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Memoir -1

Updated: May 29

Alan Chadwick and the Arcadian Garden: A Memoir and a Tribute

by Paul A. Lee

Platonic Academy Press 131 Spring St. Santa Cruz, California 95060

1997, for Charlene over a caffe latte

to be read as an online accompaniment to [amazon asin=1583945598&text=THERE IS A GARDEN IN THE MIND], Alan Chadwick and the Origins of the Organic Movement in California,

by Paul A. Lee North Atlantic Press, Berkeley, California, 2013


“Nature, too, mourns for a lost good.” - Schelling


Alan Chadwick and the Salvation of Nature was the working title of the book I intended to write about the UCSC Garden Project, until I changed my mind. It led me down a garden path I had misgivings about. I was afraid of losing my way. I was inspired by a sermon with that title by my teacher, Paul Tillich: “The Salvation of Nature”. He made reference to the then newly formed science of survival and the endangerment of just about everything–the end of nature and the end of us. It was the late ’50’s, when scientists announced the formation of such a group, as if science could get us out of the fix, although even they must have had doubts about any recovery given the responsibility science has for the predicament. It must have confirmed for Tillich his description of “the late stage of the self-destruction of industrial society”, a phrase I learned from him that became, for me, a kind of negative mantra, a fancy way of referring to an obsessive preoccupation–the fate of the social order I had to call my own. Tillich makes clear that the scientists didn’t mean the survival of humans, or the survival of endangered species, or the oceans, or the forests, or the air–they meant the survival of the earth as we know it, our planet, largely ruled, as it is, by industrial society. It meant the fall of a very large order–bigger than the Roman Empire.

Tillich mentions how the first time things turned sour, in the Biblical myth of the flood, God regretted–the word used is “repented”– what had come to pass with creation and caused a flood to wipe out almost everything; now, this time, we are doing it to ourselves. It is the Flood the second time around with ourselves to blame. Tillich was the only one I knew who used the phrase–“the late stage of the self-destruction of industrial society”–our society–what he called “the world above the given world of nature”, long before the science of survival was proposed or environmental awareness had taken on anything like a national character, after the Earth Day event in 1970.

His formulation stuck in my mind. As a world above the given world of nature, industrial society is a sub-world, a reduced world, where science and technology are in charge as agents of self-destruction, under the ideological sway of Physicalism, the opponent of Vitalism. Physicalism is the reduction of everything to physical and chemical properties; Vitalism argues for the integrity of organic nature against the reduction. Physicalism defeated Vitalism in the early 19th century and now Vitalism has re-appeared in the environmental movement and a host of allied movements, what could be called a Neo-Vitalist revolution. The struggle has been re-enjoined even though Physicalists, or most scientists, having enjoyed a century and more of victorious rule, are reluctant to admit it. They see themselves as servants of industrial society devoted to its continuation, no matter what the cost. Universities are where these servants of industrial society are trained.

This is a bleak view. No wonder that instead of destined to direct history we think it our fate to suffer it.

The Chadwick Garden opened my eyes to the bleak view of the deep conflict in the culture–industrial society and organic nature. Two trends in the history and philosophy of science–Physicalism and Vitalism turned out for me to be the best way to conceptualize this conflict.

I needed a key to exemplify the historical process of self-destruction in order to account for it, a descriptive case that told the story. I found it in the Physicalist/Vitalist conflict, a major issue in the history and philosophy of science, now largely forgotten or simply taken for granted.

The Physicalist takeover (1828) and the attempted and largely accomplished elimination of Vitalism, reveals the full scale of the predicament we are in. It was the major lesson I learned from the Chadwick Garden Project. The Physicalist take-over, in league with industrial society, still determines what counts for knowledge. Much of what follows will be devoted to describing and interpreting this conflict.

A line from Schelling stuck in my mind: “Nature, too, mourns for a lost good.” It was the line that came to me when I was told that Chadwick had died. He was the lost good. Tillich, a devoted student of Schelling, used to talk about how nature, as well as human beings, participated in the Fall. When God made the covenants, God made one with nature, as well as with human beings. The universe, as we know it, is involved in the dynamics of self-destruction or what the Bible calls the wrath of God. It is a larger theological issue than just the fate of industrial society, as a world above the given world of nature. The Greek word for the wrath of God, driving us to our self-destruction, is thymos, an old Homeric word, meaning wrath, rage, as well as courage and vitality. It is best symbolized by fire. In the biblical usage, it is our vitality directed against ourselves, driving us to self-destruction. It has prompted me to think about the tragedy of culture as the history of self-destruction, where all our effort, all our striving, stands under the curse of the Preacher–vanity.

The Apostle Paul had a lyrical vision of the bondage of nature under the curse of vanity–all creation groans with eager longing for redemption from decay and shares with us the message of salvation: it is a cosmic message. We know this groaning with sighs too deep for words.

I thought of the words of Schelling and the vision of the Apostle Paul when I got the word of Chadwick’s death. I was on the phone with Baker-roshi, my Zen priest friend and Abbott of Zen Center, who had taken Alan in to care for him after Alan had become ill with cancer, and he told me Alan had died. I put the phone down and was swept out of my home on a rush of mourning, a trajectory of some irresistible force that shot through me, as I burst out of the front door and into the front yard, where an invisible sky-hook came down and picked me up into the air for one enormous somersault of death, and then let me down again. In this burst of grief, this paroxysm of nature, I knew what nature had lost.

I have thought a lot about the salvation of nature and how bleak the prospect looks, so I dropped it from my title in favor of another image of nature–the Arcadian garden and the affirmation included in the slogan: Et in Arcadia Ego. After all, it was the slogan we had taken for our garden at the university, derived from Goethe’s “Italian Journey”, a motto from the 18th century, a retrospective affirmation of the goodness and sweetness of life. I wanted to express my gratefulness for the renewed affirmation many of us found in Chadwick’s gardens where ancient themes were restored and renewed. This is the power gardens have over us, because the garden is the symbol of the salvation of nature, where paradise is remembered and anticipated. Gardens are affirmations of the goodness of creation.

Tillich knew how to put it:

“The “garden” is the place where the curse upon the land is overcome. In it vegetable nature is liberated from chaos and self-destruction; “weed” there is none. This “”garden of the gods,” of which every human garden is a symbol and an anticipation, will reappear in the salvation of nature.”

Paul Tillich: The Meaning of Health

Chadwick’s Arcadian Garden was the place where the original affirmation of the unambiguous goodness of creation was made again–he gave us all a second chance. It was definitely a place where nature was healed, as well as those who practiced the method –I saw that with my own eyes and experienced it myself. Nevertheless, Chadwick, a force-fit almost everywhere he went, was most definitely a force-fit at the University of California, Santa Cruz. Force-fit is a pun, especially for those who suffered the brunt of Chadwick’s temper tantrums, the force of his fits. And yet, over forty years later, in spite of all odds against it, the Chadwick Garden is still there, albeit an unintegrated appendage to the University; a mute but eloquent testimony to the unresolved character of the Physicalist/Vitalist conflict.

