Chapter II: Part 2

Protoplasm is essentially uniform and similar in appearance and properties wherever found, whether in the tissues of the human body, in a blade of grass, or in the green slime of a stagnant pool. And yet probably no two samples of protoplasm are ever exactly similar in all respects, though we may never be able to detect their precise differences. These differences are due to the fact that the stuff is _alive_, and within it are constantly going on those changes accompanying metabolism, or the building up and tearing down processes that always accompany life. All separate masses of protoplasm, such as the one-celled amoeba or the individual cells of our own bodies, are constantly taking in food and as constantly throwing off wastes. Hence, in the very nature of things, it is impossible to find any mass of protoplasm absolutely pure. And a further and impassable barrier to chemical analysis, or indeed to any adequate scientific examination, lies in the fact that we can never deal with protoplasm exactly as it is, since no analysis can be performed upon it without destroying its life. And yet even dead protoplasm, and especially its most characteristic constituent, _proteid_, has been found the most difficult material in the world to analyze, and nobody as yet pretends to know its exact chemical make-up.

The constant effort of natural science to press back the boundaries of the unknown is very liable to obscure some of the things most essential to any system of clear thinking regarding these matters. We are so prone to think that if only our microscopes were a little stronger, if only we could devise more effective methods of staining or of chemical analysis or chemical synthesis, we might really find out what life is, or what matter itself is; in short, that we might be able to solve in a scientific way the old, old riddle of existence. But already we have about reached the limits of the powers of the microscope; and even if we could devise a way of seeing the ultimate structures of which protoplasm is composed, how would we be any better off? Would we not have to attribute to each constituent of this living substance the properties which we now attribute to the whole?--that is, the properties which we attribute to masses of protoplasmic units, such as plants, or birds, or human beings?

We look at ourselves and we feel sure that we have a separate and real existence, that we are rationally conscious and are endowed with choice and free will. We can say almost as much for an intelligent bird or dog. But we hesitate to say how many of these powers or characteristics of free and independent personality can be assigned to the unicellular organisms, such as the amoeba or the corpuscles of our blood. These one-celled creatures are also alive, are just as truly alive as are those composed of many cells. Even the corpuscles of which our bodies are composed move, and eat, and grow, and seem really endowed with intelligence like the higher forms of life. Suppose we could go further than is now possible and could lay bare the ultimate make-up of the _chromatin_ of these one-celled creatures, would we even then be able to prove that life with all its properties is inherent in these material components of the cells? In other words, would we really solve anything after all? Or would we not rather be compelled to acknowledge that the simplest, the most truly rational view of the question is that in living matter we have merely a special manifestation of the presence and the direct action of the God of nature which we cannot so readily recognize in not-living matter? This, it seems to me, is all that we really know, and all that we are likely ever to know.

When we examine carefully the differences between the living and the not-living, we see that the chief difference between them is in _their origin_. The matter of growth is not a real distinction; for crystals grow on the outside, while inorganic liquids grow by intussusception, as when a soluble substance is added to them, in very much the same way as an animal grows by the ingestion of food. Even movement is hardly an absolute distinction between the living and the not-living; for no movement can be detected in quiescent seeds, which may lie dormant for thousands of years; and on the other hand inorganic foams when brought into contact with liquids of different composition display movements that very closely simulate those of the living matter. Lastly, irritability, though so notably characteristic of living matter, is scarcely peculiar to it, for many inorganic substances seem almost as definitely responsive to external stimulation. But in the matter of _their origin_ there is a real and a most fundamental difference. All living substance arises only from other substance already living. It cannot arise from the not-living; or at least it never has done so since the beginning of scientific observation, though on this point have been concentrated the learning and the laboratory technique of thousands of chemists and microscopists.

It may not be out of place to quote here from one of the classics dealing with this subject,--words that are just as true to-day as when first written nearly half a century ago:

"Let us place vividly in our imagination the picture of the two great kingdoms of nature,--the inorganic and the organic,--as these now stand in the light of the Law of Biogenesis. What essentially is involved in saying that there is no spontaneous generation of life? It is meant that the passage from the mineral world to the plant or animal world is hermetically sealed on the mineral side. This inorganic world is staked off from the living world by barriers that have never yet been crossed from within. No change of substance, no modification of environment, no chemistry, no electricity, nor any form of energy, nor any evolution, can endow a single atom of the mineral world with the attribute of life. Only by the bending down into this dead world of some living form can these dead atoms be gifted with the properties of vitality; without this preliminary contact with life they remain fixed in the inorganic sphere forever.

"It is a very mysterious law which guards in this way the portals of the living world. And if there is one thing in nature more worth pondering for its strangeness, it is the spectacle of this vast helpless world of the dead cut off from the living by the Law of Biogenesis, and denied forever the possibility of resurrection within itself. The physical laws may explain the inorganic world; the biological laws may account for the development of the organic. But of the point where they meet,--of that strange border-land between the dead and the living,--science is silent. It is as if God had placed everything in earth and heaven in the hands of nature, but had reserved a point at the genesis of life for His direct appearing."[6]

[Footnote 6: Henry Drummond, "Natural Law in the Spiritual World," Chapter I.]

