Absorption of food.—The next function of this machine to attract our attention is the absorption of food from the intestine into the blood. The digested food is carried down the alimentary canal in a purely mechanical fashion by muscular action, and when it reaches the intestine it begins to pass through its walls into the blood. In this absorption we find engaged another set of forces, the chief of which appears to be the physical force of osmosis. The force of osmosis has no special connection with life. If a membrane separates two liquids of different composition (Fig. i), a force is exerted on the liquids which cause them to pass through the membrane, each passing through the membrane into the other compartment. The force which drives these liquids through the membrane is considerable, and may sometimes be exerted against considerable pressure. A simple experiment will illustrate this force. In Fig. 2 is represented a membranous bag tightly fastened to a glass tube. The bag is filled with a strong solution of sugar, and is immersed in a vessel containing pure water. Under these conditions some of the sugar solution passes through the bag into the water, and some of the water passes from the vessel into the bag. But if the solution of sugar is inside the bag and the pure water outside, the amount of liquid passing into the bag is greater than the amount passing out; the bag soon becomes distended and the water even rises in the tube to a considerable height at a(Fig. 2). The force here concerned is a force known as osmosis or dialysis, and is always exerted when two different solutions of certain substances are separated from each other by a membrane. The substances in solution will, under these conditions, pass from the dense to the weaker solution. The process is a purely physical one.
This process of osmosis lies at the basis of the absorption of food from the alimentary canal. In the first place, most of the food when swallowed is not soluble, and therefore not capable of osmosis. But the process of digestion, as we have seen, changes the chemical nature of the food. The food, as the result of chemical change, has become soluble, and after being dissolved it is dialyzable—i.e., capable of osmosis. After digestion, therefore, the food is dissolved in the liquids in the stomach and intestine, and is in proper condition for dialysis. Furthermore, the structure of the intestine is such as to produce conditions adapted for dialysis. This can be understood from Fig. 3, which represents diagrammatically a cross section through the intestinal wall. Within the intestinal wall, at A, is the food mass in solution. At B are shown little projections of the intestinal wall, called villi extending into this food and covered by a membrane. One of these villi is shown more highly magnified in Fig. 4, in which B shows this membrane. Inside of these villi are blood-vessels, C, and it will be thus seen that the membrane, B, separates two liquids, one containing the dissolved food outside the villus, and the other containing blood inside the villus. Here are proper conditions for osmosis, and this process of dialysis will take place whenever the intestinal contents holds more dialyzable material than the blood. Under these conditions, which will always occur after food has been digested by the digestive juices, the food will begin to pass through this membranous wall of the intestine into the blood under the influence of the physical force of osmosis. Thus the primary factor in food absorption is a physical one.
We must notice, however, that the physical force of osmosis is not the only factor concerned in absorption. In the first place, it is found that the food during its passage through the intestinal wall, or shortly afterwards, undergoes a further change, so that by the time it has fairly reached the blood it has again changed its chemical nature. These changes are, however, of a chemical nature, and, while we do not yet know very much about them, they are of the same sort as those of digestion, and involve probably nothing more than chemical processes.
Secondly, we notice that there is one phase of absorption which is still obscure. Part of the food is composed of fat, and this fat, as the result of digestion, is mechanically broken up into extremely minute droplets. Although these droplets are of microscopic size they are not actually in solution, and therefore not subject to the force of osmosis which only affects solutions. The osmotic force will not force fat drops through membranes, and to explain their passage through the walls of the intestine requires something additional. We are as yet, however, able to give only a partial explanation of this matter. The inner wall of the intestine is not an inert, lifeless membrane, but is made of active bits of living matter. These bits of living matter appear to seize hold of the droplets of oil by means of little processes which they thrust out, and then pass them through their own bodies to excrete them on their inner surface into the blood vessels. Fig. 5 shows a few of these living bits of the membrane, each containing several such fat droplets. This fat absorption thus appears to be a vital process, and not one simply controlled by physical forces like osmosis. Here our explanation runs against what we call vital power of the ultimate elements of the body. The consideration of this vital feature we must, of course, investigate further; but this will be done later. At present our purpose is a general comparison of the body and a machine, and we may for a little postpone the consideration of this vital phenomenon.
