Steve McEllistrem

The Devereaux Dilemma

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The Gold Doubloon

Posted on by steve-mcellistrem

You might not believe this but I found a gold doubloon the other day – an old Spanish coin dated 1537. It had been dented by a musket ball fired at Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor. How do I know that? Well, again, this is somewhat unbelievable, but the doubloon was sitting atop a document detailing its provenance.

This coin is priceless. And I just happened to stumble across it in a wealthy neighborhood a few blocks away from where I live. Actually, it’s more of a gated community a few miles away from where I live.

I enjoy going out late at night to exercise, avoiding the heat of the day. I sometimes climb a fence and explore the rich part of town, keeping to the shadows as much as possible so that the residents won’t freak out if they see me, a stranger, moving through their fiefdom.

And I don’t just walk or run either. I like to vary my gait, sometimes sauntering along, other times sprinting. It’s well known that exercising in this fashion is more effective than simply going at the same pace all the time.

They call this kind of movement a fartlek, which is Swedish for “speed play” and just means that you intersperse quick movements with slower movements. It looks weird, however, so that’s one of the reasons I do it at night.

Another thing I do is work on my upper body. I bring along a rope and a grapnel folding anchor that I sometimes throw into tree branches, whereupon I pull myself up, working my shoulders, arms, hands and chest muscles. It’s great exercise.

But cops, even private ones, frown on this behavior. They assume you’re a criminal just because you like to engage in activity that isn’t the norm. I happen not to like softball or swimming or tennis so I do unusual athletic activities. What’s so strange about that?

At any rate, I left home shortly after sunset and drove to this neighborhood where I’ve been exercising recently. I climbed a fence – well, more of a ten-foot wall – using my grapnel anchor and rope to haul myself over. Tucking that into my backpack, I began a slow jog down tree-lined streets.

I ascended a few trees and edged across a sturdy branch onto one roof, where I noticed that an attic window had been left open, so I decided to be helpful. After I closed it, I departed the scene. But my thoughtful gesture must have triggered a silent alarm because within just a few minutes, several cop cars appeared, searchlights detecting my presence almost immediately.

I know what you’re thinking but no, they didn’t find anything on me. What am I, a common criminal? I surrendered without incident, explaining my exercise routine, and after eight hours of questioning and a fruitless search of my person, home and vehicle, I was released with an admonition never to return to that community.

But old habits die hard and a couple weeks later, I found myself back there, up a tree, near the very top, where few would ever dare to climb. And there, to my surprise, I discovered the doubloon and its provenance beneath a black backpack containing a grapnel hook and some rope. Since they didn’t seem to belong to anyone, I liberated them and took them home with me.

I don’t think I’ll be returning to that neighborhood again.

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Our Faith Is Our Downfall

Posted on by steve-mcellistrem

Most of us believe strongly in either God or Science. A few of us believe strongly in both. That ought to be a comfort, but it really isn’t.

Christians see the world through the framework of the Bible, Muslims through the Koran, Jews through the Torah. Same God, different books and beliefs. There are many other religions with many other devout followers, each ascribing meaning to the world through the lens of faith.

They believe God (or Gods) will ultimately act to save the world and them. Whatever mistakes we make, God can fix, so we needn’t worry too much about the vicissitudes that alter our reality.

This is the kind of thinking that leads to thoughts and prayers following mass shootings, for example. If we just think and pray enough, God will make everything better. We simply need to put ourselves in his hands and let him heal us.

Science births a different kind of faith – that we can understand the world and ultimately master it. So far, this has generally proven to be true.

In 1968, Paul Ehrlich published The Population Bomb, warning that hundreds of millions might die of starvation in the 1970s. And in that decade, China instituted a one-child policy. But advances in fertilizers and agriculture allowed for greater efficiencies; we were able to produce more produce on fewer acres. The crisis was averted.

Or look at the “ozone hole,” which was reported in 1985 by Joseph Farman, Brian Gardiner and Jonathan Shanklin of the British Antarctic Survey. Their work showed that CFCs were to blame. CFCs were eventually banned, and the ozone hole (which protects us from deadly radiation and makes life on land possible) began to heal.

Whenever there has been a life-threatening challenge, we have been able to overcome it, so we begin to feel like that will always be the case. But decay doesn’t always happen in a linear fashion. You get a few small earthquakes, and then a few more, and then one day you get a massive temblor, causing horrific destruction.

