Conduct of life; English essays -- 20th century; Ethics; Philosophy
Galton’s yet more famous cousin, Charles Darwin, presents in equal
purity the lover and the artist in the sphere of Nature and Science. No
doubt there were once many obtuse persons to whom these names seemed
scarcely to fit when applied to Darwin. There have been people to whom
Darwin scarcely seemed a man of genius, merely a dry laborious
pedestrian student of facts. He himself even—as many people find it
difficult to forget—once lamented his indifference to poetry and art.
But Darwin was one of those elect persons in whose subconscious, if not
in their conscious, nature is implanted the realisation that “science
_is_ poetry,” and in a field altogether remote from the poetry and art
of convention he was alike poet and artist. Only a man so endowed could
from a suggestion received on reading Malthus have conceived of natural
selection as a chief moulding creative force of an infinite succession
of living forms; so also of his fantastic theory of pangenesis. Even in
trifling matters of experiment, such as setting a musician to play the
bassoon in his greenhouse, to ascertain whether music affected plants,
he had all the inventive imagination of poet or of artist. He was poet
and artist—though I doubt if this has been pointed out—in his whole
attitude towards Nature. He worked hard, but to him work was a kind of
play, and it may well be that with his fragile health he could not have
carried on his work if it had not been play. Again and again in his
“Life and Letters” we find the description of his observations or
experiments introduced by some such phrase as: “I was infinitely
amused.” And he remarks of a biological problem that it was like a game
of chess. I doubt, indeed, whether any great man of science was more of
an artist than Darwin, more consciously aware that he was playing with
the world, more deliciously thrilled by the fun of life. That man may
well have found “poetry and art” dull who himself had created the theory
of sexual selection which made the whole becoming of life art and the
secret of it poetry.[49]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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