` tags should not be used as replacements for the `alt` tag, as they are not reliably read by screen readers. If an element is decorative, it should include an empty alt tag (alt=""). If this isn't present, the screen reader will read the image's filename, which is likely not desired. A better solution is often to load the image as a background image or decorative element via CSS. If you're using an icon, like a hamburger menu, it's advised to include text next to the item.
In addition to all the ways you should use alt tags, there are also times when you shouldn't use them. If images are repeated, one after the other, like in a list of user profile pics, you can use an empty alt tag. The alt tag shouldn't be used to credit the photographer or to bump up keywords.
html
```
```
How a Screen Reader User Surfs the Web
### Semantic Markup
In my research on accessibility, the single best thing that you can do to make your website (and even more widely, your digital presence) accessible is to use *semantic* markup. An added benefit is that it allows your content to be parsed, scraped, shared, indexed, and modified more easily. But what does having semantic markup mean?
In its strict sense, it refers to using the proper HTML tags on your web page. This principle, however, extends to anywhere you might create digital content, including texts in a word processor like Word.
An HTML tag directs a web browser how an element (part of a web page) should be displayed. Common tags include the paragraph ``, hyperlink ``, and unordered list ``. An important place to begin using these tags correctly is with header tags, identified in HTML as ``...``. Header tags define the levels of your content. `H1` should designate your page's title and the remaining tags should denote subsequent major sections of the page. In other words, these tags are not just presentational, but rather *they have meaning*, especially insofar as they help screen readers navigate your page.
html
```
History of Evolution
History of Evolution before Darwin
Erasmus Darwin
Lamarck
Darwin and Evolution
Origin of Species
The Concept of Natural Selection
The Modern Synthesis
```
Even when you're not writing HTML, this principle carries over to most other digital domains. Headings in Microsoft Word or other word processors should be treated the same way. They aren't just for the way content is presented (which can be modified however you want), but defines its structure. In most word processors, using semantic headings also has the benefit of adding an automatic, real-time navigational structure to your document and allowing you easily to generate a table of contents.
But heading tags are only the tip of the iceberg. With the introduction of HTML5 in 2014, a whole host of new tags were introduced. Using these tags correctly will improve your site's accessibility greatly.
html
```
Defines independent, self-contained content
Content aside from the main content (e.g., sidebar)
Caption an image or graphic element
Container for the image and figcaption
Defines a footer for the page or section
Defines a header for the page or section
Defines the main content of a page
Defines a site's navigation links
Defines a section of a page
```
See the Pen [Mock up page layout v2 (sections article)](https://codepen.io/aardrian/pen/BgQqrQ/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) by Adrian Roselli ([@aardrian](https://codepen.io/aardrian?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)) on [CodePen](https://codepen.io/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com).
### ARIA
ARIA stands for Accessible Rich Internet Applications. They are attributes (prefixed by aria- ) that can be used on HTML tags to increase the accessibility of elements on a web page. Whenever possible, it is preferable to use semantic HTML5 tags instead of ARIA.
html
```
!-- An icon is not accessible to screen readers. aria-label provides this info.
The better approach is to add text to the icon -> ☰ Menu -->
☰
!-- Inherits a name from another element ID tag. Again, use HTML5 attributes
whenever possible -->
Billing
!-- Hide elements from screen readers -->
!-- Designate a region that is dynamically updated. Use the politeness setting
to tune how frequently the screen reader announces updated. "Polite" informs
the user when updates occur, but tries not to be annoying. "Off" turns off
updates. "Assertive" interrupts whatever the user is doing to let them know.
-->
!-- Let screen readers know whether sections of the page are expanded or not.
Helpful in the case of accordions. -->
Expanded section
```
### Transcripts & Captions
This is a simple one, but it can be time-consuming or expensive to implement. All video you post should include captions and a transcript. Captions refer to the text that appears below spoken dialogue in video; transcription refers to text of all the video's dialogue. All audio content should also include transcripts. Many popular video hosts offer tools to help you add captions to your videos. I've worked extensively with YouTube's caption tools, and they are easy and quick to use. Unfortunately, it does take a long time and can be tedious. Automation tools can help, but they are not good enough to produce accurate transcripts or captions.
There are multiple services available online that will caption/transcribe your content for you. They generally charge about $1.00/min; however, you can find cheaper options on sites like fiverr.
Because of the cost of captioning (time or money), you should factor it in when budgeting for projects. This might seem obvious, but it's easy to forget when writing a grant or planning a project.
### Color Contrast
The color contrast criterion specifies that enough contrast should exist between text and the background so that users with moderately low vision or color blindness can still read the content. Tools are listed below to check whether you satisfy the criterion.
### Skip to Content
For users who navigate a website by screen reader or keyboard, having to go though a long list of navigation items is tedious. To improve the experience for these users, developers can add a "Skip to main content" link to their page. This allows users to bypass the navigation links and get right to the page's content.
You can implement this technique by adding a button at the top of you page. For aesthetic reasons, you may wish to hide the button until a user brings it into focus.
html
```
Skip to main content
...
... ... ...
...
```
#### Recommended Reading
- [Must Haves for Accessibility](https://app.getpocket.com/read/2644168472?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [An Introduction to ARIA States](https://www.a11ywithlindsey.com/blog/introduction-aria-states/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Skip Navigation Links](https://webaim.org/techniques/skipnav/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- 🎙️ [Accessibility](https://syntax.fm/show/072/accessibility?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) (Syntax FM podcast)
- [A11y with Lindsay](https://www.a11ywithlindsey.com/blog?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) (accessibility blog)
- [How to Section Your HTML](https://css-tricks.com/how-to-section-your-html/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- 🎙️ [Accessibility is Social Justice](https://www.relay.fm/presentable/30?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) (Presentable Podcast)
- [An Introduction to WAI-ARIA Best Practices](https://www.mediacurrent.com/blog/wai-aria-attributes-best-practices/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Inclusive Design](https://medium.com/valtech-design/inclusive-design-dd4e03f82094?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Google's Guide to Accessibility](https://developers.google.com/web/fundamentals/accessibility/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
#### Resources
- [Autoprefixer](https://autoprefixer.github.io/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) (Use task runners or plugins in projects)
- [Babel](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjsvar6-bnjAhWyB50JHeKyDnUQFjAAegQIARAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fbabeljs.io%2F&usg=AOvVaw0h9OdJQHZ6TcgcMH6KMOX1) (Transpiler)
- [Polyfill.io](https://polyfill.io/v3/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Modernizr](https://modernizr.com/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [caniuse.com](https://caniuse.com/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) (Feature support for HTML/CSS)
- [HTML5 Semantic Elements](https://www.w3schools.com/html/html5%5Fsemantic%5Felements.asp?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [axe (accessibility testing app)](https://www.deque.com/axe/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- Firefox and Chrome offer accessibility audits in browser
- [WAI-ARIA Standard](https://www.w3.org/TR/wai-aria/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Accessibility Posters](https://github.com/UKHomeOffice/posters?source=post%5Fpage---------------------------)
- [Accessible Color Generator](https://learnui.design/tools/accessible-color-generator.html?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Color Contrast Checker](https://webaim.org/resources/contrastchecker/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Skip Navigation Links](https://webaim.org/techniques/skipnav/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Creating an Accessible Word Document](https://web.wsu.edu/creating-an-accessible-microsoft-word-document/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Accessible accordion example](https://www.w3.org/TR/wai-aria-practices/examples/accordion/accordion.html?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
## Performance
Performance refers to how quickly your site loads and how fast it feels. Research shows and experience confirms that no one wants to visit and spend time on a slow site. Generally, your site should have a load time of 3 seconds or less. If it's running, sluggish, there are several possible optimizations.
To find out which optimizations may benefit your site, you can use a variety of performance auditing tools (listed below) or use Lighthouse in the Chrome Dev Tools.
### Images
Images usually occupy the greatest percentage of a web page's size. By serving compressed images at the right sizes, you can greatly reduce your page's loading times. For example, your website doesn't need to serve the same image on a 1200px viewport as on a 350px one. It would be overkill. Via your website's code, you can optimize your images, so that a smaller version is pushed to mobile viewports and a larger one to desktops. Many CMS's will implement this approach automatically or with the help of a plug-in (I use Smush Image Compression on WordPress). Nevertheless, it's useful to know some of the techniques behind the scenes.
- Use srcset and sizes (HTML)
- Lazy loading (newly native)
- Compress images and use new formats like WebP
html
```
!-- Define your set of sources -->
```
### Minify Your Code
You can minify JS, CSS, and HTML. Minification reduces the size of these files by removing comments and unnecessary spaces. It can also add optimizations like shortening variable names and using other techniques.
css
```
/* Unminified CSS */
/* Button for Utrecht */
.utrecht-button,
.dryfta_bye_ticket a {
display: block !important;
margin: 15px auto 15px !important;
padding: .5em .8em !important;
width: 230px !important;
width: -webkit-fit-content !important;
width: -moz-fit-content !important;
width: fit-content !important;
background: #ffd657 !important;
-webkit-box-shadow: 3px 3px 8px rgba(0, 0, 0, .25) !important;
box-shadow: 3px 3px 8px rgba(0, 0, 0, .25) !important;
color: #000 !important;
font-weight: 900 !important;
line-height: 1;
text-align: center;
text-decoration: none !important;
text-transform: uppercase !important;
}
.utrecht-button:focus,
.utrecht-button:active,
.utrecht-button:visited,
.dryfta_bye_ticket a:focus,
.dryfta_bye_ticket a:active,
.dryfta_bye_ticket a:visited {
-webkit-box-shadow: 2px 2px 5px rgba(0, 0, 0, .45) !important;
box-shadow: 2px 2px 5px rgba(0, 0, 0, .45) !important;
color: #000 !important;
font-weight: 900 !important;
text-decoration: none !important;
}
/* Minified */
.dryfta_bye_ticket a,.utrecht-button{display:block!important;margin:15px auto 15px!important;padding:.5em .8em!important;width:230px!important;width:-webkit-fit-content!important;width:-moz-fit-content!important;width:fit-content!important;background:#ffd657!important;-webkit-box-shadow:3px 3px 8px rgba(0,0,0,.25)!important;box-shadow:3px 3px 8px rgba(0,0,0,.25)!important;color:#000!important;font-weight:900!important;line-height:1;text-align:center;text-decoration:none!important;text-transform:uppercase!important}.dryfta_bye_ticket a:active,.dryfta_bye_ticket a:focus,.dryfta_bye_ticket a:visited,.utrecht-button:active,.utrecht-button:focus,.utrecht-button:visited{-webkit-box-shadow:2px 2px 5px rgba(0,0,0,.45)!important;box-shadow:2px 2px 5px rgba(0,0,0,.45)!important;color:#000!important;font-weight:900!important;text-decoration:none!important}
```
### Upgrade Your Hosting Solution
Upgrading your hosting solution may greatly benefit your site's speed. Shared hosting can be prey to the nosy neighbor problem, which is when other sites on the server hog resources because of hacks, surges in use, bugs, or for other reasons. By having your own server or virtual private server (VPS), you can ensure resources are allocated exclusively for your site.
### Use a Content Delivery Network (CDN)
Where is your server located? The location of the server, or more precisely, its distance from the user, can affect the speed of your server. If your server is located in NYC and your user is in China, then a connect needs to be made between the two locales. Imagine, however, if you had a server in NYC, Tokyo, Brisbane, San Francisco, Berlin, etc., then you could reduce the distance your user has to "travel." This is made possible by the use of a content delivery network (CDN), which duplicates your website across different servers all over the world. Some server hosts offer this service for free, or you can purchase it as a service from several other companies.
### Recommended Reading
- [Lazy Load Responsive Images in 2019](https://www.andreaverlicchi.eu/lazy-load-responsive-images-in-2019-srcset-sizes-more/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Lazy Loading Images](https://imagekit.io/blog/lazy-loading-images-complete-guide/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [A Guide to Responsive Images](https://www.freecodecamp.org/news/a-guide-to-responsive-images-with-ready-to-use-templates-c400bd65c433/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Why use a CDN?](https://gtmetrix.com/why-use-a-cdn.html?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
### Resources
- [GTMetrix](http://gtmetrix.com/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Pingdom](https://tools.pingdom.com/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Google PageSpeed Insights](https://developers.google.com/speed/pagespeed/insights/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- In Chrome: Lighthouse
- [Smush Image Compression](https://wordpress.org/plugins/wp-smushit/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) (WordPress Plugin)
- [Responsive Images](https://developer.mozilla.org/en-US/docs/Learn/HTML/Multimedia%5Fand%5Fembedding/Responsive%5Fimages?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
## Digital Design
User experience (UX) and user interface (UI) design have many nuanced definitions, often contested. Have you ever visited a website only to give up on it out of frustration? That's bad UX/UI. In short, they both involve philosophies regarding how to ensure your users have the most enjoyable experience possible. Rather than discussing the finer points of these definitions, I will share some of my recommendations for sites that are content, and especially text, heavy.
#### Key Philosophies
##### Responsive Design
This philosophy of design strives to ensure websites function well on all viewports. If a user visits your website on their desktop, tablet, or smartphone, they should receive an equally enjoyable experience.
##### Responsive Design Techniques
- CSS @media rules
- CSS relative units (e.g., vh, vw, em, rem, %)
- CSS flexbox
- CSS grid
#### Graceful Degradation/Progressive Enhancement
These related philosophies are approaches to development that provide the best possible experience for users, agnostic of a user's hardware. In the case of graceful degradation, developers provide a fallback for users who cannot support the website's latest features. Often times, this fallback offers an inferior experience.
Progressive enhancement, by contrast, provides a baseline experience for all users with added features for those with supported browsers. It is a more bottom-up approach, and now the favored one by developers.
That being said, these two philosophies can often complement in each other in practice.
#### Typography
The web page is not the printed page. Approximating the printed page often leads to poor design. The economics of print publishing influences how text appears on the page, but those economics don't apply on the web. We don't need to maximize words on the page or reduce page counts. We can jettison narrow margins and control the display of text.
This means that we can have font sizes that are large enough to read on digital devices, luxuriously large margins, and typefaces that make us swoon. Practically, this boils down to a few recommendations.
Your font size is (maybe) too small. Word processors like Word have accustomed us to setting our font size to 12 pt, which is quite different from 12 px. 12 pt, in fact, is equal to 16 px. It's helpful to remember that we sit farther away from our computer monitors that we sit from a book. Font size should reflect that. For most applications, font size should be 16 px to 26 px, and almost never lower than the minimum.
[Easy Responsive TypographyHow do you ensure that your text is comfortable to read on any viewport? Learn how to generate fluid, responsive typography easily with a SASS mixinRyan FeigenbaumRyan Feigenbaum](https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/easy-responsive-typography/)
Another pitfall in typography is line height or leading. As the name implies, line height is the distance between lines of text. The mistake is often making this property too small. The recommended line height is 120% to 160% of font size. This means that if your font size is 16 px, a line height of 150% is equal to 22.5 px between lines.
The third consideration is line length, that is, how many characters there are per line. Studies show that too many or too few characters per line impede the ability to read content quickly, which often makes users abandon your content. The recommended line length–which you can modify by changing width, padding, margin, or other elements–is 45 to 90 characters (including spaces).
It's also good to remember that attention spans are ever dwindling: people scan, they don't read; and that the semantic headings discussion above applies here. These considerations mean that walls of text on a web page are always a mistake. Content should be sectioned into digestible chunks that can be taken in at a glance. Semantic headings, discussed above, should be used to organize this content.
> Walls of text on a web page are always a mistake.
These guidelines, taken together with other basics, like limiting your number of fonts to fewer than two, choosing fonts that complement one another, using font weights strategically, left justifying paragraphs, avoiding all caps when possible, etc., will make your site much more engaging for visitors, who will want to keep reading your content.
### Recommended Reading
- [The 15 Rules Every UX Designer Should Know](https://theblog.adobe.com/15-rules-every-ux-designer-know/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [We Have Lost Track of What UX Actually Means](https://uxdesign.cc/we-have-lost-track-of-what-ux-actually-means-8d55259dacb0?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [What is User Experience?](https://www.usertesting.com/blog/what-is-user-experience/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [The Difference between UX and UI Design: A Layman's Guide](https://careerfoundry.com/en/blog/ux-design/the-difference-between-ux-and-ui-design-a-laymans-guide/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [The Difference between UX and UI: How to Hire and Find the Right Designer](https://www.designerhire.com/ui-ux-designer?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- 🎙️ [UX Considerations (HTML All the Things podcast)](https://www.htmlallthethings.com/hub/Podcast/5bef2f420b67d90011b07d4c?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Web Fonts](https://www.zachleat.com/web/css-tricks-web-fonts/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Responsive Font Sizes](https://bits.theorem.co/css-pro-tips-responsive-font-sizes-and-when-to-use-which-units/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Scale Typography for Any Screen](https://css-tricks.com/books/volume-i/scale-typography-screen-size/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Best UX Practices for Line Spacing](https://www.justinmind.com/blog/best-ux-practices-for-line-spacing/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Getting Typography Right in Digital Design](https://medium.springboard.com/the-guide-to-getting-typography-right-in-digital-design-bb61214ff3ad?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Reader Mode: The Button to Beat](https://css-tricks.com/reader-mode-the-button-to-beat/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Getting Digital Typography Right](https://medium.springboard.com/the-guide-to-getting-typography-right-in-digital-design-bb61214ff3ad?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
### Resources
- [User Inyerface](https://userinyerface.com/game.html?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) (Most poorly designed website of all time)
- [Buterick's Practical Typography](https://practicaltypography.com/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Golden Ratio Typography Calculator](https://grtcalculator.com/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
- [Gridlover](https://www.gridlover.net/try?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) (Typography Calculator)
- Google Fonts
### Dictionary of the Dormant
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/dictionary-of-the-dormant/
Last updated: 2025-12-04T22:10:18.000Z
Humans average eight hours of sleep a night, which amounts to you spending one-third of your life asleep. Way to go. You're basically absent from a third of your own life.
You might feel better to know that your absenteeism is nothing compared to the little brown bat. This tiny guy sleeps big: 18-20 hours a night. Relatively, or really, theoretically, humans should be able to get a lot more done than little brown bats, like coming up with words about those missing eight hours of the day. Here, then, are ten must-know, completely trivial words about sleep.
## 1\. Obdormition
(ob-dor-*mish*\-uhn), noun.
**Definition:** When a limb goes numb due to inactivity or constant pressure.
You're probably on pins and needles to know what this first word means, which, at least in its current sense, only refers to sleep metaphorically. Obdormition is a medical term that describes a phenomenon familiar to anyone who has stayed in one position just a little too long: the going numb of limbs. Whereas you likely would've said, "Shit, my leg fell asleep," you can now say, "Alas, my leg has fallen prey to the obdormition." Beware, though, that saying such things will make you sound like an asshole.
As annoying as obdormition is, the part that follows is far worse. When your leg begins to wake up, it lets you know about it with a general unpleasantness, just like waking up in real life. With life, it's called despair; with the feeling of pins and needles, paresthesia (bonus word!).
## 2\. Soporific
(sop-uh-*rif*\-ik), adjective.
**Definition:** Inducing sleep or to be sleepy. Dull. Boring.
As hard as waking up may be, sometimes falling asleep isn't any easier. You lie in bed awake, thinking about your dentist appointment tomorrow, wondering where that sound just came from, worrying about something you said in third grade, searching for a solution to climate change, all while ruminating on the cruelty of human finitude.
And you know that sound has to be a roach riding a mouse around like a horse. Or a serial killer.
What you're in need of is a soporific, something to dull the anxieties of modern life and bring on the REM cycles. A glass of warm milk with a side of a roast turkey might do the trick, but Ambien is also a terrific soporific. Just remember the recommended dosage: 1 pill per each desired hour of sleep.
Goodnight, sweet prince!
> my body: WHAT DO WE WANT?
>
> my brain: SLEEP!
>
> my body: WHEN DO WE WANT IT?
>
> my brain: AT EITHER 2PM OR 3AM
>
> my body: hey wait—
>
> my brain: LITERALLY NO OTHER TIME
>
> my body: no that’s not—
>
> my brain: WE ARE UNWILLING TO COMPROMISE
>
> — keely flaherty (@keelyflaherty) [October 18, 2018](https://twitter.com/keelyflaherty/status/1053016271036407809?ref%5Fsrc=twsrc%5Etfw&ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
## 3\. Hypnagogic
*(hip-nuh-goj-ik)*, adjective.
**Definition:** The period right before you conk out or relating to this.
You finished your turkey, had your piping-hot milk. Your eyelids are heavy. Suddenly, though, you're running for your life, chased by a roach riding a mouse dragging a large inflated turkey behind it, like some kind of demented float in a Thanksgiving parade. And to make matters much worse, the roach has a small cowboy hat that he keeps tipping at you. "Hiya, Partner!"
This is an example of a hypnagogic hallucination, or a vision that occurs right before sleep. August Kekulé's discovery of the chemical structure of benzene provides a famous example, as the molecule's peculiar structure revealed itself to him in a bout of hypnagogia. He described the hallucination as follows:
> I turned my chair to the fire and dozed. \[...\] But look! What was that? One of the snakes had seized its own tail, and the form whirled mockingly before my eyes.
Kekulé had a vision of a snake biting its own tail, or an ouroboros (bonus word!), that unveiled the ring-like structure of benzene. If you're now hoping that your hypnagogic state will unveil some mystery of the natural world, don't hold your breath. It's much more likely to be a vision of a demented holiday-parade float or an alien abduction, the latter of which some experts attribute to hypnagogic states.
## 4\. Myoclonus
*(mahy-ock-luh-nuh s)*, noun.
**Definition:** Crazy-ass, random twitching of muscles. Sometimes a symptom of a neurological disorder.
You're just about to fall asleep, and then, BAM, you're falling off a forkin' mountain, and your body tweaks out like you're Catherine O'Hara in that dinner scene from *Beetlejuice*.
That's a myoclonic jerk, a common form of myoclonus, which is a medical term that signifies a sudden, involuntary muscle twitch. Hiccups are another example. Myoclonus etymologically stems from "myo," a prefix formed from the Greek μῦς (mus)or muscle, and the Ancient Greek κλόνος or"clonus," which means agitation.
Sidebar: From the beginning (even in the Ancient Greek), the word for "muscle" comes from the word for mouse or hamster. The etymology of the English word "muscle," for instance, means "little mouse," ostensibly because some muscles, like the bicep, resemble the furry creature. So, instead of asking passersby whether they have tickets to the gun show as you tenderly kiss your flexed biceps, just ask them whether they have tickets to the hamster show. It will truly be a weird flex, but (etymologically) OK.
In summary, your brain does this really cool thing when you're right about to fall asleep: it makes you think you're plummeting to your death and shocks your leg like a fish slapping around the bottom of a boat.
But, why, brain?!
To be honest, no one knows. One evolutionary musing holds that it's the body misinterpreting muscle relaxation to be a dozing ape falling from a tree. The myoclonic jerk is a reminder to reposition yourself in the branch. Others think it's the last gasp of the awake, raging against the dying of the light. Or, some say, it's just the brain being random, like, "OK, time to fall asleep. JK. You're falling off a forkin' mountain. LOL."
## 5\. Doss
*(dos)*, noun.
**Definition:** Sleep or a makeshift place to sleep.
You've made it midway through the list, from falling asleep to doss, an informal, totally outmoded, primarily British word for sleep. Its etymological origin is unclear, but experts suspect the word stems from the Latin word for back (*dossum*), which gives us words like dorsal and dossier. The latter is so-called, apparently, because the bundle of papers bore a label on its spine.
Doss also means a place for sleep where you don't usually sleep and where you wouldn't particularly want to. It relates to "dosshouse," which is British for "flophouse," which is grandma for "shithole." You might've dossed down in a questionable hostel or two when you were studying abroad in college. Or, when you completely ran out of money, you might've dossed down in the Valencia bus station, only to be rudely awoken by a police officer smacking you with his baton, yelling, "Get up," in Spanish. No doss that night.
NB: In Scotland, doss seems to have become a favorite adjective to pair with cunt, like pinot noir with duck. In this case, the word means "stupid" or "thick," and, for whatever reason, it doesn't seem nearly as offensive if you imagine it being said with a Scottish accent, as in "Fuck aff ye doss cunt, aam tryin' tae sleep."
## 6\. Subeth
*(suh-beth)*, noun.
**Definition:** The deepest of deep sleeps.
No longer in the dosshouse, you have found yourself at home, sweet, home. Sheets of an astronomical thread count, fresh and cool to the touch, crisply cover the mattress. Your pillow gently cradles your head as a final warm summer breeze blows in over the crisp autumn night. You are free from hypnagogic hallucinations and myoclonic jerks. Nothing disturbs you as as you slip into the most restful sleep of your life, or subeth.
The word "subeth" comes from the Latin *subet*, borrowed from the Arabic *subāt,* which is cognate with the Hebrew word that gives us "Sabbath." Subeth is incredibly rare, finding virtually no usage in the past 300 years. Dictionary.com and Merriam-Webster don't even have a listing for it.
The rarity of this word and its declining usage is fittingly emblematic of just how hard it is to get a good night's sleep these days.
## 7\. Hypnopedia
*(hip-nuh-pee-dee-uh)*, noun.
**Definition:** Sleep isn't just for snoring, it's also for learning.
You probably find, like many, that sleep is your least productive part of the day. Well, that's because you're doing it wrong.
Why just sleep, when you could be sleep-learning, or practicing hypnopedia? Like similar words on this list, the first part of "hypnopedia" is formed from the Ancient Greek word for sleep, *hypnos.* The latter half comes from the word for education, *paideia*.
Now largely debunked, hypnopedia was scientifically investigated in the early to mid-20th century as a real possibility. Interest in the phenomenon seems to have begun with the publication of Hugo Gernsback's serialized science fiction story, *Ralph 124C 41+* (1911). In addition to containing sometimes prescient reference to other later-realized inventions, Gernsback described the hypnobioscope, a device that transmitted information to a sleeper via a headset. In *Brave New World* (1932), Aldous Huxley also mentioned hypnopedia, as a way to morally condition children. These literary references became a reality when the entrepreneur Alois Benjamin Saliger developed and sold the psycho-phone. This device, an Edison phonograph that played motivational tapes while the owner slept, was purported to bring its user "good fortune." Basically, it was *The* *Secret* of the 1920s.

Advertisement for Psycho-Phone, *Popular Mechanics* (Oct. 1928)
In the 1950s and '60s, hypnopedia reached a fever pitch. Numerous experiments were being conducted around the world–always with inconclusive or dubious results. An article published in a Soviet psychology journal cited Huxley's novel, along with the works of other fiction authors, as conclusive evidence of hypnopedia's success. Even the US Department of Defense got in on the fun by using hypnopedia to teach personnel Morse code.
Other experiments, however, confirmed the opposite: hypnopedia was nothing more than pseudoscience. Using electroencephalography (by which a machine records the brain's electrical activity), Charles W. Simon and William H. Emmons demonstrated it was likely impossible to learn anything while asleep.
Or is it? Research in 2012 suggests that while learning new information isn't possible, hypnopedia may be able to reinforce existing knowledge.
In conclusion, before scampering off to the Land of Nod, put your old biology textbook under your pillow. Yes, this *is* how it works. When you wake up a biology genius, you're welcome.
## 8\. Oneiric
*(oh-nigh-rick)*, adjective.
**Definition:** Of or relating to dreams. Dreamlike.
Dreams are the stuff of weird shit happening. You pull a sailboat from your pocket. Your head becomes a seasonal gourd. It rains croissants, snows donuts, and sleets cronuts. You save Ariana Grande's life. You wake up (in your dream) happy about it.
The outlandish quality of these occurrences makes them dreamlike or oneiric, which comes from the Ancient Greek word (*ὄνειρος* or oneiros) for dream. Interestingly, though oneiric means dreamlike, it's not synonymous with dreamy. For instance, Idris Alba, dreamy for sure, but Rami Malek? A little dreamy, mostly oneiric. You can't help but worry that his eyeballs are going to pop out of their sockets like Popeye squeezes spinach from a can.
> my mom said she likes rami malek bc he reminds her of our dog and i cannot unsee this [pic.twitter.com/0aOgGtRWwj](https://t.co/0aOgGtRWwj?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
>
> — b (@6rineh) [February 27, 2019](https://twitter.com/6rineh/status/1100846426861551622?ref%5Fsrc=twsrc%5Etfw&ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
To be able to call something oneiric presumes you have some experience of dreams, but it doesn't require you to know what they are or what function they play in human life. Don't feel bad, though. No one does. Dreams remain a pending question for science and religion, now and all through recorded history.
One aspect of this history is oneirocritica (bonus word!) or the interpretation of dreams. *Oneirocritica*, in fact,is the title of the first extant work of dream interpretation in Greek. Artemidorus authored the text in the 2nd century CE. The premise for the work is that dreams, correctly interpreted, can predict your future. There's a long section on sex dreams, and a special section on dreams where you sleep with your mom (oh hi, Oedipus). There are sections on dreams that recur and on animals that appear in your dream. Did you say you saw a partridge in your dream?
Not good.
Artemidorus writes that partridges could represent a man or woman, but generally they represent godless, unholy women who ain't good to their man. (*Oneirocritica* is not a feminist text.) As everyone knows, Artemidorus says, partridges are hard to tame, mottled, and they're the only kind of bird that has no respect for the gods. Absolutely none. He goes on, if you see a partridge in your dream, you better check your boo's phone, because she's probably sliding into someone else's DM's. Or whatever people say now.

How guilty does this bird look? - By Jason Thompson - Flickr: Scaly-breasted Partridge, CC BY 2.0
## 9\. Somnambulism
*(som-nam-buh-liz-uhm)*, noun.
**Definition:** A cooler sounding word for sleepwalking.
All your waking life you've probably been led to believe that sleep is concomitant with a lack of productivity, and were consequently shocked when you learned about hypnopedia above. What if you could wake up tomorrow already having walked 120,000 steps (roughly, 56.82 miles), all while asleep? Add in some language lessons playing through your headphones, and you're waking up a polylingual power-walker by the end of the week.
The foolproof method for getting those steps in is somnambulism or sleepwalking. The word comes from the Latin *somnus*, meaning sleep, and *ambulare*, meaning to walk.
Sidebar: *Ambulare* is also the etymological root of the word "ambulance." Does that mean the etymology of ambulance, an emergency vehicle, comes from the word to walk, like, you just got pulled from burning wreckage and the ambulance is just gonna saunter you over to the hospital, but maybe stop for a smoothie if there's a place on the way?
There must be another explanation. Maybe the etymology of ambulance is due to the fact that it's the thing that gets you up and walking again, like, hate to break it to you, buddy, but if the ambulance doesn't deliver you from that heap of flames, say goodbye to walking.
Unfortunately (or fortunately), the actual etymology is far more mundane and far less stupid. "Ambulance" derives from the French "*ambulance*," which was originally *hôpital ambulant*, that is, a walking or mobile hospital*.* Before the word took on its modern meaning of an emergency vehicle, *hôpital ambulant* referred to mobile hospitals erected near the edge of battle sites to treat wounded soldiers. In the Crimean War (1853–56), "ambulance" came to refer to the vehicle itself that transferred the wounded to these hospitals. Note that this history only refers to the emergence of the word "ambulance," not to the existence of a vehicle used to transport the sick, which has been around for a long, long time.
Somnambulating 50 miles in the dead of night is a recipe for disaster, no doubt. As you awaken to find yourself in an ambulance, take comfort in knowing you're living in an age where trained EMTs frantically work on you, machines wildly beep around you, and other medical supplies festoon the vehicle walls, for these are all quite recent innovations. Until about the mid-20th century, ambulances were only meant for transport, not healing. It was the patient's responsibility to hang on long enough to reach the hospital. If you didn't make it, you could take refuge in the fact (at least in the US before 1970) that you weren't still being such a burden in death, because hearses *were* ambulances, ambulances *were* hearses, and the *Ghostbuster's* Ecto-1 is an iconic example.

By Jonathan Stonehouse - Weston Park Transport Show 2015, [CC BY 2.0](https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=45441339&ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
## 10\. Hypnopompic
*(hip-nuh-pom-pik)*, adjective.
**Definition:** The period right before waking up or relating to this.
Whereas [hypnagogic](#3-hypnagogic) refers to the period immediately before sleep, hypnopompic refers to the period right before sleep's departure. Hypnopompic derives from the Ancient Greek words for sleep and sending away (πομπή or *pompē*).
The hallucinations common to hypnagogic states extend to hypnopompic ones, too. F. E. Leaning, who produced a massive 130-page study of hypnagogia in 1925, describes both states as "a certain degree of drowsiness, a twilight condition of consciousness in which pseudo-hallcuinations, which are neither waking visions nor dreams, can occur" (289).
Leaning goes on to recount the hypnopompic vision of a young man, who, upon waking, sees a cowboy hunched over in his closet. The young man rises from his bed to see what has so intensely caught the cowboy's attention.
The young man finds the cowboy training a roach to doff his cowboy hat, and, though it is almost imperceptibly faint, the drowsy young man swears that the roach is yelling, "Mornin', Partner," as it rides a mouse into the rising dawn.
### Vice Hath December
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/vice-hath-december/
Last updated: 2025-01-10T19:04:14.000Z
January 1 is about resolutions. You resolve to lose weight, to drink less, to be a better person. New year, new you.
December, then, is for the opposite: gain weight, drink more, and be the worst you possible. It's your chance to do all those things you're thinking about not doing in the new year—and to do them to excess.
Here's ten words to celebrate overdoing it, before you do it over.
## 1\. Crapulous
| Word | Pronunciation | POS | Definition |
| --------- | ----------------- | ---- | -------------------------------------------------------------- |
| Crapulous | *krap*\-yuh-luh s | adj. | To eat or drink to excess, and the shitty feeling that results |
Losing weight is a common enough resolution. You'll commonly hear, "I'm cutting out carbs!", or "I'm only eating lettuce that begins with the letter M!", or "I'm gonna eat better and be my best self, just in time for my Spring Break Wedding Dog Adoption!"
The opposite of this, of course, is to eat and drink as much as possible, and there's a word for our December-long overindulgence, for drinking not just *some* eggnog but the *whole* carton, for eating not just *some* Christmas cookies but *all* of them. That word is *crapulous*.
Crapulous derives from the Ancient Greek word, κραιπάλη (kraipalē), meaning drunken headache. In exorbitant addition to its first meaning—to eat and drink to excess—this etymology lends crapulous its second meaning: the shitty feeling that results from all that immoderate drinking and eating.
While the diet may start in January, being fabulously crapulous can start right now.
## 2\. Torpor
| Word | Pronunciation | POS | Definition |
| ------ | ------------- | ---- | --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
| Torpor | *tawr*\-per | noun | To not do anything. Frowned upon for humans, considered perfectly fine for non-human animals. |
One strategy to lose weight as part of the New Year's resolution is to diet; another is to exercise. You'll commonly hear, "I'm going to go to the gym everyday!", or "I just hired the personal trainer who got Tom Hanks in shape for Toy Story 4!", or "Well, I just hired the guy who kidnapped that woman in the Peloton ad, and she was in great shape!"
Opposed to routinely and vigorously working out is the lost art of doing nothing at all, of minimizing the body's movements so that only the smallest amount of energy is expended. *Torpor* signifies this lethargy, laziness, and general will to inactivity.
Torpor stems from the Latin word for the torpedo fish (electric ray), which can discharge a numbing sting up to 220 volts. The Ancient Greeks used it as an early anesthetic to numb the pain of surgery, childbirth, and loneliness.
When trying to achieve peak torpor yourself, don't reach for the torpedo fish just yet. Instead, look to some of our other non-human friends for inspiration. Hummingbirds, bears, raccoons, skunks, and the like lower their body temperatures and metabolic activity to survive the extremities of the season. This ability, related to hibernation, is called torpor.
Is there any season more extreme than December? Survive it by indulging in a little torpor. First, you master the weighted blanket, only then will you be ready to take on actual weights.

