Tuesday: Hili dialogue

January 22, 2019 • 7:30 am

Ceiling Cat forgive me, for I have overslept again, as I still have Hawaii jet lag. It’s Tuesday, January 22, and back to work for all those Americans who had Martin Luther King, Jr. day off yesterday. Tonight I’ll be having a (literal) beef with Steve Pinker, but more on that later. It’s National Southern Food Day, honoring the one region of the U.S. that truly has produced a coherent and indigenous cuisine that’s more than just a few scattered dishes. It’s also Grandfather’s Day in Poland, though various countries have different dates for Grandfather’s and/or Grandmother’s Days.

On this day in 1901, upon the death of Queen Victoria (who also died on this day after a reign of 63 years and 7 months), Edward VII was proclaimed King of England.  Exactly four years later, Bloody Sunday occurred in St. Petersburg, in which disaffected workers marched to petition the Czar. Shooting ensued, with between 150 and 300 civilians killed. This led to disaffection with the Czar, formerly seen as the protector of peasants and workers, and ultimately culminated in the Russian Revolution 12 years later. Here’s a painting of the petitioners, led by the priest Father Gapon, near the city’s Narva Gate. Father Gapon, however, was discovered to be a police agent and was killed by his own people.

On this day in 1927, according to Wikipedia, “Teddy Wakelam gives the first live radio commentary of a football match anywhere in the world, between Arsenal F.C. and Sheffield United at Highbury.” On January 22, 1970, the Boeing 747 jumbo jet made its commercial debut for Pan Am Airlines, flying from JFK airport in New York to Heathrow airport in London.

A banner day which, we hope, will not be relegated by today’s U.S. Supreme Court to the dustbin of history: it was on January 22, 1973, that the Court delivered decisions in the two cases of Roe v. Wade and Doe v. Bolton, legalizing voluntary abortion in the entire U.S.

Finally, it was on this day in 1984 that the Apple Macintosh, the first consumer computer to use the “mouse” and graphical interface, was introduced during a commercial at the Super Bowl. I’ve put that amazing commercial below; how many of you remember it?

From Mac History, which put up the video:

“1984” is an American television commercial which introduced the Apple Macintosh personal computer for the first time. It was conceived by Steve Hayden, Brent Thomas and Lee Clow at Chiat/Day, Venice, produced by New York production company Fairbanks Films, and directed by Ridley Scott. Anya Major performed as the unnamed heroine and David Graham as Big Brother. Its only U.S. daytime televised broadcast was on January 22, 1984 during and as part of the telecast of the third quarter of Super Bowl XVIII. Chiat/Day also ran the ad one other time on television, in December 1983 right before the 1:00 am sign-off on KMVT in Twin Falls, Idaho, so that the advertisement could be submitted to award ceremonies for that year.

Notables born on this day include Francis Bacon (1561), Captain Kidd (1564; but Wikipedia gives no birth day on that year for Kidd), Lord Byron (1788), August Strindberg (1849), D. W. Griffith (1875), Lev Landau (1908; Nobel Laureate), Ann Sothern and U Thant (both 1909), Irving Kristol (1920), Sam Cooke (1931), Peter Beard (1938), and Linda Blair (1959).

Here’s one of Beard’s many African pictures (from the British Journal of Photography):

Those who died on January 22 include Shah Jahan (1666), Queen Victoria (1901), Duke Kahanamoku (1968), Lyndon Johnson (1973), Telly Savalas (1994), Craig Claiborne (2000), Ann Miller (2004), Heath Ledger (2008), and Ursula Le Guin (last year).

Meanwhile in Dobrzyn, Hili is scrounging between Andrzej’s and Malgorzata’s desks:

A: What did you find there?
Hili: Two pens, a tube of glue and some of your notes.
In Polish:
Ja: Co tam znalazłaś?
Hili: Dwa długopisy, klej i jakieś twoje notatki.

A picture contributed by reader Merilee; the artist is a pastor, Cuyler Black:

A tweet from reader Jeremy, who noted that yesterday was Squirrel Appreciation Day and also found a Japanese website that’s dedicated to photos of squirrels eating human food like this.

