Let’s Not Begin With Natural Selection
This is a preliminary draft of one chapter of a book-in-progress
tentatively entitled, “Evolution As It Was Meant To Be — And the Living Narratives That Tell Its Story”.
You will find
a fairly lengthy article serving as a kind of extended abstract of major
parts of the book. This material is part of the
Biology Worthy of Life
Project. Copyright 2017-2021
The Nature Institute.
All rights reserved. Original publication: July 22, 2019.
Last revision: July 19, 2019.
Evolutionary theorists tend to become frustrated when many of the rest of
us fail to “get” the revolutionary and convincing simplicity of natural
selection, that primary engine of adaptive evolution also known as “the
survival of the fittest”. For example, Niles Eldredge, a paleontologist
and, for several decades, a curator at the Museum of Natural History, has
wondered, “Why do physicists, who have the reputation of being among the
best and the brightest, have such a hard time with the simple notion of
natural selection? For simple it is”. He then quotes Charles Darwin:
As many more individuals of each species are born than can possibly
survive; and as, consequently, there is a frequently recurring Struggle
for Existence, it follows that any being, if it vary however slightly in
any manner profitable to itself, under the complex and sometimes varying
conditions of life, will have a better chance of surviving, and thus be
“The concept”, Eldredge writes, “is definitely simple enough. This
description of natural selection may be a bit longer than the elegantly
brief F=MA [force equals mass times acceleration — Newton’s second law of
motion]. Conceptually, however, it is hardly more complicated”
(Eldredge 2000, pp. 89-90).
The simplicity of what is being promulgated as “natural selection” can
hardly be doubted. In his landmark book on The Nature of
Selection, the philosopher of evolutionary theory, Elliot Sober,
considered it “remarkable that a hypothesis of such explanatory power
could be so utterly simple conceptually: If the organisms in a population
differ in their ability to survive and reproduce, and if the
characteristics that affect these abilities are transmitted from parents
to offspring, then the population will evolve”
("Sober 1984, pp. 21-2).
The idea of natural selection seems so straightforward and conclusive that
it forces its way into the receptive mind without much need for evidence.
August Weismann, whose importance for nineteenth-century evolutionary
theory has been considered second only to Darwin’s, rather famously wrote
in 1893 that we must accept natural selection as the explanation for the
wondrous adaptation of organisms to their environments “because it is the
only possible explanation we can conceive”.
Further, according to Weismann, “it does not matter” whether we can
demontrate the role of natural selection in particular cases. “Once it is
established that natural selection is the only principle which has to be
considered, it necessarily follows that the facts can be correctly
explained by natural selection”
(quoted in Gould 2002,p. 202).
The compelling simplicity of natural selection, according to Ernst Mayr,
is so pronounced as to have proven a stumbling block for many. Mayr,
whose influential career spanned the entire, twentieth-century history of
the modern evolutionary synthesis, proposed that “startling simplicity was
the most formidable obstacle that the selection theory had to overcome.
Students of the phenomena of life found it undignified to explain
progress, adaptation, and design in nature in so mechanistic a manner”
(Mayr 1964, p. xviii).
Brief summary statements of the simple logic of natural selection abound.
In philosopher Daniel Dennett’s succinct formulation, “evolution will
occur whenever and wherever three conditions are met: replication,
variation (mutation), and differential fitness (competition)" (quoted in
Lenski et al.).
Or, expanding the idea just a little, we might say that evolution is
guaranteed to occur under three conditions:
- There must be trait variation among individuals in a breeding
population. Without variation, nothing new could ever come about.
- This variation must to some degree be inherited, so that
offspring generally resemble their parents more than they resemble others.
(This is Dennett’s principle of replication.) If offspring didn’t
tend to resemble their parents, then it’s not clear how variants, even if
they occurred, could become established in the larger population.
- Individuals possessing different variants of a trait must, at least
in some cases, exhibit differential fitness (or differential
survival) — that is, they must produce, on average, different numbers of
offspring, whether immediate offspring or later descendents. This is
often referred to as the principle of competition or survival of
the fittest. The advantage of the fittest organisms is what gives
them a better chance of surviving and contributing their fit genes to the
With various terminological variations, that is how natural selection is
presented in numberless textbooks. According to the influential
popularizer (and noted theorist) of evolutionary theory, Stephen Jay
Gould, the basic idea has the simplicity of a syllogism. He referred to
it as the “syllogistic core” of natural selection
(Gould 2002, pp. 125-6n).
