A matter of timing

Progressing
I’ve been watching the autumn colors developing slowly, wondering what this year’s conditions are going to be like. The pursuit of “peak colors” is a routine activity for anyone who chases landscape images, and some photographers and painters are quite dedicated to it, ensuring that they’re in a prime location in time to see the best displays. I’m not one of those photographers, and will likely not be traveling anyplace other than locally when the peak arrives. This area isn’t too fascinating for landscape shots, so I find what I can.

A quick note about the clouds above. First off, they’re blown out, exposed so highly that most of the detail is gone. Many photographers will tell you to avoid this, and it’s true, you usually want more shapes and contours to be visible. Yet, if I hadn’t pointed it out, I’m not sure how many people would even have noticed, since the clouds are just part of the setting, not the main subject, and still quite apparent what they are. I’m not excusing my mistake; I’m just saying that worrying too much about minor details is often blowing things out of proportion, and if I had exposed for optimum cloud appearance, the trees would have looked considerably darker.

Now, when you have clouds like this, move quickly – they generally represent changing conditions and will not be around long, nor will they remain in nice locations within the frame. Twenty minutes after getting this shot the sky had hazed over entirely from the climbing humidity, the blue was gone, and the light muted. I’ve done my share of waiting on clouds, and it’s safe to say the payoff is wildly sporadic. Many days you just give up and move on.

LastOneThe oak tree in the back yard ended up dropping most of its acorns before the leaves became very attractive, and because all but one branch are well enough above my head to make framing decent images difficult, I got nearly nothing out of it this year. When I found this one remaining acorn, I dodged around a bit to frame it against the sky, unable to get a position that put better light on the nut itself. When the broad vistas aren’t really up to snuff, you can still go in close for selective bits of color, or isolated subjects, and I’ve done a lot of work on those skills (notice that I did not say I was adept at it or anything.) You can produce nice seasonal nature images even in the middle of a city, if you’re choosy about what’s in the frame and don’t think that every image has to be a wide view.

Remember that you can make the light work for you too. Here the backlighting brings out the color of the leaves, which you can see were going towards the rattier end of their appearance. This time of year, the light often comes through gaps in the foliage, and may selectively highlight or backlight something interesting, so keep watching for the little tableau to appear. The sun’s moving across the sky, faster than we often think, and the conditions will change – a little patience can pay off, but it also means don’t hesitate when you see what you want, because it may also vanish quickly.

The fall of the acorns this year has been an experience, because some of them are coming from quite high up and the limbs overhang the house. From time to time a sudden clack! announces the impact on the roof, or a ricochet from the back porch against the storm door – this is a little annoying late at night. I’ve managed to escape being struck while out in the back yard chasing photos, but in two cases it was a near-miss thing. And I can’t walk barefoot out there anymore – I’m not that masochistic.

AcornsI wanted an image to communicate how many acorns had littered the yard – seriously, the squirrels are going to die of obesity-related illnesses – but found the straight-down perspective to be a little boring, so I laid on my side and went for a different angle. Again, this could have been taken anywhere – the entire frame could be hidden under a book, but the proximity of the acorns is enough to indicate that there’s a lot of them.

Notice that these are different light conditions; bright direct light in this circumstance would have produced much more contrast and likely worked against the mood. A basic guideline for using light is to seek the low contrast subjects when the light is high contrast, and vice versa, even though in this case the subject was low contrast and so was the light. Most especially, when tackling very colorful subjects like fields of flowers, go with the softer light, which often means waiting for a passing cloud or hazy conditions. You can cheat sometimes and actually shoot within your own shadow. This technique can also help when trying to photograph subjects under the surface of water, very much so on days when the sky is hazy; direct light penetrates water well, but diffuse light just reflects from the surface, since it comes from all directions and it’s hard to choose an angle that doesn’t bounce it back into the lens. Shooting under a shadow helps a lot, but keep in mind that the reduction of light means that shutter speed might become an issue – moving ripples may also blur the subject.

Ripples are a nice compositional element to work with, by the way. They can produce very surreal effects from the reflections, and a nice texture when they’re frozen in time by the shutter. Always pay close attention to the water in your image, because what it’s reflecting is as much an element as whatever your main focal point is.

HeavyLeaf
While the light conditions were bright this day, my shooting location was in deep shade. The water, once I’d shifted around a bit to my liking, reflected the blue sky, clouds, and the overhanging tree limbs. The surface tension curves around the edges of the leaf were a serendipitous discovery, throwing a patch of high contrast into an otherwise low-contrast image. I took several frames in the few seconds before the water carried the leaf away from the sky colors, and each one is different because of the ripples from the falling leaves – it’s not only a good idea to take a few frames just because we can’t know just how the ripples will appear until we see the images, but also wait for different splashes as well. A nearby ripple can throw accentuating curves around a chosen focal point, or alternately might create some clashing lines, so don’t be afraid to throw a lot of frames at a subject you like.

So, get out there and play!

You can call me Al

Over at the New York Times, Carl Zimmer has an article on the difficulties of pinning down hominid species, which illustrates an interesting perspective in biology, but is unfortunately a little too brief. There are a couple of factors at play, and no easy way to resolve them.