Vision board material. Photo by [Kleber Varejão Filho](https://unsplash.com/@klebervarejaofilho?utm%5Fsource=ghost&utm%5Fmedium=referral&utm%5Fcampaign=api-credit) / [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm%5Fsource=ghost&utm%5Fmedium=referral&utm%5Fcampaign=api-credit)
## 3\. Chantage
| Word | Pronunciation | POS | Definition |
| -------- | ------------- | ---- | ------------------------ |
| Chantage | shahn-*tazh* | noun | Fancy word for blackmail |
Another common resolution is to make new friends or to strengthen existing relationships. Naturally, then, December is for destroying your existing relationships and alienating yourself from all future chances of companionship and love. Yes, old acquaintances should be forgot.
One method to lose friends and put people off is to threaten them until they yield to your demands. I often find this tactic in my spam folder, where some hacker claims that he'll publicize some indecent selfies of me unless I send him bitcoin. Thankfully, he provides instructions, and that's how I finally learned how bitcoin works.
But I never end up paying this hacker because he never offers up the goods. If he's not going to prove he has those selfies of me, at the very least, he could send one of himself.
Unlike the hacker, though, I'm no amateur. I have the goods: that photo of my Mom she said she would kill me over if I ever posted it on Facebook. So, I send her her an email threatening to post the photo unless she sends me bitcoin. After helping her login into her email so she could read the message, she asks me why I'm trying to blackmail her. I stop her and say, "It's not blackmail, baby, it's chantage." It was our best Christmas ever.

A real bitcoin. Photo by [Icons8 Team](https://unsplash.com/@icons8?utm%5Fsource=ghost&utm%5Fmedium=referral&utm%5Fcampaign=api-credit) / [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm%5Fsource=ghost&utm%5Fmedium=referral&utm%5Fcampaign=api-credit)
## 4\. Tarantism
| Word | Pronunciation | POS | Definition |
| --------- | -------------------- | ---- | -------------------------------------------- |
| Tarantism | *tar*\-uh n-tiz-uh m | noun | To dance like it's a matter of life or death |
Maybe blackmailing Mom isn’t your idea of a good time. Maybe you’re not ready to destroy your family just yet. Maybe you even want to extend your current friend base. But, how do you make friends?
Dancing.
I know every great conversation I’ve ever had began with twerking.
Apparently, Italians from the 15th to the 17th century wholeheartedly agreed, when they were struck by the mania, *tarantism*, or the uncontrollable urge to dance. The word is thought to derive from “tarantula” because of the spider's unbelievable moves on the dance floor. Imagine what you could do with eight legs.
As you likely guessed, that's not entirely true. Tarantulas are actually terrible dancers, and no spider has ever won *Dancing with the Stars*. Nevertheless, “tarantism” *does* stem from “tarantula.” The uncontrollable urge that compelled Italians to dance, sometimes thousands of them at a time, sometimes only stopped by death, was erroneously thought to originate from the spider's bite.
That being said, I know I’ve met some of my best friends through mass psychogenic illness.
You're almost halfway through this post, you've earned yourself a little dance break.
## 5\. Penurious
| Word | Pronunciation | POS | Definition |
| --------- | ----------------- | ---- | ------------------------------------------------------ |
| Penurious | pe-*nuhr*\-ee-uhs | adj. | Unwilling to spend any money. Straight up scrooging it |
Come January, you are locking things down. You're living austerely. No more island getaways or getaway islands for you. You're resolving to save money in the new year.
Only this is one resolution that you should begin immediately. Don't wait until January when December's such an expensive month with the gifts, travel, and all the money spent getting crapulous.
For the month of December, travel nowhere, give no gifts, and instead of Christmas bonuses, just enroll your employees in a jelly of the month club.
You're now full-on *penurious*—that is, stingy, penny-pinching, parsimonious, tightfisted, curmudgeonly, miserly, costive—and, before you complain about using so many words when just one would do, please know the more modern meanings of costive are being constipated and being slow in coming up with ideas. It's such a great word.
You thought you'd just be learning one new word in this section, but you've now learned two for the price of one! Put that in your penurious pocket, you cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit.
## 6\. Malinger
| Word | Pronunciation | POS | Definition |
| -------- | ------------- | ---- | ----------------------------------------------------------------- |
| Malinger | ma-*ling*\-er | verb | It's ... cough ... when ... ugh ... sorry, too sick to finish ... |
Self-care is another popular resolution, and for good reason. They say every time you get eight hours of sleep, you add eight years to your life. Sleep well for one week, and you're looking at an extra 56 years. I'm always surprised more people don't know this!
If self-care is the goal of January, does that mean that December is the time for self-harm? No, too dark. Then, making yourself sick? No, too gross. Faking that you're sick to get out of work? That's it. That's to *malinger* or to feign illness to escape your responsibilities.
"Sorry, Bob, I can't come in today. I'm really coming down with something. Tell Karen she'll need to pitch the Anderson account by herself." Now, what do you do with all this newfound free time? Dance like a tarantist, eat yourself into a crapulous torpor, and concoct an elaborate chantage to bring down Karen, that penurious, basic bitch.

These pills are purely recreational. Photo by [Volodymyr Hryshchenko](https://unsplash.com/@lunarts?utm%5Fsource=ghost&utm%5Fmedium=referral&utm%5Fcampaign=api-credit) / [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm%5Fsource=ghost&utm%5Fmedium=referral&utm%5Fcampaign=api-credit)
## 7\. Oblivescence
| Word | Pronunciation | POS | Definition |
| ------------ | ------------------- | ---- | -------------------------------------- |
| Oblivescence | ob-luh-*ves*\-uh ns | noun | To forget or the process of forgetting |
In the new year, many will resolve to learn a new skill. Karen is taking pottery courses in jail, Sam is joining a break dancing crew, Rhonda is learning to mine bitcoin, and Juan is going back to Princeton to finish his vajazzling degree.
Since January is the time to learn something new, December is clearly the month to forget something you've known for a long time. Maybe you'll start slowly by forgetting your email password, then move on to leaving your wallet at the movie theater, and then graduate with forgetting the names of your children and which hand is the left one. *Oblivescence* is this process of forgetting. It stems from the same root that gives us words like oblivious and oblivion, a root which literally means a smoothing over, as in wiping away memories of the past. Forever.
Unlike oblivious and oblivion, oblivescence is likely a word you'll soon forget. Which is what December is all about.
## 8\. Bibliomania
| Word | Pronunciation | POS | Definition |
| ----------- | --------------------- | ---- | ---------------------------------------------------- |
| Bibliomania | bib-lee-oh-mey-nee-uh | noun | To love getting books, like really love getting them |
To read more is another popular resolution. 2019 will be the year I finally read *Infinite Jest*, finish that BuzzFeed 84-point listicle, or just make it to the bottom of my CVS receipt.
To read more, you need things to read. Once upon a time, before Kindles, iPads, and phones, there were something called books. Buying lots of books and wanting to buy more is *bibliomania*, which is great for increasing your knowledge of the world, but less so when you have to move those tomes to another part of that world.
Though the origin of the word is older, it came to prominence in the 19th century via Thomas Dibdin's [*Bibliomania, or, Book-madness: A Bibliographical Romance*](https://archive.org/details/bibliomaniaorboo00dibduoft/page/n9)(1809). In the work, Dibdin ribs his fellow bibliomaniacs, whom he diagnosed as also afflicted with the disease, and assigns them symptoms depending on what kind of books the gentlemen desired. As one might expect of a bibliomaniac, the book itself is both quite luxurious and tediously long, clocking in at over 600 pages.
It's rumored that Dibdin's distant heir has just completed a new work, *eBibliomania, or, eBook-madness*: *An eBibliographical Romance*. It can only be read on top of the line ebook readers and clocks in at over 2 GBs. Look for it wherever you buy your ebooks.

*Bibliomania* (1842) by Thomas Frognall Dibdin, self-confessed bibliomaniac
## 9\. Nimiety
| Word | Pronunciation | POS | Definition |
| ------- | ---------------- | ---- | ----------------------------------------- |
| Nimiety | ni-*mahy*\-i-tee | noun | Too much, excess, overkill, overabundance |
In general, New Year's resolutions are about cutting back, moderating your eating, drinking, spending, screen time, etc. December, then, is your last hurrah. It's where you find out just how far the human body can go. How quickly can I eat a 3 lbs. bag of Twizzlers? Is it possible to watch every *Star Wars* movie in one day? How many bottles of wine per person is too many? Does the equation change if I'm drinking the wine with Twizzlers straws?
December is a time for *nimiety*, which is a completely unnecessary, redundant, and excessive word for excess. There's absolutely no reason to ever use it in a million years, so it's the perfect word for the final month of 2019.

Is this a nimiety of self-tanner? Photo by [Sharon McCutcheon](https://unsplash.com/@sharonmccutcheon?utm%5Fsource=ghost&utm%5Fmedium=referral&utm%5Fcampaign=api-credit) / [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?utm%5Fsource=ghost&utm%5Fmedium=referral&utm%5Fcampaign=api-credit)
## 10\. Abulia
| Word | Pronunciation | POS | Definition |
| ------ | ----------------- | ---- | ------------------- |
| Abulia | uh-*byoo*\-lee-uh | noun | Inability to decide |
The fifth most popular resolution, according to my research, is not to plan on making New Year's resolutions. Take that, 2020.
Not to rain on the parade, but not planning on making a resolution is still a choice. Just ask Jean-Paul Sartre: “In not making a choice you are still *choosing not to choose.*”And you thought you were so cool.
> In not making a choice you are still *choosing not to choose* –Jean Paul Sartre
Really, the only way out of this is not to be able to choose at all, to not even choose not choosing, a real psychiatric condition called *abulia.* It is the loss of your free will, an inability to choose. Abulia stems from Ancient Greek, being a combination of alpha privative and *boulē* or will. (Alpha privative is when you stick an "a" or "an" at the front of the word to negate it, like "atypical" or "abulia.")
It is unknown whether the term actually existed in Ancient Greek, and, if it did, it likely had a different meaning. A German physician, Johann Christian August Heinroth, has the first recorded use of the word in his [1818 medical textbook](https://archive.org/details/BIUSante%5F59617x01) on the disorders of mental life.
In the textbook's fourth chapter, Heinroth reports that patients suffering from abulia were all observed to avoid the question, "What's your New Year's resolution?", in the same way.
"Is this year really not over yet?”
Their response provides a perfect slogan for what was 2019\. Happy New Year!
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### A Series of Connected Events
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/a-series-of-interconnected-events/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:39:31.000Z
On February 11, 1793, Carl Friedrich Kielmeyer delivered a talk, titled, “On the Relations of the Organic Forces to One Another in the Series of Different Organizations, the Laws and Consequences of these Relations.” While the talk’s contribution to the science of life cannot be overstated, it almost never made it beyond its initial audience.
Kielmeyer was generally reluctant to publish, and it was only because of a pushy student, a bottle of wine, and some cake that Kielmeyer published his talk, which was enthusiastically received by philosophers and naturalists.

Carl Friedrich Kielmeyer
But Kielmeyer’s concept of nature did not emerge *de novo*. It developed out of the ideas of 18th-century life science. The philosopher Friedrich Schelling was likely the first to recognize (at least in writing) a key provenance for Kielmeyer’s approach. The major idea of Kielmeyer’s work, Schelling writes, “is taken from \[Johann Gottfried\] Herder’s *Ideas for the Philosophy of the History of Humanity*, first part”. I agree with Schelling that Kielmeyer’s concept of nature stems from Herder’s arguments in his *Ideas*, which I’ll illustrate shortly.
At the same time, a difference does exist between Kielmeyer’s and Herder’s investigations of nature. While they both use the relation between constitutive organic forces to provide explanations of the organic world, Herder remains dependent on theological commitments and anthropocentric principles. This reliance doesn’t hold for Kielmeyer, however. In conclusion, I will consider what difference, if any, this makes for Herder’s and Kielmeyer’s study of nature.
## Details
"A Series of Interconnected Events: Kielmeyer's Organic Laws of Nature" was presented at the 2018 [Association for Eighteenth-Century Studies](https://asecs.press.jhu.edu/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) Annual Meeting on March 22, 2018 in Orlando, FL.
### What’s an Organism among Friends?
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/whats-an-organism-among-friends/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:38:29.000Z
Scholars continue to find a critical moment for the history of biology in Blumenbach and Kant’s intellectual relationship. Yet, the terms of that relationship remain contested.
Did Blumenbach implement the methodological best practices suggested by Kant, arming a generation of life scientists with them in the process? Or did Blumenbach take Kant’s philosophical positions in name only, having already come to his own methodology long before reading Kant’s work?

