the illusion of fluidity, movement and the passing of time.

Picture 3

January 11 2000 to July 31 2006 with original music by Carly Comando

Such that this:

Picture 1

… becomes this:

wheel_spectrum

But however many frames per second we are displayed, in essence a link is always missing between any two frames. Canon’s new camera (the world’s fastest), at 6.1 million frames per second, ever reduces the amount of time between each two captured instances of a movement – and to the human eye, anything above 30 frames per second appears as ‘fluid’. Thus ever more ‘links’ can be digitally captured between whichever two poses. But precisely because movement can always be broken down into ever smaller frozen snapshots, in the same way that a colour spectrum can be broken down into ever subtler categories containing minuscule differences in colour proportion, in a sense a link is always present.

In fact, it is up to our brains and consciousness to patch these categories together in succession in order to unravel the continuum of which they are part of. Crick and Koch for example, speculate on the neural correlates of motion perception – how visual continuity is perceived or constructed – and they propose that “conscious awareness [for vision] is a series of static snapshots, with motion ‘painted’ on them…[and] that perception occurs in discrete epochs.”

Migraines and certain types of brain damage can disrupt our ability to string stills from everyday life together with sufficiently small amounts of time lapse between them, so that we are unable to make sense of the world. A unique case of such an Akinetopsia disorder was reported in Germany. The patient complained of seeing first an object or a person in one place and then in another but not being able to see them moving between one place and the the next (see youtube video depicting disorder). Among other things like crossing roads or catching the subway,  she was unable to pour tea into a cup because the liquid appeared to be frozen like a glacier and she could not estimate its rise in the cup; she would see a glass half full, and then feel hot water on her feet… two disconnected ‘frames’ removed from their reel, between which lie a whole world of missing links.

… Links, without which we would be unable to see the dawning of humankind, or the birth of human life.

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Images © 2000 Smithsonian Institution (A: Chimpanzee; N: Homo sapiens)

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Carnegie stages of human development

Betraying the real way in which we see the world is our love for, on the one hand, breaking sequences down into stages and on the other, for stitching stills together into fluid perceptual streams.

… So why do we insist on forgetting our own place in this reel?

Since 99% of all living species that have ever lived on earth have gone extinct, we humans tend to suffer from an Akinetopsia of geological proportions. Indeed, in the absence of material links we are left with frozen tea cups and wet feet – to our heads and eyes two seemingly disconnected events which could not conceivably be linked. It is only when we come out of our epistemological caves and connect the dots, the millions of stills and html codes and weave them together in a colourful patched blanket that our place in the spectrum emerges. And as clear and intuitively as pictures on a moving zoetrope, where one frozen still gives way to another in a continuous and harmonious projection, we witness Evolution…

speciationFour skeletons in the ancestral lineage of the modern whale

…. And now you want the short answer I imagine?

The point I was trying to make was more philosophical rather than technical or even perceptual. This was essentially not so much a riddle as it was an exercise. Understanding the basic principles of Evolution is within everyone’s grasp, but rather than unleashing my frustrations on the misinformed in the form of angry comments, I tried my hand at a different, however over-simplified, approach. And that’s what my riddle was about.

Now, in the name of placing knowledge into categories like a good Homo sapiens, I will give you all marks:

Constantine Markides and Mark Huckabee, you get an A. You all saw my true colours and gave me an answer in tone with what I was aiming for.

Ciaran, Digger , Mark and David, you get an A- for taking the time to do what, in all honesty, I never did, which was taking the time to try to figure it out. However, Mark gets a bonus point for teaching us all about html coding. I should’ve done the homework on such details; hopefully the bonus point will redeem me.

Anna’s Riddle (2) – ‘Colour me Blind’

[Click here for May's riddle]                              [Click here for the answer to May's riddle]

[Click here for June's riddle]

June’s riddle consists of just one simple question. You can give your answer in the comments section at the bottom and I will provide the answer next month. Again, there is a real answer to this riddle.

Look at the 3 pictures below, and answer the following question:

1. What is the best colour?

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