I Have Landed by Stephen Jay Gould Read Free Book Online Page B

writing with a brand of uniqueness? I will eventually suggest a positive answer, but by an unconventional argument that exposes the entire inquiry as falsely parsed. I must first, however, show that the two most popular versions of this “second solution” cannot be defended, and that the paradox of intellectual promiscuity must itself be rejected and identified as an impediment to proper understanding of the relationships between art and science.
Two False Solutions to a Nonproblem
    In surveying commentaries written by literary scholars and critics about Nabokov’s work on butterflies, I have been struck by their nearly universal adherence to either of two solutions for the following supposed conundrum: Why did one of the greatest writers of our century spend so much time working and publishing in a markedly different domain of such limited interest to most of the literate public?
The Argument for Equal Impact
    In this first solution, Nabokov’s literary fans may bemoan their losses (just as any lover of music must lament the early deaths of Mozart and Schubert). Still, in seeking some explanation for legitimate grief, we may find solace in claimingthat Nabokov’s transcendent genius permitted him to make as uniquely innovative and distinctive a contribution to lepidoptery as to literature. However much we may wish that he had chosen a different distribution for his time, we can at least, with appropriate generosity, grant his equal impact and benefit upon natural history. Adherents to this solution have therefore tried to develop arguments for regarding Nabokov’s lepidoptery as specially informed by his general genius, and as possessing great transforming power for natural history.
    But none of these claims can be granted even a whisper of plausibility by biologists who know the history of taxonomic practice and evolutionary theory. Nabokov, as documented above, was a fully professional and highly competent taxonomic specialist on an important group of butterflies—and for this fine work he gains nothing but honor in my world. However, no natural historian has ever viewed Nabokov as an innovator, or as an inhabitant of what humanists call the “vanguard” (not to mention the avant-garde) and scientists the “cutting edge.” Nabokov may have been a major general of literature, but he can only be ranked as a trustworthy, highly trained career infantryman in natural history.
    Vladimir Nabokov practiced his science as a conservative specialist on a particular group of organisms, not in any way as a theorist or a purveyor of novel ideas or methods. He divided and meticulously described; he did not unify or generalize. (I will explain in the next section why a natural historian can make such a judgment without intending any condescension or lack of respect.) Nonetheless, four arguments have been advanced again and again by literary commentators who seem driven by a desire to depict Nabokov as a revolutionary spirit in natural history as well.
    1.
The myth of innovation
. Many critics have tried, almost with an air of desperation, to identify some aspect of Nabokov’s methodology that might be labeled as innovative. But taxonomic professionals will easily recognize these claims as fallacious—for the putative novelty represents either a fairly common (if admirable) practice, or else an idiosyncrasy (a “bee in the bonnet”) that Nabokov surely embraced with great ardor, but that cannot be regarded as a major issue of scientific importance.
    As a primary example, many critics have stressed Nabokov’s frequent complaints about scientists who fail to identify the original describers when citing the formal Latin name of a butterfly—either in listing species in popular field guides, or in identifying subspecies in technical publications. Zimmer (page 10), for example, writes: “A growing number of non- and semi-scientific publicationsnowadays omit the author.