CHAPTER III.

THE LAW OF EVOLUTION, CONTINUED.

§ 53. But now, does this generalization express the whole truth? Does it include all the phenomena of Evolution? and does it exclude all other phenomena? A careful consideration of the facts, will show that it does neither.

That there are changes from the less heterogeneous to the more heterogeneous, which do not come within what we call Evolution, is proved in every case of local disease. A portion of the body in which there arises a cancer, or other morbid growth, unquestionably displays a new differentiation. Whether this morbid growth be, or be not, more heterogeneous than the tissues in which it is seated, is not the question. The question is, whether the structure of the organism as a whole, is, or is not, rendered more heterogeneous by the addition of a part unlike every pre-existing part, both in form and composition. And to this question there can be none but an affirmative answer. Again, it might with apparent truth be contended, that the earlier stages of decomposition in a dead body, similarly involve an increase of heterogeneity. Supposing the chemical changes to commence in some parts of the body earlier than in other parts, as they commonly do; and to affect different tissues in different, ways, as they must; it seems to be a necessary admission that the entire body, made up of undecomposed parts and parts decomposed in different ways and degrees, has become more heterogeneous than it was. Though greater homogeneity will be the eventual result, the immediate result is the opposite. And yet this immediate result is certainly not evolution. But perhaps of all illustrations the least debatable are those furnished by social disorders and disasters. When in any nation there occurs a rebellion, which, while leaving some provinces undisturbed, developes itself here in secret societies, there in public demonstrations, and elsewhere in actual appeal to arms, leading probably to conflict and bloodshed; it must be admitted that the society, regarded as a whole, has so been rendered more heterogeneous. Or when a dearth causes commercial panic with its entailed bankruptcies, closed factories, discharged operatives, political agitations, food riots, incendiarisms; it is manifest that as, throughout the rest of society, there still exists the ordinary organization displaying the usual phenomena, these new phenomena must be regarded as adding to the complexity previously existing. Nevertheless, it is clear that such changes so far from constituting a further stage of evolution, are steps towards dissolution.

There is good reason to think then, that the definition arrived at in the last chapter, is an imperfect one. We may suspect, not that the process of evolution is different from the process there described; but that the description did not contain all that it should. The changes above instanced as coming within the formula as it now stands, are so obviously different from the rest, that the inclusion of them implies some oversight—some distinction hitherto overlooked. Such further distinction we shall find really exists.

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§ 54. At the same time that all evolution is a change from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous, it is also a change from the indefinite to the definite. As well as an advance from simplicity to complexity, there is an advance from confusion to order—from undetermined arrangement to determined arrangement. In the process of development, no matter what sphere it is displayed in, there is not only a gradual multiplication of unlike parts; but there is a gradual increase in the distinctness with which these parts are marked off from each other. And so is that increase of heterogeneity which characterizes Evolution, distinguished from that increase of heterogeneity which does not. For proof of this, it needs only to reconsider the instances given above. The structural changes constituting a disease, have no such definiteness, either in locality, extent, or outline, as the structural changes constituting development. Though certain morbid growths arise much more commonly in some parts of the body than in others (as warts on the hands, cancer on the breasts, tubercle in the lungs), yet they are not confined to these parts; nor, when found on them, are they anything like so precise in their relative positions as are the normal parts around them. In size, again, they are extremely variable—they bear no such constant proportion to the body as organs do. Their forms, too, are far less specific than organic forms. And they are extremely irregular or confused in their internal structures. That is to say, they are in all respects comparatively indefinite. The like peculiarity may be traced in decomposition. That state of total indefiniteness to which a dead body is finally reduced, is a state towards which the putrefactive changes have tended from their commencement. Each step in the destruction of the organic compounds, is accompanied by a blurring of the minute structure—diminishes its distinctness. From the portions that have undergone most decomposition, there is a gradual transition to the less decomposed portions. And step by step the lines of organization, once so precise, disappear. Similarly with social changes of an abnormal kind. A political outbreak rising finally to a rebellion, tends from the very first to obliterate the specializations, governmental and industrial, which previously existed. The disaffection which originates such an outbreak, itself implies a loosening of those ties by which the citizens are bound up into distinct classes and sub-classes. Agitation, growing into revolutionary meetings, shows us a decided tendency towards the fusion of ranks that are usually separated. Acts of open insubordination exhibit a breaking through of those definite limits to individual conduct which were previously observed; and a disappearance of the lines previously existing between those in authority and those beneath them. At the same time, by the arrest of trade, artizans and others lose their occupations; and in so ceasing to be functionally distinguished, become fused into a mass from which the demarcations in great part vanish. And when at last there comes positive insurrection, all magisterial and official powers, all class distinctions, and all industrial differences, at once cease: organized society lapses into an unorganized aggregation of social units. How the like holds true of such social disasters as are entailed by famine, needs not be pointed out. On calling to mind that in cases of this kind the changes are from order towards disorder, it will at once be seen that like the foregoing they are changes from definite arrangements to indefinite arrangements.

Thus then is that increase of heterogeneity which constitutes Evolution, distinguished from that increase of heterogeneity which does not do so. Though in disease and death, individual or social, the earliest modifications may be construed as additions to the heterogeneity previously existing; yet they cannot be construed as additions to the definiteness previously existing. They begin from the very outset to destroy this definiteness; and so, gradually produce a heterogeneity that is indeterminate instead of determinate. Just in the same way that a city, already multiform in its variously arranged structures of various architecture, may be made more multiform by an earthquake, which leaves part of it standing and overthrows other parts in different ways and degrees, and yet is at the same time reduced from definite arrangement to indefinite arrangement; so may organized bodies be made for a time more multiform by changes which are nevertheless disorganizing changes. And in the one case as in the other, it is the absence of definiteness which distinguishes the multiformity of regression from the multiformity of progression.

If the advance from the indefinite to the definite is an essential characteristic of Evolution, we shall of course find it everywhere displayed; as in the last Chapter we found the advance from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous. With a view of showing that it is so, let us now briefly reconsider the same several classes of facts.

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§ 55. Beginning as before with a hypothetical illustration, we have to note that each further stage in the evolution of the Solar System, supposing it to have originated from diffused matter, was an advance towards more definite forms, and times, and forces. At first irregular in shape and with indistinct margins, the attenuated substance, as it concentrated and acquired a rotatory motion, must have assumed the shape of an oblate spheroid; which, with every increase of density, became more specific in general outline, and had its surface more sharply marked off from the surrounding void. At the same time, the constituent portions of nebulous matter, instead of independently moving towards their common centre of gravity from all points, and tending to revolve round it in various planes, as they would at first do, must have had these planes more and more merged into a single plane; and this plane must have gained greater precision as the concentration progressed. To which add that in the gradual establishment of a common and determinate angular velocity, instead of the various and conflicting angular velocities of different parts, we have a further change of like nature. According to the hypothesis, change from indistinct characteristics to distinct ones, was repeated in the evolution of each planet and satellite; and may in them be traced to a much greater extent. A gaseous spheroid is less definitely marked off from the space around it than a fluid spheroid, since it is subject to larger and more rapid undulations of surface, and to much greater distortions of general form; and similarly a fluid spheroid, covered as it must be with waves of various magnitudes, is less definite than a solid spheroid. Nor is it only in greater fixity of surface that a planet in its last stage, is distinguished from a planet in its earlier stages. Its general form, too, is more precise. The sphere, to which in the end it very closely approximates, is a perfectly specific figure; while the spheroid, under which figure it previously existed, being infinitely variable in oblateness, is an imperfectly specific figure. And further, a planet having an axis inclined to the plane of its orbit, must, while its form is very oblate, have its plane of rotation greatly disturbed by the attraction of external bodies; whereas its approach to a spherical form, involving a less extreme precessional motion, implies less marked variations in the direction of its axis. Nor is it only in respect of space-relations that the Solar System in general and in detail has become more precise. The like is true of time-relations. During the process of concentration the various portions of the nebulous mass must not only differ more or less from each other in their angular velocities, but each of them must gradually change the period in which it moves round the general axis. In every detached ring however, and in the resulting planet, this progressive alteration ceases: there results a determinate period of revolution. And similarly the time of axial rotation, which, during the formation of each planet, is continually diminishing, becomes at last practically fixed: as in the case of the Earth, whose day is not a second less than it was 2000 years ago. It is scarcely needful to point out that the force-relations have simultaneously become more and more settled. The exact calculations of physical astronomy, show us how definite these force-relations now are; while the great indefiniteness which once characterized them, is implied in the extreme difficulty, if not impossibility, of subjecting the nebular hypothesis to mathematical treatment.