For Dennett, this core is a “mindless” recipe, or algorithm, — one
so obvious and universal that it could be derived even without reference
to organisms, while nevertheless offering “guaranteed results” in biology.
The algorithm is “Darwin’s dangerous idea” and, its wholly abstract,
materially indifferent character notwithstanding, it is the key to making
sense of everything from the simplest irritable cell to human meaning,
cognition, culture, and morality
(Dennett 1995, pp. 51, 163-81).
Variation, inheritance, and survival of the fittest: for a certain mindset
(well-established in our day), something does indeed seem irresistible and
self-evident about the way these conditions testify to the idea of
change. And — Eldredge’s obtuse physicists apart — more than enough
students of evolution do seem smart enough to “get” the extraordinary
power and simplicity of natural selection. The widely read British
psychologist and science writer, Susan Blackmore, speaks for many when she
says that “evolution is inevitable — if you have information that is
copied with variation and selection then you must get [quoting
Dennett] ‘Design out of chaos without the aid of mind’”. Blackmore goes
on almost rapturously: “It is this inevitability that I find so delightful
— the evolutionary algorithm just must produce design, and once you
understand that[,] you have no need to believe or not believe in
evolution. You see how it works”
(Blackmore 2014. Emphasis in original).
It is perhaps not often enough asked whether the simplicity, universality,
and persuasive force of the algorithm belong only to the algorithm, or
also to life. In 2003 Christoph Adami, who was then head of the Digital
Life Laboratory at the California Institute of Technology (Caltech), was
quite sure the answer is “both” when he defended the value of trivially
simple and non-living “digital organisms” — bits of computer code
representing genes and living processes — for teaching us about evolution.
The principles of evolutionary theory, he said, are “very, very general,
and very simple”, so that our predictions “don’t depend on these little
details of molecular biology” (quoted
It’s almost as if actual phenomena become irrelevant to the researcher,
who needs only to work out a simple logic.
Our unease only grows when we hear Richard Dawkins discussing how some
animals cleverly coerce the behavior of others. For anyone skeptical of
his explanation, Dawkins had this word of encouragement: “With natural
selection working on the problem, who would be so presumptious as to guess
what feats of mind control might not be achieved?”
(Dawkins 2008, p. 71).
One almost hears an echo of the parent trying to soothe a child’s
perplexity about some puzzle of creation: “Surely God could do it”.
And, indeed, over-estimation of the explanatory power of natural selection
may be why Darwin’s contemporary, the geologist Charles Lyell, accused him
of “deifying” the
A century later, in 1971, Lila Gatlin, a biochemist and mathematical
biologist who figured centrally in developing the conception of life as an
“information processing system”, could summarize contemporary usage by
saying, “the words ‘natural selection’ play a role in the vocabulary of
the evolutionary biologist similar to the word ‘God’ in ordinary language”
Oyama 2000a, p. 31).
Such is the power of logical constructions over the human mind.
No doubt the “evolutionary algorithm” truly is simple, and its logic, as
far as it goes, is self-evident. But we might want to keep in mind how
thin and unstable is the strip of intellectual real estate between
“self-evident” and “vacuous” — especially when, as scientists, we prefer
abstract logical necessity and simplicity to “little details”, such as the
difference between a computer program and the life of a tiger or octopus.
What are the “guaranteed
results” of natural selection?
We heard Elliot Sober marvel at the “explanatory power” of a simple
proposition: “if the organisms in a population differ in their ability to
survive and reproduce, and if the characteristics that affect these
abilities are transmitted from parents to offspring, then the population
This is a strange claim, given that it is flatly false — false in the
sense that nothing in the logic of the theory tells us that populations
must evolve in a manner that yields new species or fundamental
changes of “type”. We know that healthy populations do exhibit
plasticity, variation, and adaptability — a spruce tree growing in the
lowlands will differ greatly from one growing near the alpine treeline,
and one tree will differ from its neighbor — but this variability does not
by itself imply the evolutionary origin of the diverse forms of life on
For millennia all species were widely assumed to remain constant
according to their “essential” nature. Certainly untypical variation
could occur, but this only reminded our ancestors that defective organisms
tended to be removed — part of the means by which the character of the
species was preserved. So how did we learn that the situation was quite
otherwise, and that species did evolve?