The very first thing to bear in mind is that ‘species’ is an arbitrary distinction in many ways. The word was born to differentiate, say, chipmunks and bandicoots, or penguins and ostriches – okay, those are bad examples because differentiating them doesn’t take a lot of effort, but the premise is, these are distinctly different groups of animals that cannot interbreed. If they could mate and produce another critter, then they were the same species. Simple.

Until we got to hybrids. Horses and donkeys are different species, but they can still produce offspring, which is where we get mules (and you always thought it was a plant in Missouri.) Mules, however, are sterile, which is what distinguishes a hybrid, so the definition of species changed to mean that the offspring must be able to make viable babies too, otherwise the two original were separate species. Things remained okay for a while.

But then there’s the ancestral bit – Darwin and Wallace came along and had to ruin the party for everyone else by pointing out that all species were different in the past. We’d known about dinosaurs and such before then, but now came the theory that, for instance, Neanderthals were actually older direct relatives of us Homo sapiens (this was a possibility considered for a while, don’t get ahead of the narrative.) What it meant was that we needed some way to distinguish present-day versions from older ancestors, even if there was a direct lineage, and for convenience’s sake an ancestor with enough differences from the living version could be considered a separate species.

This is the first bit of fun, which produces countless issues the world over every day. There is no point where we can say that two adult Homo erectus produced the first Homo sapiens – it doesn’t work that way, and this illustrates the fudge in ‘species’ that has been accepted because, seriously, what else could we do? We do not have fossil remains that span the whole history of hominids, or anything else for that matter; what we have are spots in the past where we’ve found skeletons with different structures – enough like humans to be considered more closely related than chimps or whatever, but different enough not to match modern humans. And, a key point, we’re not really sure whether there is a direct lineage, or if they’re some family line that split away and went extinct later on.

In the middle of all this came a new factor: populations of existing species that could apparently interbreed, but never do. DNA isn’t much help here, for two simple reasons. The first is, there’s genetic variation in every individual of any given species, no matter how confident we feel about the demarcation – so it’s almost as if we could say that every offspring is a different species from their parents, if we went by genes. That’s not really a help, and of course makes ‘species’ well nigh meaningless. Second, a complete DNA strand, what’s called a genome, is ridiculously long, often billions of base-pairs (paired amino acid molecules,) so it’s not this routine task to look at samples from any two individuals and classify them as ‘same’ or ‘different’ even if we make another arbitrary distinction – say, everything that has this much unchanged DNA sequence is the same species. There aren’t any spots that never change. While we can define human from chimp in that manner, because the long divergence from the period when the two species had just split has produced dependably diverse stretches, when we’re talking about trying to tell apart two insects that appear identical, it’s both too ridiculously complicated and too vague to be useful. So we just take the bugs’ word for it and assume, if they don’t want to get it on, then they know something we don’t, and ‘species’ was changed again to accept this distinction as well.

When it comes to fossil remains, what we typically have is one sample from one area in one specific point in time, and very often not even a complete example of that, since nature isn’t very accommodating in keeping corpses complete and undamaged. But as Zimmer points out, we have a huge variability in Homo sapiens right now, to say nothing of species like dogs or horses. Finding two skeletons with radically different structures does not mean we’re dealing with two different species – we could just be dealing with a Newfoundland and a Yorkshire terrier. And then of course, there’s the possibility that we’re even seeing a rare mutation, such as dwarfism or gigantism, and if the skeleton is incomplete then there’s the opportunity for even more examples such as microcephaly. Finding a set of bones that does not match any samples we’ve already found does not mean we have a new species.

If, for instance, the fossils come from a time period far enough removed from any others, they’ll get their own name on the simple fact that there’s nothing that stops natural selection, so over enough generations the species is going to be different. But there are periods when several different species of hominid were concurrent; there was more than one proto-human existing at the same time, like Homo sapiens and Homo neaderthalensis. The other side of the coin is the case with the “Hobbit,” Flores man, or Homo floresiensis – pick whichever name you like. The multiple examples of these remains, existing at the same time as Homo sapiens, have traits indicating descent from H. habilis or erectus, along with traits of much older Australopithecines. This presents numerous possibilities: reverse adaptation, very early isolation with convergence (the simultaneous development of similar traits among unrelated species,) a population of genetic anomalies while still H. erectus, examples of island dwarfism… the debate goes on.

So the species names we affix to fossils is arbitrary in many ways, and does indeed change as new remains are discovered, or even new ways to examine existing fossils. One of the developments of all this uncertainty is cladistics, which classifies fossil remains not by individuals so much, but by the development of body-type variations (phenotypes.) 400 million years ago, all animal fossils were solely of fish, but 375 million years ago, lobe-finned fish appeared in the record; somewhere between those two times, the beginnings of the limbs that would allow walking on land appeared. It doesn’t matter which, exactly, species developed it, or indeed how many – it’s just enough to know the bracket when it occurred.

With the hominids, it’s a little more complicated, because they split off from the other primates in Africa and migrated to the rest of the world, but it’s not clear if this happened once, or in waves, and how many hominid variations existed at any time, nor where they went. Fossils are rare things; the conditions to make a skeleton fossilize rather than simply break down in the soil or sunlight, and then retain them for millions of years, are very specific and don’t happen too often.

