Frozen Earth: The Once and Future Story of Ice Ages (7 page)

The Agassiz family envisioned a traditional middle-class life for their son—a profession such as medicine or business that would command respect in the community, marriage into a good family, and a comfortable life at home in Switzerland.
But it was not to be.
In spite of their best efforts, Agassiz was unwavering in his determination to become a naturalist.
He was not a rebel in the conventional sense, and he always had great respect and love for his parents, but he also always managed to persuade them—either himself or through influential relatives or mentors—to do things his way.

One of the first instances of this characteristic that we know about occurred when Agassiz, at age fifteen, had finished the first stage of his education at a nearby school.
He had impressed his teachers with his learning, especially his gift for languages.
In his spare time, he fed his insatiable curiosity by collecting and learning about everything he could lay his hands on from the natural world—insects, plants, animals, fish.
He seemed to be on an academic trajectory.
But his parents had a different plan: now that he had had some education, they would send him to nearby Neuchâtel, where he could serve an apprenticeship with one of his uncles, who ran a business there.
Young Louis would thus learn the intricacies of commerce.
But in fact he had not the slightest interest in doing so.
Although his vision of a career was still hazy, he knew he
wanted to continue his education.
He wanted to be a “man of letters,” he wrote in a private note to himself; he wanted to “advance in the sciences.”
Shrewdly for a lad of fifteen, he enlisted the help of one of his teachers, who spoke to his parents about their son’s future.
Before long, they concurred with Agassiz’s wishes, although they may not have realized who was really behind the plan.
Louis was sent off for two years of additional schooling in Lausanne—a temporary delay, his parents thought, in his entry into the world of business.
The two years in Lausanne, however, only strengthened Agassiz’s resolve to become a man of science.
Although he was there ostensibly to study the humanities, he attended lectures on natural history, spent time in the natural history museum, and learned anatomy from a relative who was a physician in the town.

By then there was no turning back.
Agassiz never did return to Neuchâtel to serve an apprenticeship with his uncle; instead, he went on to study in Zurich, and from there to Heidelberg and Munich.
It was in Munich that one of his professors asked him to work on a collection of fish from the Amazon that had been collected during an expedition some years before, but never described or cataloged.
Louis readily agreed, and with characteristic energy, and in spite of the fact that he was attending lectures and separately doing his own studies of European fish, he completed the work far ahead of schedule.
He published a book on his investigation,
Brazilian Fishes,
in 1829, which was received with considerable acclaim.
Agassiz was only twenty-two and still a student.
Already he had entered the world of scholarship and had come to the attention of naturalists throughout Europe.

How, then, did this brilliant young naturalist whose specialty was fish end up being forever identified with the concept of ice ages?
More than a little serendipity was required.
But it should also be remembered that this was a time long before the era of narrow specialization in the sciences, when “naturalists,” especially, tended to be generalists who could and did pursue any phenomenon that piqued their curiosity.
It was a time of exploration, of great general interest in the natural world,
of expeditions to unexplored places to collect specimens for Europe’s burgeoning museums.
Agassiz’s initial interest in glaciers was almost certainly stimulated partly by the challenge of deciphering the enigmatic landscape features of his native Switzerland but also partly by simple curiosity.
(“Among all nature’s phenomena, not a single one seems to me to be more worthy of the interest and curiosity of the naturalist than glaciers,” he wrote in 1840.) His theory of ice ages was, moreover, soon woven into the framework of his ideas about the origin of life on Earth.
Eventually, it became one of the pillars of his opposition to the idea of Darwinian-style evolution.
It is ironic that this theory, formulated early in his career and truly a triumph of observation and deduction, was later to become an important part of his dogmatic and very nonempirical rejection of the developing ideas about evolution.

