The Great Naturalists
and making discoveries

If my time in London could be characterized by one thing it would be this: not finding what I went looking for and finding something else instead. I came here to go to school; my professors go on strike. So, I start taking yoga therapy and reiki instead. I go to the store to pick up some pasta; they’re out. So, I get tortillas and rice noodles instead. I’m looking for a book; it’s on loan or not sold there or it inexplicably costs £30. So, I find … a different book.

The trick is not getting too discouraged by the first part and learning to appreciate the serendipity of the second part. I am so thrilled about the emotional and mental work I’m doing with yoga and reiki. I have no idea what my dinners are about to look like but I’m psyched for the adventure of trying new things! And all the new books I’m finding are bound to lead to some fun and interesting new revelations.

So The Great Naturalists, like Anything is Possible, is one of those things that I found instead of what I was looking for.

I was drawn to it for two reasons: first, because I deeply love the natural world. When I moved out of my apartment in Brooklyn, I had 41 houseplants crammed into virtually every available space where sunlight might hit. Second, because I’m currently studying to become a documenter of natural phenomena myself (ie: languages) and I was hoping to find some inspiration and confirmation that I, too, could be listed among these heroes in some way.

What I learned was beyond what I’d ever thought or expected.

Did you know that potatoes and tomatoes are actually part of the same genetic family (genus) and the scientific name for the tomato is Solanum lycopersicum which literally means “wolf-peach”?

Did you know that Mary Anning, the greatest fossil hunter, collector and identifier of the 1800s, was struck by lightning when she was 15 months old? The nurse who was holding her died, but she didn’t. Also, apparently, she was said to have been “dull before, but afterward became lively and intelligent” (Crispin Tickell, p. 213).

I could do this for a while, but I’ll spare you.

Obviously, I learned more wonderful bits of information than I can possibly put down here. But the major ideas that this book seeded in my mind seemed to reveal two disparate sides of myself, both of which have roots in my heart.

One side was that of the skeptic. It came from being brought face-to-face with man’s insatiable need to document, categorize, compartmentalize and study the world around us; almost to an absurd degree. And with that comes a certain amount of self-aggrandizement. Carl Linneaus, the man who formalized the binomial system for naming genus’ and species in the 1700s, once said of himself, “God created – Linneaus Arranged.” Likewise, Johann Christian Fabricius, a documenter of insect diversity once wrote, “the number of species in entomology is almost infinite and if they are not brought in order entomology will always be in chaos” (J.C. Fabricius, Philosophia Enomologica, 1778).

So, I started to see the work of documenting nature as compulsive and comical. Really, why do we need to document and organize the world? I bet the almost infinite number of bugs don’t think they’re in chaos. Shakespeare put it succinctly in the words of Romeo: “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet” (Romeo and Juliet; Act 2, Scene 2). This is to say that nature has no use for being documented and categorized; the rose doesn’t change – or benefit – by having a name. So while I was reading about great explorers setting off into uncharted territories, diligently sketching plant specimens, I couldn’t help but see the 17th-century version of cat pictures and selfies and #Brunch.

The other side is that of the dreamer. This came from the intense belonging and camaraderie I felt with those who came before me in this work. These naturalists were “great” because they were insatiably curious; they simply couldn’t help themselves but follow their hearts into the wild, chasing butterflies with pencil and paper. As John Ray once wrote,

Let it not suffice to be book-learned, to read what others have written and to take upon trust more falsehood than truth, but let us ourselves examine things as we have opportunity, and converse with Nature as well as with books.

John Ray, The Wisdom of God, 1691

These men (and women!) saw such value in what they were doing that they took massive risks in order to do it. They jumped aboard boats that, more likely than not, wouldn’t return. They spent their life’s savings to publish their own work when no one else would. They took out unreasonable amounts of student loans and moved to the most expensive city in the world to … wait. Just kidding, that’s me.

The point is I feel that passion, ingenuity, artistry, and adventure present in my own soul. I see my own awe and excitement in theirs even though I’ve only barely begun my journey. And in their prolific works which took unprecedented hours and dedication to produce, I saw the respect they had for the plants and animals that brought them such insight. By working so diligently and thoroughly, they honored the subjects of their study to the best of their ability and these are the goals I aspire to as well.

The naturalist who I liked the most in Huxley’s compendium was Alexander Von Humboldt. Mostly because he was able to synthesize his curiosity and passion for a holistic view of nature with the formality of science. He believed that the “view of nature should be general, grand and free” (Humboldt, p. 197) meanwhile, he also touted the importance of scientific rigor and drawing conclusions directly from observing the natural world. In the end, he was a major source of inspiration for Charles Darwin.

The thing about the great naturalists of history is that they didn’t document things because they were remarkable or instagrammable. They documented things because they were there. They were creating a systematic record of what exists in different parts of the world and in doing so, laid the foundation for what are now countless major fields of study. By simply looking at the world through finer and finer lenses in greater and greater detail, they were able to cure illnesses, determine the age of the earth, map the universe, and, in all ways, further the progress of society.

Especially in a time where the world is facing an unprecedented biological threat, we can be grateful to these intrepid and flawed men who followed their passions so long ago.

Books & References

The Great Naturalists edited by Robert Huxley (2007). All page number references in this post correlate to quotes and excerpts from this book.

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare (1595)

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