unmerited fame at siccar point
Hutton’s Siccar Point
The theory of uniformitarianism and subsequent exposition of Earth’s geologic antiquity were first proposed by James Hutton upon gazing into the abyss of time at Siccar Point, or so to speak. Indeed, the passage of deep time is written in the angular unconformities at Scotland’s famed promontory.
Having undergone the cyclical processes of erosion, deposition, and crustal uplift, Siccar Point continues to serve as evidence of the enormity of geologic time. At this site, a rocky protrusion composed of columned grey Silurian schist overlain by laminated red Devonian sandstone. Initially deposited onto the seafloor as eroded material 435 million years ago during the Silurian Period, grey schist rock was formed over millennia of accumulation and compression.
As overlying land continued to erode away, the principle of isostatic balance intervened to compensate for the lost mass; at the boundary where dense oceanic crust met over-riding continental crust, the ocean deepened, and the land heightened by the forces of subduction. Swept by the current of Earth’s rigid lithosphere, the Silurian schist was bent and shoved, folded upon itself and uplifted from the ocean like the tip of an iceberg.
65 million years later, in the Devonian Period, a juxtaposing red sandy material began to settle onto the Silurian rock. The sequence repeats – erosion, deposition, uplift – with no vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end. So continues the ongoing phenomenon of planetary formation. The angular junction of angular unconformity at Siccar Point, thus, became a record of the passage of geologic time that has, itself, transcended time. Classic and textbook though it may be, the uniformitarian geology preserved at Hutton’s Siccar Point has, in reality, gained unmerited fame.
James Hutton (1726-1797) was born in Edinburgh to a wealthy family and became a leading figure during the 18th to early 19th-century Scottish Enlightenment. A chemist, naturalist, philosopher, and farmer, Hutton was also a member of the Royal Society of Edinburgh and a founding member of the Oyster Club – an intellectual supper club whose members and visitors consisted of other key Enlightenment thinkers along the likes of Joseph Black, Adam Smith, David Hume, and James Watt. From Hutton’s lifework in the furthering of geological knowledge and securing geology a place among the sciences, he is often regarded as the ‘Father of Modern Geology’. This title, however, has been greatly controversial.
Contrary to popular anecdotes of how Hutton’s visit to Siccar Point inspired an astounding geologic revelation, Hutton was neither a master of inductive reasoning nor was he the first to observe and attempt to understand angular unconformities and other geological features. Perhaps even more curiously, Hutton never cited his discovery of Siccar Point as a profound contribution to developing his theory of uniformitarianism.
Prior to seeing examples of unconformity, Hutton had already hypothesised the cyclical process of rock formation and the possibility of indefinite time. Having worked as a farmer for 14 years, Hutton initially grew interested in landscape processes and subsequently became attentive to the sedimentation process of repeated soil erosion and deposition by wind and rain. After reading about inconsistent rock formations in the accounts of an unnamed French author, Hutton became intrigued by how closely the author’s field observations supported his own rock cycle hypothesis. Citing the author’s passage as a catalyst for his desire to further his hypothesis, Hutton prepared a paper on his theories of the natural history of the Earth and presented it to the Royal Society of Edinburgh in 1785. Upon receiving criticism for proposing theories misguided by religious beliefs and lacking supporting empirical evidence, Hutton embarked on a series of field trips around Scotland in search of unconformities.
In 1787, Hutton discovered his first unconformity on the Isle of Arran. Later that year, he discovered a second at Jedburgh. Upon acquiring this second piece of evidence, Hutton was confident of his theory’s validity. So, in the spring of 1788 when Hutton and his colleagues, John Playfair and James Hall, undertook a boat trip to Siccar Point, Hutton had already reached somewhat of a grand finale to his Theory of the Earth.
The eloquence and ease with which Hutton undid the Biblical belief that Earth was created in 4004 BC by simple observation of Siccar Point was, to Playfair and Hall, surely a testament of ingenuity. From this trip, Playfair writes his iconic words, “the mind seems to grow giddy by looking so far into the abyss of time; and while we listened with earnestness and admiration to the philosopher…we became sensible how much farther reason may sometimes go than imagination can venture to follow”.
Yet for the philosopher – or rather, hypothetico-deductive reasoner – Hutton himself, Siccar Point was but another piece of evidence that further supported his developed theory. Ultimately, if Hutton was not the first to engage with unconformities and if Siccar Point was not Hutton’s prized discovery, then how has this reality become so distorted? Perhaps the answer lies in writing.
