How we look at history

 Albert Szent-Györgyi, the subject of yesterday’s note, was a biochemist, but he thought history was the most important subject.

He was not interested in national histories.

 

But what is world history? In its essence it is the story of man, how he rose from his animal status to his present elevation. This is a fascinating story and is linked to a limited number of creative men, its heroes, who created new knowledge, new moral or ethical values, or new beauty. Opposing this positive side of history there is a negative, destructive side linked to the names of kings, barons, generals, and dictators who, with their greed and lust for power, made wars, fought battles, and mostly created misery, destroying what other men had built. These are the heroes of the history we teach at present as world history. Not only is this history negative and lopsided, it is false, too, for it omits the lice, rats, malnutrition, and epidemics which had more to do with the course of things than generals and kings, as Zinsser ably pointed out.

 

We tend to lose our most important stories chasing news about the crackpot of the day. Szent-Györgyi, a Hungarian, saw his country fall under the sway of crackpot strongmen. The first bunch admired Hitler, while the second admired Stalin.

Szent-Györgyi knew the destructive side of history. In the 1930s, he helped Jewish colleagues escape and got out himself.

The reference in the last sentence is to Hans Zinsser, an American bacteriologist who worked on typhus and who wrote Rats, Lice and History.

Zinsser was another of those scientific thinkers that might interest students of literature. Zinsser’s autobiography was As I Remember Him: The Biography of R.S. It’s a third-person account of R.S., his Romantic Self. It’s on the long list of books I want to read.

• Source: Albert Szent-Györgyi, “Teaching and Expanding Knowledge”; Rampart Journal of Individualist Thought, Vol. 1, No. 1 (1965), pp. 24-8. It’s here:

https://fair-use.org/rampart-journal/1965/03/teaching-and-the-expanding-knowledge

A Nobel winner on education

 Albert Szent-Györgyi won a Nobel Prize in 1937 for his work on Vitamin C. But his mind sauntered beyond the fields of biochemistry. He was interested in how people learn, and he thought that education got off to a bad start with its attitude toward books, which he called the main instrument of teaching.

There is a widely spread misconception about the nature of books which contain knowledge. It is thought that such books are something the contents of which have to be crammed into our heads. I think the opposite is closer to the truth. Books are there to keep the knowledge in while we use our heads for something better. Books may also be a better place for such knowledge. In my own head any book-knowledge has a half-life of a few weeks. So I leave knowledge, for safe-keeping, to books and libraries and go fishing, sometimes for fish, sometimes for new knowledge.

 

In my head, the half-life of book knowledge is considerably shorter. But sometimes a book will prompt a chain of thought. Reading E.O. Wilson’s memoire made me think of other scientists who had interesting — and surprising — qualities of mind.

• Source and note: Albert Szent-Györgyi, “Teaching and Expanding Knowledge”; Rampart Journal of Individualist Thought, Vol. 1, No. 1 (1965), pp. 24-8. It’s here:

https://fair-use.org/rampart-journal/1965/03/teaching-and-the-expanding-knowledge

This line of thought began with “Thinking, technique and writing,” Aug. 11, 2026. It’s here:

https://hebertaylor.blogspot.com/2026/08/thinking-technique-and-writing.html

Spittlebugs

 I’ve been pulling gripeweed in the garden — alternately admiring and cussing Phyllanthus urinaria. Among my finds are the lairs of spittlebugs, in subfamily Aphrophorinae.

The subfamily is in Hemiptera, the true bugs. Each has a mouth that looks like a hypodermic needle. These bugs pierce a plant and suck the fluids.

The common name comes from the nymphs, who hide and shelter in a blob that reminds most people of spit. It’s a combination of urine, air bubbles and adhesives. Bugs go through incredible volumes of fluids while feeding and, as you might guess, produce prodigious quantities of liquid waste. The relatively defenseless nymphs use what they have to make shelters.

Adult spittlebugs are not defenseless. They’re called froghoppers, at least in the South. The experts say these bugs can leap 100 times their length, which seems about right to me. The adult froghoppers I’ve seen are less than half an inch long. One might hop 4 feet to escape a bird.

• For more on the aggressive weed, see “On gripeweed, with awe,” June 30, 2026.

Thinking, technique and writing

 Science is a way of thinking.

There are many ways. In ancient Greece, some people who were intrigued by a question consulted oracles. Some listened for whispered voices as the wind rustled the leaves in a sacred grove. Some, like Herodotus and Aristotle, went to look for themselves. They spoke of making inquiries and investigations.

Our sciences grew out of that impulse to observe and make a record of our observations. If you’re a scientist, you subscribe to that way of thinking. You subscribe to certain habits, routines and systems. You look for answers in a certain way because you frame questions in a certain way.

Reading E.O. Wilson’s memoir reminded me of those rare moments in college when my teachers talked — not about a research project, techniques, analytical tools or a discipline — but what it was to be a scientist, what it’s like spending a life thinking in a certain way.