Title page from Blumenbach's essay on the formative drive
Foregoing interpretations that answer questions such as these have focused on the possibility of Kant’s influence on Blumenbach, while largely ignoring or denying the latter’s possible influence on the former. The purpose of this paper is to challenge this view by asserting that Kant did owe Blumenbach an intellectual debt, as Kant himself acknowledged in the only letter he ever sent to him in 1790\. Analysis of the language and logic of §64 of the third *Critique* reveals that Blumenbach’s essay on the formative drive is an essential source for Kant’s preliminary definition of organized being. Moreover, Kant’s remark in his letter that Blumenbach provided a successful model for the unification of mechanical and teleological principles is not empty praise, but rather indication that the *Bildungstrieb* concept offered a true source of this unification―one that Kant utilized in his own work thereafter. Hence, Blumenbach was essential to Kant’s philosophy of the organic world, which reaffirms the indispensability of this intellectual relationship for any understanding of the epistemic foundations of biology.
## Details
"What's an Organism among Friends: Reassessing Blumenbach and Kant’s Intellectual Relationship" was delivered at the [History of Science Society's](https://hssonline.org/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) annual meeting on November 11, 2017 in Toronto, ON.
### Blumenbach and the Epistemology of the Bildungstrieb
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/blumenbach-and-the-epistemology-of-the-bildungstrieb/
Last updated: 2025-10-08T02:03:28.000Z
Johann Friedrich Blumenbach (1752–1840) introduces the concept of *Bildungstrieb* (formative drive) in a continually revised short work, first published in 1780.[1](#sdfootnote1sym) He intends the formative drive to solve the problem of generation, demonstrating once and for all that his theory of epigenesis (and not the competing theory of preformation) is the true representation of organic development. Yet, the success of his theory is by no means unequivocal. The epistemological survey that follows investigates the merits, evidence, and strategy of the *Bildungstrieb* and Blumenbach’s scientific practice more generally. He himself confesses that he has only recently abandoned preformation theory in favor of epigenesis, and his narrative of conversion grants us insight into the reasons for his theory change. In the first section, we find that Blumenbach’s stated reasons are, in fact, insufficient for decisively overturning preformation theory in favor of epigenesis. That nothing in Blumenbach’s own account would have swayed the already committed adherent of preformation is not due to any fatal flaw in his argument, but rather because he does not introduce anything for which a canned response was not already available. Supporters of preformation had heard his critiques before and were armed to the teeth with rejoinders.
Nevertheless, his *Bildungstrieb* essay is not without innovation. It does not occur, however, where one might expect, that is, vis-à-vis the tenets of the formative drive itself, but rather with respect to Blumenbach’s methodology. In the second section, we find that his introduction of a simplicity criterion responds effectively to the stalemate in the debate over generation at the time and even anticipates practices in modern biology.[2](#sdfootnote2sym)
Despite these innovations and other advances Blumenbach made in the life sciences, his mature formulation of the *Bildungstrieb* chastens its epistemic reach. While the naturalist can learn the laws of living nature by observing the effects of the *Bildungstrieb*, he is forever barred from knowing the cause of it. Although there is precedence in eighteenth-century science for Blumenbach’s epistemological modesty, which we review in the final section, he never explains why life as such must be inexplicable, why knowledge of it must lay beyond the mind’s reach.
We do know that the frustration of having only limited answers to the most basic questions about living beings was not lost on Blumenbach. He expresses his own frustration with the lack of progress made in the problem of generation, remarking that already in the seventeenth century Charles Drelincourt, Herman Boerhaave’s teacher, had gathered together 262 “groundless” hypotheses on generation from his predecessors, and Blumenbach adds “nothing is more certain than that \[Drelincourt’s\] own system amounts to the 263rd(1789b, 5). Blumenbach adds that the lingering obscurity of this question is all the more embarrassing, since it is one that must have already preoccupied our first parents (6). Deep-seated, then, is the desire to know life, and as flawed as the formative drive may be, it represents one of the best efforts in the late eighteenth century to come to terms with this desire.
## From Preformation to Epigenesis: Blumenbach’s Theory Conversion
Although in *Über den Bildungstrieb*,Blumenbach asserts what came to be recognized as the paradigmatic theory of epigenesis, he had not always been a proponent of that theory. He confesses that just a short time ago he had endorsed preformation, even teaching it and defending it in his writings (1789b, 19). He now wonders how he and others could ever have accepted a theory that retrospectively seems so lacking in evidence. But the wisdom that comes with hindsight is not always forthcoming, and as a result Blumenbach has the opportunity in the first section of his essay to recount the moment of his conversion from preformation to epigenesis.
He recounts taking a walk while on holiday in the country when he happened to find a polyp (now known as *Hydra*) in a nearby stream. With the intention of amusing his friends with the “wonders” of this animal, Blumenbach takes the creature back to the house to conduct the regenerative experiments already notorious at that time. Fortunate circumstances allowed these experiments to continue over three days, so that he and his friends could observe the regeneration of the polyp, its severed parts becoming so many new polyps as if it were occurring right before their eyes (1789, 21). This result—because he had done the experiments so many times before—was entirely expected. In fact, at the time, he performed the experiments to demonstrate the truth of preformation theory and “*den Ungrund der allmäligen Bildung*” (20; the baselessness of gradual formation \[epigenesis\]). Yet, the experiment yielded an unexpected result: the regenerated polyps and their arms were of a *much smaller size*, even though the creatures had been given ample food. This meant that the new limbs and body could not be the result of an aggregation of matter that merely filled in another preformed germ, because the new limbs were smaller than they had previously been, which could only be the case if they had been gradually formed entirely anew. On his return to the city after the holiday, another fortuitous event allowed Blumenbach to bring the strange case into connection with another. He was called upon as a practicing physician to attend to a patient that was suffering from a deep caries in his femur, just above the knee. Blumenbach observed that as the patient healed and the scar formed over the previous wound that the new or regenerated skin exhibited a shallow but perceptible depression, leading him to remark that this case was, *mutatis mutandis*,the same as with the polyp (1789b, 23). These two diminutions establish the turning point for Blumenbach: he can no longer uphold a theory of preformation, but must, instead, adopt a theory of epigenesis.[3](#sdfootnote3sym)
We can already see why these cases would have deeply complicated the theory of preformation. In general, the polyp’s reproductive power immediately created a problem for the theory when it was first discovered in the 1740s; it even caused preformation’s leading representative, Albrecht von Haller, to briefly reject the theory. Yet, with time, he and other preformationists had been able to adapt to this new phenomenon and present explanations of regeneration that were convincing enough to garner and sustain support for their theory. Though the small polyp had threatened preformation theory, its supporters were not, in the end, defeated by it; however, this new, strangely smaller polyp noticed by Blumenbach had managed to push him over the edge. There did not seem to be any way to account for the diminished size of its regenerated body or parts if one supposed the existence of preformed germs. How could these germs anticipate or respond to the polyp’s accidental severance of limbs or the healed flesh in the caries? This regenerative (or reproductive) capability of living beings, that is, their responsive adaptation to the contingencies of nature, did not seem to be assimilable by preformation theory in any possible guise.[4](#sdfootnote4sym) It appears, in fact, wholly anathema to that theory’s essential foundation.
In addition to his personally transformative experiments on the polyp, Blumenbach provides an expansive criticism of preformation in his text in an attempt to discredit preformation beyond any possible doubt. He divides the theory into three versions: ancient Greek (a position represented by Heraclitus and Hippocrates in which germs are strewn about the earth to wander in search of fitting genitals where they can take hold and develop), spermist, and ovist preformation (in weak and strong versions). Although arguments are given against each of these, only the last one—the strong ovist position as advanced by Haller—is considered by Blumenbach to be a true contender for solving the problem of generation. To this version, then, he devotes the bulk of his critical attention.
Blumenbach identifies a lecture delivered by Haller to the *Königlichen Societät der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen* in May 1758 as containing the “*argumentum crucis*”for preformation(1789b, 35). It runs as follows: 1\. It can be observed that the membrane and blood vessels of a chick embryo are a continuation of the membrane and blood vessels of a yolk in an incubated egg. 2\. The yolk, however, is in the hen prior to impregnation. 3\. Therefore, the chick embryo, although too small to see, *most likely* exists prior to impregnation (1789b, 35–7). Because of the continuity of the parts between the yolk and embryo, one can infer the preexistence of the chick. Blumenbach emphasizes “most likely” to highlight the fact that Haller, at least in the initial presentation of his findings, himself remained cautious about his conclusions. It was only with the often overzealous naturalist Charles Bonnet’s declaration of the argument’s infallibility that Haller’s finding achieved the status of the preeminent argument in support of preformation. So much so, in fact, that Haller himself also began to see it as such, relinquishing his earlier caution for a forthright acceptance of the argument’s truth. The preformation community in general thus came to adopt this argument as the best proof of its position. If Blumenbach intended to contradict the most widely held and strongest version of preformation possible, this continuity thesis would have to be his target.
His initial criticism of it rests on the basis that its essential evidence is indeterminate at best. Granting the most scrupulous investigation of the fertilized egg, Blumenbach contends that it remains impossible to determine with any certainty whether the situation is as Haller claims. Yet, even if one grants the continuity of the membrane and vessels between the yolk and chick as Haller maintains, Blumenbach argues that preformation does not necessarily follow because continuity does not imply co-existence, a point for which he adduces two counterexamples (the continuity but non-coexistence of the gall wasp and tree and the formation of new membranes in the animal in response to accidental inflammation). Finally, he closes his criticism of the continuity thesis by showing its inconsistency with another of Haller’s views, in which the latter asserts that the human fetus adheres to the uterus through the formation of new vessels and membranes; that is, they become continuous even though they are admittedly not co-existent.
Blumenbach devotes the remainder of the second section to discrediting other, lesser forms of support for ovist preformation that mainly consist of anecdotal evidence. For example, he relates the case, which had been recorded in the log of the Imperial Academy of Natural Research, where a miller’s wife had been reported to have delivered a daughter with an engorged stomach. The baby suffered so immensely over the next eight days that most of those present thought she was surely to die. Yet, in the meantime this sick baby gave birth to another baby that was, according to another report of the case, “the size of the middle finger” (1789b, 51–2). This case, incredible as it might appear, seems less so if one accepts the theory of preformation and, in fact, then appears to be evidence of it. For this reason, Haller included the case among his evidence for preformation.
Blumenbach, however, thought it all too easy to meet such cases with more cases(1789b, 54, 57). In response to the miller’s wife’s baby’s baby case, he cites one from the Philosophical Transactions of London, where a report is given of a *male* greyhound that gave birth to a puppy every year. This example is not supposed to prove the truth of epigenesis, but, in fact, of spermist preformation. But why would Blumenbach, supporter of epigenesis, furnish evidence for any version of preformation, the opposing theory? His aim in this passage is not to challenge preformation *per se*, but rather a type of evidence its supporters use to defend it. To demonstrate the absurdity of their approach, he matches every ovist case with a spermist one, showing that these types of cases prove both versions of preformation equally well. Hence, even though they are published in the reputable journals of the day and vouched for by authorities like natural historians and physicians, these cases are ultimately unconvincing because they prove contradictory views of preformation. This contradiction, Blumenbach thinks, does not refute preformation theory, but rather discredits the use of this type of case altogether. In this instance, then, he is not rebuking preformation as a bad theory, but rather its supporters as practicing bad science.
The failure of preformation theory and the methods used by its supporters leads Blumenbach to conclude, “*Keine präformierten Keime präexistiren*” (1789b, 24–5; no preformed germs preexist \[emphasis in original\]). He continues:
*In dem vorher rohen ungebildeten Zeugungsstoff der organisierten Körper nachdem er zu seiner Reife und an den Ort seiner Bestimmung gelangt ist, ein besonderer, dann lebenslang tätiger Trieb rege wird, ihre bestimmte Gestalt anfangs anzunehmen, dann lebenslang zu erhalten, und wenn sie ja etwa verstümmelt worden, wo möglich wieder herzustellen.*
*Ein Trieb, der folglich zu den Lebenskräften gehört, der aber eben so deutlich von den übrigen Arten der Lebenskraft der organisierten Körper (der Kontraktilität, Irritabilität, Sensibilität etc.) als von den allgemeinen physischen Kräften der Körper überhaupt, verschieden ist; der die erst wichtigste Kraft zu aller Zeugung, Ernährung, und Reproduktion zu sein scheint, und den man um ihn von andern Lebenskräften zu unterscheiden, mit dem Namen des Bildungstriebes* (nisus formativus) *bezeichnen kann.* (ibid.)[5](#sdfootnote5sym)
\[In the previously raw unformed generative matter of organized bodies, after the matter has reached maturation and the position of its determination, a particular drive that is operative throughout life becomes active, by which organized bodies receive their determinate form in the beginning, then maintain it throughout life, and, where possible, reproduce it if they somehow become mutilated.
A drive that consequently belongs to the vital forces, but that is just as clearly different from the other kinds of vital force of organized bodies (contractibility, irritability, sensibility, etc.) as from the universal physical forces of the body in general; it appears to be the first, most important force for all generation, nutrition, and reproduction, and can be designated with the name of formative drive (*nisus formativus*), in order to differentiate it from other vital forces.\]
These remarks introduce the *Bildungstrieb* (formative drive). It is responsible for giving and preserving the form that organized bodies have while alive as well as restoring that form when damaged. In this respect, it is essentially operative in the processes of generation, nutrition, and reproduction, processes that correspond to those just named, that is, the initial determination, subsequent maintenance, and continuous restoration of organic form. It shapes living beings into what they are and what they will be, and reproduces that form when it is mutilated. Although Blumenbach associates it with the other *Lebenskräften* (vital forces), he intends the formative drive to be considered as distinct from them as well as from physical forces in general. He emphasizes this by using the term “*Trieb*”(drive, impulse), rather than “*Kraft*”(force, power), in coining the term “*Bildungs*trieb.”
The reason that the formative drive is not assimilable to physical forces becomes clear when Blumenbach provides a fuller explanation of the drive in the essay’s third section. He argues that a great divide separates the organic world from the inorganic one and the formative drive only belongs to the former. In identifying this divide, he rejects the thesis of a “great chain of being” in which a gradual ascent is observable throughout all of nature, living and nonliving alike (see Lovejoy 2001). The organic and inorganic are not linked in a continuum, but separated by a gulf. At the same time, though, he admits that an understanding of the inorganic world will undoubtedly help one to understand the organic one and vice versa. To illustrate this claim, he says the existence of the formative drive is confirmed by the fact that a trace of it exists as formative *force* in the inorganic world, manifest in the regular and invariable forms taken by inorganic bodies like in the process of crystallization (1789b, 72–3).
Part of Blumenbach’s insistence on the difference of force and drive stems from a desire to distinguish his theory from the *vis essentialis* (essential force) of Caspar Friedrich Wolff, since some readers might have been inclined to conflate them. According to Blumenbach, Wolff’s *vis essentialis*, as the name suggests, acts like a force—one that is primarily responsible for the distribution of nourishment in the plant or animal—and thus acts uniformly throughout the body.[6](#sdfootnote6sym) Hence, it must act uniformly in the most abnormal growths of plants and trees where any principle of regular formation seems to be wholly lacking; and yet, even when the force is weakened in a malnourished organized body, that body will continue to exhibit regular formation (1789b, 29–32). Therefore, Blumenbach thinks the *vis essentialis* is not capable of doing what Wolff intended, that is, explain the progressive formation of organized beings by epigenesis. It fails in this regard because the needed connection between formation and the intensity of the force does not exist, resulting in the conclusion that the *vis essentialis* is not essential to generation. While it plays a part in formation through the distribution of nutriments and other vital functions, it cannot be the principle of formation itself, as Wolff intended.[7](#sdfootnote7sym)
Conversely, the formative drive is just this principle. In the third section, Blumenbach returns to the conversional experiment he described in the first section (1789b, 84–5). The diminished size of the first mutilated and then restored polyp can be explained if one supposes that the creature, in losing its arm, also loses part of its formative drive. This explanation implies that while the formative drive is not determined by the body’s matter, it does require this matter for its existence and energy. It depends on matter, but is not determined by it. Therefore, because the drive has been diminished, one must also suspect that the reproduced part would also be similarly diminished—but, importantly, reduced only in size, not in form. Moreover, Blumenbach does not think that this reconstitution can be explained solely through a mechanical aggregation of new matter that has been nutritionally gleaned because in its injured state the polyp does not consume as much as it normally would and certainly not enough to account for the restored limb. Its nutritional input is less than, and hence not equal to, the regenerated parts. Therefore, Blumenbach concludes, the matter for the regeneration must be taken from some other part of the animal and then reconfigured into a consequently diminished limb or body.[8](#sdfootnote8sym) This process is inexplicable according to a simple force like Wolff’s *vis essentialis* because it requires the ability to *repurpose* existing matter for ends entirely different from those for which it was first formed.[9](#sdfootnote9sym)
In addition to indicating the inadequacies of a force to explain the diminished state of the polyp, Blumenbach also anticipated the counterargument that proponents of preformation would likely make(1789b, 85–9). It goes as follows: in each part of the polyp, there exist innumerable germs in a dormant state that will remain so until the naturalist makes this or that cut, rousing the germ into growth. Although Blumenbach finds this hypothesis dubious, he performs two experiments meant to confound it. First, he describes an experiment in which half a brown polyp is fused together with half a green one, forming a mixture of the two. Second, he recounts an experiment where the polyp is not dismembered, but rather only cut across its body. In this case, the polyp does not generate any new limbs, but is still restored to its original state. Preformation theory cannot account for these cases because it cannot explain how a preformed germ allows for the bicolored-fused polyp or its much greater regenerative power (relative to other animals). Blumenbach’s reliance on these further experiments is necessary, for without them, he appears to remain in an identical position as the preformationist: he has postulated a principle of generation that is, just like the preformed germ, unobservable. Although the formative drive avoids the pitfalls of preformation in accounting for the polyp’s regenerative power, its existence continues to be precarious, since the observer only has access to its effects, but never to the drive itself. We will return to this point below.
Blumenbach supplements his theory and foregoing criticisms by invoking several more problems that discredit preformation: he recalls the difficulty the theory has in explaining the accidental origin and growth of preternatural parts; that is, living beings can adapt responsively to ectopic pregnancies, hydrocephalus, broken bones, and so forth. Preformation is not capable of explaining this adaptability. He also refers to the problem of hybridity with respect to the mule and Kölreuter’s then-recent work on the tobacco plant, for, again, the preformed germ does not seem capable of anticipating or producing such mixtures.[10](#sdfootnote10sym) Yet, as Blumenbach himself acknowledges, even if he does not find them convincing, preformation theorists were already outfitted with solutions to all these kinds of problems. These challenges were nothing new, and hence they alone could not be expected to overturn the theory’s longstanding support.
Blumenbach also adduces the “consistently confirmed experience” that even to the “most-armed \[*bewaffnetesten*\] eye” no trace of the developing living being can be seen until a relatively long time after fertilization(1789b, 58). Because no trace of it can be observed, he argues that there cannot be any preformed germ, since it would have been visible. Yet, one might ask whether this observation advances at all over those anecdotes decried by Blumenbach above, in which the preformationist claimed to have witnessed this or that case in support of his theory, given that Blumenbach’s justification—that his experience differs by being “consistently confirmed” by any unprejudiced observer—could have been equally employed by the preformationist. Moreover, is not Blumenbach guilty of the old aphorism that the “absence of evidence is not evidence of absence” inasmuch as he claims that no trace of a living being exists for such and such a period of time? The proponent of preformation would undoubtedly counter that the initial unobservability of the preformed embryo is not proof of its nonexistence, but only of its minute size and consequent invisibility. Blumenbach’s experience would then seem to be acceptable only to those who were already convinced of the inadequacies of preformation. Although Blumenbach rightfully challenged the use of spurious cases to defend preformationism and undermined Haller’s *argumentum crucis*, has he yet provided any criticism that would have been absolutely devastating to the theory? Has he provided anything to prevent recourse to the defense that the preformed germs are always, already present—but just too small to see?
In fact, if we return to Blumenbach’s doctor-on-holiday narrative, we may ask whether a strong enough impetus exists within it to elicit his conversion. Although the narrative of the doctor on holiday who happens to observe this peculiar characteristic of the notorious polyp, which had somehow escaped the notice of other naturalists, is quite compelling, and even more so when it is connected shortly afterward with the case of the patient suffering from a caries in his femur, we might ask whether these events are really enough to explain Blumenbach’s conversion. That is, there are two questions. First, has Blumenbach decisively refuted preformation? And, in particular, has he conclusively dealt with the seemingly unassailable strategy of preformation to appeal to an ever smaller and always invisible preformed germ? Second, even if he has refuted preformation, has Blumenbach proved the truth of epigenesis? Although Blumenbach might have been converted through his experiments on the polyp as detailed in his narrative, these experiments alone offer no clear advance over the counterexamples and criticisms of preformation; he has not yet sunk the invisible preformed germ, and the truth of epigenesis remains outstanding. To the contrary, though, Blumenbach’s introduction of *Conferva fontinalis* in the 1781 edition of his essay solves these difficulties. Whereas many of the examples above had problematized preformation through examples of extraordinary generation (for example, the regenerative capacity in the polyp) or through exhibiting regularity under irregular conditions (for example, hybrids and monsters), the virtue of *C. fontinalis* lay in its utter simplicity.
## Conferva fontinalis and the Simplicity Criterion
Nothing could make the existence and activity of the formative drive clearer to the impartial eye, Blumenbach proposes, than an organized body that grows and reproduces quickly as well as having a structure that is semi-transparent (1789b, 74–5).[11](#sdfootnote11sym) How this is the case becomes clear in his example of *C. fontinalis.*[12](#sdfootnote12sym) He writes:
*Ein Beispiel der Art aus dem Gewächsreiche gibt die überaus* einfache *Fortpflanzungsweise einer eben so* einfachen *Wasserpflanze, die, zumal im Frühjahr gar häufig am Ausfluss der Röhrenwasser, an Quellen, in Gräben, Teichen etc. zu finden ist, und deren sich auch wohl unbotanische Leser leicht aus der bloßen Beschreibung werden erinnern können. Das ganze Gewächs besteht nämlich aus einem* einfachen*, (nie geteilten) meist geraden, etwa einen halben Zoll langen, feinen Faden von hellgrüner Farbe, der gewöhnlich mit seinem untern Ende im Schlamme eingewurzelt ist.* (1789b, 75–6; my emphasis)
\[An example of this kind in the plant kingdom is given in the *extremely simple* sort of generation of a just as *simple* water plant, which is frequently found, especially in the springtime, etc., and from whose mere description even the unbotanical reader will be able to be reminded of it. The whole plant is comprised of a *simple*, (never divided) mostly straight, nearly half-inch long, bright-green fine filament that usually roots itself in the mud with its bottom end.\]
In this short passage, Blumenbach employs the adjective “simple” twice to describe the plant itself and once to describe its reproductive process. The alga is essentially a straight line that is internally and externally identical, a fact known because of the plant’s translucency(1789b, 77). These features of the alga—coupled with a quick reproductive cycle (completed in around 48 hours), every stage of which is easily visible—make it exceptionally observable. Whereas the chick embryo, the locus of the debate over generation between Haller and Wolff, has the disadvantage (relative to observation) of beginning not just within an egg, but within an egg within a hen, nothing of *C. fontinalis* is barred from view. Blumenbach writes, “*Auch bei der stärksten Vergrößerung und im hellsten Lichte, ist in der ganzen Pflanze schlechterdings nichts weiter als ein blasiges Gewebe, (beinahe wie ein grüner Gesicht oder Schaum) zu erkennen, das durch eine äußerst feine, kaum merkliche äußere Haut umschlossen wird*” (1789b, 77–8; Even under the strongest magnification and in the brightest light, absolutely nothing further is to be found in the whole plant other than a fine, vesicular texture \[almost like a green froth or foam\], which is enclosed by an extremely fine, hardly noticeable external skin). The charge against Haller’s *argumentum crucis*, that the continuity argument has indeterminate evidence at best because of the difficulty of observation, is not one that can be brought against Blumenbach’s algae. Importantly, an implication of this structural simplicity is that nothing lays beyond what meets the eye. There is nothing further to be seen here. This means that if preformed germs are not observed during generation, then they cannot be involved in reproduction at all. The plant’s generation must be due to something else: Blumenbach proposes the formative drive.
The choice of this algae vis-à-vis the simplicity criterion is thus an attempt to forestall preformation’s rejoinder that preformed germs are present but unobservable, a claim that remains tenable as long as one can appeal to the germ’s more basic, underlying structure. But if the algae’s most basic structure is already visible on account of the organized being’s simplicity, as Blumenbach insists, then the rejoinder is futile. Algae also benefits the researcher by being attained *simply* (from ditches, springs, ponds, etc.) and by reproducing over a short time span, so that anyone with a microscope can observe the whole process many times over without a large commitment of time or resources. Although Blumenbach’s choice of algae (he gives the polyp as a correlate in the animal kingdom) might appear as a somewhat obvious strategy to rebut evidence of preformation, selecting a living being because of its simplicity represents a novel approach at the time. It anticipates modern biology’s later use of experimental and model organisms.
While previous naturalists had observed and experimented on a wealth of living beings, the selection of what to observe had not yet been dictated so emphatically by the criterion of simplicity. For instance, Joseph Gottlieb Kölreuter, who performed 65 hybridity experiments in his remarkable *Vorläufige Nachricht von einigen das Geschlecht der Pflanzen betreffenden Versuchen und Beobachtungen* (1761; Preliminary Report on Some Observations and Experiments Concerning the Sex of Plants)*,* chose different species of tobacco plants(Olby 1966, 21).He was able to cross the different species of tobaccos plants (*Nicotiana rustica* x *Nicotiana paniculata*) and obtain hybrids, from which he was able to back cross and obtain a second generation of hybrids. We already saw above that these relatively recent experiments had influenced Blumenbach and that he had mentioned them in his text as part of the evidence against preformation. From the perspective of facility, tobaccowas a good choice because it was “easy to grow, easy to castrate and cross, and they set numerous seeds”(Olby 1966, 46). Yet, Kölreuter’s success notwithstanding, the tobacco plant, because of its polyploidy, is a poor choice for the study of hybridity, since he was then not only observing hybridity, but also polyploidy, which resulted, in retrospect, not in the purported hybrid but in a triploid(ibid.). In the end, this confusion prevented Kölreuter from formulating any decisive laws regarding hybridity or explanations of heredity, which had been his intention.
Conversely, Gregor Mendel’s use of *Pisum* in the next century, since the plant exhibits simple binary traits, is much more conducive to the investigation of hybridity. In his “*Versuche über Pflanzen-Hybriden*” (1865), after giving his introductory remarks, Mendel devotes the first body section of his essay, “*Auswahl der Versuchspflanzen*” (Choice of Experimental Plants), to enumerating the reasons for selecting the pea plant for his experiments. He writes, “The value and validity of any experiment is conditioned by the suitability of the means used for it as well as by its expedient implementation. In the present case it also cannot be indifferent, which kinds of plants were chosen as means for the experiments and in which ways they were conducted”(1865, 5). Mendel is exceedingly aware of the importance of choosing *Pisum*, yet his remark, “it cannot be indifferent,” suggests that this awareness is not something given or obvious. He presents two criteria as guiding his choice of the pea plant: the presentation of constant differentiating characteristics and the plant’s resistance to the influence of foreign pollen. He will also add that the pea plant is easy to grow and that it grows relatively quickly. This last addition resembles Blumenbach’s remarks concerning the advantage of the alga. Mendel’s two initial criteria are also akin to Blumenbach’s insofar as they both revolve around simplicity. That the plant must present constant differentiating characteristics means that they must be simple (not too many) and easy to identify; that it is resistant to the influence of foreign pollen means that its reproductive process is not susceptible to adventitious and contingent factors that would be difficult or impossible to anticipate or recognize. Mendel differs from Blumenbach in placing much more emphasis on consistency. He expected the numerous plants used in various experiments to behave the same way. While Blumenbach also had this expectation, consistency was not as much of an issue, since his experiments did not require a comparison between different species of the genus and the algae did not seem susceptible to contamination. Kölreuter’s choice of plant, however, though it was motivated in part by ease of use, differed from Blumenbach’s and Mendel’s explicit acknowledgement of the simplicity criterion in the use of their respective plants. Indeed, simplicity of the organic being is not a principal criterion for most of the naturalists and physiologists of the early and middle eighteenth century. By highly estimating the criterion of simplicity and focusing on a living being based on the presumption that it is illustrative of a theory intended to apply to all living beings in general, Blumenbach anticipates what will become standard procedure in the life sciences.
The biologist Ignaz Doellinger offers confirmation of the continuation and refinement of this method in the early 1820s. In his “*Von den Fortschritten welche die Physiologie seit Haller gemacht hat*” (On the Progress Physiology Has Made since Haller), he writes:
*Natur der Erforschung des Ursprunges des menschlichen Leibes eine Grenze, welche auch der festeste Wille zu überschreiten nicht im Stande ist. Die ersten Anfänge des Embryo sind in ein geheimnisvolles Dunkel gehüllt, und es ist nicht abzusehen, wo sich Gelegenheit finden sollte, zu ihnen zu gelangen; kann der Forscher das Hindernis nicht überwinden, so sucht er es doch umgehen, seine Untersuchungen erstrecken sich nun auf die Tiere, wo die erwünschte Gelegenheit sich leichter darbietet, sogar gesucht werden kann; allein auch hier kommt ihm manche Beschwerde entgegen; die Säugetiere, deren Zeugungsgeschäft noch die meiste Ähnlichkeit mit dem des Menschen hat, können nur sparsam, und nach Überwindung der ungünstigsten Umstände in solcher Menge untersucht werden, dass ein bestimmtes Resultat zu erwarten wäre; er muss sich daher an jene Tierclassen wenden, bei welchen die Entstehung und Entwicklung des Jungen in einem Ei außer dem Mutterleibe vor sich geht, und wo mit Leichtigkeit die Beobachtung so oft wiederholt werden kann, also es nur immer die Sicherheit der Erfahrung fordert. Am nächsten den Säugetieren stehe die Vögel; bei der Verschiedenheit der Zeugungsweise und der äußern Gestalt des Tieres, treffen wir bei ihnen noch immer dieselben Gebilde, in derselben Verknüpfung, wie selbst im menschlichen Leibe an, während nur Form und Größenverhältnisse verändert sind; mit ziemlicher Sicherheit kann also, sind uns einmal die Verhältnisse in der Entwicklung der Organe des Vogelleibes bekannt, davon ein Schluss auf die erste Bildung des menschlichen Embryo gezogen werden, wenigstens mag mit Leichtigkeit das, was wir in zerrissenen Bruchstücken von diesem kennen, durch solche Hülfe zu einer zusammenhängenden Lehre verknüpft werden.* (Doellinger 1824, 12)
\[Nature sets limits to the exploration of the human body’s origin, which even the most determined will cannot surpass. The first beginnings of the embryo are shrouded in a secret obscurity, and it is not foreseen where an occasion is supposed to be found to arrive at them. If the researcher cannot overcome this barrier, then he looks to circumvent it: his investigations extend themselves to the animals that can actually be sought, where the desired opportunity more easily presents itself. Only, even here several difficulties are encountered. Mammals, whose generative ability has the most similarity to the human’s, can only be investigated sparingly and only after overcoming the most unfavorable conditions in great number if a determinate result is to be expected. He must appeal to those classes of animal in which the genesis and development of the young occurs in an egg outside the mother’s body, and where the observation can be often repeated with ease, as it always requires the certainty of experience. Birds stand next to mammals. In the difference in generative capacity and external form of the animal, we still always encounter the same formations in the same combination in them as even in the human body, while only shape and proportions are altered. With fair certainty, therefore, once the relations in the development of the organs of the bird’s body are known to us, a conclusion can be drawn from it about the first formation of the human embryo, at least what we know in disjointed fragments from this may easily be combined by such assistance into a coherent theory.\]
Doellinger (as well as Blumenbach, Kant, and generally all natural researchers of this period) desired first and foremost to understand the human being and how he came to be. Hence, the human being was always the desired subject of investigation. However, as Doellinger remarks, the question of human generation is highly obscure. The human ovum, after all, had still not been discovered at the time that Doellinger is writing. To navigate this obscurity, Doellinger proposes that one examine the generation of birds. Observation of them is facilitated by the fact that their embryos develop, in part, outside of their bodies and are thus more easily accessible. Although the bird’s generation will not be identical to the mammal’s, Doellinger argues that one encounters the same formations in each. Therefore, a universal theory of generation that also applies to human beings can be inferred from the more easily observed chick. The rationale of this method is the same as Blumenbach’s, except that he looked to a still simpler life form to advance his claim, considering even the chick, as the contentious locus in the preformation epigenesis debate, to be too complex to deliver conclusive evidence.
For Blumenbach, the simplicity of the species reigned supreme, and his introduction of this criterion into the life sciences, as reaffirmed and justified by Doellinger and stated explicitly by Mendel, became *de rigueur* in twentieth- and twenty-first-century biology. Yet, the meaning of simplicity changes. The biologist no longer only looks for life forms that are simple, but also looks to make life forms that are simple.
In *Lords of the Fly:* Drosophila, *Genetics, and the Experimental Life*, Robert E. Kohler investigates one of the first of these simplified life forms or “standard organisms,” which he describes as “dramatically designed and constructed,” so that they “most resemble spectrometers, bubble chambers, ultracentrifuges, and other physical instruments”(1994, 6). Since the 1900s, because of these changes, the fruit fly (*Drosophila melanogaster* and other species) has become a staple of laboratories, most notably that of T. H. Morgan at Columbia University, who pioneered the study of genetic mutations in the early twentieth century (ibid.). Around the same time research began on and with *Drosophila*, another one of the first standard organisms also appeared: the laboratory rat. Bonnie Tocher Clause has detailed the “purposeful and systematic intervention … required to mold these feral animals, unreliable and unpredictable, into biological entities that could be counted on to consistently and invariably yield a productive day’s work”(1993, 330). This intervention occurred at the Wistar Institute in Philadelphia from 1906 until the 1940s. It was there that the ubiquitous white lab rat, the WISTARAT, was born, or better, manufactured, for its production was not an essay task, requiring significant advances in animal breeding techniques. The goal of the institute was to produce a standardized animal that possessed enhanced traits and superior health, and whose structure and development were consistent enough to offer a baseline control in experiments (Clause 1993, 344–5). The simplicity of the fruit fly and WISTARAT is similar to the simplicity of Blumenbach’s algae in that these animals were chosen for their availability and ease of use as well as their relatively rapid rate of growth. As most have likely experienced at one time or another, *Drosophila* will appear wherever fruit begins to rot and yeast to grow, and the rat is a frequent, nearly ubiquitous resident of cities (from which it was first caught and brought to the lab). However, as already suggested and as Kohler’s and Clause’s work makes clear, these animals had to be altered in order to become standard organisms suitable for laboratory experiments. It is only when these animals take on this new standardized form that they exhibit a simplicity similar to the *C. fontinalis*, for it is here that they gain a uniformity of structure. The further advantage of the WISTARAT and *Drosophila* is that their uniformity of structure extended across the species, constituting a simplicity that was not limited to a single individual, but rather made each individual identical. These animals might not have possessed the internal, individual, and structural simplicity as Blumenbach’s *C. fontinalis* did, but they were engineered toward it as a species.
In looking for something to bolster his formative drive theory against the proponents of preformation, Blumenbach introduced the simplicity criterion through his example of the algae with hopes of forestalling appeal to preformed germs that could always remain just out of sight. The introduction and appreciation of simplicity anticipates trends in modern experimental biology, but with two important differences. First, in the case of the fruit fly and rat, their simplicity must be manufactured. It is not there from the start. “When drosophilas crossed that threshold, they crossed from one ecosystem to another one, with different rules of selection and survival,” Kohler writes. “Once in the laboratory they were physically reconstructed and adapted to experimental uses”(1993, 282). Moreover, the initial reason for the fly’s implementation in the lab—it was a cost-effective organism for students—differed from what would end up keeping it there as a celebrated experimental subject: “Melanogaster was the best adapted to the conditions of experimental production: it was vigorous, fertile, prolific, easy to manipulate, tolerant, and hardy. It was not a fussy feeder and was quick to recover from such recurring disasters of a genetics laboratory as heat or cold waves, epidemics of mites, and neglect” (ibid., 295, 309). In similar language, Clause describes the approach the director of the Wistar Institute, Milton J. Greenman, took in developing its rats: “In the era when biology was being defined, he recognized in the rat the potential to be a living analog to the pure chemicals that legitimated experimental science. From management literature he extracted the ideals of uniformity of product, standards of quality, and efficiency of production, applying them to scientific practice to generate an animal model that thrives as standard equipment in laboratories throughout the world today”(1993, 348–9).
Blumenbach, on the contrary, did little to alter the algae he collected, attempting, rather, to present them in the purest state possible. Adulterating his specimen, in fact, would have given his colleagues reason to doubt his findings. He thus plucked the algae right from their source, placing them straightaway into glass jars without change to the living beings themselves, at least not in the kind of manipulations required for the fruit fly and rat.[13](#sdfootnote13sym) Second, and more importantly, Blumenbach presented this algae in order to demonstrate the incontrovertible absence of preformed germs and thereby prove the existence of the *Bildungstrieb*. His institution of the simplicity criterion anticipates the practices of modern biology in its need for standard organisms as subjects of extensive experimentation; however, while these standard organisms are useful because they have become so uniform that they could be used like “pure chemicals,” Blumenbach’s algae were intended to secure the categorical difference of the organic world from the inorganic one. His efforts were not to show that living beings could be transformed into machines, but to demonstrate the opposite: vital organization occurred according to—and only according to—a unique formative drive.
In drawing comparisons between fruit flies and lab rats with Blumenbach’s algae, we have emphasized how the latter anticipated the former, while maintaining that an important conceptual difference separated the two. It is necessary, though, to introduce another conceptual distinction. We have called the fruit flies and lab rats experimental or standard organisms because of the features detailed above. There is another class of organisms, however, essential to modern biology: model organisms.
The easiest way to introduce model organisms is by way of example, and specifically by way of those recognized by the U. S. National Institute of Health. These include the rat and fruit fly, as already mentioned, but also the mouse, zebrafish, nematode worm, and thale cress. *E. coli* and yeast, among others, could also be included. More generally, model organisms are non-human species that are used to investigate a host of biological phenomena(Ankeny and Leonelli 2011, 313). These investigations are intended to yield data and theories that are applicable to other organisms or to the organic world as a whole. By investigating simpler model organisms, researchers hope to gain knowledge of more complex ones. What is true of the fruit fly might reveal something true of the fish, dog, and human.
Experimental and model organisms, however, are not identical. Although they agree in several ways, they importantly differ according to social conditions and epistemological features. Because the social conditions of model organisms are mostly inapplicable in Blumenbach’s case, we will focus on the epistemological features.[14](#sdfootnote14sym) There are two ways in which model organisms differ epistemologically from experimental ones. These differences rely on the concepts of *representational scope* and *representational target*. Representational scope is how far the results from one organism can be applied to a wider groups of organisms(Ankeny and Leonelli 2011, 315). In philosophical terms, this is the question of how far a type can be extended to a token; that is, what does the results concerning this bike reveal about bikes in general or all vehicles as a whole. Second, the representational target is the phenomena to be investigated in the organism (ibid.). Ankeny and Leonelli illustrate these concepts through the example of Marcello Malpighi’s experiments on the frog concerning respiration. The representational target of his investigation is respiration, since it is the phenomenon to be studied. The representational scope, however, is respiration in all animals. The intention is that the findings concerning the frog will also be applicable to animals in general. The difference between model organisms and experimental organisms is constituted through the difference in relation to these concepts (ibid., 315–6):
1. Model organisms are always taken to represent a larger group of organisms beyond themselves. This means that a model organism relies on specific claims regarding its representational scope. But this does not hold for experimental organisms, the representational scope of which need not be considered at all. A scientist might be investigating the physiology of fur growth in poodles without concern for its applicability to other breeds or species. Model organisms never have such a limited scope.
2. While experimental organisms have a specific representation target—that is, there is a determinate phenomenon to be understood (like fur growth in the previous example), model organisms are not limited to a single phenomenon, but rather serve to explicate the organism as a whole in each of its processes, like its development and physiology.[15](#sdfootnote15sym)
In sum, research on model organisms is intended to extend to a wide class of organisms and wide class of phenomena within those organisms. The representational scope and target of Blumenbach’s experiments and observations on the alga thus suggest that it is as much a model organism as an experimental one, for the representational scope that he intends for his research is living beings in general; that is, it refutes preformation as a viable theory and confirms an epigenesist one by demonstrating the gradual development of algae. If this organized being is confirmed to reproduce gradually, then all organisms will also be confirmed to reproduce gradually. Moreover, the representational target is of a wide scope. Blumenbach is not interested solely in the reproduction of *C.* *fontinalis*, but reproduction as it occurs in general. He intends his results sufficient enough to show that every living being exhibits the formative drive in its generation.
## Bildungstrieb as Occult Quality
Although the *Bildungstrieb* extends to every living creature, it is also distinct. We recall the pains Blumenbach took to differentiate it from all known kinds of physical and vital forces. Its specialty might lead us to think that he has effectively priced himself out of the market: the drive is so *sui generis* and operates according to such unique principles that it is essentially inscrutable. Yet, Blumenbach closes his essay by proposing six laws that may be inferred from the observation of the formative drive’s effects in nature. These laws show that the drive is more than a product of empty speculation, offering valuable insights into living nature. They are as follows:
1. The strength of the *Bildungstrieb* stands in an inverse ratio with the age of the organized body (Blumenbach 1789b, 93–7). Once the formative drive takes hold in the generative matter, it begins its vigorous process of formation, explaining the rapid growth and development of organized bodies in their earliest years. As they age, however, the *Bildungstrieb* becomes weaker; growth and development slow and eventually cease altogether.[16](#sdfootnote16sym)
2. The formative drive is more active in embryos of viviparous animals than in those of oviparous ones because, Blumenbach explains, “*Es scheint die Natur eilt bei den lebendig gebärenden Tieren der Frucht so früh also möglich gleich bestimmte Ausbildung zu geben, und sie dadurch für vielen zufälligen Verunstaltungen von gewaltsamen Druck u. a. dergl. Gefahren zu sichern, denen hingegen das in seiner Eierschale festverwahrte Kügelchen bei weiten nicht so leicht ausgesetzt ist*” (ibid.; It appears nature hastens to give in the animals born living an immediately determinate formation to the progeny as early as possible, and it thereby protects against many contingent deformities by violent force as well as similar dangers, to which, on the contrary, the globule firmly secured in its eggshell is by and large not so readily exposed).
3. With some organs, the *Bildungstrieb* expresses more variation, but with others much less(ibid.)For example, Blumenbach mentions that while the brain always maintains the same structural physiology, the kidneys are consistently varied.[17](#sdfootnote17sym)
4. The principal kind of variation consists in the formative drive adopting one kind of organized body for the course of another, as when hares are observed to have small horns(ibid.).
5. “*Eine andre ebenso merkwürdige Abweichung des Bildungstriebes ist, wenn bei Ausbildung der Sexualorgane, die beim einen Geschlecht mehr oder weniger von der Gestaltung des andern annehmen*”(ibid.; Another just as remarkable derivation of the *Bildungstrieb* is, when in the formation of the sexual organs, those of one sex more or less adopt the form of the other).
6. Finally, Blumenbach mentions those cases that differ from the previous ones in that they are not just variations or deviations from the course of nature, but ones in which the formative drive acts entirely against nature, producing “monsters” (*Misgeburten*)(ibid.). He continues, “*Und dennoch ergibt sich bei einer nähern Beleuchtung aus der bewundernswürdigen Gleichförmigkeit die unter vielen Arten von Monstrositäten herrscht, dass doch auch selbst die Ursachen, die in diesen Fällen dem Bildungstriebe die falsche Richtung geben, dennoch an sehr bestimmte Gesetze gebunden sein müssen*” (ibid.; And, nevertheless, with closer scrutiny an admirable uniformity results that rules among the different kinds of monstrosities, that even the causes, which give the formative drive the wrong direction in these cases, must nonetheless be bound to very determinate laws). The classification of these laws that reign in the realm of monstrosity are stated more fully by Blumenbach in his *Handbuch der Naturgeschichte*(1788, 15).
After the careful, extended argumentation Blumenbach presents throughout his essay, these laws appear, admittedly, underwhelming, almost like an afterthought.[18](#sdfootnote18sym) It is clear that the main effort of the essay is to establish the formative drive’s existence against the falsity of preformation theory, leaving only a few pages (15 of 108 in the second edition) to enumerating these laws. In fact, they do not even appear along with the discussion of the *Bildungstrieb* in Blumenbach’s other texts. Yet, these laws, three through six, in particular, reveal an effort to demonstrate that even in those places where nature seems to be irregular—even where it appears contrary to itself—order still prevails. Formative drive and the generation, growth, and reproduction that it directs never act with absolute caprice, but rather always abide by certain guidelines. Living nature, too, is bound by laws.
These laws, which are inferred from observation of the *Bildungstrieb’s* effects, raises an epistemological question: if the *Bildungstrieb* is the main ground of all generation, nutrition, and regeneration, then what is its ground? What is the cause of the *Bildungstrieb*? The supporter of preformation, in response to this question of origins, is well-equipped, since he may appeal to the preformed germ that has been present since the time of Creation. What appeal, though, is open to Blumenbach? Immediately after introducing the formative drive, perhaps in anticipation of such questions, Blumenbach writes,
*Hoffentlich ist für die mehresten Leser die Erinnerung sehr überflüssig, dass* das Wort *Bildungstrieb, so gut, wie* die Worte *Attraktion, Schwere, etc. zu nichts mehr und nichts weniger dienen soll, als eine Kraft zu bezeichnen, deren konstante Wirkung aus der Erfahrung anerkannt worden, deren* Ursache *aber so gut wie die Ursache der genannten, noch so allgemein anerkannten Naturkräfte, für uns* qualitas occulta *ist. Es gilt von allen diesen Kräften was* Ovid *sagt: —*caussa latet, vis est notissima*. Das Verdienst beim Studium dieser Kräfte ist nur das, ihre Wirkungen näher zu bestimmen und auf allgemeinere Gesetze zurück zu bringen.* (1789b, 25–6)
\[Hopefully, for the majority of readers the reminder is entirely superfluous that *the word* Bildungstrieb as well as *the words* attraction, gravity, etc. should serve neither more nor less than to designate a force whose constant effect has been recognized from experience, but whose *cause* as well as the cause of the generally recognized natural forces is for us a *qualitas occulta*. What Ovid says is true of all these forces: *caussa latet, vis est notissima*. The merit in studying these forces is only to ascertain their effects more closely and to bring them under more general laws.\]
Significantly, Blumenbach reveals here that the formative drive’s cause is hidden; all that is known of it are its effects as gleaned from experience. Investigation of the *Bildungstrieb* (in addition to other natural forces) will never yield knowledge about its causes, but only allow the researcher to know the effects in more detail and to bring them under fewer, more general laws. This framework provides a better understanding of Blumenbach’s conclusion in his essay. The six laws Blumenbach specifies represent a codification of the formative drive’s effects.
Besides the quote from Ovid’s *Metamorphoses*, the stated inspiration, or perhaps warrant, for taking this position is Newton. Blumenbach’s invocation of “occult qualities” indicates this provenance because it is a term Newton sanctioned in his natural philosophy. We are confirmed in this supposition by Blumenbach’s direct reference to the natural philosopher’s *Opticks* in the footnote to the quoted passage. In fact, one of the few major changes from the second (1789b) to the third edition (1791) of the *Bildungstrieb* essay is the inclusion of a further reference to Newton and the addition of two citations from Voltaire’s popularization of him regarding occult qualities.
This use of occult qualities, however, is lacking from the earliest editions (1780, 1781a) of the essay, in which Blumenbach grants a quite different epistemological status to the *Bildungstrieb*. He writes that it “*eine der ersten Ursache aller Generation, Nutrition, und Reproduktion zu sein scheint*” (1781a, 13; seems to be one of the first causes of all generation, nutrition, and reproduction). He will change this line in the 1789 edition and those editions thereafter to “*die erste wichtigste Kraft*” (1789b, 25; the first, most important force).[19](#sdfootnote19sym) In fact, the one time that he does mention occult qualities in these earlier editions, he does so dismissively, arguing that the formative drive is wholly different from the *vis plastica* and not “an empty word” like “occult quality”(1781a, 15). He associates this unsatisfactory usage of “occult qualities” with the Aristotelians in general and Franz Bonamico, a seventeenth-century Aristotelian professor from Florence, in particular. Therefore, Blumenbach’s position dramatically shifts between the editions of his texts concerning the meaning of occult qualities; this shift, coincidentally, recapitulates the term’s own historical shift in meaning initiated in the transition from Medieval and Renaissance Aristotelian natural philosophy to modern mechanism.
In those earlier eras, occult qualities were contrasted with manifest ones. Whereas the former—planetary influences, magnetism, chemical and pharmacological potencies, etc.—were denied truth, the latter—tastes, colors, or whatever was immediately apprehensible by the senses—constituted the entire domain of natural science. Hence, the limits of manifest qualities were the limits of sensibility; what was intelligible was what was sensible. In this respect, Thomas Aquinas, for instance, argued that God had not created any creature or element that surpassed the threshold of human sensibility, or that if He did, it was because human sensibility had suffered corruption after expulsion from Eden(Hutchison 1982, 236–7).
One might suppose, then, that the Scientific Revolution would be predicated on a rejection of occult qualities *tout court*, especially insofar as the “occult,” beyond signifying the insensible, also connoted the supernatural and mystical, notions that seem inimical to the rise of modern science. However, the objection takes a different form: mechanical natural philosophy continued to maintain that occult qualities were unintelligible, but it rejected that this was due to their insensibility. In fact, mechanical philosophy even recognized that those qualities thought to be manifest might actually be occult, because they recognized that “one’s psychological perception of a sensible quality is of a different order of reality from the physical cause of that quality”(ibid., 243). In short, seventeenth-century natural philosophers divorced insensibility from unintelligibility, so that they no longer entailed one another. The meanings of manifest and occult were also reconfigured. These changes allowed for a study of nature’s effects, which were detectable even if not immediately apprehensible, without concern for their causes, since these remained occult or unintelligible. This new position is one completely unfathomable for Aristotelian natural science.
Although Newton was not the first natural philosopher to adopt this approach, he did state it paradigmatically, insisting on an epistemic separation between the study of effects and causes(Henry 1986, 351). His statement of it, moreover, clarifies the benefit of this reconfiguration.For Newton, because the existence of gravity, for example, can be demonstrated from the effects of nature or phenomena, it is admissible to the study of natural philosophy without “feigning hypotheses” or admitting something that could not be deduced from nature (1986, 362). In the “Queries”appended to his*Opticks*, Newton explains his position, revealing at the same time the necessary reconfiguration of the Aristotelian meaning of occult qualities. He writes:
These Principles \[of gravity, fermentation, or the cohesion of bodies\] I consider, not as occult qualities, supposed to result from the specific Forms of Things, but as general Laws of Nature, by which the Things themselves are formed; their Truth appearing to us by Phenomena, though their Causes be not yet discovered. For these are manifest Qualities, and their Causes only are occult. And the *Aristotelians* gave the name of occult Qualities, not to manifest Qualities, but to such Qualities only as they supposed to lie hid in Bodies, and to be the unknown Causes of manifest Effects: Such as would be the Causes of Gravity, and of magnetic and electric Attractions, and of Fermentations, and if we should suppose that these Forces or Actions arose from Qualities unknown to us, and incapable of being discovered and made manifest. Such occult Qualities put a stop to the Improvement of natural Philosophy, and therefore of late years have been rejected. To tell us that every Species of Things is endowed with an occult specific Quality by which it acts and produces manifest Effects, is to tell us nothing: But to derive two or three general Principles of Motion from Phenomena, and afterwards to tell us how the Properties and Actions of all corporeal Things follow from those manifest Principles, would be a very great step in Philosophy, though the Causes of those Principles were not yet discovered: And therefore I scruple not to propose the Principles of Motion above-mentioned, they being of very general Extent, and leave their Causes to be found out. (Newton 1979, 401–2)
Newton’s remark, stated in the same Query which Blumenbach cites, reveals the new sense of occult qualities, its difference from the Aristotelian usage, and the methodological importance of this shift. Because gravity’s effects can be known and general laws drawn therefrom, it is acceptable that its cause remains unknown or occult, since the attempt to explain an effect in terms of a thing’s specific quality that is unknowable will never yield an explanation. Instead, Newton proposes to derive some general laws from the phenomena and then to explain the properties of individual things therefrom. This approach represents for him a “very great step in Philosophy,” even if it leaves the causes that actually produce the phenomena or effects of nature unknown. The gamble, then, is that the sacrifice of not pursuing nature’s causes will still yield knowledge of its laws in the end.
By describing the *Bildungstrieb* as an occult quality, like Newton’s gravity, Blumenbach is taking the same gamble as the natural philosopher, even if an Aristotelian would doubt its soundness. Even Aristotle himself claims “we think we do not yet know each thing until we have taken hold of the why of it (and to do this is to come upon the first cause)”(1995, 194b19–20). The difficult question of which position yields the better, more satisfying explanation of a thing, and specifically, what, in our case, constitutes an explanation of a living being must be postponed until our discussions in the next two chapters of the epistemological limitations of biological knowledge recognized by Kant in his third *Critique*. Nevertheless, we can say here that although Newton emphasized the strategic virtue of his approach, his great popularizer, Voltaire, whom Blumenbach also cites in support of characterizing the *Bildungstrieb* as an occult quality, emphasized a different aspect of occult qualities in his *Elements of Newton’s Philosophy* and in an extended passage in *A Philosophical Dictionary*. In the latter, Voltaire writes, “What is the centripetal force, the force of gravitation, which acts without contact at such immense distances? … You know nothing about it, and the cause will be eternally occult to you. All that surrounds us, all within us, is an enigma which it is not in the power of man to divine”(1824, 130). Voltaire’s description forgoes Newton’s “causes be *not yet* discovered” for a much starker interpretation: the causes will be eternally unknown, for they are beyond the human intellect altogether. Blumenbach himself emphasizes this same skeptical tone when later describing the *Bildungstrieb* in the third edition of the *Institutiones Physiologicae* (1810; 1st ed. 1787): “I have used the expression—nisus formativus, merely to distinguish it from the other orders of vital powers, and by no means to explain the cause of generation, which I consider equally involved in Cimmerian darkness as the cause of gravitation or attraction that are merely terms given to effects known, like the nisus formativus, *a posteriori*”(1828, 376n1). With each later edition of the *Bildungstrieb* essay, the epistemological reach of the formative drive shortens and Blumenbach ultimately relinquishes its cause to the unknowable depths of Cimmerian darkness.[20](#sdfootnote20sym)
Having documented in part this shift in epistemological reach, we can now complete the record. In the first editions of “*Über den Bildungstrieb*” of 1780 and 1781, Blumenbach defines the formative drive as what “seems to be one of the first causes \[*Ursachen*\] of all generation, nutrition, and reproduction”(1781a, 13). Yet, already in the *Handbuch der Naturgeschichte* \[Manual of Natural History\] from 1782, he changes the formulation: the *Bildungstrieb* now “seems to be the *Hauptgrund* \[principal reason\]”(1782, 15). This change is ambiguous. Although he has dropped the explicit use of “cause,” “*Hauptgrund*”could still be interpreted to retain this sense. Moreover, he has not yet invoked Newton or the occult qualities with respect to the drive. In the *Handbuch* from 1788, he maintains the use of *Hauptgrund*; however, Blumenbach here adds the following remark, which betokens a transformation of his thinking:
*Die Ursache dieses Bildungstriebes lässt sich freilich eben so wenig als die der Attraktion oder der Schwere und anderer noch so allgemein anerkannten Naturkräfte angeben. Genug dass es eine eigentümliche Kraft ist, deren unleugbare Existenz und ausgedehnte Wirksamkeit sich durch die ganze Natur in der Erfahrung offenbart, und deren so konstante Phänomene einen weit leichtern und helleren Ausschluss über das Zeugungsgeschäft und viele andere der wichtigsten Gegenstände der Naturgeschichte geben, als andere zu deren Erklärung vorgeschlagene Theorien.* (1788)
\[The cause of this formative drive can be indicated, admittedly, just as little as that of attraction or gravity and of other of the generally recognized natural forces. Enough that it is a particular force, whose undeniable existence and ample activity manifests itself through the whole of nature in experience, and whose constant phenomena give a much lighter and brighter conclusion about generation and many other of the most import objects of natural history than other theories proposed for their explanation.\]
Though he has not yet explicitly named Newton or occult qualities, the reference is already suggested by his comparison of the *Bildungstrieb’s* epistemological status to that of attraction and gravity, which are the Newtonian forces as occult qualities par excellence. He completes this transition by changing the formulation again in the second edition (1789b) of the *Bildungstrieb* essay, which went unchanged in its third and final edition (1791): as noted, he no longer describes the drive as a “*Hauptgrund*,” but now as the “*die erste wichtigste Kraft*” (1789b, 25; the first, most important force). And although Blumenbach will continue to modify the formulation of the *Bildungstrieb* over the twelve editions of the *Handbuch der Naturgeschichte*, with the last appearing in 1830, its epistemological status does not significantly depart from that articulated in his texts at the end of the 1780s: the cause of the formative drive cannot be known. The life scientist is thus in a position analogous to the natural philosopher’s study of gravity and other natural forces the causes of which are occult. And, like Newton, Blumenbach claims that this inability to know the cause of the *Bildungstrieb* neither puts its existence into question nor does it make the deduction of laws concerning it impossible. To the contrary, one can, through the observation of its effects, come to deduce laws important to life science.
What, though, causes Blumenbach to alter the formulation of the *Bildungstrieb*? The cause of this shift, much like the occult quality itself, seems inexplicable, for, of Blumenbach’s texts available to survey from the early 1780s, none seem to provide reason for it.[21](#sdfootnote21sym) That being said, Blumenbach’s revision to his theory aligns him more closely with his life science forebears and contemporaries than if he had retained his original formulation of the *Bildungstrieb* as having a knowable cause. In “On Biological Analogs of Newtonian Paradigms” (1968), Thomas S. Hall documents several cases in which physiologists compared their conception of living forces to Newtonian forces; that is, they used a variety of “inexplicable explicative devices” or “physiological unknowns” in imitation of Newton’s natural philosophy and mathematics that allowed them to reduce a variety of phenomena to a single force whose cause was unknowable. Blumenbach is included in Hall’s account as is the physiologist Haller (Hall 1968, 13–20).
Haller read two papers in 1752 to the Royal Society of Sciences at Göttingen. These papers were published the following year under the title *De partibus corporis humani sensibillibus et irritabilibus*. This text contains Haller’s irritability and sensibility theory, which held the former to pertain to any part of the body that contracts upon being touched (for example, muscles) and the latter to any part of the body that upon being touched transmits that impression to the soul (that is, nerves)(Haller 1936, 8–9).[22](#sdfootnote22sym) His theory became immensely influential and any eighteenth-century physiologist worth his salt would have been intimately familiar with it (Blumenbach not excluded). The theory, though, was not influential because Haller had first discovered the irritable and sensible properties, for they had already been more (irritability) or less (sensibility) documented before his treatise; rather, the influence laid in the fact that he had explained them mechanically (as opposed to vitally) and delimited them experimentally. Haller thus provided more than a finding—he provided a method and a proven one at that.
Because of the importance of his theory and method, Haller’s response to the question of the cause of irritability and sensibility is revealing:
But the theory, why some parts of the human body are endowed with these properties, while others are not, I shall not at all meddle with. For I am persuaded that the source of both lies concealed beyond the reach of the knife and microscope, beyond which I do not choose to hazard many conjectures, as I have no desire of teaching what I am ignorant of myself. For the vanity of attempting to guide others in paths where we find ourselves in the dark, shows, in my humble opinion, the last degree of arrogance and ignorance. (1936, 8)
The cause of irritability and sensibility is beyond the reach of the microscope and knife and hence is also beyond the limits of our knowledge; or, in other words, Haller makes the knowledge of living beings coextensive with the instruments used to investigate it, and he condemns anyone who transgresses this boundary. Later in the text, Haller provides further justification for his method, at least insofar as it pertains to irritability. He is in the process of arguing that irritability is a property of animal gluten, when he asks:
What therefore should hinder us from granting Irritability to be a property of the animal *gluten*, the same as we acknowledge attraction and gravity to be properties of matter in general, without being able to determine the cause of them. Experiments have taught us the existence of this property, and doubtless it is owing to a physical cause which depends upon the arrangement of the ultimate particles, though the experiments that we can make are too gross to investigate them. (1936, 42)
Haller thus compares irritability to the Newtonian forces of attraction and gravity, arguing that they are acknowledged properties of matter, even though their causes cannot be known, and Haller again attributes this epistemological inability to the coextensive limits of instrument and knowledge.[23](#sdfootnote23sym)
We have thus found, even if not in the same explicit language, what would have been a widely-known precedent for describing a vital force as an occult quality, in the same respect as Newton did with gravity. Blumenbach would have been familiar with this highly-regarded model for the reformulation of his own *Bildungstrieb*. (We, too, could speculate that Blumenbach does not explicitly mention Haller’s usage as his model because he would thus be affirming his opponent’s method and then, perhaps, undermining his own efforts.)
Yet, the unknowability of the formative drive’s cause differs from that of Haller’s irritability. For Blumenbach, the limits of knife and microscope do not appear to be what makes the *Bildungstrieb’s* cause unknowable. These limits, after all, must be temporary and mobile insofar as improvements in instruments would also be improvements in our knowledge. Nonetheless, recalling his citations of Voltaire and his own remark on Cimmerian darkness, this unknowability appears impermeable to advances in instruments or techniques. Indeed, in Blumenbach’s formulation, there appears to be something necessarily and inherently inexplicable about its cause, which, if the *Bildungstrieb* is supposed to be the first and most important force of all generation, nutrition, and reproduction, means that there would be something necessarily and inherently inexplicable about life itself.
But Blumenbach does not offer any clue to why this is the case. Such an outcome should not be unexpected, though, for his intention, especially as a life scientist, is not to demonstrate why certain causes about life are unknowable, but rather to explicate what is knowable and known. The knowable extends from the more general, universal laws deducible from observable phenomena (like the six laws of the *Bildungstrieb* listed above) to the more specific details about the living world that fill the more than 700 pages of his *Handbuch der Naturgeschichte*, not to mention the rest of his voluminous corpus. Despite the development of Blumenbach’s thought explicated above—the architecture of his conversion from preformation to epigenesis and the lingering complications that the introduction of *C. fontinalis* resolved—it does not seem to get the fly out of the ointment: what is the cause of the formative drive? This question is tantamount to another: What is the cause of life? Is it necessarily unknowable? And if this is the case, are we at least able to know why?
Such questions, once asked, are not so easily dismissed. Blumenbach offers no answers to these questions, but partially because of him, Immanuel Kant is prompted to investigate them and even provide an answer. In the following two chapters, we will explicate the relationship between Blumenbach and Kant, and the latter’s paradoxical contribution to the science of life.
---
[1](#sdfootnote1anc)Blumenbach published the earliest version of the work as an essay, entitled, “*Über den Bildungstrieb* (Nisus formativus) *und seinen Einfluß auf die Generation und Reproduction*” (1780), in the *Göttingisches Magazin der Wissenschaften und Litteratur*. The essay became the basis for a book that would be published in three subsequent editions, each of which saw substantial revisions and additions. The first of these editions, which incorporated new research and expanded the original arguments, is published in the following year (1781a), the second in 1789, and the third and final edition, to which Blumenbach made minor changes but also important additions, in 1791. Blumenbach also published a Latin translation of the essay in 1787\. The only English translation, often unreliable, is based on the third edition and appeared in 1792\. This historiographic presentation provides more than a selected bibliography, for it offers a record by which we can better understand Blumenbach’s *Bildungstrieb* and ascertain its epistemological limits. This approach allows us to see how Blumenbach’s formulations changed over time, which complements an analysis of those features of the *Bildungstrieb* that remained consistent across each edition. In general, I have quoted from the second edition because it represents the mature formulation of his theory and is the edition he sent to Kant, a fact important for the next chapter.
[2](#sdfootnote2anc) We note, however, that this criterion did not contribute to Blumenbach’s theory conversion, for the research leading to its introduction occurred after the formulation of the *Bildungstrieb*.
[3](#sdfootnote3anc) McLaughlin claims that these experiments and their interpretation represent a crucial moment for Blumenbach and thereby for life science in the late eighteenth century in general. He writes, “The experimental research and the explanation of regenerative activities of the polyp formed the starting point of Blumenbach’s epigenetic theory and vitalism” (1982, 360).
[4](#sdfootnote4anc) Blumenbach always uses the term “reproduction” to designate what we would now usually call “regeneration.”
[5](#sdfootnote5anc) Wherever possible, I have updated German and English texts to their modern spellings, except for titles, where I have retained original spellings.
[6](#sdfootnote6anc) Shirley Roe presents a lucid summary of Wolff’s position: “Wolff’s philosophy of biology thus rests on his separation of ‘vegetative’ processes in living organisms from both mechanical processes and those, like sensation and thought, that depend on the soul. Wolff consistently used the term ‘vegetative’ to refer to the activities of nourishment, maintenance, growth, and development in the living organism, that is, the vital functions. Clearly, it is the essential force that is the key to these vegetative processes and thereby the key to Wolff’s philosophical views on the nature of life. Denying total reductionism, yet unwilling to ascribe to vitalism either, Wolff sought to create an explanation for life processes that was mechanical in its own right yet also unique to living creatures” (1981, 110).
[7](#sdfootnote7anc) Wolff did not sit on his haunches in the face of Blumenbach’s criticism, but attacked the formative drive by using the same arguments that Haller had used against him (see Roe 1981, 116).
[8](#sdfootnote8anc) This explanation, however, appears to contradict Blumenbach’s initial one in the essay’s first section, where he had said that the polyp had ample food and one should thus not suppose that the diminished limb was a product of less nutrients. Yet, in the present explanation, Blumenbach says that the injured polyp does not eat as much as a healthy one, which would seem to make the amount of food available irrelevant and mean that the polyp’s reduced intake could explain its diminished limbs. I believe, however, that the contradiction can be resolved as follows. Although the polyp is given ample food, this fact is irrelevant because of its reduced appetite. Therefore, a disparity remains between what the polyp consumes and the size of its regenerated parts in that its consumption provides less matter than is needed, which requires the formative drive’s repurposing of existent matter.
[9](#sdfootnote9anc) Lenoir attributes Blumenbach’s rejection of the *vis essentialis* to a form of vitalism that superimposes a soul onto the matter (1982, 21). Yet, according to the present analysis, such a conclusion cannot be accepted, for it was not Wolff’s vitalism to which Blumenbach objected but the lack of it! Roe contends that Wolff was not even a vitalist (1981, 110). Nonetheless, for Blumenbach, the *vis essentialis* was too much of a physical force and not enough of a living drive. It could never be a principle of regular formation, for it could not respond to the contingencies of nature, as in the case of the polyp.
[10](#sdfootnote10anc) Although these examples of hybridity are important for Blumenbach’s rejection of preformation, they do not occupy a central position in his text. For this reason, I cannot agree with Lenoir, who claims the rejection is based on precisely these grounds: “Reflection on two problems led Blumenbach to abandon the preformation theory. The first was that the production of fertile varieties, such as mulattos, was completely inexplicable on Haller’s model. In terms of a consistent application of the preformation theory, the mixture of two different races should not exhibit a blend or *Mittelschlag*. The second and decisive factor was Blumenbach’s realization that Kölreuter’s experiments absolutely refuted the preformationist scheme. Kölreuter had not only produced fertile hybrid offspring by crossing *nicotina rustica* with *nicotina paniculata*; more importantly, he had succeeded in reverting the hybrid offspring to the paternal form (*paniculata*) after several generations” (1980, 82).
[11](#sdfootnote11anc) Blumenbach publishes his initial work on the *Conferva fontinalis* in the *Göttingen Magazin* (1781b). He titles it, “*Über eine ungemein einfache Fortpflanzungsart”* (On an Extraordinarily Simple Kind of Reproduction), and says that it was his work on the formative drive that first led him to inquire into this organism, an inquiry that then incidentally yielded evidence of the drive’s existence.
[12](#sdfootnote12anc) Although it was common practice at the time to apply the name “moss” to a wide variety of plants that have small leaves, no flowers, and grow on certain surfaces, I have determined that Blumenbach’s C. fontinalis was not a moss at all, but rather a yellow-green algae in the genus *Vaucheria*. Based on the archival and morphological work of Christensen (1968), Blumenbach likely had the species *V. fontinalis* before him; however, because of limited evidence, an infallible species identification is impossible. Further description of *Vaucheria* can be found at [*AlgaeBase*](http://www.algaebase.org/search/genus/detail/?genus%5Fid=A9f8ca83a09e3d97e&ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com), an online repository which maintains a continually updated taxonomy of algae (Guiry 2017).
[13](#sdfootnote13anc) Without doubt the act of collecting, transportation, and microscopic observation alters if not the subject investigated, then at least the context under which that subject was originally found. Nevertheless, the point here is that the manufactured experimental organism is distinct from Blumenbach’s algae.
[14](#sdfootnote14anc) These social conditions, which includes, e.g., the large research community surrounding *Arabidopsis*, complicates the interpretation of Blumenbach’s algae as a model organism, since a research community devoted to it never emerged in the same sense. It is best, then, to consider Blumenbach’s algae as a *proto* model organism insofar as it shares some but not all of the features of modern model organisms. On the reception of *C. fontinalis* in the late eighteenth century, see my essay, “Visions of Algae in Eighteenth-Century Botany” (2016).
[15](#sdfootnote15anc) In light of this distinction, I will reiterate that experimental and model organisms share some features: the chosen organism must be tractable, i.e., simple to acquire, simple to maintain, simple to manipulate, and relatively simple in structure. Moreover, every model organism is an experimental organism, but not every experimental organism is a model organism.
[16](#sdfootnote16anc) Brandon C. Look identifies a contradiction in the first law in relation to the polyp case (2006, 359-60). If the formative drive is strongest in the early years of development and the weakest at the end, then it would inversely correlate with the amount of matter in the being, which is inconsistent with Blumenbach’s claim in the polyp’s case, since its reduction in matter correlated directly with a reduction in formative drive. To the contrary, one could respond that this state of affairs only attests to how much stronger the *Bildungstrieb* must be in early development given the paucity of matter and how much it must decrease in old age given the relative abundance of it then. This, of course, does not explain why the drive diminishes over time nor why it must diminish at all.
[17](#sdfootnote17anc) For a brief, modern consideration of anatomical variation and its differentiation from anomaly or deformity, see Sañudo (2003).
[18](#sdfootnote18anc) Denise Gigante gives a potential explanation for why Blumenbach’s laws seem so underwhelming. She writes, “Biologists compared vital power to forces like electricity and magnetism, but the key difference was that their power could not be quantified or mathematically predicted in the same manner as physical force” (2009, 17). Even if it were the case that vital powers could not be quantified, Gigante’s response only begs the question, for it says nothing about why vital powers (*Lebenskräfte*) could not be quantified. What makes a law of nature so different from a law of living nature? Although Blumenbach intimates an answer to this question insofar as the Bildungstrieb cannot act blindly like a natural force and must, instead, determine form and respond to contingent events, he does no more than intimate. It will be Kant who provides a reason for why the laws must be different, which will the subject of the next and following chapters. In looking ahead, we can also say that C. F. Kielemyer presents the organic forces of nature as having a determinate proportion among each other, arguing that there are discernible laws of organic forces.
[19](#sdfootnote19anc) We will return to this change in more detail below.
[20](#sdfootnote20anc) Peter McLaughlin (1982) provides one of the most perceptive analyses of Blumenbach’s use of Newton, especially as this use changes over different editions of his essay.
[21](#sdfootnote21anc) Robert J. Richards suggests that Blumenbach might have been brought to the comparison with Newton via Michaelis Birkholz’s doctoral dissertation, in which a comparison is made between the *Bildungstrieb* and Newton’s *principium trahens* (2000, 24n56). This suggestion, though, is less than plausible. First, the comparison to Newton occurs much before the 1791edition of *Über den Bildungstrieb*, yet the citation of Birkholz only appears in the this third and last edition. If Blumenbach had been so influenced by him, then it would be curious that he omitted the reference from earlier editions. Second, Blumenbach uses the citation is to adduce a different point than one about occult qualities; that is, he wishes to dissuade those who might be inclined to find the *Bildungstrieb* theory already articulated in precisely the same way in the most ancient of writers, admitting at the same time that elements of it will be found in earlier writers, a fact shown already by Birkholz and hence the reason for the citation. If one looked, however, to the citation that directly precedes that one, then one would find much better evidence for what might have induced Blumenbach to draw the comparison to Newton, if the cited work had not just been published in 1788\. Although it could not have spurred Blumenbach’s invocation of Newtonian occult qualities, it remains useful to consider the citation in detail. Blumenbach quotes the Scottish physician George Fordyce, who “*sagte kürzlich bei Gelegenheit einer ähnlichen physiologischen Untersuchung* (said recently on the occasion of similar physiological research): ‘although the study of causes of original powers be totally absurd and futile, yet the laws of their action are capable of investigation by experiment and applicable to the evolving much useful knowledge’” (Blumenbach 1791, 34n). By resembling von Haller’s remark, inasmuch as experiment and application delimit knowability, Fordyce’s claim further emphasizes the influence of the *De partibus* on eighteenth-century life scientists and again indicates a possible source for Blumenbach’s own comparison. Adopting this source would allow response to another of Richard’s claims. He argues that Blumenbach’s quotation from the *Opticks* as well as the (now questionable) comparison source in Birkholz suggests that Blumenbach’s knowledge of Newton was “less than comprehensive” (ibid.). Yet, Blumenbach’s knowledge of Newton is beside the point, because we are not looking for a model concerning physical forces in general, as in natural philosophy, but rather for physiological forces. For this purpose, von Haller fits the bill, as he was quite knowledgeable of Newton and also included the particular comparison in one of his most famous works, with which Blumenbach would have been more than familiar.
[22](#sdfootnote22anc) Haller’s irritability and sensibility theories are explained in more detail in the Introduction.
[23](#sdfootnote23anc) The comparison, however, is asymmetrical, for Newton’s forces extend to all of matter, whereas irritability is strictly limited to animal *gluten*.
### The Epistemic Foundations of German Biology
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/the-epistemic-foundations-of-german-biology/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:37:05.000Z
While Immanuel Kant famously denied the possibility of biology in the *Critique of Judgment* (1790), twelve years later Gottfried Treviranus not only asserted its possibility, but also demonstrated its very practice in his *Biology* (1802).
> What transpired in the 1790s to make biology possible as a science?
This dissertation takes up this question, offering, in response, a new interpretation of the epistemic foundations of German biology. I begin with a reassessment of the contributions to life science made by Johann Blumenbach, who diverged from foregoing mechanical approaches to life by introducing his theory of the formative drive. The theory spread quickly across and beyond Germany, counting Kant among its acolytes.
Under the influence of the formative drive, Kant formulated, for the first time, the concept of the organism, which served as a touchstone for any thinker concerned with organic nature in the 1790s.

