Variations, which by their gradual accumulation give rise to new species, genera, families, and orders, are themselves, step by step, accidental. Mr. Darwin sometimes says they happen by chance; sometimes he says they happen of necessity; at others he says, "We are profoundly ignorant of their causes." These are only different ways of saying that they are not intentional. When a man lets anything fall from his hands, and says it was accidental, he does not mean that it was causeless, he only means that it was not intentional. And that is precisely what Darwin means when he says that species arise out of accidental variations. His whole book is an argument against teleology. The whole question is, How are we to account for the innumerable varieties, kinds, and genera of plants and animals, including man? Were they intended? or, Did they arise from the gradual accumulations of unintentional variations? His answer to these questions is plain. On page 245, he says: "Nothing at first can appear more difficult to believe than that the more complex organs and instincts have been perfected not by means superior to, though analogous with, human reason, but by innumerable slight variations, each good for the individual possessor. Nevertheless, this difficulty, though appearing to our imagination[14] insuperably great, cannot be considered real, if we admit the following propositions, namely, that all parts of the organizations and instincts offer, at least, individual differences; that there is a struggle for existence, which leads to the preservation of profitable deviations of structure or instinct; and, lastly, that gradations in the state of perfection of each organ may have existed, each good of its kind." He says, over and over, that if beauty or any variation of structure can be shown to be intended, it would "annihilate his theory." His doctrine is that such unintended variations, which happen to be useful in the struggle for life, are preserved, on the principle of the survival of the fittest. He urges the usual objections to teleology derived from undeveloped or useless organs, as web-feet in the upland goose and frigate-bird, which never swim.
What, however, perhaps more than anything, makes clear his rejection of design is the manner in which he deals with the complicated organs of plants and animals. Why don't he say, they are the product of the divine intelligence? If God made them, it makes no difference, so far as the question of design is concerned, how He made them: whether at once or by a process of evolution. But instead of referring them to the purpose of God, he laboriously endeavors to prove that they may be accounted for without any design or purpose whatever.
"To suppose," he says, "that the eye with all its inimitable contrivances for adjusting the focus to different distances, for admitting different degrees of light, and for the correction of spherical and chromatic aberration, could have been formed by natural selection, seems, I freely confess, absurd in the highest degree." (p. 222) Nevertheless he attempts to explain the process. "It is scarcely possible," he says, "to avoid comparing the eye with the telescope. We know that this instrument has been perfected by the long continued efforts of the highest of human intellects; and we naturally infer that the eye has been formed by a somewhat analogous process. But may not this inference be presumptuous? Have we any right to assume that the Creator works by intellectual powers like those of man? If we must compare the eye to an optical instrument, we ought in imagination to take a thick layer of transparent tissue, with spaces filled with fluid, and with a nerve sensitive to light beneath, and then suppose every part of this layer to be continually changing slowly in density, so as to separate into layers of different densities and thicknesses, placed at different distances from each other, and with the surfaces of each layer slowly changing in form. Further, we must suppose that there is a power represented by natural selection, or the survival of the fittest, always intently watching each slight alteration in the transparent layers, and carefully preserving each, which, under varied circumstances, tends to produce a distinct image. We must suppose each new state of the instrument to be multiplied by the million; each to be preserved until a better is produced, and the old ones to be all destroyed. In living bodies, variations will cause the slight alterations, generation will multiply them almost infinitely, and natural selection will pick out with unerring skill each improvement."[15] (p. 226) "Let this process," he says, "go on for millions of years," and we shall at last have a perfect eye.
It would be absurd to say anything disrespectful of such a man as Mr. Darwin, and scarcely less absurd to indulge in any mere extravagance of language; yet we are expressing our own experience, when we say that we regard Mr. Darwin's books the best refutation of Mr. Darwin's theory. He constantly shuts us up to the alternative of believing that the eye is a work of design or the product of the unintended action of blind physical causes. To any ordinarily constituted mind, it is absolutely impossible to believe that it is not a work of design. Darwin himself, it is evident, dear as his theory is, can hardly believe it. "It is indispensable," he says, "to arrive at a just conclusion as to the formation of the eye, that the reason should conquer the imagination; but I have felt the difficulty far too keenly to be surprised at any degree of hesitation in extending the principle of natural selection to so startling an extent." (p. 225)
It will be observed that every step in his account of the formation of the eye is an arbitrary assumption. We must first assume a thick layer of tissue; then that the tissue is transparent; then that it has cavities filled with fluid; that beneath the tissue is a nerve sensitive to light; then that the fluid is constantly varying in density and thickness; that its surfaces are constantly changing their contour; that its different portions are ever shifting their relative distances; that every favorable change is seized upon and rendered permanent,—thus after millions of years we may get an eye as perfect as that of an eagle. In like manner we may suppose a man to sit down to account for the origin and contents of the Bible, assuming as his "working hypothesis," that it is not the product of mind either human or divine, but that it was made by a type-setting machine worked by steam, and picking out type hap-hazard. In this way in a thousand years one sentence might be produced, in another thousand a second, and in ten thousand more, the two might get together in the right position. Thus in the course of "millions of years" the Bible might have been produced, with all its historical details, all its elevated truths, all its devout and sublime poetry, and above all with the delineation of the character of Christ, the ιδἑα τὡν ιδεὡν, the ideal of majesty and loveliness, before which the whole world, believing and unbelieving, perforce bows down in reverence. And when reason has sufficiently subdued the imagination to admit all this, then by the same theory we may account for all the books in all languages in all the libraries in the world. Thus we should have Darwinism applied in the sphere of literature. This is the theory which we are told is to sweep away Christianity and the Church!
Mr. Darwin gives the same unsatisfactory account of the marvellous "contrivances" in the vegetable world. In one species of Orchids, the labellum or lower lip is hollowed into a great bucket continually filled with water, secreted from two horns which stand above it; when the bucket is sufficiently filled, the water flows out through a pipe or spout on one side. The bees, which crowd into the flower for sake of the nectar, jostle each other, so that some fall into the water; and their wings becoming wet they are unable to fly, and are obliged to crawl through the spout. In doing this they come in contact with the pollen, which, adhering to their backs, is carried off to other flowers. This complicated contrivance by which the female plants are fertilized has, according to the theory, been brought about by the slow process of natural selection or survival of the fittest.
Still more wonderful is the arrangement in another species of Orchids. When the bee begins to gnaw the labellum, he unavoidably touches a tapering projection, which, when touched, transmits a vibration which ruptures a membrane, which sets free a spring by which a mass of pollen is shot, with unerring aim, over the back of the bee, who then departs on his errand of fertilization.
A very large class of plants are fertilized by means of insects. These flowers are beautiful, not for the sake of beauty,—for that Mr. Darwin says would annihilate his theory,—but those which happen to be beautiful attract insects, and thus become fertilized and perpetuated, while the plainer ones are neglected and perish. So with regard to birds. The females are generally plain, because those of bright colors are so exposed during the period of incubation that they are destroyed by their enemies. In like manner male birds are usually adorned with brilliant plumage. This is accounted for on the ground that they are more attractive, and thus they propagate their race, while the plainer ones have few or no descendants. Thus all design is studiously and laboriously excluded from every department of nature.
The preceding pages contain only a small part of the evidence furnished by Mr. Darwin's own writings, that his doctrine involves the denial of all final causes. The whole drift of his books is to prove that all the organs of plants and animals, all their instincts and mental endowments, may be accounted for by the blind operation of natural causes, without any intention, purpose, or coöperation of God. This is what Professor Huxley and others call "the creative idea," to which the widespread influence of his writings is to be referred.