From that originally molten state of the Earth inferable from established geological data—a state in harmony with the nebular hypothesis but inexplicable on any other—the transition to its existing state has been through stages in which the characters became more determinate. Besides being, as above pointed out, comparatively unstable in surface and contour, a fluid spheroid is less definite than a solid spheroid in having no fixed distribution of parts. Currents of molten matter, though kept to certain general circuits by the conditions of equilibrium, cannot in the absence of solid boundaries be precise or permanent in direction: all parts must be in motion with respect to other parts. But a solidification of the surface, even though but partial, is manifestly a step towards the establishment of definite relations of position. In a thin crust however, frequently ruptured as it must be by disturbing forces, and moved by every tidal undulation, such fixity of relative position can be but temporary. Only as the crust slowly increases in thickness, can there arise distinct and settled geographical relations. Observe too that when, on a crust that has cooled to the requisite degree, there begins to precipitate the water floating above as vapour, the water which is precipitated cannot maintain any definiteness either of state or place. Falling on a surface not thick enough to preserve anything beyond slight variations of level, it must form small shallow deposits over areas sufficiently cool to permit condensation; which areas must not only pass insensibly into others that are too hot for this, but must themselves from time to time be so raised in temperature as to drive off the water lying on them. With progressive refrigeration, however,—with an increasing thickness of crust, a consequent formation of larger elevations and depressions, and the condensation of more atmospheric water, there comes an arrangement of parts that is comparatively fixed in both time and space; and the definiteness of state and position increases, until there results such a distribution of continents and oceans as we now see—a distribution that is not only topographically precise, but also in its cliff-marked coast-lines presents a more definite division of land from water than could have existed during the period when islands of low elevation had shelving beaches up which the tide ebbed and flowed to great distances. Respecting the characteristics technically classed as geological, we may draw parallel inferences. While the Earth’s crust was thin, mountain-chains were impossibilities: there could not have been long and well-defined axes of elevation, with distinct water-sheds and areas of drainage. Moreover, from small islands admitting of but small rivers, and tidal streams both feeble and narrow, there would result no clearly-marked sedimentary strata. Confused and varying masses of detritus, such as those now found at the mouths of brooks, must have been the prevailing formations. And these could give place to distinct strata, only as there arose continents and oceans, with their great rivers, long coast-lines, and wide-spreading marine currents. How there must simultaneously have resulted more definite meteorological characters, need not be pointed out in detail. That differences of climates and seasons must have grown relatively decided as the heat of the Sun became distinguishable from the proper heat of the Earth; that the establishment through this cause of comparatively constant atmospheric currents, must have similarly produced more specific conditions in each locality; and that these effects must have been aided by increasing permanence in the distribution of land and sea and of ocean currents; are conclusions which are sufficiently obvious.

Let us turn now to the evidence furnished by organic bodies. In place of deductive illustrations like the foregoing, we shall here find numerous illustrations which, as being inductively established, are less open to criticism. The process of mammalian development, for example, will supply us with numerous proofs ready-described by embryologists. The first change which the ovum of a mammal undergoes, after continued segmentation has reduced its yelk to a mulberry-like mass, is the appearance of a greater definiteness in the peripheral cells of this mass: each of which acquires a distinct enveloping membrane. These peripheral cells, vaguely distinguished from the internal ones both by their greater completeness and by their minuter subdivision, coalesce to form the blastoderm or germinal membrane. One portion of the blastoderm presently becomes contrasted with the rest, through the accumulation of cells still more subdivided, which, together, form an opaque roundish spot. This _area germinativa_, as it is called, is not sharply delineated, but shades off gradually into the surrounding parts of the blastoderm; and the _area pellucida_, subsequently formed in the midst of this germinal area, is similarly without any precise margin. The “primitive trace,” which makes its appearance in the centre of the _area pellucida_, and is the rudiment of that vertebrate axis which is to be the fundamental characteristic of the mature animal, is shown by its name to be at first indefinite—a mere trace. Beginning as a shallow groove, this becomes slowly more pronounced: its sides grow higher, their summits overlap, and at last unite; and so the indefinite groove passes into a definite tube, forming the vertebral canal. In this vertebral canal the leading divisions of the brain are at first discernible only as slight bulgings; while the vertebræ commence as indistinct modifications of the tissue bounding the canal. Simultaneously, the outer portion of the blastoderm has been undergoing separation from the inner portion: there has been a division into the serous and mucous layers—a division at the outset indistinct, and traceable only about the germinal area, but which insensibly spreads throughout nearly the whole germinal membrane, and becomes definite. From the mucous layer, the development of the alimentary canal proceeds as that of the vertebral canal does from the serous layer. Originally a simple channel along the under surface of the embryonic mass, the intestine is rendered step by step more distinct by the bending down, on each side, of ridges which finally join to form a tube—the permanent absorbing surface is by degrees clearly cut off from that temporary absorbing surface of which it was at first a part like all the rest. And in an analogous manner the entire embryo, which at first lies outspread upon the surface of the yelk-sack, gradually rises up from it, and, by the infolding of its ventral surface, becomes a separate mass, connected with the yelk-sack only by a narrow duct. These changes through which the general structure of the embryo is marked out with slowly-increasing precision, are paralleled in the evolution of each organ. The heart is at first a mere aggregation of cells, of which the inner liquify to form the cavity, while the outer are transformed into the walls; and when thus sketched out, the heart is indefinite not only as being unlined by limiting membrane, but also as being but vaguely distinguishable from the great blood-vessels: of which it is little more than a dilatation. By and by the receiving portion of the cavity becomes distinct from the propelling portion. Afterwards there begins to be formed across the ventricle, a septum, which, however, is some time before it completely shuts off the two halves from each other; while the later-formed septum of the auricle remains incomplete during the whole of fœtal life. Again, the liver commences as a multiplication of certain cells in the wall of the intestine. The thickening produced by this multiplication “increases so as to form a projection upon the exterior of the canal;” and at the same time that the organ grows and becomes distinct from the intestine, the channels which permeate it are transformed into ducts having clearly-marked walls. Similarly, by the increase of certain cells of the external coat of the alimentary canal at its upper portion, are produced buds from which the lungs are developed; and these, in their general outlines and detailed structure, acquire distinctness step by step. Changes of this order continue long after birth; and, in the human being, are some of them not completed till middle life. During youth, most of the articular surfaces of the bones remain rough and fissured—the calcareous deposit ending irregularly in the surrounding cartilage. But between puberty and the age of thirty, the articular surfaces are finished off by the addition of smooth, hard, sharply-cut “epiphyses.” Thus we may say that during Evolution, an increase of definiteness continues long after there ceases to be any appreciable increase of heterogeneity. And, indeed, there is reason to think that those structural modifications which take place after maturity, ending in old age and death, are modifications of this nature; since they result in a growing rigidity of structure, a consequent restriction of movement and of functional pliability, a gradual narrowing of the limits within which the vital processes go on, ending at length in an organic adjustment too precise—too narrow in its margin of possible variation to permit the requisite adaptation to external changes of condition.

