Jekyll

From what I have been able to cull from various sources on the interwebs there seems to be no chance of a second season of Jekyll. IMDB lists no information under the series or the actor James Nesbitt in regards to filming, and the BBC's website on Jekyll has not been updated since July of 2007. Bummer. However, if you have Netflix instantly streaming you can stream it to your television. I have done that and hope to watch it over the weekend.

Aesthetics and Darwin

The term aesthetic is often misleading as it can be interpreted in many different ways. I have thought it to suggest a relation to a natural beauty of life. For clarification purposes, I have taken the term to focus on a more artistic connotation, imaginative and yet beautiful at the same time. Through my interpretation, I have been able to set up a direct comparison between scientific and aesthetic, as novels like the Time Machine are less aesthetic as Darwin suggests.
In his autobiography, Charles Darwin begins with the notion that his mind has evolved from liking poets like Milton, Wordsworth and Coleridge to that of novels. From here, Darwin begins to suggest that not only people, but plants and animals belong to the evolutionary world, but so do works of literary art. Darwin goes on to say that books of “history, biographies, and travels (independently of any scientific facts which they may contain), and essays on all sorts of subject interest me as much as they ever did” and yet, he places them at a more degenerate level that of poetry. While I first thought this idea to be crazy, I can only agree with him when looking at the works within the (d)evolution cluster.
While the novels Darwin liked may not be based on scientific facts, the reader was asked to accept the pseudoscience facts in order to accept the novel. For instance, in the Time Machine, while I know that there is no such thing as a time machine, I am asked to accept the fact that the man had built a time machine and traveled to the future. This does not require me to use my imagination on how he got there, as there seems to be answer on HOW the time traveler arrived to the place of the Morlocks and Elois. The Time Machine uses “factual scientific theories” like the fourth dimension, which hinders the full use of the imagination as science becomes entangled with fantasy. On page four, the time traveler tells his guest, “there are really four dimensions, three which we call the three planes of Space, and a fourth, Time.” The time traveler tells us how to think and how to interpret his findings, as we are given his opinion on things like the description of the Elois and the Morlocks, instead of leaving it to our imagination. Thus, it seems as if the natural occurrences within the novel become tampered by the facts and the plot descriptions found within the novel.
On the other hand, in the poems of May Kendall, we are not aware of our surrounding, beyond just a brief description of the scenery. We get an idea that both the philanthropist and the man with the trilobite are alone, but we, as readers, do not know how this has happened. We do not know the age, the physical appearance, or even the time in which Kendall’s poems take place. Thus, the reader is forced to use their own imagination to place man at the point of meeting. There is nothing definite in the poems, allowing for the interpretations to be openly accepted with years to come.
In addition to the lack of forced scientific theory in the poems, there seems to be a natural representation of science. The only thing scientific present within these poems is the acceptance of Darwin’s theory of natural selection, the key term being natural. The only unnatural occurrence within the poems would be the fact that both creatures talk with man. And yet, when the conversation between man and the trilobite or the jellyfish and philanthropist is over, we are not forced to accept any one idea, but rather we are allowed to reflect on the conversation and choose how we interpret the poem, freely.

Whatever Makes You Happy: A Look at Literature from Darwin’s Perspective

Darwin’s autobiography offers an interesting perspective on the appeal of different types of literature. Darwin places a great deal of value on poetry, while novels are of so little value that they help cause the atrophy of the brain from which he claims to suffer. In particular, Darwin places a high aesthetic and intellectual value on poetry; it is positioned, as a literature for “higher aesthetic tastes,” alongside essays and books on history, biography, and travel. This likely means that Darwin believes poetry shares the qualities of these works, such as a solid base in reality and a clear set of themes or ideas. On the other hand, Darwin calls novels “works of the imagination” which are “not of a very high order.” The degenerate novel’s traits contrast those of the more intellectual histories, biographies, and travels—at least from Darwin’s point of view (though his view was likely partially influenced by the society of his day). In this autobiography, Darwin suggests that aesthetic and intellectual values are the desired traits of the “natural selection” of literary forms. However, I believe that it is for enjoyment or entertainment and not simply for aesthetic or intellectual value that we should (and typically do) read, and the reason that a work of literature becomes well-known and long-lasting is because of the enjoyment we get from reading it.

All works of literature differ from text to text in terms of aesthetic and intellectual value, and the value placed on each text is completely subjective. Literature is primarily read because it is enjoyable. While the aesthetic and intellectual value may sometimes contribute to our enjoyment of literature, in other cases they may contribute very little to our enjoyment (as in Darwin’s case, since his preference for novels “that do not end unhappily” and contain “some person whom one can thoroughly love, and if a pretty woman all the better” made me think more of a soap opera than anything intellectual or aesthetic). In Darwin’s day, there seemed to have been a standard of “good” poetry—as he is able to rattle of a list of poets such as Milton, Byron, and Shakespeare—whose qualities, whether intellectual, aesthetic, imaginative, etc. made them engaging to read. The enjoyment gotten from reading these works and not necessarily the aesthetic or intellectual qualities (though they certainly don’t hurt) is what has made them persist as something of standards even in modern times. If they weren’t entertaining in some aspect, they wouldn’t have survived as well as they did.

On looking at “Lay of the Trilobite” from the perspective of Darwin’s autobiography, the poem seems to possess all of the traits Darwin would want to find in a poem. For example, the poem is—to me, as this value is subjective—stylistically, ideologically, and skillfully aesthetic. Looking at the rhyme scheme, the traits such as alliteration (“mighty mind,” etc.), allusion (“greet with hymn-book in one hand/ And pistol in the other!” suggests a missionary), and irony (such as “And oh, a pretty fix you’re in!”), can be considered aesthetically pleasing. The poem is also valuable intellectually; Darwin and other Victorians might have appreciated poetry for all of the potential it possesses in such a small area, and for all of the ideas it includes in addition to its aesthetic value. For example, there is the idea of the haughty or arrogant man (“The man cannot find “Sufficient vague and mighty thought/ To fill [his] mighty mind.”) and his decline (such as the “Politics to make you fight/ As if you were possessed.”) It is also interesting to note that the poem also has similarities to the idea of classification, as the footnote alludes to the difficulties with classifying nature just as it is difficult to classify all novels or all poetry or other literary genres in a hierarchy.

“Lay of the Trilobite” is entertaining, and its subject is an interesting one, as it presents an original point about the general reception of Charles Darwin’s works—which some accepted with arrogance, as the idea of Man being on the top of the evolutionary ladder was flattering—by turning the speaker’s reaction about at the end. The poem’s different point of view makes it an interesting read, which is likely why it has persisted in modern times. The fact that the poem possesses both an intellectual and an aesthetic value matches the qualities of poetry in Darwin’s theory of literary evolution, but this alone is not enough to allow literature to “select” and continue. Without someone’s—or really many someone’s—enjoyment of this poem, it would not be well-known today.