Serendipity, chance observations or opportunities, and unexpected results are common enough in science even today, and they played an important role in Agassiz’s career.
His route from being a student of zoology and medicine in Munich to authoring the theory of ice ages was in some ways unremarkable and in others quite amazing.
(Notice that Agassiz studied both zoology and medicine.
His parents were by this time resigned to the fact that he was destined to be a naturalist, but they urged him to complete a degree in medicine so that he could always work as a physician if a career as a naturalist didn’t work out.
Ever dutiful, Agassiz followed their advice—but it was zoology, not medicine, that really captured his heart and mind.) When he had completed his book on Brazilian fish, Agassiz decided to dedicate it to the great French naturalist Baron Georges Cuvier.
Agassiz had never met Cuvier, but he idolized him and confessed when he sent him a copy of
Brazilian Fishes
that “your works have been till now my only guide.”
Still, the dedication may have been made with one eye on the future.
Agassiz’s letter also laid out his hopes and plans for a career in science.
Cuvier replied, which flattered and encouraged the young naturalist.
And a few years later, in late 1831, shortly after he had completed both his degree in medicine and a Ph.D.
in zoology at Munich, Agassiz was
in Paris seeking an audience with the great man.
They met, and Cuvier, like so many others, was quickly won over by Agassiz’s intellect, enthusiasm, and complete dedication to his work.
So impressed was Cuvier that before long he had turned over to Agassiz one of his own projects, one that seemed tailor-made for the young scientist: a comprehensive examination of the entire fossil fish collection then housed at the French National Museum of Natural History.
It was the kind of large, important, and, if done properly, reputation-enhancing study that could fully engage Agassiz’s interest.
He waded into it with gusto, and for a short but intense time, he worked together with Cuvier, learning about the importance of careful observation and the intricacies of reconstructing anatomy from fragmentary fossil evidence.
He also absorbed Cuvier’s theories about the origin of life, which had been developed from long and careful study of fossils: that animals could be divided into several groups with no connections among them; that species were “fixed” and did not change; and that there had been periodic catastrophes in the Earth’s history that had wiped out most living things, with newly emerging species bearing no relationship to those that preceded them.
This, of course, was a very different scenario from the one that would soon be proposed by Charles Darwin.
However, it was one that undoubtedly played a part in the development of Agassiz’s ideas about a catastrophic ice age.
Cuvier was a devout man, and he believed that the conclusions he reached from the study of fossils were simply manifestations of a higher plan, God’s plan.
For the rest of his career, Agassiz was to work within a similar framework, believing that he was revealing the creator’s design through his studies of nature.

Cuvier’s accomplishments and position made him an influential man in France, with important connections in science and government.
One of these was Alexander von Humboldt, another great man of the times, who happened to be in Paris on official business for the king of Prussia when Agassiz arrived to begin work with Cuvier.
Humboldt was a renowned explorer, and, like Cuvier, a naturalist of high distinction.
He was also interested in discovering and encouraging new talent.
Humboldt knew of Agassiz’s book on Brazilian fish, and when he learned more about Agassiz’s work from Cuvier and others, he invited the young scientist to his Paris headquarters.
Soon he too was charmed by Agassiz’s enthusiasm and impressed with his dedication to science.
In turn, Agassiz had his eyes opened to the possibility that distinguished scientists could also move easily in the highest circles of society and government and have influence far beyond their chosen field—a lesson that most probably played a part in his assumption of just such a role many years later when he emigrated to the United States.

Agassiz was fortunate to have Cuvier as a guru, but their work together was short-lived: Cuvier died in May 1832.
In that short time—Agassiz had been in Paris for only half a year—Agassiz had already come to regard Cuvier as both mentor and friend, and their brief association would influence him throughout his career.
In spite of Cuvier’s death, Agassiz was determined to complete the work on fossil fish that had been entrusted to him, but he was at a loss about how to proceed.
His mentor was gone, and his personal funds were all but exhausted.
But a guardian angel appeared just when Agassiz needed it the most.
Unsolicited, Alexander von Humboldt sent Agassiz a check for a thousand francs so that he could continue the work.
More than that, Humboldt was instrumental in securing a position for Agassiz that would, for the next thirteen and a half years, allow him to do his best scientific work—including his seminal studies of glaciers and development of the ice age theory.
As fate would have it, the town of Neuchâtel, where Agassiz’s parents had originally wanted him to serve an apprenticeship in business, was about to establish a new academy and a natural history museum.
Equally important—at least as far as Agassiz’s career was concerned—the canton’s affairs at that time were governed jointly by Switzerland and the king of Prussia.
Humboldt quickly mobilized support for Agassiz among the Prussian authorities, and he also wrote to the local Neuchâtel aristocracy in praise of this native son of Switzerland, the local boy who had already gained international prominence as a naturalist.
They had little choice; how could such
entreaties be ignored?
And wouldn’t Agassiz and his already substantial collections bring fame to their museum and town?
Their response was to create a position for Agassiz at the new college—they appointed him professor of natural history and raised money for a modest salary.
In addition, Humboldt arranged for the Prussian government to subsidize purchase of Agassiz’s personal collections for the new museum, a move that helped him considerably financially.
In the fall of 1832, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, Agassiz returned to Switzerland to take up his professorship.
He was brimming with ambitious plans for the new college and museum, and also for his own place in the wider world of science.