But we don’t expect that. We don’t really plan for the worst-case scenario. We assume science will find a solution when we need one. So instead, we march on like we always have. We give ourselves permission not to act because we believe we’ll ultimately figure out a way to fix whatever breaks.

We continue to engage in industrial capitalism, striving for exponential growth. We decide that we can manage the side effects of our current lifestyles with future developments like geoengineering.

If the world warms too much, we’ll just build a shield in space to deflect some of the sun’s rays. If the water rises too high, we’ll just construct a better dam and levee system. If more and more wildfires occur, we’ll just invent better fire-resistant buildings. And ultimately, we’ll move out to Mars and beyond, where we’ll be able to survive even if Earth becomes uninhabitable.

We presume we can keep living the way we have for the past few centuries, making more stuff, taking more resources, excreting more waste. Technology will save us from ourselves, we think. So we don’t change. We don’t pull back from our acquisitive hedonism. Full steam ahead. We’ll worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

And if it’s too late then? Well, we tried. We gave it our best effort. Except, of course, that we didn’t.

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Here is the link to the Amazon page: ==> http://smarturl.it/DECtg

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Summer Heatwaves

Posted on by steve-mcellistrem

Here we are in the swelter of a Minneapolis summer, temperatures reaching the 90s, dewpoints in the 70s, humidity suffocating, hot breezes offering no more than the hope of relief as they ripple across our bodies while we pretend they’re cooling us off. Lethargic and dull, we seek out shade.

This was what we yearned for in January and February as we shoveled snow and urged our cars to start just one more day, as we scraped windows clear of frost and rime, as we cursed the darkness of sunsets in the afternoon.

Back then, we promised we wouldn’t complain about summer’s furnace if only we could be warm for a little while. We sat before our largest window in the early afternoon, taking advantage of the weak sunlight streaming in at an acute angle, and pretended we were on a beach, closing our eyes, imagining the feel of the sand beneath our feet, the sound of water lapping against the shore, the call of a seabird in the distance.

Now – and mind you, we’re not officially complaining – we dream of winter, or at least November, when we can always put on another layer to stay warm. In this summer sauna, we are limited. You can’t take off any more clothes than all of them. And of course we don’t take all of them off anyway.

We wear shorts and wifebeaters maybe, flip-flops on our feet. We dance from air-conditioned office to air-conditioned home to air-conditioned restaurant or movie theater, telling ourselves it could be worse; we could live in Phoenix or Baghdad. Just as in winter we congratulate ourselves for at least not living in Fairbanks or Moscow.

We have become indoor people, like pets, going outside when we have to, but no longer comfortable out there for any length of time. A few of us note that we’ve spent thousands of years making our indoors better and more luxurious. Why go outside when our indoor spaces are so enjoyable?

And we’re likely to become even more attached to our indoor places with every succeeding generation, partly because we’ve grown more accustomed to our devices, our smartphones and our tablets, offering new games, new diversions, new applications.

But the bigger reason we’re likely to become more indoorsy is because our climate is changing. For the past 12,000 years or so, it’s been remarkably stable, with swings that haven’t gone too far in any direction. However, global warming is already making itself felt.

As the arctic warms, the jet stream weakens, and weather patterns become more persistent. Dry areas become drier. Wet areas become wetter. Some places will experience day after day of flooding rain. Others will be stuck in week after week of drought.

Even cold air patterns will linger for longer periods, though they will be far less numerous than hot weather patterns. The relatively mild days we’ve grown accustomed to are rapidly vanishing, at least by geological time.

In 20 or 30 years, we’ll look back at these good old days as we struggle with harsher climatic conditions. Stuck in the middle of 20-day heatwaves of 90-plus degree weather, we’ll reminisce about these mini heatwaves and wish we could return to them.

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Waiting

Posted on by steve-mcellistrem

Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m waiting for something, as if some important event is about to happen and I need to be prepared for it, but not knowing what that event might be makes it difficult to gather the necessary accoutrements.

I wonder if this sensation is a reflection of age or whether it’s an unease that derives from our collective angst. Is the divide we face merely political or do we have greater differences than seem apparent on the surface? I don’t feel much different than I did 10 or 20 or even 30 years ago.