This story is the fate of organic nature generally–this fate of a Garden Project at the University of California, Santa Cruz.


I tried to write this material in a conventional book form but I found that my mind skips unaccountably, otherwise known as free association and I always wound up with multiple books in a jumbled mess. The interview form released me from the serial order of paragraphs into chapters. I could just let it flow in response to simple questions I could put to myself. It made things easy because I knew all the answers. And I could speak in my personal voice rather than the neutrality of academic prose, although there is still plenty of that. (I am happy to note that the book: There Is A Garden In the Mind, Alan Chadwick and the Origins of the Organic Movement in California, will be published this year, 2009, on the occasion of the one hundredth anniversary of Chadwick’s birth, 1909.)

I could have concentrated exclusively on Chadwick and his work. I know that this aspect has been submerged in my own narrative of his influence on my life and thought which takes up the greater part of this interview. I hope the spirit he brought to Santa Cruz and transmitted to me is expressed in all I have to say in this tribute to him and this memoir of mine.

There are many acknowledgments to make. I hardly know where to begin. Thanks to everyone who has played a part in this effort to renew the integrity of organic nature in the glory of gardens. Never give up hope in the ultimate fulfillment of the Arcadian and Edenic paradise in the promise of the salvation of nature.

On the Interview

The interview was conducted from December, 1995, to April, 1997. It bears the brunt of that historical period with projects underway that never came to fruition, such as Ecotopia, a design strategy for the new millennium for Santa Cruz. Oh well, you can’t win them all.


Paul Lee was educated at St. Olaf College, where he studied philosophy with Howard Hong. He attended Luther Theological Seminary and the University of Minnesota and received his divinity degree (S.T.B.) and PhD from Harvard. He taught at Harvard in the humanities program and was Paul Tillich’s Teaching Assistant (1960–62). He has taught at MIT, UCSC, and as guest lecturer at a number of colleges and universities. He was denied tenure at UCSC, for not publishing, when Page Smith, who came to his defense, resigned in protest. They formed the William James Association, a nonprofit corporation, in Santa Cruz, in 1972, devoted to voluntary work service as a moral equivalent of war. Page Smith died in 1995.

Paul Lee was a member of the Board of the Citizens Committee for the Homeless, which he began in 1985, with Page Smith and Paul Pfotenhauer, now the Homeless Services Center. The Paul Lee Loft is named for him and provides shelter for over forty homeless clients.

He is Executive Director of United Services Agency, which he began in 1970, with the Rev. Herb Schmidt. He has scored Santa Cruz as Ecotopia, the ideal point of destination for the eco-tourist, a design strategy for the new millennium, with the aim of solving the problem of homelessness. This has not come to realization.

He has written two books on the homeless issue: The Quality Of Mercy, and Florence the Goose, both published by the Platonic Academy Press. He is finishing his book on Chadwick: There Is A Garden In the Mind, which should appear in late 2009, to celebrate the centennial of Chadwick’s birth. He has written a play: A Lullaby For Wittgenstein, which he has submitted to the Yale Drama Competition (2009) and he has almost completed his book on faith: Paul’s Letter to the Athenians, the letter St. Paul wished he had written but didn’t. He is working on a number of projects for his website,, with his grand daughter, Camille Zajac, Evan Schaffer and Bradley Allen.

He lives in Santa Cruz with his wife, Charlene, and happily gardens in his backyard, where the Tower of Jewels he got from Roy Rydell (Echium) have almost taken over. He still lives under the motto: Et in Arcadia Ego, which, roughly translated, means: Let my garden be my grave.

Et In Arcadia Ego

Trees, plants and flowers—of virtuous root: Gem yielding blossom, yielding fruit,

Choice gums and precious balm;

Bless ye the nosegay of the vale,

And with the sweetness of the gale

Enrich the thankful psalm.

Christopher Smart from A Song To David


The text for the Trial Proof for Alan Chadwick and Paul Lee of the UC Santa Cruz Student Garden Project - "A Broadside designed by Jack Stauffacher"

22 Jan. ’72 The Greenwood Press

Where did you first meet Alan Chadwick?

We met at the Cowell College Fountain, at the University of California, Santa Cruz, sometime in the Spring of 1967. It would be better to ask what it was like–he hit me like a ton of bricks, although the impact was felt later, partly because of the force of his temper, which did not show up right away. Freya Von Moltke warned me about it. He was impressive. A great shock of hair, fine features, enormous hands, tall and dramatic in bearing, he carried himself like a ballet dancer. In terms of looks, he was a cross between Samuel Beckett, Ronald Reagan, and Danny Kaye. He was a stickler for deportment and elocution, because he had been a professional actor on the British stage and toured with a theatre company in South Africa. For some who weren’t taken in by him he was a complete ham. He appeared to be in awe of professors but it was more of an act, a kind of formal deferential courtesy. He always made a point of calling me “Professor Lee”; privately, his nickname for me was “Sausage”, a term popular among actors, which I detested.

How did you meet?

I had started a Garden Project, completely off the top of my head. I must have anticipated meeting Chadwick; it’s the only reason I can think of why I had the impulse. “Impulse” is a lead word in the Rudolf Steiner vocabulary and Chadwick gardened in the Steiner tradition of Biodynamics, so the word easily comes to mind. Chadwick turned out to be the “imp” in that impulse, let me tell you. I thought of certain influences later that had some bearing on the impulse. I wasn’t really interested in gardening, although “Flower Power” was in the air, wafting down from Haight Ashbury. I was interested in the idea of a garden. I was busy teaching philosophy, religious studies and the History of Consciousness, an innovative graduate program, but something, an impulse, prompted me to found a garden on the campus: The Student Garden Project.

So you acted on the impulse?

I organized a walk with the Chancellor–Dean McHenry–who turned out to be an old farm boy, whose father planted by the moon; he was sympathetic and willing to play along. We went for a walk through part of the campus with about seventy-five people to look for a possible garden site. I remember carrying my daughter, Jessica, on my shoulders. It was the first time we walked out behind the campus into the rough and beautiful landscape that had been fenced off with No Trespassing signs.

And then Chadwick arrived, as though on schedule?

Weeks later, on schedule, indeed, the fulfillment and the reason for my impulse. I wanted a garden and here came the gardener, as if providentially arranged.

Who told you about him?

Countess Freya Von Moltke, who was visiting the campus.

Who is Freya Von Moltke?

She is a very special person, the widow of Helmuth Von Moltke, the great resister to Hitler, who was executed near the end of the war for conspiring about the future of Germany in the famous Kreisau Circle. She heard I wanted to start a garden and Chadwick was on the way to visit her in Santa Cruz. She said: “I hear you want to start a garden.” I said, “Yes, Countess.” So she told me a remarkable man who was a gardener was coming and she would set up a meeting with Chadwick the day he arrived for his visit.

They were friends?

They had known one another in South Africa, where Freya fled after the fall of Germany, at the end of the Second World War. Chadwick was at the Admiralty Gardens in Cape Town, if I remember correctly. Freya gave him to me as a gift and he was received in the same spirit. I had no plan, no resources, I thought the thing would spontaneously combust and we’d have a garden. And it did. Chadwick was the spontaneous combustion.

