Light speed

There's a claim I've now seen three times on social media that claims the ancient Egyptians knew the speed of light.

This is a pretty outlandish claim right from the get-go, as there is no evidence the Egyptians had invented, or even had access to, any kind of advanced technology.  Plus, even with (relatively) modern technology, the first reasonably decent estimate of the speed of light wasn't made until 1676, when Danish astronomer Olaus Roemer used the difference in the timing of the eclipses of the moons of Jupiter when the Earth was moving toward them as compared to when the Earth was moving away from them, and came up with an estimate of 225,300,000 meters per second -- not too shabby given the limited technology of the time (the actual answer is just shy of 300,000,000 meters per second).

But there's something about those ancient Egyptians, isn't there?  There have been "secrets of the Pyramids" claims around for years, mostly of the form that if you take the area of the base of the Pyramid of Khufu in square furlongs and divide it by the height in smoots, and multiply times four, and add King Solomon's shoe size in inches, you get the mass of the Earth in troy ounces.

Okay, I made all that up, because when I read stuff about the "secrets of the Pyramids" it makes me want to take Ockham's razor and slit my wrists with it.  But I was forced to look at the topic at least a little bit when the aforementioned post about the speed of light started popping up on social media, especially when a loyal reader of Skeptophilia said, "You have got to deal with this."

The gist is that the speed of light in meters per second (299,792,458) is the same sequence of numbers as the location of the Pyramid of Khufu (29.9792458 degrees north latitude).  Which, if true, is actually a little weird.  But let's look at it a tad closer, shall we?

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Jerome Bon from Paris, France, Great Pyramid of Giza (2427530661), CC BY 2.0]

29.9792458 degrees of latitude is really specific.  One degree is approximately 111 kilometers, so getting a measurement of location down to seven decimal places is pretty impressive.  That last decimal place -- the ten-millionths place -- corresponds to a distance of 0.0111 meters, or a little over a centimeter.

So are they sure that last digit is an 8?  Measuring the position of the Great Pyramid to the nearest centimeter is a little dicey, given that the Great Pyramid is big (thus the name).  Even if the claim is that they're measuring the position of the top -- which is unclear -- the location of the top has some wiggle room, as it doesn't come to a perfect point.

But if you're just saying "somewhere on the Great Pyramid," there's a lot of wiggle room.  The base of the Pyramid of Khufu is about 230 meters on an edge, so that means that one-centimeter accuracy turns into "somewhere within 23,000 centimeters."

Not so impressive, really.

There's a second problem, however, which is that the second wasn't adopted as a unit of time until the invention of the pendulum clock in 1656.  The meter as a unit of length wasn't proposed until 1668, and was not adopted until 1790.  (And some countries still don't use the metric system.  I'm lookin' at you, fellow Americans.)  So why would the ancient Egyptians have measured the speed of light -- even assuming they could -- in meters per second, and not cubits per sidereal year, or whatever the fuck crazy units of measurement they used?

So as expected, this claim is pretty ridiculous, and not even vaguely plausible if you take it apart logically.  Not that there was any doubt of that.  The bottom line is that the ancient Egyptians were  cool people, and the pyramids are really impressive, but they weren't magical or advanced or (heaven help us) being assisted by aliens.

No matter what you may have learned from the historical documentary Stargate.

Oh, and for the record, I didn't invent the unit of "smoot" for length.  A smoot is 1.70 meters, which was the height of Harvard student Oliver R. Smoot, who in 1958 got drunk with his fraternity buddies and decided to measure the length of Harvard Bridge in Smoot-heights.  It turned out to be 364.4 smoots long, plus or minus the length of Oliver R. Smoot's ear.

And considering they were drunk at the time, it's pretty impressive that they thought of including error bars in their measurement.  Better than the damn Egyptian-speed-of-light people, who couldn't even get their measurement to within plus or minus 230 meters.

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a charming inquiry into a realm that scares a lot of people -- mathematics.  In The Universe and the Teacup, K. C. Cole investigates the beauty and wonder of that most abstract of disciplines, and even for -- especially for -- non-mathematical types, gives a window into a subject that is too often taught as an arbitrary set of rules for manipulating symbols.  Cole, in a lyrical and not-too-technical way, demonstrates brilliantly the truth of the words of Galileo -- "Mathematics is the language with which God has written the universe."

