Evolution Exposed - Roger Patterson

I will give Creationists their due - their arguments have become marginally more sophisticated since I first read their anti-Darwin screeds, but starting from zero they haven't had to come far.  This is one of those books I can only read in small doses before the stupid starts to burn and I have to stop.

The first thing to remember when reading this book is that it is not meant to be a textbook, nor is it designed to inform.  Rather, it is a guide for disrupting science lessons.  Creationist teenagers are advised to team up and assail science teachers in tag teams, retaining Christ-like meekness as they seek to sabotage the education of their less religiously motivated classmates.  The questions the book presents are not adequately answered (a link to answersingenesis.org is not an adequate answer), nor are they meant to be - the intellectual guerrillas for Jesus are instead urged to throw questions in the hope that the teachers will not know the answers, thereby undermining the credibility of Darwinism in front of openminded schoolkids.

In other words, this is a pretty disreputable book, using the tactics of the courtroom barrister and the spin doctor to achieve its objectives.  If a textbook phrases a sentence just so, the book seizes on the literal meaning to set up a straw man and then knock it down.  Some of these straw men are so obvious it is hard to ascribe it to the author's ingenuousness.  If an evolutionary family tree, constructed from isolated specimens and fragmentary fossils, is amended even once, it means Darwin was wrong (a principle which does not apply to so-called Creation science such as Flood Geology, freely described as a work in progress).  A fraudulent fossil put together by a sharp-eyed Chinese dealer not only disproves Darwinism but proves that scientists are dishonest.  The old creationist tactic of referring to controversies long laid to rest as if they had not been resolved features strongly - this shabby volume pays homage to Fred Hoyle's half-baked allegation that Archaeopteryx is a fraud.  The fact that Alan Charig and others demolished ol' Fred's gadfly speculation quarter of a century ago does not butter Patterson's parsnips.

Also egregious with the book's habit of referring to all pre-19th century scientists as 'Creationists', which most people were by default.

Creationist theory, such as it is, aims at reducing the gaps to which their God is confined.  Where things are demonstrably true and where denial just looks plain mad, Creationists withdraw.  But evolutionary theory is almost (but not quite) impossible to observe in action, so Creationists insist that there resides a gap for God to live in by using the smokescreen of loaded questions and wilful incomprehension.

But of course, 'disproving' Darwinism, a front on which even the Creationists can only hope for a stalemate, is not the ultimate aim.  They want to indoctrinate your children and impose their belief system on them.  This can only be good, they reason.  After all, evolutionists and atheists are evil people who want to justify their own sinful and villainous lives by proving the non-existence of God.  The book says as much, if you read it through and piece it together.  I suppose we should be grateful that Darwin doesn't get blamed for the Holocaust until page 218.  The book also accuses Darwin of fuelling racism rather than inventing it, no doubt aware of the risk of being accused of hypocrisy in that Genesis 9:25 was used to justify the abduction of millions of west Africans during the era of slavery, which ended before Darwin published his work.

All teachers interested in science need to read this book and if possible familiarise themselves with the questions posed and arm themselves with answers.  Sadly, the best way to counteract its pernicious influence may be to buy it, if only to rubbish its assertions.

Luvilee Jubilee

Just a quick note to acknowledge the advent of 2012...I missed most of the Diamond Jubilee weekend due to work commitments (although I saw enough to make me think that it wasn't a patch on the Golden Jubilee) but I will say that there is immense benefit to having a head of state who stays in place for decades and about whom even the detractors can only find nice or neutral things to say.

The alternative would be to kick some superannuated politician upstairs to the post of head of state.  The problem with that is that most politicians are, by their nature, divisive figures who would be detested by at least 50% of the population at any given moment.

This is not a recipe for stability, continuity, cohesion or indeed peace.

Free Will and Risk Assessment

I haven't watched it yet, partly because I'm afraid to, but ITV ran a documentary on Monday commemorating the live TV tragedy which was the Nigel Benn-Gerald McClellan boxing match, which resulted in serious brain damage being suffered by the American fighter.

I have never wished to apologise for my enthusiasm for the noble art of self-defence but this bout, like the Eubank-Watson tragedy before it, leaves me with a profound sense of discomfort and a feeling of disjunction between love of the sport and its hideous consequences.  Indeed, the Benn-McClellan bout would have ranked as an all-time great bout without its sequelae - epic excitement served with epic horror.

For those who never saw the bout, Nigel Benn was, in the early 1990s, Britain's most exciting pugilist.  A never-say-die slugger, he was not as slick as Michael Watson, as strong as Chris Eubank nor a defensive genius like Herol Graham, but he was gutsy, aggressive, a pull-up-your-chair and wait-for-the-bell fighter.  Benn live on TV made for an enjoyable evening.

