It’s been said that “He who controls the media controls the mind.” (Variously attributed to Jim Morrison of the rock band The Doors, along with Noam Chomsky.)
Whoever said it, billionaires seem to have taken it to heart. Elon Musk has made 𝕏 his “de facto public town square.” Jeff Bezos has The Washington Post. Rupert Murdoch continues to consolidate conservative media outfits via Fox and News Corp (which owns The Wall Street Journal, the New York Post, and HarperCollins). Mark Zuckerberg’s Meta has expanded from merely friending people on Facebook to Instagram, WhatsApp, and Threads. Brian Roberts’s Comcast is in charge of NBCUniversal, Sky News, Peacock, and Universal Pictures. And so on. Meanwhile, the Ellison family controls Paramount and CBS.
Recent headlines read like a game of high-stakes Pac-Man. Most notably, David Ellison’s Skydance Media merged with Paramount Global, bringing CBS, Paramount Pictures, MTV, Nickelodeon, and other assets under its new entity, Paramount Skydance Corporation. Then Paramount Skydance proceeded to buy The Free Press for some $150 million—putting its founder, Bari Weiss, at the helm of CBS News as its new Editor-in-Chief (she also retains her role at The Free Press).
Meanwhile, Netflix is in an $82.7 billion definitive agreement to acquire Warner Bros. Studios (subject to regulatory approvals), but not if Paramount Skydance can help it, with a lawsuit in place against the venerable studio alleging that the Netflix deal lacked transparency and that the Warner Bros. board has ignored higher offers from Skydance (the board has repeatedly rejected Skydance’s offers in support of the Netflix deal). The matter is currently in dispute, but if Paramount Skydance manages to win, it would have control over a giant piece of the media apparatus—including both CBS News and CNN.
And then there’s the recent forced sale of TikTok U.S. to an American entity. The deal creates a new U.S. joint venture where a consortium of investors led by Oracle Corporation, Silver Lake Technology Management, and MGX Fund Management Limited will hold a 50 percent stake, while ByteDance retains a 19.9 percent minority interest.
This marks a fundamental restructuring of the media landscape. Is it good for the public?
On the one hand, it’s possible that audiences will be pleased with having access to larger content libraries from a single provider, though Netflix is likely to raise its prices for the privilege of being able to share HBO’s “It’s not TV” content with them. Given its market share and massive content library, Netflix will sit firmly in the driver’s seat when negotiating acquisition costs and more.
It also means that Netflix could control 30–40 percent of all paid streaming in the U.S., according to analysts. This move risks creating a content monoculture where data-driven algorithms, rather than creative risk, dictate what gets made, especially given Netflix’s streaming-forward model, rather than a focus on theatrical releases. This new layout also makes it incredibly difficult for mid-sized companies with less capital to acquire attractive content and compete with existing massive IP libraries, and creates a near monopoly on content: a few giants at the helm, with only smaller, niche creators, podcasters, and independent outlets left on the margins. It also means that filmmakers have fewer options for their projects.
In fact, Netflix already offers a preview of what a fully consolidated media environment looks like in practice. Netflix has become infamous for canceling series after one or two seasons, often despite strong critical reception or dedicated audiences. Shows like Mindhunter, 1899, Glow, and Archive 81were all discontinued without narrative resolution. In several cases, creators later stated that the shows met or exceeded traditional benchmarks of success but failed to satisfy Netflix’s internal metrics for rapid audience growth and completion rates. The result is a cultural landscape littered with unfinished stories. Viewers learn, over time, that emotional investment is risky. Storytelling itself becomes provisional and disposable.
Genres proliferate, aesthetics vary, but narrative structures converge.This incentive structure also shapes how stories are told. Former Netflix writers and executives have described internal guidelines that prioritize early engagement above all else. As a result, many Netflix originals front-load dramatic events—major chases, twists, or revelations often occur within the first five to ten minutes of an episode. Compare this to earlier television and feature films, where narrative tension was allowed to accumulate gradually, and climactic moments were often reserved for the end.
Dialogue has changed as well. In series such as The Witcher or You, key plot points are frequently repeated verbally, sometimes multiple times within the same scene. This is not accidental. Matt Damon, while promoting his new Netflix film The Rip, has mentioned that they’ve had discussions with the streamer about ensuring that the plot is restated “three or four times in the dialogue” to address the fact that many of the viewers are simultaneously on their phones while watching.
