Do Species wear out? and if not, why not?

The question we have just been considering was merely whether races are, or may be, as enduring as species. As to the inherently unlimited existence of species themselves, or the contrary, this, as we have said, is a geological and very speculative problem. Not a few geologists and naturalists, however, have concluded, or taken for granted, that species have a natural term of existence--that they culminate, decline, and disappear through exhaustion of specific vitality, or some equivalent internal cause. As might be expected from the nature of the inquiry, the facts which bear upon the question are far from decisive. If the fact that species in general have not been interminable, but that one after another in long succession has become extinct, would seem to warrant this conclusion, the persistence through immense periods of no inconsiderable number of the lower forms of vegetable and animal life, and of a few of the higher plants from the Tertiary period to the present, tells even more directly for the limitless existence of species. The disappearance is quite compatible with the latter view; while the persistence of any species is hardly explicable upon any other. So that, even under the common belief of the entire stability and essential inflexibility of species, extinction is more likely to have been accidental than predetermined, and the doctrine of inherent limitation is unsupported by positive evidence.

On the other hand, it is an implication of the Darwinian doctrine that species are essentially unlimited in existence. When they die out--as sooner or later any species may--the verdict must be accidental death, under stress of adverse circ.u.mstances, not exhaustion of vitality; and, commonly, when the species seems to die out, it will rather have suffered change. For the stock of vitality which enables it to vary and. survive in changed forms under changed circ.u.mstances must be deemed sufficient for a continued unchanged existence under unaltered conditions. And, indeed, the advancement from simpler to more complex, which upon the theory must have attended the diversification, would warrant or require the supposition of increase instead of diminution of power from age to age.

The only case we call to mind which, under the Darwinian view, might be interpreted as a dying out from inherent causes, is that of a species which refuses to vary, and thus lacks the capacity of adaptation to altering conditions. Under altering conditions, this lack would be fatal. But this would be the fatality of some species or form in particular, not of species or forms generally, which, for the most part, may and do vary sufficiently, and in varying survive, seemingly none the worse, but rather the better, for their long tenure of life.

The opposite idea, however, is maintained by M. Naudin,[XII-1] in a detailed exposition of his own views of evolution, which differ widely from those of Darwin in most respects, and notably in excluding that which, in our day, gives to the subject its first claim to scientific (as distinguished from purely speculative) attention; namely, natural selection. Instead of the causes or operations collectively personified under this term, and which are capable of exact or probable appreciation, M. Naudin invokes "the two principles of rhythm and of the decrease of forces in Nature." He is a thorough evolutionist, starting from essentially the same point with Darwin; for he conceives of all the forms or species of animals and plants "comme tire tout entier d'un protoplasma primordial, uniform, instable, eminemment plastique." Also in "l'integration croissante de la force evolutive a mesure qu'elle se partage dans les formes produites, et la decroissance proportionelle de la plasticite de ces formes a mesure qu'elles s'eloignent davantage de leur origine, et qu'elles sont mieux arretees." As they get older, they gain in fixity through the operation of the fundamental law of inheritance; but the species, like the individual, loses plasticity and vital force. To continue in the language of the original:

"C'est dire qu'il y a eu, pour l'ensemble du monde organique, une periode de formation ou tout etait changeant et mobile, une phase a.n.a.logue a la vie embryonnaire et a la jeunesse de chaque etre particulier; et qu'a cet age de mobilite et de croissance a succede une periode de stabilite, au moins relative, une sorte d'age adulte, ou la force evolutive, ayant acheve son oeuvre, n'est plus occupee qu'a la maintenir, sans pouvoir produire d'organismes nouveaux. Limitee en quant.i.te, comme toutes les forces en jeu dans une planete ou dans un systeme sideral tout entier, cette force n'a pu accomplir qu'un travail limite; et du meme qu'un organisme, animal ou vegetal, ne croit pas indefiniment et qu'il s'arrete a des proportions que rien ne peut faire depa.s.ser, de meme aussi l'organisme total de la nature s'est arrete a un etat d'equilibre, dont la duree, selon toutes vraisemblances, doit etre beaucoup plus longue que celle de la phase de developpement et de croissance.

