Michael Davidow's Blog: The Henry Bell Project - Posts Tagged "thomas-kuhn"
Science Matters
Early morning metaphysics, Bell still drunk, dreamy and dim. If two atoms, once separated, ever recombine again, falling back to their prior status of miniature chemical bliss, you could say that time itself reverses in that system; time itself being nothing but a very sure bet that things disintegrate and do not reconstitute of their own inconstant volitions; a Paula minus a Henry was a Paula that belonged to a different reality.
It’s only fitting that a story so indebted to the work of Thomas Kuhn tip its hat to the broader field of science, and this one does so, whenever it can -- up to and including the laws of thermodynamics.
In fact, SPLIT THIRTY embraces the physical world. Bell pounds Manhattan’s sidewalks, for miles at a time, and his memories are informed by physical details (both for good-- “Paula’s happy iris, darting from place to place,” and her hair “smelling like chemicals from her salon” -- and for ill -- “Marble cleaves when cut. It does not pill.”). For his part, Pooch seems positively drawn to the earth (“I finally passed out, right in the middle of Central Park. I think I was on a tennis court, because I kept getting my feet caught in these horrible big nets.”); and Tasha is nothing if not physically real (in spite of her constant changes). Only Walton dislikes this aspect of existence, finding it inimical to his needs. When he hits the limits of his work with Bell, the act of learning them “hardens his heart.” (“Like dust in a sunbeam, once noticed, never gone.”)
It is Kahn’s peculiar genius to find no contradiction between his science and his faith, allowing each to give shape and meaning to the other; and it is Bell’s great strength, to find no excuse for inaction, while also accepting this world’s ambiguous construction.
To the contrary. Bell expresses himself in action; his is the poetry of motion. And it is only incidental that his tools are hard cash and the occasional tossed rock.
It’s only fitting that a story so indebted to the work of Thomas Kuhn tip its hat to the broader field of science, and this one does so, whenever it can -- up to and including the laws of thermodynamics.
In fact, SPLIT THIRTY embraces the physical world. Bell pounds Manhattan’s sidewalks, for miles at a time, and his memories are informed by physical details (both for good-- “Paula’s happy iris, darting from place to place,” and her hair “smelling like chemicals from her salon” -- and for ill -- “Marble cleaves when cut. It does not pill.”). For his part, Pooch seems positively drawn to the earth (“I finally passed out, right in the middle of Central Park. I think I was on a tennis court, because I kept getting my feet caught in these horrible big nets.”); and Tasha is nothing if not physically real (in spite of her constant changes). Only Walton dislikes this aspect of existence, finding it inimical to his needs. When he hits the limits of his work with Bell, the act of learning them “hardens his heart.” (“Like dust in a sunbeam, once noticed, never gone.”)
It is Kahn’s peculiar genius to find no contradiction between his science and his faith, allowing each to give shape and meaning to the other; and it is Bell’s great strength, to find no excuse for inaction, while also accepting this world’s ambiguous construction.
To the contrary. Bell expresses himself in action; his is the poetry of motion. And it is only incidental that his tools are hard cash and the occasional tossed rock.
A New Leaf
Paula and his sons had frequented this area, once; Stevie had made it his own as a boy. Had always turned west at this same marker, too. The zoo was nearby, and a pretzel stand, and that dirty pond, with its grimy swans. Bell had no idea, what lay beyond. To his own recollection, he had never kept walking.
Bertie Kahn had always sat here, too, whenever Selma had wanted to pray. Temple Emanu-El was right across the street.
That’s Fifth Avenue, of course. And Temple Emanu-El would have been the socialite’s choice in 1972. But I have come to wonder if Bertie should have done his waiting outside a different synagogue: to be specific, the Park Avenue Synagogue, on East 87th Street.
Rabbi Milton Steinberg occupied its pulpit before and during the Second World War. And in 1939, he published a somewhat unlikely forebear to SPLIT THIRTY: an historical novel called As a Driven Leaf. It’s the fictionalized story of Elisha ben Abuyah, a talmudic scholar of the second century who was criticized by his peers for espousing unorthodox beliefs. Steinberg goes a bit further. Per him, his hero abandons his Jewish faith in hopes of discovering a more rational set of beliefs. He flees from Palestine, he enters Syrian society, and he absorbs as much Greek philosophy as he can. The prose gets a little purple here and there. But in the end, Elisha is left both intellectually and spiritually bereft. In the end, he is quoting Ecclesiastes on the vanity of worldly knowledge.
It wasn’t until 1962 that Thomas Kuhn wrote his Structure of Scientific Revolutions, and I can’t find any evidence that he and Steinberg crossed paths. They were of different generations and different social backgrounds. Steinberg was a City College kid; Kuhn went to Harvard. Steinberg was a rabbi; Kuhn professed atheism. But they both believed in the terror and the beauty of what can never be delivered by worldly effort.
I kept Kuhn close while writing SPLIT THIRTY; I just learned about Steinberg. And if I wanted to, I suppose I could still edit this book, to change Selma’s choice of shul. I don’t think I will, though. Because Steinberg would understand. He spent a lot of time in his book talking about fashion and wine.
Bertie Kahn had always sat here, too, whenever Selma had wanted to pray. Temple Emanu-El was right across the street.
That’s Fifth Avenue, of course. And Temple Emanu-El would have been the socialite’s choice in 1972. But I have come to wonder if Bertie should have done his waiting outside a different synagogue: to be specific, the Park Avenue Synagogue, on East 87th Street.
Rabbi Milton Steinberg occupied its pulpit before and during the Second World War. And in 1939, he published a somewhat unlikely forebear to SPLIT THIRTY: an historical novel called As a Driven Leaf. It’s the fictionalized story of Elisha ben Abuyah, a talmudic scholar of the second century who was criticized by his peers for espousing unorthodox beliefs. Steinberg goes a bit further. Per him, his hero abandons his Jewish faith in hopes of discovering a more rational set of beliefs. He flees from Palestine, he enters Syrian society, and he absorbs as much Greek philosophy as he can. The prose gets a little purple here and there. But in the end, Elisha is left both intellectually and spiritually bereft. In the end, he is quoting Ecclesiastes on the vanity of worldly knowledge.
It wasn’t until 1962 that Thomas Kuhn wrote his Structure of Scientific Revolutions, and I can’t find any evidence that he and Steinberg crossed paths. They were of different generations and different social backgrounds. Steinberg was a City College kid; Kuhn went to Harvard. Steinberg was a rabbi; Kuhn professed atheism. But they both believed in the terror and the beauty of what can never be delivered by worldly effort.
I kept Kuhn close while writing SPLIT THIRTY; I just learned about Steinberg. And if I wanted to, I suppose I could still edit this book, to change Selma’s choice of shul. I don’t think I will, though. Because Steinberg would understand. He spent a lot of time in his book talking about fashion and wine.
