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Natural Selection as a Creative Force

by Stephen Jay Gould

he following kind of incident has occurred over and over again, ever since Darwin. An evolutionist, browsing through some pre-Darwinian tome in natural history, comes upon a description of natural selection. Aha, he says; I have found something important, a proof that Darwin wasn't original. Perhaps I have even discovered a source of direct and nefarious pilfering by Darwin! In the most notorious of these claims, the great anthropologist and writer Loren Eiseley thought that he had detected such an anticipation in the writings of Edward Blyth. Eiseley laboriously worked through the evidence that Darwin had read (and used) Blyth's work and, making a crucial etymological mistake along the way, finally charged that Darwin may have pinched the central idea for his theory from Blyth. He published his case in a long article (Eiseley, 1959), later expanded by his executors into a posthumous volume entitled "Darwin and the Mysterious Mr. X" (1979).

Yes, Blyth had discussed natural selection, but Eiseley didn't realize—thus committing the usual and fateful error in this common line of argument—that all good biologists did so in the generations before Darwin. Natural selection ranked as a standard item in biological discourse—but with a crucial difference from Darwin's version—the usual interpretation invoked natural selection as part of a larger argument for created permanency.

Only two exceptions have been noted to this generality—both in the domain of anomalies that prove the rule. The Scottish fruit grower Patrick Matthew (in 1831) and the Scottish-American physician William Charles Wells (in 1813, published in 1818) spoke of natural selection as a positive force for evolutionary change, but neither recognized the significance of his speculation. Matthew buried his views in the appendix to a work entitled "Naval Timber and Arboriculture"; Wells published his conjecture in a concluding section, treating the origin of human races, to a paper on the medical case of a piebald woman. He presented this paper to the Royal Society in 1813, but only published it as he lay dying in 1818—as a subsidiary to his two famous essays on the origin of dew, and on why we see but one image with two eyes.

Matthew, still alive and vigorously kicking when Darwin published the Origin, wrote to express his frustration at Darwin's non-citation. Darwin offered some diplomatic palliation in the historical introduction added to later editions of the Origin, while professing, with ample justice, that he had meant no malice, but had simply never encountered Matthew's totally forgotten and inauspiciously located speculation. He responded to Matthew's ire in the Gardener's Chronicle for April 21, 1860: "I freely acknowledge that Mr. Matthew has anticipated by many years the explanation which I have offered of the origin of species, under the name of natural selection. I think that no one will feel surprised that neither I, nor apparently any other naturalist, has heard of Mr. Matthew's views, considering how briefly they are given, and that they appeared in the Appendix to a work on Naval Timber and Arboriculture."

Wells' article is particularly intriguing, if only for an antiquarian footnote, in the context of this book's focus on supraorganismal levels of selection. Although Wells has often been cited as a precursor, very few citationists have read his paper, and have therefore simply assumed that he spoke of natural selection by Darwin's route of advantages to individuals within populations. In fact, as I discovered (Gould, 1983a), Wells attributes racial differentiation in skin color to group selection among populations.

I do not wish to make overly much of this point, as "precursoritis" is the bane of historiography; yet I am tickled by the ironic tidbit, in the light of later orthodoxy, that the first formulation of natural selection went forward in the supraorganismic mode. The point should not be overstressed, if only because Wells reached this alternative by the fallacious argument that favorable variants could not spread within populations. Echoing Jenkins' later criticism of Darwin, Wells held that blending inheritance prevents the transformation of populations from within because advantageous variants "quickly disappear from the intermarriages of different families. Thus, if a very tall man be produced, he very commonly marries a woman much less than himself, and their progeny scarcely differs in size from their countrymen" (1818, pp. 434-435).

Populations must therefore be transformed by fortuitous spread and propagation within small and isolated groups: "In districts, however, of very small extent, and having little intercourse with other countries, an accidental difference in the appearance of the inhabitants will often descend to their late posterity" (p. 435). Change may then occur within an entire species by group selection among these differentiated populations:

Of the accidental varieties of man, which would occur among the first few and scatteted inhabitants of the middle regions of Africa, some would be better fitted than the others to bear the diseases of the country. This race would consequently multiply, while the others would decrease, not only from their inability to sustain the attacks of disease, but from their incapacity of contending with their more vigorous neighbors. The color of this vigorous race I take for granted…would be dark. But the same disposition to form varieties still existing, a darker and a darker race would in the course of time occur, and as the darkest would be the best fitted for the climate, this would at length become the most prevalent, if not the only race, in the particular country in which it had originated (pp. 435-436).

Note Wells' unquestioned assumption that our original color must have been white, and that dark skin could only arise as a modification of the type. As a final interesting footnote, Wells denied (probably wrongly) that dark skin could be adaptive in itself, and argued for its establishment in Africa as a result of noncausal correlation with unknown physiological mechanisms for protection against tropical disease. Thus, Wells presents an "internalist" explanation based on what Darwin would later call "correlation of growth." With this argument about channels, and his basic claim for group selection, Wells' departure from Darwin's later preferences lie very much in the spirit of modern critiques, though for reasons that we would now reject (as if our anachronistic judgment mattered).