Can you point to the influences working on you?

There were three that come to mind:

1. George Huntston Williams had been my Church History professor at Harvard Divinity School and he had written a book: Wilderness and Paradise, tracing the motifs of desert and garden in the history of Western thought with sources in the Bible. I helped him a little and he mentioned my name in his acknowledgments, the first time my name appeared in print. The second half of the book is about the origins of higher education in America, acting out the motifs of wilderness and garden, when pioneers from the East Coast went out into the wilderness to sow the seeds of a garden and start a school. So the book is a scenario of what happened historically as a result of the biblical themes. I wanted to plant a garden on this new campus to commemorate the origins of a school in this spirit. I had no idea what I was up against.

2. Donald Nicholl and I shared an office at Cowell College in the fall of 1966. He was a visiting professor of history from England and had a rare sense of the fate of the human spirit at an institution like UCSC. He worried about how any kind of real community could happen under the reign of the obtuse bureaucrat and bent upon the training of servants for industrial society. He gave a lecture: “A Sense of Place” about the British poet and artist, David Jones, and it had an impact on me in its relevance for Santa Cruz. We had a long talk before he left to return to England about how “lacerated” he was, in the sense of Dostoievsky, over the spiritual vacuity of the campus. He planted the seed.

3. Page Smith was the deep motivational source, the guiding spirit of Cowell College, where I taught the first year before moving to Crown College. He was the reason Freya Von Moltke was visiting the campus, but there is a long story here which I will go into later. It goes back to the Civilian Conservation Corps and Camp William James, a leadership training camp for the Corps, where Page was the Director, in 1940. At UCSC, Page was a major influence in his bearing on the spirit of the place: he put his stamp on Cowell College as the first Provost of the first college. We had a five year grace period and then the institution clicked into place–it was almost perceptible.

What do you mean by “the click”?

I had the same experience of “the click” when I read: The Way Of All Flesh, by Samuel Butler. There is a moment in the novel where your worst fears are realized, a perceptible click, when the children of the parents, so vital and spontaneous in their youth, suddenly become as restricted and repressed as the adults. Donald Nicholl intuited and predicted this “click” and he was right. It can happen’ to institutions just as it happens to people. Max Weber called it the “routinization of charisma”.

Was there anything to prepare you for this experience?

I remember talking to someone at the Harvard Coop about going to Santa Cruz to teach and he asked: Do you know anything about the California ssssystem?” He hissed the ‘s’, as though it was a snake in the grass. I said “no”. It was my first warning.

What prepared you for wanting to start a garden?

I come from Norwegian immigrant farmers, my ethnic background on my father’s side, although I was a city boy, raised in Milwaukee, with no ostensible affinity for gardening, let alone farming, although farming left an indelible impression on my father. It formed him in a way that never left him even though he became a doctor.

Do you regret it–joining the faculty of UCSC and eventually being denied tenure?

Of course, it ruined my academic career. Once bounced, it is almost impossible to find another job–the denial of tenure becomes a stigma. Page Smith, as I said, departed with me in 1972, so that was a consolation. We thought the Garden Project should have been equal to a bad book, in terms of publish or perish, but we were wrong. Years later, Page wrote Killing the Spirit, his indictment of higher education. We were on the same wave length on that one, along with our colleague, Mary Holmes, Professor of Art History at UCSC. She was also part of the Chadwick network and we eventually formed a trio, leading a downtown discussion group called the Penny University, which Page and I started, over twenty years ago, in 1973. Now Jim Bierman, Professor of Theatre Arts, has joined us, after Page’s and Mary’s death.

How was Mary Holmes part of the Chadwick network?

She gave Chadwick his first place when she was living out on Empire Grade. A small cottage. It was perfect for him. Then he bounced about until he found a more permanent place, although Chadwick was impossible to live with. The University eventually gave him an apartment at Cowell College. He acted up. Whenever you flushed the toilet, for instance, the noise in the pipes was orchestrated just to set Chadwick off, he couldn’t stand the sound of the water flowing through the pipes. A faculty couple we know, with two boys, lived in the apartment upstairs from Chadwick. He terrorized them if they flushed the toilet after 5:00 pm. It was absurd. She was the only one I know who said “Good” when I told her Chadwick had died.

But you were very moved by his death?

He had a Pieta of Raphael and a Shakespeare Sonnet, Number 15, pinned up next to his bed.

When I consider every thing that grows

Holds in perfection but a little moment,

That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows

Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;

When I perceive that men as plants increase,

Cheered and check’d even by the self-same sky,

Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,

And wear their brave state out of memory;

Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,

Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, To change your day of youth to sullied night;

And all in war with Time for love of you,

As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

He put up a vase of flowers and kneeled down next to the bed to pray. And he died.

So there were all these connections?

I can easily catalogue them. Let’s give it a try. Page and Eloise Smith, Donald and Dorothy Nicholl, Roy and Francis Rydell, Jack and Josephine Stauffacher and The Greenwood Press. Eva Fosselius. Michael Stusser. John Powell. Phil Armour. Stephen Decatur. Rory. Jim and Beth Nelson. Michael Zander. Kate Stafford. Will David. Tom Whitridge. Ann Arnold. Ann Fabian. Angie Kuper. Linda Jolly. Ramon Chavez. John Dotter. Chris and Stefanie. Jodi. Agaja. Allen York. Craig Siska. Putney and Perry. Alfred Heller. Filoli. Sim Van der Ryn. The Farallones Institute. Sunset Magazine. Huey Johnson and Nature Conservancy. Richard Wilson and Covelo. Betty Peck and Saratoga. Bernard Taper and the New Yorker Magazine. John Jeavons and Ecology Action. Francis Edmunds and Emerson College. The Homeless Garden Project. The Farm Apprentice Training Program. Chez Panisse and Alice Waters. The Greens and Deborah Madison. E. F. Schumacher. Edmund Brown, Jr. Frank Davidson. The Civilian Conservation Corps. Boyd Homer. Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy. Freya Von Moltke. Rolf and Elsa Von Eckartsberg. Camp William James. The Peace Corps. The Zen Center. Richard Baker. Virginia Baker. Acacia. Wendy. Sir George Trevelyan. Paolo Soleri. Paul Hawkin. Stuart Brand. The Whole Earth Catalog. Louis and Virgina Saso. Kent Taylor of Taylor’s Herb Garden. Fukuoka. Robert Rodale. Wendall Berry. Jim Robertson and the Yolla Bolly Press. The Wild Thyme Restaurant. The Whole Earth Restaurant. Count Helmuth Von Moltke. Kreisau, Pudleston, Richard Senior, etc.

It turns out to be a big memory network and these are names that just come to mind in the moment. I’m so sorry I can’t remember everyone. They know who they are. And I don’t know the half of it. These are all connections I could draw and everyone has their story.

Didn’t Findhorn–the famous garden in Scotland–also begin out of a Steiner impulse about the same time?