It seems like I’m the same person. Just older. Perhaps a bit wiser. And yet, I detect more tension in the air, more dissension, more circling of the wagons by the various tribes that populate our world, as if we’re all under attack by some foreign mob – a figurative one.

I remember when Ronald Reagan was elected, a lot of democrats were concerned he’d start a nuclear war, and yet his policies helped take down the Soviet Union. And when Bill Clinton was elected, a lot of republicans thought he’d torpedo the economy, and yet his policies helped usher in tremendous prosperity.

I’m not necessarily praising these presidents; they did some bad things. Both of them. I’m just saying the things we feared did not come to pass, the doubts we harbored turned out to be unfounded, at least to the extent we prognosticated.

Fast forward to the era of Obama and Trump, and the unsettled emotions have only intensified. The “Muslim” president did not in fact install Sharia law and, so far, the orange blimp has not destroyed democracy, though he still has time to corrode the institution.

We have learned that the brains of conservatives and liberals are slightly different. Parts of each are more or less highly developed, triggering responses that are almost Pavlovian, which we seem unable to transcend.

Will those differences accelerate over the years? Will we essentially become two different species? That sounds insane to my ears and yet who knows what kind of changes might ensue from small differences if they’re allowed free rein? Perhaps in a few millennia, we might split into different subspecies.

But I digress. What concerns me is the fear that we’re working at cross purposes without being aware of the long-term consequences. We get wrapped up in short-term arguments over issues that will be meaningless in twenty years. Meanwhile, the plans we ought to be making for our progeny remain undrafted.

It feels like I ought to be doing something to solve at least a few of the intractable problems that face our world. And yet, what can I do? I’m just one person, one voice. For the moment, I speak about it; I write about it. But I’m not a fool. I know that counts for very little.

Perhaps that’s a good thing. Changing the world ought to be difficult. Otherwise it would change often – for the worse as frequently as for the better. Maybe any change should require a broad consensus of actors who care enough to make the necessary sacrifices.

But I still feel frustrated. I still feel like something is coming, something big. And I’m not prepared for it.

book 1 in the Susquehanna Virus series

book 1 in the Susquehanna Virus series

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Summer Memories

Posted on by steve-mcellistrem

As a kid in the upper Midwest, I used to revel in summer. I looked forward to the last bell of school and the opportunity to wend my way through my days with minimal structure for the next three months.

Sure, I engaged in some team sports and took swimming lessons, but the bulk of my time was spent playing outside with kids in the neighborhood, most of whom were like me. We played ditch and tag and other games too, I’m sure, though I think we mostly explored.

Living in a suburb near land that had not yet been developed, we had a large area to wander and study. One of our neighbors was a farm boy named Paul who knew a great deal about nature and who wasn’t shy about explaining it to us. He was a couple years older too, so he had a natural authority about him.

We’d climb trees and collect wildlife, looking for new creatures. At one point, we became intrigued by tiger salamanders. Paul told us they sometimes fell into window wells on their way to the pond, so we went from house to house, rescuing them from their prisons, collecting perhaps as many as 200.

If only the story had stopped there. Unfortunately, however, we piled them into a discarded bathtub, leaving them overnight, intending to play with them the next day. The following morning we discovered that a lot of them had died, crushed by their comrades.

We guiltily released the others, but the damage was done. For years afterwards, we rarely saw salamanders in the neighborhood. We did learn, however, from our mistakes. We never took another salamander. We still collected butterflies, fireflies, frogs and even garter snakes, but always in reasonable numbers, and we began letting them go at the end of our day.

Curiosity compelled our actions. We bore our captives no malice. On the contrary, we found them fascinating. We wanted to study them, to see how they navigated their world. If we killed them, it was accidentally. Yet in our enthusiasm, being ignorant children, we harmed many of our subjects.

Perhaps that’s why I never became a hunter, or much of a fisherman, for that matter. I feel like I’ve already committed my share of damage to the world. I look still, but I no longer touch.

I grow milkweed and other insect-friendly plants. I refuse to fertilize my lawn. I lower my thermostat in the winter and use only a small window air conditioner in my bedroom in the summer, just so I can sleep.

Guilt runs deep, even if it doesn’t run all day.

I still live in the neighborhood where I grew up. The ravine where we spent the bulk of our summers is now a freeway, a concrete divider between my home and the Mississippi River, where the only wildlife I can discern are the crazy motorists who talk and text instead of focusing on what they’re supposed to be doing.