A look at The Time Machine from Darwin’s perspective, as well, is enlightening. This text is a novel and—according to Darwin—should be only somewhat aesthetically pleasing though not very intellectually valuable. Though it does not possess the same type of flow of words that poems like “Trilobite” do, one can argue that The Time Machine is just as aesthetically pleasing as well, with traits such as its long descriptive passages. While Darwin seems to claim that novels are not as intellectually pleasing, I would argue that The Time Machine is just as intellectually pleasing as “Trilobite” is. Naturally, this value is very subjective, but I believe that The Time Machine possesses a good deal of interesting ideas and themes such as invention, dystopia, and the theory of evolution. One of the novel’s ideas also has similarities with Darwin’s literary beliefs, as there is a contrast and separation between the aesthetics of the Eloi and the intellect of the Morlocks.

If enjoyment is the way in which certain types of literature persists, than I would argue that The Time Machine is much more likely to persist than “Lay of the Trilobite,” as it is more of a well-known and well-loved work today. It is more likely to be enjoyed by the modern short-attention-spanned society, as the work is a mysterious adventure story with an intriguing plot. “Lay of the Trilobite,” on the other hand, is interesting mostly because it pertains to Darwin’s theory and our acceptance of it. It lacks any sort of adventure or real plot, and those who gain pleasure from it are more likely—because of its topic—to be educated and to already be interested in either literature (like poetry) or science (like Darwin). The Time Machine, on the other hand, is much more readily accessible because of its easily-followed plot, engaging adventure, and even its general idea (as there are now a great deal of stories or movies that deal with the concept of an actual time machine and not just time travel, as Wells made this idea more popular). Accessible and entertaining stories like The Time Machine are more widely accepted today and will likely continue to be so—accessibility, popular ideas, and adventure trumps intellect and aesthetic in terms of enjoyment for many people of today’s world.

Stick to What You Know Best

Pardon me if I come off sounding a little brash, but last I heard, Charles Darwin was an expert on the evolutionary theory of organisms, not literary theory. Someone who likes "all [novels] if [they are] moderately good, and if they do not end unhappily," does not sound like a person who should be making bold generalizations concerning the merits of the different literary genres. To me, someone who makes a statement such as this sounds like an immature reader. In short, I do not feel that Darwin is a credible source for literary information.

Granted, beauty is in the eye of the beholder; and Charles Darwin is entitled to his aesthetic opinions. If he believes that poetry has the highest aesthetic value of all literary genres, (even though he "cannot endure to read a line of poetry," oddly enough), then so be it. I, on the other hand, find it difficult to read a novel such as H.G. Wells' The Time Machine and not feel that it is, if not better than, at least on the same aesthetic level as, well done works of poetry.

Wells does a fantastic job of combining scientific and social ideas, wonderfully done descriptions, and an entertaining plot in The Time Machine to create a novel of high aesthetic value. Throughout the novel, the Time Traveler discusses different scientific and social ideas (i.e. time as the fourth dimension and the evolution of society); and I believe this adds a sense of scientific beauty to the book. Wells also describes scenes throughout the novel in nearly poetic fashion. For example, on page 148 he writes: "The breeze rose to a moaning wind. I saw the black central shadow of the eclipse sweeping towards me. In another moment the pale stars alone were visible. All else was rayless obscurity. The sky was absolutely black." This description, along with many others in the novel, contributes a poetic aesthetic value to the novel. And concerning the aesthetic value of the plot, I would say that the gripping adventure and suspense found in The Time Machine speaks for itself.

Though Darwin is an incredibly intelligent man, and though his ideas concerning the aesthetic values of the different literary genres were held in common among a large part of the Victorian population, I have no qualms about defying his ideas and holding up The Time Machine as an example of a novel that has an aesthetic value equivalent to that of a well done poem.

it's coming ...

It's as if Darwin believes his mind evolved past appreciating poetry and music, the way he did when he was a boy, just as the Viril-ya no longer expressed an interest and need for the arts. He explains that, " in one respect, [his] mind has changed during the last twenty or thirty years," expressing a kind of transformation from enjoying the beauty of arts to strongly preferring the literary 'genius' of novels. It seems that it is only the imagination of the literature he seeks, for his interest in the texts is "independent of any scientific facts which [the novels] may contain." Darwin does explain that a man with a mind more organized that his may not encounter this issue and further points out that there is a "loss of happiness and possible injurious to the intellect," but, in my opinion, this could be the future of thought for all man.

Compare the moral, for lack of better word, of Constance Naden's "Natural Selection" to Darwin's own literary, being that Darwin's theory of Natural Selection is imbedded into everything that is capable of sexual reproduction and everyone is privy to it. Regardless of education or intelligence, there will always be a competition for what could be better. Even in literature, there is a competition of sorts for what will last and what won't; novels verses poems, included. Mary Shelly's Frankenstein seems to transcend generations and continues to be read, while the smutty paperback in the corner of your local bookstore won't. For Darwin, the classics with relatable content will be studied forever and the need to express oneself through music or poetry won't be necessary. Perhaps Darwin is attempting to explain that simplicity and idle creativity aren't enough and accepted, peer-reviewed novels will slowly, but surely, become the norm for reading. If the Viril-ya are the further evolved versions of the present human race, then perhaps humankind will someday feel just as Darwin does, with the artistic portion of the brain atrophied, leaving behind only space for intellect and information.

Cracking the Riddle: Darwin’s Inevitable Cycle

Riddle: What did Darwin say in the morning, the jellyfish sing in the afternoon, and the Sphinx repeat in the evening?

Hint- Your Imagination is the key!

(Explanation and Answer found in comment)

High Aesthetic Taste: The Novel

I agree with Darwin’s theory of literary evolution because of Wells’ The Time Machine greatly heighten the aesthetic of what of what I hold the novel to be.

In the beginning of The Time Machine, the Time Traveler immediately begins to gain creditability in three ways. One, that he, the Time Traveler, can travel through time by using the fourth duration of space--imagination. Two, he makes his miniature model of the time machine disappear thereby traveling through time. And, finally he places me in the company of people such as a doctor, physiologist, and an editor. These people are known for their rational grip on reality, not for their ability to easily suspend their disbelief. Wells, who is also the Time Traveler, is indeed a skillful story teller for staging such a beginning to a story. Wells, like Kipling, does not assume that I, the reader, am going to immediately suspend my disbelief simply because he tells me to, in order to receive, what he is about to present with. H.G. Wells is extremely confident in his ability to persuade me by using concert evidence that he did travel in time, and this is what happened.

