We learn from the Copenhagen Post, via Benny Peiser, that the Danish foreign ministry has already cancelled 20,000 overnight hotel reservations for people attending the United Nations Climate Change Conference, upcoming in December. That’s 40 million kroner of revenue lost to the hoteliers of Copenhagen, for whom we may grieve. Still, from an environmentalist perspective, think of all the energy savings.
Through the same channel (Peiser’s excellent work as an aggregator of media and research items that global warm-mongers could not wish you to read), we, the obsessively well-informed, have also been following an entertaining scandal of “settled science” in the U.K.
It is a tale of dendro-chronology gone strange, as the purveyors of suspicious tree-ring studies, used to justify well-publicized warming scare stories, resist the determined requests of a certain Steve McIntyre to see their raw data.
“They are my data,” as Peter M. Brown, then president of the Tree-Ring Society, tried at first to insist. But no, the funny thing is, data collected at the expense of taxpayers, who also pay the collectors’ salaries, do not belong to private persons, outside of maybe Russia. The excuses since used to withhold the raw data have degenerated through various assertions of bureaucratic privilege, to the logical equivalent of “the dog ate my homework.”
I could go on like this, ridiculing the crazed, Al-Gorey, joke science on which the “climate change crisis” was erected, at huge cost to ourselves, both directly for twisted “research,” and indirectly for the destructive government legislation it supports.
But I’m inclined to relent: for the global warm-alarmists are destroying themselves, with chance help from a weak solar cycle. And as I mentioned in my last column on this topic (July 29), full-length books such as Ian Plimer’s on Global Warming: The Missing Science, do a more compendious job of exposing the alarmists’ false premises and assumptions.
As Napoleon used to say, echoing an ancient Chinese sage, “Never interfere with an enemy who is in the process of committing suicide.”
The truth is, despite all the gloom and doom I spread myself, about the decline of western civilization (but at least I have solid proof!) that “nature will take care of it,” on many different levels. This is a principle expounded by Delhi trilor (three-wheel) drivers: “A path will emerge.” Sometimes, alas, that path leads suddenly to our own extinction, but there are many by-ways off the Road to Hell.
One of them I have bathed in this summer: the extraordinary recovery of broad public interest in field natural history, over the last few decades. (The last such historical trend ended soon after the appearance of Darwin’s Origin of Species, which seemed to explain all the miracles of nature away.)
This has been brought home to me with force, by a magnificent little book, recently published by the Friends of Algonquin Park, and just fallen into my hands. It is the first of their new field guide series, on The Dragonflies and Damselflies of Algonquin Provincial Park and the Surrounding Area—an area extending to Ottawa. The reader who wishes to fill his heart with hope, joy, and beauty, will run out immediately and buy this book, whose authors are Colin D. Jones, Andrea Kingsley, Peter Burke, and Matt Holder.
It was recommended to me, owing to my own love for the Odonates, and all pond life, by a very devout and pious Darwinist of my acquaintance, who has fortunately never read my columns, and who may never speak to me again when he finds that I harbour “designist” heresies.
Indeed, a dragonfly is a wonder of pure brilliant mechanical design—this little roving eye of nature, that first appears, fully-formed with incredible precision, in the fossil records for more than 300 million years ago. And there is little as unforgettable as to watch a dragonfly emerge from its dead larva skin, and crawl tenuously out on a log—pale, utterly feeble, and crinkled. And then, before your eyes in the space of minutes, its abdomen extends, its wings fill out, its colouring begins to appear, and a glorious creature takes its first flight, towards the woods. It is a miracle that will help you contemplate the mysteries of Creation and Resurrection.
This Algonquin field guide is something of which Canadians may boast: I have never seen a better insect field guide, nor one so beautifully and intelligently put together. The existence of the growing market it serves is the more inspiring: for in the background of so much ideological, joke science (or “scientism”), real science is reviving, closely allied with art. It is the science of the field, of close and honest observation, of inferences that can be tested and checked. And like all true science, it teaches reverence.
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