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Marx of the Libido

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Marx of the Libido

CITY JOURNAL, Summer 2024

Marx of the Libido

The destructive influence of Wilhelm Reich, father of the sexual revolution


The sexual revolution has proved as historically significant as the French Revolution and the Russian Revolution, though many of its details—its battlefields, generals, soldiers, and casualties—remain largely unknown.

In “Annus Mirabilis,” English poet Philip Larkin regarded this new age with irony: “Sexual intercourse began / In nineteen sixty-three / (which was rather late for me) / Between the end of the ‘Chatterley’ ban / And the Beatles’ first LP.” More generally, it’s a revolution regarded as a liberation from a prudish, ill-informed culture. How fortunate we are, we’re told, to live in an era of sexual experimentation, where the only limit is our own inhibitions. Entire industries of sex educators, social scientists, and popular entertainers are available to assuage any doubts as to the revolution’s benign intentions and wondrous possibilities.

Yet this revolution has a history worth uncovering. A century ago, sexual politics began as an activated front of cultural Marxism. Sex education and sex consciousness were designed to liberate the libido from “bourgeois repression.” Taboos against philandering and divorce were suppressed; the nearly universal expectation to “settle down” and wed dissipated.

Statistically, the separation of sex from committed love and familial ties has correlated with alarming social shifts. According to the United Nations Population Division, between 1960 and 2020, the world’s fertility rate cratered from 5.0 to 2.4 births per woman. In Europe and North America, respectively, the rate fell to 1.2 and 1.6, well below the population replacement rate of 2.1 births. In the U.S., for those 1.6 births, the rate of children born out of wedlock has gone from 3 percent in 1965 to a stunning 40 percent today. For Hispanic and black women, respectively, the rates are now 52 percent and 69 percent.

As marriage rates plummeted, experts sought to guide younger generations into a progressive future of sexual self-actualization. “We really need to get over this love affair with the fetus,” said Joycelyn Elders, Bill Clinton’s surgeon general, who suggested that masturbation be taught in schools. More recently, Rachel (born Richard) Levine, Joe Biden’s assistant secretary of Health and Human Services, has called for tech firms to censor debate about the contemporary practice of gender-reassignment surgery, which leaves patients castrated and infertile. “The positive value of gender-affirming care for youth and adults is not in scientific or medical dispute,” Levine declared in 2022.

For the culture warriors, the results have been a kind of Malthusian triumph. For many others, an atomized, and now technologically commodified, sexual dynamic has brought despair, anger, and sociological desolation.

To succeed, progressivism must present itself as an inevitability—an irreversible march of history. Yet these ideas were choices, their success anything but inevitable. And the sexual revolution does, in fact, have an identifiable beginning, which can be traced to a Karl Marx of the libido, whose influence far exceeds his name recognition: Wilhelm Reich. A follower of Sigmund Freud, Reich matched the methods of psychoanalysis with the liberationist worldview of the Communist Left. In the 1920s, he coined the term “sexual revolution,” just as he wrote about the activation of sexual politics for revolutionary ends—what he called “sex-pol.” Though Reich’s thinking, even at its best, is of dubious value, and the man himself descended into madness, his ideas on rescuing “infantile and pubertal genital functioning” from the “ruinous sexual regulation of our society” have been incredibly influential. They lead directly to the gender politics and social disruptions of today.

Born into a striving Jewish family in Galicia, Austria-Hungary, in 1897, Reich became Freud’s star pupil and moved in the intellectual circles of Europe in the years before the start of World War II. He then escaped to New York, eventually decamping to the remote lake town of Rangeley, Maine. There, he and his followers established Orgonon, a research center on a 200-acre estate dedicated to sexual-energy experiments and the exploration of theories of “cloud control,” “invisible propulsion,” and “orgastic power.”

By the time he was convicted in 1956 for peddling false cures, Reich was viewed as a mad scientist holed up in his lair, supported only by a small circle of true believers. But it would be a mistake to regard his influential earlier work on sexuality with any less skepticism. Dubbed the “prophet of the better orgasm” and the “founder of a genital Utopia,” Reich led a life defined by charlatanism.

“Once in a thousand years, nay once in two thousand years, such a man comes upon this earth to change the destiny of the human race.” This is how Elsworth F. Baker described his mentor Reich after Reich died in his jail cell in 1957. Messianic, megalomaniacal, and mentally disturbed, Reich saw society as infected by a sexual plague that only he and his initiates could diagnose and cure. Reich’s loathing for man’s ordinary sensibilities, combined with his hatred for the society into which he was born and to which he would do much damage, establishes him as the guru of today’s sexual politics.

Reich’s personal sexual obsessions began early. As a young child, he spied on his maid as she had intercourse with her boyfriend. He then propositioned the maid to engage in sex play with him, as he recalls, lying on top of her and playing with her pubic hair. “Reich clearly attributed great importance to his relationship with this peasant girl,” writes his biographer Myron Sharaf. “He once said that by the time he was four there were no secrets for him about sex, and he related this clarity in part to his sexual play with his nursemaid.”

By his own proud admission, Reich was having sex daily at age 11 with the family cook. “She was the first to teach me the thrusting motion necessary for ejaculation, and at that time it had been an accident,” he wrote. “From then on I had intercourse almost every day for years—it was always in the afternoon, when my parents were napping.” At 15, he started attending the local brothel. “I was pure sensual lust; I had ceased to be—I was all penis! I bit, scratched, thrust, and the girl had quite a time with me! I thought I would have to crawl inside her.”

