Few scientific ideas have gained as much interest and acclaim as James Lovelock's suggestion of Gaia - the entire Earth views as a single organism. Connie Barlow's own reaction is as good an example as any, stating she could return to a childhood feeling of "science as nature which had been utterly quenched by schooling in science as facts." That dichotomy is the theme of this fine collection of essays - is the Gaia thesis viable, or has "science as fact" overthrown it? Barlow has assembled a strong group of authors to present for us to help in forming our own judgments. Even better, the list of works she draws from or points to allow each of us to delve into the subjects with open eyes, and, one hopes, open minds.

The title of the book imparts its structure, working from the grand picture to finer detailed areas. Barlow begins the collection with Lovelock's own definition of the Gaia concept - "the biosphere is a self-regulating entity." He ties his image to historical roots as well as scientific findings. Reminding us that "even scientists, who are notorious for their indecent curiosity, shy away from defining life," Lovelock is able to define Gaia beyond the normal environment we consider the realm of life. "Gaia," he says, "is a total planetary being." As Barlow notes in her afterword to Lovelock's presentation, "some scientists . . . have wholeheartedly begun the search for Gaian mechanisms."

Although not an outspoken supporter, Lewis Thomas, well known for his commentaries on science, is described by Barlow as viewing "the Earth's atmosphere in a Gaian sort of way." A stronger form of support is presented through the career of Lynn Margulis. research in how a cell is constructed and how that structure evolved was forced into a wholly new way of thinking by Margulis. Her detailed cell research led her to propose that many organelles within the cell are the result of ancient symbiotic relationships. Strongly opposed for several years, her theories are now the consensus view of cell evolution. Barlow sees the idea as a foundation stone for the Gaia hypothesis. Previously unrecognized alliances are now a major part of biological research, and Barlow includes several descriptive essays on this
phenomenon.

A Gaian organism requires a discernible structure, according to Barlow. Arthur Koestler is used to introduce how hierarchical structures are perceived in nature. Instead of tedious labeling of sub- after sub, Koestler introduces the term "holon" to define these organizational elements. Any individual of any species may be a "holon," as may be any societal group. The term is implied in following essays on "systems" or "organized complexity." Various commentators are incorporated in Barlow's collection to explain how Gaia works as an entity instead of just a collection of life forms. Game theory is introduced as a major aspect of interaction and cooperation both among and between Gaia's components. For example, Edward O. Wilson's science of sociobiology provides a framework for explaining such concepts as altruism and aggression.

Opposing the Gaia thesis, since much of its popular appeal rests with those seeking greater respect for the environment, is often considered an assault on "motherhood." Barlow uses three outspoken critics of Wilson to introduce alternate views. Richard Lewontin has derided sociobiology and its offshoots such as Lovelock's Gaia as "just-so" stories. Barlow draws on his writings attacking sociobiology as examples of "bad science." By projection, his criticisms must reach beyond societal species to the entire Gaian thesis. The ultimate, if indirect, challenge to Lovelock's idea is that of Richard Dawkins. Barlow uses citations from The Selfish Gene to show how life is based on the survival down many generations of the gene. Life, Dawkins demonstrates, functions on gene replication. Hence, Gaia, which has no genetic root, cannot be a viable "organism" as postulated by Lovelock. Barlow cites Dawkins' analysis of the evolution of consciousness as "the most powerful passages" in the book.

In an interesting innovation, Barlow concludes the book with some "update" essays by some of the contributors. Margulis, Wilson, John Maynard Smith and others, are given the opportunity to amplify on Barlow's selections. The final submissions are nearly as valuable as the ones she originally used. Her own final essay is an excellent summation and provides a suggestion that the views are perhaps not as disparate as a superficial look might indicate. Superficial this book is not. An outstanding collection and starting point for further reading,
this book is highly recommended.

Interesting and enlightening. However, difficult to separate facts from faith.Similar to Tiplers' "Physics of immortality".Difficult to imagine that a tiny superficial layer of life is a major geologic force on a planet of 8000 miles in diameter.

As someone who closely follows contemporary religious "revival" and "renewal," I welcome Barlow's guidance for those who sense a need to re-story experience in a way which honors and integrates science and wisdom. This kind of work, by authors like Barlow, and by individuals everywhere, is truly a recovery of our ability to repair the world in the deepest sense.

Connie Barlow's Green Space, Green Time is a testimonial to the emerging bridge between science and religion. Writing primarily from the perspective of biology and ecology, Barlow predicts that a New Age religion is now in the process of forming, and that its underlying tenets will be the wonderful discoveries about evolution and ecology which science has provided. She acknowledges that previously science has not really provided an image of the meaningfulness of human life within the greater cosmos, and this has been a shortcoming. Humanity needs a story in order to achieve integration, to feed the human spirit. What better story, she asks, than the one which science provides us about where we all come from and why we (all beings) need to relate to each other in harmony? The book is well written and easily accessible to the non-scientific reader. Moreover, it celebrates the cooperation of a group of leading-edge scientists and inclusive religionists, in the form of conversations and dialogues with leading thinkers in both fields such as Edward Wilson, Ursula Goodenough, Brian Swimme, Loyal Rue, Lynn Margulis, James Lovelock, and Stephen Harding.

