Darwin II

A tad unfair, as Darwin was too 'ill' to attend the debate

Several months ago, I wrote a post introducing Darwin's revolutionary concept of species change through the mechanism of natural selection. This post set the scene for a future series examining the impact of ideas put forth by learned predecessors on Darwin's well-favoured noggin and theory. Let us not take away Darwin's brilliant insight; however, others before him had made discoveries that influenced Darwin's thought processes, culminating in his remarkable theory. But before launching into a survey of the Great Men who had come before, I would like to briefly examine the impact the publication of 'Origins' had on staid, musty but rocksure British Victorian society, with emphasis on the scientific and theological community.

Darwin was forced to rush the publication of his seminal book, 'The Origin of Species,' against his natural inclination. Darwin had been sitting and ruminating on his theory for years, only to be awoken from his somnolent revery of procrastination by the news that a fellow naturalist, Alfred Russel Wallace, had devised a similar evolutionary theory. 

From our modern perspective, it is difficult to understand the impact that Darwin's theory had on Victorian society as a whole and specifically on the scientific and religious establishment. Today, we are the recipients of technological advancements beyond measure. And the improvement continues to accelerate to the extent that new and major innovations are commonplace. In a way, we are inured to the wonderful march of modernisation and expect all at the touch of a button or a swipe of a screen. This is not to say that the 19th century was static in theory and technological development. However, the pace of advancement, though marvellous for its time, was a snail's track compared to those of the 20th and the first 25 years of this century.    

Religion and science have been in conflict in the Western Arena for the past 500 years. Theologians were in no doubt about the challenge the march of scientific thought posed to the carefully constructed edifice of Catholicism. An edifice defined by dogma and infallible doctrinal fiction manufactured after centuries of conclaves, conflicts and blood. And yet it survived for centuries, together with a jewel-encrusted Pope- what would the baby Jesus say? With the rise of Protestantism initiated in the early 16th century, Catholicism had weathered its greatest threat. Catholicism survived, battered, but the Nicene creed and associated Greek philosophy remained. Christianity, however, was no longer unified under one doctrinal banner. Christian thought was now up for grabs, and independently minded men could interpret scripture according to their wit and religious inclination; this, no doubt, assured their position in Hell. The Protestants can go to Hell; Catholics were secure under their carapace of spiritual certainty, and Heaven, punctuated by a stint in Purgatory, was an absolute truth. That said, science posed a threat to Protestantism and Catholicism alike. Unlike religion, science was a process put forth by observation and experimentation. It was not static, but subject to change and improvement. In contrast, religious thought is exact and exacting. It is based on revelation from God and faith. Neither revelation nor faith is a path to knowledge. When did religious thought produce a longer-lasting light bulb?   

Back to Darwin: Following the publication of the 'Origins', the most obvious problem for theologians of the time was that the theory provided a naturalistic explanation for natural complexity. Before Darwin, free thinkers faced the problem of giving a non-divine explanation for the manifest complexity of the natural world. An 18th-century theologian, Paley, neatly summed up the issue in his watch analogy. Consider the following scenario: If, upon wandering a wind-swept abandoned shopping mall in Tipton, you find a stolen watch, you would immediately note its complexity, even if you had never seen such a timepiece (It's Tipton, remember). The intricacy of the mechanism leads you to conclude that this item must have had a maker; in this case, a human artificer. By extrapolation (note: not logic), the complexity of the Natural World is an evident truth. Even the simplest bacterium is a highly sophisticated biological/biochemical machine. How can such intricate complexity arise naturally? Just as a complex machine, a watch, has a maker, Nature, in all its elements, guises and majesty, is surely constructed by the ultimate artificer that many call God. This argument proved highly persuasive, even before Paley's mechanistic exposition. Intuitively, it works, although it fails if confronted by cold, hard logic; but only logicians will be convinced by this argument. Regardless, the theological argument from complexity is highly compelling from a visceral perspective. However, it does not necessarily support the Christian conception of their deity and the associated theological construct and dogma. Darwin's theory of evolution through natural selection provided an elegant naturalistic mechanism for generating complexity from simplicity over vast intervals of time—supernatural intervention was not required.

Darwin's theory immediately impacted the scientific community, and the reception was undeniably and almost universally positive. This apparently simple model, at least on first acquaintance, provided a compelling, and dare I say it, exquisite solution to the ultimate problem. At last, science had closed the last gap available to theology. The Great Question had been resolved, at least to the satisfaction of the scientific community,  and religious folk had nowhere to retreat except to their narrow world of irrationality.  