The significance of Siccar Point and Hutton’s success as a renowned geologist are often attributed to Playfair’s writing, from both the group’s excursion to Siccar Point and later biographical accounts of Hutton. Playfair’s elegant records of his own amazement are quoted time and time again, appearing on websites and brochures about Hutton and Siccar Point in attempts to recreate Playfair’s sense of sheer wonder. Compared to Hutton and his reputation for obtuse writing, Playfair idolised, inspired, and instilled awe with words. A Romantic filter overlaid the reality of Hutton’s lifework and the ‘Father of Modern Geology’ was brought to life. Now, simply comparing the Wikipedia pages of all the field sites Hutton visited, only the Siccar Point page linked directly to the main article on Hutton’s Unconformity. Moreover, while the Siccar Point page was created because of its relation to Hutton, the Isle of Arran and Jedburgh pages each granted two-sentence descriptions of Hutton’s visit.
The diminished significance of Hutton’s first two field sites in the public’s eye is, seemingly, due to Hutton’s lack of an eloquent biographer. Here, I want to explore the role and manner of writing about nature in the relationship between science and the public. This particular relationship is a mutual one: society benefits and supports science, which in turn means that science should be accountable to society. It is a difficult relationship to sustain and tensions have arisen over transparency. Communication, therefore, becomes essential.
Understanding Nature
As Peter Kahn states in his opening passage, “this topic of the human relationship with nature can be called big in scope, interdisciplinary. It involves understanding our biological roots…environmental behaviour, history, policy, and science”. Alternatively, what does nature mean to us and how do we understand our “intellectual emphasis, loyalties, affections, and convictions” to nature?
As interpreted by David Demeritt and Kevin Archer, nature is a socially constructed entity either manufactured from our own concepts of nature, or is manifest as a tangible manufactured product. Such discourses, however, are arguably confined within the academic sphere. The greater public’s understanding of nature is, perhaps, governed by a fundamental and genetic human need to affiliate with life – the biophilic instinct.
This unconscious and inherent desire to be in, at, with, or near nature appears in our art, emotions, ethics, and fanciful daydreams. We lodge in national parks to immerse ourselves in the natural landscape, and rush to catch a sunset by the sea for seemingly inexplicable reasons. Ultimately, understanding nature could generally translate to appreciating nature. Whether through art, literature, sport, or travel, we achieve this appreciation when we have quenched our own biophilic desires.
Perhaps it is this association between the natural environment and a sense of fulfilment that has given birth to a Romanticised vision of nature. Although the British Romantic, and even American Transcendentalist, nature writings that embody this perception can be dissected and critiqued – for placing nature on a pedestal, objectifying it, and continuing to preserve the distance between us and it – the understanding of nature as an enchanting entity, nevertheless, appeals to many. It is, in Timothy Morton’s words, “a paradoxical act of sadistic admiration”, reminiscent of patriarchal appreciations of Woman. These understandings of nature, however, largely circulate within the social sciences. In the context of the natural sciences, are Morton’s words still justified?
Science, in terms of natural science, aims to be innovative, certain, informative, and most importantly, objective in the understanding of nature – the natural environment. This positivist image of objective science, practiced by scientists who obtain objective views of reality and nature by following an objective scientific method, however, was dismantled by Thomas Kuhn’s post-positivist critique – the internalist perspective.
Kuhn reverses the traditional thought-process of situating humans and culture relative to nature by situating known natural mechanisms within the context of science culture. “Scientists”, Kuhn argues, “always work within a worldview, a 'paradigm' of largely unquestioned assumptions, which determines their view of reality”. Yet despite Kuhn’s argument, scientific writing today does not tend to acknowledge the cultural context of science as a limitation to research. Rather, science interprets the human-nature relationship with a different approach, investigating the impacts of human behaviours and actions on the stability of our surrounding ecology, and vice versa.
Just as natural science does not discuss culture, social science does not engage with nature as natural science does. Ultimately, to understand nature as a scientist is to venture into a whirlpool of academic discourses. Thus far, discussions have remained within the bounds of science. So what about the external civil society? With nature writing, the social sciences have reached out to the public. But the space between natural science and the public remains wider, emerging in the framework of scientific writing that does not accommodate or appeal to the greater public. Consequently, it is largely outside the circulation of academic journals that the relationship between natural science and the public becomes clearer.
Writing For Society
Scientific writing within the natural sciences abides by an almost formulaic structure. There are countless texts on how to compose a piece of scientific writing, detailing the specific format, tone of voice, and how to label figures. Scientific writing, after all, is a well-defined technique rather than a creative art. The applied terminology, methodology, analysis and interpretation of mechanisms in the natural environment all constitute a specialist language. Therefore, to the greater public, scientific writing is oftentimes exclusive.
This specialist language, however, has not always been a characteristic of scientific writing. As Avram Goldstein observes, “in this age it is no longer often that we are given the opportunity to read so beautifully written and so personalised an account of a scientific observation”. Just 25 years before Goldstein wrote these words, he noted that scientific writing had already begun to lose individuality. As such, Goldstein hoped to witness a revival of “stylistic excellence” that can be achieved if students are directed “more insistently to the finest examples in the ‘classic’ literature of our respective fields”.
