The Origin of Species presents an ingenious compendium of all four methods.
UNIFORMITY. People who do not understand science in their bones, and who think that revolutionary treatises must be presented as ideological manifestos at broadest scale, often express surprise and disappointment in reading the Origin, especially at Darwin's opening chapter. They expect fanfare, and they get fantails — pigeons, that is. But Darwin ordered his book by conscious intent and strategy. He knew that he had to demonstrate evolution with data, not simply proclaim his new view of life by rhetoric. Uniformitarianism embodied his best method based on maximal information — so he started from the smallest scale, change in domestication, and worked up to the history of life. As a member of two London pigeon fancying clubs (which he had joined, not from an abiding affection for this scourge of cities, but to gain practical information about evolution in the small), Darwin led from his acquired strength.
What better starting point, under method 1, than indubitable proof of historical change in domesticated plants and animals. The logic of the Origin employs one long analogy between artificial and natural selection, with uniformity as the joining point. Darwin writes in his introduction (p. 4): “At the commencement of my observations it seemed to me probable that a careful study of domesticated animals and of cultivated plants would offer the best chance of making out this obscure problem. Nor have I been disappointed; in this and in all other perplexing cases I have invariably found that our knowledge, imperfect though it be, of variation under domestication, afforded the best and safest clue.”
Darwin continually drives home this analogy and extrapolation: if by artificial selection at small scale (as we know for certain), why not by natural selection at larger scale: “If it profit a plant to have its seeds more and more widely disseminated by the wind, I can see no greater difficulty in this being effected through natural selection, than in the cotton-planter increasing and improving by selection the down in the pods on his cotton-trees” (p. 86).
But this argument by uniformitarian extrapolation presents a serious difficulty (exploited by Fleeming Jenkin, 1867, in the famous critique that Darwin ranked so highly, and took so seriously in revising the Origin): change surely occurs in domestication, but suppose that species function like glass spheres with a modal configuration at the center and unbridgeable limits to variation representing the surface. Artificial selection could then bring morphology from the center to the surface, but no further — and the key argument for smooth extrapolation to all change over any time would fail. Darwin therefore staked a verbal claim for no limit. “What limit can be put to this power, acting during long ages and rigidly scrutinizing the whole constitution, structure, and habits of each creature — favoring the good and rejecting the bad? I can see no limit to this power, in slowly and beautifully adapting each form to the most complex relations of life” (p. 469).
Darwin then applied the full sequence of extrapolation to the natural [Page 106] world, beginning with individual variants as the source of subspecies, then moving to subspecies as incipient species, and finally to species as potential ancestors for branches of life's tree — a full range of scales from variation within a population to the entire pageant of life: “I look at individual differences, though of small interest to the systematist, as of high importance for us, as being the first step towards such slight varieties as are barely thought worth recording in works of natural history. And as I look at varieties which are in any degree more distinct and permanent, as steps leading to more strongly marked and more permanent varieties; and at these latter, as leading to subspecies, and to species” (p. 51).
Darwin invoked this first method, a strong argument based on maximal information at smallest scale, as his favored choice when available. To cite just three instances as a sampler: (1) the paleontological panorama may be read as a story of gradual evolution because species in adjacent strata show minimal differences, but these differences increase gradually as stratigraphic distance expands (p. 335). (2) When we find hints of the feather patterns of rock pigeon in highly modified breeds, we do not hesitate to interpret these designs as vestiges of an ancestral stock; therefore, the faint stripes that we sometimes observe in coats of young horses point to a common origin for all species in the clade of horses, asses and zebras (pp. 166–167). (3) Marine molluscs often exhibit brighter colors in warmer waters. We note this pattern both among varieties of a single species living in cold and warm waters, and among related species. A creationist explanation requires uncomfortable special pleading: God sometimes makes a species with bright shells in warm climates, but he allows other species to vary naturally, in the same geographic pattern, within a single created kind. An evolutionist, using method one, will recognize these phenomena as two stages in a single sequence of extrapolation from smaller to larger scale (p. 133).
SEQUENCING. We can use a second style of inference about temporal order when we cannot obtain adequate data about the nature of immediate changes at smallest scale. Since historical processes begin at different times and proceed at varying rates, all stages of a sequence may exist simultaneously (for example, stage one in case A, which began very recently; stage two in case B, which began at the same time, but has proceeded at an uncommonly rapid rate; and stage three in case C, which began long ago). Thus, fringing reefs, barrier reefs and atolls all exist now. When we recognize these forms as sequential stages of a single process, we may infer the pathway of history.