And I have two window wells that I check every so often, looking for the elusive tiger salamander, hoping to find one that I can free from its prison and set on the path toward the pond behind my house.

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The Garden Seal

Posted on by steve-mcellistrem

I got a garden seal the other day. I’d been looking forward to it for quite some time, having ordered it months ago, and it finally came, shipped by FedEx and left on my front stoop, blocking the door.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but when I opened the crate, sure enough, there it was: a garden seal. What, you may ask, is a garden seal? Well, as I’ve since learned, it’s kind of like a Hawaiian Monk Seal or a Mediterranean Monk Seal. It’s a subspecies of earless seal genetically engineered specifically for gardens, or more precisely, for fountains in gardens.

My fountain had previously contained just a few sculptures, and I thought it a bit boring. Yes, the statue of Donald Trump peeing on Russian prostitutes brought lots of laughs from visitors, but I wanted to class up the place a little so I ordered the garden seal.

What I didn’t realize when I ordered it was that it was going to be alive. I thought it was just another statue. I guess that’s why it looked so realistic. And I didn’t read the fine print. When I went back and checked, sure enough, there it was – practically impossible to find – a disclaimer that the seal was both a living creature and nonrefundable.

So I have a garden seal now. It took me a while to warm up to it. First of all, you wouldn’t believe how much fish it eats. Secondly, it barks at all hours, for reasons that are often indecipherable. And third, it doesn’t seem to care for me very much. It tolerates me, of course, because I feed it, but it mostly stays away from me, looking out at the street, searching for pedestrians.

It’s become a bit of a nuisance frankly, begging for treats from everyone who wanders by. So I’ve taken to selling pieces of fish like some street vendor, letting my neighbors fund part of the expense. And why not, since they’re the ones benefitting the most from its presence.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the seal would just stay in the damn fountain, but lately it’s been in the habit of exploring the neighborhood at night, flippering from house to house in search of better grub.

The woman across the street told me it invaded her backyard the other day while she was trying to enjoy a picnic with her family. The seal somehow opened the back gate, barked at their dog to scare it away, then plopped its head down into the chocolate cake, snuffling and grunting happily as it devoured every last morsel. She generously refrained from calling the cops because her children found the experience delightful, but she warned me not to let the beast loose again.

Yet every time I try to chain it up, it attacks me, baring its fangs and charging me. I tried everything I could to get rid of it. The company that sold it to me went out of business. The zoo said they’re full up of seals and then reported me to the humane society.

Other people have called the police multiple times the past few weeks, and they threaten to arrest me every time they show up. They probably would have if they could have found someone to care for the creature. Instead they’ve ignored my entreaties to take the animal with them and issued me several citations for harboring a nuisance.

That said, I sort of like having the seal now. After all, it’s a friggin’ seal! In my yard! In my fountain! I wanted something that made a statement and I got it. So I really can’t complain. Seals are awesome! Everyone should think about getting one.

Oh, by the way, if anyone out there is interested in a garden seal, I’m sure I could find one for you cheap.

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Here is the link to the Amazon page: ==>  http://smarturl.it/EMEtg

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The Dandelion Yard

Posted on by steve-mcellistrem

People put a lot of attention into their yards, using them as a way of defining themselves and a way of presenting themselves to the world. Yards aren’t just yards for most people; they’re statements.

They plant shrubs and flowers, trees and pools, boulders and sculptures – but mostly they plant grass. Fescue and rye, bentgrass and kikuyu, zoysia and bluegrass. Different shades of green that they water and fertilize, nurturing the sod and obliterating the weeds that dare show themselves.

Infestations of dandelions and creeping Charlie, crabgrass and quackgrass, clover and broadleaf plantain: all these must be destroyed so as to display the most perfect lawn for the world (or at least the neighborhood) to see.

This conception of a beautiful lawn arises from the lawns we’ve seen of European gardens, like Versaille and Buckingham Palace, where tremendous effort has produced amazing vistas and lush growth, grounds truly worthy of the royalty who reside therein.

But a few people see their yards differently; these people like dandelions and creeping Charlie. They see the proliferation of color – yellow and purple and green – and wonder why anyone wants to settle for a lawn that’s only green, only grass, regimented and fertilized and groomed to within an inch of its life.

