By Edward Humes

The Darwin Dilemma

Most Americans could not say who Gordon Gould was, or John Logie Baird, or Nikola Tesla, or Edward Jenner, or Jack Kilby, although the work of these scientists is ever-present in our daily lives, part of our culture, our entertainment, our communications, our defense, our medical care — our entire modern technology. The world in general and America in particular would be unrecognizable without them, our lives immeasurably poorer and quite probably shorter. Yet most of us couldn’t pick them out of a line-up, much less an encyclopedia.

So who are they? Gould invented the first laser, the ubiquitous device that makes possible CD and DVD players, fiber optics, military targeting systems, and bladeless scalpels that perform lifesaving surgeries unimaginable a generation ago. Baird invented television and changed the world, while Tesla powered it, having invented a way to deliver alternating current to home users and our modern electrical infrastructure — the one in which, day after day, without consumers giving it a thought, the lights go on and the toasters toast and the garage doors open and the respirators pump air into the lungs of premature babies. Kilby invented the microchip, another omnipresent device, the silicon brain inside computers and cars and nuclear reactors and iPods and GameBoys ­ the transitional techno-fossil bridging the mechanical and digital ages. And the Englishman Jenner saved our lives and ended terrible scourges by inventing the first vaccination — defeating Small Pox and pointing the way for an army of other disease vanquishers.

These great men, these scientists for the ages, dominate our households, but they are not household names. America loves to consume the fruits of science, but we are mostly oblivious of how the stuff works, and of the men and women who discover it for us. Even the giants among them are surprisingly anonymous.

Only three scientists of significance have achieved lasting name recognition among Americans in the twenty-first century, and none of them are directly linked with any of the technological wonders the nation so prizes. There is Einstein, who became a true celebrity notwithstanding the fact that few Americans even remotely understand his science; his fame endures mostly because his name has become a noun, a synonym for “egghead,” the ultimate colloquial immortality, and because his crazy-haired photograph is a perennial poster favorite. There is Newton, remembered not so much for his invention of calculus and physics as for the apocryphal story of an apple falling on his head to inspire the theory of gravity. Or perhaps it is the venerable cookie that shares his name.

Finally, there is Darwin, the only scientist who has achieved both lasting fame and lasting infamy in America. He has inspired generations of scientists and evangelicals to do battle, and his thinking remains as relevant and provocative today as it was a century and a half ago. His writings, data, and reasoning are still plumbed and studied in the twenty-first century by biologists, paleontologists and botanists. One of the nation’s leading paleontologists and evolutionary biologists, Kevin Padian, a pioneer in studying the evolution of dinosaurs and birds, says he and his colleagues still find new ideas and insights in Darwin’s work. Padian teaches advanced graduate school seminars on Darwin at the University of California at Berkeley, and he finds even the top students in attendance, already well on their way to becoming accomplished biologists and paleontologists, are “blown away” by what Darwin achieved and how little they really understood of his life, his scientific accomplishments, and the obstacles he faced.

Darwin’s influence, of course, extends far beyond the world of science. Alone among scientists, Darwin has inspired continuing political and cultural movements in America ­ some in support of his views, but for the most part against him and against what he is thought to represent. Over time he has become an archetype, a mythic figure at once revered and demonized — routinely ranked by scientists as one of the three or four most important thinkers in history, and just as routinely ranked with Hitler and Marx in the religious right’s pantheon of evil.

As with most myths, the true Darwin and the nature of his research have become clouded in the popular imagination, his philosophy mischaracterized, his quotations misused, his shy and gentle personality vilified, and his science — the seemingly familiar theory of evolution — mangled beyond recognition. This, too, is part of the story of Dover.

The simple truth is, Charles Darwin did not “invent” evolution; he didn’t even initially use the term, preferring instead the phrase, “descent with modification” or the word “transmutation.” His seminal book, The Origin of Species, which laid out the basis of his life’s work and which he continued to build on for decades, uses the word “evolved” exactly once. It is the very last word in the book.

Nor did Darwin think up the notion that life progresses, develops or evolves over time. That idea had been around long before he was born and, in its most general sense of organisms adapting to survive and thrive, was never particularly controversial. It was the mechanism of evolution ­ the mysterious process causing it to occur — and the extent to which a species could or could not be transformed — that got people riled, challenged conventional wisdom and belief, and became the focus of Darwin’s research.

Darwin was content to let his writings speak for themselves, and to continue writing books that examined plant and human evolution, and then the evolution of emotions and human psychology, leaving his supporters in the scientific community to defend his theories. They did so, vociferously and, in the end, successfully. The Origin of Species was reprinted many times and was the last great work of science written both for a specialized readership of scientists and for a mass audience. It was widely read throughout the world, lauded, mocked, satirized and discussed, until it became entrenched in the popular imagination, a cultural touchstone of enlightenment or corrupt materialism, depending upon the point of view. The weight of the evidence as Darwin’s century drew to a close seemed to scientists to favor evolution and its power to explain so many diverse observations and natural processes. By the time Darwin died in 1882, his ideas were being taught in universities worldwide, replacing the works of William Paley and the advocates of intelligent design.

Darwin had won the first battle. But not the war.