In 1858 Charles Darwin was forty-nine years old, a gentleman scientist living quietly at Down House in the Kent countryside, respected by fellow biologists and well liked among his wide and distinguished circle of acquaintances. He was not yet a focus of debate; his “big book on species” still lay on his study desk in the form of a huge pile of manuscript. For more than twenty years he had been accumulating material for it, puzzling over questions it raised, trying—it seemed endlessly—to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion. Publication appeared to be as far away as ever, delayed by his inherent cautiousness and wish to be certain that his startling theory of evolution was correct.
It is at this point that the concluding volume of Janet Browne’s biography opens. The much-praised first volume, Voyaging, carried Darwin’s story through his youth and scientific apprenticeship, the adventurous Beagle voyage, his marriage and the birth of his children, the genesis and development of his ideas. Now, beginning with the extraordinary events that finally forced the Origin of Species into print, we come to the years of fame and controversy.
For Charles Darwin, the intellectual upheaval touched off by his book had deep personal as well as public consequences. Always an intensely private man, he suddenly found himself and his ideas being discussed—and often attacked—in circles far beyond those of his familiar scientific community. Demonized by some, defended by others (including such brilliant supporters as Thomas Henry Huxley and Joseph Hooker), he soon emerged as one of the leading thinkers of the Victorian era, a man whose theories played a major role in shaping the modern world. Yet, in spite of the enormous new pressures, he clung firmly, sometimes painfully, to the quiet things that had always meant the most to him—his family, his research, his network of correspondents, his peaceful life at Down House.
In her account of this second half of Darwin’s life, Janet Browne does dramatic justice to all aspects of the Darwinian revolution, from a fascinating examination of the Victorian publishing scene to a survey of the often furious debates between scientists and churchmen over evolutionary theory. At the same time, she presents a wonderfully sympathetic and authoritative picture of Darwin himself right through the heart of the Darwinian revolution, busily sending and receiving letters, pursuing research on subjects that fascinated him (climbing plants, earthworms, pigeons—and, of course, the nature of evolution), writing books, and contending with his mysterious, intractable ill health. Thanks to Browne’s unparalleled command of the scientific and scholarly sources, we ultimately see Darwin more clearly than we ever have before, a man confirmed in greatness but endearingly human.
Reviewing Voyaging, Geoffrey Moorhouse observed that “if Browne’s second volume is as comprehensively lucid as her first, there will be no need for anyone to write another word on Darwin.” The Power of Place triumphantly justifies that praise.
From the Hardcover edition.
About Janet Browne
Janet Browne trained as a biologist, took her Ph.D. in the history of science, and has served as associate editor of The Correspondence of Charles Darwin. She is the author of several books and many scholarly papers. She is professor… More about Janet Browne
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Published by Knopf May 18, 2011| 608 Pages| ISBN 9780307793683
"Continuing where Charles Darwin: Voyaging (1995) left off, the British science historian completes her brilliant two-volume biography . . . A richly detailed, vivid, and definitive portrait with not a word wasted: the best life of Charles Darwin in the modern literature." –Kirkus Reviews
From the Hardcover edition.
A Conversation with Janet Browne, author of Charles Darwin: The Power of Place
Q: Why did you choose to write about Charles Darwin?
A: I first decided to write about Darwin back in the 1970s when I moved from zoology into history and thought that I could combine the two areas by studying him as a great hero figure in biology. Since then I have found lots of reasons to think carefully about what being a hero might actually mean, but I am still certain that he was one of the most important figures to help make our modern world. He changed the way we think about ourselves and yet was one of the most accessible, modest and friendly of men.
The idea of a biography came when I first encountered Darwin’s letters in the archives at Cambridge–and not just Darwin’s letters but also those of his friends and relatives, and particularly a wonderful series of funny, warm, and endearing letters from his wife Emma and the children that stretched across the entire Victorian period. These were still in the original envelopes and bundled up in the old wicker picnic basket where they had been put by Darwin’s daughter after her parents’ deaths. The letters opened up an unexplored world to me. Emma Darwin lived with science just like Darwin did. His children participated in his researches. And Darwin himself was revealed as a domestic man, fond of his family, who liked to spend time in his greenhouse or listening to novels read aloud by his womenfolk. Of course he was an incisive and brilliant thinker, and the letters showed these traits with force. The letters also documented his painstaking analysis of the natural world and the care with which he brought his theory of evolution by natural selection to completion.
But what the collection really suggested to me was the possibility of writing about Darwin in the round, of integrating his science and his achievements together with his disappointments and pleasures in life. I wanted to paint him in full social context, as a living thinking person, with friends and family and passions, who used this social context to help create and establish an extraordinary theory. As I worked, it became increasingly important to me to show that science is done by people. Scientists do not work in isolation. Their results sometimes occur by happenstance. They often have trouble getting into print. They complain about prejudice and ‘the establishment.’ Their friends tease them. Enemies emerge from the shadows. In Darwin’s case an indefinable illness came to haunt him. Three of his ten children died. As the controversy over The Origin of Species raged, he retreated into his garden to study orchids. In the end, he became a scientific celebrity, wickedly caricatured in the popular press. So my biography is ultimately about how science got made and accepted in Victorian times–and what it might have been like to be Darwin.
