On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection (1859)
by Charles Darwin
CHAPTER III.
STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE.
Bears on natural
selection—The term used in a wide sense—Geometrical powers
of increase—Rapid increase of naturalised animals and
plants—Nature of the checks to increase—Competition
universal—Effects of climate—Protection from the number of
individuals—Complex relations of all animals and plants
throughout nature—Struggle for life most severe between
individuals and varieties of the same species; often severe between
species of the same genus—The relation of organism to organism
the most important of all relations.
EFORE entering on the
subject of this chapter, I must make a few preliminary remarks, to
show how the struggle for existence bears on Natural Selection. It has
been seen in the last chapter that amongst organic beings in a state of
nature there is some individual variability; indeed I am not aware that
this has ever been disputed. It is immaterial for us whether a multitude
of doubtful forms be called species or sub-species or varieties; what rank,
for instance, the two or three hundred doubtful forms of British plants
are entitled to hold, if the existence of any well-marked varieties be
admitted. But the mere existence of individual variability and of some
few well-marked varieties, though necessary as the foundation for the
work, helps us but little in understanding how species arise in
nature. How have all those exquisite adaptations of one part of the
organisation to another part, and to the conditions of life, and of
one distinct organic being to another being, been perfected? We see
these beautiful co-adaptations most plainly in the woodpecker and
missletoe; and only a little less plainly in the humblest parasite
which clings to the hairs of a quadruped or feathers of a bird; in
the structure of the beetle which dives through the water; in the
plumed seed which is wafted by the gentlest breeze; in short, we see
beautiful adaptations everywhere and in every part of the organic
world.
Again, it may be asked, how is it that varieties, which I have called
incipient species, become ultimately converted into good and distinct
species, which in most cases obviously differ from each other far more
than do the varieties of the same species? How do those groups of
species, which constitute what are called distinct genera, and which
differ from each other more than do the species of the same genus,
arise? All these results, as we shall more fully see in the next
chapter, follow inevitably from the struggle for life. Owing to this
struggle for life, any variation, however slight and from whatever
cause proceeding, if it be in any degree profitable to an individual
of any species, in its infinitely complex relations to other organic
beings and to external nature, will tend to the preservation of that
individual, and will generally be inherited by its offspring. The
offspring, also, will thus have a better chance of surviving, for, of
the many individuals of any species which are periodically born, but a
small number can survive. I have called this principle, by which each
slight variation, if useful, is preserved, by the term of Natural
Selection, in order to mark its relation to man's power of
selection. We have seen that man by selection can certainly produce
great results, and can adapt organic beings to his own uses, through
the accumulation of slight but useful variations, given to him by the
hand of Nature. But Natural Selection, as we shall hereafter see, is a
power incessantly ready for action, and is as immeasurably superior to
man's feeble efforts, as the works of Nature are to those of Art.
We will now discuss in a little more detail the struggle for
existence. In my future work this subject shall be treated, as it well
deserves, at much greater length. The elder De Candolle and Lyell have
largely and philosophically shown that all organic beings are exposed
to severe competition. In regard to plants, no one has treated this
subject with more spirit and ability than W. Herbert, Dean of
Manchester, evidently the result of his great horticultural knowledge.
Nothing is easier than to admit in words the truth of the universal
struggle for life, or more difficult at least I have found it so than
constantly to bear this conclusion in mind. Yet unless it be
thoroughly engrained in the mind, I am convinced that the whole
economy of nature, with every fact on distribution, rarity, abundance,
extinction, and variation, will be dimly seen or quite
misunderstood. We behold the face of nature bright with gladness, we
often see superabundance of food; we do not see, or we forget, that
the birds which are idly singing round us mostly live on insects or
seeds, and are thus constantly destroying life; or we forget how
largely these songsters, or their eggs, or their nestlings are
destroyed by birds and beasts of prey; we do not always bear in mind,
that though food may be now superabundant, it is not so at all seasons
of each recurring year.