Aiming for the maximum

In what can only be described as a confluence of terrible news, catastrophically strong Hurricane Florence is now taking direct aim at North Carolina at the same time as the Trump administration has announced its plans to roll back Obama-era methane emission standards.  The reasons for this are the same as the reasons they've done every other damnfool thing they've done; (1) it benefits Trump's corporate sponsors in the petroleum industry, and (2) it allows him to check off another thing that Obama accomplished that he's undone.  Methane is one of the most powerful greenhouse gases known, having a heat-trapping capacity over seventy times higher than carbon dioxide's.

Some methane does occur naturally from decomposition.  This is why thawing of the Arctic permafrost is a grave concern; the anaerobic decomposition of the thick layer of organic matter underneath is feared to create a huge methane spike.  Methane also is present in cow farts, so the beef industry shares some of the blame, here.

But increasing the allowable amount of methane leakage from oil and natural gas drilling makes no sense unless you honestly have a short-term profit über alles attitude toward the habitability of the Earth.  The new proposal is a nasty confection of handouts to the fossil fuel industry at the expense of environmental health.  It includes:

• increasing the time between required inspections on drilling equipment from six months to a year
• increasing the time required for repairing known leaks from thirty to sixty days
• allowing states that have laxer emissions standards to follow those standards instead of the federal ones

Unsurprisingly, the petroleum industry is thrilled by all of this, and projections are that they will recoup nearly all of the $530 million that they'd have had to invest into following the Obama-era regulations.

If that's not enough, last week it was announced that William Happer has joined the National Security Council.  Happer has stated outright that "there's no problem with CO2," and had the following to say about climate change science:

There is no problem from CO2.  The world has lots and lots of problems, but increasing CO2 is not one of the problems.  So [the accord] dignifies it by getting all these yahoos who don't know a damn thing about climate saying, "This is a problem, and we're going to solve it."  All this virtue signaling. You can read about it in the Bible: Pharisees and hypocrites and phonies...  [T]he significance of climate change has been tremendously exaggerated, and has become sort of a cult movement in the last five or ten years.

If a monster storm at the same time as all of this isn't sufficiently ironic for you -- increasing strength of hurricanes, after all, was predicted as an outcome of anthropogenic climate change thirty years ago -- last week a study from the University of Geneva was released that gives us some rather horrifying news about where all this could lead.  The warmest point in (relatively) recent Earth history is the Paleocene-Eocene Thermal Maximum, which occurred 56 million years ago and is thought to have been triggered by a double whammy of intense volcanic activity and destabilization of frozen methane hydrates on the ocean floor.  And I'm not talking about a little warm spell, here; the average global temperature shot up by five to eight degrees in a phenomenally short amount of time, and the recent study found that very quickly broad swaths of equatorial regions became effectively uninhabitable.  By the middle of this event, the amplitude of catastrophic flooding events had increased by a factor of eight, and there were palm trees growing above the Arctic Circle.

And I haven't told you the real kicker; once that maximum was reached, it took several hundred thousand years for the Earth's systems to recover.

Scientists are uncertain where we are with respect to the tipping point -- the point where feedbacks (like the thawing of the permafrost I mentioned earlier) begin to amplify, rather than counteract, the effect of global warming.  I'm convinced that the Trump administration doesn't disbelieve in climate change as much as it simply considers the question irrelevant.  So what if the world warms? seems to be the attitude.

We'll already have banked our share of the profit.  To hell with everyone, and everything, else.

Perhaps as of November, we'll see some new faces in Congress -- with luck, ones who not only care about science, but take the time to understand it.  Between now and then, I can only hope that the damage and loss of life from Florence and the other storms currently brewing in the Atlantic is as low as possible, and that maybe -- just maybe -- enough voters will wake up and see where we're headed before it's too late.

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a charming inquiry into a realm that scares a lot of people -- mathematics.  In The Universe and the Teacup, K. C. Cole investigates the beauty and wonder of that most abstract of disciplines, and even for -- especially for -- non-mathematical types, gives a window into a subject that is too often taught as an arbitrary set of rules for manipulating symbols.  Cole, in a lyrical and not-too-technical way, demonstrates brilliantly the truth of the words of Galileo -- "Mathematics is the language with which God has written the universe."

Mr. Fluffums the psychic

Attention pet lovers: do you want a truly unique, unusual pet?  One that will be the talk of the town?  If so, there's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to buy...

... a psychic cat.

