Gardening as resistance, an ornithologist on the spirituality of science and nature as worship, a Nobel-winning poet's ode to our cosmic humanity

NOTE: This newsletter might be cut short by your email program. [View it in full](.  If a friend forwarded it to you and you'd like your very own newsletter, [subscribe here]( — it's free.  Need to modify your subscription? You can [change your email address]( or [unsubscribe](. [Brain Pickings]( [Welcome] Hello {NAME}! This is the weekly email digest of the daily online journal [Brain Pickings]( by Maria Popova. If you missed last week's edition — the Stoic remedy for when people let you down; an illustrated celebration of how trees teach us to be human; finding meaning at the end of time — you can catch up [right here](. If my labor of love enriches your life in any way, please consider supporting it with a [donation]( – for a decade and a half, I have spent tens of thousands of hours, made many personal sacrifices, and invested tremendous resources in Brain Pickings, which remains free and ad-free and alive thanks to reader patronage. If you already donate: THANK YOU. [Gardening as Resistance: Notes on Building Paradise]( “The gardener digs in another time, without past or future, beginning or end… Here is the Amen beyond the prayer,” Derek Jarman wrote as he grieved his dying friends, faced his own death, and [contemplated art, mortality, and resistance]( while planting a garden between an old lighthouse and a new nuclear plant on a barren shingled shore. Jarman is one of the artists whom Olivia Laing profiles and celebrates in [Funny Weather: Art in an Emergency]( ([public library]( — her superb collection of [meditations on art, activism, and our search for meaning]( drawing on the lives of artists whose vision has changed the way we see the world, ourselves, and others. [elizabethblackwell_curiousherbal_poppy.jpg?resize=680%2C986] Red poppy from [A Curious Herbal]( by Elizabeth Blackwell, 1737. (Available [as a print]( and [as a face mask]( benefitting The Nature Conservancy.) Laing’s Jarman-fomented essay, titled “Paradise,” begins with the question of whether gardening is a form of art and ends with the question of whether art is a form of resistance — a necessary tool for building the Garden of Eden we imagine a flourishing society to be. She writes: [2e292385-dc1c-4cfe-b95e-845f6f98c2ec.png]Gardening situates you in a different kind of time, the antithesis of the agitating present of social media. Time becomes circular, not chronological; minutes stretch into hours; some actions don’t bear fruit for decades. The gardener is not immune to attrition and loss, but is daily confronted by the ongoing good news of fecundity. A peony returns, alien pink shoots thrusting from bare soil. The fennel self-seeds; there is an abundance of cosmos out of nowhere. To bridge Laing’s two questions, one must somehow reconcile these two temporal models: linear time, which the Greek called chronos and along which we plot the vector of progress, and cyclical time, or kairos, which is the time of gardens and, Laing intimates, the time of societies. We long for the assurance of steady progression, yet all around us the rest of nature churns in cycles. How do the cicadas know when to awake from their seventeen-year slumbers and rise up by the billions to make new life that will in turn repeat the cycle? And the migratory birds, “how can they know that it’s time to go?,” as Nina Simone asked in [her serenade to time]( — Nina Simone, who also chose to cover Pete Seeger’s “Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is a Season)” and who gave all she had to a movement the central concerns of which have returned a life-season later with redoubled urgency, its fruits only just beginning to ripen in our lifetime. Therein lies the paradox — how do we practice resistance if time is the substance we are made of, as Borges [so timelessly observed]( and yet we live suspended between these two parallel versions of time as we try to build paradise? [elizabethblackwell_curiousherbal_fig.jpg?resize=680%2C1039] Fig from [A Curious Herbal]( by Elizabeth Blackwell, 1737. (Available [as a print]( and [as a face mask]( benefitting The Nature Conservancy.) “Resistance” has always been a funny word to me — one without direct translation in my native Bulgarian, in this particular context of constructive social change. It contours something necessary but not sufficient — while ennobling and empowering in its implication of defying wrongness, it limits its own power by ending at what is to be eradicated, without indication of what is to be grown in its place and how. In this respect, the resistance approach to human nature (and the consensual collective byproduct of human natures we call society) is like the pesticide approach to nature. “Resistance” is a word especially limited by the elemental fact that there are certain things simply beyond the reach of resistance, impervious to our passions and protestations — spacetime, gravity, the fundamental laws that gave rise to our existence and will eventually return us to the stardust of which we are made. Your face will sag and your spine will bend under the twin assault