Thus even had Professor Weismann shown that the special structures of the different individuals in an insect-community are not due to differences in the nurtures they receive, which he has failed to do, he would still be met by this difficulty in the way of his own view, in addition to the three other insuperable difficulties grouped together in a preceding section.
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The collateral issue, which has occupied the largest space in the controversy, has, as commonly happens, begotten a second generation of collateral issues. Some of these are embodied in the form of questions put to me, which I must here answer, lest it should be supposed that they are unanswerable and my view therefore untenable.
In the notes he appends to his Romanes Lecture, Professor Weismann writes:—
"One of the questions put to Spencer by Ball is quite sufficient to show the utter weakness of the position of Lamarckism:—if their characteristics did not arise among the workers themselves, but were transmitted from the pre-social time, how does it happen that the queens and drones of every generation can give anew to the workers the characteristics which they themselves have long ago lost?" (p. 68).
It is curious to see put forward in so triumphant a manner, by a professed naturalist, a question so easily disposed of. I answer it by putting another. How does it happen that among those moths of which the female has but rudimentary wings, she continues to endow the males of her species with wings? How does it happen, for example, that among the Geometridæ, the peculiar structures and habits of which show that they have all descended from a common ancestor, some species have winged females and some wingless females; and that though they have lost the wings the ancestral females had, these wingless females convey to the males the normal developments of wings? Or, still better, how is it that in the Psychidæ there are apterous worm-like females, which lay eggs that bring forth winged males of the ordinary imago form? If for males we read workers, the case is parallel to the cases of those social insects, the queens of which bequeath characteristics they have themselves lost. The ordinary facts of embryonic evolution yield us analogies. What is the most common trait in the development of the sexes? When the sexual organs of either become pronounced, the incipient ancillary organs belonging to the opposite sex cease to develop and remain rudiments, while the organs special to the sex, essential and nonessential, become fully developed. What, then, must happen with the queen-ant, which, through countless generations, has ceased to use certain structures and has lost them from disuse? If one of the eggs which she lays, capable, as Professor Weismann admits, of becoming queen, male, or worker of one or other kind, does not at a certain stage begin actively to develop its reproductive system, then those organs of the ancestral or pre-social type which the queen has lost begin to develop, and a worker results.
Another difficulty in the way of my view, supposed to be fatal, is that presented by the Honey-ants—aberrant members of certain ant-colonies which develop so enormously the pouch into which the food is drawn, that the abdomen becomes little else than a great bladder out of which the head, thorax, and legs protrude. This, it is thought, cannot be accounted for otherwise than as a consequence of specially endowed eggs, which it has become profitable to the community for the queen to produce. But the explanation fits in quite easily with the view I have set forth. No one will deny that the taking in of food is the deepest of vital requirements, and the correlative instinct a dominant one; nor will any one deny that the instinct of feeding young is less deeply seated—comes later in order of time. So, too, every one will admit that the worker-bee or worker-ant before regurgitating food into the mouth of a larva must first of all take it in. Hence, alike in order of time and necessity, it is to be assumed that development of the nervous structures which guide self-nutrition, precedes development of the nervous structures which guide the feeding of larvæ. What, then, will in some cases happen, supposing there is an arrested development consequent on innutrition? It will in some cases happen that while the nervous centres prompting and regulating deglutition are fully formed, the formation of those prompting and regulating the regurgitation of the food into the mouths of larvæ are arrested. What will be the consequence? The life of the worker is mainly passed in taking in food and putting it out again. If the putting out is stopped its life will be mainly passed in taking in food. The receptacle will go on enlarging and it will eventually assume the monstrous form that we see.[[137]]
Here, however, to exclude misinterpretations, let me explain. I by no means deny that variation and selection have produced, in these insect-communities, certain effects such as Mr. Darwin suggested. Doubtless ant-queens vary; doubtless there are variations in their eggs; doubtless differences of structure in the resulting progeny sometimes prove advantageous to the stirp, and originate slight modifications of the species. But such changes, legitimately to be assumed, are changes in single parts—in single organs or portions of organs. Admission of this does not involve admission that there can take place numerous correlated variations in different and often remote parts, which must take place simultaneously or else be useless. Assumption of this is what Professor Weismann's argument requires, and assumption of this we have seen to be absurd.
Before leaving the general problem presented by the social insects, let me remark that the various complexities of action not explained by inheritance from pre-social or semi-social types, are probably due to accumulated and transmitted knowledge. I recently read an account of the education of a butterfly, carried to the extent that it became quite friendly with its protector and would come to be fed. If a non-social and relatively unintelligent insect is capable of thus far consciously adjusting its actions, then it seems a reasonable supposition that in a community of social insects there has arisen a mass of experience and usage into which each new individual is initiated; just as happens among ourselves. We have only to consider the chaos which would result were we suddenly bereft of language, and if the young were left to grow up without precept and example, to see that very probably the polity of an insect community is made possible by the addition of intelligence to instinct, and the transmission of information through sign-language.
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