Surely the largest factor was the discovery and systematic investigation
of fossils. Seeing was believing. It was the apparent historical record,
not the logic of natural selection, that settled the question for us.
Look at it this way: everything depends on what organisms actually
do — and, as has long been recognized, one of the most remarkable
things they are capable of doing is to give consistent,
generation-by-generation expression to the character of their own kind.
Whether that kind needed to be understood as a static or dynamic reality
could only be resolved through empirical investigation.
Moreover, once we see that species have in fact evolved, we are still left
with the most basic questions about how they have done so:
- What sorts of directionality, if any, will we discover in
evolutionary change? For example, might change be directed toward more
complex or less complex forms of life? Toward greater individuality or
more collective interdependence? Toward some sort of diversity, balance,
and qualitative completeness upon the earth as a whole? Toward the
realization of human potentials?
- What pathways of change are open to any given species at a
particular time, and what pathways are closed off by the character of the
organisms themselves or of the surrounding world?
- In what ways will molecular and physiological processes be conserved
in different organisms during evolution, and in what ways will they
- How much convergent evolution should we expect? (“Convergent
evolution” refers to the independent development of similar features in
distinct branches of the “tree of life” — something now known to be
strikingly common, as when the “camera-eye” of the octopus and of humans
developed independently of each other)?
- How much diversity of life should we expect, and how radically
disparate are the possible forms of life?
- Is evolutionary change more or less possible today than at various
times in the past?
- Do populations evolve sporadically or continuously, and why?
- What accounts for the uncanny qualitative unity of an
organism — a unity leading one observer to say of the sloth, for example,
that “every detail speaks ‘sloth’”
I can think of no fundamental question about evolution whose answer
is suggested by the advertised formula for natural selection.
Everything depends on what the amazingly diverse sorts of organism
actually do as they respond to and shape their environments. Contrary to
Susan Blackmore’s exultant insight, nothing in the “algorithmic logic” of
natural selection tells us that evolution must have happened — and,
given that it has happened, the logic by itself tells us little about what
we should expect to find in the fossil record. We may ask then, “What, in
truth, is being celebrated as the revolutionary principle of natural
None of this is to deny the trivial validity of the idea of natural
selection. Of course organisms that are “fitter” will generally do
better in life than “unfit” organisms. That’s how we define “fit”. And
of course a record of the winners and losers in the “struggle for
survival” will tell us a great deal about evolutionary processes. Or
could tell us if we understood all that happened in order to
establish this particular record. It is hardly unreasonable to point out
that we will gain a profound understanding of evolution only when we know
a fair amount about how it has happened among actual organisms and
along its broad course down through the ages.
Every organism’s life and death encompasses and, so to speak, “sums up” a
vast range of purposive activities, not only on its own part, but also on
the part of many other organisms. One might feel, therefore, that the
“theory” of the survival of the fittest can explain just about everything.
Certainly the overall pattern of births and deaths must yield the observed
evolutionary outcome! Actually, it just is that outcome — it is
the pattern we need to explain — which doesn’t yet give us much of a
The “algorithm” of natural
selection is widely treated
as if it were an agent
The miracle of it all is that, if evolutionary rhetoric is to be believed,
the empty formula of natural selection explains just about everything you
could imagine — all based, as this rhetoric consistently informs us, on
some form of “blind” agency. Natural selection is always doing
things. And so we hear about the mechanism of selection, as well
as the forces or pressures that operate in it. We learn
that natural selection shapes the bodies and behaviors of
organisms, builds specific features, targets or acts
on particular genomic regions, favors or disfavors (or
even punishes) various traits or behavioral strategies,
operates in this way or that, maintains DNA sequences,
promotes adaptation of populations to local environments,
polices mutations, and, in general, causes an endless
variety of effects. Darwin himself spoke about how
natural selection is daily and hourly scrutinising, throughout the world,
every variation, even the slightest; rejecting that which is bad,
preserving and adding up all that is good; silently and insensibly
working, whenever and wherever opportunity offers, at the improvement of
each organic being in relation to its organic and inorganic conditions of
(Darwin 1859, p. 84)
This sort of language is all but universal. I think it is safe to say
that relatively few references to natural selection by biologists fail to
assert or imply that we are looking at something like a humanly contrived
mechanism with the well-designed power to do things,
beginning with the activity of selecting. This guiding activity is
effected in the sophisticated and almost incomprehensibly well-organized
manner necessary to create new forms of the most complex and mysterious
entities known to us — living organisms.
