Are Ravens Spooky?

A fair number of people have heard the memorable line, "Quoth the Raven 'Nevermore.' "  In the poem by Edgar Allan Poe that line comes from, the raven is given the role of bringing the message that a long-lost hope will have to stay long lost forever.  A haunting remembrance of past events hangs over Poe's narrator in the poem. In contrast, ravens have in Western culture usually been considered to bring a message about the future -- particularly an omen of death. Thus it is that in Shakespeare's play Macbeth, Lady Macbeth says:

"The raven himself is hoarse

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan..."

Such a death-connection comes not just from ravens' being black (the absence of light usually being in Christianity a symbol of separation from God).  The stronger linking of that bird with death most certainly developed because ravens sometimes feast on dead carcasses.

Easily mistaken for their cousins crows (both in the same Corvidae family), ravens have larger, stockier beaks, which can given them a patrician air.  Ravens are larger in size too, which, along with their feeding on carcasses, may have led people to conclude that they had big appetites.  Thus it is that our words "ravenous" and "raven" come from the same root.

Scavenging the dead is just one source of food for ravens.  Their diets are varied (from insects to birds' eggs to our household scraps) because they are enterprising and intelligent.  As my Audubon guide explains, the raven "seems to apply reasoning in situations entirely new to it. Its 'insight' behavior at least matches that of a dog."  Their intelligence extends even to their ability to distinguish between individual members of other species and between individual humans. Ravens readily learn which individuals they need to fear and which ones they do not, and are even able to establish at a distance if a human is carrying a shotgun.

It is probably because of that intelligence, along with their playfulness, that native Americans of the West Coast adopted the raven as a symbol upon which they projected human qualities, both good and questionable.  Among such mythological stories are tales of Raven creating the world and acting cleverly, but also tales of  Raven acting in sneaky and foolish ways.

I remember once watching at length a raven that had established itself at a panoramic lookout point in the Rocky Mountains.  It was also, not by coincidence, a place where sandwiches were sold to the tourists who could enjoy the outdoor seating.  The raven had the best of both worlds:  Easy pickings on any food that was not closely guarded, and the bird's natural home in the form of the vast, sweeping downward slope of the canyon. And, unlike us humans, the raven had no trouble taking off into flight at a moment's notice, floating as light as air, on dramatic outstretched wings.

~~~

Do you have any recollections about ravens or their cousins crows, both with their distinctive "caws"?

(Poe's poem can be read at this external link:  "The Raven.")

(The Shakespeare lines are from Macbeth, Act I, Scene 5.)

(The quote re. intelligence is from The Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds, Western Region, © 1977, p. 686.)

Some Light on Diwali and Us

In the U.S., as soon as Thanksgiving turkey is eaten, people's plans turn to what has come to be called "the holiday season."  That label, although bland, is appropriate because some of the most festive celebrations of a number of faith-traditions all fall in December:  Obviously, Christianity's Christmas.  And Judaism's Hanukkah.  Also the less known but beautiful home-ceremonies of Kwanzaa, out of African-American culture.  However, even before the December convergence of those holidays occurs, the Indian-American community has gotten a jump on celebration with the ancient festival of Diwali.  And that celebration can shed some light on those other holidays, as well as upon our human relationship with the natural world.

The name "Diwali" is derived from the Sanskrit phrase "row of lamps."  In India, there are variations depending in which region it is being celebrated, and whether the people celebrating are Hindus, Jains, or Sikhs.  But it is the lighting of small clay oil lamps that has resulted in its sometimes being referred to as "the festival of lights."

It is hard to express to someone who does not live in a city with a significant Indian population how popular Diwali is, but one Diwali gathering in the suburb of one large U.S. city drew thousands of celebrants.  One autumn, I dropped in for a vegetarian buffet at an Indian restaurant, and found myself in a crowd of people buying sweets for Diwali -- a crowd so focused on one task that it resembled Christmas shoppers.

I cannot help but notice that all four of the latter-fall or early-winter festivals I have mentioned involve the lighting of candles or oil lamps:  The four weekly Advent candles before Christmas. The eight daily-lit candles of the Jewish menorah.  The Kwanzaa candles representing different virtues.  And the oil lamps of Diwali.

No matter which way we celebrate "the holiday season," as we call it, and no matter which way we celebrate the multi-layered meanings of symbols about light and darkness, one thing will certainly remain true.  Tomorrow, the sun will rise; and in the Northern Hemisphere in the weeks following the winter solstice, the days will grow longer again.  That phenomenon has occurred for over 4 billion years, which calculates out to 1.46 trillion days.  Moreover, scientists tell us the sun will pull that trick of rising for billions of years still to come.

Although the return of light and the human need for illumination, both physical and spiritual, are the most obvious symbols of our four late-year holidays, I have come to think that there is another component as well: Namely, beauty.  The candles we light don't merely illuminate the room we are in.  (If that was all we needed, we could just turn on the overhead fluorescents.)  The candles we light, especially if in a dimmed or darkened rooms, are like the pinpoints of stars in a black velvet sky. The contrast of light and dark creates a harmony of contrasts we can experience as being beautiful.  Moreover, when we light those holiday candles, just as when we look out into the depths of a dark, starlit sky, we can feel a depth to our lives, and a depth in all of human existence.

