Splintered Identity: Franken-monster

“In Defense of Lost Causes,” by Slavoj Zizek, advocates the notion that developments in science have taken aim at not only understanding life, “but generating new forms of life that will surprise us [as well as] greater and stronger forms of life” that will eventually surpass us (435). The author also comments that there has become a disjunction between, what he calls, the first and second natures in scientific developments. The first-nature of organisms is confined to interpreting natural development whereby we can understand and utilize them for the benefit of humans. Second-nature involves the development of “natural monsters,” such as genetically enhanced or modified crops and other creations that may be problematic for humans to exercise control over. It seems the problem, as discussed by Heidegger, is the “interdependency of man and nature: by reducing man to just another natural object whose properties can be manipulated, what we lose is not (only) humanity but nature itself” (435). It’s arguable as to how “nature” functions in this sentence, but I’m inclined to believe Heidegger might have intended the meaning to be an extension of humanity or the essence/ origins of human beings against other creatures.

                Frankenstein is quick to reveal the pitfalls of manipulating life or what we can assume was intended to surpass human life. I’ve always been perplexed by the notion that Frankenstein was instantly horrified by a creation he painfully endeavored to create. Upon creating the monster, Frankenstein remarks, “How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavored to form?” (35). Here, we notice a transgression or what I’ll call the true realization of a perversion of nature. It appears the doctor has, in a sense, violated his own conceptions of human life. He is no longer bound to the benign practice of manipulation or experimentation; he has become a creator.  At some point unbeknownst to him, he crossed the line between first and second natures.  There are probably dozens of avenues to explain this classic scene, but it seems this moment is emblematic of two irreconcilable realities; Frankenstein has become both the master of human creation but he has also created something far beyond his control. Frankenstein is stricken with fear and awe, but as Zizek points out, “one can break out of fear not through a desperate search for safety, but, on the contrary, by pushing on to the end, by accepting the nullity we are afraid to lose” (433). Such an idea is paradoxical, yet it is this same contradiction of sorts that fuels the rest of the novel. After expounding his horror, the doctor runs out of the room to collect himself, and by then the monster has already managed to allude him. Frankenstein seems to pursue the monster out of a desire to understand another side of himself, but a side that both repulses and consumes him. Perhaps Frankenstein’s unquenchable anger to destroy the creature is both a reflection of his own discontent and an admission of his own frailty.

Reflecting on “The Trouble With the Wilderness; or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature”

            Cronon goes to great lengths in questioning Thoreau’s famous notion that “In wildness is the preservation of the World” (69). Cronon’s argument is summed up well when he states, “as we gaze into the mirror [nature] holds up for us, we too easily imagine that what we behold is Nature when in fact we see the reflection of our own unexamined longings and desires” (70). The concept of the wilderness, for Cronon, is ultimately defined and instituted by human beings. It seems Cronon points to the tendencies many individuals have to simultaneously exoticize and classify the natural world. It is indeed laughable to think that the collection of gentle streams and calming trees, otherwise known as protected natural spaces today, were the vast, desolate, and creepy territories of earlier periods.

Yet it seems Cronon is unduly harsh in arguing “[nature is] entirely a creation of the culture it holds dear, a product of the very history it seeks to deny” (79). Undoubtedly, the few open spaces we have carved out in the US would certainly suggest the natural environment is a creation of the state. But this assumes that the natural world may only be appreciated within the confines of designated grounds or the places people identify as exotic. It seems Cronon takes a huge leap in suggesting that this desire to classify nature is a means to deny our history of modernization simply because the word deny implies an active and conscious refusal to believe or recognize. In a certain sense, a denial might encompass a complete neglect and lack of concern for the wilderness after a weekend jaunt to the woods. It seems absurd to assume that enjoying the benefits of an undeveloped area is tantamount to an escape from all of humanity that we might never remember or return. I would imagine, and at least hope, that forests and protected lands remain preserved because the population seeks to maintain part of their past rather than for purposes of escape or denial.

