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New order in the history of 19th century biology
Book review
118
Endeavour Vol.33 No.4
apparent middle ground between evolution and religion deserves historical attention, those who are devoted to more partisan positions will likely dismiss it as a mirage born of desire rather than a position compatible with true reason (or faith). Despite this, the narrative suggests, at the very least, that the connection between particular scientific and metaphysical commitments is
underdetermined by the content of ideas. As such, the book is a welcome contribution to a conversation that seldom gives history its due.
0160-9327/$ – see front matter ß 2009 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.endeavour.2009.09.003
New order in the history of 19th century biology Modern Nature: The Rise of the Biological Perspective in Germany by L.K. Nyhart, The University of Chicago Press, 2009. 440 pp., Price: $31.00, ISBN 978-0226610894
Lukas Rieppel Department of the History of Science, Harvard University, Science Center 371, Cambridge, MA, 02138, USA
In February of 1867 Philipp Leopold Martin approached the cultural minister of Wu¨rttemberg with an unusual request: would the state provide space (in Stuttgart, preferably free of charge) for a Museum of the Primeval World? Martin’s vision was undeniably bold. His plan for a private museum detailed a large exhibition space filled with twelve niches, each of which would feature lively sculptural reconstructions of extinct plants and animals. In its embrace of public spectacle, Martin’s museum contrasted other natural history institutions at the time, which tended to emphasize the systematic arrangement of row upon row of taxidermic specimens. Not surprisingly, Martin’s request was summarily refused. Wu¨rttemberg’s cultural minister had turned to the director of Stuttgart’s royal natural history cabinet for advice. The latter’s response is as revealing as it was derisive: Martin’s proposal ‘‘should not be considered to bear any actual scientific significance, and . . . its value lies substantially only in giving the sensation seeking of the public a nobler appearance’’ (Nyhart, p. 69). Martin continued to lobby the governments of various German states on behalf of his museum, but to no avail. Finally, in 1875, a Stuttgart innkeeper offered to finance a scaled down version of Martin’s Museum der Urwelt as part of a private zoo venture. Martin threw himself into the project headlong, but retired a year later when the American natural history entrepreneur Henry Ward purchased the museum’s centerpiece—a huge mammoth display—for 12,500 marks. What does Martin’s Museum der Urwelt, which was explicitly conceived as a commercial venture, have to teach us about the history of modern biology? In an important new book, Lynn Nyhart argues that Martin and other practical naturalists of his ilk developed a new way to Corresponding author: Rieppel, L. ([email protected]). Available online 27 October 2009 www.sciencedirect.com
apprehend nature, which she calls the biological perspective. Practical naturalists did not form a coherent school of thought; as such, the biological perspective is not easily summarized in a few words. However, its disparate manifestations all tended to emphasize functional relationships in nature: the anatomical and physiological integration of a complex organism, its adaptation to the physical environment, and what we would now call ecological relationships among whole groups of organisms. The biological perspective is therefore best described in the language of holism, stressing, as it did, the delicate, coordinated interactions required to maintain stability in nature. The biological perspective was significant for two reasons. First, it served as a powerful alternative to the analytic, taxonomic approach that dominated academic natural history at the time. Second, and more tendentious, is Nyhart’s claim that practical naturalists articulated a vision of nature that helped Germans cope with the ‘‘unmoored quality of modern life’’ (p. 3). The second half of the 19th century was a time of great anxiety, characterized by fears that Germany was becoming too urban, too fragmented, and too disconnected from local and historical tradition. According to Nyhart, the biological perspective appealed to people in part because it harmonized with a widespread desire ‘‘to restore modern urban society to wholeness’’ (p. 3). A particularly compelling example that lends a good deal of credence to this claim is Friedrich Junge’s introduction of object lessons from natural history into the primary school curriculum. Implicit in Junge’s pedagogy was the conviction that natural history teaches civic virtues and instills a sense of connection to local surroundings (the Heimat). By examining functionally integrated biological entities like a village pond, for example, pupils would come to the realization that both natural and political systems flourish only if each individual plays his part and subsumes his own needs to those of the greater community. Although it was developed by people working in taxidermy shops, zoological gardens, and other seemingly
Book review
Endeavour
Vol.33 No.4