A fixed amount of "evolutive force" is given, to begin with. At first enormous, because none has been used up in work, it is necessarily enfeebled in the currents into which the stream divides, and the narrower and narrower channels in which it flows with slowly-diminishing power.

Hence the limited although very unequal duration of all individuals, of all species, and of all types of organization. A mult.i.tude of forms have disappeared already, and the number of species, far from increasing, as some have believed, must, on the contrary, be diminishing. Some species, no doubt, have suffered death by violence or accident, by geological changes, local alteration of the conditions, or the direct or indirect attacks of other species; but these have only antic.i.p.ated their fate, for M. Naudin contends that most of the extinct species have died a natural death from exhaustion of force, and that all the survivors are on the way to it. The great timepiece of Nature was wound up at the beginning, and is running down. In the earlier stages of great plasticity and exuberant power, diversification took place freely, but only in definite lines, and species and types multiplied. As the power of survival is inherently limited, still more the power of change: this diminishes in time, if we rightly apprehend the idea, partly through the waning of vital force, partly through the fixity acquired by heredity--like producing like, the more certainly in proportion to the length and continuity of the ancestral chain And so the small variations of species which we behold are the feeble remnants of the pristine plasticity and an exhausted force.[XII-2] This force of variation or origination of forms has acted rhythmically or intermittently, because each movement was the result of the rupture of an equilibrium, the liberation of a force which till then was retained in a potential state by some opposing force or obstacle, overcoming which it pa.s.ses to a new equilibrium and so on Hence alternations of dynamic activity and static repose, of origination of species and types, alternated with periods of stability or fixity. The timepiece does not run down regularly, but "la force procede par saccades; et . . . par pulsations d'autant plus energiques que la nature etait plus pres de son commencement."

Such is the hypothesis. For a theory of evolution, this is singularly unlike Darwin's in most respects, and particularly in the kind of causes invoked and speculations indulged in. But we are not here to comment upon it beyond the particular point under consideration, namely, its doctrine of the inherently limited duration of species. This comes, it will be noticed, as a deduction from the modern physical doctrine of the equivalence of force. The reasoning is ingenious, but, if we mistake not, fallacious.

To call that "evolutive force" which produces the change of one kind of plant or animal into another, is simple and easy, but of little help by way of explanation. To h.o.m.ologize it with physical force, as M. Naudin's argument requires, is indeed a step, and a hardy one; but it quite invalidates the argument. For, if the "evolutive force" is a part of the physical force of the universe, of which, as he reminds us, the sum is fixed and the tendency is toward a stable equilibrium in which all change is to end, then this evolutive was derived from the physical force; and why not still derivable from it? What is to prevent its replenishment in vegetation, pari pa.s.su with that great operation in which physical force is stored up in vegetable organisms, and by the expenditure or transformation of which their work, and that of all animals, is carried on? Whatever be the cause (if any there be) which determines the decadence and death of species, one cannot well believe that it is a consequence of a diminution of their proper force by plant-development and division; for instance, that the sum of what is called vital force in a full-grown tree is not greater, instead of less, than that in the seeding, and in the grove greater than in the single parental tree. This power, if it be properly a force, is doubtless as truly derived from the sunbeam as is the power which the plant and animal expend in work. Here, then, is a source of replenishment as lasting as the sun itself, and a ground--so far as a supply of force is concerned--for indefinite duration. For all that any one can mean by the indefinite existence of species is, that they may (for all that yet appears) continue while the external conditions of their being or well-being continue.

Perhaps, however, M. Naudin does not mean that "evolutive force," or the force of vitality, is really h.o.m.ologous with common physical force, but only something which may be likened to it. In that case the parallel has only a metaphorical value, and the reason why variation must cease and species die out is still to seek. In short, if that which continues the series of individuals in propagation, whether like or unlike the parents, be a force in the physical sense of the term, then there is abundant provision in Nature for its indefinite replenishment. If, rather, it be a part or phase of that something which directs and determines the expenditure of force, then it is not subject to the laws of the latter, and there is no ground for inferring its exhaustibility. The limited vitality is an unproved and unprovable conjecture. The evolutive force, dying out in the using, is either the same conjecture repeated, or a misapplied a.n.a.logy.

After all--apart from speculative a.n.a.logies--the only evidences we possess which indicate a tendency in species to die out, are those to which Mr.

