The Foundations of the Origin of Species Two Essays written in 1842 and 1844 · Charles Darwin
CHAPTER II
ON THE VARIATION OF ORGANIC BEINGS IN A WILD STATE; ON THE NATURAL MEANS OF SELECTION; AND ON THE COMPARISON OF DOMESTIC RACES AND TRUE SPECIES Having treated of variation under domestication, we now come to it in a _state of nature_. Most organic beings in a state of nature vary exceedingly little{218}: I put out of the case variations (as stunted plants &c., and sea-shells in brackish water{219}) which are directly the effect of external agencies and which we do not _know are in the breed_{220}, or are _hereditary_. The amount of hereditary variation is very difficult to ascertain, because naturalists (partly from the want of knowledge, and partly from the inherent difficulty of the subject) do not all agree whether certain forms are species or races{221}. Some strongly marked races of plants, comparable with the decided sports of horticulturalists, undoubtedly exist in a state of nature, as is actually known by experiment, for instance in the primrose and cowslip{222}, in two so-called species of dandelion, in two of foxglove{223}, and I believe in some pines. Lamarck has observed that, as long as we confine our attention to one limited country, there is seldom much difficulty in deciding what forms to call species and what varieties; and that it is when collections flow in from all parts of the world that naturalists often feel at a loss to decide the limit of variation.
Undoubtedly so it is, yet amongst British plants (and I may add land shells), which are probably better known than any in the world, the best naturalists differ very greatly in the relative proportions of what they call species and what varieties. In many genera of insects, and shells, and plants, it seems almost hopeless to establish which are which. In the higher classes there are less doubts; though we find considerable difficulty in ascertaining what deserve to be called species amongst foxes and wolves, and in some birds, for instance in the case of the white barn-owl. When specimens are brought from different parts of the world, how often do naturalists dispute this same question, as I found with respect to the birds brought from the Galapagos islands. Yarrell has remarked that the individuals of the same undoubted species of birds, from Europe and N. America, usually present slight, indefinable though perceptible differences. The recognition indeed of one animal by another of its kind seems to imply some difference. The disposition of wild animals undoubtedly differs. The variation, such as it is, chiefly affects the same parts in wild organisms as in domestic breeds; for instance, the size, colour, and the external and less important parts. In many species the variability of certain organs or qualities is even stated as one of the specific characters: thus, in plants, colour, size, hairiness, the number of the stamens and pistils, and even their presence, the form of the leaves; the size and form of the mandibles of the males of some insects; the length and curvature of the beak in some birds (as in Opetiorynchus) are variable characters in some species and quite fixed in others. I do not perceive that any just distinction can be drawn between this recognised variability of certain parts in many species and the more general variability of the whole frame in domestic races.
Although the amount of variation be exceedingly small in most organic beings in a state of nature, and probably quite wanting (as far as our senses serve) in the majority of cases; yet considering how many animals and plants, taken by mankind from different quarters of the world for the most diverse purposes, have varied under domestication in every country and in every age, I think we may safely conclude that all organic beings with few exceptions, if capable of being domesticated and bred for long periods, would vary. Domestication seems to resolve itself into a change from the natural conditions of the species [generally perhaps including an increase of food]; if this be so, organisms in a state of nature must _occasionally_, in the course of ages, be exposed to analogous influences; for geology clearly shows that many places must, in the course of time, become exposed to the widest range of climatic and other influences; and if such places be isolated, so that new and better adapted organic beings cannot freely emigrate, the old inhabitants will be exposed to new influences, probably far more varied, than man applies under the form of domestication.
Although every species no doubt will soon breed up to the full number which the country will support, yet it is easy to conceive that, on an average, some species may receive an increase of food; for the times of dearth may be short, yet enough to kill, and recurrent only at long intervals. All such changes of conditions from geological causes would be exceedingly slow; what effect the slowness might have we are ignorant; under domestication it appears that the effects of change of conditions accumulate, and then break out. Whatever might be the result of these slow geological changes, we may feel sure, from the means of dissemination common in a lesser or greater degree to every organism taken conjointly with the changes of geology, which are steadily (and sometimes suddenly, as when an isthmus at last separates) in progress, that occasionally organisms must suddenly be introduced into new regions, where, if the conditions of existence are not so foreign as to cause its extermination, it will often be propagated under circumstances still more closely analogous to those of domestication; and therefore we expect will evince a tendency to vary. It appears to me quite _inexplicable_ if this has never happened; but it can happen very rarely.