They’re willing to incur the wrath of their neighbors over the windblown seeds of destruction that emanate from their tiny but oh so numerous weapons.

Another group concedes that green lawns look prettier to our conditioned eyes, but they refuse to put chemicals on their lawns, not wishing to contribute to increased algae growth in lakes and streams. The fancy word for the problem is eutrophication – excessive richness of nutrients in a body of water that can cause dense growth of plant life and the death of animal life due to a lack of oxygen.

According to NOAA, 65 percent of US estuaries and coastal water bodies are moderately to severely degraded by excessive nutrient inputs, which lead to algal blooms and low-oxygen (hypoxic) waters that can kill fish and seagrass and reduce essential fish habitats.

Most of the problem seems to be nitrogen and phosphorus, which often comes from fertilizer runoff, septic system effluent and atmospheric fallout from burning fossil fuels. These nutrients cause increased algae growth, which blocks sunlight, eventually killing plants, which are then eaten by bacteria, which use up the remaining oxygen and give off carbon dioxide.

I live on a small lake (more of a pond) that gets covered in algae by early June, essentially becoming a swamp. I watch my neighbors fertilize their yards, preserving their precious grass, criticizing my dandelion and creeping Charlie-covered lawn as an eyesore while they bemoan the sorry state of the lake, wondering why someone doesn’t do something about it.

I no longer engage in futile arguments with them over the proper way to maintain one’s property. I just smile and walk away.

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Sleep

Posted on by steve-mcellistrem

I’ve been looking into sleep lately and relearned a few things I thought I’d pass on. First, circadian rhythms are our bodies’ biological clocks, which work with light and darkness to naturally put us to sleep and wake us up. Second, melatonin is a sleep hormone, while cortisol is a hormone that helps us wake up. And third, artificial light of all kinds affects our circadian rhythms, which control the timing of many physiological processes.

It’s pretty widely known that we’re not getting enough sleep. Less well known is that one of the major causes is the blue light emanating from our electronic devices, which has been shown to trigger sleeplessness. Blue light suppresses melatonin production for more than twice as long as other light wavelengths and alters circadian rhythms by twice the degree. It can also increase the frequency of waking during the night.

Further, blue light prevents body temperature from dropping at night. Part of how we settle into sleep is by gradually lowering our body temperature. When that process gets disrupted, we don’t sleep as well. And since we sleep fewer hours than we should anyway, anything that diminishes our quality of sleep is dangerous.

So how do we overcome this disruption to our sleep patterns?

What I find helpful is to read in bed on an old-fashioned, information-dispensing device – not an iPad or phone. I’m talking about paper and ink, getting away from my electronics as a way of preparing my brain for slumber. Yes, there are blue-light-blocking glasses that help, and I could set my lights to gradually turn off at a certain time too, though I would still need the blue-light filters if I wanted to read off a screen.

So, a book, huh? Or a magazine? How quaint. And yet, very effective at inducing slumber for me. I find the best kind of reading before bed is nonfiction or poetry, something interesting enough that I’m willing or even eager to get back to it every night, but not so captivating that I’ll stay up late to find out what happens next.

Less helpful is reading a novel. With most fiction, I have to remember who all the characters are and what they did last and who’s trying to destroy whom and who’s in love with whom. By the time I recall all that, I’m too tired to read.

I particularly enjoy nonfiction – short pieces/essays I can read in a few minutes. That way, if I’m not tired after finishing one, I can move on to a second or even third piece. However, even longer books will work since I can read a few pages and put the volume down without worrying about whether I’m going to remember what I read last night.

I like reading about the world, and recent research bears out that we retain information better if we sleep shortly after learning something new. Sleep apparently helps consolidate memory. So you not only learn something, but you retain it better than you otherwise would.

That said, there are certain things you might not want to read unless you like having nightmares. Like, for example, political material. Sweet dreams.

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The Inertia of Life

Posted on by steve-mcellistrem

We wait.

We keep expecting something to happen, something better than what we’re experiencing in the present, a change in fortune or circumstance, an idea perhaps that we can pursue to a satisfactory conclusion.

After all, this can’t be all there is to life. Getting up in the morning, going to work, eating, sleeping, playing, loving, navigating the same old neighborhoods with the same circle of companions, doing things pretty much the same way year in and year out until retirement, at which point we sit in a chair and wait to die.