A number of writers have also openly noted that scripts are being increasingly optimized for distracted viewing. In other words, they are designed to be intelligible even when audiences are scrolling on their phones or half-paying attention. Subtle visual storytelling gives way to explicit exposition, because ambiguity does not perform well in engagement data. And Netflix is quite data driven indeed.
Over time, this produces a subtle form of cultural monoculture. Genres proliferate, aesthetics vary, but narrative structures converge. The result is a narrowing of how storytelling is constructed. Novelty is cosmetic and experimentation is constrained by metrics designed to optimize retention rather than meaning.
For most of television history, this logic would have been alien. In the broadcast era, shows were often allowed to fail slowly or to grow into themselves. Series such as The Wire, Breaking Bad, and Mad Men all struggled initially to attract large audiences, despite being critically acclaimed. The Wirein particular was never a ratings success during its original run, yet it survived because executives believed in its long-term cultural value and its ability to enhance the network’s reputation. Success was measured over years, not weeks, and shows were allowed to develop complexity that only made sense in retrospect. Creative risk was tolerated because it signaled seriousness, ambition in storytelling, and—significantly—trust in the audiences. Initially a modestly performing niche show, Mad Men saw a 63 percent increase in viewership by its second season alone and went on to become a cultural phenomenon.
HBO famously framed itself not as television, but as something adjacent to cinema—summed up in its slogan, “It’s not TV.” The network accepted that certain shows would never be mass hits, but would instead function as prestige anchors, shaping brand identity and attracting subscribers indirectly. A series like The Sopranos justified risks taken elsewhere; Six Feet Under or Deadwoodexisted because the ecosystem allowed for uneven returns. FX’s The Americans showrunners—Joel Fields and Joe Weisberg—had chosen to end the show on its sixth season—something they had announced during the fourth, which allowed them to plan their storytelling and provide a proper ending.
In that environment, creative autonomy was not merely tolerated but protected. Writers could trust that if an audience existed—even a modest one—it would be allowed to find the work. Today’s streaming platforms invert that logic. Instead of prestige underwriting experimentation, experimentation must justify itself instantly in data. What once functioned as cultural capital has been replaced by performance analytics, and patience has been redefined as inefficiency.
Of course, the issue drawing the most attention and concern is how this consolidation will affect who controls the narrative and how it is shared.
When only a handful of entities control the information available to us about the world around us, how can we make informed decisions about its future?In particular, a lot of attention has surrounded the acquisition of CBS and the installment of Bari Weiss as its Editor-in-Chief. Proponents see this as a positive move that will help CBS become a more ideologically moderate—or centrist—outlet, creating a legacy broadcast network that appeals to and serves everyone on the political spectrum, not just those who lean left.
Critics, meanwhile, are concerned that the outlet will reflect the ideological leanings of its new owner, sympathetic to the current U.S. administration. As evidence, they point to the last-minute pulling and postponement of a 60 Minutes segment on the Trump administration’s deportations of Venezuelan migrants to El Salvador’s CECOT prison, with reports of internal tension around the ongoing delay. When the segment did eventually run, some critics noted that it didn’t contain additions that justified delaying it and argued it was intentionally aired during an NFL playoff.
To many of Weiss’s detractors, this seems to serve as a confirmation of what they believed all along—that Weiss is the mouthpiece of the Trump administration, intentionally put in place by Ellison to promote specific narratives. They point to her tenure at The Free Press, where sustained criticism of Trump has been less prominent.
Her proponents disagree, and claim that she was merely ensuring the coverage was balanced and provided an opportunity for the administration to respond to various claims—as per journalistic standards that they feel have been replaced by bias and activism elsewhere. They also note that none of the recent hires brought into CBS under Weiss could reasonably be described as MAGA.
It’s possible that Weiss is genuinely striving to bring a balanced perspective to CBS News, without ulterior motives or loyalties. Yet the network’s legacy audience is likely to remain skeptical, and many may drift away. Weiss’s goal appears to be attracting a more centrist, moderate audience—both left- and right-of-center—but in today’s polarized media landscape, many viewers seek content that aligns with their existing perspectives. In the first week under new editorial leadership, for example, CBS Evening News saw viewership drop 23 percent compared to last year, which signals, at the very least, a steep adjustment period.