Q: When you were doing your research, did you come across anything about Darwin–his character, his interests, his work habits–that truly surprised or amused you?
A: The thing that most amused me doing my research was finding letters with forged signatures. It turned out that they were dictated by Darwin to his wife or daughters when he was too ill to write them himself. The women learned to forge his signature but that did not stop Darwin sometimes adding at the bottom in his own handwriting that it was a ‘miserable forgery’.
Another amusing moment came with one of Emma Darwin’s letters when she describes Darwin’s visit to a Royal Society soiree in London in 1866. He had been ill for a long time, seen no one for ages, and had grown a beard because he was bored with shaving. At the soiree no one recognized him. She said Darwin had to introduce himself, even to his oldest friends.
One anecdote is very revealing of his character. Late in life he went to hear John Burdon Sanderson give a talk on insectivorous plants, a project that had emerged out of some of Darwin’s own work. Darwin went behind the scenes to have a word with Sanderson before the talk and then emerged to take his seat in the audience. He heard a huge burst of clapping and looked round to see who had come in. It was only then that he realized that it was him.
Q: As you recount in The Power of Place, Darwin was moved to finish and publish his "big book on species," as he called it, when he received a letter from Alfred Russel Wallace outlining a theory of natural selection that was in many respects identical to his own. Do you think that Darwin’s reaction to the crisis precipitated by Wallace’s letter reveals something crucial about Darwin’s character? What role did Wallace (or other scientists) play in the shaping of The Origin of Species?
A: The manner in which both Darwin and Wallace dealt with their sudden, unexpected relationship reflects well on both men’s characters. The evidence suggests that each man was at first shocked, possessive, and reluctant to give up his individual credit. So it was impressive that they behaved so honorably towards each other. Darwin certainly behaved badly in not telling Wallace about a joint publication in a journal until after it took place. But Wallace also saw that joint publication would give his work a kudos that he had previously never dared hope for. They both realized that cooperation served them best in the end. The episode reveals Darwin’s ability to overcome his own emotions for the sake of maintaining the contemporary gentlemanly ethos of science. His relationship with Wallace after this was always warm, touched with admiration at his achievement and the originality of his untrained mind. Wallace was, after all, the only other man to create evolutionary theory, Darwin’s alter ego, as it were. Darwin said that he never liked to differ from Wallace. It made him anxious. But they did, especially over the origin of mankind’s mental abilities.
Q: Darwin was vigorously attacked, both by churchmen and by other scientists, and often ridiculed in the popular press. But he also had his champions. Who were Darwin’s biggest supporters? enemies? Whose work did Darwin admire?
A: Darwin’s biggest supporters were like the four musketeers in Dumas’ novel–young and old, English and American. Thomas Henry Huxley vigorously defended Darwin on the question of ape ancestry. Charles Lyell explored the geological history of early mankind. Joseph Hooker, the director of Kew Gardens, supported Darwin in the botanical world, while Asa Gray at Harvard took on the American defense, in particular opposing the great Louis Agassiz who hated Darwin’s theory. Darwin said that he was lucky to have friends like these.
Q: Darwin was a very private man, but his theory thrust him into the public eye. How did he (and his family) react to all of the attention?
A: Darwin’s children had to share their Sunday lunch with a succession of famous and infamous visitors who came to see their father. There are lots of stories in the archive about the family working as a team to keep these visitors satisfied and Darwin’s reputation secure. Edward Aveling, the communist, came to ask whether Darwin was an atheist. Others were amusingly keen, as the children said, to pay devotions at Darwin’s shrine. One young German did not utter a word, only to burst into tears when he left.
Soon after The Origin of Species was published, Darwin came across his son Leonard, then a schoolboy, trying to read it. Father bet son that he would never finish it . . . and to his regret won.
This book pays more attention than any other to the female members of Darwin’s family. It shows how his wife Emma, and his daughter Henrietta, participated in his scientific work, supported him with editorial and proofreading tasks, and joined his growing group of scientific friends and supporters. The book shows that science is far from a solitary achievement. Instead there are hidden circles of participation that do not usually get recognized in the final printed record. And it also shows that Darwin’s womenfolk were not the theological policemen of popular legend, constantly on the alert to expunge any atheistical tendencies. Emma Darwin read the proofs of The Origin of Species, for example, and argued with her husband, not about God, but about commas.
Q: You discuss the seemingly interminable illness that plagued Darwin for pretty much his entire adult life. What effect did his illness or, for that matter, other "personal matters," like the deaths of his children, have on his work?
A: Darwin’s illness will never be definitively diagnosed, and this perhaps is the point that all historians would like to make. I certainly think that his illness was a ‘real’ thing, but that it was so closely tied up with his own view of himself and the controversies raging about his work that even he could not have distinguished physical disorders from psychosomatic symptoms. It certainly dominated his life. He found it increasingly important to escape to health cures and water-cure establishments where he could find the relaxation he never allowed himself at home. And to a large extent, being ill helped him avoid responsibilities and unwelcome calls on his time. Like one of Anthony Trollope’s characters, he found that it was sometimes very convenient to be sick.
Q: You’ve devoted many years to researching and writing the two volumes of Charles Darwin’s life. What’s next for you?
A: It’s a little bit like losing a close personal friend. No more human biographies for me. I thought, like Darwin, I would turn to plants and write about their histories.