Genius Explained

In Genius Explained Michael J. A. Howe addresses the commonly held

belief that genius is born not made. Controversially, he suggests that
genius is not a mysterious and mystical gift but the product of a
combination of environment, personality and sheer hard work. The
exceptional talents of those we call geniuses are the result of a unique set
of circumstances and opportunities, but in every case they are pursued
and exploited with a characteristic drive, determination and focus which
the rest of us rarely show. Michael Howe develops these ideas through a
series of case studies focusing on famous figures such as Charles
Darwin, George Eliot, George Stephenson, the Bronte sisters, Michael
Faraday and Albert Einstein in this fascinating and accessible book.

Michael J. A. Howe is Professor of Psychology at Exeter University. He is

a Fellow of the British Psychological Society and the author of numer-
ous articles and books including The Origins of Exceptional Abilities
(1990) and IQ in Question: The Truth about Intelligence (1997)
Genius Explained
Michael J. A. Howe

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©Michael}. A. Howe 1999

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take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press.

First published 1999

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 Contents

Preface page vii

I Introduction I

2 The young Charles Darwin

3 The long ascent of George Stephenson
4 Michael Faraday
5 Manufacturing genius I08
6 Einstein and the prodigies
7 The expertise of great writers I 57
8 Inventing and discovering I76
9 Born to be a genius? I88

Appendix: Personalia 206

References 2I2
Index 2I6

v
For Jordan
 Preface

I learned about geniuses at school. They were, I discovered, a race of

godlike individuals quite unlike ordinary people, possessing marvellous
and practically boundless capabilities that the common run of men and
women could never dream of.
After some years my conviction that geniuses form a breed apart began
to waiver. There were too many unanswerable questions. The idea of a
class of intellectual giants who are inherently superior to everyone else
seemed just about conceivable, but what about near-geniuses, or creative
inventors and discoverers who are regarded as geniuses by some people
but not by others? If there could be differing degrees of genius, and no
clear dividing-line between them and others after all, how could geniuses
possibly be a separate breed? And if they were not, could there really be
genuine grounds for believing that geniuses are fundamentally set apart
from those ordinary men and women who make themselves exceptionally
capable by their own strenuous efforts?
Despite these difficulties, many people are reluctant to relinquish the
belief in geniuses as a kind of super-breed. There is a suspicion that once
these wonderfully creative individuals are perceived as being not alto-
gether unlike ordinary people, geniuses will start to seem less fascinating
and less admirable than we want and expect them to be. Stripped of their
aura of apartness, geniuses might cease to be the exotic figures whose
wondrous feats dazzle and astonish us, adding to the quality of our own
lives.
There is no need for these fears. Having spent some time exploring the
early lives of a number of geniuses, directing my attention as much
towards the ways in which they resemble other and unexceptional people
as towards their extraordinariness, I find that neither my admiration for
them nor my astonishment at their creativity has diminished at all. These
individuals really are amazing: their achievements are often quite wonder-
ful, and far beyond anything that most of us could dream of doing. The
fact that they spring from the same flesh and blood as everyone else
makes geniuses all the more impressive, not less. Their triumphs are the

Vll
vm Preface

achievements of individuals who have been able to shape formidable

capabilities from the same basic materials that millions of people are born
with. Discovering how that has happened is often difficult but invariably
fascinating. It is heartening and invigorating as well. Geniuses are often
heroic figures, and finding out how they became what they were is truly
inspiring.
Of course, my view that geniuses began their lives made from much the
same basic materials as all the rest of us is one that not every reader will be
easily persuaded to share. Some time ago I began to scrutinise the evi-
dence relating to the more common belief that people who do exception-
ally well in various spheres of expertise - including science, mathematics
and the arts, and also numerous sports- do so largely as a consequence of
having been born with special gifts or innate talents. At that time I was
working, with my friends John Sloboda and Jane Davidson, on a research
study investigating the backgrounds of young musicians. Among the hun-
dreds of parents, music teachers and young people we talked to, the
majority were (and still are) firmly convinced that a few children are born
with an innate gift for music, and that only those who possess such a gift
stand a chance of excelling as musicians. That account is perceived by
numerous people as being straightforwardly factual, no more debatable
than the Pope's Catholicism.
Yet although those who hold that view do not question its truth, they
can rarely produce positive evidence in support of it. Believers in innate
talents may observe that people are very different from one another,
which is undeniable, but hardly a convincing reason for concluding that
some must have been born with special gifts. They may also remark that
they cannot think of alternative reasons for individuals becoming as
different as they are, especially when young people have been brought up
in the same family and have attended the same school. But the logic
behind an insistence on special innate gifts being the cause of genius, in
the absence of independent evidence of the existence of such gifts,
amounts to no more than asserting:
1 I cannot think of an alternative explanation to mine.
2 Therefore, my explanation must be the correct one.
In reality, however, the truth of a theory is never confirmed by
someone's inability to think of alternatives. My failure to provide a better
explanation for the presents that appear on Christmas Day is not a
sufficient reason for anyone sharing my belief that Father Christmas
brought them down the chimney. With geniuses, the idea of their being
born with special gifts is a plausible possibility, but, as we shall see, there
are alternative explanations that are more convincing.
 Preface IX

Writing is always a solitary activity, but plenty of people have given me

help, assistance, advice or encouragement, and I am grateful to all of
them. Listing names is always potentially embarrassing. As when making
a list of wedding guests, one is painfully aware that the more who are
included the larger the number of others who might feel pained by their
exclusion. So, taking a coward's approach, I shall keep the list very short.
Howard Gruber first made me aware that psychologists do not have to be
Freudians in order to have profound insights into genius. John Sloboda
and Jane Davidson have been closely involved in the investigations of
young musicians to which I have contributed. It has been good to work
with them. Among those researchers investigating expertise and high
abilities who have been especially helpful and encouraging, Anders
Ericsson has been particularly inspiring, and he and Andrew Steptoe,
Steve Ceci, Bob Sternberg, Andreas Lehmann, John Radford and Joan
Freeman have all aided my efforts by inviting me to write on issues that
are explored in this book. At Cambridge University Press my original
editor Catherine Max and her successor Pauline Graham gave plenty of
encouragement. Friends and colleagues at Exeter University have also
been very generous with their support. Finally, but not least, my thanks to
Sylvia.
1 Introduction

Genius appears to be a mystery, immune to scientific analysis. Unlike the

mundane kinds of expertise that ordinary men and women gain through
training and practice, genius is seen as a quality that is bestowed from
above on particular individuals who are chosen to receive it. For the eigh-
teenth-century German philosopher Immanual Kant, genius was an
incommunicable gift that cannot be taught or handed on, but is mysteri-
ously imparted to certain artists by nature, and dies with the person. 1
That view is still widely shared today. Confronted with the challenge of
explaining the purity and perfection of Mozart's music, the editor of a
book on genius insists that the task is impossible, adding that, 'We can
only answer, "because he was a genius", which is tantamount for saying
that we do not know. For in each age and in each art, genius is that which
defies analysis.' 2
Should we even try to argue with that conclusion? It is undeniable that
the greatest human achievements leave most people spellbound. Listening
to a recording of Cosi fan tutte, I feel pressed to concede that the causes of
genius must always remain mysterious. We can admire genius, wonder at
it, be moved, dazzled and amazed by it. But explain genius? That seems to
be another matter entirely. Our best efforts to understand its origins may
fall flat, and perhaps we would be foolishly lacking in humility to think oth-
erwise. Genius is a magical quality that resists understanding, it seems. Its
origins will always resist our efforts to fathom them, and that's that.
Yet many people would dearly like to know more about the circum-
stances that create geniuses. They intrigue us. Their achievements touch
our own lives. Galileo and Newton changed the world by transforming
mankind's understanding of the earth's physical existence. So did Darwin
and Einstein. Numerous men and women have had their minds uplifted
by great artists and musicians. Writers like Shakespeare and Dante have
altered the very languages in which our thoughts are rooted. There is no
lack of reasons for making strenuous efforts to uncover the influences that
have made certain individuals exceptionally creative or inventive.

1 Quoted in Norris (1989), p. 154. 2 Murray (1989), p. I.

2 Genius Explained

A number of practical concerns fuel the desire to know more about

geniuses. What are the origins of remarkable accomplishments? Where
do exceptional capabilities come from? Is it possible to deliberately man-
ufacture a genius? We would benefit in a number of ways from having a
better understanding of genius and its causes, not least by becoming
better equipped to encourage today's young people to be more creative.
Confronted with the strength of opinion insisting on genius being a
mystery, it is hardly surprising that many people have assumed that
efforts to explain it must end in failure. But is that pessimism justified? It
is certainly not helpful. Starting out with the belief that something is
inherently mysterious creates extra barriers to understanding.
How might progress be made? I begin by proposing that the disciplines
of biography and psychology form the two main sources of evidence that
can help us to discover how and why children turn into the particular men
and women they eventually become. The need for biographical informa-
tion is obvious enough. Biographers are attracted to what is distinct and
unique about a person: they take on the job of tracing and putting into
perspective the events that mark a young person's progress towards
maturity. By 'psychology', I refer to the scientific field of study in which
researchers explore the ways in which people are influenced by their
biology and their experiences. Research-based inquiries into children's
development have helped to illuminate the effects of childhood experi-
ences. Researchers have also studied the acquisition of expertise, drawing
attention to the kinds of knowledge and skill that set apart especially
capable men and women from those who are less competent.
It is easy enough to assert that psychological evidence is just as essential
as biographical knowledge, but can we be confident that the findings of
psychological research really will help us to understand how and why
someone becomes a genius? Readers may be sceptical, and perhaps con-
scious of the limited extent to which light was cast on creative accom-
plishments by the psychodynamic psychology permeating those
'psychobiographical' accounts of great artists' and thinkers' lives that
blossomed in the middle of the twentieth century. So just claiming that
psychological science can make a contribution is not enough: we need
convincing that it really does. Has research actually provided genuinely
new insights? Do they help remove the mystery about geniuses? We can
make a start towards answering these questions by applying research
findings to the investigation of some early feats by Mozart, a genius whose
stupendous accomplishments present some especially thorny puzzles.
Can psychological investigations help untangle them? Ascertaining that
will be a good test of their value.
Here are three facts about the young Mozart that appear to defy expla-
 Introduction 3

nation. First, he began to compose music when he was no more than four.
Second, by the time he was six or seven Mozart was such a brilliant per-
former on both harpsichord and violin that the young prodigy and his
older sister were able to travel around Europe demonstrating their talents
on money-making tours. Third, Mozart had an amazing memory for
music, and it was reported that at fourteen he wrote out the complete
score of a lengthy multi-part musical composition, Allegri's Miserere, after
hearing it performed on just a couple of occasions. 3 All three of these feats
are remarkable by any standards. They certainly appear quite mysterious.
It is hard to see how they can be explained without appealing to magic or
miracles. Perhaps he was born possessing some innate gift that made him
totally different from other children. It seems impossible to imagine any
other way to account for Mozart's dazzling childhood accomplishments
at composing, performing, and memorizing music.
Can psychological research help to provide alternative explanations?
Let's start by looking at the young Mozart's composing. He did indeed
begin creating music at an exceptionally young age. But by the standards
of mature composers, Mozart's early works are not outstanding. The ear-
liest pieces of all were probably written down by his father, and perhaps
improved in the process. Many of Wolfgang's childhood compositions,
such as the first seven of his concertos for piano and orchestra, are largely
arrangements of works by various other composers. 4 Of those concertos
that only contain music original to Mozart, the earliest that is now
regarded as a masterwork (No.9, K. 271) was not composed until he was
twenty-one: by that time Mozart had already been composing concertos
for ten years. Similarly, Mozart's first symphonies, written in the style of
J. S. Bach's son Johann Christian Bach, who helped and encouraged the
nine-year-old boy when they met in London in 1764-5, consist of move-
ments lasting no longer than four minutes and have been said to be
almost copies ofJ. C. Bach's.
So Mozart only started producing the distinctive music that we asso-
ciate with him after a lengthy period of training. The same is true of other
great composers. An investigation by John Hayes, who examined the
output of seventy-six well-known composers, established they all took a
long time to reach the peak of their capabilities. 5 With seventy-three of
the seventy-six, Hayes discovered that no major work was produced prior
to the tenth year of their composing career. (The three exceptions were
Shostakovich and Paganini, who each composed a substantial work after
only nine years, and Eric Satie: Trois Gymnopedies was written in his ninth

3 Sloboda (1985). See also Gardner (1997). 4 Weisberg (1998).

5 Hayes (1981). See also Simonton (1994).
4 Genius Explained

year of composing.) 6 In Mozart's case, none of those compositions that

are sufficiently original to be included among his major ones appeared
prior to the twelfth year of his musical career.
It is of course extraordinary for a young child to be composing at all, and
Mozart's early career as a composer was undeniably phenomenal. But
knowing that even Mozart did not begin creating original masterpieces
until he had been receiving serious training for a substantial number of
years encourages us to challenge the assumption that his early attainments
are impossible to explain without recourse to magic or mystery.
But what about Mozart's extraordinary early performing? That, surely,
must be inexplicable, even if his early composing is not. Yet, here again
the findings of recent psychological research suggest that whilst Mozart's
precociousness was remarkable enough, it was not miraculous. That is
evident from the results of investigations examining links between musi-
cians' performing standards and the training they have undertaken. The
research findings make it clear that in all performing musicians, high
levels of skill depend upon large amounts of daily practice. In one study,
for instance, researchers estimated the number of hours of formal prac-
tice notched up by German student violinists in their early twenties. By
the age of twenty-one the best students in the performance class of a con-
servatoire had accumulated around Io,ooo hours, and the less accom-
plished violinists (who were training to be violin teachers rather than
performers) had practised for around half that time. There was not a
single case of a player reaching very high standards without practising fre-
quently and regularly over a period of years. 7 Further investigations by
John Sloboda, Jane Davidson and myself have confirmed that the best
performers accumulate more practice than less capable ones. It might
have been expected that a few gifted young players would advance
through the successive musical grade examinations much more easily
than the others, but there was no evidence of that happening. In order to
move ahead by a fixed amount, the most promising players spent as much
time practising as the others did. 8
It would be absurd to claim that practice is the only cause of success as a
performing musician. Yet the sheer amount of formal practising appears
to be the best single predictor of a player's level of accomplishment,

6 Hayes' method for deciding if a particular musical composition meets the criterion of
being a 'major' one was simple but ingenious. He looked in current catalogues for items
that are available in several recordings, the reason for insisting on the availability of more
than one version being to exclude immature compositions that could have been recorded
simply for their novelty value. 7 Ericsson, Krampe, & Tesch-Romer (r993).
8 Sloboda, Davidson, Howe, & Moore (r996).
 Introduction 5

despite the fact that the measures of practising available to researchers are
rough-and-ready ones, unreliable because they are largely retrospective,
and taking little or no account of either the quality or the appropriateness
of young people's practising activities. Practice and preparation are
equally vital in other fields of achievement. For instance, around ten years
of sustained training are needed for a chess player to reach international
levels, and it takes comparable periods of time to reach the highest stan-
dards in mathematics, the sciences, tennis, athletics, and a number of
other sports. As in music, although it is widely believed that certain gifted
individuals can excel without doing the lengthy practising that ordinary
people have to engage in, the evidence contradicts that view.
Returning to Mozart, are we now any the wiser about his precocious
performing skills? Nobody knows for certain how much time the young
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart actually spent practising, but it is clear that
his father, Leopold Mozart, subjected him to an arduous and unusual
regime. From the child's earliest years much of the boy's time was
devoted to musical activities. There were few opportunities to play out-
doors or make friends with other children. Leopold Mozart, a capable
violinist and a highly ambitious music teacher, went to great lengths to
make his son into an outstanding musician, having had considerable
success at teaching Wolfgang's sister, Nannerl. The father was anxious to
display his children's abilities (and his own teaching skills) in the best pos-
sible light, and he was not above subtracting a year from their ages on the
posters advertising their public performances.
Let's assume that Mozart's father made his son practise for an average
of three hours a day from the age of three. In that event, by the time the
child was six (when he and his sister were first taken around Europe on
the musical tours in which they displayed their talents), Mozart would
already have practised for a total of around 3,500 hours. That is roughly as
much time as the typical young performer today takes to reach the stan-
dard of a good amateur player. In Mozart's day it was (as it still is) unusual
for a young instrumentalist to have already practised for more than 1,000
hours by the age of six. So if the young Mozart had experienced substan-
tially more training and practice than that, this would largely account for
his standard of performing being superior to anything his audience had
previously observed in a child of his age.
Lacking the knowledge we now have about the likely consequences of
prolonged practising, it would not have been at all surprising if spectators
watching the youthful Mozart's performances could not give a rational
explanation for the feats they were witnessing. They would have seen
nothing like them. But we, unlike Mozart's contemporaries, can perceive
that there was no real mystery involved. These days, it is by no means
6 Genius Explained

unknown for children to reach the same levels of performance as the

young Mozart did. Most of today's instrumentalists begin later than
Mozart, but among those who do start musical training unusually early
some young players achieve appreciably higher degrees of expertise than
his at the equivalent age. 9 In the hundred or so years following Mozart's
birth, piano sonatas became more technically difficult, requiring more
demanding playing techniques, and there has been a definite tendency for
music prodigies of generations later than Mozart's to play music that is
increasingly difficult. 10 Compared with the most precocious young per-
formers of the eighteenth century, the skills of more recent prodigies are
more advanced.
So the task of explaining Mozart's childhood feats as a musical per-
former, like that of accounting for his early composing, is not the
impossible one that it first seemed to be. Impressive as his early accom-
plishments were, they can be accounted for in the same ways that help
explain the developing capabilities of hundreds of other young musicians
who have patently not been geniuses.
There remains the third of Mozart's exceptional early abilities, his
memory for music. This, like his composing and performing, appears at
first to be a complete mystery. But can that feat too be explained in terms
of the same processes that lead to high levels of competence in unexcep-
tional young people?
In fact, accounting for Mozart's memory feat is surprisingly straight-
forward. There now exists a substantial body of research findings demon-
strating that a person's ability to recall information about a particular
topic is closely tied to that individual's existing knowledge and interests.
Almost anyone who has a strong enthusiasm finds it easy to remember
new information that is related to it. For instance, every Saturday after-
noon many British soccer enthusiasts can recall all the scores from the
league match results after hearing them just once. 11 To anyone who does
not study the football results that may seem a remarkable feat, and up to a
point it is, and yet week after week thousands of ordinary people manage
it. Similarly, chess experts can remember huge amounts of information
about moves in games of chess. Comparable feats of memory are not
uncommon in connection with other fields of knowledge, with numerous
ordinary people whose jobs or interests encourage them to gain special-
ised information finding it easy to remember new facts that can be linked
to whatever the individual already knows.
Mozart's relative youth at the time he performed his feat of musical

9 Lehmann & Ericsson (1998). 10 Lehmann & Ericsson (1998).

11 Morris, Gruneberg, Sykes, & Merrick (1981).
 Introduction 7

recall would not have been a handicap, because the increased remember-
ing that specialised knowledge makes possible transcends age differences.
Although adults do better than children at most tests of memory, the
reverse is true when the task involves information that children, but not
adults, can connect to their existing knowledge. For example, in a study in
which ten-year-olds who were good chess players were given a memory
task that required them to recall chess pieces arranged in legitimate posi-
tions, the children performed better than adult participants who were not
expert players. But items that were unconnected to the children's special
interest were recalled more accurately by the adults. 12
For all that, Mozart's memory feat still seems remarkable, and it was
remarkable. To a non-musical person, a memory feat like Mozart's seems
to involve recalling an immense sequence of separate notes. But imagine
the unusual everyday life of the young Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He
inhabited a world of music, hour after hour, day after day, in the company
of a father who was an expert teacher. By adolescence, the sheer amount
of Mozart's musical knowledge would have been enormous by most
people's standards. He would have recognised many familiar structures
and patterns, eliminating the need to recall each note separately. As a
result, compared with a non-musician Mozart would have perceived the
task very differently, with the information that needed to be remembered
being meaningful and interconnected. And although Allegri's Miserere is a
lengthy composition, it is one that happens to contain a great deal of rep-
etition. For a person as knowledgeable as Mozart, that would have light-
ened the burden of remembering. 13
We can now see that it is entirely possible that all three of Mozart's
remarkable early feats could, after all, have been achieved through the
operation of mental processes that were broadly the same as the ones that
give rise to the more modest skills and achievements of ordinary people. It
no longer appears inescapable that Mozart must have begun life with
some mysterious special gift of genius. Of course, what we have achieved
by unravelling the likely causes of certain of Mozart's early feats falls far
short of a full accounting for his creative achievements. I have not even
begun to sketch out the uniquely creative powers that enabled a master-
piece like Don Giovanni to be forged. But a start has been made, and it is a

12 Chi (I978).
13 A complicating factor is that our capacity to assess the magnitude of the memory feat is
constrained by the impossibility of knowing whether or not Mozart's recall of the music
really was as accurate as it has been assumed to have been. The evidence verif'ying
Mozart's accuracy at remembering rests on the statement of one singer, who had no
opportunity to assess the precise match between Mozart's version and the original score.
Minor discrepancies from the original would probably have gone undetected by Mozart's
audience.
8 Genius Explained

fruitful beginning because it gives revealing glimpses of the ways in which

a young person might have gained certain of the qualities that made the
creation of works of genius possible. There is no denying that the eventual
accomplishments of an individual like Mozart are quite superior to any-
thing that most people are capable of, and yet it begins to seem conceiv-
able that the underlying capabilities Mozart depended upon may not have
been fundamentally different in kind from ones that are shared by numer-
ous men and women with no claim to genius.

One way to make progress towards explaining the human attainments that
result in their creator being seen as a genius is to discover how a person
masters the knowledge and mental skills that make those accomplish-
ments possible. That is the approach taken in this book. The creative activ-
ities that are most directly involved in the construction of masterpieces will
not be neglected, but my primary aim is to trace the routes by which a few
outstanding individuals gained the capabilities their achievements have
depended upon. Charting individuals' early advances is, I think, a particu-
larly effective way to help reveal the origins of genius.
I am convinced that it is indeed possible to understand genius and its
causes. A major aim of the present book is to unearth the influences that
have helped make a few rare individuals capable of remarkable feats of
imagination and discovery. When that has been achieved, providing us
with some understanding of the contributing factors, the absurdity of
appealing to mystical forces will be evident. There is simply no need to
believe that mysteries or miracles are involved.
Our efforts to account for genius will run into numerous difficulties, of
course, if only because explaining how a young person becomes the adult
individual he or she turns out to be is never easy. But although it is pos-
sible that with those men and women whose lives and feats are the most
striking of all the barriers to understanding will be especially daunting,
and that the problems that have to be overcome in order to discover how
certain children grow up to be geniuses are vastly more challenging than
the ones involved in charting the progress towards maturity of an ordi-
nary boy or girl, there is no compelling evidence that this must be so. I am
not convinced that there is anything about the lives and achievements of
geniuses that is in principle less amenable to explanation than the lives
and achievements of other people. The children's writer Enid Blyton was
no genius, but explaining how she was able to turn out the thousands of
words she produced every single day is as much of a challenge as account-
ing for the accomplishments of authors who were far more creative. That
geniuses are special is undeniable, but the view that they are special for
reasons that are mysterious needs to be challenged.
 Introduction 9

It would be immensely difficult, and perhaps impossible, to delineate

each and every one of the events that had to take place in order for, say,
the young Mozart, or the young Einstein, to become capable of their
achievements, and then go on to create them. I do not attempt that feat.
Some readers may feel that any investigation that stops short of such
exhaustive documentation must fail to provide an adequate explanation.
My own view is that this is rather like insisting on believing that although
Joe Bloggs has admitted making the crop circle that appeared last week in
his neighbour's field, the one that appeared yesterday must have been
created by aliens from a distant galaxy, or like saying that even though
most of the tricks performed by Mr Uri Geller are within the capabilities
of skilled conjurors, his claim to possess mysterious special powers must
nevertheless be believed. In each case the more reasonable assumption
would be that where insufficient evidence exists to fully explain a new
event, an explanation that is based upon observed causes and broadly
follows the lines of one that accounted for a similar event in the past is
preferable to one that invokes unverifiable causes or mysterious special
powers.
There are gaps in what is known, but these create problems rather than
mysteries. That distinction between problems and mysteries is a crucial
one. A mystery is a state of affairs surrounding some phenomenon that
resists any explanation in terms of known causes. A problem, in contrast,
is a state of affairs in which there exists uncertainty about the explanation
for something, but in which there is every reason to believe that one can
be found, provided that the necessary resources are available. For me, dis-
covering the best railway route between Madrid and Vienna would be a
problem. It is not a mystery, since I am confident I can find the answer, as
long as the missing information is forthcoming.
In the chapters that follow I show that the challenges involved in arriv-
ing at a full understanding of the achievements of geniuses belong within
the category of problems rather than mysteries. In principle at least, there
are no points at which explaining human accomplishments becomes
impossible except by resorting to miracles or magic. The qualification 'in
principle' is needed because in some instances it will never be possible to
obtain all the information that a full account would need to draw upon.
For instance, we shall never discover how William Shakespeare became
the genius he was, if only because we know too little about his early years.
The creative undertakings of a genius involve two broad (and overlap-
ping) stages. First, there is the matter of acquiring those capabilities the
person draws upon. Second, there are the inventive activities that directly
contribute to masterpieces. In most of the present book's chapters the
emphasis is on the former stage, and I explore the ways in which a number
10 Genius Explained

of individuals have gradually acquired the exceptional capabilities that

equipped them for their achievements. How, I ask, did certain men and
women become capable of their remarkable feats?
We must take pains to be sure that any explanations arrived at are ones
that genuinely illuminate and extend our understanding, rather than
being pseudo-explanations. It is important to be aware that clues about
possible causes of genius that are encountered in commonsense wisdom,
can actually impede understanding rather than adding to it. One wide-
spread belief, hinted at in Kant's suggestion that genius is a quality which
nature endows in certain people, is that the causes of individuals' excep-
tional attainments take the form of special gifts or innate talents.
That claim is not necessarily false, of course. It is entirely conceivable
that geniuses are indeed born with special characteristics that partly
account for their outstanding achievements. And irrespective of whether
the claim is true or false, the fact that many adults are convinced that only
those young people who are born possessing special gifts can thrive in
fields of expertise such as music has momentous practical implications
for numerous children. However, for it to be legitimate to conclude that
innate gifts really are an influence, there would need to be independent
evidence that they do actually exist. In the absence of that evidence such a
conclusion would be groundless. What often happens, however, is that
simply because someone is exceptionally able, in the absence of an
obvious alternative it is assumed that the person must have been born with
a special gift or talent. Subsequently the person's (unverified) possession
of that innate gift is invoked as the cause of the outstanding ability.
Creative attainments are assumed to be 'explained' by the assertion that
their creator possesses special inborn powers, although the person's
achievements provide the sole basis for believing in the existence of those
special powers. This reasoning is entirely circular: appearances notwith-
standing, nothing is actually being explained. So when it is introduced in
this way, the notion of an innate gift and talent is no more than a kind of
'magic ingredient', which provides no more than the illusion of an expla-
nation, as in,
Question: What is the reason why X is so fat/thin/ill/healthy/clever?
Answer: Because X was born with a special qualitiy that makes a person fat/thin
etc.

The explanatory powers innate gifts may appear to have, in the absence of
independent evidence of their existence, are similarly imaginary rather
than real.
Deciding whether or not there are solid grounds for believing that
innate gifts and talents do actually exist is a complex issue, and I explore it
 Introduction 11

in Chapter 9· But unless their existence can be verified, all that is achieved
by invoking special inborn qualities as the cause of genius is to create the
kind of pseudo-explanation that attributes events to the presence of some
or other kind of magic ingredient.
A not uncommon view that is sometimes linked to the belief that genius
is a consequence of a person being endowed by nature with a special gift is
that it is only possible for someone to become a genius as a consequence
of being designed in advance to be one. That assertion is easily rebutted.
The reasons for questioning it are not unlike the arguments with which
Darwinian science has refuted the claim that the human species could
never have come into being except through some form of 'design from
above'. Darwin's theory contradicted that belief by demonstrating that it
was indeed possible for humans to be created as a consequence of evolu-
tionary processes, in the absence of any designer. Our species did not have
to be planned in advance.
Nor did the lives of individual geniuses. The processes that enable an
individual's capabilities to be acquired through learning and experience
are very different from the ones that enable new species to evolve.
However, the learning and training experiences that creative people
undergo obviate the necessity for their accomplishments to depend upon
being designed in advance just as convincingly as evolution makes design
from above unnecessary for the emergence of new species.

Before going any further, we should try to decide what a genius is.
Precisely what do we mean by the term? A straight answer to that seem-
ingly simple question is not at all easy to find. For better or worse, there is
no straightforward specification or definition of genius. Even listing the
defining attributes turns out to be impossible.
Why do these difficulties arise? The essential reason is that whilst
saying that someone is a genius appears to be a statement about the
person's qualities, it is actually not. What is really being achieved by
calling a person a genius is to acknowledge or recognise their achieve-
ments. The word 'genius' is ours, not theirs, and it is a kind of accolade
that has been bestowed upon certain individuals, usually not until well
after the person has died.
The term 'genius' has a long history, but until fairly recently the most
common use was not for describing a person but for identifying the sup-
posed reason for someone being capable of creative accomplishments. A
person's genius was seen as working in broadly the way that a poet's muse
was believed to function: genius was envisaged as a partly external spirit
that gave a helping hand. Not until the eighteenth century did the practice
of referring to a person as a genius become common. The modern
12 Genius Explained

meaning of the word comes partly from the Latin word genius which
stems from gens, meaning family, but also from the Latin ingenium, denot-
ing natural disposition or innate ability.
We can call a man a giant because he is very tall, but there is no single
attribute of a person that justifies saying that someone is a genius.
Describing a person as a genius is not like stating that he or she is tall, or
even intelligent or clever. The word is never introduced solely as a
description of an individual: it always denotes a recognition of outstand-
ing accomplishments. If you are unconvinced about that, try to think of
someone who is widely regarded as having been a genius but who never
produced highly valued creative work: I suspect that you will fail. There
have always been men and women who were exceptionally intelligent,
wise, artistic, sensitive, incisive and so on, but unless they have produced
major achievements, other people have not called them geniuses.
Whenever someone is widely regarded as having been a genius, we can be
sure that the person has made a contribution which is valued. If a baker is
someone who makes bread, a genius is a man or woman who produces
masterpieces or discoveries that greatly impress other people.
The difference between being immensely capable or creative and being
regarded as a genius is not totally unlike the difference between being
exceptionally brave and winning a medal for bravery. To win a medal, you
undoubtedly do need to be brave, but you have to be a little fortunate as
well. The bravery must have positive consequences, and it must be
observed by someone who is in a position to report it. Similarly, in order
for someone to be regarded as a genius, that person not only has to be
exceptionally able but also must achieve something that is appreciated by
others, and whether or not that happens will be partly outside the
person's control. As we shall see, success often goes not to the individual
who is most intelligent or capable in absolute terms, but to the man or
woman who happens to possess just those skills or qualities that are
needed in order to solve a particular problem at a particular moment in
history. So the accolade of genius is bestowed on a person for creating
something that others admire, rather than for being outstandingly clever.
By and large, creative individuals are more likely to be regarded as gen-
iuses if their achievements are not too recent: few of those who are widely
acknowledged to have been a genius died less than a hundred or so years
ago, Einstein being a notable exception. It also helps if the person's
different accomplishments are linked rather than being too diffuse. Sir
Richard Burton (I 82 I -90) was one of the most dazzling of all Victorians.
As well as translating the Arabian Nights into English, he led expeditions
of discovery, translated other poetry and folklore, mastered around thirty
languages, wrote poetry of his own, contributed to archaeology, ethnol-
 Introduction 13

ogy, anthropology, and the study of swordsmanship, and also made dis-
coveries in botany, zoology and geology. Yet, largely because his achieve-
ments were so scattered, few have thought Burton to have been a genius,
for all his brilliance.
The fact that the word 'genius' is used more as an accolade than as a
description helps make it the useful term it is, but creates some difficulties
as well. One limitation is that introducing the term does not actually help
to account for a person's attainments. We should not be fooled into think-
ing that anything is being clarified by a statement such as 'She produced a
great novel because she was a genius'. All that is really being said here is
that the individual who wrote her great novel was a person acknowledged
to be capable of doing just that.
Another problem is that there is no objective procedure or hard-and-
fast criterion for categorising people as geniuses or non-geniuses. A
limited number of individuals are very widely regarded as having been
geniuses: Archimedes, Plato, Aristotle, Dante, Copernicus, Galileo,
Michelangelo, Newton, Darwin, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Shakespeare,
Rembrandt and Einstein would be placed in that category by most edu-
cated people in the English-speaking world, as might some others,
perhaps including Dickens, Schubert, George Eliot, Tolstoy,
Tchaikovsky, Balzac, van Gogh, and Flaubert. But what about Trollope,
Coleridge, Renoir, Monet, Manet, Degas, Turner, and Jane Austen? And
should we include Emily Bronte, Benjamin Franklin, Marie Curie,
Puccini, Verdi, Brunei, Charlotte Bronte, Elizabeth Gaskell, Edgar Allan
Poe, or James Joyce? As soon as we move on from a surprisingly small
number of creative people, most of whom have been dead for a long time,
agreement on who deserves to appear in a definitive list of geniuses
becomes impossible, even though there are certainly hundreds and pos-
sibly thousands of individuals for whom a serious claim can be made.
Charles Darwin's cousin Francis Galton tried to introduce a degree of
objectivity by referring to one in a million individuals as 'illustrious' and
one in four thousand as 'eminent', but in the absence of clear rules for
deciding how to select particular men and women, even that approach to
categorising outstanding people could never have worked.
To complicate things, reputations wax and wane. In common with
other circumstances in which accolades are bestowed, the matter of
whether or not a particular creative man or woman acquires the reputa-
tion of being a genius depends on factors outside that individual's
control. Chance can play a role. Had Albert Einstein or Michael Faraday
lived thirty years earlier or thirty years later than they did, the particular
skills and qualities they possessed might have had less impact.
Conversely, there are other scientists whose importance might well have
14 Genius Explained

been greater had they lived at a slightly different time, or in a different

place. Fashion too can play a role, and just as people's reputations can
wax and wane, so can views about whether a certain person merits being
called a genius. Someone whose work is little valued in one century may
be regarded as a genius by citizens of a later era. For us, Bach was a
genius, and perhaps Botticelli too, although earlier generations either
ignored them or judged them far less favourably than we do now. As
recently as 1941, when Edmund Wilson wrote about Charles Dickens in
The t%und and the Bow, that author's reputation was not what it is today. 14
It is pointless to ask, 'Was Botticelli (or Dickens) a genius or not?'.
Yet another complication is revealed by the necessity to decide
whether, if someone 'accidentally' creates a masterpiece, that person
should be called a genius. Questions like this surface in connection with
occasional individuals such as Gregor Mendel (1822-84). He made a
monumental contribution to the science of genetics, but perhaps without
ever quite recognising the significance of what he was doing. 15
So the problem of deciding who should and who should not be counted
as a genius is impossible to resolve. I sidestep the issue by being willing to
consider any individual whose claims to the status of a genius have
received a substantial measure of support. Restricting our attention to
just those very few people who are universally regarded as having been
geniuses would create severe practical problems, if only because of the
rarity of individuals for whom we have substantial information about
their early lives. It would be fascinating to trace the childhoods of, say,
Archimedes, or William Shakespeare, or Isaac Newton, but the necessary
factual evidence has been lost. Even with a relatively recent genius like
Schubert, available knowledge about critical life events can be remarkably
sparse.

What are geniuses like? What kinds of people are they? They are hugely
diverse, but a few characteristics are shared by virtually all of them. The
first is an intense curiosity and dedication to one's work. A second and
perhaps more surprising trait possessed by most geniuses is the capacity
to acquire a variety of different human qualities.
Geniuses are usually sure about what they want to do, single minded,
committed, and they have a firm sense of direction. They often work with
a ferocity and intensity, even when impeded by doubts and frustrations.
They also share a capacity for sustained diligence. Isaac Newton said that
he discovered the law of universal gravitation by thinking about it contin-
uously; Charles Darwin attributed much of his success to a capacity to

14 Wilson (1941). 15 Brannigan (1981).

 Introduction 15

reflect for years on an unexplained problem; Einstein asserted that curi-

osity, determination, and hard work were vital ingredients of his
effectiveness, and the great English painter J. M. W. Turner, asked to
reveal the secret of his success, gave the straight reply 'the only secret I
have got is dammed hard work' . 16 Isaac Newton was described by a con-
temporary as having concentrated so hard that had it not been for the fact
that the practical aspects of undertaking experiments forced him to get
some relief from thinking, he would have killed himself through studying.
He displayed an impressive doggedness at persisting in the face of
difficulties. Struggling to comprehend the mathematics in Descartes's
Geometry, Newton just kept on trying. He 'read it by himself when he was
got over 2 or 3 pages he could understand no farther than he began again
& got 3 or 4 pages farther till he came to another difficult place, than he
began again and advanced farther and continued doing so till he had
made himself Master of the whole.m The capacity to keep persisting is as
essential in music and art as in science and mathematics. Perseverance is
at least as crucial as intelligence. An interesting and perhaps surprising
research finding is that, compared with assessments of young children's
intelligence, indications of their capacity to delay gratification and avoid
acting too impulsively are better predictors of future competence.
Clearly, a young person's temperament is hugely important. This raises
an interesting possibility. If, as seems likely, inherited differences between
individuals contribute to the fact that individuals differ in their eventual
achievements, the most crucial inherent differences may be ones of tem-
perament rather than of intellect as such.
It is especially advantageous to be able to keep trying. As the eigh-
teenth-century British artist Joshua Reynolds remarked about facility at
drawing, it, 'like that of playing upon a musical instrument, cannot be
acquired but by an infinite number of acts.>~ 8
The second way in which many geniuses are alike is in their ability to
bring a number of different qualities to their enterprises. It may some-
times appear that remarkable intellectual or artistic capacities, combined
with fierce determination, form the sole all-important ingredients of crea-
tive accomplishments, and there is no denying that geniuses tend to be
single-minded individuals. They typically exhibit a sharp awareness of the
direction in which they intend to move and a degree of indifference to
other things. They can appear to be narrowly obsessed by one particular
goal, as they fiercely concentrate on their work for long periods of time.
We can readily picture Mozart totally absorbed in his work, or Isaac

16 Hamilton (1997), p. 128. 17 John Conduit, quoted in Westfall (1980), p. III.

18 Hamilton (1997), p. 23.
16 Genius Explained

Newton neglecting his visitors while he sits wrestling with mathematical

problems on the floor of his cellar, and forgetting the wine he is suppos-
edly fetching, or Albert Einstein, thinking only of his work and disregard-
ing ordinary activities like putting on his socks. And yet on closer
examination it is clear that geniuses can rarely afford to be too narrow.
Even when the actual achievements for which someone is acclaimed are
fairly specific, a broader range of qualities is likely to have been necessary
in order to create the circumstances that enabled the person to move
ahead.
Take Charles Darwin, for instance. He is seen in the popular imagina-
tion as a reclusive scientist, preoccupied with his poor health, rarely stray-
ing from the house he lived in for almost forty years, and protecting his
privacy by building a high wall and lowering 170 yards of the adjoining
lane. Yet Darwin would never have enjoyed the success he earned were it
not for the fact that in addition to the intellectual capabilities, fierce deter-
mination, and single-mindedness that he possessed in common with
other geniuses, he also had some impressive diplomatic skills, as well as
courage and a marked ability to get on with others. People who knew
Charles Darwin liked and respected him. He needed all these personal
qualities for dealing with a series of characters whose cooperation he
depended on, including a sometimes difficult male parent, and, later, the
prickly and short-tempered Captain Robert Fitzroy, with whom Darwin
worked hard at maintaining a harmonious working relationship on board
the tiny HMS Beagle during its five-year voyage. Then there were the
various scientists who served Darwin as mentors in his early days and col-
laborators and disciples later on. Darwin also assembled a network of
individuals who were helpful to him because they knew about breeding
and the domestication of species. He cooperated with many collectors,
vetinarians, horticulturists, and numerous animal and plant breeders,
amongst whom were pigeon and poultry fanciers, rabbit raisers, beekeep-
ers, rose growers, livestock men, nurserymen, silk-growers, farmers,
horse-trainers, botanists and practical gardeners. A glance at On the
Origin of Species demonstrates that Darwin counted on the aid of these
practical experts for much of the immense body of evidence that was
needed to buttress the theory of evolution and make it invulnerable to the
sharp attacks that he knew would be directed at it.
At various points in his life Darwin was able to seize chances that would
have been missed by someone lacking his impressively broad capabilities.
In childhood, his older brother (by four years) Erasmus found Charles
mature enough to engage as a helper in scientific experiments, with the
result that by the age of thirteen Charles Darwin had gained a useful
grounding in practical chemistry and biology. The opportunity that came
 Introduction 17

his way when he was twenty-two to take part in HMS Beagle's voyage hap-
pened only because Darwin had been noticed as a young man whose
judgement as well as knowledge outstripped his years. He was 'the very
man they are in search of', the Regius Professor of Botany at Cambridge
University told him. That Darwin could grasp that opportunity was only
possible because when his father proved awkwardly opposed Charles had
the wit to take the only course of action that could have induced the
parent to drop his veto. Later, it was because of Darwin's well-deserved
high reputation that when the theory of evolution finally appeared in 1859
it was sympathetically examined by his fellow scientists (rather than
encountering the instant rejection that had greeted other evolutionary
ideas) and quickly seen to be as sound as it was revolutionary.
Darwin was by no means unusual or unique in having to call upon a
variety of human qualities. Even Albert Einstein, although often seen as
an isolated thinker, leaned heavily upon his communication skills and his
capacity for friendship, and Thomas Edison would have achieved very
little were it not for his impressive organisational powers.

In trying to understand how certain men and women became geniuses,

how can we most effectively combine psychological research and bio-
graphical expertise? My views about the desirable characteristics of an
approach which achieves that will become clearer in later chapters, but
two features need mentioning here. First, an effective approach needs to
be largely descriptive and not overburdened with theoretical dogmas. That
does not mean denying the importance of explanatory theories, but since
it is rarely possible to explain how something happened without knowing
precisely what it was that took place, it is essential to begin by tracing in
some detail the lives of particular men and women. Researchers can get
into difficulties by failing to appreciate the necessity to start with good
descriptions. The tendency to construct detailed theoretical speculations
from flimsy supporting evidence was a weakness of the psychodynamic
theories underpinning psychobiographical explorations of people's lives.
It is a mistake to regard the act of describing what happens as being no
more than a preliminary, 'pre-scientific' stage of an investigation. Careful
descriptions actually achieve much more than that. Once a really good
descriptive account exists, the job of explaining observed facts may be
more than half done, as good theorists like Darwin have always known. Of
course, it is often helpful to have hunches and intuitions about why things
happen, but at times it is just as necessary to keep a rein on one's theoreti-
cal views, because they can all too easily act as blinkers rather than aids.
Holding on to one point of view can blind us to others. If someone has
become convinced that the only conceivable reason why Mozart became
18 Genius Explained

a great composer is that he was born with a special gift for music, the
chances are that the person will fail to discern alternative explanations. In
common with a young woman who, asked for directions to a neighbour-
ing town, told me 'You cannot get from here to [nearby] Helensburgh:
you'll have to start somewhere else,' those who are rigidly committed to
one explanation may have their minds opened up by being encouraged to
examine things from an alternative perspective.
It is helpful to think of a person's life as being like a kind of journey, one
that follows a particular route which is unique to that individual.
Biographical accounts make it possible to trace the temporal patterns of
events and consequences that take place as a person develops, and plot
the very different routes by which young people move through the time
that structures their lives. Once we gain a detailed knowledge of the
events of a person's childhood, it is likely that we will begin to discern how
and why the child gradually turned into the adult he or she eventually
became.
In tracing such a route and trying to identify the various experiences
and events that collectively make a child into an adult, an essential facet of
the person's development involves the expansion of their capabilities.
Everyone's expertise has to be acquired, and so do their likes and dislikes,
their interests and their preferences. That is just as true of geniuses as it is
of people whose accomplishments are unexceptional. Like the skills and
abilities of ordinary men and women, the more remarkable capacities of a
genius are gained more or less gradually. Especially rare or impressive
capacities build upon a foundation of more commonplace ones. When
the path can be charted towards the extraordinary attainments of, say, a
grandmaster at chess, or a concert pianist, it is usually found that the
person's itinerary through the earlier stages of expertise is broadly similar
to that of other people. The exceptional individual goes further, and may
move ahead faster, but always there is a route to be traced. There are no
gaps or inexplicable leaps. If there appears to be a gap, the chances are that
when we look closer we will discover that what is being identified is a
hiatus in our own knowledge, not a discontinuity in the person's progress.
The analogy between a person's early life and a journey or a voyage can
be misleading if pressed too far. The voyage metaphor may appear to
suggest that people forge ahead along a single track, with the implication
that the first step towards exposing the causes of genius is just a matter of
identifying a person's special capability and seeing how it was nurtured.
In reality, it is more accurate to envisage the trajectory of someone's life as
involving a number of linked but partly independent strands, all of which
contribute to the person's progress.
Tracing the events of someone's formative years involves getting close
 Introduction 19

to the individual concerned. The need to do that makes it important for

our approach to have a second aspect. That involves placing emphasis on
trying to lay bare the actual experiences of the men and women whose early
lives are examined. Having continuous records that cover substantial
parts of people's lives helps to make this possible. Such records illustrate
the uniqueness of each life, making it easier to see why different people do
not react in the same way to identical events or similar opportunities.
What really matters is not simply what happens to a person - as an
observer might record it- but how the particular individual actually expe-
riences life's happenings.
It is important to avoid confusing experiences with environments.
People are directly affected by their experiences, but only indirectly
influenced by their environments. Surprise is sometimes expressed at the
fact that two children brought up in the same family environment can
turn out very differently, but there is nothing very remarkable about that,
since the children may have experienced events in constrasting ways. The
key distinction here is between events as seen from the outside and as per-
ceived from the unique vantage point of the person concerned. We may
know a great deal about someone's physical environment, but that knowl-
edge will not necessarily provide much insight into that person's actual
experiences, and it is the latter rather than the former that have a direct
influence on an individual's life.
Although we can never duplicate someone else's experiences or recon-
struct their unique point of view, it is worth striving to get as close as we
can to doing that. Individual children and adults are often affected by the
happenings that make up their lives in ways that no outsider could begin
to perceive without knowing about the person's unique life and character,
temperament and personality. But when some of that knowledge is avail-
able, the actual significance of events in someone's life becomes clearer. It
is possible to see, for example, why apparently destructive events can have
benign consequences. Thus for the seven-year-old H. G. Wells the osten-
sibly disastrous accident of breaking a limb had a happy outcome,
because it encouraged him to spend more time reading, with immensely
positive personal consequences. We can now also understand why, as
Charles Dickens reported, he too benefited from illness in childhood, by
being stimulated to read books.

In the following chapters I shall trace the early lives of a number of gen-
iuses, attempting to discover how and why each individual became
capable of their remarkable accomplishments. Deciding which men and
women to concentrate upon could have been difficult, but two constraints
guided my choices and made selection easier. First, relatively detailed
20 Genius Explained

accounts of the person's formative years had to be available. Second,

there were obvious advantages to be gained from making sure that at least
some of the chosen individuals had enough in common with one another
for comparisons to be made and parallels drawn, as is possible when
people have belonged to the same era and have shared a common culture.
With these considerations in mind, and having decided that my main sub-
jects would include Charles Darwin and John Stuart Mill - choices
influenced by the fact that the documentation of their childhoods is
unusually full and informative - I saw some advantages in concentrating
mainly on individuals whose contributions were made in roughly the
middle half of the nineteenth century.
That was a fruitful time for geniuses. In Britain alone there were a
number of major novelists, including George Eliot, Charles Dickens,
Elizabeth Gaskell, the Brontes, William Thackeray and Anthony Troll ope
(who were all born between 1810 and 1824), and Mary Shelley. Benjamin
Disraeli wrote well-received novels as well as being a statesman. There
were some great engineers, among them Brunei, the two Stephensons,
and Joseph Locke. The poets ofthe time included Robert and Elizabeth
Barrett Browning, Christina Rossetti, Robert Southey and Alfred
Tennyson (who was born in the same year as Darwin and Gladstone:
Abraham Lincoln shared with Darwin his actual day of birth in 1809).
The ageing Wordsworth lingered on until 1850. Also, there were artists
such as John Everett Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and J. M. W. Turner;
scientists including Charles Darwin, Michael Faraday, Sir John Herschel,
Charles Lyell, James Clerk Maxwell, Alfred Wallace, Charles
Wheatstone, William Whewell and Charles Babbage, and numerous
other thinkers and writers, amongst whom were John Stuart Mill,
Thomas Carlyle, Thomas Macaulay, Harriet Martineau, William Morris,
John Ruskin and Herbert Spencer.
Across the Atlantic a number of innovative writers and artists were at
work, including Emily Dickinson, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell
Holmes, Henry Longfellow, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Herman Melville,
Edgar Allan Poe, Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman and James
McNeill Whistler. Benjamin Franklin's long life had recently ended and
the equally lengthy one of Thomas Edison had begun. Mark Twain was
starting his career.
The many creative individuals living on the European continent at that
time included novelists such as Honore de Balzac, Gustave Flaubert,
Alexandre Dumas, Victor Hugo and Stendhal, a number of major com-
posers including Berlioz, Bizet, Brahms, Liszt, Mendelssohn and Wagner,
painters such as Courbet, Degas, Delacroix and Manet, and various
major poets including Charles Baudelaire. Among the numerous
 Introduction 21

European scientists, mathematicians and thinkers of the period were

Andre Ampere, Claude Bernard, Auguste Comte, Gustave Fechner, Karl
Freidrich Gauss, Heinrich Heine, Hermann von Helmholtz, Alexander
von Humboldt, Friedrich Kekule, Soren Kierkegaard, Karl Marx, Georg
Simon Ohm, Friedrich Schelling and Arthur Schopenhauer. In Russia,
Gogol and Dostoyevski were active, and as Pushkin approached his pre-
mature end Tolstoy's life was beginning.
In the following two chapters, I direct the bulk of my attention to a
great scientist, Charles Darwin, and a great railway engineer, George
Stephenson, an inventive genius who made an enormous contribution to
developments that revolutionised transportation and passenger travel,
despite starting life with a childhood of grinding poverty, in which he
never had a single day of schooling. Chapter 4 examines the remarkable
early life of another great scientist, Michael Faraday. Chapter 5 looks at a
number of families in which a parent has made a more or less deliberate
attempt to 'manufacture' a genius. This chapter includes a discussion of
the education of John Stuart Mill, whose reputation as a child prodigy
preceded his mature accomplishments. In Chapter 6, which examines a
number of child prodigies, I take an excursion from the mid-nineteenth
century in order to provide an account of Albert Einstein's childhood.
That diversion is justified by his enormous importance, together with the
fact that his early life is a mine of useful information concerning the for-
mative experiences that contribute to scientific creativity. Chapter 7 deals
largely with the acquisition of expertise in writers, including the Brontes,
George Eliot, and Charles Dickens. That chapter, which stresses the
importance of childhood writing activities and explores some ways in
which early experiences have been drawn upon by imaginative novelists,
concentrates on the similarities rather than the differences between
exceptional and less remarkable authors in the manner in which their
expertise was acquired and extended. Chapter 8 provides a more direct
examination of the creative activities that are involved in the actual
making of discoveries and inventions, and the production of master-
pieces. It introduces a variety of discoverers and inventors, ranging from
the Wright brothers, who achieved the first powered flight, to the twenti-
eth-century discoverers of the structure of DNA, Francis Crick and
James Watson.
Chapter 9 examines some ideas and theories that have been put
forward in order to account for geniuses and their accomplishments. This
final chapter examines genetic as well as environmental influences on
human capabilities. It takes a critical look at commonsense views about
human abilities and their causes, showing that even those ideas that are
almost universally accepted and seen as 'obviously' or self-evidently true
22 Genius Explained

can be entirely wrong. I establish, for instance, that there is no firm

scientific justification for the widely accepted belief that high abilities are
made possible by certain individuals possessing innate gifts or talents. I
also question some common views concerning the manner in which
genetic variability exerts its effects on people. Mistaken beliefs about the
origins of exceptional capabilities are pernicious, and can lead to faulty
decisions being made, with damaging consequences to immense
numbers of young people.
2 The young Charles Darwin

We enjoy being told about those geniuses who amaze us with feats that are
especially spellbinding. Without them it would be harder for people to
cling to the belief that geniuses are a special breed, akin to the magicians
and dragons and fabulous giants that populated the mythologies of past
generations. So we prefer geniuses to be sharply different from ordinary
people, and preferably a little eccentric. Einstein makes an ideal genius. It
is frustratingly hard to understand his discoveries, let alone imagine a
more conventional person emulating them. Mozart too has a special mys-
tique, fuelled by most people's inability to even imagine the possibility of
creating anything that could move us in the way his music does.
Darwin is different. Nobody doubts his theory's monumental power or
disputes its immense influence, but the principle of natural selection has
the disturbing quality of being easy to understand. At its core is a trans-
parently simple idea: in a species whose members are not identical, those
individuals that are the best adapted to their environments are the most
likely to procreate and pass on their inherited characteristics. That ele-
mentary but elegant principle accounts for the evolution of all species.
For some critics of Darwin the discovery of natural selection has too
much of the air of an accidental encounter with something that has been
waiting to be found. It is the kind of idea that, once articulated, seems to
be plain obvious as well as being right. Like the invention of the wheel, the
theory of evolution is an advance that left people asking themselves why
nobody had hit upon it earlier. As soon as Thomas Huxley learned of
Darwin's theory he wondered why he had been so stupid not to have
thought of it himself.
Detractors have found additional excuses for withholding admiration
from Darwin. Some have suggested that since artificial selection of
domestic animals had been an established fact of life for many genera-
tions before Darwin, only a small mental leap may have been needed in
order to arrive at the principle of natural selection. Other critics have
seized upon the sheer implausibility (as we see it today) of creationism -
the Genesis story that the world was created in 4004 BC - as a rival

23
24 Genius Explained

account of the origin of life, suggesting that even in Darwin's time no

genuine scientist could have seriously entertained the possibility of crea-
tionist alternatives to evolution. Also, denigrators of Darwin have had
their doubts fanned by knowing that at least some of his insights were
shared by Alfred Wallace, the co-discoverer of natural selection, and also
by Patrick Matthew, a Scottish botanist who included the major elements
of a theory of evolution in a book he wrote on the subject of trees.
Yet, even if it were true that the theory of evolution did not involve such
a vast creative leap as some other scientific discoveries, the sheer immen-
sity of Charles Darwin's achievement would be enough to justify our
hailing him as a great scientist. Of all the Big Ideas in science, natural
selection is possibly the most momentous. It compels us to see the world
differently. It explains how complex life arrived. It renders expendable the
ancient shibboleth that the only way to account for the existence of plants
and animals is to believe that they were placed on our planet by 'Design
from Above'. The principle of natural selection has established that it is
entirely possible for the human species to have evolved without supervi-
sion by all-knowing deity. Darwin demonstrated that complex species
gradually emerge from primitive forms of life. There has been no neces-
sity for an overseeing Great Designer to take charge of the creation of
species.
A number of complications made the feat of forging the theory of evo-
lution a far more difficult accomplishment than Darwin's critics have
appreciated. For a start, the creationist accounts that were believed in his
time to provide adequate rival explanations were far from being as simple-
minded as the bald statement that the world was created six thousand
years ago makes them seem to be. Nineteenth-century creationist theoris-
ing was highly ingenious, to the extent that until early in that century
accounts rooted in creationism had still seemed capable of explaining
much of the available scientific evidence. Only then did it become incon-
trovertible that processes of gradual change were responsible for the
present state of the world.
A second obstacle faced by Darwin was that in his time there was harsh
and active opposition to evolutionary ideas. 1 There were political as well
as religious reasons for this. From the perspective of many people in posi-
tions of authority in the middle years of the nineteenth century, the very
thought that evolution might have taken place threatened the established
order of things. The concept of an established order was central to a social
(and mental) framework in which the existing divisions of wealth and
power were regarded as being a natural and inevitable state of affairs.
1 A careful discussion of the responses evoked by evolutionary thoughts in the early nine-
teenth century is provided by Desmond & Moore (r99r). See also Newsome (r997).
 The young Charles Darwin 25

Each person had been allotted to their particular station in life.

Interfering with the established social system was unnatural and danger-
ous. Above all, evolution was contrary to the will of God.
That way of thinking created in the minds of those who subscribed to it
a moral climate in which evolutionary views were condemned and those
who actively promoted them were persecuted. Even speculating about
evolution was considered dangerously subversive. For those in power, the
established system of Church and State, privilege and poverty, existed
because that was the way the Christian God had appointed things, and it
was important for that view to stay unchallenged. The belief in a God-
given natural order propped up the whole system. Without it, nobody
could have gone on maintaining the pretence that there were ethical
reasons for the rich hanging on to their wealth and opposing changes that
might benefit the poor, and insisting, as they repeatedly did, that the
injustices of an oppressive status quo were necessary and unavoidable.
Powerful individuals saw belief in the natural order as the only effective
bastion against dangerous social viruses such as democracy and anarchy,
two equally terrifying evils that threatened to plunge Britain into the
turmoil so recently seen in France, across the narrow English Channel.
A few brave and determined thinkers had arrived at evolutionary theo-
ries and succeeded in having them published, despite the prevailing
climate of oppression. But another barrier to the creation of an adequate
explanation of evolution remained, and mastering this further obstacle
would take far more than courage alone. Only a thinker with quite
extraordinary mental resources would be capable of overcoming it.
The problem Darwin faced was that he was at the same time having to
describe the evolutionary changes that had taken place and also provide
an explanation for them. Rather than simply having to explain known
facts, it was also necessary to simultaneously discover what was being
achieved by evolution. Darwin was placed in an exceedingly difficult posi-
tion. He had to discover the causes of biological changes without having a
proper account of the precise nature of the changes that needed to be
explained. It is immensely hard to explain something when there is con-
siderable uncertainty concerning what it is that requires explaining.
Nevertheless, Darwin succeeded in doing just that.
The reason why Darwin was confronted with such a confusing state of
affairs was simple. Almost nothing was known about genetics. Had accu-
rate knowledge about the principles of inheritance been available to
Darwin at the time when he was working, the task of teasing together an
evolutionary theory explaining how species adapt and change would have
been a relatively straightforward one. But in his time the way in which
organisms reproduced themselves seemed to be a complete mystery, and
26 Genius Explained

that situation did not alter until the end of the century, well after Darwin's
death, when Mendel's findings concerning the inheritance of genetic
characteristics became known. At the time Charles Darwin was grappling
with the theory of evolution, biologists knew practically nothing about the
passing-on of characteristics between generations. Today, it takes an
effort to comprehend just how little was known then about elementary
truths about inheritance that ten-year-olds now take for granted. Yet in
Darwin's lifetime nobody even knew what was actually transmitted from
one generation to another. Until the beginning of the nineteenth century
it had not even been verified that people inherited anything from their
mothers at all. It was widely believed that inheritance took place exclu-
sively via the semen of the male.
Because of these barriers to evolutionary thinking, enormous intellec-
tual effort was needed in order to arrive at the theory of evolution by
natural selection. So despite the simplicity of the principle that accounts
for evolutionary change, Darwin's achievement was far from being an
easy accomplishment.

