# The Principles of Biology Vol. I/Chapter I.6a

CHAPTER VI$^A$.
THE DYNAMIC ELEMENT IN LIFE.
§ 36a. A critical comparison of the foregoing formula with the facts proves it to be deficient in more ways than one. Let us first look at vital phenomena which are not covered by it.
Some irritant left by an insect's ovipositor, sets up on a plant the morbid growth named a gall. The processes in the gall do not correspond with any external co-existences or sequences relevant to the plant's life—show no internal relations adjusted to external relations. Yet we cannot deny that the gall is alive. So, too, is it with a cancer in or upon an animal's body. The actions going on in it have no reference, direct or indirect, to actions in the environment. Nevertheless we are obliged to say that they are vital; since it grows and after a time dies and decomposes.
A kindred lesson meets us when from pathological evidence we turn to physiological evidence. The functions of some important organs may still be carried on for a time apart from those of the body as a whole. An excised liver, kept at a fit temperature and duly supplied with blood, secretes bile. Still more striking is the independent action of the heart. If belonging to a cold-blooded animal, as a frog, the heart, when detached, continues to beat, even until its integuments have become so dry that they crackle. Now though under such conditions its pulsations, which ordinarily form an essential part of the linked processes by which the ​correspondence between inner and outer actions is maintained, no longer form part of such processes, we must admit that the continuance of them implies a vital activity.
Embryological changes force the same truth upon us. What are we to say of the repeated cell-fissions by which in some types a blastula, or mulberry-mass, is formed, and in other types a blastoderm? Neither these processes nor the structures immediately resulting from them, show any correspondences with co-existences and sequences in the environment; though they are first steps towards the organization which is to carry on such correspondences. Even this extremely small fulfilment of the definition is absent in the cases of rudimentary organs, and especially those rudimentary organs which after being partly formed are absorbed. No adjustment can be alleged between the inner relations which these present and any outer relations. The outer relations they refer to ceased millions of years ago. Yet unquestionably the changes which bring about the production and absorption of these futile structures are vital changes.
Take another class of exceptions. What are we to say of a laugh? No correspondence, or part of a correspondence, by which inner actions are made to balance outer actions, can be seen in it. Or again, if, while working, an artisan whistles, the making of the sounds and the co-ordination of ideas controlling them, cannot be said to exhibit adjustment between certain relations of thoughts, and certain relations of things. Such kinds of vital activities lie wholly outside of the definition given.
But perhaps the clearest and simplest proof is yielded by contrasting voluntary and involuntary muscular actions. Here is a hawk adapting its changing motions to the changing motions of a pigeon, so as eventually to strike it: the adjustment of inner relations to outer relations is manifest. Here is a boy in an epileptic fit. Between his struggles and the co-existences and sequences around him there is no correspondence whatever. Yet his movements betray vitality just ​as much as do the movements of the hawk. Both exhibit that principle of activity which constitutes the essential element in our conception of life.
§ 36b. Evidently, then, the preceding chapters recognize only the form of our conception of life and ignore the body of it. Partly sufficing as does the definition reached to express the one, it fails entirely to express the other. Life displays itself in ways which conform to the definition; but it also displays itself in many other ways. We are obliged to admit that the element which is common to the two groups of ways is the essential element. The essential element, then, is that special kind of energy seen alike in the usual classes of vital actions and in those unusual classes instanced above.
Otherwise presenting the contrast, we may say that due attention has been paid to the connexions among the manifestations, while no attention has been paid to that which is manifested. When it is said that life is "the definite correspondence of heterogeneous changes, both simultaneous and successive, in correspondence with external co-existences and sequences," there arises the question—Changes of what? Within the body there go on many changes, mechanical, chemical, thermal, no one of which is the kind of change in question; and if we combine in thought so far as we can these kinds of changes, in such wise that each maintains its character as mechanical, chemical, or thermal, we cannot get out of them the idea of Life. Still more clearly do we see this insufficiency when we take the more abstract definition—"the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations." Relations between what things? is the question then to be asked. A relation of which the terms are unspecified does not connote a thought but merely the blank form of a thought. Its value is comparable to that of a cheque on which no amount is written. If it be said that the terms cannot be specified because so many heterogeneous kinds of them have to be included, then there comes the ​reply that under cover of this inability to make a specification of terms that shall be adequately comprehensive, there is concealed the inability to conceive the required terms in any way.
Thus a critical testing of the definition brings us, in another way, to the conclusion reached above, that that which gives the substance to our idea of Life is a certain unspecified principle of activity. The dynamic element in life is its essential element.
§ 36c. Under what form are we to conceive this dynamic element? Is this principle of activity inherent in organic matter, or is it something superadded? Of these alternative suppositions let us begin with the last.