Reich’s sexual adventurism extended even to his parents. As a boy, he witnessed his mother having an affair. “The thought came to me to plunge into the room,” Reich recounted in his journal, “and to have intercourse with my mother with the threat that if she didn’t I would tell my father.” His father did find out (most likely thanks to Reich himself), and his mother subsequently committed suicide by poison. “Twice,” Reich continued, “I masturbated while consciously fantasizing about my mother.” Shortly before Reich turned 17, in 1914, his father took out a large insurance policy, stood outside by a frozen pond, and deliberately contracted a respiratory illness, leading to his death.

After serving in the Austrian army in World War I, Reich moved to Vienna to begin his professional education. He studied law briefly before switching to medical school at the University of Vienna. His obsession with human sexuality soon brought him into Freud’s orbit. “I have become convinced that sexuality is the center around which revolves the whole of social life as well as the inner life of the individual,” Reich wrote in his journal in 1919. At Freud’s recommendation—and without completing his formal training—Reich began seeing patients as a psychoanalyst and was admitted to the Vienna Psychoanalytic Society as a guest member in 1920. His first-year lab partner, Lia Laszky, described the young Reich as both “fascinating and abhorrent.”

Based on his own early sexual experiences, Reich believed that children possessed a pure, innate sexual drive that must be protected from suppression by family and society. “Between the ages of five and twelve,” he wrote, “psychic dams and reaction formations are constructed against culturally unacceptable partial drives [i.e., oral, anal/sadistic, and genital]; disgust counters anal eroticism, shame counters exhibition, and, in general, every morally pertinent concept begins here.”

In quick succession in the 1920s and 1930s, Reich produced a series of papers and books on childhood sexuality and the supposed fascistic origins of sexual repression. These works have had lasting influence not only on Western psychology but also on European and American elite culture. Their titles tell us much about Reich and his beliefs: “About a Case of Breaching the Incest Taboo” (1920); “Concerning Specific Forms of Masturbation” (1922); “The Role of Genitality in the Treatment of Neurosis” (1923); and “The Therapeutic Importance of Genital Libido” (1924).

Through his translator, Theodore P. Wolfe, Reich’s German books and essay collections of the 1930s entered English circulation in the 1940s as The Function of the Orgasm (1942), Character Analysis and The Sexual Revolution (both in 1945), The Mass Psychology of Fascism (1946), and Listen, Little Man! (1948), a harangue against so-called conventional wisdom.

Through his treatments, Reich often had his patients strip nude while forcefully pressing soft parts of their bodies, willfully violating a psychoanalytic taboo. He would also regularly dig his thumb or palm into a patient’s jaw, neck, or thigh until the patient cried, maintaining that such interventions were necessary to penetrate a person’s resistance to treatment.

Reich counseled his patients to see their innate inhibitions as an “armor” and a “plague” in need of eradication. “Mankind is biologically sick,” he wrote. “Man’s biopathic character structure is, as it were, the fossilization of the authoritarian process of history. It is the biophysical reproduction of mass suppression.” He argued that it was perfectly appropriate for children to witness their parents’ own sexual congress.

In his emphasis on what he called childhood “genitality,” he also stressed “the need for affirming childhood masturbation,” writes Sharaf. “Throughout his life, Reich put considerable emphasis on the distinction between affirming childhood sexuality and tolerating it. Toleration was insufficient to counteract a generally sex-negative culture.” Reich believed that social liberation was possible only through sexual enlightenment at youth. “The younger the boy or girl concerned was,” he once said, “the more quickly and more fully they swung around after listening to only a few clarifying sentences.”

As part of his efforts to disconnect sex from marriage and procreation, and linked to the liberation of adolescent sexuality, Reich became a zealous advocate for contraception and abortion—radical ideas even in psychiatric circles of the time. He regularly arranged abortions for his patients, and he pushed abortions on his many lovers, mistresses, wives, and patients, who were often one and the same. One of Reich’s young patient-girlfriends died after he pressured her to have an abortion. Her mother ended up dying from grief, as well.

In the early 1930s, the Communist Party tapped Reich to direct its German Association for Proletarian Sex-Politics (GAPSP). For Reich, the great obstructor of childhood sexuality was the family. In a series of proclamations, he advocated for dismantling the family in favor of collectivist child-rearing and reeducation, which he believed necessary for revolution. Contraception, abortion, and the destruction of marriage were central to this platform. As Reich wrote in the platform for the first Congress of GAPSP in Düsseldorf in 1931:

1. Free distribution of contraceptives to those who could not obtain them through normal channels; massive propaganda for birth control.

2. Abolition of laws against abortion. Provision for free abortions at public clinics; financial and medical safeguards for pregnant women and nursing mothers.

3. Abolition of any legal distinctions between the married and the unmarried. Freedom of divorce.

“The prevention of neuroses,” he maintained elsewhere, “begins by excluding from the education of the child his or her own parents who have proven themselves to be the most unqualified educators. The sexual education of the small child will be put instead into the hands of specially trained personnel who will be less biased.”

Reich believed that the continuation of the family paved the way to fascistic government. “At first the child has to submit to the structure of the authoritarian miniature state, the family; this makes it capable of later subordination of the general authoritarian system. The formation of the authoritarian structure takes place through the anchoring of sexual inhibition and sexual anxiety.” Philip Rieff’s 1966 book, The Triumph of the Therapeutic, which includes a sharp critique of Reich’s Freudo-Marxism, notes: “Sex education becomes the main weapon in an ideological war against the family; its aim is to divest the parents of their moral authority.”