It would be superfluous to emphasize further this great outstanding fact that the not-living cannot become the living by any of the processes which we call natural; and it would be presumptuous to attempt to emulate these eloquent words by seeking to emphasize the completeness with which this great Law of Biogenesis confirms the truth of a real Creation; for the supreme grandeur and importance of this law could be only obscured by so doing.

II

Perhaps some of the most impressive lessons on this subject will be found in connection with the history of the discovery of this great Law of Biogenesis, which says that life can come only from life. For by studying the history of the way in which this great Law has been established, we cannot fail to be impressed with the thought that back of all the complex array of living forms in our modern world which go on perpetuating themselves in orderly ways according to natural law, they could have originated only by a direct and real Creation, essentially and radically different from any processes now going on.

The wisest of the ancients in Greece and Rome knew nothing of this great law as we now know it. Aristotle, the embodiment of all that the ancient world knew of natural science, expressly taught that the lower forms of animals, such as fleas and worms, even mice and frogs, sprang up spontaneously from the moist earth. "All dry bodies," he declared, "which become damp, and all damp bodies which are dried, engender animal life." According to Vergil, bees are produced from the putrifying entrails of a young bull. Such were the teachings of all the Greeks and Romans, even of the scientists of the post-Reformation period, some of whom had accumulated a very considerable stock of knowledge concerning plants and animals.

And similar absurdities continued to be taught until comparatively modern times. Van Helmont, a celebrated alchemist physician who flourished during the brilliant reign of Louis XIV, wrote: "The smells which arise from the bottom of morasses produce frogs, slugs, leeches, grasses, and other things." As a recipe for producing a pot of mice offhand, he says that the only thing necessary is partly to fill a vessel with corn and plug up the mouth of the vessel with an old dirty shirt. In about twenty-one days, the ferment arising from the dirty shirt reacting with the odor from the corn will effect the transmutation of the wheat into mice. The doctor solemnly assures us that he himself had witnessed this wonderful fact, and continues, "The mice are born full-grown; there are both males and females. To reproduce the species it suffices to pair them."

"Scoop out a hole in a brick," he says further, "put into it some sweet basil, crushed, lay a second brick upon the first so that the hole may be completely covered. Expose the two bricks to the sun, and at the end of a few days the smell of the sweet basil, acting as a ferment, will change the herb into real scorpions."[7]

[Footnote 7: "Louis Pasteur, His Life and Labors," p. 89.]

Sir Thomas Browne, the famous author of "Religio Medici," had expressed a doubt as to whether mice may be bred by putrifaction; but another scientist, Alexander Ross, disposed of this suggestion by the following line of argument which was supposed to be conclusive as a _reductio ad absurdum_:

"So may he (Sir Thomas Browne) doubt whether in cheese and timber worms are generated; or if beetles and wasps in cows' dung; or if butterflies, locusts, grasshoppers, shell-fish, snails, eels, and such like, be procreated of putrid matter, which is apt to receive the form of that creature to which it is by formative power disposed. To question this is to question reason, sense and experience. If he doubts this let him go to Egypt, and there he will find the fields swarming with mice, begot of the mud of Nylus, to the great calamity of the in-habitants."[8]

[Footnote 8: Encyclopædia Britannica, Vol. I, p. 64.]

When we remember that such nonsense constituted the wisdom of the scientific world only about two centuries ago, we begin to realize the fact that the doctrine of Biogenesis is indeed a very modern doctrine. But it may be well to ask in passing, How could the people of former ages understand or appreciate the great truth of Creation as we moderns are able to do?

The first important step toward the refutation of this old pagan doctrine of spontaneous generation was made by the Italian, Redi, in 1668. He noticed that flies are always present around decomposing meat before the appearance of maggots, and he devised an experiment to keep the flies away from actual contact with the meat. The meat putrified as usual, but did not breed maggots; while the same kind of meat exposed in open jars swarmed with them. He next placed some meat in a jar with some wire gauze over the top. The flies were attracted by the smell of the meat as usual, but could not reach the meat. Instead they laid their eggs upon the gauze, where they hatched in due time, while no maggots were generated in the meat. Thus from this time onward it became gradually understood that, at least in the case of all the larger and higher forms of life, Harvey's dictum, as announced some years previously, was true, and that life comes only from life.

But the invention of the microscope opened the way for a renewal of the controversy regarding the origin of life. Bacteria were discovered in 1683; and it was soon observed that no precautions with screens or other stoppers could prevent bacteria and other low organisms from breeding in myriads in every kind of organic matter. Here apparently was an entirely new foundation for the doctrine of spontaneous generation. It was freely admitted that all the higher forms of life arise only by process of natural generation from others of their own kind; but did not these microscopic organisms prove that there was "a perpetual abiogenetic fount by which the first steps in the evolution of living organisms continued to arise, under suitable conditions, from inorganic matter"?[9]

[Footnote 9: Encyclopædia Britannica, Vol. I, p. 64.]