Did you ever think of yourselves as Findhorn West because of the tie to Rudolf Steiner and Biodynamics?

Of course, but only later. We didn’t know about Findhorn at the time. Chadwick kept quiet about Steiner, although his influence was indicated through Biodynamics. Francis Edmunds visited a number of times. He was the Principal of Emerson College, the Rudolf Steiner College, in Forest Row, England, where they had a biodynamic training center under Koepf. So that was more of a professional tie than Findhorn. In 1976, I was in residence at Emerson for a month and gave lectures. They sat in stunned silence for a very long time after I gave my Physicalist/Vitalist spiel, showing where Steiner fit in the historical context of the defeat of Vitalism, which made a big impression on me. It was the most amazing response I have ever had.

Was there any reciprocity between The Garden Project and Emerson?

We eventually sent student apprentices there for additional training.

But no interchange with Findhorn?

We didn’t know about Findhorn, even though we were contemporaries. It was a kind of morphic resonance, I suppose. They were more airy-fairy, with devas lurking behind the plants and huge vegetables you could choke on. We were more practical and had to cope with a fairly conventional academic institution, although UCSC had a reputation for being far-out. We were the far-out, I’m afraid, even though we played down the Steiner connection for political reasons. Even so, we were branded as a cult, just because Chadwick planted by the moon and eschewed the use of chemical fertilizers and pesticides in his affirmation of the organic in his use of compost for soil fertility. That’s how ideologically touchy it was. It was Paul Hawkin who wrote the book on Findhorn and then when he located in San Francisco, took an interest in Chadwick and decided to start Smith and Hawkin in order to import the Bulldog tools Chadwick used.

You mean just launching an organic garden was far-out?

An Agriculturalist Emeritus, that’s how he signed it, which I took to mean ‘Old Fart’, wrote a letter to the Vice-Chancellor of Agricultural Sciences at UC, complaining about a cult that had fixed itself on the campus at Santa Cruz and wanted it shut down immediately because they didn’t use chemicals which was against the scientific approach the University was supposed to promote. The Vice- Chancellor, I think his name was Kendrick, wrote back and said it would be a better learning experience not to shut it down but to let the students watch stuff die because they didn’t use chemical pesticides or fertilizers. I thought that was pretty Solomonic.

But Chadwick employed another system as well: the French Intensive.

The French Intensive system was almost a shield or screen for the Biodynamic aspect. Steiner is like a carefully guarded secret you only find out about if you are interested in the occult or the esoteric, which means digging under the surface. It is an interesting issue, now that I think about it, as it relates to the discussion of “occultation” in Heidegger’s discussion of the Greek word for truth–aletheia--which he translates as “unconcealedness”, an almost unintelligible English rendering, although it simply means that what is revealed is still concealed, if you can take that in, as if remembering what is still forgotten or mostly forgotten. “Garbled” might be an interesting way of putting it. “Lost in translation”. Hide and seek. Anyhow, the Steiner system was definitely an occultation, with the French Intensive acting as a front. It was a great amalgamation of two systems.

So the scientific establishment at the University would have opposed, in principle, any “occultation” no matter how effective or meaningful, especially an occult form of food and flower production.

You would think they could have chilled out over that one, but not so. I laugh now over a surreptitiously occult garden sneaking in under the unsuspecting noses of the Physicalists, most of the scientists on the campus, who were sleeping at the switch.

What do you mean?

Well, I remember going to dinner at a colleague’s home and a chemist, one of the guests, stepped it off with me as we proceeded in to dinner and telling me that the garden had done more to ruin the cause of science than anything else on the campus. I was dumbfounded. What was the cause of science that an organic garden should ruin it? I would like to underline the importance of this moment because of the consequences as it sent me into a lifelong quest for the answer. I know now what I would have answered then. It was the first moment in my eventual discovery of the Physicalist/Vitalist conflict. I’ll bet he was an organic chemist, complaining about an organic garden as if he owned the word, which is the argument between Physicalism and Vitalism. So you have to understand the rubrics of the argument to catch the drift–the two paradigms in conflict–the Physicalist and the Vitalist–personified by the experimental laboratory organic chemist and the organic gardener.

You mean Kenneth Thimann and Chadwick?

Exactly. One was my boss at Crown College–an internationally renowned experimental laboratory botanist and the other was the organic gardener I had hired. One had won at the expense of the other–historically– and grave and disastrous consequences followed for all concerned. Thimann represented the Physicalist botanist and chemist and Chadwick the Vitalist organic gardener. They embodied the two conflicting paradigms. The conflict has a clearly delineated history. I have studied it for a long time: the Physicalist/Vitalist conflict in the system of the sciences, from 1828 to the present, although it has earlier roots in Galileo and the rise of modernity, when mathematical physics began to call the shots, by way of the mathematization of nature, carried through from Galileo by Descartes and Newton and the rest of the early Physicalists.

So the garden opened up a critical view of modern science?

That it did, indeed. I don’t mind science as science, which I define in a large sense as ruled cognition, cognitive work with propositional content, but the definition of science has hardened into experimental laboratory protocols under the pressure of the immense success of physics and chemistry, in alliance with mathematics, the so-called hard sciences. This is the reference point for what counts for knowledge ever since the Physicalist takeover. Every other kind of knowledge is a descending path from there. You begin to lose your way in the social sciences and by the time you get to the humanities, forget about it. It’s like climbing the Tower of Babel, or the Pit of Babel, as in Kafka?s Parables.

The natural sciences? Why `natural’?

“Natural” is a little misleading, isn’t it? Especially if you know their role in undermining organic nature. A sea change occurred in the definition of nature under the influence of modern natural science. They should be called the Material Sciences. It would go a long way to clearing up the confusion.

What would that sea change be?

Originally, nature, the Greek word physis or phusis, meant “what grows”, what emerges in organic nature, a garden, a plantation. I first learned this from Rosenstock-Huessy in a section on “Nature”, in an essay on “Liturgical Thinking”:

“Physic meant “plantation” in Greek; Plato called God a planter or physis! The word comes from a verb, which means “living growth”! Physics, however, in the Renaissance, became what it is today: the science of dead matter. For the first time in the history of thought, dead matter was held to have preceded living growth. In a living universe, too, we may have to cope with corpses. But the mechanical “natural science” after 1500 tried to explain life out of its corpses by making nature primarily a concept of dead mass in space! Only recently have we discovered that the term “nature” between 1500 and 1900 was used in a sense or with an accent unheard in any other epoch: mass, quantity, space, i.e., dead things, filled the foreground of scientific thought. Physics was held to “explain” chemistry, chemistry biology, biology psychology, psychology theology! Dead things were to explain the living. This new horrid degradation of the term “nature” itself made all personality values appear as the result of some drop of adrenalin in the glands.” p. 3

To continue the line of thought, hyle, the word for matter, which is what underlies physis, originally meant forest. The latter I learned from a remarkable book: Forests, by Robert Pogue Harrison. Even he has to press home the point when he says:

“Let us repeat that: hyle is the Greek word for forest.”