The initial reaction from the theological community was disbelief. However, once the implication of Darwin's book was fully digested, thoughtful theologians realised the severe challenge evolutionary theory posed to their conception of Divine Providence and miraculous Creation. The situation was grandly reviewed during a series of lectures at Oxford University in June 1860. The focus of the debate was: Evolution versus Creationism. Two individuals dominated the scene: Thomas Huxley (an undergraduate) and Bishop Samuel Wilberforce. Sadly, no transcript of the proceedings was kept, and we have to rely on letters and accounts of the debate from those present. The highlight of the meeting unfolded when the good Bishop, 'Ol Soapy Sam', asked: "If Huxley was descended from an ape from his grandfather or grandmother"? This cheap jibe should not have been part of a serious intellectual debate. However, it was meant to sway the audience through tawdry sentiment and to pander to Victorian sensibilities concerning the superiority of Humankind in comparison to the rest of the 'Animal Kingdom'. Although we don't have the exact words of Huxley's rebuttal, a popular report provides the following: "A man has no reason to be ashamed of having an ape for his grandfather. If there were an ancestor whom I should feel shame in recalling, it would be a MAN, a man of restless and versatile intellect, who, not content with an success in his own sphere of activity, plunges into scientific questions with which he has no real acquaintance, only to obscure them by an aimless rhetoric, and distract the attention of his hearers from the real point at issue by eloquent digresions, and skilled appeals to religious prejudice". What a wonderful reply to the Bishop's cheap shot! In response, a lady in the audience fainted. Please note, this is the only comment I'm prepared to make regarding Darwinian theory's effect on Victorian society. Please do not be disappointed. I have neither the inclination, time, nor space in this post to pontificate further. Take the lady's 'touch of the vapours' as a metaphor for the impact on genteel Victorian mores. Either that, or you can blame it on wearing a bustle in the June heat. Did Huxley utter these exact words? Probably not. Nevertheless, we have other reports of the incident, and the gist of what was said is eloquently represented by the above. The rebuttal was harsh, fair and intellectually compelling/telling. 

Today, with our gift of historical insight, we can easily state that the Evolutionists carried the day. However, contemporary accounts give a more balanced and nuanced view. Apparently, victory was ascribed to the side as decided by the writer's personal prejudice, at the time, generally not by the intellectual weight of the argument.     

Within ten years of the Huxley/Wilburforce debate, Evolutionary Theory had been accepted as mainstream and part of the biological canon. It was a theory that everyone could understand, or so they thought. Even biologists of the time did not fully grasp its mechanism or implications. Even Huxley, the man who doggedly advocated for its acceptance, was a better debater than he was at understanding the underlying theory. But that did not really matter. For Huxley, Evolution was the perfect vehicle for undermining Natural Theology and replacing it with Science.  

Tis enough- I must desist as I'm starting to wibble on akimbo. The following post(s) will concern the notables who inspired Darwin. Nuff said, for now.

Paradise Lost (Again)

Close Enough

On the 23rd September 2025, it had been predicted by Pastor Joshua Mugumbo (sic), a prophet/profit resident of South Africa, that the Rapture would definitely occur. There was no doubt about his prophecy. The 23rd marked the day when the faithful in Christ would be whisked skyward in accordance with Christian lore. On this day, Christians believed that because of Jesus' sacrifice on the cross, they would receive atonement for their sins and therefore be cleansed of all venal iniquities. Thus, the true believer would leave behind their earthly, and undoubtedly filthy, vestments/raiments, defy gravity, and ascend to meet their saviour in the clouds.

The 23rd of September marked the 'Feast of Trumpets', a celebration of the Jewish New Year—a clear sign of the Rapture's inception. Folks drenched in obdurate stubbornness (double positive) and pride, and those who do not recognise the sovereignty of the Saviour, will be left behind. Atheists, Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, Jehovah's Witnesses, Gypos akimbo and sundry dark folk will not participate in Jesus' manifest mercy and benevolence. They will be left in the mire and crapulence that defines those who wilfully refused to embrace Jesus' gift of eternal love. There was only one path to eternal bliss, and that was through Jesus. All other religions and beliefs were distractions put forth by Satan to misdirect and to fool the unwary. 

Many believed Pasty Mugumbo, especially in the US. TikTok videos appeared warning of impending doom. True believers began to give up their acquisitions. Cars, money and even houses were given away. What good were these chatels when one had achieved the sublime and was now resident with Jesus in paradise? Folk gathered in groups on the allotted day and waited with joy in their hearts, as on this day they would be embraced in the bosom of the Lord. Some worried that if they stayed inside, they would hit their head on the ceiling as they shot skywards, so they went outside, ensuring there was no potential obstacle preventing vertical egress.

As the allotted day approached, fundamental Christians were driven into a righteous religious fervour. When the 23rd came, they prayed mightily and waited to be taken.