It appears, however, that his vision has not been realised. What Goldstein does highlight, though, is the significance of the efficacy of scientific writing itself, rather than the magnitude of the science. By reimagining scientific writing as less of a technique and more of a creative art, is it possible the public is less deterred by the specialist language and more so by the lack of individuality and artistic substance in contemporary scientific writing?
Let’s return to the makings of Hutton and Siccar Point as giants in the field of geology. Indeed, if we assume that it was Playfair’s writing that elevated Hutton’s discovery of Siccar Point, an argument can be made for Hutton’s unwavering fame as the pronounced ‘Father of Modern Geology’.
Considering the historical context of Hutton’s life during the height of the Scottish Enlightenment, science was still a gentleman’s profession conducted exclusively in elite institutions, such as the Royal Society of Edinburgh and the Oyster Club. Scientific findings were, therefore, not presented to the public. Nor were scientific papers written to appeal to the public. As such, for any research to have made a profound impact on society, particularly during the apex of scientific advancement, it surely must have been groundbreaking.
For Hutton, Playfair was pivotal to his success. As Stephen Gould describes the situation, Hutton’s “Theory of the Earth might have occupied but a footnote to history if his unreadable treatise had not been epitomised by his friend, and brilliant prose stylist, John Playfair, in Illustrations of the Hutton Theory of the Earth (1802)”. Evidently, writing matters to science. In fact, the power of Playfair’s writing was so strong as to have incited public celebration over a discovery that was, in reality, quite insignificant in the grand scheme of Hutton’s lifework.
But why did Playfair’s prose prompt such glorification? Recalling Wilson’s notion of biophilia and Morton’s critical, though introspective, observation, perhaps the public was drawn to the Romantic, Transcendent quality of Playfair’s words. Playfair transported readers to the fine spring day in 1788 when Hutton unravelled deep time and perhaps they shared the same anticipation and wonder that Playfair translated into words. Such public appreciation of the natural environment has also been inspired by the writings of John Muir.
The ‘Father of National Parks’, John Muir (1838-1914) was a Scottish-American author, philosopher, glaciologist, and conservationist whose writings about nature have been read by millions. Muir wrote extensively about his experiences, observations, and thoughts of nature – from identifying crystals in the ground to deducing Yosemite National Park was once a glaciated landscape – all of which were embedded in a belief of God as the Creator of nature.
To Muir, the surrounding ecology bloomed with “‘Godful’ plants, animals, rocks, waters, clouds, and sky”, and “everywhere and always we are in God’s eternal beauty and love”. This detail that is the foundation of Muir’s work has, however, not been widely recognised by the public. Rather, it appears that Muir’s understanding and appreciation of the natural environment have been interpreted by society as an explorer’s journey to becoming one with nature.
To the public, Muir saw beauty not because of his strong affinity with religion, but because nature so inspired him to abandon the traditional lifestyle and find fulfilment with little material need. People were drawn to the writings from another way of living that seemed to minimise the physical and social distance between humans and nature. Ultimately, Muir re-shaped the American people’s understanding and perception of their relationship with nature and today, legacies of Muir’s lifework have long outlasted his lifetime.
Conclusion
It appears that Muir’s understanding and appreciation of nature has triumphed Hutton’s in the public’s eye. Both men made significant contributions to the natural sciences. One revolutionised humanity’s understanding of Earth’s history. The other revolutionised the American people’s understanding of nature. Yet, one of their greatest differences lies in their writing. Based on writing alone, Hutton’s work rarely gained positive response, let alone public recognition, due to his obtuse composition. Muir, on the other hand, is known for his writing. Had Playfair not documented the excursion to Siccar Point, would Hutton still be a household name in the field of geology and beyond?
The relationship between science and civil society often requires an intermediary to maintain, as scientific writing has become increasingly niche. Academic papers circulate among academic journals that are read by academics. At the moment, scientists communicate to the public through newspaper articles, magazines, and other mediums. Contemporary scientific writing does not resonate with the public’s understanding of nature, be it rooted in biophilia or other discourses. More often than not, it is narrative writing that brings science and society closer, as seen with Playfair and Muir’s work.
Preferring certain writing, society creates for itself what it wishes to believe: James Hutton was the first to encounter geologic unconformities and Siccar Point was his greatest discovery. John Muir was the epitome of an explorer whose appreciation of nature was separate from religious belief. Of course, I am not proposing that scientific writing fabricate and cater its contents to better engage with the public. Though, the way scientific research is written could be modified to better engage with the public.
Perhaps contemporary scientific writing could consider Goldstein’s vision to revive a more individualistic approach. One that introduces a personal and cultural aspect without compromising the strive for objectivity. Society is interested in science and it endorses scientific research, but science has not always directly reciprocated with public engagement. It could be that this separation between science and civil society is implicated in the nature of scientific writing.