            Cronon’s argument changes slightly near his conclusion and he seems to recant his original statements regarding the denial of nature by society. His argument ultimately culminates with the idea that when society regards nature with a certain distance, perhaps embodied in the notion of the Other, there is a loss of appreciation or perhaps an undue exoticism taking place in our perception of nature (84). He argues nature can be experienced in the subtly of weeds growing out of miles of concrete or a few trees amongst a cluster of buildings. Although he takes a different angle on the same argument, his indictment of society on the whole is misplaced. The early developments in business and industry forced the government and fledging forest service to respond by both demarcating and commoditizing natural spaces that demanded preservation. It seems practically impossible to avoid the commoditized aspects of nature in society, but especially considering the motto of the National Forest Service: “Land of Many Uses.” The kneejerk reaction of government to protect natural spaces, in light of societal developments that continue to blight the environment, seems justified and necessary for their time and the current day. In so doing, it is plausible to suggest that nature has been marginalized or othered, but it seems illogical to place blame upon those who might want to experience wooded acres and vast hills rather than a few weeds emerging from a seldom-used concrete path.     

A Reflection on My First Summer in the Sierra

Muir displays an obvious connection with nature in My Fist Summer in the Sierra that goes beyond mere personification or appreciation of nature. His descriptions sway to and fro between that of a theologian and a talented naturalist poet. In “North Fork of the Merced,” June 14, Muir describes an area once ravaged by floods as covered by “the testimony of trees growing on flood boulder deposits” (48). Eventually the effects of the flood “came to awaken everything movable to go swirling and dancing on wonderful journeys” (48). Furthermore, he describes the area as “holy [and] where one might hope to see God” (49). Such a passage, though brief, displays a connection with the Biblical story of the flooding of the earth by God. The force of the flood from the Merced caused not only destruction but also a catharsis for nature. Muir does not mention a rainbow but the trees are quite capable of delivering a testimony in the wind.

Muir’s experiences capture feelings and emotions with grandiose and palpable dialogue when he describes his experiences with the nearby pines. He is struck by a “throbbing, thrilling, overflowing [sensation where] the gods of the planet kingdom, living their sublime century, live in the sight of Heaven” (52). The trees are, according to Muir, “our inheritance” which almost leaves him paralyzed with joy and grandeur. Muir parallels his descriptions of nature with the sublime. Cosgrove, in “Sublime Nature: Landscape and Industrial Capitalism,” observes that “holy fear, majesty, exultation are the adjectives of the sublime” (226). The discussion of inheritance and the implied notion of paralysis at the hands of nature lead to yet another Biblical implication of humans as sheep. Sheep, described as gentle but hungry, move about the landscape while devouring every plant in sight and get away from Muir. After gorging, the sheep soon return to him. Muir observers that sheep, like people, having escaped restraint “were afraid of their freedom and did not know what to do with it, and seemed glad to get back into the old familiar bondage” (57). This metaphor seems infused with both aspects of nature and individual enlightenment. Natural spaces, such as Yosemite, provide a place for reflection and contemplation of life away from the bustle of the city. Yet this exposure to beauty and the sublime soon give way to a “freedom” that individuals cannot or will not process. Muir suggests individuals need the bondage of routine localized in activities away from the captivating features of nature to function in everyday life.  Furthermore, it seems Muir acts as a naturalist poet for the common individual. He unlocks a brief glimpse into the sublime that was previously rooted only in classic works of literature that might be described as “erudite and elitist [and] hardly attainable by ordinary mortals” (Cosgrove 226).

Overall, Muir does well in blending the aspects of nature, spirituality, and the sublime by writing an account which is both accessible and relatable even to city dwellers. He both engages with the complex expression of the sublime while not alienating those unfamiliar with the like of Dante, Homer, or Milton.     