I analyze this concept’s reception by three key figures: Carl Kielmeyer, Johann Reil, and Friedrich Schelling. The ostensible diversity of these thinkers belies their common attempt to establish laws of the organic world. To advance such laws, Kielmeyer applied the organism concept beyond the individual plant or animal, extending it to entire populations, kingdoms, and nature itself. Because of the concept’s predominance, even those opposed to it, like Reil, had to posit it as a starting-point, substantially revising it in the process. Schelling developed the most precise formulation of the organism’s logic, which reappeared, again with alterations, in Treviranus’s *Biology*.
I find, in conclusion, that Kant and Treviranus were not as opposed as they first seemed to be, since their respective declarations were made for the same reason: they recognized the existence of a domain of nature that had eluded preceding methodologies of philosophy, science, and theology. To begin even to argue whether we could have knowledge of an organism, first we must recognize that it exists. Kant, Treviranus, and the others mentioned here first demarcate this biological domain, laying the foundation for what would become the modern discipline of biology. They brought to life, for the first time, the organism.
*Defended (successfully!) May 2017*
### Introduction
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/introduction/
Last updated: 2025-10-08T01:59:55.000Z
The introduction to my dissertation, THE EPISTEMIC FOUNDATIONS OF GERMAN BIOLOGY, 1790–1802, originally published in May 2017.
---
In 1790, Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) publishes the *Critique of the Power of Judgment*. In what has become a famous turn of phrase, he asserts that there is “no Newton for the blade of grass,” which means that it is not possible to have a science of organic nature in the same way that it is possible to have a science of inorganic nature. He argues that the limits of the understanding and the mechanical principles of natural science preclude any explanation of organized beings, that is, plants and animals. Because organized beings exhibit a reciprocal causality, in which parts cause the whole at the same time that the whole causes the parts, they are inexplicable according to the principle of mechanism, by which parts can only be cause of the whole, but not vice versa. Kant’s criterion for a proper science of nature requires explanations of phenomena only according to the principle of mechanism. Since organized beings are mechanically inexplicable, there cannot be a science of them. There is, therefore, no possibility for a science of life, no possible Newton for the blade of grass. “To make such an attempt or to hope” for the contrary, Kant says, “would be absurd” (AA V:400).[1](#sdfootnote1sym)
Yet, in 1802, Gottfried Reinhold Treviranus (1776–1837) publishes the first volume of his work, *Biologie, oder Philosophie des lebenden Natur für Naturforscher und Aerzte* (Biology, or Philosophy of Living Nature for Natural Researchers and Physicians), which is just such an attempt. Over the next twenty years, he will continue to publish additional volumes, with the sixth and final one appearing in 1822\. Treviranus’s text is notable for being the first to define “biology” as a science of life, making him the first author to use the word in its modern sense. According to Treviranus, biology studies the forms and conditions of life’s appearances as well as its causes; it will, importantly, proceed without concern of its use to other sciences or to the art of medicine. Living organisms are to be studied for their own sake and without immediate regard for the practical application of the resulting knowledge. In sum, this new science will occupy itself solely with the explanation of the living organism.
Thus stand the bookends of the present study, bookends which bid us to ask what occurred in the twelve years since Kant declared the impossibility of biology, so that Treviranus, duly aware of Kant’s arguments, nonetheless had the gall to advance a science of life against the better judgment of the Sage of Königsberg. We will answer this question by presenting a new interpretation of the philosophy and science of life as it developed in the last decade of the eighteenth century.
## Histories of Biology
Scholars have long focused on this period because it is the historical moment in which life first became a scientific object for study.[2](#sdfootnote2sym) Michel Foucault is perhaps most well-known for identifying this moment in *The Order of Things* (1966): “Historians want to write histories of biologies in the eighteenth century; but they do not realize that biology did not exist then, and that the pattern of knowledge that has been familiar to us for a hundred and fifty years is not valid for a previous period. And that, if biology was unknown, there was a very simple reason for it: that life itself did not exist. All that existed was living beings, which were viewed through a grid of knowledge constituted by *natural history*” (2005, 139). Foucault’s claim concerns the purported passage from natural history to biology that occurs at the turn of the nineteenth century. Consequently, he considers them to be two radically different enterprises. Natural history deals with living things and is concerned with life itself only insofar as it is one taxonomic property among others. For natural history, then, Foucault says, “Life does not constitute an obvious threshold beyond which entirely new forms of knowledge are required” (2005, 175). Conversely, he thinks, biology views life in just this way, as a transgressive object that consequently requires its own particular mode of inquiry (see Gutting 1989, 168–9).
Foucault’s account is successful in reminding us how different the study of life must have been in the late eighteenth century. Nearly all the concepts that are fundamental to a twenty-first-century understanding of biological life are unknown during this period. Not until 1839 will Matthias Schleiden and Theodor Schwann first propose the theory of the cell. Not until 1858 will Charles Darwin first propose his theory of evolution. Not until 1862 will Louis Pasteur publish his *Germ Theory of Disease*. Not until 1900 will Hugo de Vries, Carl Correns, and Erich von Tschermak-Seysengg rediscover Gregor Mendel’s work on heredity. Not until 1953 will James Watson and Francis Crick propose the double helix model of DNA. Not until 1995 will Craig Venter first sequence the complete genome of an organism, the bacterium *Haemophilus influenzae*. We must imagine, then, the late eighteenth-century attempt to understand living beings without the concepts of cell, evolution, germ, gene, and so much more. In fact, if Foucault is right, then we must imagine this beginning of the science as an attempt to understand living beings without the concept of life itself, or, as contended here, without the *dynamic concept of the organism*.
Foucault’s intention in *The Order of Things* lies beyond the history and philosophy of biology. He is concerned more broadly with how the nature of knowledge differs across historical epochs. Hence, his account is necessarily limited vis-à-vis the history of biology, a limitation which manifests itself in at least two important ways. First, Foucault’s history is too francocentric. While figures that are the stars of his narrative like Jean Baptiste de Lamarck and George Cuvier certainly deserve attention for their roles in the history of biology, their prominence comes at the expense of passing over the essential contributions made by German philosophers and scientists. It is precisely these figures who are the focus of this dissertation. Second, as intimated in the passages above, Foucault maintains that biology effectively supplants natural history; the emergence of the former, he argues, totally displaces the latter. While we, too, will find that criticisms of natural history’s aims and methodologies abound in the late eighteenth century, which, indeed, fuel the need for a new science of life, we also find that these criticisms by no means halt the practice of natural history. The collecting, organizing, and describing characteristic of it continue through the period (and still continue today) unabated. Although the total supersession of natural history by biology makes for an undoubtedly stronger narrative, it is simply an overstatement of what actually occurred.
But Foucault is not the only historian of eighteenth-century life science to envisage a caesura where there is only a continuum, as does Timothy Lenoir. No other scholar of eighteenth-century German life science has provided a more comprehensive or enduring interpretation of the period than Lenoir. Across a series of publications in the late 1970s and early 1980s, Lenoir develops his “teleomechanist thesis,” which holds that the progress of biology rests “on an explanatory framework uniting the principles of both teleology and mechanism” (1982, 2). He argues that the historical development of teleomechanism resulted in different versions of it that continued well into the nineteenth century. Excluded from this development, however, is any form of *Naturphilosophie*, as put forth, for example, by F. W. J Schelling and Treviranus. Lenoir writes, “On closer inspection the view that German biology in the early nineteenth century was shaped by the *Naturphilosophie* turned out to be illusory” (ibid., 5).[3](#sdfootnote3sym) Hence, Lenoir’s history rests on a divide between the real and pseudo pioneers of biology.
Scholars, however, have begun to rebut this view. In his extensive work, *The Romantic Conception of Life* (2002), Robert J. Richards shows just how inextricable *Naturphilosophie* was from the development of biology in the late eighteenth century. Of historians like Lenoir who want to erect a barrier between the excesses of *Naturphilosophie* and the true contributors to biology, Richards writes, “I believe these historiographic attitudes have excised the heart of nineteenth-century biology, which pulsed to more fascinating rhythms than can be imagined when dissecting the dried corpus of the discipline. When that biology has its lifelines secured by reattaching them to the thought and culture that animated it, I believe we will discover that many of its main themes have been played out in a Romantic mode” (2002, 4). The present study takes heed of Richards’ own tact, for, as will be shown, the epistemic foundations of biology are populated by concepts formulated and developed by Schelling’s *Naturphilosophie*.
Nevertheless, Lenoir’s teleomechanism thesis remains one of the best interpretations of early life science in Germany because it offers (the exclusion of *Naturphilosophie*, notwithstanding) a unified view of biology’s progress. Its wide acceptance was anticipated in its warm reception upon publication. T. H. Levere calls Lenoir’s book, *The Strategy of Life* (1982), “sound, original, and fascinating,” praising “his account of the research program \[for bringing\] coherence to almost a century of biological research within a framework whose existence and importance had not previously been clearly delineated” (1983, 552). David Knight concludes his review as follows: “It is hard to praise too highly Lenoir’s synthetic study” (1984, 558). For scholars turning to life science in Germany at the turn of the nineteenth century after the publication of Lenoir’s work, it has become obligatory to begin with his interpretation and generally affirm it, disagreeing only with this or that detail.[4](#sdfootnote4sym) There are, though, exceptions. Most notably, in his review of Lenoir’s *The Strategy of Life*, K. L. Caneva writes:
Having struggled to come to terms with its complex and often confusingly presented thesis, I am still not confident that I have done the book full justice. I am quite sure that the book contains many serious mistakes in historical analysis; and I am reasonably sure that a sufficiently recast account would be able to salvage something for the importance of a Kantian program something like the one he has attempted to describe. But I do not find it enlightening to embrace (for example) Blumenbach, Reil, von Baer, Liebig, and Schwann within a common teleomechanist ‘program.’ (1990, 300)
Caneva is the exception, and although he presents several caustic criticisms of Lenoir’s work, he offers no alternative that could amend or replace it, which is, admittedly, an unfair expectation of a book review. Yet, scholars who have been critical of Lenoir’s interpretation and who have begun to furnish new ones on the beginnings of German biology and its subsequent development have only offered partial interpretations (Nyhart 1995; Richards 2000; Zammito 2012). They have replaced parts of Lenoir’s interpretive machine without ever rebuilding its engine.
What, then, is this interpretation that has caused such controversy? Lenoir states his position as follows:
My thesis is that a consistent, coherent and well-developed research programme guided the development of the life sciences in Germany in the period from 1790 through the mid-1850s, and that this programme was both theoretically and empirically progressive. I call this programme teleomechanism, for it was an approach to the phenomena of life based on an attempted unification of the best features of the teleological and mechanical frameworks of explanation. This research programme did not spring on to the stage of history full-blown from the head of Zeus. Its formulation took place over a period of several years, in the early 1790s, and several persons contributed to the formulation and articulation of its various components. The hard core and negative heuristic was provided by Immanuel Kant in aspects of his work devoted to the problem of teleological judgment, most clearly formulated in his *Critique of Judgment* (1790).[5](#sdfootnote5sym)
Lenoir uses the language of the philosopher of science, Imre Lakatos, to interpret the development of biology that begins with Kant and Johann Friedrich Blumenbach (1752–1840) around 1790\. A “research program” provides a guide for future research. In the passage above, Lenoir refers to the “negative heuristic” of the research program, which contains the “hard core,” that is, the basic theoretical commitments that are not to be altered or rejected. Lenoir identifies teleomechanism as the hard core. Kant provides the basis for this research program’s hard core by demonstrating the potential, heuristic use of a teleological principle in the explanation of organic beings; this principle is heuristic because it does not provide the explanation itself, but rather only enables or leads to an actual mechanical explanation. In short, teleomechanism is “the notion that biology requires the assumption of purposive organization at the basis of any investigation into the mechanisms conditioning and sustaining life” (Lenoir 1981a, 306). This purposiveness, then, must always be kept at an arm’s length, for it is only a methodological principle; that is, it is something imputed by the researcher to the organized being and never constitutive of that being itself. The intricate arguments supporting Kant’s arguments regarding this approach will be discussed below; however, the present explication suffices to allow an understanding of Lenoir’s interpretation. Teleomechanism becomes the foundation of biology by offering rules for investigation that advise the use of teleological principles as a means to mechanical ones, since only the latter guarantee scientific explanations. Moreover, although Kant formulated the initial research program, it also spurred several improved variants, which stretched from the 1790s until the 1850s (ibid., 298). Lenoir divides these variants into three stages—vital materialism, developmental morphology, and functional morphology—which indicate the comprehensive force of his interpretation. He can chart the genealogy of the teleomechanist research program as effectively directing the course of biology over a timespan of sixty years. If we couple this with the relative paucity of competing comprehensive interpretations, we can understand the wide acceptance of teleomechanism.
In contrast to Lenoir’s interpretation, Richards’ account does not offer the same conceptual unity. Richards’ methodology focuses on biography, so that connections are principally made according to “the attitudes, the intellectual beliefs, the emotional reactions” of the thinkers in question (2002, 5). While this methodology is powerful in showing the transmission of ideas, nexus of responsible agents, and material conditions responsible for shaping the science’s history, we never receive a unified account to rival Lenoir’s teleomechanism. Hence, our aim is to offer that rival account. We maintain that teleomechanism is an inadequate framework for understanding the epistemic foundations of biology. In its place, we assert that these foundations are constituted by the concept of the living organism and thus will present, in this work, its genealogy and the ideas that were necessary for its conceptualization.
## The Historical Context of Early Life Science
To begin to make sense of the burgeoning philosophy and science of life in the late eighteenth century, one must be aware of three points of reference, which would have invariably shaped the thinking of any scholar in this period. These three events are significant because they represent the discovery of vital capacities previously unknown. These discoveries, in turn, disrupted longstanding ideas about what a living organism could do and thereby introduced unresolved controversies about the most basic questions of life.
### Irritability and Sensibility
First, it is difficult to overestimate the importance of Albrecht von Haller’s papers that he gave before the Royal Society of Sciences of Göttingen on April 22 and May 6, 1752\. Published the following year as *De partibus corporis humani sensibilibus et irritabilibus* (On the Sensible and Irritable Parts of the Human Body), this work uses experimental research to make a definitive distinction between irritability and sensibility in animals. Owsei Temkin argues that Haller’s contribution lies in his experimental method, rather than in his results, since irritability and sensibility had been discovered long ago (Haller 1936, 1).[6](#sdfootnote6sym) Haller himself acknowledged as much in the treatise, citing several important predecessors (42–6). Most important of these, Francis Glisson (1597–1677), originally coined the term, “irritability,” and identified it as a natural perception that is not accompanied by sensation. Yet, with respect to Glisson and others in general, Haller thought that they all fell short in failing to offer sufficient experimental evidence for their conclusions. Consequently, none could offer as clear of an account of the difference between irritability and sensibility as Haller did.
What, then, are these properties? Irritability refers to any part in the body, “which becomes shorter upon being touched” (Haller 1936, 8). Haller concluded that nothing in the animal body is irritable but the muscular fiber, which underlies several parts in the body, in addition to the skeletal muscles that initially come to mind; for example, the bladder, esophagus, stomach, etc. are all irritable, whereas the vessels, cellular membrane, fat, skin, nerves, etc. are not (ibid., 40). Moreover, Haller concluded that the heart is the most irritable of the organs, exhibiting the power to contract forcefully upon the slightest provocation. A further facet of the treatise is the denial that irritability is a function of the soul, a position held at the time by some followers of G. E. Stahl like Robert Whytt, whom Haller addresses directly in the text (28). He opposed their position by showing that irritable organs maintain this capacity after death and after being severed from the body, which would not be possible if they were controlled by the soul, since this severance, either by death or amputation, would also be the severance of the irritable part from the soul. Irritability, then, is demonstrated to be independent of the soul; to the contrary, the basis of it, Haller maintains, is in the “fabric of the parts.”
The separation of irritability from the soul follows upon another, more important one, that is, between irritability and sensibility. Sensibility refers to any part of the body, “which upon being touched transmits the impression of it to the soul” (1936, 9). A part is sensible, then, if one is conscious of it being stimulated. Hence, the skin is sensible, because one can sense or be aware of a stimulus applied to it. Not many of the body’s organs, however, are as accessible as the skin, for one may wonder whether the brain, bone marrow, glands, lungs, and so on are sensible or not. For his experiments on sensibility to be successful, Haller must conduct them on live animals. Whereas humans can respond directly and clearly whether an organ is sensible upon stimulation, a nonhuman animal cannot. Instead, it can only indicate sensibility through conspicuous signs of pain and distress. The identification of the body’s sensibility thus entails a slew of gruesome experiments: Haller uses heat, spirit of wine, scalpel, *lapis infinalis*, oil of vitriol, and butter of antimony on conscious animals to ascertain whether parts are sensible or not (ibid., 10). Haller, though, is not immune to the suffering of these animals. Regarding the 190 animals that he examined in several different ways since 1751, he admits feeling a reluctance for “a species of cruelty,” which “could only be overcome by the desire of contributing to the benefit of mankind, and excused by that motive which induces persons of the most human temper, to eat every day the flesh of harmless animals without any scruple” (ibid., 7). In general, though, the benefit that Haller thinks his study provides is nothing less than a “new division of the parts of the human body” (ibid). By isolating these two properties, Haller offers a new set of criteria to identify parts of the body, which could be neither irritable nor sensible like a tendon, sensible and irritable like a muscle, insensible but irritable like a gland, or not irritable but sensible like a nerve. In this identity matrix—and the experimental method used to complete it—lay the foundation for an improved physiology, which, in turn, promised further advances in medicine.
It is perhaps quite fitting that in the latter half of the eighteenth century, sensibility and irritability take on lives of their own after leaving Haller’s pen by becoming the models for the *Lebenskräften* (vital forces), which sometimes diverged significantly from the irritability and sensibility of Haller’s treatise. In general, *Lebenskräften* were understood to be forces exclusive to organic beings, unlike the physical forces (for example, gravity) common to all bodies, whether they were organic or not. In the 1790s, interest in the vital forces reached such a high level that the period may be described without hyperbole as “*Lebenskraftmanie*.” Treatise after treatise was published on precisely this topic.[7](#sdfootnote7sym) Indeed, every principal thinker considered in the present study devotes at least some of his (sometimes critical) attention to them.
### Problem of Generation: Preformation vs. Epigenesis
Second, we cannot investigate eighteenth-century life science without briefly reviewing its most fierce debate: How do living organisms come to be? This question, in the parlance of the 1700s, is the problem of generation. Investigation of the problem is nothing new, for it is documented to have begun as early as Aristotle’s *Historia Animalium*, and perhaps even earlier with Alcmaeon of Croton (fl. ca. 500 BCE). Their preferred object of consideration, the generation of the chick, also remained the entryway to investigation in the eighteenth century, serving as the locus of an extended debate between the now familiar Albrecht von Haller (1708–1777) and Caspar Friedrich Wolff (1735–1794).
Haller averred preformationism, a theory of generation with multiple variations and nuances; in general, it explains generation through the preexistence of an embryo created by God at the time of Creation.[8](#sdfootnote8sym) The embryo awaits its preordained development either in the maternal egg (as the ovists, like Haller, believe) or in the male spermatozoon (as the animalculists believe). The theory of preformation gained its first clear proponent in Nicolas Malebranche (1638–1715), whose position we find stated in a typical defense of the doctrine by George Garden (1649–1733) in his paper for the Royal Society:
And Indeed, all the laws of Motion which are as yet discovered, can give but a very lame Account of the Forming of a Plant or Animal. We see how wretchedly Descartes came off, when he began to apply them to this Subject. They are formed by Laws yet unknown to Mankind; and it seems most probable, the *Stamina* of all Plants and Animals that have been, or ever shall be in the World, have been formed *ab Origine Mundi*, by the Almighty Creator, within the first of each respective Kind. And he who considers the nature of Vision, that it does not give us the true magnitude, but the proportion of Things, and that what seems to our naked Eye but a Point, may truly be made up of as many Parts as seem to us to be in the whole visible World, will not think this an absurd thing. (1693, 3)
This short passage reveals the motivation behind preformation theory. The predominant theory of explaining matter at that time (inaugurated by Descartes) rested on mechanical laws of motion. Since those laws seem incapable of explaining the generation of living beings (which is where Descartes failed so badly), another theory is needed that could both preserve the mechanical theory of matter and explain living beings. That is, whence the complex structure of life, given the relative simplicity of mechanical forces? Preformation fits the bill because if the general structure already exists, then mechanical laws only need to explain the living being’s development, not its origin. This theory also is also popular because it accords squarely with the Christian doctrine of Creation.
Haller’s version of preformation maintains that the structure of a living being has already been given, and that its further growth and development can thus be explained mechanically, in line with our explanation above. Fertilization, then, is just the initial push that puts the machine into motion. Preformationism, therefore, solves the problem of how to account for the structure of organized beings, how a chick emerges from what seems like an undifferentiated, homogenous mass. Haller resolves this difficulty by maintaining that the basic structure of life has always existed, but that it is just too small to be seen. However, once this invisible germ receives stimulation and nourishment via fertilization, it grows and develops solely through mechanical means.
The theory of epigenesis faces the same difficulty in explaining generation, but responds to it in a wholly different manner. William Harvey (1578-1657) coined the term “epigenesis” in the seventeenth century, though it is a theory that has roots that are much older. Although Harvey exercises an epistemic modesty concerning how it actually occurs, by “epigenesis” he means the gradual generation of a germ from an undifferentiated primordium. Epigenesis continues to have this basic sense in the eighteenth century, though it is expressed with different nuances by life scientists like Pierre Louis Maupertuis (1698–1759), Comte de Buffon (1707–1788), and Caspar Friedrich Wolff, the last of whom argues that no embryo can preexist in the egg or spermatozoon, appealing to the principle: “What one does not see is not there.” Instead, he asserts that the embryo must be formed anew each time. What structures unorganized matter and brings forth this new embryo is Wolff’s *vis essentialis*. The interpretation of this essential force already varies in Wolff’s time, but he posits it as a principle sufficient to explain the vegetative processes, that is, growth, nutrition, and self-differentiation, in both plants and animals (Gasking 1967, 104–6; Roe 1981, 114). In short, the essential force is what organizes matter into life.
Haller and Wolff debate the question of generation throughout their lifetimes. From 1758 until 1789, they exchange letters and publish vying papers. The debate revolves around the development of the chick, and, specifically, the formation of blood vessels in the *area vasculosa*, the development of the heart, Haller’s membrane-continuity proof of preformation, and the formation of the intestines (Roe 1981, 50–83). Despite their prolonged exchange, and the various contributions they each make to understanding generation, neither preformation nor epigenesis emerge as capable of explaining how life comes to be. Neither theory is ultimately decisive in explaining how an organized being grows, develops, and reproduces.
### The Enigmatic Polyp
Perhaps nothing contributes more to the perpetual disagreement over generation than the small aquatic animal known as the polyp in the eighteenth century and as the *Hydra* today. Abraham Trembley (1710–1784), a Swiss naturalist, discovers the remarkable little creature, as a tutor to the two sons of the Count of Bentinck in Holland. He and the boys would collect bugs and plants to look at under the microscope. One day, the boys tell Trembley that a supposed plant had just walked across the jar. Trembley is quite puzzled, because the organism is green and seems to be a plant, but it is also motile and seems to exhibit other animal characteristics.
Upon further observation, he notices that the tentacles of the polyp are not equal across each individual, and he reasons that they might be roots or at least akin to them, since roots are also unequal in number across individual plants. If the tentacles are roots, he thinks, then it should be possible to sever them without killing the polyp. Given this result, he would then have confirmation that it is a plant, but if it died, then he would know it is an animal. To his surprise, neither of the two cases occur. Rather, both the severed part and the original individual regenerate their lost matter, both becoming complete animals again! At once, Trembley recognizes that the situation is unlike any regeneration already then known. It differs, for example, from the crayfish because itssevered antennae do not themselves become whole crayfish again—only the missing part is restored. In the polyp, though, each severed part becomes a whole new polyp, and the injured polyp completely restores itself. Trembley first communicates his findings in 1740, and an eloquent account of them are published in the *Histoire de l’Academie des Sciences* of 1741:
The story of the Phoenix who is reborn from its ashes, fabulous as it is, offers nothing more marvelous than the discovery of which we are going to speak. The chimerical idea of Palingenesis or regeneration by Plants & Animals, which some Alchemists believed possible by the bringing together and the reunion of their essential parts, only leads to restoring a Plant or an Animal after its destruction; the serpent cut in half, & which is said to be rejoined, gives but one & the same serpent; but here is Nature which goes farther than our chimeras. From one piece of the same animal cut in 2, 3, 4, 10, 20, 30, 40 pieces, & so to speak, chopped up, there are reborn as many complete animals similar to the first. (as cited in Roe 1981, 23)
The polyp, in short, is a vexed phenomenon in the eighteenth century: it exceeds the expectations of naturalists and all foregoing modes of explanation. How can this creature regenerate itself *ad infinitum*? The polyp thus poses a challenge to preformation theory because preformed germs do not seem able to account for this remarkable property. This challenge is so severe that it even causes Haller, preeminent defender of preformation theory, to defect briefly to epigenesis upon learning of the creature’s regenerative abilities.
## Course of the Argument
The polyp also plays a significant role in catalyzing Blumenbach to turn against preformationism, a shift we analyze in detail in Chapter One. Blumenbach’s conversion from preformationism to epigenesis is motivated by his discovery of the *Bildungstrieb* or formative drive. The drive is Blumenbach’s attempt to intervene in the stalemate plaguing the question of generation—the formative drive is supposed to prove once and for all the undeniable truth of epigenesis. We find, however, that as innovative and resourceful as Blumenbach’s efforts are, they are not the coup for which he hopes, since defenders of preformation would not have found anything in his theory that would have compelled them to change their positions. Moreover, his arguments about generation ultimately leave us bemused, for he insists on the inexplicability of life without ever saying why it must be so. For Blumenbach, the researcher is by no means barred from knowledge of living beings, but he is barred from the knowledge of life itself.
Immanuel Kant also asserts this inexplicability; however, in the *Critique of the Power of Judgment* (1790), he demonstrates why it must be the case. Before arriving, however, at his answer, Chapter Two presents an analysis of the intellectual relationship between Blumenbach and Kant. Because this relationship is central to Lenoir’s teleomechanism thesis, the new interpretation given in this study is essential for a new understanding of the beginning of biology as it unfolds between these thinkers. Lenoir’s interpretation (in addition to several others) hold that Blumenbach benefits from Kant’s philosophical insight, which thereby imbues the former’s life science with a more precise methodology. On the contrary, we observe that it is Kant who is indebted to Blumenbach, for without him Kant would have never formulated the organism concept.
In Chapter Three, we analyze this concept of the organism, which appears for the first time in Kant’s third *Critique*, and thus constitutes an essential part of the epistemic foundations of biology. Explicating the organism concept requires us to analyze Kant’s arguments concerning the limits of human cognition, which finally explains why life must be inscrutable. Hence, Kant’s third *Critique* turns out to be a strange text: we find, in the same work, the invention of a concept that will be essential to the foundation of biology, and an argument showing that this foundation is eternally inscrutable.
In Chapter Four, despite its purported inscrutability, we find that the organism becomes a mainspring for every naturalist and philosopher investigating the living world in the 1790s. We track the concept’s reception in three key figures: Carl Friedrich Kielmeyer (1765–1844), Johann Christian Reil (1759–1813), and Friedrich W. J. Schelling. As diverse as each of them are, we discover that they each employ the organism concept to establish laws of the organic world; that is, they anticipate possible forms of a science of life. This anticipation requires, in the case of Kielmeyer, the application of the organism concept not only to the individual plant or animal, but also to entire populations, kingdoms, and nature itself. We find him postulating laws about the relations within and across the organic world. With Reil, however, we find a rebel. He denies the legitimacy of Kant’s organism concept, yet also takes it as his foundation. Reil adopts a materialist position, asserting that knowledge of the physical composition and components of organisms is all that is needed to explain them. Physics and chemistry are enough to know living nature. We find, finally, that Schelling affirms the concept of organism, while, at the same time, challenging the entire Kantian framework on which the concept is built. All of nature becomes, for Schelling, an organism. Moreover, his attention to the organism allows him to formulate its logic even more dynamically than Kant could. The organism, for Schelling, is a third kind of being, not identical to matter, but also not divorced from it, and not immaterial like the soul, but in possession of something like its freedom.
This dynamic logic of the organism reappears in Treviranus’s *Biologie*, to which we return in the Conclusion. He stakes out what it means to have a science of life, while in conversation with the scientists and philosophers analyzed in our study. While his science of life is not yet the modern discipline of biology—not yet the laboratories, molecular analyses, and modeling so familiar today—the living organism is the foundation of his treatise. It is the basis for first recognizing and thinking the biological as a distinct domain of scientific knowledge.
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[1](#sdfootnote1anc) “AA” refers to the *Akademie-Ausgabe* of Kant’s collected works. The abbreviation is followed by reference to volume number and page number(s). Wherever possible, standard English translations have been cited; in all other cases, translations have been made by the author. Detailed bibliographic information will be found in the Works Cited.
[2](#sdfootnote2anc) See, e.g., François Jacob’s *The Logic of Life*: “Until the end of the eighteenth century there was no clear boundary between beings and things…. There was as yet no fundamental division between the living and the non-living” (1982; 33).
[3](#sdfootnote3anc) More recently, Peter Hans Reill has echoed this view in his work, *Vitalizing Nature in the Enlightenment* (2005). His primary objective in the book is to delineate a movement that he calls “Enlightenment Vitalism,” which challenged the then predominate mechanical philosophy by arguing that matter was not affected by a chain of external causes, but rather had its own internal causes through which it acted. In delineating this movement, Reill is adamant to demonstrate that it is distinct and should not be conflated with *Naturphilosophie* or romanticism, a conflation that previous scholars have, in his view, unfairly perpetrated. He writes, “Rather than seeing *Naturphilosophie* as vitalism’s logical conclusion, I interpret it as its negation, as a thoroughgoing critique of the epistemological, methodological, and linguistic assumptions that undergirded Enlightenment Vitalism” (2005, 14). However, to disentangle clearly one movement from the other is impossible, as Zammito (2016) has recently demonstrated.
[4](#sdfootnote4anc) See, for example, Nicholas Jardine’s *Scenes of Inquiry*. He writes, “It has been shown \[several texts of Lenoir are cited\] that this scheme for the pursuit of mechanical (and chemical) explanations within a teleological framework was widely followed by natural historians, anatomists and physiologists in the German lands; and it has been suggested, rightly I believe, that there are close affinities between it and George Cuvier’s widely followed functional approach to comparative anatomy” (1991, 32). Brandon C. Look also affirms Lenoir’s teleomechanist program (2006, 372). Finally, although Renata Schellenberg acknowledges arguments to the contrary, she still affirms Lenoir’s claim that Kant was particularly “fruitful” for Blumenbach in clarifying the physiologist’s ideas(2011, 102).
[5](#sdfootnote5anc) In the following year, Lenoir nuances his position: In full disclosure, Lenoir adds nuance to these claims in the following year: “My principal thesis is that the development of biology in Germany during the first half of the nineteenth century was guided by a core of ideas and a program of research set forth initially during the 1790s. The clearest early formulation of those ideas is to be found in the writings of the philosopher Immanuel Kant…. I do not claim that German biologists discovered a program of research in Kant’s writings which they set out to realize in practice. The evidence indicates rather that in the latter part of the eighteenth century a number of biologists were seeking to establish a foundation for constructing a consistent body of unified theory for the life sciences which could adapt the methods and conceptual framework of Newtonian science to the special requirements of investigating biological organisms. Kant stepped into this ongoing dialogue and set forth a clear synthesis of the principal elements of an emerging consensus among biologists” (1982, 2).
[6](#sdfootnote6anc) The present review of Haller’s treatise is based on a reprint of the 1755 English translation. This anonymous translation, which made use of the 1755 French translation as indicated by the inclusion of its preface by its translator, Simon André Tissot, is based on an emended text by Haller. The changes reflect Haller’s attempt to respond to criticisms of his treatise in its initial form.
[7](#sdfootnote7anc) Consider, for instance, the following sample: Carl Friedrich Kielmeyer’s “*Über die Verhältnisse der organischen Kräfte*” (1793), Alexander von Humboldt’s “*Aphorismen aus der chemischen Physiologie der Pflanzen*” (1794), Christof Wilhelm Hufeland’s “*Ideen über Pathogenie und Einfluss der Lebenskraft auf Entstehung und Form der Krankheiten*” (1795), Johann Christian Reil’s “*Von der Lebenskraft*” (1795), J. D. Brandis’s “*Versuch über die Lebenskraft*” (1795), and Theodor Georg August Roose’s “*Grundzüge der Lehre von der Lebenskraft*” (1797). We will discuss Kielmeyer’s and Reil’s texts in the fourth chapter.
[8](#sdfootnote8anc) But Haller did not always aver preformation. As a student of Herman Boerhaave (1668–1738), he began his career supporting preformation but converted to epigenesis in the 1740s after Trembley published his findings on the polyp. He returned, in the end, to preformation after his extensive study of chick generation (Roe 1981, 22–6).
### Visions of Algae in Eighteenth-Century Botany
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/visions-of-algae-in-eighteenth-century-botany/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:36:14.000Z
Algae are rarely thought of as remarkable plants, when and if they’re thought of at all. Attitudes seemingly haven’t changed all that much since the eighteenth century; people were as blasé about algae then as they are now.
Given such an unremarkable status, it is surprising to find that a single species of algae managed to catalyze major eighteenth-century discoveries concerning photosynthesis and embryogenesis, especially in light of the fact that the naturalists responsible for these discoveries only stumbled upon this alga while looking for something else entirely. The species in question — a fine, light to dark green, filamentous aquatic plant, about a half inch in length, that clumps together by the thousands into decumbent, interwoven mats that look like wet felt — was often (but not always) identified at the time as *Conferva fontinalis*. (It’s now identified as *Vaucheria fontinalis*, a species of yellow-green algae.)
By following it through the scientific literature of the eighteenth century, we find quite the complicated little being, a species that came to be recognized by the century’s end as beautiful, curious and, without a doubt, an alga worth the trouble of getting to know.