Darwin has called attention. These are, first, the observed deterioration which results, at least in animals, from continued breeding in and in, which may possibly be resolvable into c.u.mulative heritable disease; and, secondly, as already stated (p. 285), what may be termed the sedulous and elaborate pains everywhere taken in Nature to prevent close breeding--arrangements which are particularly prominent in plants, the greater number of which bear hermaphrodite blossoms. The importance of this may be inferred from the universality, variety, and practical perfection of the arrangements which secure the end; and the inference may fairly be drawn that this is the physiological import of s.e.xes.

It follows from this that there is a tendency, seemingly inherent, in species as in individuals, to die out; but that this tendency is counteracted or checked by s.e.xual wider breeding, which is, on the whole, amply secured in Nature, and which in some way or other reenforces vitality to such an extent as to warrant Darwin's inference that "some unknown great good is derived from the union of individuals which have been kept distinct for many generations." Whether this reenforcement is a complete preventive of decrepitude in species, or only a palliative, is more than we can determine. If the latter, then existing species and their derivatives must perish in time, and the earth may be growing poorer in species, as M.

Naudin supposes, through mere senility. If the former, then the earth, if not even growing richer, may be expected to hold its own, and extant species or their derivatives should last as long as the physical world lasts and affords favorable conditions. General a.n.a.logies seem to favor the former view. Such facts as we possess, and the Darwinian hypothesis, favor the latter.

XIII

EVOLUTIONARY TELEOLOGY

When Cuvier spoke of the "combination of organs in such order that they may be in consistence with the part which the animal has to play in Nature,"

his opponent, Geoffroy St.-Hilaire, rejoined, "I know nothing of animals which have to play a part in Nature." The discussion was a notable one in its day. From that time to this, the reaction of morphology against "final causes" has not rarely gone to the extent of denying the need and the propriety of a.s.suming ends in the study of animal and vegetable organizations. Especially in our day, when it became apparent that the actual use of an organ might not be the fundamental reason of its existence-- that one and the same organ, morphologically considered, was modified in different cases to the most diverse uses, while intrinsically different organs subserved identical functions, and consequently that use was a fallacious and h.o.m.ology the surer guide to correct cla.s.sification--it was not surprising that teleological ideas nearly disappeared from natural history. Probably it is still generally thought that the school of Cuvier and that of St.-Hilaire have neither common ground nor capability of reconcilement.

In a review of Darwin's volume on the "Fertilization of Orchids" * (too technical and too detailed for reproduction here), and later in a brief sketch of the character of his scientific work (art. IX, p. 234), we expressed our sense of the great gain to science from his having brought back teleology to natural history. In Darwinism, usefulness and purpose come to the front again as working principles of the first order; upon them, indeed, the whole system rests.

To most, this restoration of teleology has come from an unexpected quarter, and in an unwonted guise; so that the first look of it is by no means rea.s.suring to the minds of those who cherish theistic views of Nature.

Adaptations irresistibly suggesting purpose had their supreme application in natural theology. Being manifold, particular, and exquisite, and evidently inwrought into the whole system of the organic world, they were held to furnish irrefragable as well as independent proof of a personal designer, a divine originator of Nature. By a confusion of thought, now obvious, but at the time not unnatural, they were also regarded as proof of a direct execution of the contriver's purpose in the creation of each organ and organism, as it were, in the manner man contrives and puts together a machine--an idea which has been set up as the orthodox doctrine, but which to St. Augustine and other learned Christian fathers would have savored of heterodoxy.

In the doctrine of the origination of species through natural selection, these adaptations appear as the outcome rather than as the motive, as final results rather than final causes. Adaptation to use, although the very essence of Darwinism, is not a fixed and inflexible adaptation, realized once for all at the outset; it includes a long progression and succession of modifications, adjusting themselves to changing circ.u.mstances, under which they may be more and more diversified, specialized, and in a just sense perfected. Now, the question is, Does this involve the destruction or only the reconstruction of our consecrated ideas of teleology? Is it compatible with our seemingly inbore conception of Nature as an ordered system? Furthermore, and above all, can the Darwinian theory itself dispense with the idea of purpose, in the ordinary sense of the word, as tantamount to design?