To demonstrate that the Earth’s Flora and Fauna, regarded either as wholes or in their separate species, have progressed in definiteness, is of course no more possible than it was to demonstrate that they have progressed in heterogeneity: lack of facts being an obstacle to the one conclusion as to the other. If, however, we allow ourselves to reason from the hypothesis, now daily rendered more probable, that every species of organic form up to the most complex, has arisen out of the simplest through the accumulation of modifications upon modifications, just as every individual organic form arises; we shall see that in such case there must have been a progress from the indeterminate to the determinate, both in the particular forms and in the groups of forms. We may set out with the significant fact that many of the lowest living organisms (which are analogous in structure to the germs of all higher ones) are so indefinite in character that it is difficult, if not impossible, to decide whether they are plants or animals. Respecting sundry of them there are unsettled disputes between zoologists and botanists; and it has even been proposed to group them into a separate kingdom, forming a common basis to the animal and vegetal kingdoms. Note next that among the _Protozoa_, extreme indefiniteness of shape is very general. In the shell-less Rhizopods and their allies, not only is the form so irregular as to admit of no description, but it is neither alike in any two individuals nor in the same individual at successive moments. By the aggregation of such creatures, are produced, among other indefinite bodies, the sponges—bodies that are indefinite in size, in contour, in internal arrangement, and in the absence of an external limiting membrane. As further showing the relatively indeterminate character of the simplest organisms, it may be mentioned that their structures vary very greatly with surrounding conditions: so much so that, among the _Protozoa_ and _Protophyta_, many forms which were once classed as distinct species, and even as distinct genera, are found to be merely varieties of one species. If now we call to mind how precise in their attributes are the highest organisms—how sharply cut their outlines, how invariable their proportions, and how comparatively constant their structures under changed conditions, we cannot deny that greater definiteness is one of their characteristics; and that if they have been evolved out of lower organisms, an increase of definiteness has been an accompaniment of their evolution. That in course of time, species have become more sharply marked off from other species, genera from genera, and orders from orders, is a conclusion not admitting of a more positive establishment than the foregoing; and must, indeed, stand or fall with it. If, however, species and genera and orders have resulted from the process of “natural selection,” then, as Mr. Darwin shows, there must have been a tendency to divergence, causing the contrasts between groups to become more and more pronounced. By the disappearance of intermediate forms, less fitted for special spheres of existence than the extreme forms they connected, the differences between the extreme forms must be rendered more decided; and so, from indistinct and unstable varieties, must slowly be produced distinct and stable species. Of which inference it may be remarked, not only that it follows from a process to which the organic creation is of necessity ever subject, but also that it is in harmony with what we know respecting races of men and races of domestic animals.

Evidence that in the course of psychial development, there is a change from the vague to the distinct, may be seen in every nursery. The confusion of the infant’s perceptions is shown by its inability to distinguish persons. The dimness of its ideas of direction and distance, may be inferred from the ill-guided movements of its hands, and from its endeavours to grasp objects far out of reach. Only by degrees does the sense of equilibrium, needful for safe standing and moving, gain the requisite precision. Through the insensible steps that end in comprehensible speech, we may trace an increase in the accuracy with which sounds are discriminated and in the nicety with which they are imitated. And similarly during education, the change is towards the establishment of internal relations more perfectly corresponding to external ones—to exactness in calculations, to a better representation of objects drawn, to a more correct spelling, to a completer conformity to the rules of speech, to clearer ideas respecting the affairs of life. How in the further progress to maturity the law still holds, needs not here be pointed out; more especially as it will presently be shown in treating of the evolution of intelligence during the advance of civilization. The only further fact calling for remark, is, that this increase of mental definiteness is, in some ways, manifested even during the advance from maturity to old age. The habits of life grow more and more fixed; the character becomes less capable of change; the quantity of knowledge previously acquired ceases to have its limits alterable by additions; and the opinions upon every point admit of no modification.

Still more manifestly do the successive phases through which societies pass, display the progress from indeterminate arrangement to determinate arrangement. A wandering tribe of savages, as being fixed neither in its locality nor in the relative positions of its parts, is far less definite than a nation, covering a territory clearly marked out, and formed of individuals grouped together in towns and villages. In such a tribe the social relations are similarly confused and unsettled. Political authority is neither well established nor precise. Distinctions of rank are neither clearly marked nor impassable. “Medicine-men” and “rain-makers” form a class by no means as distinct from the rest of the community as eventually becomes the priesthood they foreshadow. And save in the different occupations of men and women, there are no complete industrial divisions. Only in tribes of considerable size, which have enslaved other tribes, is the economical differentiation decided. Any one of these primitive societies however that developes, becomes step by step more specific. Increasing in size, consequently ceasing to be so nomadic, and restricted in its range by neighbouring tribes, it acquires, after prolonged border warfare, a more settled territorial boundary. The distinction between the royal race and the people, grows so extreme as to amount in the popular apprehension to a difference of nature. The warrior-class attains a perfect separation from classes devoted to the cultivation of the soil or other occupations regarded as servile. And there arises a priesthood that is defined in its rank, its functions, its privileges. This sharpness of definition, growing both greater and more variously exemplified as societies advance to maturity, is extremest in those that have reached their full development or are declining. Of ancient Egypt we read that its social divisions were strongly-marked and its customs rigid. Recent investigations make it more than ever clear, that among the Assyrians and surrounding peoples, not only were the laws unalterable, but even the minor habits, down to those of domestic routine, possessed a sacredness which insured their permanence. In India at the present day, the unchangeable distinctions of caste, not less than the constancy in modes of dress, industrial processes, and religious observances, show us how fixed are the arrangements where the antiquity is great. Nor does China with its long-settled political organization, its elaborate and precise conventions, and its unprogressive literature, fail to exemplify the same truth. The successive phases of our own and neighbouring societies, furnish facts somewhat different in kind but similar in meaning. After our leading class-divisions had become tolerably well-established, it was long before they acquired their full precision. Originally, monarchical authority was more baronial, and baronial authority more monarchical, than they afterwards became. Between modern priests and the priests of old times, who while officially teachers of religion were also warriors, judges, architects, there is a marked difference in definiteness of function. And among the people engaged in productive occupations, the like contrast would be found to hold: the industrial office has become more distinct from the military; and its various divisions from each other. A history of our constitution, reminding us how, after prolonged struggles, the powers of King, Lords, and Commons, have been gradually settled, would clearly exhibit analogous changes. Countless facts bearing the like construction would meet us, were we to trace the development of legislation: in the successive stages of which, we should find statutes made more precise in their provisions—more specific in their applications to particular cases. Even at the present time we see that each new law, beginning as a vague proposition, is, in the course of enactment, elaborated into specific clauses; and further that only after its interpretation has been established by judges’ decisions in courts of justice, does it reach its final definiteness. From the history of minor institutions like evidence may be gathered. Religious, charitable, literary, and all other societies, beginning with ends and methods roughly sketched out and easily modifiable, show us how, by the accumulation of rules and precedents, the purposes become more distinct and the modes of action more restricted; until at last death often results from a fixity which admits of no adaptation to new conditions. Should it be objected that among civilized nations there are examples of decreasing definiteness, (instance the breaking down of limits between ranks,) the reply is, that such apparent exceptions are the accompaniments of a social metamorphosis—a change from the military or predatory type of social structure, to the industrial or mercantile type, during which the old lines of organization are disappearing and the new ones becoming more marked.

That all organized results of social action, pass in the course of civilization through parallel phases, is demonstrable. Being, as they are, objective products of subjective processes, they must display corresponding changes; and that they do this, the cases of Language, of Science, of Art, clearly prove.

If we strike out from our sentences everything but nouns and verbs, we shall perceive how extremely vague is the expression of ideas in undeveloped tongues. When we note how each inflection of a verb or addition by which the case of a noun is marked, serves to limit the conditions of action or of existence, we see that these constituents of speech enable men more precisely to communicate their thoughts. That the application of an adjective to a noun or an adverb to a verb, narrows the class of things or changes indicated, implies that these additional words serve further to define the meaning. And similarly with other parts of speech. The like effect results from the multiplication of words of each order. When the names for objects, and acts, and qualities, are but few, the range of each is proportionately wide, and its meaning therefore unspecific. The similes and metaphors so abundantly used by aboriginal races, are simply vehicles for indirectly and imperfectly conveying ideas, which lack of words disables them from conveying directly and perfectly. In contrasting these figurative expressions, interpretable in various senses, with the expressions which we should use in place of them, the increase of exactness which wealth of language gives, is rendered very obvious. Or to take a case from ordinary life, if we compare the speech of the peasant, who, out of his limited vocabulary, can describe the contents of the bottle he carries, only as “doctor’s-stuff” which he has got for his “sick” wife, with the speech of the physician, who tells those educated like himself the particular composition of the medicine, and the particular disorder for which he has prescribed it; we have vividly brought home to us, the precision which language gains by the multiplication of terms. Again, in the course of its evolution, each tongue acquires a further accuracy through processes which fix the meaning of each word. Intellectual intercourse tends gradually to diminish laxity of expression. By and by dictionaries give definitions. And eventually, among the most cultivated, indefiniteness is not tolerated, either in the terms used or in their grammatical combinations. Once more, languages considered as wholes, become gradually more distinct from each other, and from their common parent: as witness in early times the divergence from the same root of two languages so unlike as Greek and Latin, and in later times the development of three Latin dialects into Italian, French, and Spanish.