Darwin epitomizes method two in writing (p. 51): “A series impresses the mind with the idea of an actual passage.” Invoking his usual starting point, Darwin presents a first example from breeds of domesticated pigeons. The more adequate data of method one — observed steps of passage, accumulating to greater and greater difference in time — no longer exist, for the transitional populations have died, and only a set of morphological “islands,” representing a set of established breeds, remains. But these islands can be ordered as a plausible sequence of change between ancestral rock pigeons and the most aberrant of artificially produced breeds: “Although an English carrier or [Page 107] short-faced tumbler differs immensely in certain characters from the rock pigeon, yet by comparing the several sub-breeds of these breeds, more especially those brought from distant countries, we can make an almost perfect series between the extremes of structure” (p. 27).
Darwin uses method two in a special and crucial way throughout the Origin. Several of the most telling critiques against Darwin's style of evolution by gradualistic continuity — best represented in Mivart's famous argument (1871) about inviability of “incipient stages of useful structures” (see Chapter 11 for full treatment) — held that insensibly graded passages between putative ancestors and descendants could not even be conceptualized, much less documented. Charges of inconceivability took several forms, each reducible to the claim that you can't get from here to there, however well the beginning and end points may function. Consider the two most prominent formulations: (1) Early stages (when rudimentary) could provide no adaptive advantage, however valuable the final product (2) Major functional changes cannot occur because intermediary stages would fall into a never-never land of inviability, with the original (and essential) function lost, and the new operation not yet established.
Darwin offered a twofold response to these arguments, both using this second historical method of sequencing. He first presented theoretical arguments for the conceivability, even the likelihood, of intermediary stages in supposed cases of impossibility. He argued that early stages, too small to work in their eventual manner, could have performed different functions at the outset, and been coopted later for another style of life. (Incipient wings, originally used in thermoregulation, became organs of flight when they evolved to sufficiently large size to provide “fortuitous” aerodynamic benefits — see Kingsolver and Koehl, 1985, for an experimental validation of this scenario, and Gould, 1991b, for general discussion). As the m
isleadingly named principle of “pre-adaptation,” this concept of functional shift became an important principle in evolutionary theory (see Chapter 11). Darwin writes, using a verbal intensifier rarely found in his prose: “In considering transitions of organs, it is so important to bear in mind the probability of conversion from one function to another” (p. 191).
As a response to charges of inviability for intermediary stages, Darwin invoked the important principle of redundancy as a norm for organic structures and functions. Most important functions can be performed by more than one organ; and most organs work in more than one way. By coupling these two aspects of redundancy, transitions in single organs can easily be conceived. An organ doesn't mysteriously invent a new function, but usually intensifies and specializes a previously minor use, while shedding an old primary operation. This previously major function can then be lost because other organs continue to do the same necessary job.
Ironically, we now recognize Darwin's favorite example of such redundancy as not only incorrect, but truly backwards (Gould, 1989b) — the evolution of lungs from swimbladders. (In fact, swimbladders evolved from lungs, see Liem, 1988). Darwin ran his transition in the wrong way, but his argument for redundancy as the key to viability for intermediary steps remains [Page 108] correct and crucially important, for the logic works equally well in either direction. Ancestral fishes maintained two systems for breathing — gills and lungs (as do modern lungfish, taxonomically called Dipnoi, or “two breathing”). The original lung probably played a subsidiary role in buoyancy; this function could be enhanced, and the original use in breathing deleted, because gills could adopt the entire respiratory burden. Darwin wrote (pp. 204–205): “For instance, a swim bladder has apparently been converted into an air-breathing lung. The same organ having performed simultaneously very different functions, and then having been specialized for one function; and two very distinct organs having performed at the same time the same function, the one having been perfected whilst aided by the other, must often have largely facilitated transitions.”
As a second response, Darwin proceeded beyond conceivability and tried to document actual sequences for supposedly impossible transitions — as in the evolution of a light-sensitive spot into an “organ of extreme perfection” like the vertebrate eye. These sequences cannot represent true phylogenies (since they consist solely of living species), but they do constitute structural series illustrating the conceivability of transitions. After admitting, for example, that the gradual evolution of such a miracle of workmanship as the eye “seems, I freely confess, absurd in the highest possible degree” (p. 186), Darwin presents a structural series of disparate animals, including working configurations proclaimed impossible by opponents: “Yet reason tells me, that if numerous gradations from a perfect and complex eye to one very imperfect and simple, each grade being useful to its possessor, can be shown to exist... then the difficulty of believing that a perfect and complex eye could be formed by natural selection, though insuperable by our imagination, can hardly be considered real” (p. 186).
Darwin applies this principle to behavior and its products, as well as to form. For the exquisite mathematical regularity of the honeycomb, he writes (p. 225): “Let us look to the great principle of gradation, and see whether Nature does not reveal to us her method of work.” (See also page 210 on complex instincts and their explanation by the establishment of structural series.)
