The nymphs (juvenile forms) of the genus Issus, known for its fundamentalist views and attempts to form an Insectic State in the Middle-Leaf, are the bugs at the centre of the study. Interlocking cog-like joints on the juvenile back legs act like a simple gear, rotating together to synchronise both legs when they jump, a feat more difficult to achieve with the nervous system.

Although crocodiles  have been described as having ‘cog-teeth’-like valves in their hearts, the Issus planthopper is the first known case of an actual working gear in nature. Only the juveniles have the gears, losing them on achieving adulthood. Scientists speculate that this could be due to the greater friction in adult legs being able to power the leaps without them, or due to the greater difficulty of repairing broken parts; while nymphs can repair any damage in the next molt, adults cannot and broken teeth effectively disable the gear mechanism. Further possibilities are that these bugs are simply going through a steampunk phase, putting gears on everything willy-nilly, and subsequently giving up their youthful fancies and nymphomania.

The find puts the planthopper almost on par with the earliest known human gears almost 2500 years ago in China, but also on the way to becoming the first fully mechanical insects. I for one welcome our new insect overlords. 

In 1959, in an attempt to study the effects of selective breeding for ‘tameability’, Dmitry Konstantinovich Belyaev set up an experiment with silver foxes, selecting and breeding the friendliest pairs. The experiment has run for over 60 years now, but within a few generations the foxes began to exhibit behaviour that we would associate most commonly with dogs: they would leap up into researchers arms and lick their faces, come when called, and even wag their tails. They also displayed the ability dogs have to pick up the gestures of humans. The foxes changed physically too, more commonly displaying the patchwork coats that other domesticated animals like dogs, horses, cats, and cattle have, which is uncommon in wild populations. The foxes were also more likely to have floppy ears into adulthood, short or curly tails, and more gracile faces. These puppy-like characteristics, making the foxes appear more juvenile, are what are known as neotenous traits. Although Belyaev’s experiment selected solely for friendlier foxes, they ended up with what we would consider also cuter, and smarter foxes. The experiment strongly suggests that many of the traits that separate dogs from wolves – their ability to follow commands, floppy ears, smaller snouts, curly tails etc. – are all simply side effects of selective breeding for one purpose: a friendlier pet.

But Belyaev didn’t just breed friendly foxes. To see the other side of the coin, the most aggressive foxes from each generation were also bred, producing over the years a group of animals that immediately start snarling and hissing the instant researchers enter a room. Bit of a far cry from the fluffy little guys eager for belly rubs you can see here. Lets hope the facility with the evils foxes never sees an escape, triggering a Planet of the Foxes-style apocalypse.

References

Wikipedia. 2016. Dmitry Konstantinovich Belyaev. Available online.

Slate Magazine. 2012. ‘Domesticated foxes in Siberia: an experiment in peril. Available online. 

If he’s so smart, why is he dead?

Image: The Death of Socrates, Jacques-Louis David, 1787.

I took an internet quiz, and now I don’t know who I am anymore.

Jack, you remember that time we dressed up as X-men characters for the finale of the Harry Potter film series? I’m going to be talking about that. Not…our questionable and inaccurate costume choices, and not that viewing experience exactly but something tangentially related to that anecdote. Because that’s how we roll.

So you’ve probably forgotten by now that there are four houses in the wizarding school of the Harry Potter franchise, filled with people of like personalities: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Gryffindors are clearly J.K. Rowling’s favourite; they’re the heroes of the story, and are known for their bravery, daring, and chivalry. Slytherin is a house full of foils for the heroes; known for ambition, cunning, ruthlessness and being racist. Ravenclaw is the nerd house; valuing wit, creativity and wisdom. Hufflepuff is the least notable house, with barely any memorable characters, valuing loyalty, dedication, honesty, and tolerance. In internet culture, the houses are typically portrayed thus:

(I tried so hard to find the original artist for this).

Initially, Hufflepuff was the big furry badger-butt of my jokes and everybody else’s, but I changed my mind over time. Hufflepuff is the only house whose values include treating other people well. It is the only house whose values really promote positive treatment of other people. Slytherin values ambition – which I typically view as a corrupting influence – and are all about taking care of no. 1. Gryffindor values traits I find impressive but not necessarily admirable, and being wicked chivalrous isn’t exactly the model for good relationships with people. Even though I value the scholarly aspects of Ravenclaw, I think being tolerant and loyal are more important. The way someone treats others is the most important indicator of whether I think they’re a good person. I think if everybody was a Hufflepuff the world would be in better shape.

So I took the Sorting Hat test on Pottermore to find out what house I would be in, and it didn’t turn out to be Hufflepuff as I hoped, or Ravenclaw, as I kind of suspected. No. The sorting hat put me in Gryffindor.

This isn’t my world.

You are what they say you are.

How was I so wrong?

I’ve always kind of held that a self-applied internet test might not be entirely accurate. Maybe others that know you well, but are not swayed by your biases should calculate which kind of ninja turtle you are. Because after all, how well do you know yourself.

You cannot know yourself, or what you’d really do.

Like the monkey unable to recognise itself in the mirror, you don’t even know something as basic as what you look like. You get weirded out by photos of yourself because you’re used to seeing the horizontally flipped version, and you probably even think you’re more attractive than you are. If you were to ask a bunch of friends how they rate themselves on a 1-10 scale of attractiveness, I bet most would give themselves about a seven, and none would put themselves below five. Statistically, that just can’t be the case. We should expect a normal distribution of attractiveness, and face the facts that some of us are below average appearance.