In his “History of the Inductive Sciences,” Dr. Whewell says that the Greeks failed in physical philosophy because their “ideas were not distinct, and appropriate to the facts.” I do not quote this remark for its luminousness; since it would be equally proper to ascribe the indistinctness and inappropriateness of their ideas to the imperfection of their physical philosophy; but I quote it because it serves as good evidence of the indefiniteness of primitive science. The same work and its fellow on “The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences,” supply other evidences equally good, because equally independent of any such hypothesis as is here to be established. Respecting mathematics we have the fact that geometrical theorems grew out of empirical methods; and that these theorems, at first isolated, did not acquire the clearness which complete demonstration gives, until they were arranged by Euclid into a series of dependent propositions. At a later period the same general truth was exemplified in the progress from the “method of exhaustions” and the “method of indivisibles” to the “method of limits;” which is the central idea of the infinitesimal calculus. In early mechanics, too, may be traced a dim perception that action and re-action are equal and opposite; though for ages after, this truth remained unformulated. And similarly, the property of inertia, though not distinctly comprehended until Kepler lived, was vaguely recognized long previously. “The conception of statical force,” “was never presented in a distinct form till the works of Archimedes appeared;” and “the conception of accelerating force was confused, in the mind of Kepler and his contemporaries, and did not become clear enough for purposes of sound scientific reasoning before the succeeding century.” To which specific assertions may be added the general remark, that “terms which originally, and before the laws of motion were fully known, were used in a very vague and fluctuating sense, were afterwards limited and rendered precise.” When we turn from abstract scientific conceptions to the concrete previsions of science, of which astronomy furnishes us with numerous examples, the like contrast is visible. The times at which celestial phenomena will occur, have been predicted with ever-increasing accuracy: errors once amounting to days, have been reduced down to seconds. The correspondence between the real and supposed forms of orbits, has been growing gradually more precise. Originally thought circular, then epicyclical, then elliptical, orbits are now ascertained to be curves which always deviate more or less from perfect ellipses, and which are ever undergoing change. But the general advance of Science in definiteness, is best shown by the contrast between its qualitative stage, and its quantitative stage. At first, the facts ascertained were, that between such and such phenomena some connexion existed—that the appearances _a_ and _b_ always occurred together or in succession; but it was neither known what was the nature of the relation between _a_ and _b_, nor how much of _a_ accompanied so much of _b_. The development of Science has in part been the reduction of these vague connexions to distinct ones. Most relations have been determined as belonging to the classes mechanical, chemical, thermal, electric, magnetic, &c.; and we have learnt to infer the amounts of the antecedents and consequents from each other with an exactness that becomes ever greater. Were there space to state them, illustrations of this truth might be cited from all departments of physics; but it must suffice here to instance the general progress of chemistry. Besides the conspicuous fact that we have positively ascertained the constituent elements of an immense number of compounds which our ancestors could not analyze, and of a far greater number which they never even saw, there is the still more conspicuous fact that the combining equivalents of these elements are accurately calculated. The beginnings of a like advance from qualitative to quantitative prevision, may be traced even in some of the higher sciences. Physiology shows it in the weighing and measuring of organic products, and of the materials consumed. By Pathology it is displayed in the use of the statistical method of determining the sources of diseases, and the effects of treatment. In Zoology and Botany, the numerical comparisons of Floras and Faunas, leading to specific conclusions respecting their sources and distributions, illustrate it. And in Sociology, questionable as are the conclusions usually drawn from the classified sum-totals of the census, from Board-of-Trade tables, and from criminal returns, it must be admitted that these imply a progress towards more accurate conceptions of social phenomena. That an essential characteristic of advancing Science is increase in definiteness, appears indeed almost a truism, when we remember that Science may be described as definite knowledge, in contradistinction to that indefinite knowledge possessed by the uncultured. And if, as we cannot question, Science has, in the slow course of ages, been evolved out of this indefinite knowledge of the uncultured; then, the gradual acquirement of that great definiteness which now distinguishes it, must have been a leading trait in its evolution.

The Arts, industrial and æsthetic, furnish illustrations perhaps still more striking. Flint implements of the kind recently found in certain of the later geologic deposits—implements so rude that some have held them to be of natural rather than of artificial origin—show the extreme want of precision in men’s first handyworks. Though a great advance on these is seen in the tools and weapons of existing savage tribes, yet an inexactness in forms and fittings, more than anything else distinguishes such tools and weapons from those of civilized races. In a less degree, the productions of semi-barbarous nations are characterized by like defects. A Chinese junk with all its contained furniture and appliances, nowhere presents a perfectly straight line, a uniform curve, or a true surface. Nor do the utensils and machines of our ancestors fail to exhibit a similar inferiority to our own. An antique chair, an old fireplace, a lock of the last century, or almost any article of household use that has been preserved for a few generations, will prove by contrast how greatly the industrial products of our time excel those of the past in their accuracy. Since planing machines have been invented, it has become possible to produce absolutely straight lines, and surfaces so truly level as to be air-tight when applied to each other. While in the dividing-engine of Troughton, in the micrometer of Whitworth, and in microscopes that show fifty thousand divisions to the inch, we have an exactness as far exceeding that reached in the works of our great-grandfathers, as theirs exceeded that of the aboriginal celt-makers. In the Fine Arts there has been a parallel process. From the rudely carved and painted idols of savages, through the early sculptures characterized by limbs having no muscular detail, wooden-looking drapery, and faces devoid of individuality, up to the later statues of the Greeks or some of those now produced, the increased accuracy of representation is conspicuous. Compare the mural paintings of the Egyptians with the paintings of medieval Europe, or these with modern paintings, and the more precise rendering of the appearances of objects is manifest. So too is it with the delineations of fiction and the drama. In the marvellous tales current among Eastern nations, in the romantic legends of feudal Europe, as well as in the mystery-plays and those immediately succeeding them, we see great want of correspondence to the realities of life; not only in the predominance of supernatural events and extremely improbable coincidences, but also in the vaguely-indicated personages, who are nothing more than embodiments of virtue and vice in general, or at best of particular virtues and vices. Through transitions that need not be specified, there has been a progressive diminution, in both fiction and the drama, of whatever is unnatural—whatever does not answer to real life. And now, novels and plays are applauded in proportion to the fidelity with which they exhibit individual characters with their motives and consequent actions; improbabilities, like the impossibilities which preceded them, are disallowed; and there is even an incipient abandonment of those elaborate plots which the realities of life rarely if ever furnish.

Were it needful, it would be easy to accumulate evidences of various other kinds. The progress from myths and legends, extreme in their misrepresentations, to a history that has slowly become, and is still becoming, more accurate; the establishment of settled systematic methods of doing things, instead of the indeterminate ways at first pursued; and the great increase in the number of points on which conflicting opinion has settled down into exact knowledge; might severally be used further to exemplify the general truth enunciated. The basis of induction is, however, already sufficiently wide. Proof that all Evolution is from the indefinite to the definite, we find to be not less abundant than proof that all Evolution is from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous. The one kind of change is co-extensive with the other—is equally with it exhibited throughout Nature.

* * * * *

§ 56. To form a complete conception of Evolution, we have to contemplate it under yet another aspect. This advance from the indefinite to the definite, is obviously not primary but secondary—is an incidental result attendant on the finishing of certain changes. The transformation of a whole that was originally uniform, into a combination of multiform parts, implies a progressive separation. While this is going on there must be indistinctness. Only as each separated division draws into its general mass those diffused peripheral portions which are at first imperfectly disunited from the peripheral portions of neighbouring divisions, can it acquire anything like a precise outline. And it cannot become perfectly definite until its units are aggregated into a compact whole. That is to say, the acquirement of definiteness is simply a concomitant of complete union of the elements constituting each component division. Thus, Evolution is characterized not only by a continuous multiplication of parts, but also by a growing oneness in each part. And while an advance in heterogeneity results from progressive differentiation, an advance in definiteness results from progressive integration. The two changes are simultaneous; or are rather opposite aspects of the same change. This change, however, cannot be rightly comprehended without looking at both its sides. Let us then once more consider Evolution under its several manifestations; for the purpose of noting how it is throughout a process of integration.

The illustrations furnished by the Solar System, supposing it to have had a nebular origin, are so obvious as scarcely to need indicating. That as a whole, it underwent a gradual concentration while assuming its present distribution of parts; and that there subsequently took place a like concentration of the matter forming each planet and satellite, is the leading feature of the hypothesis. The process of integration is here seen in its simplest and most decided form.