Circulation.—The next piece of mechanism for us to consider in this machine is the device for distributing this fuel to the various parts of the machine where it is to be used as a source of energy, corresponding in a sense to the fireman of a locomotive. This mechanism we call the circulatory system. It consists of a series of tubes, or blood vessels, running to every part of the body and supplying every bit of tissue. Within the tubes is the blood, which, from its liquid nature, is easily forced around the body through the tubes. At the centre of the system is a pump which keeps the blood in motion. The tubes form a closed system, such that the pump, or heart, may suck the blood in from one side to force it out into the tubes on the other side; and the blood, after passing over the body in this closed set of tubes, is finally brought back again to be forced once more over the same path. As this blood is carried around the body it conveys from one part of the machine to another all material that needs distribution. While in the intestine, as already noticed (Fig. 3), it receives the food, and now this food is carried by the circulation to the muscles or the other organs that need it. While in the lungs the blood receives oxygen, and this oxygen is then carried to those parts of the body that need it. The circulatory system is thus simply a medium by which each part of the machine may receive its proper share of the supplies needed for its action.
Now in this circulation we have again to do with chemical and physical forces. All of its general phenomena are based upon purely mechanical principles. The action of the heart—leaving out of consideration for a moment its muscular power—is that of a simple pump. It is provided with valves whose action is as simple and as easy to understand as those of any water pump. By the action of these valves the blood is kept circulating in one direction. The blood vessels are elastic, and the study of the effect of a liquid pumped rhythmically into elastic tubes explains with simplicity the various phenomena associated with the circulation. For example, the rhythmically contracting heart forces a small quantity of blood into the arteries at short intervals. These tubes are large near the heart, but smaller at their ends, where they flow into the veins, so that the blood does not flow out into the veins so readily as it flows in from the heart. The jet of blood that is sent in with every beat of the heart slightly stretches the artery, and the tension thus produced causes the blood to continue to flow between the beats. But the heart continues beating, and there is an accumulation of the blood in the arteries until it exists under some pressure—a pressure sufficient to force it rapidly through the small ends of the arteries into the veins. After passing into the veins the pressure is at once removed, since the veins are larger than the arteries, and there is no resistance to the flow of the blood. Hence the blood in the arteries is under pressure, while there is little or no pressure in the veins. Into the details of this matter we need not go, but this will be sufficient to indicate that the whole process is a mechanical one.
We must not fail to see, however, that in this problem of circulation there are two points at least where once more we meet with that class of phenomena which we still call vital. The beating of the heart is the first of these, for this is active muscular power. The second is a contraction of the smaller blood-vessels which regulates the blood supply. Both of these phenomena are phases of muscular activity, and will be included under the discussion of other similar phenomena later.
We next notice that not only is the distribution of the blood explained upon mechanical principles, but the supplying of the active parts of the body with food is in the same way intelligible. As we have seen, the blood coming from the intestine contains the food material received from the digested food. Now when this blood in its circulation flows through the active tissues—for instance, the muscles—it is again placed under conditions where osmosis is sure to occur. In the muscles the thin-walled blood-vessels are surrounded and bathed by a liquid called lymph. Figure 6 shows a bit of muscle tissue, with its blood-vessels, which are surrounded by lymph. The lymph, which is not shown, fills all the space outside the blood-vessels, thus bathing both muscles and blood-vessels. Here again we have a membrane (i.e., the wall of the blood-vessel) separating two liquids, and since the lymph is of a different composition from the blood, dialysis between them is sure to occur, and the materials which passed into the blood in the intestine through the influence of the osmotic force, now pass out into the lymph under the influence of the same force. The food is thus brought into the lymph; and since the lymph lies in actual contact with the living muscle fibres, these fibres are now able to take directly from the lymph the material needed for their use. The power which enables the muscle fibre to take the material it needs, discarding the rest, is, again, one of the vital processes which we defer for a moment.