Through Germany’s Communist networks in the late 1920s and early 1930s, Reich spread his radical philosophies to a large audience. He distributed thousands of his “sex-pol” pamphlets through the Communist Party and other radical left-wing organizations, while training a cadre of “youth leaders” to promote his sexual agenda. He lamented that there was “still no law for the protection of newborn infants against the parents’ inability to bring up children or against the parents’ neurotic influences.” He believed that “every physician, teacher or social worker who will have to deal with children must show proof that he or she . . . is sex-economically healthy and that he has acquired an exact knowledge of infantile and adolescent sexuality. That is, training in sex-economy must be obligatory for physicians and teachers.”

As Reich relocated from one European country to another in the 1930s, his role as a political instigator and the leader of a school of psychosexual treatment attained ever wider reach. In Norway, one volunteer for his experiments was a young Willy Brandt, who went on to become chancellor of West Germany 30 years later.

As Reich’s influence expanded, his radical views transcended Communism and psychiatry. His fellow psychoanalysts increasingly viewed him as a psychopath because of his advocacy of adolescent sexuality. In 1934, one colleague diagnosed him as suffering from an “insidious psychotic process.”

Communist leaders also began viewing Reich as too extreme. After Reich published The Sexual Struggle of Youth in 1932, he found himself excluded from the Communist Party and deemed a “counterrevolutionary” who “discredited Marxism.” In a bit of dry Communist wit, party leaders concluded that “there were no orgasm disturbances among the proletariat, only among the bourgeoisie.” In 1939, settled in Norway but politically and professionally under increasing threat, Reich took up an invitation from his American acolytes to teach and practice in the United States, where he soon found a new audience.

In a more moderate postwar culture, Reich carefully updated his terminology, having learned well how to conceal his intentions: “Communist” and “socialist” became “progressive.” “Class consciousness” became “work consciousness” and “social responsibility.” Here his writing and fieldwork started to influence a new group of writers and educators, including Alexander Lowen, Fritz Perls, Paul Goodman, Saul Bellow, Norman Mailer, and William S. Burroughs. Goodman lauded the translations of The Sexual Revolution and Character Analysis in Dwight Macdonald’s magazine Politics. Bellow was even in therapy with one of Reich’s students. His novels The Adventures of Augie March and Henderson the Rain King were tied to Reich’s work, in particular.

In American psychology, Reich’s belief in a “muscular armor” influenced Lowen’s bioenergetics, Perls’s Gestalt therapy, and Arthur Janov’s primal therapy. His metaphors of a man in the trap of his own armor “pervaded the therapeutic ambiance of the 1970s,” writes Sharaf. “His work should be connected with the broad sweep of our century’s progressive educational development, a development he both influenced and reflected.”

An obsession with childhood sexuality infused Reich’s work, which dwelled on the “orgasm reflex” in breastfeeding infants. Once in America, Reich established an “infant research center” so that he could study the so-called sexual freezing process from birth. He even directed that the bulk of his estate should be given to the Wilhelm Reich Infant Trust for “the care of infants everywhere.” The organization, based out of the Reich compound in Rangeley, Maine, still functions as a nonprofit today.

Orgonon, Reich’s post-war headquarters in Rangley, Maine.

Revolutionary theory is always based on a belief in invisible forces that need to be identified and redirected. This belief is held as an article of faith, and evidence to the contrary cannot shake it. Marxism has its commodity fetish and its faith in hidden power relations. Critical race theory believes in systemic yet concealed racial dynamics. The more sinister these forces are, the more complicit in them you must be if you are not actively working to counter them.

So it was for Reich and his harnessing of mankind’s sexual energy. He believed that the human orgasm represented not just a biological phenomenon but also the transformation of bioelectrical energy that could be measured, channeled, and even weaponized. Reich called this power “orgone” and dedicated Orgonon, his estate in Rangeley, to its research. He wrote to Albert Einstein to share his discovery of this invisible sexual force. The physicist agreed to meet Reich in Princeton. Einstein, however, quickly saw through Reich’s experiments, which involved attaching electrodes to subjects’ tongues and nipples as they masturbated. He ignored Reich’s subsequent letters.

Reich also commissioned the construction of special upright chests, called “orgone accumulators,” in which to enclose a patient and focus their orgone energy in treatment (the orgone box promised to cure cancer, among other ills). Reich was specific in their construction: alternating layers of Celotex, sheet iron, glass wool, and steel wool lined with a metal wall. As his practice spread, he sold and leased these boxes out, with the profits kicking up to Orgonon.

Reich saw orgone as the hidden power of the universe. He believed that UFOs traveled by orgone propulsion. He also maintained that the U.S. government was secretly aware of orgone’s energy potential and that the Air Force was sending flights over Orgonon to protect him and his work.

For all his extreme theories and practices, it was the orgone box, particularly its sale and rental across state lines, that put Reich on a collision course with the authorities—here, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration. In May 1947, a freelance writer, Mildred Edie Brady, wrote an exposé, “The Strange Case of Wilhelm Reich,” for The New Republic. Reich and his followers denounced the article’s damning portrayal—Brady and The New Republic were Stalinist agents, they maintained. The story nevertheless contained more than mere half-truths:

Orgone, named after the sexual orgasm, is, according to Reich, a cosmic energy. It is, in fact, the cosmic energy. Reich has not only discovered it; he has seen it, demonstrated it and named a town—Orgonon, Maine—after it. Here he builds accumulators of it which are rented out to patients, who presumably derive “orgastic potency” from it.

