A miserable birthday aboard HMS Beagle

A very Happy Darwin Day.

Yours truly, writing on the Beagle Project blog:

A miserable birthday aboard HMS Beagle

Sometimes even plain sailing isn’t plain sailing:

12th There has been a little swell on the sea to day, & I have been very uncomfortable: this has tried & quite overcome the small stock of patience that the early parts of the voyage left me. — Here I have spent three days in painful indolence, whilst animals are staring me in the face, without labels & scientific epitaphs. — This has been the first day that the heat has annoyed us.

Charles Darwin writing in his diary aboard HMS Beagle 180 years ago today, on his 23rd birthday. In almost five years voyaging around the world, the poor lad never really overcame his dreadful seasickness.

Two triumphant predictions for science

Today marks the completion of the planet Neptune‘s first orbit of the sun since it was discovered by astronomers on 23 September, 1846.

The discovery of Neptune is one of those neat stories often used to illustrate the predictive capabilities of science. Englishman John Couch Adams and Frenchman Urbain Jean-Joseph Le Verrier independently calculated the orbit of the inferred new planet, based on known irregularities in the orbit of Uranus. And, sure enough, when astronomers pointed their telescopes where Adams and Le Verrier said, there shone Neptune! Interestingly, though, these astronomers were probably not the first to observe Neptune: Galileo, Lalande and Herschel are each thought to have seen the it earlier, but none of them seems to have realised that they were looking at a new planet.

Another frequently told story of a scientific prediction proving correct comes courtesy of Charles Darwin. (You must have known I’d be getting to him eventually.) In his snappily titled book On the Various Contrivances by which British And Foreign Orchids are Fertilised by Insects, and on the Good Effects of Intercrossing, Darwin famously predicted the existence of a moth with an extremely long proboscis, which would be the pollinator of a strange Madagascan orchid with an extremely long nectary, writing:

I fear that the reader will be wearied, but I must say a few words on the Angræcum sesquipedale, of which the large six-rayed flowers, like stars formed of snow-white wax, have excited the admiration of travellers in Madagascar. A whip-like green nectary of astonishing length hangs down beneath the labellum. […]

I could not for some time understand how the pollinia of this Orchid were removed, or how it could be fertilised. I passed bristles and needles down the open entrance into the nectary and through the cleft in the rostellum with no result. It then occurred to me that, from the length of the nectary, the flower must be visited by large moths, with a proboscis thick at the base; and that to drain the last drop of nectar even the largest moth would have to force its proboscis as far down as possible.

Xanthopan morganii praedicta

Xanthopan morganii praedicta
(Image: cc kqedquest on Flickr)

Darwin’s prediction was seen as a bold one by at least one of his correspondents. In 1862, just 16 years after the discovery of Neptune, Edward Cresy Jr went so far as to compare Darwin’s prediction with that of Adams and Le Verrier, writing to Darwin:

I think your anticipation by analogy of a Madagascar moth with a probiscis ten inches long equals Adam’s & Leverrier— What a triumph it will be to find him—

Unlike Adams and Le Verrier, Darwin did not live to see his prediction confirmed. It was not until 1903 that a new sub-species of the African hawk moth was discovered in Madagascar. As Darwin had predicted, the moth feeds from the nectaries of Angraecum sesquipedale with its extremely long proboscis. The new sub-species was given the very appropriate scientific name Xanthopan morganii praedicta in recognition of yet another triumphant prediction for science.

Postscript [02-Dec-2011]: …although, apparently (see comments), Xanthopan morganii praedicta was named in honour of Alfred Russel Wallace’s similar prediction, not Darwin’s.

Darwin gets his hair cut

I just came across two delightful animations about Charles Darwin made by London schoolchildren. I’m sure they must have done the rounds in the science blogosphere before, but I somehow missed them.

The films describe two fictitious conversations between Charles Darwin and the real-life London Soho barber William Willis, with whom Darwin really did converse on the subject of dog-breeding. Although the conversations are fictitious, the events described in them are pretty accurate.

The conversations, as you will see, take place immediately before two key events in Darwin’s life:

Charles Darwin: A Genius in the Heart of London:

Part 1: Saved by a Soho Barber

 
Part 2: A Final Journey to the Abbey

Darwin’s uncontrollable farting

I have just emailed the following to the London Review of Books, in response to their recent piece entitled Gutted:

Steven Shapin writes that Darwin’s uncontrollable retching and farting seriously limited his public life (LRB, 30 June).

Some years ago, to my delight, I worked out that the great man’s full name, Charles Robert Darwin, is an anagram of ‘rectal winds abhorrer’.

Unfortunately for my anagram, the meanings of words, like species, can evolve. On the rare occasions that Darwin mentioned his gaseous problems to friends, he always used the word ‘flatulence’. Nowadays, we think of flatulence as being synonymous with farting, but, in Darwin’s day, it simply meant (as it technically still does) an accumulation of gases in the alimentary canal.