Aftermath: Pastor Joshua Mugumbo was interviewed on the 25th on a Podcast (CENTTWINZ TV). During this time, he droned on about bugger all, casting out verbal diarrhoea in ritual abundance. However, no apology was forthcoming for his failed prophecy. Instead, he doubled down and simply revised the date, a common ploy of all failed Rapture prophets. God's calendar was based on the now-defunct Julian calendar, initiated by the great Julius Caesar. Today, we use the Gregorian calendar. According to Gregorian chronology, there is a 13-day difference between these calendars. Thus, the date of the Rapture has now been revised to the 7th or possibly the 8th of October. This is all very convenient, but there is a flaw in Joshua's cunning plan. When the Rapture fails to manifest on the allotted date, those adherents, still left adhering to primitive bollocks, will be left mightily disconcerted and possibly disconbobulated. There might even be a little gnashing of teeth. I'll get the popcorn.

These Rapture events are occurring at ever-increasing time intervals. I recall the late Harold Camping's prediction of Doomsday and the supposed impending aerial elevation/salvation of the faithful few. *At the time, I penned a verse of doggerel to mark this inauspicious happening. Again, he attracted followers who fervently believed in his brand of insanity. In particular, I remember one fella who was a true believer. He was so sure of the event that he had spent all his savings on billboards proclaiming the coming lofty event/ascent. These large adverts appeared throughout New York, heralding impending doom for those foolhardy enough not to believe. As he stood in Times Square to await the event prophesied to occur at precisely 6pm on 21st May 2021, he clutched his small bible in both hands with a fierce ferocity. The large digital clock in the square revealed the appointed time, and the unbelieving heathens, some in festive garb, who had gathered to partake of the carnival atmosphere, vented a large cheer as if of one voice. Our lone hero looked lost and confused. This was his chance of salvation- now lost. An escape from his miserable mortal existence did not happen. He quietly muttered, "I don't understand". A pitiful low cry hardly discerned through the raucous laughter and derision. As for Mr Camping: He went silent, but not for long... Like all failed prophets, he stated that he had miscalculated and then announced that the true date of the Apocalypse was, in fact, a day in October 2021. Many of Camping's adherents became disillusioned after the May debacle, especially those who had dispensed of their worldly goods, stopped paying rent, and gave up their employment. A few diehards (our lonely hero, mayhap?) stayed on to witness the final death knell of Camping's delusion in October. Camping died a confused and embittered man on the 15th December 2013 at the age of 92.

                                    *You made your predictions quite categorical,

Date and year were virtually undeniable.

Except your pontifications were completely unreliable,

And your followers were left bewildered, high and dryable.                

                         

                         

I am truly confused. How, in this day and age of scientific achievements and wonderments, do we still have folk in supposedly 'sophisticated' Western countries who continue to believe in these silly, primitive, nonsensical beliefs? And let's be honest: When we talk of Western countries, we're talking about the USA. This could not happen in my adopted country of New Zealand. But before I become too smug and enter the realm of intellectual superiority, I must admit that New Zealand has its own brand of insanity, termed 'Maori Science'. But worry not, gentle reader, I will devote a post to this concept in the future.

Fundamental Christianity has had, and still has, a detrimental influence on American politics, education, and science. This is a vast topic, and the controversy concerning the teaching of Evolution in schools has been a century-long battle for it to be accepted universally throughout the US. The fundamental lobby has fought hard, and often deviously, to include the teaching of 'Intelligent Design/ Creation Science' as a viable scientific alternative to evolutionary theory. We see a stain/strain of anti-intellectual poison that seeps throughout certain sectors of American society, resulting in the uncritical acceptance of Biblical babble as alternative truth. Belief in Evolution as a valid scientific theory hovers around 50% of the US population. The rest of the population seems happy to believe that God is the answer. I rest my case, for now. 

As Mad as a Bucket of Frogs in Vinegar. Part Two

Due to circumstances beyond the control of mortal man, this second post concerning my mental health has been a long time coming. I was hoping to put forth this post weeks ago. However, real life intruded, and I was subjected to a series of life events that prevented my mind from concerted application. 

I have now entered a period of mental serenity, and I have achieved temporary respite from the world's ills and the stifling oppression that previously crushed my very soul. 

In my last post, I revealed that I had been diagnosed with ADHD. At the end of my first session with the psychiatrist, he revealed that in addition to ADHD, I suffered from an additional mental malady; apparently, I also have moderate autism. I confess, I was shocked at this supplemental diagnosis. At no time during my existence have I considered autism as a possibility for my manifest neurodivergence. 

