A chatty, repetitive, but easily readable map of the life of Joseph Needham, a diligent weaving of what must have been many hundreds of notes into an often cinematic narrative with countless curious digressions along the way.
As with perhaps any biography though, I am left with questions, large and small. I’ll list four I cannot escape.
Before that however, I feel compelled to note the occasional and surprising instances of Winchester verging on unpleasant condescension toward the Chinese themselves, as, for example, in “the imperturbable persistence of the Chinese people” or passages on pages 258-59 describing what might be seen as a certain habitual “Chinese” smugness. Winchester lived in Hong Kong for a dozen years before the return of the colony to the PRC and has written at least 5 books on East Asian topics; one doesn’t know how those experiences may have informed a sense on his part of a “Chinese character.”
Four Questions:
1) Needham made his name at Cambridge with the three volume “Chemical Embryology” (1931, when he was 31 years of age) and then “Biochemistry and Morphogenesis” in 1942. (He was elected a fellow of the Royal Society in 1941.)
How does this work (and Needham’s other biochemical research) stand today?
2) Winchester presents Needham’s work and presence in China from 1942 to 1946 (ostensibly directing the “Sino-British Science Co-operation Office”) as wholly non-political, aside from Needham’s evident communist sympathies.
The impression given is that, even as China was in fact a battlefield of empires, with both Americans and Britons (not to mention the Soviets) covertly and overtly active, Needham’s sojourn was innocent to the point of child-like, touring universities, laboratories and technical industrial sites (all the while chatting up any attractive woman he happened upon) with a boyish enthusiasm directed only to the preservation of the workings of science amidst the calamities of war – albeit with the almost unspoken subsidiary benefit to the Nationalist and Communist war efforts.
The closest Winchester comes to suggesting otherwise is in the description of the five days Needham spent with Murray MacLehose in Fuzhou in 1944. MacLehose was formally a British vice-consul, but actually, Winchester says, was training Chinese guerrillas “to operate behind Japanese lines and carry out sabotage.” Needham excised all details of these five days from his diaries.
Needham’s project in China, and the “Sino-British Science Co-operation Office” which was created for it, seems to have been a creature of the Foreign Office, the War Office and perhaps the Singapore based Far East War Council. Though talk of aid to Chinese universities had been stirring in Oxford and Cambridge since 1939 or earlier, the British Foreign Office doesn’t seem to have fully enlisted in this specific scheme until 1942, after the British and American entry into war with Japan.
Winchester describes Needham’s 11 “expeditions” in China (covering some 30,000 miles) as each having “a threefold official purpose”:
First, “to bring simple good cheer to the men and women working in China’s more remote scientific outposts.”
“Second, to boost their morale – and to keep their vitally important scientific work going – he was to hand deliver any equipment they needed. In performing this task he saw himself as something of a latter-day Father Christmas…”
“Third there was the nakedly diplomatic motive: he was to travel around China waving the flag for Britain. Few of his colleagues in the embassy had been granted as much freedom – and as generous a budget – to wander…”
Winchester then mentions a “seldom mentioned” possible fourth purpose, this being what might possibly be gained from Needham’s contacts with the communists, citing in particular his relations with Zhou Enlai. Winchester however adds “There is no evidence that Needham was ever in any sense a spy: prudence and scientific neutrality were his watchwords; he was always careful to retain the trust of the Chinese Communists as well as that of the Nationalist government to which he was formally accredited.”
I suspect “evidence” might be the operative word there; I would be curious to have a more thorough and convincing explanation of the “Sino-British Science Co-operation Office.”
3) What exactly is the “Needham Project,” i.e. the 27 some volumes of “Science and Civilisation in China,” the Needham Research Institute, and all the rest?
Winchester roots it in the question Needham scribbled to himself in 1942, before he left for China: “Sci. in general in China – why not develop?” taken to mean “why did it not develop” in, at least, the same pattern as “European science.” That may be the "The Needham Question" (one which may or may not have an answer, or even be reasonably formulated), but it is not a real description of the project of “Science and Civilisation in China.”
What is this thing? And how does it stand in the eyes of anyone who might be able to comprehend it? Are we merely being told in the Roman alphabet what is already known out of it? Is it, aside from the alphabetization, so remarkably valuable in its compass or organization?
Is this all merely a digest of or annotated commentary on the Kuchin Tu-shu Chi-cheng (the encyclopedic 18th century 6,000 volume “Complete Collection of Illustrations and Writings of Ancient and Modern Times”) or the 1,500 volumes of the Siku Quanshu (“The Complete Books of the Four Imperial Repositories”), or is it something more?
And is there a non-Chinese scholar who can answer that question?
4) And finally, who was this person Joseph Needham?
Admittedly this sort of question too often remains at the end of any biography, but at times more forcefully than at other times. Aside from the adventures, the scholarship, the nudism, the shared marriage, the odd Christianity, the politics and chain-smoking and Morris dancing, who was this person and how did he become who he was?
An only child reading Schlegel’s “Philosophy of History” at ten (in German apparently), in Winchester’s biography he is at Cambridge after five pages, his physician father dead two pages on.
Needham remains an outsized character throughout the book, but my sense is that Winchester never came to know him any more intimately as a human person than one would after a long afternoon tea with a famous stranger. The story here is the story, not the person.
NOTE: I am grateful to Simon Winchester for telling us the tale of the looting of the Mogao Caves at Dunhuang by Aurel Stein in 1907. Stein himself wrote of what was revealed behind the walled off doorway to what is now known as Cave I6:
“Heaped up in layers, but without any order, there appeared in the dim light of the little priest’s lamp a solid mass of manuscript bundles rising to a height of nearly ten feet, and filling, as subsequent measurement showed, close to 500 cubic feet. Not in the driest soil could relics of a ruined site have so completely escaped injury as they had here in a carefully selected rock chamber where, hidden behind a brick wall … these masses of manuscripts had lain undisturbed for centuries.”
Stein hauled away twenty-four wagonloads of papers. There were, Winchester writes, “scrolls that had been carried by wandering monks hundreds of years before, written in … Sanskrit, Manichean, Turkish, Runic Turkic, Uighur, Tibetan, Sogdian, Central Asian Brahmi, and classical Chinese.”
There was also a 12 foot scroll, seven feet of which contained a series of star charts comprising the world’s oldest known complete star atlas (dating to around 670 CE), and, more famously, the block printed copy of the Diamond Sutra, happening to be, as the British Library has it, "the earliest complete survival of a dated printed book" (868 CE).
And, of course, the British Library still has them both.