Joseph Priestley’s instruments for his experimentation on gases (1775)
## Details
The passage above is an excerpt from my essay, "[Visions of Algae in Eighteenth-Century Botany](https://publicdomainreview.org/2016/09/07/visions-of-algae-in-eighteenth-century-botany/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)," which the wonderful *Public Domain Review* first published in August 2016.
### Poetic Botany
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/poetic-botany/
Last updated: 2023-07-27T21:05:01.000Z
*[Poetic Botany: Art and Science of the Eighteenth-Century Vegetable World](https://www.nybg.org/poetic-botany/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)* is a digital exhibition. It brings together historical and contemporary resources—illustrations, photographs, videos, texts, and more—in an attempt to facilitate an experience not possible in a traditional museum setting. You are not only able to view a variety of materials that no single collection could every hope to contain, but also able to peruse them at your leisure, at any time or place.
Nine different plant species organize this exhibition. On each plant’s page, you will find images, excerpts from scientific and poetic works, a video, and a note that draws some of the exhibition materials into a cohesive narrative.

An overarching aim of this exhibition is to reveal that plants, like humans, are agents of historical change.
Another aim is to reaffirm that the imagination is an ecological force, responsible for how we have thought of nature in the past, how we think of it now, and how we will think of it in the future. The imagination, moreover, flaunts any boundary imposed on it by disciplines or areas of expertise, showing itself to be at home as much in the arts as in the humanities as in the sciences.
Any view of nature, then, that ignores a discipline or entire domain of disciplines is necessarily deficient. At the same time, paradoxically, any view that sacrifices the expertise that results from the focus of one of these disciplines will also be severely impoverished.

Hence, a complete view of nature can only result from an openness to the work of one another, from an ongoing collaboration and commitment to understand the more-than-human world through art, scholarship, and science.
Poetic Botany celebrates this very effort, along with the artists, scientists, and scholars of both the eighteenth-century and our own time. These figures attempt to understand the vegetable world, and in so doing offer us a wealth of perspectives that substantially enrich our own engagements with nature.
*Research for this exhibition was conducted at the Humanities Institute of the LuEsther T. Mertz Library with support provided by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation.*
[Poetic Botany: A Digital ExhibitionArt and Science of the Eighteenth-Century Vegetable WorldA Digital Exhibition](https://www.nybg.org/poetic-botany/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)
*I am particularly indebted to the scholars and scientists who appear on the videos featured in the exhibition. Their biographies and research can be found on the [Contributors](https://www.nybg.org/poetic-botany/contributors/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) page. Additionally, this exhibition would not have been possible without the support of the excellent staff, scholars, and scientists of The New York Botanical Garden. I would especially like to thank the Humanities Research Coordinator, Vanessa Sellers, who offered valuable support throughout the development of the exhibition. Finally, I am grateful to Madeline Chera, who offered her keen eye and steady hand whenever it was needed.*
### Blumenbach and the Conferva fontinalis
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/blumenbach-and-the-conferva-fontinalis/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:33:44.000Z
*A talk delivered at the New York Botanical Garden on November 15, 2015*
At a recent talk at the [NYAM](https://nyam.org/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com), attended by several people in this room, the speaker claimed that Alexander von Humboldt (1769–1859) has been forgotten in our time. No doubt that Humboldt is not as well known as, say, Drake, but I flinch a bit at this conceit. How many of you in this room have heard of Alexander von Humboldt?
How many of you have heard of another German, living at the same time as Humboldt, i.e., Johann Friedrich Blumenbach (1752–1840)? (And out of curiosity, how many of you know who Drake is?) Whereas Alexander von Humboldt has been the subject of several monographs and has featured as a protagonist in Daniel Kehlmann’s excellent novel, *Measuring the World* (2005), which became a film in 2012, Blumenbach has never been the subject of a monograph, let alone the protagonist of a novel. If awards were being given out for “forgotten scientist,” then Blumenbach would surely receive one before Humboldt.
Some scientists, however, if not deserving to be forgotten, are at least are not worth spending too much time remembering. But Blumenbach is not one of those scientists. For one, he was Humboldt’s professor, training him in the life sciences at the University of Göttingen. And he wasn’t just Humboldt’s professor, but one to some of the most important natural philosophers in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, introducing fields like comp anatomy, physical anthropology, and physiology. What’s more, Blumenbach was the author of the best-selling textbook on natural history in Germany around the turn of the nineteenth century. His *Handbuch der Naturgeschichte* (Manual of Natural History) was first published in 1779, thereafter enjoying twelve more sanctioned editions, not to mention several translations. The Mertz Library holds the English translation in its collection and it is on display today.
These introductory remarks are meant to suggest that Blumenbach is, indeed, worth remembering, and today I will discuss his work on *Conferva fontinalis*, in particular. This yellow-green alga is the star of his essay, entitled “On an Extraordinarily Simple Manner of Reproduction,” which was published in the *Göttingen Magazine for Science and Literature* in 1781\. Another Humanities Institute Fellow, Claire Sabel, and I have translated this article from German into English for the first time. This little essay has hardly garnered any scholarly attention over the years, such that our translation and my discussion is surely pulling it back, if just a little, from the brink of extinction. I hope to show why this effort is worthwhile.
My presentation falls into three parts. First, I will present some results regarding the status and classification of algae in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Second, I will discuss Blumenbach’s observations and experiments regarding *C. fontinalis* and set it in a larger context. Third, I will propose that there are reasons for taking the *C. fontinalis* as a proto-model organism. I will conclude in this vein, noting the trajectory this alga takes after Blumenbach.
### I. Classification of Algae
The joy of historical research is that it can lead down the most serendipitous paths; the converse being, of course, that it leads to just as many or even more dead ends. This section is the product of the former. What I want to do is convey some highlights of my serendipitous path, which will begin from an obscure German tract on the study of cryptogamous plants from 1797 and end in 1850 with a poem. This is a Science-Humanities talk after all, and I’m not letting you escape without reciting a bit of a poem, about seaweed no less. The point of all this is to present some historical context for Blumenbach’s essay on *Conferva fontinalis*. While his essay concerns the physiology of the organism, most of the concerns of the present section are taxonomic. I was eager to understand how these plants (in eighteenth-century terms) were viewed at the time and how they were thought to fit into the vegetable kingdom in general.
An important contributor to study of algae and *Conferva* in particular was Wilhelm Albrecht Roth (1757–1834), who produced a small tract in 1797, entitled *Notes on the Study of Cryptogamic Aquatic Plants*. I was intrigued by the “Notes” part, which meant that it likely wasn’t 800 pages long like most books in the eighteenth century.
Other words in the title also give pause, namely, “cryptogamic.” It refers to Linnaeus’ taxonomic system, in which the first 23 of the 24 classes are organized according to the number or arrangement of the plant’s reproductive organs. These first 23 classes are referred to as phanerogamous because the reproductive organs (stamens and pistils) are visible to everyone, or, in the translation of Erasmus Darwin, the "marriage" of the plants is "public." This contrasts with the last, 24th class of plants, the cryptogams, or, in Darwin’s translation, "clandestine marriages," in which the organs of reproduction are either missing altogether or not visible. In Linnaeus’s *Species plantarum* of 1753, the class of cryptogamia comprises four orders: ferns, mosses, algae, and fungi. Algae are distinguished from the other orders in that they are root, stem, and leaf, all in one. The organism important for Blumenbach, C. fontinalis, is included under the algae, “fontinalis” being the second species included under the genus Conferva. I’ll note here that the order Algae included several organisms that would not be considered as such today, such as lichen, and it is, in fact, Roth, who first argues in his essay that lichen should be separated into their own order (18).
What all of this amounts to is that while Linnaeus’s system was by no means the only taxonomic option in the eighteenth century, it was the predominant one, and its fulcrum was the sex lives of flowers, which meant that any plants that were getting married in secret, the cryptogamia, were not of central concern. Linnaeus says variously that they were excluded by the Creator in the theory of stamens, that they are generally suspect (“of a dangerous quality” according to the author of a popular introduction to botany (Lee 1810), ferns and mosses are disagreeable on account of their strong smell, fungi are “dubious food,” and algae are mostly inedible and many are purgatives. Finally, Linnaeus says that if the vegetable world were represented as nine nations, then algae would be slaves, occupying a position just above fungi, the vagabonds.
The Linnaean framework and low estimation of algae and the other cryptogamia discouraged their investigation until the end of the eighteenth century. Indeed, James Edward Smith, notable in this context for having removed the hepatics from the order of Algae, was the first president of the Linnaean Society of London and delivered his “Introductory Discourse on the Rise and Progress of Natural History” on April 8, 1788\. He praises the pioneering research of Micheli and Dillenius on various cryptogamia, whose books are on display today, but notes that the fungi and confervae in particular remain the “opprobrium of botany” (Smith 1791: 34).
This state of affairs did not escape the notice of Lewis Weston Dillwyn (1778–1855), who excused Linnaeus’s insufficient treatment of Confervae, saying that Linnaeus already had his hands full not just with the flowering plants, but also with the rest of nature in all its kingdoms. In Dillwyn’s work, *British confervae*, which comprises a series of fascicles first published in 1802, we thus find an unmistakable shift toward the intense study of cryptogams and, as its title suggests, of Confervae, in particular. It contains remarkable drawings of the Confervae and the book is on display today. Further evidence is found in its opening pages, where Dillwyn hails the genus Conferva as the “most beautiful and curious” of the Algae (Dillwyn 1809: 2). If that alone weren’t enough to prompt its study, he counts all the ways that do: first and foremost, he says, no genus will be found more interesting than Conferva. Its study, he says, quoting Smith, “relieves the mind among the busy pursuits of active life” (3). The genus, moreover, is a constant source of amusement, and it, in the end, like all natural history, produces satisfaction in the mind and leads the naturalist to “admire and adore” the works of God.
Of the two authors that Dillwyn thinks deserve particular attention because of their study of Conferva, Roth is signaled out, especially for his *Catalecta botanica*, which is three parts, the first published in 1797 and the second on display today, for it is the volume in which he specifically discusses C. fontinalis (though the drawing is of another species, since he does not provide one for C. fontianlis). So, we are returned to Roth and his *Notes on the Study of Cryptogamic Aquatic Plants* that I mentioned above. The Introduction of this text is quite remarkable because it details Roth’s own struggles with the study. Whereas Dillwyn, for instance, credits him as one of the best in the study of Conferva, even though he will thoroughly critique Roths’ work, Roth complains that he had been entirely without a guide, without resources, without hope in the face of studying an entirely too difficult species of plant. He says that he faced so many obstacles he nearly abandoned his research altogether. It seems, though, that once Roth began his collection, investigation, observation, and comparison of these algae, it was only his “18-week, quite perilous stay in a sick bed” that gave him time to publish the first part of the *Catalecta botanica*.
The *Notes*, then, reflect on his trials and tribulations with the cryptogamic water plants in order to produce a manual for the novice plant researcher: to give them the resources he didn’t have. To fulfill this intention, the work outlines how to describe the plants according to their inner and outer structure, in their dry and fresh condition, how to remove them from the water and put them under the microscope without damaging their parts. It provides a review of the foregoing literature, introduces the known species, and gives the relevant criteria for identification. It lays out the resources necessary for gathering the plants and how to set up a collection of them, since comparison, according to Roth, plays a necessary part in identification. The manual further notes how to preserve species in glass or dried in order to make the collection as “beautiful and perfect” as possible. He finally gives some pointers on how to draw the specimens. He closes the Introduction as follows: “If this essay induces the plant researcher to spend a greater amount of concentration on this family of the plant kingdom than has occurred before now, then my ardent desire to become useful to this science is completely fulfilled and the intention of these pages achieved” (Roth 1797: 12).
Roth turned out to be kind of fun, so I browsed the catalog to see what else was available. I found another work beginning with “Notes,” which was promising and rest of the title was even more so. It read, “Notes on the Internal Structure of the Conferva and its Manner of Propagation,” and was from the very first volume of the *Journal für die Botanik*. The article, though, had been excised from its original binding and rebound with other 19th-century works on algae by The NYBG library sometime in the early 20th century. This work, appropriately titled, *Pamphlets on Algae*, is likely an anthology unique to the Garden, like the many other similarly anthologized works with which it shares stack space.
It was when I was paging through this volume that I came across the poem by Eliza Cook, “The Song of the Seaweed.” The first stanza of the poem stands as an epigraph to John Hooper’s *Introduction to Algology*, which was published in Brooklyn in 1850\. It is on display today and I think the cover remarkably bears the signature of Hooper himself. \[Hooper, something of a Brooklyn hipster, was into algae before it was cool.\] Although nearly everything has changed in the past half century regarding algae, Hooper still begins his work with a justification for the study of algae, arguing that they are just as worthy of our attention as the starry firmament above, because they, like stars, exhibit the “infinity of creation.” Like Dillwyn, Hooper also emphasizes the satisfaction given by their study. He quotes a colleague, “The naturalist knows nothing of tedium vitæ—that vampire ennui which renders life a burden to thousands. To him every hour is precious. He may have little leisure for his favorite pursuit; but even those scraps of time which occur in the busiest life, and which many allow to be lost, he gathers up as precious fragments” (12).
As remarkable as Hooper’s essay might be and his delivery of one of the first taxonomies of American algae, his essay’s epigraph, i.e., Eliza Cook’s poem, “Song of the Seaweed,” is all the more spectacular. I will read its first stanza, the one that begins Hooper’s essay.
I am born in crystal bower,
Where the despot hath no power
To trail and turn the oozy fern,
Or trample down the fair sea-flower.
I am born where human skill
Cannot bend me to its will;
None can delve about my root,
And nurse me for my bloom and fruit;
I am left to spread and grow
In my rifted bed below,
Till I break my slender hold.
As the porpoise tumbleth o'er me,
And on I go—now high—now low—
With the ocean world before me (1–14).
Whereas Linnaeus’s representation of the algae was as slave, Cook represents the algae here as refractory, not because the algae is itself particularly feisty, but rather because it is born and lives out of our reach. Yet, the rest of Cook’s poem nonetheless gives several vignettes of the resistance of the algae—it outmaneuvers a sailor when it is carried up on a rope to the ship’s mast during a storm but then flung to the shore near a lighthouse, the seaweed then outmaneuvers a young child intent on collecting it by being carried away by the tide, then hitches a ride on a whale that had just been speared, being freed from that creature, the algae then is taken away by a delightful starfish to a cavern of gems, the algae is then carried to the surface on driftwood and espies a stranded ship without any fresh water. The algae does not care for this one bit, saying “some hot brains are beginning to think/ of a messmate’s open’d vein.” The algae doesn’t care for this one bit and thus hitches a ride with a nautilus. But this spells the end for the seaweed, because it is then collected by some farmers, dried, and made into vraic or fertilizer. The once refractory seaweed—mostly inedible and otherwise cathartic—has become “a smoldering heap of treasure” for the farmer. The once refractory algae has been tamed and John Hooper sees it as a treasure for the algologist.