I left the good doctor's office mightily confused. That evening, I researched symptoms, signs and the diagnostic criteria associated with autism. First off, the preferred moniker is Autistic Spectrum Disorder (ASD). Recently, much research has been directed toward unravelling the mysteries of ASD, and there has been a paradigm shift in the overall comprehension of the condition. No longer is this highly complex and diverse neurological condition(s) understood in terms of the classical model of 'Functional Deficit'. Today, rigid diagnostic labels are no longer applied, and the repertoire and gradation of symptoms uniquely associated with ASD are being recognised. I'm not going to provide an exhaustive list of attributes considered diagnostic. However, I will provide my own individual experience and some of the problems and positive associations I have experienced throughout my life and the coping mechanisms I have applied to ease my troubled mind.

After extensive research, it became clear that in many regards, I am textbook ASD. The irony: Toward the end of my career, I worked on identifying the various genetic markers associated with the condition. Even though I was aware of the diagnostic features of ASD, I failed to make the connection concerning my own mental condition. This failure to 'connect the dots' is a common feature correlated with ASD. Only when it is pointed out by a third party does the link become obvious. Rigidity of thinking is a characteristic of the ASD mind. However, before my diagnosis, I knew I had a tendency to comprehend concepts in terms of 'black and white'. Therefore, I tried hard to inject nuance and subtlety into my thinking where appropriate. This was one of my many coping strategies that I had adopted to combat the perceived negative consequences of my unyielding thought processes. Clearly, insight is not always a sure guide to success.  

ASD individuals often have areas of focus or downright obsessions. This is undoubtedly the case with regard to myself.  My interest in archery borders on insanity. To date, I'm the proud owner of 35 bows of all types, brands and financial outlay. This dedication to the hobby is not normal behaviour. As can be imagined, most archers do not expend this extreme degree of allegiance to their leisure activity. Not only am I blessed with an inordinate amount of archery equipment, but it takes little prompting to bring forth a prolonged monologue on the topic. My poor family are well aware of this proclivity and know when to walk away. This might seem disrespectful, but I barely notice when in the full grip of reverie. This brings me neatly to the next point.

Problems with social interaction and the formation of relationships are well-known features of ASD. This can be crippling for ASD individuals. I have been spared some of the extreme aspects of the condition. Throughout my life, I have acquired very few true friends. I possess only one true friend in New Zealand, and I met him 40 years ago in England. I have lived 25 years in New Zealand and have not made a new friend during that time. This bothers me not a jot. I do not actively seek out interaction with my fellow humans, and I spend a great deal of my day either in my voluminous shed communing with my many bows or ensconced within my study reflecting on the good fortune of voluntary solitude. I do not crave fellowship. On the flip side, when on those rare occasions I am thrust into the social whirl, I do not eschew social interaction. On the contrary, some poor bugger will attract my attention and will be subject to my rather bizarre, and often socially inappropriate sense of humour. Some folk will go with the flow, while others will look perturbed and offer an excuse to be elsewhere. Occasionally, I will bag someone who is too polite to end the interaction. They stand, transfixed, as if by a penetrating, sharp object; looking pained and frightened in equal measure. On rare instances, I have the delight of finding someone who is equally strange. These sublime moments are spent in mutual admiration and intelligent intercourse (the non-messy variety). There are some very odd folk out there, and I do have a talent for ferreting them out.

I have droned on enough, and thusly, this post is at an end. Nuff said. 

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Mad as a Bucket of Frogs in Vinegar

                                                                 Predictable, Flaxen

I am about to reveal personal information to my readership that is known only to my doctors and close family. I am unknown to all who linger here, and long shall it remain. Please keep it a secret.

Mental health acronyms are everywhere, and everyone has one. PTSD is very much in vogue. In years passed, this was called 'shell shock' and was the sole preserve of those affected by their combat experience. Now, however, the condition has seeped into civilian life and is awarded to those who didn't achieve a merit badge back in the day when they were in High School. I'm being flippant, but I don't want to denigrate the horror, distress and misery mental illness causes. I should know, or know better, as my family has been marred and blighted through the generations.

My mother, at age 21, shoved her head into the gas oven in a serious attempt to end it all. By luck, she was found in time. Back in the 1950s, piped gas was generated from coal and contained significant amounts of carbon monoxide. My poor mother was sectioned and sent to the local Mental Health Facility. I could never determine how long she spent there, as the family considered the matter taboo. My maternal grandmother strenuously denied that we had that 'sort of thing' in the family. The irony: she also experienced a 'mental episode' when young. As regards the incident, all my mother would reveal was that she was subjected to electric shock treatment, which filled her with horror; she raved about the treatment until the day she died. 

The doctors diagnosed my mother as suffering from paranoid schizophrenia and placed her on medication, and she was eventually released into society.