As I have remarked, in another place, the worth of an hypothesis may be judged from its genealogy; and so judged the hypothesis of an independent vital principal does not commend itself. Its history carries us back to the ghost-theory of the savage. Suggested by experiences of dreams, there arises belief in a double—a second self which wanders away during sleep and has adventures but comes back on waking; which deserts the body during abnormal insensibility of one or other kind; and which is absent for a long period at death, though even then is expected eventually to return. This indwelling other-self, which can leave the body at will, is by-and-by regarded as able to enter the bodies of fellow men or of animals; or again, by implication, as liable to have its place usurped by the intruding doubles of fellow men, living or dead, which cause fits or other ills. Along with these developments its quality changes. At first thought of as quite material it is gradually de-materialized, and in advanced times comes to be regarded as spirit or breath; as we see in ancient religious books, where "giving up the ghost" is shown by the emergence of a small floating figure from the mouth of a dying man. This indwelling second self, more and more conceived as the real self which uses the ​body for its purposes, is, with the advance of intelligence, still further divested of its definite characters; and, coming in mediæval days to be spoken of as "animal spirits," ends in later days in being called a vital principle.
Entirely without assignable attributes, this something occurs in thought not as an idea but as a pseud-idea (First Principles, Chap. II). It is assumed to be representable while really unrepresentable. We need only insist on answers to certain questions to see that it is simply a name for an alleged existence which has not been conceived and cannot be conceived.
1. Is there one kind of vital principle for all kinds of organisms, or is there a separate kind for each? To affirm the first alternative is to say that there is the same vital principle for a microbe as for a whale, for a tape-worm as for the person it inhabits, for a protococcus as for an oak; nay more—is to assert community of vital principle in the thinking man and the unthinking plant. Moreover, asserting unity of the vital principle for all organisms, is reducing it to a force having the same unindividualized character as one of the physical forces. If, on the other hand, different kinds of organisms have different kinds of vital principles, these must be in some way distinguished from one another. How distinguished? Manifestly by attributes. Do they differ in extension? Evidently; since otherwise that which animates the vast Sequoia can be no larger than that which animates a yeast-plant, and to carry on the life of an elephant requires a quantity of vital principle no greater than that required for a microscopic monad. Do they differ otherwise than in amount? Certainly; since otherwise we revert to the preceding alternative, which implies that the same quality of vital principle serves for all organisms, simple and complex: the vital principle is a uniform force like heat or electricity. Hence, then, we have to suppose that every species of animal and plant has a vital principle peculiar to itself—a principle adapted to use the particular set of structures in which it is ​contained. But dare anyone assert this multiplication of vital principles, duplicating not only all existing plants and animals but all past ones, and amounting in the aggregate to some millions?
2. How are we to conceive that genesis of a vital principle which must go along with the genesis of an organism? Here is a pollen-grain which, through the pistil, sends its nucleus to unite with the nucleus of the ovule; or here are the nuclei of spermatozoon and ovum, which, becoming fused, initiate a new animal: in either case failure of union being followed by decomposition of the proteid materials, while union is followed by development. Whence comes that vital principle which determines the organizing process? Is it created afresh for every plant and animal? or, if not, where and how did it pre-exist? Take a simpler form of this problem. A protophyte or protozoon, having grown to a certain size, undergoes a series of complex changes ending in fission. In its undivided state it had a vital principle. What of its divided state? The parts severally swim away, each fully alive, each ready to grow and presently to subdivide, and so on and so on, until millions are soon formed. That is to say, there is a multiplication of vital principles as of the protozoa animated by them. A vital principle, then, both divides and grows. But growth implies incorporation of something. What does the vital principle incorporate? Is it some other vital principle external to it, or some materials out of which more vital principle is formed? And how, in either case, can the vital principle be conceived as other than a material something, which in its growth and multiplication behaves just as visible matter behaves?
3. Equally unanswerable is the question which arises in presence of life that has become latent. Passing over the alleged case of the mummy wheat, the validity of which is denied, there is experimental proof that seeds may, under conditions unfavourable to germination, retain for ten, twenty, and some even for thirty years, the power to germinate when ​due moisture and warmth are supplied. (Cf. Kerner's Nat. Hist. of Plants, i, 51-2). Under what form has the vital principle existed during these long intervals? It is a principle of activity. In this case, then, the principle of activity becomes inactive. But how can we conceive an inactive activity? If it is a something which though inactive may be rendered active when conditions favour, we are introduced to the idea of a vital principle of which the vitality may become latent, which is absurd. What shall we say of the desiccated rotifer which for years has seemed to be nothing more than a particle of dust, but which now, when water is supplied, absorbs it, swells up, and resumes those ciliary motions by which it draws in nutriment? Was the vital principle elsewhere during these years of absolute quiescence? If so, why did it come back at the right moment? Was it all along present in the rotifer though asleep? How happened it then to awaken at the time when the supply of water enabled the tissues to resume their functions? How happened the physical agent to act not only on the material substance of the rotifer, but also on this something which is not a material substance but an immaterial source of activity? Evidently neither alternative is thinkable.
