This portrait of Charles Darwin was painted by George Richmond in the late 1830s, around the time Darwin was fleshing out his theory of evolution
This portrait of Charles Darwin was painted by George Richmond in the late 1830s, around the time Darwin was fleshing out his theory of evolution
Darwin is NOT Britain’s hero. NPR is commie propaganda funded by the government.
NPR should not be funded by taxpayer money. Liberalism cannot exist in the free market of ideas, so it must be funded by forced taxation.
He sure looks like a rebellious pouter.
If the poll somebody posted on FR the other day was accurate, he’s not so hot over in Britain, either.
Darwin is a Muslim!!!(sarc)
Many of course also think that Darwin plagiarized Alfred Russel Wallace. Charles Darwin was England’s Joe Biden!
Plagiarism ... that reminds me of Tom Lehrer’s classic song “Lobachevsky”
Who made me the genius I am today,
The mathematician that others all quote,
Who’s the professor that made me that way?
The greatest that ever got chalk on his coat.
One man deserves the credit,
One man deserves the blame,
And Nicolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name.
Hi!
Nicolai Ivanovich Lobach-
I am never forget the day I first meet the great Lobachevsky.
In one word he told me secret of success in mathematics:
Plagiarize!
Plagiarize,
Let no one else’s work evade your eyes,
Remember why the good Lord made your eyes,
So don’t shade your eyes,
But plagiarize, plagiarize, plagiarize -
Only be sure always to call it please ‘research’.
And ever since I meet this man
My life is not the same,
And Nicolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name.
Hi!
Nicolai Ivanovich Lobach-
I am never forget the day I am given first original paper
to write. It was on analytic and algebraic topology of
locally Euclidean parameterization of infinitely differentiable
Riemannian manifold.
Bozhe moi!
This I know from nothing.
What-i’m going-to do.
But I think of great Lobachevsky and get idea - ahah!
I have a friend in Minsk,
Who has a friend in Pinsk,
Whose friend in Omsk
Has friend in Tomsk
With friend in Akmolinsk.
His friend in Alexandrovsk
Has friend in Petropavlovsk,
Whose friend somehow
Is solving now
The problem in Dnepropetrovsk.
And when his work is done -
Ha ha! - begins the fun.
From Dnepropetrovsk
To Petropavlovsk,
By way of Iliysk,
And Novorossiysk,
To Alexandrovsk to Akmolinsk
To Tomsk to Omsk
To Pinsk to Minsk
To me the news will run,
Yes, to me the news will run!
And then I write
By morning, night,
And afternoon,
And pretty soon
My name in Dnepropetrovsk is cursed,
When he finds out I publish first!
And who made me a big success
And brought me wealth and fame?
Nicolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name.
Hi!
Nicolai Ivanovich Lobach -
I am never forget the day my first book is published.
Every chapter I stole from somewhere else.
Index I copy from old Vladivostok telephone directory.
This book was sensational!
Pravda - well, Pravda - Pravda said: “Zhil-bil korol kogda-to, pree nyom blokha zhila”[1] It stinks.
But Izvestia! Izvestia said: “Ya idoo kuda sam czar idyot peshkom!”[2]
It stinks.
Metro-Goldwyn-Moskva buys movie rights for six million rubles,
Changing title to ‘The Eternal Triangle’,
With Ingrid Bergman playing part of hypotenuse.
And who deserves the credit?
And who deserves the blame?
Nicolai Ivanovich Lobachevsky is his name.
Hi!
Nothing unworthy must be found in these pages; no unfair passage should be left within these covers; only pure thoughts belong to a book consecrated to an unsullied light-bringer. I have written with careful hands and clean; for I have sat near the altar of the Temple of Truth. The many shortcomings and imperfections of this volume are due to my limitations alone; the best that I could do, I have done.More stuff like that here: InbredscienceFear, fear, fear, -- everywhere is fear. Nothing is safe. All is murder. Nature is the eternal veteran, all are her enemies, and she never accepts the flag of truce. She makes a type and then she kills it. For the individual she has not the slightest regard. She cares nothing for the life which comes continually from her teeming womb.
Nature, thy mandate is chiseled on the rocks, it is echoed from the swamps to the snows, it resounds from the marshes to the mountains, the prairies know it, and the pampas tell it; it is writ across the sky, and our planet moans beneath the stern decree: flesh shall feed on flesh, and life must take life.
You destroy what you create, O Blunderer! Nature, where is thy justification? In the beginning, this earth swept thru space, formless and void. Darkness was upon its face, -- except when the lightnings flashed and the volcanoes glowed. But the black veil lifted, the golden sun poured its warming rays on the desolate globe, and lo! -- Mother Earth was pregnant. A tiny speck lay in the primitive waters, and this was life. And Nature watched our ultimate ancestor, and from that time on, her heavy hand has smitten and slaughtered.
What is it all for? Nature, is this the secret: that thou wipest out a type to bring a higher in? Show us then, the Perfect Man. Thou hast worked long enough for him. Thru countless epochs the process has gone on. Show us, Nature, the best you have produced. We wish to see your favorite and pride.
But Nature answers: What of him, my warmest lover, my humblest servant? What of the gentle hand that placed the radiant crown on the undecked brow of Truth? And Nature has redeemed herself. She may have blundered, and she surely has effaced, but she has evolved the Perfect Man. She has unfolded Darwin the Great and Good.
The works of Darwin! You stand before the accumulated knowledge of all the ages. A thousand discoveries are within these covers. Think how deep and often that noble brow has been contracted with thought. Is the topic too vast? Does its immensity balk the mind? Then think of this one theme: From a chattering ape of the forest, swinging from branch to branch by its prehensile tail, to the scientific Darwin in his studio, writing on the Geological Succession of Organic Beings!
Among these glorious bay-trees I cast this little chaplet. It is small, and its merit scant, but every leaf of it was interwoven with veneration. It will not bloom like other coronals, tho it was love that brought it forth. Accept, accept it, O Saint of Science, for I too know thee as the wonder and the glory of the universe!
No problem with evolution. Escaping nihilism is the trick.