Schizophrenia can be highly debilitating and destroys lives. However, she responded well to the strong meds and father, whilst alive, skillfully managed her delusions and prevented a recurrent episode warranting readmittance; this all changed when he died. 

From an early age, I knew I was 'different' from others my age. My thinking always seemed off-centre, and I was often careless and inattentive. As I aged, odd behaviour and thinking became more apparent. By young adulthood, I realised that I had cognitive blank spots. Certain actions and behaviours that appeared natural and easy to others were extremely difficult for me. Subsequently, I developed coping mechanisms to help ameliorate the symptoms and to hide the problems from my peers and adults. As for why I was neurodivergent, as they say in the modern medical parlance, I ascribed my issues to aberrant genes from my mother. I learned that schizophrenia has a strong genetic component, and many contributing genes are responsible. Exceeding a 'bad gene' threshold results in the condition.  I reasoned that I had received a goodly amount of the aberrant genes, but not enough to present the condition. I was spared true schizophrenia, but I wasn't untouched by the genetic taint. My mind could be in turmoil, with rolling/roiling and cascading thoughts that blazed throughout my brain with chaotic glee. On the plus side, I seemed endowed with a degree of creativity and spontaneity that was denied to most. It is the muse that drives my blog content and provides it with its singular character. My self-diagnosis seemed fair to me, and as I aged, I accepted my idiosyncrasies and the perception of being different with indifference and got about the business of life. 

Coming to modern times, my two grown-up children, male and female, experienced mental health symptoms that developed with age. Eventually, they were both seen by psychiatrists for help. Both had to rely on private treatment, as the public mental health system is but a name, unless you are a juvenile and virtually impossible to access as an adult, as the bar for acceptance is set impossibly high. Unfortunately, this is not a cheap route, and Kiwis with mental health problems are left to wallow in their mental abyss due to cost.  And so it transpires that both of my beautiful children are affected by ADHD and have been prescribed the stimulant Ritalin. The outcome for both my children has been good, and they have attained a degree of peace, calm, and focus. I've noticed my daughter, who was burdened with inactivity and lacked motivation, has since become 'awakened' as if from a dream of lassitude. She now makes jewellery and trinkets and is opening her own business. As for my son, who experienced severe bouts of doubt and mental tumult is now an esteemed professional. Not only does he work full-time, but he also runs two businesses of his own design. One of his enterprises is starting to become lucrative, and he is working toward making the dizzying leap to full-time businessman. I wish him luck in his endeavours and vow to support him in his hard-fought/thought ventures. 

With two children with ADHD, likely, one or both parents are thus affected. The spotlight deservedly fell upon me, and I became concerned that my self-diagnosis (never a good thing) was in error, and so I sought medical counsel. I will not linger on the process, which in my case proved challenging and a long time a coming. Eventually, I was booked to consult with an eminent psychiatrist with a special interest and expertise in ADHD diagnosis and treatment. Like my children, I trod the private road. A toll road well worth the access fee.  

The initial session with the doctor was helpful, informative and deeply revealing. I filled in tests akimbo, and in the final part of the 2.5-hour consultation, I was diagnosed with ADHD. This came as no great surprise. However, the good doctor was not finished with his professional verdict. It transpires that I have a comorbidity. I will not reveal the additional mental issue in this post as it has started to veer into 'too long, won't read' territory. Suffice it to say, it was a shocking revelation to me and for a while, I was thrown into mental turmoil. Perceptive and long-time visitors may be endowed with the powers of psychic divination and thus can discern my cohabiting malady with grace. It was no surprise to my daughter- she knew all this time. Insight was denied to this blogger, and I had to wait nearly 70 years for disclosure.

A second post is warranted and is coming soon.  

 

 

Madame Guillotine

                                        Halifax Gibbet, Looking Mean 

I recently asked one of my readers, 'Would he rather I write about the Guillotine or Hanged, Drawn and Quartered' as a punishment?' To date, he hasn't replied, so I have decided to force the issue- I have powers beyond the ken of mortals. By the power of divination, I have picked (drum roll), the Guillotine.

The Guillotine as a form of capital punishment is forever linked with the French and, notably, the French Revolution. During the 'Reign of Terror' (1793- 1794), it is estimated that over 15,000 folk faced decapitation by this technique. This execution method was not exclusive to the French and was not first introduced during the French Revolution. Read on, gentle reader, and if not entertained, at least be enlightened.