Darwin said, “A novel, according to my taste, does come into the first class unless it contains some person who one can thoroughly love.” I agree with Darwin to a degree; I have to both love and hate the person, who’s novels I favor to be first class. Novels are pieces of art that reflect life as the individual sees it, and to love a group or one particular piece of art like novel(s) I believe that one must identify with it and find some rarity about this particular piece of art. The Time Machine had both those qualities for me. I hated that I identified with the Time Traveler; therefore, I identified with the Morlocks. It as if Wells put a mirror in front of me when the Time Traveler finally discovers what the Morlocks were up to; Wells subtly provides a reflection into who I will become if I continue on this roller coaster called perfection. This information scared the sh**t out of me, and I hated Wells for bring this to my attention.


At the same time I loved it because how Wells reveals the “so-called” true me, to myself, is by getting me to suspend my disbelief that such a thing can happen. Thereby, truly traveling in time with Wells as guide, but he is not driving so forcefully to jab this information down my throat. He sneaks on me, and all I’m left with is an imperfect and faint representation of who I thought I was staring back at me. Wells’ subtle approach to revealing the ugly side of our possible devolution is The Time Machine’s rare quality , and in turn, it reveals the high aesthetism that the novel holds because Wells could not have accomplished what he does, without the use and vehicle of the novel.

Use It or Lose It: Darwin and Aesthetic Appreciation

In his autobiography, Charles Darwin makes the argument that because his brain has become "a kind of machine for grinding general laws out of large collections of facts," rather than an arena for aesthetic or artistic enjoyment. The part of his brain formerly devoted to the appreciation of such arts has atrophied and these "higher tastes" no longer appeal to him. Darwin remarks that at this time in his life, he "cannot endure to read a line of poetry" and claims that the works of Shakespeare now "nauseate" him. Music and beautiful scenery no longer inspire positive feelings in him, either. Novels, however, still bring pleasure to Darwin at this time because he believes them to be a sort of "degenerate aestheticism," meaning that Darwin still regards novels as "works of the imagination" but believes them to be of a lower order then poetry, music, or pretty scenery.

Darwin never explicitly states why he considers fictional books to be over a lower order than other art forms, but he does mention that he still finds books rooted in fact to be as appealing as ever. I can only speculate that Darwin prefers novels to other art forms because novels relate more the the books of facts that he was so used to reading and enjoying. There are likely to be a few facts worked into any given novel, and one could argue that many novels teach a lesson to readers through some sort of moral. It is somewhat rare that a novel would be purely aesthetic, whereas there are plenty of songs written just because they sound good and several poems forced together by pretty rhyme. I cannot, however, be sure of the true reasons for Darwin's assertion that novels are of a lower order than other art forms.

In any case, I do not believe that whether Darwin prefers to read books or poems in his old age is what should most concern us about the "theory of literary (r)evolution" section of his autobiography. My biggest concern is that this brilliant man once enjoyed many aesthetic things and has now narrowed his interest in art down to solely novels with Disney endings and lovable, attractive female characters. I am struck with the concern that Darwin's theory is more of a theory of devolution in the case of literature than one of evolution. Similar to how as humans became more intelligent, they appeared to become weaker and more fragile, as Darwin's mind became stronger in the terms of scientific though and analyzing data, it became weaker in his ability to relish in the arts.

Though Darwin never would have read May Kendall's "The Lower Life," because he grew to find poetry insufferable, and he would have hated H. G. Wells' The Time Machine, due to its absence of lovable female characters and presence an ending that is disturbing more than happy. Regardless, both contain subject matter related to Darwin's predicament with the arts.

For example, in May Kendall's "The Lower Life," Kendall remarks on the fact that in human evolution toward a greater mind, we have regressed in many categories, and as a result, many "lower" animals can do certain things better than people can. For instance, birds are much better at naturally being able to take off flying than humans. Similarly, in Darwin's "evolution" into a revolutionary theorist, he began lagging in subjects not fact-based which he was less devoted to. Just as humans don't have a need for gills because they don't live in the water, Darwin's brain stopped needing to appreciate art when he began exclusively studying fact.

If Darwin had bothered to read The Time Machine, he may have realized that the book has the same moral that he attempts to convey in his autobiography. Darwin's specialization led him to lost aesthetic appreciation. Similarly, the Morlocks in The Time Machine have no aesthetic appeal or focus, but they are very intelligent, and they are science and fact-minded, as well. On the other hand, the Eloi are all about aesthetic appeal. They have devolved away from the ability to reason and behave like unmedicated children with A.D.D. Both of these races come from the Victorian humans. The message that Wells gets across is that these two sides of a human should never be separated. Aesthetics and fact need to be together as one in order for our race to exist. Otherwise, like the Morlocks and the Eloi, humans will meet their impending doom, caused by relying on either art or science too heavily. For example, the Morlocks rely solely on the Eloi for food. The Eloi depend on fruit, but when the fruit goes away, both species will die out.

Darwin describes his state as "enfeebled" after reflecting on the "atrophy" of his mind. He thus recognizes that by separating himself from "the higher tastes" of aesthetics, he is weakening himself and thereby weakening mankind by doing so (assuming that he should go on to pass off such habits to his offspring).