I should premise that I use the term Struggle for Existence in a large
and metaphorical sense, including dependence of one being on another,
and including (which is more important) not only the life of the
individual, but success in leaving progeny. Two canine animals in a
time of dearth, may be truly said to struggle with each other which
shall get food and live. But a plant on the edge of a desert is said
to struggle for life against the drought, though more properly it
should be said to be dependent on the moisture. A plant which annually
produces a thousand seeds, of which on an average only one comes to
maturity, may be more truly said to struggle with the plants of the
same and other kinds which already clothe the ground. The missletoe is
dependent on the apple and a few other trees, but can only in a
far-fetched sense be said to struggle with these trees, for if too
many of these parasites grow on the same tree, it will languish and
die. But several seedling missletoes, growing close together on the
same branch, may more truly be said to struggle with each other. As
the missletoe is disseminated by birds, its existence depends on
birds; and it may metaphorically be said to struggle with other
fruit-bearing plants, in order to tempt birds to devour and thus
disseminate its seeds rather than those of other plants. In these
several senses, which pass into each other, I use for convenience sake
the general term of struggle for existence.
A struggle for existence inevitably follows from the high rate at
which all organic beings tend to increase. Every being, which during
its natural lifetime produces several eggs or seeds, must suffer
destruction during some period of its life, and during some season or
occasional year, otherwise, on the principle of geometrical increase,
its numbers would quickly become so inordinately great that no country
could support the product. Hence, as more individuals are produced
than can possibly survive, there must in every case be a struggle for
existence, either one individual with another of the same species, or
with the individuals of distinct species, or with the physical
conditions of life. It is the doctrine of Malthus applied with
manifold force to the whole animal and vegetable kingdoms; for in this
case there can be no artificial increase of food, and no prudential
restraint from marriage. Although some species may be now increasing,
more or less rapidly, in numbers, all cannot do so, for the world
would not hold them.
There is no exception to the rule that every organic being naturally
increases at so high a rate, that if not destroyed, the earth would
soon be covered by the progeny of a single pair. Even slow-breeding
man has doubled in twenty-five years, and at this rate, in a few
thousand years, there would literally not be standing room for his
progeny. Linnaeus has calculated that if an annual plant produced only
two seeds and there is no plant so unproductive as this and their
seedlings next year produced two, and so on, then in twenty years
there would be a million plants. The elephant is reckoned to be the
slowest breeder of all known animals, and I have taken some pains to
estimate its probable minimum rate of natural increase: it will be
under the mark to assume that it breeds when thirty years old, and
goes on breeding till ninety years old, bringing forth three pairs of
young in this interval; if this be so, at the end of the fifth century
there would be alive fifteen million elephants, descended from the
first pair.
But we have better evidence on this subject than mere theoretical
calculations, namely, the numerous recorded cases of the astonishingly
rapid increase of various animals in a state of nature, when
circumstances have been favourable to them during two or three
following seasons. Still more striking is the evidence from our
domestic animals of many kinds which have run wild in several parts of
the world: if the statements of the rate of increase of slow-breeding
cattle and horses in South America, and latterly in Australia, had not
been well authenticated, they would have been quite incredible. So it
is with plants: cases could be given of introduced plants which have
become common throughout whole islands in a period of less than ten
years, Several of the plants now most numerous over the wide plains of
La Plata, clothing square leagues of surface almost to the exclusion
of all other plants, have been introduced from Europe; and there are
plants which now range in India, as I hear from Dr Falconer, from Cape
Comorin to the Himalaya, which have been imported from America since
its discovery. In such cases, and endless instances could be given, no
one supposes that the fertility of these animals or plants has been
suddenly and temporarily increased in any sensible degree. The obvious
explanation is that the conditions of life have been very favourable,
and that there has consequently been less destruction of the old and
young, and that nearly all the young have been enabled to breed. In
such cases the geometrical ratio of increase, the result of which
never fails to be surprising, simply explains the extraordinarily
rapid increase and wide diffusion of naturalised productions in their
new homes.