of gravity and time, and so will mine, until our atoms disband altogether to become food for the worm and fertilizer for the mycelial wonderland from which bluebells will rise some future spring. None of this we can resist. But maybe — and that is what redeems and consecrates our finite human lives and our limited powers — within those parameters, there is space enough and spirit enough to resist what is poisonous to the ideological soil we call culture and persist in planting, for as long as we have to live and with as much generosity as we have to give, something lush and beautiful. That we might never live to see it bloom might just be okay. To have planted the seeds is satisfaction enough worth living for. [moralofflowers_rebeccahey_hare-bell1.jpg?resize=680%2C1025] Hare-bell from [The Moral of Flowers]( by Rebecca Hey, 1833. (Available [as a print]( Laing lands in a kindred place. A century and a half after Thoreau contemplated [the long cycles of social change]( and an increment after Zadie Smith reminded us that [“progress is never permanent, will always be threatened, must be redoubled, restated and reimagined if it is to survive,”]( Laing writes after a pilgrimage to Derek Jarman’s grave: [2e292385-dc1c-4cfe-b95e-845f6f98c2ec.png]Is art resistance? Can you plant a garden to stop a war? It depends how you think about time. It depends what you think a seed does, if it’s tossed into fertile soil. But it seems to me that whatever else you do, it’s worth tending to paradise, however you define it and wherever it arises. The arc of the moral universe might not be so different from that of the stem bent with bluebells tolling their vernal reminder that change comes in cycles. Every arc, after all, is but a segment of a circle. What it takes to draw our share of it with a steady hand as we try [“widening our circles of compassion”]( without the assurance of immediate results — that is the question we each answer with our lives. Poet and gardener Ross Gay comes closest to my own answer in his life-tested conviction that time spent gardening is [“an exercise in supreme attentiveness.”]( As I roll in my palm six large seedpods of sea kale — a neglected flowering wonder I discovered on the pages of Derek Jarman’s journal — and thumb them into the moist Brooklyn soil where they may or may not sprout, I find more and more that attention is the elemental unit of time. Each moment we are fully paying attention is an atom of eternity. The quality of our attention measures the quantity of our aliveness — our sole generator of resistance and persistence. This I know to be true: [What will survive of us are shoreless seeds and stardust.]( [seakale-scaled.jpg?resize=680%2C1073] Sea kale (Crambe maritima) by Carl Axel Mangus Lindman, 1901. (Restored archival art, available [as a print]( benefitting The Nature Conservancy.) Complement with the poetic neurologist Oliver Sacks on [the healing power of gardens]( then revisit Laing on [life, loss, and the wisdom of rivers](. [Forward to a friend]( Online]( [Like on Facebook]( donating=loving For 15 years, I have been spending hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars each month to keep Brain Pickings going. It has remained free and ad-free and alive thanks to patronage from readers. I have no staff, no interns, no assistant — a thoroughly one-woman labor of love that is also my life and my livelihood. If this labor makes your life more livable in any way, please consider aiding its sustenance with a donation. Your support makes all the difference. monthly donation You can become a Sustaining Patron with a recurring monthly donation of your choosing, between a cup of tea and a Brooklyn lunch.  one-time donation Or you can become a Spontaneous Supporter with a one-time donation in any amount. [Start Now]( [Give Now]( Partial to Bitcoin? You can beam some bit-love my way: 197usDS6AsL9wDKxtGM6xaWjmR5ejgqem7 [The Spirituality of Science and the Wonder of the Wilderness: Ornithologist and Wildlife Ecologist J. Drew Lanham on Nature as Worship]( [lanham_thehomeplace.jpg?fit=320%2C495]( “Our origins are of the earth. And so there is in us a deeply seated response to the natural universe, which is part of our humanity,” Rachel Carson wrote as she reflected on [science and our spiritual bond with nature]( a decade before she interleaved her training as a scientist and her poetic reverence of nature, nowhere deeper than in [her tender love of birds]( to compose Silent Spring — the epoch-making book that [catalyzed the modern environmental movement]( and inspired the creation of Earth Day. Two generations later, ornithologist and wildlife ecologist J. Drew Lanham — another scientist with a poet’s soul and the courage to fully inhabit both worlds — explores the abiding relationship between knowledge and mystery, between scientific truth and human meaning, throughout [The Home Place: Memoirs of a Colored Man’s Love Affair with Nature]( ([public library](. [jdrewlanham.jpg?resize=680%2C453] J. Drew Lanham (Photograph: Clemson University) Lanham — a self-described “man in love with nature,” “a seeker and a noticer,” “a wildling, born of forests and fields” who [worships every bird he sees]( — was