The (de?) Evolution of Literature

It is strange that Darwin considers novels “works of the imagination, though not of a very high order.” Unfortunately, he does not clarify for the reader what exactly he means by this so we are forced to make assumptions about his intention. I think Darwin liked novels because of the escapism they provided. Novels allow the reader a break from reality and an escape to fantasy. It is far less likely, for me at least, that I will be so engrossed in a poem that I am whisked away to and absorbed in the world it describes. Darwin’s theory of “literary natural selection” so to speak denigrates novels to a lower and more vulgar place in culture, yet he appreciates novelists and the works they produce. It seems to me that for Darwin novels serve the same purpose that television and websites about cats with bad grammar serve for us today; they are mindless entertainment. He mentions that he has had many novels read to him and I imagine Darwin laying on a couch with his eyes closed imagining all of the things that are happening in the novel. For Darwin novels are passive entertainment they work their qualities on him while he passively consumes.
His theory does not entirely hold up however if we apply it to “The Time Machine” by H.G. Wells. Darwin’s theory holds that in order for a novel to be moderately good must end happily. In order for it to “come into the first class” it must have a character that one can “thoroughly love.” “The Time Machine” has neither of these qualities nor, in the case of the latter, a pretty woman. The novel presents a future world in which the descendants of man have divergently evolved into two distinct races. The two live in a sort of corrupted utopia in which the weaker and prettier eloi exist to feed the subterranean morlocks. The book also contains a visit to the end of the world in which man has been destroyed and the world is overrun with giant crustaceans and squid-creatures. The book hardly ends on a positive note as we are returned to the present and left to march slowly on towards the apocalypse. It is worth pondering whether or not there is anything that one can do to prevent the eventual split in man and the society of 802,701. The paradox of time travel leaves the reader with no clear answer.
This book makes me wonder where Darwin would classify it in his hierarchy of literature. There are no characters to which I felt, or I could imagine Darwin might have felt, an affinity for. Perhaps the narrator of the book is a relatable of the character but he serves little other purpose than to frame the novel. The eloi certainly are “attractive” but they are simpletons and virtually indistinguishable from each other. The morlocks are grotesque and feed on the eloi and so I hardly see them as relatable characters. Although I think that in many ways the morlocks are the most “human” of the creatures the time traveler encounters. I certainly don’t think that the controlling and cocky time traveler is a character to be loved. He has an incredible amount of hubris to think that he can go to the future and consider himself the superior being. He seems to somehow forget that the people he encounters are the descendants of him. Given our propensity for thinking that evolution just further and distills and clarifies the better attributes of creatures it can be assumed that they should be superior to us. But they aren’t. They devolved into simpler and baser creatures. They have lost touch with the art and the beauty they once enjoyed and now live in the dilapidated ruins of their golden age. As Darwin says the parts of their brain that appreciate higher aesthetic taste have atrophied. They exist in a world full of beauty but devoid of appreciation for it. The passage from Darwin’s autobiography ends with him saying that “The loss of these tastes is a loss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious to the intellect, and more probably to the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature.” The eloi with their disregard for their own lives and the lives of others, and the morlocks with their diet of eloi embody this problem beautifully.
It is odd then that H.G. Wells’ book does not fit the criteria of Darwin’s first class novels, yet the characters in it exemplify the dangers in losing the higher arts.

Deconstructing Darwin’s Theory of Literary (R)evolution

Darwin’s assertion seems solely based on his lack of reading poetry in his later years. Before the age of thirty he read the likes of Byron, Wordsworth, Shelley, Shakespeare, and many more. But as he has progressed in years, he has lost his interest in such poets, and even finds Shakespeare “intolerably dull.” In describing this “curious and lamentable loss of higher aesthetic tastes,” Darwin suggests a hierarchy in which poetry ranks higher than the novel. I find this assumption absolutely ridiculous. His claims are purely based on personal taste, and he never gives any specific reasoning for this outlook. Darwin—though accomplished, highly educated and eloquent—has no business deciding which literary form is best, or, as he calls it, “first class.” However, his suggestion could certainly change the way one approaches a text. Deeming poetry as instantly superior to the novel sets up a lofty expectation of the former, though Darwin’s prospects are terribly degrading to the poetic form.

In order to clarify Darwin’s expectations of poetry, I must first explain that of novels, the three specifics of which he details more thoroughly. And assuming that his expectations of novels are opposite or nearly so of poetry, I subsequently explain how and why my chosen case study, The Philanthropist and the Jelly-fish, fill these expectations.

He first contrasts poetry to the novel, describing the latter as “works of the imagination.” This leaves the reader to assume that poetry in itself is unimaginative. The Philanthropist and the Jelly-fish certainly fits this mold with such a supposition in mind. The poem describes an antagonist who wants to “rescue” a beached jelly-fish from certain death. The creature refuses his gesture, relaying that her demise is simply how things are. This is a response to natural selection and society’s opposition to the idea. Since the poem is based on Darwin’s own theory of evolution, it is clearly unoriginal and unimaginative.

The next must-have detail of a novel is a happy ending. Darwin does not contrast this aspect to poetry as he did previously, so the reader should not presume a poem should have a happy ending. While the reader could debate either way, The Philanthropist’s end is neither outright happy nor melancholic. It furthermore fills Darwin’s increasingly blasé expectations of poetry.

Lastly, a novel also must contain “some person whom one can thoroughly love.” This aspect is debatable in The Philanthropist. While I find the jelly-fish more agreeable—though I would not venture to say loveable—than the philanthropist, Darwin specifically writes that a “person,” not a character, must be found in a novel. The philanthropist is certainly not to be loved; he disrupts natural order. The jelly-fish seems to understand the world more so than he, therefore the reader does not even sympathize with him. Furthermore, Darwin writes that if such a person were a pretty woman, “all the better.” Though the jelly-fish is a female, she is not a person. The philanthropist is assumed to be male, but nonetheless remains genderless, therefore this detail is moot.

With these expectations of poetry explained, it seems more likely that novels, instead, are of the “higher order.” The Philanthropist and the Jelly-fish—as well as all other poetry—is unimaginative, unhappy, and sans loveable persons, at least from Darwin’s perspective. Why, then, is poetry of a higher order? Is it because Darwin assumes that it takes higher intellect to appreciate and digest poetry? I think that the answer goes back to my previous notion of taste. This “natural selection” of literary forms simply stems from a change in preference. I think what he suggests—that one form of literature is better than another—is dangerous and uninformed. To dismiss poetics as dull and unimaginative is to toss aside millennia of literary canon.

Survival of the (Jelly)Fishiest

Fine art should be dead. It is a recessive trait that does not further the human race and should eventually phase out of human culture to rest alongside its recessive brethren. No? Well, that is what the father of evolutionary theory says. According to Charles Darwin, he can no longer appreciate fine art. It tends to distract him from his work, and it appears his section of the brain that used to positively register fine art has stopped functioning properly. Listening to music and reading poetry actually elicits physical discomfort (such as nausea and headaches.) Aesthetic is often juxtaposed against science in Victorian literature, and even the recessive “trait” of poetry and art appears to support Darwin’s “theory of the arts.” May Kendall’s “The Philanthropist and the Jelly-fish” is a perfect example of said recessive trait backing up its eventual demise.

“The Philanthropist and the Jelly-fish” is about a philanthropist who is not at peace with the world around him*. He sees multiple jellyfish dying on a beach, and he decides to save just one jellyfish (he also acknowledges how his actions will not make a noticeable difference.) The jellyfish, however, has other plans. She is aware of her demise but does not struggle against it. She wisely tells the philanthropist that although she does not have a brain, she understands the natural world and does not feel sad that she is dying. She then warns the philanthropist that she knows humans are not perfect creatures and do not acknowledge their ultimate demise. Instead, humans struggle against the cycle of evolution and become depressed about things that are out of their control.