Landscaping Gothic Allusions in Cosgrove’s England: Prospects, Palladianism and Paternal Landscapes

      In 1737 James Dormer took up residence at his estate, Rousham, about ten miles north of Oxford. The property included rolling lawns, clusters of trees, and long walks. The design of the many grandiose architectural and natural features, crafted by Charles Bridgeman, encompassed Dutch, English, Italian, and French influences. The paddock, with the help of the ha-ha, or sunken ditch, “allowed for grazing cattle to appear within the bounds of the immediate area of the house, uniting productive and aesthetic land uses” (199). Yet this design was drastically altered to resemble picturesque landscaping that mimics the composition, mainly in terms of gardens and views, of a landscape painting. William Kent redesigned the property with a Gothic influence that employed Gothic bridges, flying buttresses, ruined arches, and sculptures of violent creatures. Like the origins of Gothic literature, the Gothic elements of the property stood in stark contrast to the unadorned English country side just as the juxtaposition between antithetical principals of Roman authority and Gothic liberty. Nature was endowed with a false freedom to shape the landscape only within the confines of carefully manicured grounds. Even the likes of Horace Walpole commented that Dormer’s property illustrated that “all nature is a garden…the inversion of art and nature is compete [within the garden] and reveals stability and perfection in English society” (qtd. in Cosgrove).

            Rousham requires the viewer to “create nature as a picture—literally and theoretically—because all is an illusion” (204). Nature had a profound impact upon the development of the Gothic genera in terms of the psychological mystification of both the characters and the readers. If we take stock in David Hume’s theory that “all reasoning is nothing but a species of sensation” then nature and our interpretation of our emotions can confuse the distinction between reality and fantasy (qtd. in Cosgrove). The surroundings in Walpole’s “The Castle of Otranto” almost seem to come alive. In the tale, an ancient prophesy states, “the castle and lordship of Otranto should pass from the present family, whenever the real owner should be grown too large to inhabit it" (Walpole 11). This prophesy comes to light upon the death of the soon to be married Prince Conrad. A marriage between Conrad and Princess Isabella would have dramatically changed the composition of the ruling powers of the castle. The very nature or essence of the castle seems to work against the marriage when the large helmet of a statue crushes Conrad. The events of the story, while embodying elements of the Gothic, also depict a perversion of nature and its affects upon humans. Just as Dormer manipulated his property by manicuring and manipulating nature, so too does nature or architecture seem to manipulate the characters in Walpole’s story. There is a deeply rooted connection between the composure of natural surroundings and the psychological state of the individual that is exposed as casual in the Gothic where humans lack complete control. The efforts of Dormer to cultivate an estate that exuded opulence and perfection ultimately presented an illusion or perversion of nature akin to the skewed reality localized in the Gothic genera.           

                

Environmentalism and Aesthetics: A Brief Comparison of “Beyond Ecology” and “Coleridge and the Economy of Nature”

                Evernden, in “Beyond Ecology,” leaves the reader with a deceptively simple notion that “environmentalism without aesthetics is merely regional planning” (103). This statement, at first glance, might invoke the usual connotations of the humanities where subjectivity and “opinionated” reasoning reign supreme. I perhaps made this evaluation because of the usual responses from scientists and engineers, which usually impart little to no hope for the humanities to “understand” or discuss science or the environment. Though, Evernden supports this statement in uniting the concepts of both experiencing and interpreting the environment simultaneously while also not simply putting a value on nature. The knee-jerk reaction of the ecologist, as Evernden points out, is to “build in utility to the argument for preserving natural places” (93). This argument for utility is built upon the mutual assumption held by both social sciences as well as the physical sciences in respecting the “all-consuming importance called man” (95). As Evernden points out, the search for some sort of value present in nature for humans might be the wrong methodology for justifying the preservation of whooping cranes or other endangered creatures. Science cannot interpret the world alone but must work in tandem with the humanities to develop a mutual respect between humans and nature.