And then there are the geological conditions to make finds even possible. Sediment builds up over time, or erodes away. If it erodes away through the fossil remains, wave goodbye – we won’t be finding them unless we’re there exactly when it happens. Otherwise, we have to dig through millions of years of accumulated soil, perhaps now metamorphosed into rock, to get to even the right layer. You can’t just dig a hole, go deep enough, and find hominid remains. Pull up any map, close your eyes, and pick a spot. Did you hit a cemetery? If not, then this displays the difficulty with random digging (and we pile bodies all together neatly, unlike our distant ancestors.) So the trick is to find someplace where rock from the right timeframe is being naturally exposed, and search in the broad fields available therein. This is why the Great Rift Valley in Africa, where Olduvai Gorge resides, is the site of so many finds. I’ve taken advantage of this myself by picking through the crumbled shale exposed when a glacier cut a huge scar through central New York.

Yet, we can’t do this for all time periods to present, because the conditions that preserve remains are rare. The fossils that I was finding existed in one layer, presumably when mudslides or river delta deposits buried dead animals in low-oxygen conditions, preventing bacteria from breaking things down. Earlier, and later on, the mudslides weren’t happening, or if they were, the remains still decayed completely. So, if we wanted to track the migration of the hominids from Africa, we couldn’t just go five hundred kilometers away from a known find and see how long ago more hominid remains can be found; the geology might be all wrong, and random digging is highly unlikely to produce anything.

So, we end up with tiny samples in time, pinpricks in both location and history where we have some particular phenotype. If it falls between the time periods for Homo habilis and Homo erectus, and has a body plan that seems halfway between the two, then we can tentatively say it demonstrates an intermediate species. Often, what we have are some traits of this one, and some traits of that one, but few if any traits that split the difference. It also needs to be noted that evolution does not necessarily proceed in a straight line, as if there’s a goal; selection depends on conditions and environment, which may change, especially for a species migrating across multiple continents. So traits may wander, develop at different rates, and so on. Now, imagine if we found a partial skeleton: portions of the hips, one upper leg and knee, a big toe, maybe some shoulder bones. Everything about the legs seems to indicate an upright walking stance. Then, from a time period .2 million years later and further south, we have a species with toe bones that indicate tree-climbers. Are they of different descent? A local environmental adaptation of the same lineage? A genetic fluke?

We don’t know. And this is true of so much of paleontology – we can only surmise based on limited evidence, and try to find more evidence that supports or destroys the hypothesis. For the time being, we give the fossils a name, knowing that this might change later on. That’s how it goes. [The example given above, by the way, is pretty much the case with Australopithecus afarensis and Au. africanus, though I admit the time separation might be different.]

What this seems to imply is that our impression of human development could be entirely wrong, something that creationists gleefully latch onto since the evidence for their own ideas is nonexistent (yes, any flaw in modern science is reason to deny it in its entirety, but flaws in scriptural accounts are ignored wholesale – pathetic, isn’t it?) But uncertainty as to how such finds fit together does not change the facts that any finds of such body structures tells us selection is a very real thing. No hominids of any kind have been found, or ever will be found, in 30 million-year-old strata. No Homo sapiens will be found alongside Au. afarensis. While we may not know which, if any, given fossil species from 2 million years ago is our direct ancestor, we are extremely comfortable in saying that the body plans in evidence at those times fits exactly into expectations of development from the common ancestor with the great apes. And of course, any competing theory also must explain why we have these remains, and why they progress in shape just like natural selection predicts.

What it all comes down to, however, is not considering any given fossil species to be as definitive as modern species – there’s just not enough information. There are species that are 99% likely to have gone extinct, like Paranthropus boisei – the skull structure was radically different from nearly everything else found, and nothing since shows evidence of developing from there towards Homo sapiens, or indeed any later species. But most other species are not so well determined, and lineage remains nothing but speculation right now – we cannot say which evolved from which, or which (if any) is our direct ancestor. This illustration shows the time periods that we have determined so far, but implying any particular path from it is nothing more than guesswork. Perhaps one day, we’ll have enough evidence to be pretty confident, and in the meantime any one of these may disappear, absorbed into another species due to more information, or we may even split off another line based on closer examination of existing fossils, to say nothing of any new finds. It’s an interesting, but undeniably contentious, field of study.

Coming up: Why do we bother with trying to find out?

My bad this time

If you’ve had trouble getting in, or receive a new post that you saw two days ago, I’m here to take the blame. In trying to correct some stupid error message coming up since the last round of upgrades (that did not disappear when I rolled back,) I messed up some stuff and had to restore from a backup file. So a post I made two days ago is about to reappear.

Meanwhile, if you get some script error message at the top of the page, refreshing will make it go away if it bothers you. Near as I can tell, it doesn’t affect anything else.

Quick spider fix

CrabBalloonI was about to pick up a plastic storage bin out in the yard today when I noticed a little crab spider perched on it, so naturally I went to get the camera. He (yes it’s a male) was amusing himself by trying to balloon away, casting a webline into the wind until it was carried off, whereupon he would set the drag, or whatever it is spiders do, and fly off with it – this is how spiders usually get from place to place, and it’s quite effective.

