100 Books Like Naming Nature

I found this book to be a fascinating journey into realms of the world below the surface I had never thought about or even known existed. Cave diving is my worst nightmare, so one particular section stands out about the wild, terrifying, and utterly unrelatable passion of cave divers and the perils one faces when stuck very, very underground.

The mixture of purely natural environments and human-created ones, such as underground tunnels and cities, all held my attention as pieces of information I had read very little about in the past, all collected into one unifying theme. Having such a broad but specific topic all in one read was a fun, dynamic journey. 

I find great pleasure in learning a little bit about a lot of things, and this book scratches that itch in a great way. Touring through big scientific concepts, Bryson delivers the potentially overwhelming (and boring) information in a fun way that made me understand space-time way more than any middle school physics class did.

It’s not a book that needs to be read in order or even be read in its entirety to enjoy, so it’s fun to have around to pick up a chapter here and there or read it straight through. The other day I went back and referred to it while having a conversation about space time and found an explanation that we both understood—and enjoyed. 

I have a lot of respect for an animal that is so mysterious and remains so despite years of research and curiosity, and I really appreciate this in-depth commitment to showcasing an animal most people get the heeby jeebies about.

The interweaving of personal narrative and deep dives into the realm of eels was a nice combination, catching a glimpse into how one’s early relationship to specific parts of their surrounding natural world can influence so much beyond that.

I’m a big fan of cheerleading for the underdogs of the animal kingdom, the ones we think are scary or ugly or gross—they’re usually fascinating and not well understood, and when it comes to eels, I recommend pushing aside any ick factor and delving into the mysteries they’ve been keeping for millennia. 

This book is captivating visually and narratively, and while it’s a nonfiction exploration of early deep sea exploration, it’s also a beautiful tale through the images and artifacts, both personal and scientific, to those involved in the creation of this new way of seeing the ocean world.

I find the deep sea to be such an intriguing, terrifying place, and I have a deep appreciation and reverence for the fact that we know so little about it. That it has the power to maintain mystery and secrets. As part of that, I enjoyed knowing that the people involved in this journey were seeing a minuscule fraction of the ocean’s deep sea creatures in their natural habitat for the first time ever seen by humans. It must’ve been so thrilling and special to experience, and by reading this book, the reader gets to be on that journey with them a little… show more.

I’ll admit that I’m fiercely jealous of this book’s title, which is clever and à propos (but now, thanks to Wright, it’s taken). But the book is also delightful.

It’s a history of scientific naming, more or less, but Wright has a ton of fun with that. He asks how plants were named in ancient Assyria and Greece, winds his way through the Middle Ages, and continues to the present day. Does that sound dry? It isn’t—I chortled at the discussion of rude Latin names (Geastrum fornicatum, anyone?), and giggled at Wright’s appropriately disrespectful take on the modern profusion of “species concepts” (“You will be delighted to hear that I will not be describing the remaining twenty-five concepts.”).

I learned a bunch and had fun doing it, and that’s a big win.

The traditional neo-Darwinian view of evolution understands inheritance in genetic terms, as the transmission of DNA from parents to offspring. Jablonka and Lamb argue convincingly that in addition to genetic inheritance, there exist three other inheritance systems in nature – epigenetic, symbolic, and behavioural – all of which play an important role in evolution. The book is not a work of philosophy in the strict sense, but rather a fascinating and conceptually-rich synthesis of a diverse body of empirical findings which, the authors argue, can only be accommodated by going beyond a purely geno-centric view of evolution.

In this fascinating book, Meg Daley Olmert explores the biological element of human relationships with other animals, and in particular the role of the hormone, oxytocin. Oxytocin helps humans and other animals feel calmer, allowing us to be more curious and friendly. Oxytocin lowers one’s heart rate and reduces stress hormones. Humans who live with or regularly spend time with nonhuman animals live longer and stay healthier. Further, contact with animals can elicit oxytocin in both of those involved, human and nonhuman.

How and why have societies grown in size and complexity since the advent of farming? The tragic answer to this question lies partly in the evolution of a very specific kind of cooperation: warfare. Turchin presents a theory of how warfare increased the scale of cooperation over the course of world history but also sows seeds of conflict between the haves and the have-nots, stoking internecine conflict and dissolution.

Turchin’s ideas have contributed to our stock of plausible hypotheses about the human past, and he is one of a handful of scientists committed to testing them even-handedly.  

People need less Dawkins in their lives and more Lewontin, whose thought-provoking, accessible writing about evolutionary biology stands in fierce opposition to the trend toward genetic determinism that seems to be the rage nowadays. We are not simply our genes, Lewontin says, because the effects DNA has on our lives are mediated by social and environmental factors, many of which we can influence. While it’s nominally about biology, I also read this as a critique of causal inference, generally. What we consider a “cause” reveals our ideological commitments to certain aspects of the world being maintained, and we should be careful what causal lessons we draw from data.

This book is an engaging treatment of philosophical issues in biology, with a strong though not exclusive focus on evolution. Written by two leading practitioners, the book continues to be an excellent entry point into the subject despite being more than 20 years old. For any reader of my own book who wants more detail, Sterelny and Griffiths’ text is ideal. Chock full of real-life examples, the book offers an excellent model of how philosophy can engage with biology. Topics discussed include function and adaptation, reductionism, levels of selection, the “selfish gene” theory, and more.