If what biologists say has any significant bearing on what they mean, then
they are telling us, emphatically, that natural selection is an effective,
mechanistic agent — an agent of evolutionary change. This is a
problem. Developmental systems theorist Susan Oyama was fingering it when
Nature is not a deciding agent, standing outside organisms and waving them
to the right or the left. However much we may speak of selection
“operating” on populations, “molding” bodies and minds, when the
metaphorical dust has settled, what we are referring to is still the
cumulative result of particular life courses negotiated in particular
(Oyama 2000b, p. 81)
Some evolutionists are uncomfortably aware that their use of a phrase
intentionally evoking the breeder’s “artificial selection” invites
mystical belief in a breeder-like agent supervising adaptive evolution.
And so they assure us that “natural selection”, despite its explicit
suggestion of a selecting agent, is “just a metaphor”.
The prolifically blogging defender of evolutionary orthodoxy, University
of Chicago geneticist Jerry Coyne, spells it out this way: natural
selection “is neither a ‘law’ nor a ‘mechanism’.” If we explain the
evolution of coat color in polar bears as “‘natural selection acting on
coat color’, that’s only our shorthand … There is no external force
of nature that ‘acts’ on individuals. There is only differential
replication of genes”
In other words, as Coyne goes on to say, the language of agency really
refers to a mundane process — “a process that is inevitable”, he adds —
and here, as expected, he cites the familiar logic of natural selection.
But it is hard to see this as anything but subterfuge. There is a reason
why no effective verbal alternative to the painfully tendentious
“selection” has taken hold. The idea of a selecting power is deeply
rooted and seemingly ineradicable from the modern biologist’s thinking
about evolution. Yes, we can redefine the “metaphorical” selecting agent
as a process. But if we then say that the process inevitably yields
exactly the results previously ascribed to the intelligent agent — yields
what can be viewed as the policing, targeting,
sculpting, and creating of organisms and their features — we
are not getting rid of the agent. We are merely giving it a different
It would be well for all evolutionists to cheerfully admit what I am quite
sure even Coyne believes — that nature, in their conception, just happens
to work in such a way that it is in fact a kind of agent, accomplishing
exactly the kinds of things agents accomplish. Nature is, in Richard
Dawkins’ terminology, like a watchmaker.
This admission, when made fully explicit, might reasonably lead to a
reflection upon the true sources of the imagined evolutionary agency — a
reflection beginning with an acknowledgment of the empirically empty
nature of the familiar logical formulations of natural selection. And
this in turn could prompt a valuable inquiry: where do we see an actual
play of agency, as material accomplishment, other than in the lives of
organisms? Is there anything beside this accomplishment — this infinitely
varied play of well-directed life narratives I have tried to touch upon in
the first half of the book — to give empirical substance to our
But do not underestimate the difficulty of coming around to such
fundamental questions. Regarding the “syllogistic core” of natural
selection, Gould wrote that “nearly all textbooks and college courses
present the ‘bare bones’ of natural selection in this fashion (I have done
so in more than 30 years of teaching).” After suggesting that this
presentation “does not permit a teacher to go beyond the simplest
elucidation of selection as a genuine force that can produce
adaptive change in a population”, he goes on to say: “In other words, the
syllogistic core only guarantees that selection can work … [it] can
only rebut charges of hokum or incoherence at the foundation”
(Gould 2002, p. 126n; emphasis added).