peripheral sites of natural history research, the biological perspective soon gained currency among Germany’s scientific elite. At the close of the 19th century, it had made its way into mainstream museums, public school curricula, and popular natural history publications. Indeed, by the time Germany fought the Great War it had entered the world of academic biology and established itself as foundational to the emerging discipline of plant and animal ecology. According to Nyhart, the holism of early 20th century ecological thinkers such as the limnologist August Thinemann or the geographer Friedrich Ratzel thus trace directly back to practical naturalists a half century earlier. This is an important and provocative claim. It suggests a wholesale reorientation of how we think about the history of 19th century German biology. The traditional view holds that Germany emerged as a scientific powerhouse during this time on the strength of its universities and other elite cultural institutions. Moreover, natural history is generally understood to have fallen by the wayside as experimental, highly interventionist research programs came to dominate the field. By demonstrating the pervasive influence of practical naturalists like Philip Leopold Martin and by tracing the journey of their worldview from popular culture into the scientific mainstream, Nyhart forces us to adopt a far more complicated narrative with a more diverse cast of characters. Besides challenging commonplace ideas about 19th century German biology, Nyhart’s argument has broader implications for the social history of science. As historians, we are interested in how novel claims about the natural world are canonized. This process often involves an appeal to exclusivity: new theories are more credible if they are advanced or supported by members of high standing in an elite community of scientific practitioners. Scientists therefore have an interest in drawing clear boundaries between themselves and popular, mass culture. It follows that
www.sciencedirect.com
119
scientists who seek to popularize their work must maintain the integrity of those boundaries or run the risk of inadvertently tarnishing the status of their own research. This suggests a paradox at the core of popular science: if the popularization of a scientific knowledge claim is too successful, that claim may cease to look like real science. A common strategy to avoid this pitfall is splitting the role of the scientist from that of the science popularizer. The status of scientific expertise can then be upheld by characterizing popularization as utterly distinct from research, as something that takes place only after the work of experts has been accomplished. Nyhart’s account of how the biological perspective traveled from the world of mass culture (Philip Leopold Martin’s Museum der Urwelt) and into the elite context of research science (Richard Hesse’s Ecological Basis of Animal Geography) clearly challenges our understanding of popularization. This challenge is among the book’s most intriguing and timely contributions. However, some of its implications remain open for further investigation. For example, Nyhart includes a fascinating chapter on the transitional figure Karl Mo¨bius. Mo¨bius began his life as a practical naturalist, teaching secondary school in Hamburg. He went on to develop the concept of a Lebensgemeinschaft or living community after being named professor at the University of Kiel. Unfortunately, readers are left wondering about the particular social and intellectual strategies Mo¨bius employed to lend scientific credibility to a worldview rooted in a popular rather than elite cultural context. That having been said, Nyhart’s central claim—that practical naturalists like Philipp Leopold Martin played an important role in developing Germany’s modern perception of the natural world—it both important an convincing. 0160-9327/$ – see front matter ß 2009 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.endeavour.2009.09.002
118
Endeavour Vol.33 No.4
apparent middle ground between evolution and religion deserves historical attention, those who are devoted to more partisan positions will likely dismiss it as a mirage born of desire rather than a position compatible with true reason (or faith). Despite this, the narrative suggests, at the very least, that the connection between particular scientific and metaphysical commitments is
underdetermined by the content of ideas. As such, the book is a welcome contribution to a conversation that seldom gives history its due.
0160-9327/$ – see front matter ß 2009 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.endeavour.2009.09.003
New order in the history of 19th century biology Modern Nature: The Rise of the Biological Perspective in Germany by L.K. Nyhart, The University of Chicago Press, 2009. 440 pp., Price: $31.00, ISBN 978-0226610894
Lukas Rieppel Department of the History of Science, Harvard University, Science Center 371, Cambridge, MA, 02138, USA
In February of 1867 Philipp Leopold Martin approached the cultural minister of Wu¨rttemberg with an unusual request: would the state provide space (in Stuttgart, preferably free of charge) for a Museum of the Primeval World? Martin’s vision was undeniably bold. His plan for a private museum detailed a large exhibition space filled with twelve niches, each of which would feature lively sculptural reconstructions of extinct plants and animals. In its embrace of public spectacle, Martin’s museum contrasted other natural history institutions at the time, which tended to emphasize the systematic arrangement of row upon row of taxidermic specimens. Not surprisingly, Martin’s request was summarily refused. Wu¨rttemberg’s cultural minister had turned to the director of Stuttgart’s royal natural history cabinet for advice. The latter’s response is as revealing as it was derisive: Martin’s proposal ‘‘should not be considered to bear any actual scientific significance, and . . . its value lies substantially only in giving the sensation seeking of the public a nobler appearance’’ (Nyhart, p. 69). Martin continued to lobby the governments of various German states on behalf of his museum, but to no avail. Finally, in 1875, a Stuttgart innkeeper offered to finance a scaled down version of Martin’s Museum der Urwelt as part of a private zoo venture. Martin threw himself into the project headlong, but retired a year later when the American natural history entrepreneur Henry Ward purchased the museum’s centerpiece—a huge mammoth display—for 12,500 marks. What does Martin’s Museum der Urwelt, which was explicitly conceived as a commercial venture, have to teach us about the history of modern biology? In an important new book, Lynn Nyhart argues that Martin and other practical naturalists of his ilk developed a new way to Corresponding author: Rieppel, L. ([email protected]). Available online 27 October 2009 www.sciencedirect.com
