Cirripede *Conchoderma auritum*
The cirripede Conchoderma auritum, collected from the skin of a whale in the cold Atlantic waters of 1846, possesses a pair of ear-like appendages that appear, at first glance, to serve some sensory function related to the movement of the tides or the vibration of the great host. Upon closer dissection, these fleshy lobes reveal no nerves of significance, no specialized cells for the detection of sound, and no muscular apparatus that would allow them to orient toward a stimulus, yet they persist in every individual of the species with a stubborn uniformity. The presence of these organs is not isolated; I find similar vestiges in the degenerate filaments of the Lepas, in the aborted filaments of the Pollicipes, and in the strange, non-functional folds of the mantle that appear in dozens of related genera across the southern oceans. These structures suggest a design that is nearly realized, a plan for a breathing apparatus or a sensory array that the organism seems to have almost attained before the pressure of its environment or the economy of its growth diverted the necessary nourishment elsewhere. I was for a long time unwilling to accept that a creature could carry such elaborate, useless baggage through a thousand generations of rigorous selection. The anatomy of the ear-like lobes does not suggest a purpose; it suggests a history. The accumulation of these silent witnesses - the aborted branchiae, the sealed orifices, the nerves that lead to nothing - eventually outweighs the single, elegant explanation of a perfect, static creation. The pattern of these failures is more consistent than the pattern of their utility. I have decided to retain the specimen in the third drawer of the cabinet.