Geologic evolution, if we trace it up from that molten state of the Earth’s substance which we are obliged to postulate, supplies us with more varied facts of like meaning. The advance from a thin crust, at first everywhere fissured and moveable, to a crust so solid and thick as to be but now and then very partially dislocated by disturbing forces, exemplifies the unifying process; as does likewise the advance from a surface covered with small patches of land and water, to one divided into continents and oceans—an advance also resulting from the Earth’s gradual solidification. Moreover, the collection of detritus into strata of great extent, and the union of such strata into extensive “systems,” becomes possible only as surfaces of land and water become wide, and subsidences great, in both area and depth; whence it follows that integrations of this order must have grown more pronounced as the Earth’s crust thickened. Different and simpler instances of the process through which mixed materials are separated, and the kindred units aggregated into masses, are exhibited in the detailed structure of the Earth. The phenomena of crystallization may be cited _en masse_, as showing how the unifications of similar elements take place wherever the conditions permit. Not only do we see this where there is little or no hindrance to the approach of the particles, as in the cases of crystals formed from solutions, or by sublimation; but it is also seen where there are great obstacles to their approach. The flints and the nodules of iron pyrites that are found in chalk, as well as the silicious concretions which occasionally occur in limestone, can be interpreted only as aggregations of atoms of silex or sulphuret of iron, originally diffused almost uniformly through the deposit, but gradually collected round certain centres, notwithstanding the solid or semi-solid state of the surrounding matter. Iron-stone as it ordinarily occurs, presents a similar phenomenon to be similarly explained; and what is called bog iron-ore supplies the conditions and the result in still more obvious correlation.

During the evolution of an organism, there occurs, as every physiologist knows, not only separation of parts, but coalescence of parts. In the mammalian embryo, the heart, at first a long pulsating blood-vessel, by and by twists upon itself and becomes integrated. The layer of bile-cells constituting the rudimentary liver, do not simply become different from the wall of the intestine in which they at first lie; but they simultaneously diverge from it and consolidate into an organ. The anterior segments of the cerebro-spinal axis, which are at first continuous with the rest, and distinguished only by their larger size, undergo a gradual union; and at the same time the resulting head consolidates into a mass clearly marked off from the rest of the vertebral column. The like process, variously exemplified in other organs, is meanwhile exhibited by the body as a whole; which becomes integrated, somewhat in the same way that the contents of an outspread handkerchief become integrated when its edges are drawn in and fastened to make a bundle. Analogous changes go on long after birth, and continue even up to old age. In the human being that gradual solidification of the bony framework, which, during childhood, is seen in the coalescence of portions of the same bone ossified from different centres, is afterwards seen in the coalescence of bones that were originally distinct. The appendages of the vertebræ unite with the vertebral centres to which they belong—a change not completed until towards thirty. At the same time the epiphyses, formed separately from the main bodies of their respective bones, have their cartilaginous connexions turned into osseous ones—are fused to the masses beneath them. The component vertebræ of the sacrum, which remain separate till about the sixteenth year, then begin to unite; and in ten or a dozen years more their union is complete. Still later occurs the coalescence of the coccygeal vertebræ; and there are some other bony unions which are not completed until advanced age. To which add that the increase of density and toughness, going on throughout the tissues in general during life, may be regarded as the formation of a more highly integrated substance. The species of change thus illustrated under its several aspects in the unfolding of the human body, may be traced in all animals. That mode of it which consists in the union of homogeneous parts originally separate, has been described by Milne-Edwards and others, as exhibited in various of the invertebrata; though it does not seem to have been included by them as an essential peculiarity in the process of organic development. We shall, however, be led strongly to suspect that progressive integration should form part of the definition of this process, when we find it displayed not only in tracing up the stages passed through by every embryo, but also in ascending from the lower living creatures to the higher. And here, as in the evolution of individual organisms, it goes on both longitudinally and transversely: under which different forms we may indeed most conveniently consider it. Of _longitudinal integration_, the sub-kingdom _Annulosa_ supplies abundant examples. Its lower members, such as worms and myriapods, are mostly characterized by the great number of segments composing them: reaching in some cases to several hundreds. But in the higher divisions—crustaceans, insects, and spiders—we find this number reduced down to twenty-two, thirteen, or even fewer; while, accompanying the reduction, there is a shortening or integration of the whole body, reaching its extreme in the crab and the spider. The significance of these contrasts, as bearing upon the general doctrine of Evolution, will be seen when it is pointed out that they are parallel to those which arise during the development of individual _Annulosa_. In the lobster, the head and thorax form one compact box, made by the union of a number of segments which in the embryo were separable. Similarly, the butterfly shows us segments so much more closely united than they were in the caterpillar, as to be, some of them, no longer distinguishable from each other. The _Vertebrata_ again, throughout their successively higher classes, furnish like instances of longitudinal union. In most fishes, and in reptiles that have no limbs, the only segments of the spinal column that coalesce, are those forming the skull. In most mammals and in birds, a variable number of vertebræ become fused together to form the sacrum; and in the higher quadrumana and man, the caudal vertebræ also lose their separate individualities in a single _os coccygis_. That which we may distinguish as _transverse integration_, is well illustrated among the _Annulosa_ in the development of the nervous system. Leaving out those most degraded forms which do not present distinct ganglia, it is to be observed that the lower annulose animals, in common with the larvæ of the higher, are severally characterized by a double chain of ganglia running from end to end of the body; while in the more perfectly formed annulose animals, this double chain becomes more or less completely united into a single chain. Mr. Newport has described the course of this concentration as exhibited in insects; and by Rathke it has been traced in crustaceans. During the early stages of the _Astacus fluviatilis_, or common cray-fish, there is a pair of separate ganglia to each ring. Of the fourteen pairs belonging to the head and thorax, the three pairs in advance of the mouth consolidate into one mass to form the brain, or cephalic ganglion. Meanwhile, out of the remainder, the first six pairs severally unite in the median line, while the rest remain more or less separate. Of these six double ganglia thus formed, the anterior four coalesce into one mass; the remaining two coalesce into another mass; and then these two masses coalesce into one. Here we see longitudinal and transverse integration going on simultaneously; and in the highest crustaceans they are both carried still further. The _Vertebrata_ clearly exhibit transverse integration in the development of the generative system. The lowest of the mammalia—the _Monotremata_—in common with birds, to which they are in many respects allied, have oviducts which towards their lower extremities are dilated into cavities, severally performing in an imperfect way the function of a uterus. “In the _Marsupialia_ there is a closer approximation of the two lateral sets of organs on the median line; for the oviducts converge towards one another and meet (without coalescing) on the median line; so that their uterine dilatations are in contact with each other, forming a true ‘double uterus....’ As we ascend the series of ‘placental’ mammals, we find the lateral coalescence becoming more and more complete.... In many of the _Rodentia_ the uterus still remains completely divided into two lateral halves; whilst in others these coalesce at their lower portions, forming a rudiment of the true ‘body’ of the uterus in the human subject. This part increases at the expense of the lateral ‘cornua’ in the higher herbivora and carnivora; but even in the lower quadrumana the uterus is somewhat cleft at its summit.”[10]

In the social organism integrative changes are not less clearly and abundantly exemplified. Uncivilized societies display them when wandering families, such as the bushmen show us, unite into tribes of considerable numbers. Among these we see a further progress of like nature everywhere manifested in the subjugation of weaker tribes by stronger ones; and in the subordination of their respective chiefs to the conquering chief. The partial combinations thus resulting, which among aboriginal races are being continually formed and continually broken up, become, among the superior races, both more complete and more permanent. If we trace the metamorphoses through which our own society, or any adjacent one, has passed, we see this unification from time to time repeated on a larger scale and with increasing stability. The aggregation of juniors and the children of juniors under elders and the children of elders; the consequent establishment of groups of vassals bound to their respective nobles; the subordination afterwards established of groups of inferior nobles to dukes or earls; and the still later establishment of the kingly power over dukes or earls; are so many instances of increasing consolidation. This process through which petty tenures are combined into feuds, feuds into provinces, provinces into kingdoms, and finally contiguous kingdoms into a single one, slowly completes itself by destroying the original lines of demarcation. And it may be further remarked of the European nations as a whole, that in the tendency to form alliances more or less lasting, in the restraining influences exercised by the several governments over each other, in the system that is gradually establishing itself of settling international disputes by congresses, as well as in the breaking down of commercial barriers and the increasing facilities of communication, we may trace the incipient stage of a European confederation—a still larger integration than any now established. But it is not only in these external unions of groups with groups, and of the compound groups with each other, that the general law is exemplified. It is exemplified also in unions that take place internally, as the groups become more highly organized. These, of which the most conspicuous are commercial in their origin and function, are well illustrated in our own society. We have integrations consequent on the simple growth of adjacent parts performing like functions: as, for instance, the junction of Manchester with its calico-weaving suburbs. We have other integrations that arise when, out of several places producing a particular commodity, one monopolizes more and more of the business, and leaves the rest to dwindle: as witness the growth of the Yorkshire cloth-districts at the expense of those in the west of England; or the absorption by Staffordshire of the pottery-manufacture, and the consequent decay of the establishments that once flourished at Worcester, Derby, and elsewhere. And we have those yet other integrations produced by the actual approximation of the similarly-occupied parts: whence result such facts as the concentration of publishers in Paternoster Row; of lawyers in the Temple and neighbourhood; of corn-merchants about Mark Lane; of civil engineers in Great George Street; of bankers in the centre of the city. Industrial combinations that consist, not in the approximation or fusion of parts, but in the establishment of common centres of connexion, are exhibited in the Bank clearing-house and the Railway clearing-house. While of yet another genus are those unions which bring into relation the more or less dispersed citizens who are occupied in like ways: as traders are brought by the Exchange and the Stock-Exchange; and as are professional men by institutes, like those of Civil Engineers, Architects, &c.