Thus, the alleged vital principle exists in the minds of those who allege it only as a verbal form, not as an idea; since it is impossible to bring together in consciousness the terms required to constitute an idea. It is not even "a figment of imagination," for that implies something imaginable, but the supposed vital principle cannot even be imagined.
§ 36d. When, passing to the alternative, we propose to regard life as inherent in the substances of the organisms displaying it, we meet with difficulties different in kind but scarcely less in degree. The processes which go on in living things are incomprehensible as results of any physical actions known to us.
Consider one of the simplest—that presented by an ​ordinary vegetal cell forming part of a leaf or other plant-structure. Its limiting membrane, originally made polyhedral by pressure of adjacent cells, is gradually moulded "into one of cylindrical, fibrous, or tabular shape, and strengthening its walls with pilasters, borders, ridges, hooks, bands, and panels of various kinds" (Kerner, i, 43): small openings into adjacent cells being either left or subsequently made. Consisting of non-nitrogenous, inactive matters, these structures are formed by the inclosed protoplast. How formed? Is it by the agency of the nucleus? But the nucleus, even had it characters conceivably adapting it to this function, is irregularly placed; and that it should work the same effects upon the cell-wall whether seated in the middle, at one end, or one side, is incomprehensible. Is the protoplasm then the active agent? But this is arranged into a network of strands and threads utterly irregular in distribution and perpetually altering their shapes and connexions. Exercise of fit directive action by the protoplasm is unimaginable.
Another instance:—Consider the reproductive changes exhibited by the Spirogyra. The delicate threads which, in this low type of Alga, are constituted of single elongated cells joined end to end, are here and there adjacent to one another; and from a cell of one thread and a cell of another at fit distance, grow out prominences which, meeting in the interspace and forming a channel by the dissolution of their adjoined cell-walls, empty through it the endochrome of the one cell into the other: forming by fusion of the two a zygote or reproductive body. Under what influence is this action initiated and guided? There is no conceivable directive agency in either cell by which, when conditions are fit, a papilla is so formed as to meet an opposite papilla.
Or again, contemplate the still more marvellous transformation occurring in Hydrodictyon utriculosum. United with others to form a cylindrical network, each sausage-shaped cell of this Alga contains, when fully developed, a ​lining chromatophore made of nucleated protoplasm with immersed chlorophyll-grains. This, when the cell is adult, divides into multitudinous zoospores, which presently join their ends in such ways as to form a network with meshes mostly hexagonal, minute in size, but like in arrangement to the network of which the parent cell formed a part. Eventually escaping from the mother-cell, this network grows and presently becomes as large as the parent network. Under what play of forces do these zoospores arrange themselves into this strange structure?
Kindred insoluble problems are presented by animal organisms of all grades. Of microscopic types instance the Coccospheres and Rhabdospheres found in the upper strata of sea-water. Each is a fragment of protoplasm less than one-thousandth of an inch in diameter, shielded by the elaborate protective structures it has formed. The elliptic coccoliths of the first, severally having a definite pattern, unite to form by overlapping an imbricated covering; and of the other the covering consists of numerous trumpet-mouthed processes radiating on all sides. To the question—How does this particle of granular protoplasm, without organs or definite structure, make for itself this complicated calcareous armour? there is no conceivable answer.
Like these Protozoa, the lowest Metazoa do things which are quite incomprehensible. Here is a sponge formed of classes of monads having among them no internuncial appliances by which in higher types cooperation is carried on—flagellate cells that produce the permeating currents of water, flattened cells forming protective membranes, and amœboid cells lying free in the gelatinous mesoderm. These, without apparent concert, build up not only the horny network constituting the chief mass of their habitation, but also embodied spicules, having remarkable symmetrical forms. By what combined influences the needful processes are effected, it is impossible to imagine.
If we turn to higher types of Metazoa in which, by the ​agency of a nervous system, many cooperations of parts are achieved in ways that are superficially comprehensible, we still meet with various actions of which the causation cannot be represented in thought. Lacking other calcareous matter, a hen picks up and swallows bits of broken egg-shells; and, occasionally, a cow in calf may be seen mumbling a bone she has found—evidently scraping off with her teeth some of its mass. These proceedings have reference to constitutional needs; but how are they prompted? What generates in the cow a desire to bite a substance so unlike in character to her ordinary food? If it be replied that the blood has become poor in certain calcareous salts and that hence arises the appetite for things containing them, there remains the question—How does this deficiency so act on the nervous system as to generate this vague desire and cause the movements which satisfy it? By no effort can we figure to ourselves the implied causal processes.