That's what Barlow writes about in this read-in-a-day work. A popular science account of evolutionary biology, mostly in Quaternary North America, it explores the co-evolution of plants and animals. She points to traits like large size, seed retention, digestion tolerance, and abrasion tolerance as indicative of megafaunal dispersion and thus identifies megafaunal fruits -- pawpaw, avocado, guava, papaya, passion fruit, cherimoya, desert gourd, honey locust, and Kentucky coffee. Next the author considers the various recently extinct North American species (horses, mastodons, tapirs, sloths, camels, giant tortoise) and which might have been interested in the various fruits. An interesting background discussion compares and contrasts foregut (ruminants like cattle, deer and sheep) and hindgut (like horses and elephants) feeders.

"Ghosts" reinforces the sense I've had since visiting Africa that North America is empty of some large and important creatures that should be here. I can now better visualize what plants they were eating, and what their preferred habitats were like. I can also better visualize the cascade of extinction, past and present, from animal extirpations to the plants that evolved with and depended upon them.

As is often the case in my morning carpool to Kansas City, passions ran high when I raised the topic of megafaunal dispersal. George was at the wheel, I was riding shotgun, and Bob and Stan were scrunched up in the back of George's old Honda Accord. I was, to the best of my ability, explaining the arguments in Connie Barlow's new book about extinct seed dispersal partners: The Ghosts of Evolution. Connie asserts (along with veteran paleobiolists Paul Martin and Dan Janzen), that certain largish animals had big enough gullets to swallow fruits like Osage oranges whole and then poop out the seeds several miles away, thus expanding the plant's territory in the next generation. Unfortunately, nobody provides this service for Osage oranges anymore, which is why they all lie around rotting within a few yards of the mother tree every autumn.

In an attempt to confirm that a creature like a mastodon would willingly eat Osage oranges, Martin and Barlow persuaded the director of the Brookfield Zoo in Chicago to offer the fruit (scientific name maclura pomifera) to three of the zoo's elephants. "Affie, the matriarch of the Brookfield elephants, did eat maclura--but just the first fruit she was offered. After that, she showed no interest in any more. The reactions of the other elephants were strongly negative. One wasn't even willing to smell the fruit when the offer was first made. Finally, she took it from her keeper and hurled it down the hall. The second elephant did the same thing but aimed for the public area." I can't say that I blame them. As a child, I was under the impression that Osage oranges (or hedge apples) were poisonous.

Zoo elephants' finickiness notwithstanding, the book argues that some species are obviously "overbuilt" for the ecological niche they inhabit today. Why would natural selection lead to such an outcome? For example, pronghorns can run not just a little faster but way the hell faster than any of their nearest predators (wolves and coyotes). This speed is apparently a relic of days when something faster than wolves or coyotes were chasing pronghorns, possibly a New World cheetah that became extinct thirteen thousand years ago. Well, you may ask, why haven't the pronghorns slowed down and devoted their evolutionary energy to something more productive, like jumping barbwire fences? More generally, what is a believable schedule on which a species reacts to changes in its environment?

As Connie Barlow analyzes the results of experiments with the exotic fruits and seeds in her New York apartment kitchen, she writes with delight and authority. She teaches us technical and colorful terms such as seed predator and pulp thief. The former destroys seeds by eating them rather than by defecating them intact. The latter eats the flesh around the seed and discards the seed without transporting it to a promising new sprouting site. We humans are guilty of both depredations, although with our compost heaps we have introduced a modest new dispersal path for domesticated fruits. Barlow's story is certainly not bereft of poetic lyric, as in the "paucity of pawpaw pollinators"--or of Conan Doyle-ian suspense: "Perhaps the most compelling evidence that Mrs. Foxie defecated persimmon seeds intact can be found in my collection of fox feces."

In her final chapter, Barlow preaches the gospel of "the great work:" the purposeful and painstaking reversal of the appalling history of extinction for which our species has, knowingly and unknowingly, been responsible. If the dedication to and passion for nature that is evident in this book can infect an emerging generation of professional and amateur naturalists, we may within our lifetimes see the beginning of this work.

As is often the case in my morning carpool to Kansas City, passions ran high when I raised the topic of megafaunal dispersal. George was at the wheel, I was riding shotgun, and Bob and Stan were scrunched up in the back of George's old Honda Accord. I was, to the best of my ability, explaining the arguments in Connie Barlow's new book about extinct seed dispersal partners: The Ghosts of Evolution. Connie asserts (along with veteran paleobiolists Paul Martin and Dan Janzen), that certain largish animals had big enough gullets to swallow fruits like Osage oranges whole and then poop out the seeds several miles away, thus expanding the plant's territory in the next generation. Unfortunately, nobody provides this service for Osage oranges anymore, which is why they all lie around rotting within a few yards of the mother tree every autumn.