In a state of nature almost every plant produces seed, and amongst
animals there are very few which do not annually pair. Hence we may
confidently assert, that all plants and animals are tending to
increase at a geometrical ratio, that all would most rapidly stock
every station in which they could any how exist, and that the
geometrical tendency to increase must be checked by destruction at
some period of life. Our familiarity with the larger domestic animals
tends, I think, to mislead us: we see no great destruction falling on
them, and we forget that thousands are annually slaughtered for food,
and that in a state of nature an equal number would have somehow to be
disposed of.
The only difference between organisms which annually produce eggs or
seeds by the thousand, and those which produce extremely few, is, that
the slow-breeders would require a few more years to people, under
favourable conditions, a whole district, let it be ever so large. The
condor lays a couple of eggs and the ostrich a score, and yet in the
same country the condor may be the more numerous of the two: the
Fulmar petrel lays but one egg, yet it is believed to be the most
numerous bird in the world. One fly deposits hundreds of eggs, and
another, like the hippobosca, a single one; but this difference does
not determine how many individuals of the two species can be supported
in a district. A large number of eggs is of some importance to those
species, which depend on a rapidly fluctuating amount of food, for it
allows them rapidly to increase in number. But the real importance of
a large number of eggs or seeds is to make up for much destruction at
some period of life; and this period in the great majority of cases is
an early one. If an animal can in any way protect its own eggs or
young, a small number may be produced, and yet the average stock be
fully kept up; but if many eggs or young are destroyed, many must be
produced, or the species will become extinct. It would suffice to
keep up the full number of a tree, which lived on an average for a
thousand years, if a single seed were produced once in a thousand
years, supposing that this seed were never destroyed, and could be
ensured to germinate in a fitting place. So that in all cases, the
average number of any animal or plant depends only indirectly on the
number of its eggs or seeds.
In looking at Nature, it is most necessary to keep the foregoing
considerations always in mind never to forget that every single
organic being around us may be said to be striving to the utmost to
increase in numbers; that each lives by a struggle at some period of
its life; that heavy destruction inevitably falls either on the young
or old, during each generation or at recurrent intervals. Lighten any
check, mitigate the destruction ever so little, and the number of the
species will almost instantaneously increase to any amount. The face
of Nature may be compared to a yielding surface, with ten thousand
sharp wedges packed close together and driven inwards by incessant
blows, sometimes one wedge being struck, and then another with greater
force.
What checks the natural tendency of each species to increase in number
is most obscure. Look at the most vigorous species; by as much as it
swarms in numbers, by so much will its tendency to increase be still
further increased. We know not exactly what the checks are in even one
single instance. Nor will this surprise any one who reflects how
ignorant we are on this head, even in regard to mankind, so
incomparably better known than any other animal. This subject has been
ably treated by several authors, and I shall, in my future work,
discuss some of the checks at considerable length, more especially in
regard to the feral animals of South America. Here I will make only a
few remarks, just to recall to the reader's mind some of the chief
points. Eggs or very young animals seem generally to suffer most, but
this is not invariably the case. With plants there is a vast
destruction of seeds, but, from some observations which I have made, I
believe that it is the seedlings which suffer most from germinating in
ground already thickly stocked with other plants. Seedlings, also, are
destroyed in vast numbers by various enemies; for instance, on a piece
of ground three feet long and two wide, dug and cleared, and where
there could be no choking from other plants, I marked all the
seedlings of our native weeds as they came up, and out of the 357 no
less than 295 were destroyed, chiefly by slugs and insects. If turf
which has long been mown, and the case would be the same with turf
closely browsed by quadrupeds, be let to grow, the more vigorous
plants gradually kill the less vigorous, though fully grown, plants:
thus out of twenty species growing on a little plot of turf (three
feet by four) nine species perished from the other species being
allowed to grow up freely.