From two opposing sides we hear the first two questions answered in the negative. And an affirmative response to the third is directly implied in the following citation:

"The word purpose has been used in a sense to which it is, perhaps, worth while to call attention. Adaptation of means to an end may be provided in two ways that we at present know of: by processes of natural selection, and by the agency of an intelligence in which an image or idea of the end preceded the use of the means. In both cases the existence of the adaptation is accounted for by the necessity or utility of the end. It seems to me convenient to use the word purpose as meaning generally the end to which certain means are adapted, both in these two cases and in any other that may hereafter become known, provided only that the adaptation is accounted for by the necessity or utility of the end. And there seems no objection to the use of the phrase 'final cause' in this wider sense, if it is to be kept at all. The word 'design' might then be kept for the special case of adaptation by an intelligence. And we may then say that, since the process of natural selection has been understood, purpose has ceased to suggest design to instructed people, except in cases where the agency of man is independently probable."--P.C.W., in the Contemporary Review for September, 1875, p. 657.

The distinction made by this anonymous writer is convenient and useful, and his statement clear. We propose to adopt this use of the terms purpose and design, and to examine the allegation. The latter comes to this: "Processes of natural selection" exclude "the agency of an intelligence in which the image or idea of the end precedes the use of the means;" and since the former have been understood "purpose has ceased to suggest design to instructed people, except in cases where the agency of man is independently probable." The maxim "L'homme propose, Dieu dispose," under this reading means that the former has the monopoly of design, while the latter accomplishes without designing. Man's works alone suggest design.

But it is clear to us that this monopoly is shared with certain beings of inferior grade. Granting that quite possibly the capture of flies for food by Dionaea and the sundews may be attributed to purpose apart from design (if it be practicable in the last resort to maintain this now convenient distinction), still their capture by a spider's-web, and by a swallow on the wing, can hardly "cease to suggest design to instructed people." And surely, in coming at his master's call, the dog fulfills his own design as well as that of his master; and so of other actions and constructions of brute animals.

Without doubt so acute a writer has a clear and sensible meaning; so we conclude that he regards brutes as automata, and was thinking of design as coextensive merely with general conceptions. Not concerning ourselves with the difficulty he may have in drawing a line between the simpler judgments and affections of man and those of the highest-endowed brutes, we subserve our immediate ends by remarking that the automatic theory would seem to be one which can least of all dispense with design, since, either in the literal or current sense of the word, undesigned automatism is, as near as may be, a contradiction in terms. As the automaton man constructs manifests the designs of its maker and mover, so the more efficient automata which man did not construct would not legitimately suggest less than human intelligence. And so all adaptations in the animal and vegetable world which irresistibly suggest purpose (in the sense now accepted) would also suggest design, and, under the law of parsimony, claim to be thus interpreted, unless some other hypothesis will better account for the facts. We will consider, presently, if any other does so.

We here claim only that some beings other than men design, and that the adaptations of means to ends in the structure of animals and plants, in so far as they carry the marks of purpose, carry also the implication of having been designed. Also, that the idea or hypothesis of a designing mind, as the author of Nature--however we came by it--having possession of the field, and being one which man, himself a designer, seemingly must needs form, cannot be rivaled except by some other equally adequate for explanation, or displaced except by showing the illegitimacy of the inference. As to the latter, is the common apprehension and sense of mankind in this regard well grounded? Can we rightly reason from our own intelligence and powers to a higher or a supreme intelligence ordering and shaping the system of Nature?

A very able and ingenious writer upon "The Evidences of Design in Nature,"

in the Westminster Review for July, 1875, maintains the negative. His article may be taken as the argument in support of the position a.s.sumed by "P.C.W.," in the Contemporary Review above cited. It opens with the admission that the orthodox view is the most simple and apparently convincing, has had for centuries the unhesitating a.s.sent of an immense majority of thinkers, and that the latest master-writer upon the subject disposed to reject it, namely, Mill, comes to the conclusion that, "in the present state of our knowledge, the adaptations in Nature afford a large balance of probability in favor of creation by intelligence." It proceeds to attack not so much the evidence in favor of design as the foundation upon which the whole doctrine rests, and closes with the prediction that sooner or later the superstructure must fall. And, truly, if his reasonings are legitimate, and his conclusions just, "Science has laid the axe to the tree."