~~~

Do you have a particular, special memory of one of these four celebrations?

(The photograph of Diwali decorations is by Subharnab Majumdar

and is used under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.)

Comedy with Animals

Most people love their dogs.  Also, fortunately, we humans do often display a sense of fun and humor, despite our difficulties.  So I guess it is no surprise that dog owners sometimes dress up their dogs with hats and other costumes, finding the result comic and fun.  I know there is now in the U.S. more than one group of dog-owners who organize Halloween events with dogs appropriately attired.

However, when it comes to finding matters where comedy and animals intersect, I find more fascinating those incidents that were not contrived.  I especially get a laugh out of incidents where animals had the last laugh.

For example, I've read, about an incident when city officials in Paris gathered up thousands of pigeons and transported them into the countryside over 120 miles away.  Little did the officials realize that the urbanized pigeons still possessed the directional abilities, homing instincts, and speed of their ancient ancestors.  When the human officials got back to Paris, they found that the exiled pigeons had beaten them back home.

Such stories serve as more than amusement; They also keep us from becoming too arrogant. One ancient example is the Biblical story of a man named Balaam, who cannot see an angel blocking the road ahead, even though the donkey he is riding can.  And so the donkey resists moving forward.  Even though the story is wryly crafted to be comedy for its human audience, the donkey might consider the story to be tragicomedy.  The donkey, beaten by Balaam for its stubbornness, protests to Balaam by saying "Am I not your donkey, which you have ridden all your life to this day? Have I been in the habit of treating you this way?"  (Num. 22:30, NRSV)  After Balaam admits his error, he can see the angel.

Konrad Lorenz

Another form in which our laughter and animals intersect is when visitors to a zoo stand before the cages and laugh at the seemingly peculiar appearance or behavior of some animals.  The animal behaviorist Konrad Lorenz, however, takes a humble stance when he writes:  "It is seldom that I laugh at an animal, and when I do, I usually find out afterwards that it was at myself, at the human being whom the animal has portrayed in a more or less pitiless caricature, that I have laughed."

There are thus different ways that our laughter and the animal world can intersect. Costuming dogs, although unusual, is benign.  Laughing at animals' appearances can be an obstacle to appreciating wonderful biodiversity.  Laughing at ourselves seems to me to be the safest approach.

There must be many contemporary stories from backyard-birdwatchers who tried to keep squirrels from raiding birdfeeders.  But recording all those stories would mean that the humans involved would have to admit they were outwitted by a squirrel!

~~~

Have animals helped you lighten the burden of life in any way?  How?

(The quotation by Lorenz is from

King Solomon's Ring, by Konrad Z. Lorenz, © 1952.)