Here, as before, it is manifest that a law of Evolution which holds of organisms, must hold too of all objective results of their activity; and that hence Language, and Science, and Art, must not only in the course of their development display increasing heterogeneity and definiteness, but also increasing integration. We shall find this conclusion to be in harmony with the facts.

Among uncivilized races, the many-syllabled terms used for not uncommon objects, as well as the descriptive character of proper names, show us that the words used for the less familiar things are formed by compounding the words used for the more familiar things. This process of composition is sometimes found in its incipient stage—a stage in which the component words are temporarily united to signify some unnamed object, and do not (from lack of frequent use) permanently cohere. But in the majority of inferior languages, the process of “agglutination,” as it is called, has gone far enough to produce considerable stability in the compound words: there is a manifest integration. How small is the degree of this integration, however, when compared with that reached in well-developed languages is shown both by the great length of the compound words used for things and acts of constant occurrence, and by the separableness of their elements. Certain North-American tongues very well illustrate this. In a Ricaree vocabulary extending to fifty names of common objects, which in English are nearly all expressed by single syllables, there is not one monosyllabic word; and in the nearly-allied vocabulary of the Pawnees, the names for these same common objects are monosyllabic in but two instances. Things so familiar to these hunting tribes as _dog_ and _bow_, are, in the Pawnee language, _ashakish_ and _teeragish_; the _hand_ and the _eyes_ are respectively _iksheeree_ and _keereekoo_; for _day_ the term is _shakoorooeeshairet_, and for _devil_ it is _tsaheekshkakooraiwah_; while the numerals are composed of from two syllables up to five, and in Ricaree up to seven. That the great length of these familiar words implies a low degree of development, and that in the formation of higher languages out of lower there is a progressive integration, which reduces the polysyllables to dissyllables and monosyllables, is an inference fully confirmed by the history of our own language. Anglo-Saxon _steorra_ has been in course of time consolidated into English _star_, _mona_ into _moon_, and _nama_ into _name_. The transition through the intermediate semi-Saxon is clearly traceable. _Sunu_ became in semi-Saxon _sune_, and in English _son_: the final _e_ of _sune_ being an evanescent form of the original _u_. The change from the Anglo-Saxon plural, formed by the distinct syllable _as_, to our plural formed by the appended consonant _s_, shows us the same thing: _smithas_ in becoming _smiths_, and _endas_ in becoming _ends_, illustrate progressive coalescence. So too does the disappearance of the terminal _an_ in the infinitive mood of verbs; as shown in the transition from the Anglo-Saxon _cuman_ to the semi-Saxon _cumme_, and to the English _come_. Moreover the process has been slowly going on, even since what we distinguish as English was formed. In Elizabeth’s time, verbs were still very frequently pluralized by the addition of _en_—we _tell_ was we _tellen_; and in some rural districts this form of speech may even now be heard. In like manner the terminal _ed_ of the past tense, has united with the word it modifies. _Burn-ed_ has in pronunciation become _burnt_; and even in writing the terminal _t_ has in some cases taken the place of the _ed_. Only where antique forms in general are adhered to, as in the church-service, is the distinctness of this inflection still maintained. Further, we see that the compound vowels have been in many cases fused into single vowels. That in _bread_ the _e_ and _a_ were originally both sounded, is proved by the fact that they are still so sounded in parts where old habits linger. We, however, have contracted the pronunciation into _bred_; and we have made like changes in many other common words. Lastly, let it be noted that where the frequency of repetition is greatest, the process is carried furthest; as instance the contraction of _lord_ (originally _laford_) into _lud_ in the mouths of Barristers; and still better the coalescence of _God be with you_ into _Good bye_. Besides exhibiting in this way the integrative process, Language equally exhibits it throughout all grammatical development. The lowest kinds of human speech, having merely nouns and verbs without inflections to them, manifestly permit no such close union of the elements of a proposition as results when the relations are either marked by inflections or by words specially used for purposes of connexion. Such speech is necessarily what we significantly call “incoherent.” To a considerable extent, incoherence is seen in the Chinese language. “If, instead of saying _I go_ to _London_, _figs come_ from _Turkey_, _the sun shines_ through _the air_, we said, _I go_ end _London_, _figs come_ origin _Turkey_, _the sun shines_ passage _air_, we should discourse of the manner of the Chinese.” From this “aptotic” form, there is clear evidence of a transition by coalescence to a form in which the connexions of words are expressed by the addition to them of certain inflectional words. “In Languages like the Chinese,” remarks Dr Latham, “the separate words most in use to express relation may become adjuncts or annexes.” To this he adds the fact that “the numerous inflexional languages fall into two classes. In one, the inflexions have no appearance of having been separate words. In the other, their origin as separate words is demonstrable.” From which the inference drawn is, that the “aptotic” languages, by the more and more constant use of adjuncts, gave rise to the “agglutinate” languages, or those in which the original separateness of the inflexional parts can be traced; and that out of these, by further use, arose the “amalgamate” languages, or these in which the original separateness of the inflexional parts can no longer be traced. Strongly corroborative of this inference is the unquestionable fact, that by such a process there have grown out of the amalgamate languages, the “anaptotic” languages; of which our own is the most perfect example—languages in which, by further consolidation, inflexions have almost disappeared, while, to express the verbal relations, certain new kinds of words have been developed. When we see the Anglo-Saxon inflexions gradually lost by contraction during the development of English, and, though to a less degree, the Latin inflexions dwindling away during the development of French, we cannot deny that grammatical structure is modified by integration; and seeing how clearly the earlier stages of grammatical structure are explained by it, we can scarcely doubt that it has been going on from the first. And now mark that in proportion to the degree of the integration above described, is the extent to which integration of another order is shown. Aptotic languages are, as already pointed out, necessarily incoherent—the elements of a proposition cannot be tied into a definite and complete whole. But as fast as coalescence produces inflected words, it becomes possible to unite them into sentences of which the parts are so mutually dependent that no considerable change can be made without destroying the meaning. Yet a further stage in this process may be noted. After the development of those grammatical forms which make definite statements possible, we do not at first find them used to express anything beyond statements of a simple kind. A single subject with a single predicate, accompanied by but few qualifying terms, are usually all. If we compare, for instance, the Hebrew scriptures with writings of modern times, a marked difference of aggregation among the groups of words, is visible. In the number of subordinate propositions which accompany the principal one; in the various complements to subjects and predicates; and in the numerous qualifying clauses—all of them united into one complex whole—many sentences in modern composition exhibit a degree of integration not to be found in ancient ones.

