Natural Magic: Emily Dickinson, Charles Darwin, and the Dawn of Modern Science II

Because I had such a hard time finding good reading material over the winter, I got out of the habit of reading regularly, and now, with spring, I am, as usual, distracted by new projects. Nevertheless, I do find this book useful and will continue reading it, but at a very slow pace. Since starting this blog, I have found that learning about the cultural and scientific developments of certain periods can be quite interesting. This period is especially interesting to me compared to others, because it includes both the U.S. and England from the late eighteenth century to the late nineteenth century, and I've already read a lot about it. Another period that I covered, less thoroughly, the French Enlightenment, was also interesting, but it seems to have ended by the late 18th century, before science really took off. This particular book is somewhat adventurous, because it links subjects that aren't usually associated with each other: poetry and science.

The chapters alternate between Darwin and Dickinson. So far, Bergland seems to be more neutral on Darwin than Janet Browne was in the earlier biography that I discussed. She draws a lot from Darwin's version of events, whereas Browne has a slightly more sociological take on Darwin. Overall, the impression I have is that Erasmus Darwin was thought of as somewhat of a crank by his son, Robert, and Robert attempted to raise his children a little more conservatively. Browne provides more of a sense that Robert considered his older son, Erasmus, smarter than Charles, because he breezed through school and became a doctor, like Robert and his father, whereas Charles wasn't very academic and liked to collect things in the outdoors. However, they were all quite shrewd about money. Robert married into the wealthy Wedgwood family and grew wealthier from his investments, and Charles married his first cousin from the Wedgwood side and never worried about money much. I haven't got very far in Bergland's book, but Browne portrays the younger Erasmus as somewhat of a dandy: though he did well academically, he did not practice medicine and socialized a lot in London, never marrying: there is some evidence that he was gay. I am watching to see how Bergland's account will play out later, but so far she hasn't conveyed the sense that Charles had a slight inferiority complex while he was growing up and psychologically was geared to be very careful about his work as an adult in order not to appear like a failure.

One area where Bergland does a good job is in conveying how the sciences were not widely part of the academic curriculum in the early-to-mid nineteenth century. The Darwin family traveled to Edinburgh and elsewhere for three generations for medical educations, because there was nothing available in England at the time. In this respect, though Dickinson's family wasn't at all scientific, the academic environment in Amherst was far more science-friendly at the time than it was at Cambridge and Oxford, or even Harvard and Yale. Amherst College was founded in 1821, and it may have had a better science faculty than the older colleges. Dickinson attended Amherst Academy for high school, and the curriculum there was atypical for females: it included math and science. While Dickinson's family wasn't poor, it wasn't rich: her grandfather, Samuel Fowler Dickinson, went bankrupt and moved away to Ohio. The original Dickinson Homestead, where Emily lived initially, had to be sold, and she moved to a lesser property for the remainder of her life.

Although I've got a long way to go in this book, I am trying to piece together a history of British empiricism and how it intersected with American empiricism. Empiricism in Britain has an extremely solid footing dating from the eighteenth century, from David Hume to Thomas Malthus to Charles Darwin. Though various forms of spiritualism became popular periodically, affecting Robert Owen and Alfred Russel Wallace, and perhaps even George Eliot, Darwin was a complete skeptic and knew from the start that it was all nonsense. With the religious history in New England, Emily Dickinson was also predictably affected. That is something that will interest me in the remainder of the book. For me, it ties in with Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. Emerson reminds me a little of a cult leader: who, today, discusses Transcendentalism as a serious movement? Though Emerson came from a good family, he was poor while growing up. However, his first wife was quite wealthy, and when she died from tuberculosis after just two years, he inherited that wealth. He decided not to work and to form his own intellectual movement. I have never studied it in any detail, but it seems like a mishmash of Romanticism, the enjoyment of nature, and an undefined form of spiritualism. Emerson was not himself a true naturalist and didn't enjoy slogging through the wilderness in search of specimens. I think that he actively recruited people for his movement, and he specifically wanted to develop Thoreau as the naturalist spokesperson for Transcendentalism. It seems that he was often at odds with Thoreau, who was simply too independent and stubborn to follow Emerson's instructions. I suspect that, at heart, Emerson wanted to be seen as an informed evangelist. He actually favored literature and poetry over science, and, though he was twenty-seven years older than Dickinson, she may have made an excellent recruit for Transcendentalism – if he had ever heard of her.

