A Darwinian Gentleman at Marx's Funeral

Natural History, Sept, 1999 by Stephen Jay Gould

Why should Lankester not have enjoyed, even cherished, the attention of such a remarkable intellect (for that he was, whatever you may think of his doctrines and their consequences) as Karl Marx? What could possibly have delighted Lankester more than the friendship of such a brilliant older man, who knew art, philosophy, and the classics so well and who represented the epitome of German intellectual excellence, the object of Lankester's highest admiration? As for the ill, aging, and severely depressed Karl Marx, what could have brought more solace in the shadow of death than the company of bright, enthusiastic, optimistic young men in the flower of their intellectual development?

Waldstein's memories clearly capture, in an evocative and moving way, this aspect of Marx's persona in his final days. Many scholars have emphasized this feature of Marx's later life. Diane Paul, for example, states that "Marx had a number of much younger friends.... The aging Marx became increasingly difficult in his personal relationships, easily offended and irritated by the behavior of old friends, but he was a gracious mentor to younger colleagues who sought his advice and support." Seen in the appropriate light of their own time, and not with the anachronistic distortion of later events that we can't escape but that they couldn't know, Marx and Lankester seem ideally suited, indeed almost destined, for the warm friendship that actually developed.

All historical studies--whether of human biography or of evolutionary lineages in biology--potentially suffer from this "presentist" fallacy. Modern chroniclers know the outcomes that actually unfolded as unpredictable consequences of past events--and historians often, and inappropriately, judge the motives and actions of their subjects in terms of futures unknowable at the time. Thus, and far too frequently, evolutionists view a small and marginal lineage of pond-dwelling Devonian fishes as higher in the scale of being and destined for success because we know, but only in retrospect, that these organisms spawned all modern terrestrial vertebrates, including our exalted selves. And we overly honor a peculiar species of African primate as central to the forward thrust of evolution because our unique brand of consciousness arose, by contingent good fortune, from such a precarious stock. And as we Northerners once reviled Robert E. Lee as a traitor, we now tend to view him, in a more distant and benevolent light, as a man of principle and a great military leader--although neither extreme position can match or explain this fascinating man in his own time.

A little humility toward the luck of our present circumstances might serve us well. A little more fascination for past realities, freed from judgment by outcomes that only we can know, may help us understand our history, the primary source for our present condition. Perhaps we might borrow a famous line from a broken man who died in sorrow--still a stranger in a strange land, in 1883--but who at least enjoyed the solace of young companions like E. Ray Lankester, a loyal friend who did not shun the funeral of such an unpopular and rejected expatriate.