I enjoy the writings of scientists who take a stab at that topic.

Many writers have tried to do something similar for people who write. My list would include Annie Dillard, William and Kim Stafford, Ta-Nehisi Coates, Virginia Woolf and Rainer Maria Rilke.

As in the sciences, technique is vital. But it seems to me that questions about technique and craftsman follow more basic questions. I think it makes sense to talk about an attitude toward writing or an approach to writing — and how approaching things in different ways could lead to different practices of writing.

Craftsmanship is vital. But I don’t think it’s the place to start. We need to go elsewhere to find the first lesson.

A theory of mind

 Embedded in E.O. Wilson’s views on sociobiology is a theory of mind. It’s not specifically his. Other scientists seem to fall into something similar almost as a default position.

Wilson’s starting point: Social behaviors are transmitted by culture, but culture is a product of the brain. Our inherited traits limit what kind of things we can consider — what kinds of things are possible.

Wilson thought that the question of how genetic and cultural evolution interact was one of the great unexplored realms of science. He called it “gene-culture coevolution.”

 

Over the course of a lifetime, the mind of the individual person creates itself by picking among countless fragments of information, value judgements, and available courses of action within the context of a particular culture. More concretely, the individual comes to select certain marital customs, creation myths, ethical precepts, modes of analysis, and so forth, from among those available. We call these competing behaviors and mental abstractions “culturgens.” They are close to what our fellow reductionist Richard Dawkins conceived as “memes.”

 

Philosophy of mind is a thorny specialty, and I enjoyed watching a biologist, rather than a philosopher, tackle of its questions. Saying what a human mind is like is difficult, but I like the ancient metaphor. In some ways, an individual mind is like a collection. What’s in your cabinet of curiosities is different from what’s in mine. We might collect some similar items, and so we could say we have some shared interests. But we can’t assume that everyone else will be interested in the same things.

The activity of collecting is important, I think. It’s the idea behind forming canons in literature and other arts. I think it’s vital that each generation examine its cultural inheritance. It contains fabulous riches but also deadly poisons.

• Source: Edward O. Wilson, Naturalist; Washington, D.C.: Island Press/Shearwater Books, 1994, p. 351.

Start with a circle

 A person who is interested in natural history gradually becomes aware of a cycle of learning and discovery. You can discover the relationship between yellow-billed cuckoos and the tent caterpillars in your neighborhood for yourself. But you can do so only if you’ve learned to identify some birds and bugs.

You have to learn some things from teachers and books to be able to discover things for yourself. Those discoveries might help you learn more things from teachers and books.

E.O. Wilson, the great naturalist, pointed out another element to that cycle. Here’s his description of his sophomore year in college:

 

My resolve to be a biologist was reinforced when I discovered the ideal social environment for developing a scientist — or at least one of several possible ideals. It is the same as for a political revolutionary. Start with a circle of ambitious students who talk and work together and conspire against their elders in order to make their way into a particular discipline. They can be as few as two or as many as five; more than five makes the unit unstable. Give them an exciting new idea that can transform the discipline and with which they can advance their ambitions: let them believe that they own a central truth shared by few others and therefore a piece of the future. Add a distant authority figure, in this case a scientist who has written a revolutionary text, or at least a circle of older revolutionaries who have generated the accepted canon. The farther away these icons are from their acolytes, the better. At midcentury, Europe was best of all.

 

I love that description of a circle of friends learning together. The notion of collegiality in colleges seems endangered to me, though I’m no expert.

Wilson wrote about science as a social activity. If I had another life to live, researching that activity — that cycle of learning and discovering — would be a good way to spend it

• Source: Edward O. Wilson, Naturalist; Washington, D.C.: Island Press/Shearwater Books, 1994, pp. 107-8.

For an explanation of cuckoos and tent caterpillars, see “The case of the missing caterpillars,” July 22, 2026. It’s here:

https://hebertaylor.blogspot.com/2026/07/the-case-of-missing-caterpillars.html

A caterpillar with horns

 Foresters speak of “skeletonized” leaves. If you see an oak with leaves that have been eaten back to the main stem and veins, you’re looking at the work of orange-striped oakworms, Anisota senatoria.

Most of the caterpillars are still in the trees eating, but we were hiking after a storm, which knocked some to the ground.

They were about an inch and a-half long, black with eight yellow stripes. As the common name suggests, some have orange stripes, although the ones we found did not. The caterpillars have two black spines behind the head. I imagined a tiny longhorn.

The moths are about an inch long, reddish brown with a white spot on the forewing. The female lays about 500 eggs — imagine tiny green BBs — on an underside of a leaf. The caterpillars hatch in about a week and start eating.

When they are grown, the caterpillars dig a hole in the ground and pupate, say the entomologists at the University of Georgia. That I have not seen.