The history of Science presents facts of the same meaning at every step. Indeed the integration of groups of like entities and like relations, may be said to constitute the most conspicuous part of scientific progress. A glance at the classificatory sciences, shows us not only that the confused aggregations which the vulgar make of natural objects, are differentiated into groups that are respectively more homogeneous, but also that these groups are gradually rendered complete and compact. While, instead of considering all marine creatures as fish, shell-fish, and jelly-fish, Zoology establishes divisions and sub-divisions under the heads _Vertebrata_, _Annulosa_, _Mollusca_, &c.—while in place of the wide and vague assemblage popularly described as “creeping things,” it makes the specific classes _Annelida_, _Myriopoda_, _Insecta_, _Arachnida_; it at the same time gives to these an increasing consolidation. The several orders and genera of which each consists, are arranged according to their affinities and bound together under common definitions; at the same time that, by extended observation and rigorous criticism, the previously unknown and undetermined forms are integrated with their respective congeners. Nor is the same process less clearly manifested in those sciences which have for their subject-matter, not classified objects, but classified relations. Under one of its chief aspects, the advance of Science is the advance of generalization; and generalization is the uniting into groups all like co-existencies and sequences among phenomena. Not only, however, does the colligation of a number of concrete relations into a generalization of the lowest order, exemplify the principle enunciated; but it is again and again exemplified in the colligation of these lowest generalizations into higher ones, and these into still higher ones. Year by year are established certain connexions among orders of phenomena that seem wholly unallied; and these connexions, multiplying and strengthening, gradually bring the seemingly unallied orders under a common bond. When, for example, Humboldt quotes the saying of the Swiss—“it is going to rain because we hear the murmur of the torrents nearer,”—when he remarks the relation between this and an observation of his own, that the cataracts of the Orinoco are heard at a greater distance by night than by day—when he notes the essential parallelism existing between these facts and the fact that the unusual visibility of remote objects is also an indication of coming rain—and when he points out that the common cause of these variations is the smaller hindrance offered to the passage of both light and sound, by media which are comparatively homogeneous, either in temperature or hygrometric state; he helps in bringing under one generalization the phenomena of light and those of sound. Experiment having shown that these conform to like laws of reflection and refraction, the conclusion that they are both produced by undulations gains probability: there is an incipient integration of two great orders of phenomena, between which no connexion was suspected in times past. A still more decided integration has been of late taking place between the once independent sub-sciences of Electricity, Magnetism, and Light. And indeed it must be obvious to those who are familiar with the present state of Science, that there will eventually take place a far wider integration, by which all orders of phenomena will be combined as differently conditioned forms of one ultimate fact.

Nor do the industrial and æsthetic Arts fail to supply us with equally conclusive evidence. The progress from rude, small, and simple tools, to perfect, complex, and large machines, illustrates not only a progress in heterogeneity and in definiteness, but also in integration. Among what are classed as the mechanical powers, the advance from the lever to the wheel-and-axle is an advance from a simple agent to an agent made up of several simple ones combined together. On comparing the wheel-and-axle, or any of the machines used in early times with those used now, we find an essential difference to be, that in each of our machines several of the primitive machines are united into one. A modern apparatus for spinning or weaving, for making stockings or lace, contains not simply a lever, an inclined plane, a screw, a wheel-and-axle, united together; but several of each integrated into one complex whole. Again, in early ages, when horse-power and man-power were alone employed, the motive agent was not bound up with the tool moved; but the two have now become in many cases fused together: the fire-box and boiler of a locomotive are combined with the machinery which the steam works. Nor is this the most extreme case. A still more extensive integration is exhibited in every large factory. Here we find a large number of complicated machines, all connected by driving shafts with the same steam-engine—all united with it into one vast apparatus. Contrast the mural decorations of the Egyptians and Assyrians with modern historical paintings, and there becomes manifest a great advance in unity of composition—in the subordination of the parts to the whole. One of these ancient frescoes is in truth made up of a number of pictures that have little mutual dependence. The several figures of which each group consists, show very imperfectly by their attitudes, and not at all by their expressions, the relations in which they stand to each other; the respective groups might be separated with but little loss of meaning; and the centre of chief interest, which should link all parts together, is often inconspicuous. The same trait may be noted in the tapestries of medieval days. Representing perhaps a hunting scene, one of these exhibits men, horses, dogs, beasts, birds, trees, and flowers, miscellaneously dispersed: the living objects being variously occupied, and mostly with no apparent consciousness of each other’s proximity. But in the paintings since produced, faulty as many of them are in this respect, there is always a more or less manifest co-ordination of parts—an arrangement of attitudes, expressions, lights, and colours, such as to combine the picture into an organic whole; and the success with which unity of effect is educed from variety of components, is a chief test of merit. In music, progressive integration is displayed in still more numerous ways. The simple cadence embracing but a few notes, which in the chants of savages is monotonously repeated, becomes among civilized races, a long series of different musical phrases combined into one whole; and so complete is the integration, that the melody cannot be broken off in the middle, nor shorn of its final note, without giving us a painful sense of incompleteness. When to the air, a bass, a tenor, and an alto are added; and when to the harmony of different voice-parts there is added an accompaniment; we see exemplified integrations of another order, which grow gradually more elaborate. And the process is carried a stage higher when these complex solos, concerted pieces, choruses, and orchestral effects, are combined into the vast ensemble of a musical drama; of which, be it remembered, the artistic perfection largely consists in the subordination of the particular effects to the total effect. Once more the Arts of literary delineation, narrative and dramatic, furnish us with parallel illustrations. The tales of primitive times, like those with which the story-tellers of the East still daily amuse their listeners, are made up of successive occurrences that are not only in themselves unnatural, but have no natural connexion: they are but so many separate adventures put together without necessary sequence. But in a good modern work of imagination, the events are the proper products of the characters working under given conditions; and cannot at will be changed in their order or kind, without injuring or destroying the general effect. And further, the characters themselves, which in early fictions play their respective parts without showing us how their minds are modified by each other or by the events, are now presented to us as held together by complex moral relations, and as acting and re-acting upon each other’s natures.

Evolution, then, is in all cases a change from a more diffused or incoherent form, to a more consolidated or coherent form. This proves to be a characteristic displayed equally in those earliest changes which the Universe as a whole is supposed to have undergone, and in those latest changes which we trace in society and the products of social life. Nor is it only that in the development of a planet, of an organism, of a society, of a science, of an art, the process of integration is seen in a more complete aggregation of each whole and of its constituent parts; but it is also shown in an increasing mutual dependence of the parts. Dimly foreshadowed as this mutual dependence is among inorganic phenomena, both celestial and terrestrial, it becomes distinct among organic phenomena. From the lowest living forms upwards, the degree of development is marked by the degree in which the several parts constitute a mutually-dependent whole. The advance from those creatures which live on in each part when cut in pieces, up to those creatures which cannot lose any considerable part without death, nor any inconsiderable part without great constitutional disturbance, is clearly an advance to creatures which are not only more integrated in respect of their solidification, but are also more integrated as consisting of organs that live for and by each other. The like contrast between undeveloped and developed societies, need not be shown in detail: the ever-increasing co-ordination of parts, is conspicuous to all. And it must suffice just to indicate that the same thing holds true of social products: as, for instance, of Science; which has become highly integrated not only in the sense that each division is made up of mutually-dependent propositions, but also in the sense that the several divisions are mutually-dependent—cannot carry on their respective investigations without aid from each other.

