Teleological History – American Disasters

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Our readings this week bridge a divide that I’ve seen in our previous readings: a disjunction between urban, economic, and environmental history. Rozario overlapped urban and economic history, Matthews environmental and social history, and Schneirov economic and social history. In Nature’s Metropolis, however, William Cronon does not merely suggest where these subjects might overlap, but fuses each together, suggesting that just as an isolation of the rural and the urban is an “illusion,” so too is any division of these historical subjects (18). In Chicago, Cronon asserts, we see the rise of a natural city and, consequently, a unique, interdisciplinary subject of historical inquiry.

As Eli humorously argued in his post last week, Turner’s “Frontier Thesis”—while it was certainly significant to the historiography of the American West—implausibly treated the frontier as an omnipotent actor in American history that not only offered the natural conditions suitable for westward expansion, but served as a driving force for American democratization. Much of Eli’s critique of Turner seems to be Turner’s heavily stereotyped characterization of the frontier. But, as I think Eli’s quotations allude to, Turner personifies the frontier as one who “masters the colonist” (quoted in post). Its stereotypes aside, such a notion of the frontier seems contrived. While I can accept treating the frontier as a natural actor in history, I have trouble with seeing a place as taking such an active role in events. If anything—as, I think, the articles by Kevin Rozario and James Connolly would suggest—places can reflect social and economic changes, rather than direct them. In this sense, I think we should should see nature—whether on the frontier or in the city—as a passive actor, being acted upon and responding accordingly.

A Turnerian himself—though certainly a disillusioned one—Cronon adopts much of Turner’s treatment of nature and place as actors in Nature’s Metropolis. Chicago’s expansion, he asserts in his prologue, was foreshadowed by “nature’s own prophecies” and “expressed natural power” though the product of human ingenuity (13). But as Cronon goes on challenge what is, in fact, natural and unnatural about the city, I think we can begin to see the clearest depictions of nature and place as historical actors much like we might consider persons to be. As Sarah previously highlighted, the natural landscape surrounding Chicago directly influenced its development. From its central location to its proximity to Lake Michigan, the area in Upper Illinois that would one day be Chicago drew the eye and inspired the rhetoric of early “boosters.” But as Cronon highlights, Chicagoans’ struggle to overcome its natural disadvantages also shape much of their story. For example, to compensate for its muddiness, Chicagoans literally raised the city in its early history. What’s interesting in Cronon’s treatment of nature, however, is that, in addition to environmental factors, he treats economic and technological impacts as natural—he calls them “Second Nature,” whereby humans adapt nature form new environments. Such “natural” actors include an ever-expanding, national railroad network and Chicago’s economic alliance with the industrialized Northeast. These “First Nature” and “Second Nature” forces drastically influenced the emergence of Chicago as “Nature’s Metropolis.” What I found most interesting, however, were instances where these seemingly disparate natural forces converged. Cronon highlights one particularly interesting example of this phenomenon: the railroad. Economically, the railroad cut back on Chicago’s seasonal economic cycles and strengthened the city’s trading alliances with other regions. Environmentally, the railroad transformed and blended into the natural landscape. But the railroad was also influenced by other natural forces. In Chicago, proximity to Lake Michigan and the Erie Canal influenced travel rates, while its central location attracted both the eastern and western ends of the railroad web. In this sense, the railroad did not exist in “First Nature” or “Second Nature” exclusively, but in both. As Cronon writes, the railroad “partook of the supernatural, drawing upon a mysterious creative energy” (72). This, I argue, suggests that Cronon treats “nature” much as Turner treats the frontier—an omnipotent force as much as a historical actor.

So, in reading Cronon, how should we understand his Turnerian bias?

I’ll leave this for discussion in class. But—as I argue above—I think that Cronon simply recapitulates Turner, substituting “nature” for the frontier and endorsing a natural teleology for the Chicago’s preeminent rise as does Turner for American democratization.

Just as last week’s readings approached disasters, our readings for Tuesday’s class examine the “Gilded Age” and approach it generally, attempting to characterize the period and, in doing so, look beyond its materialism and superficiality. As Sarah addressed in her post, Charles Calhoun adopts this approach in his analysis of the period and suggests that in the context of US history it was a time of “substantial accomplishment,” when advancements in politics and pop culture coincided with urbanization and economic development (3). Indeed, as Sarah writes, the period was “not as gilded as it seems.” But perhaps even more boldly than Calhoun, Rebecca Edwards advocates for the period’s significance and, one might say, preeminence in New Spirits. The “Gilded Age,” she insists, was not merely a time of greed, inequality, and other ills of so-called unfettered capitalism, but an “Early Progressive Era,” the “starting point for modern America” (5). She notes, like Calhoun, that alongside the emergence of globalism and development of capitalism, the United States underwent a period of immense change, evolving into a more egalitarian democracy and fostering a democratic culture. But for Edwards, the period was not just one of progress. As she writes, the United States emerged from a “crucible of fire” in early twentieth century, fraught as much with greed and corruption as with disaster (1).

So, how might these affirmative views of the “Gilded Age” influence our interpretation of its disasters?

As our reading last week noted, disasters serve as “daily reminders of the limitations . . . of modernity” (Hewitt 2). Just as they exploit weaknesses in infrastructure and society, they can and often do illicit positive change to mend those weaknesses. And it would seem that this is especially the case in an evolving society, where progress might not begin with disaster—it’s already begun—but instead simply alters its course. Now, if Edwards’ and Calhoun’s assessments of the “Gilded Age” are accurate and the period truly was one of immense progress, I think we ought to evaluate the period’s disasters with its progressive ends in mind, analyzing the way in which disasters challenged the progressive course of the United States. The pitfall of this type of interpretation, of course, would be stooping to a teleological history, in which we interpret disasters as merely the causes of events, not as important events in and of themselves. But I would like to pose the question to the class: Should we interpret disasters in the “Gilded Age” as causes of the Progressive Era or as the results of a progressing era?

In his post last week, Price addressed and critiqued what Bergman described as the “utility” of disaster, suggesting that Bergman perhaps “jumps the gun” in considering disasters useful. And while I agree with him to some extent—it’s critical to recognize the deadly tolls of disaster—I think that we ought to study disasters with intention of uncovering their useful results. Not only does this approach attempt to understand disasters in their context, but recognizes both the momentary and long-lasting effects of those disasters. I think Edwards would agree with this approach as well. After all, she admits that even in this “Early Progressive Era,” it was the “fires” of the age that forged the tools of progress.

Tag: Teleological History

Natural Teleology: the Railroad and the “Natural” History of Chicago

A Crucible of Fire: Interpreting the “Gilded Age” and Characterizing Its Disasters