Tweets from Heather Hastie, the first demonstrating the remarkable camouflage abilities of cuttlefish. In this case one of them disguises itself as a coral!

A hedgehog having a nice stretch:

https://twitter.com/backt0nature/status/1086315029295755265

Tweets from Grania. The first is from Titania McGrath, who—along with Godfrey Elfwick, almost certainly the same person—seems to have fooled a lot of people. Get this, folks: Titania and Godfrey are being SATIRICAL. I am sometimes excoriated for retweeting Titania by those who think her tweets are serious.

Grania says “This is a Star Trek joke; your readers will get it.” Well, I hope so, because I don’t.

An amusing typo:

Tweets from Matthew. Look at this fish jump! We don’t know its size so we can’t tell how high, but it’s certainly pretty high.

This really is a gripping introduction to a science paper. I wish I had written some like this, but it’s hard to spice up Drosophila speciation genetics:

Matthew says, correctly, that this is a flying squirrel. Another tweet in honor of yesterday’s Squirrel Appreciation Day.

A tree leaved with Bramblings!

And, in case you don’t know Bramblings (Fringilla montifringilla), a kind of finch, here’s one:

 

An animal-and-other-stuff video

January 21, 2019 • 2:30 pm

It’s Squirrel Appreciation Day, and so I present a video that starts with a squirrel and has several squirrels later on. It is in fact not just a squirrel video, but one person’s compilation of the best videos of 2018 (part 5!).  It’s 21.5 minutes long, so Judge for yourself; this one includes Chicago’s hitchhiking woodpecker, a rabbit revived, a skateboarding turtle, a penguin chasing a butterfly, ducklings in a mall, cat versus rhoomba, a parrot magician, a karate maven who lights a match with his foot, and many other treats.

More about sexual selection in the New York Times

January 21, 2019 • 9:45 am

With the publication of his book The Evolution of Beauty (subtitle: How Darwin’s Forgotten Theory of Mate Choice Shapes the Animal World—and Us), Yale ornithologist Richard Prum gained an extraordinary amount of publicity in the popular press.  His theme was that “beauty”—that is, the evolution of extreme and stunning displays and ornamentation in male birds—results from a form of “runaway sexual selection” in which females’ random preference for extreme male traits produces amazing sexual dimorphism that has nothing to do with natural selection. (The peacock is perhaps the most famous example.) Prum’s book got two separate reviews in the New York Times, at least one other notice, and two big reportorial pieces, including recent the one below. The book was also nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for nonfiction, though it didn’t win.

Prum’s book is worth reading for two reasons. First, it presents a strong defense of the “runaway” model of sexual selection Prum calls it the “beauty happens” model, in which random female preferences lead to the exaggeration of male traits up to the point at which those traits actually hurt the male’s reproductive success (a peacock with a bigger tail would presumably not only be unable to fly, but would be a target for predators and find it hard to get around). Second some of Prum’s writing is very good, and his examples of exaggerated male behaviors and plumage engrossing and yet unknown to many laypeople.

But the book, as I’ve written before (see posts here), is tendentious. It ignores other models of sexual selection (except to denigrate them), it ignores the weaknesses of his own favored runaway model, and it misrepresents the views of evolutionary biologists (many of whom agree that the runaway may be important, but won’t buy into Prum’s view that it’s ubiquitous).  Prum claims that the runaway model is universally rejected by biologists in favor of “good genes” models (male traits indicate their genetic endowment). But that claim isn’t true: we just don’t have much data to distinguish all the competing models we have for how sexual selection works.

Further, Prum ties his model to progressive politics, saying that female choice in animals should hearten us because it shows that female “sexual autonomy” is natural. But such autonomy isn’t always present: many animals, for instance, have forced copulation. Bedbugs, for example, exhibit “traumatic insemination”, in which males bypass copulation by simply injecting sperm through the female body wall, with that sperm finding its way to the female eggs. Females don’t get to choose their mates, and copulation can actually kill them.