Respiration.—Pursuing the same line of study, we turn for a moment to the relation of the circulatory system to the function of supplying the body with oxygen gas. Oxygen is absolutely needed to carry on the functions of life; for these, like those of the engine, are based upon the oxidation of the fuel. The oxygen is derived from the air in the simplest manner. During its circulation the blood is brought for a fraction of a second into practical contact with air. This occurs in the lungs, where there are great numbers of air cells, in the walls of which the blood-vessels are distributed in great profusion. While the blood is in these vessels it is not indeed in actual contact with the air, but is separated from it by only a very thin membrane—so thin that it forms no hindrance to the interchange of gases. These air-cells are kept filled with air by simple muscular action. By the contraction of the muscles of the thorax the thoracic cavity is enlarged, and as a result air is sucked in in exactly the same way that it is sucked into a pair of bellows when expanded. Then the contraction of another set of muscles decreases the size of the thoracic cavity, and the air is squeezed out again. The action is just as truly mechanical as is that of the blacksmith's bellows.
The relation of the air to the blood is just as simple. In the blood there are various chemical ingredients, among which is one known as hæmoglobin. It does not concern us at present to ask where this material comes from, since this question is part of the broader question, the origin of the machine, to be discussed in the second part of this work. The hæmoglobin is a normal constituent of the blood, and, being red in colour, gives the red colour to the blood. This hæmoglobin has peculiar relations to oxygen. It can be separated from the blood and experimented upon by the chemist in his laboratory. It is found that when hæmoglobin is brought in contact with oxygen, under sufficient pressure it will form a chemical union with it. This chemical union is, however, what the chemist calls a loose combination, since it is readily broken up. If the oxygen is above a certain rather low pressure, the union will take place; while if the pressure be below this point the union is at once destroyed, and the oxygen leaves the hæmoglobin to become free. All of this is a purely chemical matter, and can be demonstrated at will in a test tube in the laboratory. But this union and disassociation is just what occurs as the foundation of respiration. The blood coming to the lungs contains hæmoglobin, and since the oxygen pressure in the air is quite high, this hæmoglobin unites at once with a quantity of oxygen while the blood is flowing through the air-vessels. The blood is then carried off in the circulation to the active tissues like the muscles. These tissues are constantly using oxygen to carry on their life processes, and consequently at all times use up about all the oxygen within their reach. The result is that in these tissues the oxygen pressure is very low, and when the oxygen-laden hæmoglobin reaches them the association of the hæmoglobin with oxygen is at once broken up and the oxygen set free in the tissue. It passes at once to the lymph, from which the active tissues seize it for the purpose of carrying on the oxidizing processes of the body. This whole matter of supplying the body with oxygen is thus fundamentally a chemical one, controlled by chemical laws.
Removal of Waste.—The next step in this life process is one of difficulty. After the food and oxygen have reached the tissues it is seized by the living cell. The food material is now oxidized by the oxygen and its latent energy is liberated, and appears in the form of motion or heat or some other vital function. Herein is the really mysterious part of the life process; but for the present we will overlook the mystery of this action, and consider the results from a purely material standpoint.
In a steam engine the fundamental process by which the latent energy of the fuel is liberated is that of oxidation. The oxygen of the air unites with the chemical elements of the fuel, and breaks up that fuel into simple compounds—which may be chiefly considered as three—carbonic dioxide (CO2), water (H2O), and ash. The energy contained in the original compound can not be held by these simpler bodies, and it therefore escapes as heat. Just the same process, with of course difference in details, is found in the living machine. The food, after reaching the living cell, is united with the oxygen, and, so far as chemical results are concerned, the process is much the same as if it occurred outside the body. The food is broken into simpler compounds and the contained energy is liberated. The energy is, by the mechanism of the machine, changed into motion or nervous impulse, etc. The food is broken into simple compounds, which are chiefly carbonic dioxide, water, and ash; the ash being, however, quite different from the ash obtained from burning coal. Now the engine must have its chimney to remove the gases and vapours (the CO2 and H2O) and its ashpit for the ashes. In the same way the living machine has its excretory system for removing wastes. In the removal of the carbonic acid and water we have to do once more with the respiratory system, and the process is simply a repetition of the story of gas diffusion, chemical union, and osmosis. It is sufficient here to say that the process is just as simple and as easily explained as those already described. The elimination of these wastes is simply a problem of chemistry and mechanics.
