There's a particular kind of confidence that comes from inheritance. You grow up with something, it works the way you were told it would work, and you stop asking whether the ground beneath it was ever actually tested.
My grandmother used the same sourdough starter for forty years. She fed it, trusted it, passed it to my mother with the certainty of someone who had never had to rebuild from scratch. The bacteria in that culture had survived her kitchen's temperature swings, her neglect, her experiments.
The spider Agelenopsis pennsylvanica has outsourced its sex determination to a bacterium. A maternally inherited organism called Wolbachia actually controls whether offspring become male or female. It's the entire reproductive system, passed from mother to every daughter, every son, through thousands of generations.
A heat wave in 2022 in Arizona disrupted it. Researchers at the University of Arizona found that brief exposure to temperatures the spider had likely never encountered produced intersex individuals, malformed development, a breakdown in the bacterial transmission itself. The discovery is real, but the surprise is what it reveals. We have never tested whether Wolbachia survives the thermal conditions these spiders now face because those conditions never existed before.
Everyone involved treats Wolbachia's viability as a baseline fact. The bacteria survived, so the bacteria are robust — the symbiosis persists, so the symbiosis is stable. But that's circular reasoning. We cannot tell the difference between a system that is merely perturbed and a system revealing its actual breaking point for the first time. The spider inherited a sex-determination mechanism that evolved under the thermal regime of the last ten thousand years, and climate change is not perturbing that mechanism. It is testing the assumption that was never falsified because it was never challenged.
The question becomes sharper now. When does inheritance become fragility?