And there are many cases of forced and unwanted copulation by males, as well as male-male competition (viz., elephant seals) in which females are simply constrained to mate with whichever male wins a contest. Prum’s evocation of politics therefore demonstrates the “naturalistic fallacy”: that what happens in nature is what we should emulate. However, a lot of what happens in nature is stuff we shouldn’t emulate.

Prum also ties other models of sexual selection, including those in which a male’s traits indicate his vigor, health, or presence of “good genes”, to eugenics, and Nazi genocide, tarring the theories he doesn’t like with the social-justice cry of “Nazi”.  This is unconscionable. I can’t help but think, though, that Prum’s tying sexual selection to feminism was partly responsible for the book’s popularity and its Pulitzer nomination.

As I’ve written before, however, while Prum’s book received public approbation and good reviews—mostly from reviewers with no science background)—the reaction of the scientific community itself has been tepid and mostly critical for reasons I gave above. The three reviews I’ve read in scientific journals, including one by Gerald Borgia and Gregory Ball and another by Doug Futuyma, both highlight serious problem’s with Prum’s presentation, including the ignoring of alternative theories, the misrepresentation of the “beauty happens theory”, and the unwarranted connection between women’s rights and mate choice in birds. A more recent and much longer review, by Patricelli, Hebets, and Mendelson, published in Evolution (click on screenshot below for free access), was severely critical, and rightly so, though the authors did their best to be evenhanded and polite:

I’ve discussed this review before (full disclosure: I gave the authors some suggestions on a draft of their piece), and so won’t go over its contentions here. But if you want to read a review of Prum’s book—and one that is objective but critical—Patricelli et al. is the one to read. It is a good palliative for the publicity Prum gets repeatedly about his book.

That aside, several readers sent me the link to Ferris Jabr’s NYT piece above, suggesting that I write about it. I intended to, but was in Hawaii where I was having too much fun to work. Now that I’m back, I’ll summarize it as briefly as I can. (The piece is very long, and appeared in the NYT Sunday Magazine, an indication of how important the editors deemed the topic.)

Upshot:  Jabr’s piece is a mixed bag. (He’s a contributing writer to the New York Times and and often writes about science.)

The good bit is that Jabr at least indicates, as many writers haven’t, that the scientific community is lukewarm about The Evolution of Beauty and that Prum is somewhat dogmatic and dismissive of his critics. For example:

Despite his recent Pulitzer nomination, Prum still stings from the perceived scorn of his academic peers. But after speaking with numerous researchers in the field of sexual selection, I learned that all of Prum’s peers are well aware of his work and that many already accept some of the core tenets of his argument: namely that natural and sexual selection are distinct processes and that, in at least some cases, beauty reveals nothing about an individual’s health or vigor. At the same time, nearly every researcher I spoke to said that Prum inflates the importance of arbitrary preferences and Fisherian selection to the point of eclipsing all other possibilities. In conversation, Prum’s brilliance is obvious, but he has a tendency to be dogmatic, sometimes interrupting to dismiss an argument that does not agree with his own. Although he admits that certain forms of beauty may be linked to survival advantages, he does not seem particularly interested in engaging with the considerable research on this topic. When I asked him which studies he thought offered the strongest support of “good genes” and other benefits, he paused for a while before finally responding that it was not his job to review the literature.

Of course it was Prum’s job to review the literature, and especially to weigh his favored theory against alternatives, including “good genes” models and “sensory bias” models, in which female preference are not random but the byproduct of natural selection based on the species’ environment. How could it not be an author’s duty, when defending a theory, to review the literature for and against that theory?

Jabr also says this:

Like Darwin, Prum is so enchanted by the outcomes of aesthetic preferences that he mostly ignores their origins. Toward the end of our bird walk at Hammonasset Beach State Park, we got to talking about club-winged manakins. I asked him about their evolutionary history. Prum thinks that long ago, an earlier version of the bird’s courtship dance incidentally produced a feathery susurration. Over time, this sound became highly attractive to females, which pressured males to evolve adaptations that made their rustling feathers louder and more noticeable, culminating in a quick-winged strumming. But why, I asked Prum, would females be attracted to those particular sounds in the first place?