CONSILIENCE (CONCORDANCE OF SEVERAL). Darwin took great pride in his formulation of natural selection as a theory for the mechanism of phyletic change. But he granted even more importance to his relentless presentation of dense documentation for the factuality of change — for only such a cascade of data would force the scientific world to take evolution seriously. (The contrast between the Origin as a compendium of facts, and Lamarck's Philosophie zoologique as a purely theoretical treatise, strikes me as an even more distinguishing difference than the disparate causal mechanisms proposed by the two authors.) Facts literally pour from almost every page of the Origin, a feature that became even more apparent following Darwin's forced change of plans, and his decision to compress his projected longer work into the “abstract” that we call the Origin of Species — a revised strategy that led him to omit almost every reference and footnote, and almost all discursive discussion between bits of information. In some parts, the Origin reaches an [Page 109] almost frenetic pace in its cascading of facts, one upon the other. Only Darwin's meticulous sense of order and logic of argument save the work from disabling elision and overload.
Whenever he introduces a major subject, Darwin fires a volley of disparate facts, all related to the argument at hand — usually the claim that a particular phenomenon originated as a product of history. This style of organization virtually guarantees that Whewell's “consilience of inductions” must become the standard method of the Origin. Darwin's greatest intellectual strength lay in his ability to forge connections and perceive webs of implication (that more conventional thinking in linear order might miss). When Darwin could not cite direct evidence for actual stages in an evolutionary sequence, he relied upon consilience — and sunk enough roots in enough directions to provide adequate support for a single sturdy trunk of explanation.
Again, Darwin starts with pigeons, unleashing a cannonade of disparate arguments, all pointing to the conclusion that modern breeds of pigeons derive from a single ancestral stock. None of these facts permits the construction of an actual temporal series (methods one and two); but all identify the features of a current configuration that point to history as the underlying cause. Darwin, as usual, proceeds by particular example, but I doubt that a better general description of consilience could be formulated:
From these several reasons, namely, the improbability of man having formerly got seven or eight supposed species of pigeons to breed freely under domestication; these supposed species being quite unknown in a wild state, and their becoming nowhere feral; these species having very abnormal characters in certain respects, as compared with all other Columbidae, though so like in most other respects to the rock pigeon; the blue color and various marks occasionally appearing in all the breeds, both when kept pure and when crossed; the mongrel offspring being perfectly fertile; — from these several reasons, taken together, I can feel no doubt that all our domestic breeds have descended from the Columba livia with its geographical subspecies (pp. 26-27).
Every scholar could cite a favorite case of Darwinian consilience. For my part, I especially admire Darwin's uncharacteristically long discussion (pp. 388–406) on transport from continental sources and subsequent evolution to explain the biotas of oceanic islands. Consider the main items in Darwin's own order of presentation:
(1) The general paucity of endemic species on islands, contrasted with comparable areas of continents; why should God put fewer species on islands?
(2) The frequent displacement of endemic island biotas by continental species introduced by human transport. If God created species for islands, why should species designed for continents so often prove superior in competition: “He who admits the doctrine of the creation of each separate species, will have to admit, that a sufficient number of the best adapted plants and animals have not been created on oceanic islands; for man has unintentionally stocked them from various sources far more fully and perfectly than has nature” (p. 390). [Page 110]
(3) Taxonomic disparity of endemic species within groups records ease of access, not created fit to oceanic environments: “Thus in the Galapagos Islands nearly every land bird, but only two out of the eleven marine birds, are peculiar; and it is obvious that marine birds could arrive at these islands more easily than land birds” (pp. 390-391).
(4) Biotas of oceanic islands often lack the characteristic groups of similar habitats on continents. On these islands, endemic members of other groups often assume the ecological roles almost always occupied by more appropriate or more competitive taxa in the
richer faunas of continents — for example, reptiles on the Galapagos, or wingless birds on New Zealand, acting as surrogates for mammals.
(5) In endemic island species, features operating as adaptations in related species on continents often lose utility when their island residences do not feature the same environment: “For instance, in certain islands not tenanted by mammals, some of the endemic plants have beautifully hooked seeds; yet few relations are more striking than the adaptation of hooked seeds for transportal by the wool and fur of quadrupeds. This case presents no difficulty on my view, for a hooked seed might be transported to an island by some other means; and the plant then becoming slightly modified, but still retaining its hooked seeds, would form an endemic species, having as useless an appendage as any rudimentary organ” (p. 392).
(6) Peculiar morphological consequences often ensue when creatures seize places usually inhabited by other forms that could not reach an island. Many plants, herbaceous in habit on continents, become arboraceous on islands otherwise devoid of trees.
(7) Suitable organisms frequently fail to gain access to islands. Why do so many oceanic islands lack frogs, toads, and newts that seem so admirably adapted for such an environment? “But why, on the theory of creation, they should not have been created there, it would be very difficult to explain” (p. 393).
The Structure of Evolutionary Theory Page 19