In an attempt to confirm that a creature like a mastodon would willingly eat Osage oranges, Martin and Barlow persuaded the director of the Brookfield Zoo in Chicago to offer the fruit (scientific name maclura pomifera) to three of the zoo's elephants. "Affie, the matriarch of the Brookfield elephants, did eat maclura--but just the first fruit she was offered. After that, she showed no interest in any more. The reactions of the other elephants were strongly negative. One wasn't even willing to smell the fruit when the offer was first made. Finally, she took it from her keeper and hurled it down the hall. The second elephant did the same thing but aimed for the public area." I can't say that I blame them. As a child, I was under the impression that Osage oranges (or hedge apples) were poisonous.

Zoo elephants' finickiness notwithstanding, the book argues that some species are obviously "overbuilt" for the ecological niche they inhabit today. Why would natural selection lead to such an outcome? For example, pronghorns can run not just a little faster but way the hell faster than any of their nearest predators (wolves and coyotes). This speed is apparently a relic of days when something faster than wolves or coyotes were chasing pronghorns, possibly a New World cheetah that became extinct thirteen thousand years ago. Well, you may ask, why haven't the pronghorns slowed down and devoted their evolutionary energy to something more productive, like jumping barbwire fences? More generally, what is a believable schedule on which a species reacts to changes in its environment?

As Connie Barlow analyzes the results of experiments with the exotic fruits and seeds in her New York apartment kitchen, she writes with delight and authority. She teaches us technical and colorful terms such as seed predator and pulp thief. The former destroys seeds by eating them rather than by defecating them intact. The latter eats the flesh around the seed and discards the seed without transporting it to a promising new sprouting site. We humans are guilty of both depredations, although with our compost heaps we have introduced a modest new dispersal path for domesticated fruits. Barlow's story is certainly not bereft of poetic lyric, as in the "paucity of pawpaw pollinators"--or of Conan Doyle-ian suspense: "Perhaps the most compelling evidence that Mrs. Foxie defecated persimmon seeds intact can be found in my collection of fox feces."

In her final chapter, Barlow preaches the gospel of "the great work:" the purposeful and painstaking reversal of the appalling history of extinction for which our species has, knowingly and unknowingly, been responsible. If the dedication to and passion for nature that is evident in this book can infect an emerging generation of professional and amateur naturalists, we may within our lifetimes see the beginning of this work.

Barlow has set herself a momentous task. Sifting through a wealth of publications on evolution to distill out the significant works dealing with social issues. Her choices necessarily reflect a broad range of opinions, scientifically sound and otherwise. She's to be commended for providing the reader with a series of starting points to pursue in gaining a better understanding of the chosen topics. As she admits, compiling her earlier collection of works relating to Lovelock's Gaia thesis led her to investigate the impact of biology on philosophical thinking. This volume is the result. In it, she deals with such matters as evolution as a "progressive" force, evolution and "strife," and, of course, the relation of evolution to human morals and religion. Many debates and debaters are featured with their best expressions on the topics she wishes to address. While some authors and some topics might have been added, it is her book, not theirs. She has performed the task well.

She opens with Julian Huxley, grandson of "Darwin's Bulldog," who was outspoken on the "worldview" of the progressive role of evolution. Huxley sees "progress" in evolution as the development of ways for organisms to gain increased control over their environment. Only a selected few organisms have achieved, human beings the most obvious case. George G. Simpson is called upon to refute Huxley's thesis, declares it a myth without substance. He sees Huxley's idea as a typical example of anthropomorphism, stressing that "man is not the measure."

From this introduction, Barlow moves to the "tools and metaphors of evolution." In assessing how evolution works, thinkers in biology have crafted many means of explanation. Darwin used the concept of "wedges" to portray the competition for resources. Barlow offers examinations of Darwin's use of metaphor and how it has affected later thinkers. The key Darwinian phrase, "survival of the fittest" has led to various interpretations on the mechanics of evolution.

Barlow isn't shy about dealing with evolution and "cosmic visions." So long as humans, who appear to be the only animal with a "cosmic view," investigate evolution, there will be discussions of its impact on "spiritual" issues. Barlow's earlier collection certainly typifies "grand schemes" in evolutionary ideas. Here, she opens with the French paleontologist de Chardin in dealing with the relationship of science and Christianity. Not a recapitulation of the antagonisms between science and religion, the choices she's made express the struggle to put the spiritual alongside the biological. Barlow goes far afield in bringing to her collection the widest possible range of voices. Christian "creationist" Henry Morris is included with an attack on natural selection as both "atheistic" and a "religion" in its own right. He is countered by various authors ranging from Darwin to the Pope. It's a fitting and lively exchange with which to conclude the collection. As she must, one supposes, Barlow attempts to reconcile many of the viewpoints using the Gaia hypothesis. She labels this new synthesis "an Earth-based spirituality" combining the mechanics of evolution with an historical human need for something "beyond." In this synthesis, of course, nothing is excluded and there's room for all.