                McKusick, in “Coleridge and the Economy of Nature,” supports the idea of the sciences and the humanities working for or with one another in that “language [can be characterized] as a living thing or an integral organic system, either through the coinage of new words or the recovery of archaic ones” (8). Yes, it seems like a simple method for uniting the concepts of the sciences and the humanities, but this idea extends beyond a simple metaphor or the simplistic observation that language is our device in communicating any sort of information that is scientific or aesthetic. More importantly, it seems science and the humanities are interconnected simply because the observations that take place in poetry, such as Coleridge, display a “relation to the natural environment and his aesthetic principle of organicism likewise entails reference to the linguistic habitat of a poem as an essential determinant of its meaning” (8). Given such a relation between the environment and language, it seems there is a symbiosis or cooperation amongst the two systems. This relationship is necessary for humans to both interpret and interact within nature, but it is important to observe there is no “value” or hierarchy placed upon the “use” of nature for the benefit of society. The relationship between the aesthetic and the scientific gradually became an issue, as discussed by McKusick, “due to human intervention in the natural world [that was viewed by scientists] as tending toward the improvement of the landscape and the development of natural resources” (2). There are obviously ubiquitous benefits for the manipulation and integration of nature in modern society, but it seems there is an even greater need to spur thought for our relationship and symbiosis with our natural environment rather than assuming our unquestioned dominance over it.  

On Environmental Commodification: A Brief Analysis of “Ecocriticism in British Romantic Studies” and its Implications for “Poems of the Naming of Places”

                Wordsworth, in “Poems on the Naming of Places,” highlights an interesting “attachment to rural objects” where individuals demonstrate a tendency to name unnamed places or locales in nature. The speaker’s  description of nature in stanza one is pure and unrestrained where the April morning is “fresh and clear” and streams run “soft into a vernal tone” (Wordsworth 1, 5). There is a connection between the speaker and the other creatures of the wild, but it is also apparent there is no sense of ownership or control. At first, the speaker seems content in acting as a tourist or passerby in an environment he can simply observe and admire. The speaker’s observations soon evolve into a desire or perhaps a need to name the natural space. The speaker eventually names this wild space “Emma’s Dell” and later mars a space by brutishly carving “Joanna’s Rock” onto a stone nearby (47, 85). The actions taken by the speaker seem to represent the tendency of human beings to both acquire and place nature in a system of, what I might call, environmental commodification. On its’ face, naming places in the wild might imply that humans can connect to nature and personify both its beauty and granger, but there is also an opportunity to commodity such natural spaces.

                The commodification of nature or natural spaces is still a vibrant point of discussion today. Hutchings, in “Ecocriticism in British Romantic Studies,” discusses the “field of inquiry for ecocriticism” as a medium that “reflects and helps to shape human responses to the natural environment” (1). Romantic literature introduces the idea that “nature is celebrated as a beneficent antidote to the cross world of getting and spending” (1).  Yet the encroachment of human society is quickly diluting and polluting the antidote nature once provided with plentiful abundance. The growth of suburbs and industry, as Blake put it, caused “cities turrets & towers & domes / Whose smoke destroyed the pleasant gardens” (qtd in Hutchings).

                Wordsworth’s speaker, in naming and appropriating natural spaces, acts as the clichéd “writing on the wall” for what would eventually be described as environmental crisis or plight in the following centuries. When the speaker of Wordsworth’s poem names a place and marks it for himself this immediately begins a process of decay and disruption in nature. Yes, naming a space might bring individuals closer to nature in some sense of identification or personification, but naming also leads to the possibility of exploitation of nature in its use and abuse by humans. Ecological criticism, as noted in Hutchings, “purports to speak on behalf of non-human organisms and the biological processes that sustain them,” but it seems that humans position their environment as more of a living space akin to a house or dwelling (3). It seems industry and innovations have made the environment a space that can be manipulated and edited.  Forests and plains can be reorganized and reallocated as one might reposition furniture in a den or living room. Yet, sadly, the exploitation of nature goes far beyond the trivial act of moving furniture. In an effort to extend this argument, Hutchings notes “[the word] environment presupposes man at the centre, surrounded by things [and depicts] human mastery over, and possession of, nature” (qtd. in Hutchings). Overall, it seems Wordsworth is able to point to the eventual progress of man in acquiring and manipulating nature. The idea that humans can both appreciate and degrade nature begins in its personification. There is, indeed, a delicate balance that must be observed to preserve unity with natural spaces and also, paradoxically, a respectful distance.                              