At least, if the wind is sufficient, which didn’t exactly describe the conditions today. After a few frames I sat down next to the bin to make a minor repair, and he decided this was potentially dangerous, so he sailed off, making it less than a half-meter before coming to rest on my leg. I ignored him, and he continued to try and hitch a ride on the air. Once I finished, I gave him a couple of nudges which put him into defensive mode, seen below, before deciding to leap off towards the grass.
WhatNothing
Don’t you just love those eyes? There are two rows of four, but the second is pointing more upwards and isn’t terribly visible here. You can easily see his pedipalps though, tucked in close to his face.

By the way, the practice of holding out your thumb to hitch a ride actually came from spiders – the thumb is supposed to represent the abdomen held high in the air to cast a web. Bet you didn’t know that…

Happy Halloween

f4PearlCrescent
The weather has been spastic as all git-out, and I’ve actually postponed meetings with a couple of students because it’s been raining frequently and unpredictably, despite many meteorologist’s claims otherwise. Yesterday as the weather cleared I got out to a park that I don’t visit too often, having left early to beat the rush hour traffic, and had some time to kill before the appointment. It’s closing in on the end of the insect season here, and the trees are shedding their leaves fitfully.

LocustHeadonI didn’t assemble the dependable macro lighting rig, since it creates a large apparatus that cannot fit in any bag and takes a couple minutes to break down, so I amused myself with shooting macro in natural light, wide open at f4. You can see the effect this has above on what is probably a pearl crescent butterfly (Phyciodes tharos) – while measuring maybe 3cm across the wingtips, most of the specimen isn’t in focus at all. When restricted in this way, you can always select a perspective that works with such a short depth-of-field, such as the one at right. The grasshoppers were everywhere, and this one peeked up at me from among the flowers, one of the few that held still at my stealthy (okay, not terribly) approach. Nothing but the eyes had to be in focus, and in fact, not even all of the eyes, so this view from the blunt end seems to work for me. Not everyone is going to agree with my approaches towards images or composition, and that’s fine – there’s no right way to do it, and style is a matter of preference. So is what is about to come, which is inadequate warning that we’re going in for the serious closeups of even more icky things.

f4Bumblebee
On the clusters of wildflowers found at the edges of the lake, various hymenoptera were quite active gathering nectar, and by extension pollen. This bumblebee originally fled in panic as I came in too close, but its panic wasn’t enough to send it very far, only dodging out from under my looming presence to the adjoining flower patch not a meter away, and this time I leaned in close while it was on the far side of the blooms. As it rose into view I was ready, and the bee’s protective response wasn’t triggered by proximity, only approach – I could be that close as long as I wasn’t getting closer; it could get closer, but that was its own movement and didn’t count within the algorithm that spelled “trouble” in its brain. The image illustrates why natural light macro work can be difficult, and especially why it shouldn’t be tackled in bright conditions, even when it might seem this is a good time to do so. While the entire head is black, it runs the full dynamic range of the image, blown out to pure white in the reflected highlights and dropping into Stygian darkness in the shadows (gotta love that word – if I ever have a kid I’m going to name him or her “Stygian.”) It was only through blind luck that the exposure setting for the camera fell where it did, otherwise it could have been even worse, but I still like the texture that came up on the head.

CrabtreeShyJumper
A slightly better approach was taken with this shy jumping spider, one of many visible throughout the brush if one looked closely. Here the sun’s position was just a little more behind me, illuminating more of the eyes, bringing up that blue-black color in contrast with the rest of the spider. I’m not perfectly sure, but I believe those black ‘pupils’ really are the retinas of the spider – close examination of the original image does not seem to indicate that they’re a reflection of the camera or anything else. The defocused briar in the foreground helps communicate the apprehensive appearance of the spider, as do the tucked legs, and in this case the impression is entirely accurate, at least if the spider’s behavior was any indication. We both dodged back and forth for these images, but I suppose it’s possible the spider was observing me and trying to remain inconspicuous…

For this next find, however, I was forced to dig out the flash, though I kept it simple and used it mounted on the hot-shoe – this still provides direct light that doesn’t model shapes as well, but at least I had a diffuser over the head to soften the contrast a little.

Niesthrea-louisianica1
In the seed pods of the same hibiscus flowers seen here, some remarkably-colored hemiptera were digging away. The lack of wings pegs these as nymphs, and the orange bits are their heads and eyes. I knew I was only going to get so much detail in these conditions, so I got out a film can and collected a few specimens to tackle under better control, after the meeting with the student. This also required trying to determine what exactly they were, which was a little tricky. Their body shape was almost identical to broken-backed bugs, so I began searching within the family Miridae, yet that wasn’t turning up anything. Changing Google gears eventually led to this page and provided the exact species – my thanks to Lisa at the Virginia Living Museum!

Niesthrea-louisianica2
Niesthrea louisianica do not appear to have a recognized common name, though I imagine regionally they might be called anything. Their coloration is what prompted the post title (were you wondering when I was getting to that, or do you ignore those anymore?) through the resemblance to both candy and gaudy makeup. This one is an adult, as betrayed by those wings, and imaged here on a stalk from the ever-useful azalea bushes. The fun of identifying species is demonstrated by all this, because despite their close resemblance to broken-backed bugs, these are a distant relation, coming from a different superfamily (in this case, Coreoidea.) If you look closely, you’ll see that my specimen paused for a drink from the main stem of the azalea leaf, its proboscis extending down from the tip of its head. This inactivity (after many attempts to stay on the dark side of the leaf, which obviously presents some difficulty in macro photography) helped me to get some images I’ve been after for a couple of months.