In the removal of the ash, however, we have something more, for here again we are brought up against the vital action of the cell. This ash takes chiefly the form of a compound known as urea, which finds its way into the general circulatory system. From the blood it is finally removed by the kidneys. In the kidneys are a large number of bits of living matter (kidney cells), which have the power of seizing hold of the urea as the blood is flowing over them, and after thus taking it out of the blood they deposit it in a series of tubes which lead to the bladder and hence to the exterior. The bringing of this ash to the kidney cell is a mechanical matter, based simply upon the flow of the blood. The seizing of the urea by the kidney cell is a vital phenomenon which we must waive for the moment.
Up to this point in the analysis there has been no difficulty, and no one can fail to agree with the conclusions. The position we reach is as follows: So far as relates to the general problems of energy in the universe the body is a machine. It neither creates nor destroys energy, but simply transforms one form into another. In attempting to explain the action of the machine, we find that for the functions thus far considered (sometimes called the vegetative functions) the laws of chemistry and physics furnish adequate explanation.
We must now look a little further, and question some of the functions the mechanical nature of which is less obvious. The whole operation thus far described is under the control of the nervous system, which acts somewhat like the engineer of an engine. Can this phase of living activity be included within the conception of the body as a machine?
Nervous System.—When we come to try to apply mechanical principles to the nervous system, we meet with what seems at first to be no thoroughfare. While dealing with the grosser questions of chemical compounds, heat, and motion, there is little difficulty in applying natural laws to the explanation of living phenomena. But the problem with the nervous system is very different. It is only to-day that we are finding that the problem is open to study, to say nothing of solution. It is true that mental and other nervous phenomena have been studied for a long time, but this study has been simply the study of these phenomena by themselves without a thought of their correlation with other phenomena of nature. It is a matter of quite recent conception that nervous phenomena have any direct relation to the other realms of nature.
Our first question must be whether we can find any correlation between nervous energy and other types of energy. For our purpose it will be convenient to distinguish between the phenomena of simple nervous transmission and the phenomena of mental activity. The former are the simpler, and offer the greatest hope of solution. If we are to find any correlation between nervous energy and other physical energy, we must do so by finding some way of measuring nervous energy and comparing it with the latter. This has been very difficult, for we have no way of measuring a nervous impulse directly. In the larger experiments upon the income and outgo of the body, in the respiration apparatus mentioned above, nervous phenomena apparently leave no trace. So far as experiments have gone as yet, there is no evidence of an expenditure of extra physical energy when the nervous system is in action. This is not surprising, however, for this apparatus is entirely too coarse to measure such delicate factors.
That there is a correlation between nervous energy and physical energy is, however, pretty definitely proved by experiments along different lines. The first step in this direction was to find that a nervous stimulus can be measured at least indirectly. When the nerve is stimulated there passes from one end to the other an impulse, and the rapidity with which it travels can be accurately measured. When such an impulse reaches the brain it may give rise to a conscious sensation, and a somewhat definite estimation can be made of the amount of time required for this. The periods are very short, of course, but they are not instantaneous. The nervous impulse, can be studied in still other ways. We find that the impulse can be started by ordinary forms of energy. A mechanical shock, a chemical or an electrical shock will develop nervous energy. Now these are ordinary forms of physical energy, and if, when they are applied to a nerve, they give rise to a nervous stimulus, the inference is certainly a legitimate one that the nerve is simply a bit of machinery adapted to the conversion of certain kinds of physical energy into nervous energy. If this is the case, then it is necessary to regard nervous energy as correlated with other forms of energy.
Other facts point in the same direction. Not only can the nervous stimulus be developed by an electric shock, but the strength of the stimulus is within certain limits proportional to the strength of the shock which produces it. Again, not only is it found that an electrical shock can develop a nervous stimulus, but conversely a nervous stimulus develops electrical energy. In ordinary nerves, even when not active, slight electric currents can be detected. They are extremely slight, and require the most delicate instruments for their detection. Now when a nerve is stimulated these currents are immediately affected in such a way that under proper conditions they are increased in intensity. The increase is sufficient to make itself easily seen by the motion of a galvanometer. The motion of the galvanometer under these conditions gives a ready means of studying the character of the nervous impulse. By its use it can be determined that the nerve impulse travels along the nerve like a wave, and we can approximately determine the length and shape of the wave and its relative height at various points.