Mainstream media has generally leaned left, with exceptions such as The Wall Street Journal and the New York Post. Hollywood, too, has remained largely left-leaning, which makes the recent acquisitions all the more significant when it comes to shaping culture. The right-wing media ecosystem has expanded beyond Fox with a strong presence in the online world.
In a recent article about Bari Weiss in The New Yorker, it was noted that her new role wasn’t necessarily a matter of a merely editorial choice. “Don’t think about it as David Ellison paying a hundred and fifty million dollars for The Free Press,” an unnamed industry exec said. “Think about it as a hundred and fifty million dollars on top of the price they paid for Paramount. It was basically the cost to get it to go through.” Whether that’s true will continue to be debated.
As more media outlets consolidate into the hands of a few, the number of voices shaping what we see and hear shrinks.But as I mentioned earlier, whatever the ideology, what matters isn’t who owns which outlet, but that ownership itself is converging—across news, entertainment, and social platforms—into a single layer of influence.
When ownership is diverse, multiple perspectives can still compete for public attention. But as more media outlets consolidate into the hands of a few, the number of voices shaping what we see and hear shrinks, from news and opinion reporting to entertainment in the case of Netflix, Paramount, etc.
Our ability to understand the world from multiple perspectives diminishes, and our view of reality becomes narrower. When only a handful of entities control the information available to us about the world around us, how can we make informed decisions about its future?
Astronomers have observed two planets forming in the disc around a young star named WISPIT 2. Having previously detected one planet, the team have now employed European Southern Observatory (ESO) telescopes to confirm the presence of another. These observations, and the unique structure of the disc around the star, indicate that the WISPIT 2 system could resemble our young Solar System.
With the ISS set to retire in 2030, several plans are in place to replace it. These include existing space stations, proposals by rising national space agencies, and commercial space stations. In terms of the commercial space sector, the plans are diverse and numerous.
NASA is serving up a double scoop of delicious Saturn imagery in two flavors — near-infrared from the James Webb Space Telescope, and visible light from the Hubble Space Telescope.
I’ve often criticized Colossal Biosciences for their overblown science, which includes pretending that they’ve resurrected the dire wolf (Aenocyon dirus), when they’ve only created grey wolves (Canis lupus) with a few gene edits that make them white (real dire wolves probably were not white!) and a bit larger. Three of these edited wolves have been released at a secret location, and Colossal has pronounced them to be dire wolves even though they’re they’re not dire wolves. In fact Colossal has admitted they haven’t “de-extincted” dire wolves—and yet they pretend otherwise. It’s a squirrelly business, but they need to keep attracting and keeping donors.
On tap: their promise to “de-extinct” the woolly mammoth, which will in fact not be a wooly mammoth but at best a hairy Asian elephant. And they say that they’ll get a population of these creatures going on the tundra within eight or so years. I wouldn’t bet on it!
This morning I got an announcement that the three dire wolves in captivity have eaten an animal—a dead deer! Surprise!
Here’s the announcement:
Did you know most wolf hunts end in failure? Wolves look like perfect hunters, but in the wild they actually fail nearly 9 out of 10 hunts. So how do they ever get good at it? In our latest video, narrated by Colossal’s Manager of Animal Husbandry Paige McNickle, we explore how wolves actually learn to hunt, and see the dire wolves Romulus and Remus face a messy milestone as they try to figure out how to skin, tear, crunch, and share a whole deer. Will the young dire wolves be successful? The answer might surprise you. When I said the whole thing was ridiculous, Matthew (another critic) responded, “Exactly. “Look, Homer, they are just like our pet dog!”Narrated by Paige McNickle, Colossal’s Manager of Animal Husbandry, this episode also gives you a close look at the continuing development of our young dire wolves, Romulus and Remus. They’ve already taken down small prey, and they’re continuing to learn the essential behaviors of being wolves. To help them develop more skills, the dire wolves are given a whole deer carcass. This is an important milestone in their development, as they learn how to skin, tear, crunch, and share a full prey animal.
This is undoubtedly meant to keep the public excited and, more important, keeping the donors satisfied and bringing more $$ in. But what is the purpose showing these gray wolves learning to be gray wolves? They’ll never be released into the wild! I suppose you could say that this shows how gray wolves not born into a pack can learn various behaviors. But that has nothing to do with dire wolves. To me it’s a big yawn in the service of Mammon.
And where is the third “dire wolf”—Khaleesi? Is she getting dog food somewhere?