But there’s a ton of this sort of stuff. People tend to express themselves in surveys as kinder, more generous, and of greater willpower than they actually are. And the scientists of the world have gladly formed studies that ask the following questions, and provide the following answers:

• “How good looking are you?” “I’m sorry, you’re wrong”
• “How generous do you think you are?” “Turns out…notsomuch”
• “Rating of 1 to 10, how much willpower do you think you have?” “You might want to knock a couple of numbers off of that”

Scientists will take your personal identity and show you you’re wrong. “Studies show that people have an idealised version of themselves that is incorrect, and they are stupid” (Actual Scientists, 2016). And now, I don’t know what to believe about myself. I don’t who I am anymore.

Maybe you thought you were a Hufflepuff. You wanted to be a Hufflepuff.

You’re a Gryffindor.

You don’t know shit.

So I was once halted in confusion during an argument with a friend. I don’t remember exactly, due to the location of the argument (a pub), but his hypothesis essentially boiled down to this:

1. It is now known that Vikings made the transatlantic crossing around 1000 AD, and settled mainland America for a short period. Their settlements in Greenland and North America ultimately faltered, (perhaps due to growing isolation) and the modern revelation that this occurred is thanks to a pairing of archaeology and other research.
2. Vikings were typically tall, hairy men, commonly with reddish hair.
3. Sasquatches/bigfoot (bigfeet?) are typically considered tall, hairy, man-like creatures, also with reddish hair
4. The sasquatch myth has to come from somewhere, and maybe is a residual communal memory of Viking visitors, corrupted over the centuries into its modern form.

blurry. photographic. evidence.

Immediately I considered the suggestion ridiculous. Without any facts to hand, I dismissed the hypothesis instantly (which is not to say I couldn’t come up with an evidence-based argument against it). My major problem with the argument was the final clause:

“It has to come from somewhere. There must be some element of truth to it”

Here’s where things got fully derailed in my mind. If I was to accept this premise, it brings up some potentially ludicrous interpretations of mythology and folklore. I think the example I gave was giants, which are almost ubiquitous in mythologies worldwide: oversize, under-civilised peoples that preceded the present group. Lots of groups also have stories of small people, often forest-bound and magical. I won’t accept that these are necessarily memories of some group of slightly taller, or slightly shorter peoples that came before. I think to do so fundamentally underestimates the level of human creativity.

Inconceivable.

People could easily conceive of larger or smaller versions of themselves, without having seen the 11th century equivalent of a basketball player. If you accept the sasquatches:Vikings reasoning, it brings all sorts of whacky concepts into play. Griffons are memories of lions wearing feather cloaks. Hindu deities were a bunch of dudes gesturing behind the backs of other dudes. Mermaids are just people wearing scaly pants.

Image by the amazing Kate Beaton

I think the iconography of folklore and mythology isn’t commemorative, but is conceptual, and often tempered with what makes for a good story. This is venturing dangerously into monomyth/archetypal territory, which I am desperately unqualified for, having never read Campbell or Jung, or even a single book about psychology I can remember. Werewolves and zombies don’t stick in the human consciousness because of our fascination with paleopathology and the very hairy or very dull men of the past, but because of our interest in the blurred line between man and beast, or mindlessness and the nature of humanity. I think a lot of these stories are created to address concepts important to society. I’m just not that convinced that folklore can always be interpreted as a garbled version of actual events.

ANALOGY – HYPOCRISY

So this is where I run into trouble. In my line of work, oral history is a hugely significant source of information. Archaeologists, particularly in colonial nations and among indigenous groups, often draw upon traditional accounts to provide additional context for their study of the material culture of past people. In a lot of ways, this is no different from archaeologist studying areas and time periods with written histories. But often there is a stigma to using these sources, and oral histories are considered by many to be more mutable, and therefore less reliable than written history. I frequently draw upon oral histories in order to understand where people lived, how they used the land over successive generations, and how that is manifested in the archaeological record. But the line between folklore, mythology, and oral histories is blurred. Genealogies can connect modern people directly to deities, and ancestral figures are often attributed supernatural traits or have supernatural adventures. I’ll happily relate to colleagues, friends or strangers a story I fully believe about an important ancestor a few generations back who was killed during a period of conflict between two particular groups. I can also buy that a story of an older explorer figure who dug holes across the island that become the lakes of today might be analogous to a journey of discovery. I’m not sure where I stand on the legendary discoverer’s battle with a giant octopus, but I’m willing to consider he was a figure who physically existed in the way I tend to understand historical figures existing. But sasquatch Vikings are a step too far for me.

More like King Harold BIGfoot. Get it? Ha! History jokes!

Is it that the former examples are part of my nation’s heritage, and that – even if imagined or real – they shaped its history and society? Is it that the stories of my home are genuine indigenous histories with indigenous meanings and interpretations, and sasquatch Vikings are a foreign interpretation of an indigenous story by a modern colonial individual, and that I recognise the legitimacy and importance of the former and not the latter? What’s the time-frame beyond which an oral history becomes legend, and legend, myth? I seem to personally draw the line at the supernatural or paranormal, but even mundane-ish stories are easy enough to concoct in entirety (c.f. Robin Hood is a fake guy).

It’s hard to be a rational human being, but some concepts just pull upon me to reject them out of hand. Sasquatch Vikings is one of them. The idea that “[everything] must have some element of truth” just doesn’t fly with me. But I myself sometimes look for such kernels in oral histories in my own work. How can I rectify this cognitive dissonance?