Let us then suppose that an organism by some chance (which might be hardly repeated in 1000 years) arrives at a modern volcanic island in process of formation and not fully stocked with the most appropriate organisms; the new organism might readily gain a footing, although the external conditions were considerably different from its native ones. The effect of this we might expect would influence in some small degree the size, colour, nature of covering &c., and from inexplicable influences even special parts and organs of the body. But we might further (and <this> is far more important) expect that the reproductive system would be affected, as under domesticity, and the structure of the offspring rendered in some degree plastic. Hence almost every part of the body would tend to vary from the typical form in slight degrees, and in no determinate way, and therefore _without selection_ the free crossing of these small variations (together with the tendency to reversion to the original form) would constantly be counteracting this unsettling effect of the extraneous conditions on the reproductive system. Such, I conceive, would be the unimportant result without selection. And here I must observe that the foregoing remarks are equally applicable to that small and admitted amount of variation which has been observed in some organisms in a state of nature; as well as to the above hypothetical variation consequent on changes of condition.
Let us now suppose a Being{224} with penetration sufficient to perceive differences in the outer and innermost organization quite imperceptible to man, and with forethought extending over future centuries to watch with unerring care and select for any object the offspring of an organism produced under the foregoing circumstances; I can see no conceivable reason why he could not form a new race (or several were he to separate the stock of the original organism and work on several islands) adapted to new ends. As we assume his discrimination, and his forethought, and his steadiness of object, to be incomparably greater that those qualities in man, so we may suppose the beauty and complications of the adaptations of the new races and their differences from the original stock to be greater than in the domestic races produced by man's agency: the ground-work of his labours we may aid by supposing that the external conditions of the volcanic island, from its continued emergence and the occasional introduction of new immigrants, vary; and thus to act on the reproductive system of the organism, on which he is at work, and so keep its organization somewhat plastic. With time enough, such a Being might rationally (without some unknown law opposed him) aim at almost any result. {224} A corresponding passage occurs in _Origin_, Ed. i. p. 83, vi. p. 101, where however Nature takes the place of the selecting Being.
For instance, let this imaginary Being wish, from seeing a plant growing on the decaying matter in a forest and choked by other plants, to give it power of growing on the rotten stems of trees, he would commence selecting every seedling whose berries were in the smallest degree more attractive to tree-frequenting birds, so as to cause a proper dissemination of the seeds, and at the same time he would select those plants which had in the slightest degree more and more power of drawing nutriment from rotten wood; and he would destroy all other seedlings with less of this power. He might thus, in the course of century after century, hope to make the plant by degrees grow on rotten wood, even high up on trees, wherever birds dropped the non-digested seeds. He might then, if the organization of the plant was plastic, attempt by continued selection of chance seedlings to make it grow on less and less rotten wood, till it would grow on sound wood{225}. Supposing again, during these changes the plant failed to seed quite freely from non-impregnation, he might begin selecting seedlings with a little sweeter <or> differently tasted honey or pollen, to tempt insects to visit the flowers regularly: having effected this, he might wish, if it profited the plant, to render abortive the stamens and pistils in different flowers, which he could do by continued selection. By such steps he might aim at making a plant as wonderfully related to other organic beings as is the mistletoe, whose existence absolutely depends on certain insects for impregnation, certain birds for transportal, and certain trees for growth. Furthermore, if the insect which had been induced regularly to visit this hypothetical plant profited much by it, our same Being might wish by selection to modify by gradual selection the insect's structure, so as to facilitate its obtaining the honey or pollen: in this manner he might adapt the insect (always presupposing its organization to be in some degree plastic) to the flower, and the impregnation of the flower to the insect; as is the case with many bees and many plants.
De Candolle, in an eloquent passage, has declared that all nature is at war, one organism with another, or with external nature. Seeing the contented face of nature, this may at first be well doubted; but reflection will inevitably prove it is too true. The war, however, is not constant, but only recurrent in a slight degree at short periods and more severely at occasional more distant periods; and hence its effects are easily overlooked. It is the doctrine of Malthus applied in most cases with ten-fold force. As in every climate there are seasons for each of its inhabitants of greater and less abundance, so all annually breed; and the moral restraint, which in some small degree checks the increase of mankind, is entirely lost. Even slow-breeding mankind has doubled in 25 years{228}, and if he could increase his food with greater ease, he would double in less time. But for animals, without artificial means, _on an average_ the amount of food for each species must be constant; whereas the increase of all organisms tends to be geometrical, and in a vast majority of cases at an enormous ratio. Suppose in a certain spot there are eight pairs of [robins] birds, and that _only_ four pairs of them annually (including double hatches) rear only four young; and that these go on rearing their young at the same rate: then at the end of seven years (a short life, excluding violent deaths, for any birds) there will be 2048 robins, instead of the original sixteen; as this increase is quite impossible, so we must conclude either that robins do not rear nearly half their young or that the average life of a robin when reared is from accident not nearly seven years. Both checks probably concur. The same kind of calculation applied to all vegetables and animals produces results either more or less striking, but in scarcely a single instance less striking than in man{229}.