One of the earliest mechanical beheading devices, 'The Halifax Gibbet', saw service from 1286 to 1650, in the sleepy Yorkshire town of Halifax. It was considered a more humane method than manual beheading with an axe. The device consisted of an axe head attached to a weighted block. The block and axe were fitted in grooves in two upright beams of 15 feet in extent. The block was hoisted by rope and pulley until it rested at the top of the beams. The block was secured by a pin which, when released, sent the block and axe hurtling down to sever the miscreant's noggin. This way, about 100 people were sent to paradise, purgatory, hell or oblivion, depending on the viewer's preference. Of the choices, I prefer the latter. In those days, stealing was the most common crime punishable by death. The condemned would remain in custody for three market days. During this time, the poor man was displayed to the public in the stocks as an act of humiliation and to deter others. The Scots were not to be outdone by English ingenuity, and in the 16th to the 18th centuries, 'The Scottish Maiden' in Edinburgh was readied to sever a criminal's head. The construction and execution of the device were similar to the English version, although a mite cruder.   

The German version of the mechanical kopf removal device was first used in the Rhineland in the late 18th century. By 1871, it had become the most common method of execution throughout Germany. Like the English variety, it used an axe head for the butcher's work. It differed from the French array as it was constructed of metal, unlike the Guillotine, which was built of wood. Also, the drop was decidedly short, and to compensate, the axe and block were made to be extremely heavy. Death by fallbeil became very popular during the Nazi regime (1933 - 1945), with nearly 12,000 prisoners executed by this means: rest in pieces, Sophie Scholl.  

Before the execution by machine, decapitation was often carried out by a headsman with an axe or, less commonly, a sword. The ancient Romans used the gladius to send German tribesmen to Valhalla. In the Middle Ages, decapitation was reserved for noble folk as it was considered more humane than hanging, which was the fate of the rabble. King Henry desperately wanted to marry his mistress, but unfortunately, he was married to Anne Bolynn. So trumped charges of infidelity were manufactured. Poor Anne would die because of a passionate whim of an unstable king. However, the king did not want his former beloved wife to suffer and therefore engaged the services of a highly skilled headsman from Calais. The headsman responded to the call and cut through Anne's slender neck with a single swing of a sword as Anne remained kneeling (1536). Not all headsmen exhibited this level of professionalism, and the skill of the headsman varied enormously. Nobles executed during the French Revolution would give the headsman gelt to encourage a clean and efficient cut. Not all beheadings went to plan. Behold, Margaret Pole, whom King Henry executed for political reasons. Her crime of 'Last of the Plantagenets'  was a grievous offence to the king, and surely her head must go. Sadly, the axeman was not up to the task, and several clumsy attempts were necessary before her bonce rolled orwf.

Most folk would like to know whether residual consciousness exists after removing the head. The cut is clean, the brain is undamaged, and oxygen will remain within the structure to support cognitive behaviour.  Without continued oxygen input, it takes several minutes for the brain to die. Imagine the existential horror of knowing that your head has been removed from your body, and you are still able to frame coherent thoughts several minutes after removal. This could be an argument against the humanity of this form of execution. Indeed, a medical doctor, during the French Revolution, tried to determine whether this was the case. My personal opinion: I suspect that loss of consciousness is instantaneous after the cutting of all the blood vessels supplying the brain. What is not considered is the catastrophic loss of blood pressure following head removal. Low blood pressure alone can foster unconsciousness, so imagine the effect after the complete loss of blood pressure in a millisecond. It could be argued that an unconscious dream state might intervene for mayhap a minute or two, but I can't imagine that full consciousness exists after decapitation. The neurons would still fire until the oxygen is exhausted, then true death would intervene. I hypothesise that an internal reverie would happen without awareness of the external world. Perhaps the dark tunnel would be experienced with the bright light at the end, then oblivion. Of course, I could be wrong, and, of course, there is no objective way we could test my musings. Regardless, I'm intensely interested in the opinions of my readership. I await, my mind agape- is there a neurosurgeon in the audience?

Murder

Never More (wrong species)

I've written about ravens before, but never crows. In a previous post, I wrote about a humorous interaction between Octavian (later Augustus) and trained ravens. Check it out here. Post: Edit

Today's post is dedicated to the ravens' cousin, the crows, to redress the balance and preserve the Earth from impending Doom.

Crows are part of the Corvidae family and belong to the Corvus genus, which also encompasses rooks and ravens. Corvids are survival specialists encompassing over 120 species. The common crow is ubiquitously found everywhere (double positive). Folks oft confuse crows with ravens because of their similar physiognomy. However, these species can be distinguished based on size and feather configuration. Ravens are larger and are endowed with a pronounced feathered ruff/scruff. Ravens have a peculiar gait due to their oversized wings spanning 56 inches. In contrast, crows are embued with a modest wingspan, averaging 35 inches in extent.