The famous "barnacle-geese" ought not to be omitted from any sketch of the vicissitudes of this doctrine of Biogenesis. An elaborate illustrated account covering their alleged natural history was printed in one of the early volumes of the Royal Society of London. Buds of a particular tree growing near the sea were described as producing barnacles, and these falling into the water were alleged to be transmuted into geese. Nor should we omit mention of Huxley's _Bathybius Haeckelii_, a slimy substance supposed to exist in great masses in the depths of the ocean and to consist of undifferentiated protoplasm, the exhaustless fountain from which all other forms of life had been derived. Not long after Huxley had given it a formal scientific name in 1868, it was discovered to be merely a precipitate of gypsum thrown down from sea water by alcohol, and thus a product of clumsy manipulation in the laboratory, instead of a natural product of the deep sea. The disappointment of those opposing biogenesis was severe; but the lesson is still of value to the world to-day.

The masterly work of Tyndall and Louis Pasteur in doing for the bacteria and protozoa what Redi had done for the larger organisms, is too much a matter of modern contemporary history to need recital here. Upon this great truth of life only from life is based all the recent advances in the treatment and prevention of germ diseases and all the triumphs of modern surgery. The housewife puts up canned fruit with the utmost confidence because she believes in this great Law of Biogenesis. It is because we all believe in it that we use antiseptics and fumigators and fly screens.

III

But what are the lessons to be learned from this great fact, and what bearing has this fact on the old Bible doctrine of a literal Creation?

Life comes now only from preëxisting life. But at some time there was no life on the globe. It does not take any great exercise of "philosophic faith," as Huxley suggested, "to look beyond the abyss of geologically recorded time" and recognize that at this beginning of things there must have taken place a most wonderful event, essentially and radically different from anything now going on, namely, the beginning of organic life. But would not this be a real Creation in the old-fashioned sense of this term? We cannot avoid this conclusion; nor is there anything in either science or philosophy to indicate that this creation of the living from the not-living was confined to _one mere speck_ of protoplasm. It is absolutely certain that it required a real Creation to produce life from the not-living at all; and it is just as reasonable that this exercise of creative power may have taken place _in all parts of the earth at the same general time_, as the Bible teaches. For if a Being saw fit to create life at all, why should He stop with one or two bits of protoplasmic units? An architect who can make his own bricks and other building material, can surely build what he desires out of these materials. Common sense tells us that, if the Creator really created life in the beginning, He did not stop with a few specks of protoplasm here and there over the earth. The ability to create life from the not-living implies the ability to make full-grown trees or birds or beasts in twenty-four hours, instead of waiting for months or years, as is usual at the present time.

As we have already found regarding matter and energy, so of life. The record in Genesis is confirmed, for modern science compels us to believe in Creation as the only possible origin of life,--a Creation entirely different from anything now going on, and one that can never be made to fit into any scheme of uniformitarian evolution.

IV

THE CELL AND THE LESSONS IT TEACHES

I

With his usual vigor and expressiveness Henry Drummond has given us a picture of the remarkable fact that the cells of all plants and animals are strikingly alike, especially the single cells from which all originate. It is easy for any one to distinguish between an oak, a palm tree, and a lichen, while a botanist will have elaborate scientific distinctions which he can discern between them. "But if the first young germs of these three plants are placed before him," says Drummond, and the botanist is called upon to define the difference, "he finds it impossible. He cannot even say which is which. Examined under the highest powers of the microscope, they yield no clue. Analyzed by the chemist, with all the appliances of his laboratory, they keep their secret.

"The same experiment can be tried with the embryos of animals. Take the ovule of the worm, the eagle, the elephant, and of man himself. Let the most skilled observer apply the most searching tests to distinguish the one from the other, and he will fail.

"But there is something more surprising still. Compare next the two sets of germs, the vegetable and the animal, and there is no shade of difference. Oak and palm, worm and man, all start in life together. No matter into what strangely different forms they may afterwards develop, no matter whether they are to live on sea or land, creep or fly, swim or walk, think or vegetate,--in the embryo, as it first meets the eye of science, they are indistinguishable. The apple which fell in Newton's garden, Newton's dog Diamond, and Newton himself, began life at the same point."[10]

In these remarks, of course, Drummond is dealing with the unicellular primal form, "as it first meets the eye of science"; and while certain slight peculiarities (such as the constant number of chromosomes) have been detected as characteristic of the cells of certain forms, yet for all practical purposes these words of Drummond are just as true to-day as when first written. Possibly it is because of a failure in our technique or from a lack of power in our microscopes that these wonderful protoplasmic units from which all living things originate seem identical. But it is equally possible that they _are really identical_ in structure and in chemical composition, and that only the ever present watchcare of the great Author of nature directs the one to develop in a certain manner, "after its kind," and another in still another manner, "after its kind." At any rate, the _protoplasm_ of which they are all alike composed _is_ identical wherever found, so far as any scientific tests have yet been able to determine.

[Footnote 10: "Natural Law," Chapter X.]