raised in large part by his grandmother, a woman of ample wisdom and ample superstition, whose ravishing love of nature inspired Lanham’s own and whose sometimes comical, sometimes concerning antiscientific beliefs inspirited him to get closer to the truth of things through science. His love of nature never left him but, in a testament to Richard Feynman’s timeless [Ode to a Flower]( was only magnified by the lucidity of his scientific training. In consonance with poet Diane Ackerman’s lovely notion of living as an [“Earth ecstatic”]( where others might subscribe to a particular religion, Lanham writes: [2e292385-dc1c-4cfe-b95e-845f6f98c2ec.png]Evolution, gravity, change, and the dynamic transformation of field into forest move me. A warbler migrating over hundreds of miles of land and ocean to sing in the same tree once again is as miraculous to me as any dividing sea. [PraiseSongForDawn_by_MariaPopova.jpg?resize=680%2C851] Praise Song for Dawn by Maria Popova. (Available [as a print]( benefitting The Nature Conservancy.) A century after quantum theory originator and Nobel laureate Max Planck argued that [“science cannot solve the ultimate mystery of nature [because] we ourselves are part of nature and therefore part of the mystery that we are trying to solve”]( — a sentiment Carl Sagan would later echo [in his own singular poetics]( — Lanham adds: [2e292385-dc1c-4cfe-b95e-845f6f98c2ec.png]For all those years of running from anything resembling religion and all the scientific training that tells me to doubt anything outside of the prescribed confidence limits, I find myself defined these days more by what I cannot see than by what I can. As I wander into the predawn dark of an autumn wood, I feel the presence of things beyond flesh, bone, and blood. My being expands to fit the limitlessness of the wild world. My senses flush to full and my heartbeat quickens with the knowledge that I am not alone. [thebluehour_simler5.jpg] Art from [The Blue Hour]( by Isabelle Simler One of the wonders of being human is that as much as we may be creatures among creatures, [never alone in the web of life]( there lives within each of us a parallel wilderness of presences and possible identities comprising the ecology of being we call personhood. Walt Whitman — a poet [with a scientist’s soul]( — knew this when he described himself as a “kosmos” containing a multitude of identities and inheritances, creaturely, cosmic, and cultural. Lanham knows this in taxonomizing the Linnaean poetics of his own personhood: [2e292385-dc1c-4cfe-b95e-845f6f98c2ec.png]My being finds its foundation in open places. I’m a man of color — African American by politically correct convention — mostly black by virtue of ancestors who trod ground in central and west Africa before being brought to foreign shores. In me there’s additionally an inkling of Irish, a bit of Brit, a smidgen of Scandinavian, and some American Indian, Asian, and Neanderthal tossed in, too. But that’s only a part of the whole: There is also the red of miry clay, plowed up and planted to pass a legacy forward. There is the brown of spring floods rushing over a Savannah River shoal. There is the gold of ripening tobacco drying in the heat of summer’s last breath. There are endless rows of cotton’s cloudy white. My plumage is a kaleidoscopic rainbow of an eternal hope and the deepest blue of despair and darkness. All of these hues are me; I am, in the deepest sense, colored. I am as much a scientist as I am a black man; my skin defines me no more than my heart does. This integrated view of his interior ecology informs his integrated view of human society and our relationship with nature: [2e292385-dc1c-4cfe-b95e-845f6f98c2ec.png]To save wildlife and wild places the traction has to come not from the regurgitation of bad-news data but from the poets, prophets, preachers, professors, and presidents who have always dared to inspire. Heart and mind cannot be exclusive of one another in the fight to save anything. [thelostwords7.jpg?w=1200] Art by Jackie Morris from [The Lost Words]( by Robert MacFarlane — a visual dictionary of poetic spells resisting the erasure of nature’s language from our cultural lexicon. Complement with Thoreau on [nature as prayer]( his modern-day counterpart Sy Montgomery on what a lifetime of working with nonhuman animals taught her about [the living holiness of nature]( and astrophysicist Marcelo Gleiser on [how to live with mystery in the age of knowledge]( then savor this marvelous [illustrating rewilding of the human spirit](. [Forward to a friend]( Online]( [Like on Facebook]( [Our Cosmic Humanity: Astronomer Jill Tarter Reads Nobel-Winning Polish Poet Wisława Szymborska]( [wislawa_map.jpg?w=680]( should have sent a poet,” gasps Jodie Foster’s character in the film based on Carl Sagan’s novel Contact as another galaxy emerges before her eyes outside the spaceship window, redeeming with the wonder of possibility her lifelong dream of finding intelligent life beyond our solar system. Sagan, who wrote the novel in 1985 and returned his stardust to the universe months before the film’s premiere in 1997, modeled Foster’s character — a scientist persisting in the search for extraterrestrial