On Victorian England

While I always knew that I liked Victorian England in a vague old-things-are-good sort of way, I didn't realize exactly how strongly I felt about it until reading The Coming Race and The Time Machine. Both of these novels focus on the adventures of an intelligent, well-educated man from Victorian England who is thrust into a world full of stagnation and corruption. While reading these books, I was surprised to find myself thinking that I wanted to go home-- not to my own time, but to a time of explosive growth as far away from the stagnation as possible. To Victorian England.

It makes me think of interesting lighting and architecture, an endearingly convoluted social code, and, above all, science without all of the stifling regulations which have in the present day been necessarily imposed upon it-- raw science, perfectly fitted to narrative. Victorian scientists didn't work for a corporation. They didn't have to vie for sponsorship. They were heroes. [Be forewarned: I prefer to err on the side of effusive melodrama.] Here on the other side of the Atlantic, we like to believe that we've patented rugged individualism-- we are the land of the cowboy, the frontiersman, the common-sense protestant founding a home in the wilderness. And we have, and we are. But England has a similarly heroic tale which is more nuanced and can be less compelling to some as a result. Charles Darwin didn't ride into town on horseback and save the local populace from a menacing villain. But he carved his way through the thickets of the unknown and illuminated an entire branch of science, nay, science as a whole, and as a result civilization-- and how? By setting out on a voyage, embarking on a solitary endeavor to chronicle the animals of the Galapagos.

The Victorian era mirrors the Renaissance in that humanity had once again fallen desperately in love with itself. From Mowgli, who tames the wild jungle with his knowledge and his red flower, to Alice and Wonderland, in which one small girl is given the terrifying task of bringing order to absolute chaos-- to The Ascent of Man, which is sung in a minor key but is nonetheless a love song. And further, to The Coming Race and The Time Machine, where again we are asked to identify with a solitary individual-- a hero-- who is thrust into a nightmare which is ghastly and horrid precisely because it is what our world is not. It is entirely alien. It is stagnation, and is completely antithetical to the one image from this course which I will always retain-- growth, pure and effusive, a growth which is dangerously exponential and has not yet learned to control or regulate itself but continually overflows its container-- and the solitary man, a Darwin or a Time Traveller or a Sherlock Holmes, relentlessly hurtling forward, cataloging species, endlessly inventing and deducing, completely and recklessly intoxicated by his ability to manipulate the world around him.

Oh, and as to how this relates to the modern era: we have recently found ourself in another time of terrifyingly exponential progress-- arguably we hit our stride during the Victorian era and have not stopped. But I think the Victorian era is relevant because it does exactly what good literature should do-- shows us not only what humanity can accomplish, but what it can destroy. The social problems of Victorian England should caution us against being too rash in our endless pursuit of progress. Perhaps a steady, more regulated pace is preferable. But not nearly as exciting, which is why more books from this period should be read and more books about this period should be written.