It would be truer to say that the famously simple and compelling logic of
natural selection, misconceived as the “foundation” of a powerful theory,
has been a primary source of hokum in evolutionary thinking. It is a kind
of blank template upon which overly credulous biologists and lay people
can project their faith. As for the “genuine force” Gould refers to — a
supposed causal power over and above those we find actually at play in
biological activity — it is a magical invention borne of the refusal to
recognize agency in the only place where we ever observe it, which is in
the lives of organisms.
This is not to deny that we have learned a great deal — for example, from
paleontology and molecular studies — under the banner of “natural
selection”. After all, the vagueness of the logical template allows the
biologist to impose the required theoretical form upon just about any
investigative work. Whatever it is that actually happens, we can always
say that the resulting organisms were “selected”. The question is whether
the theory adds very much, beyond a certain illusion of explanation, to
the otherwise informative results of the ongoing work.
The inadequacy of the
theory of natural selection
has long been noticed
It happens that the explanatory vacuity of the logic of natural selection
has been recognized by some of the most prominent and reputable
evolutionary biologists for more than 150 years. They have been concerned
about how complex adaptive innovations are achieved, and how, in general,
we can make sense of the evident creativity in evolution. The question
that nagged at them can be put this way: What does natural selection
select — where does selectable variation come from — and why should
we think that the mere preservation of already existing variants, rather
than the creative production of those variants in the first place, directs
evolution along the trajectories we observe?
The influential Dutch botanist and geneticist, Hugo de Vries, framed the
matter this way during the first decade of the twentieth century:
Natural selection is a sieve. It creates nothing, as is so often assumed;
it only sifts. It retains only what variability puts into the sieve.
Whence the material comes that is put into it, should be kept separate
from the theory of its selection. How the struggle for existence sifts is
one question; how that which is sifted arose is
It was de Vries who gave currency to the catchy phrasing that has since
been repeated many times: “Natural selection may explain the survival of
the fittest, but it cannot explain the arrival of the
The concern is not easily dismissed. Other biologists have added their
own accents, and it is worth pausing a moment to trace a theme that some
might see as a kind of subterranean, or largely hidden, history of
evolutionary thought — a history beginning no later than the year after
the original publication of The Origin of Species in 1859:
“If we take the three attributes of the deity of the Hindoo Triad, the
Creator, Brahma, the preserver or sustainer, Vishnu, and the destroyer,
Siva, Natural Selection will be a combination of the two last but without
the first, or the creative power, we cannot conceive the others having any
(Sir Charles Lyell
, Scottish geologist who laid the crucial uniformitarian foundation
for Darwin’s theory)
“It is exceedingly improbable that the nicely adapted machinery of animals
should have come into existence without the operation of causes leading
directly to that end. The doctrines of ‘selection’ and ‘survival’
plainly do not reach the kernel of evolution, which is, as I have long
since pointed out, the question of ‘the origin of the fittest’ …
The law by which structures originate is one thing; those by which they
are restricted, directed, or destroyed, is another thing.”
(Edward Drinker Cope
[1887, p. 225], noted American paleontologist and formulator of “Cope’s
Rule”, which proposed that the organisms of an evolutionary lineage tend
to increase in size over time)
“Selection permits the viable to continue and decides that the non-viable
shall perish … Selection determines along which branch Evolution
shall proceed, but it does not decide what novelties that branch shall
[1909, p. 96], a founder of the discipline of genetics)
“The function of natural selection is selection and not creation. It has
nothing to do with the formation of new variation.” (Reginald Punnett
, British geneticist who cofounded the
Journal of Genetics; quoted in
“The actual steps by which individuals come to differ from their parents
are due to causes other than selection, and in consequence evolution [by
natural selection] can only follow certain paths. These paths are
determined by factors which we can only very dimly conjecture. Only a
thorough-going study of variation will lighten our darkness.”
(J. B. S. Haldane
[1932, pp. 142-3], a major contributor to the twentieth-century consensus
theory of evolution)
Regarding specific traits, natural selection “might afford a reason for
their preservation, but never provide the cause for their origin.”