intelligence against the tidal force of resistance from the limited imagination of mainstream science — on the heroic longtime director of the [SETI Institute]( astronomer Jill Tarter. In the spring of 2020, as our one and only world was celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of Earth Day while coming unworlded by a deadly pandemic, Dr. Tarter joined the human chorus serenading our cosmic belonging in [The Universe in Verse]( — my annual charitable celebration of science and the natural world through poetry — to read a poem that could have been composed by her or for her or about her: “The Ball” by the Polish poet Wisława Szymborska (July 2, 1923–February 1, 2012), who received her Nobel Prize with a stunning reflection on [how our certitudes keep us small]( and whose poignant lesser-known prose has explored [the paradoxes and opportunities of our cosmic solitude](. [0093d40c-8cf5-43cf-971d-1986cc7ee40d.png]( [2e292385-dc1c-4cfe-b95e-845f6f98c2ec.png]THE BALL by Wisława Szymborska As long as nothing can be known for sure, (no signals have been picked up yet), As long as earth is still unlike The nearer and more distant planets, As long as there’s neither hide nor hair Of other grasses graced by other winds Or other treetops bearing other crowns, Other animals as well grounded as our own, As long as the local echo Has been known to speak in syllables As long as there’s no word Of better or worse mozarts, platos, edisons out there, as long as our inhuman crimes are still committed only between humans, as long as our kindness is still incomparable, peerless even in its imperfection, as long our heads packed with illusions still pass for the only heads so packed, as long as the roofs of our mouths alone still raise voices to high heavens — let’s act like very special guests of honour at the district fireman’s ball, dance to the beat of the local oompah band, and pretend that it’s the ball to end all balls. I can’t speak for others — for me this misery and happiness enough: just this sleepy backwater where even the stars have time to burn while winking at us unintentionally. “The Ball,” translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh, appears in Szymborska’s indispensable [Map: Collected and Last Poems]( ([public library]( which also gave us her [ode to the number pi]( and her lovely [“Possibilities.”]( [milkyway1.jpg?resize=680%2C890] Part of the galaxy of which we are a part, from Étienne Léopold Trouvelot’s [19th-century astronomical drawings](. (Available [as a print]( and [a face mask]( For more about Dr. Tarter, her inspiring story, and her poetic credo that “it takes a cosmos to make us human,” savor her [On Being conversation]( with Krista Tippett. (Krista was also a part of The Universe in Verse in 2020 with a lovely reading of and reflection on Wendell Berry’s [“The Peace of Wild Things,”]( and in 2019 with Howard Nemerov’s [ode to the interconnectedness of the universe]( For more lush lyrical interleavings of our hunger for elemental truth and our search for human meaning, delve into the Universe in Verse [archive]( spanning several years and dozens of diversely inspiring humans reading perspective-broadening poems, including astronomer Natalie Batalha reading and reflecting on Dylan Thomas’s [cosmic serenade to trees and the wonder of being human]( musician Meshell Ndegeocello performing [Whitman’s ode to the entwined mutuality of life]( physicist Brian Greene [reading and reflecting on Rilke and the nature of time]( U.S. Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith reading her [spare and poignant invocation of Einstein’s mother]( astronaut Leland Melvin reading Pablo Neruda’s [love letter to Earth’s forests]( and Patti Smith reading Emily Dickinson’s [poetic premonition of particle physics](. [Forward to a friend]( Online]( [Like on Facebook]( donating=loving For 15 years, I have been spending hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars each month to keep Brain Pickings going. It has remained free and ad-free and alive thanks to patronage from readers. I have no staff, no interns, no assistant — a thoroughly one-woman labor of love that is also my life and my livelihood. If this labor makes your life more livable in any way, please consider aiding its sustenance with a donation. Your support makes all the difference. monthly donation You can become a Sustaining Patron with a recurring monthly donation of your choosing, between a cup of tea and a Brooklyn lunch.  one-time donation Or you can become a Spontaneous Supporter with a one-time donation in any amount. [Start Now]( [Give Now]( Partial to Bitcoin? You can beam some bit-love my way: 197usDS6AsL9wDKxtGM6xaWjmR5ejgqem7 A SMALL, DELIGHTFUL SIDE PROJECT: [Vintage Science Face Masks Benefiting the Nature Conservancy (New Designs Added)]( [vintagesciencefacemasks.jpg]( ALSO, NEW CHILDREN’S BOOK BY YOURS TRULY: [The Snail with the Right Heart: A True Story]( [thesnailwiththerightheart_0000.jpg]( [---] You're receiving this email because you subscribed on Brain Pickings. This weekly newsletter comes out on Sundays and offers the week's most unmissable articles. 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