Even though a jellyfish is a primitive creature (there have been fossils of ancient jellyfish found) it still seems to have a better grasp on evolution than humans do. The philanthropist represents aesthetic values, and the jellyfish represents science. While the philanthropist loves humanity, he is narrow-minded and only focuses on the welfare of humanity and does not take science into account. His promotion of welfare extends to the jellyfish that is lying on the sand; she has clearly not adapted to stay in the water. The jellyfish he attempts to save has a recessive trait that is meant to leave the species, yet the philanthropist is trying to save it. He does not understand that he is essentially devolving the species, but the jellyfish does. She is not upset about dying in the sand. In fact, she does not feel emotion (it’s kind of hard to do that when one doesn’t have a brain. Ask the Tin Man.) The jellyfish does not have a brain, yet she understands science better than the philanthropist does. The philanthropist does have a brain, but he is wrapped up in the aesthetics of the world, which makes him less equipped to understand science.

The only thing that falls into the category of aesthetic and that Darwin appears to continue to enjoy is the novel. Apparently since novels are not a higher form of art, they are closer to human nature and do not completely steer one away from the realm of science. Perhaps this is due to the fact that novels generally reflect current trends and ideas during the time it is written. Could it also be said that novels adapt to human culture as human culture adapts to the natural world? Science, without a doubt, dominated the late Victorian scene. With the birth of evolution came the birth of science fiction, and many of the famous works of the era revolved around the idea of the evolution (and inevitable devolution or demise) of man. Evidently, fine art is headed down the same path.

*I merely designated a pronoun to the philanthropist. It should be noted that the philanthropist has no gender, but the jellyfish does. Perhaps this is because the author is a woman.


[Also, here is a picture of a jellyfish fossil:


found at: http://www.networlddirectory.com]

A Fatal Separation

We live in an era of specialization. I, for instance, am an English major. I hate numbers. I would be perfectly fine with math if it didn't have so many numbers in it, but, of course, it always does. I know other students who consider themselves to be "math people" or "science people" or "philosophy people". Our education is infinitely more specialized than it was hundreds of years ago, most likely because there is so much knowledge floating about waiting to be fooled with that no one has time to learn everything they need to know to become a philosopher-scientist-musician-mystic à la Pythagoras, or to rival the accomplishments of any number of multidisciplinary geniuses in the intervening years. In The Time Machine, Wells warns against exactly the sort of specialization we are now witnessing.

Wells was not exactly what one would call a Victorian Pythagoras, but if he claimed to be multidisciplinary no one could have quibbled-- he was a novelist, teacher and historian, and he had formal training in the sciences and dabbled in sketching. So it shouldn't surprise us that in constructing a potential decline-of-man scenario, Wells incorporated a rending of the human soul-- a complete division between man's mechanical and artistic sensibilities. The natural selection referred to by Darwin in his autobiography-- the atrophying of a part of the brain rarely exercised-- occurs, in the time machine, on a massive scale and along class lines.

The Morlocks are the technical side of man. They engage in useful tasks such as production of consumable goods and the maintenance of machinery, they set traps and utilize logic to gain advantage over their enemies. The reason the narrator does not and cannot relate to the Morlocks is that they have lost all sense of the aesthetic. They are not selecting for it, or else they would appear more attractive, and they certainly aren't bathing. In all matters aesthetic they are no better than animals.

The Eloi, on the other hand, completely embody the aesthetic. They are beautiful, they bathe, they are attracted to pretty things, and years ago they must have produced art on a grand and beautiful scale, though they do so no longer. The Eloi have, however, completely abandoned logic. They cannot reason. Their language contains no abstract concepts, and they cannot use machinery. As a result, they live their life in a beautiful pasture and are farmed for their meat, reduced to an entirely different kind of animal.

A human is not simply defined by his ability to reason, nor is he defined by his aesthetic sensibilities. He is comprised of both of these abilities, preferably in equal measures. An artist and a scientist, Wells understood this as well (haha) as anyone. I'm not sure whether or not I'll be able to apply this lesson in my everyday life-- I truly can't abide numbers. But I'll certainly try.

Novels: (r)evolutionary adaptation to changing conditions

Since the excerpt from Darwin's autobiography is not as easy to understand as it seems to, and the details can be interpreted in different ways, I will first elaborate how I understand his theory of a literary evolution, revolution, and devolution. Darwin states that poetry is of high aesthetic value, whereas novels are not “of a very high order”(*). However, due to his preoccupation with science, and the need to gather facts, he is no longer able to appreciate or even comprehend what poetry is telling. Instead, novels give him relief and pleasure, something poetry did in former times of his life. So there is the shift from one literary genre to the other. Though Darwin seems unable to change his behavior and thus this evolution of literature, he sees it very critically. In his opinion, aesthetic senses have to be trained, and they atrophy when they are not used. It is the same scenario we see to happen in nature when specific features of animals are no longer needed or used: they disappear in the course of time. But, according to Darwin, aesthetic senses are necessary, they are needed, but mankind does not use them, so that they wither. He argues that “the loss of these tastes is a loss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious […] to the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature.”
I questioned myself why he prefers novels when poetry is so much more valuable, and how he differentiates between novels and poetry. As the last quote shows, he equals poetry with emotion. Contrary to this, novels are “works of imagination.” By emphasizing this, Darwin implies that poetry is not based on imagination. This leads to the conclusion that poetry is a reflection of reality. At first, I thought this to be contradictory to the element of emotion, as I connected reality to the fact-based sciences and given circumstances, but as we see in The Time Machine, reality is not always very reasonable. The Time Traveler, for example, is totally wrong in his first ‘reasonable’ explanations how the new world of the Elois works. If poetry is in fact a highly aesthetic reflection of reality, influenced by emotion, it becomes a means of the universal truth. This truth is yet difficult to grasp. Having in mind the idea of poetry as including the universal truth, Darwin’s argument about the loss of the moral character becomes more understandable because poetry, since it tells the truth, also teaches the reader how to behave, and what is morally wrong and right. But to get these ‘guidelines,’ one must be able and willing to spend time with poetry, to make an effort. An aptitude that apparently gets lost in Darwin’s time.
Contrary, the novels evolve. Being imaginative creations, Darwin demands that they have a happy-ending, a person who can be loved, and “if a pretty woman all the better.” Only then they are “first class” novels. Again, I thought he contradicts himself by fist separating emotion (poetry) from imagination (novel), as such story is emotional. But these emotions are faked, and looking at the plot of such stories, they are often pretty flat and superficial. They might give relief for a short time, but they do not communicate any ideas beyond this dull story. It seems as if Darwin uses novels as an escape from reality. Novels present him a world in which he does not have to think. This is further supported by what he says about his averseness to music: it sets him “thinking too energetically on what I have been at work on, instead of giving me pleasure.” He is clearly looking for mindless distraction.
The shift from poetry to the novels is a drastic change, revolutionary. The ‘lower’ category, the novel, becomes more popular, first choice. But following the Darwinian Theory, this is a descent at the same time. As quoted above, we lose the emotional part of our nature, thus we are incomplete. Without poetry, we will no longer be able to decide what is right; and we will only get a fragmentary picture of the world as we do not have access to the ‘universal truth.’ The loss of aesthetic tastes is regression.

