Botanical and zoological displays did more than entertain; they functioned as public laboratories where knowledge was produced, contested, and distributed. Spectators learned to see nature as a system to be cataloged, classified, and controlled, while simultaneously absorbing implicit messages about civilization, progress, and the rightful reach of empire. Curators framed specimens within stories of discovery, progress, and national destiny, gradually shaping popular expectations about what counted as legitimate science. Exhibits implicitly invited visitors to become young scientists in training, encouraging observation, note-taking, and inference. This educational promise reinforced social hierarchies as accessible knowledge reinforced the authority of trained experts over lay audiences.
The social life of exhibitions extended beyond the hall; it threaded through schools, newspapers, and colonial administration. Press coverage translated collections into shared national myths, often reframing distant environments as extensions of familiar landscapes. In imperial contexts, specimens from colonies carried the weight of policy and governance, serving as tangible evidence of territorial claims. Public lectures invited listeners to participate in debates about taxonomy, evolution, and human difference, while also subtly legitimizing surveillance and control over marginalized peoples. By presenting “us” as guardians of natural order, exhibitions helped cultivate a sense of national responsibility that could justify expansion, exploitation, and unequal exchanges.
The pedagogy of spectacle and its enduring implications for science and empire.
Exhibitions embedded science within everyday life, making complex ideas approachable through vivid displays, dramatic dioramas, and interactive labeling. Visitors encountered natural histories that seemed to mirror social structures, reinforcing ideas about order, progress, and hierarchy. The visual rhetoric of captivity and collection—cages, labels, and display cases—taught audiences how to interpret difference, often aligning non-European subjects with unknowns to be explained by Western science. Yet museums also offered spaces for critical engagement, where reformers challenged prevalent narratives and pushed for more representative practices, ethical consideration, and transparent funding. The tension between wonder and responsibility repeatedly surfaced in acquisition debates and display decisions.
The colonial dimension of botanical and zoological exhibitions was inseparable from contemporary governance. Plant and animal collections became proxies for sovereignty, with specimens acting as tangible records of imperial reach and influence. In many colonies, administrators supported or orchestrated exhibitions to showcase progress and justify control, while local collectors and knowledge holders contributed to a global network of exchange. Exhibits could democratize curiosity, allowing diverse audiences to participate in scientific conversation, yet they also risked exoticizing subjects for metropolitan pleasure. The result was a mixed legacy: popular science that educated citizens alongside displays that normalized domination and erased indigenous expertise.
Representing nature and people in ways that invited critique and reform.
Public curiosity about living creatures was harnessed to cultivate scientific literacy and civic identity. Visitors learned to compare specimens, deduce relationships, and appreciate biodiversity through curated groupings and thematic galleries. Yet the pedagogical frame often dictated what counted as legitimate evidence, privileging certain methods of observation and dismissal of others. In response, reform movements encouraged more collaborative practices, inviting citizen-scientists to contribute local observations, seed data, and field notes. This shift widened participation while challenging traditional authority. Nevertheless, the underlying structure of exhibitions—controlled narratives and curated pathways—remained a powerful mechanism for shaping public perception of science as a shared enterprise governed by expertise.
Exhibitions also served as theatres of inclusion and exclusion, shaping social norms about belonging. People from different classes, races, and genders encountered each other within curated spaces, sometimes bridging gaps, sometimes reinforcing boundaries. The design of benches, entrances, and seating areas often mirrored broader social hierarchies, subtly signaling who could linger, learn, or question. Even when institutions invited community engagement, stakeholders negotiated whose knowledge mattered most in display captions, interpretive programs, and loan agreements. In this way, botanical and zoological exhibitions offered opportunities for dialogue, while continuing to perpetuate existing power structures through curated representation and selective visibility.
Emotion, ethics, and the ambiguities of representing living worlds.
The social life of specimens included negotiations over ethical standards, sourcing practices, and the treatment of living subjects. Debates about animal welfare, fair compensation for collectors, and respect for source communities persisted alongside admiration for discovery. Exhibitors increasingly acknowledged the burden of colonial gaze, recognizing that presentation choices could mislead audiences about ecosystems, cultures, and histories. This evolving consciousness led to new display ethics, such as more accurate labeling, transparent provenance, and collaboration with local scholars. Though progress varied by institution, a growing expectation emerged that museums should reflect diverse knowledge systems rather than privilege Western perspectives alone.
Alongside reforms, exhibitions remained sites of persuasion, where the visual language of science shaped public emotion. Dramatic mounts, life-sized dioramas, and stylized portraits created memorable narratives that could evoke empathy, fear, or wonder. The affective power of these displays often reinforced the authority of science while shaping readers’ emotional investments in empire. Critics argued that emotion could blind reason and mask power dynamics embedded in acquisition and display practices. Yet sentiment and sympathy could also open spaces for restorative histories, local collaborations, and more responsible storytelling, guiding audiences toward critical engagement rather than passive consumption.
Toward more inclusive, reflective, and accountable exhibit practices.
The fashioning of natural histories into public dramas relied on experts' ability to translate data into compelling stories. Taxonomic diagrams, life-cycles, and ecological relationships formed a narrative arc that linked individual specimens to broader systems. Museums trained attendees to read evidence, compare cases, and draw inferences about global patterns. However, this translation sometimes flattened complexity, reducing ecosystems to controlled demonstrations rather than living, dynamic networks. Critics urged curators to incorporate uncertainty, alternative viewpoints, and Indigenous know-how, arguing that authentic science requires humility as well as rigor. Over time, audiences grew more adept at spotting simplifications and demanding richer, more nuanced presentations.
Technological innovations amplified the social reach of exhibitions, turning distant knowledge into accessible experiences. Lantern slides, audiovisual projections, and interactive kiosks extended the life of displays beyond brick-and-mortar galleries. Digitization began to enable remote engagement, inviting audiences to explore catalogs, specimen histories, and photographer’s notes from home. These developments raised questions about stewardship, access, and the democratization of science. Critics cautioned against commodifying culture or treating living beings as mere curios, while supporters argued that broader visibility could empower underrepresented communities to claim their contributions to science and place within imperial narratives in more balanced ways.
The push for inclusive exhibitions emphasized genuine partnerships with source communities, critical co-curation, and reciprocal benefits. Museums began to invite local voices into interpretive teams, ensuring that captions and programs reflect a plurality of experiences. Such collaborations aimed to counteract stereotypes, acknowledge historical harms, and elevate indigenous and local expertise. Practically, this meant revisiting loan agreements, provenance research, and the representation of non-European phylogenies in catalogues. While not all institutions embraced these changes, the momentum signaled a broader ethical shift: science could be a shared cultural practice, rooted in transparency, consent, and mutual respect rather than exclusive authority.
Ultimately, botanical and zoological exhibitions stand as complex legacies of modern science and colonialism. They educated publics, fostered civic identity, and legitimized global networks of exchange. They also exposed how display choices shape perception, influence policy, and encode power dynamics. By examining these sites critically, we can recover marginalized voices, reinterpret contested histories, and reimagine museums as spaces of accountability, collaboration, and equitable storytelling. The enduring question is how to balance curiosity with responsibility, wonder with critical scrutiny, and empire-building with global stewardship so that future exhibitions illuminate science as a shared human venture rather than a weapon of conquest.