Today, I will focus on crows and eschew any discussion concerning their equally fascinating cousins, ravens. Crows are very smart. Scientists who bother to put forth effort consider crows as smart as a 7-year-old child, and there is evidence that their smarts exceed that of the pongids. Not only can they fashion simple tools to obtain food, but they can also contemplate complex concepts and solve subtle problems. They have been known to place nuts in front of cars and then return to partake of the tasty kernel within the now-shattered shell. Why are they so smart and adaptable? It comes down to brain mass. They have the highest brain-to-body ratio of any bird. Owning a crow is illegal in the US, as they can be trained for nefarious purposes. Prison inmates have been known to foster crows and exploit these clever birds. Perhaps 'exploit' is too strong a word, as the crows are richly rewarded with tasty morsels. Crows have been trained to ferry in contraband such as drugs and are compensated with a delicious treat- at least crows like prison food..  

As implied in the previous paragraph, it is possible to foster a relationship with crows. Patience is a must, as crows are naturally wary of humans. Forebearance and perseverance are qualities that will pay dividends with time. Keep to a time regimen. Place unsalted peanuts, with or without shells, on the ground within sight of your chosen murder. Your soon-to-be friends will swoop down for a tasty treat, but don't get too close initially—fostering trust at this early stage is essential. Don't try to force an initial interaction. Return daily at the same time.  The crows will venture closer as time passes. The feeding should be accompanied by a whistle or a natural vocalisation. Crows will soon learn to recognise their new found friend and can even discriminate between individuals.  After many months of constant feeding, individual crows may come close and even feed from your hand. Beware, crows can harbour a grudge; if you impinge negatively on their sensibilities, expect the crows to gang up on you. A single crow that has experienced harm will communicate its ill will to others. Prepare for mob warfare. However, if you treat crows with respect and tolerance, you may receive small, often shiny, items the crow has harvested from other humans. You will truly be favoured if they deliver carrion. You have now made a friend for life, don't be put off by the smell.    

Crows, like the order of psittacines (say that after six pints of best bitter), can mimic human speech. They have a complex range of vocalisations for communication with other members of the murder; perhaps they are plotting assassinations. If only crows could tell. They share this ability with other members of the family, Corvidae. They can convey a series of complex messages and emotions using the avian speech organ, the syrinx.   

Many cultures, ancient and modern, associate crows with sinister intent. Crows are associated with dark omens, messengers between the world of the living and the dead. Crows are tricksters of the avian world and thieves of man's trinkets and baubles. There is a reason that the collective noun for crows is a 'Murder'. Crows are opportunistic omnivores and will eat what is available with gleeful gusto. They were known to follow armies with maleficent intent. The aftermath of a battle provided a bounteous feast of sumptuous carrion. The eyeballs of the fallen were devoured with particular relish. A hellish repast of bountiful proportions/portions. Unsurprisingly, this imposing, slick, black and intelligent bird is linked with a host of doleful symbolism. Their deep black eyes denote intelligence, their gaze is knowing, and the cock of their head understanding. No wonder in some cultures they are connected with wisdom. In Norse mythology, Odin sacrificed an eye for the rare quality of wisdom. A quality not earned in the classroom or bestowed with diplomas. Wisdom comes hard with years of hard living. A quiet quality not to be bestowed on all. Odin is accompanied by two crows (or sometimes ravens), Huginn and Muninn. They perch on Odin's shoulders in the morning before flying orwf to scout the world. They return, whispering to Odin about the lay of the land and the intent of man, dead or alive. 'Nuff about birds, Flaxen

BBQ

Several months ago, I attended a BBQ- yes, we occasionally have clement weather in the Wairarapa in late Autumn. I talked to a High School teacher about career prospects for her students. During the conversation, she asked what advice I would give to her students concerning education and career paths they may be contemplating. Presumably, she considered the grey hairs amongst the blond as a sign of accumulated wisdom. The problem with this presumption can be summed up by an old adage: 'There is no fool like an old fool'. Anyway, even though the question belongs to the devil himself, I decided to rise to the challenge and was promptly arrested- this last bit didn't happen. So here goes Flaxen's perceived wisdom after nearly 70 years as a sentient being (Not a ferret).

First, it is impossible to compare the current 'life' situation with when I was eighteen, 51 years ago. The world has undoubtedly changed beyond comparison, socially, economically, technologically, geopolitically and industrially, and these changes have radically impacted the job market, and not necessarily to the good.