Natural Magic: Emily Dickinson, Charles Darwin, and the Dawn of Modern Science I

Just as winter abruptly ended, I came across this new book by Renée Bergland, and it suits me perfectly. I'm not sure how quickly I'll work through it, but it discusses topics that interest me and is very well-written. Enormous cultural changes occurred in the mid-to-late nineteenth century in England and the U.S., and this book delves into how Dickinson and Darwin were affected in complementary ways. As a matter of preference, I like the days when poetry was open to science and science was less specialized than it is now. Bergland differentiates natural magic from supernatural magic and discusses how participating in the exploration of natural magic can have a therapeutic effect on people – it definitely does on me – and how it became popular during the period discussed. I already knew a lot about Charles Darwin, but only a little about Emily Dickinson. Darwin's time period (1809-1882) doesn't exactly match Dickinson's (1830-1886) but overlaps for nearly all of Dickinson's life, and they also lived on different continents. Darwin never visited North America and Dickinson never traveled beyond the East Coast. This raises the question of how they could have similarities. The answer is probably that they both came from well-educated families, probably read some of the same things and were both upper-middle-class.

If anything, Darwin's family was considerably more intellectual and wealthier than Dickinson's. Darwin's grandfather, Erasmus (1731-1802) was a key figure in the English Enlightenment. Besides being a doctor, he wrote poetry, invented things, studied flowers and had discussions with members of the Lunar Society, where he befriended Benjamin Franklin, among others. He was also quite politically-minded, and I like this poem of his:

When Avarice, shrouded in Religion's robe,

Sail'd to the West, and slaughtered half the globe:

While Superstition, stalking by his side,

Mock'd the loud groan, and lap'd the bloody tide;

For sacred truths announced her frenzied dreams,

And turn'd to night the sun's meridian beams.

Later, when he met Wordsworth and Coleridge, they thought of him as a "meddling intellect." After Mary Shelley heard Byron and Shelley discussing Erasmus, he may have come to represent to her a type of callous rationalism, which she expressed in the character of Victor Frankenstein. Needless to say, Erasmus Darwin does not fit within the Romantic tradition.

I'm not in a hurry to finish this book, as spring has already arrived, and may linger on it for some time.

Genealogy

I've been reading Understanding Human Evolution, by Ian Tattersall, which is a recent summary of the research and is similar to his The Fossil Trail, which I read in 1995. This has been quite an active field, with new fossil discoveries, new archaeological techniques and new DNA analysis tools, and the still-fuzzy picture of hominin evolution seems to be advancing slowly, by the decade. Rather than summing up the contents of this book, I've decided to describe how and why I became interested in this topic.

In my case, I think that this has partly to do with the fact that my parents came from two different countries, and we moved from England to the U.S. in 1957, when I was seven. Growing up in a suburb of New York City, I had no sense of ethnicity, though I generally seemed to fit the description of a WASP, which was the dominant culture there. But the cultural environment was quite mixed at the time, with all of the job opportunities attracting people to the area. As I wrote earlier, there were already many Italian immigrants at the time, and, after World War II, others moved to the vicinity. I had friends whose parents had moved from the Midwest, and some of my friends' parents had met in Europe during the war: one mother was from Czechoslovakia and another was from Belgium. A girl in my class was from Norway. One family was Polish, and their son appeared in the 1963 film version of Lord of the Flies. Another family had moved from Australia after a divorce. At the time, I didn't think about this, and, much later, it came more into focus for me when "community" and "inclusion" became buzzwords in the media: these had never been meaningful concepts to me. Although I've now lived in various parts of the country, I don't particularly identify with any region, though I seem to have a slight preference for the Northeast, perhaps partly because I had grown up in New York.

After moving to the U.S., I never saw my English grandfather again and saw my English grandmother and Greek grandparents only once. I had very little contact with my cousins, aunts and uncles. By 1977, my father had died, but his mother was still alive, and I corresponded with her, inquiring about family history. Her health was declining then, and she had her brother, my great-uncle, help me. He sent me some very basic genealogical information, along with a MacArthur clan tie, since his grandmother was a MacArthur born in Edinburgh. Shortly after this, my grandmother had a stroke, and she died in 1980. Since then, I've done a lot of genealogical research and know my English background fairly well, going back to the eighteenth century.