Niesthrea-louisianica3
Is this close enough? In images of another species from this summer, I realized that the proboscis was not a single probe, but separate body parts working together. The pale, jointed portion is (I believe) the labium, used for cutting into the plant down to the juicy bits – or, in the case of the insectivorous hemiptera, cutting into the prey as well. The needle closest to us extending down past those joints is the combined mandible and maxilla, what we humans call our lower and upper jaws, but here they serve the purpose of injecting saliva and drawing up sustaining fluids. They can pull entirely free from the labium but this isn’t often seen. I would have tried to provoke this action just to get an image of it, but there were a few reasons not to. Realize that the overall length of this insect here is just 9mm, and the head itself is 1mm. See how the foreleg, the antennae, and the shoulder plastron are all out of focus? That means my effective sharp focus range was also about a millimeter. While I could potentially have affixed the camera to a tripod, since the N. louisianica was now holding still, I was at the time working handheld. Even with the leaf in a clamp, I had to hold still at a precise distance from my subject, unable to move more than a millimeter forward or back – and then I would have had to provoke the bug into disengaging from its meal, and capture the exact moment when the mandible and maxilla withdrew from the labium. Obviously the chances of this were slim, and I would have had only one shot at it, since convincing the bug to go back to feeding would be problematic at best. I hope you can understand why I did not inflict the frustration upon myself.

Oh, yeah, I should clarify something else too. You recall above where I said I was shooting in natural light at f4? Of course, shooting at a smaller aperture would increase the depth-of-field and thus improve focus, but that reduces light and requires a supplemental flash (or slower shutter speed, and hopefully the reasons to avoid that are obvious.) But DOF also reduces with higher magnification, and I was using an entirely different lens for the bottom shots; those images were shot with the reversed 28-105mm at 28mm, at f16, with the softboxed flat-panel strobe. It wasn’t getting any better than this.

Now I’m irritated

grouch
At 12:06 am this morning, I find out that yesterday was National Grouch Day, a holiday I could actually get into, and I missed it. I even had a student and thus was on better behavior than normal, so I was extra cheated.

I just checked; there is no National Spider Photographer Day, and no National Godless Heathen Day, so this was my one chance to shine, and I missed it. Someone can tell me whether being annoyed about this afterward is ironic or not.

More spiders – lots of spiders

I’m sorry, it’s what I’m finding to photograph.

ExpectingLynx
So about a month ago I mentioned that the green lynx spiders (Peucetia viridans) that I’d been observing had all made egg sacs; one on the dog fennel plants, one on the butterfly bush, and one on the rosemary bush. They have all since hatched, and I’ve been watching the new spiderlings until they cast away soon – if I get lucky, I’ll get some pics of this occurring, but I’m not counting on it. At macro magnifications I expect they’ll flash out of focus almost instantly.

LynxletCluster
In the meantime, I’m going out and trying for interesting compositions and closeups, which can be problematic. The newborns tend to stay clustered, head inwards for protection, and helicopter mom advances quite aggressively whenever I loom too close or the softbox starts bumping against the outer web strands. In the image above from the dog fennel, you can see how the egg sac was placed deep in protective foliage, and the out-of-focus blur to the right is mama in the foreground.

ProtectiveMamaIn fact, this has allowed me to get some better portraits (for a given definition of “better,” anyway) of the adults, who previously were too shy to allow really close approaches, but in the throes of protective motherhood they practically climb onto the camera. This is the same specimen as the one at top, and the one seen in this post – note how much color change has occurred. The one on the rosemary bush, however, disappeared on the same day that one of the pregnant mantises was seen on the same bush, so it’s quite likely she provided protein for mantis eggs and now her offspring, hatched after her disappearance, are fending for themselves. Since they’re in quite good cover and practically invisible, they don’t appear to be doing too badly so far, but I haven’t tried counting the clutches to know if the numbers are dwindling.

As impressive as this visage might be, know that the body length of the adult is just 17mm (about 3/4 inch,) and the face you’re seeing here is roughly 6mm long, less than the width of a pencil – getting those measurements meant that she did indeed take a shot at the calipers, which did not appear to notice. I’m pleased to get those little brown fangs, because they really can’t be seen in any normal circumstances, but also note the sensitive hairs on the inside edges of the chelicerae near the fangs, which help tell the spider what’s going on with their prey.

Here’s another shot from the butterfly bush, with mom running interference:

LynxletnMom
It was a misty day when I took it, thus the water drops in the web. The smaller orange blob in the background is a sibling, but the overall brown mass is the egg sac, still serving as home base though the young do not re-enter it at all.

My favorite image, however, remains this one, from the orphans on the rosemary:

WetBabyLynx
The overnight dew on the abdomen is a delightful detail, as is the safety ‘dragline’ of webbing extending from the spinnerets, which is virtually always present for spiders yet rarely visible – in these cases, it helps contribute to the cocoon of webbing that protects the young and alerts mom that there’s a strange dog in the yard. To the best of my knowledge, the white sphere is pollen – but I suppose it could be a crystal ball, and I was interrupting their mother telling them everything was wonderful in The Beyond and that heaven was filled with fat, slow flies.