All this being said - how does The Time Machine matches Darwin’s argumentation?
At first glance, this text seems to support his thesis of a devolution of taste. Though the Elois are defined as aesthetic beings, they do not have any literature at all. This goes even further than Darwin’s outlook: instead of a degeneration of poetry, there is also the loss of novels. In fact, there will be the loss of all aesthetic tastes: “even this artistic impetus […] had almost died in the Time I saw. To adorn themselves [the Elois] with flowers, to dance, to sing in the sunlight, so much was left of the artistic spirit, and no more. Even that would fade in the end into a contented inactivity” (92). The Elois are shown as superficial, “living in the moment” beings. They are not interested in anything for a longer time as the male Time Traveler, the protagonist of the story observes: “they would come to me with eager cries of astonishment, like children, but, like children, they would soon stop examining me, and wander away after some other toy” (87). And as Darwin predicted, their moral qualities disappeared, e.g. they do not show any intention to save Weena when she falls in the river and is in deadly peril. Finally, the working and sinister Morlocks, the personification of technology, will overpower the Elois, so if there is any aesthetic sense left, it will be annihilated in this moment. The absence of a moral is even more striking in the Morlocks’ behavior as they apparently kill the Elois due to a lack of other food supplies. They seem to be emotionless, only care about their technological life below the surface of the Earth – thus they are more extreme than Darwin who, though preoccupied with science, still finds some amusement and pleasure in at least reading novels. And eventually, the Morlocks, the beings without any aesthetic tastes, will become extinct, too.
However, the distinction between an aesthetic sense and technology, represented by the two ‘races’ Elois and Morlocks, only confirms Darwin’s theory of a general literary regression, and does not say anything about the revolutionary aspect that novels, the lower category, become more popular than poetry.
The Time Machine is a novel; therefore it belongs (according to Darwin) to the lower category of literature. It is a work of imagination, serves as a distraction from real life. If we read The Time Machine only from this limited point of view or perspective, we would not think about the context and what it could mean for us as we are only looking for a contemporary pleasure.
Yet The Time Machine does not fulfill Darwin’s requirements in order to be a first class novel. First of all, there is no person “whom one can thoroughly love.” I cannot completely support the Time Traveler’s behavior. Yes, he is inventive and creative. But although he feels more attracted by the beautiful Elois, he almost behaves like the Morlocks. He comes into this new world as an intruder. He likes the Elois, but he disregards them after a short time (cf. 87). When he sees the Morlocks for the first time, he “longed very much to kill a Morlock or so” (130). This is pretty abhorrent. The (negative) apex of the Time Traveler’s behavior is when he sets the wood on fire and watches how the Morlocks kill themselves by running into the burning forest. A more than disturbing moment. All this makes the Time Traveler a dislikeable character.
The second point, which does not classify The Time Machine as one of Darwin’s preferred novels is the lack of a happy ending. Contrary, the novel presents a very sinister outlook: mankind will finally be extinct. And the ‘steps’ in this development are not attractive, either. Neither the Elois nor the Morlocks are a welcome alternative.
When the novel does not fulfill Darwin’s requirements at all, it is more than arguable if it is appropriate to consider The Time Machine in terms of his classification and characterization of a novel. It could be said that The Time Machine then becomes even a subcategory to the already existing lower literary category of novels. But I think this does not do justice to the novel. In fact, it is completely outside of Darwin’s understanding of a novel, it becomes something different. The Time Traveler, no matter if we like him or not, confronts us with a possible reality. He is the lens through which we can see how the world could look like if mankind proceeds in the way it does. By this, we are becoming aware of the way we go. The separation between science and arts is not completely made up as Darwin has shown us in the excerpt; this tendency already existed in his time. He was aware of it but could not change his behavior. But we, the readers, still might have a chance because the novel warns us of this possible development/degeneration of Man. Furthermore, the novel surprises with thought-provoking statements, such as “we are always getting away from the present moment” (62) or peaceful considerations of nature and its influence on the human being: “I felt a certain sense of friendly comfort in their (the stars) twinkling […] Looking at these stars suddenly dwarfed my own troubles and all the gravities of terrestrial life” (123). By presenting a (possible) reality and such thought-provoking impulses, the novel moves even further away from the Darwinian classification and converges towards poetry. Thus it is set in a position beyond the ordinary novel.

The Time Machine serves only partly as a proof of Darwin’s theory of literary (r)evolution. It supports the presumption that the devolution and final loss of aesthetic tastes eventually leads to an incomplete, immoral nature of man, referring to how the Elois and the Morlocks are presented. However, Darwin also says that the novel in its simplicity is the first step towards the descent of Man as it is less valuable than poetry. Here, The Time Machine defies every classification. It does not work in the way Darwin would expect it to work. By being more akin to poetry, this novel shows that the genre ‘novel’ does not have to be condemned to superficial stories. The revolutionary aspect of Darwin’s theory is even expanded in this and turns his thesis almost upside down. Poetry might be neglected by the broad audience, but novels can take over its tasks: showing a reality, reflecting on it and inspiring people to think. This, in the end, would mean that novels are not the first step towards the descent of Man but evolutionary adaptation to the changing conditions in society. Even if poetry or the higher aesthetic taste will be extinct, novels, though admittedly of another type than Darwin described it, will ensure the value and benefit of literature.


References
Wells, Herbert George. The Time Machine: an Invention. Broadview 2001.

Excerpt from: "The Autobiography of Charles Darwin". In: On the Origin of Species (Cornell,ed.). Broadview 2003.

*note: all quotations without indication of pages in parentheses are from the excerpt.

Things that happen when you least expect them to

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=939UW0Ta2mM

Past & Present: Victorian England

My literary background consist mostly a proficiency in modernism; from African American literature to southern literature I’ve come to understand that most, if not all modernism, focus on “place”. Prominent authors such as Faulkner, Chopin, Wright, Chestnut, and Cather are major figures in literature because they captured a modernist perspective on their region. For Willa Cather, it is the frontier and plains. For Faulkner it is Yoknapatwapha. For Wright it is the Afro-American’s journey from a segregated south to “supposed” freer north. To me, these authors basically took snap shots of a relative young nation—America--- coming into its own, all the while licking its wounds from the Civil War. When I think of “place” in America, instantly what come to mind is these wide open spaces that, in turn, reflect the big picture according to that author’s regional sensibility.