### II. Blumenbach's Treatment of C. fontinalis
So far, I have mainly dealt with the historical taxonomy of algae and Conferva in particular as well as the associated attitudes toward cryptogamia and Conferva; Blumenbach’s essay, in contrast, does not concern itself with questions of taxonomy—he does not dispute foregoing classifications—but rather with physiology, i.e., the manner of reproduction of the Conferva fontinalis.
The reproduction of this organism caught Blumenbach’s eye, because he had been more attentive to the reproduction of organisms after the formulation of his Bildungstrieb or formative drive theory of generation, the first version of which he published in 1780, as an article in the same journal. In 1781, he published a longer version of it. He released a Latin translation of it in 1787\. And, finally, he issued a second and third edition in 1789 and 1791, respectively. These two editions were substantially revised and represented what he called the “mature” versions of his theory.
In this chronology, what we find is that the formative drive theory, which I’ll explain shortly, was published before the essay on the Conferva fontinalis, which means that the alga did not lead Blumenbach to his theory. Nonetheless, the algae takes such a crucial role in his argument in all revisions of the essay from 1781 onwards that it arguably comes to play just as important role as the organism that Blumenbach identifies as having spurred the theory in the first place.
That organism was the polyp, now known as the Hydra viridissima, which was one, if not the most, famous organisms of the eighteenth-century. Its discovery was brought to attention by Abraham Trembley (1710–1784), a Swiss naturalist. His discovery was made while he was a tutor in Holland to the two sons of Count of Bentinck. He and the boys would collect bugs and plants to look at under the microscope. The boys, however, one day told Trembley that one of the supposed plants had walked across the jar. Trembley was quite puzzled, because it was green and seemed to be a plant, but it was also motile and seemed to exhibit other animal characteristics. He noticed that the tentacles of the polyp were not uniform across each individual and reasoned that they were akin to roots, which also weren’t equal in number across individual plants. If these were roots, he thought, then it would be possible to sever the tentacles and for the polyp to live and he would have confirmation that it was a plant; however, if it died, then he would have confirmation that it was an animal. To his surprise, neither of the two cases obtained. Rather, both the severed part and original individual regenerate their lost matter, both becoming again complete animals. Hence, as Trembley recognizes that the situation is unlike the regeneration already known in the crayfish, e.g., because its severed antennae do not themselves become again whole crayfish—only the missing part is restored. In the polyp, though, each severed part becomes a whole new polyp and the injured polyp completely restores itself. Trembley first communicates his findings in 1740 and an eloquent account of them are published in the Histoire de l’Academie des Sciences of 1741:
> “The story of the Phoenix who is reborn from its ashes, fabulous as it is, offers nothing more marvelous than the discovery of which we are going to speak. The chimerical idea of Palingenesis or regeneration by Plants & Animals, which some Alchemists believed possible by the bringing together and the reunion of their essential parts, only leads to restoring a Plant or an Animal after its destruction; the serpent cut in half, & which is said to be rejoined, gives but one & the same serpent; but here is Nature which goes farther than our chimeras. From one piece of the same animal cut in 2, 3, 4, 10, 20, 30, 40 pieces, & so to speak, chopped up, there are reborn as many complete animals similar to the first.”
The polyp, in short, was a vexed phenomenon in the eighteenth century: it exceeded the expectations of naturalists and foregoing modes of explanation. How could this thing—plant or animal—regenerate itself ad infinitum? Trembley devoted himself to investigating these questions. His Memoires are an amazing record of his research. He recounts at one point, for example, that he was able to turn the polyp inside out. Supposedly, no one has been able to do this inversion again with much success. Today, we have the first of two volumes of his work on display, showing one of the remarkable illustrations of the polyp. Although he first communicated his findings in 1740, he did not publish this work until 1744\. On the one hand, he was conducting the intense research already mentioned, which included finding out ways that he could safely transport living specimens across Europe so others could confirm his experiments. On the other hand, the book itself is lavishly done. When checking the condition of our copy here, the conservation librarians confirmed that fact. They were impressed.
Evidently, Blumenbach himself was not immune from the polyp craze. And it was the polyp that spurred his theory of the formative drive, and prompted him to convert from being a supporter of preformation to one of epigenesis. Preformation (evolution, encasement) and epigenesis are both terms that refer to theories of generation. As might be expected, “evolution” and “epigenesis” bear no relation here to their current senses. In short, a theory of generation at this time was meant to describes how new living beings came to be and how they developed over time.
“Epigenesis” was coined by William Harvey (1578-1657) in the seventeenth century, though it is a theory whose roots are much older. Although he exercised an epistemic modesty concerning how it actually occurred, epigenesis designated the generation of a germ from an undifferentiated primordium. Epigenesis was to continue to have this basic sense in the eighteenth century, though differently expressed in life scientists like Comte de Buffon, Pierre Louis Maupertuis, and Caspar Friedrich Wolff. What was important to understand about epigenesis in its eighteenth-century versions is that it signified the gradual development of plants and animals, such that one organ was thought to formed after another in a succession. This flatly contradicted preformationism, which reigned as the predominant theory for most of the eighteenth century.
Though also stated in some early forms, preformation was given a philosophical basis by Nicolas Malebranche (1638–1715) as a response to René Descartes’ (1596–1650) failed attempt at a mechanical explanation of generation. While mechanism could explain the motion of bodies and even their growth, Malebranche contended, that it could never explain the coming to be of the parts themselves and never of the whole living being. Preformation, then, at its core, attempts to do away with the problem of generation altogether by asserting that the embryo preexists, is preformed either in the egg (i.e., ovist preformation) or in the spermatozoon (animalculist or spermist preformation). To illustrate this, Malebranche invoked the image of nesting dolls, so that the embryo of any animal always already existed preformed in its parent, which already existed from the beginning in its parent, so on and so forth until we reach the original inhabitants on earth, which in the case of humans was none other than Adam and Eve. This meant that one or the other already contained the embryos of every human being within them.
Preformationism, then, had the virtue of according nicely with eighteenth-century religious beliefs as well as with its most popular scientific mode of explanation: if the embryo already existed, then it was quite possible to explain its development purely mechanically, without invoking any kind of spiritual or divine causes, at least except for the first one, in the Creation. Its chief proponents in the eighteenth century were Albrecht von Haller (1708–1777), Charles Bonnet (1720–1793), and Lazzaro Spallanzani (1729–1799).
It was Haller and Wolff, though, who represented the center of the war between these two theories of generation and their battlefield was the chicken embryo. Haller proposed a developed a sophisticated version of ovist preformation. It is interesting to note, though, that Haller was not always a preformationist. He started as one and ended as one, but he flirted briefly in between with epigenesis, a flirtation that was prompted by the most seductive of organisms, the polyp. Wolff, on the other hand, affirmed epigenesis, for which he formulated the vis essentialis or essential force, which drove he undifferentiated mass into a living being. Wolff and Haller both submitted careful experimental work to prove their respective theories, but neither of them were able to deliver a decisive blow to the other’s theory.
It was on this stalemate that Blumenbach’s theory of the Bildungstrieb was supposed to intercede. He says that the question of generation, with which he begins his treatise—“What occurs within a creature when it has surrendered itself to the most delightful of all impulses, and now, impregnated by a second shall, give life to a third?”—awakens the greatest curiosity within humans (Blumenbach 1789, 1). Since, he says, there has been so much reproduction that has occurred since the time of Adam and Eve, it is really quite humiliating that we don’t still know what it is going on.
He confirms this longstanding, pitiful state of affairs, remarking that already in the seventeenth century, Charles Drelincourt, Herman Boerhaave’s teacher, had gathered together 262 “groundless” hypotheses on generation from his predecessors and “nothing is more certain,” Blumenbach adds, “than that his own system amounts to the 263rd (Blumenbach 1789, 5). In order for Blumenbach to be able to articulate his answer to this age old problem, he must first make room for it by effectively dispensing with the difficulties that had hampered those foregoing theories, at least enough so that the Bildungstrieb does not become the 264th failed system. This requires him to refute previous theories of generation as well as to demonstrate how his theory overcomes the very weaknesses that made them untenable. To investigate the more than 263 hypotheses individually, however, would be an overwhelming and, ultimately, unnecessary enterprise, since Blumenbach thinks that all of them can be brought under two headings: of epigenesis or evolution (preformation).
Much of Blumenbach’s Bildungstrieb essay is a criticism of preformation, especially as it was advanced by Haller, but also of Wolff’s essential force. Much of the arguments on either side are sophisticated philosophically and experimentally. But some of the evidence that had been furnished to support preformation was not and Blumenbach aims not to criticize the evidence itself but the mode of explanation. For example, he relates the case, which had been recorded in the log of the Imperial Academy of Natural Research, where a miller's wife had been reported to have delivered a daughter with an engorged stomach. The baby suffered so immensely over the next eight days that most of those present thought that she was surely to die. Yet, in the meantime this sick baby gave birth to another baby that was, according to another report of the case, “the size of the middle finger” {*Blumenbach:1789vj*ibid. ,, 51–52}. This case, incredible as it might appear, seems less so if one accepts the theory of preformation and, in fact, appears to be evidence for it. For this reason, Haller included the case among his evidence for preformation.
Blumenbach, however, thought it all too easy to meet such cases with more cases (Blumenbach 1789, 54, 57). Hence, he thinks that the entire mode of explanation should be considered dubious. These kinds of cases, even though they are published in reputable journals and are vouched for by authorities like natural historians and physicians, are unconvincing, since for every example offered, one can easily find a counterexample. Anecdotes aren’t arguments.
For Blumenbach’s comprehensive and vehement critique of preformation, one might think that he had also been a supporter of epigenesis. However, as he confesses, he had once been a preformationist, even defending its theories in his writings. It was, again, at least according to his own narrative, the polyp that spurred his conversion.
He recounts in his essay that he had been on vacation in the country. He gathered some polyps from the local stream in order to entertain his friends with the “wonders of this little animal” {\*Blumenbach:1792uf ,, 17}. Because of the warm weather and hardy constitution of the polyps themselves, their experiments went off with great success. So much so that the act of regeneration seemed to become almost visible. “By the second or third day, the maimed and divided animals was so many new ones, each arms, body, tail, etc.” (17–8). This result, though, was expected, and rather than challenging his preformationism, it merely confirmed it. In fact, Blumenbach says that he performed the experiments to demonstrate the truth of that theory and show the “baselessness of gradual formation \[epigenesis\]” {*Blumenbach:1789vj*ibid. ,, 20}. Yet, the experiment yielded an unexpected result: he noticed that the regenerated polyps and their arms were of a much smaller size, even though the creatures had been given ample food. This meant that the new limbs and body could not be the result of an aggregation of matter that merely filled in another preformed germ, because the new limbs were smaller than they had previously been, which could only be the case if they had been gradually formed entirely anew.
For Blumenbach, then, there did not seem to be any way to account for the diminished size of its regenerated body or parts if one supposes the existence of preformed embryos. How could they anticipate or respond to the polyp’s accidental severance of limbs? This regenerative or reproductive capability of living beings, i.e., their responsive adaptation to the contingencies of nature, did not seem to be assimilable by preformation theory in any possible guise. It appears, in fact, wholly anathema to the theory’s essential foundation.
No preformed embryos can exist, Blumenbach says. Instead, a new theory is required. He writes:
> In the previously raw unformed generative matter of organized bodies, after the matter has reached maturation and the position of its determination, a particular drive that is operative throughout life becomes active, by which organized bodies receive their determinate form in the beginning, then maintain it throughout life, and, where possible, reproduce it if they somehow become mutilated.
>
> A drive that consequently belongs to the life forces, but that is just as clearly different from the other kinds of life force of organized bodies (contractibility, irritability, sensibility, etc.) as from the universal physical forces of the body in general; this one appears to be the most important force to all generation, nutrition, and reproduction, and it can be designated with the name of Bildungstrieb (nisus formativus), in order to differentiate it from other life forces.
These remarks thus introduce the Bildungstrieb. It is responsible for giving and preserving the form that organized bodies have while alive as well as restoring that form when damaged. In this respect, it is essentially operative in the processes of generation, nutrition, and reproduction, processes that correspond to those just named, i.e., the initial determination, subsequent maintenance, and restoration of organic form. It shapes living beings into what they are and what they will, and reproduces that form when it is mutilated. Although Blumenbach associates it with the other Lebenskräften, he clearly intends the formative drive to be considered as distinct from them as well as from physical forces in general. This is emphasized by the use of the term “Trieb” (drive, impulse), rather than “Kraft” (force, power).
Although this theory might not seem like much, the Bildungstrieb became a fundamental concept in defining the organism concept in the latter half of the eighteenth and early nineteenth century. It influences philosophers (Immanuel Kant) and natural scientists (Wolfgang von Goethe, Friedrich Kielmeyer) alike, so much so that the 1824 entry for “Organism” in the Brockhaus Lexicon, a popular German encyclopedia, would still heavily rely on Blumenbach’s theory.
Yet, if we return to Blumenbach’s doctor-on-holiday narrative, we may ask whether a strong enough impetus exists within it to elicit his conversion. Although the narrative is quite compelling, we might ask whether these events are really enough to explain Blumenbach’s conversion? That is, there are two questions. First, has Blumenbach decisively refuted preformation? In particular, has he conclusively dealt with the seemingly unassailable strategy of preformation to appeal to an ever smaller and always invisible preformed germ? Second, even if he has refuted preformation, has Blumenbach proved the truth of epigenesis? I contend that although Blumenbach might have been converted through his experiments on the polyp as detailed in his narrative, these experiments alone offer no clear advance over other, already extant counterexamples and criticisms of preformation; he has not yet sunk the invisible preformed embryo, and the truth of epigenesis remains outstanding. I think, though, that Blumenbach’s introduction of the Conferva fontinalis solves all of these difficulties.
The essay that Claire and I translated, “On an Extraordinarily Simple Manner of Reproduction” details Blumenbach’s description of the Conferva fontinalis’s reproduction. Already in this essay, however, Blumenbach notes how his findings confirm the Bildungstrieb theory. In his revised editions of the essay on this drive, the Conferva fontinalis comes to play a central role.
For Blumenbach, everything about this alga is einfach, i.e., mostly in the sense of “simple” but also “easy”: it is a word which appears in the essay’s title and appears throughout the essay. He writes, “The observation concerns the extremely simple manner of reproduction of a just as simple plant, i.e., one species of algae” (Blumenbach 1781). This emphasis on simplicity is carried over to the Bildungstrieb essay. What we need to see then is what is so simple about its manner of reproduction and the organism itself.
First, the algae is simply found and attained. Blumenbach says that it is “found frequently in the spring, particularly in the the effluence of water pipes, springs, ditches, ponds, etc” and that even unbotanical readers (like me) could easily be reminded of it. He references Micheli and Dillenius, whose drawings are on display here, but credits his drawings with being much more accurate.
Second, the morphology of it is simple. Blumenbach writes,
The whole plant consists merely from a simple (never divided), mostly straight, about half-inch long, exceptionally fine but fairly solid filament of a beautiful bright green color, which is usually rooted with its bottom end in the mud. Because, however, these filaments mostly stand next to one another so many thousands thick, they clump together, just as in the figure here they look like a fine-haired fur…. When it is pulled from the water, and the filaments laid down, it looks dark green, slippery-smooth, and almost like wet mouse fur. (Blumenbach 1781)
Moreover, this wet mouse fur had an identical internal and external form that was translucent:
> The internal structure of this moss is just as simple as its external form. Even at the strongest magnification and in the brightest light, absolutely nothing more is visible in the whole plant than a fine vesicular texture, almost like a green froth or foam, which is enclosed by an extremely fine, nearly imperceptible external membrane. (Blumenbach 1781)
Blumenbach informs us that he kept his specimens in sugar jars and looked at them under Wilson’s screw-barrel microscope, a single lens microscope that was popular due to its portability. It is impossible to determine exactly which model Blumenbach had and what its magnification capabilities were; nonetheless, the University of Berkeley offers these images. The first is taken from Wilson’s screw-barrel microscope and the second through a modern compound microscope. Counter to what one might expect, magnification was not the biggest limitation to microscopes; rather, it was, in the first place, accessibility. These were often luxurious machines made of fine materials that were primarily available to the affluent. Technically, the microscopes suffered from chromatic aberrations and other difficulties in optics that made the images less sharp and more prone to artifacts, as seen in this image. Also, techniques like staining were not well developed, which also hampered the advantage of the microscopic work. Finally, these microscopes, of course, did not provide their own light source. This screw-barrel model was used by holding it up to the light, as shown here. On display today is Henry Baker’s guide to microscopy, which went through multiple editions in the eighteenth century. The displayed page shows the kind of microscope that Blumenbach would have used. The title page of Baker’s book is also worth mentioning, because, besides reading like a carnival barker’s pitch, it reveals the enthusiasm he and a larger public had for microscopic study at this time. His book, moreover, did not only discuss the optics and models of microscopes, how to use them, etc., but also provides a catalogue for all the popular things people liked to look at under the microscope: fleas, the circulation of blood, spermatozoa, and, of course, polyps. In fact, there was a bit of a controversy between Baker and Trembley, because Baker, after learning of Trembley’s discovery of regeneration in the polyp, actually published his own studies on it before Trembley released his own. Seemingly, no one can escape the pressures of publication!
Let us return now to the simplicity of Blumenbach’s C. fontinalis. Third, as the title suggests, the algae’s manner of reproduction is also quite simple. It takes place within 48 hours, which makes it easy to observe. Blumenbach describes it as follows and provides the corresponding drawings:
> I noticed … that a piece of this moss-fur that I had already kept in the jar for a couple of days seemed to have gradually powdered the outermost surface of the glass every now and then with a dark green dust (see figure I, on the left). After closer investigation I became aware that this was the extraordinarily simple manner of this moss’s reproduction. The tip of such a filament (fig. 1) swells up into a small egg-shaped nub (fig. 2), which separates from the filament after some time (fig. 3), fastens itself to the next, most favorable location (fig. 4), and before long again drives out a tip itself (fig. 5), which elongates itself more and more, almost visibly (fig. 6), until it at last has grown into a new, complete Conferva. (Blumenbach 1781)
*C. fontinalis*, then, is simple in attainment, morphology, and manner of reproduction. Blumenbach calls attention to this explicitly and explains why it matters, “Both the very quick growth as well as the transparent structure of the plant offered me the benefit of being able to see through it and watch its complete development entirely before my eyes” (Blumenbach 1781). He emphasizes that its internal structure mirrors its external one, that nothing more is visible in this thing through the entire course of generation than what meets the eye. All of this means that nowhere in *C. fontinalis* can a preformed embryo possibly exist. There is no trace anywhere of a wrapped-up filament waiting to unfold into a new alga. If the preformed embryo is wanting, then so is the preformation theory. That this organism develops seemingly by itself out of an unformed substance proves the truth of epigenesis and his *Bildungstrieb* theory.
Whereas the much more complicated chick embryo, the locus of debate between Haller and Wolff, has the disadvantage (relative to observation) of beginning not just within the egg, but within an egg within the hen, nothing of the Conferva fontinalis is barred from view. Blumenbach thus attempts to circumvent the obstructions in their debate by choosing an organism based on its simplicity. Again, the choice of the algae according to the criterion of simplicity is thus an attempt to forestall preformation’s rejoinder that preformed germs are present but unobservable, a claim that remains tenable as long as one can appeal to a more basic, underlying structure: the germ. But if the algae’s most basic structure is already visible on account of the organized being’s simplicity, as Blumenbach insists, then the rejoinder is futile. A formative drive is thus responsible for the generation, growth, and regeneration of not only *C. fontinalis*, but all living things.
In closing this section, I will make one final remark regarding the C. fontinalis. First, Blumenbach never uses the word algae in his essay. As you likely noticed, he often refers to it as a moss. The conceptual distinctions were much less determinate than now, a point that was already made clear with respect to the first section on taxonomy. This invites the interesting question of whether it is possible to identify what Blumenbach was actually looking at. I’m open to objections, since I’m not a phycologist, but the short answer seems to be that it is a species of the genus Vaucheria, which is in the Xanthophyceae class, i.e., a yellow-green algae. One source for this determination is a paper published in the British Phycological Bulletin that examined several specimens from the Dillenian herbarium. Dillenius’ work, again, is on display today, and it provided the basis for Linnaeus’s classification of *Conferva fontinalis*. Hence, if Christensen can identify the Dillenius’ specimen, then we can likely also know what the proper identification of Linnaeus’ Conferva fontinalis. Christensen names the specimen, Vaucheria fontinalis, an identification that remains current (Christinsen 1968). One difficulty, however, is that there is no way to determine whether Blumenbach correctly identified his species, for it could have been something else entirely. In sifting through the taxonomic literature, almost everyone has their own widely divergent idea of what the C. fontinalis is or is not. And debates rage whether this thing is a plant or animal or first a plant, then an animal, and then a plant again. Nevertheless, based on Blumenbach’s description, in consultation with resident phycologist Ken Karol, and some time floundering around in AlgaeBase, I am somewhat certain that Blumenbach has a species of Vaucheria before him. Robert Naczi also shared with me the following photo of Vaucheria in situ, which he collected in intertidal mudflats on the Rondout River, a tributary of the Hudson, and were positively identified as such by Ken Karol. On display, we have some herbarium sheets showing Vaucheria fontinalis as well as another species, which features an interesting drawing. In the future, I hope to make my own collection of Vaucheria and reconstruct some of Blumenbach’s experiments in order to get a better sense of what he saw in his sugar jars, the simple Conferva fontinalis that reproduces just as simply.

### III. *Conferva fontinalis* as Proto-Model Organism
The final section of this talk fulfills its title: *Conferva fontinalis* as proto-model organism. This section will likely be the most contentious as well, since the term “model organism” did not emerge until the late 1980s, which is to say, about 200 years after Blumenbach’s essay. Is it not the grossest form of anachronism to attribute a thoroughly modern concept to Blumenbach’s alga? On the one hand, when we return to study life science in the eighteenth-century, the risk for anachronism abounds, for the very concepts wholly fundamental to contemporary biology are absent: e.g., there’s no genetics, evolution, or cell theory. “Biology” in its modern sense won’t be used until 1802 (1800 in a footnote), which still predates anything like the discipline of biology by at least a half century. And, although I’ve liberally used the concept “organism” when referring to Blumenbach’s 1781 essay, that concept, in sense of a living individual, did not yet exist, but only began to gain prominence in the 1790s. In fact, Blumenbach in his categorical distinction between organic and inorganic laid some of the groundwork for the organism concept to gain currency. I am certainly aware of the dangers of anachronism, yet I still think there is a real case to be made here. On the other hand, to be clear, I am not saying that Blumenbach’s *C. fontinalis* is a model organism, because it is not, but rather that it is a proto-model organism (I am leaning heavily on the “proto” part). That is, in Blumenbach’s essay, we find that his justifications for the choice of organism and the representational target intended for the alga anticipate contemporary thinking on model organisms. If I can say this is the case, then Blumenbach not only anticipates the model organism, but he also is one of the first to use a “plant” in this way. The argument will proceed as follows:
1\. What features are common to model organisms? What distinguishes them from experimental organisms?
2\. Why is *Conferva fontinalis* a proto-model organism?
3\. Whither *C. fontinalis* as proto-model organism?
The easiest way to introduce model organisms is by example, and specifically those recognized by the US National Institute of Health to be such. These include the mouse (*Mus musculus*), rat, zebrafish (*Danio rerio*), fruitfly (*Drosophila melanogaster*), nematode worm (*Caenorhabditis elegans*), and thale cress (*Arabidopsis thaliana*). We could also include Escherichia coli, yeast (*Saccharomyces cerevisiae*), and others.
More generally, model organisms are non-human species that are used to investigate a host of biological phenomena {Ankeny:2011ix ,, 313}. These investigations are intended to yield data and theories that are applicable to other organisms or to the organic world as a whole. Model organisms, then, are results obtained from investigating simpler organisms as models for what can be extended to more complex ones. What is true of the fruit fly might reveal something true of the fish, dog, or human.
Rachel A. Ankeny and Sabina Leonelli have done some of the best work I’ve seen regarding the philosophy of model organisms. One of their claims is to draw a distinction between experimental organisms and model organisms, which, although they agree in several ways, still differ according to their social conditions as well as their epistemological features. What an experimental organism is will become clear in distinguishing it from a model organism; however, loosely construed, it is an organism that stands as a subject of experimentation or observation for the sake of a specific result.
There are two ways in which model organism differ epistemologically from experimental organisms. These differences rely on the concepts of representational scope and representational target. Representational scope is how far the results from one organism can be applied to a wider groups of organisms. In philosophical terms, this is the question of how far a type can be extended to a token; i.e., what does the results concerning this bike reveal about bikes in general or all vehicles as a whole. Second, the representational target is the phenomena to be investigated in the organism. Ankeny and Leonelli helpfully illustrate these concepts through the example of Marcello Malpighi’s experiments on the frog concerning respiration. The representational target of his investigation is respiration, since it is the phenomenon to be studied. The representational scope, however, is respiration in mammals. The intention is that the findings concerning the frog will also be applicable to mammals in general. The difference between model organism and experimental organisms is constituted through the different in relation to these concepts.
1. Model organisms are always taken to represent a larger group of organisms beyond themselves. This means that a model organism relies on specific claims regarding its representational scope. But this does not hold for experimental organisms, whose representational scope need not be taken into account at all. A scientist might be investigating the physiology of fur growth in poodles without concern for its applicability to other breeds or species. Model organisms never have such a limited scope.
2. This second point is similar to the first. While experimental organisms have a specific representation target—i.e., that is, there is a determinate phenomenon to be understood (fur growth, in the pervious example), model organisms are not limited to a single phenomenon, but rather serve to explicate the organism as a whole in each of its processes, like its development and physiology. In short, research on model organisms is intended to extend to a wide class of organisms and wide class phenomena within those organisms. In light of this distinction, we must also recall what experimental organisms and model organisms tend to share: the chosen organism must be tractable, i.e., simple to acquire, simple to maintain, simple to manipulate, and relatively simple in structure.
Blumenbach, as we have seen, hits these lasts points. He emphasizes how easy it is to acquire these organisms. Just check your local ditch. Easy to maintain: just keep your sugar jar (today we might have to use a pickle jar) and plop them in and wait a couple days. Simple to manipulate: put them in the microscope and have at it! Simple in structure: the C. fontinalis is translucent, isomorphic inside and out, and reproduces in an “extraordinarily simple” manner.
The representational scope and target of the Blumenbach’s experiments and observations on the alga further suggest that this organism is closer to a model organism than just an experimental one, for the representational scope that Blumenbach intends for his research is living beings in general; that is, it refutes preformation as a viable theory and confirms an epigenesist theory by showing the gradual development of the algae. If this organism can be confirmed to reproduce gradually, then all organisms can also be confirmed to reproduce gradually. The representational target is also of a wide scope insofar as Blumenbach is not interested solely in the reproduction of the Conferva fontinalis but reproduction as it occurs in general. He intends his results to suffice to show that every living being exhibits the formative drive in its generation. Regarding the alga, Blumenbach writes, “One wishes that so many physiological experiments and experiences could be just as perceptibly and clearly proven, as straightforward, as irrefutable as this one here is for the credibility and efficacy of the formative drive!”
The account I have given, of course, is subject to several objections, which I am eager to hear and respond to; however, I will raise one here myself. Arabidopsis, E. coli, and the other model organisms are unique in having the support of large research communities, which involves a whole set of expectations concerning cooperation, definition of protocols, and a unification of researchers {Ankeny:2011ix ,, 318}. In short, there was seemingly no mass of researchers working on the Conferva fontinalis. If Blumenbach was flying solo with this alga, could it really be a model organism?
One of the interesting things about Blumenbach’s work on *Conferva fontinalis* is its reception. Of all the taxonomical work on algae that I reviewed in the first part of my talk, hardly any of it mentions Blumenbach’s study. This makes some sense, because Blumenbach’s work is physiological, not taxonomic. Yet, his essay does focus on the means of reproduction, which was important to classification efforts. Where his study does gain traction, though, is in some of the more cutting-edge investigations of plant physiology that look to new developments in chemistry and the study of electricity to furnish new methods for plant research. One such work is Johann Julius von Uslar’s Fragments of New Plant Knowledge, published in 1794, and translated the following year into English, under the title Chemico-Physiological Observations on Plants. The translation is on display today. This text affirms Blumenbach’s formative drive as well as underscoring the use of the alga as evidence. Uslar notes the importance of the organism being translucent, growing fast, having a simple structure and so on (Uslar 1795: 71). Blumenbach’s work on Conferva fontinalis also appears, of all places, in Erasmus Darwin’s Phytologia (1800). I say “of all places,” because my main project at the Garden concerns Erasmus Darwin, not Blumenbach, but here they are together. It is not that surprising that Darwin’s cites Blumenbach, for both are major contributors to life science at the end of the eighteenth century and were quite aware of each other. Blumenbach’s student translated Darwin’s Zoonomie into German. I am surprised that Darwin, via the translation of Uslar’s work, specifically mentions the algae in his section on plant reproduction.
Finally, though, Darwin draws another interesting connection, for he also discusses *Conferva fontinalis* with respect to Joseph Priestly’s green matter; that is, Priestly independently used *Conferva fontinalis* in his experiments that determined that plants produce oxygen and which played an important role in the articulation of photosynthesis.
Future research will further track *Conferva fontinalis* to see what other secrets it might hold, and that despite the fact that everything was against it as becoming a proto-model organism, it undeniably shares some of its essential characteristics.
In closing I will share one final twist to this story of this little filament. In the preface to the first edition of novel Frankenstein, Mary Shelley writes, “The event on which this fiction is founded has been supposed, by Dr Darwin, and some of the physiological writers of Germany, as not of impossible occurrence.” In the preface of the 1831 edition, she refers to a conversation between Percy Bysshe Shelley and Lord Byron on the principle of life as a source of the book. She says they were recounting an experiment done by Darwin, in which a vermicelli is reanimated. Shelly scholars have pursued with great zeal what this vermicelli might be, for somewhere along the line, perhaps in the conversation, perhaps in the writing, pasta got involved. Samuel H. Vasbinder, in “A possible source of the term ‘vermicelli’ in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein” has one answer: it is Darwin’s experiments on the Conferva fontinalis. “It is possible,” he says, “that in the ensuing years \[after the discussion in 1815, evidently filled with many tragedies for Shelley\], such a tiny fact as ‘conferva fontinalis’! could have been so blurred that it evolved into what Mary remembered as ‘vermicelli’” (116). C. fontinalis as inspiration for Frankenstein! Vasbinder further adduces his claim by a linguistic analysis of the similarities between the two terms, c. fontinalis and vermicelli. Alas! against everything I wish in my heart, Vasbinder is dead wrong. Darwin does not discuss c. fontinalis in any respect to reanimation, which he does do though, with another organism, the vorticella. The linguistic similarity of this word and a theoretical position in much greater accordance with Shelley’s own recollection make it a much more likely candidate as the inspirational organism for Frankenstein. Alas! this is one of those dead ends that I mentioned can happen in historical research. If nothing else, though, I hope to have reanimated Blumenbach’s experiments and observations concerning *C. fontinalis* and some of the general scientific approaches to algae in the eighteenth century.
### Darwin’s Botanic Garden: A Poem by Any Other Name
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/darwins-botanic-garden-a-poem-by-no-other-name/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:32:02.000Z
Today, I will be presenting a portion of my research concerning, what I am calling, Lyrical or Poetic Botany. Poetic Botany identifies a late eighteenth-century movement wherein botany was transformed into poetry. Erasmus Darwin was the inaugurating figure of this movement and his *The Botanic Garden, a Poem*, published in 1791, was the inaugural text.
There are three points I will discuss. First, I will introduce you to Erasmus Darwin. Second, I will introduce you to his poem. I will show that although the poem covers much botanical ground, it covers just as much, if not more, decidedly nonbotanical ground. The title of the poem, *The Botanic Garden*, is thus, if not a problem, at least a question. Third, I will propose that by asking what a botanical garden is, we will find it to be the perfect organizing principle for the poem, especially considering Darwin’s own definition of poetry
Erasmus Darwin was born in England in 1731 and died in 1802\. No doubt the last name is familiar, but the first name seems off. Shouldn’t it be “Charles”? This is no mistake. Erasmus married Mary Howard. One of their five children was Robert Waring Darwin. He married Susannah Wedgwood. One of their six children was Charles Darwin, that one we know and love.
But this talk is about Erasmus. Let me situate him a bit in history.
In the decade surrounding the publication of his *Botanic Garden* in 1791, Darwin would have been witness to the beginning of the French revolution (1789), to the advent of Antoine Lavoisier’s new chemistry (1789), to the publication of Wolfgang von Goethe’s *Essay on the Metamorphosis of Plants* (1790),the patenting of Eli Whitney’s cotton gin (1794), the success of Edward Jenner’s smallpox vaccine (1796), and the publication of Wordsworth and Coleridge’s *Lyrical Ballads* (1798). In each of these realms—politics, natural philosophy (science), botany, industry, medicine, and poetry—Darwin was active.
He always had a lot of pots on the stove. I say this to make the point that each of these “pots” found expression in his poem, *The Botanic Garden*, which anticipates my question about its title: why is a poem about politics, natural philosophy, industry, and medicine, not to mention discussions of aesthetics, mythology, and more, entitled *The Botanic Garden*?
Here is the title page for the poem. As a whole, it is entitled, *The Botanic Garden; A Poem, in Two Parts*. First, then, we notice that two parts comprise the poem. The first part is called, “The Economy of Vegetation.” The second, “The Loves of the Plants.” Despite these separate and distinct two parts, Darwin planned for the poem to be published as a whole, in the form of *The Botanic Garden*, from the beginning. Once published, it went like gangbusters, soon being translated into other languages and enjoying Irish and American editions.
We also, though, should notice what is not present on this page, i.e., Darwin’s name. He published the text anonymously. From his letters, we know that he was apprehensive of putting his name on the poem because the practices of some other physicians suffered after they published their verse. In the public’s mind, doctors doctor, poets poetize, and never the twain shall meet. This fate, however, didn’t befall Darwin, who officially revealed his authorship three years later with the publication of his*Zoonomia*.
The structure of the poem is baroque. In the interest of time, let’s look at a typical page from each part of the time, beginning with the Loves of the Plants. Because this part explicates the Linnaean taxonomy and identifies several medicinal and extraordinary plants, it does not challenge the question of the poem’s *Botanic Garden* title.
Like the background image, I’ve chosen Darwin’s passage on *Drosera*.
We find that the poetry floats atop a series of scientific footnotes. This is the layout for the entire poem. From the poetry itself—“Queen of the marsh, imperial Drosera treads rush-fringed banks, and moss-embroider’d beds”—we find a description of the habitat of Drosera, who lives in the marsh. She is personified, as all the plants are in the poem. Moreover, we find the Linnaean Class and Order given by indicating that there are five pistils (sister-nymphs) and five stamens (fair youths).
The footnote contains a signal of the plant’s peculiarities. First, Darwin speculates on the purpose of the plant’s mucilage secretion. He then cites the latest research from journals across Europe.
Let’s look at the “Economy of Vegetation.” It contains nymphs, gnomes, naiads, and slyphs that are representatives of the elements and responsible for the machinery of the entire poem. We find all of Darwin’s interests present. There is little that isn’t covered. There’s physics, chemistry, meteorology, astronomy, industrial engineering, archeology, art criticism, medicine, entomology, culinary theory, marketing, geology, etc. etc. etc.
This panoply of subject matter raises the question at the center of this presentation: if this poem is about all of this, and it is, why did Darwin title it, *The Botanic Garden*? That is, the poemincludes all those elements that one would expect under such a title, but many more than one would not. Scholars on this poem, however, have not offered an answer for the reason of its title. It has even been suggested that there might not be one. They say that Darwin began with the properly botanic material, came up with the other nonbotanical material, but just left the original title in place once the poem diverged into other, distinct avenues.
Perhaps. But Darwin is careful with words. Maybe even maniacal. This is evinced in three ways. First, Darwin translated Linnaeus from Latin into English in two works that ended up totaling a thousand pages. In the preface to the first work, his primary concern is lexical. He writes about these concerns to top authorities on science and language of his day, that is, Joseph Banks and Samuel Johnson, respectively. Darwin also generated a truckload of new words. “Leaflet” is first recorded in his translation of Linnaeus. Moreover, in *The Botanic Garden*, oxygen and hydrogen, e.g., are used for the first time. Finally, Darwin also develops his own theory of language. I’ve only begun to investigate it.
Darwin’s attention to language thus prohibits the possibility that he chose his title unreflectively or without careful consideration. There is a reason to the title. And that reason, I claim, gives coherence to what would otherwise be a desultory amalgam of knowledge.
We are led to the answer by thinking about two questions: 1) what is a botanic garden, a real one, not a poem-one, and 2) what is poetry, at least, in Darwin’s mind. For an answer to the former, we look to Darwin’s dear frenemy, Anna Seward. For the latter, to Darwin’s own remarks in the second half of *The Botanic Garden*.
According to Seward, a crucial feature of a botanic garden is to bring together plants that would never be found together naturally. This is key, for it lets us understand how a botanic garden could be the organizing principle for the poem itself: the poem also brings together those things that would not be found together naturally, juxtaposing them so we can appreciate their beauty and understand them better. The Botanic Garden, as physical and poetic space, is the harmonious conjunction of diverse elements.
Yet, if this were all it was, then why couldn’t Darwin just have called the poem, *The Encyclopedia, a Poem in two parts*?The Encyclopedia had also rose to great popularity in the eighteenth century, for it, too, was a collection of diverse elements?
When one reads an encyclopedia, one neither expects nor experiences cohesion. Each entry can stand on its own. Each is alike only in sharing the same volume. Walking in a Botanic Garden, however, does not evoke the same disconnected experience; rather, you sense the coherence of the garden’s design. You do not sense that plants are out of place, but that you’re in a place that is alive with plants.
Poetry, or at least, good poetry, Darwin thinks, should produce the “ideal presence of the object.” This means that poetry should bring together objects of thought that would not normally be associated or found together in nature, and, importantly, poetry brings them together without provoking disbelief in the reader.
Like a botanic garden, then, Darwin’s poem cultivates the most diverse kinds of knowledge coherently in the imagination of the reader without provoking disbelief. Only as a botanic garden could the poem make sense.
Therefore, we can conclude: Darwin’s *The Botanic Garden* is a poem not possible by any other name.
### Details
“Erasmus Darwin’s The Botanic Garden: A Poem by Any Other Name?” *Humanities Institute Fellow Presentations*. (New York Botanical Garden. Bronx, NY: Sep. 2015).
### Toward a Non-Anthropocentric Vision of Nature
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/toward-a-non-anthropocentric-vision-of-nature-2/
Last updated: 2024-02-02T22:30:37.000Z
On March 27, 1784, Goethe writes to Johann Gottfried Herder:
> I have found–neither gold nor silver, but what makes me unspeakably happy–the os intermaxillare in the human! With Loder I compared human and animal skulls, came upon its trace, and look, there it is. Only, I beg of you not to mention it, since it must be handled confidentially. (WA 4.6:258).
The bone whose discovery so elated Goethe, then called the "intermaxillary bone" but now the "premaxilla," is a pair of cranial bones that are located at the front of the upper jaw and bear the incisors in animals that have these teeth. Goethe expresses happiness in finding this bone specifically in humans, a discovery that opposed the prevailing anatomical opinion at the time.