Neptune has always been something of a puzzle. The distant ice giant sits tilted at an awkward angle, although not as extreme as Uranus, that astronomers have long struggled to explain. Now new research suggests the answer may have been lurking in its own backyard all along and the culprit is Triton, Neptune's strange, rebellious moon.
Russia has returned to orbit from the very launch pad that failed it just months ago. Following an embarrassing structural collapse at Baikonur Cosmodrome last November, repairs have been completed and a fresh cargo mission has blasted skyward. But with a space programme that was once the envy of the world now struggling to recapture its former glory, questions remain about whether Russia can truly rebuild its place among the stars.
The JWST has shown us that supermassive black holes were much larger in the early Universe than we thought. New research has extended this understanding to more intermediate redshifts, and to dwarf galaxies. Could the often-invoked Super-Eddington accretion be responsible?
They have finally turned on the DuckCam (or PondCam, if you will) at Botany Pond. There’s a good view of nearly the entire Pond, and you are likely to see Armon there; in fact, he’s should be there now. A few minutes ago there was another pair that I drove off, as we don’t want to couples nesting at about the same time. Oh, I forgot to add the important note that Vashti has begun incubating her eggs at a secret location (I know where it is), and we should have ducklings in a bit less than four weeks!
Even the channel is visible now, to the right behind the lamppost.
Although I did call attention to the death of Robert Trivers, age 83, on March 12, and I knew him slightly, I did not have the chops to summarize his many contributions, nor did I know him that well (we overlapped at Harvard). Fortunately, Steve Pinker has produced an absolutely terrific bio of Trivers at Quillette: a piece that summarizes the many contributions to evolutionary biology made as a young man, and then his many eccentricities, quirks and obnoxious or even illegal behaviors that made Trivers somewhat of an apostate. He was a complex and fascinating person, and I hope someone will write his biography (he did write an autobiography, Wild Life: Adventures of an Evolutioanry Biologist, but deserves a thorough, disinterested, and Cobb-like treatment).
Steve’s obituary, which you can access by clicking on the screenshot below or seeing it archived here, is roughly in three sections: Trivers’s contributions to the field, an analysis of why they came so young and so fast (he did almost nothing during the last five decades of his life), and a description of his complex personality and behavior. It’s long for an obituary, but Trivers deserves long, and of course Pinker summarizes his life eloquently.
Trivers’s major contributions as Steve outlines them (Steve’s words are indented, bold headings are mine):
. . . two weeks after the death of Robert Trivers, one of the greatest evolutionary biologists since Charles Darwin, not a single major news source has noticed his passing. This despite Trivers’s singular accomplishment of showing how the endlessly fascinating complexities of human relations are grounded in the wellsprings of complex life. And despite the fact that the man’s life was itself an object of fascination. Trivers was no ordinary academic. He was privileged in upbringing but louche in lifestyle, personally endearing but at times obstreperous and irresponsible, otherworldly brilliant but forehead-slappingly foolish.
I still can’t see an obituary for Trivers in either the NYT or the Washington Post. That lacuna is shameful. On to his contributions (
Contributions:
Parent-offspring conflict:
Trivers’s innovation was to show how the partial overlap of genetic interests between individuals should put them in a partial conflict of psychological interest. The key resource is parental investment: the time, energy, and risk devoted to the fitness of a child. Parents have to apportion their investment across all their children, each equally valuable (all else the same). But although parents share half their genes with each child, the child shares all its genes with itself, so its interest in its own welfare will exceed that of its parents. What the parent tacitly wants—half for Jack, half for Jill—is not what Jack and Jill each want: two thirds for the self, one third for the sib. Trivers called the predicamentparent-offspring conflict.
Sex differences in parental investment:
Trivers explained the contrast by noting that in most species the minimal parental investments of males and females differ. Males can get away with a few seconds of copulation; females are on the hook for metabolically expensive egg-laying or pregnancy, and in mammals for years of nursing. The difference translates into differences in their ultimate evolutionary interests: males, but not females, can multiply their reproductive output with multiple partners. Darwin’s contrast can then be explained by simple market forces. And in species where the males invest more than the minimum (by feeding, protecting, or teaching their offspring), males are more vulnerable than females to infidelity (since they may be investing in another male’s child) and females are more vulnerable to desertion (since they may bear the costs of rearing their mutual offspring alone).