Sadly, I am not joking about this.  On the site Avito, which is a sort of Russian version of Craigslist, there's a guy selling his cat, and one of the selling points is that the cat is allegedly psychic.  The seller, Vladimir, says the cat is pretty special:

It possesses an array of magic powers.  Chiefly among them, is that it sees ghosts and spirit and, as such, it can determine their presence in your home, regardless of whether the apparitions are good or evil...  If you buy him, you need to deal with it, you need good hands.

I'm not entirely certain what the last line means.  It could be a problem with Google Translate, which heaven knows has its issues.  However, maybe it's some kind of warning that the cat is potentially dangerous, and needs to be purchased by someone with a "firm hand."

Unfortunately, though, my experience with cats is that the firmness of your hand has absolutely no effect on their behavior.  The last cat I owned, who was named Geronimo and who died two years ago at the ripe old age of 18, had very expressive eyes, which he used to communicate three things:

1. My food bowl is empty.
2. I hate you.
3. Fuck off and die.

Nothing I did had the least impact on his bad habits, which included clawing the hell out of the furniture and peeing on things when he got in a snit, which was pretty much daily.  I'm honestly glad that Geronimo wasn't psychic, because he'd have probably used his powers to stare at me balefully until my skull exploded.

But I digress.

[Image is in the Public Domain]

Anyhow, you must be wondering why Vladimir is selling this amazing animal, whom he has named "Sibgeo," given that he clearly believes in its powers himself.  He doesn't want to, he says, but he's moving to an apartment where pets aren't allowed, so he's trying to find Sibgeo a new home.  Which I suppose is nice enough.  But I haven't told you how much he's asking for it:

Five million rubles, which comes to about seventy-five thousand dollars.

I don't know about you, but I would not pay seventy-five thousand dollars for a cat, even if I had seventy-five thousand dollars of discretionary income available, which I don't.  Hell, I wouldn't pay seven hundred and fifty dollars.  Actually, toward the end of Geronimo's life I considered paying someone to take him, but my wife would have objected, and given that she was the one person in the universe who Geronimo tolerated, I couldn't exactly argue with her about it.

Initially I scoffed at the idea that anyone would pay that kind of money for a cat, psychic or not, but then I found out that last year, another psychic cat in Russia (I guess they're more common there) sold for eighty-three thousand dollars.  So I guess that's the going rate.  Or maybe Vladimir has a cat he doesn't want, and is trying to cash in on the psychic thing since it worked for the first guy.

But the whole thing brings up a question: how would you tell if a cat is psychic?  It's not like you'd think, "Wow, that cat is really getting fat, I should put him on a diet," and the cat would say, "I heard that, asshole."  Apparently, the way Vladimir knows is just that the cat acts weird sometimes.  For example, Vladimir was considering buying a house, and brought Sibgeo along, and Sibgeo started "behaving oddly."  Vladimir later found out that the house had been owned by a family whose grandmother "led a bad life," and Sibgeo was trying to warn him.

Why the grandmother's behavior had anything to do with it, since (1) she was dead, and (2) the rest of the family was moving out, I have no idea.  Maybe Sibgeo could tell us.

The more global problem is that a pet's odd behavior really doesn't tell you much.  In my experience, pets in general act weird more or less all of the time, and I doubt that any of it means they're psychic.  My guess is that domestication has kind of short-circuited them genetically, and all of them are eccentric, just in different ways.  (Ask your coworkers about "odd pets they've owned" if you doubt me.  You'll be there all day listening to stories.)

For example, another cat I owned, Puck, looked like this sleek, graceful, elegant black cat until she turned and looked at you.  First, I think she had mild strabismus, because her eyes never seemed to quite line up.  Second, she had one missing fang, so most of the time her tongue poked out of her mouth on that side.  Third, she had a creaky, irritable meow that sounded like "mehhhhhffff."  Fourth, she expressed affection by jumping into your lap, digging her claws into your leg, and then ramming the top of her head into your face.  She was actually quite a sweet-natured animal, but even people who loved cats had to admit that Puck looked and acted like she had a screw loose.

So that's today's news from the World of the Weird, Pet Edition.  Seventy-five thousand dollar psychic cats.  Me, I'm gonna stick with my dogs.  I don't have to worry about what they're thinking, because I already know, given that each of them came equipped with only a single thought.  Guinness's is "Let's play ball!"  It's his answer to everything.  Lena's is "Derp?"  She always has this comical perplexed-but-happy look on her face, as if she has no idea what's going on, but is determined to enjoy it anyhow.