To Prum, it was a question without an answer — and thus a question not worth contemplating. “Not everything,” he said, “has this explicit causal explanation.”

Here Prum simply dismisses something that scientific reviewers mentioned repeatedly—where do female preferences come from? Prum assumes they are random, but there is a thriving field of sexual selection studying female preferences, showing how they might result from natural selection instead of just being “random” (i.e., aspects of neuronal wiring that have nothing to do with natural selection for the preference). Jabr also says, properly, that not all biologists have dismissed the runaway model, as Prum contends they have, but see it as one of a competing panoply of models that are hard to resolve. (Getting this kind of data from nature or even the lab is very difficult, and we weren’t there to see how sexual selection operated in the past.)

But in the rest of the article, Jabr seems to buy a lot of Prum’s contentions without properly evaluating the criticisms of other scientists. For example:

1.) The runaway model is not “Prum’s theory.” This model was first suggested by Ronald Fisher and elaborated and developed by scientists like Russ Lande and Mark Kirkpatrick. Yet Jabr repeatedly refers to the “beauty happens” model as “Prum’s theory”, as when he says that “Prum’s indifference to the ultimate source of aesthetic taste leaves a conspicuous gap in his grand theory.” (That statement is correct except that it’s not Prum’s grand theory.) This misleading attribution of the theory happens repeatedly. Let us be clear: Prum’s book is about presenting, defending, and applying a theory developed by other scientists.

2.) Jabr buys into Prum’s contention that sexual selection is fundamentally different from natural selection. Most biologists, I think, would disagree, seeing sexual selection as a subset of natural selection. That is, sexual selection is a form of selection based on female mate choice rather than other factors. But both sexual and natural selection involve enhancing those traits that affect reproductive success. (Jabr seems to mistake natural selection as a form of selection that enhances survival rather than reproductive success, but in fact the currency of all selection is the number of offspring that survive to spread your genes.). This may seem a semantic question, but both Jabr and Prum use this distinction to suggest that the runaway theory is a big and revolutionary improvement over previous notions of natural selection. This further inflates the runaway theory into something that it’s not.

In fact, natural and sexual selection blend into each other, and in some cases you can’t distinguish them. If a male produces sperm that swim faster than the sperm of other males in his species, and thus he gets more offspring, is this natural or sexual selection? It’s not based on mate choice, but does involve reproductive success. This is a form of male/male competition, analogous to those bull elk who butt horns during mating season, with the winner getting a harem of females. No female choice is involved in either case, but both could be seen as sexual selection. But they also represent natural selection—selection based on some individuals having traits (horns, fighting ability) that enables them to leave more genes.  My own judgment is that sexual selection is simply a subset of natural selection that involves mate choice, and not something fundamentally different.

3.) Jabr leaves out some aspects of Prum’s views that scientific critics have homed in on. Jabr doesn’t mention, for example, that Prum views the runaway model as the “null model” of sexual selection. That is, Prum deems it the model that we should accept unless we have good evidence for other models. But the runaway model isn’t null in that way: it does carry its own assumptions that themselves have to be justified and tested, such as female preference being “random” and not itself initially the result of natural selection or subject to stabilizing selection. The runaway assumes that male traits and female preferences are genetically correlated, and so on. No single model of sexual selection can be regarded as a “null model” to be regarded as a default option in the absence of any evidence.

4.) Jabr doesn’t fairly summarize the extent of scientific criticism of Prum’s book. While he does cite Borgia and Ball’s criticism, he neglects those of Futuyma and especially the thorough paper of Patricelli et al., and thus leaves out some important problems with Prum’s views (see below). Further, Jabr seems to have consulted critics at only the University of Texas at Austin, including my colleagues and friends Gil Rosenthal, Molly Cummings, and Mike Ryan. These people generally work on the sensory bias model of sexual selection, and thus emphasize theories different from Prum’s, but it would have been good to consult others who work on Prum’s model itself. These would include both Mark Kirkpatrick (also UT Austin!) and Russ Lande. I have talked to several “runaway” modelers, and their take is different from Prum’s: while they think the theory can operate, they are wary of its ubiquity in the absence of empirical evidence. This view, by the very proponents of Prum’s favorite model, shows a scientific caution far more admirable than Prum’s dogmatism.