In the majority of cases it is most difficult to imagine where the check falls, generally no doubt on the seeds, eggs, and young; but when we remember how impossible even in mankind (so much better known than any other animal) it is to infer from repeated casual observations what the average of life is, or to discover how different the percentage of deaths to the births in different countries, we ought to feel no legitimate surprise at not seeing where the check falls in animals and plants. It should always be remembered that in most cases the checks are yearly recurrent in a small regular degree, and in an extreme degree during occasionally unusually cold, hot, dry, or wet years, according to the constitution of the being in question. Lighten any check in the smallest degree, and the geometrical power of increase in every organism will instantly increase the average numbers of the favoured species. Nature may be compared to a surface, on which rest ten thousand sharp wedges touching each other and driven inwards by incessant blows{230}.
Fully to realise these views much reflection is requisite; Malthus on man should be studied; and all such cases as those of the mice in La Plata, of the cattle and horses when first turned out in S. America, of the robins by our calculation, &c., should be well considered: reflect on the enormous multiplying power _inherent and annually in action_ in all animals; reflect on the countless seeds scattered by a hundred ingenious contrivances, year after year, over the whole face of the land; and yet we have every reason to suppose that the average percentage of every one of the inhabitants of a country will _ordinarily_ remain constant. Finally, let it be borne in mind that this average number of individuals (the external conditions remaining the same) in each country is kept up by recurrent struggles against other species or against external nature (as on the borders of the arctic regions{231}, where the cold checks life); and that ordinarily each individual of each species holds its place, either by its own struggle and capacity of acquiring nourishment in some period (from the egg upwards) of its life, or by the struggle of its parents (in short lived organisms, when the main check occurs at long intervals) against and compared with other individuals of the _same_ or _different_ species.
He cannot always suit the selected form to the properest conditions; nor does he keep those conditions uniform: he selects that which is useful to him, not that best adapted to those conditions in which each variety is placed by him: he selects a small dog, but feeds it highly; he selects a long-backed dog, but does not exercise it in any peculiar manner, at least not during every generation. He seldom allows the most vigorous males to struggle for themselves and propagate, but picks out such as he possesses, or such as he prefers, and not necessarily those best adapted to the existing conditions. Every agriculturalist and breeder knows how difficult it is to prevent an occasional cross with another breed. He often grudges to destroy an individual which departs considerably from the required type. He often begins his selection by a form or sport considerably departing from the parent form. Very differently does the natural law of selection act; the varieties selected differ only slightly from the parent forms{241}; the conditions are constant for long periods and change slowly; rarely can there be a cross; the selection is rigid and unfailing, and continued through many generations; a selection can _never be made_ without the form be _better_ adapted to the conditions than the parent form; the selecting power goes on without caprice, and steadily for thousands of years adapting the form to these conditions. The selecting power is not deceived by external appearances, it tries the being during its whole life; and if less well <?> adapted than its _congeners_, without fail it is destroyed; every part of its structure is thus scrutinised and proved good towards the place in nature which it occupies.
I may here remark that the fact whether one species will or will not breed with another is far less important than the sterility of the offspring when produced; for even some domestic races differ so greatly in size (as the great stag-greyhound and lap-dog, or cart-horse and Burmese ponies) that union is nearly impossible; and what is less generally known is, that in plants Koelreuter has shown by hundreds of experiments that the pollen of one species will fecundate the germen of another species, whereas the pollen of this latter will never act on the germen of the former; so that the simple fact of mutual impregnation certainly has no relation whatever to the distinctness in creation of the two forms. When two species are attempted to be crossed which are so distantly allied that offspring are never produced, it has been observed in some cases that the pollen commences its proper action by exserting its tube, and the germen commences swelling, though soon afterwards it decays. In the next stage in the series, hybrid offspring are produced though only rarely and few in number, and these are absolutely sterile: then we have hybrid offspring more numerous, and occasionally, though very rarely, breeding with either parent, as is the case with the common mule.