These are such important steps rather buried in linguistic considerations that bells and whistles should go off emphasizing the points. I hope you see what I mean. After Newton and Galileo and the new physics of the Renaissance, the word nature–took on what appears to be an opposite meaning: nature took on the meaning of “dead things in space”, under the influence of geometry, where Galileo is the reference point. So the word for nature, a plantation, physis, becomes dead things in space, mathematical physics, and the word for forest, hyle, becomes matter, the underlying dead stuff of the dead things in space, a kind of dead substratum. If you can digest this issue without spitting it out you have one of the cenral points in my line. Then came Organic Chemistry, with the fatal blow, the argument that synthetics or laboratory productions, are equal to what is produced by organic nature. You see, once dead things in space took hold, they started making them in labs, and then in factories, also known as “plants”. Factories are called plants as a result of this seachange in terminology and perception. You can hardly keep a straight face.

So this is at the basis, this conflict in definition, of the Physicalist/Vitalist conflict?

To go back to the first paragraph in the quotation from Rosenstock-Huessy which we could pause for a long time, to reflect on what he says, echoed in countless other passages by other authors. The science of dead matter needs elucidation which is easy to give. My favorite source is the book by E. A. Burtt: The Metaphysical Origins of Modern Science. You see, so much of this is buried in the literature. You can tease it out and find the pithy quotes to elucidate the case but you have to retrieve them from their context. The shift of meaning in given words, as described, with the key terms, physis and hyle, tells the tale. Who controls the definitions? Who decides? What side do you take in the conflict over meaning and the conflict in interpretation? Take the following as an example. I worried about this conflict in interpretation when I entered the herbal industry as a second career after leaving the University. Physic is an old word for medicine or herbal therapy, which still carries the old meaning of natural products of organic nature that cure and heal. And materia medica was another one, an old term for herbal medicine. Why materia? Harrison answered that for me, as well. Here is what he says:

“Yet there is one word that Aristotle could not avoid using when he spoke about the unspeakable–hyle. He is the first to give the word its philosophical meaning of “matter.” But hyle in Greek does not originally mean matter, it means forest. The cognate of hyle in Latin is silva. The archaic Latin word was sylua, phonetically close to hyle. It is strange that the Romans should have translated the Aristotelian hyle with the word materia when the Latin language possessed such a cognate. But even the word materia did not stray very far from the forests. Materia means wood–the usable wood of a tree as opposed to its bark, fruit, sap, etc. And materia has the same root–yes, root–as the word mater, or mother.” (p.28).

I also noticed the point in a book that means a lot to me in my work on Santa Cruz as ecotopia: The Architecture of Paradise, by William Alexander McClung:

“Hyle, Aristotle’s term for the chaos that is informed by nous, or mind, literally means “forest”, so Virgil … signifies by silva a psychic realm of violent and primitive passions.” p. 16.

There is a line of thought that goes something like this–when we moved out of the forest and founded cities, the forests became the forbidden place of the fearsome, the uncanny, the demon haunted. In fact, the psychic realm represented by forests is thymos and epithymia, the dynamic realm of the passions which have to be repressed and suppressed in city life in order for people to order their lives. This is the remarkable line of thought developed by Harrison in his book. I was delighted to read about this meaning of hyle as I had guessed this or intuited it when I was trying to think of hyle as `root’, in terms of the “vital roots” of herbal medicine. I picked up the thread when I tried to think about the meaning of “materia medica“, the traditional term for herbal medicine: the hyle of the physic. Why materia, I thought. It was as though I could hear these old connotations reverberating in the word. Medicinal herbs are the vital roots of what grows in the forests. And I would like to add here that Aristotle’s father was an herbalist and a court physician so that Aristotle learned about materia medica, or herbal medicine, from his father and carried it into his thought which is materially grounded in the nature of things, the famous conflict between Aristotle and Plato on the problem of mathematical forms which Aristotle is said to have brought down to earth from Plato’s heaven of ideas. I blush to admit that I have been working on an herbal cookbook in the tradition of Aristotle: Being and Thyme. I have hoped to spark a new national cuisine based on culinary herbs where herbs are featured instead of throwaway accompaniments, like parsley.

So just as the Latin binomials for medicinal herbs gave you the legendary origins of the herbal tradition in Ancient Greece, you have also found the key terms in the shift of meanings according to your theme.

And don’t forget–thymos–my guardian word in all of this etymological retrieval.

So this shift is what you call a move from an ontology of life to an ontology of death?

Yes, terms I picked up from Hans Jonas and Tillich. They make the same point when they refer to the elimination of psyche from psychology under the sway of reductive behaviorism.

You seem to be interested in the history of conflicts: organic gardening versus laboratory chemistry, herbal medicine versus industrial or synthetic medicine, and so on.

Conflicts tell the story. In a way, the old conflicts between the oral and the rational/literate cultures, the conflict between poetry and philosophy, the conflict between “the ancients” and “the moderns”, the conflict between sapientia (wisdom) and scientia (science), the conflict between the so-called cultural or spiritual sciences (geisteswissenschaften) and the natural sciences (naturwissenschaften), as well as what is called the warfare between science and religion, are involved here. It is a big debate. These conflicts represent the larger theoretical level. I like bringing it down to the case level of Physicalism and Vitalism in terms of the content of the structure of scientific revolutions when the major revolt in the early decades of the l9th century took place, say, with the formation of the Physicalist Society in Berlin, on the heels of the artificial synthesis of urea.

Sounds like the old C. P. Snow routine on the “two cultures” conflict.

This is the best example of the larger theoretical level, which never got to the historical case. In other words, the old two-culture debate that C.P. Snow made famous is where the scientific hegemony erupted and the debate was enjoined, except Snow turned it around and made the humanities guys feel ashamed because they didn’t keep up with the developments of science. They didn’t know the third law of thermodynamics. Now there is a whole school of literature and science to make up for this and it is an interesting development. Marjorie Nicholson was an early anticipation of this. But Snow touched the nerve of the issue and it was a cause celebre for a while even though the discussion never cut to the quick, but remained on the academic level of the sciences versus the humanities. I saw all this at first hand when I taught humanities at M.I.T.

So you are really interested in the political ideology of science.

All of this is germane in terms of a big discussion of what counts for knowledge and who counts! Snow was talking about University culture where the split and the consequent disadvantages are most pronounced–the split between the humanities and the natural sciences, with the social sciences as a kind of disputed buffer in between. The takeover by the Physicalists was so wholesale no one seems to notice anymore. Why shouldn’t it be obvious to everyone how knowledge is organized and structured at a University and the power relations that this entails, as well as the history of it? Well, it isn’t. In spite of all the effort to expose it, there is a kind of conspiracy of silence–the show must go on, although there is a growing literature on the subject now that institutions of higher learning have turned into research centers. A recent book: The Last Professor tells the story even though it is still a story to be told, although there have been a lot of stabs at it. The contraries line up in such a way as to expose the problem–Physicalist/Vitalist; experimental lab/botanic garden; artificial synthesis/organic nature, the sciences versus the humanities, etc.