Goethe in the Roman Campagna (1787) – Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein
In his essay that was finished by the end of October 1784 and later given the title, "An Intermaxillary Bone of the Maxilla Is to Be Ascribed to the Human as well as to Animals," Goethe claims, citing the work of J. F. Blumenbach and Petrus Camper, that the bone has recently garnered attention as a "distinguishing mark" between humans and apes (LA 1.9:154).
Yet, upon reexamination of these anatomists' works, I argue that Goethe misrepresents their positions and overstates the significance of his discovery, at least in a certain sense: while Camper and Blumenbach do deny the intermaxillary bone to humans, they do not construe its absence as an important distinguishing mark between humans and animals. Not only did Goethe's discovery not have the significance he attributed to it, but also historians of science claim that he did not discover it all: the intermaxillary bone had already been described in the human by several anatomists before him. It would thus seem that Goethe misinterpreted the significance of what he had not found, and that his unspeakable happiness was unwarranted.
However, Goethe's discovery holds another, heretofore-unrecognized significance. I argue that it signals a change in his vision of nature to one that criticizes and departs from the anthropocentric ontology that grounded the natural sciences of his time. If this anthropocentricism is not overturned and the foundation of natural science not reconceived, Goethe maintains, then the study of nature will be indefinitely frustrated, always floundering, and never able to progress. In light of this threat, Goethe reconceives the foundation of natural science by developing a non-anthropocentric concept of nature that attempts to escape the pitfalls of the human-centered perspective. His concept of nature's harmony, which I argue reflects a non-anthropocentric vision of nature, requires the revaluation of the terms in which historians have disputed his discovery of the intermaxillary bone; the originality of his discovery cannot be limited to establishing the bone's presence in humans but must be extended to the concept of nature's harmony complementary to it.
Goethe's discovery, I conclude, remains valuable and worthy of the excitement it initially incites in him. I show how it responds to a paradox of contemporary natural science in which the objective methods intended to eliminate anthropocentrism from the investigation of nature surreptitiously reintroduced it to that investigation. Furthermore, I argue that Goethe's non-anthropocentric vision of nature and his criticism of anthopocentricism are applicable to current questions in environmental ethics. By undermining the foundation of anthropocentric ethics, Goethe also challenges the present anthropocentric *modus operandi* that continues to condone the environmentally destructive anthropogenic activities responsible for species extinction, chemical pollution, and the loss of natural habitats and biodiversity, in addition to other signs of the Anthropocene.
## Details
The paragraphs above are excerpted from my essay, "Toward a Nonanthropocentric Vision of Nature: Goethe’s Discovery of the Intermaxillary Bone." [*Goethe Yearbook XXII*](https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.7722/j.ctt13wwzk4?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)(2015).
### On Blumenbach's Concept of Nature
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/on-blumenbachs-concept-of-nature/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:27:59.000Z
What do we think when we think of nature? Perhaps always too little or too much, for it seems no single answer can come forth before a whole jostling lot arrives all at once.
This situation, of course, is nothing new. In *Physics* I and especially II.1, for instance, we find Aristotle attempting to set the record straight concerning *phusis*, *kata phusein*, and so on. Long story short, he was not successful, at least judging by one eighteenth-century source, who calls Aristotle’s definition “so obscure, that none of his commentators, with all their glosses, have been able to render it intelligible.” This remark comes from Ephraim Chamber’s *Cyclopedia* (1728) entry on nature, an entry that is recast in one way or another in Johann Zedler’s *Universal-Lexicon* (1731–1754), in Diderot and d’Alembert’s *Encyclopédie* (1751–1772), and in the first edition of the *Encyclopedia Britannica* (1768–1771). The *Cyclopedia* entry itself draws on a 1686 essay by Robert Boyle, in which he lays out several senses of nature. According to the entry, we understand nature as 1) *natura naturans*, God; as 2) essence; as 3) that which is given by nature, like genius or genetic disorders; as 4) an innate principle of motion; as 5) fate, necessity, or providence; as 6) the powers belonging to a body that determine its constitution; as 7) the universe, the collection of all that exists; and as 8) the demiurge or world soul. The entry ends by leaving us with a recommendation for a less ambiguous understanding: nature is the aggregate of bodies that are subject to the laws of motion.
There is much on this list that is familiar to us still, some less so. Nevertheless, we find no mention, at least directly, of that nature that includes all the non-artificial beings comprising the animal, plant, and mineral kingdoms. They are not included under this encyclopedia heading, which is not to say, of course, that they are entirely excluded from the encyclopedias—one must only look elsewhere, for the multitude of nature is to be found under the heading of that science that investigates it generally and particularly, that is, in natural history.
Natural history, the science that describes and systematically arranges the products of nature, was not generously esteemed by everyone in the eighteenth century. Notably, in his *Metaphysical Foundation of Natural Science* (1786), Kant denied that natural history could be a proper science, and, strictly speaking, denied that what usually occurred under the name of “natural history” deserved even that title; rather, as “a system of classification for natural things in accordance with their similarities,” it is better called *Naturbeschreibung* (natural description). Yet, it was at this time that one of Germany’s (if not the) most famous natural histories, Johann Friedrich Blumenbach’s *Handbuch der Naturgeschichte* was published. It had first been released in two parts from 1779–1780, and was currently on its second edition in 1786, and was soon destined for its third in 1788\. All told, the *Handbuch* would go through a total of twelve sanctioned editions, with the last being published in 1830\. The book would also be translated into Danish, English, French, Italian, Dutch, and Russian
The work’s long publication and translation history has recently earned it the title of being one of the most successful works of its time.[\[1\]](#fn1) Such a judgment, however, carries the caveat that a successful work need not mean one that is novel, careful, or provocative. Needless to say, the American TV show, *The Bachelor*, is in its nineteenth season, at the time of writing. Indeed, Blumenbach himself reveals that an aim of his work is “\[to\] include from the inestimable fullness of particulars as many of those that are most publicly useful and most interesting” (1821, III). I will speak more about the aim of the book below, but let me just say here that it was meant to appeal not only to serious natural researchers, but also, and perhaps more so, to curious amateurs. Consequently, the success and popularity of the work might have to be chalked up more to the appeal of its accessibility, to the allure of its fascinating creatures, and to its overall usefulness, rather than to it being a groundbreaking study of nature.
If in this work and others, Blumenbach were merely repackaging previous investigations of eighteenth-century natural history into an enticing and useful format, his work would still be important for understanding the historical reception of nature concepts, but not as offering anything radical or new. Yet, I hope to show the contrary. I am encouraged by the fact that if his work really lacked any ingenuity or anything worthwhile, then we would have to explain how he could have influenced such a number of remarkable students, including but not limited to Alexander von Humboldt, Carl Friedrich Kielmeyer, Christoph Girtanner, and Gottfried Reinhold Treviranus.[\[2\]](#fn2) Moreover, contemporary scholars have generally only positive estimations of Blumenbach's work. They have described him as “one of the most influential late-eighteenth-century life scientists,”[\[3\]](#fn3) as “one of the leading exponents of the revolutionary change of the geo-biological concept of the world at the turn of the 18th to the 19th century,” as having introduced comparative anatomy to Germany, and as having inaugurated the field of comparative anthropology.[\[4\]](#fn4)
Given such accolades, given such a wide-ranging and proliferous publishing record, given such an illustrious group of students, given that Blumenbach has been described as bridging the gap between Buffon and Darwin, one might expect a wealth of scholarship on this Göttingen scientist. Yet, with some important exceptions, this is not the case. For instance, there is no monograph on him in English that I know of (and relatively few even in German). This is not to say that he is entirely ignored in the scholarship. In fact, scholars generally focus on three areas of his thought. First, as the above quotations attest, scholarship recognizes Blumenbach as playing a prominent role in late-Enlightenment science, especially with regard to his *Bildungstrieb* theory of generation and its place in the development of early biology. Second, in respect to this theory and often in acceptance or rejection of Timothy Lenoir’s teleomechanist interpretation, scholars have focused on Blumenbach’s relationship to Kant. And, third, they have focused on Blumenbach’s role in the development of the concept of human race, which he first developed in his 1775 dissertation, *De Generis Humani Varietate Nativa*, and published as a book the following year, and substantially revised thereafter. Foregoing scholarship, then, has often had an aim other than the interpretation of Blumenbach’s thought in itself, subordinating it to larger narratives about late-Enlightenment science, or to his relationship with Kant (especially his influence on Blumenbach), or to a more general history of the race concept. All of these efforts have been extremely important, and I do not mean to suggest otherwise. Nevertheless, the present paper is an effort to consider Blumenbach’s thought in itself, especially as it is contained in his natural history. It is an effort to think of a nature that is not the object of natural science, but of natural history, not as the aggregate of bodies subject to the laws of mechanical motion, but of the multitude that inhabits the earth. It is an effort, ultimately, to begin to see what Blumenbach thinks when he thinks of nature.
I will proceed as follows. First, I consider his general principles of natural history; i.e., how we divide nature from the artificial, the organized from the inorganic, and animal from plant, in addition to some objections and replies. Next, I analyze Blumenbach’s methodology, especially as it sets him apart from Linnaeus and Buffon. Finally, I explicate a prominent aspect of the *Handbuch*, that is, its commitment to interpreting the usefulness and importance of nature.
...
## Details
“On Blumenbach’s Concept of Nature,” *Nature and the Philosophy of Nature in German Idealism and Romanticism*. (The University of Sydney. Sydney, AU: June 2015).
---
\[1\] Denise Phillips, *Acolytes of Nature: Defining Natural Science in Germany, 1770-1850*, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012), 56.
\[2\] Timothy Lenoir, *The Strategy of Life: Teleology and Mechanics in Nineteenth-Century German Biology*, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 17.
\[3\] Peter Hanns Reill, *Vitalizing Nature in the Enlightenment*, (Univ of California Press, 2005), 124.
\[4\] Erik Nordenskiöld, *The History of Biology: a Survey*, trans. Leonard Bucknall Eyre, (New York: Tudor Publishing Company, 1928), 307–9.
### The Conceptual Foundations of the Anthropocene
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/the-conceptual-foundations-of-the-anthropocene/
Last updated: 2024-04-09T21:18:03.000Z
In 2000, eccologist Eugene F. Stoermer and atmospheric chemist Paul Crutzen first put the term “Anthropocene” into print and began its dissemination.>>1 In the article, they specified why our present geological epoch deserves its new moniker, adducing the drastic anthropogenic changes to the systems of the Earth. In short, in developing the meaning of the Anthropocene, they and others cite evidence that indicates, for instance, that human activity is responsible for CO2 levels three times that of pre-industrial levels, which, in conjunction with increases in other greenhouse gases, is causing global warming. This, in turn, is causing rising sea levels, the melting of polar ice sheets, and species migrations. Combining all of this with predation, habitat fragmentation, and the anthropogenic introduction of invasive species, we find that the current extinction rate is 100–1000 times background levels and that this rate is projected to increase by another ten-fold this century, which is ultimately leading to the sixth great extinction event.>>2 To this litany of anthropogenic environmental changes, which are almost always destructive, unfortunately still more could be added, as could the startling fact that we are the only known species in the history of the Earth to be in such a position that we can comprehend the future possible extinction of our own species. We can see, and indeed we are creating the conditions for life beyond ourselves will be impossible.
Perhaps surprisingly, since he had access neither to the data that led to the neologism “Anthropocene” nor the term itself, Schelling writes something similar in the Introduction to his 1797 Ideas for a Philosophy of Nature, albeit with different intentions: “As soon … as I separate myself, and with me everything ideal, from Nature, nothing remains to me but a dead object, and I cease to comprehend how a life outside me can be possible.”>>3 Schelling identifies and criticizes several philosophical positions in his Introduction, locating their general failure in the fact that they are unable to bridge the chasm, first opened by philosophy, between human and nature. These failed philosophies of nature draw the human away from it, transforming nature into a morass of dead objects, into a thing set over and against the human. I argue that we can understand this estranged relationship that Schelling identifies as significantly contributing to the conceptual foundation of the Anthropocene. Schelling’s analysis and criticism of these failed philosophies of nature thus provide a key to understanding the human’s destructive relationship with nature, beyond the oft-cited drivers of the Anthropocene.
In what follows, then, I present some of Schelling’s criticisms of these philosophies, indicating how he analyzes several variations of materialism and idealism. I maintain that the Anthropocene and the anthropogenic environmental destruction that characterize it are the tangible products of these earlier, failed philosophies of nature as identified by Schelling. This claim nuances the etiology of the Anthropocene given by its authors (Stoermer, Crutzen, Steffen, and others), who hold that the Industrial Revolution and the activities endemic to it, like the exponential increase in the use of fossil fuels, are responsible for the Anthropocene.
I do not dispute the necessity of industrialization to the emergence of the Anthropocene and the deleterious effects on nature that this term attempts to capture, but I do argue that industrialization is not exhaustive as an explanation for the Anthropocene’s ground. Through Schelling’s identification and criticism of philosophies of nature, we can thus come to understand better why this process of industrialization continues and why humans have remained, and seem to become even further, estranged from nature.
Schelling’s Introduction to the Ideas is not meant to establish a philosophy of nature, even though he intimates how such a philosophy might appear “more or less,” but rather to guarantee the real possibility of a philosophy of nature and show that this possibility has yet to be actualized. He mainly concerns himself with showing that nearly every philosophical system to come along since at least Descartes suffers from the same fault: the perpetuation of an artificial separation of human and nature, of mind and matter.
Schelling writes, “He who first attended to the fact that he could distinguish himself from external things, and therewith his ideas from the objects, and conversely, the latter from the former, was the first philosopher. He first interrupted the mechanics of his thinking, upset the equilibrium of consciousness, in which subject and object are most intimately united.”>>4 Philosophy, then, through reflection, first enacts the separation between human and nature. Indeed, it is my free spirit that allows me to reflect and ask first of all: How is it that I have ideas? “Thus, with this question itself,” Schelling writes, “I step out of the series of my ideas, release myself from connection with the things, adopt a position where no external force can reach me any longer; now, for the first time, the two hostile beings mind and matter separate.”>>5 This separation, which he also describes as idea from object and human from herself, is tantamount to, Schelling writes, “a spiritual sickness in mankind…. It is an evil which accompanies man into life itself, and distorts all his intuition even for the familiar objects of consideration.”>>6 This spiritual sickness that infiltrates the human’s entire life, distorting even objects of everyday consideration, is a product of philosophy, which first cleaves apart human and nature. In this respect, Schelling calls philosophy a “discipline of errant reason” and “a necessary evil.”>>7
At the same time, though, philosophy is also that which can reunite the human with nature, and return the human to that state in which “man was still at one with himself and the world about him.”>>8 The nature of philosophy, then, is at least twofold, i.e., a work of reflection or division as well as a work of unification. Philosophies that pursue the former all suffer the following fate: Though they might aim to reunite the mind and matter, human and nature, they flounder and perpetuate this separation, and philosophy ends up working “for its own destruction.”>>9
The materialisms, therefore, that attempt to explain nature by focusing on the external world, on its cause and effect, on theories of matter, or on empiricism cannot produce the desired unity between human and nature. For example, the mechanist, in assuming everything to be present already outside of us, hopes to explain nature as a series of external causes and effects, and he may, in this hope, progress quite far, ostensibly able to elucidate many of the processes of the natural world. Schelling, however, argues that this approach is only viable until one desires to know something more from the mechanist, namely, how does this nexus of cause and effect first emerge?>>10 But any answer to this question requires the transcendence of mechanism and thus brings any philosophical aspirations it might have had to a close.
The issue, moreover, is not how matter affects matter, as in mechanism, but how matter affects us, how the human experiences nature. One could then take the position that it is the nature of matter that yields our conceptions of nature, and if we want to understand nature and our place in it, then we must investigate what matter is. For discovering matter’s reality would be the discovery of nature’s reality, too.
In studying matter, we find it to be composite and divisible. It is found to have more and more parts, and, indeed, it is thought that its reality would have to consist in infinite parts out of which nature gains its diversity of forms. Yet, if this were the case, Schelling asks, how would a finite mind assemble this infinity of parts? It would not be possible; such a position is unsustainable. Conversely, then, we take the putting together to have already begun at some fixed point. Matter, then, would not be infinitely divisible, but would have some ultimate constituents, some atoms. However, we never find such ultimate parts no matter how much we divide, and, Schelling writes, “Matter, the first foundation of all experience, becomes the most insubstantial thing we know.”>>11 Theories of matter, atomist and otherwise, (Schelling also considers dynamic theories of matter as well as the Lebenskraft) therefore appear incapable to offer a foundation for us to unify human and nature.
Schelling’s criticism of materialisms invites the further question whether empiricism itself could ever be a sufficient foundation for the knowledge of nature, especially insofar as he has claimed matter to be the foundation of all experience. Nonetheless, he concludes that “the ultimate knowledge from experience is this, that a universe exists; this proposition is the limit of experience itself.”>>12 Schelling presents several criticisms of empiricism, but I will focus on two.
First, empiricism is troubled from the very start by the question of the possibility of sensation. Again, the question is how does the consciousness come into contact with matter, how does this internal part contact the outer one or vice versa? The mechanical response that explains vision, for instance, as a series of movements in the muscles, nerves, brain, and so on, faces the difficulty that such an explanation makes sensation entirely passive and reactive and cannot account for how sensation is raised to the level of consciousness, of how we not only have sensations, but are also aware of having them.
Second, Schelling also takes on Hume’s skeptical empiricism, which is an interesting case for him, since Hume, insofar as he posits the necessity understood in the succession of our appearances as illusory, seems to directly countenance the separation of which Schelling is so critical. Schelling, recognizing that so much rests on what Hume posits as illusory, such as empirical science, theories of nature, and human history, asks what leads us to understand the succession of appearances as necessary. Hume’s response, as Schelling gives it, is that we understand them as necessary because of custom. The appearances follow one another in an order that the imagination becomes accustomed to and thereby expects the same result in the future. This “long habituation” becomes for us a “second nature.”>>13 Schelling criticizes Hume’s response, since it appears to circle itself, leaving the explicandum entirely as it was to begin with. Hume has not said why one thing follows another in this order, even if it only appears to follow in this order. Schelling argues that Hume is content with the fact that they just do, yet Schelling also maintains, more than once in the Introduction, that once certain questions are raised, they are not so easily dismissed.
In addition to the foregoing criticisms, I would also like to address a few from the other side—that is, from mind and idealism. Although I see Schelling’s Introduction as indebted to a Kantian foundation, in that his investigation is informed by problems from the first and third Critiques, he shows no sympathy for a philosophical position that relies on the thing-in-itself, since, at a most basic level, the division between it and the phenomenon is an essential expression of the separation between human and nature. In particular, Schelling finds the thing-in-itself to be the highest nonsense, since in order to live up to its reputation, it must be divested of all that is involved in the faculty of representation: cause and effect, spatio-temporal conditions, etc. Schelling writes, “Nevertheless these things-in-themselves, although altogether inaccessible to our faculty of intuition, must still be actually present—one knows not how or where—probably in the twilight worlds of Epicurus—and these things have to affect me in order to occasion my ideas.”>>14 When we speak of the thing-in-itself, we thus speak improperly. Schelling argues that it is not even possible to conceive of the thing-in-itself metaphorically, since the images that we might use to envision it remain wedded to space and time.
Though I will not be able to elaborate on them, Schelling offers many more criticisms of the positions already noted as well as of several others—dualism, common-sense, theism, rationalism, Leibniz, and Spinoza. Schelling praises Spinoza (and to a lesser extent Leibniz) as the first to join mind and matter under a single principle, yet criticizes him for his search for the infinite in the external world, rather than within us—that is, Spinoza “lost himself forthwith in the idea of an infinite outside us.”>>15 No matter the philosophy, though, the criticism remains the same: previous philosophies perpetuate the separation of the human from nature, and as long as they continue to either support this divorce or falsely think themselves to have resolved it when they have not, the separation will only continue to grow. The human and her relation to nature will only become more fractured and estranged.
In their analysis of the Anthropocene, Steffen et al. consider two hypotheses that propose an earlier beginning to the epoch than they do: the extinction of Pleistocene megafauna due to human hunting pressure and the effects of the agricultural revolution. Both, however, are convincingly rejected, because of a lack of evidence demonstrating that these early humans had any long-term effects on the operations of the Earth’s whole system. In their stead, they propose a starting date of the year 1800 AD, which is midway between the earliest beginning of the Industrial Revolution and the point at which its effects became widespread and undeniable.>>16 They give the reasons for their position, noting that in this period societies, through the “discovery and exploitation” of fossil fuels, began to use four to five times as much energy as their agrarian forebears, who were themselves already using three to four times as much as hunter-gatherer societies.>>17 They argue that the effects of this increased energy use, in conjunction with the effects of terraforming, which includes, for instance, the transformation of natural ecosystems into cropland and grazing land, are what distinguish our epoch as the Anthropocene. Yet, as Steffen et al. themselves admit, the reasons for the transition to the Industrial Revolution are “complex and interrelated,” involving changes in politics, economics, and social thought.>>18 However, they offer no analyses of these changes, and they do not need to in order to demonstrate their claim about the material conditions of the Anthropocene.
Still, one can ask whether the Industrial Revolution, as a human historical event, had to unfold as it did, whether the “discovery and exploitation” of fossil fuels on such a massive and unprecedented scale was merely the response to the problem of sustaining a growing population. One can ask, as well, now that these anthropogenic and harmful effects have been well documented, and the reality of the Anthropocene well established, why efforts to rectify the human relationship to nature have been seemingly so lackluster? One can ask, in the end, what Steffen et al. have not—that is, whether there are not also philosophical contributions to the beginning of the Anthropocene, so that its emergence is not only to be explained by material and sociopolitical causes, but also by philosophical ones?
The claim that I am advancing here is that Schelling’s identification and criticism of the failed philosophies of nature is also an identification and criticism of the conceptual foundations of the Anthropocene, and that if this is the case, then the problems of the Anthropocene have roots that run much deeper than the scientists publicly recognize. Indeed, Schelling shows in his Introduction that the most diverse systems of philosophy have this much in common: they all separate the human from nature. Insofar as Schelling exposes the “spiritual sickness” of these philosophies, he also exposes the fault in the philosophical ground of the Anthropocene, and, insofar as he can articulate a true Naturphilosophie, he also offers the prospect of thinking beyond it.
---
<<1 Paul J. Crutzen and Eugene F. Stoermer. "The Anthropocene," *IGBP Global Change Newsletter* 41 (2000): 17-18.
<<2 Jan Zalasiewicz et al., "The New World of the Anthropocene," *Environmental Science & Technology* 44, no. 7 (April 2010): 2228–31, doi:10.1021/es903118j, 2229.
<<3 Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von Schelling, *Ideas for a Philosophy of Nature as Introduction to the Study of This Science*, ed. Robert Stern, trans. Errol E Harris and Peter Heath (Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 1988), 36.
<<4 ibid., 12.
<<5 ibid., 13.
<<6 ibid., 11.
<<7 ibid., 11.
<<8 ibid., 10.
<<9 ibid., 11.
<<10 ibid., 30.
<<11 ibid., 17.
<<12 ibid., 18.
<<13 ibid., 26–27.
<<14 ibid., 25.
<<15 ibid., 27.
<<16 Steffen et al., 849.
<<17 ibid., 848.
<<18 ibid., 848.
### Details
"The Conceptual Foundations of the Anthropocene: Schelling’s Critique of Failed Philosophies of Nature," *Schelling in the Anthropocene: Thinking Beyond the Annihilation of Nature*. (North American Schelling Society, Bard College, NY: August 2014).
### Banksia by Any Other Name
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/banksia-by-any-other-name/
Last updated: 2023-07-25T14:47:20.000Z
*Banksia* is a genus of shrub and tree that, with the exception of one species, grows only in Australia.
What first caught my eye about this plant is its flower spike. This inflorescence comprises a woody center surrounded by a cone of small, tightly-packed flowers that number from the hundreds to thousands. One species, *[Banksia grandis](http://asgap.org.au/b-gran.html?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com),* has even been recorded as having 6,000 flowers in one spike! In some cases, the flowers will fruit in hard and woody cones called follicles, which resemble barnacles attached to the hull of a ship. These fruits release their seeds at varying times or, sometimes, not at all, and some will only release them after they've been burnt in a bushfire. As a result some species are able to withstand fire very well, which explains why the cones can carry a flame a great distance, a property put to frequent use by Aborigines.
Wherever I might walk in Sydney, there's *Banksia*. Like a mulberry-stained sidewalk that might appear now and then in Philadelphia, the *Banksia's* woody cones are scattered about the sidewalks in North Bondi, where I live. Here's some photos of the Coastal Banksiatrees that line my street.







Banksia in its many forms
But this planthasn't always been called, "*Banksia*," and, in fact, its christening begins with a journey that wildly trumps the one I griped about in [my last post](https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/we-arent-in-kansas-anymore/).
1. August 1768 - Plymouth Harbor, England
2. September - Madeira
3. November - Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
4. January 1769 - Bay of Good Success, Tierra del Fuego
5. April - Matavai Bay, Tahiti
6. October - Anaura and Tolaga Bay, New Zealand
7. April 1770 - Botany Bay, Australia
This is the route that Captain James Cook's *HMS* *Endeavour* took to Australia. (I've left out their return to England, but they did make it back, albeit not without a little shipwreck). Theidea of the voyage began with the Royal Society's petitioning King George III for an expedition to observe and record the transit of Venus, which would enable a better calculation of the Sun's distance from the Earth, and, in turn, help to establish the size of our solar system more accurately. In addition to this scientific aim, the voyage also had an economic one, to chart and explore the Pacific Ocean and map the coastlines of islands in the South Pacific. These were the stated goals of the *Endeavour*, but Captain Cook also had (somewhat) secret orders from the British Admiralty, to find a large landmass and take possession of it in the name of the King. In 1770 Cook did just that, first charting eastern Australia and then claiming the continent for Great Britain.
*Banksia* fits into this story when we consider a yet further purpose of the ship, one not funded by the King but by the wealthy Joseph Banks. (Yes. I'm getting to how the plant is named after this wealthy guy, and was he ever wealthy.) From his estate, Banks received an annual income of £6,000 or today's equivalent of about $1.3 million. In comparison, for the command and navigation of a ship around the entire world, Captain Cook only made £90 ($20,000) per year. Nevertheless, rather than use his finances for a life of indolent luxury, Banks employed himself as the ship's resident naturalist, outfitting it with a slew of the latest instruments for collecting and preserving whatever flora and fauna he may come across as well as hiring a staff of additional naturalists, artists, and servants. It is no surprise, then, that Banks's primary interest in the journey was natural history, and he was thus constantly trawling the sea for various fishes or going ashore in search of rare species. His incessant efforts irritated the crew and Cook, especially given the fact that the Captain had to share his cabin with Banks and whatever species he might be examining at the time.
When Banks was out at sea and couldn't conduct his fieldwork (which was quite often), his daily routine included botanical drawing, electrical experiments, animal dissections, deck-walking, bird-shooting—all of which we know from another one of his daily activities: journal-writing. Banks wrote extensive daily entries detailing the entire voyage. Here's part of an entry from April, 1770, in which Banks records hisfirst glances upon Botany Bay (what is to become Sydney, Australia):
> After dinner the Captn proposd to hoist out boats and attempt to land, which gave me no small satisfaction; it was done accordingly but the Pinnace on being lowerd down into the water was found so leaky that it was impracticable to attempt it. Four men were at this time observd walking briskly along the shore, two of which carried on their shoulders a small canoe; they did not however attempt to put her in the water so we soon lost all hopes of their intending to come off to us, a thought with which we once had flatterd ourselves. To see something of them however we resolvd and the Yawl, a boat just capable of carrying the Captn, Dr Solander, myself and 4 rowers was accordingly prepard. They sat on the rocks expecting us but when we came within about a quarter of a mile they ran away hastily into the countrey; they appeard to us as well as we could judge at that distance exceedingly black. Near the place were four small canoes which they left behind. The surf was too great to permit us with a single boat and that so small to attempt to land, so we were obligd to content ourselves with gazing from the boat at the productions of nature which we so much wishd to enjoy a nearer acquaintance with. The trees were not very large and stood seperate from each other without the least underwood; among them we could discern many cabbage trees but nothing else which we could call by any name. In the course of the night many fires were seen.
I must confess I find it dizzying to imagine myself there with Banks in the yawl, looking upon the eastern coast of Australia for the first time, upon a land that none of my fellow country men have yet seen, a land whose very existence at the time was still in doubt and hence had been up to that point mostly unmapped and uncharted. To look upon this *terra* *incognita* would, no doubt, be an incomparable experience.
What passes through Banks's mind at that moment, though, reveals the unyielding ambition of the naturalist: he wishes for nothing more than to "gain acquaintance" with nature's productions. Of the many species that Banks would soon pursue and collect in Australia, one plant in particular would end up *taking his name* in what, I guess, could be considered less of an acquaintance and more of a marriage.
It was after having made landfall in Botany Bay in 1770 that Banks and his companion, Dr. Solander, collected the first four species of the plant whose genus would come to be called *Banksia* (which included the *Banksia integrifolia* photographed above).The name became official when the son of Carl Linnaeus, Linnaeus the Younger, published the classification in 1782\. From that day on, this plant became *Banksia*.
The work of its collection and classification continues till the present day with around 173 species currently identified. In 2000, the newest species, *[Banksia rosserae](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banksia%5Frosserae?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com),* was discovered in Western Australia. It is named after Celia Rosser, who has painted every single species of *Banksia* and collected these illustrations into a three volume book.As much as Banks sought the productions of nature, Rosser sought its artistic reproductions, and both have thus had their names affixed to this plant.
But this name records more than the discovery of a genus and species of plant. For it records as well those moments in which Banks first looks upon what is to become in less than two decades a British colony, and where, more than two centuries later, Rosser will live and I will visit; it records, too, those moments in which Banks sees those four men walking on the shore.
As dizzying as it is to imagine myself beside Banks in the yawl, how much more so to be ashore beside those men, to witness the massive *Endeavour* sailing into their bay. For these men of the Eora nation the land needed neither charting nor mapping. It was no *terra incognita.* It was home and had been so for at least the last 40,000 years.
When I first arrived in Sydney I was struck by the flower spikes of this tree that I can't help but recognize now as *Banksia,* a plant that carries this entire history within its leaves, flowers, and follicles. It connects me to a wealthy landowner from the late 18th century, a man who looked upon the coast of Botany Bay and saw "many fires" in the night, fires that could have burned on the woody cone of a plant that was not yet *Banksia*, that was another name now lost.

Sign at Manly Beach
### We Aren’t in Kansas Anymore
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/we-arent-in-kansas-anymore/
Last updated: 2025-12-04T22:09:27.000Z
In a formula: PHL→ DFW → LAX → NAN → SYD. The trouble with formulas, though, is they make everything much neater and simpler than it really is. In truth, it'd been a mechanical malfunction, a canceled flight, a missed one, a night in Glendale, CA, and an unscheduled stop in Nadi Airport, Fiji. The path to Sydney had been by no means direct, but eventually, somehow I arrived.
I had hoped that I'd deplane and something would quite literally jump out at me and say, "You're in Australia now. Here are some kangaroos, koalas, and—what the hell—some wombats. Now take care not to fall off the surface of the earth." Instead, though, I saw a McDonald's, an organic bakery, an Italian restaurant, a post office, traffic. Sure, the cars were driving on the left, it was "winter" in July, and the money was weird, but the signs were all in English, the architecture was a little American, a little European; and there were people walking dogs.
But I had traveled 10,000 miles into the future and I wanted to feel like it! Wayworn and exhausted I looked around for as long as possible, I looked for the unfamiliar, but nothing yet said "Australia." I looked until about 8:00 p.m., at which point the past caught up with me and I collapsed into sleep.
That's the Laughing Kookaburra, aka *Dacelo novaeguineae*.

Laughing Kookaburra by Ryan Feigenbaum
This bird, which I haven't actually seen yet but only heard, turns out to be one regal-looking creature. Its name, kookaburra (amazing, right?), stems from the Wiradjuri *guuguubarra,* which is onomatopoetic for the ridiculous bird call that had woken me up at dawn. And that being so, I went for a walk.
Before long I saw rainbow lorikeets, cockatiels, mynas, magpies, and so many other birds I'd never seen before in my life.

Rainbow Lorikeet in Crimson Bottlebrush by Ryan Feigenbaum
I also noticed the gum trees, *Banksias*, and bottlebrush. The yellow grevillea, Christmas bush, and kangaroo grass. And so many things that I still don't know the names of. Then, there was what I didn't see: there are no squirrels here. Not one. It's strange to be in a park with plenty of trees and not see any fat squirrels scurrying about. It also didn't take me long to espy the bats, the giant bats that, I swear, blot out the entire moon with their enormous wingspan. My friend had to remind me that they were fruit bats and would most likely not eat me.
Still, every night since, I'm kept awake for a little while, wondering whether this thing will somehow fly in through my window and land on my face; and, still, every morning I awaken to the kookaburra, wondering how it's managed to find something else absolutely hilarious.