apprehend nature, which she calls the biological perspective. Practical naturalists did not form a coherent school of thought; as such, the biological perspective is not easily summarized in a few words. However, its disparate manifestations all tended to emphasize functional relationships in nature: the anatomical and physiological integration of a complex organism, its adaptation to the physical environment, and what we would now call ecological relationships among whole groups of organisms. The biological perspective is therefore best described in the language of holism, stressing, as it did, the delicate, coordinated interactions required to maintain stability in nature. The biological perspective was significant for two reasons. First, it served as a powerful alternative to the analytic, taxonomic approach that dominated academic natural history at the time. Second, and more tendentious, is Nyhart’s claim that practical naturalists articulated a vision of nature that helped Germans cope with the ‘‘unmoored quality of modern life’’ (p. 3). The second half of the 19th century was a time of great anxiety, characterized by fears that Germany was becoming too urban, too fragmented, and too disconnected from local and historical tradition. According to Nyhart, the biological perspective appealed to people in part because it harmonized with a widespread desire ‘‘to restore modern urban society to wholeness’’ (p. 3). A particularly compelling example that lends a good deal of credence to this claim is Friedrich Junge’s introduction of object lessons from natural history into the primary school curriculum. Implicit in Junge’s pedagogy was the conviction that natural history teaches civic virtues and instills a sense of connection to local surroundings (the Heimat). By examining functionally integrated biological entities like a village pond, for example, pupils would come to the realization that both natural and political systems flourish only if each individual plays his part and subsumes his own needs to those of the greater community. Although it was developed by people working in taxidermy shops, zoological gardens, and other seemingly
Book review
Endeavour
Vol.33 No.4
peripheral sites of natural history research, the biological perspective soon gained currency among Germany’s scientific elite. At the close of the 19th century, it had made its way into mainstream museums, public school curricula, and popular natural history publications. Indeed, by the time Germany fought the Great War it had entered the world of academic biology and established itself as foundational to the emerging discipline of plant and animal ecology. According to Nyhart, the holism of early 20th century ecological thinkers such as the limnologist August Thinemann or the geographer Friedrich Ratzel thus trace directly back to practical naturalists a half century earlier. This is an important and provocative claim. It suggests a wholesale reorientation of how we think about the history of 19th century German biology. The traditional view holds that Germany emerged as a scientific powerhouse during this time on the strength of its universities and other elite cultural institutions. Moreover, natural history is generally understood to have fallen by the wayside as experimental, highly interventionist research programs came to dominate the field. By demonstrating the pervasive influence of practical naturalists like Philip Leopold Martin and by tracing the journey of their worldview from popular culture into the scientific mainstream, Nyhart forces us to adopt a far more complicated narrative with a more diverse cast of characters. Besides challenging commonplace ideas about 19th century German biology, Nyhart’s argument has broader implications for the social history of science. As historians, we are interested in how novel claims about the natural world are canonized. This process often involves an appeal to exclusivity: new theories are more credible if they are advanced or supported by members of high standing in an elite community of scientific practitioners. Scientists therefore have an interest in drawing clear boundaries between themselves and popular, mass culture. It follows that
www.sciencedirect.com
119
scientists who seek to popularize their work must maintain the integrity of those boundaries or run the risk of inadvertently tarnishing the status of their own research. This suggests a paradox at the core of popular science: if the popularization of a scientific knowledge claim is too successful, that claim may cease to look like real science. A common strategy to avoid this pitfall is splitting the role of the scientist from that of the science popularizer. The status of scientific expertise can then be upheld by characterizing popularization as utterly distinct from research, as something that takes place only after the work of experts has been accomplished. Nyhart’s account of how the biological perspective traveled from the world of mass culture (Philip Leopold Martin’s Museum der Urwelt) and into the elite context of research science (Richard Hesse’s Ecological Basis of Animal Geography) clearly challenges our understanding of popularization. This challenge is among the book’s most intriguing and timely contributions. However, some of its implications remain open for further investigation. For example, Nyhart includes a fascinating chapter on the transitional figure Karl Mo¨bius. Mo¨bius began his life as a practical naturalist, teaching secondary school in Hamburg. He went on to develop the concept of a Lebensgemeinschaft or living community after being named professor at the University of Kiel. Unfortunately, readers are left wondering about the particular social and intellectual strategies Mo¨bius employed to lend scientific credibility to a worldview rooted in a popular rather than elite cultural context. That having been said, Nyhart’s central claim—that practical naturalists like Philipp Leopold Martin played an important role in developing Germany’s modern perception of the natural world—it both important an convincing. 0160-9327/$ – see front matter ß 2009 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.endeavour.2009.09.002