The article caught the attention of an FDA field officer, who believed that a “very able individual fortified to a considerable degree by men of science” was perpetrating a “fraud of the first magnitude.” In 1953, the FDA issued a 27-page complaint against Reich. Physician Frank Krusen of the Mayo Clinic wrote to the FDA: “It was very difficult for me to bring myself to take the time to prepare this report because of the fact that this quackery is of such a fantastic nature that it hardly seems worthwhile to refute the ridiculous claims of its proponents.”

Reich responded by firing up his orgone “cloudbuster”—an artillery-like contraption of tubes and pipes resembling a prop from a cheap science-fiction film—and threatening to inundate the country with rain. “Consequences of this action are all your responsibility and that of Federal Judge Clifford of Portland, Maine,” he shot back in a telegram to the U.S. Weather Bureau. “We are flooding the East as you are drying out the Southwest. You do not play with serious natural-scientific research.”

When the FDA ruled against him, his boxes were ordered destroyed. So were his books and journals that made mention of orgone. Over multiple raids, the federal government rounded up and burned Reich’s materials. Later, having been found in contempt of court for violating an injunction against shipping orgone boxes across state lines, Reich was sent to a federal penitentiary. An evaluating physician there determined that he was exhibiting “paranoia manifested by delusions of grandiosity and persecution.”

In 1957, Reich died of heart failure in prison while awaiting trial. His silencing and death fueled his martyrdom in progressive circles. In the ensuing decades, Roger Straus Jr. of Farrar, Straus and Giroux saw to it that all of Reich’s writings were reissued. The publisher has released about two dozen works by Reich between 1960 and today. According to the Wilhelm Reich Infant Trust, his books are now available in 21 languages.

Reich’s beliefs—in particular, his theories on the “unarmored life” of the “children of the future” and the “affirmation of childhood and adolescent genitality”—have spread far and wide, even as we no longer recognize their source.

One of Reich’s remaining orgone energy accumulators or “orgone box.”

Beat writer Burroughs never forgot. He wrote about “All the Accumulators I Have Owned” and the “spontaneous orgasm” he achieved, “no hands, in an orgone accumulator built in an orange grove in Pharr, Texas.” The editor Dwight Macdonald promoted Reich through his influential magazines, as well as through nude cocktail parties and orgies. In 1964, Time observed, “Dr. Wilhelm Reich may have been a prophet. For now it sometimes seems that all America is one big orgone box.” Writing in the Guardian, Christopher Turner noted: “The hipster—stoked up with marijuana, existentialism and Reich . . . was the prototype of the countercultural figure that emerged in the 1960s.” Yet with today’s model of orgone box, he continued,

it is no longer necessary to sit in cramped quarters for a specific time. Improved and enlarged to encompass the continent, the big machine works on its subjects continuously, day and night. From innumerable screens and stages, posters and pages, it flashes larger-than-life-size images of sex. From countless racks and shelves, it pushes the books that a few years ago were considered pornography. From myriad loudspeakers, it broadcasts the words and rhythms of pop-music erotica. And constantly, over the intellectual Muzak, comes the message that sex will save you. Libido makes you free.

Reich’s sexual revolution has been so total, and so totalizing in its demands, that it now wages its desperate battles over a scorched landscape. With diminishing marriage rates across the developed world, sex has turned inward, to pornography and onanism. Popular culture has become, as Turner observed, one big orgone box, isolating society from the genuinely fulfilling connections of faithfulness and family. The Summer of Love launched a culture of self-love, the culmination of Reichian liberation.

In Sex-Pol: Essays, 1929–1934, Reich wrote in “Politicizing the Sexual Problem of Youth”:

This future order cannot and will not be other than, as Lenin put it, a full love-life yielding joy and strength. Little as we can say about the details of such a life, it is nevertheless certain that in the Communist society the sexual needs of human beings will once more come into their own. . . . Evidence that socialism alone can bring about sexual liberation is on our side. Therefore under capitalism we must use all our energies to convince the oppressed masses of this truth, too, and mobilize them for a merciless struggle against everything that impedes such liberation.

Reich’s later-life obsessions were not exceptions to his earlier sexual radicalism but rather manifestations of the same delusion. The failures of his experiments and popular opposition to his ideas only reconfirmed his faith in the genius of his beliefs—of the need, for example, to liberate the children of the future from the “emotional plague” of civilization. Like the hidden forces he identified in The Mass Psychology of Fascism, Reich fell prey to his own grandiosity.

“There is a sinister anti-intellectualism about Reich’s theory of the origin of repression,” Rieff observed in The Triumph of the Therapeutic. As the Left has carried on his sexual revolution, its adherents have fallen for their own forms of deluded psychology. Cloud-busting and orgone boxes have given way to “gender-affirming” surgeries and the sidelining of parents from the care and protection of their own children. Reich’s Freudo-Marxism explains why sex education in schools, especially when performed against the will of parents, has taken on a maniacal urgency.

“We may be physically destroyed tomorrow,” Reich observed to his presiding judge as he awaited trial, but “we shall live in human memory as long as this planet is afloat in the endless Cosmic Energy Ocean, as the Fathers of the cosmic, technological age.” Our present challenge is to confront this fantastical quackery before it breaks what remains of the bonds of love and family.

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The Inside-Out Diorama

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The Inside-Out Diorama

THE NEW CRITERION, June 2023

The inside-out diorama

On the new Richard Gilder Center at the American Museum of Natural History.