There may be no such animal as a 'typical' genius, but most can be placed
reasonably comfortably within one or other of a number of categories, on
the basis of shared attributes. Darwin cannot. Most geniuses were
remarked upon as being precocious while still children. Darwin was not.
Many geniuses have had to struggle in order to make a living. Darwin
never had to. When we begin to investigate the events of Darwin's life that
enabled him to become capable of his great work, it quickly becomes
evident that his early circumstances were not at all like those of certain
other geniuses. Charles Darwin came from a wealthy family. There was
no lack of educational opportunities in his formative years. There was no
need for Darwin to keep striving in order to escape poverty and ignorance
and extend his horizons, since he was born privileged.
Because he was born to wealth, it was possible for Darwin to add to his
capabilities during the course of his early life in a manner that was meas-
ured and unhurried, even stately. A wealthy young person had the luxury
of being able to afford to waste time, make bad decisions, and vacillate,
before eventually getting started on a course of action that would lead in a
meaningful direction. Thus Leo Tolstoy, for example, did not have to
settle into writing until he had gambled away a fortune and arrived at
middle age. In Darwin's case, likewise, there was no necessity for an
arduous battle against the odds. And he did not lack the kinds of social
connections that could ease a young man's path. The adult Darwin was
fiercely committed to his work, and he was as diligent and determined as
anyone, but these qualities were never imposed upon him. Circumstances
 The young Charles Darwin 27

did not require Darwin to be as forceful as some geniuses have had to be,
in order to stand any chance of getting ahead.
We know about numerous aspects of Darwin's life. Many letters to and
from him have been preserved. There are descriptions of him by relatives
and friends, and two versions of a brief autobiography. Reading the
Darwin correspondence is a joy, and it provides many glimpses of a
deeply sympathetic individual who cared for his family and friends and
whose warm feelings for them were strongly reciprocated. Despite that,
he was often highly anxious and not infrequently unhappy.
Enough information exists for it to be possible to trace in some detail
the course of Darwin's early years. We know about many of the events and
the people he encountered, and the books he read and the lectures he
attended. There are plenty of cues that help reveal how he experienced his
days and made use of the various opportunities that came his way as he
developed into a scientist. In Darwin's case, plotting the route of his
movement forward reveals a lengthy, very gradual, but steadily rising
course. We see a child who appears to be remarkably ordinary, lacking any
obvious talent or special gift, slowly extending his capabilities, little by
little. Eventually, a point is reached at which it becomes evident that,
without anyone noticing, the very ordinary boy has become an extraordi-
narily able young scientist, exceptionally well-positioned to take advan-
tage of any opportunity that presents itself.
Darwin was a complicated man, and discovering the ways in which he
steadily achieved those advances in his capabilities that prepared him for
his most momentous work is a less straightforward matter than charting
the routes via which others have pushed themselves ahead in their
different ways. There were always parts of himself that Darwin kept
hidden from others. He was not secretive except when he had good
reasons for hiding things, but he carefully guarded his privacy. Having
discovered as a child that keeping his own counsel was a good way to
protect himself from the intrusive demands of adults and older sisters, he
was reluctant to correct people when their perceptions of him were inac-
curate. In particular, during the crucial years immediately preceding the
voyage on HMS Beagle that was to establish his reputation as a mature
scientist, Darwin encouraged his relatives to persist in an increasingly
inaccurate view of him and regard him as being less determined, less
mature, and less committed to science than he really was, and consider-
ably more naive and indecisive.
Even with his sisters, whose love and affection he enjoyed and valued,
the good-natured Darwin was happy for them to continue regarding him
as their error-prone and somewhat ineffectual younger brother, well past
the point when it was clear to those who knew of his work that he was
28 Genius Explained

actually an exceptionally capable young biologist. His father, especially,

regarded the young Charles Darwin as being somewhat aimless.
Biographers have concurred with this assessment, depicting Darwin as
being drifting and lacking in ambition until he was well into his twenties.
But that view of him is inaccurate. By the age of twenty he was deter-
mined to be a leading naturalist, and although his family did not know
that a few of his friends already did. At least one friend, John Herbert,
foresaw Darwin's future eminence. In making him an anonymous gift of a
microscope, the prescient Herbert, a fellow undergraduate at Cambridge,
included a note saying that Darwin's acceptance: 'will give particular
gratification to one who has long doubted whether Mr. Darwin's talents
or his sincerity be the more worthy of admiration, and who hopes that the
instrument may in some measure facilitate those researches which he has
hitherto so fondly and so successfully prosecuted.' 2
Well before he wrote that in 1831, Herbert had been given the opportu-
nity to see that beneath Darwin's self-effacing air of modesty lurked a
steely resolution that few others had detected. It had never dawned upon
either Charles' father or his sisters that the younger son in the family was
at all determined or clear about his ambitions, or that he even had any
firm ambitions at all. Yet Darwin's correspondence to his friends provides
firm clues to the seriousness ofhis intent. The tone of much of the corre-
spondence between Darwin and his fellow enthusiasts during the
1828-30 period contradicts Darwin's own rather dismissive autobio-
graphical account (written many years later, but unquestioned by most of
his biographers) of his approach to natural history at that time.
An indication of the young Darwin's real attitude can be gleaned from a
typical letter to Herbert, composed in 1828 when Darwin was still not
twenty. After a characteristic apology for imposing on his friend for the
favour he is requesting, followed by the placatory gesture 'you cannot
imagine how much you will oblige me' and a somewhat uncharacteristic
boast (to stress the importance of what he is requesting) that he has taken
some of the rarest British insects, Darwin issues his friend with detailed
instructions that have an air of remarkable authority for one so young.
But now for Business: several more specimens if you can procure them without
much trouble, of the following insects. The violet black coloured beetle found on
Craig Storm under stones, also a large smooth black one, very like it: a bluish,
metallic coloured, globular, dung beetle, which is very common on the hill sides:
Also, if you would be so kind as to cross the ferry, & you will find a great number
under the stones on the waste land of a long smooth jet black beetle ...

2 Note from John Maurice Herbert to Charles Darwin, early May 1831. P. 122 The corre-
spondence of Charles Darwin, U!lume I. Burkhardt & Smith (1985).
 The young Charles Darwin 29

After continuing in this vein with some further detailed descriptions of

insects, Darwin stresses, 'These 2 last insects are excessively rare: & you
will really will extremely oblige me by taking all this trouble pretty soon:
Remember me most kindly to Butler, tell him of my successes, & I daresay
both of you will easily recognise these insects.' 3
A letter like this one is not the effusion of an aimless boy. The imperi-
ous tone is only partly jocular. The nineteen-year-old Charles Darwin
was already a determined young man, even if his determination was
sometimes hidden under a diffident air. Like most creative people,
Darwin drew heavily on qualities of temperament and personality as well
as his intellectual powers. But the attributes Darwin needed most were
very different from those which some other geniuses have depended
upon. The life which the young Darwin enjoyed within his wealthy family
gave him many experiences and opportunities that helped to prepare for
his eventual career, without enormous strain. There was no necessity for
the Herculean exertions that some other scientists of the time, such as the
celebrated chemist Humphry Davy and his brilliant assistant Michael
Faraday, had been obliged to make in order to learn under adverse
circumstances.
Charles Darwin reported in his autobiography that he began to be
interested in natural history before he was eleven years old, and he
remained enthusiastic throughout his childhood and adolescence. This
state of affairs produced ideal conditions for the gradual accumulation of
a foundation of organised knowledge and skills. Compared with the
intense childhood regime of someone like Mozart, the circumstances that
brought about Darwin's increasing competence were less formal and
deliberate, and less competitive. Yet there were similarities. In common
with all individuals who have achieved exceptionally high levels of exper-
tise, Darwin was able to devote many hours of concentrated attention to
the field in which he eventually excelled. Doing that would have been
crucial to his success, even if for much of the time he would not have been
making a deliberate effort to learn. Despite the fact that Darwin was
unusual among geniuses in being neither a prodigy nor even the least bit
precocious as a child, he did benefit from the fact that his early interests,
together with the opportunities he was given to develop them, combined
to ensure that over a lengthy period of time he was able to gain capabilities
upon which he could draw later. The result was that he was able to enjoy
advantages that would normally have been available only to someone who
had been precocious as a child.

3 Letter from Charles Darwin to John Maurice Herbert, I3 September r828. Pp. 64-65,
The correspondence of Charles Darwin, Ullume I. Burkhardt & Smith (r985).
30 Genius Explained

Darwin often needed to be able to count on the cooperation of other

people. He always could, but only because he was known to be depend-
able and helpful himself. For someone whose main accomplishment was
as earth-shattering in its implications as the theory of evolution, he made
remarkably few enemies. The personal resources necessary to overcome
the most alarming of Darwin's challenges included a combination of
moral strength and good judgement. As he became increasingly certain
that natural selection was the explanation for evolution, he also had to
face up to the fact that his views would arouse bitter controversy, and he
worried about that endlessly. He knew that because the theory contra-
dicted some of the apparent certainties which many people's peace of
mind depended upon, it would provoke angry hostility. That did prove to
be the case, although the preparatory work that Darwin had undertaken
between assembling the theory and announcing it to the world ensured
that its acceptance in scientific circles was relatively swift and painless.
Thanks to the efforts of Thomas Huxley and other friends, less vitupera-
tion was directed towards Darwin himself than he had expected, and the
effects on his family were not so destructive as he had feared.

Charles Darwin was born in Shrewsbury on 12 February 1809. He had

two colourful grandfathers. One was Erasmus Darwin, an imaginative
polymath famous for his long scientific poem The Botanic Garden, which
gave a comprehensive account of botany in the form of lively rhyming
couplets. Erasmus Darwin speculated on evolution in a series of
volumes on organic life, entitled Zoomania. The other grandfather was
the celebrated potter and industrialist Josiah Wedgwood, whose success-
ful business made him extremely wealthy. Darwin's two grandfathers
had many shared interests and were close friends. Both were enthusiastic
members of the influential Lunar Society, a group of enlightened indi-
viduals who met in Birmingham to discuss scientific, philosophical and
humanitarian issues. Among other prominent members were Joseph
Priestley, the chemist, and Matthew Boulton, who in partnership with
the Scottish engineering genius James Watt (another member) had mas-
terminded many of the improvements in the efficiency of steam power
that made passenger trains a practical possibility. Erasmus Darwin hap-
pened to be one of the very few eighteenth-century writers to predict
this eventuality.
When Josiah Wedgwood died in 1795 his daughter Susannah inherited
£25,000, a fraction of his large fortune. The following year she married
Erasmus's Darwin's son, Robert. Susannah was forty-four when she gave
birth to their second son, Charles, the fifth of her six children. Charles'
father, Robert Darwin, prospered as a physician with a mainly rural prac-
 The young Charles Darwin 31

tice, but the bulk of his large income came from mortgaged property: he
was a kind of one-man building society. The Darwins were gentry, like
other wealthy and well-connected families living in the country, although
lacking a large estate they could not be described as landed gentry in the
usual sense.
Unhappily, Susannah Darwin died when Charles was only eight, after a
painful illness. The adult Darwin had only a few memories of his mother.
In the years after her death Charles' older sisters had rarely talked about
her: it was too painful for them. Some biographers have suggested that an
outcome of this understandable if regrettable reaction was to prevent
Charles from properly mourning his mother and coming to terms with
the death, thereby contributing to the frequent physical maladies and
feelings of depression he experienced as an adult. The evidence is too
sketchy for that interpretion of events to be either confirmed or refuted.
Even before his mother's death, two of Charles' sisters, Caroline (born
in 1800) and Susan (born in 1803) were helping with his schooling and
that of his younger sister Catherine. The older sisters had a strong interest
in the new ideas about education that were being promoted by educa-
tional thinkers like Guizot and practitioners such as Pestalozzi. 4 Later
they set up a small infant school of their own. From many of their letters
to Charles that have been preserved, as well as numerous letters from
Charles to them, it is clear that Caroline and Susan always cared very
deeply about Charles and his younger sister Catherine (the youngest
child in the family, born eighteen months after Charles). There were
times in Charles' early childhood when he chafed at his older sisters'
attentions, and their letters display a certain well-intentioned fussiness,
which he sometimes found irritating. But Charles was always grateful to
Caroline and Susan for their kindliness in his childhood.
Darwin believed that his younger sister Catherine had been quicker
than him and more advanced for her age. Being the fifth of sixth children
is not an enviable position within a family, and Darwin recalled occa-
sional childhood incidents in which he behaved outrageously in order to
gain attention, and then felt foolish after getting into trouble and receiv-
ing the inevitable reprimand. But even if he sometimes wanted more
attention than he was getting, he never felt unloved. As Caroline recalled
as an old lady in her seventies, far from being a naughty or stupid boy, he
was 'particularly affectionate, tractable and sweet tempered, and my
father had the highest opinion of his understanding and intelligence'. 5
That was not the invented sentiment of an elderly person: much earlier,
4 For differing views concerning the effects on Charles Darwin of his mother's early death,
see the biographies by Bowlby (r990) and Browne (r995).
5 Quoted in Brent (r98r), p. 23
32 Genius Explained

she had told him in a touching letter written when he was a seventeen-
year-old student at Edinburgh University, 'I think when you & Catherine
were little children & I was always with you or thinking about you was the
happiest part of my life and I dare say always will be.' 6
Darwin first went to school early in 1817, when he was just eight. A rec-
ollection by a schoolmate suggests that Darwin's mother was taking a
close interest in his education, despite the fact that her health was seri-
ously affected by the illness that killed her later that year. The schoolmate,
who was later to be one of the many naturalists with whom Darwin corre-
sponded, said that Darwin, who had brought a plant from home for the
small garden of the school, told him that his mother 'had been teaching
him how by looking into the interior of a blossom he could ascertain the
name of the plant'. 7
A year later Darwin was moved to Shrewsbury School, a long-estab-
lished institution which under its headmaster, Dr Butler, was thought to
be among the best dozen schools in England at the time. Darwin was a
pupil there for seven years. Despite the fact that the school was very close
to Darwin's home, his father made the sensible decision that Charles
would board, and thereby avoided placing him in the awkward position of
being a day boy in a boarding school. This arrangement worked out well.
Unlike most of the other boarders Darwin often had time to make brief
visits home, and his early days at the school were made a little easier by
the fact that his brother Erasmus, four years older than Charles, was
already a pupil there.
Despite these advantages Darwin did not shine at Shrewsbury School.
His schoolwork was never more than average. He later became highly
skilled at shooting, but at school he never made an impression at any
sport. He was certainly not disliked: schoolfellows recalled him as kindly,
friendly, gentle and popular, and were intrigued by his knowledge of
natural history. But his formal school achievements were not in the least
distinguished.
In the early education of a modern scientist we would expect to find
some relationship between the individual's scientific progress and his suc-
cesses in other subjects. Nowadays, it would be surprising to find a young
scientist as enthusiastic and capable as Darwin making little impression at
school. But matters were arranged differently in Darwin's day, because
science as a school subject simply did not exist. It seems remarkable to us
that a hundred years after Newton's death, at a time when Faraday,
Ampere and others were producing the stream of discoveries that would
make electrical power a practical possibility, and many other scientists

6 Quoted in Brent (r98r), p. 22. 7 Quoted in Brent (r98r), p. 24.

 The young Charles Darwin 33

were making radical innovations, the headmaster of a prestigious school

could see no reason to give his pupils even the most rudimentary
scientific education. But Dr Butler was not just indifferent but actively
hostile to the idea of encouraging boys to learn something about science.
The headmaster's response to discovering that Charles Darwin was
spending time collaborating with his brother Erasmus on scientific
experiments in a crude laboratory they had set up at home was crassly
negative. Butler's contribution to the age of science was to drag Charles
Darwin in front of the whole assembled school and denounce him as a
'stupid fellow' who 'will attend to his gases and his rubbish, but will not
work at anything useful'. 8
Darwin's own opinion of the usefulness ofhis school curriculum was as
negative as Dr Butler's views about science. On a number of occasions
Darwin wrote that his formal education had been largely a waste of time.
He was adamant about this: 'Nothing could have been worse for the
development of my mind than Dr Butler's school', he said; and 'The
school as a means of education to me was simply a blank'. 9 That sweeping
dismissal may have been a little harsh. Another scientist such as Michael
Faraday, forced by circumstances to provide himself with an education
through his own efforts, might have thought Darwin's condemnation
one-sided. Even a curriculum that is singularly ill-suited to a pupil's inter-
ests and aspirations can help a young learner to gain useful knowledge
and skills, and perhaps some effective working habits as well.
What did Charles Darwin learn at Shrewsbury School? He recalled that
the curriculum was strictly classical and that he was taught nothing else
except a little ancient geography and history. Although Darwin probably
gained more from his studies at school than he realised, he was correct in
thinking that a large part of his time there was wasted. Much had to be
learned by heart, to be instantly forgotten as soon as the dreaded class was
finished. The stranglehold of the classics ensured that Darwin received a
great deal of instruction in the Greek and Latin languages, as well as
ample amounts of Greek and Roman history. He became familiar with
some of the works of a substantial number of classical authors, including
Plato, Aristotle, Thucydides, Juvenal, Homer, Horace (whose odes he
came to enjoy), and other dramatists, historians, philosophers, and rheto-
ricians. There were also lessons in history, geography, philology and scrip-
ture, as well as some lectures on the geometry of Euclid, one of the few
school subjects which Darwin actively liked.
Dr Butler held the belief, popular then and not uncommon now, that
certain 'mental disciplines', and in particular the classical languages, are
8 Quoted in Brent (r98r), p. 32
9 The Autobiography of Charles Darwin (Barlow, I9 58), p. 2 7.
34 Genius Explained

especially valuable because they create 'trained minds', enabling students

to think more rationally and consequently be equipped to deal with any of
a variety of mental challenges. The idea is that by studying the classics a
pupil 'learns to think'. That view may seem plausible enough, but it does
not stand up to rigorous testing. Research findings provide very little
support for it. The evidence makes it clear that only to a very restricted
extent will a recently learned capability 'transfer' to new learning tasks or
to problems arising in contexts different from the ones in which the learn-
ing originally took place.
Transfer to new circumstances only occurs when the already-acquired
knowledge or mental skills are directly applicable to the novel task.
Hence, the knowledge that two plus two makes four will be useful in a
range of circumstances, but the feat of! earning to decline a Latin verb will
not have comparably broad applicability. By and large, research suggests
that the effects of training are typically more specific and less generalis-
able than is usually appreciated. For example, in an investigation that was
conducted over a period of years, the researchers discovered that ordinary
people could eventually gain the ability to memorise lists of items that
were many times longer than the maximum list length that could be
recalled prior to training. However, the training only succeeded in
improving memory for the particular kinds of lists used in the practice
sessions. 1° Consequently, someone who, as a result of lengthy training,
was able to memorise lengthy lists of digits would be no better than other
people at recalling new lists of letters or words.
But even if the idea of mental training as a kind of cerebral muscle-
building is largely misguided, the belief that studying certain disciplines
can have useful consequences is not totally wrong. That is because there
are other useful outcomes of having to study an academic discipline. For
example, as a result of learning from one's own experience that perfor-
mance eventually improves when one keeps striving at a subject, a young
learner may become more conscious of the value of studying, and also
more confident about his or her capacity to learn in the future. Also, a
person who studies regularly will tend to get into the habit of studying,
and acquiring such a habit can be extremely valuable in itself. Gaining a
firm habit of regularly engaging in study activities does much to help
make it easier for a learner to get down to an arduous new task. Someone
who has established regular study habits will be at an advantage when
faced with a situation in which it is necessary to keep concentrating and
persisting when things get difficult.
Despite the fact that Darwin's education as a scientist was largely

10 See, for example, Ericsson (r985).

 The young Charles Darwin 35

unconnected to his schooling, it started at roughly the same time,

although in the initial years it would never have occurred to him to apply
the term 'science' to the collecting activities that his scientific training
began with. Far from regarding those activities as being educational,
Darwin as a child was in no position to argue with the prevailing view that
his interest in natural history and his enthusiasm about collecting were no
more than signs of natural indolence. Collecting has always been attrac-
tive to children, and like many young boys and girls Darwin gradually
progressed from more or less indiscriminate hoarding of any objects that
caught his fancy to collecting activities that reflected a more informed
interest. This was encouraged by his mother, who urged Charles to share
her fascination with plants. She was keenly interested in gardens and
impressed the neighbouring gentry with the beauty and variety of shrubs
and flowers she introduced. She had brought to the house a number of
books on botany that had belonged to her father, Josiah Wedgwood. His
interest, as it happened, had been encouraged by Darwin's other (pater-
nal) grandfather, Erasmus Darwin.
By the age of ten, when Darwin first went for a three-week holiday on
the Welsh coast, his collecting activities were already beginning to be spe-
cialised and well-informed. By then he had become especially enthusias-
tic about collecting beetles, a passion that endured. He was also keenly
collecting butterflies, moths, and other insects. Even at ten, he knew
enough to notice that there were moths to be seen on the Welsh coast that
were not found in Shropshire. He was also an enthusiastic birdwatcher.
That interest was stimulated by encountering Gilbert White's Natural
History and Antiquities of Selborne, which he first read at around this time.
Darwin's school friends were already noticing that in contrast to his
mediocre performance at lessons he knew a great deal about natural
history and was good at identifying the objects they brought to him. Even
at school, much of his spare time went into collecting. Throughout his
childhood there were always opportunities for collecting objects. With
curiosity about the natural world being almost a family trait, he had no
need to be a solitary naturalist, and it was not hard for him to find friends
who shared his interests.
By adolescence, what had begun as a child's hobby was becoming a way
of life. There never seems to have been a point in Darwin's childhood at
which he was other than keenly interested in natural history. The nature
of his collecting activities altered considerably as his knowledge increased
and his observational skills were sharpened, but there was no abrupt leap
from indiscriminate collector to informed naturalist, or from a strictly
'amateur' naturalist to a serious scientific biologist. The changes in his
activities and interests were gradual, reflecting his steadily deepening
36 Genius Explained

knowledge. The butterflies and beetles that fascinated him at ten still fas-
cinated him at twenty, albeit for different reasons. He had gradually
become something of an amateur expert, but without ever having had to
make a sudden commitment to studying natural history as an academic
subject. His activities as a naturalist in training sometimes involved
fatigue and hardship, and yet his efforts would always have been directly
fuelled by his own purposes and interests. Unlike a young person from an
impoverished background, the young Darwin was lucky enough never to
be in a position in which the vague and distant goal of self-improvement
had to serve as the main incentive for persevering at hard studies in unfa-
vourable conditions.
More holidays in Wales followed, offering plenty of opportunities for
collecting. At eleven (in 1820), Charles had been on a riding tour with
his fifteen-year-old brother, Erasmus. The year after that, once more
with Erasmus and also on this occasion with two of his Wedgwood
cousins, he went on a more ambitious tour in which they covered 250
miles in ten days, going as far as Bangor. From there they went to see one
of the engineering wonders of the day, Thomas Telford's suspension
bridge that was being built across the Menai Straits to link the island of
Anglesea with the mainland. (It was completed in 1826, and was joined
in 1850 by a railway bridge that had been built by George Stephenson's
son Robert, who spent a brief period at Edinburgh University in 1822-3,
two years before Darwin arrived there.) In the following summer Darwin
enjoyed at least two further riding tours. He was now thirteen, and
beginning to find delight in beautiful scenery, a source of pleasure
throughout his life.
Charles' brother Erasmus was a companion on most of his childhood
holidays. Considering the four-year gap in their ages Erasmus was gener-
ous to Charles, lending him books and including him in the older
brother's activities. Most biographers have taken at face value a comment
by Charles that because their minds and tastes were very different he did
not think that he owed much to Erasmus intellectually. The two brothers
were indeed very different, but Erasmus had a much bigger influence on
Charles' development than has been recognised. When Charles was
sixteen he and Erasmus had a year together at Edinburgh University,
where they were both studying medicine; they lodged together, read the
same books, and they not only spent a good deal of time in each other's
company but shared a number of interests and enthusiasms. Even more
importantly for Darwin's early progress in science, when only thirteen, he
and Erasmus (who was then studying at Cambridge) set up a simple
chemistry laboratory in a toolshed in the Darwins' garden. Ostensibly,
Erasmus was in charge and giving the orders, with Charles a mere assist-
 The young Charles Darwin 37

ant. But the actual day-to-day arrangements for setting everything up and
running the experiments were left entirely in Charles' hands.
A number of surviving letters from Erasmus to Charles make it clear
how this cooperation at a distance worked in practice. What strikes the
reader most forcefully is that Erasmus never doubted for one minute that
his thirteen-year-old brother was sufficiently competent and responsible
to make all the necessary arrangements. Some of these were highly
complex or demanded considerable initiative on Charles's part; others
required him to become involved in negotiations or search for abstruse
information. Charles was being trusted to get on with the job of imple-
menting some fairly elaborate plans. By putting Charles in a position in
which it was taken for granted that he was mature and capable enough to
undertake some complicated tasks, Erasmus was not only recognising his
younger brother's competence but also, perhaps unwittingly, doing much
to help Charles learn how to act independently. Erasmus encouraged
Charles to develop an ability to organise things on his own. For a boy who
was the fourth of five children, and whose siblings were too prone to cast
him in the role of the immature younger brother, the opportunity that he
was being given by Erasmus to take responsibility for the organisation and
running of a potentially dangerous laboratory would have been a godsend.
At the same time, Charles was also receiving a valuable chance to learn
about practical chemistry. Whatever Dr Butler might have thought, for
Darwin all this was 'the best part of my education at school' . 11
Because he was a sensible and agreeable young person, neither too con-
ceited nor too shy to be a good companion, Darwin usually got on well
with other people. That enabled him to take advantage of openings that
would have not been on offer to someone less personable. The young
Darwin was not a charmer - men were not dazzled by his conversation
and women did not swoon in his company- but people did seem to enjoy
being with him. Adults found him likeable. That was partly because he
was sensitive to other people's needs and prepared to listen to them, as
well as exhibiting a youthful enthusiasm that was already coupled with the
lively curiosity that was to stay with him until his death. Even his
Wedgwood uncle (named Josiah like his more famous father), who was
considered to be a taciturn and rather forbidding man, took a keen inter-
est in Charles' activities. Consequently, he was able to be of enormous
help to his nephew some years later, at a crucial point in Charles' life. It
was Uncle Josiah who, in 1831, persuaded Darwin's father to drop his
opposition to the idea of Charles taking part in the five-year voyage of
HMSBeagle.

11 The Autobiography of Charles Darwin. Barlow (1958), p. 46.

38 Genius Explained

Darwin learned to shoot (an activity which for ten years or so was one
of his main sources of pleasure) from another local landowner, William
Mostyn Owen, whose estate at Woodhouse, about twelve miles from
Shrewsbury, was regularly visited by members of the Darwin family. The
Darwin correspondence includes sixteen letters written to Charles by
Owen's high-spirited youngest daughter, Fanny, the first love of Darwin's
life. Some of these letters contain messages from William Owen himself,
saying how he is missing Charles or looking forward to his next visit.
Another adult to be impressed by Charles' lively curiosity and enthusiasm
was the historian Sir James Mackintosh, who Charles met when staying at
Maer, the Wedgwood family's estate. 'There is something in that man that
interests me', said Mackintosh, who was then writing his History of
England, but died a few years later, in 1832, before he could discover just
how percipient his remark had been. 12 And later, when Darwin was a uni-
versity student, at both Edinburgh and Cambridge, he encountered a
number of distinguished scientists who were sufficiently impressed by
him to take him seriously, and found him congenial enough to deserve
their companionship. As a consequence, he spent a good deal of time at
both universities in the company of active scientists who were the ideal
mentors for him: these men had an immense influence on Darwin's
future career.
The young Darwin was often away from home. As well as boarding at
school and going for holiday expeditions in the vacations, he often went to
stay with his Wedgwood cousins at Maer, close to Stoke-on-Trent in the
Potteries region towards the centre of England, about twenty miles from
Darwin's home, or at Woodhouse with the Owen family. Apart from the
various experiences travel provided and the opportunities to see relatives
and make new friends, spending time away from his own home had the
further desirable outcome for Darwin of getting him away from the some-
times oppressive company of his father.
Dr Robert Darwin was no ogre. He was considerate to his patients, fair
to his tenants and kind to his servants. He had suffered some tragic losses:
his mother had died when he was only four, his older brother died from
septicaemia as a medical student at Edinburgh after cutting his finger at a
post-mortem on a child, and he was devastated when his wife Susannah
died. He had an active and enquiring mind and numerous interests, and
became a Fellow of the Royal Society, an influential scientific institution
in Britain. He was in many respects an excellent parent, caring deeply
about all his children, and his decisions were usually wise. He was
devoted to Charles. As Caroline Darwin recorded, 'My father was very

12 The Autobiography of Charles Darwin. Barlow (I 9 58), p. 55.

 The young Charles Darwin 39

fond of him & even when he was a little boy of 6 or 7, however bustled &
overtired, often had Charles with him when he was dressing, to teach him
some little thing such as the almanack - and Charles used to be so eager
to be down in time. Charles does not seem to have known half how much
my father loved him.' 13
But Dr Darwin was not an easy parent to live with. Tall and fat, with an
incongruously high-pitched voice, he was somewhat overbearing, with a
tendency to hold forth at great length. When not listening to his own
voice he liked to know what everyone else in the room was saying. A con-
sequence of this was that younger members of the family, who might have
preferred to relax and gossip over a quiet game of cards, were forced to
endure long evenings of stiff conversation. Family and guests complained
that the atmosphere in the Darwin house was not so free or spontaneous
as that at Maer, the Wedgwood home, or at Woodhouse, where their
friends the Owens lived.
In a wealthy family such as the Darwins' it was possible for all the chil-
dren to get away from time to time on visits to other houses, and Charles
also took advantage of the fact that in the 1820s it was easier for a son than
a daughter to find reasons for being absent from home. He was usually
able to maintain a cordial relationship with his father, but he soon dis-
cerned that doing that was easier at a distance. From the time he was
sixteen or so his periods of staying at home were usually brief.
Some biographers under the influence of Freud have been convinced
that Darwin's professed love and affection for his father concealed an
unconscious hatred. That seems unlikely. Warm feelings predominated,
although Darwin's view of his father was balanced and realistic rather
than idealised. Charles Darwin was perfectly aware that his father could
be an awkward customer and a bit of a bully, with plenty of faults, and had
on a few occasions been unjust towards himself. But Darwin also knew
his father as a kindly and deeply caring parent, a man of many enthu-
siasms and a source of amusing anecdotes. As an adult, Darwin chose to
make numerous visits to his father that could easily have been avoided. In
his Autobiography, written when he was getting old, Darwin writes about
his father with transparent good spirits. He rambles on and on, as one
story reminds him of another, dragging himself away from his pleasurable
memories of his parent only when the time to return to the narrative of his
own life is well overdue.
There were family resemblances and shared concerns within the
Darwin family, the most striking being the deep interest of both Charles
Darwin and his grandfather Erasmus Darwin in evolution and its possible

13 Quoted in Brent (r98r), p. 23.

40 Genius Explained

causes. Inevitably, questions about genetics arise. What did Charles

inherit from his forebears? To what extent could his extraordinary capa-
bilities have been genetically inherited? Could he have inherited an inter-
est in natural history?
There will be a more extended discussion of genetic influences on
people's capabilities in Chapter 9· At this point it must simply be said that
none of the above questions can be answered with complete confidence.
Despite the advances that have been made in the science of genetics
(which, as we have noted, did not exist at all in Darwin's lifetime) frustrat-
ingly little is known about the part played by genetics in the causation of
exceptional human accomplishments. It is certain, however, that the
commonsense view that complex human traits are straightforwardly
inherited from a parent, in the way that simple physical characteristics
such as eye or hair colour are, is simply wrong. So assertions such as 'she
inherited her mother's sense of humour', and 'he inherited his father's
love of animals' are (if meant literally) invariably unfounded. In order for
complex human attributes like these to be directly inherited, it would be
essential for there to exist a distinct gene or a set of genes determining,
say, a person's sense of humour, or love of animals. But genes do not
operate like that. Nor, contrary to a common view, do genes work as a
kind of blueprint, invariably causing someone who has inherited a certain
set of genes to have a particular kind of personality or to act in a specific
way. With a few exceptions, such as blood group, human traits are never
entirely fixed by a person's genetic materials. Little is known about the
extent to which genetic influences contribute to particular individuals
becoming exceptionally capable men and women. Whilst it is definitely
possible that genes make a substantial contribution, the actual manner in
which they do so is not at all clear, and the genetic influence, assuming it
exists, is almost certainly far from being simple or direct. Even when
genetic mapping becomes more advanced than it now is, it is by no means
certain that it will be possible to identify genetic materials that inevitably
make a person unusually intelligent or creative. What is certain is that
there is no distinct single gene or set of genetic materials that makes a
person a good scientist, or a fine musician or a great novelist.
A new phase of Darwin's life began somewhat abruptly at the age of
sixteen. His father could see that his son's failure to do well at Shrewsbury
School was partly due to that establishment being an unsuitable learning
environment for Charles. Robert Darwin wisely decided to let Charles go
to Edinburgh University, where his brother Erasmus was intending to
study for a medical degree, after some years at Cambridge. At that time it
was not extraordinary to begin university at sixteen, and Erasmus could
be counted upon to keep an eye on his younger brother and ease the tran-
 The young Charles Darwin 41

sition. Edinburgh then was one of the liveliest of Europe's universities. It

was the obvious choice for someone wishing to study science (including
natural history) or medicine. Charles had regularly accompanied Dr
Robert on his visits to patients, and had quickly found himself becoming
interested in the work. Father and son convinced themselves that Charles
had the makings of a successful physician. Dr Robert himself (whose
brother died at Edinburgh) had qualified at Edinburgh University, and
Darwin's uncle, the second Josiah Wedgwood and his two brothers had all
studied there.
Darwin, at the age of sixteen, was not so unpromising as he appeared to
his headmaster, and there were signs of future strengths that seem to have
been unnoticed at the time. He was a decidedly enthusiastic young natu-
ralist, and within that field of interest he was unusually knowledgeable for
his age. He had also acquired a keen interest in science, and was eager to
learn more, even if there was nothing very remarkable about his early
achievements. But if there is any truth at all in the view that Charles
Darwin possessed some kind of inborn talent, it certainly was not evident
at this point in his life. Darwin had been given plenty of opportunities,
and on the whole he had used them well. He had been encouraged by his
father, his sisters and his brother. His family background was amply sup-
plied with two crucial ingredients that help nourish a young person's
growing mental powers, intellectual stimulation and, equally importantly,
the presence of support and structure that can be provided by other
members of the family.
Modern research investigations have provided some valuable insights
into the ways in which the family background can affect a young person's
progress. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, an American psychologist, has under-
taken a series of investigations aimed at discovering why it is that whilst
some able young people in their early teens have considerable success at
extending their abilities in the succeeding years, others, who appear to be
equally promising, fail to do so. 14 How, Csikszentmihalyi asked, do those
teenagers who do succeed differ from the ones who do not? He noted that
one difference was that the former, but not the latter, spent substantial
periods of time engaging in the study and practice activities that are
essential if a person is to do well. That comes as no great surprise, but
Csikszentmihalyi took the investigation a stage further, asking why it is
that some young people find it possible to concentrate on the studying
and practising that is necessary in order for a young person to make good
progress, whilst others seem incapable of doing this.
Csikszentmihalyi looked at young people's own perceptions of the

14 Csikszentmihalyi & Csikszentmihalyi (r993).

42 Genius Explained

studying and practising actiVIties that are so essential for success at

difficult skills. One important aspect of such activities is that they demand
continuous concentration and may appear arduous or repetitive, and
therefore, not obviously attractive to most teenagers. Also, study and
practice tasks normally require the individual to work in solitude, without
the companionship that most young people enjoy. Consequently, most
adolescents do not like practising and studying. They do not like doing
difficult things on their own, especially when these require sustained con-
centration. They would rather spend their time in other ways, such as
hanging out with their friends or watching television. In short, studying is
generally disliked by young people, because it involves activities that they
do not enjoy and excludes ones they do enjoy.
One implication of these findings is that, other things being equal,
those young people who like studying most, or dislike it least, will be more
successful in extending their talents and abilities than other youngsters.
So it would be useful to know how those young people who do not partic-
ularly dislike studying differ from those who do. To answer that further
question, Csikszentmihalyi collected information about the teenagers in
his study. He asked them to supply data about the extent to which their
family backgrounds contributed resources that would encourage an ado-
lescent to have high aspirations and act responsibly and independently.
In particular, two measures of the participants' families were obtained.
First, the family backgrounds were rated as being more or less stimulat-
ing. This measure referred to the extent to which parents provided oppor-
tunities to learn and had high educational expectancies. Second, the
families were rated as being more or less supportive. This measure indi-
cated the amount of assistance and structure available in the individual's
home. For instance, a family in which there were clear guidelines, and
clearly allotted tasks, and in which individuals could depend upon one
another, would be rated as highly supportive. Young people in these fami-
lies know what was expected of them and get on with it, and know that
they could count on help if it was needed. A family which was assessed as
lacking structure and support tended to be one in which young people
spent a lot of their time arguing or complaining, or negotiating with each
other and saying things like 'it's not fair' or 'it's not my turn'.
Next, Csikszentmihalyi identified those adolescents in his sample who
had the least dislike for studying. To do this he had to invent a method for
assessing how individuals actually experience what they are doing at any
particular time. He developed a neat technique that involved adolescents
carrying around with them a small bleeper. Ten times every day, on ran-
domly timed occasions, the bleeper would sound. Every time that hap-
pened, the adolescents would get out a small booklet they had been issued
 The young Charles Darwin 43

with and answer some questions about their activity at the time, for
example, what they were doing, where they were, whether they were alone
or in company, and so on. One of the questions asked was whether the
person was enjoying whatever it was that he or she was doing. Another
question asked how alert the person felt at the time when the bleeper
sounded.
When Csikszentmihalyi asked the adolescents how they felt about
activities other than studying, such as talking to friends or watching tele-
vision, their responses were generally positive, and differences in family
background had little effect on the answers. But there was a very different
pattern of responses if the bleeper sounded when an adolescent was stud-
ying. First, answers to the questions about enjoyment and alertness
tended to be negative, with participants usually reporting that they were
not enjoying studying, and not feeling alert or attentive. Second, on these
occasions the answers given were strongly affected by the participants'
family backgrounds. One group was very different from the others; that
was the group whose family backgrounds were both supportive and stim-
ulating. These young people, but not the others, were generally positive
about studying. They enjoyed it more than the others did, and when they
were engaged in study on their own they reported being much more
attentive and alert.
Essentially, certain of the young people observed by Csikzentmihalyi
were perceiving their studying activities very differently from the other
teenagers, and the differences in the way they experienced studying were
closely related to their home backgrounds. Perhaps this was because
young people whose families were both stimulating and supportive had
learned to get on with the job of working at a study activity and had
acquired the habit of doing so. Because they were happier about studying
they devoted more time to it and because they were more alert and
attentive they learned more. Those individuals who were not so well-
prepared for practice and study activities by their family backgrounds
may well have caught up later, but temporarily at least, they were at a real
disadvantage.
The findings of Csikszentmihalyi's investigations encourage us to
believe that Darwin's supportive and stimulating family background
would have made him better equipped than most boys of his age to study
on his own. And released from the detested school, Darwin did indeed
throw himself into his studies at Edinburgh. Settling in was not difficult,
and with all the family connections there were plenty of invitations to dine
in the evenings. Edinburgh was (and still is) an attractive city and an excit-
ing place to be. Darwin conscientiously attended a number of lecture
courses, making detailed notes, and back in the comfortable lodgings
44 Genius Explained

which he and Erasmus had found for themselves they devoured large
numbers of books, borrowing more volumes from the university library
than most students that year. Erasmus, when he first heard in the previous
winter about Charles' new plans, had urged that they should 'read like
horses', and that is just what they did. They studied books on medicine
and anatomy, and other scientific topics, and wrestled with Newton's
Optiks as well as lighter fare such as Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson.
Diligent as Darwin was in his first year at Edinburgh, it was not long
before he found himself wondering whether he was really suited to medi-
cine. A number of bad experiences prompted his doubts, and despite his
initial enthusiasm, he could not hide from himself the fact that the lecture
courses bored him stiff. With the exception of a series of lectures on
chemistry given by Thomas Hope, whose teaching was universally
admired, none of the lectures Darwin attended gripped him. He was also
put off medicine by watching a couple of surgical operations. Operations,
which at that time were conducted without anaesthetics, were horrifying.
Screaming patients writhed against the straps holding them down as the
blood-soaked surgeons rushed to finish their work. It did not help that
one of those operations that Darwin witnessed was on a child. He found
the experience unbearable and could not stay to the end.
Two further discoveries fuelled Darwin's concern about whether he
had made the right decision in choosing medicine. First, he had become
aware (probably from talking to Erasmus) just how wealthy his family
was. If the thought that he would need to earn an income had influenced
his choice of profession, he now knew that doing that was not strictly nec-
essary. Second, Charles Darwin was finding his mind increasingly drawn
away from medicine and towards the scientific disciplines that border
natural history. The habit of observing, and then raising fundamental
questions, had never left him. He noted in his diary on 18 January 1826
that in the evening he had seen a hedge sparrow creeping into a hole in a
tree, and asked himself, 'Where do most birds roost in winter?'. On 9
February he recorded catching a sea mouse. He noticed that it tried to
coil itself into a ball when its mouth was touched. At this point his obser-
vations betray the fact that by now he has come a long way from being a
naive amateur. He remarks that one authority states that the sea mouse
has two feelers, whereas Linnaeus says it has four of them. Darwin had
never stopped being interested in collecting, and now that he was in a uni-
versity environment where he was exposed to the enthusiasms of amateur
natural historians and could see at first hand the work of serious scientists
who were systematically describing and classifying natural phenomena,
he could hardly resist having his own interests dragged back in that direc-
tion. Among the books he had borrowed from the library during the pre-
 The young Charles Darwin 45

vious autumn were a translation ofLinnaeus's system of classification and

books on zoology and entomology. By March 1826 Darwin had begun to
admit his misgivings about medicine in letters to his family: it must have
been well before then that he first began having doubts, perceiving that
his real interests lay elsewhere.
During the remainder of Darwin's two years at Edinburgh much of his
time went into natural history. The 1825-6 academic year ended in May,
and at the end of that month he returned to Shrewsbury, but he spent
much of the summer away from home. He walked with friends in the
Welsh mountains, stayed with his Wedgwood relatives at Maer, went on a
riding tour with his sister Caroline, and enjoyed the shooting at
Woodhouse, where the Owen family always made him welcome. Erasmus
had almost finished his studies by then and was temporarily practising
medicine, although he still had to take a qualifying examination back at
Cambridge University. (Within a few years Erasmus abandoned the pro-
fession: he seemed content to be a dilettante without employment for the
remainder of his life.)
Darwin returned to Edinburgh in November 1826. He was now seven-
teen. This year he did not plan to attend many lectures, and enrolled in
just two courses. One was in medicine, and the other, given by Professor
Robert Jameson, was in natural history. Jameson's course was popular,
and involved carefully organised practical classes as well as lectures. A
number of his students, some of whom went on to enjoy distinguished
careers, commented favourably on Jameson's teaching. (One of them was
George Bidder, an inventive engineer and former child prodigy who we
shall encounter later, in Chapter 6.) But Jameson did not impress
Darwin. He especially disliked Jameson's lectures on geology, describing
them as incredibly dull: they were too pedestrian and insufficiently inno-
vative for the young Charles Darwin. Moreover, Jameson's geological
views clashed with those of Thomas Hope, one of the few Edinburgh
teachers whose lectures Darwin had admired. Perhaps Jameson's lectures
were better suited for students who were not so well informed as Darwin
would have been. Nevertheless, Darwin did benefit from Jameson's pres-
ence at Edinburgh, spending much of his time in the natural history
museum that was run under Jameson's direction. It was a well-organised
museum, one of the largest in Europe, and held some impressive collec-
tions. For a keen young natural scientist like Darwin it made an excellent
working environment.
Despite the fact that in his second year at Edinburgh Darwin was no
longer the conscientious model student who diligently attended lectures
and made careful notes, the activities he did engage in during that time
made an enormous contribution to his development as a scientist.
46 Genius Explained

Without his elder brother to constrain him, Charles was always out and
about, meeting people, walking with friends, attending the meetings of
societies, and, when not otherwise engaged, frequently observing and col-
lecting, and dissecting his specimens. He was keen to learn how to stuff
birds, and for two months he took daily lessons in taxidermy from a freed
black slave, who entertained him with intriguing accounts oflife in exotic
places such as South American tropical rain-forests. The accounts of
daily activities that are found in Darwin's correspondence show that, at
least in the first half of his life, the popular image of him as a withdrawn
individual who avoided company and was often unwell is very wide of the
mark. Until he was well over thirty, Darwin was almost always vigorously
active and outgoing, and usually robustly healthy.
During that year, Darwin became involved in a number of societies at
Edinburgh. He went to meetings of the Wernerian Natural History
Society, where on one occasion he listened to the great American natural-
ist and artist James Audubon. He also heard a report, in the course of a
lecture by Robert Grant, of some of the first original discoveries made by
himself, the speaker's 'zealous young friend Mr Charles Darwin'. He was
especially active in another society, the Plinian Society, which attracted a
wide variety of students and others. Among its members were a number
of radically-minded individuals who challenged religious orthodoxy,
believed in democracy, and thought that the world was created by physi-
cal causes rather than the events recorded in the Bible. These people were
enthusiastic about evolutionary views. By then Darwin was already aware
of the possibility that species evolve rather than being suddenly created in
their final form, having read (probably during the previous summer) his
grandfather Erasmus's Zoomania. He was soon elected to the Plinian
Society's council, and became friendly with some of the most radical
members. These included William Browne, a lively heretic who was
active in anti-clerical politics, and William Greg, who held the daring
notion that the brains of lower animals were not fundamentally different
from those of humans, and challenged the dogma that morality came
from God, not nature.
All this questioning of the established order must have seemed heady
stuff to the seventeen-year-old Darwin, but his contact with the Plinian
Society gave him his first sharp warning that expressing radical or anti-
clerical views could be a dangerous activity. Despite the fact that religious
persecution had abated somewhat since Galileo's time, speaking too
wildly or too freely could still have dangerous consequences. The particu-
lar event Darwin witnessed was a minor one, involving censorship rather
than persecution, but it presaged more sinister acts of oppression that he
was to encounter later, at Cambridge University. All that happened was
 The young Charles Darwin 47

that following a much debated talk by Browne, who argued for the mate-
rialist view that mind and matter are related (contradicting the traditional
Cartesian wisdom), with consciousness being an outcome of the activity
of the brain, some members of the society were so concerned about the
possible consequences of these views having been expressed that it was
decided to strike the record of Browne's proposition from the minutes. It
is not known who did this, or what were the precise reasons underlying
the decision to make the deletions, but for one reason or another that
repressive course of action was judged to be necessary.
Much of Darwin's time at Edinburgh that year was spent working in the
field as a practical natural historian, observing, collecting, and gradually
gaining more and more of the knowledge and skills that distinguish the
expert from the mere hobbyist. Darwin was tireless in his searches for
species. He walked along the coast, and sometimes persuaded the cap-
tains of trawlers dredging the ocean bottom to let him accompany them.
He was looking for sea-creatures, corals, sponges, polyps, leeches, sea-
pens and molluscs, and indeed almost any kind of marine life.
This vigorous activity coincided with his getting to know the prominent
zoologist Robert Grant, an expert on sponges who became one of the
most influential of Darwin's teachers. Grant was a happy choice as
Darwin's first real scientific mentor, because as well as being an excellent
scientist whose own research quickly engaged Darwin's interest, he was a
man whose broader views about the origins ofliving things were unusual
in being strongly inclined towards evolution. Grant, who had studied in
Paris, was an admirer of Lamarck, the great French naturalist (still living
in 1827) who was famous for having produced an influential evolutionary
theory. Lamarck's theory is based upon the assumption that acquired
characteristics can be passed down through inheritance. We now know
that this cannot happen, but in an era when no knowledge of genetics
existed Lamarck's key assumption was not readily disproved. (In the
Soviet Union a variety of Lamarckism was still being advocated by the
biologist T. Lysencko in the 1950s.) Robert Grant had also read and
admired the discussion of evolution in Erasmus Darwin's Zoonomia, an
experience that may have contributed to his willingness to be helpful to
Charles. Grant was an evolutionist and a freethinker at a time when few
scientists challenged the prevailing conservatism. His views would have
provoked Darwin to begin thinking seriously about the evolutionary pos-
sibilities that had been hinted at in Zoonomia.
By guiding Darwin's activities and directing them towards realistic
scientific goals, Grant helped to ensure that the energy of the young
enthusiast was not wasted. At the same time, Grant, whose own dedica-
tion to the practical task of finding specimens was unsparing, gave
48 Genius Explained

Darwin an excellent brief apprenticeship in practical science. In his

search for tiny, almost invisible sea-slugs, Grant would spend up to ten
hours a day wading through bitterly cold waters. Darwin was impressed
by this example, and as he walked and talked with Grant and watched him
at work he learned rapidly from him and began making original observa-
tions himself. On 27 March 1828 the (just) eighteen-year-old Charles
Darwin made the first presentation of his own discoveries at a meeting of
the Plinian Society.
With hindsight, it is blindingly clear that Darwin's second year at
Edinburgh was a crucial period in his development as a scientist. But the
prevailing view at the time, at least within his own family, was that he was
wasting his time. As his father saw it, since Charles was not going to com-
plete his training in medicine another profession had to be found. A
degree course that would lead to ordination as a minister of religion
seemed the best choice. It would then be possible to purchase for Charles
a living as a vicar of a country parish.
Knowing what we do now about Darwin, the idea of him being con-
demned to the routine of a country parsonage seems bizarre, but in fact
his father's plan was not as ridiculous as it might appear to have been. As
the young Michael Faraday had discovered twenty years earlier, science as
a profession still hardly existed (a fact that Darwin's own disciple Thomas
Huxley would find to be still true as late as 1850), and Dr Robert had no
grounds for believing that his son Charles had any chance of ever becom-
ing one of the extremely few individuals to gain a paid job as a scientist.
There were some scientific professors, like Grant, but their numbers were
very small. In any case, a large proportion of them were ordained, and
Robert Darwin would have known that Charles's working towards a uni-
versity degree that would enable him to become a clergyman would not
close the door on his scientific interests. So Darwin's becoming a country
vicar would definitely not have ruled out his taking an active interest in
natural history, and it would not even have prevented Darwin from
making a substantial contribution to science. After all, Gilbert White,
famous for his Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne, which Darwin
had known since childhood, was a curate, and so were the authors of
other influential books. Livings as parish clergymen were not quite sine-
cures, but such was the state of the Church of England at that period that
it was not at all unusual for its ministers to be only mildly concerned
about their pastoral and evangelising responsibilities. Of course, had Dr
Darwin been able to see into the future he might well have made alterna-
tive plans for the final years of Charles's education, but lacking any firm
grounds for predicting that his son would become a leading scientist, the
proposals he arrived at were entirely sound.
 The young Charles Darwin 49

It was decided that Charles would study for a Bachelor of Arts degree
at Cambridge University. Cambridge, because of its links with the
Church, was the appropriate institution for a British student intending to
become ordinated. Darwin had left Edinburgh early in 1827, but to
prepare himself for his course at Cambridge he needed tuition in some of
the subjects at which he was weak, and he did not arrive at the university
until the beginning of 1828, around his nineteenth birthday. During the
three years he spent at Cambridge Darwin did enough work in non-
science subjects to pass his examinations, but as at Edinburgh, much of
his energy went into natural history.
At Cambridge, Darwin enjoyed many of the pleasures that appealed to
affluent and well-bred young men of his generation. He shot (and con-
sumed) many kinds of birds, hunted, rode, drank, and enjoyed the antics
of dining societies. Had it not been for the habitual self-discipline that he
had already acquired in his two years at Edinburgh it is quite possible that
these diversions would have taken over his life. But by now, thanks largely
to the experiences of those Edinburgh years, Darwin was sufficiently
mature to be able to organise his time properly and make sure that during
his three years at Cambridge he did not just enjoy himself with the friends
he made there, but succeeded at his examinations as well, and also found
plenty of opportunities for pursuing natural history.
As soon as he arrived at Cambridge Darwin became friendly with a
second cousin, William Darwin Fox, who shared his passion for insects
and was enthusiastically building a collection of beetles. Being a few years
older than Darwin, Fox left Cambridge earlier, but they maintained their
contacts through frequent letters. From Darwin's surviving letters to Fox,
which are peppered with jokey remarks, it is clear that he gained tremen-
dous enjoyment from entomology (the study of insects). The content of
Darwin's letters to Fox and many of his friends jumps unselfconsciously
from the personal to the scientific and back again. Here there is a sharp
contrast with the correspondence of some other great scientists of the
time, such as Michael Faraday. Faraday kept his personal and profes-
sional lives separate, but Darwin's letters often contain a delightful mix of
warm messages of friendship and scholarly information or requests. For
instance, one letter to Fox, written from home in the summer of 1828,
begins with the lament 'I am dying by inches, from not having any body to
talk to about insects', quickly switches to technical information accompa-
nied by three well executed sketches of beetles, then jumps to the
comment 'I am constantly saying, "I do wish Fox was here"' and repeats a
previous invitation, adding that 'My Father desired me to say, that he
should be at anytime most happy to see you'. The letter next moves to a
technical description for another paragraph, mentioning that Darwin has
50 Genius Explained

seen 'the Cocc: bipunctata (or dispar) 4 or 5 in actu coitus with a black
one with 4 red marks', then asks Fox's pardon 'for sending such a very
selfish letter', disarmingly requests Fox to 'remember I am your pupil',
asks about Fox's plans for the summer, and concludes with plans for their
next meeting and queries about family matters. 15
Correspondence with a friend often continued for many years. In
William Darwin Fox's case, although he and Darwin rarely met after Fox
left Cambridge, the two were still writing to each other in the 1870s.
When Fox died in 1880 Darwin was too unwell to attend his cousin's
funeral, but he poignantly remarked that he could still picture his face and
imagine his voice as clearly as if he were present in the room.
Something else that is evident from the contents of Darwin's letters to
his cousin, which often concerned birds, beetles, and other species they
were interested in, is that Charles Darwin at this time usually knew what
he was talking about. Fox must have been taken aback at first to discover
that by the time Darwin arrived at Cambridge, this young man who had
only just reached his nineteenth birthday was already something of an
expert and almost certainly better-informed than Fox himself, who as
well as being older than Darwin was devoted to natural history and quite
an ambitious collector. Darwin himself was building up a substantial col-
lection, and was prepared to devote considerable time to it, and money
too when that was necessary. As in his second year at Edinburgh, he was
constantly going on long walks and expeditions, searching for new and
rare specimens. He was furious to discover that a supplier whom he was
paying to provide beetles was letting another collector have the first pick,
and reported to his cousin, 'accordingly, we have made our final adieus,
my part in the affecting scene consisted in telling him he was a d---d
rascal, & signifying I should kick him down the stairs if he ever appeared
in my rooms again'. 16
As we have seen, Darwin never had difficulty finding mature scientists
who were willing to take him seriously. In Darwin's correspondence
during his three years at Cambridge there are increasing signs that his
skills were admired by his friends, who already included a number of
competent scientists. By the time he began his lifelong friendship in early
1830 with Professor John Henslow, the most influential of Darwin's
mentors, it was clear that Henslow already regarded him as a very promis-
ing young biologist.
John Henslow, Professor of Botany at Cambridge University, is rightly

15 Letter from Charles Darwin to William Darwin Fox, I2 June I828, p. 56, The
Correspondence of Charles Darwin, vol. I, p. s6. Burkhardt & Smith (I98s).
16 Letter from Charles Darwin to William Darwin Fox, April I, I829. The Correspondence of
Charles Darwin, Vol. I correspondence vol. I, 8r. Burkhardt & Smith (I985).
 The young Charles Darwin 51

regarded as the most influential of all Darwin's teachers. He was enor-

mously helpful to Charles Darwin throughout much of his early career.
Henslow had many virtues. On his death in 1861, Darwin wrote to Joseph
Hooker, Henslow's son-in-law, 'I fully believe a better man never walked
this earth'. 17 As well as being a good scientist Henslow was by all accounts
sincere, friendly, helpful, wise, well-intentioned and anxious to encourage
young naturalists. Nobody profited from his helpfulness more than
Darwin did. But the usual view of their relationship as being one between
the wise mature teacher and the naive, unformed apprentice is inaccu-
rate. Darwin had first learned ofHenslow's reputation as early as 1823, in
a letter from Erasmus. He attended Henslow's lectures and went to parties
at his house in Darwin's first years at Cambridge, as well as going on some
of the excursions Henslow organised. Yet by the time Darwin got to know
Henslow really well and became his frequent companion on walks and
expeditions into the countryside, Darwin was within a year of completing
his degree. By then he had already gained quite a reputation among his
friends and teachers and had convinced them that he was no ordinary nat-
uralist. He had been continuing his vigorous pursuit of natural history,
extending the knowledge and skills that had already been considerable by
the time he had ceased studying with Robert Grant at Edinburgh.
Ever since he had been a child often or so, Darwin had enthusiastically
pursued his interest in the natural environment. Year after year he had
continued adding to his knowledge and skills. By the time he left
Cambridge, at the age of twenty-two, he would have devoted at least
several thousands of hours to natural history. The sheer time and effort he
had so enthusiastically- and with so much obvious enjoyment- spent on
observing and collecting would almost inevitably have equipped him with
a level of expertise that went well beyond what was to be expected in those
young people for whom natural history was simply an enjoyable hobby.
Of course, just being interested in an activity and spending time doing it
does not guarantee expertise, as many people who play tennis or bridge
every week are aware, but Darwin brought to his collecting activities a
combination of curiosity and enthusiasm that would have guaranteed that
as well as enjoying his hobby he would actively extend his competence.
He also had good access to the scientific books that provided the knowl-
edge he required. Even by the time when Darwin had first arrived at
Edinburgh, his earlier work in the chemistry laboratory that he and
Erasmus had constructed at home would have provided him with a
degree of scientific expertise that would have been unusual in a young
person of his age. Consequently, the young man of twenty or so who