I'll take that over a ghost-spotting cat any day.

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a charming inquiry into a realm that scares a lot of people -- mathematics.  In The Universe and the Teacup, K. C. Cole investigates the beauty and wonder of that most abstract of disciplines, and even for -- especially for -- non-mathematical types, gives a window into a subject that is too often taught as an arbitrary set of rules for manipulating symbols.  Cole, in a lyrical and not-too-technical way, demonstrates brilliantly the truth of the words of Galileo -- "Mathematics is the language with which God has written the universe."

Science bias

I come on pretty strongly in favor of science most of the time.  While I try to temper my obvious pro-science stance with an admission that the scientists are only human and therefore fallible, I've been known to use phrases like "the only game in town" with respect to science as a pathway to knowledge.

It may be, however, that I'll have to tone it down a little, considering a study that appeared in eNeuro last week.  Entitled, "Why Is It So Hard to Do Good Science?", by Emory University professor of pharmacology Ray Dingledine, this paper posits that science is inherently susceptible to confirmation bias -- the very thing the scientific method was developed to control.

[Image is in the Public Domain]

Dingledine's claim is that scientists introduce bias into experiments inadvertently because their preconceived notions about what they think they're going to find alter how they approach the question -- all the way down to the level of what equipment they use.  James Burke pointed this out, in his wonderful series The Day the Universe Changed.  "At this stage, you're looking for data to support your theory, so you design instruments to find the kind of data you reckon you're going to find," Burke says.  "The whole argument comes full circle when you get the raw data itself.  Because it isn't raw data.  It's what you planned to find from the start."

A lot of scientists bristle at this kind of criticism, and point out examples of scientists finding data that didn't fit the existing model, resulting in the model being overhauled or thrown out entirely.  Burke does as well; he cites plate tectonics, a model that arose from magnetometer data from the ocean floor that couldn't be explained with the understanding of geology at the time.

But the thing is, those instances stand out precisely because they're so uncommon.  Major revisions of the model are actually really infrequent -- which a lot of us rah-rah-science types have celebrated as a vindication that the scientific approach works, because it's given us rock-solid theories that have withstood decades, in some cases centuries, of empirical work.

Dingledine poniards that idea neatly.  He writes:

“Good science” means answering important questions convincingly, a challenging endeavor under the best of circumstances.  Our inability to replicate many biomedical studies has been the subject of numerous commentaries both in the scientific and lay press.  In response, statistics has re-emerged as a necessary tool to improve the objectivity of study conclusions. However, psychological aspects of decision–making introduce preconceived preferences into scientific judgment that cannot be eliminated by any statistical method.

It's possible to counter this tendency, Dingledine says, but not in any sense easy:

The findings reinforce the roles that two inherent intuitions play in scientific decision-making: our drive to create a coherent narrative from new data regardless of its quality or relevance, and our inclination to seek patterns in data whether they exist or not.  Moreover, we do not always consider how likely a result is regardless of its P-value.  Low statistical power and inattention to principles underpinning Bayesian statistics reduce experimental rigor, but mitigating skills can be learned.  Overcoming our natural human tendency to make quick decisions and jump to conclusions is a deeper obstacle to doing good science; this too can be learned.

Which just shows that bias runs deeper, and is harder to expunge, than most of us want to admit.

Now, I'm not meaning for anyone to switch from scientific experimentation to Divine Inspiration or whatnot.  Nor am I saying that any of the Big Ideas -- the aforementioned plate tectonics, the Newtonian/Einsteinian model of physics, quantum mechanics, molecular genetics, evolution by natural selection -- are wrong in any kind of substantive way.  It's more that we can't afford to get cocky.  What happens when you get cocky is you miss things, including the effect your preconceived notions have on your outlook.

So all of us could use a dose of humility, not to mention self-awareness.  The take-home message here is that we shouldn't take ideas as truthful out of hand, and should be especially wary if they agree with what we already thought was true.  We're all prone to confirmation bias -- and that includes the smartest amongst us.

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a charming inquiry into a realm that scares a lot of people -- mathematics.  In The Universe and the Teacup, K. C. Cole investigates the beauty and wonder of that most abstract of disciplines, and even for -- especially for -- non-mathematical types, gives a window into a subject that is too often taught as an arbitrary set of rules for manipulating symbols.  Cole, in a lyrical and not-too-technical way, demonstrates brilliantly the truth of the words of Galileo -- "Mathematics is the language with which God has written the universe."

