Oh, to be a white man doing science in the 1950s. E.O. Wilson is hero worshipped, but what struck me about this biography was the implicit picture it painted of the people, especially women and grad students, who made him a hero. He flourished in a particular time and place: When promising white men had their potential nurtured to the utmost, extravagant research trips arranged for them, money thrown at them, exuberant recommendation letters written for them, offers of professorial positions sent to them without prompting.
Here's a depiction of his beginnings at university: A professor briefly speaks with Wilson, then says, "'Come with me.' [They] walked back into the newly opened research area that [the professor] was setting up. There was a row of cubicles, with a microscope at each one, a place for books, and so on. [The professor] walked over to one and pointed to it. 'That's your cubicle,' he said. The cubicles were for graduate students. The department chairman ... had ... recognized the newly arrived seventeen-year-old's ... potential and welcomed him to the community of scientists."
Whew. So much to unpack there. Navigating science seems much more difficult today, with fresh undergrads being much less likely to be suddenly handed graduate student resources, even while more is required of them than was of Wilson at that time. Wilson didn't have to learn calculus until he was 32. He relied on chemistry experts to do laboratory procedures that biology students today would never be admitted to grad school without knowing. It feels less was asked of him in exchange for resources that are pretty unthinkable today.
I had not fully registered how colonial Wilson's early career was, spent adoring Robert Oppenheimer and cavorting in the tropics amongst the natives, cheerily writing his wife back home that the Fijians "gave up cannibalism some time ago but still live rather primitively"; and imagining, in the most colonial of fashions, that nature was infinite and it wouldn't matter if he destroyed it in the pursuit of science.
Behind Wilson's success is a mostly invisible background of largely female labor, especially of his wife Irene, the homemaker, and his assistant and typist Kathy Horton. Richard Rhodes himself feels perfectly at home in this unrepentant boys club, and he inserts himself into the text as a Yale man clinking teacups with other powerful men at the Elizabethan Club. Rhodes is in the lucky position as a biographer to be constantly surrounded by accomplished men and even, as he points out, by senior biographers willing to give him their wisdom. The entire book oozes with privilege on both Wilson's and Rhodes's parts. I was completely unsurprised, after finishing this, to learn that of the many books Rhodes has written, all have featured men except for a memoir of his sexual escapades, Making Love, which has been derided as repugnantly misogynist.
All of these biases become interesting during the two chapters that cover Wilson's sociobiology controversy. His book introducing the subject set off a storm of accusations regarding racism and eugenics. I have not read Wilson's book on sociobiology, but what struck me more was Rhodes's childish defense of Wilson. Rhodes is quick to associate Wilson with a well-known quote of MLK's, and has the gall to claim that an insistence on the importance of genetics in shaping human behavior is somehow more in line with Martin Luther King's worldview than Marxist identity politics and leftist multiculturalism. (MLK became increasingly Marxist over time, and as early as 1958 was openly sympathetic to the ideology.) Rhodes writes, "Wilson's Southern liberal perspective was in fact closer to that of Martin Luther King, Jr., favoring integration within a harmonious community. ... Wilson was reviled by those ... in the multicultural camp precisely because he denied that there were significant multicultural differences to be preserved and honored between races and ethnicities." I have no opinion on sociobiology, but I found Rhodes's distasteful flinging about of "I Have a Dream" quotes and his obvious derision for the left an embarrassing defense of Wilson's most controversial views.
Throughout the book Rhodes's breezily sexist language ("Mr. and Mrs. Edmund Frey"; "...his new wife, Christine, ... the prize of a year's courtship."; etc.) left a bad taste in my mouth—although I enjoyed it, again, as an apt portrayal of the elitist community Wilson was working within. Rhodes is sour at accusations that Wilson was racist or sexist; yet it is inevitable that he was, because the systems all around him were. Wilson himself spoke about the racist culture he grew up in much more gracefully and intelligently than the sycophants who defend him.
This book can't be reduced to the sociobiology controversy. I greatly enjoyed how far-ranging it was. In fact the parts I most enjoyed had nothing to do with Wilson at all. What was more fascinating was this description, for example, of how ants avoid drowning during floods: "When the water reaches the nest chambers, the [ant] workers form a raft of their bodies. The whole colonial mass then floats safely downstream. When the ants contact dry land, they dissolve their live ark and dig a new nest."
I loved also the thorough history of 20th century science, in particular how kin selection theory was first formulated, and how difficult it was for the scientific community to grasp. It's fascinating to me that biology students today are expected to understand, within one or two school lectures, ideas that scientists of the recent past debated and struggled over for years.
Finally, I am very grateful that Rhodes took up the project of writing a biography on Wilson when he did. This book came out only shortly before Wilson passed, and how lucky it is for the world that Rhodes had conducted six months' worth of interviews with exactly no time to spare. Yet because this book was written while Wilson was alive, and Wilson read it before it was published, you can feel his presence lingering over Rhodes's shoulder as Rhodes writes. This is an impersonal biography, disproportionately focused on Wilson's work and on the history of science itself. There is ample room, therefore, for another biographer to write a more personal version of Wilson's life in the future.