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The question of ancestry has been of human concern in virtually all cultures and over all times of which we have any knowledge. Whether it be a story about the origin of a particular tribe or nation and its subsequent mixture with other groups, or curiosity about a family history, there is always the implication that we understand ourselves better if we know our ancestors and that we, within ourselves, reflect properties that have come to us by an unbroken line from past generations. As treasurer of the Marlboro Historical Society in Vermont, I am the recipient of requests for printed copies of the Reverend Ephraim Newton’s mid-eighteenth-century history of our town, 70 percent of whose pages consist of “Genealogical and Biographical Notes” and a “Catalog of Literary Men.” Over and over our correspondents write of the “pride” they have in descending from these early settlers.

Surely pride or shame are appropriate sentiments for actions for which we ourselves are in some way responsible. Why, then, do we feel pride (or shame) for the actions of others over whom we can have had no influence? Do we, in this way, achieve a false modesty or relieve ourselves of the burdens of our own behavior? As a descendant of late-nineteenth-century Eastern European immigrants I cannot depend on Reverend Newton’s pages to explain my frequent contributions to The New York Review, but neither have the extensive “begats” in Genesis 10 or Matthew 1 been more enlightening.  Read More...

Science, it seems, has been "the new religion" for a long time. And by the same token, it has always had its apostates and heretics, even its unremarkable and quotidian sinners. In an article titled "Disgrace," Charles Gross, a professor of psychology and neuroscience at Princeton University, reviews the whole subject of contemporary and historical scientific misconduct (The Nation, Jan. 9/16, 2012, pp. 25-32). He finds nothing new in the shocking case of Harvard's Marc Hauser, who was exposed two years ago for scientific misconduct, in of all fields, the biological basis of morality and genetic inheritance of doing evil.

Hauser apparently was guilty of the very venial sin of fudging facts. The three ways to do that, all frowned upon, are by fabrication (making data up), falsification (altering or selecting data, cherry picking) and sheer plagiarism (which all but entering Freshmen understand).

In 1830, computer science pioneer Charles Babbage published a book in which he distinguished "several species of impositions that have been practised in science...hoaxing, forging, trimming, and cooking."

Gross classifies the Piltdown man as an example of hoaxing. This fossil combining parts of an ape and human skull was discovered in 1911 and not discredited until the 1950s. Most hoaxes are intended to poke fun at the public's credulousness, but the Piltdown hoax was undertaken by well-meaning British imperialists who hoped their construction would fill an awkward gap in the record. Like God, if the missing link did not exist, we should have to invent one. Pip pip for the Royal Society!

Babbage believed that forging was uncommon. Rarely are results completely counterfeited and pulled out of thin air.

"Trimming" is probably a form of scientific misconduct that few scientists confess to their most exacting monitors such as the National Science Foundation but rather quietly cover up in bland hypocrisy. It consists of "eliminating outliers to make results look more accurate, while keeping the average the same." Who has not committed that little white sin? Let him who is without self-assurance cast the first chad.

"Cooking," on the other hand, the purposive selection and distortion of data, might be a real concern for all of us.

Gross goes on to inspect the career of Harvard's "war crimes professor" Richard Herrnstein, who became a co-author after his death of the book The Bell Curve about racial differences in intelligence. It is not a very pretty kettle of fish.

Charles Darwin essentially stole the idea of natural selection from Alfred Russel Wallace, the father of biogeography, did he not, and if he didn't, certainly failed to credit some of his predecessors in his rush to fame and self-glorification.

In genetics, we are reminded that the saintly Gregor Mendel probably falsified the suspiciously exact 1:3 ratio he "observed" in comparing pure dominant with hybrid peas (p. 26).

Alarmingly, we learn that "the modal scientific miscreant is a bright and ambitious young man at an elite institution," just the sort of role model worshiped by the popular press.

Maybe our society should be examining a few of science's feet of clay rather than pompously setting more laurels on the heads of its exalted heroes.