Is there a tell-tale reference point in the story?

The artificial synthesis of urea, in 1828, has been the classic reference point as the historical triumph of Physicalism over Vitalism. There is a straight line from there to the “elimination of metaphysics” by the Logical Positivists in the philosophy of Physicalism, a slogan that became their battlecry, a clever move to mask their own metaphysical position and to assume the argument with Vitalism was won as a foregone conclusion.

Hold on. You jump from an experiment in chemistry and the origins of what is called Organic Chemistry to Logical Positivism.

Can you give a little background?

They are directly related. The urea experiment is credited with the defeat of Vitalism. That is the main historic point. It takes almost a century for the philosophical foundations of the experiment to show up in the school of the Vienna Circle under Carnap, a kind of mop-up of the gains of Physicalism. The movement goes from the Physicalist Society in Berlin to the Logical Positivists in Vienna. Logical Positivism is just another name for the Philosophy of Physicalism, which is how the Circle members thought of themselves. They were in charge. They were going to establish the foundations of modern science on a system of mathematical logic to which all right thinking scientists could subscribe–it was the 20th century version of a ma thesis universalis, an effort begun by Leibniz and Descartes to develop a universal calculus or system of signs on which to ground the sciences in terms of a mathematical foundation.

So the Logical Positivists play a key role in your sketch.

They have always represented to me the hardening of the arteries of the Physicalist position, so they are a good place to look as a reference for the Physicalist victory over Vitalism, which is what the Positivists meant regarding the elimination of metaphysics. For metaphysics read Vitalism. They tried to shift the argument to mathematical logic which hardly anyone understands. It was like Von Neumann telling Shannon to use the term “entropy” in information theory because no one knew what it meant and he would always have an advantage in any discussion.

That’s funny.

The irony is that the Positivists hosted Kurt Godel, as a student in their midst, who wrecked their whole program with his undermining the foundations of mathematics, which, according to the expectations of the Physicalists, was going to provide the ssure and certain foundation for a unified science. Godel pulled the rug out from under their pretensions with his incompleteness theorems and his undecidability problem. He’s one of my heroes. I corresponded with him and even talked to him on the telephone in a memorable conversation.

I can see that we are going to have to unpack much of this, which for you seems obvious, but for the uninitiated is pretty obscure. We don’t have to go into it now, but be prepared to elaborate on the points you make. You jumped rather fast from the reference point–the artificial synthesis of urea–to Godel?

I know. I have lectured on this for so long it is second nature to me. The sequence is very clear and I can delineate the moves, as well as the supporting literature. It is the consequence of decades of study on my part–it is my line of thought. The whole point of this book, this interview, is to get it off my chest. Books are divestitures. I’ve been carrying this load for a long time.

It interests me that you talked to Godel? Before you answer, I think it should be mentioned that Kurt Godel, who, as you say, came out of the Logical Positivist Circle under Carnap, was probably the foremost mathematical logician of the 20th century You called him at the Princeton Institute for Advanced Research?

Yes. I had already written to him after I was told he had formulated a new proof for the existence of God, in the tradition of Leibniz. I had heard about it from Jay Greenberg, a mathematician friend at Crown College, at UCSC. I can still remember the moment when we were chatting in the hallway outside the steno pool and he told me Godel had developed a new proof for the existence of God. It had a great impact on me.

What year was it?

The year was 1970. I immediately realized “Godel’s Proof “ could make existence a predicate again, and refute Kant, who more or less commanded the field with his view that existence is not a predicate so there were no valid logical proofs for the existence of God, given the finite limitations of the human mind.

This sounds like a technical problem within philosophy–logical proofs for the existence of God. I don’t see what you mean by Kant’s notion that existence is not a predicate, either.

This is a classic problem in philosophy, but it has had profound implications for the meaning of existence in the 20th century. I see the roots of existentialism in this problem in Kant. For Kant, existence is a term empty and devoid of meaning. It is just a word with no predicative value, more or less what Quine says about being–it is just the function of an arbitrary variable–which is what it looks like when you look at how the word “is” is used in any sentence, just like this one. According to Kant, existence is always assumed and therefore the word existence doesn’t add anything to what is already assumed. To say the table exists doesn’t add anything to the concept of a table the existence of which is already assumed to exist if only in thought. You might as well say the table tables. And if you say the table exists, the thought doesn’t suddenly appear in time and space as a tangible or empirical thing. Kant used the illustration of money. Imagine a hundred dollars (thalers) as in the concept of a hundred dollars. Now say the hundred dollars exists. Dollars don’t suddenly appear in your pocket, so what good does it do to say they exist when existence is already assumed in the thought of a hundred dollars. Therefore, existence is not a predicate. It doesn't add anything to what is already assumed.

So you think this deflating of existence actually sets up the problem of existence in the late 19th and 20th century in the movement of thought known as Existentialism.

Well, if you want a philosophical background, this is it for me–I see it as an extension of the theme of the “Kantian recoil”. He bracketed existence in his transcendental idealism which Husserl continues in his transcendental phenomenology. The recoil is a powerful metaphor for the problem as if existence became too hot to handle in the emerging industrial society. So existence became a thing, a means of production in the labor market, a commodity to buy at a starvation wage. I have always been vexed by this issue, which I see as part of the origins of Existentialism, as if Kant recoiled from existence for some reason, with strange consequences. Heidegger says as much when he talks about the Kantian recoil from the unknown root of the transcendental imagination, which is where I picked up this theme.

How is anyone to understand these issues unless they have some prior understanding of these themes? You act as though these buzz words are common parlance.

I know they are peculiar to a philosophical context. It’s true that I have picked them out as symbolic of the issues. Kant “recoils from the unknown root”, as Heidegger puts it. When I read about the Kantian recoil, I thought I had found a clue to my thematic which made existence problematic, a theme that haunts the last century and a half–from Schelling and Kierkegaard to Sartre and Heidegger. And “the unknown root” is the metaphor for my concern over organic nature. It is probably a good clue to what Heidegger means by “unconcealedness”, the unknown root that is closer to us than we are to ourselves, all too familiar and yet unknown. If this is the case, then I can interpret this arcane or obscure line in Heidegger–his interpretation of the Greek word for truth–aletheia. It is a meditation on the fate of the vital root of existence in the 20th century, as the heritage of Kiekegaard, whom I definitely prefer to Heidegger and whom Heidegger himself revered. Envied even.

And this carries through to Godel’s Proof for the Existence of God.

I thought Godel’s Proof for the Existence of God would be a new point of departure for philosophy. In other words, to find the root again. I was wrong in terms of any major impact, because it has been thirty years since he formulated the proof and not only do few people know about it at all, it hasn’t made any impact except for a few Godel scholars. Godel was right when he made it clear that his proof was a technical issue in the history of mathematical logic, following Leibniz. He didn’t know what I was talking about in terms of its historical significance when we spoke on the telephone. In fact, a rumor was circulated that this proof was an example that Godel was nuts. There was a period in his life when he was mentally ill. He was exceptionally paranoid and was institutionalized for a while. He thought he was going to be poisoned. I could make hay on this, but I’m going to pass.