Natural selection, in [its common] negative formulation, acted only to preserve the type, constant and inviolate, by eliminating extreme variants and unfit individuals who threatened to degrade the essence of created form. Paley himself presents the following variant of this argument, doing so to refute (in later pages) a claim that modern species preserve the good designs winnowed from a much broader range of initial creations after natural selection had eliminated the less viable forms: "The hypothesis teaches, that every possible variety of being hath, at one time or other, found its way into existence (by what cause or in what manner is not said), and that those which were badly formed, perished" (Paley, 1803, pp. 70-71).

Darwin's theory therefore cannot be equated with the simple claim that natural selection operates. Nearly all his colleagues and predecessors accepted this postulate. Darwin, in his characteristic and radical way, grasped that this standard mechanism for preserving the type could be inverted, and then converted into the primary cause of evolutionary change. Natural selection obviously lies at the center of Darwin's theory, but we must recognize, as Darwin's second key postulate, the claim that natural selection acts as the creative force of evolutionary change. The essence of Darwinism cannot reside in the mere observation that natural selection operates—for everyone had long accepted a negative role for natural selection in eliminating the unfit and preserving the type.

We have lost this context and distinction today, and our current perspective often hampers an understanding of the late 19th century literature and its preoccupations. Anyone who has read deeply in this literature knows that no argument inspired more discussion, while no Darwinian claim seemed more vulnerable to critics, than the proposition that natural selection should be viewed as a positive force, and therefore as the primary cause of evolutionary change. The "creativity of natural selection"—the phrase generally used in Darwin's time as a shorthand description of the problem—set the cardinal subject for debate about evolutionary mechanisms during Darwin's lifetime and throughout the late 19th century.

Non-Darwinian evolutionists did not deny the reality, or the operationality, of natural selection as a genuine cause stated in the most basic or abstract manner—in the form that I called the "syllogistic core" on page 125 (still used as the standard pedagogical device for teaching the "bare bones" logic of Darwinism in general and introductory college courses). They held, rather, that natural selection, as a headsman or executioner, could only eliminate the unfit, while some other cause must play the positive role of constructing the fit.

For example, Charles Lyell—whom Darwin convinced about the factuality of evolution but who never (much to Darwin's sadness and frustration) accepted the mechanism of natural selection—admitted that he had become stymied on the issue of creativity. He could understand, he wrote in his fifth journal on the "species question" in March, 1860, how natural selection might act like two members of the "Hindoo Triad"—like Vishnu the preserver and Siva the destroyer, but he simply could not grasp how such a force could also work like Brahma, the creator (in Wilson, 1970, p. 369).

E. D. Cope, chief American critic and exponent of neo-Lamarckism, chose a sardonic title to highlight Darwin's supposedly fatal weakness in claiming a creative role for natural selection. He called his book The Origin of the Fittest (1887)—a parody on Darwin's "survival of the fittest," and a motto for what natural selection could not accomplish. Cope wrote: "The doctrines of 'selection' and 'survival' plainly do not reach the kernel of evolution, which is, as I have long since pointed out, the question of 'the origin of the fittest.' This omission of this problem from the discussion of evolution is to leave Hamlet out of the play to which he has given the name. The law by which structures originate is one thing; those by which they are restricted, directed, or destroyed, is another thing" (1887, p. 226).

We can understand the trouble that Darwin's contemporaries experienced in comprehending how selection could work as a creative force when we confront the central paradox of Darwin's crucial argument: natural selection makes nothing; it can only choose among variants originating by other means. How then can selection possibly be conceived as a "progressive," or "creative," or "positive" force?

In resolving this paradox, Darwin recognized his logical need, within the basic structure of his argument, to explicate the three main requirements and implications of an argument for selection's creativity: (1) the nature of variation; (2) the rate and continuity of change; (3) the meaning of adaptation. This interrelated set of assertions promotes natural selection from mere existence as a genuine, but secondary and negative, mechanism to domination as the primary cause of evolutionary change and pattern. This set of defenses for selection's creativity therefore ranks as the second of three essential postulates, or "minimal commitments" of Darwinian logic.

As the epitome of his own solution, Darwin admitted that his favored mechanism "made" nothing, but held that natural selection must be deemed "creative" (in any acceptable vernacular sense of the term) if its focal action of differential preservation and death could be construed as the primary cause for imparting direction to the process of evolutionary change. Darwin reasoned that natural selection can only play such a role if evolution obeys two crucial conditions: (1) if nothing about the provision of raw materials—that is, the sources of variation—imparts direction to evolutionary change; and (2) if change occurs by a long and insensible series of intermediary steps, each superintended by natural selection—so that "creativity" or "direction" can arise by the summation of increments.

Under these provisos, variation becomes raw material only—an isotropic sphere of potential about the modal form of a species. Natural selection, by superintending the differential preservation of a biassed region from this sphere in each generation, and by summing up (over countless repetitions) the tiny changes thus produced in each episode, can manufacture substantial, directional change. What else but natural selection could be called "creative," or direction-giving, in such a process? As long as variation only supplies raw material; as long as change accretes in an insensibly gradual manner; and as long as the reproductive advantages of certain individuals provide the statistical source of change; then natural selection must be construed as the directional cause of evolutionary modification.

[ Stephen Jay Gould, The Structure of Evolutionary Theory, Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2002, pp. 137-141. ]

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