On Mary Wollstonecraft’s “A Vindication of the Rights of Woman” and Contemporary Feminist Ideas

Mary Wollstonecraft’s “A Vindication of the Rights of Woman,” though published in the 18^th century, still addresses issues widely debated amongst feminists today. Early in her piece, Wollstonecraft identifies the main obstacles of equality for women as the “misuse” of chastity and the idolization of women by men. She states, “Chastity will never be respected in the male world till the person of a woman is not, as it were, idolized, when little virtue or sense embellish it with the grand traces of mental beauty, or the interesting simplicity of affection” (289). In other words, it seems Wollstonecraft advocates the idea that women cannot make any progress if their success or talent relies upon the use of their bodies. If a woman were to use any other device, other than her intellect, to advance in society she would run the risk of “stopping the progress of knowledge and virtue” (288).

Ariel Levy, author of “Female Chauvinist Pigs,” advances a similar notion for the advancement of women with a 21^st century concerns. Levy states, “Women who have wanted to be perceived as powerful have long found it more efficient to identify with men than to try and elevate the entire female sex to their level” (286). The female chauvinist pig (FCP) represents a woman who goes about attaining power, in some cases a great deal of power, but through the wrong means. When a woman becomes this FCP she openly tries to not only identify with men but also when she tries to become like a man. Levy argues, “Instead of trying to reform other people’s perceptions of femininity, the FCP likes to position herself as something outside of the normal bounds of womanhood…defining her own little turf involves degrading other women”  (275).The FCP strives desperately to live up to all the stereotypes constructed for her by men.  For example, contemporary television shows, such as The Man Show and Howard Stern have provided an outlet for some women to buy into a male dominated television industry. Women are often degraded and insulted on such television programs, but “38 percent” on The Man Show viewers are women (Levy 276). By taking on the stereotyped role of a man, women openly surrender their possibility of advancement by “stopping the progress of knowledge and virtue.”

                Wollstonecraft places a central focus on the idea that “intellect will govern” and that “women are, in fact, so much degraded by mistaken notions of female excellence…that such a notion produces a propensity to tyrannize” (293). It seems notions of “female excellence” entail a capacity for the domestic and children as where men have the rational capacity for virtuous behavior (293). These “notions of female excellence” coupled with a “propensity for tyranny” create a paradox or contradiction for the advancement of women in society (292). This paradox works to inhibit the interest of women to even attempt to subvert the typical male notion of “ladies” or women in the upper class (292). It seems ladies represent the largest struggle for women’s rights because they have been “corrupted by extremes of wealth” and the influence of men in their class (292).

                Again we can see the distant echoes of Wollstonecraft’s fears in Levy’s work. Levy’s main argument centers on the paradox that FCPs face in modern society. When women advance their careers and personal interests at the cost of feminist ideals they, in a certain sense, degrade their sex. By giving into prescribed gender roles, e.g. engaging in hyper-sexualized behavior for the amusement of men, women might win influence or secure monetary gains but they ultimately degrade the progress of feminism. Levy captures this conflict in stating, “If you are the exception that proves the rule, and the rule is that women are inferior, you haven’t made any progress” (278).  Overall, it seems women can never be respected when “women are idolized …and not respected for their mental beauty” and potential for advancement (289).