"Given a set of marks which we look upon in human productions as unfailing indications of design," he asks, "is not the inference equally legitimate when we recognize these marks in Nature? To gaze on such a universe as this, to feel our hearts exult within us in the fullness of existence, and to offer in explanation of such beneficent provision no other word but Chance, seems as unthankful and iniquitous as it seems absurd. Chance produces nothing in the human sphere; nothing, at least, that can be relied upon for good. Design alone engenders harmony, consistency; and Chance not only never is the parent, but is constantly the enemy of these. How, then, can we suppose Chance to be the author of a system in which everything is as regular as clockwork? . . . The hypothesis of Chance is inadmissible."

There is, then, in Nature, an order; and, in "P.C.W.'s" sense of the word, a manifest purpose. Some sort of conception as to the cause of it is inevitable, that of design first and foremost. "Why"--the Westminster Reviewer repeats the question--"why, if the marks of utility and adaptation are conclusive in the works of man, should they not be considered equally conclusive in the works of Nature?" His answer appears to us more ingenious than sound. Because, referring to Paley's watch,--

"The watch-finder is not guided solely in his inference by marks of adaptation and utility; he would recognize design in half a watch, in a mere fragment of a watch, just as surely as in a whole time-keeper . . .

Two cog-wheels, grasping each other, will be thought conclusive evidence of design, quite independently of any use attaching to them. And the inference, indeed, is perfectly correct; only it is an inference, not from a mark of design, properly so called, but from a mark of human workmanship .

. . No more is needed for the watch-finder, since all the works of man are, at the same time, products of design; but a great deal more is requisite for us, who are called upon by Paley to recognize design in works in which this stamp, this label of human workmanship, is wanting. The mental operation required in the one case is radically different from that performed in the other; there is no parallel, and Paley's demonstration is totally irrelevant."[XIII-2] But, surely, all human doings are not "products of design;" many are contingent or accidental. And why not suppose that the finder of the watch, or of the watch-wheel, infers both design and human workmanship? The two are mutually exclusive only on the supposition that man alone is a designer, which is simply begging the question in discussion. If the watch-finder's attention had been arrested by a different object, such as a spider's web, he would have inferred both design and non-human workmanship. Of some objects he might be uncertain whether they were of human origin or not, with-out ever doubting they were designed, while of others this might remain doubtful. Nor is man's recognition of human workmanship, or of any other, dependent upon his comprehending how it was done, or what particular ends it subserves. Such considerations make it clear that "the label of human workmanship" is not the generic stamp from which man infers design. It seems equally clear that "the mental operation required in the one case" is not so radically or materially "different from that performed in the other" as this writer would have us suppose. The judgment respecting a spider's web, or a trap-door spider's dwelling, would be the very same in this regard if it preceded, as it occasionally might, all knowledge of whether the object met with were of human or animal origin. A dam across a stream, and the appearance of the stumps of trees which entered into its formation, would suggest design quite irrespective of and antecedent to the considerable knowledge or experience which would enable the beholder to decide whether this was the work of men or of beavers. Why, then, should the judgment that any particular structure is a designed work be thought illegitimate when attributed to a higher instead of a lower intelligence than that of man? It might, indeed, be so if the supposed observer had no conception of a power and intelligence superior to his own. But it would then be more than "irrelevant;" it would be impossible, except on the supposition that the phenomena would of themselves give rise to such an inference. That it is now possible to make the inference, and, indeed, hardly possible not to make it, is sufficient warrant of its relevancy.

It may, of course, be rejoined that, if this important factor is given, the inference yields no independent argument of a divine creator; and it may also be reasonably urged that the difference between things that are made under our observation and comprehension, and things that grow, but have originated beyond our comprehension, is too wide for a sure inference from the one to the other. But the present question involves neither of these.

It is simply whether the argument for design from adaptations in Nature is relevant, not whether it is independent or sure. It is conceded that the argument is a.n.a.logical, and the parallel incomplete. But the gist is in the points that are parallel or similar. Pulleys, valves, and suchlike elaborate mechanical adaptations, cannot differ greatly in meaning, wherever met with.