But there was a feeling this time that Benn was showing signs of wear and tear, and McClellan was the new man on the block.  A hard-hitting man who matched Benn for aggression, he had recently dethroned Julian Jackson, WBC Middleweight champ and possibly the hardest-hitting fighter of all time.  Benn was a huge underdog; one British sports writer said he was going to hide in his cupboard until told McClellan had returned to the USA.  Few rated Nigel's chances of upsetting his challenger.

When fight night came, and the opening bell rang, McClellan fired his big guns and knocked Benn clean out of the ring.  Benn was pushed back in with the benefit of a long count, and McClellan resumed the attack.

But Benn weathered the storm and came back, matching McClellan blow for blow, until the tired American returned to the corner at the end of the 9th round, blinking hard.

Blinking hard.  It didn't look right.  His corner didn't seem to notice, nor the ref, nor the ringside doctor, nor the ITV commentators.  But it looked bad to me, and I screamed at the TV for the referee to stop the fight.

It didn't work, of course.  Gerald came out for the tenth and the fight was stopped shortly after.  By this time he was suffering a brain haemorrhage which ultimately left him blind, deaf and paralysed.

He added the sorry roll-call of boxing's victims, McClellan and Watson, Rod Douglas and Young Ali and Goult and Anifowoshe and little Johnny Owen, suffering in oblivion under the hoots and catcalls of a Hispanic mob.  How can this be allowed?

Whether we like it or not, people are going to engage in activities which threaten life and limb.  Whether it's collapsing scrums in rugby, motorbike or car racing accidents, heading footballs or binge drinking or unsafe sex, all activities carry risk.  In boxing the risks are more obvious and more acute, but maybe this militates against selecting boxing for banishment and outlawry.  For no boxer can enter the ring ignorant of the dangers he may face.  The same cannot be said for people engaging in football or cricket or promiscuity.  Those are risks which can be ignored or of which we are collectively ignorant.

The only argument for outlawing dangerous sports or other activities is to protect the participants.  An important part of this is allowing people to consent to participate with the full facts in mind.  No sportsman has the risks more in mind than the boxer

The more dangerous the sport, then, the less need to ban them.  And this is the sophistry which leads me to defend the pugilist's right to practice his art.

Free Speech and the Trade Union Movement

One of the biggest problems with anti-defamation legislation is that, in attempting to cope with Lernaean nature of ideological bigotry, it tends to start off casting a wide net and ends in being abused by the politically interested to enforce censorship and to stifle freedom of expression. This is done not so much for the suppression of particular statements as it is to engender a climate of fear and to ensure compliance with some political stance or other.

This has been illustrated amply today by the Unison trade union, with their frankly bizarre over-reaction to petrol-head buffoon Jeremy Clarkson's voicing of an opinion that striking public workers should be dragged in front of their families and shot.

Let's break this down. Firstly, Clarkson is saying that he disagrees with the strike. Not a hugely unpopular stance, especially with those whose private pensions were pillaged a decade ago by Unison's buddies in the Labour government, and at present not voicing support for the left is not a criminal offence, however much the TUC may wish it to be.

Secondly, Clarkson was making the tongue-in-cheek suggestion that people he disagrees with should be shot. Over the top, but it was a joke, and the political left have always made similar statements ("you'll be the first against the wall when the revolution comes" etc).

But according to some witch-faced old harridan on BBC News at Lunchtime, that is 'incitement to hatred' and Unison is taking legal advice over it.

Clarkson has, probably under BBC pressure, issued an apology, which is kind of mission accomplished for the Marxists in the trade union movement. But Clarkson and others who feel the same way may wish to watch TV footage of union picket lines, student demonstrations and anti-capitalist sit-ins for evidence of signs saying "Eat the Rich!" or "Hang the bankers!" and dial 101 when they spot one. After all, despite what commies might think, sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, and if a BBC journalist can be threatened with legal action for 'incitement to hatred', then why not a Unison shop steward, or a student, or a Tarquin or Cressida playing anarchists?

If someone slaps you round the face, you don't turn the other cheek, you smash his face in. Unison slapped Clarkson and the concept of freedom of expression today. Make the unions eat their teeth.

Now that's hatred.

The Plague Dogs

It's only taken me around three decades to get round to reading this coruscating polemic by Richard "Watership Down" Adams, but it matched for quality of writing and sheer rage his underestimated "fluffy bunnies plus militarism, war crimes and abuse of power epic.

The eponymous dogs are escapees from a Lake District research facility - fleeing, one from repeated immersion in a "drowning tank", the other driven mad by brain surgery, into a harsh autumnal wilderness, trying to be wild and finding it no kinder an existence that domestic life, and hunted by men bent on their destruction.