II

There are many varieties of single cells known to science which maintain an independent individual existence. Among the unicellular plants are the bacteria, while the unicellular animals are known as the protozoa. And although perhaps I ought to apologize to the reader for seeming to anticipate here a part of the discussion of the problem of "species," yet it seems necessary to say a few words here regarding the "persistence" of these unicellular forms.

Among the diseases which have been proved to be due to protozoa are malaria, amoebic dysentery, and syphilis; while among the much larger number which are due to bacteria, bacilli, or other vegetable parasites, are cholera, typhoid fever, the plague, pneumonia, diphtheria, tuberculosis, and leprosy.

One of the difficulties attending the study of "species" among the higher forms of plants and animals has always been the length of time required to obtain any large number of generations on which to make observations. In the case of such plants as peas, wheat, corn, or indeed almost any form of plant life, it is only with difficulty that more than one generation a year can be obtained; and when two or more generations a year are produced, they are produced under more or less unnatural conditions. So that it takes almost a lifetime carefully to test and record in a thoroughly scientific way the results of any extensive experiments regarding variation and heredity.

In the case of mice or rats or rabbits or guinea pigs, many more generations can be obtained in a few years; but in the case of the larger kinds of animals the time taken for development to maturity and for gestation is often much prolonged; and scientific observation of an exact character has been in vogue for so short a time that there has always been the chance for advocates of evolution to take refuge under the plea that, if we only had longer and more carefully conducted observations, we could really see species in the making, one form becoming transformed into a distinct form, or perhaps giving rise to another and distinct form as an offshoot.

But in the case of the bacteria and protozoa, we can have a new generation every hour or so, sometimes every half hour. True, these forms of minute life have been under observation for only a few years; but their _effects_ have in many cases been observed for almost the entire length of human history. No physician would tolerate the suggestion that the bacillus of cholera can produce the symptoms of diphtheria, or the tubercle bacillus produce the symptoms of leprosy. Nor will any scientist deny that such diseases as the plague, tuberculosis, or diphtheria are identical with diseases which ravaged Rome or Greece or Egypt thousands of years ago. And as the symptoms of these modern diseases are similar to those recorded by acute observers in Greece or Egypt two thousand years or more ago, we must conclude that the organisms causing these symptoms are doubtless identical. Similar remarks might be made regarding fermentation and other forms of decay.

In the case of a form of bacteria which reaches maturity and redivides in half an hour, the number of individual forms existing at the end of two days would need about twenty-eight figures to represent it. Doubtless these forms never multiply at this rate uninterruptedly for any great length of time, or else they would occupy the whole world to the exclusion of every other form of life. And doubtless instances arise where the period of growth to maturity and division is prolonged to several times the half-hour period mentioned above. But in any case, as we contemplate the length of time during which such well marked diseases as diphtheria, leprosy, or the plague have been known, we must acknowledge that these unicellular forms seem to _breed true_ during a most astonishingly long period. How can we deny that this "persistence" of these unicellular forms constitutes a very strong argument in favor of the "fixity" of these forms?

III

But we must proceed to examine the behavior of the various kinds of cells of which the various multicellular organisms are composed.

Plants were known to be composed of cells, and their cells were studied and described some years before it was understood that animals also are composed of cells as units. Even then, however, the first propounders of the cell theory (Schleiden and Schwann) had no clear or accurate idea of the origin of cells, or of their essential characters and structure. As to origin, they supposed that cells arose by a sort of crystallization from a mother liquor; and as to structure, they looked upon the cell-wall as the really important part, the fluid contents being quite subordinate. Hugo von Mohl (1846) applied to the fluid contents of the cell the term "protoplasm," and Max Schultze (1861) showed that this protoplasm is really identical in all organisms, plants and animals, also that the cell-wall is frequently absent in many animal tissues and in many unicellular forms, indicating that the protoplasm is the really important substance. By this time also it had become known that cells never arise _de novo_, as had been supposed by the earlier investigators, but that cells arise only by division of preexisting cells; or as Rudolf Virchow (1858) expressed it, "_omnis cellula e cellul[=a]._"

It was, however, many years before the details of the growth and reproduction of the cells (cell-division) became well understood. Not until the last quarter of the nineteenth century was it settled that the nucleus of the cell is also a supremely important part; but finally in 1882 Flemming was able to extend Virchow's aphorism to the nucleus also: _omnis nucleus e nucleo_.

Since these discoveries our knowledge of the methods of cell-division has much increased; and in the light of our modern knowledge of these matters there is nothing in all nature more marvellous than the regular orderly way in which cells reproduce themselves according to fixed laws. Certain cells in the developing embryo, for example, are early set apart for a particular function or for building certain structures, and thereafter are never diverted from this duty so as to do a different work or produce a different kind of structure. In the young embryo certain structures arise at certain predestined times in particular places, and only there and out of these cells alone. As to _why_ it should be so, we cannot tell, save as the result of deliberate design and as an expression of the order-loving mind of the God of nature. In the words of one of the greatest of modern authorities, "We still do not know why a certain cell becomes a gland-cell, another a gangleon-cell; why one cell gives rise to smooth muscle-fiber, while a neighbor forms voluntary muscle.... It is daily becoming more apparent that epigenesis with the three layers of the germ furnishes no explanation of developmental phenomena."[11]

[Footnote 11: _Nature,_ May 23, 1901.]