Again, other hybrids, though infertile _inter se_, will breed _quite_ freely with either parent, or with a third species, and will yield offspring generally infertile, but sometimes fertile; and these latter again will breed with either parent, or with a third or fourth species: thus Koelreuter blended together many forms. Lastly it is now admitted by those botanists who have longest contended against the admission, that in certain families the hybrid offspring of many of the species are sometimes perfectly fertile in the first generation when bred together: indeed in some few cases Mr Herbert{245} found that the hybrids were decidedly more fertile than either of their pure parents. There is no way to escape from the admission that the hybrids from some species of plants are fertile, except by declaring that no form shall be considered as a species, if it produces with another species fertile offspring: but this is begging the question{246}. It has often been stated that different species of animals have a sexual repugnance towards each other; I can find no evidence of this; it appears as if they merely did not excite each others passions. I do not believe that in this respect there is any essential distinction between animals and plants; and in the latter there cannot be a feeling of repugnance. {243} <Note in the original.> If domestic animals are descended from several species and _become_ fertile _inter se_, then one can see they gain fertility by becoming adapted to new conditions and certainly domestic animals can withstand changes of climate without loss of fertility in an astonishing manner.
From the foregoing facts I think we must admit that there exists a perfect gradation in fertility between species which when crossed are quite fertile (as in Rhododendron, Calceolaria, &c.), and indeed in an extraordinary degree fertile (as in Crinum), and those species which never produce offspring, but which by certain effects (as the exsertion of the pollen-tube) evince their alliance. Hence, I conceive, we must give up sterility, although undoubtedly in a lesser or greater degree of very frequent occurrence, as an unfailing mark by which _species_ can be distinguished from _races_, _i.e._ from those forms which have descended from a common stock. _Infertility from causes distinct from hybridisation._ Let us see whether there are any analogous facts which will throw any light on this subject, and will tend to explain why the offspring of certain species, when crossed, should be sterile, and not others, without requiring a distinct law connected with their creation to that effect. Great numbers, probably a large majority of animals when caught by man and removed from their natural conditions, although taken very young, rendered quite tame, living to a good old age, and apparently quite healthy, seem incapable under these circumstances of breeding{248}. I do not refer to animals kept in menageries, such as at the Zoological Gardens, many of which, however, appear healthy and live long and unite but do not produce; but to animals caught and left partly at liberty in their native country. Rengger{249} enumerates several caught young and rendered tame, which he kept in Paraguay, and which would not breed: the hunting leopard or cheetah and elephant offer other instances; as do bears in Europe, and the 25 species of hawks, belonging to different genera, thousands of which have been kept for hawking and have lived for long periods in perfect vigour.
When the expense and trouble of procuring a succession of young animals in a wild state be borne in mind, one may feel sure that no trouble has been spared in endeavours to make them breed. So clearly marked is this difference in different kinds of animals, when captured by man, that St Hilaire makes two great classes of animals useful to man:--the _tame_, which will not breed, and the _domestic_ which will breed in domestication. From certain singular facts we might have supposed that the non-breeding of animals was owing to some perversion of instinct. But we meet with exactly the same class of facts in plants: I do not refer to the large number of cases where the climate does not permit the seed or fruit to ripen, but where the flowers do not "set," owing to some imperfection of the ovule or pollen. The latter, which alone can be distinctly examined, is often manifestly imperfect, as any one with a microscope can observe by comparing the pollen of the Persian and Chinese lilacs{250} with the common lilac; the two former species (I may add) are equally sterile in Italy as in this country. Many of the American bog plants here produce little or no pollen, whilst the Indian species of the same genera freely produce it.
Lindley observes that sterility is the bane of the horticulturist{251}: Linnaeus has remarked on the sterility of nearly all alpine flowers when cultivated in a lowland district{252}. Perhaps the immense class of double flowers chiefly owe their structure to an excess of food acting on parts rendered slightly sterile and less capable of performing their true function, and therefore liable to be rendered monstrous, which monstrosity, like any other disease, is inherited and rendered common. So far from domestication being in itself unfavourable to fertility, it is well known that when an organism is once capable of submission to such conditions <its> fertility is increased{253} beyond the natural limit. According to agriculturists, slight changes of conditions, that is of food or habitation, and likewise crosses with races slightly different, increase the vigour and probably the fertility of their offspring. It would appear also that even a great change of condition, for instance, transportal from temperate countries to India, in many cases does not in the least affect fertility, although it does health and length of life and the period of maturity.
When sterility is induced by domestication it is of the same kind, and varies in degree, exactly as with hybrids: for be it remembered that the most sterile hybrid is no way monstrous; its organs are perfect, but they do not act, and minute microscopical investigations show that they are in the same state as those of pure species in the intervals of the breeding season. The defective pollen in the cases above alluded to precisely resembles that of hybrids. The occasional breeding of hybrids, as of the common mule, may be aptly compared to the most rare but occasional reproduction of elephants in captivity. The cause of many exotic Geraniums producing (although in vigorous health) imperfect pollen seems to be connected with the period when water is given them{254}; but in the far greater majority of cases we cannot form any conjecture on what exact cause the sterility of organisms taken from their natural conditions depends.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.