I don’t understand. Let what pass?

Oh, I was just thinking that here is the most famous mathematical logician of the 20th century, trained in the school of Logical Positivism, undermining their entire program, formulating a proof for the existence of God, as if to rub it in, and then worrying about being rubbed out. It’s too much. He almost starved to death because he thought he might be poisoned. It is reminiscent of Simone Weil and her Waiting For God or the Need For Roots and Beckett making a play out of it. Waiting For God- oh! Simone starved herself to death out of despair over World War II. They were all waiting for Godel/Godot to finish the proof.

You mean Carnap could have hired a hit man. But you were interested in the Proof and wrote to Godel about it.

I was trying to put together a Journal for the History of Consciousness Graduate Program, called Thymos, my favorite Greek word, meaning spirit or courage or vitality. So I wrote to Godel and asked him if I could publish his Proof. I thought if I could publish his Proof, it would get me tenure, as if only an argument for the existence of God could save me. He wrote back and said it was incomplete, which some people thought was funny, as Godel was already famous for his Incompleteness Theorem. It was like waiting for Godot, only here it was Godel, to finish the Proof. Kierkegaard has great things to say about waiting for someone to finish such a proof in his critique of Hegel. Godel did say something even I thought was funny, when he wrote to me: “what does theology have to do with consciousness?”

What did he mean by that?

Well, I was looking at the Proof within the context of the history of philosophy and the history of Western culture and he thought of it as a technical exercise in the tradition of Leibniz. He didn’t seem to get the implications of what he had done outside of professional mathematical logic. I should say that one has to be very careful about these issues and not extrapolate from them willy-nilly, as I tend to do. Godel is very technical and at a level I cannot aspire to. So these are just musings on my part.

Then what?

Then I wrote to him again after I intuited that he had written the proof of the existence of God to ground Einstein’s unified field theory. He and Einstein were great pals at the Princeton Institute of Advanced Study. After Einstein retired he still went to the Institute every day just to walk home with Godel, he had such esteem for him. He didn’t answer my reply, so I had an occasion to call him one time when I was visiting a friend in New York who had a brother teaching economics at Princeton. She was on her way to visit her brother. She is a wonderful photographer, so I told her to get in touch with Godel–the smartest man in the world, next to Einstein, and take his picture. She told me to set it up. Well, I hadn╒t expected that. So I called the Institute and asked for Herr Professor. He said “hello”. I said: “Professor Godel?” He said: “Yes.” I said: “This is Professor Lee. Do you remember me? I wrote to you about your Proof for the Existence of God?” “Yes.” “Did you get my second letter?” “Yes.” “Was I right about Einstein’s field theory.” “Yes.” Then we chatted briefly about the issue as I saw it and I could tell that he didn╒t know what I was talking about, so I stopped, and said: “Can my friend, Adelaide, come and photograph you?” “No.” “Why not, she is a wonderful photographer.” “I have three perfectly good photographs of myself.” That stopped me. So I said good-bye. This also was funny because there is a very famous photograph of Godel, by Arnold Newman, a very famous photographer, sitting next to a large empty blackboard, as if posed by Sy Twombley, who is famous for his slightly erased blackboards, one of which my friend, Earl McGrath once owned and which I enjoyed looking at over the dinner table.

So, what did you make of it?

Godel confirmed my hunch about Einstein and we had a nice conversation. He was wary about my embroidering his proof, as I said, which he saw as a technical issue in logic. The reason he hadn’t published it, I found out later, was that he didn’t want to make it seem that he was a believer. Can you beat that?

Didn’t you tell this story to Octavio Paz?

Yes, I met him a few days later in Cambridge, through my friend, Bob Gardner. We had dinner together and were having an espresso afterwards at Paz’s apartment and I told him the story and when I got to the punch line about the proof for the existence of God, Paz spilled his espresso in his lap. I thought, ah ha, the poet is startled about existence becoming a predicate again.

It was a dramatic moment. I had a similar experience with Buckminster Fuller. He came into my Wild Thyme Restaurant, in Santa Cruz, and I sat down and wanted to discuss Godel with him. He had never heard of him. I was somewhat dumbfounded, so I gave him my Godel spiel. He had a young student in his party who got so excited, he kept jumping up and down and hollering–did everyone understand the importance of what I was saying. I was rather pleased that he thought I was so smart but I started to think I didn’t even get it, when he got up and ran out. I was a little worried about him and went to check and he was booking a flight to Princeton the next day. He wanted to show Godel some scheme he had in his pocket that he refused to show me. I never found out what happened. This is material for a Kierkegaard or a Kafka or a Beckett. In any event, as far as I’m concerned, Godel wrecked the Positivist plan to unify science in the philosophy of Physicalism, one of the greatest dumb-down efforts in the history of modern thought, and I am grateful to him for that.

Can you elaborate?

The Physicalist/Vitalist conflict taught me what was at stake in the deep cultural conflicts of the 20th century, in terms of our introducing an organic garden with a tradition going back through Steiner to Goethe, a tradition that had been discounted, refuted, and rejected for over a century and a half. In current parlance, Vitalism was so politically incorrect as to be almost ludicrous. The University, as the servant of industrial society, stood for Physicalist science, not for organic gardening, let alone a tradition that went back through a clairvoyant (Steiner), to a poet (Goethe), who thought he was smarter than Newton. We had stepped right into the conflict without knowing anything about it at the time. It was nothing less than a struggle over what counts for knowledge and the direction a culture should take. The trend was in favor of industrial society, even though in its late stage of self-destruction, which only very few were willing to admit. Looking back, it is easy to see how the cards were stacked against a vision of organic integrity and representatives of the old culture, like Goethe. All you have to do is listen to Schubert’s “Songs of Goethe” and his lieder cycles and you have the music for the end of European culture–swan songs. They are filled with the pathos of the realization of the end. Goethe knew it all too well.

Sung by Fischer-Dieskau, of course. And Chadwick represented this old culture, which is what made him unique. But wait a minute. First you talk about the self-destruction of industrial society and then you skip to the destruction of old European culture.

Sorry. Industrial society was built upon the ruins of the old culture. It also helped destroy what it superseded. Look at what happened in England: from verdant fields to mill towns. Vitalism was a name for what was lost–the integrity of organic culture. Many sensitive individuals at the time anticipated it. They could see it coming, like a storm cloud on the horizon. They were already looking back, as it were, over the loss of Western culture, as if looking back on a great garden that was to be abandoned. The slogan throughout Europe was Et In Arcadia Ego, a retrospective affirmation of the goodness and sweetness of life in a culture that was about to die. A voice from the tomb: “I am in Arcadia”. Curtains. It was a life and death struggle, the throes of which we are still in up to our ears, a struggle for the soul of the 20th century. And now the 21st where it hangs in the balance.

Time is running out.