In accordance with the general principle of a division of labor, certain cells become early set apart to particular functions, and in accordance with the varying demands of these functions the developing cells may become greatly changed in form and in vital characteristics. That is, one cell specializes, let us say, in secretion, another in contractility, another in receiving and carrying stimuli, etc. In this way we will have the gland-cell, the muscle-cell, and the nerve-cell, each cell destined to produce one of these organs developing others "after its kind," the result being that it is soon surrounded with numerous companions doing a similar work, making up in this way a particular tissue or organ--gland, muscle, or nerve--which in the aggregate has for its function the work of the particular cells composing it.

But the important thing for us to remember in this connection is that when cells once become thus differentiated off and dedicated to any particular function, _they can never grow or develop into any distinctly different type of cell with other and different functions_. It is true that through pathologic degeneration the form and even the function of cells may become greatly changed; but never does it amount to a complete metamorphosis or complete transformation into another distinctly different type.

This is a very important principle, and it contains so many lessons for us bearing on the philosophy of life in general that it may be allowable to establish this fact by several somewhat lengthy quotations from standard authorities.

The first will be from one of the highest authorities on embryology, Charles Sedgwick Minot, of Harvard:

"In accordance with this law [of differentiation] we encounter no instances, _either in normal or pathological development_, of the transformation of a cell of one kind of tissue into a cell of another kind of tissue; and further we encounter no instances of a differentiated cell being transformed back into an undifferentiated cell of the embryonic type with varied potentialities."[12]

Again, we have the following from one of the foremost pathologists, as to the strict and rather narrow limits of even pathologic change:

"Epithelium and gland cells ... never become converted into bone or cartilage, or vice versa; while, again, it may be laid down that among epiblastic and hypoblastic tissues, on the one hand, and mesoblastic tissues on the other, there is no new development or _metaplasia_ of the most highly specialized tissues from less specialized tissues; a simple epithelium cannot in the vertebrate give rise to more complex glandular tissue, or to nerve cells; in regeneration of epithelium there is no new formation of hair roots or cutaneous glands. The cells of white fibrous connective tissue have not been seen to form striated or even non-striated muscle."[13]

[Footnote 12: _Science_, March 29, 1901, p. 490.]

[Footnote 13: J.G. Adami, "Principles of Pathology," pp. 641-642.]

As implied by these quotations, a constant and progressive differentiation of cells prevails in the developing embryo; and when complete, certain groups of cells act as specialists in doing only certain kinds of work for the body. These cells maintain their specific characters in a very remarkable degree under normal conditions. Under various abnormal conditions, however, these cells may become modified as to functions, so that cells or tissues of one type may assume more or less completely the characters of another type. "But," as a very high authority declares, "the limitations in this change in type are strictly drawn, so that one type can assume only the characters of another which is closely related to it. This change of one form of closely related tissue into another is called _metaplasia_....

"When differentiation has advanced so that such distinct types of tissue have been formed as connective tissue, epithelium, muscle, nerve, _these do not again merge through metaplasia. There is no evidence that mesoblastic tissues can be converted into those of the epiblastic or hypoblastic type, or vice versa_."[14]

[Footnote 14: Delafield and Prudden, "Text-Book of Pathology," pp. 62, 63.]

This modification of function among the cells which sometimes goes on in the developing embryo, or under pathologic conditions, is very closely analogous to the variation which goes on among species of animals and plants. But, as we shall see later, there is a well marked limit to this variation among species, just as we see there is in the variations among the cells. Practically the same general laws hold good in each case.

If cells did not maintain their ancestral characters in a very remarkable way, what would be the use of grafting a good kind of fruit onto a stock of poorer quality? The very permanency of the grafts thus produced is proof of the persistency with which cells reproduce only "after their kind."

IV

How can we fail to see the bearings of these facts on the doctrine of the transformation of species among ordinary plants and animals, which are merely isolated and self-contained groups of cells? Do not these facts constitute strong presumptive evidence that among animals and plants, though there may be variation in plenty within certain limits, perhaps within even much wider limits than used to be thought possible, yet among these distinct organisms, little and big, new forms develop only after their ancestral type, in full accord with the record given in the first chapter of the Bible?

But we are now prepared to examine in more detail the facts as now known to modern science regarding "species" of plants and animals.

V

WHAT IS A "SPECIES"?

I

We have seen that there is no way to account for the origin of matter, of energy, or of life, except by postulating a real Creation.

We have seen that cells continue to maintain their identity, and reproduce only "after their kind."

We must now deal with the higher forms of cell aggregates, which we call plants and animals. It has long been held that these at least are mutable, that one kind of plant or of animal may in the course of ages be transformed into a distinctly different type; and of late years there has accumulated a very voluminous literature dealing with the various intricacies of this problem of the origin of species. How can we deal with such a large subject in a brief way? It seems best to confine our attention in this chapter to an attempt to answer the question, What is a species? and are "species" natural groups clearly delimited by nature?