Now what is the significance of all these facts for our discussion? Together they point clearly to the conclusion that nervous energy is correlated with other forms of physical energy. Since the nervous stimulus is started by other forms of energy, and since it can, in turn, modify ordinary forms of energy, we can not avoid the conclusion that the nervous impulse is only a special form of energy developed within the nerve. It is a form of wave motion peculiar to the nerve substance, but correlated with and developed from other types of energy. This, of course, makes the nerve simply a bit of machinery.
If this conclusion is true, the development of a nerve impulse would mean that a certain portion of food is broken to pieces in the body to liberate energy, and this should be accompanied by an elimination of carbonic dioxide and heat. This is easily shown to be true of muscle action. When we remove a muscle from the body it may remain capable of contracting for some time. By studying it under these conditions we find that it gives rise to carbonic dioxide and other substances, and liberates heat whenever it contracts. As already noticed, in the respiration experiments, whenever the individual experimented upon makes any motions, there is an accompanying elimination of waste products and a development of heat. But this does not appear to be demonstrable for the actions of the nervous system. Although very careful experiments have been made, it has as yet been found impossible to detect any rise in temperature when a nerve impulse is passing through a nerve, nor is there any demonstrable excretion of waste products. This would be a serious objection to the conception of the nerve as a machine were it not for the fact that the nerve is so small that the total sum of its nervous energy must be very slight. The total energy of this minute machine is so slight that it can not be detected by our comparatively rough instruments of measurement.
In short, all evidence goes to show that the nerve impulse is a form of motion, and hence of energy, correlated with other forms of physical energy. The nerve is, however, a very delicate machine, and its total amount of energy is very small. A tiny watch is a more delicate machine than a water-wheel, and its actions are more dependent upon the accuracy of its adjustment. The water-wheel may be made very coarse and yet be perfectly efficacious, while the watch must be fashioned with extreme delicacy. Yet the water-wheel transforms vastly more energy than the watch. It may drive the many machines in a factory, while the watch can do no more than move itself. But who can doubt that the watch, as well as the water-wheel, is governed by the law of the correlation of forces? So the nervous system of the living machine is delicately adjusted and easily put out of order, and its action involves only a small amount of energy; but it is just as truly subject to the law of the conservation of energy as is the more massive muscle.
Sensations.—Pursuing this subject further, we next notice that it is possible to trace a connection between physical energy and sensations. Sensations are excited by certain external forms of motion. The living machine has, for example, one piece of apparatus capable of being affected by rapidly vibrating waves of air. This bit of the machine we call the ear. It is made of parts delicately adjusted, so that vibrating waves of air set them in motion, and their motion starts a nervous stimulus travelling along the auditory nerve. As a result this apparatus will be set in motion, and an impulse sent along the auditory nerve whenever that external type of motion which we call sound strikes the ear. In other words, the ear is a piece of apparatus for changing air vibrations into nervous stimulation, and is therefore a machine. Apparently the material in the ear is like a bit of gunpowder, capable of being exploded by certain kinds of external excitation; but neither the gunpowder nor the material in the ear develops any energy other than that in it at the outset. In the same way the optic nerve has, at its end, a bit of mechanism readily excited by light vibrations of the ether, and hence the optic nerve will always be excited when ether vibrations chance to have an opportunity of setting the optic machinery in motion. And so on with the other senses. Each sensory nerve has, at its end, a bit of machinery designed for the transformation of certain kinds of external energy into nervous energy, just as a dynamo is a machine for transforming motion into electricity. If the machine is broken, the external force has no longer any power of acting upon it, and the individual becomes deaf or blind.
Mental Phenomena.—Thus far in our analysis we need not hesitate in recognizing a correlation between physical and nervous energy. Even though nervous energy is very subtle and only affects our instruments of measurements under exceptional conditions, the fact that nervous forces are excited by physical forces, and are themselves directly measurable, indicates that they are correlated with physical forces. Up to this point, then, we may confidently say that the nervous system is part of the machine.