5.) Jabr doesn’t mention at all an important aspect of Prum’s book: Prum’s view that because in some species females have “sexual autonomy” in choosing males, that hearten feminists who, rightfully, are against sexual coercion by human males. This omission by Jabr is a mistake, for this part of Prum’s message is one of its selling points, and surely explains some of the book’s popularity. But we shouldn’t buttress our morals by looking for parallels in nature, for, as I’ve said repeatedly, doing that makes our morality subject to revision via new information about nature. While some moral judgement can depend on empirical information (abortion may be one example), arguments about human rights and autonomy should be independent of how other species behave.

Jabr further ignores Prum’s invidious use of eugenics and comparisons to Nazis and genocide to tar models of sexual selection based on “good genes”. Ball and Borgia explicitly mention this, as do Patricelli et al. in the section of their review called “Birds and bedbugs make bad politics” (all three authors of that review are women).

My view then, is that Jabr’s summary of Prum’s work and the “beauty happens” theory is better than that of any of the summaries in popular venues, but still suffers from a general laziness manifested in contacting only scientists at UT Austin and in failing to summarize much of the criticism leveled by scientists at The Evolution of Beauty. Jabr didn’t do his scientific homework. The definitive popular critique of Prums’s views, as opposed to those that have already appeared in scientific journals, has yet to be written.

The results of sexual selection: male and female Manadrin Ducks (Aix galericulata). Photo from Wikipedia.

 

Readers’ wildlife photos

January 21, 2019 • 8:15 am

As I’m now in Chicago, the readers’ wildlife photos will now resume, and I have all that were sent me earlier. But do send me more, as I can always use them.

Today we have contributions from four readers. The first is from Bruce Lyon, who, though a professor of ornithology/evolutionary biology, also photographed last night’s blood moon, which was not only reddish and close to the earth, but underwent a total lunar eclipse in parts of the world, including the UK. Bruce’s photos and comment:

You sometimes post images of interesting moon events. Tonights blood moon was pretty spectacular in Santa Cruz. A couple of trophies are attached.

Michael Glenister weighs in with a view of the blood moon from Vancouver, B.C.:

Stephen Barnard sent photos of his bald eagle Desi (Haliaeetus leucocephalus), who nests yearly on Stephen’s Idaho ranch with his eagle wife Lucy:

Desi being harassed by a Red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis), and another of him taking off.

And a lovely hummingbird photographed by reader Ken in East Mesa, Arizona:

Southwest sunset: Costa’s hummingbird (Calypte costae):

Monday: Hili dialogue (and Leon monologue)

January 21, 2019 • 7:15 am

Professor Ceiling Cat is BACK! Many thanks to Grania for doing the Hili dialogues (and the Gillette ad post) in my absence. Thanks as well to all the readers who said nice things on my tenth-anniversary post, and to those who sent me Coynezaa presents, which I didn’t expect. One person sent me a passel of Cadbury Crunchie bars from the UK, which are terrific and I don’t know who that is. Please email me so I can thank you properly! Ditto for CM who sent me a lovely cat book, but whose address I don’t have.

It’s wicked cold in Chicago, with the ambient temperature 8º F (-13º C), and -1º F (-18ºC) with the wind. And there was more snow.

Today is Monday, January 21, 2019, and National Clam Chowder Day, which to me means New England style rather than the debased, tomato-based concoction called “Manhattan Clam Chowder”. It’s also National Hugging Day, invented in 1986. If you’ve hugged someone, weigh in below.

It’s Martin Luther King, Jr. Day in the U.S. celebrating the birthday of the civil rights leader. He was actually born on January 15 (1929), but Ronald Reagan proclaimed the holiday to be on the third Monday in January. It’s a federal holiday, meaning that there’s no mail and that banks as well as most Federal offices are closed. Here’s today’s Google Doodle honoring King, who was assassinated in 1968 at the age of only 39.