Anyone who has walked through the American Museum of Natural History might have sensed something was wrong. Just go through its Hall of Gems and Minerals, or its Hall of South American Peoples, or its Hall of Pacific Peoples. At the end of each of these long rooms, which were only reached through other long rooms, you found nothing less than a dead end. In a way, the reason was by design: the master plan of this museum, founded in 1869 and first envisioned by Calvert Vaux and Jacob Wrey Mould in 1872, has never been fully realized. Much like the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Brooklyn Museum, and other grand nineteenth-century American edifices, New York’s natural-history museum was laid out on a massive cross-in-square plan, which has only been partially built out over time.

Beyond merely the dead ends, what this means is that, over a century and a half after its founding, the street-facing façades and infill architecture of this museum have been created in a progression of styles that have reflected, for better and worse, the ideals of their times. The museum began on the southern side of its four-block quadrangle bordering Central Park, carved out of the street grid of the then-undeveloped Upper West Side. From 1874 to 1877, Vaux and Mould extended their pastoral vision from Central Park to break ground on the museum’s first wing in the Gothic Revival style; from then until now, this building, which was soon surrounded by future construction, has housed the museum’s Northwest Coast Hall.

An aerial view of the American Museum of Natural History’s campus. Photo: Iwan Baan.

The plan to extend this Gothic language across the four seven-hundred-and-forty-foot sides of the envisioned museum was quickly eclipsed by changing architectural taste. In 1897, a new plan emerged to complete the museum in a Romanesque Revival style. The Seventy-seventh Street façade, designed by Cady, Berg & See and constructed between 1890 and 1900, and the southwest wing, designed by Charles Volz and built between 1906 and 1908, gave the museum its fanciful red turrets and first distinctive appearance.

The need for natural light and air at one time called for four internal open courtyards located within the circulating wings, all radiating out from a domed central tower. In the twentieth century, with advances in artificial light and ventilation, these open spaces began to be modified and built in. Rather than a dome, the central building became the museum’s lecture hall, designed by Cady, Berg & See in 1900. Wings for ocean life and education filled in the southwest and southeast courtyards in 1924 and 1928. A power and service building of 1930–35 infilled the northwest courtyard. Meanwhile the art-deco Hayden Planetarium, designed by Trowbridge & Livingston, was constructed in the northeast courtyard in 1934–35. At the same time, between 1931 and 1936, the museum’s eastern façade fronting Central Park West received John Russell Pope’s Roman Revival grand vision for the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Rotunda, complete with a triumphal arch, coffered vaulted interiors, and an equestrian statue of our twenty-sixth president mounted at the center of a monumental entry plaza. Then, over half a century later, a year-2000 addition by Polshek Partnership, which replaced the Hayden with the Rose Center for Earth & Space, stayed within this original master plan while again departing in style, this time resulting in a celestial sphere (housing the new planetarium theater) suspended in an illuminated glass cube.

Despite over a century and a half, and the construction of some twenty-five buildings, the museum has still only filled out about two-thirds of its original master-plan footprint. This incompleteness has been most felt on its western side facing Columbus Avenue, where existing wings have ended abruptly, resulting in many of those back-tracking dead ends. A central building that connects these wings, on all four of the museum’s floors, has long been overdue.

The Columbus Avenue entrance to the Richard Gilder Center for Science, Education, and Innovation. Photo: Alvaro Keding / © AMNH.

The Richard Gilder Center for Science, Education, and Innovation, over a decade in the making and opened to the public on May 4, set out to do just that. (For more, see “Old museums, new tricks” in The New Criterion of February 2017.) Filling in a void along the museum’s western edge, the 230,000-square-foot wing creates some thirty new access points to the museum’s twenty-building complex. It also generally continues the massing of the original master plan while extending the museum’s central axis west from the Roosevelt Rotunda, resulting in a new façade that now lines up with Seventy-ninth Street.

Funded by one of New York’s great latter-day philanthropists, the Gilder Center is named for the late Republican financier who once teamed up with none other than George Soros to found the Central Park Conservancy. Among the other New York–based beneficiaries of Richard Gilder’s largesse before his death in 2020 were the Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History, the Manhattan Institute for Policy Research, and the magazine you are now reading.

Early on the Gilder Center was designated to expand the museum’s educational mission, with additional classroom space as well as room to display more of the museum’s permanent collection of objects and scientific specimens, of which only 2–3 percent might ever be on view at any given time. Rising over three stories, these new displays, called the Louis V. Gerstner Jr. Collections Core and the Macaulay Family Foundation Collections Gallery, are among the Gilder Center’s most beneficial new additions. Behind the vitrines we can see the new rolling-stack storage shelves where some 12 percent of the museum’s collection, or four million specimens, has been, or is being, relocated. These displays, by Ralph Appelbaum Associates, reveal the breadth and depth of the museum’s holdings while also, for the first time, giving us a window onto its activities as a working scientific institution.

The development of open storage has been an undersung initiative of recent museum practice, one that in fact revives the object-based focus of the Renaissance Wunderkammer, the precursor of our nineteenth-century museums. At the Gilder Center, touch screens and detailed labels tell us much about these slices of the museum’s varied collection. In one area are displays of antique lantern slides, eastern box turtles, giant extinct mammals, wasp nests and galls, cleared and stained fish, New York rocks, Gaia astronomical data, Korean pottery, Maasai beadwork, and even a selection of Vladimir Nabokov’s butterflies. Another floor contains handmade African toys, bats, insects and spiders, parrots, astronomical instruments, amphibians, field documentation, a hadrosaur footprint, crinoid fossils, and the bones of a giant grouper. Still another houses Pueblo pottery, Maya bricks, Camarasaurus vertebrae, animal horns, drill core samples, trilobite fossils, sea-snail shells, megalodon teeth, ammonite fossils, and a captivating display of corals and echinoderms. Nearby, yet another new storage room and study center, visible through a window, now contains a sizeable percentage of the museum’s 3.1 million specimens of moths and butterflies. The one discordant note in all this is “Housewares of the Mao Era,” a display of Communist agitprop that describes the Cultural Revolution as merely a “sweeping campaign to reshape and reeducate Chinese society.” By sweeping away the death of some thirty million Chinese, the museum might satisfy ccp censors, but the appalling omission should not escape our notice.