The Illuminati visit Denver

In today's episode of How Not To Deal With Conspiracy Theorists, we have: the people who run the Denver Airport claiming that all the conspiracy theories about the place are actually true.

Controversy has been swirling around Denver International Airport for some time now.  Long-time readers of Skeptophilia may recall that two years ago, a loon named William Tapley who calls himself "The Third Eagle of the Apocalypse" (he doesn't specify what happened to Eagle #1 and Eagle #2) said he believed that Donald and Melania Trump were both being controlled by the Illuminati, and he knows this because of a mural in the Denver Airport featuring a woman who looks vaguely like Melania.

But that's only the merest fraction of what's been claimed about the airport.  And to be fair, there's some weird stuff there.  First, there's a horse statue out front that has LED eyes and is really freakin' creepy, and also for some reason bright blue.  Supposedly, the horse statue collapsed on its creator shortly after completion and killed him, and that led to the claim that the statue is cursed.

The horse's name?

"Blucifer."

And as crazy as Tapley is, I have to admit he has a point about the murals.  I mean, when you're rushing to catch a plane, and feeling frustrated and irritable, you wouldn't want to see this:

Or maybe that's just me.  Maybe some air passengers would see this and think, "Okay, maybe my flight has been delayed six hours and I haven't had anything to eat all day but a stale packet of pretzels and now I'm going to be lodged for three hours in a seat that would be cramped for a small child, but at least I'm not being threatened with a scimitar by a Nazi wearing a gas mask."

Anyhow, there were all these ideas floating around that the people who run the airport were in league with the Powers of Darkness, or with the New World Order at the very least.  Some people said that hidden beneath the airport is a portal to hell.  (All I can say is in the "hell" category, Denver Airport is never going to beat Chicago-O'Hare.)  And instead of saying, "Look, will y'all just calm down?  None of this is true," the folks in the airport have been playing it up.

In an area that's under renovation, there are some signs like, "Under construction?  Or... underground tunnels?"  Another one said:

What are we doing?
A) Adding amazing new restaurants and bars
B) Building an Illuminati headquarters
C) Remodeling the lizard people’s lair

"I think that we recognize that conspiracy theories are part of our brand," airport spokesperson Emily Williams told the Denver Post.  "It’s a fun way that we can engage with our passengers."

All I can say is: you don't know these conspiracy theorists.

By playing in, they're going to have every conspiracy theorist in the world thinking that the Illuminati are getting cocky and bragging about how their plans for world domination are going.  The idea that the powers-that-be in Denver are making fun of them would never occur to them.  Conspiracy theorists, in general, are completely unfamiliar with the concept of Poe's Law. 

On the other hand, it's kind of a losing battle anyway.  If you do what the Denver Airport people are doing, which is to say, "Yes, you're right.  We're evil Satanic Illuminati who are trying to destroy the Earth, bwa ha ha ha ha ha," the conspiracy theorists will say, "See?  I told you so!"  If instead you were to say, "Don't be a bunch of nimrods.  We have an airport to run, we have far more pressing issues to attend to than creating portals to hell," the conspiracy theorists will answer, "Of course that's what you would say.  Your denial means you're covering up something."

So you can't win.  But I still don't think it's a good idea to give them more ammunition.  Probably the wisest course of action would be to lay low and go about business as usual, and hope that the conspiracy theorists choose another activity, such as picking at the straps of their straitjackets with their teeth.

But I guess all hope of that ended when they put up the statue of Blucifer.  So what the hell, may as well have a little fun, I guess.

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is part hard science, part the very human pursuit of truth.  In The Particle at the End of the Universe, physicist Sean Carroll writes about the studies and theoretical work that led to the discovery of the Higgs boson -- the particle Leon Lederman nicknamed "the God Particle" (which he later had cause to regret, causing him to quip that he should have named it "the goddamned particle").  The discovery required the teamwork of dozens of the best minds on Earth, and was finally vindicated when six years ago, a particle of exactly the characteristics Peter Higgs had described almost fifty years earlier was identified from data produced by the Large Hadron Collider.

Carroll's book is a wonderful look at how science is done, and how we have developed the ability to peer into the deepest secrets of the universe.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]

Insect rebound

I vividly recall my first visit to the American Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC, perhaps fifteen years ago.  Having a fascination for evolutionary biology and paleontology, I was thrilled to take a walk down the hallway with exhibits of each biological taxon, in phylogenetic order -- put simply, all the groups of living things in the order they come on the family tree of life.