There ought to be something greater, something that will make a difference to the world, but what? If we just leave our homes and begin walking, what will we find? Maybe we’ll encounter someone who can tell us what we should be doing with our lives. On the other hand, it’s possible we’ll just walk until we lay down by the side of the road and get picked up by the police for loitering.

We think we might be at an important crossroad, where we can either continue on as we’re going or change direction, and yet despite the impulse to change, to go in a more fulfilling direction, we keep to our path. We think about doing something greater, something altruistic, but we don’t actually do it.

We consider how wonderful it would be to fight ignorance or save the whales or donate our time to tutor inner city kids, but we just write a check or maybe we only think about writing a check. We don’t go to the trouble of changing our behavior.

We linger in our present, enduring our ennui, expecting or at least hoping for some sign that now is the time to make the changes we suspect we ought to be making. We’re afraid to set off on our own, without guidance, without confirming that there’s enough support out there to get us through the journey.

All we need is a push, and then we’ll do it. But if we change and no one else does, if we stop fertilizing our grass and using our power lawnmowers and no one else sacrifices for the sake of the greater good, then we’re suckers. If we donate a portion of our savings to help fight illiteracy and no one else does, then haven’t we thrown away our money? Because after all, how much help can our donation provide?

We want to do more, we really do, but we don’t want to engage in pointless gestures. If we give our money away to help the poor, won’t we then be poor? If we quit our jobs and join Greenpeace to try to save the whales when other countries continue to hunt them, have we thrown away our careers?

Inertia is a powerful force.

We admire those who make the sacrifice, who pursue the noble cause. We wish we had that kind of courage, but we accept that we don’t. Instead we applaud their efforts and say that we will join them one day soon. Not today, but sometime.

And in the meantime, we wait.

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How Is Humanity Doing?

Posted on by steve-mcellistrem

Where are we going? We move through spacetime, consuming energy and dispensing it, growing from blastocysts to embryos to babies to children to adolescents to adults, learning as we proceed, but most of what we learn seems to be little better than what our ancestors learned.

Sure, we have different skillsets than our grandparents. Most of us can do things they never dreamed of, while they did things we can’t conceive of. But have we made progress?

Some of the problems we’re struggling with are different than the ones they encountered but that’s largely because we’ve discovered new information informing us of challenges people didn’t anticipate 50 or 60 years ago. For example, few of us understood the severity of global warming back then. A fair number of us don’t understand it still.

Many of the truths we uncover about ourselves are essentially the same truths espoused by Socrates and Aristotle. We fear the new and different. We hang onto our tribal affiliations. When we reach full adulthood, we achieve wisdom of a sort, but as a species, have we actually grown?

A new generation of celebrities writes books about how we can be our best selves, spouting off “knowledge” that has been passed down for generations and yet continually gets forgotten.

Humans today still engage in despicable acts: terrorism, mass shootings, murder, rape, robbery. Those are just a few radical individuals, you say. Most people are good. Yet we can’t stop those few radicals. They continue on, disrupting our society, while we offer thoughts and prayers for their victims as if those words will somehow magically prevent further violent actions.

We rail against the large companies that enrich the wealthy off the backs of the poor and the middle class even as we continue to buy goods from Walmart and Amazon. We decry the spoilage of nature as we dispose of trash that overflows our landfills. We castigate our elected officials and then re-elect those same people, hoping for change.

We don’t seem able to change the groups we belong to, and we can’t change the world if we can’t change those groups. So how are we better than we used to be? In what way have we progressed as a society?

The truth is that we haven’t. We’re not better than we used to be; we’re not smarter; we’re not more ethical. Yes, we’ve made strides. We no longer believe slavery is good (except for a few outliers who think religious texts justify it). We generally believe in gender equality, though that’s not universal.

But it’s disappointing that we’re still largely the specimens we were a decade ago, a century ago, a millennium ago. The rich and strong still decide the fate of the weak and the poor, who still struggle against the constraints placed upon them by the strong and the wealthy.

We don’t cooperate with each other as much as compete against one another. We work with our tribes to exert control over other tribes, always striving for advantage, never content to assist the whole of humanity unless we can accrue at least the promise of some benefit to ourselves.

We are no better, no more noble, than elephants or lions or chimpanzees. We just think we are. And that maybe makes us worse.

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