The David S. and Ruth L. Gottesman Research Library and Learning Center at the Richard Gilder Center. Photo: Alvaro Keding / © AMNH.

A new library and reading room on the top floor, called the David S. and Ruth L. Gottesman Research Library and Learning Center, continues the spirit of open storage with walls of books and artifacts. The library is another achievement of the Gilder wing, bringing the museum’s extensive bibliographic collection out from a hidden location off of the dinosaur hall into wider and more welcoming public view. A wall of floor-to-ceiling shelves called the “Great Range” contains models of a polar bear from 1912, of a Camarasaurus from circa 1919, and of HMS Beagle from circa 2005. Also here is a crate from the museum’s Congo expedition (ca. 1909–15), a museum flag from its land exhibition of 1941, and a lunar tire prototype from 2011. Nearby, for the first time, the library has an alcove to exhibit a selection of its rare books, objects, and manuscripts, such as a 1705 edition of Maria Sibylla Merian’s Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium.

One of the wing’s new permanent exhibits is the five-thousand-square-foot Susan and Peter J. Solomon Family Insectarium. The ground-floor display makes the best case for our buggy acquaintances, whether they be vectors for our diseases—by a wide margin, the mosquito has been the most lethal animal to human life—or the essential pollinators of our food supply. Here the focus is an elaborate terrarium of live leaf-cutter ants walking across ropes and bridges with their snipped loads. A floor up, the Davis Family Butterfly Vivarium relocates the museum’s live butterfly room from its digs in the Whitney Memorial Hall, with historical dioramas Pacific bird life that will now hopefully be restored and reopened, to a more permanent home.

Life’s interconnectedness is a recurring theme of the Gilder Center. A twelve-minute immersive video called “Invisible Worlds,” designed by Tamschick Media+Space with Boris Micka Associates, is a remarkable feat of interactive projection. Still, I am not sure how much insight can genuinely be gleaned from its ambient soundtrack and ASMR narration—“humans have created digital networks to extend the reach of our ideas. How many texts have you sent today?” asks a breathy female narrator. More thought-provoking are the touch-screen quizzes in the film’s entry hall, asking whether we are more closely related to mold or moss (the answer is mold, by a difference of some five hundred million years) or sea sponges or starfish (starfish, by two hundred million years).

The Invisible Worlds Immersive Experience at the Richard Gilder Center. Photo: Iwan Baan.

The Gilder Center has tucked its many exhibits and displays around a five-story entry atrium designed by Jeanne Gang that is presented as the showpiece of the project. On the building’s exterior, blocks of Milford pink granite—the very same stone used on Pope’s Roosevelt Rotunda—have been cut by computer into sedimentary wave-like patterns. On the interior, shotcrete, a spray-on concrete used primarily for tunnel construction, has been slathered and scraped onto rebar molds to form the walls and ceilings. The architect has described the forms of this space as being inspired by slot caverns, riverbank canyons, melting blocks of ice, and prehistoric cave dwellings. Its construction is presented as ecologically sensitive in every conceivable way; talk of climate change is never far from the sales pitch. The result is a cross between Antoni Gaudí and Fred Flintstone. This is not to suggest the forms are not arresting. The atrium leads onto a grand staircase by way of Castle Grayskull. Pseudo land-bridges connect the upper floors. The shotcrete surfaces, left scraped and raw, have the look of tufted wool from afar and the feel of coarse-grit sandpaper up close. The walls can catch the raking sunlight in a satisfying sculptural way. In contrast, any knee or hand that catches its sharp and crumbly surface will feel most unsatisfied. I can only imagine how this rough aggregate will age once the first cup of coffee spills down its side and gum sticks to its surface. I fear starchitects, especially those bearing eco-pablum.

The staircase in the Kenneth C. Griffin Exploration Atrium of the Richard Gilder Center. Photo: Iwan Baan.

For all of its nature-like forms, this shotcrete architecture is also the most artificial aspect of the new facility. The American Museum of Natural History is known for its historical dioramas. One way to see this design is as a diorama turned inside out, one where we are the specimens on view. It is interesting to note that shotcrete was invented by no less than the naturalist Carl Akeley, the pioneer of the museum’s historical dioramas.

But now the diorama frame is gone. So too is all of the historicized architecture, washed away in the same progressive deluge that recently toppled the Roosevelt statue from the museum’s front stairs. What results is a museum wiped down to the bone. Here is a post-apocalyptic vision where we are no longer the civilized masters of the universe but cave dwellers once again. In our self-obsessed age, perhaps it is appropriate finally to be the subject of this museum’s latest and largest diorama. Just what the five-story display says about the future of humanity is a label yet to be written. If I had my way, to borrow a line popularized by William F. Buckley Jr., I might simply suggest, Don’t immanentize the eschaton. The anthropocene will never kill us, but scientism just might.

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Uncut Gems

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Uncut Gems

THE NEW CRITERION, October 2021

Uncut Gems

On the new Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals at the American Museum of Natural History, New York.