Reciprocal altruism:
In another landmark, Trivers turned to relations among people who are not bound by blood. No one doubts that humans, more than any other species, make sacrifices for nonrelatives. But Trivers recoiled from the romantic notion that people are by nature indiscriminately communal and generous. It’s not true to life, nor is it expected: in evolution as in baseball, nice guys finish last. Instead, he noted, nature provides opportunities for a more discerning form of altruism in the positive-sum exchange of benefits. One animal can help another by grooming, feeding, protecting, or backing him, and is helped in turn when the needs reverse. Everybody wins.
Trivers called it reciprocal altruism, and noted that it can evolve only in a narrow envelope of circumstances.
This to me is Trivers’s most important contribution, explaining not only why we sacrifice for unrelated people, but also making testable (and largely verified) predictions about human behavior, including morality. Now that humans no longer live in small groups of acquainted people—conditions under which reciprocal altruism presumably evolved—we can expect some of those behaviors to disappear, but civilization is a mere eyeblink compared to the long, long period in which the conditions were right for the evolution of altruism (and deceit; see below).
Asymmetries in human relationships:
. . . in a passage that even fewer readers noticed, Trivers anticipated a major phenomenon later studied in the guise of “partner choice.” Though it pays both sides in a reciprocal partnership to trade favours as long as each one gains more than he loses, people differ in how much advantage they’ll try to squeeze out of an exchange while leaving it just profitable enough for the partner that he won’t walk away. That’s why not everyone evolves into a rapacious scalper: potential partners can shun them, preferring to deal with someone who offers more generous terms. Just as a store with a reputation for fair prices and good service can attract a loyal clientele and earn a bigger profit in the long run than a store that tries to wring every cent out of its customers only to drive them away, a person who is inherently generous can be a more attractive friend, ally, or teammate than one who dribbles out favours only to the extent he expects them to be repaid with a bonus. The advantage in attracting good partners makes up for the disadvantage in forgoing the biggest profit in each transaction.
And since humans are language users—indeed, reciprocity may be a big reason language evolved—any tendency of an individual to reciprocate or cheat, lavish or stint, does not have to be witnessed firsthand but can be passed through the grapevine. This leads to an interest in the reputation of others, and a concern with one’s own reputation.
The evolutionary significance of deceit and self-deception:
Trivers’s fifth blockbuster was laid out not in an academic paper but in a pair of sentences in his foreword to The Selfish Gene:
If (as Dawkins argues) deceit is fundamental to animal communication, then there must be strong selection to spot deception and this ought, in turn, to select for a degree of self-deception, rendering some facts and motives unconscious so as not to betray—by the subtle signs of self-knowledge—the deception being practiced. Thus, the conventional view that natural selection favors nervous systems which produce ever more accurate images of the world must be a very naïve view of mental evolution.
We lie to ourselves the better to lie to others, protecting compromising private knowledge from emotional tells or factual contradictions (as in the Yiddish saying, “A liar must have a good memory.”) In his book Social Evolution(1985), Trivers muses on how this can play out:
Consider an argument between two closely bound people, say, husband and wife. Both parties believe that one is an altruist of long standing, relatively pure in motive, and much abused, while the other is characterized by a pattern of selfishness spread over hundreds of incidents. They only disagree over who is altruistic and who selfish.
The theory of self-deception is deeper (and more enigmatic) than the commonplace that people’s views of themselves are mistuned in their favour. The self, Trivers implied, is divided: one part, seamless with the rest of consciousness, mounts a self-serving PR campaign; another, unconscious but objective, prevents the person from getting dangerously out of touch with reality.
Trivers wrote an entire book about this, a book that he intended to co-author with the (in)famous Huey Newton, a founder of the Black Panthers (Newton was murdered before it could be written): The Folly of Fools: the Logic of Deceit and Self-Deception in Human Life. It’s an uneven book, larded with bizarre personal anecdotes, but it also contains a lot of intriguing food for thought. In other words, it’s pure Trivers.
Why did Trivers make these contributions? A few of Steve’s thoughts:
. . . Trivers revelled in explaining the contradictions of the human condition, and he himself was a mess of them. Foremost is how he revolutionised the human sciences in a fusillade of ideas he had between the ages of 28 and 33 (I didn’t even mention a sixth one, on how parents should invest in sons versus daughters). But then he did nothing comparable for fifty years. He wrote some good books, but they were reviews of his and others’ contributions, breaking little new ground. How do we explain this shooting star?
