"How stupid of me not to have thought of this" commented TH Huxley on reading the Origin of Species. Huxley was such a vociferous defender of the theory of evolution that he was nicknamed Darwin's Bulldog. In the
"How stupid of me not to have thought of this" commented TH Huxley on reading the Origin of Species. Huxley was such a vociferous defender of the theory of evolution that he was nicknamed Darwin's Bulldog. In the Guardian's superb supplement on Saturday, Darwin's brilliant 21st century Border Collie, Richard Dawkins reiterates this sentiment calling its discovery "blindingly obvious". It was an idea waiting to be discovered, but did Darwin get lucky? Jean Baptiste Lamarck was close but wrong with the inheritance of acquired traits. Jim Al-Khalili points out that a process sounding very similar to natural selection was described by an Islamic scholar a thousand years earlier. And we all know how Alfred Wallace's similar conclusions on natural selection in the 1850s were the cue that prompted Charles Darwin to write his masterpiece.
The core of the theory of evolution, descent with modification, is wonderfully simple, for sure, but I think it is slightly disingenuous to describe its discovery as such. Huxley's comment implies that Darwin plucked it out the air in a eureka moment. This betrays the staggering amount of work that is crammed into the Origin of Species. I have a solid understanding of how evolution works, but in re-reading it, I feel slightly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of data presented.
I read academic papers every day. With science matured out of the realm of inquisitive gentlemen, they mostly deal with one or a handful of specific findings. Then, every so often, a review article will come up that summarises recent new discoveries in a particular field. The Origin of Species is like the ultimate badass 500-page mother of all reviews, but one in which a totally new conclusion is drawn in mesmerising detail.
Variation within populations is one of the key aspects of the theory of evolution. The first few chapters discuss the impressive observations of natural and bred variation within myriad species from cabbages to sheep. But Darwin's model organism is one that humans have a huge history with. "I have," he says, "after deliberation, taken up domestic pigeons." Pigeon fancying, although it sounds a bit silly now, was a major pastime in Victorian England. The intense breeding of these birds over thousands of years resulted in highly defined and distinctive features. There is something slightly comical about his descriptions of breeds such as laughers and trumpeters, and birds with enlarged nostrils, gaping mouths and conical beaks. Darwin concludes that the many varieties are in fact derived from one species, the rock pigeon, but interestingly he anticipates the perpetual antipathy towards the evidence of evolution, saying "I have never met a pigeon, or poultry, or duck, or rabbit fancier, who was not fully convinced that each main breed was descended from a distinct species." Although they have a specific agenda, the Intelligent Design lobby apply this same fingers-in-ears denial of evidence to this day.
Two and half thousand words later, Darwin declares that he has discussed pigeon origins "at some, yet quite insufficient, length." Humble, yes, but that's quite enough about pigeons. I wonder whether the use of a hobby as a model organism helped the Origin become such a bestseller. It was written as a popular science book: an early incarnation of what blossomed in the 20th century into a great tradition. Its style is very Victorian: polite, wordy and even apologetic. He often talks of "monstrous" forms or characters in reference to specimens. The text is littered with references, as all scientific papers are. But in the Origin they take the form of namechecks to people who helped out. They include biologists, botanists, geologists and even crewmen off the Beagle, with whom Darwin was checking his notes from that voyage. Mostly these names are long forgotten, and it does upset the flow somewhat. But you get a sense of Darwin's humility. He's confident that he's right, but knows two things: first, that, as with all science, there is a whole lot of work still to be done, and second, that a lot of people are going to be really vexed.
Anyone who has ever done any lab research knows that the old maxim about relative values of inspiration and perspiration is accurate, if not understatement. Darwin is the zenith of testament to that. He was a genius, but an extraordinarily thorough one. The sixth edition mentions the descent of man - he would deal with that matter in his other great work - and God only in passing. Otherwise it deals with just the facts, ma'am, just the facts. The language is very much of its time, but still reads pretty well: clear, thorough, rigorous, at times a touch turgid, but still compelling. As science, it is breathtaking, and that's the key thing: 