It was a rather thin day in history. On January 21, 1789, according to Wikipedia, “The first American novel, The Power of Sympathy or the Triumph of Nature Founded in Truth by William Hill Brown, is printed in Boston.” I have never read it; has anyone? Exactly four years later, after being convicted of treason, Louis XVI, King of France, was executed by the guillotine.

On this day in 1908, New York City, via passage of the Sullivan Ordinance, made it illegal for women to smoke in public. One woman was convicted and fined for flouting the misogynistic law, but the mayor vetoed that law two weeks later. Here’s part of the NYT story (full pdf here):

On this day in 1954, the world’s first nuclear powered submarine, the USS Nautilus, was launched in Connecticut by Mamie Eisenhower, the First Lady. I have vague recollections of boarding that sub in Greece in 1955 or 1956, but I’m probably wrong. Although I don’t have a video of the launching, here’s President Truman participating in the keel-laying ceremony in 1953:

Speaking of firsts (and lasts) in transportation, there were two more innovations on this day that went bust. In 1976, the first commercial flight on the Concorde began with routes from London to Bahrain and also from Paris to Rio. The plane flies no more. And exactly five years later, production of the Delorean DMC-12 sports car began in Northern Ireland. They stopped making them 2 years later. It was distinctive with its gull-wing doors, and here’s a model from its last year. They’re probably worth a fortune now.

 

Notables born on this day include John C. Frémont (1813), Stonewall Jackson (1824), Grigori Rasputin (1869), Christian Dior (1905), Telly Savalas and Paul Scofield (both 1922), Wolfman Jack (1938), Jack Nicklaus (1940), Plácido Domingo and Richie Havens (both 1941), Jeff Koons (1955), Cat Power (1972), and Emma Bunton (1976). Rasputin (the Man who Refused to Die) is one of history’s more interesting figures; here’s a very brief video biography:

Those who died on January 21 include Vladimir Lenin (1924), Lytton Strachey (1932), George Orwell (1950), Cecil B. DeMille (1959), James Beard (1985), Susan Strasberg (1999), and Peggy Lee (2002).

Meanwhile in Dobrzyn, Her Roundness demands the impossible:

A: What would you like to get?
Hili: A star from the sky.
In Polish:
Ja: Co byś chciała?
Hili: Gwiazdkę z nieba.

Leon’s still hiking with his staff in southern Poland, and sends us the dialogue below. Somehow I think he’s not as happy with the snow as he was in previous years.

Leon: I think I’m more comfortable with the fluff in my pillow.

In Polish: Chyba jednak bardziej mi odpowiada puch w poduszce.

Pi and Loki on my last day in Hawaii, imploring me not to leave by sleeping on my luggage. I miss these boys.

A tweet sent by reader Barry, featuring a greedy red squirrel:

https://twitter.com/AMAZlNGNATURE/status/1086231520375947270

Tweets from Matthew. First up: cat versus hungry turtle:

The remarkable sociality of fire ants:

Bob Jones University should get this right; electricity may come from God, but we know its proximate cause, and it’s not the Sun:

Tweets from Grania. I wouldn’t mind a job as Baby Bat Cleaner:

https://twitter.com/FluffSociety/status/1086832383586754562

I never get tired of looking at murmurations:

Some (but not all) kitties love their brushes:

Proof that seagulls either can’t read or can read but don’t care:

https://twitter.com/SlenderSherbet/status/1085073939217428481

At first I thought this was a burst, but it wasn’t:

What a cat!

How to read authors of earlier times who expressed views or created characters that we find repugnant today

January 20, 2019 • 2:30 pm

There has been a lot of debate about how—or whether—to read authors whose views (or language) may not comport with today’s mores. Morality evolves, usually for the better, leaving older books bearing attitudes or characters that we find repugnant.

The usual result is to either denigrate or ban these books, and such opprobrium has involved works like Huckleberry Finn, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, Slaughterhouse-Five, and even The Color Purple. I’m not even mentioning the many books that are deemed verboten by various religions, such as The Satanic Verses. Go to the American Library Association’s Frequently Challenged Books webpage for a comprehensive list.