II

The term "species" was at first used very loosely by scientific writers. It meant very little more than our vague word _kind_ does at the present time. Not until the time of Linnæus (1707-1778) did the term acquire a definite and precise meaning. The aphorism of the great botanist, "_species tot sunt diversæ quot diversæ formæ ab initio sunt creatæ_"--"just so many species are to be reckoned as there were forms created in the beginning,"--was at least an attempt to use the term in a well-defined sense. Of course, this definition assumed the "fixity" of species; but with the wide prevalence of the views of Darwin and his followers the term "species" has fallen into disrepute, and is now regarded by many as only an artificial rank in classification corresponding to no objective reality in the natural world. Some writers, as Lankester, have found so much fault with the term as to urge its complete abandonment in scientific literature. This is logical enough from the standpoint of Darwinism; for if the latter be true there ought indeed to be such a swamping of every incipient "species" as to make one kind blend with others all around it in the classification series.

But since the term has by no means been discarded, we must endeavor to determine the sense in which it continues to be used in good scientific literature.

"A species," says Huxley, "is the smallest group to which distinct and invariable characters can be assigned." The Standard Dictionary says that the term is used for "a classificatory group of animals or plants subordinate to a genus, and having members that differ among themselves only in minor details of proportion and color, and are capable of fertile interbreeding indefinitely."

The latter authority also adds:

"In the kingdoms of organic nature species is founded on identity of form and structure, and specifically characterized by the power of the individuals to produce beings like themselves, who are in turn productive."

To put the matter still more definitely before the reader, we quote the following from a well-known scientist whose writings on the subject of evolution have had a wide circulation:

"There are two bases on which species may be founded. Species may be based on _form_, morphological species; or they may be based on _reproductive functions_, physiological species. By the one method a certain amount of difference of form, structure, and habit, constitutes species; according to the other, if the two kinds breed freely with each other and the offspring is indefinitely fertile, the kinds are called varieties, but if they do not they are called species."[15]

This author adds that this physiological test, as to whether or not the kinds are cross fertile, "is regarded as a most important test of true species, as contrasted with varieties or races."

[Footnote 15: Joseph Le Conte, "Evolution and Religious Thought," p. 233.]

III

When we look at the matter in this light, it is very evident that there are multitudes of long recognized specific distinctions that ought to be discarded. For instance, there are some twenty odd "species" of wild pigs scattered over the Old World, which Flower and Lydekker assure us would probably "breed freely together."[16] The yak and the zebu of India, and the bison of America, would on this basis have to be surrendered, for it is well known that they will all breed freely with the common domestic cattle, as well as with one another. Perhaps all or nearly all of the dozen or more "species" of the genus _Bos_ would thus be included together. All of the dogs, wolves, and others of the _Canidæ_ might thus be considered as fundamentally a unit. The cats (_Felidæ_) are well known to breed freely together, Karl Hagënbeck of Hamburg having crossed lions and tigers as well as others of the family. Practically all of the bears have been crossed repeatedly, and the progeny of these and other crosses are quite familiar sights at the London Zoölogical Gardens. Among the lower forms of life even more surprising results have been attained by Thomas Hunt Morgan and others.

[Footnote 16: "Mammals Living and Extinct," pp. 284-285.]

It would, however, be a very hasty conclusion to say on the basis of these facts that there are no natural limitations to groups of animals and plants. But we are entirely warranted in concluding from these facts that in very many cases, perhaps in most, our system of taxonomic classification of animals and plants has gone altogether too far, and that scientists have erected specific distinctions which are wholly uncalled for and which confuse and obscure the main issues of the species problem. Among the workers in botany and in every department of zoölogy there have always been the "splitters" and the "lumpers," as they are familiarly called; the former insisting on the most minute distinctions between their "species," thus multiplying them; the latter being more liberal and tending to diminish the number of species in any given group. For a generation or more in the recent past the "splitters" had things pretty much their own way; but of late there is a growing tendency to frown down the mania for creating new names. Even yet it is with the utmost reluctance that long established specific distinctions are surrendered, as is illustrated in the case of the mammoth, which is acknowledged by some of the very best authorities to be really indistinguishable from the modern Asiatic elephant. Several fossil bears were long listed in scientific books; but they are all acknowledged now to be identical with the modern grizzly, and as we have already intimated all the modern ones ought to be put together. These modern rationalizing methods have made but a slight impression on the vast complex of the fossil plants and animals, affecting the names of only a few of the larger and better known forms. In the realm of invertebrate palæontology, however, the "splitters" are still holding high carnival, in spite of the efforts of some very prominent scientists in the opposite direction. For palæontologists still follow the irrational course of inventing a new name, specific or even generic, for a form that happens to be found in a kind of rock widely separated as to "age" from the other beds where similar forms are accustomed to be found. As Angelo Heilprin expresses it, "It is practically certain that numerous forms of life, exhibiting no distinctive characters of their own, are constituted into distinct species _for no other reason than that they occur in formations widely separated from those holding their nearest kin_."[17]

As a result of these methods this same author declares: "It is by no means improbable that many of the older _genera_, now recognized as distinct by reason of our imperfect knowledge concerning their true relationships, have in reality representatives living in the modern seas."[18]

[Footnote 17: "Geographical and Geological Distribution of Animals," pp. 183, 184.]