Cockatiel by Ryan Feigenbaum
In those late and early hours, I realize I'm being terrorized and awoken by no ordinary flying creatures—no mere cardinal or sparrow or pigeon—but by the grey-headed flying fox, a taxonomic megabat, and by the maniacal laughing of the kookaburra, two species endemic to Australia*.* It wasn't the human that would turn out to be unfamiliar but the more-than-human. That's not to say there's nothing different about Australian culture, because there most certainly is, but it was the flora and fauna that first told meI was ~~10,000 miles~~ 16,093.44 km from home, beneath the equator in Sydney, Australia.
### An Incunabulum of Posthumanism
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/an-incunabulum-of-posthumanism/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:23:37.000Z
Posthumanism is a relatively new term, having entered academic discourse in the mid-1990s, and from the beginning, it has borne several, sometimes divergent, meanings. Carey Wolfe, in *What is Posthumanism?*, addresses this polysemy by tracing posthumanism’s lineage back to two distinct ancestors. The first lineage dates back to the 1960s with Foucault’s famous statement in *The Order of Things* that “man is an invention of recent date. And one perhaps nearing its end.” The human, Foucault claims, is not something essentially given, but a relatively new concept and one not made to last. This posthumanist lineage thus concerns the human as a historical product. It concerns a concept that has been assumed for the longest time to occupy a privileged position in our theorizing; yet, Foucault foresees a time when the human will be altogether erased, “like a face drawn in sand at the edge of the sea.”
The second posthumanist lineage is traced back to the Macy conferences from 1946 to 1953\. Wolfe describes these conferences as an effort to develop “a new theoretical model for biological, mechanical, and communicational processes that removed the human and *Homo sapiens* from any particularly privileged position in relation to matters of meaning, information, and cognition.” Similar to the first lineage, cybernetic theory displaces the human being from its once thought privileged position. These two lineages, which we could designate the philosophic and scientific, contribute to the advent of posthumanism by claiming that the human is an outmoded concept. Recognizing this fact, the work of posthumanist science and philosophy would thus be to analyze and hasten the human’s conceptual extinction.
Another iteration of posthumanism, insofar as it, too, attempts to overcome the human in some sense, is transhumanism. Nick Bostrom, in “A History of Transhumanist Thought,” catalogs the ways in which technological advancements are poised to change the human radically, for example, by eliminating aging and disease, uploading the brain to a computer \[SIM\], or making space colonization affordable. Transhumanists study the philosophical, ethical, and political ramifications of such technologies, viewing their advancements as offering “genuine improvements in human well-being and human flourishing.”
To be a paladin of human flourishing might appear to be an incontrovertible position, for who would assert the opposite? The improvements sanctioned by this lineage of posthumanism, however, remain mired in a humanist agenda. Bostrom’s consistent appeal to notions of human improvement and perfection as well as his statement that transhumanism has its roots in rational humanism reveals this philosophy to be less a posthumanism than a super-humanism. As long as this strand of posthumanism remains entrenched within a humanist tradition that is committed to realizing the perfect human and committed to the ideals that constitute humanism, such as reason, equality, and freedom, then the most radical technological innovation will not be able to advance the posthumanist or transhumanist cause. What is needed, rather, is a radical innovation in thought.
I will argue that we find just such an innovation in the magnum opus of the Left-Hegelian Max Stirner. For all of the clarity that Wolfe brings to the investigation of posthumanism, this paper will challenge the genealogy that he presents: the conceptual beginnings of posthumanism occurred far before the 1950s and 1960s—the beginning, in fact, is to be found more than a century earlier. In 1844, Stirner publishes *Der Einzige und sein Eigentum* and delivers a criticism of the human to such an extent that, at the end of it, there is *nothing* left. (**Remark on beginning the book with notions of nothing)** The human as such has been obliterated. Any appraisal or statement of posthumanism, then, must account for Stirner’s work. In the first part of this paper, I will present Stirner’s historical account of modernity, which reveals the human to be a concept constructed to be a substitute for God; in the second part, I will present Stirner’s criticism of the concept of the human, especially as it involves the concepts of equality and freedom. His criticism reveal, on the one hand, what is required for a true posthumanist philosophy or politics, and, on the other, the limitations and dangers of the transhumanist attempts to perfect the human through technological innovation.
*I. Humane Liberalism*
Max Stirner’s *The Ego and Its Own* is divided into two parts: “The Human” and “I.” The first part of the text presents a history that begins from the ancients and ends with Stirner’s present moment. He presents his history in two ways. First, he uses human life as an allegory for the way thought evolves from childhood to youth to man (*Mann*). Each of these stages of life represents a period in the development of human history: the child represents the realism of the ancients, youth the idealism of modernity, and man the egoism that overturns modernism. Stirner sees his present age, not as the mature adult, but in a state of arrested development, as still in its youth. The human life metaphor allows Stirner to present a synopsis of his historical account, which he will elaborate in the following section. There, Stirner develops the passages from ancient realism to modern idealism in detail, and, with respect to modernism, he articulates several stages that it passes through, culminating in humane liberalism.
Before reaching this stage, however, we begin as children, as ancients, as realists.
Stirner presents the child realist as the one who desires to get to the bottom of things, to pursue objects and what lies behind them: the child’s desire is a desire to master the world. External forces, however, often thwart this desire—at least until it leads the child to the discovery of *Geist*, to that which is entirely beyond objects and their forces. Stirner characterizes this transition from childhood to youth, from antiquity to modernity, as moving from the thought that God created the world to probing the “depths of the Godhead itself,” of asking no more about the truth of the matter, but now of the truth itself. For the youth, the object is no longer sufficient to explain reality, and she pursues, instead, the spiritual.
Stirner devotes the bulk of his analysis to the several stages that modernism passes through, which betrays the fact that modernity is not content once and for all, but always fails in its attempt to attain *Geist:* the discovery of spirit is always also the discovery that I am not spirit. That is, I am not what I hold in highest esteem; I am not God and I am, therefore, woefully incomplete.
Stirner notes the different configurations of this less-than relationship and the attempt to overcome it in the development of modernity. For this reason, the Reformation stands as a significant turning point, because it topples the hierarchy of the Middle Ages for the first time. Stirner points out the Middle Ages attempts to bridge the hierarchy between human sensibility and divine supersensibility by chastening the body through various practices. Yet, Luther pointed out that taming the sensual body in order to comprehend the divine was impossible, like exercising the feet year in and year out in dancing with the hopes that in this way one would learn to play the flute. With Luther the perception dawned, Stirner writes, “that truth, because it is a *thought*, it is only for the *thinking* man. And this is to say that man must henceforth take an utterly different standpoint, namely, the heavenly, believing, scientific standpoint, or that of *thought* in relation to its object, the—*thought—*that of mind in relation to mind.”
I have briefly laid out these transitions of modernity and the importance of the Reformation in Stirner’s history, because he sees humane liberalism as a continuation of it, as only its most recent effort to capture spirit. Therefore, even though humane liberalism advocates rationality over religious dogma, promoting equality among humans and freedom of thought, Stirner sees all of this still indelibly tainted by religion. He writes, “Liberalism simply brought other concepts on the carpet; human instead of divine, political instead of ecclesiastical, ‘scientific’ instead of doctrinal, or, more generally, real concepts and eternal laws instead of ‘crude dogmas’ and precepts.” Liberalism—which takes form first as political, then social, and finally as humane—*attempts* to reconcile human and spirit once and for all.
Political liberalism strives to abolish the inequality between masters and servants. The state or nation gains power rather than individual masters, thereby granting political freedom to all of its citizens. Stirner writes: “No more distinction, no giving preference to persons, no difference of classes! Let all be alike! No *separate interest* is to be pursued longer, but the *general interest of all*. The state is to be a community of free and equal men.” Although this form of liberalism achieves political freedom by taking away individual privilege, inequality still exists in terms of property, which ushers in the second form: social liberalism.
Whereas political liberalism calls for the equality of all in terms of sovereign rule, social liberalism extends this equality to society, claiming that one is not truly equal unless property is also distributed to all fairly. Stirner writes, “Let us then do away with *personal property*. Let no one have anything any longer, let every one be a—lumpen. Let property be *impersonal*, let it belong to—*society*.”
But the gain of political and social equality still does not realize liberalism, however, for self-interest remains in terms of ideas and opinions. I may still have my God, my religion, my beliefs, all of which *I serve individually*. But humane liberalism aims to end these individual beliefs, for “godlessness \[is\] at the same time freedom from prejudice: for with the master the servant falls away; with possession, the care about it; with the firmly rooted God, prejudice.” To hold belief in common, humane liberalism aims to eradicate the personal belief in God, which causes discord inasmuch as different religions have different beliefs. Whereas religion separates and differentiates people based on their personal beliefs, objective knowledge, pursued by criticism and science, is not something that one holds individually but which is held in common.
In sum, political liberalism aims to overcome the command of aristocrats and monarchs by submitting all to the law of the state or nation; but social liberalism recognizes that even if all were equal before the law, they were not equal in terms of society and thus made property something held in common; finally, humane liberalism sees that ideas and opinions were still held in private and thus makes them something to be held in common by locating truth and opinion exclusively in the human realm. Truth, no longer to be found in religion or in one’s own God, thus became available to all and a privilege of no one.
Stirner, however, in his analysis of each stage of liberalism, does not only present his immanent historical critique of the realization of freedom and equality, but also offers a transcendent one, in that freedom and equality are only won at the expense of the individual. Political freedom is only gained if I submit to the state. Stirner writes, “‘Political liberty,’ what are we to understand by that? Perhaps the individual’s independence of the state and its laws? No; on the contrary, the individual’s *subjection* in the state and to the state’s laws.” Likewise, socialism secures the right to equal property only at the expense of total dispossession. In order to secure such equality, I am required to forfeit my property to society. Everyone must become lumpen. Humane liberalism fares no better: I must sacrifice my own thoughts and opinions, my God and my beliefs to become truly human. “But,” Stirner writes, “as nobody can become entirely what the idea ‘human’ imports, the human remains to the individual a lofty other world, an unattained supreme being, a God. But at the same time this is the ‘true God,’ because he is fully adequate to us—namely, our own ‘*self*’; we ourselves, but separated from us and lifted above us.”
This remark, which concluded the first part of Stirner’s book until he was forced to add a Postscript addressing new arguments by Bruno Bauer, reveals how much liberalism, and even in its most recent humane variant, has not escaped the pitfalls of modernity; its Christian beginnings, in which a chasm divides material and divine, has not been overcome—it’s merely refigured. What I hope to suggest by providing this explication of Stirner’s history of modernity is how much the idea of human (and humanism) remain indebted to this religious ground. If the beginning of modernity is marked by the estrangement of the individual from God, then humane liberalism is the estrangement of the individual from the human. Stirner’s insight becomes relevant for us precisely when we recognize that a fundamental aspect of humanism is that it requires the individual *to become human*, even though it is impossible to do so. The transhumanist position is humanist precisely in this way: nano-bio-info-cogno technologies produce the idea of the perfected human, a human which you or I must become. In the following section, what I hope to show is that this way of thinking consistently results in the individual’s subordination to this idealized human, which thereby short-circuits any intention to increase freedom and equality, flourishing and well-being. Indeed, inasmuch as I am not yet the human I could become, I am not as perfect as I could be, I am possessed by a spook and a fixed idea. Spook and fixed idea: these are the terms Stirner employs in his criticism of the human, to which I will now turn.
*II. Obliterating the Human*
Modernity, in its earliest Christian iteration to its most recent appearance in liberalism, is beset by the spook. Spirit, as the essence sought behind things, is nothing more than a spook, the specter mistaken for reality. Stirner gives the following chilling description:
What haunts the universe, and has its occult, ‘incomprehensible’ being there, is precisely the mysterious spook that we call highest essence. And to get to the bottom of this *spook*, to comprehend it, to discover *reality* in it (to prove the ‘existence of God’)—this task men set to themselves for thousands of years; with the horrible impossibility, the endless Danaid-labor, of transforming the spook into a non-spook, the unreal into something real, the *spirit* into an entire and *corporeal* person—with this they tormented themselves to death. Behind the existing world they sought the ‘thing in itself’, the essence; behind the *thing* they sought the *un-thing*.
The project of unifying the human and the divine is the attempt to transform spirit into the concrete. Considering the injustices committed on behalf of religion in its pursuit of the divine, one might think that *it* is the most pernicious spook; however, Stirner asserts, “The most oppressive spook is the *human*.”
Indeed, he claims that the human itself has become the latest religion, because “it makes what is mine into something otherworldly, because in general it makes some of what is mine, out of my qualities \[*Eigenschaften*\] and my property \[*Eigentum*\], alien—namely, an ‘essence’; in short, because it sets me beneath the human, and thereby creates for me a ‘vocation’ \[*Beruf*\].” This process of reifying the human into something higher than the individual, something to which the individual must aspire as a vocation, is the process whereby the human becomes a spook. The human becomes something that is not granted to me, but something which becomes my job (*Beruf*), an end for which I have to work. In short, I am not human by virtue of what I am, but in virtue of conforming to a certain ideal of humanity, to what I can become. But if I fail to do my job, then I also fail to become human. Stirner emphasizes, though, that because humanity is a spook, it is impossible to realize. No matter my efforts, I can never truly be human. Humanity is the boss that is perpetually dissatisfied.
The human as vocation or *Beruf* occurs throughout the text; however, it is a concept that scholars have regularly overlooked. Yet, the concept of vocation plays a significant role in Stirner’s work, because the human, as vocation, reinstitutes the chasm between the material and divine that humane liberalism had sought to upend. Indeed, human vocation is identified as a form of religious sacrifice that has only become less crude over time. If the human stands over the individual as something she must become, then she is possessed by it. How, though, can one be possessed by the idea of the human?
The “fixed idea” is an idea that possesses. The spook and fixed idea each emphasize different aspects of the same thing; the former connotes its unreality and the latter its subjective power. But how can the unreal have a subjective power? How can the human, if it is a fabricated concept or ideal, one of recent invention, have such power over the individual? Stirner says that the individual gives it this power herself. The fixed idea subjects the individual only because the individual has renounced herself, has given herself over to it. The idea of the human, then, subordinates the individual, because the individual subjects herself to it. Stirner writes that this self-renunciation and self-negation begin “right where an end ceases to be *our* end and our *property* \[*Eigentum*\], which we, as owners, can dispose of at pleasure; where it becomes a fixed end or a—fixed idea; where it begins to inspire, enthuse, fanaticize us; in short, where it passes into our *stubbornness* and becomes our—master.” When I determine my purpose to become human, when it motivates my actions and gives my life significance, I have thus submitted myself to its will. When the human is viewed as a perfected state, as something to be achieved, something desired over all else, then I become possessed by it.
One might object that Stirner misses the mark, for why would anyone subject herself to a fixed idea? Why would one commit the self-renunciation described above? The very logic of liberalism requires it: anyone who is part of a liberal regime must renounce herself to some extent. The very act of living in a state entails self-renunciation, i.e., the submission to fixed ideas and spooks. In humanism, this submission takes place in unexpected ways. Two of the most important have already been mentioned, that is, through equality and freedom. We give ourselves to becoming human because we think it promises the highest forms of equality and freedom, because it promises greater happiness. Stirner’s criticism, though, demonstrates that at the outset, for the sake of freedom and equality, the individual must ironically renounce herself. Moreover, the attempt to gain freedom and equality produces results contrary to their intention.
In liberalism, equality is the denial of any kind of special right, any kind of claim that is contrary to the human in general. Stirner writes, “Humane liberalism goes to work radically. If you want to be or have anything special even in one point, if you want to retain for yourself even one prerogative above others, to claim even one right that is not a ‘general right of the human,’ you are an *egoist*.” Humanism promotes such a view because only by adhering to it can equality be granted to all humans. If someone could claim a right or privilege that another did not have, then there would not be equality and the possibility of causing the dispossessed person detriment would remain. But Stirner finds such reasoning absurd: “I want to be all and have all that I can be and have. Whether others are and have anything *similar*, what do I care? The equal, the same, they can neither be nor have. I cause no *detriment* to them, as I cause no detriment to the rock by being ‘ahead of it’ in having motion.” The attempt to predicate equality of all humans is an absurd proposition, because each person is different in mind and body. Moreover, this simple fact of difference is not the cause of detriment or injustice. On the contrary, the only certainty of detriment in this equation is caused by the call to equality, for it requires one “to renounce all ‘being ahead,’ the strictest form of *renunciation*.” For the sake of general equality, one must renounce oneself, one’s own singularity.
Furthermore, if equality is asserted on the basis that we are all human, then it is being predicated upon “the slightest thing about us.” Being human is one of his many qualities, just as, Stirner says, being a living being, a European, a Berliner are some of his qualities; but they are just that, qualities and not him. Equality remains at a general level that cannot penetrate to the individual. For this reason, Stirner thinks that equality is superficial, since it treats you and I as nothing but concepts of humanity. Since it cannot reach the individual, it requires self-renunciation. Freedom, ironically, also requires a form of self-renunciation.
“For the humanists, freedom meant the destruction of religion, the deification of humanity, and the elevation of speculative philosophy and science as the arbiters of morality and truth.” In the promotion of this new kind of freedom, a new kind of submission was also required. Like the human, freedom is a spook, another fixed idea to which the individual must submit, if the human is to be free. Indeed, because the individual subjects herself to this new ideal, she does require freedom, at least enough to complete this “voluntary servitude.” In this sense, Stirner underscores Goethe and Hegel’s elevation of servitude to the highest freedom. “He who only serves the cause, ‘devotes himself to it,’ has the true freedom. And among thinkers the cause was—*reason,* that which, like state and church, gives—general laws, and puts the individual man in irons by the *thought of humanity*.”Only the idea of the human can enjoy absolute equality and freedom, if an individual wants to become human so she can enjoy them, too, then she must renounce herself.
Employing the categories of negative and positive freedom, we can further identify two general criticisms of freedom in Stirner. The criticism of negative freedom is as follows: even if one is free from some kind of coercion, one is not consequently free. Stirner describes this negative concept of freedom as a being “rid of.” If freedom only consisted in being free from or rid of, it would have no positive content. Hence the name. Moreover, the freedom that only attempts to rid one of certain things inevitably institutes new limits in their stead. Stirner argues that the liberal who desires that the human be free from blind credulity and faith invites the limit of brute force, and wanting to be free from that, the liberal who calls for a lawful republic, which rids the human of this brutality, at the same time invites a new sovereign majority. As long as freedom is only recognized in its negative sense, an adequate conception of it can never be reached; however, even in its positive sense, freedom remains a spook.
Positive freedom demands something more substantial than “being rid of.” In liberalism, positive freedom can take the form as the particular freedom for political participation, for enterprise, or for criticism; however, the desire for a particular positive freedom always also entails the “purpose of a new dominion.” So, as seen in the history of modern liberalism, the demand for political freedom entails the state’s dominion, the freedom of enterprise society’s dominion, and criticism the human’s dominion. In each, one gains freedom only at the expense of instituting a new master, a new regime. Stirner anticipates that one might object to his argument, asserting that this or that freedom is not desired, but the whole of freedom. Stirner rejoins, “Well, then leave off chasing after the phantom, and spend your pains on something better than the—*unattainable*.”
The vocation to become human, to attain the height of equality and freedom, is to chase after the unattainable, to chase spooks, and, in so doing, to become their servant. To the contrary, Stirner maintains, “A human is ‘called’ \[*berufen*\] to nothing, and has no ‘calling’ \[*Aufgabe*\], no ‘destiny,’ as little as a plant or a beast has a ‘calling’ \[*Beruf*\].” Stirner’s arguments suggest that any philosophy that institutes a human calling, which asserts that you or I are not yet perfect but stand in need of modification, enhancement, improvement, rests on a humanist foundation that can only reinstate structures of domination and self-renunciation. If transhumanism maintains that a human must, in Anders Sandberg’s words, “advance to the highest levels,” it turns the human once again into a spook, by which we are possessed. Therefore, what is needed for a true posthumanism is a philosophy that is not grounded on the concept of the human, and which, in rather, aims at its destruction.
Although Stirner’s development of his own posthumanist or proto-posthumanist philosophy and politics, which relies on the ego, is provocative, it is not altogether satisfying. For example, he writes, “One seeks for himself, consequently one does not yet have himself; one aspires toward what one *ought* to be, consequently one *is* not it. One lives in *longing* and has lived thousands of years in it, in *hope*. Living is quite another thing—in *enjoyment*!” Against the continuous effort of becoming human, of an indefinite process of perfection, Stirner proposes the simple enjoyment of life. Such a proposal, I admit, ostensibly appears untenable and utterly facile. But enjoyment, to be fair, is a metonym for his entire edifice of the owner, ownness, and the unique one, which correspond positively to the critical concepts of spook, fixed idea, human. What, then, is most provocative about the unique one is that, in order to avoid the pitfalls of modernity and liberalism, *it cannot be a concept*. The non-conceptualizable ego doesn’t fall prey to any of the pitfalls mentioned above, precisely because it is not ideal, it has nothing to aspire to, it is not absolute—it is, rather, the radically unique one. Although this gesture to Stirner’s positive philosophy is hopefully provocative, further development is beyond this paper.
Nevertheless, I hope I’ve been successful in three things. First, I hoped to have presented some of Stirner’s criticism of the human and humane liberalism, making clear why a truly posthumanist philosophy cannot rely on this concept any longer. Second, I have attempted to show how Stirner is useful for criticizing the transhumanist position, not in rejecting technology tout court, but in an ideology that posits the perfect human. Finally, I think that Stirner’s incisive and total criticism of the human compels us, contrary to Wolfe’s genealogy, to recognize him as one of the first posthumanists and *Der Einzige und sein Eigentum* as an incunabulum of posthumanism.
## Details
“Max Stirner’s Der Einzige und sein Eigentum: An Incunabulum of Posthumanism.” *After Us. Perspectives on Humanism, Posthumanism, and Transhumanism*. (Stevens Institute of Technology, NJ: January 2013)
### The Creation of Wilderness
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/the-creation-of-wilderness/
Last updated: 2023-07-17T20:43:56.000Z
My conversations with the Chicago artist, Peter Karklins, which began during my undergraduate education at DePaul University in Chicago, and the involvement of Philosophy Department faculty culminated in an exhibition at the [DePaul Museum of Art](https://resources.depaul.edu/art-museum/exhibitions/publications/Pages/nature-peter-karklins.aspx?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com) in 2012 and the publication of the book, which comprises the reproduction of Karklins' artworks as well as essays and other media by a diverse range of scholars who reflect on these artworks.

Peter Karklins
My contribution explores the dynamic tension between creation and destruction in Karklins' work, as well as the unsettling self-reflection required to enter into his miniature worlds.

Peter Karklins
Read [Anna Hill's interview with Peter Karklins](http://chicagomaroon.com/2012/10/12/for-artist-peter-karklins-controlled-chaos-comes-naturally/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com).
Read [Julie Harris's review of the exhibition](https://xoartreview.wordpress.com/2012/11/02/in-darkness-beauty-shines/?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com).
## Details
“The Creation of Wilderness.” *[The Nature Drawings of Peter Karklins.](https://www.press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/distributed/N/bo14587514.html?ref=ryanfeigenbaum.com)* Ed. Sean D. Kirkland. (Chicago: DePaul Art Museum Press, 2012).
### Auf Wiedersehen
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/auf-wiedersehen/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:20:41.000Z
Time flies by when you're having fun. Two months are up, it's time to go home. My last week in Berlin was inevitably tinted with my impending departure, and I thought that this meant that the time had come to try and do all things left on my list. Maybe I could finally go to that little Italian cafe by my house where the old Berliners sit outside on the sidewalk, drinking espressos and eating fresh pastas. Maybe I should finally travel to another city in Germany. Maybe I should go to that museum or gallery or park or the hundred other places that I just haven't seem to made it to yet. Or, as a friend said, maybe I should finally try that pizza that smells so good at Dirty Harry's.
In truth, though, my last week wasn't a frenzy of activity; instead, I went to nearly all the same places I've gone to during my time here. I met friends at the Wohnzimmer bar in Prenzlauer Berg for one last beer. I ate that good currywurst at the farmer's market. I took an espresso at the same cafe in Mitte, not because it is entirely tasty, but because the tables, chairs, and umbrellas are all particularly nice. A point was reached where I no longer was visiting Berlin but living here--which makes it all the harder to leave.









But this last week wasn't all old news. I visited an abandoned amusement park with Eve, and we road the still-operational park train, viewing fallen dinosaurs, dilapidated rides, and a motionless Ferris wheel, all while traveling in and out of dark forest and over swamps. I kept waiting for Scooby Doo and the gang to pop out and unmask the train conductor. Although, I don't think the somewhat pathetic, old amusement park is a typical Berlin attraction.
And neither is the garish beer garden that we visited afterwards. There I finally found the typical Germans that my language textbook was always talking about: Hans from the slaughterhouse, who has recently lost his job, or Klaudia, who has recently separately from Hans (but a different Hans), and works at the train station. These Germans ate their Wursts, while some others ate their value meals from Burger King, the main restaurant in the beer garden; they also drank little bottles of schnapps and beer from plastic cups. Although we were still in Berlin, it didn't feel that way. And it was great. A Berlin beyond Berlin.
> So, in the end, what do I think of Berlin? *Wunderbar.*
The city is by no means perfect, suffering from many of the same problems as any major metropolis, and I was frequently bested late at night by the otherwise phenomenal transportation system; however, Berlin is unbelievably livable, offering a quality of life that far exceeds most cities in America.







Yet, what also made this trip so enjoyable was the people. I enjoyed introducing the city to my family, taking my sister to the Magnet Club in Kreuzberg for her birthday to see Destroyer. And one of my best weeks here was with Maddie; together we faced the task of ordering pastries from the old, West Berliners, who had no time for my poorly spoken German–obviously, though, Apple Pastry, the chiding and chastising were worth it. In other pastry news, I will never forget my early, early morning croissant with Eve, which was quite possibly the best croissant I've ever had, and Eve might even agree, and she's French, so she knows what she's talking about.
And then there is Mai, who was always pissing, made a damn fine tortilla, and maybe likes beer more than I do. Maybe. On a rainy night in Berlin, which were so many, we took refuge in Cafe Cinema, doing homework and, natürlich, drinking beer. Our conversation that evening was "very nice," and somehow, at the end of it all, I inadvertently made off with the menu, finding it in my bag the next day. And because of all of this, because of the time I've spent in this city and the time I've spent with friends, old and new, when I get off the plane tomorrow and look into my bag back in Philadelphia, I know that I'll find that I've also made off with a little bit of Berlin.
### Jewish Museum, Berlin
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/jewish-museum-berlin/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T20:14:42.000Z
My favorite museum in Berlin is the Jewish Museum, which, since its opening in 2001, deftly combines architecture, art exhibitions, and the history of the Jewish people in Germany.
The first Jewish museum in Berlin, opened on Oranienburger Street in 1933, was closed five years later by the Nazis. After the war and various political battles, Daniel Libeskind was chosen to design the new museum. Drawing on various items from Jewish history, he based his proposal on the Gedenkbuch (Memorial Book), which lists all the Jews murdered in the Holocaust. Moreover, the museum's division into sixty sections is an allusion to the sixty sections of Walter Benjamin's One Way Street. Several aspects of his design move the museum beyond one's expectations, especially if one considers Libeskind's impressive incorporation of empty space into the museum.




The Memory Void, one of three rooms that captures this empty space, contains an installation that is entitled, "Shalekhet (Fallen Leaves)," by Israeli artist, Menashe Kadishman. In the concrete room, whose walls extend three or four stories upwards, over 10,000 open-mouthed, crude iron faces spread out to cover the floor. Kadishman's intention is an attempt to represent the irretrievable loss of the Jews murdered in Europe. And, as one gazes on all these open-mouths, while only hearing the blankness of a concrete void, this loss is heard.
### One Little Goat
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/one-little-goat/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T20:15:34.000Z
One little goat, one little goat:
> The angel of death came,
> and slew the slaughterer,
> who killed the ox,
> that drank the water,
> that extinguished the fire,
> that burned the stick,
> that beat the dog,
> that bit the cat,
> that ate the goat,
> which my father bought for two zuzim.
> –Had Gadya, Verse 9
This gloomy Sunday brought me to the Neue Nationalgalerie, a museum for modern art, showcasing key works from Picasso, Kirchner, Beckmann, Dix, Klee, Bacon, Nay, Newman, Stella, and Richter; however, since the museum doesn't have enough space to exhibit their entire collection all at once, the current paintings and sculptures range from 1900–1945\. (Later in 2011, the museum will exhibit its postwar collection.)

I knew the collection was impressive–the website boasts that the Neue Nationalgalerie is one of the most important museums in Europe. Yet, it was that gloomy Sunday that prompted me to go to the museum; I had heard there was an excellent selection of German expressionism, and I thought that just maybe this interminably dismal Berlin weather could be cured with a little color.
I wasn't disappointed. The first paintings I saw swelled with color and were possibly my favorite in the entire museum. Two artists had depicted the same Jewish song, the Had Gadya (One Little Goat), which is sung at the end of the Passover Seder. The "cumulative" story follows a father who buys a goat that is then eaten by a cat that is then bitten by a dog that is then beat with a stick, and so on. The destruction continues and continues until God steps in, intervening, you know, divinely, as he is wont to do.

And although God does punctuate the last scene of each artist's depiction, i.e., the series first done by El Lissitzky (1890-1941) in 1936 and the later one done by Frank Stella (1936-) in 1984, what must the atheist think, if she acknowledges this accumulation of goat-cat-dog destruction but without hope of divine intervention? What if she can't accept that tenth verse? Stella's series gives a riposte insofar as he is able to stretch the most whimsical forms over dire situations. And then they're not that dire. And how does a cat eat a goat?
Besides the wonder of these first paintings, the architecture of the gallery is remarkable in itself. Designed by Mies van der Rohe in 1968, the museum is said to be the architect's last great building, opening a year before his death. Naturally, the building reminded me of the towers of glass and steel that stand before Lake Michigan in Chicago; however, rather than the pricey condos and offices that occupy those spaces, this Berlin gallery has been constructed with the experience of "looking at art" in mind. This experience, which can often become laborious, leaving you feeling rushed, bored, trapped, claustrophobic, or, as Ferlinghetti puts it, "constipated," this museum is noticeably different.

In the Neue Nationalgalerie, the whole first floor is reserved for changing installations, such as the one above, The Michael Kohlhaas Curtain, designed by Frank Stella and Spanish architect and engineer, Santiago Calatrava. What Mies is so good at comes through here: the creation of space. You experience space that is light and freeing. Artworks don't come here to die, they haven't been sent to solitary confinement, but are here let be.
The gallery, however, is completely underground. But you don't feel trapped in a cavern, because another feature of the museum is the utilization of natural light that both illuminates the paintings and ensures their integrity isn't compromised in any way. These aspects of the building's design come together to provide an ideal aesthetic experience; and, if it all still does become a bit too much, you can just sit down in any of those iconic Mies van der Rohe Barcelona chairs.
And, although I'm not sure why, I didn't have to pay admission. It might have been because I'm a Goethe-Institut student, but more likely, the woman at the ticket desk, recognizing what a fine admirer of art I surely am, knew what a travesty it would be to make me pay. Let other museums take notice.
### Dr Pong
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/dr-pong/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:09:20.000Z
Through a friend of a friend, we were privy to the following wild scene last Monday night: after walking through unmarked doors, my friends and I found an all-inclusive, all-night ping-pong extravaganza, topped off with cheap beers and a decent DJ. But what is an all-inclusive, all-night ping-pong extravaganza? Let me fill you in.
Put down a refundable deposit of $5 and you get a paddle, and if you are able to return that paddle at the end of the night then you get the deposit back, if you aren't able to return the paddle, at least you will have some kind of story to tell. Once you have your paddle–and, let's be honest, your beer–you are ready to go. When you hear the knocking of paddles on the ping-pong table, then a new game is about to begin. Find a spot in the line of 20 or 30 people and begin your dance around the maypole. On your turn, if you successfully return the ball, then you are free to remain in the game–otherwise, you take your seat on the sidelines, drink your beer, and watch the match play out. As more and more players are eliminated, the action increases, growing quicker and quicker until the game is a mad scramble around a beer-slicked floor, and half the success is just being able to get from one side of the table to the other, which is, of course, easier said than done. Indeed, as I watched the game (lucky me, I wasn't able to return my first ball and was thus immediately benched), one overzealous man, sprinting with beer and paddle in hand, fell; he shattered his bottle, tore his arm to bits, and most likely very nearly died. But with a few paper towels thrown on the ground and the glass shards kicked to the side, the game could go on. And it did.
In all, our group of potential ping-pong all-stars didn't fare too well; although, Mr. Chicken did make it to the final four in one game, while Eve claimed (though no one can verify this) that she had made it to the finals in her last outing. Nevertheless, winning or losing is hardly the point here. We weren't ping-pong champs, but we enjoyed ourselves all the more. Mit Dr. Pong haben wir Spass gemacht!
### Beethoven-Haydn-Mozart-Denkmal
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/beethoven-haydn-mozart-denkmal/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T20:15:08.000Z
> Musik ist höhere Offenbarung als alle Weisheit und Philosophie.
> –Ludwig van Beethoven
The other day I was taking a nice stroll through the Tiergarten (quite literally, the Garden of Animals, which is itself a sight to behold) when I stumbled upon this beast: the Beethoven-Haydn-Mozart-Denkmal. Whoa! Something about the almost clear sky and the clouds that cut across it, something about the lush greens rolled out across this city park, something about the air of old trees and new flowers made the sight of this statue overwhelming.



The statue as we see it now is the product of restoration efforts that were only completed in 2007\. The ten meter high statue was originally erected in 1904, and established by Rudolf and Wolfgang Siemering, in honor, of course, of the three composers: Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. Reconstruction became necessary after the destruction of Berlin in the Second World War. Many of the 145 individual parts making up the statue had to be restored due to bullet holes and other damage. Some parts that were entirely lost, e.g., Mozart's nose (his poor schnoz!), had to be recreated from images in old postcards and historical photos. Nevertheless, the statue stands today, beautiful as ever. So, go and pay homage to these musical brutes.
### Winterfeldtplatz Markt
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/winterfeldtplatz-markt/
Last updated: 2022-08-15T02:06:36.000Z
I am fortunate to live near one of the largest farmer's markets in Berlin. Since 1990 the square has hosted a market every Wednesday and Saturday, where you can buy fresh-local-bio fruits and veggies, artisan meats and cheeses, roast bratwursts, fishes, linens, silver polish, jewelry, antiques, espressos, flowers, breads–in short, anything your little heart could possibly desire.
> Trocken Brot macht Wangen rot.
> Dry bread makes cheeks red.
> –German Proverb
The market takes place in Winterfeldtplatz, which is in northern Shöneberg. The square was named in 1893 after Prussian General Hans Karl von Winterfeldtplatz, and it's been named such ever since.
The market is so resplendent with goods, you are likely to forget what you came for in the first place. This is the certainly the case for me. Not only must I constantly be forming the correct sentences in German for what I want to order (it never works) and thinking about the quantity in terms of grams and kilos, I also must contend with the din and aroma of the espresso machine, which works on me like some Pavlovian trigger–so now I have an espresso, but I have no idea what I was going to buy, or even what I've bought.
Nevertheless, I make my way through the 250 stalls, where I am stopped by the redolent "fragrance" of some kind of German cheese that has been sitting in the sun for a few hours. I pass on this cheese, but I do buy a locally made cream cheese mixed with garlic, onions, chives, dill, and parsley. It is the best cream cheese you'll probably never have (unless you come to the market!). Anyway, I've been slathering it on baguettes with cured salmon that I also picked up at the market, and topping that off with cucumbers and capers.
Or, "*Lecker!*", as one would say in German, which roughly translates: "this is freaky-deaky good."
### Fahrräder überall!
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/fahrrader-uberall/
Last updated: 2025-03-17T13:26:56.000Z
"It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and can coast down them. ... Thus you remember them as they actually are, while in a motorcar only a high hill impresses you, and you have no such accurate remembrance of country you have driven through as you gain by riding a bicycle."
–Ernest Hemingway
If I remember Berlin as seen from my bike, the memory will seem like a dream I had once. I was lucky enough to be provided a bike by my host, and cruising down the streets of this German city in the sun of summertime has no experience to call its equal. Pedaling through Berlin brings you past countless historical landmarks, astounding architecture, bakery after bakery, boutiques, theaters, artworks, people. You see arguments and bawdiness, you see the expected streets, buildings, stations, and shops, but you also see the beautiful. From the saddle, riding through the different neighborhoods, you are offered a glimpse of the world--das Fahhrad here becomes a microcosmic vehicle.

A Traffic Light Just for Bikes!
Because the city generously caters to bikers, the experience is so pleasurable. Throughout the city, there are bike lanes; however, these bike lanes aren't like the kinds you might be familiar with in Philly or Chicago, where they remain part of the street, precariously placed between speeding cars and parked cars: sooner or later, you will either be flattened or "doored." In contrast, the bike lanes in Berlin are part of the sidewalk, keeping you away from the flow of cars, especially on busy streets. In addition to this ingenious practice, bike lanes are also outfitted with special bike traffic lights, which are just kind of awesome.
Indeed, American city bikers would be amazed at the attitude towards bikes here. Do you have to lug around a 5 lbs U-lock? No. Bikes are usually locked up with a very thin chain, and if people are just going into a shop, then they don't even bother to lock it up; and when they return to their bikes, they are still there! Bike theft happens here, of course, but not to the same, depressing degree as in Philadelphia, Chicago, and, I imagine, other American cities. So, to any future travelers to Berlin, get a bike!
Tip: You can rent a bike here, but it is expensive, and you usually are then riding a bike with some kind of obnoxious advert on it. It's better, I think, to buy a bike. There are two options:
1. Die Flohmärkte (flea market): you can buy a used bike here, but the quality is sometimes suspect and the bikes may have been stolen. The second option is better.
2. There are two bike stores that sell used bikes for cheap.
a. Froschrad (Frog Bike) – near Görlitzer Bahnhof in Kreuzberg
b. "Used Bike" – near Schönleinstr Bahnhof also in Kreuzberg.
There are, of course, plenty more places to buy bikes, but these all come highly recommended. Happy riding, Leute.
### Mein Haus
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/mein-haus/
Last updated: 2022-08-27T17:30:01.000Z
> Das Haus ist eine Maschine zum Wohnen. –Le Corbusier, 1922
From the airport, my first stop in Berlin was a stop at my new home. I had received little information on what to expect at my residence: Would I be living with a family? A couple? An individual? Would there be other students living with me? What would the quirks be of my new host family? Fetishists? Nudists? Cannibals? In Berlin, the possibilities are endless.
I found my building easily enough; I walked through the entrance to a large foyer. To the left was a flight of stairs and to the right I saw a courtyard behind the building with a garden, bicycle parking, and several different cans for recycling and trash. It's near impossible to get people to recycle in Philadelphia, let alone get them to throw their trash into a garbage can at all, but here people fastidiously separate their recyclables, and they even have citywide composting. I thought to myself that soon enough my vegetable scraps would be decomposing somewhere in Berlin. From the foyer, I took this all in, thought once more of my scraps, and then trudged up the many flights of stairs to meet Wilfred, with whom I was to live.

Wilfred is a soon-to-be retired college teacher of history, law, Spanish, and English (the German education system is entirely different from the States, and even though I've had it explained to me on more than one occasion, I'm not exactly sure how it all works). But I knew I would like living here when I found an entire hallway lined with books and films. I descried Goethe and Schopenhauer and books with *Geschichte* and *Wissenschaft* in the titles–you know–proper books. Since moving in, Wilfred and I have had numerous discussions, *bei Kaffee oder Bier*, concerning politics, culture, or American music and film. It's really quite nice; however, I hope by the end of my stay we can hold the majority of these discussions *auf Deutsch*.
But it is not only us two. Today, I met his son, Luka for the first time. He just returned from Fußball camp (he plays center striker, btw)–and he seems like any other 11-year-old boy, because, although he was polite with me, chatting and answering all the obligatory and mundane questions adults ask of children, he also politely asked his *Vater* and me if he could stop talking and just return to his computer game already. We obliged. Wilfred and Luka are leaving next week to tour Amsterdam on bike for a week or so, and then will bike through the city of Essen (I think) in West Germany. Oh, to be a Berliner!
The apartment itself is lovely. My room is large, and decked out with a nice desk, bureau, TV, reading chair, and all other kinds of amenities. I'm already as comfortable here as at home. The living room and kitchen are both nice, letting in lots of light and the crisp Berlin air. Other than that, everything is as you would expect it to be: there is electricity, hot/cold water, a washing machine, a dishwasher, WiFi, etc. etc.–it's not like I'm doing field work in the middle of Central America! Yet, there is one grievance, which I'll address in a later post, but it has been named affectionately (by the Brits, I think), as the problem of "the continental plate."
Finally, I was sold on living in Berlin, and in this apartment in particular, when, upon my return from the grueling placement exams at the Goethe Institute, Wilfred offered me dinner: freshly made pesto from the purple and regular basil growing on his balcony garden. So, we had pasta with pesto, red wine, and, finally, a toast to my next two months in Berlin.
### A Lengthy Journey
URL: https://ryanfeigenbaum.com/a-lengthy-journey/
Last updated: 2023-07-17T18:19:49.000Z
Hallo! Willkommen auf dem Blog. I arrived in Berlin on Monday, the 4th of July, after an arduous, soul-crushing journey.
I had left Philly on Sunday morning, taking the MFL Subway to 30th Street to catch a bus to New York. I arrived there two hours later, taking yet another subway to Jamaica Station, where I caught the JFK Airtrain. A mere eight hours later, after soaring over the Atlantic, I touched down in Berlin, where I met with another bus, and another train, and, finally, I reached mein Haus. (While I was waiting for the bus at Tegel Airport in the mist, I snapped the photo above.) Although I had arrived, finally, at my house on Berliner Strasse in southwest central Berlin, I had to go to the Goethe Institute for reception and placement exams.
> Süßer Friede,
> Komm, ach komm in meine Brust!
> –Goethe, Wanderers Nachtlied
Two more trains. U-Bahn. S-Bahn. I detrained at Alexanderplatz (which wasn't the right stop) and realized that I had forgotten my directions from the train station to the school. Thus my first interaction with Germans was asking them whether they were familiar with Neue Schönhauser Straße (Kennen Sie Neue etc. etc.?). It turns out, most were not; nevertheless, I found it! (I assure you this was an exclamation point moment.)

But then I found out that I had to take at least two hours of exams: standardized, written, and oral. By the end, my head was aflame. Exhaustion, jet lag, and the strangeness of it all made curling up on the table of the nearest beer garden seem like a logical thing to do.
But, more importantly, I had made it. I am here—I am in Berlin.