On the evening of October 29, 1964, a trio of beach boys sidled their white Cadillac up to the American Museum of Natural History. By the next morning, they had pulled off the biggest jewelry heist in U.S. history. Allan Kuhn, Roger Clark, and Jack Roland Murphy—a champion wave-rider known as “Murph the Surf”—had that rare combination of talents. By the time they targeted the museum, they were accomplished swimmers, aerialists, and burglars. Living in Miami, Murphy had helped popularize California surf culture on the East Coast. He had also used his aquatic skills to swim away from the many mansions he looted along the Intracoastal Waterway. Flush from these capers, the gang lived large in New York. They took up an expensive penthouse suite at an Upper West Side hotel as they patronized jazz clubs and passed around a copy of The Story of the Gems by Her­bert P. Whitlock (who had been the curator of mineralogy at the museum from 1918 to 1941), all the while searching for targets. The museum’s J. P. Morgan Hall of Gems and Minerals, at the time an antiquated fourth-floor room of open windows and unalarmed cases, was an easy mark.

James A. Oliver, director of the Museum of Natural History, inspecting the case that held jewels stolen from the museum, 1964. Photo: Arthur Brower/The New York Times.

James A. Oliver, director of the Museum of Natural History, inspecting the case that held jewels stolen from the museum, 1964. Photo: Arthur Brower/The New York Times.

Scaling a fence at West Eighty-first Street, then an exterior staircase, then sidestepping along a hundred-foot-high ledge, at around 9 p.m. Kuhn and Murphy entered the fifth-floor office window of Colin Turnbull, a curator of African ethnology, who kept a harpsichord by his desk to play at lunchtime. As Clark stayed behind in the getaway car and communicated by walkie-talkie, Kuhn and Murphy timed the rounds of the museum guards. They then descended by rope through an open window into the Hall of Gems a floor below.

Through the gifts of J. P. Morgan and other Gilded Age benefactors, the collection of the American Museum of Natural History included some of the rarest gems in the world. Using a glass cutter, duct tape, and a hammer, the thieves took two dozen of the most valuable of them. Their haul included the 100-carat star ruby donated by Edith Haggin De­Long and the 116-carat Midnight Sapphire. They also carted away two en­graved emeralds, two aquamarines, a number of uncut diamonds, and several bracelets, brooches, and rings. Their biggest prize was the Star of India, a 563-carat sapphire, the largest gem-quality star sapphire ever discovered, which had been do­nated by Morgan himself. After the two made their late-night escape, they brought their loot along in a bag to the Metropole Cafe in Midtown as they went to listen to Gene Krupa’s band.

Thanks to their high-flying lifestyle, the three were soon tracked down and apprehended, but not before fencing the jewels in Miami. A New York prosecutor named Maurice Nadjari made a deal with the thieves and escorted Kuhn from his New York jail cell as they tracked down the jewels in Florida. While the uncut Eagle Diamond was never found, the prosecutor remarkably recovered over half the goods. A friend of the museum paid a hefty ransom for the De­Long ruby. The Star of India eventually returned as the jewel in the crown of the museum’s collection. A 1975 film called Murph the Surf was made about the caper.

The Star of India (left), the DeLong Star Ruby (center), and the Midnight Sapphire (lower right), on view at the Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals, The American Museum of Natural History. Photo: James Panero.

The Star of India (left), the DeLong Star Ruby (center), and the Midnight Sapphire (lower right), on view at the Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals, The American Museum of Natural History. Photo: James Panero.

“These gems have life in them: their colors speak, say what words fail of,” George Eliot famously wrote of the power of jewels and the minerals that compose them. A decade after the robbery, in 1976, the museum sought to embed this jeweled allure in the new Harry Frank Guggenheim Hall of Minerals and Morgan Memorial Hall of Gems. Designed by Fred B. Bookhardt, Jr., of William F. Pedersen & Associates, this new combined exhibition hall filled a windowless cul-de-sac on the first floor of the museum. Replete with ramps, enclosed passages, and amphitheater seats, all covered in dark wall-to-wall carpeting, the design was praised at the time as “one of the largest and most ambitious exhibition halls the museum has yet attempted.” “I’ve been on many a mineralogical exploration,” said Vincent Manson, the curator of the hall, “and the atmosphere one feels in here is very much like that of going down into the earth to explore for minerals.”

“God sleeps in the minerals, awakens in plants, walks in animals, and thinks in man,” observed the nineteenth-century agriculturalist Arthur Young. Like some space-age mine dappled in prismatic light, the 1976 hall inspired more than a generation of museumgoers with its mysterious appeal. Its sensory approach epitomized a style of museum design that saw specimens elevated out of their cases into theatrical, immersive displays—a method pioneered by Carl Akeley fifty years before through his animal dioramas.

For this critic, first as a child and then adult, the 1976 hall was a favorite piece of museum culture. It was also a dated specimen that revealed more about the crystalline obsessions of the 1970s than the crystals themselves. For the latest generation of earth scientists who just want to tell the story of rocks, however, the hall had become a ridiculed romper room for the museum’s underage visitors. George E. Harlow, the museum’s curator for the physical sciences, says his staff called it “Nanny Hall.”

Amethyst geode on view at the Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals, The American Museum of Natural History, New York. Photo: © AMNH.

Amethyst geode on view at the Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals, The American Museum of Natural History, New York. Photo: © AMNH.