[Footnote 18: _Id_., pp. 207, 208.]

But the situation is very little better when we come to deal with plants and animals of our modern world. Because, with the many thousands of students of natural science all over the world, each anxious to get into print as the discoverer of some new form, the systematists have a dead weight of names on their hands that by a rational and enlightened revision could doubtless be reduced to but a fraction of their present disheartening array. For as the result of the extensive breeding experiments now being carried on under the study of what is called Mendelism (a term that will be explained in the next chapter), it has been found that great numbers of the "species" of the systematists or classificationists will not stand the physiological test of breeding, that is, they are found to breed freely together according to the Mendelian Law. As William Bateson remarks:

"We may even be certain that numbers of excellent species recognized by entomologists or ornithologists, for example, would, if subjected to breeding tests, be immediately proved to be _analytical varieties_, differing from each other merely in the presence or absence of definite factors."[19]

The following from David Starr Jordan, the leading American authority on fishes, will serve to show how numerous have been the new names invented in recent years, all tending further to confuse and complicate the problem of what is a species:

"In our fresh-water fishes, each species on an average has been described as _new_ from three to four times, on account of minor variations, real or supposed. In Europe, where the fishes have been studied longer and by more different men, upwards of six or eight nominal species have been described for each one that is now considered distinct."[20]

[Footnote 19: "Mendel's Principles of Heredity," p. 284, 1909.]

[Footnote 20: "Science Sketches," p. 99.]

And again:

"Thus the common Channel Catfish of our rivers has been described as a new species not less than _twenty-five times_, on account of differences real or imaginary, but comparatively trifling in value."[21]

[Footnote 21: "Science Sketches," p. 96.]

Perhaps the reader will tolerate another somewhat long quotation because of the light which it sheds on this whole problem.

"Some years ago we had a parasite of a very destructive aphid down in our books as _Lysiphlebus tritici_. In carrying out our investigations it became necessary to find out whether this parasite had more than a single host insect, and whether it could develop in more than one species of aphid. To this end, recently emerged males and females were allowed to pair, after which the female oviposited in several species of aphids. Both parents were then killed and preserved and all of their progeny not used in further experiments were also preserved, and thus entire broods or families were kept together. In this way females were reared out of one host species and allowed to oviposit in others, until, often after several hosts had been employed, it would be bred back into the species whence it first originated. In all cases the host was reared from the moment of birth, while with the parasite both parents and offspring were kept together.

"The result of this little fragment of work _was to send two genera and fourteen species to the cemetery_--you may call it Mt. Synonym Cemetery, if you choose--while the insect involved is now _Aphidius testaceipes_. The systematist who studies only dried corpses will soon be out of date."[22]

[Footnote 22: F.M. Webster, of the U.S. Dept. of Agriculture, in _Science_, April 12, 1912, p. 565.]

IV

Now all this is not given to intimate that there is no scientific justification for the term "species," but to make plain to my non-professional readers what every well-informed biologist already knows, namely, that at the present time the "species question" is still in a very unsatisfactory state. The facts given above would strongly suggest that there probably is indeed such a thing as a species, in the sense assigned by Linnæus, who as we have seen wished to make it a designation covering all the descendants of each distinct kind originally created. But this original aim of Linnæus is to-day not merely ignored but treated with lofty contempt; for according to the prevailing theories of evolution, all the manifold diversities of life in our modern world have come about gradually as the result of a slow development by natural process, and hence it would be vain beyond measure to attempt to determine the limits of a "species" in the sense understood by Linnæus.

But we may conclude, from the facts presented above, that if there is such a naturally delimited group as a "species" in the Linnæan sense of the word, it by no means coincides with what now passes under this name, but might include many so-called species, often a whole genus, or even several.

With this in mind, we must pass on to consider the next step in our study, as to whether new "species" are now coming into being in our modern world under scientific observation, either natural or artificial.

VI

MENDELISM AND THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES

"Had Mendel's work come into the hands of Darwin, it is not too much to say that the history of the development of evolutionary philosophy would have been very different from that which we have witnessed."[23]

[Footnote 23: William Bateson, "Mendel's Principles of Heredity," p. 316.]

I

From the latter part of the eighteenth century, attempts were continually being made to explain the origin of all organic forms by some system of development or evolution. Buffon had dwelt on the modifications directly induced by the environment. Lamarck had made much use of this idea, claiming that such modifications were transmitted to posterity, and claiming the same for the structural changes produced by use and disuse. Lamarck's work did not become at all popular while he lived, chiefly through the overpowering influence of Baron Cuvier, who had an equally fantastic scheme of his own, which may well be termed a burlesque on Creation and in which an extreme fixity of "species" was a cardinal doctrine. Erasmus Darwin and Robert Chambers in England also tried to make a theory of evolution believable; though their efforts were but little more successful in gaining the ear of the world.