How do we deal with these books? Do we remove them from libraries, as Confederate statues are removed from campuses? Do we cease teaching them in classrooms—something that’s now happening with To Kill a Mockingbird? Or do we just decry them as a way of showing our moral advancement and purity? (Remember, though: in 100 years we ourselves will be seen as morally primitive in many ways!) I’ve always claimed that we should not ignore works of literature, even if we find them offensive, as there may be a nugget of truth in them or, if not, we can at least sharpen our minds by mentally debating the authors.

This article in the January 8 New York Times is a bright spot in the censorship wilderness. Written by Brian Morton, author and director of the writing program at Sarah Lawrence College, it is eminently sensible and yet sensitive.

After facing a student who rejected Edith Wharton because of the antisemitism expressed in her novel The House of Mirth(1905), Morton recognizes the commonality of such rejection:

Anyone who’s taught literature in a college or university lately has probably had a conversation like this. The passion for social justice that many students feel — a beautiful passion for social justice — leads them to be keenly aware of the distasteful opinions held by many writers of earlier generations. When they discover the anti-Semitism of Wharton or Dostoyevsky, the racism of Walt Whitman or Joseph Conrad, the sexism of Ernest Hemingway or Richard Wright, the class snobbery of E. M. Forster or Virginia Woolf, not all of them express their repugnance as dramatically as the student I talked to, but many perform an equivalent exercise, dumping the offending books into a trash basket in their imaginations.

And Morton’s solution, which I could kick myself for not having thought of, is obvious and salubrious:

It’s as if we imagine an old book to be a time machine that brings the writer to us. We buy a book and take it home, and the writer appears before us, asking to be admitted into our company. If we find that the writer’s views are ethnocentric or sexist or racist, we reject the application, and we bar his or her entry into the present.

As the student had put it, I don’t want anyone like that in my house.

I think we’d all be better readers if we realized that it isn’t the writer who’s the time traveler. It’s the reader. When we pick up an old novel, we’re not bringing the novelist into our world and deciding whether he or she is enlightened enough to belong here; we’re journeying into the novelist’s world and taking a look around.

He explains:

. . . If we were to sign up for a trip to the New York of 1905 — Wharton’s New York — we’d understand, even before buying our tickets, that we were visiting a place where people’s attitudes were very different from ours. We’d know that nearly everyone we’d meet, even the best, most generous minds — rich or poor, male or female, white or black — would hold opinions that would be unacceptable today. We’d be informed of this in the contract we’d be required to sign, at the same time as we’d be given our inoculations and fitted for our period clothing — our hoop skirts, our waistcoats, our top hats.

Knowing all this before we went back in time, met Wharton and discovered that some of her opinions were abhorrent, we’d be prepared. We wouldn’t be outraged or shocked.

Instead, we’d probably be curious. We’d probably be interested in exploring the question of how one of the most intelligent and fearless minds of her time was afflicted by moral blind spots that are obvious to us today.

. . . Regarding a writer like Wharton as a creature of her age might bring a further benefit. It might help us see ourselves as creatures of our own.

When we imagine that writers from the past are visiting our world, it subtly reinforces our complacence, our tendency to believe that the efforts at moral improvement made by earlier generations attained their climax, their fulfillment, their perfection, in us. The idea that we are the ones who are doing the time-traveling doesn’t carry the same implication.

Morton notes some of our moral blind spots today, such as our overlooking child labor, which, though disappearing, is still prevalent, as much a moral outrage as is the oppression of any group. This ignorance, too, shall pass.

Morton’s essay is important and timely in an age where views we find offensive tend to be put aside rather than examined or debated. That’s a point that I and others have made repeatedly, but somehow Morton’s idea of a book as a “time machine” makes the point more succinctly.

His conclusion, however, comports with ours:

If we arm ourselves with a little bit of knowledge and a little bit of curiosity (those essential tools of the time-traveler), we’ll be able to see the writers of the past more clearly when we visit them, and see ourselves more clearly when we get back. We’ll be able to appreciate that in their limited ways, sometimes seeing beyond the prejudices of their age, sometimes unable to do so, they — the ones worth reading — were trying to make the world more human, just as we, in our own limited ways, are also trying to do.