Goethe suffered a nervous collapse over it and he was not alone. Jacob Burckhardt saw what was coming. Nietzsche went mad over it. It is exactly what he meant by the death of God. Max Weber, one of the greatest minds of Germany, fell into an unaccountable depression and sat looking out the window picking at his fingers. William James had an apparitional visitation of pure despair. Strinberg. Ibsen. Hamsen. Munch. As I mentioned, this is the Existentialist motif, this lament over the place of the person and the life of the spirit in technical and industrial society. Husserl was one of the most penetrating commentators on the Physicalist takeover as developed in his famous Vienna Lecture and his essay: “The Crisis Of Western Science”. Soren Kierkegaard, some decades before, knew it in the depths of his being and produced the greatest literary achievement as a cultural critique: the end of Christendom. Kafka continued the meditation even to the point of writing parables in the tradition of Kierkegaard. All of this presentiment segues into Existentialism and a full-scale revolt against Industrial Society which turns a person into a thing, a loathsome thing, like Gregor Samsa, who doesn’t go to work one day.

How does this relate to Chadwick? Was he a Luddite?

That’s not a bad association, if you think of the Luddites as the protest against industrial society. There is a book I mean to read I just noticed in the New York Times today: Kirkpatrick Sale: Rebels Against the Future: The Luddites and Their War on the Industrial Revolution: Lessons for the Computer Age. Chadwick was the representative of organic integrity and against all of the denial and exploitation and manipulation of organic nature. He was a unique hold-out against the overwhelming trend of industrial society. He knew the meaning of organic integrity and he wanted to smash the notion that synthetics were “equal in dignity” to organic nature, the great swindle in the decline of authentic taste. He knew that soils were alive and nurtured by living organisms not by synthetic fertilizers loaded with synthetic urea. And this was all on the level of food–what persons put in their mouths. I remember how he jumped on the quote from Robert Graves, in a speech he gave at MIT, about the decline of taste as symptomatic of the decline of culture: “The decline of a true taste for food is the beginning of a decline in a national culture as a whole. When people have lost their authentic, personal taste, they lose their personality and become instruments of other peoples’ wills.” Chadwick would often begin a talk with this quote and then refer to strawberries.

Why strawberries?

Oh, come on! If you think the supermarket stuff and the effort to develop a berry for shelf life is to be compared to a true organic berry then you still have to be converted or you have lost your sense of taste. But I have to admit that strawberries are now part of the organic movement and it is possible to get edible strawberries again. We pick strawberries with our friends, the Kubeks, on a farm in Northern Michigan every summer, and it is a sacramental event. I’m of Norwegian ancestry and a good strawberry to a Norwegian is a gift from God, practically equal to the pearl of great price, what cheese is to the French. On a visit to relatives in Norway, when I was a teen-ager, I went to a carnival and saw a Norwegian, who had won a pint of strawberries at some booth walking around and savoring them. It is an unforgettable image.

Name another.

Wilderness waters would be another example. Rolf and Elsa Von Eckartsberg and Chadwick and I, went on a wilderness trek up in the Trinity Alps, above Covelo, in Northern California, and the waters up there were the waters of life. They were baptismal waters, so radiant with the vital power of being. I have never forgotten it. In fact, I saw a new meaning to Heraclitus’ saying: “You can’t step into the same waters twice.”

Because they were such vital waters?

Exactly. Once was enough! Although someone recently told me that those waters are gone; they are polluted and you can’t drink them without worrying about some parasite.

So you took these experiences into a cultural analysis encompassing the last two hundred years and more.

Listen to this quote from Goethe, where he prophesies the impending barbarism in the destruction of Old Europe:

“Mankind will grow more astute and more perceptive, but not better, happier, or more vigorous–not permanently, at least. I see a time coming when God will not enjoy it any more, when he will have to smash everything once again, to rejuvenate his creation. I feel sure that everything tends in that direction, and that the starting time and hour of the rejuvenation period are already appointed in the distant future. But there will be plenty of time yet.”

Quoted in Karl Lowith: Nature, History, and Existentialism.

He said that on October 23, 1828, maybe on the same day as the discovery of synthetic urea, anyhow, the same year. Isn’t that amazing. You know they met once, Goethe and Woehler, in a rock shop in Frankfort. I think Goethe intuited that he had met Faust in the flesh and went home and finished his poem. This is one of the most amazing encounters in the history of thought as far as I╒m concerned. Goethe and Woehler. It is worthy of a play.

And how does this relate to Chadwick? Is this your replanting the vital root of existence theme, what Goethe calls rejuvenation?

Yes. Here’s another quote, this one from Lewis Mumford:

“One day a book will be written that will expose the contradictory workings of mechanism and vitalism as profound religious influences from the sixteenth century onward. This book will show that even while the mechanical complex was consolidating its control, it was being modified willy-nilly by the growing appreciation of organic nature in every aspect: witness the better regimen of child-care, hygiene, and diet introduced by the Romantic movement, mainly through Rousseau’s writings, if not his practice; witness the growing interest in play and sport which modified the harsh attitude toward such relaxation introduced by Calvinism and utilitarianism: witness the kindly teaching practices introduced by Froebel’s Children’s Garden (Kindergarten)–the precise antithesis of Comenius’ mass-organized drill-school; while at the same time the growing love of nature expressed itself in zealous amateur gardening, in landscape design, in rural sports, and outdoor exercises–hunting, fishing, rambling, mountain-climbing. In some degree these activities cushioned the impact of mechanization, and for over a century they have been opening the way for a more organic culture. When that book is written it will show further how this growing appreciation of all that distinguishes the world of organisms from the world of machines gave rise, at a given point in the nineteenth century, to a fresh vision of the entire cosmic process. This vision was profoundly different from the one offered by those who left out of their world picture the essential qualitative attribute of life: its expectancy, its inner impetus, its insurgency, its creativity, its ability at singular points to transcend either physical or organic limitations. The name given to this new vision of life was bestowed belatedly, only when it began to be systematically pursued: it is now known as ecology.”

The Pentagon Of Power, “The Organic World Picture”, Lewis Mumford, p. 385

So the Chadwick, Steiner, Goethe tradition was what Mumford was talking about? And your book is that book?

Yes, as far as I’m concerned, although I would be surprised if Mumford had Steiner explicitly in mind. He could have been thinking about Frank Lloyd Wright. This interview is about that book: There Is A Garden In the Mind.

So Chadwick was your wild hair in terms of the University?

Unwittingly, with Chadwick, we had brought a neo-Vitalist critique–the renewal of organic nature–right into the imperialist, hegemonic, stronghold of the Physicalist victory, like I say, under their unsuspecting noses–the Science Establishment of the University of California. Had they been forewarned or realized what was happening, they would have shot Chadwick on sight, or bagged him and dropped him in Winnemucca. The Garden was a Trojan Horse. Chadwick was our Achilles, only with a Bulldog spade, instead of an ash spear. He had the temperament of an Achilles, so the comparison is not as far-fetched as it sounds. The word for that kind of temperament is thymos, a peculiar blend of vitality and rage or wrath. As I said, it’s my favorite word. The wrath of God is thymos, creative and destructive, purging and renewing. There was something of the Old Testament Prophet in Chadwick. He liked to rant.