17 The correspondence of Charles Darwin, U!l. 9, p. 133, Burkhardt & Smith (1994).
52 Genius Explained

accompanied Henslow on his walks was no raw youth, but a scholar

whom a botanist as perceptive as Henslow would have noticed to be one
of the most promising natural historians of his generation at Cambridge,
perhaps the most promising. Certainly by the summer of 1831 Henslow
saw Darwin in precisely that light. Had he not done so he would never
have singled him out as the person who was most fitting to be given the
matchless opportunity for a naturalist that was being made available by
the voyage of HMS Beagle.
It has often been said that Beagle's voyage 'made' Darwin, but that is
only true up to a point. The voyage did not present him with evidence that
instantly converted him to the view that species evolve by natural selec-
tion: there were no sudden 'Eureka!' experiences of that kind. Indeed, as
Frank Sulloway has pointed out, some of the most compelling evidence
for evolution that Darwin encountered, notably in the Galapagos archi-
pelago which the Beagle visited in 1853, was either mistakenly described
or labelled, as in the instance of 'Darwin's finches', or not collected by
Darwin at all, as in the case of the Galapagos tortoises. 18
All the same, if Darwin had not had the opportunity to take part in a
lengthy expedition it is unlikely that he would have developed into the
great theorist he became. As well as exposing him to an immense variety
of unfamiliar phenomena that would have sparked new thoughts and new
insights in a mind as well-prepared as his, the voyage gave him the leisure
and the intellectual privacy to contemplate freely and at length. And by
getting away from Cambridge and England he was escaping from a
mental climate in which certain thoughts were unthinkable. On the other
side of the world, especially during the lengthy periods spent exploring in
the South American continent, well removed from the company of the
Beagle's ultra-conservative captain, Robert Fitzroy, there was little to con-
strain Darwin's thinking. So,
Five years on board the Beagle taught Darwin to think for himself and allowed
him, especially through his geological work, to envision himself as a theoretician
with a penchant for far-reaching explanations and universal laws. Once the
anxious collector on the Beagle was transformed into an increasingly bold geolog-
ical theorist, Darwin was able to transfer his developing intellectual talents to
many other related fields of science. Thus the influence of the Beagle voyage tran-
scended any particular scientific field or discovery on Darwin's part. In the
process, the voyage provided Darwin with something much more important,
namely the opportunity to mature intellectually under highly auspicious circum-
stances and thereby to become the Darwin that history now celebrates. 19
Darwin became increasingly confident as the voyage proceeded. At the
beginning he saw himself as a collector providing specimens for Henslow
18 See pp. r45-6 in Sulloway (r985). 19 Sulloway (r985), p. r46.
 The young Charles Darwin 53

and the 'serious' scientists back in Europe. When many months went by
without any ofHenslow's letters reaching him (an understandable conse-
quence of the difficulty of communicating by post with a small sailing
craft circumnavigating the globe) he initially became more and more
anxious that he was failing at his duties. Only after Henslow's supportive
and encouraging letters finally reached him did Darwin start to become
sufficiently assured to start thinking of himself as a theoretical scientist in
his own right. 20
It would be wrong to assume that had it not been for the Beagle Darwin
would have become just another country parson who dabbled in natural
history. One can only speculate on what might have happened, but by the
time the opportunity to join the voyage arrived Darwin was set to make a
definite impact, albeit one that might otherwise have been less theoretical
and not nearly so important to science. Even without the Beagle, Darwin's
eventual reputation might well have been on a par with the well-regarded
natural scientists of the day, such as Henslow or Hooker.
It is not even true that had it not been for the Beagle Darwin would have
been unable to travel in other continents. At Edinburgh, he talked at
length to the freed slave who taught him taxidermy and who had accom-
panied the naturalist Charles Waterton on his travels in South America.
Darwin was also hugely impressed by Humboldt's account of that conti-
nent. He copied out Humboldt's descriptions of Tenerife, with its lush
vegetation and volcanic scenery, and enthusiastically read them aloud to
his friends. Like a number of nineteenth-century naturalists who were
able to go on extensive voyages, including Charles Lyell, Thomas Huxley,
Alfred Wallace, Henry Bates and Joseph Hooker, Darwin was eager for
the experiences that such a voyage could provide, and wealthy enough to
be relatively unconcerned about the cost. In the summer of 1831 Darwin
threw himself into making plans for a scientific voyage to Tenerife. The
intention was that Darwin would be accompanied by Henslow and
several other naturalists. To Darwin's dismay, by early August it was
apparent that the plan would have to be postponed, but there was no
doubt about the seriousness of Darwin's intentions. What this episode
demonstrates is that even if the Beagle opportunity had not arisen,
Darwin would have devoted considerable efforts to finding a way to go on
some other scientific voyage to the tropics.
The question has to be asked: Why, when the invitation to accompany
the Beagle first arrived towards the end of 1831, was his father so firmly
opposed to the project? If Charles Darwin really was a seriously commit-
ted and well-prepared young naturalist by then, why was Dr Robert less

20 Sulloway (1985).
54 Genius Explained

than enthusiastic? As we have seen, for all his faults Dr Robert had usually
displayed considerable sensitivity and judgement on matters connected
with Charles's future. So why not now? The answer to that question is
interesting because it throws light on aspects of Darwin's character that
contributed to his genius.
There was not just one reason for Dr Robert's initial opposition to the
Beagle plan. Even today, despite the telephones, faxes, cheap travel and
electronic mail that make long-distance travel a far less daunting prospect
than it used to be, a parent can find it alarming to be suddenly confronted
with the prospect of a twenty-two-year-old son disappearing for a period
of years to the other side of the world. That would appear especially wor-
rying if the father had recently been very ill (as Dr Darwin had, in the pre-
vious November) and the son (as in Darwin's case) had never left Britain
except for a short trip to Paris in the company of an older sister. On those
grounds alone, there is nothing outrageously insensitive about Dr
Robert's initial negativity. But there was another important reason,
namely that neither Dr Robert nor the other members of Darwin's imme-
diate family quite appreciated how accomplished and serious and com-
mitted a scientist Charles had become. As we have seen, they had
persisted with a view of him that was somewhat out-of-date. They had
experienced few signs of the ferocious determination with which he could
pursue his interests. They were still seeing him as the younger son, able
enough, but somewhat immature and aimless, and still in need of the
guidance of his family, whether to correct his spelling errors or to keep
him from spending most of his time shooting, hunting, and drinking with
his friends. To them the prospective voyage of the Beagle might well have
seemed too much like a dangerous jaunt, perhaps not entirely respect-
able, and certainly a hazardous prospect for the vulnerable and impres-
sionable (in their eyes) young Charles.
Not being fully aware of his growing reputation as a serious naturalist,
Charles's father and his sisters could not at first perceive that, dangerous
and uncertain as the prospective voyage undoubtedly was, it was also a
marvellous scientific opportunity. Nor did they appreciate the extent to
which Charles was being honoured by being chosen. They were not aware
that the invitation represented an acknowledgement of the remarkable
promise that influential scientists had discerned in this particular young
man.
In the event, it only took a briefletter from Dr Robert's brother-in-law
to make Darwin's father understand the true situation, and see that his
reaction had been too hasty and rapidly change his mind. In this, as in
other matters, the much-maligned Dr Robert was neither foolish nor
inflexible. But why was it that his family's perception of Charles's pros-
 The young Charles Darwin 55

pects had been so inaccurate? To some extent their faulty understanding

can be attributed to the not-uncommon tendency for parents and older
siblings to persist with out-of-date impressions of a young brother who
has grown up and changed in their absence. But part of the reason lay in
the behaviour of Charles himself, who, as we have seen, did remarkably
little to discourage his family's misperceptions of him. At a very young age
Darwin had devised his own way of responding to criticism that he con-
sidered unwelcome or unfair. He would grit his teeth and say nothing,
and neither argue nor attempt to justify himself to whoever was criticising
him, whilst inside his mind he would persist with his own opinions and go
on in precisely the same way. As he put it in his Autobiography, writing
about his older sister Caroline, always kindly but 'too zealous in trying to
improve me' when he was a young boy, Charles would often wonder what
she would blame him for next, and to protect himself, 'I made myself
dogged so as not to care what she might say'.
This practice became a habit, and one that usually served Darwin well.
Keeping his head down and retreating into his shell was a good way of
dealing with Dr Butler's disapproval at Shrewsbury School, for example.
Darwin simply went on concentrating on his own interests, without both-
ering too much about Butler's opinion. And when his sisters exhorted
him to change his habits, or take more interest in religion, or improve his
spelling, Charles often thanked them for their well-intentioned advice but
rarely followed it.
For Darwin, acting in this way was a way of providing himself with the
kind of protective shell which all geniuses require and all make for them-
selves, but in differing ways. Major creative achievements are only pos-
sible when an individual is able to concentrate more or less exclusively
and for long periods of time, free from distractions and other concerns,
and unconstrained by mundane worries and anxieties. Some kind of
private space is necessary, providing a means of gaining privacy and isola-
tion, and a degree of separation from the pressures of other people and
their demands.
There are a number ofways to achieve this. Isaac Newton made it pos-
sible to devote all his energies to his work by becoming to some extent
oblivious to the needs of other people, almost always giving priority to his
own interests. Michael Faraday enabled himself to concentrate exclu-
sively on his scientific work through the use of a number of devices,
including keeping his professional and personal lives entirely separate,
strictly limiting his social engagements, and cultivating a degree of
unworldliness and paying little or no attention to external concerns, such
as the political crises that filled his most active decades. Other creative
scholars and artists have gone to similar lengths to keep their thoughts
56 Genius Explained

free from interfering distractions, often neglecting other responsibilities,

sometimes acting with monstrous selfishness towards their loved ones, as
Dickens did, or using other people shamelessly, as Picasso did, or being
childishly irresponsible, as Mozart sometimes was. The good-natured
and sociable Darwin, for whom the cooperation and friendship of others
was always important, required more subtle ways of holding people at
arm's length. Later in life he achieved this through a carefully devised
style ofliving, but in his younger days the practice of keeping many of his
thoughts to himself while encouraging others to think of him as they
wished served reasonably well. There were occasional blips, however, of
which the near-fiasco at the time of his invitation to join the Beagle was by
far the most serious.
It would be an exaggeration to say that by the time Charles Darwin
joined the Beagle at the age of twenty-two his career was assured, but he
had undoubtedly prepared himself admirably well, in the course of his
outwardly unexceptional childhood and adolescence. Within two years of
his return to England in 1836 he had worked out the essential details of
the theory that was to make him famous. Nobody could have predicted at
that time that he or any other young scientist would achieve that. Even so,
had detailed information been made available at that time concerning the
progress until then of Charles Darwin and the score or so most promising
naturalists among his contemporaries, it is not at all unlikely that he
would have been picked as the one most likely to become a major scien-
tist.
That is not to say that anyone could have predicted then that Charles
Darwin would become known as the great scientist who produced the
theory of evolution by natural selection. His succeeding at that achieve-
ment still seems remarkable. But the fact that something is remarkable
does not justify our insisting that it simply could not happen in the
absence of mysteries or miracles, or that it requires the intervention of
special genes, or innate gifts that create a distinct breed of geniuses. And
there are no compelling reasons to suggest that the kinds of reasons that
very adequately explain Darwin's progress until the age of twenty-two or
so cannot also account for his later achievements. Even the motivational
forces that drove those mental activities that helped Darwin to move
ahead are unmysterious. With some geniuses it is hard to understand why
they persevered quite so long or struggled quite so hard, but in Darwin's
case his obvious enjoyment of what he was doing seems to provide ample
justification for the learning activities of his formative years, and, if to a
lesser extent, for the more strenuous mental exertions of his later career.
That the Charles Darwin who embarked upon his lengthy voyage on
HMS Beagle was already a well-prepared young scientist, and not aimless
 The young Charles Darwin 57

at all, does not detract from the fact the years on the Beagle were
immensely influential ones. As well as the rich diet of experiences it
exposed him to, the voyage gave Darwin time for prolonged and uncon-
strained ruminations. His careful reading of Charles Lyell's newly-pub-
lished Principles of Geology, which established beyond reasonable doubt
that the physical world in its present form came into being as a conse-
quence of gradual change, would have removed any lingering belief in the
Genesis story of the earth's beginnings. Darwin, who had already been
encouraged to speculate about evolution and its possible causes, was able
to see that if Genesis was so utterly mistaken about the causes of changes
in the physical landscape, it could hardly be right about the origins of
flora and fauna.
The achievements of Darwin's later career were to make heavy
demands upon his determination and his courage, as well as involving
immense intellectual struggles, but by then he had already acquired a
degree of commitment to his work that kept him wedded to the scientific
problems that faced him. The fact that following the return to Britain of
HMS Beagle towards the end of 1836 he received much praise and recog-
nition for what he had achieved during the voyage cannot have been
unhelpful. Certainly, the years immediately following his return were a
period in which he was furiously active as a scientist. Even then he was
distracted by a variety of false leads and unfruitful ideas that delayed his
reaching the conclusions that formed the nub of evolutionary theory. It
was in 1838, when Darwin was twenty-seven and two years after his
return, that it became clear to him that natural selection was the key to
evolution, the insight which created a profound revolution in human
knowledge when it was eventually published in 1859.
3 The long ascent of George Stephenson

Until the 1830s, travelling conditions in England had improved little since
the Norman invasion of 1066, although recent improvements in road sur-
faces allowed the very fastest coaches from London to reach Exeter, 200
miles to the west, in 16 hours and Manchester, even further in the north,
in 26 hours. Then, quite suddenly, the railways arrived. People rushed to
take advantage of the new trains, quickly jettisoning their fears about this
alarming way of being moved around at amazing velocities. Men and
women who a few years earlier would have hooted with laughter at the
very idea of humans being transported at much above 10 mph were regu-
larly travelling at four times that speed. Charles Darwin's 1838 diary finds
him grumbling like a present-day commuter about late trains and missed
connections. The British statesman W. E. Gladstone, another frequent
traveller by train, confided to his diary a stream of similar complaints
about waiting for late connections and enduring smoky carriages.
Railway travel created exciting new possibilities for those who could
afford it. On the afternoon ofhis wedding in Shrewsbury in January 1839
Charles Darwin and his bride caught a train to London, arriving the same
evening. By the early 1840s there were already almost 2,000 miles of
railway lines in Britain, and even Queen Victoria enthused about rail. In
1849 a new line through the northern wilds of East Yorkshire allowed
Charlotte Bronte (whose brother Branwell had worked for a railway
company) to take her ailing youngest sister Anne for what was intended to
be a holiday in the seaside resort of Scarborough. Sadly and unexpect-
edly, Anne died there within a few days. On a dark evening in 1851, a
despairing George Eliot enacted a scene that would not have been out of
place in Brief Encounter. She begged the man she loved to explain his feel-
ings as they waited for her train. The train 'whirled her away very sad,' he
recorded, just after he had warned her 'that I felt great affection for her
but that I loved E. [his mistress] and S. [his wife] also'. The future author
of Middlemarch could not foresee that she would soon be setting up house
with a different married lover, but she did perceive that with railways now
commonplace, the world of her childhood -Jane Austen's unchanging
England -had been left behind.

58
 The long ascent of George Stephenson 59

These revolutionary changes were made possible by the efforts of a

self-trained colliery worker, George Stephenson, who in sharp contrast to
Charles Darwin was born in poverty and never had a single day's school-
ing. Because of Stephenson, Britain was the first country in the world to
have passenger railways. The Victorians called him 'The Father of
Railways'. George Stephenson was a quite astounding individual, a genu-
inely heroic figure who achieved eminence against all the odds, through
extraordinary determination and will-power.
Stephenson was a great engineer and inventor. He did not invent loco-
motives, and nor was he the first engineer to use metal rails. Even so, the
railway revolution and the immense changes it brought would have been
much delayed had it not been for his inventive genius, and his gritty
capacity to persevere in the face of ridicule and hostility. Stephenson's
efforts were opposed by many influential people who were certain that his
aims were impossible, and also by powerful landowners who suspected
that railways would harm their own interests. George Stephenson was the
butt of many insults from well-bred individuals who were convinced that
nothing of merit could be created by an ignorant working man from the
remote north-east of England.
Despite his lack of formal education, George Stephenson was a practi-
cal visionary as well as being a remarkable inventor. As early as 1814,
when a locomotive engine that was efficient and reliable had yet to be
invented, and there were no obvious reasons for thinking that locomotives
could ever be other than cumbrous and dangerous machines, Stephenson
had already become convinced that railway travel was a practical possibil-
ity. He was also sure that he personally would play a part in making that
happen. 'I will' he said, 'do something in coming time which will astonish
all England'. 1 His foresight would have been remarkable even in someone
who had not grown up poor and unschooled in a region that most edu-
cated people regarded as a backwater. A bare decade later, Stephenson's
own success had made it realistic for him to prophesy with some
confidence to a young assistant that 'before you are a very old man you
will see railways as the highways of the world'. 2
George Stephenson demonstrated his commitment to turning his
vision into reality by showing a willingness to put personal gain aside if
doing that would bring closer the goal of practical steam locomotion. For
much ofhis life he had to struggle financially, but by the age of forty, at the
time when the Stockton and Darlington Railway was being constructed in
the early 1820s, he was at last starting to prosper. He had taken out a

1 Quoted by Rolt, rg6o, p. 54 (apparently said to Robert Summerside at Killingworth).

2 Quoted in Summerside (r878), p. 8.
60 Genius Explained

patent for cast-iron rails. It had been agreed that Stephenson's rails would
be used for the new railway, bringing him a profit worth more than his
yearly salary. So when he was asked to comment on the idea of introduc-
ing a different kind of rail, made of wrought iron and costing over twice
the price of his own, an unenthusiastic response could have been antici-
pated. But Stephenson insisted on using the new 'malleable' wrought-
iron rails, despite the financial loss to himself. He stressed their advantage
of being unbreakable, unlike rails made of cast-iron, and he persuaded his
employers that the reduction in repairs and delays would justify the extra
expense.

George Stephenson was born 9 June 1781 in Wylam, a mining village on

the Tyne, eight miles west of Newcastle. The coal that was mined in the
area was valued because it could be taken along the river to the sea and
thence to London, avoiding the prohibitive costs of haulage by road. A
couple of generations earlier, another young working-class man from the
north-east of England, James Cook, who was to become famous as the
great British navigator and explorer who charted much of Australia and
discovered Antarctica, had gained his navigating skills on the sturdy
boats, known as 'cats', which carried the coal to London. Both men were
unusually tall, and they were both strong and vigorous individuals who at
an early age showed themselves to be resourceful as well as dependable.
Stephenson's father, Robert, who had been born in Scotland and moved
south when working as a servant, married the daughter of a dyer, and they
had six children, George being the second. Robert Stephenson worked as
a mine fireman, keeping one of the engines at the Wylam colliery in fuel.
Stephenson's first biographer, Samuel Smiles, was told by local people
who had known Robert that he never lacked company as he tended his
engine fire, because the local children would gather around him to listen
to stories. Unfortunately, his wage of twelve shillings per week was barely
sufficient to keep his family in food. To put Robert Stephenson's yearly
earnings into perspective, they were little more than a day's income for a
moderately wealthy individual such as Charles Darwin's father. Unlike
the Darwins, the Stephenson family were extremely poor. There was no
money to send any of the Stephenson children to school.
The earliest years of George Stephenson's life were unremarkable. He
played around the village and looked for birds' nests. The region was still
largely rural: it was grubby from the mining works but had not yet
become the blackened area of industrial activity that Samuel Smiles was
to encounter when he visited the area soon after Stephenson's death.
There were a few vague intimations of future achievements surpassing
those of most boys from beginnings like his, and some anecdotes
 The long ascent of George Stephenson 61

recorded in Samuel Smiles' biography give the impression that the

Stephenson children were given more encouragement by their parents
than would have been usual in the household of a poor mine labourer.
George listened to his father's stories. He remembered the first time his
father took him to see a blackbird's nest, full of the new offspring. As a
middle-aged man he recalled his father's love of the robins that hopped
around his feet to pick up crumbs from the dinner that young George had
carried out to the workplace.
It is significant that the future railway engineer happened to grow up
with railways in his front yard. They were wooden rails, along which coal
wagons were pulled by horses - running just in front of Stephenson's
home, a single room of a small cottage inhabited by four separate families.
One of his first responsibilities was to care for his younger brothers and
sisters and keep them out of the way of the wagons. That apart, however,
nothing that is known about George Stephenson's early years provides
any genuine reason for anticipating that he would become the great engi-
neer and inventor who brought the railways to Britain, and whose
confident face still looks out from every English £5 note. Stephenson was
not a child prodigy, and was given no special early training and had no
unusual opportunities. His family had no influential relatives or friends.
There was never any hint of a wealthy patron to lend him a helping hand.
Stephenson as a child had little in common with those individuals, like
Mozart, whose earliest years have provided a special preparation for the
person's subsequent career by providing unusual opportunities that
would encourage the acquisition of skills and knowledge that the child
could build upon. There was nothing like that in Stephenson's early life.
His was the kind of childhood that would nowadays be described as edu-
cationally disadvantaged as well as impoverished.
So how was it possible for George Stephenson to become a genius and
a great engineer, despite all these handicaps, and with no obvious advan-
tages? How did he do it? The kinds of obstacles that Stephenson faced
have stunted many a young person's progress, condemning large
numbers of individuals to the restricted lives of illiterate and unskilled
men and women. How did George Stephenson manage to escape that
fate?
On the face of things, accounting for Stephenson's accomplishments
seems quite impossible. Virtually all the elements that can encourage
young learners to forge ahead seem to have been absent. His success in
the face of all his disadvantages appears totally mysterious. Yet a careful
examination of the young Stephenson's actual circumstances does reveal
a few clues, providing the beginnings of an explanation. When we care-
fully trace the route taken by his early life it becomes clear that although
62 Genius Explained

George Stephenson's early experiences were far from being ones that
would normally be associated with the acquisition of exceptional exper-
tise, they did nevertheless give him some uncommon chances to gain
some of the special capabilities that would have helped a young person to
become an engineer. And Stephenson's everyday experiences also pre-
sented him with special opportunities to know about recent technological
advances that were beginning to make it possible for steam power, in
combination with metal rails, to be exploited for moving coal and other
materials within collieries.
So perhaps the young George Stephenson's prospects were not so
entirely bleak as at first glance they seem to have been. During the years
when he was edging towards adulthood, a perceptive worker like
Stephenson might have perceived that steam locomotion was starting to
be a practical possibility. And as he added to his practical skills, he would
have become aware that he already possessed some of the knowledge and
some of the capabilities that could help to make that possibility into a
reality.

Almost all we know about George Stephenson's early years and much of
our knowledge of his later life comes from the Life of George Stephenson
by Samuel Smiles, who began work on the biography soon after
Stephenson's death in 1848. It was published in 1857, two years before
Smiles' better known Self Help appeared, and was a widely admired best-
seller. George Eliot was among those who praised it.
The Life of George Stephenson provides a vivid and colourful picture of
Stephenson's life. Samuel Smiles was particularly well-equipped to write
about Stephenson, being the secretary of a railway company as well as an
experienced journalist. He had seen Stephenson and had heard him lec-
turing, and he was given aid and encouragement by George Stephenson's
already distinguished engineer son, Robert. To collect information,
Smiles repeatedly visited the region where Stephenson had grown up. He
located a number of old people who had known the great engineer and
were happy to provide recollections of his childhood. Smiles, whose job
working for a railway company had led to him becoming closely involved
with many aspects of railway construction, put his own experience to
good use in writing about the problems that Stephenson had encoun-
tered.
Smiles was a fervent admirer of George Stephenson. The engineer's
lack of interest in religion would have troubled his more pious biogra-
pher, but that aside, Stephenson epitomised most of the qualities that
Smiles valued: courage, thrift, optimism, diligence, and above all perse-
verance. Fortunately, Smiles was a superb storyteller. The disarming
 The long ascent of George Stephenson 63

warmth, colour, and sincerity of his writing brings George Stephenson

back to life. It is a most un-Victorian biography. But good as it is, Smiles'
biography is not always reliable. At times it takes on a 'Life of The Saint'
quality, in which successive scenes present our hero being kind to
animals, exhibiting generosity to the needy, showing courage in adversity,
and so on. Smiles was sharply aware of how very hard it had been for
Stephenson to make his way, and in the early part of the biography he
almost seems to be cheering his hero on, willing him to overcome the
obstacles he kept encountering. Of course, we would not expect a biogra-
phy published in 1857 to dwell on the faults of its subject. Paradoxically,
however, the very one-sidedness of Smiles' account helps the reader to
discern them, because the frankly partisan Smiles is so eager to leap to
Stephenson's defence against his detractors that he only just stops short
of revealing the substance of their attacks. After being urged to perceive
that,
For the first fifty years of his life, he had everything against him. He owed nothing
to luck, to patronage, to the advantages of education .... He had to conquer every
inch of the ground on which he stood.
His conquests were not easy: for arrayed against him were, first, his own ignorance
... and second, the opposition of men of knowledge and science, who stood
united to oppose him and could only be silenced by success.
There is something tragic in witnessing the determined hostility which obstructed
his efforts. The whole prejudice of the scientific world opposed him ... He was
not 'one of us;' he had never received an engineer's education. They would not
admit his facts. They would not even enquire into his experiments. 3
a reader of the Life will suspect that George Stephenson could not have
always been the genial and even-tempered individual who is introduced
by Smiles, with little pretence at impartiality.
Stephenson undoubtedly felt bitter and resentful about the vicious
attacks that were made on him by people who in his eyes were pampered
as well as ignorant, and incapable of understanding how hard he had
struggled or appreciating how much he had achieved. He could not have
survived without being forceful and aggressive. And yet when recent
biographers point out that Stephenson could be irascible or overbearing,
and inclined to bear grudges, 4 our admiration is only slightly diminished.
He could be proud and jealous, and he sometimes failed to give credit to
those who had helped him. Squabbles with rival engineers occasionally

3 Smiles (r88r) p. v-vi. (This and subsequent quotations from Samuel Smiles' The life of
George Stephenson are taken from the r88r Centenary Edition of this biography, which
was originally published in r857).
4 See, for example, Davies (r975), p. r67; Rolt (rg6o), p. ro.
64 Genius Explained

festered into bitter disputes. But warts and all, George Stephenson was a
most remarkable individual, a true hero from the working class, and a
self-made titan.

Having established that George Stephenson's distinctly unprom1smg

beginnings did contain a few elements that an energetic and resourceful
young man just might have succeeded in turning into opportunities, we
can now edge further towards providing an explanation of Stephenson's
accomplishments. The starting point will be the conviction that if it is
possible to trace the course of Stephenson's journey through his child-
hood in a manner that lays bare the route taken by him as he gradually
moved ahead, it ought to be possible to begin to account for his capabil-
ities. Extraordinary as these were, once his actual progress has been
examined we can see that there is no compelling reason to believe that
their origins were either mysterious or miraculous.
Fortunately, thanks largely to the biography that Samuel Smiles com-
pleted so soon after Stephenson's death, information that can help us to
discern the route followed in Stephenson's early life is reasonably abun-
dant. Unlike certain biographers who devote no more than half a dozen
pages to their subjects' childhoods, Smiles did appreciate that events in a
child's early years profoundly affect a person's development. He also
knew that the progress of an individual depended upon the day-to-day
accumulation of those experiences and activities that made up a person's
life. In contrast with some authors, such as the biographer who attributes
Alfred Hitchcock's lifelong fear of being alone or in darkness to a single
frightening childhood incident, 5 Smiles never succumbed to the 'even-
tism' tendency, in which it is assumed that long-lasting dispositions are
typically caused by particularly intense or traumatic single incidents. He
was acutely aware that acquired attributes are rarely the outcome of one
particular event, and far more likely to result from numerous repetitive
and undramatic daily experiences that take place over a lengthy period.
Exceptional capabilities are not created from occasional dramatic hap-
penings. In reality they build up gradually, largely as a consequence of the
steady repetition of unexciting daily routines and activities.
Psychological research into expertise has underlined the wisdom of
Smiles' insights, confirming that individuals' capabilities are largely
gained through lengthy exposure to the ordinary and routine background
events, repeated day after day, that make up the bulk of a person's life,
rather than by occasional foreground incidents that seize attention
because of their dramatic or sensational nature. Gaining unusual degrees

5 Spoto (1983).
 The long ascent of George Stephenson 65

of competence invariably depends on a person having frequent and

regular exposure to experiences that provide practice and training,
repeated hour after hour, over long periods of time. In a number of
Samuel Smiles's books he also stresses the importance of personal qual-
ities such as perseverance and determination, again drawing attention to
the importance of qualities that have more recently been highlighted in
research studies investigating the acquisition of expertise.
The account of Stephenson's life provided in Smiles's biography pro-
vides valuable glimpses of the activities that enabled the would-be engi-
neer to gain the skills he needed. From the time when George was eight,
when the mine where his father worked ran out of coal and was closed
down, forcing him to find another job and the family to move to a one-
room cottage near the new pit, the accounts that emerge from the recol-
lections that Smiles collected from people who knew George as a child
begin to suggest that the boy was unusually resourceful for his age. For
example, there is a story of him spending a whole day looking after horses
at the local market to earn a shilling so that his sister could buy a new
bonnet, and another report of him getting a job minding cows at tup-
pence per day.
The charming simplicity of tales like these is of course no guarantee of
their accuracy, and it is hard to decide how much credence to give to
them. On the one hand it is apparent that Smiles did talk to a substantial
number of individuals, and the content and tone of the different reports
are persuasively consistent. On the other hand, however, experimental
research has confirmed that people's recollections of events that hap-
pened a long time ago are often unreliable. Old memories can be accu-
rate, but it is also the case that hindsight can affect people's recall of
distant events, especially when the person whose deeds are being remem-
bered has since become well known. Research findings have established
that even the most confidently voiced recollections are suspect, the
degree of confidence people have in the truth of their memories being no
guide to their actual veracity. As Mark Twain remarked, what is particu-
larly astonishing is not what people remember but the number of remem-
bered events that did not actually happen.
We are probably on firmer ground with recollections that describe
specific childhood activities, especially ones that are uncommon. There is
a detailed account, which seems unlikely to be a pure invention, of
Stephenson as a child making models of engines and mine machinery out
of clay, supplemented by corks and twine and pieces of waste wood.
Stephenson was not the only innovator to have been an enthusiastic
model builder in his childhood: the young Isaac Newton was constantly
building mechanical models. The descriptions of Stephenson's models
66 Genius Explained

make it clear that some of them were highly ingenious. By this time he was
undoubtedly giving plenty of close attention to machines and carefully
observing their workings. 'Much to the marvel of the pitmen', 6 Smiles
reported, George and a friend constructed an elaborate apparatus in the
form of a miniature winding machine, linked to a model engine made
from clay from a local bog and hemlock branches that served as imagi-
nary steam pipes. The apparatus simulated the activity of sending tubs of
coal, which the boys modelled with hollowed-out corks linked by twine,
up and down a mine, using a structure constructed from pieces of waste
wood found in the nearby carpenters' shop.
Stephenson's activities as he approached adulthood provide firm evi-
dence of a willingness to work hard and throw himself into the kinds of
pursuits that would have extended his capabilities enough for him to have
aimed at becoming more than an unskilled pit workman. As a child he
worked at a variety of jobs, leading plough-horses, hoeing turnips,
working as a colliery 'corf-bitter' employed to clear stones and dross from
the coal, and looking after the horse-powered 'gin' or winding-wheel
which lifted coal out of the mine. At the age of thirteen he was, in the rec-
ollection of one of Smiles' elderly informants, 'a grit growing lad, with
bare legs an' feet' who was 'very quick-witted and full of fun and tricks:
indeed, there was nothing under the sun but he tried to imitate'. 7
Stephenson's earliest ambition was to become an engineman, respon-
sible for the daily operation of a steam engine, and he made his first big
step in that direction at the age of fourteen, when he was appointed as an
assistant fireman, to be paid one shilling (a twentieth of a pound) per day.
That job did not last long, because the pit closed down - as often hap-
pened at the time - but by fifteen he was a full fireman, although it was
another two years before his income reached twelve shillings a week and
he was making a man's wage. After a further move he became the
'plugman', or engineman, that he had aspired to be, employed to keep a
pump engine working and remedy minor defects. This was a relatively
skilled job, especially for someone of his age. It needed more knowledge
than was required for his father's post as a fireman, and was also better
paid.
By this time George Stephenson was not only displaying an intense
interest in engines, but also gaining a degree of expertise. This is the point
in Stephenson's life when we see the first glimmer of a possibility that the
young man might eventually become a proper engineer, and perhaps an
innovative one, despite his lack of formal education. As well as closely
observing the engines he worked on, he extended, in more sophisticated

6 Smiles (1881), p. 7· 7 Smiles (1881), p. 7·

 The long ascent of George Stephenson 67

ways, his childhood pastime of building models of engines. Despite being

unable to read, George Stephenson would sometimes conduct small
experiments of his own to test ideas that came to him when he was told
about scientific findings that had been reported in the newspapers. Smiles
notes that when an engine suffered a serious breakdown the usual
response of an engineman would be to send for the chief engineer. But
Stephenson, who was still not eighteen,
applied himself so assiduously and successfully to the study of the engine and its
gearing - taking the machine to pieces in his leisure hours for the purpose of
cleaning it and understanding its various parts- that he soon acquired a thorough
practical knowledge of its construction and mode of working, and very rarely
needed to call the engineer of the colliery to his aid. His engine became a sort of
pet with him, and he was never wearied of watching it and inspecting it with admi-
ration.8
These activities, the sharp interest in the detailed working of machines,
and the delight in persistently giving close attention to their operation and
never tiring of observing how the parts of a machine act together, are
almost defining marks of mechanical inventors. 9 The importance of
actions of this kind has been repeatedly demonstrated in modern research
examining the factors that contribute to the acquisition of expertise. 10
For an early nineteenth-century engineer, practical activities like that
would have been as crucial to the acquisition of high levels of expertise as
are activities such as the formal scales and other kinds of exercises that
performing musicians have to practise at, and the various kinds of training
and preparation that are necessary in order to move ahead in other
spheres of attainment. Smiles was well aware of this, noting that,
The daily contemplation of the steam-engine, and the sight of its steady action, is
an education of itself to an ingenious and thoughtful man. And it is a remarkable
fact, that nearly all of that has been done for the improvement of this machine has
been accomplished, not by philosophers and scientific men, but by labourers,
mechanics, and enginemen. Indeed, it would appear as if this were one of the
departments of practical science in which the higher powers of the human mind
must bend to mechanical insight. 11
But there was still a very long way to go before George Stephenson
could acquire all the knowledge and skills that would eventually make
him an effective engineer. Getting to that point took him another dozen
difficult years. There were numerous setbacks and hardships on the way,
and plenty of barriers to be overcome. For a start, at eighteen Stephenson
was still illiterate, and although he had heard about the important new
8 Smiles (1881), p. 9·
9 See, for example, Colangelo, Assouline, Kerr, Huesman, & Johnson (1993).
10 Ericsson & Charness (1994). 11 Smiles (1881), p. 10.
68 Genius Explained

developments to steam engines that had been made by the Scottish engi-
neer James Watt and others, his inability to read made the information
that he was so anxious to acquire practically inaccessible to him. Having
never been to school, even basic arithmetic was beyond him, and he
would have been unable to decipher the diagrams and plans that are
essential to the work of an engineer. Another obstacle was his lack of any
theoretical knowledge of the physical sciences.

It is hard to imagine how his life and prospects must have seemed to the
young George Stephenson at that time, but the possibilities he would
have been able to envisage for himself would inevitably have been
restricted by the circumstances of his life as a poorly-paid illiterate
workman living in an isolated part of England. He would have encoun-
tered only a few individuals who had been as far as London. He would
have possessed limited knowledge of the possible consequences of being
educated or of the means by which self-education might be acquired. Far
from being in a position to envisage the possibility ofbecoming a qualified
engineer himself, he would have had little access to the kind of informa-
tion that he would have needed in order to know what being an engineer
actually involved. A person who does not have opportunities to even
become aware of what can be achieved is condemned to a restricted exis-
tence. For an illiterate young worker living at the end of the eighteenth
century to be capable of seeing beyond the limits of his daily environment
would have required a rare combination of curiosity and imagination, in
addition to the energy and resourcefulness George Stephenson possessed
in abundance.
In one respect Stephenson was fortunate. He was lucky enough to gain
his engineering skills at a time when the practical knowledge that he could
acquire in the course of his everyday life as a colliery worker was crucial,
and his lack of the formal and theoretical kinds of knowledge that are only
accessible to literate people was a less crippling handicap than it would
have been only a few years later. Even so, illiteracy was a serious obstacle.
Stephenson's growing interest in engines was making him increasingly
aware of how much he needed the knowledge that his lack of education
had denied him. So, at an age when many young people today would
already be at university, Stephenson set out to give himself the beginnings
of an elementary education.
He learned to read and write by attending lessons, travelling three
nights each week to a neighbouring village after his long working day had
ended. Soon afterwards he started to learn arithmetic as well. Stephenson
was immensely determined, as well as being strongly motivated to gain
these skills. A contemporary who began at the same time recalled to
 The long ascent of George Stephenson 69

Smiles that George Stephenson quickly moved ahead of him and 'took to
figures so wonderful', probably because he attacked his studies with such
enthusiasm. Smiles' informant recalled that,
George's secret was his perseverance. He worked out the sums in his by-hours,
improving every minute of his spare time by the engine-fire, there studying the
arithmetical problems set him upon his slate by the master. In the evenings he
took to Robertson the sums which he had 'worked', and the new ones were 'set'
for him to study out the following day. Thus his progress was rapid ... 12
At around this time Stephenson also extended his practical qualifications,
learning the difficult skill of 'braking' the engines that transported miners
and coal wagons to and from the surface. That job required a combina-
tion of steadiness, alertness and precision. Any error could easily damage
the wagons being drawn out of the pit or even endanger the pitmen's lives.
Stephenson worked as a brakesman for several years. During this period
he added to his wage of around one pound per week with small sums
earned by another skill he had managed by then to acquire, mending (and
subsequently making) shoes for the local people. He worked late into the
night at improving his reading, writing and arithmetic. His very first
efforts at inventing date from this period, when he tried but failed to
produce a brake that would automatically reverse an engine. With the
long working hours that were customary at the time it would have been a
struggle for him to squeeze all his activities into the time available to him.
But somehow he did, and he even found time to get married, in
November 1802. By then George Stephenson was twenty-one.
He continued studying hard in his spare moments, 'paving the way to
being something more than a manual labourer', 13 and he 'set himself to
study the principles of mechanics, and to master the laws by which his
engine worked'. 14 Smiles depicts Stephenson at this period of his life
spending his winter evenings sitting by the side of his young wife and
occupied in studying mechanical subjects or modelling experimental
machines, when not mending or making shoes, or constructing shoe-
lasts, yet another activity which earned a few extra pence. As well as that,
he started mending clocks, and found that people in his village were
equally happy to trust him with their timepieces and their footwear. Like
many mechanically-minded individuals before him and since, he set out
to make a perpetual motion machine. Like all the others, he did not
succeed.
Smiles exaggerates at times, and Stephenson cannot have been always
quite so disciplined and determined as the figure Smiles portrays. But the
account of Stephenson's everyday life in his early twenties must be largely
12 Smiles (I88I), p. II. 13 Smiles (I88I), p. IS. 14 Smiles (I88I), p. IS.
70 Genius Explained

correct, because only someone who could make an enormous and sus-
tained effort to learn would have been capable of making the steady
progress Stephenson had to achieve in order to transform himself from an
illiterate labourer into an engineer. The French novelist Balzac wrote,
perhaps ironically, of making himself into a genius: George Stephenson
literally did just that.
In 1803 George's only child was born, Robert Stephenson. Tragically,
Robert's mother died before he was two. The record of George
Stephenson's life around this unhappy time is incomplete, but between
1802 and 1805 he changed jobs at least three times, moving to Montrose
in Scotland, where he was employed to superintend the operation of an
engine made by the innovative firm of Boulton and Watt. He impressed
his employers with his ingenuity, on one occasion saving them a good deal
of money by finding an effective way to prevent sand getting into the
water that was drawn into the engine, clogging it up. But his troubles were
not over. Returning home from Scotland, he discovered that his father
had been blinded in a serious pit accident, and had no income to live on.
George's sparse savings went in paying his father's debts. Shortly after-
wards, at a time when taxes were rising and poverty was increasing as
unemployment rose and incomes fell, large numbers of young men were
being called into the military services to quell the unrest, and Stephenson
was among those ordered to join up. The only way a man could avoid this
was by paying for a substitute to serve in his place: Stephenson was able
to do this, but he had to borrow the money. At this time he was under-
standably pessimistic about the future, and seriously considered joining
his sister Ann and her husband who were emigrating to America. Only
the fact that he could not afford the transatlantic fare stopped him doing
so.
That grim period of Stephenson's life came to an end by about 1808.
He was now twenty-seven, and once again working in the Newcastle
region as a brakesman. It was a job with less responsibility than the post
he had held in Scotland, and less pay, but the George Stephenson of this
period was a confident and forceful young man, well aware of his abilities
and not shy of displaying his knowledge. He was continuing his educa-
tion, still conscientiously working on exercises in arithmetic during spare
moments, and sending his slate to be marked when he was too busy to get
to the teacher himself. Sometimes he used the side of a coal wagon as a
blackboard to work on.
Stephenson learned much from the man who taught him during this
period, John Wigham, a keen reader and a lively talker who enjoyed dis-
cussing ideas with his pupils. Wigham helped Stephenson to learn how to
draw plans and sections, and together they worked their way through a
 The long ascent of George Stephenson 71

book of lectures on mechanics. Stephenson constructed the apparatus

required for practical experiments and demonstrations: Wigham supplied
the theoretical knowledge needed to make the book comprehensible.
George Stephenson was still maintaining the keen interest in machines he
had first displayed as a child, and by now he was giving close attention to
the education of his son Robert. Despite all the other demands upon his
time he managed to be a conscientious parent, taking great pains to
ensure that Robert was given the educational opportunities in childhood
that he himself had missed. Later, when at the age of eleven Robert
started attending a good school in Newcastle, the child's reading and
writing skills quickly surpassed his father's, and he learned much that was
beyond George's knowledge. The elder Stephenson's own intellectual
development benefited from his continuing to be keenly interested in the
education ofhis son.
As soon as Stephenson started work on the new brakesman's job he
looked for ways to make economies. He noticed that the ropes which
pulled coal out of the pit had been wearing out after only one month,
rather than the usual three months or so. After establishing that the
reason lay in excessive friction caused by the ropes rubbing together, he
quickly remedied the problem by repositioning the pulley wheels.
Another intervention during this period involved improving a winding
engine by inserting a valve between the air pump and condenser.
Soon afterwards, in 1810, he drew attention to his out-of-the-ordinary
capabilities by remedying a serious situation in a nearby pit at
Killingworth, where the primitive and inefficient 'atmospheric' engine, of
a type invented by Thomas Newcomen at the beginning of the eighteenth
century, was failing to pump sufficient water out of the mine shaft for the
pit to be workable. The problem had persisted for a year, keeping men out
of work and losing money for the mine owners. According to Smiles'
account, based on Stephenson's own often-repeated recollection, when
George first announced that he could find a solution, no-one was willing
to believe that someone who was only a brakesman would possibly be able
to succeed where experienced engineers had failed. But after a number of
unsuccessful attempts, the increasingly desperate owners finally agreed to
let him try. '[Ralph Dodds, a senior engineer] being now quite in despair
and hopeless of succeeding with the engine, determined to give George's
skill a trial. George had already acquired the character of a very clever and
ingenious workman, and, at the worst, he could only fail as the rest had
done.' 15
Dodds located Stephenson that evening ('dressed in his Sunday's suit,

15 Smiles (1881), p. 20.

72 Genius Explained

on his way to "the preaching" in the Methodist chapel') and asked for his
help.
'Well, George,' said 'Dodds, 'they tell me that you think you can put the engine at
the High Pit to rights.' 'Yes, sir,' said George, 'I think I could.' 'If that's the case, I'll
give you a fair trial, and you must set to work immediately. We are clean drowned
out, and cannot get a step further. The engineers hereabouts are all bet (sic); and
if you really succeed in accomplishing what they cannot do, you may depend upon
it I will make you a man for life' 16
And of course Stephenson succeeded. Insisting on employing only men
picked by himself, and aware of the ill-feeling of the workers regularly
employed on the engine towards a young pit brakesman who was claim-
ing to know more than they did about their own engine and to be able to
remedy defects 'which the most skilled men of their craft including the
engineer of the colliery, had failed to do', he proceeded to take the engine
to pieces. He raised the water cistern that serviced the engine, enlarged
one of the inlets, modified various valves, and increased the pressure. This
was all done in about three days. By this time heads were shaking, with
even Dodds declaring 'Why, she was better as she was; now, she will
knock the house down' (that is, self-destruct from excessive vibration).
But the engine was started up, and by the same night the water in the pit
was lower than it had ever been. Two days later all the surplus water had
been removed. The pit workers could finally be 'sent to the bottom' (of
the mine) after a year of profitless inactivity.
This was the big break for which Stephenson had prepared himself,
and Dodds made good his promise to make him 'a man for life'.
Stephenson's immediate reward was a gift of ten pounds, about £soo or
750 US dollars in the currency of the 1990s and hardly a generous sum in
relation to the huge savings his intervention had produced. But more
importantly, Dodds gave him a job and promised to keep him in mind for
promotion when something better turned up. On the accidental death of
the engine-wright at Killingworth in 1810, Stephenson was appointed to
the post, at a salary of one hundred pounds per year. That was by no
means a huge salary, but Stephenson was able to add to it by taking on
extra assignments with the blessing of his employers, a substantial mine-
owning company known as the 'Grand Allies'. He was given a horse to
ride between the different mines. The pit workman had finally become
the engineer.
In his post as engine-wright at Killingworth, many of Stephenson's
responsibilities involved finding improved ways to transport coal and
other commodities. From around this time he started to work on tasks

16 Smiles (1881), p. 20.

 The long ascent of George Stephenson 73

that equipped him with the capabilities that would enable him to explore
the possibility of developing engines that propelled themselves. One of his
first duties at Killingworth was to erect a (stationary) winding engine to
remove coal from a mine. It pulled wagons via a rope that was wound
around a revolving drum. At around this time he also designed a 'self-
acting' transport system for coal, in which empty wagons moved up to the
railhead by the power created by full ones moving down an incline. He
also found ways of using the surplus power from the underground
engines that pumped water to the surface, for hauling coal from deeper
parts of the mine. By introducing economies of this kind, as well as using
stationary engines to move coal trucks, Stephenson was able to reduce the
number of horses required in one pit from 100 to only 15 or 16. The mine
owners were quick to see the advantages of doing this, and they put him in
control of the colliery machinery in their other pits.
By now Stephenson was starting to think seriously about the possibility
of introducing locomotive engines. He would have heard rumours of
various attempts to produce engines that reliably moved themselves along
metal rails, rather than merely pulling vehicles from a stationary point.
Steam locomotives of a kind had already been invented. As early as 1804
one was being operated by an engineer from Cornwall in the south-west
of England, Robert Trevithick, but it was not economical. Soon after that
a locomotive to Trevithick's design was constructed at Gateshead, near to
Stephenson's home in the north-east. It was intended to be used at
Wylam, Stephenson's birthplace, but it never worked properly. By 1811 a
number of inventors were trying to develop practical locomotives,
although many problems still needed to be overcome. A reasonably reli-
able locomotive had been made in Leeds by John Blenkinsop, with
toothed wheels that moved along a racked line. In the long run this did
not prove to be an economical arrangement for moving goods or passen-
gers along flat surfaces, but Blenkinsop's engine was a commercial
success and went on working for several years.
The colliery owner at Wylam, John Blackett, was sufficiently encour-
aged by the success of Blenkinsop's engine to have a second locomotive
made, despite the failure of the Trevithick engine he had ordered. The
new one, which was built at Gateshead, was designed in a way that com-
bined elements of the Trevithick and Blenkinsop locomotives. This
engine weighed six tons and had a single cylinder and a fly-wheel. It was
described to Samuel Smiles by the engineer who supervised its construc-
tion Gonathon Foster) as 'a strange machine, with lots of pumps, cog-
wheels, and plugs, requiring constant attention while at work'. 17 On

17 Smiles (1881), p. 33·

74 Genius Explained

completion it was transported to Wylam and attached to a tender con-

taining a barrel of water, but at first it could not be induced to work at all.
Eventually, the machinery did start moving. Soon however, Foster told
Smiles, 'she flew all to pieces, and it was the biggest wonder i' the world
that we were not all blown up.>~ 8 The engine never worked properly, and
shortly afterwards it was dismantled.
Despite his two disastrous setbacks John Blackett did not give up. He
ordered Jonathon Foster to make a third locomotive, this time in the
workshops at the Wylam colliery. This one, which like Blenkinsop's had a
cogged wheel that moved along a rack, was more effective than the others,
but although it could pull eight or nine loaded coal wagons it moved at
only one mile per hour, sometimes taking six hours to complete its five-
mile journey, and was constantly needing repairs. However, a fourth loco-
motive, which did not use cogs and racks, worked better. Its success
demonstrated that as long as sufficiently strong rails were used, locomo-
tives could travel on smooth rail surfaces, contradicting the widespread
view at that time that smooth steel wheels running on smooth iron rails
would constantly slip.
Stephenson was taking the keenest interest in these developments at
Wylam. He had already made considerable economies in the
Killingworth pits, but he wanted to reduce even further the need for horse
power, the cost of which was constantly increasingly as a result of rising
prices. The price of wheat, which was needed in large quantities in order
to feed the horses, had almost trebled between 1795 and 1800. As well as
keeping in touch with progress at Wylam, in 1813 Stephenson took advan-
tage of an opportunity to see a demonstration of a new Blenkinsop loco-
motive at Leeds. That engine was impressive: it pulled a 70-ton load at
three miles per hour. But it was expensive to run, and unsteady, and regu-
larly pulled its rails to pieces because too much strain was placed on the
rack rail at one side. When the boiler blew up shortly after Stephenson's
visit the locomotive was not replaced.
So in spite of the progress that had been made by 1813, a locomotive
engine that was efficient, economical and reliable had still not been
invented. Doing just that was the task George Stephenson set himself. By
1814 George Stephenson was displaying the impressive single-minded-
ness and the strong sense of direction that observers have remarked upon
in Newton and Einstein and other great innovators. In Samuel Smiles'
words,
Profiting by what his predecessors had done, warned by their failures and
encouraged by their partial successes, he commenced his labours. There was

18 Smiles (1881), p. 33·

 The long ascent of George Stephenson 75

still wanting the man who should accomplish for the locomotive what James
Watt had done for the steam-engine, and combine in a complete form the best
points in the separate plans of others, embodying with them such original inven-
tions and adaptations of his own as to entitle him to the merit of inventing the
working locomotive ... This was the great work upon which George Stephenson
now entered. 19
By this time in his life Stephenson had finally succeeded in becoming
prepared to make a real contribution to the improvement of steam loco-
motion. Someone knowing only what Stephenson had already achieved
by then, and also knowing about the nature of his duties and the facilities
that were available to him, might easily have guessed that he would subse-
quently have earned himself at least a footnote in the history of steam
locomotion.

It had taken Stephenson a long time to reach the point of being ready to
make a major impact as an inventor. His progress had been slow and
effortful. By the summer of 1813 he was already thirty-two. Before reach-
ing the equivalent age Schubert had died, leaving behind him a remark-
able body of great music, Charles Darwin had pieced together (but not
made public) the theory of evolution by natural selection, and Charles
Dickens had already become the celebrated author, having written
Pickwick Papers when he was twenty-four. By and large, the preparatory
years of individuals who produce major accomplishments correspond
with the years of childhood and adolescence, but that is not true in the
case of George Stephenson. Even the most basic skills of literacy and
numeracy were only acquired by him when he was already an adult. And
yet even that handicap did not stop him eventually becoming an engineer-
ing genius.
Looking back at George Stephenson's life prior to 1813, and asking how
and why he had managed to reach the point at which he was finally in a
position to begin to establish a reputation as an innovative engineer, we
can now be sure that there were no miracles involved: there is nothing
totally inexplicable about George Stephenson's progress. Undoubtedly,
the journey through life that had eventually led him to that stage was an
unusually arduous one: he had to overcome obstacles that were more
numerous and more serious than most would-be inventors have encoun-
tered. But our reasonably detailed examination of the route by he which
eventually arrived at the stage of being ready to make a big contribution
has shown that there were no sudden or incomprehensible advances in his
capacities.

19 Smiles (1881), p. 36.

76 Genius Explained

Moreover, although Stephenson was a man with an impressive ability

to profit from his experiences, and unusually dogged and determined,
there are no signs that he learned more quickly or more easily than
another similarly prepared and equally motivated and committed person
would have done, or that he was able to dispense with the lengthy periods
of preparation, practice, and training that others have had to undergo in
order to achieve their goals. From afar, it does seem astonishing that
someone whose lack of formal education and limited childhood experi-
ences had left him so entirely unprepared for a career as an innovator
could ever have come so far, and the fact that such an achievement is so
rare adds to our amazement. But from closer up, whilst our admiration is
undiminished, his progress no longer seems quite so hard to explain. It
does now seem possible to understand how Stephenson gradually
became capable of the advances he made.
Even his mechanical skills, extraordinary as they were, give us no
reason for believing that Stephenson must have been born with any
special gift or talent for learning. It seems more likely that his exceptional
competence was the outcome of uncommon learning experiences and
unusual determination, combined with remarkable energy. His lack of
formal education in childhood certainly deprived him of opportunities
for gaining the skills that a person requires in order to be literate and
numerate, and yet he did have plenty of opportunities to learn about the
practical mechanics of an engine. As we have seen, he was intensely inter-
ested in machines, spending a great deal of time closely watching engines
in action and repeatedly taking them to pieces and reassembling them.
These are precisely the activities that, when engaged in regularly and
repetitively, lead to a deep knowledge of the practical working of steam
engines.
This account of George Stephenson's gradual but steady progress has
provided no reasons for believing that he possessed a special innate apti-
tude for learning. What marked him out from others was his sustained
determination and the sheer intensity of his efforts, rather than the speed
at which he gained knowledge and learned new skills. That does not rule
out the possibility that some kind of special genetic endowment could
have contributed to his success. Although what is known about
Stephenson's forbears and his early life makes it seem unlikely that he had
an inherent aptitude for engineering, it is conceivable that he did possess
qualities that were not gained solely through his experiences. Take for
instance, his unusual determination and willingness to persevere. How
did they originate? Do Stephenson's experiences provide an adequate
explanation for those qualities as they do for the specific skills he gained,
or were the self-confident determination and doggedness that he exhib-
 The long ascent of George Stephenson 77

ited as he pursued his goals rooted in innate attributes that he inherited?

Research has shown that there are developmental continuities in individ-
uals' temperaments, enabling predictions about adult temperament to be
made with better-than-chance accuracy on the basis of measures
obtained in infancy. 20 The idea of a relatively complex psychological
attribute such as perseverance or determination being directly inherited is
scientifically implausible, but it is entirely conceivable that early
differences between people in certain aspects of mental state, such as
activity level or attentiveness, may indirectly contribute to later
differences in more complex traits.
There is no way to know for certain whether Stephenson's early experi-
ences alone created his unusually determined and single-minded person-
ality, or whether innate causes were also involved. But it is possible to
speculate on the kinds of childhood experiences that might have contrib-
uted to his distinctive personal qualities. The records of Stephenson's
early days show that he had plenty of opportunities to learn that hard
efforts bring success. He was five feet and ten inches tall, at a time when
the average height was six inches less than it is now, and also strong and
well-built, despite the fact that his father was unusually thin and his
mother is said to have been slight and delicate. Stephenson was always
willing to have a go at wrestling or athletic competitions, and in spite of
the presence of coal mines in the region where he lived, his childhood was
essentially a rural, outdoor one. From an early age he seems to have been
well rewarded for being curious and showing initiative. Having to look
after younger brothers and sisters would have encouraged him to form
habits of accepting responsibility and acting independently.
The likelihood that Stephenson gradually got into the habit of doing
things in the ways that led to a person being described using adjectives
such as 'forceful' and 'determined' may help to explain his habitual dili-
gence: someone who has always worked hard may find labour less daunt-
ing than others, and consequently achieve more. All the same, there was
nothing easy or inevitable about his progress. He was constantly under
pressure. It took plenty of self-discipline to maintain his onerous regime
of work and study. We know little about his state of mind, but occasional
anecdotes hint at a rigid self-control. Smiles mentions, for instance, that
Stephenson had sometimes been persuaded by Ralph Dodds, his super-
ior at Killingworth, to enjoy a lunchtime glass of ale. But on a later occa-
sion, 'on his [Mr Dodds'] invitation to "come in and take a glass o' yel,"
Stephenson made a dead stop, and said, firmly, "No, I have made a reso-
lution to drink no more at this time of day." And he went back.' 21

20 See, for example, Kagan (1989). 21 Smiles (1881), p. 24.

78 Genius Explained

This response is attributed by Smiles to Stephenson's awareness of

'men about him who had made shipwreck of their character through
intemperance'. Smiles, a teetotaller, was probably wrong about that. Had
he had more experience of lunching in pubs or bars he would have
noticed that Stephenson was reacting like anyone who has much to
achieve and knows what a couple of pints ofbeer can do to one's firmest
resolutions. Stephenson probably felt, with good reason, that he could
rarely afford to relax his efforts to get on.
The mature George Stephenson was sure of his own abilities as a prac-
tical engineer, but there were situations in which he was troubled by a
profound lack of confidence. Until he was into his forties the prospect of
having to speak in public put him in agony. He was often uncomfortable
about mixing with people whom he perceived as highly educated or privi-
leged. Fortunately, he could always rely on the help of his son Robert,
whose education in Newcastle gave him some of the polish that George
was so aware of lacking. When books had to be consulted or borrowed,
Robert could be counted upon to know his way around the institutions
that his father would have found dauntingly unfamiliar.