Since starting this course, I’ve learned that Victorian literature is not so concerned about the big picture, as it is about insidious details. These details are purposely planted to turn an American, such as myself, into a proper Victorian young woman. Victorian literature/England is a curious place where nonsense can make prefect sense, morals are forced to be practiced, and one is can be an outsider as well an insider. My first informal blog I spoke about Victorian literature being an investigation into oneself. I was wrong; I’ve learned that this genre is an investigation on EVERYTHING! Everything as it pertains to our existence: man, woman, child, Victorians, Americans, Afro-Americans… Every text we’ve read has this undermining question—do you want to stay who and what you are or do you want to change/evolve into “whatever”? Each author presented us with the “whatever” we could change/evolve into.

Since this genre encompass a time in England’s history where everything is at its apex, to me, its relevance lies in what is to come by recognizing where we are at present and how we came to be here. Dr. Schwartz kind-of touched on this when we were discussing either Coming Race or Time Machine. She made a comment on the President’s mission to invest in science and math, leaving the arts behind because apparently nothing needs to be done to persevere and enhance arts education. Using either Coming Race or Time Machine as a paradigm Dr. Schwartz opened up my eyes to what is to come, if we as nation take the President’s heed to investing mainly in science and math. I left class extremely disturbed. Not only did she add twenty more layers of literary meaning for me, she also clued me into an insidious event happening right in front my face. So many things came together for me after that class. My approach to understanding Victorian England is that it’s a meditation of what’s to come, in opposing to modernism, which a meditation what has past.

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.

Awesome Make-Up Blog

It seems that we've approached Victorian England from a modern, post-colonial perspective. In the children's novels we've read, we point out the portentous and the sinister underneath all of the naiveté. In The Jungle Books, for example, Kipling carefully constructs his ideology within the story so that we identify--and even sympathize--with Mowgli, the embodiment of colonization. Today, we understand the concept as bad and harmful, but Kipling does a damn good job at convincing the reader otherwise.

The "warnings" that hover over the texts in both The Time Machine and The Coming Race can serve as a second example for our perspective. We certainly see the consequences of a world without the humanities in these texts--the Vril-ya and the Eloi are both on the surface a flawless race, but behind that are serious afflictions, all caused by "evolving past" art.

This hindsight perspective can certainly apply to modern society, but unfortunately, history always repeats itself; such patterns are never noticed and warnings never heeded. To use an example from class, the current administration is pushing a more science and math-based education (a link to an article is here). This was done in the 1960's, and we have created a monster. Apparently Obama never read The Coming Race.

"Victorian England" - a thought-provoking impulse!

Before this class, I unknowingly expected Victorian literature and life to deal with domesticity, honor, reputation, and families in a pretty prudish and chaste way (btw: my dictionary names “Victorian” as a synonym for ‘prudish’). Fortunately, I seem to be wrong: the texts we read so far all deal with some kind of travel: a travel into a world unknown but still (pretending to be) real (Jungle books), a travel into a more mystical world (water babies), a travel in one's dream (Alice), a travel below the surface of the Earth (Coming Race), and a travel in time (Time Machine, The Ascent of Man). Though the act of travelling does not always play the main part, it is still important. All protagonists happen to get into another world where a lot is unfamiliar. It seems that the authors have to let them go to different worlds where they are confronted with different systems in order to communicate ideas which might otherwise be seen as too modern, too provocative, radical, or would just disappear unheard.

There are the stories of The Jungle Books which present and justify British behavior as Imperial Destiny and well-educated, “civilized” human superiority as a natural power. However, there are some ambiguous moments, e.g. when Rikki-Tikki, the “savage,” saves the colonizer’s life, or the epigraph at the beginning of Toomai and the Elephants. Once started looking for other options, it becomes clear that Kipling’s novel offers very different readings, open to almost every interpretation. One point that was especially important and interesting for me is how (natural) law and freedom coalesce in the Mowgli- stories, and in Mowgli himself. We (and when I say ‘we,’ I mean it in the sense of 21st-century-, Western world-, and educated readers) think of a lot of these topics different than the Victorians did. For example, we do not support or justify the idea of colonizing “savage” people in general, yet there is still a difference between “First World” and “Third World,” the mighty, industrial nations and the poor countries, classified as being in great need of development, thus not as progressive and modern as “we” are. Kipling’s stories might let us think of our ‘modern’ self-understanding and how we see the world. And question it: being confronted with the still apparent disparities today, it seems as if we did not make as much progress in our mindset concerning the power-relations in the world as we might have thought. The second point, the connection between law, nature, and freedom is also still relevant today or maybe even more than ever before. As I argued in my post about the moral of the jungle book, Mowgli and the animals of the jungle eventually manage to live in accordance with the natural, eternal law (at least in the stories we read). This leads me to question the role of our society, what freedom means for us, where nature takes part in our lives, how we define (and justify) our position, and on which rules we base our life. I am far away from knowing the answers, but The Jungle Books was the thought-provoking impulse.
Going from the world of the jungle to the world underwater, we get to know a different part of Victorian society: Kingsley parodies the Victorian educational system by using Tom, former chimney-sweep and now a water-baby, as a model to support his ideal of education through experience, and of an evolution of ideas. The final goal, however, is still to ‘get’ a proper Englishman. I think the method and value of education are always worthwhile to consider. ‘What do I learn, how do I learn, why do I learn?’ are important questions. Kingsley presents us one way (metaphorically seen, I mean, we can’t transform into water-babies). Moreover, he shows us through Tom that education can be a means to develop a sense of one’s identity.
As in Water-Babies, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland also confronts us with the ever challenging question “Who am I?” Alice defines herself in relation to well-known conventions; she does not have the “right” size according to her Victorian knowledge and experience. She feels uncomfortable in the new world and questions her position, has to find out who she is and where she belongs (or wants to belong). And so do we.
Alice challenges me. She is so ambiguous, first apparently stupid, then instinctual. She changes our understanding of her, and thus our understanding of the system, the world she happens to be in. Does she make progress? In some sense yes, as she begins to understand this totally different system down the rabbit hole, and is finally able to find the way out by realizing the world’s real character: everything is nonsense. There might be a critique of the Victorian obsession with order and the expectation of a moral in every story. Maybe we, too, have to accept that not everything has to have a reason, an explanation. Some things just are. I just have to think of the ‘miracle of life’ and how some people desperately try to resolve it (well, this is a bad example, it does not really match…). We also questioned if Alice’s adventures can be seen as a form of escapism, in her case to get away from the ‘boring’ world above (cf. the books without pictures). This question becomes even more important when we think of the new “Alice in Wonderland” film by Tim Burton. There, the way down the rabbit-hole is clearly shown as her solution to get away from this awful betrothal, she literally runs away from this difficult situation, exactly as little Alice changes the setting when she dislikes a scene. Even if this novel is complete nonsense, it still offers a cheerful escape from reality for some hours. And I think this is something that should not be underestimated.