The amount of food for each species of course gives the extreme limit
to which each can increase; but very frequently it is not the
obtaining food, but the serving as prey to other animals, which
determines the average numbers of a species. Thus, there seems to be
little doubt that the stock of partridges, grouse, and hares on any
large estate depends chiefly on the destruction of vermin. If not one
head of game were shot during the next twenty years in England, and,
at the same time, if no vermin were destroyed, there would, in all
probability, be less game than at present, although hundreds of
thousands of game animals are now annually killed. On the other hand,
in some cases, as with the elephant and rhinoceros, none are destroyed
by beasts of prey: even the tiger in India most rarely dares to attack
a young elephant protected by its dam.
Climate plays an important part in determining the average numbers of
a species, and periodical seasons of extreme cold or drought, I
believe to be the most effective of all checks. I estimated that the
winter of 1854-55 destroyed four-fifths of the birds in my own
grounds; and this is a tremendous destruction, when we remember that
ten per cent. is an extraordinarily severe mortality from epidemics
with man. The action of climate seems at first sight to be quite
independent of the struggle for existence; but in so far as climate
chiefly acts in reducing food, it brings on the most severe struggle
between the individuals, whether of the same or of distinct species,
which subsist on the same kind of food. Even when climate, for
instance extreme cold, acts directly, it will be the least vigorous,
or those which have got least food through the advancing winter, which
will suffer most. When we travel from south to north, or from a damp
region to a dry, we invariably see some species gradually getting
rarer and rarer, and finally disappearing; and the change of climate
being conspicuous, we are tempted to attribute the whole effect to its
direct action. But this is a very false view: we forget that each
species, even where it most abounds, is constantly suffering enormous
destruction at some period of its life, from enemies or from
competitors for the same place and food; and if these enemies or
competitors be in the least degree favoured by any slight change of
climate, they will increase in numbers, and, as each area is already
fully stocked with inhabitants, the other species will decrease. When
we travel southward and see a species decreasing in numbers, we may
feel sure that the cause lies quite as much in other species being
favoured, as in this one being hurt. So it is when we travel
northward, but in a somewhat lesser degree, for the number of species
of all kinds, and therefore of competitors, decreases northwards;
hence in going northward, or in ascending a mountain, we far oftener
meet with stunted forms, due to the directly injurious action
of climate, than we do in proceeding southwards or in descending a
mountain. When we reach the Arctic regions, or snow-capped summits, or
absolute deserts, the struggle for life is almost exclusively with the
elements.
That climate acts in main part indirectly by favouring other species,
we may clearly see in the prodigious number of plants in our gardens
which can perfectly well endure our climate, but which never become
naturalised, for they cannot compete with our native plants, nor
resist destruction by our native animals.
When a species, owing to highly favourable circumstances, increases
inordinately in numbers in a small tract, epidemics at least, this
seems generally to occur with our game animals often ensue: and here
we have a limiting check independent of the struggle for life. But
even some of these so-called epidemics appear to be due to parasitic
worms, which have from some cause, possibly in part through facility
of diffusion amongst the crowded animals, been disproportionably
favoured: and here comes in a sort of struggle between the parasite
and its prey.
On the other hand, in many cases, a large stock of individuals of the
same species, relatively to the numbers of its enemies, is absolutely
necessary for its preservation. Thus we can easily raise plenty of
corn and rape-seed, &c., in our fields, because the seeds are in
great excess compared with the number of birds which feed on them; nor
can the birds, though having a superabundance of food at this one
season, increase in number proportionally to the supply of seed, as
their numbers are checked during winter: but any one who has tried,
knows how troublesome it is to get seed from a few wheat or other such
plants in a garden; I have in this case lost every single seed. This
view of the necessity of a large stock of the same species for its
preservation, explains, I believe, some singular facts in nature, such
as that of very rare plants being sometimes extremely abundant in the
few spots where they do occur; and that of some social plants being
social, that is, abounding in individuals, even on the extreme
confines of their range. For in such cases, we may believe, that a
plant could exist only where the conditions of its life were so
favourable that many could exist together, and thus save each other
from utter destruction. I should add that the good effects of frequent
intercrossing, and the ill effects of close interbreeding, probably
come into play in some of these cases; but on this intricate subject I
will not here enlarge.