The opposing argument is repeated and pa.s.sed in another form:

"The evidence of design afforded by the marks of adaptation in works of human competence is null and void in the case of creation itself . . .

Nature is full of adaptations; but these are valueless to us as traces of design, unless we know something of the rival adaptations among which an intelligent being might have chosen. To a.s.sert that in Nature no such rival adaptations existed, and that in every case the useful function in question could be established by no other instrument but one, is simply to reason in a circle, since it is solely from what we find existing that our notions of possibility and impossibility are drawn. . . . We cannot imagine ourselves in the position of the Creator before his work began, nor examine the materials among which he had to choose, nor count the laws which limited his operations. Here all is dark, and the inference we draw from the seeming perfections of the existing instruments or means is a measure of nothing but our ignorance."

But the question is not about the perfection of these adaptations, or whether others might have been inst.i.tuted in their place. It is simply whether observed adaptations of intricate sorts, admirably subserving uses, do or do not legitimately suggest to one designing mind that they are the product of some other. If so, no amount of ignorance, or even inconceivability, of the conditions and mode of production could affect the validity of the inference, nor could it be affected by any misunderstanding on our part as to what the particular use or function was; a statement which would have been deemed superfluous, except for the following:

"There is not an organ in our bodies but what has pa.s.sed, and is still pa.s.sing, through a series of different and often contradictory interpretations. Our lungs, for instance, were anciently conceived to be a kind of cooling apparatus, a refrigerator; at the close of the last century they were supposed to be a centre of combustion; and nowadays both these theories have been abandoned for a third . . . Have these changes modified in the slightest degree the supposed evidence of design?"

We have not the least idea why they should. So, also, of complicated processes, such as human digestion, being replaced by other and simpler ones in lower animals, or even in certain plants. If "we argue the necessity of every adaptation solely from the fact that it exists," and that "we cannot mutilate it grossly without injury to the function," we do not "announce triumphantly that digestion is impossible in any way but this," etc., but see equal wisdom and no impugnment of design in any number of simpler adaptations accomplishing equivalent purposes in lower animals.

Finally, adaptation and utility being the only marks of design in Nature which we possess, and adaptation only as subservient to usefulness, the Westminster Reviewer shows us how:

"The argument from utility may be equally refuted another way. We found in our discussion of the mark of adaptation that the positive evidence of design afforded by the mechanisms of the human frame was never accompanied by the possibility of negative evidence. We regarded this as a suspicious circ.u.mstance, just as the fox, invited to attend the lion in his den, was deterred from his visit by observing that all the foottracks lay in one direction. The same suspicious circ.u.mstance warns us now. If positive evidence of design be afforded by the presence of a faculty, negative evidence of design ought to be afforded by the absence of a faculty. This, however, is not the case." [Then follows the account of a b.u.t.terfly, which, from the wonderful power of the males to find the females at a great distance, is conceived to possess a sixth sense.] "Do we consider the deficiency of this sixth sense in man as the slightest evidence against design? Should we be less apt to infer creative wisdom if we had only four senses instead of five, or three instead of four? No, the case would stand precisely as it does now. We value our senses simply because we have them, and because our conception of life as we desire it is drawn from them. But to reason from such value to the origin of our endowment, to argue that our senses must have been given to us by a deity because we prize them, is evidently to move round and round in a vicious circle.

"The same rejoinder is easily applicable to the argument from beauty, which indeed is only a particular aspect of the argument from utility. It is certainly improbable that a random daubing of colors on a canvas will produce a tolerable painting, even should the experiment be continued for thousands of years. Our conception of beauty being given, it is utterly improbable that chance should select, out of the infinity of combinations which form and color may afford, the precise combination which that conception will approve. But the universe is not posterior to our sense of beauty, but antecedent to it: our sense of beauty grows out of what we see; and hence the conformance of our world to our aesthetical conceptions is evidence, not of the world's origin, but of our own."

We are accustomed to hear design doubted on account of certain failures of provision, waste of resources, or functionless condition of organs; but it is refreshingly new to have the very harmony itself of man with his surroundings, and the completeness of provision for his wants and desires, brought up as a refutation of the validity of the argument for design. It is hard, indeed, if man must be out of harmony with Nature in order to judge anything respecting it, or his relations with it; if he must have experience of chaos before he can predicate anything of order.