It seems proper to remark that the generalization here variously illustrated, is akin to one enunciated by Schelling, that Life is the tendency to individuation. Struck by the fact that an aggregative process is traceable throughout nature, from the growth of a crystal up to the development of a man; and by the fact that the wholes resulting from this process, completer in organic than in inorganic bodies, are completest where the vital manifestations are the highest; Schelling concluded that this characteristic was the essential one. According to him, the formation of individual bodies is not incident to Life, but is that in which Life fundamentally consists. This position is, for several reasons, untenable. In the first place, it requires the conception of Life to be extended so as to embrace inorganic phenomena; since in crystallization, and even in the formation of amorphous masses of matter, this tendency to individuation is displayed. Schelling, fully perceiving this, did indeed accept the implication; and held that inorganic bodies had life lower only in degree than that of organic bodies—their degree of life being measured by their degree of individuation. This bold assumption, which Schelling evidently made to save his definition, is inadmissible. Rational philosophy cannot ignore those broad distinctions which the general sense of mankind has established. If it transcends them, it must at the same time show what is their origin; how far only they are valid; and why they disappear from a higher point of view. Note next that the more complete individuality which Schelling pointed out as characterizing bodies having the greatest amount of life, is only _one_ of their structural traits. The greater degree of heterogeneity which they exhibit, is, as we have seen, a much more conspicuous peculiarity; and though it might possibly be contended that greater heterogeneity is remotely implied by greater individuality, it must be admitted that in defining Life as the tendency to individuation, no hint is given that the bodies which live most are the most heterogeneous bodies. Moreover it is to be remarked that this definition of Schelling, refers much more to the structures of living bodies than to the processes which constitute Life. Not Life, but the invariable accompaniment of Life, is that which his formula alone expresses. The formation of a completer organic whole, a more fully individuated body, is truly a necessary concomitant of a higher life; and the development of a higher life must therefore be accompanied by a tendency to greater individuation. But to represent this tendency as Life itself, is to mistake an incidental result for an original cause. Life, properly so called, consists of multiform changes united together in various ways; and is not expressed either by an anatomical description of the organism which manifests it, or by a history of the modifications through which such organism has reached its present structure. Yet it is only in such description and such history that the tendency to individuation is seen. Lastly, this definition which Schelling gave of Life is untenable, not only because it refers rather to the organism than to the actions going on in it; but also because it wholly ignores that connexion between the organism and the external world, on which Life depends. All organic processes, physical and psychial, having for their object the maintenance of certain relations with environing agencies and objects; it is impossible that there should be a true definition of Life, in which the environment is not named. Nevertheless, Schelling’s conception was not a baseless one. Though not a truth, it was yet the adumbration of a truth. In defining Life as the tendency to individuation, he had in view that formation of a more compact, complete, and mutually-dependent whole, which, as we have seen, is one characteristic of Evolution in general. His error was, firstly, in regarding it as a characteristic of Life, instead of a characteristic of living bodies, displayed, though in a less degree, by other bodies; and, secondly, in regarding it as the sole characteristic of such bodies. It remains only to add, that for expressing this aspect of the process of Evolution, the word integration is for several reasons preferable to the word individuation. Integration is the true antithesis of differentiation; it has not that tacit reference to living bodies which the word individuation cannot be wholly freed from; it expresses the aggregative tendency not only as displayed in the formation of more complete wholes, but also as displayed in the consolidation of the several parts of which such wholes are made up; and it has not the remotest teleological implication. In short, it simply formulates in the most abstract manner, a wide induction untainted by any hypothesis.

* * * * *

§ 57. Thus we find that to complete the definition arrived at in the last chapter, much has to be added. What was there alleged is true; but it is not the whole truth. Evolution is unquestionably a change from a homogeneous state to a heterogeneous state; but, as we have seen, there are some advances in heterogeneity which cannot be included in the idea of Evolution. This undue width of the definition, implies the omission of some further peculiarity by which Evolution is distinguished; and this peculiarity we find to be that the more highly developed things become, the more definite they become. Advance from the indefinite to the definite, is as constantly and variously displayed as advance from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous. And we are thus obliged to regard it as an essential characteristic of Evolution. Further analysis, however, shows us that this increase of definiteness is not an independent process; but is rather the necessary concomitant of another process. A very little consideration of the facts proves that a change from the indefinite to the definite, can arise only through a completer consolidation of the respective parts, and of the whole which they constitute. And so we find that while Evolution is a transformation of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous, and of the indefinite into the definite, it is also a transformation of the incoherent into the coherent. Along with the differentiation shown in increasing contrasts of parts with each other, there goes on an integration, by which the parts are rendered distinct units, as well as closely united components of one whole. These clauses here added to the definition, are essential ones; not only as being needful to distinguish Evolution from that which is not Evolution, but likewise as being needful to express all which the idea of Evolution includes. Progressive integration with the growing definiteness necessarily resulting from it, is of co-ordinate importance with the progressive differentiation before dwelt upon—nay, from one point of view, may be held of greater importance. For organization, in which what we call Evolution is most clearly and variously displayed, consists even more in the union of many parts into one whole, than in the formation of many parts. The Evolution which we see throughout inorganic nature, is lower than that which organic nature exhibits to us, for the especial reason that the mutual dependence of parts is extremely indefinite, even when traceable at all. In an amorphous mass of matter, you may act mechanically or chemically upon one part without appreciably affecting the other parts. Though their electrical or thermal states may be for the moment altered, their original states are soon resumed. Even in the highest inorganic aggregation—a crystal—the apex may be broken off and leave the rest intact: the only clear evidence of mutual dependence of parts, being, the ability of the crystal to regenerate its apex if replaced in the solution from which it was formed. But the constituent parts of organic bodies can severally maintain their existing states, only while remaining in connexion. Even in the lowest living forms, mutilation cannot be carried beyond a certain point without decomposition ensuing. As we advance through the higher up to the highest forms, we see a gradual narrowing of the limits within which the mutilation does not cause destruction: a progressive increase of mutual dependence or integration which is, at the same time, the condition to greater functional perfection. In societies this truth is equally manifest. That the component units slowly segregate into groups of different ranks and occupations, is a fact scarcely more conspicuous than is the fact that these groups are necessary to each other’s existence. And we cannot contemplate the still-progressing division of labour, without seeing that the interdependence becomes ever greater as the evolution becomes higher. It remains only to point out definitely, what has been already implied, that these several forms of change which have been successively described as making up the process of Evolution, are not in reality separate forms of change, but different aspects of the same change. Intrinsically the transformation is one and indivisible. The establishment of differences that become gradually more decided, is evidently but the beginning of an action which cannot be pushed to its extreme without producing definite divisions between the parts, and reducing each part to a separate mass. But with our limited faculties, it is not possible to take in the entire process at one view; nor have we any single terms by which the process can be described. Hence we are obliged to contemplate each of its aspects separately, and to find a separate expression for its characteristic.

Having done this, we are now in a position to frame a true idea of Evolution. Combining these partial definitions we get a complete definition, which may be most conveniently expressed thus—_Evolution is a change from an indefinite, incoherent homogeneity, to a definite, coherent heterogeneity; through continuous differentiations and integrations._

It may perhaps be remarked that the last of these clauses is superfluous; since the differentiation and integration are implied in the first clause. This is true: the transition which the first clause specifies, is impossible save through the process specified in the second. Nevertheless, a mere statement of the two extreme stages with which Evolution begins and ends, omitting all reference to changes connecting them, leaves the mind with but an incomplete idea. The idea becomes much more concrete when these changes are described. Hence, though not logically necessary, the second clause of the definition is practically desirable.

Before closing the chapter, a few words must be added respecting certain other modes of describing Evolution. Organic bodies, from the changes of which the idea of Evolution has arisen, and to the changes of which alone it is usually applied, are often said to progress from simplicity to complexity. The transformation of the simple into the complex, and of the homogeneous into the heterogeneous, are used as equivalent phrases; or, if any difference is recognized between them, it is to the advantage of the first, which is held to be the more specific. After what has been said, however, it must be obvious that Evolution cannot be thus adequately formulated. No hint is given of that increased definiteness which we have found to be a concomitant of development. Nor is there anything implying the greater mutual dependence of parts. Nevertheless, the brevity of the expression gives it a value for ordinary purposes; and I shall probably hereafter frequently use it, both in those cases where more precise language is not demanded, and in those cases where it indicates the particular aspect of Evolution referred to. Another description frequently given of Evolution, is, that it is a change from the general to the special. The more or less spherical germ from which every organism, animal and vegetal, proceeds, is comparatively general: alike in the sense that in appearance and chemical nature it is very similar to all other germs; and also in the sense that its form is less markedly distinguished from the average forms of objects at large, than is that of the mature organism—a contrast which equally holds of internal structure. But this progress from the more general to the more special, is rather a derivative than an original characteristic. An increase of speciality being really an increase in the number of attributes—an addition of traits not possessed by bodies that are in other respects similar—is a necessary result of multiplying differentiations. In other words, general and special are subjective or ideal distinctions involved in our conceptions of classes, rather than objective or real distinctions presented in the bodies classified. Nevertheless, this abstract formula is not without its use. It expresses a fact of much significance; and one which we shall have constantly to refer to when dealing with the relations between organic bodies and their surrounding conditions.

The law of Evolution however, be it expressed in full as above, or in these shorter but less specific phrases, is essentially that which has been exhibited in detail throughout the foregoing pages. So far as we can ascertain, this law is universal. It is illustrated with endless repetition, and in countless ways, wherever the facts are abundant; and where the facts do not suffice for induction, deduction goes far to supply its place. Among all orders of phenomena that lie within the sphere of observation, we see ever going on the process of change above defined; and many significant indications warrant us in believing, that the same process of change went on throughout that remote past which lies beyond the sphere of observation. If we must form any conclusion respecting the general course of things, past, present, and future, the one which the evidence as far as it goes justifies, and the only one for which there is any justification, is, that the change from an indeterminate uniformity to a determinate multiformity which we everywhere see going on, has been going on from the first, and will continue to go on.

Footnote 10:

Carpenter’s Prin. of Comp. Phys., p. 617.