So I'm walking up the hall, and things are progressing the way I'd expect -- bacteria to protozoans to plants to primitive animals, and within Kingdom Animalia, jellyfish to flatworms to roundworms to more complex invertebrates, and then on to fish, amphibians, reptiles, birds, and mammals.

But that wasn't the end of the hall.  The usual approach to the "Great Tree of Life" -- with, of course, mammals at the top of the heap and humans at the top of the mammals, as befits the pinnacle of evolution -- wasn't applied here.  If you progress past mammals, you're into Phylum Arthropoda, those animals with jointed legs and an exoskeleton, which include arachnids, crustaceans, centipedes, millipedes, and the most successful creatures on Earth...

... insects.

Being that it's the end of summer in upstate New York, I can verify that insects are highly successful life forms, given that there are millions of mosquitoes in my back yard alone, every single one of which divebombs my wife whenever she goes outside.  Something about Carol just attracts biting insects.  In fact, she claims that I bring her along to tropical destinations just to draw the mosquitoes away from me.

Which is not true.  Honestly.

In all seriousness, there is incredible diversity amongst insects, and many taxonomists believe that the number of insect species outnumbers all other kinds of animals put together.  Just beetles by themselves -- Order Coleoptera -- represents over 400,000 species, or about 25% of the total animal biodiversity on Earth.

This is the origin of the famous story about biologist J. B. S. Haldane, who was not only a vocal proponent of evolution but was an outspoken atheist.  Haldane frequently had hecklers show up at his talks, and one such asked him at the end, "So, Professor Haldane, what has your study of biology told you about the nature of God?"

Without missing a beat, Haldane replied, "All I can say is that he must have an inordinate fondness for beetles."

Metallic Shield Bug (Scutiphora pedicellata) from Australia [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Benjamint444, Metallic shield bug444, CC BY-SA 3.0]

It's curious that such a diverse and ubiquitous group still has a great many questions unresolved about its origins.  It's known that the big jump in insect diversity came after the Permian-Triassic Extinction of 252 million years ago, the "Great Dying" that wiped out (by some estimates) 95% of life on Earth.  There's a common pattern that a sudden burst of species formation always follows a mass extinction, but in this case, because of a poor fossil record following the event, it's been hard to connect later biodiversity to speciation amongst the survivors.

We just got a huge boost in what we know about insect evolution because of the discovery of a fossil deposit in China dating from 237 million years ago, or only ("only!") fifteen million years after the extinction itself.  The site had eight hundred fossils representing 28 different insect families that had survived the bottleneck, including the ancestors of modern beetles, flies, and cockroaches.

The study, done jointly by Zheng Daran and Wang Bo of the State Key Laboratory of Paleobiology and Stratigraphy in Nanjing, China and Chang Su-Chin of the University of Hong Kong, is only a preliminary analysis of the fossils at the site, and has already helped to connect the dots between pre-Permian-Triassic insects and more modern ones.  As Elizabeth Pennisi, senior correspondent for Science magazine, writes:

The sites underscore that this burst of evolution took place much earlier than researchers had thought, particularly for water-loving insects.  Among the remains are fossil dragonflies, caddisflies, water boatmen, and aquatic beetles.  Until now, paleontologists had thought such aquatic insects didn’t diversify until 130 million years ago.  These insects—which include both predators and plant eaters—helped make freshwater communities more complex and more productive... moving them toward the ecosystems we see today.

It's always fascinating when we add something to our knowledge of past life, and even more impressive when it's about one of the most diverse groups that has ever existed.  Seeing how life rebounded after the Permian-Triassic Extinction should also give us hope -- that even after a cataclysm, the survivors can still come back and rebuild Earth's biodiversity.

Or, as Ian Malcolm put it in Jurassic Park, "Life finds a way."

*********************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is part hard science, part the very human pursuit of truth.  In The Particle at the End of the Universe, physicist Sean Carroll writes about the studies and theoretical work that led to the discovery of the Higgs boson -- the particle Leon Lederman nicknamed "the God Particle" (which he later had cause to regret, causing him to quip that he should have named it "the goddamned particle").  The discovery required the teamwork of dozens of the best minds on Earth, and was finally vindicated when six years ago, a particle of exactly the characteristics Peter Higgs had described almost fifty years earlier was identified from data produced by the Large Hadron Collider.