But how? Part 11: Certainty or confidence?

Note: I’ve had this is draft form for several days, tweaking it and waiting for a good opportunity to put it up; I try to rotate and space out posts, and just recently put up another of the numbered series posts. Then this morning, Jerry Coyne at Why Evolution Is True posted virtually the same sentiment, and now I look like I’m copying him. So here it is anyway.

*     *     *     *     *

This one is almost an extension of the ideas put forth in the agnosticism episode, and also reiterates portions of the Pascal’s Wager post, but there’s more to it than those ideas. It seems, at least in this country, any outspoken atheist is very likely to receive the challenge, “But how can you be so sure there’s no god?” – or any variation thereof. So let’s play around with certainty and confidence.

First off, recognize that the question itself comes from the cultural perspective of a large number of people being religious – it arises far less in countries with a lower percentage of the devout. This is unsurprising, but many people are unaware how much culture is responsible for attitudes towards gods, and life’s meaning, and how important it is to have a phone that takes pictures. The question is a broad assumption, from a standpoint that something supernatural is a given, and that those who fail to see the importance or likelihood of this are somehow radical. Taken from the perspective of science, logic, or really, anything else not weighted by assumption, the question gets turned the other way: what evidence does someone have to propose a god in the first place? What effects can be seen, what properties does such a hypothesis explain, what function is it, what does it predict? Everything in science operates on this simple principle (which is why it is taught in schools,) and from this perspective, all religions have a long way to go.

But again, while I throw these questions out there for contemplation, that’s not the purpose of these posts – the points need to stand on their own, not merely challenge other perspectives. And indeed, there is an underlying problem with being sure there’s no god, in that we can never be sure of anything (though the weight of the evidence may make us pretty damn confident,) but worse, there is no such thing as negative evidence – there’s simply the lack of positive evidence. There is a common saying, known especially among UFO proponents and conspiracy theorists, that says, “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence” – something can still exist even if we don’t know about it. At least, that’s what the saying seems to imply, but it’s both true and false. The sentence really should be, “Absence of evidence is not necessarily evidence of absence,” which makes it a lot weaker to use as a proverb, actually highlighting the flaw within. Because the only thing that’s evidence of absence is [drum roll]… the absence of evidence. I know we’re out of toilet paper because there is no toilet paper on the shelves. And while someone might try to argue the difference between a narrowly defined set of circumstances like toilet paper ready at hand, and a supernatural entity, the point is just the same as the null hypothesis that science starts from, indicating that positive evidence is the only thing that has value.

The whole idea of supernatural entities (I purposefully try to be vague to accommodate every concept of god and religion that exists, because someone always whines) stems from culture, and nowadays largely from scripture. And when the word ‘scripture’ is used, too many people automatically fill in their own favored example and ignore all others, but this is an unnecessarily narrow view. Since we’re supposed to be talking about a supernatural being that created all life on the planet, considering only one example is a bit biased; nearly every culture across the globe has/had their own creation stories, all claiming to have been imparted as Truthâ„¢ from on high. The broad assumption of most religious folk is that everyone else has it wrong, but this means that a majority of cultures on the planet are following mythology, imagination, delusion – call it what you will. So not only do we have the basic logical conclusion that it is easy to be completely mistaken about divine influence, we have the conundrum that every culture insists on their own special, “chosen” status but most of them had to have been completely forsaken by the supreme deity/deities. It’s hard to examine the plethora of religious belief across the world and make any claim that they have any common origin at all, especially when monotheism is a very recent concept, less than 2,000 years old and still not wholly embraced.

(By the way, the survey results that show atheists scoring higher on religious knowledge, on average, than religious folk ties in directly with this, even when many people get the cause and effect reversed. The knowledge of how radically incompatible religious belief is across the globe, indicative of serious problems with claims of divine inspiration, is what helps foster atheism – a little learning is a dangerous thing.)

We can, of course, look to scripture itself to try and determine accuracy, and by extension divine information, but unless we treat this as a foregone conclusion and pay attention only to the ‘hits,’ we find scripture to be so woefully inaccurate as to be incapable of proving its authenticity. And this isn’t just a matter of metaphorical usage, couching things in terms that the people of the times could understand, or even translation error, all of which have been proposed to salvage the provenance of scripture from the damning of reality; it would have been phenomenally easy to provide accurate accounts of creation, the nature of the sun, or even the shape of the planet – it’s what we would expect from information imparted by a deity. Yet not one scriptural tale got any of these right, among countless other examples – some of them border on the laughably naïve. Once there is any inaccuracy, of course, the accuracy of any other portion becomes questionable as well, to the point where it’s easier to simply investigate the world for ourselves. The disturbing thing is how often the devout will actually resort to claiming that their scripture is still completely accurate, and it’s reality itself that’s got it all wrong – and then whine that they deserve respect for their beliefs.

It should be noted that the routine actions of gods within scripture are something we see not the faintest trace of nowadays, implying that the direct interactions were abandoned wholesale in favor of hiding, for whatever reason. The various explanations put forth to explain this range from free will to Master Plans, almost all speculative since scripture is silent on why this change occurred (the ability to see the distinction between the actual content of scripture and the imagined explanations adopted as doctrine is possessed by few religious folk, by the way.) The idea of a deity which changes its mind implies not only imperfection, but a lack of omniscience and/or omnipotence.

