addendum to the previous biography post

I was planning to give a scientific example or two in the previous post and simply forgot to do so.

On the whole, I would say that scientific biographies have the same features I ascribed below to those of writers, visual artists, and philosophers: the most interesting part is the part when the discovery is still in progress and the person is not yet completely successful and recognized. After the Nobel Prize is in hand or on the horizon, then we’re in Celebrity Picasso territory again. And society needs its Celebrity Picassos on hand to help guide policy and advise the young. But their lives aren’t as interesting to read about as those of the half-starving and half-confused for whom failure and success are still in doubt.

As an example of this, compare James Watson’s The Double Helix with his embarrassingly bad recent follow-up Genes, Girls, and Gamow. The Double Helix has its controversial points, but it is an endlessly rereadable classic. It’s remarkable to watch a pair of smart but obscure researchers improbably (and successfully) hunt one of the great scientific unicorns of the century. By contrast, the sequel merely gives us the inane practical jokes and dull love life of a post-helix Watson, already a world celebrity by then.

I can think of one exception, but it’s the exception that proves the rule. It’s interesting to read about Einstein the Swiss patent officer, and also interesting to read about Einstein the famous scientist in Berlin. But that’s precisely because Einstein has two scientific biographies in one, corresponding to the Special and General Theories. He’s one of those rare figures whose first jackpot pushed him relentlessly toward a second, which he also succeeded in winning more than a decade later.

In fact, you could even push it a bit further with Einstein and say that there’s a third scientific biography there which is also of interest: namely, the poignant failed search for a unified theory.

The analogy would be if the later Picasso had been trying and failing for his last 30 or so years to establish yet another radical new style of art. But in Picasso’s case it seems to be more a recycling of earlier achievements after a certain point.

So, there you have the two families of biographies: those that are most interesting when the person has not yet succeeded (intellectual and artistic figures), and those that are most interesting when the success is actually in progress (politicians, athletes, entertainers). I’m not saying the early years of Lincoln or Lenin are boring, I’m just saying the part that makes them what they are is the actual exercise of power, whereas the opposite is true of intellectuals. Effectively, success in the intellectual sphere turns you into an intellectual politician, though not a very interesting sort of politician, since your actions are unlikely to have the interesting consequences found in the politics of Lincoln or Lenin. You’re more likely to be voted President of some academic society or be granted a cushy endowed chair. And it’s a well-deserved reward when someone like Einstein gets a nice post at the Institute for Advanced Study. But would you rather read about that period, or about the Swiss Patent Office?

As for Marie Curie, wouldn’t you rather read about the struggles in slum-like conditions and the frustrating skepticism that her Polonium really existed than about the widely honored Madame Curie, international superstar? She certainly deserved the two Nobels and all the acclaim, but it’s not as interesting to read about as the early years.