[1967, p. 123], preeminent zoologist of the middle of the twentieth
“Natural selection is the editor, rather than the composer, of the genetic
(Jack King and Thomas Jukes
, key developers of the idea of “neutral evolution”)
“In evolution, selection may decide the winner of a given game but
development non-randomly defines the players.”
, Spanish naturalist and embryologist, sometimes spoken of as the
founder of Evo-Devo — evolutionary developmental biology)
“Natural selection eliminates and maybe maintains, but it doesn’t create.”
, microbiologist and botanist, pioneer in exploring the role of
symbiosis in evolution, and co-developer of the Gaia hypothesis)
I referred above to a “subterranean, or hidden, history”. But, given that
this list of observers reads almost like a Who’s Who? of the
history of evolutionary theory, those terms hardly seem appropriate.
Rather, the situation reminds me of what I referred to as “Biology’s
Blindsight” in Chapter 2,
“The Organism’s Story”.
I noted there how biologists cannot help recognizing the narrative and
purposive meaning of living performances. This is indicated, for example,
by their delineation of research topics, which have to do with how one or
another organism performs particular tasks. Rocks and rivers do
not have tasks. Yet, these same researchers avoid explicit acknowledgment
of this meaningful activity in their scientific descriptions. That is,
the end-directedness defining the problem they set out to explain
disappears from the terms of their explanation, which therefore is not an
explanation of the original problem. It is a physical characterization,
which certainly has its own value. It’s as if we set out to understand a
scientist’s technical papers, and ended up describing only the physical
processes of writing and publication, blind to the meaning we were at
first eager to apprehend.
Of course, biologists do not flatly deny the all-too-obvious,
task-oriented activities of organisms. Instead, these are projected upon
images of machines and programs. One speaks of organisms in the language
of mechanism. Since machines are always understood in terms of
intelligent design — the engineering design imprinted upon their structure
— this projection subconsciously (if rather miraculously) “accounts” for
the end-directed activity and soothes the cognitive disconnect between
what one knows and what one allows into theory.
In the case of evolution, the same result is achieved by projecting the
repressed knowledge of living agency upon the always available blank slate
and god-like power, or “mechanism”, known as “natural selection”.
And so the repeated glimpses of the truth evidenced in the list of remarks
by the authorities above have had little effect upon the history of the
science. Indeed, it may well be that most of those authorities only dimly
perceived the full implications of their own words. The habitual,
blindsighted predisposition of the entire discipline of evolutionary
biology — including the projection of the repressed awareness of agency —
has been too powerful to allow a clean escape to those trained in it.
It seems to have been the task of biology over the past couple of
centuries to reconceive living things without their life — to see the
world of organisms, not through their own eyes, but through ours, which
are as if hypnotized by the well-designed automatisms that now shape every
dimension of our existence. It is not often that the spell is momentarily
broken, as when the philosopher of biology, Denis Walsh — after noting the
indisputable yet ignored truth that “organisms are fundamentally purposive
entities” — expressed his perplexity by asking, “Why should the phenomenon
[of agency] that demarcates the domain of biology be off-limits to
(Walsh 2015, p. ix).
And yet, even Walsh, wonderfully insightful as he is, proceeds to
characterize the organism’s agency in a strictly materialistic manner, as
if it could be understood without accepting at face value the inner
dimensions of life — cognition, thinking, intention, volition. We are
given agency without agency, life without life. Such is our way today.
Biologists and philosophers call it “naturalizing” agency and
purposiveness, as if our human agency, taken at face value, were decidedly
“unnatural”. And yet this agency is manifested not only in our conscious
intentions, but all the way down through the organs, cells, and molecules
that so faithfully give “muscle” to those intentions.
It is my aim in the following discussion of evolution to articulate a
different point of view, taking life in its own terms. And I see no
reason to exclude what we know most directly — and in a higher key, so to
speak — through our own existence as organisms. This higher key offers us
many possibilities for an immediate, inner understanding of our
experience, which is hardly grounds for excluding ourselves, or our
understanding of the meanings of life, from a science of organisms.
This according to philosopher of biology John Beatty
(2010, p. 23),
citing correspondence between Darwin and Lyell.
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Steve Talbott :: Let’s Not Begin With Natural Selection