If George Stephenson's transformation from an illiterate workman at the

age of eighteen to a thirty-two-year-old engineer capable of contributing
to the practical development of steam locomotion no longer seems mys-
terious or inexplicable, his phenomenal progress in the next twenty years
may still appear to resist explanation. By around 1812 there was consider-
able interest in the possibility of steam-powered railway travel, and
Stephenson was by no means the only inventive engineer who was trying
to overcome the remaining barriers. Why was it that this particular indi-
vidual became the man whom we now regard as a famous engineering
genius, rather than any of the hundreds of other engineers who were just
as well qualified as he was?
The answer to that question may be easier to find than it first appears to
be. We can make useful progress here by raising two additional queries.
First, in the period beginning around 1812-14 what further problems
needed to be solved in order for steam-based passenger transportation to
become a practical possibility? Second, amongst the engineers who were
working on steam locomotion at that time, which of them would have
been best placed to help resolve a substantial proportion of those prob-
lems? When that line of enquiry is followed, the name of George
Stephenson is one of the first to surface.
What were the problems that still remained, before passenger travel by
railway could be a realistic possibility? There were many, but the follow-
ing were especially crucial.
 The long ascent of George Stephenson 79

First, the accuracy with which it was possible to manufacture the

moving parts needed to transfer the power of an engine to its wheels was
limited by the primitive technology of the time. As a result, early locomo-
tives shook, vibrated, and juddered to an extent that caused unacceptable
wear and tear, as well as being noisy and inefficient. Sometimes engines
literally shook themselves to pieces. To resolve these problems it was
essential to start producing engine parts that were more accurately and
precisely engineered.
Second, no-one was sure how to design effective combinations of loco-
motive wheels and railway lines. It was still widely (but incorrectly)
believed that iron wheels would slip on iron rails. Also, the cast-iron lines
then in use were easily dislodged or broken by the weight of the unsprung
and often ill-balanced locomotives being made. Some people thought
smooth or flanged lines would be more effective if they were covered with
grit. Others, who were convinced that the wheels of steam locomotives
would travel more efficiently over soft ground, tried (largely in vain) to
develop steam locomotives that moved along roads rather than on rails.
One of the less successful early locomotives was even propelled by a kind
of walking movement instead of power to the wheels.
Third, the practicalities of constructing railway lines in difficult and
hilly terrain had barely been considered. No-one knew what inclines were
feasible for steam-powered trains. Many people thought that for moving
trains over hilly country, stationary engines that pulled wagons along a
chain would be more economical than locomotives. Others were not con-
vinced that the uncertain advantages of engine power over horse power
would outweigh the manufacturing and development costs.
Finally, so far as practical passenger transport was concerned, a huge
leap forward was still needed from the stage that had been reached by
around 1813. For some time locomotion would continue to be noisy and
unreliable, with too much vibration and too little comfort to be accept-
able for human travellers. In order for it to be possible to develop railways
that were safe, reliable and comfortable, it was helpful to have a period in
which gradual improvements could be made to existing steam locomo-
tives, and in which the mistakes that would inevitably arise could be grad-
ually rectified, in circumstances where there was no added pressure from
the demand to meet the special needs of passengers.
George Stephenson had the advantage of being well-positioned to
respond to all these challenges. His habitual close observation of the
action of engines made him acutely aware of the consequences of impre-
cision in their parts. At first, all that could be done about that was to insist
on employing the most skilled craftsmen and to set high standards.
Later, in conjunction with his son Robert he established a factory that
80 Genius Explained

was dedicated to the manufacture of precisely engineered machine com-

ponents. He was equally conscious of the need to design and manufacture
rails that were strong enough to stand up to heavy trains as well as mini-
mising the power required to pull heavy loads. His experiences as a pit
engineer had showed him how important it was to improve the efficiency
of rail traction. The unschooled Stephenson was virtually unique among
the inventive engineers of his time in having undertaken experiments to
discover the actual effectiveness of different combinations of wheels and
rails.
During the second decade of the century Stephenson worked hard at
achieving both of these objectives. And because he was working in collier-
ies, where the purpose of his locomotives was to transport coal rather than
people, he did not have to be immediately concerned about creating trav-
elling arrangements that were sufficiently safe and comfortable to meet
the needs of passengers. That was something that Stephenson could
worry about later, when he had already succeeded in making locomotives
that worked well enough for goods traffic.
The enormous difficulties of constructing railway lines over hilly routes
also engaged his attention. He was probably the only engineer alive who
had known a railway - albeit a wooden one - running past the house
where he grew up. Stephenson's practical and largely intuitive approach
to solving engineering problems, in which trial and error had priority over
elaborate planning in advance, suited the particular tasks he faced. In the
late 1820s he was to become involved in acrimonious exchanges, and was
harshly criticised by the commissioners who examined his plans for the
railway route that was to link Liverpool and Manchester. They wanted
details: Precisely how did he intend to proceed? Exactly how much would
each section cost? They accused him of being incompetent because he
could not give precise answers to their questions. In many instances he
truly did not know, but unlike his inquisitors he knew that in pioneering a
new and untried enterprise like building the world's first large-scale
railway it is sometimes best to get on with the job without having decided
on all the details in advance, and without waiting until success is abso-
lutely certain. Where others insisted on having precise plans and proce-
dures before construction began, he realised that a trial-and-error
approach sometimes works better. No-one knew if it was possible to build
a railway line over boggy ground: the only way to make progress was to
keep trying different approaches until one succeeded.
George Stephenson lived until 1848, but his reputation as a great
railway engineer was established by the time the Liverpool and
Manchester Railway was opened in 1831. The outline of his career after
1813 was roughly as follows. Between then and about 1819 much of his
 The long ascent of George Stephenson 81

time went into developing a succession of increasingly efficient and reli-

able steam locomotives for transporting coal. Compared with the earliest
of Stephenson's engines, the Blucher, which was completed in July I8I4
(and first driven by Stephenson's older brother James) the later ones were
better balanced, had more efficient systems for transmitting power to the
wheels, and as a result of innovations such as blast pipes and multitubular
boilers, were much more powerful in relation to their weight. During this
period Stephenson also made other inventions, including a safety lamp
that was as effective as the better known one that Humphry Davy
designed (with considerable help from his young assistant Michael
Faraday22 ) and probably predated it. He also made major improvements
in the design of rails and the pedestals or 'chairs' connecting them to the
ground and to each other. The rails developed by Stephenson and a
partner, William Losh, overlapped, resulting in a considerable reduction
in the number of derailments and rail breakages that occurred when rails
became misaligned because of the jerks and shocks they received from
heavy primitive locomotives running over them.
Although by I8I9 Stephenson's engines at Killingworth had been in
regular use for some time and were known to be considerably more pow-
erful than the horses they had replaced, they attracted relatively little
attention. However, Stephenson was asked to build two other railways,
one in Ayrshire and the other in the Sunderland region, starting at a col-
liery known as Hetton. In I 82 I he began work on a more ambitious
project, after meeting Edward Pease, a wealthy Quaker who headed a
group of industrialists interested in building a railway to transport coal
and other merchandise between the Darlington region, which was rich in
coal mines, and Stockton, whence materials could be sent by sea to
London. The line opened in I825, and for the first time ever, substantial
numbers of passengers were carried by rail.
The success of the Stockton and Darlington railway stimulated interest
in a much more ambitious project, a railway to connect the growing
industrial centre of Manchester over hilly and sometimes boggy terrain
with Liverpool and the sea. In I 83 I that railway was finally completed,
after a long, stormy and enormously difficult period of planning and con-
struction in which Stephenson was heavily engaged at all stages. For
Stephenson this was a time of constant pressure, which even Smiles con-
fesses made him 'occasionally impatient and irritable'. 23 Eventually,
however, the line was completed and Stephenson's locomotive Rocket
demonstrated its superiority over a number of rival locomotives.
The construction of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway was a

22 See, for example, Knight (1985), p. 42. 23 Smiles (1881), p. 130.

82 Genius Explained

magnificent engineering achievement. The success of that line produced

an explosion of interest in railways. This was a key event in the railway rev-
olution. In the I82os very few people would have seen any sense at all in
Stephenson's prediction that England would soon be covered by a network
of passenger lines. And yet by the end of I 83 I that outcome had suddenly
become inevitable. Within a few years rail travel was becoming a common-
place element of everyday life, and George Stephenson's reputation was
secure. After I83I everyone knew about the engineering genius who had
begun life as an unschooled child from the family of a poor pit labourer.

Although George Stephenson's lack of formal education did not prevent

him from becoming a great engineer, when the word 'genius' is linked to
his name it is sometimes preceded by an adjective such as 'practical' or
'mechanical', the intent being to indicate that his capabilities were
restricted. Indeed they were, but nobody is an expert at everything.
Doubtless Mozart would have made an indifferent engineer and Newton
a poor musician. And yet with Mozart the adjective 'musical' is never
appended to the term 'genius' with quite the patronising intent that is
sometimes evident when writers refer to George Stephenson as a 'practi-
cal genius'. It is true, however, that even at the height of his powers
Stephenson did have limitations that we might not expect to find in
someone widely regarded as being a genius. The biographer who stated
that Stephenson's brain 'totally lacked the capacity to store theoretical
knowledge, even of the simplest kind' 24 was going too far, but nobody
would have claimed that George Stephenson was good at handling
abstract ideas, and his mastery of written English was limited.
It is also true that Stephenson was fortunate in being well placed to do
what was needed at a particular time. But to varying extents that is the
case with all geniuses. Had Einstein been born twenty years later than he
was, the likelihood of him making a major scientific contribution would
have been much reduced, because he was not equipped to excel at the
more mathematically-based approaches on which physics was increas-
ingly relying. The same could have been said about Michael Faraday.
With some creative individuals, however, like Mozart or Dickens, it is less
likely that a twenty-year alteration in their birth date would have dimin-
ished their accomplishments. In Stephenson's case, his reputation does
seem to have depended to an unusually large extent on his good fortune
in having happened to become equipped with a rare combination of the
skills and qualities that were needed in order for essential advances to be
made at a particular moment in history.

24 Rolt (r96o), p. r4.

 The long ascent of George Stephenson 83

Identifying limitations in George Stephenson's capabilities does not

mean denigrating his achievements or denying his greatness, but it does
raise a question about the broader implications of what we have learned
about his early progress. The evidence of Stephenson's life and achieve-
ments proves that it was possible for someone to become a genius despite
not having enjoyed a childhood rich in educational opportunities. A ques-
tion that still remains is whether it is broadly correct to say that early stim-
ulation and encouragement are inessential for the development of any
genius, or whether they are only unnecessary for those people whose
exceptionality is restricted to certain particular areas of accomplishment,
such as engineering.
Despite what we know to be true of George Stephenson, it remains
possible that for someone to become capable of many of the kinds of
achievements that lead to people becoming known as geniuses, it is neces-
sary for that individual to have enjoyed a rich blend of educational experi-
ences and learning opportunities in childhood. The facts of George
Stephenson's life show that someone from a poor and disadvantaged
background like his could become a great engineer. But could a person
whose early life was similar to his have been a distinguished scientist or
mathematician, or a major novelist? We can be certain that success in
certain fields would have been ruled out for someone from Stephenson's
background. For example, without opportunities to gain basic musical
skills during childhood, a successful career as a classical musician is
almost ruled out, if only because unless there has been a good early start it
is subsequently very hard for someone to find the 10,000 or more hours
practising time needed to reach high levels of expertise.
So would it or would it not have been possible for someone whose early
life was as circumscribed as Stephenson's to have become capable of high
achievements in an area of expertise other than one that his surroundings
specifically nurtured? Perhaps not. Some light is shed on the issue in the
chapter that follows, which examines the early life of Michael Faraday, the
scientist. Faraday had a vast impact on nineteenth-century chemistry and
physics despite having left school at thirteen and being the child of a
family almost as poor as Stephenson's. But as we shall see, Michael
Faraday's scientific achievements were only possible because he was given
some opportunities that were never made available to the young George
Stephenson.

At the funeral of Charles Darwin in 1882 it was noticed that the dark
clothes of the mourners in Westminster Abbey were brightened by
coloured beams of light from a window-panel commemorating George
Stephenson and his son Robert. Shine on!
4 Michael Faraday

Michael Faraday's scientific discoveries in the first half of the nineteenth

century created a huge advance in the understanding of electricity. His
many achievements made it possible for others to begin harnessing elec-
tricity's power, a leap forward that has transformed all our lives. As I
write, electricity runs my computer and lights the room: it also powers the
printer on my desk. None of that could have been imagined at the time
Faraday was born.
How and why did Faraday become capable of his remarkable accom-
plishments? The challenge of explaining that seems an especially daunt-
ing one because, like George Stephenson (and unlike Charles Darwin),
Michael Faraday came from a very poor family. Born in 1791, he grew up
in London. He had to leave school at thirteen, and then spent seven years
as an apprentice bookbinder. That is hardly a promising start for a great
scientist.
Even Stephenson's compensations eluded Faraday. George Stephenson
had benefited from the fact that his working environment kept him sup-
plied with opportunities for practising the skills that made him a capable
engineer. The circumstances of his everyday working environment helped
him to gain many of the skills an engineer needed at the beginning of the
nineteenth century, a time when engineering was still largely a matter of
combining practical know-how and commonsense knowledge. But
becoming a scientist has always been a very different matter. Knowledge of
the everyday world cannot grow into scientific understanding, which is
sharply distinct from practical common sense and often opposed to it. 1 A
scientist has to take a mental stance that is reflective and detached, and
scientific thought has to be grounded as much upon abstract information
from books as on direct observation and experience.
The poverty of Faraday's early years could very easily have held him
back. People today find it hard to imagine how someone whose life as a
child so conspicuously lacked the kinds of opportunities we associate with

1 Wolpert (1992).

84
 Michael Faraday 85

a scientific education could ever become a major scientist. Under-

standing how he became a scientist at all seems difficult enough. Yet the
young Michael Faraday did overcome these handicaps. How was he able
to do that?
Finding an explanation becomes a little easier if we avoid viewing
Faraday's progress from a narrowly twentieth-century perspective.
Things look different when his early experience is seen in the context of
a child's life at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Take, for
instance, the fact that Faraday left school at thirteen. In today's world
that would make it virtually impossible for a young person to get a solid
grounding in science. People who learn about Faraday's childhood nat-
urally assume that being able to stay on at school would have made a big
difference for Faraday, as it would nowadays. But in Faraday's time,
even if he had remained at school for several more years, the chances
were that he would have received no scientific education at all. Even
good schools taught little or no science then. As we have already seen, at
Shrewsbury School, regarded as among the finest in England, Charles
Darwin (born seventeen years after Faraday) and the school's other
pupils were taught absolutely nothing about science. So it would be
wrong to think that leaving school early deprived Faraday of a scientific
education.
Faraday's long period of apprenticeship to a bookbinder is another fact
of his early life that might appear to have ruled out his becoming a scien-
tist. Once again, however, the real circumstances justify closer scrutiny.
Certain aspects of Faraday's situation as an apprentice, when seen in the
context of the period, were actually not at all unfavourable. One particu-
lar advantage was that throughout these years he was fortunate in having
a good employer. George Riebau, whose business happened to be located
round the corner from Faraday's home, was a bookseller as well as a book-
binder. Before starting his apprenticeship at the age of fourteen, Faraday
had already been employed for a year by Riebau and his wife, delivering
newspapers. They were kind and generous to him. The business provided
an agreeable working environment in which there was always time for
lively conversations. Riebau deserves credit for the fact that Faraday was
not the only of his apprentices to do well: one eventually became a profes-
sional singer and another was a well-known comedian. Towards the end
of Faraday's apprenticeship, when he was twenty-one, it was Riebau who
arranged for him to be given some much-sought-after tickets to
Humphry Davy's hugely popular lectures on chemistry at London's
Royal Institution, initiating the all-important connection with a leading
scientific figure that was to make Faraday's own career in science a real
possibility. Michael Faraday made no secret of his debt to Riebau. Many
86 Genius Explained

years later he dedicated some volumes of scientific notes to him, remark-

ing that, ' ... you kindly interested yourself in the progress I made in the
knowledge of facts relating to the different theories in existence readily
permitting me to examine those books in your possession that were any
way related to the subjects occupying my attention.' 2
Another big advantage of Faraday's workplace during his adolescent
years was that it was filled with books. This was hugely important at that
time. Books then were not only beyond the means of the poor, but pricey
even for those who were comfortably off. The new books which Faraday
could inspect as soon as they arrived at Riebau's shop included ones that
would have seemed expensive luxuries even to a reader whose family was
as wealthy as Darwin's. No school library at the time would have held a
comparable collection of recent books on scientific topics. So in that
respect Faraday was privileged, far from being disadvantaged.
Also, with the sciences being less fragmented then than now, and not so
specialised, grappling with a new volume would not have been quite such
an arduous undertaking as it would be today. A twentieth-century reader
needs to have gained a solid grounding in the appropriate field in order to
stand any chance of mastering an advanced monograph in a scientific
specialisation. In Faraday's time most new books on science would have
been accessible to a determined amateur. For a keen autodidact like him,
Riebau's shop was a virtual treasure trove.
Yet another benefit Faraday enjoyed was that his work as an apprentice
gave him the practical expertise demanded by his research. His skill at
making apparatus and measuring instruments was often remarked upon.
In the course of a lifetime in which he conducted thousands of experi-
ments using apparatus made by himself, his competence at constructing
equipment definitely added to his productivity. It was especially helpful
that Faraday's employer allowed his workshop to be used for making
electrical devices. Mr Riebau permitted his apprentice to create a small
laboratory at the back of the shop, and if he felt any alarm at seeing the
craft of bookbinding taking second place to the science of electricity, he
never protested. The science of electricity owes much to Riebau's for-
bearance.
So the young Faraday's actual circumstances were nothing like so bleak
as the bald statement that he left school at thirteen to be an apprentice
bookbinder appears to imply. Even so, Faraday's early life was far from
being an ideal preparation for a scientist. Although the premature ending
of Faraday's schooling may have done him no damage so far as scientific
knowledge was concerned, it definitely penalised him in other ways,

2 Quoted in Williams (r965), p. ro.

 Michael Faraday 87

leaving gaps that could only be filled by a strenuous programme of self-

education. The kind of formal education that Faraday missed gives a
child resources that someone who leaves school early is bound to lack,
and poverty creates problems for any young person. So even if the
circumstances of Michael Faraday's apprentice years were not quite so
grim as they intially appear to have been, and would not have entirely pre-
vented him from becoming a scientist, they were hardly calculated to
make him into one. (Incidentally, Michael Faraday was not the only tow-
ering figure of his century to have gained from being employed by a kindly
bookbinder. The great Mexican reformer Benito Juarez (1806-1872) was
similarly favoured. Juarez, a Zapotec Indian who arrived in the city of
Oaxaca speaking little Spanish, was enabled by his employer's generosity
to train as a lawyer, and he eventually became president of Mexico.)
To discover why and how Faraday's life took the remarkable course it
did, we need to take a closer look at the young apprentice's activities
during his formative years. That is not easy, partly because for someone
who was as celebrated during his lifetime as Faraday was, the biographical
record of his childhood is regrettably sparse. His family were very poor
(so much so that at the age of nine Michael had to survive for a whole
week on one loaf of bread), partly because Faraday's father, a blacksmith,
was often prevented from working by illness. His mother, the daughter of
a farmer, had been a chambermaid before she married. She was a warm-
hearted parent and immensely proud of Michael, but according to his
biographers her own education was minimal. 3 His father could at least
read and write. Faraday claimed that all he learned at school was reading,
writing and simple arithmetic, and in his view that amounted to very
little. Yet limited as his schooling was, it gave him more than he may have
realised. Merely being able to read would have made it easier for Faraday,
compared with an illiterate youth like George Stephenson, to add to his
own knowledge and begin educating himself.
We know almost as little about the first years of Michael Faraday's
apprenticeship as we do about his early childhood, but four years after the
apprenticeship began his father recorded that although Michael had
found things difficult at first, he soon 'as the old saying goes, got the head
above the water' 4 and was very happy in his post. Most of Faraday's time
as an apprentice went into his everyday work. Riebau's benignly obser-
vant eye noticed that the boy's mind was always busy. He saw that for
young Faraday even a daily walk would turn into an expedition. Like the
youthful Charles Dickens, Faraday as a child was a constantly alert
observer oflife, but while Dickens' attention was captured by people and

3 Jones (r87o), p. 8. 4 Jones (r87o), p. rr.

88 Genius Explained

the ways in which they treated one another, Faraday- as Riebau noticed-
concentrated on the physical world: 'he went an early walk in the
Morning Visiting always some Works of Art or searching for some
Mineral or Vegitable curiosity - Holloway water Works Highgate
Archway, Middlesex Water Works - Strand Bridge - Junction Water
Works etc. etc ... his mind ever engaged.' 5
As we have seen, the adult Michael Faraday was deeply grateful to
Riebau for the opportunities he had been given to read books. In the ear-
liest years of his apprenticeship Faraday's reading was wide rather than
deep, the choice of material often being decided by whatever happened to
come to his attention in his work as a binder of books. He read the
Arabian Nights. He devoured novels, probably including Fanny Burney's
Evelina: 6 there exists a copy of that bound by Faraday himself. Following
Riebau's advice, Faraday copied down observations that struck him as
insightful and reproduced illustrations that impressed him. He was
always curious about new and interesting things.
Little is known about the way in which Michael Faraday began to gain
an elementary knowledge of science. All that is certain is that between the
ages of fourteen and eighteen he had plenty of opportunities to read and
learn, that he took advantage of them, and that by eighteen his interests
were largely directed towards the sciences. Perhaps the growth of his
enthusiasm about science was fairly gradual: until he was sixteen or so he
may simply have been excited by the unfamiliar and exotic world of
knowledge which books opened up for him. But by the time he was eight-
een his thirst for knowledge had become decidedly strong, and at around
this period, probably in 1810, he was attracted by a number of items he
encountered in Encyclopaedia Britannica. He told a friend that his mind
had been turned towards science by an article on electricity written by
James Tytler, which he came across when binding that encyclopaedia.
By then Faraday had changed from being a boy who was curious and
energetic like many young people, to something rarer: an intense, excep-
tionally diligent and keenly committed would-be scholar. Somehow or
other, Faraday had made himself into a reasonably well-informed young
man with a serious interest in the sciences. He had already mastered a
number of books on chemistry. It is possible that he had begun to form
some vague career ambitions in which learning and scholarship played a
part. By the end of 1810 he was a decidedly studious and disciplined indi-
vidual, and already possessed a remarkable capacity- reminiscent of the
young Isaac Newton- to keep persevering until difficult learning chal-
lenges were mastered.

5 Quoted in Williams (I965), p. II. 6 Williams (I965), p. II.

 Michael Faraday 89

How did that change take place? In order to begin to understand

Michael Faraday's genius and its origins it is important to know how it
was possible for the young man to transform himself into a scientist,
despite the obstacles created by the fact that he had left school so early.
How was he able, notwithstanding his lack of formal education, to make
himself into such a studious and well-informed young adult?
Riebau's observations apart, disappointingly few insights into
Faraday's state of mind at that time have been made available, either by
Faraday himself or by his contemporaries. But the fact that his workplace
was a stimulating one certainly helped. A real advantage of Faraday's
working environment was that it gave him some of the learning opportu-
nities normally associated with schooling, but without any of the dull uni-
formity imposed by school routines and compulsory classes. His studying
science was his own decision, not his teachers'. Science had no negative
associations for him. He may also have been attracted by the comfortable
or even glamorous lifestyles of the educated people he came across in
Riebau's shop. But that is unlikely to have been a major influence, since
Faraday was always a somewhat unworldly individual.
Yet these advantages would hardly have compensated him for all that
he was missing. Faraday's limited schooling would have left him ill-
equipped with the mental skills and study habits a serious student needs
in order to succeed at the arduous and time-consuming struggle to
become a scientist. At first, lacking any basis for making well-informed
decisions about what to read, Faraday must have looked at any books on
science that happened to attract his attention. But during the years of his
apprenticeship Faraday's choice of reading had to become less random.
He would have needed to introduce a degree of planning into his learning
activities, since without it an unschooled person's haphazard reading can
easily lead nowhere.
Perhaps Riebau helped by drawing his young apprentice's attention to
those books that he thought would be most helpful to him. However, it is
just as likely that the self-discipline of a serious student was acquired by
Faraday's own efforts, even though that would not have been at all easy.
Being attracted by books is one thing, but persevering at the prolonged
study of them that is necessary in order to master their contents is much
more difficult, and especially so for a young person who has had little
encouragement to acquire the habit of regular studying. The advantages
of Faraday's workplace and the excellence of Mr Riebau certainly pro-
vided benign influences, but even their combined effects cannot have
been enough to account for the unschooled boy's remarkable transition
into a serious young scholar of science. Plenty of young people are given
more advantages than Faraday had without ever managing to create
90 Genius Explained

anything special or distinctive. So Faraday's self-made transformation

still remains largely unexplained. But until it is accounted for, we cannot
be sure that there was no magic or mystery about the causes of Faraday's
genius, or improve on those 'magic ingredient' pseudo-explanations that
I criticised in Chapter 1, which blithely attribute genius to the effects of
ill-defined inborn gifts and talents.
Fortunately, some further information comes to our aid here, power-
fully assisting our efforts to explain. Faraday was greatly helped at this
time by two other unusual circumstances. These, in combination, made
all-important contributions to his progress, giving him the extra help he
required. First, he benefited from his family background. This was
unusual in the extent to which it supplied just those qualities that help a
young person to become capable and productive. Second, he had the luck
to discover a remarkably useful 'self-help' volume for would-be scholars.
There has never been a shortage of books designed to assist people who
wish to educate themselves. One that Faraday encountered turned out to
be exceptionally helpful and perceptive: it was the ideal guide for
someone like him.
Consider Faraday's background in the light of Mihalyi Csikszent-
mihalyi's research findings (described in Chapter 2), who pointed
towards some of the benefits that young people gain from receiving a
combination of stimulation and support at home. Taking the former com-
ponent first, stimulation, ostensibly Faraday's early life was far from being
advantaged in this respect. In such a poor family as his there would have
been neither the money nor the time to permit much attention being
given to a child's education. However, Faraday's case is unusual, because
there was a strong compensating influence arising from the fact that
during his crucial adolescent years his working environment as an
apprentice was a strikingly stimulating one. Riebau's shop would have
provided in large measure any learning opportunities that the young
Faraday may have lacked at home. As a result, in spite of his family's
poverty, Faraday's daily life would have been more than adequately pro-
vided with the first of the two essential components identified by
Csikszentmihalyi, stimulation to learn.
Just as importantly, Faraday was also blessed with a home background
in which Csikszentmihalyi's second component, structure and support,
was provided in abundance. At first glance it may appear not at all likely
that these qualities could have been prominent in the family of a poor
blacksmith who was often unwell. Nevertheless, they were. The reasons
why become clear from a brief description of Michael Faraday's very
unusual family circumstances.
Faraday and his relatives belonged to a close-knit religious sect that was
 Michael Faraday 91

distinctive in a number of respects, one of them being the extent to which

its members provided mutual support for one another. Throughout his
life, Faraday was an active member of this dissenting Christian group,
known alternatively as the 'Glasites' and the 'Sandemanians'. The sect
had originated in the late 1720s, when a Scottish Presbyterian minister
named John Glas became convinced that since the alliance between
church and state is not sanctioned in the Bible, it could not be justified.
Glas's ideas brought him into conflict with the church authorities, leading
to his deposition in 1730, but sufficient members of his congregation had
been converted to his views for him to create a new church, at Dundee. By
the middle of the eighteenth century the movement had grown and was
well established. It had a simple creed, based on fairly literal observance
of the words and spirit of the New Testament. There was a pronounced
ascetic element, and firm injunctions to help the poor and avoid accumu-
lating material wealth. Within the sect there was much emphasis on
giving mutual support and acting with kindliness.
Being Sandemanians affected the lives of Michael Faraday and his
family in a number of ways that would have influenced his temperament
and personality. At least in principle, the Sandemanian faith did not
weigh down its adherents with either the sense of guilt or the feelings of
fear that were encouraged by other Christian sects. Members of the con-
gregation could feel calm and serene, thankful for Christ's sacrifice,
happy to be denied worldly goods, and cheerful about the absence of
worldly pleasures in their lives, knowing that this was pleasing in the eyes
of the Lord. Members of the sect supported each other and depended
upon one another, working to maintain consensus within the group and
avoid strife. Michael Faraday's own air of serenity was often remarked on,
and it was an obvious source of strength for him.
The Sandemanian church was a central element of the home back-
ground in which Michael Faraday grew up. As well as being mutually sup-
portive and governed by clear rules and obligations, its members placed
emphasis on stability. Adherents were serene and calm, kindly but some-
what controlling, and relatively untroubled by guilt and anxieties. For
Faraday the Sandemanian church was a safe haven which he could always
fall back on and rely upon. The sect would have given him precisely those
elements of support and structure that Csikszentmihalyi's research has
identified as being instrumental in helping young people to cope with the
demands of independent studying. Crucially, it provided precisely the
kind of background that makes it possible for a young person to get into
the habit of engaging at those activities that demand sustained concentra-
tion.
In short, despite his family's poverty and his lack of formal education,
92 Genius Explained

Faraday as a teenager was not by any means starved of those resources

that nourish a young person's mental development: the essential elements
were firmly in place. Daily life in Riebau's business provided intellectual
stimulation, and his family's membership of the Sandemanians helped to
ensure that he could rely on the firm advantages provided by having a
stable and supportive home background.
The second unusual advantage that Faraday enjoyed arose from his
good fortune in encountering a book which told him how to become a
serious student. The title of the book was The Improvement of the Mind.
The author, Isaac Watts, who died in 1748, is remembered today as a
writer of hymns. These include some of the most beautiful in the English
language, such as 'When I survey the wondrous cross .. .' and 'Joy to the
World .. .'.
Faraday himself regarded Watts' book as having been enormously
influential in his development into a competent scholar and scientist. It
probably became available to him in 1809, when Michael Faraday was
eighteen. One biographer? notes that an edition of this book was pub-
lished in that year, and suggests that Riebau would have stocked it for sale
in his shop, where Faraday may have discovered it. However, there were
earlier versions, including one printed in 1801, and if that was the one
Faraday came across, he could have read it earlier than 1809. In any case,
Faraday made very considerable use of the book, and in a letter written in
1812 he described Watts as being 'great in all the methods respecting the
attainment of! earning'. 8
Isaac Watts' The Improvement of the Mind is one of the very best in a long
tradition of self-improvement books addressed to readers who are keen to
extend their knowledge and mental skills. It was not written just for
unschooled people who needed to educate themselves, but a self-edu-
cated person like Michael Faraday would have been especially likely to
profit from it. The author had thought at length about the learning activ-
ities that result in a person gaining the intellectual powers that furnish an
educated mind, and as a practical guide, The Improvement of the Mind is
not at all inferior to most of the 'How to Learn' books that are to be found
in bookshops today. As a source of insight into the experience of becom-
ing educated it is considerably better. Watts' book would have helped
Faraday to decide on effective daily study activities. It would also have
extended his understanding of the ways in which a student can add to his
abilities by building on what is already known.
The book has twenty chapters on a wide range of topics, including
reading, lectures, acquiring new languages, 'fixing the attention',

7 Williams (1965), p. 12. 8 Quoted in Jones (1870), p. 16.

 Michael Faraday 93

memory, reasoning, observation, and learning from conversations.

Throughout it Watts emphasises the necessity for a student to make sure
that the process of learning is as active and as meaningful as it can be.
Watts warns readers against assuming that a clever individual can become
a wise person without having to bother with learning and studying. As he
puts it, 'it is no idle thing to be a scholar indeed'. But on the other hand,
'neither must you imagine that large and laborious reading and strong
memory can denominate you truly wise', 9 because:
It is meditation and studious thought, it is the exercise of your own reason and
judgement upon all you read, that gives good sense even to the best genius, and
affords your understanding the truest improvement .... but if all your learning
be nothing else but a mere amassment of what others have written, without a
due penetration into the meaning, and without a judicious choice and determi-
nation of your own sentiments, I do not see what title your head has to true
learning. 10
Throughout The Improvement of the Mind there is repeated insistence on
the need for the student to be more than a passive recipient of other
people's knowledge. Watts advises learners against having too much rev-
erence for the books they read. He tells them not to hesitate to use a book
in any way that serves the learner's needs, for instance by marking con-
tents, underlining words, clarifying, and supplementing or reorganising
passages which are unclear. Following some pages of down-to-earth
advice about learning from a book (for example, Watts advises learners
not to get too anxious if not everything is clear at the first reading, and to
'mark what is unknown to you, and review whole chapters, pages or para-
graphs'), Watts encourages taking a robustly critical and even sceptical
approach to a book's contents. Advice like that would have been especially
reassuring for someone like Faraday, because self-educated learners are
especially prone to think that the printed page has more authority than it
actually has. The injunction against too reverential a stance towards the
contents of books provides a needed balance. Watts urges, for example,
if [the writer] does not explain his ideas or prove the positions well, mark the faults
or defects, and endeavour to do it better ...
If the method of a book be irregular, reduce it in to form by a little analysis of your
own, or by hints in the margin: if those things are heaped together, which should
be separated, you may wisely distinguish and divide them: 11

9 Isaac Watts, The Improvement of The Mind: or a Supplement to the Art of Logic: (containing a
variety of remarks and rules for the attainment and communication of useful knowledge
in religion, in the sciences, and in common life. To which is added, Discourse on the
Education of Children and ll>uth: two parts, complete in one volume). Printed by J.
Abraham, Clement's Lane, Lombard Street, r80I. 10 Watts (r8or), pp. 6-7.
11 Watts (r8or), pp. 34-5.
94 Genius Explained

Reading The Improvement of the Mind would also have made Faraday
more aware of the necessity to undertake a number of different activities
that all contribute to learning. Reading is essential, Watts agrees, but
reading on its own is insufficient, and the student must think about the
material he has read. Study is vital, but it is not enough to simply remem-
ber the material. Careful thought is important, but it is only effective in
conjunction with information that is accurate and reasonably detailed.
Attendance at lectures is valuable, but in order to get the most from them
the student needs to take notes during the lecture and go over them and
revise them afterwards. The acquisition of new information is also vital,
but it is equally necessary to be able to distinguish between words and
things. A student should never be contented with learning lists of words
and phrases, without properly understanding them, 'less your laboured
improvements only amass a heap of unintelligible phrases, and you feed
upon husks instead of kernels' . 12
Watts' writing manages to be erudite and practical at the same time, and
Faraday's confidence in himself as a scholar would almost certainly have
increased as a consequence of his having access to it. The book offers con-
vincingly down-to-earth advice about the procedures and activities that
result in effective learning. That would have helped Faraday to gain a
broad view of the possible route by which he could achieve his aim of edu-
cating himself. Prior to encountering The Improvement of the Mind he had
probably formed some idea of what he wanted to achieve as a learner, but
without a proper knowledge ofhow to do that he would not have been at all
certain that his rather vague goals were realistic. Watts' book showed
Faraday how he could move ahead. It gave him a clear picture of what was
possible. Armed with it, Michael Faraday would have gained some idea of
what had to be done in order to make further progress. His initially vague
aspirations would have started to seem like practical possibilities, ones that
could be achieved by making sensible plans and diligently following them.
Fortified by what he had learned about the process of becoming a
scholar from Watts' guide, and helped by the calm and supportive back-
ground of his own home life and the stimulating environment of his
apprenticeship, Michael Faraday now threw himself into the pursuit of a
scientific education. By around the time he became eighteen in 1809
Faraday had already made himself into a reasonably well-informed young
man who had a serious interest in the sciences and had already mastered a
number of books on chemistry. By the end of the following year he was a
studious and disciplined individual, capable of persevering until difficult
learning challenges were mastered.

12 Watts (r80I), p. ro7.

 Michael Faraday 95

From about that time Faraday's progress as a scientist can be plotted in

greater detail. We know about the lectures and meetings he attended, the
books and scientific papers he read, and the friends and instructors who
taught and encouraged him, and with whom he discussed his ideas.
Numerous examples of Faraday's own notes and illustrations still survive.
There is substantial documentation ofhis activities, in the form of papers,
reports and letters. These make it clear that his efforts to learn were well
planned and thorough, involving a larger range of enterprises than before.
He was taking Watts' advice seriously. At around this time there may have
been a marked acceleration in the intensity of his efforts. He was
extremely conscientious about his studies, and very diligent, going to
great lengths to follow to the letter the advice he received from The
Improvement of the Mind.
For instance, Faraday reported that when he started attending lec-
tures in 1810 he would habitually take a number of steps, all as recom-
mended by Watts, to ensure that he gained the maximum profit from
them. First, during the lecture (where he usually made sure he had a seat
in the front row) he would be careful to write down on a sheet of paper
'the most prominent words, short but important sentences, titles of the
experiments, names of what substances came under consideration and
many other hints that would tend to bring what had passed to my
mind'. 13 Next, as soon as he arrived home after the lecture he would
start on a second set of notes prepared from the original ones but 'more
copious, more connected and more legible than the first'. Using these
notes he then proceeded to write out the whole lecture. The notes he
had taken made this possible, because they served to remind him of the
detailed topics that had been mentioned and to indicate the order in
which the different parts of the lecture had presented and in which the
various experiments had been described. With the assistance the notes
provided, Faraday was confident that he could then supply the rest of
the information from memory. In this manner he was able to reconsti-
tute the whole of a lecture. He found that he could do that with a fair
degree of accuracy.
Proceeding through all these steps must have involved much time and
effort, even a degree of obsessiveness. But there is no denying the
effectiveness of this meticulous procedure: by the time Faraday reached
the end of it he would have internalised a firm and detailed version of the
lecture. Faraday was a model student, a young man who regularly carried
out the study activities that 'How to Learn' books sensibly advise but
which few of their readers are sufficiently painstaking to practise. These

13 Quoted in Williams (r965), p. r6.

96 Genius Explained

learning procedures adopted by the young Michael Faraday - making

good notes, writing information out in one's own words, attempting to
reconstitute a lecture on the basis of the notes one has taken- are all ones
that do indeed help students to retain information in a readily accessible
and usable form. Since Faraday's time, the effectiveness of the study
activities he engaged in, following Watts' recommendations, has repeat-
edly been confirmed in empirical investigations. 14
Csikszentmihalyi's findings undoubtedly help us to understand why
the activity of studying may have been less burdensome for Michael
Faraday than for other boys of his age. Even so, it is still not entirely clear
what, in those late teenage years, impelled Michael Faraday to work so
intensely as he did at his studies. What drove him on? Reconstructing the
motives of a long-dead individual is tantalisingly difficult, and it has to be
based partly on speculation. Doubtless a number of different factors had
a role in spurring his efforts. As we have seen, the manner in which people
spend their time partly depends upon habit, and Faraday's circumstances
would have favoured a studious and diligent outlook on life. In addition,
his increasing scientific knowledge, and the sense of accomplishment that
he gained from it, would have pleased him and sharpened his curiosity.
Today we are not entirely comfortable with the notion of 'thirst for knowl-
edge' as a driving power, but science for Faraday was unquestionably new
and must have seemed genuinely exciting. For him science would not
have evoked any of the boredom that can be induced by overfamiliarity or
too much time spent in the company of the bunsen burner. Another moti-
vating force may have been a broadly-based desire for self-improvement.
Samuel Smiles admired Faraday as a great scientist and saw him as a mar-
vellous exemplar of 'self-help', despite the fact that his knowledge of
Faraday's early life happened to be somewhat hazy. And with Faraday
having a strong religious faith, it is also possible that a wish to reveal the
works of God may have been a major spur to his efforts.
There were conflicting elements in his personality, which have never
been satisfactorily explained. Michael Faraday's contemporaries claimed
to see a fiery and passionate temperament behind his calm outward
manner. That tension could account for the observation that his behavi-
our sometimes appeared obsessive and over-controlled. However, when
we are trying to come to grips with the causes of genius it is important not
to assume that the unusual is necessarily synonymous with the pathologi-
cal. Instances of that fallacy are not uncommon, an example being a
recent Darwin biographer's taking that scientist's casual remark that his
work was sometimes a solace to him as evidence of a neurotic personality.

14 See for example, Howe and Godfrey (r977).

 Michael Faraday 97

It is true that geniuses are often far from ordinary in a number of ways.
The sheer force of their enthusiasms is often extraordinary, as is their
single-minded devotion to particular interests. Some geniuses, like
Newton, might conceivably be regarded as having been egocentric to an
extent that justifies calling their actions 'pathological'. Simply because
geniuses are exceptional, it is perhaps inevitable that some of the descrip-
tive terms others apply to them are ones that are often associated with
abnormalities that take pathological forms, creating in people's minds a
link that may be illusory. In the particular case of Faraday we can note
that although it is certainly possible to describe his efforts as being obses-
sive, that word could just as fittingly be applied to the majority of excep-
tionally creative individuals. Furthermore, the act oflabelling a person as
obsessive does little to help reveal the actual causes or motives underlying
his or her activities.
The rate of Faraday's progress towards changing himself into a well-
informed amateur scientist was undeniably impressive, but perhaps no
more so than might have been expected in an unusually well motivated
young learner who was capable of persevering at the intense regime of
learning and study activities that Faraday set himself. In that respect
Faraday was not unlike Stephenson. The immense enthusiasm for learn-
ing that is seen in both these men, amounting almost to a hunger for it, is
to some extent characteristic of intellectually curious individuals who are
conscious of having missed out on schooling and anxious to catch up.
As with Charles Darwin and George Stephenson, when Michael
Faraday's steady advance towards becoming an exceptionally capable
individual is carefully charted, we conspicuously fail to encounter any
obvious gaps or sudden leaps: each new capability or fresh understanding
can be seen to build upon ones that have already been gained. There is no
point at which Faraday inexplicably magnified his capabilities or sud-
denly expanded them. In making that observation I do not claim that any
person sharing Faraday's intense motivation and devotion towards learn-
ing would necessarily have made equivalent gains. Yet there is clearly no
need to assume that Faraday could not have made the progress he did
unless he possessed some inherently special powers of learning. Nor are
there any convincing reasons for believing that Michael Faraday was
innately more clever than most other people. Outside his particular areas
of interest he was not noticeably well-informed: he never seemed to know
much about the crucial political events of his lifetime, for example. And
far from regarding himself as being unusually intelligent, he was always
conscious of what he perceived to be limitations, particularly in regard to
remembering. He seems to have been convinced that his memory was
defective. He may have been right about that, although it is possible that
98 Genius Explained

the lapses which distressed him were no more than the absent-minded-
ness of someone whose deep preoccupation with his own particular inter-
ests restricted the amount of attention that could be directed to the
external practicalities of everyday life.
As in the case of George Stephenson, what is most impressive of all
about Faraday's achievements as a student is not the size of the learning
gains he made relative to his efforts, but the sheer magnitude of the
efforts. So if we are to look for qualities in Michael Faraday that resist an
explanation based on his unusual experiences and mental activities, it is
more likely that they will involve his exceptional determination and
capacity for sustained concentration on problems than his learning or
thinking capacities as such. But as we have seen, there is every reason to
believe that no special explanation is required. His remarkable powers of
determination and concentration were nurtured by his experiences, and
fuelled by an understandably acute desire to learn.
At least up to the stage ofhis life when he reached the age of twenty-one
in 1812, there is no evidence at all to suggest that the contributing causes
of Faraday's capabilities were fundamentally different to the various
influences that help determine ordinary people's abilities. Faraday was
remarkable and extraordinary, of course, but the influences that resulted
in him gaining exceptional capabilities do not appear to have been funda-
mentally different from the ones that have enabled other people to
acquire more ordinary levels of competence. Nothing that has been
observed in the course of Faraday's life up to this point provides any
grounds for believing that his progress was assisted by exceptional mental
processes, or by special inherent qualities that are exclusive to geniuses.
No firm indications exist of innate gifts or talents playing a role. Nor is
there any evidence that Faraday possessed fundamentally enhanced
learning powers or especially speedy cognitive processing capacity, or
totally inexplicable powers of creativity.
Aided by the advice he encountered in The Improvement of the Mind,
Faraday's efforts to educate himself from 1810 until the completion ofhis
apprenticeship in 1812 took the form of an organised campaign. The
regime he followed would have ensured that someone as strongly moti-
vated as him, and as able to tolerate long periods of hard effort, could
hardly have failed to acquire a sound grounding in what was known about
chemistry and physics at the beginning of the nineteenth century. He was
always very aware of his lack of formal education, and during those years
he almost certainly overestimated the benefits that other young people
gained from the schooling he had missed. At that time he believed that
only by Herculean efforts on his part could the lost ground be made up.
Only later in life did he start to appreciate that an education which is
 Michael Faraday 99

largely directed by the learner's own choices and voluntary decisions has
advantages as well as limitations, and in certain respects can be the best
kind of education there is.

The range of Faraday's learning activltles broadened. Attending and

writing-up lectures were not the only ways in which he pursued his aims
for self-improvement. In 1809 he had begun to keep a journal in which he
collected items of scientific information that came to his attention. He
organised a discussion group. From his tiny income he saved money to
purchase primitive equipment that enabled him to replicate some of the
experiments he had read about, in particular ones exploring the powers of
electricity. He started writing letters on scientific and philosophical
matters to a friend, Benjamin Abbott, a clerk who worked in the City and
had similar interests to his own. This correspondence continued for
years, on a frequent and regular basis. He also took serious steps to
improve his command of written language, arranging weekly lessons
which he persisted at for seven years. He even had instruction in drawing,
benefiting from the presence of a talented emigrant from France who may
have been lodging in Riebau's house at the time. All these educational
activities are recommended in The Improvement of the Mind.
By the summer of 1810, as well as going to scientific lectures, Faraday
had started to give occasional lectures himself. The ones he was regularly
attending at that time took place at meetings of a group known as the City
Philosophical Society, which had been established in 1808 by a Mr John
Tatum. The meetings took place in Tatum's house, and on alternate
Wednesdays Tatum himself would lecture there on some aspect of
science. At a time when societies played a major role in the dissemination
of scientific knowledge, Faraday would have found the meetings - with
the opportunities they provided to discuss ideas with like-minded indi-
viduals- congenial and stimulating. On those weeks when Tatum was not
lecturing the other members took turns to contribute. It was at one of
these occasions, probably in April 1810, within a few months of his begin-
ning to listen to Tatum's lectures, that Faraday's own first lecture was
delivered. It was on electricity. By then he had already read fairly widely
on that subject and knew about a variety of rival views that had been put
forward. Even at the time he gave his first lecture he was sufficiently
confident to advocate an approach to his topic that sharply diverged from
the one favoured by Tatum.
Faraday has often been described as having been self-educated, but so
far as the actual content of his education was concerned, that designation
is slightly misleading in his case. His independent efforts were con-
spicuous in the initiating, arranging, controlling and directing of his
100 Genius Explained

educational arrangements, but not in the process of instruction. He

learned much from various people, making excellent use of the help he
was given by a number of individuals who served him as teachers and lec-
turers. Taken together, all the various learning and studying activities that
Faraday undertook during these years gave him a scientific education that
was superior to anything that could have been obtained from most
schools at this time, especially in the sciences.
Yet despite all the progress he had made, when his apprenticeship came
to an end in 1812, Faraday, now almost twenty-one, found himself with no
prospect of a job that would permit him to pursue his scientific interests,
let alone one in which he would be paid to practise the skills and knowl-
edge that he had so painstakingly acquired. It is hard to believe that
Faraday had not given some thought to the question of how he might find
a position that did not involve him spending his days binding books, a
prospect that could not have seemed attractive to a young man who in
most respects had become highly educated. But perhaps his religious
faith as a member of the Sandemanian sect had encouraged him to take
an attitude of 'take no thought for the future'. In any case, by October
1812 Faraday was fully aware of his predicament, and was in despair. He
was still working as a bookbinder, but reluctantly. He ached to leave his
job and find a better alternative, and yet he could see no prospect at all of
finding a satisfactory situation. Even forty years later, Thomas Huxley,
Darwin's vigorous disciple and the founder of a scientific dynasty, was
complaining that anyone who chooses a scientific life 'chooses not a life of
poverty, but so far as I can see, a life of nothing, and the art ofliving upon
nothing at all has yet to be discovered'. 15 Paid positions for scientists were
very rare. For a young scientist with no university qualification and no
good connections they were almost non-existent. As Faraday wrote to a
friend, 'indeed, as long as I stop in my present situation (and I see no
chance of getting out of it just yet), I must resign philosophy entirely to
those who are more fortunate in the possession of time and means.' 16
Then, quite suddenly, his fortunes improved, and Michael Faraday
found himself with an excellent position and a powerful mentor. That
word is perhaps too narrow to cover the range of roles through which
mature, well-educated or wealthy individuals have provided assistance to
ambitious young people in want of resources that are necessary in order
to get ahead. A minority of geniuses, including Stephenson, Newton and
Einstein, have depended only to a limited extent upon this kind of assis-
tance. Sometimes parents have served as a young person's most impor-
tant mentors, as did James Mill (who himself benefited as a young man

15 Quoted in Newsome (1997), p. 71. 16 Quoted in Williams (1965), p. 28.

 Michael Faraday 101

from having a wealthy sponsor) for John Stuart Mill. Some geniuses have
received help from a number of different individuals. Charles Darwin, for
instance, was given considerable assistance by his sisters (who taught him
as a child), his father, his brother, and by a variety of university scientists,
notably Robert Grant at Edinburgh and John Henslow at Cambridge.
Faraday's powerful mentor was Humphry Davy, the celebrated
chemist. Davy was not the first person to be helpful to Faraday, of course.
Riebau had done much to encourage him in the early years, and others,
such as Tatum, aided him at a later stage. But Davy's patronage was espe-
cially significant, because he commanded a position right at the apex of
British science.
There was a large element of luck in Faraday's gaining a post with
Davy, although it was not a matter of luck alone. Faraday had already
been fortunate in his choice of employer when he began his apprentice-
ship. Perhaps even at that time Faraday or his father might have perceived
that Riebau would prove unusually kind and encouraging, although it is
more likely that nobody had anticipated just how favourable the circum-
stances ofhis apprenticeship would turn out to be. With Faraday's second
major stroke ofluck, he was taken on by Humphry Davy as an assistant at
the Royal Institution. Davy's highly original research in chemistry and his
reputation as a popular lecturer had made him one of the most fashion-
able British scientists of the time, and undoubtedly the most glamorous.
Faraday knew just how valuable a chance he had been given. He had
done all he could to bring that about, having brought himself to Davy's
attention earlier. He had also approached Sir Joseph Banks, the wealthy
and powerful naturalist who in his twenties had travelled around the
world with Captain James Cook in the Endeavour. But Banks was now
almost seventy, and not prepared to exert himself on behalf of a young
man he had never heard of. However, largely by chance, Faraday's efforts
to gain Davy's help did succeed. At a moment that might have been pre-
cisely calculated to cater for Faraday's aspirations, the irresponsible beha-
viour of Davy's laboratory assistant prompted his employer to look for a
replacement. It quickly became obvious that the eager young Michael
Faraday was the ideal candidate.
Faraday had known about Davy's work well before 1812. Two years
earlier he had read a book entitled Conversations on Chemistry by Mrs Jane
Marcet, in which she gave a clear account of the views that Davy was pro-
pounding in the highly acclaimed series of lectures he delivered at the
recently founded Royal Institution. Their original purpose had been to
disseminate knowledge to the artisan class, but the audience soon came to
be dominated by young ladies who flocked to see this brilliant and attrac-
tive young scientist, and tickets were hard to obtain. Faraday was given
102 Genius Explained

some tickets early in 1812, and he was enormously impressed by hearing

and seeing Davy, whose research was beginning to reveal the immense
importance of electricity in chemistry. In October of that year, Davy
suffered an eye injury, and needing a helper for a few days he temporarily
employed Michael Faraday. But once this very brief period of work
ended, Davy had no further need for assistance, and when Faraday wrote
to Davy in the following December, enclosing some examples of his
writing and asking about the possibility of a job, Davy was unable to help.
Quite suddenly however, Faraday's situation changed dramatically,
when the Royal Institution's laboratory assistant was discharged after
getting involved in a brawl. Faraday, startled by a footman's thundering
knock on the door of his home as he was undressing for bed one evening,
saw a carriage in the street and discovered that he had been summoned to
talk to Davy at the Royal Institution the next morning. He was quickly
appointed to the post of laboratory assistant at one guinea (just over a
pound) a week, roughly what Stephenson had been earning at the same
age, but with the added benefit of rooms in the Institution as well as fuel,
candles and aprons, and - most important of all - the privilege of using
the Institution's apparatus for his own research.
Michael Faraday's appointment as Davy's assistant was a momentous
event in his life. It brought him into touch with prominent scientists and
their activities. His efforts in earlier years had made him well prepared for
the post, and he rapidly made a reputation as an able assistant whose
efficiency and reliability would have been especially noticeable because of
their absence in his predecessor. Even the physical dexterity that aug-
mented his experimental expertise gained him favourable attention. As
well as performing his duties he immediately plunged into research of his
own, and he was often asked to assist with lectures at the Institution. He
did not neglect his own general education and his plans for self improve-
ment, and with a group of friends he arranged weekly mutual-improve-
ment meetings, in which members read to one another and helped each
other by criticising and correcting their essays and other writings.
An interesting feature of the Davy-Faraday relationship is that in some
respects it anticipates arrangements that are more characteristic of today
than of the early nineteenth century. In the present century mentoring
functions in science have tended to become diffused and institutionalised.
Among Nobel prizewinners, for instance, the status and prestige of the
institution a young scientist attends, and the extent to which it attracts
active scholars and keeps in touch with current developments, may be at
least as crucial as the personal assistance provided by individual mentors. 17

17 Zuckerman (r977).
 Michael Faraday 103

As Harriet Zuckerman has shown in her research into the careers of Nobel
prizewinning scientists, a typical prizewinner will have attended one of a
small number of prestigious universities and gained advantages from
working with high-ranking scientists, will have had access to good facilities,
and will also have become known to other active scientists as a person who
is associated with a highly regarded institution. 18 At the Royal Institution
Faraday would have enjoyed similar advantages, even though his relation-
ship with Davy was always formal and not particularly close, and strictly
confined to scientific activities. like Faraday, Davy, who was only thirteen
years older than him, had known poverty in his early life, but the two men
could not have been more different. Where Faraday was modest and
unworldly, Davy was ambitious and urbane, with an eye for worldly
success.
Someone as vain and egocentric as Davy was might appear to have
been a less than ideal candidate for the role of mentor. Unsurprisingly, the
relationship between the two men was clouded at times. A biographer
who had known Faraday for the last thirty years of his life perceived that,
'Davy was hurt by his own success. He had very little self-control, and but
little method and order' . 19 Faraday himself, his first biographer reported,
'has been known to say that the greatest of all his advantages was that he
had a model to teach him what he should avoid'. 20 Yet Davy's sheer
enthusiasm for science was infectious, and Faraday would have been
inspired as well as intrigued by the great chemist's eagerness to talk about
his current interests to anyone who would listen, and think aloud about
the problems he was engaged on, as is evident from the reports of Davy's
thoughts and speculations that pepper the journal made by Faraday in the
eighteen-month period he spent accompanying his employer on the
European mainland. In that respect at least, Davy, for all his faults, would
have been a better mentor for a young scientist than Faraday ever could
have been, despite his being an excellent lecturer and a more generous
and less selfish individual than Davy. Unlike the extroverted Davy,
Faraday found it impossible to think aloud and would rarely discuss his
own ideas with other people until they were fully formed. He was a very
private man. Faraday was not unfriendly and did not lack a sense of
humour, but there were firm limits on his everyday sociability. There was
a spirit of exclusivity in the Sandemanian sect which had such an impor-
tant place in his life, and this made Sandemanians seem antisocial to out-
siders. Even within the sect socialising was largely restricted to Sundays.
These constraints do not seem to have impeded Faraday's develop-
ment as a scientist. Sundays apart, his scientific interests filled most of his

18 Zuckerman (r977). 19 Jones (r87o), p. rgo. 20 Jones (r87o), p. rgo.

104 Genius Explained

available hours. In many of his day-to-day relationships with other people

his predominant role was that of either learner or teacher. He tended to
avoid social events if he could, especially after his marriage in 1821, and
that freed him from distractions that would otherwise have interfered with
his scientific work. On Sundays his scientific activities were temporarily
forgotten: during the weekly period of respite from his work Faraday's
mind was occupied with his fellow Sandemanians and their mutual faith.
He played a leading role in the sect and was a frequent preacher. That
pattern oflife persisted until his death.

Newton's response to the question of how he was able to achieve his pro-
digious accomplishments, 'by working on it continually' is valid for virtu-
ally all great innovators in the arts or sciences. As I have already
remarked, every creative individual has to find a way to form some kind of
protective shell that cuts out mundane disturbances and makes lengthy
contemplation possible. In Faraday's case, that was achieved by his
adopting a persona that kept him partly detached from other people and
their concerns. He was totally uninterested in political issues, his 400 sur-
viving letters barely mentioning the turmoils and crises that for many
people were burning issues. Modest and genial, he was rarely unkind, but
he put sharp limits on his involvement with others. For all his serenity and
goodness, the sense of a sharply defined personality who is forceful and
effective in his dealings with the outside world is less evident in accounts
of Faraday than it is in contemporary reports of other great innovators.
Although his humility and benevolence were often remarked upon and he
was conscientious in meeting his obligations- making young relatives and
other visitors welcome in his laboratory and enthusiastically entering into
their games, going to enormous lengths to produce lectures that were as
clear and effective as he could make them, putting special efforts into the
science lectures for children which he introduced at the Royal Institution
- he was in many respects a solitary scholar. He was happy to know that
his lectures were enjoyed by the many people who attended them, and his
audiences included literary figures like Dickens as well as scientists such
as Darwin. But he usually avoided having students working under his
supervision. He admitted that when he and an assistant were working in
his laboratory, many hours might pass without a word passing between
them. So far as was possible, he worked unaided, and as he undertook the
routine work on an experiment, his mind would be totally engaged in his
thoughts. As one of his biographers put it, Faraday's dialogue was with
nature. 21

21 Williams (1965), p. 99·

 Michael Faraday 105

Faraday's horizons expanded when Davy, having recently married a

wealthy widow, embarked in October 1813 on a long tour of Europe,
taking Faraday with him. With characteristic recklessness Davy chose to
begin the visit at a politically sensitive moment, with France and Britain
seemingly on the verge of hostilities. Until then Faraday had hardly trav-
elled at all, and even the Devon scenery which he passed through on the
journey to Plymouth came as a surprise, rapidly altering his ideas about
the nature of the earth's surface. The tour lasted almost eighteen months,
and it involved visits to the major European cities and the laboratories of a
number of prominent scientists, including Vauquelin and Ampere. The
journal Faraday kept at the time, and his letters to friends, demonstrate
that, predictably enough, he continued to learn from the sights and expe-
riences he encountered. Less predictably, during this period there
occurred one of the few emotional crises that disturbed Faraday's habit-
ual serenity and threatened to destroy his self-control. During the first
year of the tour neither Faraday's letters nor his journal gave any hint that
things were going anything but well, but quite suddenly, in a letter written
in November 1814, Faraday poured out his heart to a friend, saying that
he had been unhappy for some time and wished he had never left home.
The ostensible reason was the behaviour of Davy's wife. He found her
haughty, proud, and snobbish, and said that she never stopped talking.
She seemed to enjoy taunting and humiliating those within her power.
The naive and unworldly Faraday, 'believed at that time that she hated me
and her evil disposition made her endeavour to thwart me in all my view
and to debase me in my occupations'. 22
He eventually did learn to cope with her, but one cannot help wonder-
ing whether Lady Davy really was the sole cause of Faraday's unhappi-
ness. Perhaps he was simply very homesick, and he might have attributed
to her a larger role in forming his mood than her actions really justified. At
the beginning of the tour, Davy, whose own servant had refused to
accompany him on the tour, had asked Faraday to take on some of the
duties of a valet, a request which Faraday was in no position to refuse.
Humphry Davy may not always have been considerate to his part-time
valet, and if that was the case Faraday would have found it hard to admit
to himself at the time that the great scientist and admired mentor on
whom his livelihood depended was far from perfect. The tour of Europe
would have given Faraday endless opportunities to observe his patron's
less attractive sides, and being always at the beck and call of an employer
who had fallen from grace in his eyes would have been unpleasant for the
young Sandemanian.

22 Quoted in Williams (r965), p. 40.

106 Genius Explained

Davy was certainly haughty on occasions. Around 1816 he happened to

be in dispute with George Stephenson, then an unknown engineer, con-
cerning the question of who was the true inventor of a safety lamp for
miners. Each of them had independently developed a lamp at roughly the
same time. Davy was petulant, arrogant, and thoroughly disagreeable,
snobbishly refusing to accept that an uneducated man who was claiming
to have forestalled him could be anything but an imposter. 23
Despite the difficulties, Faraday survived his period on the European
mainland and returned to England maturer, more knowledgeable about
science, a little more worldly-wise, and better prepared to embark on
independent research of his own. A month after his return to England
in 1815, not yet twenty-four, he was promoted at the Royal Institution
to the important-sounding post of Assistant and Superintendent of
the Apparatus of the Laboratory and Mineralogical Collection, at an
increased salary. He continued to work with and for Davy, who encour-
aged him and acknowledged the assistance Faraday gave him, although
there were soon to be serious disputes between them. These culminated
in 1824 in Davy's making himself appear ridiculous as well as vindictive in
a vain attempt to bar Faraday's admission to the Royal Society. But
Faraday was now less dependent upon Davy than he had been when he
first began to work at the Royal Institution, and he had more contact with
other prominent chemists, such as William Brande. Michael Faraday was
now giving numerous lectures himself, and he soon found himself being
frequently called upon to use his expertise as an analytical chemist in
order to advise industrialists on practical questions. Within a year of his
promotion at the Royal Institution his first scientific paper had been pub-
lished, quickly to be followed by others.
The twenty-five-year-old Michael Faraday was now on the road to
becoming a major scientist, having prepared himself superbly for a pro-
ductive life in science. Of course, it was still not inevitable that he would
be exceptionally successful, and for that to happen his subsequent crea-
tive efforts had to be extraordinary. But that further progress did not need
to be either magical or mysterious. Although Michael Faraday's years of
careful preparation may not have made his later achievements certain or
even probable, they did much to help make them possible. And however
impressive and even dazzling the creative feats of Faraday's mature years
as a scientist were, they present no features that are qualitatively harder to
account for than are those advances that generated his earlier progress.
The feat of climbing Mount Everest may have once seemed a complete
mystery, but as soon as we learn how climbers could reach the point of

23 Rolt (rg6o), p. 3I.

 Michael Faraday 107

establishing a base camp close to the summit we can perceive that the
whole ascent is possible after all. Similarly, the discovery that Faraday's
earlier development into an accomplished scientist required no miracles,
makes it seem likely that his later achievements too, for all their extraordi-
nariness, can be accounted for along broadly similar lines. Once again,
the facts do not point to a need for inherently special powers that are
unique to geniuses. The challenge of explaining Faraday's genius con-
fronts us with problems rather than mysteries.