At 16, I was about to graduate from High School (Stew Pony Secondary Modern). At that time, the British educational system was split into two categories: Secondary Modern and Grammar schools. Grammar schools were designed for pupils considering university training, while secondary modern schools focused on less academic careers. Regardless, most students in my class contemplated entering the trades, such as electricians, plumbers, builders, etc. And of those who applied, the vast majority managed to enter into an apprenticeship of their choice. One of my friends applied for a diesel mechanics apprenticeship while another became a draughtsman. Two other, older friends of mine job-hopped with ease. Admittedly, the jobs were basic, unskilled manual factory work. They obtained three jobs in one week and finally settled for Monk's pie factory, Brumagen. The point is that jobs and training programmes were plentiful. In addition, those exiting Grammar School education at 18 with A levels were qualified to enter the 'Hallowed Halls of Education', commonly known as universities. There, they could seek more cerebral pursuits and study toward a degree. At the time, about 5% of the UK population went forth to higher education. Contrast that with today's statistics, where 36.4% (2024 UK data) of pupils seek a university education. Universities are no longer venerable and venerated institutions of higher learning. Universities are thriving businesses touting degree courses to clueless students, knowing full well that the job prospects for vast swaths of students are grim. No matter how many students are engaged in useless degrees, the more that do, the more money the university makes. So, they produce glossy brochures exhorting the career prospects for students graduating with a Gender Studies degree. The secret: Any degree containing the word 'studies' is a scam. Also, the glossier the brochure, the worse the prospects for a job, unless you really want that McDonald's position; students, take note.         

So what advice can I offer those fresh-faced and earnest 18-year-olds contemplating critical life choices? First, a fundamental truth needs to be stated boldly. University is not the giggle it once was. There is no 'free' ride as experienced by the 'Golden One'. Loans are required for expensive tuition and living expenses, and interestingly, fees have increased exponentially since the 70s- funny that. A degree circa 1970s was a passport to the professions, even those deemed useless today. Employers considered it a stamp on your academic respectability. Of course, entry and success in the best, as in high-paying, vocational professions have always been ring-fenced. Anecdote time: Entry into medical school in the UK has always been difficult and required the highest exam results. In the 70s, I worked as a trainee in a biochemistry laboratory. One day, I became involved in a casual conversation with a colleague. The individual had recently graduated from high school and was working in the lab for a year before attending medical school. Generally, three A levels at grade A are required to gain admission to med school in the UK. As the conversation developed, my erstwhile colleague let it be known that he had gained three A levels with the commonplace grade of three Cs. Usually, the bearer of such results would be ineligible for entry, especially in the prestigious Birmingham University Medical School. He eventually proffered the information that his father was Head of the Medical School- the scales fell from my eyes. The story underlies a vital life lesson: Life is easier with connections, and specific, usually high-paying professions have a tendency to be inherited.

Let's drive the point in further and take a look at the uncontroversial figure of Hunter Biden. He passed the Bar in 1996 after a stint at Yale. He subsequently entered the gravy train and held multiple positions with varied financial returns, including consultancy, lobbyist, co-founder of various firms, and executive vice president. After being convicted of his second felony in 2024, Biden was facing potential gaol time of up to 25 years. But not to worry, his father, the president, conferred a full pardon on all his federal offences between 2014 and 2024. This benevolent presidential largesse even extends to possible offences, not yet known, committed during these ten years. Of course, Hunter is simply an incredibly gifted man, and all the 'fruits' endowed are a consequence of his intellectual brilliance and flawless moral standing. And then those of a cynical turn of mind could argue.... Those favoured few in this life, irrespective of innate gifts, are given a substantial 'leg up' in this crazy topsy-turvy thing we call life. Life is unfair, and never has it been and never will be. For most of us, there is no 'Golden Spoon'; we must rely on our own wits and steel to thrive in a capricious and uncaring world. Usually, the privilege exerted is not as blatant as exhibited in the 'Biden Affair'. In this instance, the facade crumbles, and we get a rare/raw glance of the shameless, unabashed exercise of power and grand nepotism run amok. 

The career opportunities for those currently seeking employment, degree-endowed or not, will be incredibly challenging. We are already witnessing a blood bath in the computer sciences. Computer-related programming and coding careers were previously viewed as lucrative career paths. The reality is that Google, Meta, Microsoft, Amazon, and others have been shedding tech jobs akimbo! The effect is the same whether due to AI or a downturn in the market. So, in all this carnage, I must return to the question first posed at the beginning of paragraph four. After all, up to this point I've just been spouting/sprouting word scree, commentary and scene setting. So, here goes: The answer can be stated in a few sentences: Be born in the West to a highly wealthy and influential family. That being the case, you should be okay. As for the rest and especially the poor, good luck, you will need it.

My integrator seemed mightily unimpressed by my answer and consigned me to the 'crazy old man category'. She stormed off to leave me alone with my delicious homemade burger with fried onions (sans ketchup).