Charles Darwin

I know that you will be prepared to listen with that candor which I have ever found in you. I am quite conscious that my work will be assailed from all quarters, but I believe the truth will eventually prevail.

My dear Huxley, the book is finally published, and I confess to you that I am in a state of considerable anxiety about its reception. Twenty years of careful observation and thought have led me to conclusions that I know will shock many, yet I cannot deny what the evidence has shown me.

The case for the mutability of species seems to me overwhelming. From the Galápagos finches to the breeding of pigeons in my own loft, everywhere I look I see variation, selection, and gradual change. The hand of the Creator, if indeed it exists, works not through special acts of creation but through the slow and steady operation of natural laws.

I am particularly troubled by the implications for our understanding of humanity’s place in nature. If my theory is correct—and I believe it is—then we humans are not the specially created pinnacle of creation, but rather one branch on the great tree of life, cousins to every living thing that has ever existed.

This thought is both humbling and, I must confess, rather wonderful. To think that the eye of the eagle, the trunk of the elephant, and the reasoning mind of man all arose through the same natural processes! What a magnificent unity underlies all the seeming chaos of nature.

I have been criticized already for not addressing the origin of life itself. But one mystery at a time, my friend. Let us first establish that species can and do change, and perhaps future generations will unlock the deeper secrets of how life first began.

Your support would mean everything to me in the battles that surely lie ahead. I know that you, with your keen intellect and fearless pursuit of truth, will judge my work on its merits rather than its implications for comfortable beliefs.

The storm is coming, my dear Huxley. Will you stand with me in it?