In brief, then, we are obliged to confess that Life in its essence cannot be conceived in physico-chemical terms. The required principle of activity, which we found cannot be represented as an independent vital principle, we now find cannot be represented as a principle inherent in living matter. If, by assuming its inherence, we think the facts are accounted for, we do but cheat ourselves with pseud-ideas.
§ 36e. What then are we to say—what are we to think? Simply that in this direction, as in all other directions, our explanations finally bring us face to face with the inexplicable. The Ultimate Reality behind this manifestation, as behind all other manifestations, transcends conception. It needs but to observe how even simple forms of existence are in their ultimate natures incomprehensible, to see that this most complex form of existence is in a sense doubly incomprehensible.
For the actions of that which the ignorant contemptuously ​call brute matter, cannot in the last resort be understood in their genesis. Were it not that familiarity blinds us, the fall of a stone would afford matter for wonder. Neither Newton nor anyone since his day has been able to conceive how the molecules of matter in the stone are affected not only by the molecules of matter in the adjacent part of the Earth but by those forming parts of its mass 8,000 miles off which severally exercise their influence without impediment from intervening molecules; and still less has there been any conceivable interpretation of the mode in which every molecule of matter in the Sun, 92 millions of miles away, has a share in controlling the movements of the Earth. What goes on in the space between a magnet and the piece of iron drawn towards it, or how on repeatedly passing a magnet along a steel needle this, by some change of molecular state as we must suppose, becomes itself a magnet and when balanced places its poles in fixed directions, we do not know. And still less can we fathom the physical process by which an ordered series of electric pulses sent through a telegraph wire may be made to excite a corresponding series of pulses in a parallel wire many miles off.
Turn to another class of cases. Consider the action of a surface of glass struck by a cathode current and which thereupon generates an order of rays able to pass through solid matters impermeable to light. Or contemplate the power possessed by uranium and other metals of emitting rays imperceptible by our eyes as light but which yet, in what appears to us absolute darkness, will, if passed through a camera, produce photographs. Even the actions of one kind of matter on another are sufficiently remarkable. Here is a mass of gold which, after the addition of 1-500th part of bismuth, has only 1-28th of the tensile strength it previously had; and here is a mass of brass, ordinarily ductile and malleable, but which, on the addition of 1-10,000th part of antimony, loses its character. More remarkable still are the influences of certain medicines. One-hundredth of a grain ​of nitro-glycerine is a sufficient dose. Taking an average man's weight as 150 pounds, it results that his body is appreciably affected in its state by the 115-millionth part of its weight of this nitrogenous compound.
In presence of such powers displayed by matter of simple kinds we shall see how impossible it is even to imagine those processes going on in organic matter out of which emerges the dynamic element in Life. As no separate form of proteid possesses vitality, we seem obliged to assume that the molecule of protoplasm contains many molecules of proteids, probably in various isomeric states, all capable of ready change and therefore producing great instability of the aggregate they form. As before pointed out ( § 4), a proteid-molecule includes more than 220 equivalents of several so-called elements. Each of these undecomposed substances is now recognized by chemists as almost certainly consisting of several kinds of components. Hence the implication is that a proteid-molecule contains thousands of units, of which the different classes have their respective rates of inconceivably rapid oscillation, while each unit, receiving and emitting ethereal undulations, affects others of its kind in its own and adjacent molecules: an immensely complex structure having immensely complex activities. And this complexity, material and dynamic, in the proteid-molecule we must regard as raised to a far higher degree in the unit of protoplasm. Here as elsewhere alternative impossibilities of thought present themselves. We find it impossible to think of Life as imported into the unit of protoplasm from without; and yet we find it impossible to conceive it as emerging from the cooperation of the components.
§ 36f. But now, having confessed that Life as a principle of activity is unknown and unknowable—that while its phenomena are accessible to thought the implied noumenon is inaccessible—that only the manifestations come within the range of our intelligence while that which is manifested lies ​beyond it; we may resume the conclusions reached in the preceding chapters. Our surface knowledge continues to be a knowledge valid of its kind, after recognizing the truth that it is only a surface knowledge.
For the conclusions we lately reached and the definition emerging from them, concern the order existing among the actions which living things exhibit; and this order remains the same whether we know or do not know the nature of that from which the actions originate. We found a distinguishing trait of Life to be that its changes display a correspondence with co-existences and sequences in the environment; and this remains a distinguishing trait, though the thing which changes remains inscrutable. The statement that the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations constitutes Life as cognizable by us, is not invalidated by the admission that the reality in which these relations inhere is incognizable.
Hence, then, after duly recognizing the fact that, as pointed out above, Life, even phenomenally considered, is not entirely covered by the definition, since there are various abnormal manifestations of life which it does not include, we may safely accept it as covering the normal manifestations—those manifestations which here concern us. Carrying with us the definition, therefore we may hereafter use it for guidance through all those regions of inquiry upon which we now enter.