Muir Among the Animals: The Wildlife Writings of John Muir

by John Muir, Lisa Mighetto (Editor)

A collection of the best writings by this astounding nineteenth-century naturalist.

Genres: Nature

196 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1989

About the author

John Muir was far more than a naturalist; he was a secular prophet who translated the rugged language of the wilderness into a spiritual calling that saved the American soul from total surrender to materialism. Born in 1838 in the coastal town of Dunbar, Scotland, Muir’s childhood was a blend of seaside wanderings and a brutal religious upbringing. His father, Daniel Muir, was a man of uncompromising faith who forced John to memorize the New Testament and most of the Old Testament by age eleven. When the family immigrated to the frontier of Wisconsin in 1849, this iron-fisted discipline continued on their farm. However, for the young Muir, the "Book of Nature" began to rival the Bible. He saw the divine not just in scripture, but in the black locust trees and the sun-drenched meadows of the midwest.
The pivotal moment of Muir’s life occurred in 1867 while working at a wagon wheel factory in Indianapolis. A tool slipped, piercing his cornea and leaving him temporarily blind in both eyes. Confined to a darkened room for six weeks, Muir faced the terrifying prospect of a life without light. When his sight miraculously returned, he emerged with a clarity of purpose that would change the course of American history. He famously wrote, "This affliction has driven me to the sweet fields. God has to nearly kill us sometimes, to teach us lessons." He immediately set out on a 1,000-mile walk to the Gulf of Mexico, beginning a lifelong odyssey of exploration.
Muir eventually found his "true home" in California’s Sierra Nevada. To Muir, the mountains were not mere piles of rock, but "the range of light." He spent years as a shepherd and guide in Yosemite, living a life of extreme simplicity—often traveling with nothing but a tin cup, a crust of bread, and a volume of Emerson’s essays. His scientific contributions were equally profound; he defied the leading geologists of the day by proving that the Yosemite Valley was carved by ancient glaciers. While the state geologist, Josiah Whitney, dismissed him as a mere "shepherd," the world’s leading glaciologists eventually recognized Muir’s genius.
His transition from explorer to activist was born of necessity. Seeing the "hoofed locusts"—domestic sheep—devouring the high mountain meadows, Muir took up his pen. His landmark articles in The Century Magazine and his 1903 camping trip with President Theodore Roosevelt became the catalysts for the modern conservation movement. Under the stars at Glacier Point, Muir convinced the President that the wilderness required federal protection. This meeting laid the groundwork for the expansion of the National Park system and the eventual return of Yosemite Valley to federal control.
As the co-founder and first president of the Sierra Club, Muir spent his final years in a fierce philosophical battle with Gifford Pinchot. While Pinchot argued for "conservation" (the sustainable use of resources), Muir championed "preservation" (the protection of nature for its own sake). Though he lost the battle to save the Hetch Hetchy Valley from being dammed, the heartbreak of that loss galvanized the American public, ensuring that future "cathedrals of nature" would remain inviolate. John Muir died in 1914, but his voice remains ubiquitous, reminding us that "into the woods we go, to lose our minds and find our souls."

Reviews

[Ollie Ollie Oxenfree · Rating 4 out of 5]

Readers should be aware that Muir did not extend his tender regard for the natural world to humans outside his own race. His prejudices are evident in his writing. Readers should be prepared to contextualize Muir's views and contributions alongside his history of racist actions and commentary.

That noted, Muir did have a skill for writing and an enthusiasm for nature that makes his work worth reading--if for no other reason that to remind ourselves of how blind we can be to our own dissonant worldviews.

It's truly a shame that Muir evidently couldn't see how incongruous his racist views were when viewed alongside his advocacy for animals. Maybe this was a natural extension of his obvious misanthropy, I don't know.

Muir's accounts do show an admirable evolution of thought and an appreciation for nature for the sake of nature itself (as opposed to seeing nature as designed for humanity's use alone). However, anyone with a scientific mind will argue he wildly anthropomorphizes the creatures he describes, and I find this a valid criticism. Because of this, his accounts with Wilderness read far more like fiction than naturalistic observation. His take on nature is overly rosy. His writings are like those of a man drunk with affection for a new lover--everything is perfection, innocence, and beauty to him. He seems blind, perhaps willfully so, to the harsh realities of the natural world.

In sum, I'm glad I read his work, but gladder to know I didn't encounter Muir in a vacuum. His work should be appreciated discerningly and with caution.

[Cyn McDonald · Rating 2 out of 5]

Interesting from an historical perspective, since Muir was one of the first to advocate for wilderness. Otherwise, not really that good. His descriptions of animal behavior are interesting, but he assumes that the reader already knows what the critters look like. The same for plants -- long lists of species but no real descriptions -- and even scenery.