Many cases are on record showing how complex and unexpected are the
checks and relations between organic beings, which have to struggle
together in the same country. I will give only a single instance,
which, though a simple one, has interested me. In Staffordshire, on
the estate of a relation where I had ample means of investigation,
there was a large and extremely barren heath, which had never been
touched by the hand of man; but several hundred acres of exactly the
same nature had been enclosed twenty-five years previously and planted
with Scotch fir. The change in the native vegetation of the planted
part of the heath was most remarkable, more than is generally seen in
passing from one quite different soil to another: not only the
proportional numbers of the heath-plants were wholly changed, but
twelve species of plants (not counting grasses and carices) flourished
in the plantations, which could not be found on the heath. The effect
on the insects must have been still greater, for six insectivorous
birds were very common in the plantations, which were not to be seen
on the heath; and the heath was frequented by two or three distinct
insectivorous birds. Here we see how potent has been the effect of the
introduction of a single tree, nothing whatever else having been done,
with the exception that the land had been enclosed, so that cattle
could not enter. But how important an element enclosure is, I plainly
saw near Farnham, in Surrey. Here there are extensive heaths, with a
few clumps of old Scotch firs on the distant hill-tops: within the
last ten years large spaces have been enclosed, and self-sown firs are
now springing up in multitudes, so close together that all cannot
live. When I ascertained that these young trees had not been sown or
planted, I was so much surprised at their numbers that I went to
several points of view, whence I could examine hundreds of acres of
the unenclosed heath, and literally I could not see a single Scotch
fir, except the old planted clumps. But on looking closely between the
stems of the heath, I found a multitude of seedlings and little trees,
which had been perpetually browsed down by the cattle. In one square
yard, at a point some hundreds yards distant from one of the old
clumps, I counted thirty-two little trees; and one of them, judging
from the rings of growth, had during twenty-six years tried to raise
its head above the stems of the heath, and had failed. No wonder
that, as soon as the land was enclosed, it became thickly clothed with
vigorously growing young firs. Yet the heath was so extremely barren
and so extensive that no one would ever have imagined that cattle
would have so closely and effectually searched it for food.
Here we see that cattle absolutely determine the existence of the
Scotch fir; but in several parts of the world insects determine the
existence of cattle. Perhaps Paraguay offers the most curious instance
of this; for here neither cattle nor horses nor dogs have ever run
wild, though they swarm southward and northward in a feral state; and
Azara and Rengger have shown that this is caused by the greater number
in Paraguay of a certain fly, which lays its eggs in the navels of
these animals when first born. The increase of these flies, numerous
as they are, must be habitually checked by some means, probably by
birds. Hence, if certain insectivorous birds (whose numbers are
probably regulated by hawks or beasts of prey) were to increase in
Paraguay, the flies would decrease then cattle and horses would become
feral, and this would certainly greatly alter (as indeed I have
observed in parts of South America) the vegetation: this again would
largely affect the insects; and this, as we just have seen in
Staffordshire, the insectivorous birds, and so onwards in
ever-increasing circles of complexity. We began this series by
insectivorous birds, and we have ended with them. Not that in nature
the relations can ever be as simple as this. Battle within battle must
ever be recurring with varying success; and yet in the long-run the
forces are so nicely balanced, that the face of nature remains uniform
for long periods of time, though assuredly the merest trifle would
often give the victory to one organic being over another. Nevertheless
so profound is our ignorance, and so high our presumption, that we
marvel when we hear of the extinction of an organic being; and as we
do not see the cause, we invoke cataclysms to desolate the world, or
invent laws on the duration of the forms of life!