But to all that had gone before Charles Darwin and A.R. Wallace (1858) added the idea of "natural selection," or "the struggle for existence," to use the respective terms coined by each of these authors, as the chief means by which the effects of variation are accumulated and perpetuated so as to build up the modern complexities of the plant and animal kingdoms. Partly because it was a psychological moment, from the fact that the uniformitarian geology of Lyell with its graded advance of existences from age to age seemed absolutely to demand some evolutionary explanation; partly because artificial selection was a familiar idea of proved value in selective breeding, and "natural selection" seemed an exact parallel carried on by nature in the direction of continual improvement; but perhaps more largely because the abstract idea of "natural selection" involved so many intricate separate concepts that for nearly a generation scarcely two naturalists in the world could state the whole problem of the theory exactly alike;--on all these accounts the theory of natural selection, or of the "survival of the fittest," to use the phrase of Herbert Spencer, became in the latter decades of the nineteenth century well-nigh universal.

But about 1887 a faction or school arose who criticized the main idea of Darwin and Wallace and fell back on the Lamarckian factor of the transmission of acquired characters as really the essential cause of the process of evolution. Herbert Spencer, E.D. Cope and others did much to criticize natural selection as inadequate to do what was attributed to it, dwelling on the importance of the transmission of acquired characters. Spencer even went so far as to declare, "either there has been inheritance of acquired characters, or there has been no evolution." These Neo-Lamarckians argued that natural selection alone can neither explain the origin of varieties, nor the first steps in the slow advance toward "usefulness." An organ must be already useful before natural selection can take hold of it to improve it. Selection cannot make a thing useful to start with, but only (possibly) make more useful what already exists. Until the newly formed buds of developing limbs or organs became decidedly "useful" to the individual or the species, would they not be in the way, merely so many hindrances, to be removed by natural selection instead of being preserved and improved? But, in this view of the matter, they argued, what single organ of any species would there be that must not thus have appeared long before it was wanted?

Or to use the pungent words quoted with approval by Hugo de Vries at the end of his "Species and Varieties" (pp. 825, 826), "Natural selection may explain the survival of the fittest, but it cannot explain the arrival of the fittest."

This side of the argument is dwelt upon at some length by Alex. Graham Bell, as reported in a recent interview. He says:

"Natural selection does not and cannot produce new species or varieties or cause modifications of living organisms to come into existence. On the contrary, its sole function is to prevent evolution. In its action it is destructive merely,--not constructive,--causing death and extinction, not life and progression. Death cannot produce life; and though natural selection may produce the death of the unfit, it cannot produce the fit, far less evolve the fittest. It may permit the fit to survive by not killing them off, if they are already in existence; but it does not bring them into being, or produce improvement in them after they have once appeared."[24]

[Footnote 24: _World's Work_, December, 1913, p. 177.]

Opposing these Neo-Lamarckians were such prominent scientists as August Weismann, A.R. Wallace, E. Ray Lankester, who strenuously opposed the idea that "acquired characters," or more precisely _parental experience_, are ever transmissible. In the subsequent years the greatest variety of experimental tests have been applied to secure the hereditary transmission of any sort of such acquired characters, with uniformly negative results. One of the most elaborate of these experiments was conducted by a German botanist, who transplanted 2,500 different kinds of mountain plants to the lowlands, where he studied them for several years alongside their relatives, natives of these lowlands. He found that their mountain environment had made absolutely no permanent change in their structures or habits, which soon conformed exactly with those of their relatives which had lived in the lowland environment for centuries. Many similar efforts have been made to confirm this doctrine of the transmission of acquired characters; but their universal failure is like that of mechanics in trying to invent perpetual motion.

Thomas Hunt Morgan sums up the present situation in the following words: "To-day the theory has few followers among trained investigators, but it still has a popular vogue that is wide-spread and vociferous." And we may add that the extent of its spread is directly proportioned to the need felt for this doctrine as a support of the theory of evolution, while the vociferance of its advocates is inversely proportioned to the evidence in its support.

As a result of extensive modern experiments and discussion, biologists have grown very cautious, and are by no means so positive as they were twenty years ago in affirming just _how_ species have come into existence. Echoes of this old controversy between the two leading schools of biologists are occasionally heard; but the enthusiasm with which they set out a half century ago to solve the riddle of plant and animal life has largely given way to a purpose to discard speculation and patiently to observe and record actual facts. For with natural selection discredited in the house of its friends, and Lamarckianism under grave suspicion from want of a single well authenticated example, it is hard to see what there is left of the biological doctrine that has so dominated scientific thought for a half century. If each of these opposed schools of scientists are right in _what they deny_, the whole theoretical foundation for the origin of new kinds of animals and plants is swept away,--absolutely gone. For if an individual really cannot transmit what he has acquired in his lifetime, how can he transmit what he has not got himself, and what none of his ancestors ever had? And if natural selection cannot start a single organ of a single type, what is the use of discussing its supposed ability to improve them after the machinery is all built?

II