Even in comparison with the very few other highly promising young sci-
entists who were engaged in research at the time and might have been
regarded as Faraday's potential competitors, Michael Faraday at twenty-
five had some distinct advantages. His position at the Royal Institution
made him as well placed as anyone to conduct experiments and to learn
about new discoveries and developments. It has also been suggested that
even the fact that - partly as a consequence of his being self-educated -
his mathematical competence was restricted may have worked to his
advantage. That is indeed possible, because the more mathematical
approach that he might otherwise have favoured could have imposed
unhelpful constraints at that particular stage of scientific discovery. 24
Michael Faraday's extreme diligence was a further strong asset, and so
too were the practical skills, acquired in his apprenticeship, that made
him such an expert at building scientific apparatus. Finally, Faraday's
religious beliefs, which inclined him to perceive his work as part of an
enterprise that helped to reveal the secrets of a divinely created universe,
may have been especially congruent to the conceptualisation of physical
phenomena (in terms of fields and forces) that was central to the scientific
progress he made.
Michael Faraday conducted thousands of experiments and made many
important discoveries. His reputation as a major scientist was sealed
when he discovered electromagnetic induction, just a year after George
Stephenson's place among the great inventors had been secured by the
opening of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway. Coincidentally, in the
month of Faraday's most earth-shaking discovery Charles Darwin was
making the decision that led to him embarking on the voyage of HMS
Beagle, setting in train the series of creative thoughts that eventually
resulted in yet another momentous achievement.
24 Williams (1965).
5 Manufacturing genius

Every so often my daily newspaper has an item on a child prodigy. Some

of these reports are followed up over periods of years. That happened in
Britain with the chess-playing Polgar sisters and with a few young mathe-
maticians, such as Ruth Lawrence. Other prodigies are quickly forgotten
by the media. In most of the cases it is obvious that one or both of the
child's parents has gone to some length to stimulate the young person to
make better than average progress. To differing extents, instances like
these of precocious development accompanied by close parental involve-
ment in the child's progress are manifestations of a deliberate plan to
transform children into extraordinary men or women. Often there has
been an intention to equip the young person with exceptional capabil-
ities. In a few instances the parent has consciously set out to create a
genius.
The belief that genius can be manufactured has had some influence on
the upbringings of a number of outstanding individuals. Naturally, the
forms of the parents' plans for their children have varied. Certain fathers
have made a firm decision to produce a superior individual, and have
actively pursued that intention, more often than not with a certain flair
and a degree of success. James Mill, the father of the great nineteenth
century thinker John Stuart Mill, firmly belonged in this category. So too
did the father of the eminent American mathematician Norbert Wiener,
who founded the science of cybernetics, as did the parents of an unhappy
contemporary of his, William Sidis. The actions of many other parents
have betrayed a similar striving to make a child exceptional, although
many of them would never have admitted to having that intention. A
number of parents, often people whose own educational opportunities
had been restricted, have begun investing large chunks of time and atten-
tion in their child's early education after becoming intrigued about the
possibility of accelerating a young person's progress, perhaps from
reading a newspaper or magazine article. And there is a further category
of parents who became convinced, in some instances even before their
child was born, that fate had decreed that the child was destined for great-

108
 Manufacturing genius 109

ness. Some of these people- who include parents ofYehudi Menuhin, the
architect Frank Lloyd Wright, and the economist Maynard Keynes
(whose mother worried about him working his brain too hard even before
he reached the age of two 1) -have gone to immense lengths to give their
child special opportunities. Despite that, some of these parents have been
inclined to see their own actions as being ones that merely nurtured an
existing natural talent, rather than active interventions designed to create
special abilities.
Certain other parents who have become heavily involved in activities
designed to help a child to gain exceptional abilities have been members
of cultural groups in which it has been customary for the parents to
decide upon a child's vocation. Family traditions have played a part here.
These parents have often made a start at a very early stage in their child's
life, and there may have been little or no provision for the child's own
desires to influence the training activities. The early musical experiences
of the famous Korean cellist Yo Yo Ma reflect a modern form of this kind
of background. The childhoods of Wolfgang Mozart and his sister,
N annerl, exemplify earlier versions of these practices.
All these parents have been alike in going to lengths that many would
think extreme in order to invest in their children's futures. The motives
have varied, although in many cases the parents have been men or women
who believed themselves to have been prevented from making the best of
their own careers. Some were immigrants who could not fulfil their ambi-
tions because they were unable to restart their professional career in a
new country. Others have been disadvantaged men or women deter-
mined to give their children opportunities that were denied to themselves.
Often these people have had time on their hands, or they have possessed
more surplus energy than would be present in individuals with demand-
ing careers of their own. A notable exception is James Mill, the father of
John Stuart Mill. As we shall discover, James Mill put enormous efforts
into giving his son a remarkable early education at the same time as being
engaged in a massive intellectual project of his own.
How successful have these efforts to produce superior children been?
To assess the effectiveness of the parents' activities it is necessary to pose
two distinct questions. First, to what extent has the intention to equip a
child with special knowledge or skills been achieved? Second, how
effective have the parents been at ensuring that their child also gained the
broader kinds of competence that a person needs to have in order to enjoy
a productive and fulfilling life? These wider capacities include various
practical attainments and social capabilities that make a young person

1 Skidelsky (1983).
110 Genius Explained

independent and self-sufficient, and mature enough to be able to get on

with other people.
Compared with the challenge of instilling a young person with extraor-
dinary special abilities, succeeding at these broader aims appears to be a
goal that can be more easily achieved. After all, most ordinary mothers
and fathers do manage to make their children independent and socially
competent, while only a small minority of parents have children who
become extraordinarily accomplished. And yet, amongst those parents
who have deliberately set out to make their child superior in some or
other respect, an appreciable number have succeeded at that seemingly
difficult aim while failing at the apparently less daunting one of making
sure that their child gains the qualities that make a person independent
and socially mature.
That pattern of success and failure may seem paradoxical, but there is a
reason for it. The very same influences that lead to certain men and
women deciding to make an especially heavy emotional investment in
their child's progress can also blind people to important practical real-
ities. This is especially liable to happen with those parents who most
closely identify with their children, and who have a tendency to experi-
ence successes vicariously, through their child's triumphs. In some cases,
families can become too inward looking, with parents and children being
overly dependent upon one another. The adults may fail to appreciate
that children have to be encouraged to strike out on their own and lead
their separate lives, even when that involves moving in directions other
than the ones the parents would have chosen for them. It may be difficult
for the parents to accept that in order to develop into self-sufficient
adults, with their own sense of direction, children need to be given oppor-
tunities and experiences that help make that possible. Unless they are
encouraged to make their own decisions (and their own mistakes) they
may never become capable of making sensible plans and choices.
Similarly, young people who have had no opportunity to share experi-
ences and play activities with other youngsters are likely to lack some of
the social skills that are required for getting on with others.
Just how badly things can go adrift is illustrated by the tragic case of
William (Billy) Sidis (1898-1944). As a child, Sidis was described as 'the
most remarkable boy in the United States' .2 He was an indisputably bril-
liant child prodigy. He taught himself Latin at the age of four, and by the
time he was six he could speak and read eight languages. Between the ages
of six and eight he wrote four books and invented a new language. He
passed the Harvard Medical School anatomy exam and also the entrance

2 Wallace (rg86), p. 47·

 Manufacturing genius 111

examination for the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. It was

confidently predicted that he would become a great mathematician. He
was admitted to Harvard at eleven, and at the same age he delivered a
brilliant two-hour lecture on four-dimensional space to the Harvard
Mathematical Club. Yet Billy Sidis never fulfilled his promise. After grad-
uating from Harvard he suffered a mental breakdown and became
increasingly eccentric, refusing to engage in any work that made proper
use of his intellectual abilities. In spite of his early brilliance, as an adult he
failed to produce a single creative achievement. Sidis died young, at forty-
six: poor, unhappy, unemployed and unfulfilled.
What went wrong in his case? The answer is not immediately obvious.
The education his father provided for him was unusual, but it was neither
narrow nor unenlightened. The elder Sidis claimed to be strongly
opposed to the use of any pressure or compulsion in education. He was
critical of the educational practices of the day, arguing that teachers and
parents should pay more attention to children's own interests. Billy Sidis's
father was never deliberately cruel, and his teaching methods were less
harsh than those of certain other parents whose children, unlike Billy
Sidis, did go on to enjoy creative and successful adult careers.
And yet it is not difficult to find reasons for Billy Sidis's failure.
Although his parents were highly effective at accelerating his mental
development, they let him down badly in other ways. They failed to teach
their son to be independent and capable oflooking after himself, with the
result that until he was well into adolescence he was unable to get dressed
properly or even keep himself clean. His father did not seem to under-
stand that a growing child needs physical as well as mental exercise, and
healthy outdoor activities. Also, both parents were too inclined to show
their son off, partly in order to demonstrate the soundness of their own
educational theories. In particular, they seem to have been too self-
obsessed to appreciate that a young prodigy may need to be protected
from the sometimes intrusive interest of the press. One consequence was
that Billy Sidis, whose all-too-evident social immaturity contrasted
sharply with his mental excellence, was often ridiculed in newspaper arti-
cles.
Most crucially of all, Billy Sidis suffered from a painfully unhappy
home life. The family was dominated by the destructive struggles of the
parents. Both of them were selfish and overbearing people, preoccupied
with fighting their own battles against each other and the outside world.
Neither parent was at all sensitive to the emotional needs of their growing
son. Consequently, the home background conspicuously lacked the sup-
portive structure that is one of the two essential elements highlighted in
the findings of the research by Csikszentmihalyi into family background
112 Genius Explained

influences on young people's progress. Although Sidis was given lashings

of intellectual stimulation he could never rely on the equally vital benefits
of having a supportive and structured home environment.
Happily for others, the case of Billy Sidis was unusual in the extent to
which its disastrous aspects outweighed the positive consequences of the
parents' efforts. In other instances in which a child's upbringing has been
broadly similar to that of Sidis, the resulting triumphs and failures have
been more closely balanced. One especially valuable source of insights
into the likely consequences of a situation in which parents have formed
the deliberate intention of making their child into something approaching
a genius is the autobiography of the distinguished American mathemati-
cian Norbert Wiener. In contrast with Sidis, Wiener did have a successful
and highly creative adult career, although in other respects the two men's
upbringings were remarkably similar. Both were brought up in the Boston
area and were students at Harvard University. Although Wiener was three
years older than Sidis, the two knew each other moderately well. Like
Sidis, Wiener was a remarkable child prodigy: in his childhood and early
adult life he experienced many of the same advantages and a number of
the same difficulties that Sidis encountered.
Norbert Wiener's childhood was almost as unusual as that of William
Sidis. He was born in 1894. When he was a young child his family moved
to Boston, where his father, Leo Wiener, a philologist who was fluent in a
number of languages as well as being a good classical scholar and an
amateur mathematician, found a position at Harvard University. The
family background of Norbert Wiener was like that of Billy Sidis in a
number of ways. Both sets of parents were recent Jewish immigrants to
the United States. Both fathers had arrived in America in the 188os from
Russia, where they had been highly precocious in their own childhoods.
Each father had a variety of intellectual interests and held strong (and
similar) views on education, a topic which they both wrote about at
length. Both of them were described by others as being noticeably intense
and fiery men, ambitious and full of energy, and somewhat domineering
and overbearing.
Leo Wiener's views about education had been influenced by a book-
which he translated into English - written by an Austrian cleric named
Karl Witte. In 18oo, on the birth of his son (another Karl Witte), Witte
had formed the intention of making the boy into 'a superior man'. He and
his wife proceeded to do just that, with considerable success, and the son
eventually became an influential literary authority on the Italian poet
Dante. The Witte parents' approach was sound and down-to-earth.
Although the father was determined that his son should be encouraged to
become outstandingly able, his main priority was to make sure that the
 Manufacturing genius 113

young man would also be healthy, strong, active and happy. As the proud
parent reported to his readers 'in this, as everybody knows, I have suc-
ceeded'.3
Karl Witte was impressed by young children's curiosity and enthu-
siasm to learn, and he was acutely conscious that opportunities to teach
them are often wasted. If only a parent would seize these chances, Witte
observed, 'What an immeasurable amount a child will learn in six, eight
or ten years, that is, in 3,650 days, in 36,500 hours, reckoning the day at
ten hours, if every conversation with him or in his presence teaches him
something!' 4
The perspicacity of that observation has been amply confirmed by
twentieth-century research findings. In one recent investigation, for
instance, it was observed that three-year-olds from different social classes
differed considerably in the scope of their spoken vocabularies. Searching
for an explanation, the researchers discovered enormous variations in the
children's actual experiences of language. Even by the age of three, those
children who came from professional families had already heard more
than thirty million words directed specifically towards them. In sharp
contrast, children from working-class families had heard around twenty
million words, and children in families living on welfare had heard only
ten million words, on average. 5 This demonstration of the huge variability
in children's early experiences, and the likely consequences, underlines
Karl Witte's good sense in drawing attention to the numerous opportu-
nities for learning that are present in the early years of a child's life. It also
illuminates the depressing extent to which such opportunities are com-
monly wasted, even today.
Pastor Witte was convinced that despite the prevailing view which held
(then as now) that a person's achievements largely depend upon inborn
aptitudes and talents, in reality the child's opportunities to learn during
the early years formed a more crucial influence. Like conscientious
parents today, Witte and his wife went to great pains to fill their boy's
waking hours with as rich and as varied a range of experiences as they
could provide for him. They were ahead of their time in having an intui-
tive understanding of the fact that acquiring a good grasp of language
greatly amplifies a child's mental powers. They saw that language 'makes
the child intelligent at an early time, for it puts his attention and his
several mental powers continuously in action. He is obliged always to
search, distinguish, compare, prefer, report, choose, and in short he must
work, that is, think.' 6 Knowing that, they made sure that their boy

3 Howe (rggo), p. 230. 4 Witte (r975), p. 86. 5 Hart & Risley (r995).
6 Witte (r975), p. 75·
114 Genius Explained

learned many things in the arms of his mother and in my own, such as one rarely
thinks of imparting to children. He learned to know and name all the objects in
ten different rooms, the rooms themselves, the staircase, the yard, the garden, the
stable, the well, the barn, - everything from the greatest to the smallest, was fre-
quently shown and clearly and plainly names to him, and he was encourage to
name the objects as plainly as possible. 7
For a growing child, the Witte parents were formidably careful guides.
They took care to make sure that their son was exposed to all kinds of
objects and events, and they drew his attention to the most informative
and interesting aspects of the things they showed him. They let him see
watermills and windmills, owls and bats, as well as concerts and operas,
and even lions and elephants. Always they took pains to explain things
carefully, in ways that a young child could understand. They made sure
that he noticed whatever was important, and encouraged him to respond.
Consequently the child 'became accustomed to what he had seen and
heard, and he himself addressed us, enquired, reported, retorted, etc'. 8
And he was stimulated to understand the objects and events he witnessed
not 'by merely staring at them, as children generally know them, but thor-
oughly'.9
When he was translating Witte's book, Leo Wiener must have been
struck by the Wittes' unusual sensitivity to their child's feelings and
wishes. He could not have failed to notice the importance they placed on
making sure that the child was always motivated to engage in the learning
activities they provided for him. With reading, for example, the parents
went to some lengths to be sure that, before any kind of instruction was
given, the child definitely wanted to read. Pastor Witte also drew attention
to the necessity to keep things informal when encouraging a young child
to learn. On one occasion he discovered that the child had been put off
learning to read because his mother had been teaching in too formal and
heavy-handed a manner. Afterwards, the father was especially careful to
delay teaching new reading skills until the boy had clearly demonstrated
that he was eager to acquire them.
From Norbert Wiener's account of his early years it is clear that
although his father had been greatly influenced by Witte's book, Leo
Wiener's somewhat domineering personality made it impossible for him
to match either the Wittes' relaxed informality or their genuine sensitivity
to the feelings and wishes of their son. Leo Wiener was not perceived by
his son as an ideal teacher, and in some respects his faults exceeded those
of Billy Sidis's father. He was often insensitive and overbearing. As the
adult Norbert Wiener recalled, 'He tended to impose his amusements

7 Witte (r975), p. 7r. 8 Witte (r975), p. 8r. 9 Witte (r975), p. 8r.

 Manufacturing genius 115

and preferences on those about him without fully realizing that many of
them might have come to a fuller participation in a life together with him
if this participation had not been so obviously enforced.no
That tendency to impose on others seems to have been a hallmark of
Leo Wiener's personality. It was especially evident in his teaching
methods. According to his son, Leo Wiener's lessons were neither gentle
nor relaxed. Norbert Wiener recalled how, 'He would begin the discus-
sion in an easy, conversational tone. This lasted exactly until I made the
first mathematical mistake. Then the gentle and loving father was
replaced by an avenger of the blood. The first warning he gave me of my
unconscious delinquency was a very sharp and aspirated "What!" >II
Yet his father's excesses did not stop Norbert Wiener from making a
success of his life. Unlike Billy Sidis, Norbert Wiener did survive his
childhood and adolescence more or less intact, even if the process of
growing up was not all easy for him. But he found it painfully difficult to
break away from his parents in early adulthood and become an indepen-
dent person with a life of his own.
There was more than one reason for the fact that Norbert Wiener even-
tually managed to break away from his family and get started on a creative
career, whereas Billy Sidis stayed defeated by the miseries of his child-
hood and adolescent years. Examining the crucial differences between
the two is helpful here, shedding light on a number of the positive and
negative influences that are likely to emerge when parents allow their
child's upbringing to be influenced by the idea of trying to manufacture a
genius. One important difference was that Wiener, unlike Sidis, could
readily see his parents' positive sides. These compensated for and perhaps
outweighed the negative ones. Norbert Wiener perceived that for all his
faults his father was something of a hero, always admirable, sometimes
warm and loving, constantly enthusiastic. As he put it, 'my father was a
romanticist ... His righteousness partook of the elemant of elan, of
triumph, of glorious and effective effort, of drinking deep of life and the
emotions thereof. For me, a boy just starting life, this made him in many
ways a noble and uplifting figure, a poet at heart .... my taskmaster was at
the same time my hero ... nz
Also, Leo Wiener's help and support could always be relied upon. That
was still true even when Norbert had reached the advanced stage of pre-
paring for his doctoral exams at Harvard. Norbert Wiener particularly
dreaded the oral component of the examinations, but he could still count
on his father's assistance, and 'Every morning he went for a walk with me
to keep up my physical condition and to reinforce my courage .... He

10 Wiener (r953), p. r8. 11 Wiener (r953), p. 67. 12 Wiener (r953), p. 74·

116 Genius Explained

would ask me questions concerning the examinations that were ahead

and would see to it that I had a fair idea as to how to answer them.' 13
Throughout Norbert Wiener's childhood there were enjoyable experi-
ences as well as frustrating ones. His childish curiosity was never discou-
raged. His mother read to him often, and living in a house that was
populated by a large collection of books which he could see being regu-
larly used and enjoyed, he quickly came to see the value of being able to
read by himself. There was plenty of encouragement for his efforts to
learn reading. Predictably in these circumstances, Norbert Wiener
quickly became a voracious reader. His parents responded by feeding his
curiosity in a number of ways. They kept him supplied with the kinds of
books that nourish a child's imagination, such as Treasure Island and The
Arabian Nights, as well as factual books that answered his questions and
added to his knowledge.
So Wiener's early life at home was one of incessant intellectual stimula-
tion. Scholarly activities surrounded him. 'Ever since I can remember', he
recalled, 'the sound of the typewriter and the smell of the paste pot have
been familiar to me' . 14 The social and intellectual milieu of his parents'
lives brought solid practical advantages. For example, Norbert's father
could seek out suitable books for him from the library at Harvard, and
also the Boston Public Library, where he was friendly with several of the
librarians. One of them (who was married to a writer of children's books)
had a daughter who Norbert played with. Better still, a number of neigh-
bours and family friends were active scholars. Next door but one lived an
eminent mathematician, and Norbert and his sister were friendly with his
children. A little further along the road there was a close friend of
Norbert's mother who was married to a distinguished physiological
chemist, and Norbert was encouraged to make use of his library. Other
family friends whose lives and interests were intellectually exciting
included Walter Cannon, the famous physiologist (whose own early life as
the son of a railway worker had been one of real poverty, like Michael
Faraday's and George Stephenson's), and a brilliant Assyriologist, Muss-
Arnoldt. Both of these men talked to the child about their interests.
Cannon showed him the recently-developed X-ray machine he was
working with and explained how X-rays were beginning to contribute to
the study of the human body. Norbert's father had serious interests of his
own, of course, and he was always keen to tell his son about them. He
taught him botany as well as mathematics, introduced him to the study of
farming methods- another enthusiasm- and took Norbert with him on
fungi-collecting expeditions. Unlike Billy Sidis's father, Leo Wiener was

13 Wiener (r953), p. r72. 14 Quoted in Howe (rggo), p. I34·

 Manufacturing genius 117

healthily aware of the benefits of vigorous outdoor pursuits and physical

activities.
In short, Norbert Wiener benefited from having a childhood that was
extraordinarily richly supplied with the intellectual nourishments that
stimulate the growing mind of a child who is eager to learn. By the stan-
dards of most people his home environment was an intellectual hot-
house, but to him it seemed entirely natural. He thrived in it. He learned
to perceive intellectual pursuits as routine elements of everyday life, and
had regular opportunities to see how people went about their scholarly
activities. As a learner he was given every opportunity to become capable
and self-confident. He discovered that mental effort definitely paid off.
His own experiences taught him that the enterprise of adding to his
mental skills and his knowledge was often useful, sometimes exciting, and
usually within his grasp.
He was certainly an unusual child, as is apparent from Wiener's own
description of his attitude to knowledge at the age of six or seven. Even by
then, he says, 'in zoology and botany, it was the diagrams of complicated
structure and the problems of growth and organization which excited my
interest fully as much as the tales of adventure and discovery. >Is
At the age of eleven Norbert Wiener became an undergraduate student
at Tufts College. He graduated at fourteen and then enrolled as a gradu-
ate student at Harvard. He gained his doctoral degree at eighteen. After
spending some time abroad, including a spell working under Bertrand
Russell, he returned to the United States. In 1919, now twenty-five, and
well on the way to establishing a reputation as a leading mathematician,
he gained a position at the Massachusetts Institute ofTechnology. He was
to remain there for thirty-three active years.
That brief sketch of Wiener's early life may give the impression that
even if his father was not the easiest of parents, the young man's progress
was smooth and untroubled. But this was far from being true. Life can be
difficult enough for an exceptional child even when parents and teachers
make considerable efforts to be sensitive and understanding. Other prob-
lems apart, it is hard for adults to be constantly aware of the contrasting
needs of a young person who may simultaneously be a sophisticated
thinker and a socially backward and emotionally vulnerable child. A brief
anecdote of Wiener's nicely illustrates that baffling contrast. He relates
that for all his brilliance as a child it was not until he was seven that he dis-
covered that Santa Claus does not exist. And yet, 'at that time I was
already reading books of more than slight difficulty, and it seemed to
my parents that a child who was doing this should have no difficulty in

15 Wiener (r953), p. 64.

118 Genius Explained

discarding what to them was obviously a sentimental fiction. What they

did not realize was the fragmentariness of the child's world.' 16
The years of Norbert Wiener's adolescence and early adulthood were
difficult for him in a number of ways, not all of which sprang from
strained relationships within the family. He was frustrated because he was
clumsy and short-sighted. It was never easy for him to mix with class-
mates at school and college, most of whom were some years older than
him and far more socially developed. Their interests and passions would
have been very different to his.
But the dominant source of his frustrations was the near-impossibility
of getting on with his parents. Although both of them expected a great
deal of their son, neither was prepared to give him the freedom of action
needed- in his eyes, at least- by a growing young man. For several years
he perceived himself as being intellectually equal to his parents but
treated by them as a child. He was totally dependent upon them
financially, and with numerous responsibilities but no authority to make
decisions for himself. For example, he was expected to devote a large
amount of time to teaching his younger brother, but never allowed to
decide how the child should be taught. He was required to help around
the home and the garden, but his parents made all the decisions.
Wiener may not have appreciated just how common it is for young
people to experience frustrations like these, but in his case they were espe-
cially prolonged as well as acute. Well past the time when it would have
been sensible for him to have been living on his own, he was obliged to go
on residing at home, in a family 'living too close together and driven in
upon itself' . 17 He became angrily aware of the fact that his Jewish parents
not only ignored their own cultural roots and the Jewish religion, but had
a negative and prejudiced attitude towards other Jews. (That was not
uncommon at the time among recent immigrants anxious to become
assimilated in their new country, and as Wiener later recognised, it was to
some extent understandable.) But Norbert's awareness of his parents'
hypocrisy undermined his respect for them, and yet he remained tied to
the family home. His moving away would have eased the tensions which
his growing awareness of his parents' faults exacerbated, but the very idea
of his leaving home infuriated his mother. She insisted that such an action
'would be held against me for all eternity, as a sign of my ultimate failure,
and would mean the complete and final collapse of family relations' . 18
Eventually, of course, Norbert Wiener did make the break from the
family home, married, and embarked on a life of his own, but getting to
that point involved him in a long and exhausting battle.

16 Wiener (r953), p. 8r. 17 Wiener (r953), p. I 57· 18 Wiener (r953), p. r62.

 Manufacturing genius 119

Norbert Wiener's experiences as a young person left him acutely aware

of the problems that can make life difficult for a child raised by parents
who have set out to create a superior person. Compressing his feelings
into one eloquent admonitory sentence, he advised, 'Let those who
choose to carve a human soul to their own measure be sure that they have
a worthy image after which to carve it, and let them know that the power
of molding an emerging intellect is a power of death as well as a power of
life.' 19
It is a warning worth heeding.

In his autobiography, Norbert Wiener comments on the sad life of Billy

Sidis and also mentions a number of other child prodigies he was
acquainted with. Not surprisingly, those whose parents had played a
highly active role in their early education, as his own parents had done,
particularly interested him. Wiener was especially intrigued by John
Stuart Mill's famous account of his upbringing at the hands ofhis father,
James Mill. On reading Mill's detailed description of his father's teaching
methods, Wiener discovered that his own experiences with a domineering
parent helped him read between the lines of Mill's relatively constrained
description of his father's approach. He recognised there the signs of a
somewhat tyrannous regime. The guarded tone of Mill's account could
be taken to indicate a completely virtuous relationship on both sides,
Wiener noted, but 'I know better, and when I read his few words about his
father's irascibility I know just how to interpret these statements. I am
certain that even if that irascibility had been more decorous than that of
my father, it had probably been no less unremitting.' 20
John Stuart Mill's Autobiography is a candid and immensely valuable
source of insights into the circumstances in which one parent's plan to
manufacture a genius was actively pursued. Mill wrote it, he said, uncon-
sciously echoing the elder Karl Witte's views and anticipating those of
Leo Wiener concerning the wastefulness of the usual methods of educat-
ing young people, so that 'there should be some record of an education
which was unusual and remarkable, and which ... has proved how much
more than is commonly supposed may be taught, and well taught, in
those early years which, in the common modes of what is called instruc-
tion are little better than wasted.' 21
Three features in particular help make Mill's Autobiography a remark-
able document. First, as an account it is both detailed and (on the whole)
objective. It gives a careful and accurate description of Mill's early
19 Quoted in Howe (r990), p. r26. 20 Wiener (r953), p. 68.
21 John Stuart Mill's, Autobiograpy, edited by Jack Stillinger (Mill, I97I), p.3. [Mill's
Autobiography was originally published in r873.]
120 Genius Explained

education, describing in some detail how the father carried through his
intentions. The task he set himself was, as the son recognised, a monu-
mental one, to which James Mill directed 'an amount oflabour, care, and
perseverance rarely, if ever, employed for a similar purpose, in endeavour-
ing to give, according to his own conception, the highest order of intellec-
tual education'. 22 The achievement was made all the more impressive by
the fact that James Mill was a major scholar and thinker in his own right,
and at the same time as he was making his son into one of the dominant
thinkers of his century he was also turning out some very substantial
achievements of his own. But despite John Stuart Mill's vast admiration
for his father, he was not so reticent about criticising him as Norbert
Wiener implied, and the son's respect for the parent's immense strengths
is balanced with a willingness to describe in considerable detail those of
his father's actions that he found oppressive.
Second, the Autobiography is remarkable by virtue of being a descrip-
tion of an education that in important respects was brilliantly successful.
As the father intended, his child did become a man who unquestionably
belongs within the category of geniuses. John Stuart Mill was a great
social reformer. Mill's insights on economics, politics and philosophy
helped to create modern democracy and combat poverty and injustice.
His ideas continue to influence modern thinking about social issues. The
Autobiography is indisputably an account of the development of a great
thinker.
Third, Mill himself was very conscious of the fact that the intellectual
qualities he possessed had to a large extent been deliberately instilled in
him by his father. 'Manufactured' was his own choice of word for this
state of affairs. In this respect Mill was totally different from other gen-
iuses of his era, such as Stephenson and Faraday, who were largely self
taught. He was equally unlike Darwin, who became a genius almost
despite the efforts of his teachers, who would have thought his choice of
natural history as a vocation quite absurd. There is no other genius for
whom the term 'manufactured' is quite as fitting as it is for Mill.
The shock of discovering in his early twenties that acquaintances
regarded him as being a manufactured man, capable only of reproducing
opinions stamped on him by others, led John Stuart Mill to change some
of his ideas rather abruptly. Even so, he could never forget that he was the
son of a parent who had set out to manufacture a genius. He was only too
aware that his successes and failures bore the marks of the effective if
heavy-handed education his father had personally implemented in order
to realise the intention of bringing up a child who would be, as James Mill

22 Mill (I97I), p. 5·
 Manufacturing genius 121

had said to his friend and patron Jeremy Bentham, 'a successor worthy of
both ofus'. 23
The manner in which James Mill proceeded to implement that inten-
tion is described in John Stuart Mill's account, in his Autobiography, of his
extraordinary upbringing. John Stuart Mill was a scrupulously honest
man, and in most respects his narrative is as accurate and as fair as the
limitations of human memory allow. It is occasionally misleading,
however. The absence of information about his mother has encouraged
readers to infer that she lacked significance in Mill's early life to a degree
that is belied by family correspondence and visitors' observations. Also,
the lack of references to his eight brothers and sisters leaves the reader
with the impression that he was a more solitary child than could have
been possible in a houseful of children who displayed 'a plentiful lack of
manners, and as much impertinence, sometimes called impudence, as
any children need to have'. 24 The depiction of a constrained family life is
partly belied by a friend's observation that the Mill parents did not
prevent John's younger brother James from trundling his hoop round the
great hall of Ford Abbey, Jeremy Bentham's mansion, where the Mill
family enjoyed a number of summers. 25
John Stuart Mill was born in 1806, a year after the marriage of his
parents and just under three years before Charles Darwin's birth. His
father, James Mill, had been a prodigy himself. James Mill had been born
in Scotland, the son of a shoemaker, and by the time he was seven he had
drawn attention to himself as a clever child. His mother had high expecta-
tions for him, and made sure that unlike other children in humble rural
families he was spared all household chores and encouraged to spend his
time on his studies. On leaving school he came to the attention of a local
landowning family, the Stuarts (after whom John Stuart Mill was given
his middle name), who were looking for a suitable tutor for their daugh-
ter. The patronage of the Stuart family made it possible for James Mill to
attend Edinburgh University. But he found it hard to make a living in
Scotland, and in 1802 he moved to London, at the age of twenty-nine. He
thrived there, and by the time of his marriage three years later he was
23 Quoted in Mill (1971), p. xi. 24 Packe (1954), pp. 33-4·
25 The reasons for Mill's Autobiography giving the misleading impression that his father was
the only member of the family to have influence upon him may have stemmed from his
guiltily uncomfortable feelings, following a falling out at the time of his marriage to
Harriet Taylor, with whom he had already spent some years of - sexless - intimacy,
despite her already having a husband. Mill's way of keeping at bay the tensions this
uncomfortable domestic situation aroused in him was to see Harriet as the perfect
woman, against whom any hint of a slight was evidence of unjustified hostility. He
behaved uncharacteristically badly towards his sisters and his mother, apparently because
they did not quite succeed at solving the delicate problem of responding to the news of his
marriage in a way that he found acceptable.
122 Genius Explained

editing a newspaper and earning at least four or five times as much as the
fathers of George Stephenson and Michael Faraday were ever paid. Soon
after John Stuart Mill was born, James Mill decided to devote most of his
time to writing a history of India. That enormous project necessitated
financial sacrifices and was to drag on for almost twelve difficult years,
which roughly coincided with the period in which James devoted a major
portion of his considerable energies to the education of his eldest son.
Eventually, ten substantial volumes were completed, establishing James
Mill's reputation and bringing him a series of influential jobs and
financial security.
We must be careful not to misinterpret James Mill's reasons for shoul-
dering the onerous task of making his son into one the most powerful
thinkers of his century. He did not see himself as taking on some kind of
challenge or test. Nor did he regard the task as an experiment to discover
if it was actually possible for a parent to create a son who was capable of
major intellectual achievements. He rarely betrayed doubts about the
practicality ofhis intentions. James Mill's massive self-confidence left him
no reason for questioning his belief that what he set out to do was achiev-
able, so long as he put sufficient effort into it. As we have already seen, the
immense amount of work he invested in the task of educating his eldest
child was motivated by the desire to produce a son capable of carrying on
his own labours. Undeniably, taking that stance demanded a degree of
conceit or arrogance, in addition to a certain lack of sensitivity to the
child's own needs. And yet it has to be said in James Mill's defence that
building on his own enormously valuable intellectual work was a job
worth doing.
The young John Stuart Mill was certainly a child prodigy, but unlike
many prodigies he was never encouraged to see himself in that light. For
better or worse, his father was meagre with praise and constantly
reminded the boy of his imperfections. James Mill deliberately avoided
giving his son the impression that he was more able than other children of
his age. Consequently, 'From his intercourse with me I could derive none
but a very humble opinion of myself ... if I thought anything about
myself, it was that I was rather backward in my studies, since I always
found myself so, in comparison with what my father expected from me.' 26
As we shall see, there were negative as well as positive outcomes of the
approach taken by James Mill. Constant criticism is never beneficial for a
young person. But at least John Stuart Mill was spared the intrusive press
attention that can damage an immature child.
Since James Mill knew that he could hardly prevent the boy becoming

26 Mill (I97I), p. 2I.

 Manufacturing genius 123

aware for himself that others of his age did not possess knowledge and
mental skills matching his, he was careful to persuade his son that he
should take no credit for any superiority he noticed in himself. He told
the boy that any advantages that he came to possess were solely the result
of the superior education he had received. Whether or not James Mill was
entirely correct about that is open to question, of course - a matter that
will be discussed in Chapter 9· But it is interesting to observe that this
very same view was emphatically held by all the other parents - those of
Witte, Wiener and Sidis - who have featured most prominently in the
present chapter.
In the Autobiography, John Stuart Mill reports that he had no recollec-
tion of his life before starting to learn Greek, but that he had been told
that instruction began when he was three years old. He remembered
having to memorise lists of common Greek words written on cards pre-
pared by his father: the Greek words were paired with the English equiva-
lents. Grammar was introduced later. It was not until he was seven or
eight that his father began teaching him Latin. His ignorance of that lan-
guage added considerably to his father's burden in teaching him Greek,
the reason being that there was no lexicon that enabled Greek words to be
translated directly into English, or vice versa. It was therefore necessary to
translate via Latin. Consequently, when John Stuart was set to making
translations (starting with Aesop's Fables and Xenophon's Anabasis), he
had to ask his father to provide him with the meaning of each and every
Greek word that he did not already know. So James Mill would have been
constantly interrupted. Nevertheless, 'This incessant interruption he,
one of the most impatient of men, submitted to, and wrote under that
interruption several volumes of his History and all else that he had to
write during those years.' 27 One cannot help wondering how often it
crossed James Mill's mind that life might have been easier had he decided
to teach his son a little Latin before starting on Greek.
Until he was eight, the more formal aspects ofJohn Stuart Mill's educa-
tion were restricted to Greek and arithmetic. He disliked arithmetic
intensely. He spent much of his time reading, and each morning, as he
accompanied his father on a walk before breakfast, he gave an account of
what he had read on the previous day, prompted by notes made on slips of
paper while he read. Perhaps surprisingly, the young Mill seems to have
quite enjoyed this activity of reporting back to his habitually impatient
parent. He says in the Autobiography that he remembers it as having been
a voluntary exercise rather than a prescribed one. Its pleasurableness
doubtless reflected the fact that the books he read were mostly ones that

27 Mill (I97I), p. 6.
124 Genius Explained

he greatly enjoyed. He had relatively few children's books, but although

his father only allowed them sparingly, James Mill did manage to borrow
for his son various books that a child could enjoy, such as the Arabian
Nights, Don Quixote, and Miss Edgeworth's Popular Tales. The child also
warmed to Robinson Crusoe, which he had been given as a present. And
even when James Mill was directing his son towards books written for
adults, he seems to have been good at finding ones that a boy would genu-
inely enjoy. John Stuart Mill got particular pleasure from descriptions of
explorations, such as a collection of accounts of voyages around the
world, and many of the other books that his father obtained for him in the
early years were historical volumes with a strong narrative element.
Mill lists a large number of books on history that he read as a child, and
he makes it clear that he enjoyed most of them even if he understood them
imperfectly. Predictably, but not at all unwisely, James Mill 'was fond of
putting into my hands books which exhibited men of energy in unusual
circumstances, struggling against difficulties and overcoming them'. 28
But he also made his son read and report on books such as ecclesiastical
histories and the biographies of religious leaders. Most children would
have found these extremely dull, and even for a young person as remark-
able as John Stuart Mill, they 'would not have interested me sufficiently to
induce me to read them ofmyself'. 29
Latin was introduced in the child's eighth year, and within a short time
he had read numerous books in that language, as well as mastering the
works of many Greek authors. At around that time John Stuart Mill was
given the task of teaching his younger sister. In common with Norbert
Wiener, he loathed that responsibility. Bitter experience soon convinced
him that 'the plan of teaching children by means of one another ... is very
inefficient as teaching, and I well know that the relation between teacher
and taught is not a good moral discipline to either'. 30 All the same, he had
to admit that being obliged to teach others did have the advantage of
ensuring that knowedge was acquired especially thoroughly.
Mill's education always involved more than merely reading the books
his father obtained for him. James Mill made sure that his son was an
active rather than a passive learner. The child was required to summarise
arguments, transcribe works into his own words, translate from one lan-
guage into another, and respond to an author's argument with an oppos-
ing point of view. After reading a treatise, he would be required to give a
detailed account of what he had read and answer his father's searching
questions. These activities were designed to ensure that John Stuart Mill
really understood the knowledge he was acquiring, and were not at all

28 Mill (I97I), p. 7· 29 Mill (I97I), p. 7· 30 Mill (I97I), p. 6.

 Manufacturing genius 125

unlike the ones that Michael Faraday had been encouraged to engage in
by the author of The Improvement of the Mind. As the years went by the
training became more onerous and intensive until he reached the age of
fourteen and went to live in France for a year. His education continued
after that, of course, but subsequently he was not so closely supervised by
his father.
By the time he came to start writing the Autobiography at the age of
forty-seven, John Stuart Mill felt ready to look back on his extraordinary
education and make a careful appraisal of its strengths and its weaknesses.
There were, he perceived, many aspects of James Mill's teaching that
deserved praise. He was particularly glad that his father had taken pains
to make sure that he was familiar with logic, which benefited his thinking
greatly. And he could see that the father's approach was not infrequently
restrained and sensitive. For example, when John Stuart Mill as a young
child took it into his head to engage in the activity of what he called
'writing histories' his father avoided criticising these doubtless naive
efforts, being content to encourage his son 'in this useful amusement,
though, as I think judiciously, he never asked to see what I wrote; so that I
did not feel that in writing it I was accountable to any one, had the chilling
sensation of being under a critical eye'. 31
A particularly important positive aspect of James Mill's approach was
that it avoided rote learning and drill. At all times, what was learned had
to be genuinely meaningful to the child. In John Stuart Mill's own words,
Most boys or youths who have had much knowledge drilled into them have their
mental capacities not strengthened, but overlaid by it. They are crammed with
mere facts, and with the opinions or phrases of other people ... so often grow up
to be mere parroters of what they have learnt, incapable of using their minds
except in the furrows traced for them. Mine, however, was not an education of
cram. My father never permitted anything which I learnt, to degenerate into a
mere exercise of memory. He strove to make the understanding not only go along
with every step of the teaching, but if possible, precede it. Anything which could
be found out by thinking, I never was told, until I had exhausted my efforts to find
it out for myself. 32
James Mill also had the good sense to make sure that his son did not
become arrogant. He was very careful to protect him from situations in
which people would comment on his exceptional abilities or compare him
favourably with other boys of his age. In this the parent was almost too
successful, and John Stuart Mill became convinced that he was in no
respect inherently special, and even rather backward in his studies. He
was also sure that he possessed no capabilities that could not have been

31 Mill (I97I), p. IO. 32 Mill (I97I), p. 20.

126 Genius Explained

acquired by any ordinary child who was given the training he had
received. 33
So James Mill's teaching had a number of good features. But it had
some glaringly negative aspects as well. For a start, the instruction Mill
provided for his son was not invariably as careful or as thorough as it
might have been, and even when it was not he tended to blame the child
for his failures. With mathematics, for example, James Mill could not
spare the time to teach his son properly, leaving him to learn almost
entirely from books. Yet he made his son aware of incurring parental dis-
pleasure by his inability to solve difficult problems 'for which he did not
see that I had not the necessary previous knowledge'. 34
There were further manifestations of this inability or unwillingness to
perceive that the boy's defects were the result of inadequate teaching
rather than some basic fault. For instance, the child found it hard to read
Greek aloud, and experienced particular difficulties in regard to arriving
at correct voice inflexions, or modulations. This irritated the father, who
sharply criticised each error. But according to his son, although James
told his son what he should have done he never took the more sensible
step of actually showing him how to do it. In these and other ways James
Mill failed to provide help which was sufficiently practical and concrete to
match the needs of a child. The defect here, according to the son, was of
'trusting too much to the intelligibleness of the abstract, when not
embodied in the concrete'. 35
James Mill also failed to teach his son to be tactful or diplomatic. John
Stuart Mill observed in the Autobiography that despite the fact he was not
an arrogant child, and never had an inflated opinion of his own powers,
adults often found him 'greatly and disagreeably self-conceited'. 36 The
reason for this perception, he suggested, was that he was disputatious,
and did not hesitate to contradict people, a habit that he believed to have
been acquired as a consequence of being encouraged to discuss matters
beyond his age with adults, without having been taught to respect or defer
to older people. He thought that the probable reason for his father failing
to correct 'this ill breeding and impertinence' was that he was simply
unaware of it, because in his father's presence the son 'was always too
much in awe of him to be otherwise than extremely subdued and quiet in
his presence'. 37
The awe in which John Stuart Mill held his father was a sympton of the
most crucial defect of all in the educational regime that James Mill
devised. That defect is encapsulated in the brief statement, in a discarded
draft of the autobiography, that 'mine was not an education oflove but of
33 Mill (I97I), p. 20. 34 Mill (I97I), p. 9· 35 Mill (I97I), p. I7.
36 Mill (I97I), p. 2I. 37 Mill (I97I), p. 2I.
 Manufacturing genius 127

fear'. 38 Mill expanded on this in a passage in which he said that he grew

up as a child who had nobody to whom he could express his feelings,
because the only person he spoke to about important matters, namely his
father, was someone he feared too much for it to have been possible to act
spontaneously or naturally in his presence. The result was to make the
young man reserved and inhibited, lacking strong impulses of his own.
And because the father was so strong-willed and forceful, his child
became accustomed to being told what to do. It became habitual for him
to leave moral judgements and decisions to his father, rather than doing
these things for himself. John Stuart Mill was convinced that living in the
shadow of a dominating parent had badly stunted his personal growth.
And there were further criticisms, too. Mill felt that there had been too
much emphasis in his education on knowing at the expense of doing. He
was never encouraged to gain practical skills. Also, because his father kept
him away from other boys of his age, fearing 'the contagion of vulgar
modes of thought and feeling', 39 he never learned any of the things that
young people acquire from their contact with others.
Certain biographers in the psychobiographical tradition, notably
Bruce Mazlish, 40 place enormous emphasis on the influence of unre-
solved and largely unconscious father-son conflicts on the younger Mill's
development, but it is doubtful whether such psychoanalytically-based
efforts to produce insights provide any real advance on what can be
learned from John Stuart Mill's own accounts of life with his father.
Unencumbered by Freudian theories, Mill was very much aware of how
his father's domineering personality had affected him.
The outcomes of Mill's extraordinary education mirrored its strengths
and defects. As we have noticed, so far as instilling intellectual capabilities
was concerned, James Mill's regime was resoundingly successful. The
intense grounding he provided helped to produce a young man who was
an extraordinarily knowledgeable and rigorous thinker. But the defects of
the regime created serious problems. John Stuart Mill blamed the
deficiencies of his education for his lack of physical skills and manual dex-
terity, and for the difficulties he experienced in getting on with other
people, and also for his lack of passion and inability to express those feel-
ings he did possess.
Fortunately, Mill was able to endure the ill-effects of his education, and
did not suffer the devastating consequences that were to blight the adult
life of Billy Sidis. However, in common with Norbert Wiener, Mill did
find it very difficult to establish himself as an independent adult, and he
experienced problems that seriously threatened his mental equilibrium.

38 Mill (I97I), p. 33· 39 Mill (I97I), p. 22. 40 Mazlish (r975).

128 Genius Explained

In particular, he experienced a serious mental crisis which began at the

age of twenty, when he fell into a deep depression. He found himself
lacking any strong feelings, and despite possessing all the intellectual
equipment that was necessary for making a real contribution, he had no
clear sense of direction nor any enthusiasm for undertaking intellectual
projects. He was, he said, 'left stranded at the commencement of my
voyage, with a well equipped ship and a rudder, but no sail, without any
real desire for the ends for which I had been so carefully fitted out to work
for'. 41
Mill's own explanation for his depression put stress on the peculiar
form and content of his education, although it is more than likely that the
domination of his early life by a parent who was constantly critical and
discouraged any expression of feelings or emotions made a larger contri-
bution. Certainly, Mill was right to put his finger on the damaging
influence of a regime in which intellectual qualities were forced at the
expense of practical accomplishments and many other of the capabilities
that young people normally acquire.
Of course, it is rarely possible to pinpoint with absolute certainty the
most important influences in a particular individual's life. And as we have
seen, particular foreground events, even dramatic ones, play a smaller role
than the cumulative effects of the numerous everyday experiences that
gradually carve the character and furnish the mind of a developing
person. Yet it does seem very likely that had James Mill been a less harsh
and joyless parent, or a less grimly demanding one, his brilliant son would
have become a warmer and happier adult than he turned out to be, and
might have been spared the serious depression that he experienced. It is
surely significant that with all three of those 'manufactured' individuals
whose problems in early adulthood have been discussed in the present
chapter, there seem to have been clear and direct links between the kinds
of defects and excesses that were evident in their upbringings and the
form of the difficulties they experienced as adults. Norbert Wiener, for
example, experienced a period of unhappiness not at all unlike Mill's,
leaving him frustrated and in despair, and conscious of a profound lack of
self-esteem. Like Mill, Wiener blamed his difficulties on the defects of a
childhood in which the actions of dominating and over-critical parents
ensured that intellectual qualities were forced at the expense of opportu-
nities for feelings to develop and other qualities to flourish. Perhaps it is
also significant that another leading intellectual of Mill's period, his near-
contemporary John Ruskin, the eminent Victorian social commentator
and writer on art, who had received an intensive and rather severe early

41 Mill (I97I), p. 84.

 Manufacturing genius 129

education not unlike Mill's, also experienced profound mental cnses

when he was an adult.
Whether or not the idea of setting out to manufacture a genius can ever
be a sound one, the examples that have been given in the present chapter
show that at least some of those parents who have deliberately attempted
to equip their child with special mental capabilities have achieved that
with considerable success. But, as these examples have also demon-
strated, there is a price to be paid. For a young person who is the unwit-
ting participant in such an enterprise the costs may well outweigh the
benefits.
6 Einstein and the prodigies

According to a romanticised notion of the child prodigy that has been

portrayed in a number of novels and films, the typical prodigy is brought
up in unpromising circumstances until it is discovered that the child pos-
sesses some rare innate gift. Thereupon a wealthy or powerful sponsor
arrives on the scene to rescue the wunderkind from poverty and make
available those opportunities that will enable the young person's special
gift to be properly nourished. Thus armed, the child rapidly becomes a
star at the activity at which he or she excels, and before long is hugely suc-
cessful, rich and celebrated.
In Frank Conroy's enjoyable novel Body and Soul, 1 for example, the
story begins with a description of the childhood of the illegitimate hero
Claude, neglected by his overweight alcoholic mother who regularly locks
him into their squalid basement apartment while she earns a meagre
living driving taxis. Eventually Claude discovers an old nightclub piano.
He is fascinated by the sounds he can produce on it and gradually learns
to reproduce a few tunes heard on the radio. Some time later, he wanders
into the nearest music store, where the kindly owner notices his interest in
pianos, explains to him the basis of musical notation, gives Claude an ele-
mentary self-teaching lesson book, and invites him to return when he has
worked his way through the exercises. When Claude rises to this chal-
lenge further opportunities open up, and he is encouraged to practise on a
valuable Bechstein instrument. This is later bequeathed to Claude on the
death of its owner, who turns out to have been a famous composer. One
thing leads to another, and by the time the reader has turned a few
hundred pages Claude has become a brilliant and envied musician.
In real life, stories of that kind are rare, although not entirely unknown.
One actual person whose life that did have much in common with the
above fictional account was George Bidder, an eminent nineteenth-
century British engineer. Bidder's considerable achievements included
the construction of a number of railways and some major docks, amongst

1 Frank Conroy, Body and Soul. Penguin Books, I995·

130
 Einstein and the prodigies 131

them the Victoria Docks in London. He also masterminded the construc-

tion of numerous ships, bridges, aqueducts, viaducts, sewage and
purification works, and telegraph facilities.
George Bidder was born in 1806 in Moretonhampstead, a tiny market
town in Devon, in the south-west of England, where his father worked
as a stonemason. At the age of six the boy began to take a keen interest
in mental arithmetic. People started noticing that whenever simple cal-
culations involving small sums of money needed to be done, George
always had the correct answer. This gained the child attention in his
immediate neighbourhood. On a typical occasion in the local black-
smith's shop,
They then went on to ask me up to two places of figures ... I gave the answer cor-
rectly, as was verified by the old gentleman's nephew, who began chalking it up to
see ifl was right ... this increased my fame still more, and what was better, it even-
tually caused halfpence to flow into my pocket; which, I need not say, had the
effect of attaching me still more to the science of arithmetic, and thus by degrees I
got on ... 2
Soon after that, George's father, intent from avarice or need on getting
some reward from his son's growing skill at calculating, started exhibiting
the child at local fairs, and by the time George Bidder was nine his fame
had spread and he had gained a national reputation. He gave numerous
demonstrations of his mental calculating skills, which were advertised by
handbills that touted his abilities with descriptions of recent feats. For
instance, one advertisement for a forthcoming performance boasted
about a previous one that had been attended by a number of prominent
worthies, including King George III's wife Queen Charlotte, two dukes
and an earl, the Lord Mayor of London, and Sir Joseph Banks, the now-
elderly patron of the sciences who had financed Captain James Cook's
travels (but had recently baulked at aiding the young Michael Faraday).
According to a handbill, Bidder had correctly solved a number of
difficult problems. Asked to multiply 7,953 by 4,648 he had quickly told
the audience that the answer was 36,965,544. When the Queen asked him
how many days it would take for a snail, moving at the rate of eight feet
per day, to creep the 838 miles from Land's End to the northernmost
point in Scotland, he told her that the snail would need 553,080 days to
make the journey. Bidder's mental calculating was fast as well as accurate.
It took him just one minute to work out the distance between the Earth
and the nearest fixed star, after he had been informed by the astronomer
Sir William Herschel that light takes eight minutes to reach Earth from
the Sun, 98 million miles away, and six years and four months from the

2 Clark (1983), pp. 3-4.

132 Genius Explained

star. But even Bidder needed all of thirteen minutes to do the enormous
mental calculating task of multiplying 257,689>435 by 356,875,649.
At this time Bidder had received very little formal education. He had
attended a small local school, but his biographer describes him as having
played truant much of the time, 3 and according to one report he could
still not read and write when he was eight. 4 It is significant that Bidder
started to become interested in arithmetic before he had learned to read,
because (although he would not have known it at the time) the most
effective methods for doing quick mental calculations are very different
from the pencil-and-paper calculating techniques that schools teach. Had
he learned arithmetic at school before he became interested in mental cal-
culating, George Bidder's school learning would have impeded his
progress as a mental calculator rather than helping him. As Bidder
himself explained, there is a fundamental difference between mental cal-
culating and calculations based on pencil and paper. In the former, but
not in the latter, it is vital to keep the amount of information that needs to
be stored (in memory) while the calculating is proceeding, to an absolute
mm1mum.
Bidder used the example of a multiplication problem to demonstrate
how mental arithmetic works. Someone is asked to multiply 279 times
373· He begins by multiplying 200 X 300, which comes to 6o,ooo. Next
200 X 70 (= J4,ooo) is added to that, making 74,000. Now the previous
total (6o,ooo) can be forgotten, and at any future moment as the calcula-
tion proceeds it is only necessary to keep in memory the most recent total.
Next, to the current total of 74,000 the calculator adds, successively,
200 X 3 (= 6oo), then 70 X 300 (= 21,000), 70 X 70 (= 4,900), 70 X 3
(=210), 9X300 (=2,700), 9X70 (=630), and, lastly 9X3 (=27).
Finally, after proceeding through each of these (relatively easy) steps, one
at a time, the calculator arrives at the final total, 104,067.
This is a more cumbersome technique for multiplying large numbers
than the ones taught in school. There would be no point in using it when
it is possible to store (in writing) the separate results of the various stages
of a calculation task. But the methods taught by schoolteachers would
present insuperable problems for someone who had to rely on mental cal-
culation alone. That is because of the sheer number of digits that the
person would have to store in memory in order to retain the results of the
intermediate steps in the calculation. Yet with the strategy described
above, all that needs to be retained in memory whilst the computation is
proceeding is a single running total.
A key implication of this fundamental difference between mental cal-

3 Clark (1983), p. 3· 4 Clark (1983), p. 5·

 Einstein and the prodigies 133

culating techniques and paper-and-pencil methods of calculating is that,

other things being equal, someone who has not learned arithmetic at
school may find it easier than a school-taught pupil would to learn to be
a good mental calculator. Consequently, for an unschooled child like
George Bidder, doing feats of mental calculation was an ideal way to
demonstrate unusual capabilities. His capacity to master those particular
kinds of intellectual task would not have been at all negatively affected
by any of the handicaps usually associated with a lack of formal school-
ing.
Apart from the financial rewards, the most important consequence of
Bidder's demonstrations of mental calculating was that his abilities came
to the attention of potential patrons who were prepared to help further
the formal education of such a promising young person. A group of
scholars at Cambridge University arranged for him to be sent at their
expense to Wilson's Grammar School, near London. He did not spend
much time there, partly because his studies were constantly being inter-
rupted by public tours and exhibitions, but when he was thirteen it was
decided to give him tutoring that would prepare him for entry to
Edinburgh University. He began at Edinburgh in 1820, when he was only
fourteen (two years younger than Darwin), and stayed until 1824. He
took courses in mathematics and other subjects and eventually qualified
as an engineer. Among the friendships Bidder made at Edinburgh, the
one that was most significant for his subsequent career was with Robert
Stephenson, the son of George Stephenson. George Stephenson himself
warmed to his son's friend, perceiving in him a young man whose early
struggles had been not entirely unlike his own. In his later years George
Stephenson invited Bidder and his wife to stay at Stephenson's house in
Derbyshire.
Bidder's association with the Stephensons, which became closer in the
1830s when he entered into a kind of partnership with Robert
Stephenson, contributed to the fact that from the time he left Edinburgh
University there was always a demand for his engineering skills. Like the
Stephensons and their great rival Isambard Kingdom Brunei, he was
regarded by his contemporaries as an unusually vigorous and energetic
individual. Bidder rapidly became one of the leading engineers of his
time. Following Robert Stephenson's death in 1859, Bidder succeeded his
friend as President of the Institution of Civil Engineers. He died in 1878.
George Stephenson's biographer Samuel Smiles mentions that his
eminent subject sometimes liked to forget his work and relax by challeng-
ing Bidder to an arm-wrestling contest. Smiles wrote to Bidder on a
number of occasions, although he never seems to have been made aware
of the remarkable story of Bidder's childhood.
134 Genius Explained

Bidder's case apart, there have been few factual parallels to the romanti-
cised view of child prodigies portrayed in novels like Body and Soul.
Nevertheless, it is not hard to locate historical instances of attention being
paid to young people from poor origins as a consequence of their unusual
capabilities, leading to some kind of sponsorship that enabled the individ-
ual to have access to formal education. Michael Faraday's mentor
Humphry Davy, the son of a woodcarver, benefited in this way. So did the
great navigator James Cook, and also John Stuart Mill's father, James
Mill. In the absence of some kind of sponsor or mentor, the chances of a
child born into poverty getting ahead were much reduced. In the rare case
of George Stephenson, the fact that he became a great engineer without
enjoying any of these advantages makes his achievements all the more
remarkable.
It is much more common for the identification of special abilities to
follow rather than precede the making available of favourable opportu-
nities and a fair amount of assistance. The majority of prodigies have
grown up in relatively affluent families. Many have had parents who took
a close interest in their child's early education. Even substantial libraries
were at hand in the family homes of a number of those distinguished
people who were prodigies as children, including the mathematician
Leibnitz, Jeremy Bentham the economic thinker, and the historian
Thomas Macaulay. A few prodigies, including the illustrious German
writer Goethe and the great mathematician Pascal, as well as John Stuart
Mill, have had parents who were impressive scholars themselves.
A 'rags to riches' element is present in a number of autobiographical
narratives written by child prodigies, and this has helped to spread the
idea that poverty is a common feature of their early lives. The true picture
is somewhat different, however, even if it is true that, as George
Stephenson's case demonstrates, early poverty and a lack of formal edu-
cation have not always prevented a young person from eventually achiev-
ing eminence. It is easy to be misled by the not-uncommon tendency of
successful people, including a number of former prodigies, to magnify
their achievements by exaggerating the poverty or misery of their origins.
According to George Bernard Shaw's accounts of his childhood, for
instance, his early life was dominated by penuriousness and the incon-
stancy of a rejecting mother. In reality, that playwright enjoyed the advan-
tages of a stimulating and lively home, which provided all kinds of
opportunities that were beyond the reach of most children. And even
when an autobiographical portrayal of childhood deprivation is largely
accurate, often that is not the whole story. For example, the author H. G.
 Einstein and the prodigies 135

Wells recalled that his parents were poor and unhappily married, and not
well educated. He recollected spending his childhood years in a squalid
house that was damp and bug-infested, and in which all the carpets were
frayed and worn and the furniture old and discoloured. All that is entirely
true, but Wells' account does less than full justice to a number of mitigat-
ing factors. His father, who played cricket for Kent, was something of a
local celebrity, and also a keen reader and a thoughtful man who went to
great lengths to broaden his knowledge. Wells' mother, too, was a not
entirely ordinary woman. She kept a daily diary, and, unusually for a
working class wife in the 186os, she made a big effort to give her young
son a good start in life. She taught him to count, and when he was five she
pasted up large letters from the alphabet in the kitchen. Between them,
Wells' parents made sure that he was always supplied with books, paper,
and pencils. It was largely because of the encouragement they gave him
that by the time H.G. Wells was seven he was already, like his father, an
enthusiastic reader.
Another unfounded common belief is that the typical prodigy's special
abilities suddenly appear without any assistance at all. This view has
sometimes been promoted through the reports of parents who have
wanted to convince others that their child's accomplishments were a sign
that the child had been chosen to be the recipient of special God-given
powers. Such parents have tended to portray themselves as having made
no active contribution to their child's abilities, and simply looking on
admiringly as they saw their child's marvellous capabilities magically
unfolding.
It is conceivable that a few of these accounts may be reliable, but in a
substantial proportion of them the professed passivity of the parents is
clearly belied by the fact that their descriptions contain detailed informa-
tion about the child's achievements, which could never have been
obtained without a big investment of time and considerable planning. For
instance, the parents of one child prodigy claimed to have resisted any
temptation to help their child to learn, let alone actively teach her, and yet
they nevertheless kept a meticulous record of her progress, noting, for
instance, that her speaking vocabulary at sixteen months was 229 words,
and that at five years of age she introduced 6,837 words over a six-month
period, all of which had been listed and classified into the different parts
of speech. With another set of parents, who insisted that their daughter
learned to read entirely unaided and claimed that they only realised this
when they discovered her reading Heidi at the age of four, it turned out
that they too kept elaborate records of the child's accomplishments, such
as the precise letters she had learned at various ages, the time at which she
136 Genius Explained

first mastered the alphabet, her counting skills, and the colours she recog-
nised. 5 It is hard to believe that parents who have devoted as much time as
these people did to making detailed records of their children's progress
could possibly have avoided becoming actively involved in the children's
early learning.