I am tempted to give one more instance showing how plants and animals,
most remote in the scale of nature, are bound together by a web of
complex relations. I shall hereafter have occasion to show that the
exotic Lobelia fulgens, in this part of England, is never visited by
insects, and consequently, from its peculiar structure, never can set
a seed. Many of our orchidaceous plants absolutely require the visits
of moths to remove their pollen-masses and thus to fertilise them. I
have, also, reason to believe that humble-bees are indispensable to
the fertilisation of the heartsease (Viola tricolor), for other bees
do not visit this flower. From experiments which I have tried, I have
found that the visits of bees, if not indispensable, are at least
highly beneficial to the fertilisation of our clovers; but humble-bees
alone visit the common red clover (Trifolium pratense), as other bees
cannot reach the nectar. Hence I have very little doubt, that if the
whole genus of humble-bees became extinct or very rare in England, the
heartsease and red clover would become very rare, or wholly disappear.
The number of humble-bees in any district depends in a great degree on
the number of field-mice, which destroy their combs and nests; and Mr.
H. Newman, who has long attended to the habits of humble-bees,
believes that "more than two thirds of them are thus destroyed all
over England." Now the number of mice is largely dependent, as every
one knows, on the number of cats; and Mr. Newman says, "Near villages
and small towns I have found the nests of humble-bees more numerous
than elsewhere, which I attribute to the number of cats that destroy
the mice." Hence it is quite credible that the presence of a feline
animal in large numbers in a district might determine, through the
intervention first of mice and then of bees, the frequency of certain
flowers in that district!
In the case of every species, many different checks, acting at
different periods of life, and during different seasons or years,
probably come into play; some one check or some few being generally
the most potent, but all concurring in determining the average number
or even the existence of the species. In some cases it can be shown
that widely-different checks act on the same species in different
districts. When we look at the plants and bushes clothing an entangled
bank, we are tempted to attribute their proportional numbers and kinds
to what we call chance. But how false a view is this! Every one has
heard that when an American forest is cut down, a very different
vegetation springs up; but it has been observed that the trees now
growing on the ancient Indian mounds, in the Southern United States,
display the same beautiful diversity and proportion of kinds as in the
surrounding virgin forests. What a struggle between the several kinds
of trees must here have gone on during long centuries, each annually
scattering its seeds by the thousand; what war between insect and
insect between insects, snails, and other animals with birds and
beasts of prey all striving to increase, and all feeding on each other
or on the trees or their seeds and seedlings, or on the other plants
which first clothed the ground and thus checked the growth of the
trees! Throw up a handful of feathers, and all must fall to the ground
according to definite laws; but how simple is this problem compared to
the action and reaction of the innumerable plants and animals which
have determined, in the course of centuries, the proportional numbers
and kinds of trees now growing on the old Indian ruins!
The dependency of one organic being on another, as of a parasite on
its prey, lies generally between beings remote in the scale of nature.
This is often the case with those which may strictly be said to
struggle with each other for existence, as in the case of locusts and
grass-feeding quadrupeds. But the struggle almost invariably will be
most severe between the individuals of the same species, for they
frequent the same districts, require the same food, and are exposed to
the same dangers. In the case of varieties of the same species, the
struggle will generally be almost equally severe, and we sometimes see
the contest soon decided: for instance, if several varieties of wheat
be sown together, and the mixed seed be resown, some of the varieties
which best suit the soil or climate, or are naturally the most
fertile, will beat the others and so yield more seed, and will
consequently in a few years quite supplant the other varieties. To
keep up a mixed stock of even such extremely close varieties as the
variously coloured sweet-peas, they must be each year harvested
separately, and the seed then mixed in due proportion, otherwise the
weaker kinds will steadily decrease in numbers and disappear. So again
with the varieties of sheep: it has been asserted that certain
mountain-varieties will starve out other mountain-varieties, so that
they cannot be kept together. The same result has followed from
keeping together different varieties of the medicinal leech. It may
even be doubted whether the varieties of any one of our domestic
plants or animals have so exactly the same strength, habits, and
constitution, that the original proportions of a mixed stock could be
kept up for half a dozen generations, if they were allowed to struggle
together, like beings in a state of nature, and if the seed or young
were not annually sorted.