While I’m sure that Darwin, like the rest of us, must have vented his excess gas one way or the other, there is no reason to believe that his farts were uncontrollable.


Richard Carter
The Friends of Charles Darwin

(As a postscript, I should perhaps add that, although Darwin’s nickname at school was Gas, this had nothing to do with his alimentary system, and everything to do with his passion for manufacturing gases in his amateur chemical laboratory at home.)

(As a second postscript, I should add that the LRB published the above letter in their 28-Jul-2011 edition.)

185 years ago today…

[Cross-posted from the Beagle Project blog]

On 22nd May, 1826, His Majesty’s Ship Beagle set sail from Plymouth on a surveying voyage to South America.

Neither Darwin nor FitzRoy were on board. This was Beagle’s first voyage. Her more famous second voyage was to begin five years later.

But her first voyage was not without incident: hardship; scurvy; several deaths; the suicide of Beagle’s captain, Pringle Stokes; his temporary replacement by Lieutenant Skyring; his official replacement by the 23-year-old Robert FitzRoy, who joined the ship at Montevideo; surveying; the discovery and naming of the Beagle Channel; the abduction of four young Fuegian natives.

The first Beagle voyage was to establish Robert FitzRoy as an able and talented ship’s captain, making him the logical choice to fulfil the same role on what was to become her far more famous second voyage. The need to return the young Fuegians to their homeland was surely a factor in FitzRoy’s acceptance of the commission; Stokes’s suicide a key factor in FitzRoy’s decision to take a gentleman companion on the voyage.

In other words, were it not for the events of the first Beagle voyage, history might have been very different.

Boring the pants off people about Darwin

Last week, the albino Australian gorilla and philosopher John S Wilkins and I and a few others took part in a brief Twitter discussion about Charles Darwin. Wilkins, a big fan of Darwin, had apparently had enough: “We just spent 2 yrs on Darwin; can we do modern biology now?” he asked. “Evolution is not a cult of personality,” he added.

The exchange seems to have led to a Wilkins blog post, Darwin Day: Enough already, the main thrust of which was that continuing to talk about [Darwin] leads people to, possibly correctly, think that this is a cult of personality rather than something about the history and nature of science.

Wilkins might be surprised to hear that I agree with many of his sentiments. I feel particularly uncomfortable when people wheel Darwin into modern debates and start speaking on his behalf, quote-mining him in support of whatever particular point they want to make, as if having someone who has been dead for almost 129 years on your side counts for anything much.

But that’s not why I continue to bore the pants off people about Darwin.

Darwin means many things to many people. Which is why, when my mate Fitz and I set up the Friends of Charles Darwin all those years ago to campaign to see Darwin celebrated on a British bank note, we opted for a deliberately vague motto—an amusing pun concocted by Fitz—which any self-professed Darwin groupie could surely embrace: Charlie is my Darwin. And, if Charlie was your Darwin too, you were welcome to join us.

Yes, I am fascinated by modern biology, and I am delighted that so much of what Darwin wrote still holds true and is re-enforced every day by new discoveries in the natural world. But the world has moved on, and we now know far more about evolution than Darwin could ever have dreamt. Wilkins is right, the research programme began with Darwin; it didn’t finish with him. And nobody would have been more delighted about this than Darwin.

But modern biology isn’t why I continue to bore the pants off people about Darwin. Nor is philosophy. And it certainly isn’t Bible-bashing. In fact, Wilkins put it best in the opening sentence of his post:

I love studying about Darwin and his life and times.

Isn’t that good enough reason for studying Darwin and his life and times? And for boring the pants off people about him? Can’t we be interested in Darwin for his own sake, rather than for what he might tell us about the history and nature of science? Others have soccer or cars or Justin Bieber (no, me neither); but Charlie is my Darwin, and, if I’m boring that pants off you about him, well, that’s just what I do.

How to read Darwin – by Darwin

On 6th March, 1860, Charles Darwin advised a scientist whom he correctly believed to be sceptical of his views how to go about reading On the Origin of Species:

The fair way to view the argument of my book, I think, is to look at Natural Selection as a mere hypothesis (though rendered in some degree probable by the analogy of method of production of domestic races; & by what we know of the struggle for existence) & then to judge whether the mere hypothesis explains a large body of facts in Geographical Distribution, Geological Succession, & more especially in Classification, Homology, Embryology, Rudimentary Organs The hypothesis to me does seem to explain several independent large classes of facts; & this being so, I view the hypothesis as a theory having a high degree of probability of truth. All turns on whether the above classes of facts seem to you satisfactorily explained or not.

In other words, think of evolution by means of Natural Selection as an idea worthy of consideration, then actually consider the facts which can be explained by Darwin’s idea, and decide whether you find them compelling.

You can’t ask much more of a reader than that.

Unfortunately, in this case, Darwin’s correspondent, the naturalist and geologist Samuel Pickworth Woodward (1821–65), found it impossible to accept Darwin’s views.