[A-List] Stephen Jay Gould

[Mark Aidan Jones <mark@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

[Stephen Jay Gould, the paleontologist has died. This obituary is by 
fellow-Marxist, the geneticist Steven Rose. Mark]


World-renowned, popularising palaeontologist who, controversially, revised 
Darwin's theories and took a political stand on science
Steven Rose
Guardian
Wednesday May 22, 2002
Profesor Stephen Jay Gould, who has died of cancer aged 60, was an unlikely 
figure to have been canonised in his lifetime by the US Congress, which 
named him as one of America's "living legends".
A palaeontologist, he was based for most of his life at the museum of 
comparative zoology (MCZ) at Harvard, where, since 1982, he had been 
Alexander Agassiz professor of zoology. But he was best known to the public 
through his unbroken sequence of 300 monthly essays in Natural History 
magazine, which began in 1974 and ended only last year; they were 
republished in a seemingly unending stream of books, translated into dozens 
of languages and bought by their hundreds of thousands.
A stylish writer, Gould characterised each essay by deriving a seemingly 
abstruse point in natural history or palaeontology via a sideways look at a 
novel, a building, or, often, a reference to his lifelong enthusiasm for 
baseball. He once illuminated the peculiar evolutionary phenomenon in which 
more recently evolved species within a family group steadily decrease in 
size by comparing it to how the manufacturers of Hershey bars avoided price 
rises by making the bars smaller while keeping the costs the same.
As a scientific essayist, Gould's only peers were "Darwin's bulldog", 
Thomas Huxley, in the 19th century and JBS Haldane in the 1930s and 40s. 
The comparison with Haldane is apt in two further ways; both made 
fundamental contributions to evolutionary theory, and both were politically 
engaged both within science and in the broader political arena. Gould's 
critique of the pseudoscience of claims concerning the inheritance of 
intelligence, developed in one of his best-known books, The Mismeasure Of 
Man (1981), became a major source for anti-racist campaigners.
But Gould was no mere word-spinner; as a major public intellectual and 
powerful public speaker, he could be seen at demonstrations and on picket 
lines, especially during the 1960s and 70s. This was the birth of what 
became known as the radical science movement (Science for the People), 
initially in response to the Vietnam war. The movement, and Gould along 
with it, later became embroiled in the cultural fights that raged around 
the publication, in 1975, of EO Wilson's Sociobiology, the forerunner to 
today's evolutionary psychology, and seen by many as offering a scientific 
validation for social inequalities in class, gender and race.
Some saw this as a specifically Harvard-based battle, as Gould occupied the 
MCZ basement and his colleague, and sometimes co-author, Richard Lewontin, 
the first floor - with Wilson sandwiched between them on the ground floor. 
Wilson became distinctly uneasy when entering the elevator in case he might 
have to confront Gould, Lewontin or any of their student supporters.
However, for Gould the issues were never just about politics, but also 
about a different view of the mechanisms and processes of evolution, a view 
that reached its clearest expression in his last and greatest book, The 
Structure Of Evolutionary Theory - at more than 1,400 pages, the greatest 
in every sense - which was published only last month.
This is the most comprehensive statement of Gould's Darwinian revisionism, 
a revisionism that began in graduate school when he and fellow student 
Niles Eldredge developed their critique of one of Darwin's central theses, 
that of gradual evolutionary change. To the concern of his many friends and 
supporters, who had argued that speciation was likely to occur by abrupt 
transitions, Darwin had insisted that "nature does not make leaps".
Gould and Eldredge re-addressed this question, pointing out that the fossil 
record was one of millions of years of stasis, punctuated by relatively 
brief periods of rapid change - hence punctuated equilibrium. To Gould's 
fury, as a loyal child of Darwin, the theory was misappropriated by 
creationists, whom he attacked with characteristic vigour. However, in one 
of his most recent books, Rocks Of Ages (1999), he attempted to come to 
terms with a religion more reconciled to science, reversing the proposition 
of rendering unto Caesar by allowing religion its independent domain.
But punctuated equilibrium made many traditional evolutionists unhappy too; 
they saw it as evidence of Gould's alleged Marxism - revolution rather than 
evolution.
Orthodox biologists also tended to resent the insouciance with which Gould 
upstaged them. Lecturing at the Royal Society, in London in the 1970s, he 
treated the assembled grandees to an account of the architecture of the San 
Marco cathedral, in Venice, in order to make the point that many seemingly 
adaptive features of an organism are, in fact, the byproducts of more 
fundamental structural constraints. The mosaic-filled spaces (spandrels) 
between the arches on which the dome stands may look as if they were 
planned, but they are merely space-fillers, albeit ones put to artistic and 
religious use.
Many features of an organism (its phenotype) may also be structural 
spandrels, others may be "exaptations" - another term coined by Gould, with 
Elizabeth Vrba, to describe features arising in one context but 
subsequently put to a different use. Feathers, originally evolved as a heat 
regulatory device among the reptilian ancestors of today's birds, are a 
good example. But to evolutionists, who believed every feature of an 
organism was honed by what Darwin called "nature's continuous scrutiny", 
this claim, and the style in which it was delivered, was heretical.