Which leads to a further issue. Predestination is obviously a bit of a problem for religion, because it removes all influence that religion has, but worse, it makes an omniscient deity beyond our ability to grasp. Omniscience and immortality are a recipe for total inaction, in fact the total cessation of thought – what can there be to do that is not already known? What can be imagined that is not already proscribed? One cannot even connect one thought to another since it is already done. Obviously, humans cannot have thinking processes that resemble this in any way or we’d go neurotic immediately, and in fact, it makes existence (ours or a deity’s) to be completely pointless. Without omniscience, of course, a deity’s plan is an intended goal, but still up for revision.

Perhaps we can ignore scripture, for whatever reason, and contemplate the posit of an unspecific deity, going the theistic or deistic route – one that is responsible for creation and/or moral judgment but has no specific attributes. The first problem that comes up is, without scripture or organized religion, what is making anyone propose such a being in the first place? While various theological arguments have been forwarded, all of them have flaws, some so egregious as to render them ludicrous (actually, I find that “most” is the operative word here.) It’s not really hard to make any proposal sound logical, but logic is a funny thing – it only works in very rigidly defined circumstances, and it requires solid information as a starting point; logic is actually just the patterns of cause-and-effect run into abstraction. The primary test of a logical posit is the “If/Then” statement: If A is true, then we should expect to see B occur. Any posit not based on evidence and not providing any prediction that can be tested is not logic at all. Claims that “everything must have a beginning” or “the role of mankind is to seek perfection” are mere assertions, unable to be supported in any way and not demonstrated anywhere in human experience. It’s just as easy to say, “everything must have an end,” trashing the idea of an immortal soul or deity, and this is no different, and no more logical, than the counterpart.

Quite often, a preferred deity is said to be at work in the mysterious or unknown aspects of physics, such as quantum variation or even just coincidence. If there is no distinct physical law describing the phenomenon, that is where a god has chosen to flex their might – this is derogatorily known as the ‘god of the gaps’ argument. There are two distinct problems with this. The first is, it’s a great example of what I’ve called unevidence, claiming ignorance of a cause as support for any favored idea – “we don’t know,” somehow being translated into, “therefore god.” Amusingly, this actually implies that our knowledge is complete up to the realm of the supernatural, an attitude that no small number of religious folk get quite upset about when they interpret this as coming from sci-ence. But the second problem is that it posits a deity that bears no resemblance to the one they want to believe in, one so incredibly weak that it seems a waste of time. Maybe it’s just me, but praying for quantum decay seems somewhat out of proportion when breathing on something provides millions of times the impact.

The natural end of things – in other words, physics – explains how things work amazingly well. We can trace nearly everything back to four physical forces, and the interconnectedness of it all is both astounding, and exactly what we should expect to see with a lack of supernatural influence. This manages to explain everything from the behavior of stellar matter down to why we have a desire for morality. The very reason why anyone makes the various ‘god of the gaps’ arguments is because physics works so damn well. It is even possible to see why religion has been adopted into cultures, the evolutionary influences that make us prone to such beliefs. Again, we come to the scientific approach, where the hypothesis not only explains why something occurs, it gives us the ability to understand human motivations and see how they tie into other evolved behaviors – and seeking understanding is one of those prime human motivations anyway.

Now for the fun part, because we haven’t even touched on whether religious belief is a good thing or not – all we’ve dealt with so far has been plausibility. However, there remains the separate consideration, even if some deity could be proven to exist, as to whether religious belief or practice is actually beneficial. Most people don’t even think about this, assuming that if it’s supernatural, it’s good, but these are not synonymous in any way. And so we must consider whether the behavior fostered in religious folk is actually providing a benefit (which is a really hard thing to objectively support) and whether any such benefit cannot be achieved without religion (which no one has made the slightest case for yet – blind assertion is not an argument.) The fact that “religious violence” is a common phrase is pretty damning all by itself, but the perpetual history of religious persecution, privilege, judgment, and war is something that there’s really no need to belabor. Even if we accept the premise that these are tendencies of humans, religion has not tempered these to any useful degree, and the frequency of religious motivations among so many conflicts demonstrates inarguably that religion cannot sanely be said to even make people pause and consider. To all appearances, it makes them even more murderous by providing a belief in divine justification.

That would be more than reason enough, all by itself, for any reasoning person to completely ignore religion, even in the face of real miracles – obviously the deity isn’t too concerned with mankind, so why worship such a thing? But we can even, for the sake of argument, ignore all of that and stick just to individual, local behavior and see that nearly every religion spends more time promoting privilege and creating dividing lines than fostering any goodwill between humans, placing emphasis on faith and in-groups much, much higher than beneficial actions. It is solely through the constant repetition of “religion=good” that we can even believe such a thing, because rational consideration doesn’t actually support the idea. Moreover, it’s childishly easy to promote good behavior, far more efficiently, and without any baggage or threats whatsoever. It’s not like we have to obtain it only as a fringe benefit of religion.

