The man behind the powerful idea

He could not bear unhappy endings. He loved to read novels but would feel bad if they ended tragically. He loved his wife and all his 10 children that he seemed inconsolable when he lost one of his daughters who died at age 10. He was so devoted to his work and his family and we know this because one of his sons, Francis, took to recording his father’s daily routine which included nature walks with his dog, constantly punctuated with observation, intense reading and music with his family — which later proved to be the source of what we now know about the private life of this our yet unnamed naturalist.

His work and personal life seemed to have blended so smoothly that his loving and unwavering preference for what was wondrous and fascinating flowed from nature’s details to loved ones that he once described his wife as “the most interesting specimen in the whole series of vertebrate animals.” If a human in his judgment could be more interesting than any backboned animal he knew of (and being a naturalist, he knew a lot), then she must have had one beautiful backbone of a character.

His early school years were said to be unmarked by any peculiar genius. In fact, his father and schoolmasters thought he was a “very ordinary boy rather below the common standard of intellect” and that he “cared for nothing but shooting dogs, catching rats.” He was later sent by his father to a very good school to be a medical doctor just like him but he grew pale at just even the sight of blood although he loved the work that involved collecting live specimens of plants and animals. Then his father thought it would suit our naturalist to be a clergyman so he sent him to train for that but that did not work out either.

At 22, he did the 1800’s equivalent of the modern post-graduate backpacking. He went on a five-year voyage on a ship with a spirit ready for adventure and a mind so open for what the world could teach him. One of those who kept him company was a poet named John Milton and until our naturalist’s twilight years, he maintained that if he had to live it over again, he would read more poetry. He also loved music and his son said that his father did not have the ear to play music but immensely enjoyed listening to it, especially to his wife’s piano playing. But it was nature’s work that called to his deepest passions and commitment.

Throughout the five years of his voyage, he had his whole attention focused on observing nature. He was fascinated by how all life forms were seemingly related — as variations of basic patterns — and how nature went about doing this throughout time. But he did not have this idea from the very start. He arrived at it by constantly and intensely looking at nature in the eye, and by keeping records of what he saw. And from this pile of evidence that no human being before him has ever done so on his or her own, he arrived at the most powerful of idea that has transformed the way we look at nature.

But through all this, he did not consider himself or his work far more important than anyone else’s. To him, one’s devotion to science should be matched by one’s honesty and when someone else of less fame than he achieved, had proven himself to have arrived at the same great idea about nature that he did, he welcomed him with warmth and intellectual honor. He wrote to his co-discoverer: “There has never been passed on me, or, indeed, on anyone, a higher eulogium than yours. I wish that I fully deserved it. Your modesty and candor are very far from new to me. I hope it is a satisfaction to you to reflect — and very few things in my life have been more satisfactory to me — that we have never felt any jealousy toward each other, though in one sense rivals. I believe I can say this of myself with truth, and I am absolutely sure it is true of you.” Instead of saving all the credit for himself, he informed the community of scientists at that time that the idea would be presented jointly by him and his co-discoverer. The two discoverers eventually became best friends and at our naturalist’s funeral, the other helped bear his pall.

But our naturalist loved his work with a passion that never seemed to wane throughout his life. When he was asked what he thought were his special mental “peculiarities” that made him produce such monumental work in science, he went straight to what the heart of a discoverer is made of — he said, “Steadiness. Great curiosity about facts and their meaning” and “some love of the new and marvelous.” His colleagues said that perhaps as importantly as a genius’ way of figuring things out is his “infinite capacity for taking trouble” which meant that he did not dismiss things that did not fit his idea. He entertained them and studied them, coaxing them to reveal their secrets and teach him further.

He was permanently beset by one or a set of mysterious illnesses which debilitated him most of his life. He hardly slept or was able to walk and yet treated everyone with fairness and kindness to a level so deeply indelible that references to these traits of his were strewn throughout an article that was published five years after his death in The Times dated Nov. 19, 1887. He was known to have had such a deep sense of humanity which was demonstrated by his and his family’s vehemence against slavery. They supported the anti-slavery movement. One of his best friends had been a black man named “John” who, after being freed, taught our naturalist some skills that can be used for taxidermy.

His works have not just been misunderstood and misinterpreted but also largely unread by the very people who chastised him for his powerful, revolutionary idea. He never wrote or said “survival of the fittest” or meant it in the way that people in politics or religion used it, but this myth has been used mostly against him throughout history.   

Some of you might already know who this naturalist is. But for this column, I wanted to first reveal the human being behind the scientist before naming him. He never asked for anyone to believe him but to look at and understand what he uncovered with the work of a lifetime. We did and we understood and stand in wonder of nature and of his genius. His name was Charles Darwin and to him, we owe the sweeping idea that all life belongs to one family. This year, we celebrate 200 years of his birth in gratitude of the man and his work — a work which is widely accepted now as having laid the foundations for biology. He would have been humbled but he would have also loved this ending.

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