Part of the answer is that, as with all intellectual revolutions, the right mind found itself in the right era. In 1971 the gene’s-eye view of evolution was new and counterintuitive, as it remains to this day. People, including scientists, project their moral and political convictions onto the things they study, and the ideal that we should love our neighbours, act for the good of the group, and strive for social betterment is easy to read into nature, even if it flouts the logic of natural selection. And whenever the word “gene” comes up, readers get distracted by hallucinations such as that humans are robots controlled by their genes, that each of their traits is determined by a single gene, that they may be morally excused for selfishness, that they try to have as many babies as possible, that they are impervious to culture, and other non sequiturs.
The young Trivers, mentored at Harvard by the biologists William Drury and Ernst Mayr, immediately grasped the new way of looking at evolution, and never got hung up by these misconceptions. A jaundiced view of animals, not excluding Homo sapiens, came naturally to his rebellious temperament, and many puzzles he observed in his field work (including on ants, lizards, gulls, songbirds, caribou, baboons, and chimps) fell into place when he considered their reproductive interests from their viewpoints.
. . . In the early 1970s, then, Trivers was standing on the shoulders of giants, looking with a gimlet eye over a rich array of poorly explained animal behaviour (not excluding humans, since he had recently binged on novels). In this virgin landscape, the implications of the overlapping conflicts of genetic interests were waiting to be discovered, foreshadowed in scattered passages from Hamilton and Williams. Someone had to see them first, and Trivers was there.
. . . But Trivers rapidly spotted what everyone else missed, and still misses, together with the less biologically obvious concept of self-deception, so there must be another piece to the puzzle. During his junior year at Harvard, Trivers suffered two weeks of mania and then a breakdown that hospitalised him for two months. Bipolar disorder afflicted him throughout his life. I can’t help but wonder whether Trivers’s fecund period was driven by episodes of hypomania, when ideas surge and insights suddenly emerge through clouds of bafflement.
I had never thought of that, though Trivers made no secret of his diagnosis. Finally, a bit about his behavior:
Though his upbringing was patrician and cosmopolitan (son of a poet and a diplomat, schooled in Europe and then Andover and Harvard), he was afflicted with a strong nostalgie de la boue. This contributed to his adoption of Jamaica, originally the site of his research on lizards, as a second home. Trivers’s life in Jamaica was filled with boozing, brawling, whoring, and of course toking, together with a stint in jail and a narrow escape from death during an armed robbery. His memoir Wild Lifeis peppered with homicidal fantasies and expressions of admiration for thuggish vigilantes, including Huey Newton, co-founder of the radical Black Panther Party. Trivers befriended Newton, made him godfather of his daughter, coauthored a paper with him on the role of self-deception in a fatal plane crash, and became a white Black Panther himself before Newton ushered him out of the organisation for his own safety.
. . . But Trivers’s neuroatypicality shaded into eccentricity and downright boorishness. He might try to drop off a passenger without stopping the car, or miscount the number of dinner guests and force two of them to share a chair. He repaid the colleagues who offered him professional lifelines at their universities with truancy, belligerence, and gross inappropriateness (greeting female students in his underwear when they had been sent to his apartment to fetch him to a late lecture; requesting that straitlaced academic hosts supply him with cannabis). His violent musings could make acquaintances genuinely fear for their safety. His last graduate student, Robert Lynch, spoke for many when he ended his affectionate obituary, “I’ll miss you, Robert. You asshole.”
. . . As for himself, Trivers liked to poke fun at some of his eccentricities and indignities. But he never squarely faced his record of betrayals, hurts, and squandered talent. All this is exactly what Trivers’s greatest theoretical brainchild would predict.
That “greatest theoretical brainchild” must be self-deception, of course, but I think that was perhaps the least important of his contributions.
Trivers’s had an erratic life, but also a rewarding one and a tumultuous ones. It makes me want to paraphrase Nagel: “What was it like to be Robert Trivers?”
There is also a shorter obituary in The Times of London, which you can see by clicking below or reading it archived here. Although author Finkelstein is not a biologist, he does a pretty good job summing up Trivers’s contributions, though he concentrates too much on the deceit and self-deception part, seeing it mirrored in modern politicians like Donald Trump and Liz Truss. If you want a short read it is okay, but given the choice, you should read the longer Pinker obituary. It will also teach you a lot about modern evolutionary psychology—known as “sociobiology” when Trivers and I overlapped at Harvard.