But that, admittedly, has nothing to do with whether a god exists or not. The final aspect that I’ll tackle here is just the practical one: does the existence of a deity, or the mere belief in one, provide anything of value to us as a species? And pardon me, but I’m going to crassly dismiss the personal angle, just as I won’t consider the music someone likes to count as providing a benefit to us as a species – we’ll stick to something measurable. And taking that scientific angle again and looking for the explanatory and predictable nature of the hypothesis, we find virtually nothing that religion predicts; in fact, we find the very distinct lack thereof being claimed, somehow, as a benefit, something we can’t fathom but must nevertheless be good. No religion the world over served to explain much of anything, even as it went into great detail about creation and history and meaning and moral guidance – we’ve spent the last five centuries proving all of them both completely wrong and worthless as moral guidance. The assertions that we would be even worse as a species without religious influence have been proven wrong by the higher social standards of countries with low religiosity – in fact, the direct correlation with religion and lower social welfare, while not explaining which caused the other or indeed if either is causative, still gives a strong indication that benefit is not a factor. And then of course there’s the repeated demonstrations, now and throughout history, that religion negatively influences tolerance, education, medicine, and science, often extending into censorship, persecution, bigotry, and violence. Aside from the lack of benefit (which is putting it mildly,) we are left with three possible conclusions about gods from these facts: either there is none, or any that exist don’t give the faintest damn about what humans do in their name, or they’re simply shitheads.

If we take everything above into consideration, however, there’s simply one conclusion that fits every part of it without the need of special circumstances, explanations, proposed properties, or philosophical manipulations: there is no god. While anyone may decry such a definitive statement, especially from the perspective of stating a negative, the attempts to refute the above points have been rickety structures of sophistry and supposition. Probability can only be based on available evidence, not imagined scenarios, and this is how many atheists have arrived at their confidence.

This is in stark contrast with the certainty of the faithful, which usually relies on assertions and selectivity – when it’s not simply emotional affirmation. Examining probability or logical consequences rarely ever enters into the picture; these cannot charitably be said to form the backbone of religious certainty in the same way that I’ve laid out above… which actually makes the topic question itself, when asked by anyone who claims a faith, to be rather hypocritical.

Can the conclusion that there’s no god be wrong? Of course – anything can be. But seizing on the possibility and making this a foundation of any argument is hardly objective, especially when every religion can be wrong as well, and every law of physics, and every concept of electronic theory, and every belief about who our parents really are. It’s why we go beyond mere “maybes” to look at probability and predictability in the first place. We accept that germ theory explains a significant percentage of illnesses because it works, and while it could be wrong, such speculations really don’t have any effect unless we find the evidence that shows that it is. That’s confidence.

Too cool, part 20: Stop it, you’re creeping me out

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Lyssomanes viridis, known to those of us who do not speak dead languages as the magnolia green jumping spider, is a lovely translucent green spider that wouldn’t hurt a fly um, is harmless to anything larger than a honyebee and is undeserving of any arachnophobic reactions. Until you get close. Really, really close.

Because, while all jumping spiders have the same equipment, on the magnolia green jumper, you can actually see it. In operation. The ‘anterior median’ (big center two) eyes are quite well-developed for an arthropod, allowing jumping spiders to accurately judge the distance to their prey and across the chasms they leap. Since the cornea of the eyes is part of the exoskeleton of the entire spider, shed with everything else during a molt, the moving bits of the eyes are inside. The translucent chitin of the magnolia green jumper lets light shine through their cephalothorax and even through their eyes, making them blend in with the rest of the spider in most circumstances. However, at times the spider focuses just right and the retina all of a sudden becomes visible as a dark background within. The retina can move in all directions, and even does so independently for each eye:

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I caught this little girl yesterday scampering up the door of the car, and when trying for some quick, casual macro shots, I saw the eye effects. I’d only seen this once before in a video, and knew I had to get better images, so into the film can (ask your parents) she went to come home with me and do some studio work.

MGJS-sideWhat became apparent through the macro lens was that you can even see the eye moving around from the side, here visible as a dark spot peeking out from underneath that Gen Y hairstyle. I really need to branch out into video, though I imagine I’d still be trying to bring all the conditions together – it’s easier to let someone else do it. In that clip, I suspect the spider was concentrating on the meal and just idly looking around, since the movements are much slower than what I was seeing. My specimen couldn’t decide if she should go to the underside of the leaf to hide, or jump gleefully onto the camera lens and play keepaway when I tried to get her off. She showed no adverse reaction to running across my hand (something that some jumpers seem to instantly recognize and abandon,) and yesterday during my attempts at capturing her from the side of the vehicle, she actually cast a web into the wind and ran across it to my chest. I really have to work on a bug siphon…

I have had a previous encounter with the strangely visible anatomy of the magnolia green jumper before, but hadn’t spotted it in the viewfinder, only finding the effect when I unloaded the camera (and was perplexed for a long time over it.) While my subject above is likely an immature female, this one’s a male, with the club-ends of the pedipalps and much more pronounced chelicerae; it’s the only one I’ve found on the property so far:

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The images may make it evident how short the focus range is for this kind of macro work, and I have lots of photos where the focus is blown. There are rigs that slide a tripod-mounted camera very finely into sharp focus distance, and I even have one, but working on a tripod is out of the question for a moving specimen. Sometimes, however, even the out-of-focus shots are useful, as in this case when I missed the portrait, but actually got the retinas into halfway decent sharpness.

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