The urgency required in their annihilation is provoked by the loathsome Digby Driver, a 1970s tabloid journalist of the scummy ilk still familiar today, but interesting as a character in the same way as Smeagol or Severus Snape, who makes the connection between the escaping dogs and bio weapons research conducted at the same facility to turn two sheep killers into carriers of lethal contagions. Mismanagement of media, official inertia and the knee jerks of publicity-aware politicians escalate a minor problem normally solved by one farmer, an early start and a loaded shotgun into a nationwide outcry and a regional panic.

In the midst of this human activity, our dogs try and fail to make a life for themselves. Aided sometimes by a self-interested fox who deploys their abilities to their mutual advantage, at other times our dogs know that they need a human master to survive, but that to approach men means a resumption of their tortures, or worse. As their condition slips to desperate, one of the dogs, blaming himself for the death of his kindly master, loses his grip on reality due to the mutilation of his brain.

This is described in Adams' mercurial prose, which switches from venom-fanged invective, to deliberately patronising Edwardian travelogue pap to prose verse. After the dogs kill their first sheep, he delivers a paragraph of prose verse rhyme with a rhythm familiar to contemporary rap connoisseurs, a triumphal screed which would not sound out of place in the microphones of a Tupac Shakur or a Wu Tang Clan. All Hail MC Richard, straight outta Oxford!

All these styles fuel Adams' incendiary condemnations of politicians, journalists, vivisectionists and mankind in general as abusers of those over who we hold dominion. But do not make the mistake of assuming you know the whole of Adams' mind on these matters - he baits the hooks of his rage with fat worms of indignation, only for the barbs of our own hypocrisy to gouge the throat as the denouement approaches. The ending of the book is unexpected and maybe bizarre, and Adams uses absurdity as a device which may not perhaps be appropriate to the rest of the book. But this moving, at time horrific, tale is fast-paced, thought-provoking and will make the reader angry on occasion, as the author intended. As a story of innate dignity of the helpless in the face of appalling cruelty and life becoming a landslide, as Richey said, this is a classic.

BP Woes

This is actually an old story, in terms of the economic, ecological and public relations carnage inflicted on the southern states of the US, but politically it's just starting to get interesting. For those who have been living on Mars for the last couple of months, a rig explosion in the Gulf of Mexcio has resulted in the leakage of hundreds of thousands of barrels of oil into the water, killing fish and shrimp, wrecking the economy of Louisiana and other states, destroying wildlife and ruining the tourist economy of the affected areas.

What makes this interest is that, despite the unresolved impacts of American firms such as Union Carbide and Eli Lilly, the involvement of US oil giant Halliburton and that of an American drilling firm (who must be at least partly culpable for the catastrophe), lame duck President Barack Obama, who promised so much and has delivered so little has decided that all the blame, all the vitreol (and all the financial loss) must be placed on the oil company whose pipeline ruptured, BP.

BP used to be British Petroleum, as Saint Barack keeps reminding his public. Of course, Barack hates us - we have always known this - so the chance to deflect attention from his own uselessness to his hated Brits was too good to pass up. He tells us his father was tortured by the British in Kenya, but then he told us he was born in Hawaii, and that might not be true, either. His behaviour towards Gordon Brown was so snubbish that I almost felt sorry for Useless Gordy. And rather than cultivate the alleged "Special Relationship" (a figment of the imagination of UK politicians with an eye on the US after-dinner speaking circuit), he has sought to build bridges with Europe, Russia and, er, the Islamic world. Thank God for Hillary Clinton's injection of credibility into Saint Barack's pisspoor foreign policy.

While the Americans are baying for BP's blood (or oil) let's take a step back from this. Despite the British media's insistence that 97% of Americans are in favour of nuking London tomorrow (a low figure compared to 98.4% in Yorkshire and 100% in Scotland), you have to Google pretty hard to find anti-British rhetoric linked to the BP crisis. And America's (but not Saint Barack's) anger towards BP is fully justified. Time (and enquiries) will eventually tell whether BP deserves all the blame.

Venter Plays God

So Craig Venter's "creation" of life is threatening to destroy the earth, or so a curious alliance of the Daily Mail and greenies would have us believe. In fact, all Venter has done is copy some DNA as a new strand and injected it into pre-existing cells - an impressive achievement but of itself not radical. In any case, far from bringing global germ warfare perilously closer, as the Mail and the veggie brigade would have us believe, it makes absolutely no difference. Maybe the Greens and Angry of Tunbridge Wells have never heard of smallpox, anthrax, Ebola, West Nile fever, typhus.... Whatever Venter may be guilty of, you can't blame him for stockpiling huge quantities of the above and weaponising them.

What exactly is Venter guilty of? The worst that anyone can say is that he mixes science with business. Considering that the man completed the human genome sequencing project in less than half the time projected by the academics who were planning to do the same thing, I'd say he has given the human race more than a decade's head start on preparing treatments and cures for genetic illnesses. How many lives has he saved? How many millions of man-years of suffering has he alleviated? More than the Mail's Paul Dacre, I'll bet.