Accounts of the lives of prodigies are a rich source of information about

the antecedents and possible causes of genius. In particular, they can tell
us much about relationships between the events of someone's childhood
and that person's adult achievements. But the links between being a child
prodigy and being an adult genius are not always straightforward. There
are no inevitable connections. Some prodigies become geniuses, but the
majority do not. Conversely, although a number of geniuses were prodi-
gies in childhood, others, such as Darwin, were not at all precocious.
The extent to which having been a prodigy conveys an advantage, if it
does so at all, will depend to a considerable extent upon the nature of the
creative activity at which a person excels. In some fields of accomplish-
ment, such as music, being a child prodigy is especially advantageous, or
even essential, if a person is to make the kind of early start that is needed
in order to become exceptionally capable. In this and some other areas of
achievement, because of the sheer amount of time that is needed in order
for someone to become sufficiently trained and prepared to make a
unique or original contribution, only a person who has already gained
considerable expertise by the end of childhood will stand a good chance
of being exceptional as an adult achiever. As the eighteenth-century artist
Sir Joshua Reynolds observed of the skill of drawing, ' ... if this power is
not acquired when you are young, there will not be time for it afterwards:
at least the attempt will be attended with as much difficulty as those who
learn to read and write after they have arrived at the age of maturity'. 6
Cataloguing the links between being a child prodigy and becoming an
adult genius is made difficult by the fact that deciding whether or not par-
ticular individuals can be placed within the prodigy category is just as
difficult as deciding if a person ought to be regarded as a genius. There is
no obvious or non-arbitrary way of knowing where to draw a line between
children who definitely belong within the category of prodigies and those
young people who, although especially able or precocious, are not quite
exceptional enough to be called prodigies. Making decisions about that
might not be too difficult if all prodigies excelled at the same skills. In that
event it would be possible to agree on criteria that would indicate the
standard of achievement a child would need to reach by a certain age in

5 See Fowler (r98r). 6 Quoted in Hamilton (r997), p. r3.

 Einstein and the prodigies 137

order to be designated a musical prodigy, or a chess prodigy, for example.

But in the real world children excel in different ways, and it is simply
impossible to make valid comparisons between individuals who are
extraordinarily successful in differing domains of skill or knowledge. So,
for example, if we are confronted with an outstanding ten-year-old violin-
ist and an exceptional twelve-year-old mathematician, there would be no
satisfactory way to select the one who has the strongest claim to being
described as a prodigy.
That complication contributes to a state of affairs in which the relation-
ship between the degree to which a young person's attainments are excep-
tional and the likelihood of that person being described as a child prodigy
is far from perfect. An added difficulty is that because capabilities differ in
the extent to which they are likely to be on display, or apparent for other
reasons, some exceptional skills are more likely than others to be given the
kind of adult attention that results in their possessor being called a
prodigy. For example, if a child is a young performing musician, or a chess
player, or a tennis player who participates in competitions, it is more than
likely that if the child's capabilities are genuinely exceptional a substantial
number of adults will become aware of them. However, if the child's inter-
ests are directed towards an activity that is less obviously or less fre-
quently on display, such as science or philosophy, or literature, it is
entirely possible that other people will be unaware that the child possesses
special abilities.
Differences in the visibility of various precocious capabilities help
account for the fact that whilst a substantial number of great musicians
were regarded as being prodigies when they were young - including
Handel, J. S. Bach, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Chopin, Liszt, Schumann,
and Debussy, in addition to Mozarr7 - that has less often been the case
among, say, scientists. This helps to explain why it is that by no means all
scientific geniuses have been regarded as being prodigies at the time that
they were children, despite the fact that the majority of geniuses have
exhibited a precocious ability of some kind in their early years. Take the
case of Albert Einstein, for instance. The young Einstein was not widely
regarded as a child prodigy. Nonetheless, when we examine his early
progress sufficiently closely to know about the books he was reading and
the scientific problems he was grappling on during his childhood, it
becomes evident that his intellectual capabilities were just as exceptional
as those of some children who, unlike Einstein, were regarded as being
child prodigies.

7 Lehmann (r997).
138 Genius Explained

An account of Einstein's early life can provide some helpful insights into
possible relationships between being a prodigy in childhood and being an
adult genius. Ostensibly, of course, Albert Einstein seems a distinctly odd
choice for an example of a child prodigy. Nobody disputes his genius, but
the accepted view is that he was far from being a prodigy. He was, we are
told, a backward child who was born with an oddly shaped skull, making
him a late speaker and a poor student. He is said to have been a trouble-
maker at his high school (which he left prematurely) and a pupil who
gained low grades, failed examinations, and was particularly weak at lan-
guages. Unable to get the kind of job he sought on completing his educa-
tion, Einstein was obliged, we are told, to take a menial post in a patents
office. Matters were not helped by his father being a bankrupt. The
Einstein family, members of a persecuted Jewish minority, had to leave
their home in Germany and take up residence in Italy, where they
suffered from being alien immigrants who lacked even the basic security
conferred by citizenship. Against this unpromising background, it seems
hardly surprising that Einstein's sudden bursting into prominence as a
scientist of unique brilliance and originality has been regarded as
magical. Here is genius at its most mysterious. He must, it appears, have
been born to be a genius. No alternative explanation appears possible.
None of the above statements about Einstein is totally unfounded.
Nonetheless, and contrary to what is widely believed, the young Einstein
undoubtedly was a child prodigy, albeit a largely unrecognised one.
Numerous observations of the progress he made while still a child illus-
trate his prodigiousness. From very early days the young Albert Einstein,
born in 1879, made a distinctly favourable impression on others. Just a
few months after his second birthday his maternal grandmother was
writing to a relative that Albert, whom she described as sweet as well as
good, was already creating amusing ideas. Her letter is one of a number of
items of evidence obtained at the time of Einstein's early childhood that
firmly contradict the much repeated claim that his language development
was retarded. Another is an anecdote that can be precisely dated to the
time when he was aged two years and eight months. This describes him
reacting to being told on the occasion of the birth of his baby sister that he
now had a new playmate, by asking where were the wheels on this new
toy. The child's confusion is unexceptional, but the language develop-
ment of a two-year-old capable of articulating such a question cannot
have been impeded.
Like many intelligent children, Albert Einstein was sometimes reluc-
tant to talk, and a maidservant once called him stupid because she
observed he had a way of repeating everything twice. The most likely real
 Einstein and the prodigies 139

explanation for that behaviour was that he was determined to speak in

complete sentences: when asked a question he would work out the answer
in his head and try it out for himself, and then repeat the sentence aloud
when he had assured himself that he had it right. What he was actually
displaying here was not stupidity at all, but the strategic activity of a deter-
mined and self-critical child making a deliberate effort to do his best.
Already, Einstein was keen to get things correct and unusually willing to
persevere at tasks. Even at this age he was often engaged in play activities
that involved solving puzzles and problems. He was already demonstrat-
ing a painstaking thoroughness, making elaborate structures from build-
ing blocks and, later, houses constructed from cards.
The adult Einstein's earliest memory of experiencing profound curios-
ity about a scientific mystery related to an occasion at the age of four or
five when his father first showed him a magnetic compass. This, Einstein
later recalled, made a lasting impression. He remembered his sense of
wonder at observing the needle behaving in a manner that simply did not
make sense in terms of his conceptual understanding of the world. He
knew that there had to be some cause, but it was frustratingly hidden from
him.
In early childhood he was unenthusiastic about playing with other chil-
dren and was inclined to tantrums, but these disappeared at around the
time Einstein started school. In his first years there he seemed to be a
reserved and isolated child, and yet it was apparent that he was bright and
capable. At the end ofhis first year of school (in August 1886) his mother
was writing to her sister that Albert had brought home a brilliant report.
She noted that he was at the top of his class, and not for the first time. Out
of school he was equally impressive, his preferred spare time activities
being mentally stimulating ones such as making fretwork articles,
working with a metal construction set, and playing with a small model
steam engine which a relative had given him.
There is a persisting although wildly inaccurate claim that Einstein was
a bad pupil who failed to flourish at the Munich high school, or
Gymnasium, which he attended from the age of nine and a half. In fact this
assertion was firmly refuted as early as 1929, at which time the school's
then principal searched the old records and was able to confirm that all
the evidence demonstrated that Einstein had actually been a very good
student. There had been no complaints about him and, no marks that
were other than good. The written evidence of Einstein's performance
also proved that the newspaper reports, in which Einstein was said to have
been an especially poor student oflanguages, were totally unfounded.
Einstein did well at school despite the fact that neither the ambience
nor the curriculum was particularly suitable for a Jewish child of his
140 Genius Explained

temperament and interests. There were eight hours of Latin every week,
and four of Greek from the fourth year onwards. This left little time for
other subjects, and so there were only three mathematics classes per
week, and only two science and geography classes. Physics was not taught
at all until the seventh year. Fortunately for Einstein, he had made consid-
erable progress in those subjects by private study in his spare time, reach-
ing levels of attainment well beyond the school's requirements.
By the age of eleven or so Albert Einstein was reading about science
and philosophy in books that were beyond the understanding of most
children. He was already contemplating the conflicting claims of science
and religion, and had become convinced that much that he had read in
the Bible could not be true. At the same age he became enchanted by
mathematics. On encountering Pythagoras' theorem he determined to
prove it. He succeeded, but only after three weeks of the kind of strenuous
and unremitting contemplation that (although Einstein would not have
known it at the time) was a characteristic mental activity of his great pre-
decessor Isaac Newton. In common with Newton and a number of other
outstanding thinkers (including Galileo and Bertrand Russell) 8 Einstein
became particularly strongly attracted to the certainty and purity of
Euclid's geometry. Before the age of twelve he had quickly worked his way
through a geometry textbook and made a serious start on the study of
advanced mathematics. Such was his progress that the family friend who
had first encouraged his interest was soon finding it impossible to keep up
with the child.
Science and mathematics were not the only difficult subjects Einstein
began to master in his childhood. At the age of thirteen he studied - and
appears to have enjoyed and comprehended - Kant's notoriously daunt-
ing Critique of Pure Reason. A classmate from this period later recalled how
impressive a conversationalist the boy had already become. His main
interests were intellectual ones, although he could be a mischievous prac-
tical joker at school. He was also acquiring a love of music. His mother, a
capable pianist, had arranged for him to have lessons from the age of six.
For years the child made very little progress, but at thirteen he suddenly
acquired a passion for Mozart's sonatas, and leaped ahead, discovering
that 'love is a better teacher than a sense of duty - at least for me'. 9 His
much-admired expertise at playing the violin gave him enjoyment
throughout his life.
Clearly, the young Albert Einstein was indeed a child prodigy. His
accomplishments by the age of twelve were already far beyond the
average, especially in science and mathematics. Yet as is true of the other

8 Fiilsing (r997), p. 23. 9 Quoted in Fiilsing (r997), p. 26.

 Einstein and the prodigies 141

geniuses we have encountered, there are no indications that Einstein was

born unusually clever or that he learned more easily than other people:
the qualities that did set him apart from other children seem to have been
rooted more in his personality and temperament and his mental habits
than in innate intelligence. As Einstein remarked on a number of occa-
sions, he was passionately curious from an early age, and intrigued to dis-
cover how things work. Like virtually all great scientists he was immensely
determined and dogged: he was always prepared to continue concentrat-
ing for very long periods on any challenge that gained his attention. At an
early age he gained a capacity for unceasing reflection and contemplation.
He insisted that he had not been born with any special gift.
The knowledge that Einstein was in fact an extraordinarily precocious
child makes it clear that the monumental achievements of his mid-twen-
ties were far from being the first and unanticipated signs that a new
scientific genius was alive. However, although it is important to establish
that Einstein was already intellectually remarkable when he was a child,
doing that does not account for his prodigious powers. Knowing that he
was a prodigy rather than the backward child he is often supposed to have
been resolves some apparent mysteries, but leaves other questions unan-
swered. How and why did he become a prodigy in the first place? The
unpromising early family circumstances that have already been outlined
give no real clues here. They offer no reasons for anticipating that this
particular child's early progress would be at all superior to the average.
Yet, as in the case of a number of other early lives we have encountered,
and as the examination of Michael Faraday's adolescence revealed with
particular clarity, brief accounts of the outward circumstances of a young
person's life can be inaccurate and even misleading indicators of the true
state of affairs. That is undoubtedly true of Einstein. As in Faraday's case,
the actual experiences of Einstein's early years were enormously more
advantageous than a cursory glance would suggest. Once we are able to
gain a reasonably full picture of the actual everyday world the young
Einstein inhabited, it is evident that his real circumstances were not
remotely unfavourable. In reality, the events and the influences that made
up Albert Einstein's early years were almost ideal ones for nurturing the
development of an enthusiastic young future scientist.
Right from the beginning, the young Albert Einstein was given plenty
of encouragement and intellectual stimulation. He came from a large and
generally prosperous family, in which a number of relatives could be
counted upon to provide help on those occasions when Einstein's own
parents experienced difficulties. At one time an aunt in Italy helped to
finance Albert's studies, and Einstein's maternal grandparents were com-
fortably placed for giving assistance when it was needed. It is true that
142 Genius Explained

Albert Einstein's father got into difficulties at times, but for substantial
periods he flourished and prospered.
At the time of Albert's birth, his parents lived in a comfortable apart-
ment in the city ofUlm, in southern Germany. They moved to Munich a
year later. It was a good marriage, and the child's home background was
harmonious as well as being unusually supportive. Einstein's mother and
father were educated people who took their parental responsibilities seri-
ously, making sure, for instance, that their eldest child always finished his
school homework. Both of them respected their Jewish origins but took
little notice of Jewish religion or ritual. They did not attend a synagogue,
and no specifically Jewish rites or customs were followed at home, and nor
were Jewish cooking rituals obeyed. Their reading, in which the works of
authors such as Schiller and Heine were prominent, mirrored that of
other cultured Germans of the time.
In short, Einstein's early family background was one that provided
large measures of mental stimulation for the growing child, and also gave
him the support and structure that would have enabled a child to flourish.
So both of those attributes of a home background that Csikszentmihalyi's
investigations have shown to be especially crucial for promoting mental
expertise and competence were present in abundance in the Einstein
home. For a growing scientist, his was an exceptionally privileged child-
hood. The advantages he was given could never have guaranteed that his
progress would be exceptional, let alone as prodigious as it turned out to
be, but they undoubtedly did contribute to his intellectual development.
Albert's uncle Jakob, his father's younger brother, was a qualified engi-
neer as well as an ambitious industrialist who at times enjoyed very con-
siderable success. At the time of Albert's birth Jakob Einstein was running
a firm that provided gas and water installations. In 1880 he was joined by
Albert's father, and the business was substantially enlarged by the pur-
chase of a company that made gas boilers. The brothers extended their
activities to the new field of electrical engineering, and by 1882 they were
participating in an international electro-technical exhibition that was
held in Munich, where they exhibited dynamos, arc lamps, light bulbs,
and a complete telephone system. As this side of the business expanded
and developed, the gas and water installation operations were faded
out and the boiler making works were abandoned. There was a further
expansion in 1885, when the brothers opened a new factory specialising in
electrical engineering. At its peak the firm employed two hundred
workers.
Unfortunately, the brothers were to overreach themselves. Their busi-
ness got into difficulties and eventually had to be liquidated. But the
company's failure could not alter the fact that the young Einstein had
 Einstein and the prodigies 143

enjoyed the extraordinary opportunities and advantages of living among

close relatives whose daily activities revolved around the application of
new science and technology. The industrial plans of the brothers were
boldly innovative. As a recent biographer puts it, they were what we would
now describe as high-tech venture entrepreneurs. 10 They exploited recent
scientific advances and combined them with the most recent technologi-
cal developments. Their activities placed them at the cutting-edge of the
era's technology.
There are obvious advantages for a would-be scientist of growing up
against a background of constant engagement in recent scientific discov-
eries and their applications. Those advantages might have been less
marked had Albert not been encouraged to become interested in the
scientific problems that were occupying his close relatives. However, the
child did receive ample encouragement. His father took a close interest in
Albert's scientific education. One of his uncles, Caesar Koch, stimulated
his interest in electricity and magnetism. Uncle Jakob, too, did much to
help provide the child with learning opportunities. It was Jakob who first
drew his attention to Pythagoras' theorem. Competent mathematicians
were rare, and Albert Einstein was lucky to have one as a close relative. He
was doubly fortunate in being able to profit from the stimulating
influence of an uncle who was keen to share his enthusiasm for mathe-
matics with his young nephew.
The young Albert Einstein never lacked mentors. Uncle Jakob was the
first of a number of scientists and intellectuals who gave him considerable
help. At the age of ten Einstein was introduced to Max Talmud, another
person who was to offer him substantial encouragement and assistance
throughout his adolescence. Talmud was only twenty-one himself when
he started to become a regular visitor to the Einstein family, but he was an
extremely well-read, as well as free-thinking young man. He was soon
engaging Einstein in vigorous intellectual conversations and he regularly
brought books to the home. Those which Talmud introduced to Albert
Einstein included volumes that many families would have thought too
revolutionary or too tainted by atheism to be suitable reading for a young
person. So Einstein never had to suffer from being 'protected' from ideas
that were considered to be dangerous or shocking for him. Darwin's
theory of evolution was among the more revolutionary scientific works
that Einstein encountered at an early age.
Like Uncle Jakob, Max Talmud also contributed to the nurturing of
Einstein's growing interest in mathematics. As we have seen, Talmud
soon found himself unable to keep up with the young prodigy, who

° Fi:ilsing (r997), p. ro.

1
144 Genius Explained

amazed him with his remarkable progress and capacity to absorb

scientific knowledge. Right from the beginning, advanced mathematics
was for Einstein more than just another subject to study. He wondered at
it and was enchanted by it, finding mathematical problems endlessly fas-
cinating. His delight in solving them was emotional as well as intellectual,
and he was attracted rather than repelled by the impersonal quality of
mathematics, which many students have found off-putting.
By this time Einstein was already acquiring a taste for getting engaged
for long periods in purely reflective activities. Doing that was beginning to
become a habitual activity, and mathematical thinking perfectly suited his
inclinations. And Kant's highly abstract philosophy provided further
nourishment for his increasingly contemplative mind.
The later years of Einstein's late adolescence were unsettling ones. His
father's financial problems, coupled with the fact that it was necessary for
the immediate family to leave their home in Germany and settle in Italy
when Einstein was fifteen, made it necessary for Albert to leave school
prematurely. Nevertheless he continued to pursue his intellectual inter-
ests with impressive energy and determination. The cultural atmosphere
of the Gymnasium he attended in Munich had never suited him, although
he had usually found it possible to identify a few teachers whom he could
admire and some friends who shared his interests.
Einstein's first application for admission to a university-level institu-
tion, the Zurich Polytechnic, was rejected. But while that much remarked
upon fact is correct, the equally common inference that he was consid-
ered by the authorities to be simply not good enough, is not true at all. At
the time he was a full two years younger than the normal minimum age
for admission to the polytechnic, and admitting him then would have
required a special exemption. The authorities decided that it would be
better for the young scholar to delay entry until he was a year closer to the
minimum age. But they also made it clear that they were extremely
impressed by his exceptional qualities, and one professor warmly invited
Einstein to attend his physics lectures.
In the event, Einstein spent the following year at a school situated
thirty miles from Zurich. This school turned out to be a forward-looking
institution, which encouraged its pupils to think for themselves. It
allowed Einstein to fill some of the gaps in his previous education. The
school was particularly unusual for its time in having an excellent
scientific laboratory. Einstein lodged with the family of one of the teach-
ers, Jost Winteler, a remarkable man who became another of Einstein's
mentors. Winteler, who was particularly helpful to Einstein at the time
when he was making the important step of renouncing German citizen-
ship, had the rare foresight to prophesy the appalling turn of events that
 Einstein and the prodigies 145

fermenting German nationalism would create in the early twentieth

century.
In 1896 Einstein finally enrolled at the Zurich Polytechnic, although at
seventeen he was still below the official minimum age for admission. By
this time Einstein was making a vivid impression on people. His strong
sense of humour and distinct self-assurance were being noticed, and he
had become a lively and highly sceptical conversationalist. He was now
sure of his ambition to be a scientist, and was already starting to have orig-
inal ideas about the propagation of electromagnetic waves. The training
that he was to gain in the next few years would enable him to become a
serious scientific thinker and give him the mental skills and knowledge
that made possible the massive creative achievements that he was to
bestow on the world in 1905.
Einstein's creative work of that especially momentous year was, of
course, immensely original. Yet as we have seen to be true of all the great
achievements of geniuses, it was only possible because Einstein had made
excellent use of a long and intense period of learning and preparation. In
the course of that period he diligently directed his fierce energy and his
intense curiosity, as well as his capacity for sustained reflection on prob-
lems, to the questions that captured his interest. Of course, what he finally
accomplished took Einstein beyond what anyone else had achieved, but
stupendous as his attainments were they should not blind us to the fact
that Einstein, in common with Newton and Darwin and the other great
scientists, was like other people, a member of the human species. The fact
that his creative attainments took Albert Einstein further than anyone else
had gone is not a reason for inferring that Einstein must have begun his
life as inherently exceptional, with some rare innate gift or endowment
that others have lacked. There are no genuine grounds for believing that
Einstein was born to be a genius. There was nothing inevitable about the
fact that he became one.
Einstein's course at Zurich lasted four years. By now the somewhat with-
drawn child had become an outgoing and sociable young man who, like
Charles Darwin, made friends easily with people who shared his enthu-
siasms. On the whole the Polytechnic was an excellent institution. It
employed some outstanding professors, especially in mathematics. During
the period he spent there Einstein became a self-assured and well-
grounded young physicist. However, as he was the first to admit, he was far
from being a model student. He was too sure of himself and too indepen-
dent to conform to the expectations of all his teachers. He had his own goals
and scientific priorities, which did not always coincide with theirs.
Moreover, he soon discovered that there were important recent develop-
ments in physics that he would have to study independently, because they
146 Genius Explained

were not covered in any of the teaching provided at Zurich. For example,
only through working on his own was he able to master certain advances
that were crucial to his own special interests, in particular the theoretical
discoveries of physicists such as Michael Faraday's successor James Clerk
Maxwell, and Ludwig Boltzmann. But despite his independent streak,
Einstein managed to do extremely well at some ofhis examinations, partic-
ularly in the initial years. His exam performance in the fourth year was less
impressive, because by then his efforts to extend his mastery of mathemati-
cal physics were being largely directed by his own particular interests.
Nevertheless, on graduating Einstein was confident of getting a univer-
sity position, and he was surprised and depressed when he failed to do so.
A number of factors contributed to his lack of success. Sheer bad luck and
poor timing were two. Anti-semitism may have been another reason,
although there is no firm evidence of that. A more powerful cause of
failure was that during his student years, whilst Einstein undoubtedly did
make a strong impression on those professors who were subsequently in a
position to offer him employment, a number of them had found his inde-
pendent and non-subservient approach to his studies intensely annoying.
He had ruined his chances of getting employed by one of the professors
who was needing an assistant, by neglecting enough of the practical work
he was obliged to undertake to earn himself a reproof for 'lack of applica-
tion' . 11 Another professor who might have been able to find a job for him
had been antagonised by Einstein's lack of respect and by the rather
mediocre essay he had submitted. Yet another potential employer among
the Zurich professors was probably put off by the unapologetic tone of
Einstein's confession that he had failed to attend any of the man's semi-
nars. The frustrated Einstein was forced into taking a temporary teaching
position that provided an income for a few months. He became con-
vinced, almost certainly wrongly, that one of his professors was working
against him by giving him poor references.
Finally, however, in June 1902 Einstein did manage to find a job. It was
not a university position but a post in the Swiss Patent Office in Bern. He
had first heard about this opportunity early in 1901 from another student
who was a close friend, and whose father recommended Einstein for the
post.
A job in a patent office may appear to have represented a distinctly less
attractive proposition for Einstein than the university position he had
hoped for. In reality, however, as Einstein quickly appreciated, it was an
excellent opportunity. For a start, the post was permanent, offering better
pay and more security than a university assistantship, and good chances

11 Quoted in Folsing (1997), p. 57·

 Einstein and the prodigies 147

of promotion. It was a challenging position and the workload was heavy,

but it was stimulating and interesting work. He was required to evaluate
the work of inventors; doing that demanded clear thinking and a critical
approach. Einstein enjoyed the job's practical aspects, and he found the
task of having to investigate patents provided him with valuable training.
He stayed in the post until 1908, well past the time when he began to
produce major scientific achievements of his own, and he continued
doing occasional work on patents long after that.
Einstein's period at the Swiss Patent Office was a time of enormous
creativity. Until 1904 he produced few publications apart from some
reviews of the work of others, but in 1905 the twenty-five-year-old Albert
Einstein speedily assembled the four hugely important theoretical papers
that were to make his reputation as the greatest physicist of the twentieth
century.

Einstein's case illustrates, among other things, the importance of keeping

in mind that whether or not a child has been labelled as being a prodigy is
only loosely and somewhat arbitrarily related to the extent to which the
young person really was exceptionally capable. This complication makes
the fact that a child has been described as a prodigy a less than satisfac-
tory indicator of the child's actual exceptionality. Like the term 'genius',
'prodigy' is as much a social construct as a natural category. And since
neither of these words provides anything like an objective indicator of a
person's actual capabilities, it is clear that we are on slippery ground when
trying to tease out the relationships between someone's having been a
child prodigy and the same person's becoming a genius.
Notwithstanding these problems, there is no doubt that links do exist
between the state of being a child prodigy and that of being a genius.
Descriptions of children who have been identified as prodigies provide
useful insights into the connections between childhood abilities and the
capabilities possessed by an adult, even though the form of the relation-
ship may differ from one case to another.
The majority of child prodigies have not become geniuses, but most
seem to have had relatively successful adult careers, and very few prodi-
gies have had adult lives quite as unhappy as that of William Sidis, who
we encountered in Chapter 5· One other exception was Erwin
Nyiregyhazi, a dazzling young Hungarian pianist born in 1903. Like
William Sidis, Nyiregyhazi was an immature and dependent young man,
still unable to feed himself properly or tie his shoelaces at the age of
eighteen, although by then he had already enjoyed successful debuts in
Berlin and New York. After a disastrous marriage he abandoned his
career as a concert pianist, except for a brief re-appearance in his
148 Genius Explained

seventies. But he did at least enjoy longevity. He died in 1987, survived by

his tenth wife. 12
For any child, there can be both positive and negative consequences of
having precocious abilities. In certain spheres of ability the learning that is
necessary in order to acquire essential basic skills may be less onerous for
younger people than for older ones. Often, too, there are practical advan-
tages to be gained by making an early start. The sheer amount of time
needed to gain the expertise a person must have in order to be capable of
creative or innovative achievements may be huge, sometimes as much as
10,000 to 20,000 hours. And simply because of that, unless considerable
progress has been made in the years of childhood, finding the time and
maintaining the degree of commitment needed to reach the highest levels
of mastery may not be possible. The everyday demands of adult life may
combine to prevent an adult beginner sustaining the single-minded dedi-
cation that would be needed in order to reach an exceptionally high level
of expertise. So it is hardly surprising that amongst champion chess
players, or outstanding musical performers, or exceptional mathemati-
cians, it is unusual to find outstanding individuals who had not already
achieved very high standards prior to their reaching adulthood.
There are other areas of expertise in which the capacity to make crea-
tive achievements is less dependent upon individuals possessing a partic-
ular body of acquired knowledge or skills. There are ones in which it is
just as beneficial to have a wide range of different experiences. Here it is
less likely that a person will be handicapped by not having been extraordi-
narily precocious in childhood. Amongst major novelists, for instance,
although many were precociously well-read children, few were identified
as being prodigies. And in some instances the particular benefits that are
conveyed to a child as a consequence of being recognised as a prodigy
may be outweighed by the disadvantages. While Mozart clearly did profit
from the fact that he was seen as a prodigy, if only because people paid to
watch his early performances, Billy Sidis's reputation as a prodigy
brought him nothing but trouble. Without it, he would have had a far
better chance of being able to make proper use of his impressive capabil-
ities and enjoy a productive adult career.
Although the advantages of making a good early start often make it
more than likely that a child who has been called a prodigy will do better
as an adult than a child who lacks exceptional abilities, within a group of
people who have all been prodigies in their childhoods there does not
appear to be any clear relationship between the extent of individuals' pre-
cocity and their eventual degree of excellence. There are numerous well

12 See Howe (1990), p. 106; Radford (1990), pp. 106-7.

 Einstein and the prodigies 149

known instances of remarkable prodigies who have gone on to become

remarkable adults, as Yehudi Menuhin did, for example, but there are
also instances of striking child prodigies whose adult careers have not
thrived at all. And in families where there has been more than one prodigy
among the children, the sibling whose early feats are most spectacular
does not always become the most illustrious. Of the two precocious sons
of James Thomson, a professor at mathematics, it was the older brother
who won all the prizes in his early career, but his eventual minor fame as
an engineer was eclipsed by the reputation of his younger sibling, the
great physicist Lord Kelvin.
Similarly, a recent study of the childhoods of twenty-five exceptionally
successful American concert pianists in their early thirties revealed that
few of them had shown distinct early signs of their future excellence. Even
after the young people had been playing the instrument for seven or eight
years, these individuals' levels of expertise, although admittedly high,
were matched by hundreds of other enthusiastic and ambitious young
musicians. Had the individuals who participated in the study been exam-
ined at this time, when they were around the age of fourteen or fifteen,
with the majority of them there would have been no reason for predicting
that those particular instrumentalists, among the many other young
players who also aspired to become concert pianists, would find places
among the extremely few who would eventually do exceptionally well. 13
There has been much debate about the extent to which child prodigies
are formed by genetics or experience. Their parents have often taken
extreme positions on this question. Some, as we have seen, have been
happy to portray themselves, somewhat unconvincingly, as essentially
passive bystanders doing nothing apart from observing their child's
amazing development and recording it for posterity. In contrast, as was
illustrated in the previous chapter, those parents who have admitted
taking a more active part in their child's early education have often taken
the opposite stance. These people have insisted that their child was in no
respect inherently exceptional, and that had it not been for the parents'
special efforts to manufacture a superior individual there would have
been no reason to expect the young person to be at all exceptional. Pastor
Witte strongly held to this viewpoint, and so did James Mill and Leo
Wiener. A few parents seem to have held both of these extreme (and
incompatible) opposing views simultaneously. Leopold Mozart, for
instance, promoted his son as both an amazing natural phenomenon and
also the product of the father's superb teaching.
It is extremely difficult to arrive at firm conclusions concerning the

13 Sosniak (r985).
150 Genius Explained

extent to which genetic causes of variability between people affect the

chances of any individual becoming exceptionally capable. That is cer-
tainly true of child prodigies. Inherited influences definitely contribute to
the fact that people are different, but we cannot with any confidence be
much more specific than that, as we shall discover in Chapter 9· It would
of course be helpful to possess detailed descriptions of those attempts by
parents to make their child into an exceptionally capable person that have
totally failed. But understandably enough, only in the more successful
instances have either the parents or their children been inclined to
produce written accounts.
There must have been numerous unrecorded failures. It is known, for
example, that Leo Wiener was almost as keen to accelerate his daughter's
education as he was to promote his eldest son's (although he had run out
of steam by the time Norbert's younger brother arrived). Why did her
accomplishments not match Norbert's? Was she a child prodigy who in
later life did not live up to her early promise, perhaps because of the
restrictions imposed on a girl? Or did her abilities fail to match Norbert's
even in childhood?
Even if information about failed attempts by parents to make their chil-
dren into geniuses was less scarce than it actually is, important questions
would remain unanswered. It would be hard to be sure to what extent
these failures reflected children's limitations and to what degree parental
inadequacies were responsible. Many a parent has strived to encourage
their child to learn more, but has been too heavy-handed, or too poor a
teacher, or insufficiently sensitive, or unable for other reasons to motivate
their child. But it is hardly conceivable that all failures by mothers or
fathers who have set out to make a child exceptional can be attributed to
the parent's inadequacy as a teacher. Any two children are different from
one another. Even if a pair of siblings are brought up in environments that
their parents try to make identical, and are treated in exactly the same
manner, so far as is humanly possible, the chances are that they will end up
with differing personalities and distinct patterns of abilities. One reason
for that is that even when adults largely succeed in creating identical envi-
ronments for different children, they do not succeed in making the chil-
dren's experiences identical. Psychologists sometimes make the mistake of
assuming that environment and experience are the same. But they are not,
and imposing identical environments on two children by no means guar-
antees that they will have identical experiences. That is not to deny that
children's learning environments are important, but it is equally necessary
to appreciate that the influence of anyone's environment is restricted by
the fact that it is always indirect. The most direct influences on a person,
and consequently the strongest, are the individual's unique experiences.
 Einstein and the prodigies 151

However hard parents try, they can never have complete control over
their children's experiences. That is partly because a person's experiences
are always partly determined by the individual's own biological endow-
ment. Consequently, with the possible exception of those rare instances
in which the children are identical twins whose parents strive to treat
them in precisely the same manner, there are always going to be substan-
tial differences between children in the way in which they actually experi-
ence those everyday events and activities that help determine their
interests and abilities.
Imagine, for example, being the elder or younger daughter of parents
who try hard to be entirely fair and even-handed in their approach to their
offspring. These parents conscientiously act towards one child in exactly
the same manner as they did towards their other child at the same age. 14
There comes a time, however, when the older sister notices that the
younger sister is being treated differently to her. Perhaps the parents are
less strict towards the younger sister, or expect less of her. Conversely, the
younger sister begins to notice that her sibling is being given more respon-
sibility, or is allowed to stay up later. In short, the older sister is experienc-
ing the life of an older sister, and the younger sister is experiencing family
life very differently. Over a period of time there will be many situations that
the two children experience in contrasting ways, with consequences that
will ensure that however similar the two girls' environments are they will
eventually become women who differ from one another in a variety of ways.

Many of the questions people raise concerning possible links between

being a child prodigy and becoming an adult genius have to do with the
antecedents and consequences of being a prodigy. For example: In order
to become a highly creative adult, is it necessary to have been a child
prodigy? If not, is it usually helpful, or can it be a positive disadvantage?
To become a child prodigy in the first place, is it essential to have experi-
enced a stimulating and supportive early background? Questions like
these raise important issues relating to the causes of exceptional accom-
plishments.
We could address these queries in a piecemeal fashion, but a more
systematic approach offers advantages. A simple framework provides
some needed structure here, helping to identify links between the state of
being a child prodigy with its various precursors and possible conse-
quences. We can start by identifying three broad stages in a person's life,
early childhood, late childhood and adult. At each of these stages, two
possible states can be identified, as follows.
14 This illustration is taken from Separate Lives by Judy Dunn and Robert Plomin (Dunn &
Plomin, I990).
152 Genius Explained

First, in early childhood an individual's family background may be

stimulating and supportive or unstimulating and unsupportive. As
we have seen, these aspects of a child's early years have considerable
impact on a child's early learning and development.
Second in mid-childhood a child may be a prodigy or not a prodigy.
Third, as an adult, the person may be capable or incapable of creative
achievements.

By combining each of the two states at any one of these three stages
with each state at the other stages, we arrive at eight possible categories of
people, as follows:

1 Men and women who did not have stimulating and supportive early
upbringings, were not child prodigies and did not produce any crea-
tive achievements as adults.
2 Individuals who did have a stimulating and supportive upbringing,
but did not become prodigies and never made any creative achieve-
ments as adults.
3 People who had a stimulating and supportive early upbringing, were
prodigies in childhood, but who, in maturity, did not make any
exceptional achievements.
4 Men and women who enjoyed a stimulating and supportive early
upbringing, were child prodigies, and did produce major adult
achievements.
5 Those who did have a stimulating and supportive early upbringing,
but were not child prodigies, and yet did have impressive achieve-
ments in adulthood.
6 People who did not have a stimulating and supportive early upbring-
ing, but were prodigies in childhood, and, as adults, made substan-
tial achievements.
7 Men and women who did not have a stimulating and supportive
early upbringing, but were nevertheless prodigies in childhood, and,
as adults, did not produce any creative achievements.
8 Individuals who did not have a stimulating and supportive early
upbringing, and were not prodigies in childhood, but who, as adults,
nevertheless produced creative achievements.

Allocating people to these categories is undeniably a somewhat rough and

ready procedure, if only because the graduations that exist in each of the
three factors involved have to be ignored. Nevertheless, it is a useful exer-
cise, providing useful information about the necessity of certain precur-
sors of genius. The millions of people who belong in categories one and
two are oflittle interest here. Individuals in category three serve mainly to
 Einstein and the prodigies 153

remind us that having a good early start does not guarantee outstanding
excellence in adulthood. Billy Sidis belongs in it, although he is untypical
both in being relatively well-known and in having had to endure an adult
life that was particularly unhappy. There are numerous reasons why not
every exceptionally promising young person will have a fulfilling or pro-
ductive adult life, or be capable of creative achievements. One is that there
is no guarantee that a child prodigy will develop all the qualities that are
needed in order to make exceptional mature accomplishments possible.
A musician, for instance, may be technically outstanding but lack certain
of the emotional or intellectual resources that make a performance dis-
tinctive. A mathematician may possess a mind furnished with exceptional
skills and knowledge but not have the drive necessary to sustain the
arduous intellectual effort that is required in order to make progress in
the face of difficulties. What is more, as we have seen, in some circum-
stances influences that accelerate a young person's progress sufficiently to
make it appropriate for the individual to be regarded as a prodigy may
also work to reduce rather than increase that individual's likelihood of
becoming capable of creative adult accomplishments. For example,
parents who are anxious for their children to excel at particular skills can
all-too-easily deprive them of experiences that help children to become
sufficiently independent and self-motivated to make the best of their
capabilities.
Knowledge about membership of all the other categories bears on
important questions concerning relationships between genius and the
circumstances that precede it. Perhaps surprisingly, with none of these
five categories is it totally impossible to identify exemplars. It appears,
then, that there may be few if any absolutely essential background factors,
in the absence of which it would be quite impossible for someone to
aspire to being a genius. Less surprisingly, a substantial proportion of
those people who are acclaimed as creative geniuses belong within the
fourth category, and that is true of a number of Nobel prizewinners
(Zuckerman, 1977). Mozart is one name that comes to mind. Others are
Yehudi Menuhin, the violinist, and among the other individuals who we
have encountered, John Stuart Mill and Norbert Wiener are both
members of this category.
Belonging to the fifth category are people who did enjoy a stimulating
and supportive early upbringing, but who were not child prodigies, and
yet did produce creative adult achievements. Although there are certain
areas of achievement in which it is very unlikely that someone will become
exceptionally capable unless considerable progress has already been made
by the end of childhood, that is not true of all fields of endeavour. Leo
Tolstoy, the novelist, and William James, the philosopher and psychologist
154 Genius Explained

brother of Henry James, are two examples of people who gave few early
indications of the exceptional creativity they were to display as adults.
Charles Darwin is another person who belongs in this category. All three
of these individuals came from wealthy families. Wealth makes it possible
for individuals to make false starts and delay committing themselves to a
career without incurring serious penalties, as Tolstoy was able to.
The final three categories include people who did not have early
upbringings that were particularly supportive or stimulating. In the sixth
group are people who, despite that, were prodigies in childhood and, as
adults, did make creative achievements. The lack of a good start in life is
clearly a disadvantage for a young person, and in many cases it has ruled
out the possibility of becoming a highly creative adult. Nevertheless, it is
possible to identify a few individuals who were prodigies and who did
produce major achievements despite having had no special advantages in
their early years. George Bidder definitely fits into this category, as does
James Mill, and Michael Faraday arguably belongs within it. He
undoubtedly produced major creative achievements, and he was certainly
a bright and precocious child, even if it would be stretching things a little
to assert that he was a child prodigy. Another instance of a person who
was a prodigy and also a genius, despite not having enjoyed an especially
stimulating early background, was J. M. W. Turner, perhaps England's
greatest artist.
To belong in the seventh category a person is required not to have had a
stimulating and supportive early upbringing, but nevertheless to have
become a prodigy in childhood, but without going on to produce creative
achievements in maturity. This is one category for which members might
be expected to be very rare if not non-existent, and it is certainly not easy
to identify individuals who clearly belong within it. All the same, a few can
be found. One such person was a talented young American mental calcu-
lator, who as a boy entered into a competition with George Bidder. His
name was Zerah Colburn, and he was born in Vermont, and his encoun-
ter with Bidder took place when Bidder was aged twelve and Colburn
probably fourteen. 15 Like George Bidder, Zerah Colburn began attract-
ing attention to himself in early childhood, beginning at the age of six
when his father heard him repeating multiplication tables. Colburn, like
Bidder, travelled round giving public demonstrations for money. Colburn
seems to have been even more precocious than Bidder as a young child. It
was reported that at the age of six he could solve problems such as squar-
ing 1>449, multiplying 12,225 times 1,223, and discovering how many
seconds there are in 2000 years.

15 Howe (rggo).
 Einstein and the prodigies 155

Zerah Colburn was reputed to have been an outgoing and intelligent

man, and had an interesting life during which he worked as an actor,
teacher, minister, and also as a mathematician employed to make astro-
nomical calculations. But when he died at the age of thirty-five he was
neither prosperous nor happy, and despite his remarkable promise he
never made any lasting creative accomplishments.
Like the seventh category, the eight and final one, in which belong indi-
viduals who did not have a favourable early upbringing, and were not
prodigies, but nevertheless made impressive adult achievements, does not
overflow with members. It would hardly be surprising to discover that in
the absence of either the advantages of a good early background or any of
those early indications of special promise that can bring a child to the
attention of individuals who are in a position to provide needed help (as
happened in George Bidder's case) the chances of someone producing
major adult creative accomplishments have been nil. Nevertheless, this
eighth category is not entirely empty, one of its most prominent members
being that remarkable engineering genius, George Stephenson. To lack
the advantages of a good early background is clearly a disadvantage.
Lacking also the benefits that can follow from being regarded as a child
prodigy makes a person doubly disadvantaged. But even with that combi-
nation of unpromising circumstances, as George Stephenson's life so glo-
riously demonstrates, genius is not entirely ruled out.

Broadly speaking, child prodigies are young people who for one reason or
another seem to have made an unusually good start in life. So far as the
likelihood of a person becoming capable of mature creative accomplish-
ments is concerned, the fact that the person has been a prodigy in child-
hood is important, not because it points to some inherent special gift or
talent, but simply because it indicates that unusually fast progress has
already been made. Exceptional early progress does not make exceptional
adult achievements inevitable, and yet in many cases it does help make
them possible. That is especially true in those areas of achievement in
which mastery depends upon lengthy and concentrated training.
In fields in which the links between early learning and mature achieve-
ments are less straightforward, the advantages of being a prodigy may be
fewer. Among novelists, for example, the young Trollope was a day-
dreamer, the youthful Charles Dickens was an observant young person
who was keenly alert to the world he perceived, and the Bronte children
created shared imaginary worlds that depended upon the close relation-
ships which existed within a family consisting of intelligent and well-
informed individuals. It is true to say that each of these writers had
childhood experiences that contributed to their eventually becoming
156 Genius Explained

major novelists. However, for them there would have been relatively little
added advantage to be gained from their acquiring in childhood the kind
of highly specialised expertise that would have led to them being seen as
child prodigies.
The fact that it is not essential to have been a prodigy in order to
become capable of creative mature accomplishments does not mean that
there are no limits to what can be achieved in the absence of a good early
start. Stephenson could make himself into a great engineer only because
many of the skills an engineer needed in his time were practical ones that
he could practise in his everyday life. Modern-day equivalents of George
Stephenson are fairly rare, although the ranks of exceptional jazz-players
and other non-classical musicians have included some individuals with
little formal education in music. But as we perceived earlier, even in
Stephenson's era someone with his total lack of school education could
never have become a great scientist like Faraday or Darwin, because
science cannot be learned from everyday experience. A career like
Faraday's is hard to imagine today, with schools providing basic science
education and young scientists having to gain a very substantial body of
knowledge and skills in order to become prepared for making original
contributions. Charles Darwin is a particularly a well-known example of a
person who was a genius, but without having seemed at all remarkable as
a child, but his career was only possible because his childhood activities
did provide him with an invaluable fund of knowledge and skills that he
was able to build upon later in life.
7 The expertise of great writers

At first glance the prospect of acquiring expertise and the possibility of

becoming a genius seem worlds apart. Gaining expertise takes lengthy
periods of practice and training. It requires effortful and repetitive activ-
ities, leading to the gradual mastery of skills and accomplishments.
Genius, in contrast, is perceived as spontaneous and fluent: it sparkles.
Becoming an expert demands powers of doggedness and persistence, but
genius appears to spring from inborn brilliance. Expertise is mundane
where genius is glamorous. Expertise is a matter of degree, an unexcep-
tional characteristic possessed to varying extents by millions of ordinary
men and women. Genius, it seems, is all or none, and it only strikes in
individuals who possess rare qualities of natural creativity.
But as we have already seen, this picture is largely false. For a start, even
geniuses always have to spend at least a decade learning their crafts. There
are no valid grounds for believing that those individuals whose eventual
achievements have been exceptionally impressive have needed any less
effort or any less determination than other people. The fluency that has
been remarked upon in thinkers like Einstein and artists like Mozart is
real enough, but that is a product of their training and experience, not a
quality they were born possessing.
The present chapter explores the circumstances in which certain major
authors acquired their expertise as writers. Great writing demands more
than mere technical competence, of course, but literature is not possible
in the absence of the skills that a writer can only gain through training and
experience. It might seem that whilst there are certain fields of accom-
plishment, such as music, science, or mathematics, in which creative
achievements can only be made by individuals who have undergone the
thousands of hours of training and practice that are essential in some
fields, there are other areas of creativity in which periods of training do
not have to be of comparable magnitude. Writing appears to be one.
However, we shall discover that evidence about the actual early progress
of future authors provides no support for this suggestion. Writers, like

157
158 Genius Explained

other makers of creative achievements, put enormous efforts into the task
of acquiring exceptional expertise.
As any recreational tennis player or bridge enthusiast or amateur musi-
cian knows, it is possible to spend enormous amounts of time practising
an activity without becoming dramatically better at it. If practising is
essential for acquiring high levels of skill, it certainly does not guarantee
it. Researchers investigating expertise have tried to isolate what it is that is
different about the kinds of training and practice activities that do
produce high levels of expertise, compared with the kinds of practising
that do no more than maintain an amateur's modest level of mastery.
The kind of practice that is necessary in order to acquire exceptional
expertise has to be considerably more intensive and much more system-
atic. Also, the particular practice activities that are engaged in need to be
much more closely related to the specific improvements that are being
aimed at. For example, where an amateur tennis player wanting to
improve a weakness at backhand volleying might simply play more games
and look for opportunities to use backhand volleying shots, a professional
would be more likely to have training sessions in which the coach made
sure that there were hundreds of opportunities to practise the particular
actions that required attention. This kind of formal and deliberate prac-
tising is liable to be less inherently motivating than the performing activ-
ities that people prefer to engage in. 1

Creative writers, just like those people whose creativity takes other forms,
take a long time to master their craft. A reader of someone's 'first novel'
would be unwise to infer that the book in the hand represents its author's
earliest attempt at serious fiction. A first published novel is almost never
its originator's first substantial writing project. All successful authors have
been lifelong readers, and the majority gained the habit of committing
their thoughts to paper at an early age. It is not uncommon for distin-
guished writers to have made their first try at writing a book well before
the end of childhood. John Stuart Mill did that, as did John Ruskin and
H. G. Wells, among others.
Inevitably, these juvenile efforts are often naive, crude and uneven.
Nevertheless, as well as displaying their authors' often remarkable preco-
city they are significant in other ways. First, the manufacture of a whole
book by a child signals a devotion to the difficult enterprise of writing that
augurs well for an author's future progress. At the very least it demon-
strates a willingness to persist at arduous intellectual pursuits for lengthy
periods of time. Second, the fact that a child is actually capable of writing

1 Ericsson and Charness (r994).

 The expertise of great writers 159

a book indicates that the young writer has already made a good start at the
training at writing that progress builds upon.
The early literary lives of the Bronte family exemplify the capacity for
juvenile efforts at writing and the circumstances giving rise to them to
influence as well as portend literary careers. Each of the four younger
Bronte siblings, whose mother had died when the eldest, Charlotte, was
only five, became seriously involved in writing as a recreational activity at
around the age of ten. Soon after the deaths in 1825 of the two oldest
sisters, Maria (born 1814) and Elizabeth (born 1815), the older of the four
surviving children, Charlotte (born 1816) and Branwell (born 1817)
started to produce a series of tales about imagined worlds. The earliest
compositions were little more than extensions of childish play, bearing all
the usual hallmarks of childish writing. They were poorly spelled, largely
unpunctuated, and closely modelled upon the stories and newspaper arti-
cles that the children had most recently been reading. Remarkably,
however, a firm habit of writing about imaginary worlds became estab-
lished, and it persisted for a decade, making major invasions into the
growing authors' time. Over the years the initially childish efforts at
writing became more and more sophisticated and adventurous, and they
increasingly took verse as well as prose form. A degree of continuity was
maintained, however, in the content as well as the form of the narratives,
and certain of the story characters that first made their appearance in the
early 1830s were still being written about at the end of that decade. For all
of the Brontes, their childhood literary activities were immensely impor-
tant influences on their later capabilities and accomplishments, providing
frequent and regular opportunities to practise and extend the writing
skills that all authors depend upon.
The imaginary worlds had their beginnings around 1826, when
Charlotte and Emily, who shared a bed, invented simple unwritten plays,
not unlike those created in many children's imaginary play. The very first
of the Brontes' plays took most of the characters from toys, especially
their brother Branwell's toy soldiers. The earliest surviving play that was
written down, by Branwell, is set in Lorraine and concerns the imaginary
intrigues and battles between would-be rulers, in the course of which the
imagined events include a rebellion and a siege. As the Brontes' biogra-
pher Juliet Barker notes,Z most of the essential elements of their juvenile
writings were already in place at that time, including political rivalries,
battles, and rebellions that are played out within fantasy kingdoms.
Numerous sources were drawn upon. A particularly important inspira-
tion was Blackwood's Magazine, a monthly journal containing a wide
2 Barker (1994), p. 152. My discussion of the Brontes' early writing activities has drawn
heavily upon this excellent book, The Brontifs, by Juliet Barker.
160 Genius Explained

mixture of articles ranging from fiction to political satire and humour.