As species of the same genus have usually, though by no means
invariably, some similarity in habits and constitution, and always in
structure, the struggle will generally be more severe between species
of the same genus, when they come into competition with each other,
than between species of distinct genera. We see this in the recent
extension over parts of the United States of one species of swallow
having caused the decrease of another species. The recent increase of
the missel-thrush in parts of Scotland has caused the decrease of the
song-thrush. How frequently we hear of one species of rat taking the
place of another species under the most different climates! In Russia
the small Asiatic cockroach has everywhere driven before it its great
congener. One species of charlock will supplant another, and so in
other cases. We can dimly see why the competition should be most
severe between allied forms, which fill nearly the same place in the
economy of nature; but probably in no one case could we precisely say
why one species has been victorious over another in the great battle
of life.
A corollary of the highest importance may be deduced from the
foregoing remarks, namely, that the structure of every organic being
is related, in the most essential yet often hidden manner, to that of
all other organic beings, with which it comes into competition for
food or residence, or from which it has to escape, or on which it
preys. This is obvious in the structure of the teeth and talons of the
tiger; and in that of the legs and claws of the parasite which clings
to the hair on the tiger's body. But in the beautifully plumed seed of
the dandelion, and in the flattened and fringed legs of the
water-beetle, the relation seems at first confined to the elements of
air and water. Yet the advantage of plumed seeds no doubt stands in
the closest relation to the land being already thickly clothed by
other plants; so that the seeds may be widely distributed and fall on
unoccupied ground. In the water-beetle, the structure of its legs, so
well adapted for diving, allows it to compete with other aquatic
insects, to hunt for its own prey, and to escape serving as prey to
other animals.
The store of nutriment laid up within the seeds of many plants seems
at first sight to have no sort of relation to other plants. But from
the strong growth of young plants produced from such seeds (as peas
and beans), when sown in the midst of long grass, I suspect that the
chief use of the nutriment in the seed is to favour the growth of the
young seedling, whilst struggling with other plants growing vigorously
all around.
Look at a plant in the midst of its range, why does it not double or
quadruple its numbers? We know that it can perfectly well withstand a
little more heat or cold, dampness or dryness, for elsewhere it ranges
into slightly hotter or colder, damper or drier districts. In this
case we can clearly see that if we wished in imagination to give the
plant the power of increasing in number, we should have to give it
some advantage over its competitors, or over the animals which preyed
on it. On the confines of its geographical range, a change of
constitution with respect to climate would clearly be an advantage to
our plant; but we have reason to believe that only a few plants or
animals range so far, that they are destroyed by the rigour of the
climate alone. Not until we reach the extreme confines of life, in the
arctic regions or on the borders of an utter desert, will competition
cease. The land may be extremely cold or dry, yet there will be
competition between some few species, or between the individuals of
the same species, for the warmest or dampest spots.
Hence, also, we can see that when a plant or animal is placed in a new
country amongst new competitors, though the climate may be exactly the
same as in its former home, yet the conditions of its life will
generally be changed in an essential manner. If we wished to increase
its average numbers in its new home, we should have to modify it in a
different way to what we should have done in its native country; for
we should have to give it some advantage over a different set of
competitors or enemies.
It is good thus to try in our imagination to give any form some
advantage over another. Probably in no single instance should we know
what to do, so as to succeed. It will convince us of our ignorance on
the mutual relations of all organic beings; a conviction as necessary,
as it seems to be difficult to acquire. All that we can do, is to keep
steadily in mind that each organic being is striving to increase at a
geometrical ratio; that each at some period of its life, during some
season of the year, during each generation or at intervals, has to
struggle for life, and to suffer great destruction. When we reflect on
this struggle, we may console ourselves with the full belief, that the
war of nature is not incessant, that no fear is felt, that death is
generally prompt, and that the vigorous, the healthy, and the happy
survive and multiply.
[ Charles Darwin,
On
the Origin Of Species: A Facsimile of the First Edition,
Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1964, pp. 60-79. ]
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