On Science and the Soul

The event on which this fiction is founded, has been supposed, by Dr. Darwin, and some of the physiological writers of Germany, as not impossible of occurrence. -Percy Shelley, from his 'Preface' to the original 1818 edition of Frankenstein



Early cover art for Frankenstein.

~*~

 

I'm moving into the final chapters of The Age of Wonder by Richard Holmes, caught up in that wonderful tension between not being able to put the book down, and not wanting it to end. 

One thing I really enjoy about Holmes' narrative is his constant attention to the interplay between literature, poetry, and science during the late 18th and early 19th centuries. While Joseph Banks, William Herschel, Caroline Herschel, Humphry Davy, and their many companions redefined our world through science, the great Romantic authors such as John Keats, Mary Shelley, Percy Shelley, and Lord Byron explored the meaning of poetry in an age of increasing rationalism. 

I was fascinated to learn that Mary Shelley's character Frankenstein may have had his roots in real-life contemporary scientists.  There was, for example, in 1803 a certain Giovanni Aldini who tried to revive the body of a convicted murderer with electrical charges, six hours after he had been hanged in London. Aldini's experiments were met with eager publicity on the one hand; and public outcry on the other. By 1805, he was forced to leave the country. 

Mary Shelley

Of course, Mary Shelley's Victor Frankenstein was not an Italian scientist living in London, but a German physician immersed in a Gothic world of her making.  Holmes speculates that Shelley may have found further inspiration in the German physiologist Johann Wilhelm Ritter, whose galvanic experiments were known to be practiced on animals, and rumored to have been applied to humans.  Ritter did not achieve much success by any definition of the word.  His colleagues were alienated, his students abandoned him, and his family suffered grievously from his neglect as he became increasingly obsessed with his work.  In 1810 he died penniless and insane.

At the heart of these gruesome attempts at reviving the dead was a heated debate over a concept called 'Vitalism'.  This was the belief in the existence of a life force, or 'Vitality', vigorously attacked by some and staunchly defended by others.

'Vitality' was thought of as a substance super-added to the mechanical structures of animals and plants.  A liquid, perhaps, or something akin to electricity.  A number of scientists claimed to have isolated it, though these claims were eventually refuted.  'Vitality' was considered by many a scientific conception of the soul; and since it was super-added, some power outside of humans (God?) must have added it.

Holmes does a wonderful job of showing how this debate was infused into the works of authors and poets of the time, most notably with John Keats narrative poem 'Lamia' and of course, Mary Shelley's immortal Frankenstein. 


Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog,
by Casper David Friedrich



Shelley's novel takes on renewed significance when one considers the historical context, for she is taking the most controversial experiments of her time to their most terrible conclusion, in an even grander experiment of the mind. In the process, she considers the debate of Vitalism. After all, Frankenstein succeeded in giving organic life to his 'monster', but could that monster also be given a soul?

Those who have read Frankenstein know that the doctor and his 'monster' are actually co-protagonists, each given the chance to tell his own story.  The eloquent and introspective nature of the 'monster' is lost in most film renditions; Shelley painted him as a sort of anti-hero, a creature driven to wreak havoc and destruction by the unbearable circumstances of his creation. 

I have said elsewhere (see The Landscape of My Imagination) that I would have felt very much at home among the Romantic authors.  Now in reading Richard Holmes' work, I like to imagine I would have felt even more at home among the scientists who were their contemporaries.  Not so much Aldini, of course.  But I would have liked to have met Joseph Banks, Caroline and William Herschel, and Humphry Davy, among others. 

Certainly I would have loved to experience something of that time, when the tension between enduring mystery and revolutionary knowledge produced a sort of 'vital force' of its own.

Not that this tension has faded, though sometimes we may think it has. Our scientific knowledge has grown exponentially since the start of the 19th century. Yet somehow the universe has kept pace with our capacity to unravel its mysteries.  The more we know, the more it seems there is left to discover.

That makes for a friendly universe, in my mind.  One that is most accommodating to our insatiable sense of curiosity.



I should mention that the "Dr. Darwin" to which Percy Shelley refers in the quote at the beginning of this post is not Charles Darwin (who was only 9 years old when Frankenstein was first published), but his grandfather Erasmus Darwin, a well-known natural philosopher and physiologist.

When truth is stranger than fiction

Joseph Banks recently returned from his
historic voyage on the Endeavour.


My winter reading this year includes The Age of Wonder, a chronicle of 18th century science and discovery by historian Richard Holmes. I've been working on this little beast for about a month and a half.  It is wonderfully written, and very entertaining, but it is also dense.  Packed full of charismatic people and interesting details that take some time to absorb, especially for someone like me who is new to this particular slice of history. 

The book begins with Joseph Banks, who spent his youth reveling in biological and sensual discovery during the journey of the HM Bark Endeavour to the island paradise of Tahiti.  Banks would return to England to eventually become President of the Royal Society, and as Holmes paints his story, one has the impression that the fate of every other scientist presented in the book somehow hinged on the judgement and support of this first ambitious explorer.

The brilliant and eccentric German immigrant William Herschel abandoned his career as a musician to explore the universe using the largest and finest telescopes yet made, and made by him. Herschel's introverted sister Caroline began her career as his assistant, but soon came into her own with the discovery of multiple comets and the distinction of being the first woman scientist ever to receive a professional salary in Britain. 

Together, Caroline and William Herschel
revealed a universe much larger and older
than had previously been imagined.

There were a series of crazy balloonists, few of whom were taken seriously by Banks, and whose greatest gift seemed to be surviving crash landings, for they were very adept at getting their balloons up, but not very able to control their descent, or the direction in which they floated.

Mungo Park, a sandy-haired young doctor from Scotland, caught Banks' bug for exploration and took it into the heart of Africa, where he disappeared on his second voyage. The precise circumstances of his death remain a mystery to this day.

Last but not least, Humphry Davy, whose story I'm in the midst of reading.  This young man from Cornwall began his illustrious career in chemistry with the discovery of the mind-altering effects of nitrous oxide (laughing gas).  Davy indulged in multiple experiments on himself and his friends, especially the ladies, during evening lab sessions that became famous during his time in Bristol.  No wonder he's smiling in all his portraits.



Humphry Davy, chemist and poet.

All in all, Holmes brings to life a fascinating period, one filled with drama and a sort of heady madness as an entire society rushed headlong, even recklessly, into a new era of discovery.  Scientists and explorers were the superstars of this time. People packed exhibition halls to view strange artifacts brought from distant lands; they filled plazas to see balloonists carried far afield on wayward winds, and crowded laboratories to witness explosive demonstrations of the latest discoveries in chemistry.  They peered at the moon and the stars through Herschel's telescopes and wondered, perhaps for the first time, whether other intelligent beings occupied the universe and were peering back at them. 

So many times while reading The Age of Wonder, I've found myself thinking, "You couldn't make this stuff up."  I love it when history does this; when the facts force you to stretch your imagination.  Richard Holmes' parade of crazy and wonderful scientists has me reflecting on my own characters, and wondering how I can make them less conventional, more colorful, more likely to violate the boundaries of the expected.  How to make them all of this, and yet keep them real in the reader's mind? 

Often I find my answers to these questions in the real personalities of history.  And when I'm done reading up on their amazing journeys, I can't wait to dive back into the making of fiction again.