The intellectual's development from radical young Turk to mature senior 
academic is traditionally that from iconoclasm to conventional wisdom. Not 
so Steve Gould. The Structure Of Evolutionary Theory is a robust and 
formidable defence of his key contributions to Darwinian revisionism. 
Evolution is not a la carte, but structurally constrained; not all 
phenotypic features are adaptive, but may instead be spandrels or 
exaptations - or even contingent accidents, like the asteroid collision 
believed to have wiped out the dinosaurs, thus making space for mammals and 
ultimately humans.
Wind the tape of history back, Gould insists, allow it to free-run forward 
again, and it is, in the highest degree, unlikely that the same species 
will evolve. Chance is crucial, and there is nothing inherently progressive 
about evolution - no drive to perfection, complexity or intelligent life.
Above all, he argues, natural selection works at many levels. Because 
genetics has come to dominate much of the life sciences, for many 
biologists organisms have become almost irrelevant, save as instruments 
serving the purposes of their genes - splendidly encapsulated in Richard 
Dawkins' famous description of humans as "lumbering robots" - the gene's 
way of making copies of itself. Evolution itself has come to be defined as 
a change in gene frequency in a population.
By contrast, Gould argues for a hierarchical view; that evolution works on 
genes, genomes, cell lineages and, especially, on species. Ignoring 
speciation, he says, is like playing Hamlet without the prince. This is the 
central theoretical issue underlying all the polemics that characterise 
what have come to be known as the "Darwin wars", pitting Gould against 
Dawkins as his principal adversary, although in reality - and to the 
chagrin of creationists - both are children of Darwin, and agree on far 
more than they disagree.
Cutting-edge researchers are often ignorant of their own science's history. 
Perhaps it was because he was a palaeontologist that Gould returned so 
often in his writing to the history of his own subject. His was not the 
sort of whiggish, anecdotal approach by which senior scientists tend to 
ossify the progression from past obscurity to present clarity, but a deeper 
attempt to understand the twists and turns of theory and evidence, which 
ensure that even our present-day knowledge is provisional, and like life 
itself, historically constrained.
Born in Queens, New York, and educated through the city's superb public 
school system, Gould trained as a geologist at Antioch College, Ohio, took 
a doctorate in palaeontology at Columbia University, New York, in 1967, and 
spent a brief period at Leeds University before moving to Harvard.
In 1982, he was diagnosed with mesothelioma, rumoured to have been 
precipitated by the asbestos lining of the specimen cabinets in the MCZ 
basement. The disease has a median survival time of eight months; as Gould 
later wrote, he was committed to being one of those who survived long 
enough to help show that statistic medians are not means, after all. The 20 
years before cancer finally caught up with him were packed with more than 
most public intellectuals and scientists can hope to achieve in a lifetime, 
and a small galaxy of prizes.
He was married twice, and is survived by his former wife Deborah, their 
sons Jesse and Ethan, his second wife Rhonda, and his stepchildren, Jade 
and London.
Steve Jones writes: The world of snail genetics has lost its leading light. 
Not, perhaps, how most obituarists will celebrate him, but true 
nevertheless. Gould was, like Darwin, a working scientist; an accumulator 
of facts, in his case about the snails, live or fossilised, of the Bahamas. 
However, and again like Darwin, he became most celebrated not for his own 
research, but for his interpretation of the facts gathered by others.
Evolutionists have the bitter feeling that theirs is the only science left 
in which it is possible to become famous just for having an opinion. Their 
field (or at least the public's image of it) is filled with people with 
strongly-held views who have never done an honest day's work in their 
lives, whether in a rainforest or a laboratory. Gould was not like that. He 
may not have spent five years on the Beagle, but he passed many 
uncomfortable summers kicking through bushes or scraping away at lumps of 
rock.
Whatever its merits, his famous theory of punctuated equilibrium - 
evolution by jerks, as its critics called it; Gould responded with taunts 
about evolution by creeps - gave the then slothful post-Darwinian giant a 
kick, just when and where it needed it. Biology was forced to remind itself 
that many evolutionary questions had been forgotten, and entered an era of 
intense debate.
In the view of most (but not all) in the field, the answer was refreshingly 
conventional: Darwin was, in the end, right, and the problems raised by 
Gould could be solved without toppling the great Victorian from his ped- 
estal. Gould, needless to say, did not agree.
Scientifically, he was - in the eyes of us "creeps" at least - a failure, 
but a heroic one, in the sense that Columbus failed to find India. In 
science, failures can be heroes, too - think of Newton after relativity; 
and to the public, Gould was the hero. He fought the creationists, joked 
about baseball, and wrote some of the finest of all science essays. 
Although sometimes visited by the curse of orotundity, he kept it up to the 
end.
The last time I met him, we talked snails, and now that the chance to do so 
again has gone, it is time to summarise his life. To most people, he was 
punctuationist, populariser or polemicist; to biologists, he earned that 
most rare and coveted title, that of his great predecessor, Darwin: 
naturalist.
· Stephen Jay Gould, palaeontologist, born September 10 1941; died May 20 2002