Shuttered in October 2017, the Guggenheim and Morgan halls have been gutted and replaced, after some delays this past June, with the Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals. Museum practices often swing like a pendulum. Curated by Harlow and designed by Ralph Appelbaum Associates along with Lauri Halderman of the museum’s exhibition department, the new hall blasts out any remnants of that indoor-outdoor carpeting. In its place it presents an open, 11,000-square-foot room of labels and display cases that more resembles the gem hall of 1964 than 1976. What the presentation loses in immersive appeal it makes up for in the miraculous forms it displays and the often interesting stories they tell.

The completion of the Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals is but the first stage of a larger project to turn the unfinished western side of the museum facing Columbus Avenue into the Richard Gilder Center for Science, Education, and Innovation, a new wing designed by Jeanne Gang with exhibition spaces again by Ralph Appelbaum Associates. No longer a cul-de-sac, the Mignone Halls will eventually connect into this new space.

Rocks “are books,” claimed John McPhee, who wrote more than a few clunkers about them himself. “They have a different vocabulary, a different alphabet, but you learn how to read them.” While it is true that every rock tells a story, you don’t necessarily need to hear the story of every rock. The new halls of gems and minerals now tell many stories, certainly too many for a single viewing. A theory of evolution concerning not just animals and vegetables but also minerals has lately gained currency among geologists and now takes up much of the storytelling. “The diversity of minerals on our dynamic planet is directly connected to the evolution of life,” says Harlow—turning the “diversity” key even in the cylinder of this hard science. Fortunately, the presentation of these minerals and gems, aided by artful lighting and unobtrusive stands, nevertheless keeps the natural world mostly front and center. The information provided, about both their evolution and their discovery, also largely adds to their interest and appeal.

The new halls open with two amethyst geodes that, at nine- and twelve-feet tall, are among the largest on public display. New to the museum, these “giant geodes” from the Bolsa Mine in Artigas, Uruguay, began forming 135 million years ago. Gas escaping between the separating South American and African continental plates opened up cavities in the hardening magma like rising bread. Groundwater then flowed through the spaces, depositing silica that crystallized into quartz. Over millions of years, high energy radiation from the surrounding rocks turned the colorless quartz a deep purple. Out of the ground and no longer exposed to this radiant energy, the amethyst will slowly lose its purple hue.

It seems quite a fanciful story—Middle Earth stuff—but the crystals are there to prove otherwise. Interspersed among display cases are similarly captivating crystals in what the museum calls its new “crystal garden”: stibnite from China; a double-ended dravite from Australia; fluorite from Spain; beryls from the American Northeast; elbaite and fluorapophyllite from Brazil; rhodonite from New Jersey; labradorite from Madagascar; petrified redwood from Oregon; grape agate from Indonesia; and calcite, aragonite, and a massive block of blue azurite and green malachite known as the “Singing Stone” from Arizona. From rounded to prismatic, textured to smooth, red to green and creamy to black, the variety of colors and textures here reveal the great sculptural powers of the natural world.

While the display cases are now abundant, their dark appearance and the metallic armatures within (crafted in the same way as the supports for dinosaur bones three floors up) largely allow the stones to stay in the foreground. The smaller specimens are then grouped in ways that illustrate the stories of their creation and discovery. Some examples: the difference between simple and complex pegmatites; “the many colors of fluorite”; the hydrothermal environments of mineral development; “the fabulous tourmaline family”; how light affects the perception of minerals; “the Tin Islands and the Bronze Age in Europe”; the zinc deposits of New Jersey; the minerals employed in the modern world; “How Do We Use Different Salts?”; and the extensively excavated mineralogy of New York City. A wide-ranging selection of minerals from the “Copper Hills of Arizona,” all from mines around the town of Bisbee, reveals the remarkable forms of copper, gold, and silver buried below the Mule Mountains.

Elbaite on view at the Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals, The American Museum of Natural History, New York. Photo: James Panero.

Elbaite on view at the Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals, The American Museum of Natural History, New York. Photo: James Panero.

As a display for both minerals and gems (which are simply polished minerals), the new Mignone halls divide up the two in much the same way as the old Guggenheim–Morgan footprint. Alcoves along the right wall serve as specialty galleries. One small space reveals the fluorescence and phosphorescence of a stone slab from the Sterling Hill Mining Museum in Ogdensburg, New Jersey, that glows in ultraviolet light. Another serves as a temporary gallery, now used for an exhibition on “Beautiful Creatures: Jewelry Inspired by the Animal Kingdom.” The most sought-after space in the hall, this new gallery is just a half-step away from a Cartier showroom. Marion Fasel, the guest curator, is otherwise a commercial consultant with a “passion of telling jewelry and watch adventure stories,” according to her biography. This opening show’s connection to the specimens of flora and fauna elsewhere in the museum barely saves it from commercial oblivion as naturalistic pieces are divided in cases dedicated to mammal, insect, and aquatic forms. The stand-out examples are the pieces that bring out the concurrences of nature: in particular, Paula Crevoshay’s 2014 brooch of a Portuguese man o’ war, inspired by the resemblance of the 33-carat Mexican water opal at its center to the pneumatophore, or “float,” of that dreaded hydrozoan.

Between these two alcoves is the central, permanent showcase of gems, one that is surprisingly reserved in its display. One suspects that the designers of this gallery, unlike the special exhibition with its illuminated Fifth Avenue-like stands, wanted to undercut the sparkle of the spectacular. In deadpan fashion, wall-mounted displays present the museum’s rich collection of opal, topaz, garnet, quartz, ruby, emerald, sapphire, diamond, tourmaline, and other precious gems. Located in a standalone case in front of this alcove are those collection highlights that spent some unwanted time away from the museum back in 1964. For all of the stories told in this new hall, the tale of Murph the Surf is notably, but understandably, absent.

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