Branwell's toy soldiers were given names and pressed into service as
fictional characters.
The received view that the Brontes led a solitary existence, isolated
from the events in the world outside their parsonage home at Haworth,
set in the moors of northern England, is far from accurate. The children
enjoyed at least two Yorkshire newspapers and had access to a good
range of books. Accounts by travellers which the children had read, and
various historical descriptions, all found their way into the Bronte juve-
nilia. The earliest writings were undoubtedly imaginative, but more imi-
tative than original, with little in the way of mature ideas or realistic
characters.
From this early stage, the plays and stories were written in minuscule
writing, in minute hand-made books. The writing was too small for adults
to read without the aid of a magnifying glass. This had the practical con-
sequence of ensuring that the stories were never the subject of grown-ups'
censure. So despite their abysmal spelling and often non-existent punctu-
ation, these early efforts never attracted the kinds of comments such as
the ubiquitous 'careless: could do better' with which successive genera-
tions of teachers have discouraged the creative impulses of their pupils.
There was no pressure on the Bronte children to mask their productions
with an unnatural veneer of maturity, and no need to make fair copies. All
that mattered was that their own brother and sisters could understand the
writing, and for them the lapses in grammar, spelling and punctuation
created no cause for complaint. On occasions the father, Patrick Bronte,
who was a more benign and stimulating parent than Bronte mythology
has allowed, as well as being an active reforming churchman, gently
remonstrated with his children about the inaccessibility of their written
compositions, but to little permanent effect. As late as 1833, when
Charlotte was seventeen, his Christmas present to her was a notebook at
the front of which he thought it necessary to make the written plea that
'all that is written in this book, must be in a good, plain and legible hand'. 3
It is clear from their juvenilia that none of the Brontes suddenly or
unpredictably arrived on the literary scene as a fully-fledged novelist. Not
one of the children gave any early indication in these early efforts of
having some rare innate talent or natural gift for authorship. As with all
children's first attempts at written expression, in every case the earliest of
a Bronte sibling's writings are thoroughly childish and naive, and com-
posed of immature sentiments that are inexpertly expressed. The matur-
ity and mastery that are evident in the Brontes' published works only

3 Barker (1994), p. 20!.

 The expertise of great writers 161

came much later, following many years during which they constantly gave
themselves practice in writing, and experimented at it, their efforts
fuelled by the obvious delight that came from manufacturing stories
about imaginary worlds.
Understandably, the children were drawn to what they found exotic
and dramatic. Toy soldiers newly added to Branwell's collection were
quickly shared out among his siblings, given names, and provided with
invented backgrounds. One box of soldiers quickly became the 'Young
Men', a brave band of twelve young Englishmen who had landed in an
African kingdom after an exciting journey that involved dangerous adven-
tures. Once in Africa these heroic young men encountered further
dangers, which included 'an Immense and terrible monster his head
touched the clouds was encircled with a red and fiery Halo his nostrils
flashed forth flames'. 4 From time to time a character would be trans-
formed into an entirely different individual. For instance, a soldier that
Emily initially named Gravey suddenly acquired the name of a real
person, the Arctic explorer William Perry, whose adventures had recently
been described in Blackwood's Magazine. But Emily's older sister
Charlotte often refused to permit such transformations. After naming
one of her soldiers after her current hero, the Duke of Wellington, she
insisted on keeping him in the cast throughout a number of plays, until
she eventually permitted him to be superseded by his sons.
The character of Perry was not the only borrowing from Blackwood's,
which had also supplied the African setting. The Brontes had discovered
in Blackwood's Magazine a lengthy review of a book describing an expedi-
tionary mission from the west coast of Africa into the interior. The stories
about the Young Men lifted a number of place names and names of kings
from that report. The imaginary land took up a large chunk of western
Africa, and included a number of features that were real, including the
Gambia and Niger rivers, and some that were based on real places, such
as a city at the mouth of the Gambia that was renamed Verdopilis by
Branwell and Verreopolis by Charlotte, as well as others that were entirely
fictitious. The young authors decided to divide the region into a confed-
eracy of states, each of which was ruled by a soldier belonging to one of
the children. Other soldiers ruled over islands situated off the coast. The
land as a whole became known as Glasstown. Later, following the
destruction of its main city at a later stage in the development of the
stories, it was to be renamed Angria. Within Glasstown were to be found
a rich range of people, places, events, and buildings, drawn partly from
the children's own experiences and partly from things they had read

4 Barker (1994), p. 154

162 Genius Explained

about in books and newspapers. There were both a fashionable aristo-

cratic society and a lower sphere of life centred around inns and taverns,
and buildings similar to ones seen only in biblical paintings as well as
others based on Yorkshire wool mills. As in the real world, Glasstown had
its share of political and dramatic activities, with wars, revolutions, plots
and counter-plots, and a heady mixture of dramatic events.
Sometimes this vivid imaginary world fused with the real world, and a
diary entry could switch from everyday life to the imagined land and back
again in a single sentence. Thus in one story Charlotte suddenly aban-
dons a description of the island inhabitants of the story constructing a
new school to insert an impassioned report of her family's reactions to
political changes relating to Roman Catholic emancipation, an issue of
the day that aroused strong passions in a clergyman's family.
As the children grew older, the stories became less childish, wittier, and
more original, reflecting their authors' increasing sophistication, but no
less playful. Irony became more evident. References to drinking and
drunkenness in their characters reflected the narrators' increasing knowl-
edge of the real world. Both Charlotte's and Branwell's stories began to
demonstrate an impressive and growing knowledge of classical language
and literature, with classical references and allusions becoming common.
The fourteen-year-old Charlotte had the cast of one story conversing in
French.
There was never the slightest doubt that all the authors gained
immense enjoyment from the activity of writing. The need to escape or
retreat from reality may sometimes have been a contributing influence,
and the sheer volume of the production could be seen as evidence of a
commitment that seemed at times obsessive, but signs of the authors'
pleasure in what they were doing punctuate all the writing. Quite often
the different authors, writing under their various pseudonyms, would
tease each other or poke fun at their siblings' productions.
The spelling only gradually improved, and punctuation was still getting
very little attention even in the stories written in their authors' late teens.
In 1829, when he was not yet twelve, Branwell increased his output by
starting a magazine that appeared at monthly intervals. It contained arti-
cles on all kinds of subjects, mostly written by himself but with a few con-
tributions by Charlotte. Its title, after the model being imitated, was
'Branwell's Blackwood's Magazine'. It was as tiny as the other volumes,
being just over two inches high. From the outset, many of the articles
appeared under various pseudonyms belonging to characters from the
imaginary world of Glasstown, such as 'Captain John Bud', Glasstown's
fictitious historian. The complex interweavings of fiction and reality are
exemplified by the fact that another of the fictitious contributors to the
 The expertise of great writers 163

magazine, the Glasstown poet 'Young Soult' was actually based on a real
person, Marshal Soult, a commander under Napoleon Buonaparte. But
as was to happen not infrequently in the Brontes' later juvenile writings, a
character invented by one sibling might be mercilessly abused by another.
Young Soult, for example, whose inventor, Branwell, regarded him with
some affection, is fiercely attacked in one of Charlotte's pseudonym's pro-
ductions, where he is amusingly but sharply caricatured as a pompous
poetaster named 'Henry Rhymer'.
Magic and mystery are frequent ingredients in the earlier stories. There
were a number of borrowings from The Arabian Nights in Charlotte's
tales, and she also adapted legends and tales mysteries that had appeared
in Blackwood's Magazine. Fabulous and exotic locations were favoured,
even in connection with characters based on real men and women. For
instance, Charlotte situated her Duke of Wellington in a white marble
palace among olive trees, palms, and myrtles, and other characters were
placed in settings filled with gold and diamonds. The playful author was
not too solemn to nudge her readers with an occasional comment on her
own facility at creating incongruous mixtures of fantasy and reality. She
broke off at one point from a description of the magnificence of a lavishly
decorated emerald dome to point out to any reader who might not have
already noticed it, that 'you are gazing on the production of a mighty
imagination'. 5
It might have been expected that as the children matured their imagi-
nary worlds would lose some of their allure. But that did not happen until
well into adulthood. There was simply no need to entirely abandon the
societies that had been invented with the first Glasstown stories, because
within the imagined worlds there was ample scope for developments
catering for the newer interests and preoccupations of authors who were
no longer children. Some of the later creations were complex literary
achievements, often scholarly as well as creative, sometimes in verse form
rather than prose. The two youngest sisters, Emily (born 1818) and Anne
(born 1820) contributed more frequently as time progressed, although
the majority of the surviving booklets are by Charlotte and Branwell.
Political elements became more prominent. Detailed histories were sup-
plied. Characters were more effectively delineated and developed, with
one of Branwell's creations, 'Alexander Rogue', an evil person who had
appeared in a number of stories (including some by Charlotte, who calls
Rogue 'deceitful, bloody and cruel' as well as 'skilled in all the sleight-of-
hand blackleg tricks of the gaming table' 6) taking centre stage in the first
of the books to depart from the miniature form of the earlier ones. The

5 Quoted in Barker (1994), p. 161. 6 Quoted in Barker (1994), p. 188.

164 Genius Explained

main city ofGlasstown was actually destroyed in a revolution (brought on

by the actions of the demagogic Alexander Rogue), and replaced by a new
city, Angria, but a number of the Glasstown inhabitants remained as
characters in the post-Glasstown books. At around the same time the two
youngest sisters, Emily and Anne, invented their own independent world,
Gonda!, situated in the Pacific Ocean.
From the beginning, the depiction of people and events of the ima-
gined worlds had some of the attributes of a soap opera, albeit an unchar-
acteristically literary and political one. As in modern soap operas, the
fictitious societies were depicted as being largely self-sufficient and iso-
lated from the outside world, and successive episodes focused on different
characters and situations. In the case of Gonda!, unfortunately, although
a substantial amount of Gonda! poetry and later prose still exists, all the
earlier prose narratives have been lost. Gonda! was Emily's and Anne's
secret world, from which Branwell and Charlotte were excluded. Like
Glass town and Angria, the world of Gonda! was one in which warfare and
politics alternated with romantic intrigues. Juliet Barker has observed
that the women of Gonda! are more active and resourceful than those
inhabiting the other worlds, as might be expected in a universe devised by
only female authors. In contrast with the beautiful but passive playthings
who pine for their Angrian lovers, the strong-minded ladies of Gonda!
take more forceful parts in the stories.
The fact that the creative activity of writing about an invented world
was a joint exercise contributed enormously to the authors' enjoyment. It
was a marvellous game, in which each participant eagerly ingested and
responded to their sibling's latest instalment. Cooperation and competi-
tion were equally in evidence. As ever, one Bronte was likely to deal
harshly with another's characters. Branwell and Charlotte each con-
stantly reacted to the new developments in the other's fiction, and not
infrequently tried to outmanoeuver the other. Certain of Charlotte's
dashing and lovesick young men were transformed by Branwell into
cynical politicians. Charlotte retaliated by rewriting the early life of
Branwell's anti-hero Alexander Rogue, whom she now revealed to have
started off as a handsome young soldier, forced into a life of crime and
debauchery only after being unfairly exiled from Glasstown. On one
occasion, after Branwell had the gall to kill off a favourite heroine of
Charlotte, his sister instantly resurrected her, declaring that the report of
her death was simply a rumour designed to arouse the people against an
oppressive aristocrat.
As the authors approached adolescence, the love lives and romantic
preoccupations of Glasstown's inhabitants came increasingly under the
looking glass. By 1831 the fifteen-year-old Charlotte, now an enthusiastic
 The expertise of great writers 165

reader of Sir Walter Scott's romances and obsessed with Byron - as were
numerous young women at the time - was writing a lengthy poem in
which one of the heroines laments her aristocratic lover, a marquis, who
has abandoned her for another woman. The latter affair was also
described in another story, this time in prose. Love and romance now
became the dominant topic of Charlotte's fiction. During this period all
the men she writes about are dashing, tall and attractive, and all her hero-
ines beautiful. They are also invariably aristocratic, even if their high birth
is sometimes a secret, hidden from all until the final pages. The romantic
ingredients of the stories are frequently combined with melodrama.
Passionate but unprincipled dark-eyed beauties are besotted with amoral
male characters whose scornful sneers betray their wicked natures. But
there are also more profound and thoughtful passages, in which serious
issues are discussed. Many elements of the Bronte sisters' published
novels can be detected in their later juvenilia.
The imaginary worlds continued to engage Charlotte's attention,
serving at times as a refuge and a solace, well into the stage of her life at
which she was starting to make a serious effort to earn a living from
writing. By this time she was learning to use some new techniques, experi-
menting in her Angrian stories with forms that she subsequently drew
upon in her published novels. For example, in an Angrian story written in
1838 she first used the device of narrating a tale through a series ofletters
between the characters. 7 At around the same time she was also beginning
to write about women who were more real and ordinary than the exoti-
cally beautiful creations that populate most of the earlier Glass town and
Angria stories. She was starting to depict females with more of her own
characteristics, plainer and more lifelike young women who were not
unlike the realistic heroine ofJane Eyre.
The long-lasting juvenile experiments in which Branwell and his three
sisters created and explored their secret worlds hugely influenced the
development of their imaginations and the growth of their writing skills.
The activities that produced their voluminous early writing equipped
each of the Brontes with the technical expertise a creative author needs.
Their habit of producing works quickly, without spending time revising
their prose, helped to make their writing fluent. The fact that their pro-
ductions were hidden from potentially censorious adult eyes ensured that
the young Brontes were able to explore and extend their literary powers in
a kind of protected haven, which allowed their confidence as writers to
grow as they matured, unconstrained by thoughts of what outsiders might
think. It is virtually unknown for a single family comprising four children

7 Barker (1994), p. 291.

166 Genius Explained

to produce three eminent female authors plus a talented brother who too,
but for ill-fortune, might well have been capable of impressive literary
achievements. It is hardly conceivable that each of a group of three sisters
could have created major novels had it not been for the fact that writing
activities played such a prominent part in their early lives.
Charlotte herself was fully aware of the benefits she gained from her
early writing. All the same, as Juliet Barker observes, 8 some of the habits
that Charlotte picked up in writing about Glass town and Angria had to be
discarded in order for her to become capable of the more realistic fiction
of her mature novels. Her juvenile writing is typically exotic, florid, and
extravagant. It is dramatic and often highly imaginative, lacking the sim-
plicity and down-to-earth characterisation that was needed in order to
produce a novel like Jane Eyre. Barker argues that it was difficult for
Charlotte to shake off 'her old bad habits of Gothic exaggeration'. 9 She
suggests that Charlotte's incomplete success at doing that mars some of
her work, including her first serious novel, The Professor, which was com-
pleted in 1846 when she was just thirty. It was rejected by a number of
publishers and did not appear in print until after her death.
Emily and Anne had less to unlearn, because there was not so marked a
conflict in either style or content between their juvenile writings and their
mature work. Juliet Barker notes that the world of Wuthering Heights is in a
number of respects similar to the world of Gonda!. Both draw on the
descriptive passages of Walter Scott as well as moorland life in Yorkshire
amid the landscape Emily could see from her own home. 10 Heathcliff has
a forerunner in a Gonda! character who first appeared ten years before
the writing of Wuthering Heights, a mysterious doomed outlaw whose sole
redeeming feature, like Heathcliff's, is his love for a beautiful woman.
Themes revolving around passionate adult love between individuals who
have grown up together and then been separated or cast into exile are
encountered in Gonda! tales and poems. Views about death that are
explored in Wuthering Heights are presaged in Gonda! poetry. Barker
points out that the drunken debauchery and casual cruelty that shocked
readers of Wuthering Heights are common elements in the Gonda! tales.
The decision of the neglected wife in Anne Bronte's The Tenant of Wildfell
Hall to nurse her debauched husband in his days of decline echoes a
Gonda! story in which Zenobia, the long-suffering wife of the unfaithful
Northangerland (previously the demagogue and adventurer Alexander
Rogue) makes the identical choice.

As a formative influence upon writers' eventual accomplishments, the

self-directed shared apprenticeship of the Brontes is unique in its uncon-
8 Barker (1994), p. soc. 9 Barker (1994), p. soc. 10 Barker (1994), p. SOL
 The expertise of great writers 167

ventionality and perhaps also in the emotional intensity of its hold over
the minds of the young people who created the secret worlds of
Glasstown, Angria, and Gonda!. But at least as a source of experiences
that have nurtured the acquisition of skills and capabilities, other young
people's early circumstances have been just as significant. One conven-
tional and not unrealistic image of a successful person's early life, which
depicts a diligent and studious but otherwise unexceptional child making
the best of excellent early educational opportunities, is more frequently
personified in scientists- such as Marie Curie, for example- than in crea-
tive writers, as is evident from Harriet Zuckerman's study of the lives of
Nobel prizewinners. 11 Nevertheless, there are some writers whose early
progress is superior to the average but not altogether extraordinary, and
marked more by careful application to learning than by remarkable pre-
cocity. The author of Middlemarch, arguably the greatest novel in the
English language, was such a person in her younger days, although in
common with Curie she was to become notably less conventional in the
arrangements she made for her adult life.
Mary Anne Evans (later Mary Ann and eventually Marian: the name
'George Eliot' was only a nom-de-plume) grew up in the English mid-
lands. Born in 1819, three months after the infamous Peterloo Massacre-
a bloody suppression of peaceful demonstrators against taxes on corn
which came to epitomise what was most repressive about traditional
British society- she was a contemporary of the Bronte sisters. Like them,
she read widely as a child, enjoying the prose of Walter Scott and the verse
of Robert Southey, as they did, and later, the writings of Lord Byron. Like
them she attended a boarding school. Like them, she lacked close bonds
with a mother. In her case this was not a consequence of death but an
outcome of her mother's conspicuous failure to establish a warm relation-
ship with her. In common with Charlotte Bronte, Evans was acutely con-
scious of her lack of conventional beauty. Like the Brontes she was
religious in childhood and was affected by the religious controversies of
the time. Like them, as she approached adulthood she was oppressively
aware of her lack of options for the future. There were few obvious
choices available to her, and none of them would have seemed attractive.
They included being a governess, or a teacher, or perhaps a spinster
devoting her time to the care of an aged parent. In common with the
Brontes and (to an even greater extent) with John Stuart Mill, in her first
years as an adult she was strongly aware that her education had equipped
her with intellectual capacities that she was not at all certain how best to
utilise.
In other respects Mary Anne Evans was not at all like any of the Bronte
11 Zuckerman (r977).
168 Genius Explained

sisters. In sharp contrast to them, until she was a mature woman she did
not even consider the possibility of devoting large amounts of her time to
writing fiction. At the age of twenty Charlotte Bronte was already making
enquiries into the possibility of making a living through writing, and
asking for advice from Robert Southey, then the Poet Laureate. In
Evans's case it was not until she was already an experienced writer that
she began to think seriously about producing novels. What little early
fiction she wrote was largely realistic, and it contained nothing compar-
able to the strongly fantastic elements that are evident in the juvenilia of
all the Brontes. Their juvenile writings are often very funny, but there is
remarkably little humour in Evans' early efforts: at that time she was
invariably serious. Unlike the Brontes she seems to have been habitually
earnest as well as diligent, concerned with self-improvement and anxious
to transform and reshape herself through her growing intellectual
powers. As soon as she could, she removed herself both physically and
psychologically from the bourgeois world of her childhood, quite unlike
the Brontes, none of whom even considered abandoning their Yorkshire
roots. As a young person she was priggish, puritanical and moralistic.
Her biographer Frederick Karl asserts that she read more and knew
more and thought more than anyone in the mid-Victorian period. 12 That
is not an accomplishment that any of the Brontes would have aspired to
rival.
These differences ensured that the nature of Mary Anne Evans's train-
ing for her career in writing was strikingly different from the Brontes'.
And yet it was similar in one vital respect: like theirs, her preparation was
extensive, thorough, and long-lasting. The seriousness of her commit-
ment to becoming an especially knowledgeable woman was already
beginning to be apparent by the age of ten or eleven. At that time there
was nothing ostensibly prodigious about her development: as Frederick
Karl remarks 13 she did not sparkle or display quicksilver intelligence.
What she did already display to an unusual extent were qualities of gravity
and seriousness. Karl suggests that even then she was already looking
beyond childhood and anxious to move into an adult life in which she
imagined herselfbecoming more independent and free of the restrictions
that children find tiresome. Her reported response at a children's party,
when asked why she seemed unhappy, 'I don't like to play with children. I
like to talk to grown-up people.' 14 points to a profound irritation with the
state of childhood.
Her formal education was impressively good. Mary Anne's father, an
upwardly mobile and highly successful man who was employed as agent

12 Karl (r995), p. 29. 13 Karl (r995), p. 23. 14 Karl (r995), p. 22.

 The expertise of great writers 169

on a large aristocratic estate, went to some pains to ensure that his daugh-
ter was given better educational opportunities than were customary for a
girl at the time. He was unusually attentive to her in the early years of her
childhood, often taking her with him as he made his rounds of the proper-
ties that he administered.
At the age of eight she was sent to a boarding school. The school was
not in itself remarkable, but it enabled Evans to become acquainted with
an intense young teacher named Maria Lewis, who was to be an impor-
tant mentor for the future novelist, and someone whose own interests and
attitudes ensured that Mary Anne would be exposed to various influences
that were outward-looking and intellectual, in contrast with the narrowly
provincial values that reigned unquestioned within her own family. She
was also now exposed to evangelical Christianity, bringing her into a form
of religion that was more fervent and more emotional than the traditional
kind of worship she was used to. Hence the effects of Lewis's attentions
on her young charge were thoroughly subversive, inclining her to question
the expectations of a family whose way of life she was already finding
irksome. As Karl points out, Robert Evans would have been horrified had
he known what was going on. Eventually, Mary Anne would outgrow the
tutelage of Maria Lewis and discard the religious beliefs that were so
important for her mentor. However, throughout a fifteen-year period
Maria Lewis was a significant intellectual influence. She played a key role
in enabling the growing child to extend her capabilities and become a
woman who had outgrown her conservative early background and devel-
oped into a clever and well-informed young person with a mind of her
own, and someone whose interests and values were not at all narrow or
provincial.
By ten or eleven, there was already a fierce intensity in the way in which
she absorbed knowledge from books, to the benefit of her own fast-
expanding mental powers. She was already reading Scott's novels. She
devoured poetry, and within a year or two would acquire an abiding
passion for Milton, whose serious and disciplined approach was to be a
lasting influence on her own work. Her father perceived that she was out-
growing her first school, and Mary Anne was moved to an above-average
educational establishment where for the first time she was able to receive
effective instruction in French, as well as in the traditional school subjects
such as history, arithmetic, and English. Characteristically, at the end of
her first year she won the school prize in French. The prize was a copy of
Pascal's Pensees, hardly an obvious choice for a child not yet thirteen, but
one that she nevertheless took to and seems to have rapidly mastered. She
also learned music. As Einstein was to do some generations later, Mary
Anne Evans became a good instrumentalist. The great novelist's expertise
170 Genius Explained

at the piano, acquired through years of dogged practice, almost rivalled

the great scientist's mastery of the violin.
And she was already becoming a competent writer. Only a few of her
compositions at this age remain. They have little in common with the
Brontes' earliest writings, lacking their fantastic and imaginative elements
but displaying a real understanding of abstract ideas and a promising
capacity of self-expression. She was just starting to gain a voice of her own
and an independent point of view, albeit one that was somewhat priggish
and moralistic.
The seriousness of purpose that was to be Evans' most prominent
defining feature was already in evidence in her early teens. By this time
she was always busy, diligent, organised, intense and earnest, an avid
believer with firm and somewhat intolerant attitudes on social and moral
issues. Books filled much of her time, and when she was not reading she
would often be writing - poetry as well as prose - or practising at the
piano. After her mother died in 1836 she took over the management of
the family home. The demands that responsibility placed upon her com-
bined with her intense and puritanical gravity- which made self-denial a
virtue - to ensure that her adolescent years were far from being carefree
ones.
By eighteen she was consuming scholarly and theological writings, and
also histories and biographies, at a pace that even Middlemarch's Dr
Causubon could hardly have matched. She studied German and Italian,
becoming a fluent reader in both languages, and added to her knowledge
of Latin. She started taking a keen interest in the physical sciences,
attending lectures on chemistry and reading books on geology and
astronomy. At that time she would have enjoyed Faraday's lectures, but
she had no opportunity to attend one until about ten years later.
At around this age she was increasingly exposing herself to ideas that
were not compatible with her firm religious beliefs. She knew about
Lyell's work on geology, which as we have seen, anticipated Darwinism by
establishing, with little room for doubt, that gradual change rather than
instant creation provided the only viable explanation of how the earth's
physical form came about. She was increasingly critical of the published
rebuttals of the scientific writings that were challenging religious teach-
ings about the origins of the universe. She was also allowing herself to be
moved by Wordsworth's verse and other romantic poetry, such as
Byron's, and opening her mind to varieties of spirituality which clashed
with the puritanical mindset she had been clinging to. Her doubts about
the religious beliefs of her family circle were finally to be made public at
the age of twenty-one, when she refused to go to church with her father.
She had become friendly with Charles and Elizabeth Bray, a free-thinking
 The expertise of great writers 171

brother and sister with strongly humanist interests who profoundly

influenced her own thoughts and also brought her into contact with a
number of the leading intellectuals and thinkers of the day.
By most standards, Evans was now an exceptionally well educated
young woman. Yet between this time and the point at which she began her
career as George Eliot the writer of fiction, there was another decade and
a half of intense intellectual preparation. Much of this period was devoted
to writing and editing activities, which she pursued with the seriousness
and diligence that were now customary. The writing she engaged in took
various forms. She produced numerous reviews of lengthy books, and
wrote scholarly essays on a wide range of topics. Especially in the early
years of her twenties, large amounts of her time and energy were devoted
to translating, from the German, the immensely long and complicated
Life ofJesus by David Friedrich Strauss.
Strauss's immensely ambitious 1,500 page work was an attempt to
produce a historical account of the events described in the gospels. He
treated them not as divine revelations but as narratives with a degree of
historical validity. The intention was to demystify the figure of Jesus, pre-
serving his identity as a historical person but without accepting the truth
of explanations that resorted to miracles and supernatural causes. Strauss
was fully aware of the enormous importance of Christianity, but he
adopted a stance in which Christianity was something to be interpreted
and commented upon, and to be explained in terms of mythological man-
ifestations and metaphorical meanings, rather than to be straightfor-
wardly believed in.
It is hard to imagine a more difficult task of translation. Finding a
capable translator for this important book had proved almost impossible.
One other person had been persuaded to try to do it, but had abandoned
the book less than a quarter of the way through. The job made huge
demands upon even Evans' well-trained capacity for sustained effort and
concentration. The work's intricate arguments and convoluted construc-
tions made it hard to understand in the original, let alone translate it into
a different language. Mary Anne's German at the time she first con-
fronted this enormous challenge was still fairly limited, and the task was
made even more difficult by the fact that the Life ofJesus contains numer-
ous quotations in a variety of different languages, including Hebrew, a
language which she did not know at all. Yet she set about this intimidating
labour with her customary diligence. Evans initially set herself the impos-
sible goal of completing six pages per day, but even she could not keep
that up. In the end, translating the Life of Jesus took her more than two
years. It was an enormous achievement, of course, which increased her
own self-confidence as well as strengthening her intellectual muscles. She
172 Genius Explained

must have known that remarkably few other people would have possessed
the capacity to equal her feat.

The important consequence of Mary Anne Evans' deep and prolonged

commitment to a way of life based upon hard work, effort, and an acute
awareness of the necessity for self-improvement through education and
scholarship, was that by the time she finally began writing fiction at the
age of around thirty-five, she was in many respects immensely well pre-
pared for undertaking intellectually challenging work. She had made
herself into a writer who was knowledgeable and well-informed and also
capable of understanding complex issues and following intricate argu-
ments. She had worked hard to magnify her expressive powers as a writer.
Unlike John Stuart Mill, one of her very few contemporaries whose
knowledge rivalled hers, she had done it largely through her own efforts.
And in common with Michael Faraday, she gained her rare capabilities
more through a combination of sustained effort and serious intent than
through unusual quickness or inborn facility at learning.
As we have seen, although there are points of similarity between Evans
and the Bronte sisters, in many respects their lives and their interests were
very different. Her high seriousness and earnestness contrasted with their
romantic natures and their perhaps obsessive attraction to worlds of
fantasy and imagination. Yet these very different writers are bound
together by the fact that they all succeeded, in their contrasting ways, in
making themselves formidably well-prepared to be authors of major
novels. In each case this preparation was intense and prolonged, taking
many years. There is no shred of truth in the suggestion that any of these
authors just emerged, chrysalis-like, suddenly and unexpectedly capable
of writing novels. All their attainments depended to a very consider-
able extent upon the training and preparation which the authors gave
themselves. It is highly unlikely that any of these writers, or indeed any
other major authors, would have written novels of any merit had they
missed out on the sustained periods oflearning which all of them experi-
enced.
Of course, just as the activities that equipped the Brontes for their crea-
tive work and those that made it possible for Mary Anne Evans to become
a great author took contrasting forms, the varieties of training experiences
that other novelists have been exposed to have been very different from
either of these models. Take Charles Dickens, for example. The young
Dickens had little of the gravity of the intensely serious Mary Ann Evans,
and compared with the Brontes he was less introspective and far more
outgoing and alert to his everyday surroundings, constantly observing
minute details of the real world rather than inventing ones that were
 The expertise of great writers 173

entirely imaginary. One could hardly imagine the painfully shy Emily
Bronte pausing as she walked through a local market, as the self-assured
young Dickens did, to buy a bag of cherries and pop them, one at a time,
into the mouth of a dirty little child who was being carried on the shoul-
der of a coal-heaver. 15 But there are some similarities, of course. Like the
novels of the Brontes and George Eliot, the fiction of Dickens draws
extensively upon his own memories of childhood, and it does so in a
manner that is more direct, and certainly more obvious, than could be
envisaged in the creative achievements of, say, a composer or a scientist.
And Dickens' achievements, like those of the other novelists, drew upon
skills and capabilities that had been gradually and painstakingly acquired.
Like the others, Dickens gave himself a thorough training, and worked
very hard at becoming a writer.
As a preparation for a future novelist, Dickens' childhood had been rich
in two kinds of experiences. First, there was a strong family tradition of
story telling, and he had plenty of opportunities to absorb the knack of
putting together narratives that kept an audience in suspense. Second, at
an early age he gained the habit of reading regularly, a habit which lengthy
bouts of illness helped to instil. Yet there was little in Dickens' childhood
that prepared him for writing as such. As a boy he was certainly alert, sen-
sitive, and unusually observant, and especially after his months in the
blacking factory and his father's period of imprisonment as a debtor he
was sharply aware of the value of striving for qualifications and the
material security they could bring. But in comparison with other future
authors such as Mary Anne Evans and the Brontes he had far less actual
experience at expressing himself in written language, even though he had
been known to send occasional reports to newspapers while he was still at
school.
Strangely enough it was his father, whose way of life Charles Dickens
regarded in many respects as something to avoid rather than emulate,
who inspired his first serious training as a writer. After retiring from the
Navy Post Office and at the age of forty-one, John Dickens surprisingly
and uncharacteristically took it upon himself to master shorthand, in
order to increase his chances of getting himself a post in journalism. At
fifteen, already working as a law clerk, Charles took it into his head that if
he too learned shorthand he could become a reporter and earn much
more than he was currently getting, and it also struck him that a job in a
newspaper could be considerably livelier than his own position in a law
firm was turning out to be.
He found that learning shorthand was a difficult challenge, and one

15 Hibbert (r983), p. I 53·

174 Genius Explained

that he did not enjoy at all, but he persisted at it doggedly and before
reaching the age of seventeen was ready and prepared to work as a
reporter. From this time onwards, working initially as a freelance legal
court reporter and later in a series of increasingly demanding journalistic
posts, his way of life encouraged him to concentrate on extending his
skills at communicating in writing. He was anxious to improve on his edu-
cation, demonstrating his devotion to self-improvement by applying at
the earliest possible time- his eighteenth birthday- for a ticket of admis-
sion to the British Museum Reading Room. He used that ticket produc-
tively, recalling in later years that his hours of study there had been some
of the most valuable ofhis life.
From his court reporting job he soon moved to a better position as a
parliamentary reporter for a periodical. This gave him more opportu-
nities to shine as well as enabling him to learn how Britain was governed
at the time. He took on occasional other assignments, succeeding to the
extent that by the age of nineteen he was sometimes earning as much as
twenty-five guineas in a week, which compared remarkably well with the
six shillings a week that he had been paid for working in the blacking shop.
At twenty-five he moved to a secure post with the Morning Chronicle,
where his job involved reporting on political meetings and elections in the
provinces. There was a good deal of travel, making for a busy and exciting
life that suited an energetic young man. He found numerous opportu-
nities to add to his income and his writing skills by undertaking additional
assignments, and by this time he had also begun to write short stories. At
the age of twenty-one he sent one of these to the Monthly Magazine. It was
accepted and quickly published. 16 He was asked for more, and they were
soon pouring out of him. By the summer of 1834 he was writing under the
pseudonym 'Boz' and making himself a reputation, and fame and wealth
were just around the corner.
Even those major Victorian authors whose autobiographical state-
ments have suggested otherwise put plenty of effort into gaining training
and experience at writing. Elizabeth Gaskell was constantly reading and
writing from an early age, keeping journals, making notes, recording
stories and conversations. Anthony Trollope, despite his self-depiction of
having been a dunce at his school, Harrow, won an essay prize in English
and kept a continuous journal for a ten-year period starting at the age of
fifteen. The fact that he had a literary mother would have encouraged him
to perceive the possible value of expertise at writing. He did acknowledge
the contribution to his development as an author of his early writing
activities, which he said 'habituated me to the rapid use of pen and ink,

16 Hibbert (r983), p. I 55·

 The expertise of great writers 175

and taught me how to express myself with facility'. 17 Being an awkward

and unhappy child, the young Anthony Trollope became a great day-
dreamer, endlessly making up stories that provided a refuge and a
comfort. Together, his journals and his daydreaming activities played a
part in his growth as a writer, functioning not unlike a modest version of
the imaginary worlds of the Brontes.
Like ordinary men and women, major authors have had to invest large
amounts of time and effort in order to become unusually skilled. Their
heavy dependence upon training and preparation is one of the many
aspects of human experience that creative geniuses share with other
people.

17 Glendinning (1992), p. 40.

8 Inventing and discovering

This chapter explores some of the circumstances that immediately

precede the major inventions and discoveries that make human progress a
reality.
It would be wrong to think of advances typically occurring as conse-
quences of single acts of discovery. The conventional notion of a creative
discovery or invention is most accurately seen as a somewhat misleading
social construct, 1 and in fact it is usually impossible to identify precise
defining moments at which discoveries are made. Even the assumption
that there is always one particular inventor or discoverer to whom an
advance can be attributed can be called into question. Typically, the
actual circumstances in which advances take place are complicated and
untidy, and usually involve a variety of contributions being made over
substantial periods of time, often by a number of different people. It has
been convincingly argued that the constrasting traditional or conven-
tional depiction of creative inventions, according to which discoveries
take the form of sudden and dramatic insights by particular individuals,
stems from rewritings of scientific history. Such accounts, it is claimed,
misrepresent reality to the point of being seriously misleading, by making
the chains of events that lead to human advances appear to be far simpler,
more sudden, and considerably more dramatic than they really are.
For example, George Stephenson and James Watt have both been cred-
ited with inventing the steam engine, although neither of them actually
did. Nor, strictly speaking, did Thomas Newcomen, who made the first
practical steam-powered machine with moving parts. Newcomen built
upon earlier developments by Thomas Savery, in which air pressure pro-
duced a vacuum that was utilised to pump water from mines. Savery's
innovations, in turn, were preceded by the written description of a steam
turbine made sixteen hundred years earlier by the Greek mathematician
Hero. Doubtless Hero too was able to benefit from the efforts of his pre-
decessors. In short, there was no single act of inventing the steam engine:

1 See, for example, Schaffer (r996).

176
 Inventing and discovering 177

it was more a matter of a variety of problems being successively solved by

a number of different individuals, each of whom made good use of previ-
ous advances. That alternative depiction of the events surrounding new
advances is usually more realistic than the conventional one, even in those
instances of invention in which the period of time needed to create
effective devices and improve them was considerably shorter than the
lengthy period over which effective steam engines were perfected. So, for
instance, the invention of powered flight, and the development of the
internal combustion engine, each depended on contributions being made
by a number of individuals.
The discoveries of steam power, powered flight, and the internal com-
bustion engine are far from being the only innovations which popular
accounts have described in ways that misrepresent and oversimplify the
actual circumstances. Another instance is the introduction of the cotton
gin, which is often reported to have been invented in 1793 by the
American inventor Eli Whitney. Whitney's advance was certainly a major
innovation. It made the large-scale production of cotton in the United
States immensely more economical, by replacing the use of human labour
for the lengthy chore of removing the seeds from cotton with machines
that did the same job fifty times faster. The gin (an abbreviation of
'engine') pulled the cotton along a roller through a kind of comb, which
trapped the seeds, separating them from the cotton fibre.
However, as Robert Weisberg has pointed out, 2 the true story is not one
of a sudden discovery or invention. Whitney was by no means the only
inventor to have developed mechanical methods for removing cotton
seeds. Cotton gins were already being used in the United States at the
time when Whitney first encountered the activity of producing cotton,
and similar machines had been working for hundreds of years in a
number of other places where cotton was grown, including Italy and
India.
Whitney's contribution was undoubtedly a very important one,
because his devices, unlike earlier ones, worked with those kinds of cotton
that could be most profitably grown in the southern areas of the United
States. Previously existing machines only worked with finer cotton varie-
ties that were not so economical to produce, because their rate of growth
was slower. But Whitney's achievement, just like the advances of Watt and
Stephenson, involved working with machines that were already in use and
adapting them for particular tasks, rather than creating or discovering an
entirely novel device that had not previously existed at all.
Even those popular reports that include detailed descriptions of how a

2 Weisberg (r993), p. I3I.

178 Genius Explained

discovery was made are prone to be inaccurate. It is conceivable, if

unlikely, that Archimedes did once leap from his bath shouting 'Eureka',
but it is certainly not true that Newton discovered gravity by experiencing
a sudden insight on seeing an apple fall to the ground. Newton did not
actually arrive at the concept of universal gravitation until more than
twenty years after the apple incident is said to have happened. In the
intervening period, Newton's views about the reasons for bodies falling to
the ground were broadly in accord with those of other thinkers among his
near-contemporaries, such as Descartes. 3 Similarly, the well-known story
that Galileo discovered that the time a pendulum takes to swing is inde-
pendent of the angle after he had watched a swinging lamp in Pisa
Cathedral in 1583 cannot possibly be true, if only because Galileo's work
on pendulums only began ten years later. 4 And if the young James Watt
really did have thoughts about mechanical engines after noticing that
steam rattled the lid of a kettle, as British children are regularly told, that
incident must have taken place a considerable time after Newcomen had
already constructed an engine which made use of the power of the
vacuum that is produced by condensing steam. Newcomen's first steam
engine had been built in around the year 1712. Watt was only born in
1736. Watt, who started out as a maker of scientific instruments, did
indeed succeed in making steam engines that were considerably more
efficient than Newcomen's. However, that was achieved not by a sudden
discovery but as an outcome of gradual technological improvements that
made it possible to produce engine parts which were more precisely man-
ufactured than the ones available at Newcomen's time.
Because of the limitations of people's memories, distorted recollections
of the stages of thought that lead to scientific discoveries are not at all
uncommon, and perhaps unavoidable. Charles Darwin had become con-
vinced by the time he wrote his autobiography in old age that his thoughts
about evolution had been influenced by a book by Thomas Malthus
which he had read in 1838. Malthus argued the theory that the growth in a
population tends to outpace increases in food supply. Darwin came to
believe that the Malthusian notion of struggle for existence had suggested
to him the idea of variations being selectively preserved or destroyed.
However, examination of the notebook entries written by Darwin around
the actual time of reading Mal thus indicates that the book was just one of
many influences that shaped his thinking. The ideas put forward by
Malthus fitted in with ones that Darwin was already developing for
himself, and they were not the unique source of any dramatically new or
sudden insight.

3 See Schaffer (1996), p. 14. 4 Schaffer (1996).

 Inventing and discovering 179

In certain instances, the massive task of tracing the sequence of

thoughts and intuitions that have led an individual creative thinker or
artist towards insights or discoveries resulting in major advances has been
attempted with considerable success. For instance, Howard Gruber5 has
made substantial progress towards mapping the steps of reasoning via
which Darwin burrowed his way towards the insights that gave rise to
some of his most important ideas. Other scholars have made progress
towards delineating the thought processes underlying the insights of
other scientists such as Faraday and Einstein, as well as a number of crea-
tive thinkers and artists. My aim in this chapter is the more modest one of
demonstrating that the challenges involved in accounting for the creative
activities of major thinkers belong in the category of problems rather than
mysteries, by showing that even if the detailed mental processes that
enabled, say, Shakespeare to write Hamlet or Mozart to compose Don
Giovanni remain largely untraced, there is no reason to believe that the
creative processes involved are inherently mysterious, or miraculous. I
suggest that the intellectual accomplishments of even the greatest genius
are in principle no less explicable than those more mundane achieve-
ments of creative problem-solving that are regularly accomplished by
individuals who are definitely not geniuses.
Taking that view does not mean questioning either the awesomeness or
the originality of a genius's accomplishments. That geniuses are different
from other people in the magnitude of their achievements is not being dis-
puted. Yet there are strong grounds for believing that the mental opera-
tions that geniuses depend upon are not qualitatively distinct from the
ones used by individuals whose expertise is not exceptional, and that
mental processes underlying the creative acts of geniuses follow broadly
the same rules and principles as the mental processes that lead other men
and women towards more mundane creative achievements, and involve
no added magic ingredient. In earlier chapters I argued that geniuses do
not substantially differ from creative people in their dependence upon
preparation and training. Here the aim is to demonstrate that geniuses are
not totally different from non-geniuses in the ways in which, in maturity,
they introduce and make effective use of those mental activities that lead
to substantial creative attainments.
Brief examinations of four aspects of creative activities will serve to
highlight the similarities between geniuses and other people. I begin by
drawing attention to the fact that virtually all discoverers benefit from
standing on the shoulders of previous thinkers. Second, I observe that
collaboration between creative workers is more common than is usually

5 Gruber (rg8r).
180 Genius Explained

supposed, especially (but not only) in the sciences. Third, I point out that
even when highly creative people work alone they are usually building
upon earlier accomplishments by themselves and their contemporaries,
rather than starting completely from scratch. Fourth, I draw attention to
the fact that, geniuses, like everyone else, habitually see the creative activ-
ities they engage in as being difficult and arduous. Together, these obser-
vations contribute firm backing for the conclusion that the problem-
solving activities involved in the most remarkable creative achievements
and accomplishments are not fundamentally distinct from those that con-
tribute to the everyday accomplishments of people whose expertise would
not be regarded as being extraordinary.

On giants' shoulders
That the shoulders of one's predecessors can provide an artistic or intel-
lectual voyager with an advantageous viewpoint has become something of
a cliche, but it is a telling observation all the same. Many factors can affect
the way in which a creatively active individual makes use of earlier
thinkers' contributions. Reverence for previous discoverers' efforts- as is
evident in the remark by the twelfth-century writer, John of Salisbury,
that we are like dwarfs who see further than the giants of the past, but only
because we are raised up by their superior size - can be judicious and
healthy, so long as it does not stand in the way of change and innovation.
Conversely, a degree of disrespect or even contempt for the accomplish-
ments of earlier generations- as is illustrated in the remark about Newton
that he did not just stand upon the shoulders of giants but stamped on
them 6 - need not be disadvantageous provided that it does not lead to
crucial insights being ignored.
The giants' shoulders metaphor is a fitting one, and it is not easy to
think of counter-examples. It is doubtful whether there are any geniuses
who have not greatly profited from the efforts of their predecessors. There
have been remarkably few cases of innovators whose contributions were
unanticipated and original to the extent that it has proved impossible to
detect contributing influences. Significantly, such instances are not only
rare but almost always refer to individuals in connection with whom our
knowledge of the actual background circumstances is very sparse, such as
Archimedes. Even the most original discoveries and inventions have had
crucial antecedents. Turing's Universal Machine, a fair candidate to be
considered as the first 'real' computer, drew inspiration from Babbage's
nineteenth-century design for a computer, and Babbage in turn, built on
previous developments.
6 Bragg (1998), p. 96.
 Inventing and discovering 181

Consider the case of Archimedes. He did make scientific and mathe-

matical advances that do not appear to have been anticipated by any
achievements of previous thinkers. However, remarkably little is known
about the advances that immediately preceded his, and so it is entirely
possible that our ignorance of insights that might have stimulated
Archimedes' thoughts indicates no more than a hiatus in our own knowl-
edge. We do know that Archimedes shared a number of qualities with
more recent geniuses. Like Newton and Einstein, he was remarkably
single-minded in his pursuit of solutions to the problems that obsessed
him. Like them he would spend days at a time thinking about nothing
else, ignoring other people and neglecting even the most basic everyday
activities like eating and dressing himself. 7 It would be surprising if
Archimedes had not been able, in common with those other great scien-
tists, to draw upon sources of inspiration in the form of thoughts put
forward by his most immediate predecessors. The fact that no evidence of
such ideas survives is no justification for inferring that they never existed.

Collaborating with others

In popular mythology the typical genius is a thoroughly solitary individ-
ual. Yet scanning the ranks of geniuses in an effort to locate individuals
who have worked in complete isolation is a noticeably unfruitful exercise.
Unsurprisingly, creative thinkers do tend to be unsociable during the
periods when they are most heavily engaged on their work. A few, like
Newton, have been seen by others as not simply uncongenial but posi-
tively unpleasant. But any solitariness apparent in scientific geniuses is as
likely to have been a consequence as a cause of their intense commitment
to the struggle to make progress. Michael Faraday came as close as
anyone to epitomising the notion of the solitary scientist, and he com-
bined a strong preference for working alone with a habitual reluctance to
talk about his thoughts until he had resolved the problems he was
engaged upon. And yet even Faraday had a strong sense of obligation to
others- as his tireless lecturing activities demonstrated- as well as strong
social instincts, granted that the latter were exercised mainly within
circles comprising his own family and his co-religionists.
As we saw earlier, even the supposedly reclusive Darwin was in fact
constantly in contact with others, and that is evident from the ten large
volumes of his correspondence that survive. He cooperated with other
scientists and collectors energetically and also profitably throughout
his long career. His effectiveness at what we would nowadays call

7 Bragg (r998), pp. r9-20.

182 Genius Explained

'networking' contributed immensely to his success at mustering an

impressive body of empirical support for the theory of evolution. It also
helped to ensure that his scientific reputation at the time when the theory
was published was solid enough to deter many who would have mocked at
or ignored the theory had it not come with the backing of an already dis-
tinguished scientist.
Of course, science in previous centuries was not quite so much of a
joint exercise as it is today. But even at the beginning of the nineteenth
century Humphry Davy felt impelled to take (in the company of his
young assistant Michael Faraday) a prolonged tour of Europe in order to
meet with other active scientists, despite the fact that the state of enmity
between France and Britain at that time made parts of the journey haz-
ardous in the extreme. And by the end of that century Thomas Edison
was demonstrating that a capacity for managing and coordinating investi-
gative activities was a valuable prerequisite for success as a scientific
inventor.
Collaboration between scientists in its relatively modern forms is seen
in the activities of Marie and Pierre Curie, and also in the productive
scientific partnership of James Watson and Francis Crick. The Curies
met when Marie was a student at the Sorbonne, where Pierre was already
a prominent physicist. They married in 1895. They worked together on
radium and discovered radioactivity, and in 1903 jointly won the Nobel
Prize for Physics. Their joint work ended only when Pierre was killed in a
traffic accident in 1906. Watson and Crick met in 1951, just two years
prior to their discovery that DNA has a double helical structure. That dis-
covery revolutionised understanding of the way in which organisms
genetically reproduce themselves, as a consequence of the replication of
information carried in the genes. Other scientists cooperated with them,
notably Maurice Wilkins, who shared the Nobel Prize with Crick and
Watson, and Rosalind Franklin, who perhaps deserved to have done. The
discovery of the structure of DNA also depended on recent progress by a
number of other people, including the chemist Lionel Pauling. Pauling
had played a crucial role by developing methods for identifying the struc-
ture of proteins, and had also demonstrated the applicability of helical
models.
Among non-scientists there may be fewer advantages and more disad-
vantages to be gained by cooperating closely with others. But even in
those arts in which the creative person habitually works alone it is easier
to locate examplers of sociable musicians (like Schubert) and convivial
painters (like Renoir) than of creative artists who have lived as hermits,
except when blindness, deafness, and other infirmities have intervened.
Even among writers, whose creative activity is inescapably solitary by its
 Inventing and discovering 183

very nature, a degree of cooperation and co-dependence has been com-

monplace. The popular depiction of the Bronte sisters as eccentric iso-
lates penning lonely thoughts from their moorland retreat is throughly
misleading, as we have already seen. They were constantly reading and
reacting to each other's efforts. Mary Anne Evans (George Eliot) was
always looking for reassurance from those she depended upon and
trusted. Charles Dickens, a sociable extrovert, spent much of his time
planning entertainments and putting on plays.

Building on recent progress

Whether or not discoverers and inventors actively collaborate with others,
they often make considerable use of their own earlier work and they also
take advantages of the advances being made by their contemporaries.
This bootstrapping process can give access to a mass of relevant existing
knowledge, adding to any insights and revelations that have already been
gained by making observations from the vantage point of past giants'
shoulders. That an innovator has taken pains to make careful and exten-
sive use of what is already known becomes evident from close inspection,
even when (or perhaps especially when) first impressions may suggest
otherwise. The circumstances surrounding the development of powered
flight by the Wright brothers provide a good example of this. The Wright
brothers have been seen as uneducated lone pioneers who suddenly dis-
covered how to make aeroplanes that actually worked. Their invention
seems to have come from out of the blue, as a result of some experiments
conducted during the brief intervals ofleisure that the brothers were able
to steal from their everyday work as bicycle mechanics.
The reality, however, was nothing like that at all. As Robert Weisberg
and other scholars 8 have explained, the Wright brothers conducted their
experiments into powered flight at a time when there was acute interest in
the possibility of flying, and scientific knowledge of aeronautics was
expanding fast. They made sure that they were extremely well informed
about all the current developments that could be incorporated into their
own efforts. By their early twenties the brothers had carefully studied a
number of reports of recent attempts to make flying machines, by several
able inventors. One such inventor was Otto Lilienthal, an engineer who
built a number of gliders and published some useful tables, enabling esti-
mates to be calculated of the size of wings needed in order to achieve
given degrees of lift. Lilienthal died when one of his gliders crashed in
1896. Other inventors who were already at work when the Wright broth-

8 Weisberg (r993).
184 Genius Explained

ers turned their efforts to flight included Samuel Langley, who began by
testing a series of model planes in order to help discover the optimal
dimensions. In 1896 a steam-powered model he had constructed reached
a height of 100 feet. Yet another able pioneer was Octave Chanute, an
engineer like Lilienthal. In common with Lilienthal, Chanute experi-
mented with gliders, and one of his planes stayed aloft for ten-second
periods, travelling about 250 feet.
All three of these inventors produced published accounts of their
endeavours, and these were carefully studied by Wilbur and Orville
Wright during the period when they were beginning to develop their own
flying machines. So the Wright brothers were definitely not starting from
nowhere, and their ideas did not generate in any kind of vacuum. And far
from being either uneducated or unprepared, the Wrights had grown up
in a home environment that was rich in opportunities to learn about
machines. Their first introduction to powered flight had taken place when
the older brother, Wilbur, was no more than eleven, at which time the
boys were given a rubber-powered toy helicopter. By the time they
became seriously interested in the possibility of trying to construct an
aeroplane, they were already trained mechanics who understood trigo-
nometry and algebra and had had some success at developing new tech-
niques for manufacturing bicycles. Their subsequent work involved the
efficient exploitation of their carefully acquired knowledge and expertise,
over a lengthy period of time. They worked on a series of problems,
always drawing upon any relevant data that other inventors had made
available, and they proceeded in a highly organised manner. Their strat-
egy involved making detailed plans and setting themselves intermediate
targets that formed stepping stones leading towards their eventual goal.
Of course there were dramatic moments, of which the most spectacular
took place in December 1903, when one of the Wright brothers' flying
machines took flight and stayed in the air for almost a minute, in which it
travelled not quite half a mile. Yet the invention of powered flight was
characterised less by sudden breakthroughs or spontaneous insights than
by rigorous planning, careful analysis, and much trial-and-error experi-
mentation. The Wright brothers' eventual success only appears sudden
or unexpected to those who are unaware of the efforts that preceded it.
The single moment at which powered flight can be said to have been
invented is just as elusive as the precise time at which steam engines
arrived.
Creativity in the arts is not entirely different. Sudden insights and 'aha'
experiences figure prominently in many accounts of artistic advances,
and a number of writers and other artists have sincerely believed that their
own work was created from thoughts and ideas that have suddenly pre-
 Inventing and discovering 185

sented themselves, perhaps after swimming around for some time in the
unconscious mind. Coleridge's account of the writing of Kubla Khan,
according to which, on awakening from a dream-filled sleep, 'he appeared
to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen,
ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here
preserved' 9 is especially dramatic, although it is but one of a number of
similar accounts by literary authors. Dostoyevski made similar claims,
and insisted that 'a creative work comes suddenly, as a complete whole,
finished and ready, out of the soul of a poet' 10 • But whenever it has been
possible to find evidence about the real circumstances in which creative
achievements have been made, it turns out that they are not at all like that.
Coleridge's story, which reports events supposed to have taken place
almost twenty years earlier, is contradicted by evidence that he deliber-
ately drew upon various sources. Some of these suggested the poem's
images; others provided actual phrases that appear in the poem as pub-
lished. Contrary to his statement that he immediately wrote down the
poem in its final form, Coleridge made a preliminary version which he
subsequently altered. In the case of Dostoyevski, his claim that creative
works appear suddenly in a finished completed form is firmly refuted by
an analysis of the notebooks he filled when undertaking his work. 11 These
reveal, for instance, that when he was getting ready to write The Idiot he
worked on no less than eight plans for the first part of the novel, that he
speculated at length about possible ways in which the narrative might
develop, that he thought about the ways in which other authors had
resolved problems similar to the ones he was confronting, that his charac-
ters drew upon various models known to him, and that his themes and
narratives frequently made use of events he had experienced or read
about.
Musicians and painters are just as likely as writers to engage in substan-
tial preparatory work and to repeatedly revise their initial attempts. For
instance, Beethoven's Ninth Symphony drew heavily upon reworked ver-
sions of compositions that had been made during the preceding ten years
or so: Beethoven's notebooks demonstrate that large amounts of time and
energy were devoted to planning, preparing, developing and elaborating
the work. Even with Mozart, who is often said to have written out compo-
sitions from scratch, in their final form, the records firmly contradict this,
providing plenty of evidence of corrections and alterations, and aban-
doned false starts.
Just as scientists have exploited the advances made by others, writers,
artists and musicians have habitually borrowed themes and ideas from
9 Quoted in Perkins (r98r), p. ro. 10 Quoted in Weisberg (r993), p. 23r.
11 Weisberg (r993), p.230.
186 Genius Explained

their contemporaries and predecessors, as well as recirculating themes

used earlier by themselves. Bach, for example, often borrowed themes
from other composers, including Vivaldi, and that practice was consid-
ered entirely acceptable at the time. Moreover, in literally hundreds of
instances Bach re-used melodies or ideas from his own earlier composi-
tions. Borrowing from one's own works or those of others was just as fre-
quent in other eighteenth-century composers, including Handel. It is not
at all rare for a number of composers to have often drawn on a common
source, and many of the melodies that occur in Mozart's compositions
can also be found in the music of his contemporaries. Stylistic and techni-
cal borrowings are equally common. Mozart's earliest symphonies were
greatly influenced by the compositions of J. S. Bach's son Johann
Christian Bach, as was noted earlier, and some of Mozart's other compo-
sitions contain extensive stylistic borrowings from Haydn. 12

Struggling against difficulties

One of the most common misconceptions about the creative achieve-
ments of geniuses is that they are made effortlessly and without strain or
difficulty. Certain autobiographical accounts drawing on a person's recol-
lections years after the work was done, such as Coleridge's anecdote
about the writing of Kubla Khan, appear to confirm that belief. However,
numerous other statements by geniuses about their own working prac-
tices, including ones made at around the time that they were actually
engaged in their most important work, suggest that activities accompa-
nied by feelings of ease or effortlessness have played only a very small part
in the manufacture of creative achievements.
Reports of having to make sustained and arduous efforts are much
more common. 'The only secret I have got is damned hard work,' was the
British artist Turner's response to a request for advice about painting. 13
The philosopher Bertrand Russell said that he was made ill by the sheer
difficulty of the work that went into producing his Principia Mathematica.
Even Mozart, whose fluency and apparent ease of composition is often
commented upon, chose to emphasise the arduous toil that went into his
compositions. 14 Newton, Darwin and Einstein all commented on the
exhausting mental struggles that their work involved. Einstein com-
plained about the amount of rewriting and amending his work required. 15
Faraday repeatedly exhausted himself as a result of the continuous con-
centration his efforts demanded. He was forced to stop work for months
at a time. 16 Indeed, experiences of exhaustion brought upon largely by the
12 Weisberg (r993) p. 224-30. 13 Quoted in Hamilton (r997), p. 28.
14 Weisberg (r993), p. 225. 15 Fi:ilsing (r997). 16 Williams (r965), p. ro2.
 Inventing and discovering 187

effortfulness of their intellectual activities were remarked upon by the

majority of the creative individuals whose early lives we have been exam-
ining.

To conclude, extraordinary as the creative activities of geniuses undoubt-

edly are, they do not seem to be fundamentally distinct from those that
many other people are capable of. In the present chapter, as in the previ-
ous ones, we have encountered many indications of similarities between
geniuses and other men and women and no firm indications of inherent
differences between them. A number of psychologists have suggested that
the differences between creative problem-solving and ordinary thinking
are ones of degree rather than kind. 17 Investigation of the actual circum-
stances surrounding the achievements of geniuses has yielded little
support for the view that exceptional human accomplishments call for
explanations invoking mechanisms or processes that are totally different
from the causes of more mundane human attainments.

17 Weisberg (r993).
9 Born to be a genius?

Everyone has heard it said of somebody or other that he (or she) was born
to be a genius. Can such an assertion ever be correct? A simple 'yes or no'
answer has to be negative, because sophisticated inborn capabilities
simply cannot exist. Outside mythology, nobody begins life having pro-
clivities that can guarantee the emergence of high abilities.
That does not necessarily mean that the idea of being born to be a
genius must be entirely false. People are not born identical, and some of
the ways in which they differ at birth can have consequences that affect
the course of their whole lives. One widely accepted view is that certain
individuals begin life possessing innate gifts or talents that predispose a
person towards exceptional attainments in a particular area of ability.
Another common belief is that a person's intelligence level, which has a
major role in determining the likelihood of substantial achievements, is
largely fixed at birth. This chapter examines some of the evidence that has
a bearing on the possible involvement of innately-determined influences
on variability, among the numerous contributing forces that combine to
enable certain individuals to become exceptionally capable.
All human individuals are affected in many ways by the particular com-
bination of genetic resources they inherit. That the influences of genetic
differences between people can extend to the manner in which lives are
experienced is easily verified. Just watch the contrasting ways in which
people at a party react to the entrance of a spectacularly beautiful individ-
ual and to a man or woman of ordinary appearance. Those differing
responses will certainly affect the individuals who elicit them. Indeed, the
manner in which others react to people can have an impact on many of
their experiences. One beautiful woman has her education enriched as a
consequence of influential people being drawn to her company; another
fails to make the most of her opportunities because of repeated experi-
ences of getting her wishes without having to make an effort. An ordinary-
looking man loses out because the teacher who might have been able to
help him prefers to spend time with other pupils. Another plain man
eventually thrives because his failure to gain attention fuels his determi-

188
 Born to be a genius? 189

nation to do well. It is not at all uncommon for the degree of success a

young person experiences to be partly decided by genetic characteristics
even when the genetically-influenced characteristics that are crucial are
ones that have no direct effects on the person's capabilities as such. In the
performing arts, for example, it is not unknown for stage directors to
select the prettiest of a group of equally competent young ballet dancers
for a starring role.
Those examples illustrate just a few of the many ways in which our lives
are affected by the particular genetic material we happen to inherit. Note,
however, that the eventual nature of the influences that originate in
genetic variability is typically unpredictable and far being from straight-
forward. It is easy enough to see that people's appearances can affect how
others respond to them, but it is not usually possible to predict the long
term consequences of that. That unpredictability is highly significant,
because in order to establish that there was something real in the notion
of a person being 'born to be a genius' it would be necessary to go a stage
beyond merely confirming that individuals are influenced by their genes,
and demonstrate that a consequence of people's differing genetic compo-
sitions is to affect their abilities in a clearly predictable manner.
Do differing genetic materials have predictable influences on individu-
als' attainments, or not? In the first part of this chapter I examine evi-
dence relating to the frequent claim that such direct influences stemming
from people's genes do indeed exist, and take the form of innate talents or
gifts. These, it is often claimed, are possessed by some young people but
not others. A common assumption is that a person must possess gifts or
talents in order to be capable of reaching the highest levels of expertise.
Afterwards, I investigate the related possibility that innate variability in
general intelligence makes a big contribution to the likelihood of individ-
uals gaining exceptional capabilities. Finally, I take a broader look at the
issues, and reach some conclusions concerning possible genetic infuences
on the likelihood of someone becoming a genius.