The Coming Race, The Time Machine, and the Blind, Kendall and Naden poems all deal with evolution of men in some sense, but focus on different things. What they all have in common is that they show that mankind, though supposed to be the apex of evolution, will eventually descend. There is this certain fear of degeneration. The Vril-ya, being in possession of the one idea/concept/power that encompasses everything, pretend to be perfect. But in fact, they are not. They lack ambition for progress and lost a sense for the arts. And it is clearly stated out that standstill cannot preserve perfection. This stagnancy finally has to lead to their own destruction. In The Time Machine, art still exists, but it is separated from ‘dirty’ work. Neither the happy Elois, the representatives of an aesthetic value, nor the gloomy Morlocks, the embodiment of industrial work and technologic knowledge, are an attractive alternative to contemporary Man. It is a pretty dark and somber outlook. A lot of the poems somehow mention the wish for a second chance, a new start of evolution. And the idea is presented that man and the ‘lower’ creatures are in fact not as far from each other as many suppose. There is the expectation that the way “creation of the world – lower organisms – fishes, birds – mammals – man” finally goes back to chaos, to the beginning. Thus the devolution of Man is predicted. In yearning for perfection, mankind will (unknowingly?) overshoot the mark, and cause its own end. Furthermore, it is arguable if man is the apex of evolution at all. The poems, at least, indicate this. And according to Darwin, evolutionary development can rather be compared to a spider’s web than to a linear progress, so the superior position of men becomes more and more questionable. I found it interesting how the poems discuss mind vs. physical features, and state that this often creates issues, such as in The Lower Life: “The gaining of a higher goal/ Increaseth sorrow” (ll. 26-27). Though the consideration in which direction mankind will develop and how we create our future is an important and interesting one, I am more intrigued by the art vs. science discussion. As we can see today, the predicted direction towards science has become true. If there is money to spend, it will be spend in order to make further improvements in technology and science. I do not say that this is bad in general. A lot of achievements benefit us, i.e. better medical care, and help us understanding the world a little bit better. But I doubt that every new achievement is advancement at the same time. I support the thesis that we need art, humanities and sciences together in order to get a holistic picture of the world. I wish more people would follow Darwin when he says “The loss of these [aesthetic] tastes is aloss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious to the intellect, and more probably to the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature.” The Victorian novels and poems make us aware of the threat that lies in the tendency to only concentrate on sciences – and how long this discussion already exists. It is not a new problem but gains in importance the more “advanced” we become.

All this is very complex. And so it is not surprising that we approach “Victorian England” on different levels: combining science and literature, reading different genres (children’s literature which turns out to be for adults, too, or maybe even more appropriate for adults; fantastic literature; scientific romance/science fiction, poetry). We discuss it, and we write about it. Especially the reviews enable us (or at least let us try to) see the texts we read from a different perspective than our 21st-century one. It is interesting to think of what might have been important for Victorians, and this creates a deeper understanding of the text and its influence at this time. I think in dealing with texts from a different time, we first have to understand their contemporary position and importance before we can transfer the ideas to our time. We have to realize the origin.
So far, I see the Victorian time as a period of large changes in almost every field, science and technology rank first. And a lot of their problems are still not solved, a lot of their topics are still under discussion. The perspective, though, might be a different one as time has passed. I tried to elaborate how very up-to-date Victorian literature can be. I am glad when texts are thought-provoking, more than "read it - know it." And in this, all the authors we read did a very convincing job. No matter if I agree or not, but most of their ideas work in my head for a pretty long time. I think of them, discuss them with friends. What else could be better?

R. L. Stevenson

Robert Louis Stevenson was a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist and travel writer born November 13, 1850. His parents were Margaret Isabella Balfour and Thomas Stevenson. Margaret Isabella Balfour came from a family of lawyers and church ministers. Thomas Stevenson, an engineer, came from a family of well known engineers who built most of the deep sea light houses around the coast of Scotland.

Stevenson’s mother was often very ill, and much of his education was left to his nurse, Alison Cunningham, whom Stevenson often referred to as "Cummy." Cummy was very religious and taught Stevenson extreme Calvinist doctrine. Stevenson was also sickly like his mother and this religious education helped him persevere through his times of sickness, although he later became agnostic.

Stevenson attended the University of Edinburgh to follow the family tradition and study engineering. He eventually compromised with his father, saying that he would study law despite his true ambition to become a writer. In 1875, Stevenson passed the Scottish bar but did not practice. Instead, he spent time pursuing his goal of becoming a writer and traveling to France to live a Bohemian lifestyle. His first works described traveling in France and his experiences there.

In 1876, he began a romantic relationship with a cougar named Fanny Osbourne, who was married with two children. In 1879, she divorced her husband and married Stevenson in 1880. Funded by Stevenson’s father, the couple spent a good deal of time traveling. Stevenson wrote The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in 1885. Stevenson wrote the first draft in three days, but he later destroyed it after Fanny criticized it for being a piece of sensational literature rather than a masterpiece. The second draft, the one that we are reading, is not as good as the first according to Stevenson.
In 1888, the Stevenson’s hired a yacht and sailed to the Polynesian Islands. In 1890 they settled in Samoa, where Stevenson would die in 1894.


 
Victorian Cultural Perspective:

In the novella The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Mr. Hyde visits the slum area of Soho to pursue his desires. Because of Darwin’s widely accepted theories on evolution, many Victorians (especially those of the upper class) believed that devolution or degeneration was possible and that areas of town like Soho, with their venues for sleazy entertainment and wide-spread prostitution, were evidence of the degeneration of the human race. Victorians would see characters like Mr. Utterson and Dr. Jekyll, civilized white British males, at the pinnacle of the evolutionary hierarchy. On the other hand, they would consider the character Mr. Hyde, with his savage nature, as a lower form of existence.

This is the full movie. Fast forward to 24:53 minutes to watch Dr. Jekyll transform into Hyde.




Stevenson’s influence on Modern Culture:

Stevenson’s ideas of dual nature have influenced our modern film and literature. The Incredible Hulk, Batman, the movie Hide and Seek, and others are evidence of Stevenson’s influence. Click on the link to see the similarities in the transformations.