It had always been apparent that Agassiz was a gifted communicator and an engaging companion at the café or pub, but it was in Neuchâtel that his skills as a teacher became obvious to everyone.
He was an avid believer in what would be called, in today’s jargon, inquiry-based learning.
Within months of arriving at his new post, Agassiz had formed a local natural history society.
In the beginning, it consisted mostly of the higher echelons of Neuchâtel society, but soon Agassiz had, it seemed, persuaded half the townspeople that they should be out collecting specimens and learning about zoology, geology, and botany.
To be sure, he gave conventional lectures in his role as professor, but learning by doing was what he espoused most enthusiastically.
Later, he would transform science education in America using the same approach.
But for the moment, the whirlwind that was Agassiz had descended on quiet little Neuchâtel, and at least while he remained, it was never quite the same.
He soon became a source of civic pride for many of the town’s prominent citizens, and the success of the man and his museum became their personal concern.
For scores more, he was an inspiring leader of field trips and teacher of nature.
Not incidentally, the steady stream of fish, fossils, birds, and animals collected by these new nature enthusiasts allowed his small museum to grow rapidly.

But Agassiz had other things on his mind as well.
He married a German sweetheart of many years and settled into a comfortable
domestic life.
He also threw himself again into the work on fossil fish that had begun with Cuvier in Paris.
One of the main reasons he had taken the post in Neuchâtel, far from the great European centers of learning, was that it both offered him the opportunity to spend much of his time on his own research and provided him with a small but dependable income.
It was a wise decision.
Over the next decade, his research resulted in a series of volumes on fossil fish that were unequalled in their clarity of description and classification, and that were accompanied by beautiful, accurately drawn illustrations.
His reputation grew steadily and rapidly, and his work brought widespread acclaim and a series of medals and prizes.

One summer during his stay in Neuchâtel—the summer of 1836—Agassiz took his family on holiday to a picturesque region of the Swiss alps near the town of Bex.
The town was home to a well-known geologist, Jean de Charpentier, who was director of the salt-mining operations there.
De Charpentier was a convivial man who frequently hosted scientists, naturalists, and other men of learning at his home, and he had urged Agassiz to visit.
The two families got along well; de Charpentier’s wife, like Agassiz’s, was German, and Agassiz had rightly perceived that his own spouse would welcome the company of a compatriot after the relative insularity of Neuchâtel.
The decision to spend that summer holiday in Bex proved to be a crucial one in Agassiz’s career—once more serendipity at work.
For Charpentier was convinced that the glaciers of the Alps had once been much more extensive, and he was keen to show Agassiz the evidence.

Charpentier had been brought to this conclusion through the work of a friend and colleague, an engineer named Ignatz Venetz.
During his work in the Swiss countryside, Venetz had had ample opportunity to observe the so-called erratic boulders that bore no resemblance to local rocks and were often stranded far up on valley walls.
Some of the boulders were scratched and faceted, features reminiscent of those he had observed on rocks at the very margins of active glaciers.
He also saw arcuate ridges of boulders and gravel curving across the green Swiss
valleys.
They were almost identical to the mounds of rock debris—moraines—that marked the sides and ends of contemporary glaciers in the Alps.
Venetz concluded that these features could best be explained by glacial action in the past, which meant that the Alpine glaciers must have been much more extensive.
He had developed these ideas over a long period of time and had formally proposed them in 1829, some seven years before Agassiz visited Bex.
Venetz also knew that similar features had been reported from other parts of Europe, and he concluded that glaciers had probably existed in those regions as well.
He convinced his initially skeptical friend de Charpentier of the reality of the proposal by taking him out into the field and showing him the widespread and abundant glacial features.
By the time Agassiz visited in 1836, de Charpentier had accumulated and cataloged evidence of extensive past glaciation both in Switzerland and elsewhere.
But neither Venetz nor de Charpentier aggressively pushed their ideas about glaciation.
Perhaps they simply did not realize the significance of their observations.
For whatever reason, they were content to discuss their ideas in a low-key way with other scientists, and, for those willing to make the effort, to show them the field evidence.
Many naturalists, especially those interested in natural history, knew about their views but did not give them much credence.