In the minds of many people it is a clear and simple fact, not to be ques-
tioned, that certain men and women have been born with innate talents
that make them capable of high attainments. I call that viewpoint 'the
talent account'. Someone who subscribes to it takes it for granted that
geniuses, in common with many others who achieve unusually high levels
of expertise, do so at least partly as an outcome of being born possessing a
special mental capacity of some kind.
The talent account is widely accepted and rarely challenged. It is not
hard to understand why. It agrees with our commonsense impressions. It
is consistent with numerous everyday observations. There is no denying
190 Genius Explained

that from an early age young people do differ in their patterns of ability.
One child does well at arithmetic but appears incapable of learning to
play a musical instrument. Another youngster is hopeless at both music
and arithmetic but has a flair for new languages. Even within the same
family there may be striking differences between siblings: one daughter
takes to the task of! earning to play the piano with apparent ease, while her
older sister struggles to master a few elementary pieces. In some cases
these differences between individuals appear to be present from very early
in life. Often it is evident that differences in ability cannot be explained in
terms of children's differing experiences of formal training. And some-
times children make contrasting amounts of progress even when they are
equally keen to do well.
In short, young men and women differ in their capabilities even when
there seems to be an absence of those causes of variability that arise from
differing opportunities to gain skills and knowledge. Not surprisingly, the
apparent lack of alternative explanations for such differences has led
many to conclude that there must exist inherent differences between indi-
viduals in their potential to excel, with some children but not others pos-
sessing innate gifts or talents. So the talent account continues to be
accepted, even in the absence of any positive evidence in support of it,
because it appears to provide an explanation of a kind for differences that
are otherwise inexplicable. Intuitively, it seems right.
But is the talent account actually correct? Its agreement with common-
sense beliefs, combined with the seeming lack of alternative reasons for
differences between people in their levels of expertise, makes it a plausible
theory. Yet there is a big gap between a plausible explanation and a proven
one, and in the case of the talent account there are compelling grounds
for questioning it. 1 One serious weakness is the fact that for most people
who accept the talent account their only justification for doing so is the
apparent lack of alternatives. An explanatory theory requires positive evi-
dence if it is to be convincing, and the fact that people have failed to
discern alternative causes of variations in progress hardly amounts to a
compelling case for the view that other causes do not exist. Ifl am anxious
to persuade others of the correctness of my personal explanation of par-
ticular events, my observation that I have not been able to come up with a
better explanation is unlikely to be perceived as reinforcing my claims.
In some cases alternative possible causes of variability become evident
just as soon as a serious effort is made to look for them. In the case of
musical skills, for instance, even when two children do not differ at all in
the amount of formal instruction they have been given, it takes little effort
1 A detailed examination of the evidence relating to the talent account is provided by
Howe, Davidson and Sloboda (r998).
 Born to be a genius? 191

to realise that there may well have been large (if unnoticed) differences in
the extent to which they have enjoyed musical experiences and formed
preferences that would have affected musical development by sensitising
a child to certain patterns of sounds.
Does it greatly matter whether the talent account is true or false? It
matters immensely, not only because efforts to explain creative achieve-
ments can never succeed if they depend upon faulty assumptions about
the origins of a person's unusual capabilities, but also because important
practical issues are involved. The fact that the talent account is widely
believed in has consequences that affect the lives of numerous young
people. Within certain fields of expertise, such as music, unquestioning
acceptance of the talent account is almost invariably accompanied by the
belief that excellence is only attainable by those children who are innately
talented. A frequent result of teachers and other influential adults having
this combination of beliefs is that when scarce educational resources or
opportunities are being allocated they are likely to be directed exclusively
towards those young people who are thought to possess a special talent.
Young children who are believed to lack innate talents are denied
resources that are vital in order for a child to gain any chance of succeed-
ing.
If the talent account was shown to be correct, it might be argued that a
selection process that is based upon it makes sense, because it directs
limited resources towards those individuals who are most capable of
taking advantage of them. But if the talent account is wrong, and innate
talents are fictional rather than real, a policy of denying facilities to young
people because they are deemed not to possess such talents is clearly
wasteful and unjust. It could still be argued that those children who are
selected as being talented are the ones who are most likely to succeed
anyway, since their above-average early progress still may be a good pre-
dictor of eventual success even if the inference that such progress points
to an innate talent being present is wrong. It makes sense, in other words,
to have a selection policy that favours young people who have already
done well. Even so, a policy of totally denying learning facilities to any
child who (because he or she has not yet made unusual progress) is
thought to lack a vital innate talent can hardly be justified unless there are
convincing reasons for assuming that such talents do indeed exist.
There is no item of evidence that single-handedly confirms or refutes
the talent account, but various kinds of information have a bearing on the
issue. A number of findings have been seen as offering support. First, for
instance, there is some evidence that appears to show that skills appear
inexplicably early in a few children. Second, some other findings seem to
point to the possible existence of special inborn capacities in a small
192 Genius Explained

number of individuals. Third, various scientific results appear to indicate

the involvement of biologically transmitted mechanisms in exceptional
skills.
A number of reports of extraordinarily precocious development in
early childhood have appeared. These accounts are certainly consistent
with the possibility that some children are born possessing special qual-
ities that raise the likelihood of their becoming exceptionally capable. Of
course, the sheer fact that a particular child turns out to be a prodigy does
not in itself demonstrate that there must have been anything unusual
about that child at the time ofbirth. However, if unusual capabilities were
seen to emerge in the very earliest months of life, it would be hard to see
how the child could possibly have acquired them through the kinds of
learning that ordinary children are capable of. In that event the conclu-
sion that some special innate causes were involved would seem unavoid-
able.
The published reports include some accounts of quite remarkable
development in the first year of a child's life. One boy is reported to have
begun speaking at five months of age and to have gained a fifty-word
vocabulary by six months and the capacity to speak in three languages by
the age of three years. 2 Another child is said to have begun to speak in sen-
tences at three months, hold conversations at six months, and read simple
books by his first birthday.
However, the reliability of these accounts as sources of evidence is
doubtful, because they are all retrospective and anecdotal. In the case of
the boy who was reported to speak in sentences at three months, he was
not actually seen by the psychologist who wrote about him, David
Feldman, until reaching the age of three. The parents told Feldman that
they had been amazed by their son's progress in his first year, and yet
Feldman himself confessed to being just as astounded by the parents'
absolute dedication to accelerating the child's development and their
unending quest for ways to stimulate him. In all likelihood the child's
early achievements were indeed exceptional, but strong doubts about the
likelihood of their emerging spontaneously and without any parental
prompting are raised by the fact that all that we know about the actual
circumstances comes from the testimony of parents who were extraordi-
narily committed to stimulating their child's progress.
Further pointers to the possible involvement of inborn qualities have
been provided by findings indicating that a minority of very young chil-
dren possess special capacities that can facilitate the acquisition of a skill.
The field of music provides the clearest indication of the possible pres-

2 Howe, Davidson, & Sloboda (1998).

 Born to be a genius? 193

ence of a special innate capacity, possessed by only a few individuals, and

which can help a young child to make good progress. Certain young chil-
dren are found to have 'perfect' or absolute pitch perception. This enables
them to name and sing specified musical pitches without needing to be
provided with the kind of reference pitch that other children and adults
have to depend upon. Having such a capacity can be an advantage for a
child who is learning to play a musical instrument.
Ostensibly, perfect pitch perception provides a clear exemplar of innate
talent. It facilitates progress in a specific skill area, it is possessed only by a
minority of individuals, and it appears early in life in the absence of delib-
erate efforts to gain it. However, the fact that perfect pitch is not acquired
deliberately does not necessarily mean it is unlearned. A pertinent fact is
that perfect pitch can be gained through deliberate learning, even by older
individuals, although not without considerable time and effort. The
reason why perfect pitch perception usually appears early in life rather
than later may simply be that children are more likely to acquire the skill
at an age when their attention is directed to single sounds, rather than
being captured by the combinations of sounds that form melodies and
musical phrases. Moreover, the case for perceiving perfect pitch as an
example of an innate talent is weakened by the uncomfortable fact that
whilst perfect or absolute pitch perception does indeed give a young
learner certain advantages, it is less helpful at more advanced stages. So
even if there had existed firm grounds for regarding the capacity to per-
ceive absolute pitch as being innate, the fact that most adult musicians do
not regard the possession of perfect pitch as being essential or even espe-
cially beneficial would weaken the argument for that capacity being seen
as evidence of the presence of an inborn gift or talent that makes its pos-
sessor capable of special accomplishments.
Additional information that has been seen as providing support for the
talent account is encountered within a body of research findings demon-
strating links between exceptional skills and various indicators of brain
activity. It has been established that high abilities may be related to
numerous biological and physical indicators, including blood flow,
allergy, and uric-acid measures, levels of testosterone, glucose metabo-
lism rates, laterality, neurohistology, immune disorders, myopia and left-
handedness. In other words, assessments of ability levels are linked to
various indications of the physical operation of the human brain. The fact
that such links exist seems to give credence to the claim that geniuses and
other exceptionally able and creative people are inherently different from
others, just as the talent account asserts.
But here again, although the evidence is not inconsistent with the talent
account, it provides no firm support for it. A limitation of the findings that
194 Genius Explained

indicate possible links between physical indicators and ratings of ability is

that they all take the form of correlations, or numerical relationships.
Such findings merely demonstrate that high levels of one of these two
tend to be associated with high levels of the other. There are no grounds
at all for deducing that those physical qualities that have been measured
in the research investigations necessarily play any part in actually causing
the high abilities. In most instances, there are a number of alternate pos-
sible reasons for two variables being correlated with one another.
It is certainly possible that biological differences between people do
contribute to differences between them in their abilities. However, the
reverse could also be true. That is, experiences may affect a person's phys-
ical form. Alternatively, in many cases a separate influence can have a
similar affect on a skill marker and on a biological indicator, and in that
event the two will be found to be correlated even when there is a complete
absence of a cause-and-effect relationship between them. Merely estab-
lishing that a correlation exists does nothing to help decide between these
alternative possibilities.
Another shortcoming of the evidence from physical indicators ofbrain
functioning as a source of support for the talent account is that whilst
ratings of some of these indicators are indeed related to high ability,
hardly any physical or biological indicators selectively predict high perfor-
mance levels at particular kinds of accomplishment. Typically, a biologi-
cal indicator is correlated with various different kinds of high-level mental
functioning, and very few biological markers generate the selective pre-
dictions about specific attainments that ought to be possible if physically
based talents really do exist. Moreover, in the few exceptions, the
observed physical differences between individuals appear to be outcomes
rather than causes of their differing attainments. For example, amongst
violinists and other string players, in whom it has been noticed that the
particular part of the cerebral cortex that is responsible for controlling the
digits of the left hand (which fingers the strings) is larger than in non-
musicians,3 it is also observed that the extent to which a string-player's
physical brain structure is unusual depends upon the age at which the
individual started to learn the instrument. This additional information
points to the conclusion that the observed physical differences are out-
comes of musical training rather than contributing influences upon musi-
cianship.
In sum, convincing empirical support for the talent account is conspic-
uously lacking. Moreover, there are various items of evidence that seem to
positively contradict it. For instance, the author of a study of outstanding

3 Schlaug, Jiincke, Huang, & Steinmetz (r995).

 Born to be a genius? 195

young adult American pianists unexpectedly failed to locate the early

indicators of future excellence that are widely supposed to be present, 4
and that same finding was repeated in some further investigations exam-
ining the early progress of successful young muscians that were under-
taken by John Sloboda, Jane Davidson, and myself. 5 We made serious
efforts to detect early signs of progress that might have formed effective
predictors of high musical attainments, but none of the possible indica-
tors we looked at yielded valid predictions. There was simply no trace of
the early indicators of future expertise that we would have expected to
find, had the talent account been correct.
The case for the talent account has been further weakened by other
discomfirmatory evidence. Some additional research findings that are
especially hard to reconcile with the talent account have emerged from
studies in which it proved possible to train a random sample of quite ordi-
nary adults to reach extraordinarily high levels of competence at a variety
of skills. The standards these individuals achieved, solely as an outcome
of intensive training, were so much beyond what most people regard as
being possible that those who witnessed the skills being displayed were
convinced that the individuals involved must have had a special innate gift
or talent. 6
In other studies researchers have looked for, but failed to observe,
differences in performance between ordinary children and ones thought
to be innately talented. The findings point to a lack of differences between
supposedly talented and supposedly untalented children at various indi-
cators of progress, including the length of the training period necessary to
reach high levels of competence 7 and the gains achieved following a given
amount of practising. 8 The sheer amount of training and practice a
person has undertaken turns out to be the best available predictor of high
levels of expertise. That is so despite the fact that the measures of practis-
ing that have been used in the investigations have been somewhat crude
ones. In most cases these assessments are retrospective, which makes
their reliability questionable, and they take no account of important
factors such as the person's motivation to practise or the quality and
appropriateness of the practising activities. And yet in spite of all these
limitations, assessments of practising have turned out to be good predic-
tors of future success.
When all the observable reasons for people differing in their capabil-
ities are taken into account, including variations in practising and in the
quality of training and motivation, and commitment, as well as all the
4 Sosniak (1985). 5 See, for example, Howe, Davidson, & Sloboda (1998).
6 Ericsson & Faivre (1988). 7 Hayes (1981).
8 Sloboda, Davidson, Howe, & Moore (1996).
196 Genius Explained

numerous other ways in which individuals' differing experiences can

affect their progress and development, the notion of innate talents may
turn out to be entirely superfluous. In other words, the talent account
may be an explanation for something that does not need explaining,
because all the differences that the talent account is supposed to account
for can be explained quite satisfactorily in other ways. It may be simply
unnecessary to assume that there exist certain unobservable entities pos-
sessing the forms and functions that innate talents are believed to have. So
even though the idea that innate talents provide a mechanism via which
genetic differences between people have impacts on their capabilities is
widely accepted and commonly believed in, there are good reasons for
thinking that such talents are mythical rather than real.

Even if the talent account is wrong, it is still possible that there are other
ways in which inborn differences between people may have predictable
influences on the likelihood of individuals becoming capable of major
creative attainments. Inherent differences in general intelligence could be
crucial here. That possibility seems to gain credence from the fact that it
is often assumed that a person's intelligence level is largely fixed at birth,
and from the widespread belief that intelligence has a major role in
making substantial achievements possible.
Both of these assumptions are questionable, however. The belief that a
person's intelligence is largely fixed has been forcefully promoted by
experts on intelligence testing, but there has never been convincing sup-
porting evidence for it. That is not to deny that there are some findings
that are consistent with the idea of a fixed intelligence. For instance, it has
been demonstrated that individuals' IQ (Intelligence Quotient) test
scores tend to be stable, as is evident from the observation that if someone
is tested on successive years, the person's two scores are usually similar.
However, the observation that in most cases a person's score does not
greatly change does not justify our inference that it cannot change. To
claim that the presence of stability proves change to be impossible is
rather like saying that the fact that most people live in the same house
from one year to the next and keep the same telephone number means
that these are unalterable. But it is easy to see that when there are good
reasons for altering either of them, change can and does occur. Similarly,
when there exist substantial reasons for intelligence levels changing, they
too do alter.
The idea that a person's intelligence is largely unchangeable is also
contradicted by evidence from each of a variety of different sources. 9 For

9 For a survey of the evidence, see Howe (r997).

 Born to be a genius? 197

example, a number of investigations studying the effects on a child of

being adopted by families who provide good home environments have
yielded evidence of massive increases in intelligence. Additional evidence
of such improvements has come from studies evaluating educational
intervention programmes that were designed to provide compensatory
experiences for young children whose home environments failed to
provide good opportunities to gain important mental skills. Also, investi-
gations in which the effects of variations in the amount of schooling
received by children have been measured have provided yet more results
demonstrating the changeability of intelligence test scores. Finally, a large
body of findings has been accumulated demonstrating the changeability
of intelligence by showing that in a number of separate nations average
intelligence test scores have improved very considerably from one genera-
tion to another.
Nevertheless, a few writers on intelligence and intelligence testing have
continued to insist that a person's intelligence cannot be substantially
altered. They have put forward a number of claims which, they believe,
invalidate the evidence indicating that intelligence can change. First, they
point out that in some of the investigations in which young children's
intelligence levels were found to improve as a consequence of attending
compensatory learning programmes, the improvements faded or decayed
over a period of years. Second, they note that even the initial increases in
children's IQ levels resulting from attendance at such programmes have
not invariably been large.
Both of these objections are easily refuted. It is certainly true that
fading or decay is sometimes observed in newly acquired intellectual
skills, but fading only takes place when there are good reasons for it.
Those circumstances in which improvements that followed remedial edu-
cation have eventually faded have been ones in which the children con-
cerned were living in educationally deprived circumstances (typically in
urban ghettos), in which they had little or no encouragement to practise
or use their newly acquired mental abilities. It is noteworthy that fading
only sometimes occurs. There have been instances of improvements in
intelligence that have not faded at all.
It is also true that some of the reported changes in IQ levels following
attendance at intervention programmes designed to extend a child's
mental capabilities have been relatively small. But that observation does
not amount to a convincing case against intelligence being changeable.
The fact that certain interventions have not made a large difference in
children's intelligence levels is not hard to explain. One obvious reason is
that many of the interventions have simply not been substantial enough to
make a real impact on children's mental capabilities. Consider, for
198 Genius Explained

example, the case of some early intervention programmes that were intro-
duced under the 'Head Start' initiative in the United States. In 1969 the
psychologist Arthur Jensen made a widely-cited claim that these pro-
grammes had failed to achieve the intended outcomes. However, he
neglected to point out that many of those programmes had been meagrely
financed and had lasted no longer than two months on a part-time basis.
For a typical child participant the total duration of time involved would
often have been appreciably less than a hundred hours. That amount of
time may appear fairly substantial, but it is actually quite puny in compar-
ison with the periods of time needed to make major changes in young
people's acquired capabilities, even ones that are much narrower than
those assessed in intelligence tests. As we have already observed, around
3,000 hours of concentrated training and practice is required in order for
a higly motivated young person to reach the standard of performance at a
musical instrument such as the pianoforte that would be expected in a
good amateur player. Achieving professional standards of expertise
requires considerably longer, around 10,000 hours. And comparable
periods of time are necessary to achieve high levels of expertise in other
areas of attainment, such as chess, various sports, and foreign languages.
Moreover, in those kinds of capabilities at which children from varying
backgrounds are found to differ, it is usually found that there have been
massive differences between the children in the extent to which they have
enjoyed positive everyday experiences. Recall, for instance, the findings of
the study by Betty Hart and Todd Risley that examined the possible
reasons for the differences between three-year-olds from different social
classes in the size of their spoken vocabularies. 10 It was discovered that
even by that age those children who came from professional families had
already heard more than thirty million words directed towards them. In
contrast, the children from working-class families had only heard around
about twenty million words, and for the children from families on welfare
the comparable figure was around ten million words.
In short, behind the observed variability in language performance were
literally enormous variations in the children's actual experiences of lan-
guage. In the light of the evidence that differences of that kind of magni-
tude in children's experiences lie behind differences in their capabilities,
the investments oftime that have been devoted to early intervention pro-
grammes have been so tiny as to make it seem highly unlikely that they
would have large effects. In the circumstances it is remarkable that in
many cases the effects of such interventions have nevertheless been sub-
stantial. There is sufficient evidence of large alterations taking place in

10 Hart and Risley (1995).

 Born to be a genius? 199

children's intelligence to make it seem likely that those mental qualities

that are assessed in an intelligence test are no more fixed or unchangeable
than those acquired capabilities which, unlike intelligence, are widely
acknowledged to be acquired as an outcome of experience and learning.
Efforts to refute that evidence have been unconvincing.
Turning now to the second of the assertions about intelligence that I
mentioned, namely that intelligence plays a major role in making substan-
tial achievements possible, that initially appears to be less open to dispute
than the assertion that a person's intelligence level is largely fixed at birth.
However, the role of the kind of human intelligence that is assessed in
intelligence tests is not quite so clear or straightforward as is often
assumed. One discovery that many people find surprising is that, at least
at the highest levels of achievement, there is little or no relationship
between people's performance levels and their scores on intelligence
tests. It is undeniable that high achievers are usually intelligent people,
but it is equally true that within a group consisting of individuals who all
gain high scores at intelligence tests, those who have the loftiest test scores
of all are no more likely than the others to produce exceptional creative
achievements. 11 Exceptionally high scores on an intelligence test are not
good indicators of the likelihood of a person producing the kinds of crea-
tive achievement that lead to their maker being called a genius.
Predictably, there are some relationships between intelligence-test
scores and intellectual achievements. Substantial mental accomplish-
ments in individuals whose IQ test scores are below average are unusual,
although not entirely unknown. But within a group of people who all have
high test scores, links between their assessed intelligence and their actual
attainments are less evident. The relationships between the two, indicated
by correlation levels, are insufficiently substantial for it to be possible to
make useful predictions about someone's success in making exceptional
achievements on the basis of a knowledge of their intelligence test score.
And at anything approaching genius levels of expertise, there are no cor-
relations at all between people's test scores and their actual attainments.
Findings emerging from a huge study of human intelligence that was
initiated in California by the psychologist Lewis Terman at the beginning
of the twentieth century indicated that individuals who were identified as
being unusually intelligent in childhood often did go on to have highly
successful adult careers. That result seemed to confirm the predictive
value of intelligence testing. However, it was later demonstrated that had
the children been selected on the basis of their family backgrounds and
school records, without paying any attention to their intelligence test

11 Howe (r997).
200 Genius Explained

scores, equally accurate predictions could have been made about their
attainments in later life.

The belief that certain individuals can be said to have been born to be
geniuses is not one that is supported by firm evidence, and the innate gifts
or talents that are commonly believed to be possessed by a minority of
individuals who are thereby imbued with a capacity to excel in particular
areas of expertise are probably mythical rather than real. The idea that an
inherent quality of intelligence plays a role in determining an individual
becoming a genius appears to be equally groundless. And yet, as we have
seen, people's experiences are undoubtedly influenced by the particular
combinations of genes they inherit. If that is true, is it not inevitable that
someone's inherited genes strongly affect the likelihood of that person
becoming capable of exceptional achievements? And in that event, might
it not be possible at some stage in the future to 'read' the genetic informa-
tion that is present in the organs of a newborn baby, and make accurate
predictions about the child's future attainments? We cannot be certain,
but in my judgement the answer to both those questions is likely to be
negative, and I think that the reasons why many people believe otherwise
are rooted in misconceptions about the manner in which genetic
influences actually contribute to human variability.
When pondering about genetic inheritance, which involves a number
of complex issues that are not fully understood, we naturally lean upon
metaphors that we hope will help link the abstract complexities of genetic
science to the more familiar territory of our own existing knowledge. But
although metaphors can indeed be helpful, at least up to a point, they can
also mislead, and some of those that people have introduced in relation to
genetic causation have been definitely misleading. Genes are often
regarded as providing the function of 'blueprints', or 'instructions', or
'recipes' which do their work by telling human cells how to construct
individual human beings. Unfortunately, although none of these charac-
terisations of the functioning of genetic information is totally incorrect,
each considerably oversimplifies the true state of affairs. That is not the
way it works.
What is particularly deceptive about the above metaphors is their
implication that genetic materials invariably exert their influence by
initiating a fixed causal chain and, in consequence, largely determining
various outcomes. The reality is more complicated. Genetic resources
certainly make vital contributions, but they can do so at various stages in
an organism's development. The choices that an organism makes con-
cerning if, how, and when there will be a contributing input of a particular
item of genetic material, and concerning precisely what the form of that
 Born to be a genius? 201

input will be, depend upon numerous other factors that affect the organ-
ism's development, including various environmental inputs that are
mediated by the organism's experiences. In humans, to complicate things
even more, the manner in which genes contribute to psychological func-
tioning is considerably less direct than is implied by any of the above
metaphors. In reality, rather than thinking of a gene exerting some
influence that directly affects a complex psychological characteristic, it
would be more accurate to imagine the relatively immediate effect of
genetic inputs being to affect, say, the production of some or other
hormone. Genes are sequences of DNA base pairs, and their direct effects
take the form of contributions being made to the structure of proteins.
That is achieved by affecting the structure of amino-acid sequences.
Depending on the particular circumstances, those relatively immediate
effects may help trigger off other influences, whose effects may influence
occurrences at successively more distant future stages. Eventually, follow-
ing what may be a lengthy chain of physical activities, there may be conse-
quences that take the form of psychological acts or events. Note, however,
that because at each of a number of subsequent stages the actual
influence of a particular item of genetic information will also depend on
various other factors, the long-term influence of a particular item of
genetic information will be largely unpredictable. So even when it is indis-
putable that genetically based influences upon human variability have
been among the contributing influences determining the rate and direc-
tion of an individual person's progress, it would be wrong to conclude
that any traits or activities that have been affected by those genetic inputs
have been straightforwardly determined by them.
Hence the simplistic notions of genetic causation that come to mind
whenever one sees newspaper accounts of the search for 'the gene for
intelligence, or 'the' gene for any other complex psychological attribute,
are, to say the least, misleading. They reflect a model of genetic causation
that is far too simple to represent what actually takes place, and is not
based upon anything approaching a realistic understanding of how
genetic differences between individuals actually contribute to people's
differing psychological lives. There are no direct one-to-one relationships
between genes and psychological characteristics, and the popular idea
that there are genes 'for' complex traits is simply wrong.
And yet, however misleading they may be, statements about 'the' gene
for this or that will continue to be made, partly for the simple reason that
they are easy to understand. This misuse is to some extent encouraged by
occasional newspaper reports of investigations in which certain gene
abnormalities are found to have predictable effects. Yet it needs to be reg-
istered that these reports almost invariably refer to circumstances in
202 Genius Explained

which genetic defects cause malfunctions, or prevent something happen-

ing. It is quite true that missing or defective genes can have powerful
effects, just as a loose connection can bring a large computer to a halt or a
missing sparking plug can stop a car. But the fact that a single gene can
cause a serious mishap does not legitimise the inference that a single gene
can make a person intelligent or more thoughtful, any more than a single
connection can make my computer more powerful. As Stephen Pinker
remarks in his book How the Mind twJrks, quoting a politician, 'Any
jackass can kick down a barn, but it takes a carpenter to build one.' 12
The fact that the influences of genetic resources are indirect rather than
direct and may become activated in ways that partly depend upon unpre-
dictable environmental inputs has various practical implications. The
actual effects of being or not being genetically endowed in a particular
manner will depend upon a variety of other circumstances. By way of a
rather loose analogy, we can compare the possible effects of a person's
being supplied with a particular genetic resource with those of an individ-
ual nation happening to have a particular mineral resource. What, we can
ask, have been the effects of, say, Britain possessing abundant resources of
coal? The answer will depend upon the historical period being examined.
Prior to the industrial revolution, opportunities to benefit from that
resource were restricted, because transportation was expensive and the
machines that would later optimise the value of coal had not been
invented. By the nineteenth century, the situation had radically changed,
and coal had become a hugely important component of the nation's pros-
perity. However, before the end of the twentieth century, the importance
of coal had receded, largely as a consequence of the increasing availability
of power from alternative sources. In short, then, at any particular time
the actual impact of coal has depended upon various other circum-
stances. Broadly similar considerations apply when one enquires into the
likely effects of genetic variability. The actual influences will depend on
various other circumstances. That is true even with relatively simple phys-
ical attributes, let alone complex psychological ones. For example, there
are people who, because of their particular inherited genetic resources,
tend to be fatter than the average when the level of nutrition is high but
thinner than average when little nutrition is available. 13
It has been claimed by psychologists and educators that even if genetic
resources and environmental inputs are equally vital ingredients of
human development, it can nevertheless be meaningful to enquire
whether differences between people in their genetic endowments are
more or less influential, as determinants of characteristics such as intelli-

12 Pinker (1997), p. 34-5· 13 Lewontin (1982).

 Born to be a genius? 203

gence, than differences between them in their experiences of life. So

despite the fact that this question wrongly implies that genes and experi-
ences represent separate influences that interact with one another in a rel-
atively simple manner, it might still be reasonable to ask whether or not
genetic differences between people invariably lead to differences in their
psychological functioning. It might also be reasonable to ask whether
genetically different individuals brought up in similar environments are
more or less alike than genetically similar individuals brought up under
contrasting circumstances. However, providing straightforward answers
to questions like these is made difficult, and perhaps impossible, by the
fact that individual variability under one set of circumstances may
depend mainly upon genetic differences, but in a different set of circum-
stances is more strongly affected by environmental resources. Stephen
Gould provides a hypothetical example relating to the circumstances
affecting individuals' heights in a poor Indian village. 14 In one generation,
affected by nutritional deficits, the average height is around 5 feet 6 inches
and even the tallest individuals are no more than 5 feet 8 inches. Height is
highly heritable, and the height of sons in the village is closely related to
their fathers' height. Yet a few generations later, despite the fact that
height is highly heritable, the average height has risen to 5 feet 10 inches.
So despite the marked heritability of height, changed circumstances of
life have led to a situation in which the heights of even the tallest individu-
als from the first generation are exceeded by many individuals.
A related assumption is that investigations based on identical twins can
shed light on the question of whether the effects on people's mental
capacities of genetic differences are greater or less than the outcomes of
raising individuals in differing environments. In principle at least, by
comparing identical twins reared together and apart, it certainly ought to
be possible to estimate the extent to which genetic and environmental
sources of variability have affected mental capabilities. In practice, there
are enormous and perhaps insurmountable difficulties. For instance, in
order to be absolutely certain that twins do not have shared environments
it would be necessary to separate them soon after conception. But that
simply cannot be done, and in reality the best that can be achieved is to
select twins who have been separated at birth. Unfortunately, however,
even that is virtually impossible, for a number of reasons. First, since
identical twins are somewhat rare it is extremely unusual to encounter
circumstances in which it has been necessary to resort to the undesirable
(for various reasons) step of separating them at the time of birth. Second,
in the very rare event of that happening, social and ethical considerations

14 Gould (r984).
204 Genius Explained

would normally dictate that steps would be taken to ensure that some
contact between the twins could be maintained. In the majority of cases
they would be brought up within the same family. Just imagine the kinds
of circumstances that were sufficiently grave and desperate to make it
unavoidable that identical twins were not only separated at the time of
birth but were also brought up in circumstances that permitted no
contact between the twins to be maintained. It is almost inconceivable
that in circumstances as dire as those it would nevertheless be possible to
undertake all the activities that would be necessary in order to keep accu-
rate records of what had transpired. And yet in order for a properly con-
trolled research study to be undertaken it would be essential for accurate
and detailed records to be available.
These difficulties combine to make it extremely difficult to locate prop-
erly documented cases of identical twins who have been separated at birth
in numbers that are sufficient to conduct properly designed research
investigations. Nevertheless, some studies of identical twins reared
together and apart have been reported, and evidence has been collected
from around a hundred such individuals. On close examination, however,
it transpires that these reports are not actually comparisons between
twins reared together and ones separated at birth. In fact they are com-
parisons between twins who have been reared entirely together and ones
reared partly apart, and the latter category includes pairs of twins who
have spent as much as four years together, typically the earliest and most
crucial formative years. Also, the reports lack detailed information on
crucial variables such as the exact dates at which the twins were first sep-
arated. In view of the rare and difficult circumstances surrounding the
early separation of identical twins these defects may be inevitable. But
they are crucial defects all the same, and because of them it may never be
possible to arrive at firm answers to questions about the inheritance of
intelligence on the basis of the findings of twin studies.
It is currently becoming less necessary to depend on twin studies in
order to acquire information about the possible effects on mature capa-
bilities of differences between people in their genetic materials. Direct
mapping of genetic information will make it possible for a fuller and more
detailed picture to emerge, and it may well prove possible to identify
certain genetic features whose presence adds to the likelihood of their
possessor acquiring impressive mental capabilities. But it will never be
possible to identify individuals who, by virtue of their genes, are born to
be geniuses. One-to-one relationships between genetic differences and
ability differences are ruled out by the complexity and indirectness of
genetic contributions to human activities.
It tends to be assumed that if there do exist qualities that make some
 Born to be a genius? 205

people more capable than others and have an inherited component, those
qualities are ones that are closely related to a person's cognitive attributes
such as cleverness or creativity. However, it is just as likely that those -
conceivably largely inherited- human qualities that make the largest con-
tributions towards setting geniuses apart from other people are ones of
temperament and personality rather than being narrowly intellectual
ones. The finding that assessments of a child's capacity to resist distrac-
tions and avoid impulsive actions are better predictors of later success
than measures of early intelligence is consistent with that view. As we have
seen, the particular qualities that contemporaries most frequently
remarked upon in geniuses such as Newton and Mozart were broadly
temperamental. Doggedness, persistence, the capacity for fierce and sus-
tained concentration, as well as intense curiosity, are the attributes that
others have noticed, and geniuses themselves have concurred with that
emphasis. A number of geniuses, including Darwin and Einstein, have
disclaimed having superior inherent intelligence, but no genius has ever
denied either possessing or relying upon a capacity for diligence or a
healthy curiosity.

One of the reasons for people being reluctant to let go of the idea that gen-
iuses are a race apart, distinct from everyone else by virtue of their inher-
ent qualities as well as their marvellous accomplishments, is the fear that
geniuses will be diminished if we remove the magic and mystery sur-
rounding them. I do not share that view. On the contrary, it is not until we
understand that they are made from the same flesh and bones as the rest
of us that we start to appreciate just how wonderfully remarkable these
men and women really are. They show us what humankind is capable of.
And it is only when we acknowledge that geniuses are not totally unlike
other people that our minds open up to all that we can learn from them.
 Appendix: Personalia

Archimedes (287-212 BC) Greek mathematician and physicist, consid-

ered to be one of the most original of all the great mathematicians.
Bach, Johann Sebastian (1685-1750) The great German composer.
Bach, Johann Christian (1735-82) Composer, and one of the three
sons ofJ. S. Bach to be a musician. He helped and influenced the young
Mozart.
Balzac, Honore de (1799-1850) French novelist, the author of an
important sequence of novels which included Eugenie Grandet and Le
Pere Goriot, and were collectively known as La Comedie Humaine.
Banks, Joseph (1743-1820) Wealthy botanist and explorer who accom-
panied Captain James Cook on an important voyage on the Endeavour.
Bidder, George Parker (1806-78) Engineer. He gained minor fame as a
child prodigy, and became a friend and associate of George and Robert
Stephenson.
Blenkinsop, John (1783-1831) Pioneering railway engineer. In 1812 he
produced a successful early locomotive.
Bronte, Anne (1820-49) Novelist and poet. The youngest of the Bronte
sisters, and the author of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.
Bronte, (Patrick) Branwell (1817-48) Only brother of the Bronte
sisters. Although he never had much success in adult life he was an
important influence on his sisters' early development.
Bronte, Charlotte (1816-55) Novelist, and the eldest of the three Bronte
sisters to survive childhood. Her Jane Eyre was an immediate success
and has always been widely read.
Bronte, Emily (1818-48) Novelist and poet, and the author of Wuthering
Heights.
Bronte, Patrick (1777-1861) The father of the Bronte sisters. He was
born in Ireland and became a Yorkshire curate. Although sometimes
depicted as a grim and domineering parent, he had strong literary
interests and was an enthusiastic fighter for good causes and a benign
influence on his children.

206
 Appendix: Personalia 207

Burton, Sir Richard (1821-90) Explorer, translator and scholar, who

enjoyed a varied and colourful career.
Cook, (Captain) James (1728-79) Explorer, navigator and map-maker,
who came from humble origins. He made numerous discoveries and
charted much of Australia.
Crick, Francis (1916-) With Maurice Wilkins and James Watson he
made important discoveries relating to DNA.
Curie, Marie (1876-1934) French physicist, born in Poland, who made
major discoveries relating to radioactivity.
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet, and author of The Divine
Comedy.
Darwin, Erasmus (1731-1802) The grandfather of Charles Darwin,
and a thinker whose botanic poems include speculations on evolution.
Darwin, Charles (1809-82) Biologist, whose theory of evolution by
natural selection has continued to have an impact on thinking about
the origins oflife ever since it was published, in 1859, in On the Origin
Of Species.
Davy, Sir Humphry (1778-1829) Prominent chemist, and the employer
and mentor of Michael Faraday. Davy's invention of a safety lamp for
miners at the same time as a rival lamp was developed by George
Stephenson led to a bitter controversy.
Descartes, Rene (1596-1650) French philosopher, scientist, and mathe-
matician.
Dickens, Charles (1812-70) Author and editor whose many novels,
beginning with Pickwick Papers which appeared in his early twenties,
were widely acclaimed and have had an enormous readership.
Einstein, Albert (1879-1955) He was born in Germany, but his earth-
shattering work on relativity and other early discoveries were con-
ducted while he was living in Switzerland. He became an American
citizen in 1940.
Eliot, George, see Evans, Mary Anne.
Evans, Mary Anne (also known as Mary Ann, Marian, or George Eliot)
(1819-80) English author and scholar, whose Middlemarch is consid-
ered by many to be the greatest novel in the English language.
Faraday, Michael (1791-1867) Major British scientist who despite
leaving school at thirteen to become an apprentice bookbinder, carried
out numerous important experiments and prepared the way for the
practical application of electrical power.
Fitzroy, Robert (1805-65) Captain commanding the Beagle, which
carried Charles Darwin on its five-year voyage and played an important
part in his development as a mature biologist.
Galileo Galilei (1564-1642) The great Italian astronomer and physicist.
208 Appendix: Personalia

His observations confirmed the theory of Copernicus that the earth

rotates around the sun, and his work greatly extended the understand-
ing of gravity.
Galton, Francis (1822-1911) A second cousin of Charles Darwin who
put forward theories about the inheritance of human intelligence and
was an advocate of eugenics.
Gaskell, Elizabeth (1810-65) English author whose novels included
North and South. She also wrote a biography of Charlotte Bronte.
Gladstone, William Ewart (1809-98) British politician and statesman.
Grant, Robert (1793-1874) Anatomist and naturalist. He helped
Charles Darwin at Edinburgh University and was one of his most
important mentors.
Henslow, John (1796-1861) The Cambridge botany professor and
mentor of Darwin who was influential in making it possible for Darwin
to participate in the voyage of the Beagle.
Hope, Thomas (1766-1844) Chemistry professor whose lectures at
Edinburgh University were among the few to be highly rated by
Charles Darwin.
Huxley, Thomas (1825-95) Scientist and disciple of Charles Darwin. He
had an important role in promoting the theory of evolution by natural
selection and shielding Darwin from much of the hostility that the
theory aroused.
Jameson, Robert (1774-1854) Mineralogist and professor at Edinburgh
University. Charles Darwin, unlike some his contemporaries, was
unimpressed by Jameson's lectures, but he benefited from studying the
collections in the natural history museum that was directed by
Jameson.
Kant, Immanuel (1724-1804) German philosopher, whose Critique of
Pure Reason examines how knowledge depends upon the manner in
which our sensory experiences are categorised and organised.
Lyell, Charles (1797-1875) Geologist, and a friend of Charles Darwin.
Lyell's Principles of Geology, part of which Darwin read at the beginning
of his voyage on the Beagle, convincingly established that the inanimate
world reached its present form as a result of gradual change rather than
sudden creation.
Malthus, Thomas (1766-1834) English scholar whose writings on the
growth of population influenced Darwin by showing the likely effects of
influences similar to natural selection.
Maxwell, James Clerk (1831-79) Scottish physicist who built on the
work of Michael Faraday and others and extended understanding of
electricity and magnetism.
Mendel, Gregor (1822-84) Austrian biologist, and an ordained monk.
 Appendix: Personalia 209

The findings of Mendel's experiments on plant breeding formed the

basis of the modern science of genetics.
Menuhin, Yehudi (1916-99). Violinist, who was born in New York but
lived mainly in England. He first became famous as a child prodigy.
Mill, James (1773-1836) The father of John Stuart Mill, whom he care-
fully tutored in childhood. James Mill was also a substantial scholar in
his own right, and produced a monumental History of British India.
Mill, John Stuart (1806-73) Partly as a result of the intense early educa-
tion provided by his father, Mill was intellectually precocious as a child
and went on to become one of the greatest social and political thinkers
of the nineteenth century.
Mozart, Leopold (1719-87) The father of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
and an ambitious music teacher who played an active role in training
and promoting his son.
Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus (1756-91) The great Austrian composer
was trained as a musical performer by his father, and first attracted
attention through his prodigious childhood feats.
Newcomen, Thomas (1663-1729) Inventor of the first practical steam
engine with moving parts.
Newton, Isaac (1642-1727) Great mathematician and physicist, who
also devoted much of his time to alchemy. Before Einstein, our basic
understanding of the laws governing the physical universe depended
heavily on the work of Newton.
Paganini, Nicolo (1782-1840) Italian violinist of extraordinary virtuos-
ity.
Pascal, Blaise (1623-62) French scientist, mathematician and theolo-
gian, whose inventions included an early calculating machine.
Ruskin, John (1819-1900) English social reformer and writer on art,
whose writing was influential in sensitising the British public to the art
of the renaissance.
Russell, Bertrand (1872-1970) English philosopher, mathematician
and social critic, and a godson of John Stuart Mill.
Satie, Erik (1866-1925) Composer of highly distinctive works for the
piano.
Savery, Thomas (c.1650-1715) English engineer who invented a device
which used a vacuum to raise water. This incorporated a number of
features that made possible the invention of steam engines.
Schubert, Franz (1797-1828) Austrian composer, who produced a sub-
stantial number of major compositions in his short life.
Scott, Walter (1771-1832) Prolific and widely read Scottish novelist,
whose works include a series of historic stories known as the Waverley
novels.
210 Appendix: Personalia

Shakespeare, William (1564-1612) The dramatist and poet, whose

achievements strongly influenced the English language as well as its lit-
erature.
Shostakovich, Dimitry (1906-75) Russian composer.
Smiles, Samuel (1812-1904) Best known as the author of Self Help, a
collection of brief lives which was intended to open ordinary people's
eyes to the benefits of study and perseverance, Smiles also wrote the
first biography of George Stephenson, who epitomised some of the
virtues Smiles admired.
Stephenson, George (1781-1848) The great railway engineer who made
steam locomotion for travellers possible, having acquired the skills that
made him an outstanding inventor by his own efforts, following a child-
hood characterised by poverty and the complete absence of formal
education.
Tolstoy, Leo (1828-1910) Russian writer, whose important novels
include ~rand Peace and Anna Karenina.
Trollope, Anthony (1815-82) Following an unhappy childhood
Trollope thrived at a responsible post working for the newly developed
postal service, and at around the same time began writing the first of a
substantial number of novels.
Turner, Joseph M. W. (1775-1851) The son of a London barber, and
perhaps the greatest of English artists. His remarkable and innovative
paintings formed a strong influence on the Impressionists.
Twain, Mark (1835-1910) The name Twain was the pseudonym of
Samuel Clements, an American author whose prolific and often
humorous writings included Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.
Watson, James (1928-) American biologist who worked with Francis
Crick and Maurice Wilkins on the structure of DNA.
Watt, James (1736-1819) Scottish instrument maker and engineer. His
important improvements to steam engines made them sufficiently
efficient and reliable for steam locomotion to become possible.
Watts, Isaac (1674-1748) An English pastor who is best known as a
writer of hymns, but was also the author of The Improvement of the
Mind, a book which strongly influenced the intellectual development of
the young Michael Faraday.
Wells, Herbert G. (1866-1946) English novelist and man of letters. He
wrote numerous novels, including The Time Machine, and was also
influential as an educator who produced books that brought subjects
such as science and history to a broad audience.
White, Gilbert (1720-93) English naturalist and curate, whose Natural
History and Antiquities of Selborne has influenced numerous amateur
naturalists including the young Charles Darwin.
 Appendix: Personalia 211

Whitney, Eli (1765-1825) American inventor, best known for his cotton
'gin' which greatly improved the efficiency of the cotton industry in the
United States.
Wiener, Norbert (1894-1964) American mathematician, and an out-
standing prodigy in childhood. He contributed towards the early devel-
opment of computers.
Wright, Wilbur (1867-1912) and Orville (1871-1948) The American
pioneers of powered flight.
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 Index

Abbott, Benjamin, 99 Bragg, M., I8o, I8I

Ampere, Andre, 2I, 32, IOS Brahms, Johannes, 20
Angria, I6I-6 Brande, William, I06
Arabian Nights, I2, 88, n6, I24, I63 Brannigan, A., I4
Archimedes, I3, I78, I8I, 206 Bray, Charles and Elizabeth, I70
Aristotle, I3 Brent, P., 3I, 32, 33, 38
artificial selection, 2 3 Bronte,Anne,20,2I,S8,IS5,I59-67,206
Audobon, James, 46 Bronte, Branwell, 2I, 58, ISS, I59-67, 206
Austen, Jane, I3, 58 Bronte, Charlotte, I3, 20, 2I, 58, ISS,
Autobiography (of John Stuart Mill), n9-28 I59-67, 206
Autobiography of Charles Darwin, The 33, 37, Bronte, Emily, I3, 20, 2I, ISS, I59-67, I73,
38,55 206
Bronte, Patrick, I6o, 206
Babbage, Charles, 20, I8o Browne, J., 3I
Bach, Johann Christian, 3, I86 Browne, William, 46-7
Bach, Johann Sebastian, 3, I3-I4, I37 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 20
Balzac, Honore de, I3, 20, 70, 206 Browning, Robert, 20
Banks, Joseph, IOI, I3I, 206 Brunei, Isambard Kingdom, I3, 20, I33
Barker, J., I 59, I60, I6I, I63, I65, I66 building on progress, I83-6; see also giants'
Barlow, N., 33, 37,38 shoulders metaphor
Bates, Henry, 53 Burkhardt, F., 28, 29
Baudelaire, Charles, 20 Burton, Richard, I2, 207
Beagle (HMS), I6, 27, 37, 52-4, 56-7, I07 Butler, (Dr) Samuel, 32, 33, 37, 55
Beethoven, Ludvig von, I3, I37, I85 Byron, Lord, I65, I67
Bentham, Jeremy, I2I, I34
Berlioz, Hector, 20 calculations, mental, 46, I3I-3, I 54; George
Bernard, Claude, 2I Bidder's method, I32-3
Bidder, George, 45, I30-4, I 54, ISS, 206; as Cambridge University, I7, 28, 46, 49-SI,
a child prodigy, I3I-3 I33
biographies as a source of evidence, 2 Cannon, Walter, n6
biological indicators of high ability, I93-4 Carlyle, Thomas, 20
Bizet, Georges, 20 Chanute, Octave, I84
Blackwood's Magazine, I 59, I6I, I63 Charness, N., 67, I 58
Blenkinsop, John, 73-4, 206 chess memory, 7
Blyton, Enid, 8 Chi, M. T. H., 7
Body and Soul, I30 Chopin, Frederic, I37
Boltzmann, Ludwig, I46 Church and State, 25
Boswell, James, 44 Clark, E. F., I3I, I32
Botanic Garden, The, 30 Colangelo, N., 67
Botticelli, Sandro, I4 Colburn, Zerah, I54-5
Boulton, Matthew, 30 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, I3, I85, I86
Bowlby,J. 3I collaborative research, I 8 I -3

216
 Index 217

Comte, August, 21 Dickens, John, 173

concentration, see doggedness Dickinson, Emily, 20
concert pianists, 149 diligence, 15, 76-7, 91, 96-8
Conduit, John, 15 Disraeli, Benjamin, 20
Conroy, Frank, 130 DNA, 21, 182, 201
Cook (Captain) James, 6o, IOI, 131, 134, 207 Dodds, Ralph, 71-2, 77
Copernicus, 13 doggedness, 15, 76-7, 88, 91, 96-8, 141,
cotton gin, 177 186-7,205
Courbet, Gustave, 20 Dostoyevski, Fyodor, 21, 185
creationism, 23-4 Dumas, Alexandre, 20
creative processes, 176-87 Dunn,J., 151
Crick, Francis, 21, 182, 207
Critique of Pure Reason, 140 early reading, I 9
Csikszenthihalyi, M., 41, 42, 43, 90, 91, 96, Edinburgh University, 32, 36, 38, 40, 121,
III 133
Curie, Marie, 13, 167, 182, 207 Edison, Thomas, 17, 20, 182
curiosity, 14-15, 88,91-7, 141 Einstein, Albert, I, 9, 13, 16-17, 21, 23, 74,
82,IOO,I37-47,I57,I69,I79,I8I,I86,
Dante Alighieri, I, 13, 207 205, 207; and the Zurich polytechnic,
Darwin, Caroline, 31, 32, 38, 39, 45, 55 144-6; at the Swiss Patent Office in
Darwin, Catherine, 31 Berne, 146-7; childhood, 138-143; family
Darwin, Charles, I, 13, 14, 16-17, 20, 21, background and influences, 141 -3; myths
23-55, s8, 75, 83, 8s, 97, 104, 107, 121, about early failures, 138-40; precocity,
I33,I36,I45,I54,I56,I70,I78,I8I,I86, 14o-1
205, 207; and the Beagle, 53-7; and On Einstein, Jacob, 142-3
the Origin of Species, 16; apparent electromagnetic induction, 107
reclusiveness of, 16, 181; at Cambridge Eliot, George see Evans, Mary Anne
University, 38, 46, 49-51; at Edinburgh Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 20
University, 38,40-1,43-8,50, 53; at Encyclopaedia Britannica, 88
school, 32, 33, 34; attitude to family, Ericsson, K. A., ix, 4, 6, 34, 67, 158, 195, 206
27-8, 54-5; childhood, 3o-6; diplomatic established order, 24-5, 46-7
skills of, 16-17, 37, 49-51; early collecting Euclid's geometry, 140
activities, 35-6; family background, 26; Evans, Mary Anne, 13, 20, 21, 58, 62,
personality, 27-31, 36-7, 46, 49-52; sets 167-73, 183, 207; childhood, 168-70;
up chemistry laboratory, 36-7, 51 seriousness of purpose, 170-2;
Darwin, (Dr) Robert, 28,37-41, 48, 53, 54 translating activities, 171-2
Darwin, Erasmus (173I-I8o2), 30, 35, 39, eventism, 64
46,207 evolution, 23-6, 39, 46-7, 57, 178, see also
Darwin, Erasmus (1804-81), 16, 32-3, 36, theory of evolution
40-1,44-5,51 experience, as distinct from environment,
Darwin, Susan, 31 19,150-I
Darwin, Susannah, 30-2, 35 expertise, 18, 64-7, 83, 157-75, 195-8;
Davidson, J. W., viii, ix, 4, 190, 192, 195 contrasted with genius, 157
Davies, H., 63
Davy, Humphry, 29, 81, 85, 101-6, 134, 182, Faivre, I. A., 195
207 family support and structure, 41-3, 90-I, 96
Debussy, Claude, 137 Faraday, Michael, 13, 20-1, 29,32-3, 48-9,
Delacroix, Eugene, 20 55, 81, 83,84-107, II6, 122, 131, 141, 156,
Degas, Edgar, 13, 20 I70,I72,I79,I8I-2,I86,207;
Descartes, Rene, 178, 207 apprenticeship, 85-91, wo; childhood,
descriptive compared with theoretical 84-7; employment with Humphry Davy,
approaches, 17 101-6; first lecture, 9; personality and
design from above, I I, 24 temperament, 96-7, 103-4, 181; study
Desmond, A., 24 habits, 89, 92-9
Dickens, Charles, I3-I4, 19-21, s6, 75, 82, Fechner, Gustave, 21
87,I04,I55,I72-4,I83,207 Feldman, D., 192
218 Index

Feuerstein, R., 206 Herschel, John, 20

Fitzroy, (Captain) Robert, I6, 52, 207 Herschel, William, I3I
Flaubert, Gustave, I3, 20 Hibbert, C., I73, I74
Fi:ilsing, A., I40, I43, I86 Hitchcock, Alfred, 64
Fowler, W., I36 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 20
Fox, William Darwin, 49-50 Hooker, Joseph, SI, 53
Franklin, Benjamin, I3, 20 Hope, Thomas, 44-5, 208
Franklin, Rosalind, I82 How the Mind Wbrks, 202
Freud, Sigmund, 39, I27 Howe, M. J. A., 4, 96, II3, II9, I48, I90,
I92,I95,I96,I99
Galapagos, 52 Hugo, Victor, 20
Galileo Galilei, I, I3, 46, I40, I78, 207 Humboldt, Alexander von, 2I, 53
Galton, Francis, I3, 208 Huxley, Thomas Henry, 48, 53, IOO, 208
Gardner, H., 3
Gaskell, Elizabeth, I3, 20, I74, 208 identical twins, 204
Gauss, Carl Friedrich, 2I Idiot, The, I 85
genes, I89, 200-2 Improvement of the Mind, The, 92-5, 98
genetic resources, I88-I89, 200-4 inheritance, 40, 76
genetics, I4, 25-6,40, I88--9o, 200-5; inherited differences, IS, 40, 76,
simplistic accounts of, 200-2 I88-205
genius: and fashion, I4; as a special gift, I, innate gifts and talents, I, IO-II, I8, 76,
7, II, I88-205; as an accolade, I2-I3; I4S,I89-96
defining, II-I4; Kant's approach to, I, Institution of Civil Engineers, I33
IO; pseudo-explanations of, IO intelligence, IS, 97, I96-9; and
geniuses: breadth of interests and abilities, achievement, I99-20o
I5-I7; broader qualities of, I4-I7; in inventors, 67, I46-7, I76-87
relation to prodigies, I08-Io, I27-9, I30, IQ (Intelligence Quotient), I96-9;
I36-8, I47-56; listing, I3-I4, 20-I changeability of, I96-8
giants' shoulders metaphor, I8o-I
gifts, innate, I, 7, Io-II, see also talents James, Henry, I 54
Gladstone, William Ewart, 20, 58, 208 James, William, I 53
Glasites, see Sandemanian Church Jameson, Robert, 45, 206
Glasstown, I6I-6 Jane Eyre, I65, I66
Glendenning, V., I75 Jensen, Arthur, I98
Godrey, J., 96 John of Salisbury, I8o
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, von, I34 Jones, B., 87, 92, I03
Gogo!, Nikolai, 2I Joyce, James, I3
Gonda!, I64-7 Juarez, Benito, 87
Gould, S.J. 203 juvenalia of the Brontes, I59-67
Grant, Robert, 46-8, SI, IOI, 208
Greg, William, 46 Kagan, J., 77
Gruber, H., ix, I79 Kant, Immanuel, I, IO, I40, I44, 208
Gruneberg, M. M., 6 Karl, F., I68
Kekule, Friedrich, 2I
Hamilton, J., I4, IS, I36, I86 Kelvin, Lord, I49
Handel, George Frederick, I37, I86 Keynes, John Maynard, I09
Hart, B., II3, I98 ~erkegaard,Si:iren,2I
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 20 Knight, D. M., 2I3
Hayes, J. R., 3, 4, I95 Krampe, R. T., 4
Head Start, I98 Kubla Khan, I85-6
Heine, Heinrich, 2I, I42
Helmholtz, Hermann von, 2I Lamarck, Jean Baptiste, 4 7
Henslow, John, 50-3, IOI, 208 Langley, Samuel, I84
Herbert, John, 28-9 Lehmann, A. C., ix, 6
heritability, 203-4 Leibnitz, Gottfried, I34
Hero of Alexandria, I76 Lewis, Maria, I69
 Index 219

Lewontin, R., 202 IS, I7, 23, 29, s6, 6I, 82, 109, I37, I4o,
Life of George Stephenson, 62-3 I48, I 53, I 57, I85, 205, 209; early
Life ofJesus, I7I precocity, 4-6
Lilienthal, Otto, I83-4 Murray, P., I
Lincoln, Abraham, 20 music, 5, 6-7, I8, I94-5
Linnaeus, Carolus, 44 musical training, 4-6, I94-5
Liszt, Franz, 20, I37
Liverpool and Manchester Railway, So-I, Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne,
I07 35,48
Locke, Joseph, 20 natural selection, 23-24, 56-7 see also
Longfellow, Henry, 20 evolution; theory of evolution
Lunar Society, 30 Newcomen, Thomas, 7I, I76, I78, 209
Lyell, Charles, 20, 53, 58, I70, 208 Newsome, D., 24
Lysenko, Trofim, 4 7 Newton, Isaac, I3, I4-I5, 32, 44, 55, 65-6,
74, 88, 97, IOO, I40, I45, I78, I8I, I86,
Ma, Yo-Yo, I09 205, 209; doggedness of IS, I67, I86
Macaulay, Thomas, 20, I34 Nobel prizewinners, I02-3
Mackintosh,James,38 Norris, C., I
Mal thus, Thomas, I78, 208 Nyiregyh:izi, Erwin, I47-8
Manet, Edouard, I3, 20
Martineau, Harriet, 20 Ohm, Georg Simon, 2I
Marx, Karl, 20 Origin of Species, On the, I 6
Matthew, Patrick, 24 Owen, Fanny, 38
Maxwell, James Clerk, 20, I46, 208 Owen, William Mostyn, 38
Mazlish, B., I27
Melville, Herman, 20 Paganini, Niccolo, 3, 209
memory skills, 6-7, 34; chess, 7; musical, 3, parental encouragement, 108-29, I35,
6-7 I37-43
Mendel, Gregor, I4, 26, 206 Pascal, Blaise, I34, I69, 209
Mendelssohn, Felix, 20, I37 Pauling, Lionel, I82
mental calculations, 46, I3I-3, I 54 Pease, Edward, 8I
mental disciplines, 33-4 Pensees (Pascal), I 69
mental struggle, I86-7 perfect pitch, I93
mentors, 38,47-8, so-I, IOO-I Perkins, D. N., I85
Menuhin, Yehudi, 109, I49, I 53, 209 persistance and perseverance, IS, 205; see
Merrick, A., 6 also doggedness
Michelangelo, I3 Picasso, Pablo, 56
Middlemarch, I67, I70 Pinker, S., 202
Mill, James, 100, I08-9, II9-27, I34, I49, pitch perception, I93
209 Plato, I3
Mill, John Stuart, 20, 2I, IOI, I08-9, Plinian Society, 46, 48
II9-29,I34,I53,I58,I67,I72,209; Plomin, R., ISI
appraisal ofJames Mill's teaching, I25-7; Poe, Edgar Allan, I3, 20
early education, I23-6; personality and Polgar sisters, 108
personal difficulties, I26-9 precocity, 3-7, 9, I92 see also prodigies
Millais, John Everett, 20 Priestley, Joseph, 30
Miserere (Allegri), 3, 7 Principia Mathematica, I 86
model building, 65-6 Principles of Geology, 57
Monet, Claude, I3 practising, 4-5, 64-5, 83, I 58, I95, I98
Moore, D. G., 4, I95 prodigies, 3-7, 29, 108-29, I30-55;
Moore, J., 24 advantages, I48; links with genius, I36,
Morris, P. E., 6 I4 7-55; misconceptions, I34-5; musical,
Morris, William, 20 3-7, I37; parents' involvement in
Mozart, Leopold, 3, 5-7, I49, 209 education, I34-6, I49; problems
Mozart, Nannerl, 5, I09 experienced, I48; problems of definition,
Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, I, 2-7, 9, I3, I36-7, I47
220 Index

psycho biographies, 2, r7, r27 steam engines, 66-8, 70-2, r76-7

Puccini, Giacomo, I3 steam locomotives, 73-5, 78-83
Pushkin, Alexander Sergeyevich, 2I Stendhal, 20
Pythagoras' theorem, r40 Stephenson, George, 20-r, 58-83,84,97,
IOO,I02,I06-7,II6,I22,I33,I34,I55,
rails, cast and wrought iron, 59-60, 79-80 I 56, I76, 2IO; as a visionary, 59-60;
railways, 58-63, 72-83 begins building locomotives, 74-5, 8r;
Rembrandt, I3 childhood, 6o-r, 64-6; designs safety
Renoir, Pierre Auguste, r3, r82 lamp, 8r; disadvantages and opposition,
repression and censorship, 46-7 6r -4; early interest in machines, 66-7;
Reynolds, Joshua, I5, I36 early successes, 7I -2; efforts at self-
FUebau,George,85-9,92,99,IOI education, 68-7r; first appointment as
FUsley, T. R., rr3, r98 engineer, 72; illiteracy in early life, 67-8;
Rolt, L. T. C., 59, 63, ro6 lack of patronage, 6r; personality and
Rossetti, Christina, 20 temperament, 62-5, 68-9, 76-7, 8r;
Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 20 railway projects, 79-82
Royal Institution, 85, ror-2, ro4, ro6-7 Stephenson, Robert, 20, 36, 62, 70-r, 79,
Ruskin, John, 20, I28, I 58, 209 83,I33
Russell, Bertrand, II7, r40, r86, 209 Stillinger, J., II9
Stockton and Darlington Railway, 59, 8r
safety lamp, 8r, ro6 Strauss, David Friedrich, I7I
Sandemanian Church, 9o-r, roo, ro3-4 studying activities, 4I-3
Satie, Eric, 3 Sulloway, F. J., 52, 53
Savery, Thomas, r76, 209 Summerside, R., 59
Schaffer, S., r76, r78 Sykes, R. N., 6
Schelling, Friedrich, 2I
Schiller, Johann, I42 talent account, r89-96; competing
Schlaug, G., I94 explanations, r95-6; implications of,
Schopenhauer, Arthur, 2I r9o-r; support for, I9I-5
Schubert, Franz, I3-I4, 75, r82, 209 talents, r89-96, see also innate gifts and
Schumann, Robert, I37 talents
science as a profession, 48, roo Talmud, Max, I4
science as a school subject, 32-4, 89, 96 Tatum, John, 99, ror
science contrasted with common sense, Taylor, Harriet, r2r
84-5 Tchaikovsky, Piotr Ilyich, I3
Scott, Walter, r64, 209 TenantofWildfellHall, The, r66
Self Help, 62 Tennyson, Alfred, 20
self-help books, 62, 90, 92-5 Terman, Lewis, r99-200
Shakespeare, William, r, 9, r3, r4, r79, 2ro Tesch-Romer, C., 4
Shaw, George Bernard, I34 Thackeray, William
Shelley, Mary, 20 theory of evolution, 23-26, 52, 56-7
Shostakovich, Dimitry, 3, 2ro Thoreau, Henry David, 20
Shrewsbury School, 32-3, 40, 58, 85 Tolstoy, Leo, r3, 2r, 26, r53-4, 22r
Sidis, Boris, r2r-2 training, necessity for, I48, I57-75
Sidis, William, ro8, rro-I2, rr4-r5, rr9, transfer of skills, 33-4
I27, I47 Trevithick, Robert, 73
Simonton, D. K., 3 Trollope, Anthony, I3, 20, I 55, I75, 2IO
Skidelsky, R., ro9 Turing, Alan, r8o
Sloboda,J. A., viii-ix, 3, 4, r9o, r92, I95 Turner, Joseph Mallord William, I3, I5, 20,
Smiles, Samuel, 6o, 62-75,77, 8o-r, 96, I86,2IO
I33,2IO Twain, Mark (Samuel Clemens), 20, 65, 2ro
Smith, S., 28, 29 twin studies, 204
Sosniak, L., I49 Tytler James, 88
Southey, Robert, 20, r68
Spencer, Herbert, 20 van Gogh, Vincent, I3
Spoto, D., 64 Verdi, Giuseppe, I3
 Index 221

violin training, 4 VVhitney, Eli, I77, 2II

violinists, unusual brain development in, VViener, Leo, n2, II4-I8, I23, I49
I94 VViener, Norbert, I08, n2, II4-I9, I27-8,
ISO, I 53, 2II
VVagner,FUchard,2o VVigham, John, 70-I
VVallace, A., no VVilliams, L. P., 86, 88, 92, I04, IOS, I07,
VVallace, Alfred, 20, 23, 53 I86
VVatson, James, 2I, I82, 209 VVilson, E., I4
VVatt, James, 30, 68, I76, I78, 2IO VVinteler, Jost, I44-5
VVatts, Isaac, 92-6, 2IO VVolpert, L., 84
VVedgwood, Josiah (I73o-95), 30, 35 VVitte, Karl, II2-I4, n9, I23, I49
VVedgwood, Josiah (I769-I843), 37 VVordsworth, VVilliam, 20, I70
VVeisberg, R. VV., 3, I77, I83, I84, I85, I86, VVright, Frank Lloyd, I09
I87 VVright, VVilbur and Orville, I83-4, 2II
VVells, Herbert George, I9, I34-5, I 58, 2IO Wuthering Heights, I66
VVernerian Natural History Society, 46
VVestfall, R. S., IS X-rays, n6
VVheatstone, Charles, 20
VVhewell, VVilliam, 20 Zoomania, 30, 46-7
VVhistler,James McNeill, 20 Zuckerman, H., I02, I03, I 53, I67
VVhite, Gilbert, 35, 48, 2IO Zurich Polytechnic, I44-6
VVhitman, VValt, 20