Carroll's book is a wonderful look at how science is done, and how we have developed the ability to peer into the deepest secrets of the universe.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]

Notes from the multidimensional realm

In today's episode of Missives From Insane People Who Still Somehow Get A National Platform, we have: Paul McGuire, self-styled "End Times author," who appeared last week on the Jim Bakker Show.

It bears mention that Bakker himself is nuttier than squirrel shit.  Bakker, you may remember, is the one who predicted a couple of years ago that we atheists were imminent to start publicly beheading Christians.  As of right now, my total is a shameful Zero Christians Beheaded, which either means Bakker is a fucking loon or else I'm way behind on my Decapitation Quota.

Then, last year, Bakker railed against liberals for "blaspheming against Donald Trump."  Direct quote, that, despite the fact that the Merriam-Webster Dictionary of English says that "blaspheme" means "to speak irreverently about God or sacred things."  Which elevates Trump just slightly beyond his station.  Oh, and if that weren't enough, Bakker's also the one who claimed that the U. S. government was being run by witches.

So it's not like Bakker himself is exactly a pinnacle of normality.  But his guest, Paul McGuire, makes Bakker look like Mr. Sane Rationality 2018 by comparison.

Although it bears mention that Bakker treated everything McGuire said as if it were revealed truth, so maybe they're not that far apart after all.

In any case, here's what McGuire had to say:

President Trump is currently engulfed in the greatest spiritual battle in the history of all mankind...   The physical battles that we see in our world and nation right now are a direct manifestation of the spiritual battles going on in the invisible realm...  There are people very high up in what is called the globalist occult or globalist Luciferian rulership system, and this rulership system consists of what used to be called the Pharaoh-God Kings, it’s what Aldous Huxley called "The Scientific Dictatorship," and these are advanced beings who know how to tap into supernatural multidimensional power and integrate it with science, technology, and economics. 

The highest level of the pyramidic organizational structure in which the highest ranking officers, if you will, of the New World Order and Mystery Babylon are ruling the earth through an organizational structure that looks like the pyramid on the back of the U.S. dollar.  And they control the world because they understand that the true control of the world is done through supernatural mechanisms.

So there you have it.

You know, I have to admit that if I were a Luciferian multidimensional being in charge of Mystery Babylon, I would definitely use my supernatural Pyramid Powers to smite the shit out of Donald Trump.  It may seem petty of me, and there are probably more worthy targets, but I'd love to use occult magic to seal his mouth shut.  Or make it so every time he tweets, no matter what he writes, it comes out "I [heart] the New World Order."  Or attach a thousand-watt LED to his forehead that lights up every time he tells a lie.

Of course, it'd be lit so often that it'd interfere with air traffic.  So that'd be bad.

Looks like Lucifer has been hitting the gym lately.  (Fallen Angel, Alexandre Cabanel, 1847) [Image is in the Public Domain]

But what strikes me about McGuire's claim is that despite all of his dire warnings... nothing is happening.  Trump is still in office, his toadies in Congress are looking like they've greased the rails for Brett "Documents Withheld" Kavanaugh to be appointed to the Supreme Court, and the administration as a whole has undone decades of progress on environmental and social issues without anyone being able to stop them, or even slow them down.  So if there really are Luciferian multidimensional beings, I would be really glad if they'd get off their asses and do something about this.  Because it's increasingly looking like we've invented time travel, and transported the entire nation back to 1830.

In any case, that's the view from the lunatic fringe for today.  Now, y'all'll have to excuse me, because I'm late for a meeting of the Pyramidic Organizational Structure.  I hope one of the other Invisible Realm Operatives brings donuts.

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is part hard science, part the very human pursuit of truth.  In The Particle at the End of the Universe, physicist Sean Carroll writes about the studies and theoretical work that led to the discovery of the Higgs boson -- the particle Leon Lederman nicknamed "the God Particle" (which he later had cause to regret, causing him to quip that he should have named it "the goddamned particle").  The discovery required the teamwork of dozens of the best minds on Earth, and was finally vindicated when six years ago, a particle of exactly the characteristics Peter Higgs had described almost fifty years earlier was identified from data produced by the Large Hadron Collider.

Carroll's book is a wonderful look at how science is done, and how we have developed the ability to peer into the deepest secrets of the universe.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]