The Turn On; a feeling of what happens

When I was in about 6th grade at about age 11 or 12, and just beginning to socialize with my Catholic grade school peers in our neighborhood, but blocks away from home, my mother one evening gave me "the talk" as I was drying dishes before going out. Since I was drying the dishes, that means that my sister, just younger than me, the oldest child in the family, was washing dishes. We alternated the chores. But that my mother would give me "the talk" in the kitchen while I was drying dishes and before I would go out, meant also that my "little" sister was done and out of the kitchen. Looking back on it now I can see that it was a pre-planned ambush.

What my mother told me as I dried that drinking glass -and I do recall that it was a drinking glass- was, "... just remember to keep your zipper closed ..." and, something blurred about "respect". I have never been able to recall what went before, or came after, that phrase. But the phrase stuck, and to my mother's credit, had good effect. Now this "talk" lasted, perhaps, all of 30 seconds, but I seem to remember my feet feeling bolted to the floor. I suppose there was some sort of short preface, and a following promise, but I cannot recall either. There for sure was no eye contact. I do recall be dumb-struck. And then, out of there.

In social conversations, recollections of "the talk" often are followed by unbelieving notions of what our parents couldn't, wouldn't, didn't tell us. In my case, the only snide remark I might make is that my mother's talk, advice perhaps, didn't help me do any better with my own children. But that's about me, not my parents. Still, with my wife, we've raised five children, and now look lovingly at nine grandchildren. Our grandchildren's parents didn't get a "talk" at all, unless that one got more spaced-out than my mother's to me. And my mother's talk hasn't dampened my interest through the years.

Though the years of my college education was through the uproarious late 60s, I was a Navy veteran, and a married man with two children and a job. So I was pretty much one-foot-in-front-of-the-other as I completed my degree in sociology. But I do believe that that degree helped hone my natural inclination to want to know the "how come" of things; including, "where did we come from?" Sort of a depth beyond "What's it all About, Alfie?" My interest was sparked again this month as I read two book reviews in the Spring 2009 edition of The American Scholar. Two books, two separate reviewers, both books appealing to interest in evolution, and both referring to the peacock.

This being the 200th anniversary year of Darwin's birth, and the 150th year celebration of his ground-breaking "On the Origins of the Species", we might expect a rash of writing on evolution. And indeed there has been. But here are just two: The Genial Gene; Deconstructing Darwinian Selfishness by Joan Roughgarden, and The Art Instinct; Beauty, Pleasure and Human Evolution by Denis Dutton. "Gene" is reviewed by Priscilla Long, and "Instinct" is reviewed by Alexander Nehamas. By the presentation -both positive- of the reviewers, I'd say that neither account is convincing, though both interesting for different reasons.

(This last point sidetracks me. You know how, when you finally get that yellow VW Beetle you've wanted since way back; and how after you get it, how you then start seeing yellow VW Beetles all over the place? I've recently come to start knowing William Empson's critique theory of poetry in particular, and literature in general. His focus is on resolving the various ambiguities that are presented by poetry, and one type of ambiguity is that of two meanings that resolve into one. This is brought to my mind by seeing two quite different takes on the matter of evolution, and seeing how they resolve into one provocation. This writing is the result of that provocation.)

Roughgarden apparently wants to upset the notion of sexual selection, and replace it with her own notion of "social selection", in which she suggests that it is choosing a mate for the greatest "infrastructure" stability for the successful rearing of offspring that is operative in furthering a species. In the course of refuting Richard Dawkins' The Selfish Gene -oh, how could she!- she refers to newer studies that disparage the idea that peahen selects the peacock on the basis of his presentation purporting to show himself as "most fit" for continuing the species. To her credit she cites many other such studies in support of sexual selection that she considers for alternative explanations.

Dutton, on the other hand, uses the standard peacock theory to demonstrate that we carry within us, from our evolution during almost two million years through about ten thousand years ago (the Pleistocene Era), an instinct for art. Presumably, as the peahen of the standard theory has an appreciation for the "fittest" peacock, so too, we "know" art, "good" art deep down within ourselves. To be fair, by Nehamas' review, Dutton also draws on more than the peacock for his support of an instinct for art.

Though these two authors have different objectives in mind, they ironically both appeal to the peacock example -amongst other things to support their theories. I could accept that a social selection process occurs in conjunction with sexual selection, or, even, sometimes instead of sexual selection. And I have no doubt that, as a species, we have a developed appreciation for beauty and pleasure. Both are insufficient for my interest as neither penetrates deeply enough. Unlike Daniel J Levitin (2006), in his theory of music, neither of these writers make appeal to brain conditions or neurological development. Perhaps others have too, but I am aware of some of the work of Nicholas Humphrey (1992) and that of Antonio Damasio (1999). Both of these theorize a neurological condition that demonstrates what may be called a neurological indicator of hunger, and a neurological indicator of satiation. Both compelling, and both convincing to the laity.

Science has demonstrated the evolution of the brain -D. Falk (1992)- giving rise to the capacity for language. Neurology has demonstrated the evolutionary developmental cognition capacity of the human brain. It is true that the concept of consciousness remains elusive. But what you and I both know is the feeling of satisfaction when it ripples through our body, whether it is the craft of Flannery O'Connor, Richard Wright or Ted Hughes; whether our bones are shaken by ZZ Top, or Bach, Beau Soliel; whether our senses are gratified by Picasso or Van Gogh. We know that longing, hunger, for what will satisfy us coming from deep within, wending through long-established neuro circuits. And we know, too, the feeling of satisfaction. We sense it. We're sated.

What mom didn't tell me, couldn't tell me; what wasn't being asked of Alfie; and what neither Roughgarden nor Dutton have told me, is how did the first "they" know what to do once the zipper was down? Thank goodness for evolution.