The reason why I mention this is that much of what I discuss on this blog is related to human evolution, which, to me, is partly a continuation of my interest in genealogy. Evolution became an interest of mine when I read The Selfish Gene, by Richard Dawkins, and The Diversity of Life, by E.O. Wilson, in the early 1990's. I also studied Anglo-Saxon archaeology in Oxford in the summer of 1993. My overall conclusion is that you can only find out so much about your past, particularly your evolutionary past. It looks as if all of my ancestors were in Africa once, and later they left Africa, possibly returning, and probably mated with Neanderthals and Denisovans at some point. As research advances, it may be possible to know more about this through DNA analysis. As a practical matter, you can only speculate on what the daily lives of your ancestors were like just a few hundred years ago. I at least know what my great-great-great-great-great grandfather was doing in the eighteenth century: he was a farmer living in Aston Rowant, Oxfordshire. I've visited his grave and have a copy of his will. While, on the whole, I know very little about my ancestors, I seem to know more about them than most people know about theirs. Although, throughout my life I've never cared much about belonging to a group, everyone's true group consists primarily of their relatives and ancestors, whether they like it or not. As my father used to say, "Blood is thicker than water." Despite the fact that natural selection works through genetic variation, we probably have greater affinities to people who are close to us both culturally and genetically. I wouldn't waste my time socializing with a gorilla. As someone who is now old enough to say that I grew up in a different era, I am often reminded that many of the people around me are living in a conceptual world quite different from my own.

Tennessee Williams and Carson McCullers

I've been reading a biography of Tennessee Williams, mainly to find out more about his relationship with Carson McCullers. Tennessee is one of the best-known American playwrights, and one of the first plays that I read in high school was The Glass Menagerie. At the time, it seemed all right to me, though I wasn't especially impressed. It mirrored some of the dysfunction in his family, and, because there was also dysfunction in my family then, I didn't find it particularly interesting. Later on, I came to prefer the film versions of two of his other plays: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and A Streetcar Named Desire. It helped that some of the best actors of the time appeared in these films: Elizabeth Taylor, Burl Ives, Vivien Leigh and Marlon Brando. The biography I'm reading is a little too chatty for me, and plays have never been a central interest of mine, so I decided to read only the parts that pertain to Carson McCullers. This book repeats some of the same information found in Mary V. Dearborn's biography of McCullers, which I think is better-written, but it adds more context with respect to Tennessee.

Tennessee was six years older than McCullers, and he was impressed by her The Heart is a Lonely Hunter and The Member of the Wedding. This resulted in his sending her a fan letter in 1946 and subsequently inviting her to his summer house in Nantucket, as I mentioned earlier. When they met, they bonded, rather intensely it seems. It would appear that, because they were both Southerners, both gay, and had similar artistic sensibilities, they rejoiced as kindred spirits. Tennessee later told James Laughlin "The minute I met her she seemed like one of my oldest and best friends!" Also, "We are planning to collaborate on a dramatization of her last book soon as I get my present play finished." On the other hand, Gore Vidal said "She was a crashing bore, but Tennessee found her sort of tragic and interesting." At that time, Tennessee's live-in boyfriend, Mexican Pancho Rodriguez, had a rather volatile personality, and he came to resent Tennessee's affection for McCullers. Before long, McCullers thought of Pancho as a gold digger. He also was an inappropriate person to mingle within Tennessee's artistic circles: no one liked him, and their relationship eventually failed. I don't know what Tennessee saw in him.

Tennessee later described 1946 as "the last good year before her stroke" (though she probably had an earlier stroke). In 1970, after she had died, he said "To have known a person of Carson's spiritual purity and magnitude has been one of the great graces of my life." 

So, this isn't adding that much to my knowledge of McCullers. I have found it interesting that these two people were able develop such a close relationship. As a practical matter, it helped McCullers when Tennessee encouraged her to make stage adaptations of her fiction. It isn't clear that Tennessee got much benefit from the relationship, though, at the time, it may have enhanced his professional reputation to be associated with her. I was touched when reading the Dearborn biography that Tennessee encouraged McCullers to get psychiatric help and even recommended a therapist. 

I think that the fiction and stage scenes in New York City were a lot more dynamic in the '40s and '50s than they are today. It was all really quite messy for those who participated in it, but people like Tennessee and McCullers seem to have had more fun than the current participants, who are likely to be operating under the constraints of boring corporate overlords now.