But when we turn to the more obscure parts of the nervous phenomena, those which we commonly call mental, we find ourselves obliged to stop abruptly. We may trace the external force to the sensory organ, we may trace this force into a nervous stimulus, and may follow this stimulus to the brain as a wave motion, and therefore as a form of physical energy. But there we must stop. We have no idea of how the nervous impulse is converted into a sensation. The mental side of the sensation appears to stand in a category by itself, and we can not look upon it as a form of energy. It is true that many brave attempts have been made to associate the two. Sensations can be measured as to intensity, and the intensity of a sensation is to a certain extent dependent upon the intensity of the stimulus exciting it. The mental sensation is undoubtedly excited by the physical wave of nervous impulse. In the growth of the individual the development of its mental powers are found to be parallel to the development of its nerves and brain—a fact which, of course, proves that mental power is dependent upon brain structure. Further, it is found that certain visible changes occur in certain parts of the brain—the brain cells—when they are excited into mental activity. Such series of facts point to an association between the mental side of sensations and physical structure of the machine. But they do not prove any correlation between them. The unlikeness of mental and physical phenomena is so absolute that we must hesitate about drawing any connection between them. It is impossible to conceive the mental side of a sensation as a form of wave motion. If, further, we take into consideration the other phenomena associated with the nervous system, the more distinctly mental processes, we have absolutely no data for any comparison. We can not imagine thought measured by units, and until we can conceive of such measurement we can get no meaning from any attempt to find a correlation between mental and physical phenomena. It is true that certain psychologists have tried to build up a conception of the physical nature of mind; but their attempts have chiefly resulted in building up a conception of the physical nature of the brain, and then ignoring the radical chasm that exists between mind and matter. The possibility of describing a complex brain as growing parallel to the growth of a complex mind has been regarded as equivalent to proving their identity. All attempts in this direction thus far have simply ignored the fact that the stimulation of a nerve, a purely physical process, is not the same thing as a mental action. What the future may disclose it is hazardous to say, but at present the mental side of the living machine has not been included within the conception of the mechanical nature of the organism.
The Living Body is a Machine.—Reviewing the subject up to this point, what must be our verdict as to our ability to understand the running of the living machine? In the first place, we are justified in regarding the body as a machine, since, so far as concerns its relations to energy, it is simply a piece of mechanism—complicated, indeed, beyond any other machine, but still a machine for changing one kind of energy into another. It receives the energy in the form of chemical composition and converts it into heat, motion, nervous wave motion, etc. All of this is sure enough. Whether other forms of nervous and mental activity can be placed under the same category, or whether these must be regarded as belonging to a realm by themselves and outside of the scope of energy in the physical sense, can not perhaps be yet definitely decided. We can simply say that as yet no one has been able even to conceive how thought can be commensurate with physical energy. The utter unlikeness of thought and wave motion of any kind leads us at present to feel that on the side of mentality the comparison of the body with a machine fails of being complete.
In regard to the second half of the question, whether natural forces are adequate to explain the running of the machine, we have again been able to reach a satisfactory positive answer. Digestion, assimilation, circulation, respiration, excretion, the principal categories of physiological action, and at least certain phases of the action of the nervous system are readily understood as controlled by the action of chemical and physical forces. In the accomplishment of these actions there is no need for the supposition of any force other than those which are at our command in the scientific laboratory.
The Living Machine Constructive as well as Destructive.—In one respect the living machine differs from all others. The action of all other machines results in the destruction of organized material, and thus in a degradation of matter. For example, a steam engine receives coal, a substance of high chemical composition, and breaks it into more simple compounds, in this way liberating its stored energy. Now if we examine all forms of artificial machines, we find in the same way that there is always a destruction of compounds of high chemical composition. In such machines it is common to start with heat as a source of energy, and this heat is always produced by the breaking of chemical compounds to pieces. In all chemical processes going on in the chemist's laboratory there is similarly a destruction of organic compounds. It is true that the chemist sometimes makes complex compounds out of simpler ones; but in order to do this he is obliged to use heat to bring about the combination, and this heat is obtained from the destruction of a much larger quantity of high compounds than he manufactures. The total result is therefore destruction rather than manufacture of high compounds. Thus it is a fact, that in all artificial machines and in all artificial chemical processes there is, as a total result, a degradation of matter toward the simpler from the more complex compounds.
As a result of the action of the living machine, however, we have the opposite process of construction going on. All high chemical compounds are to be traced to living beings as their source. When green plants grow in sunlight they take simple compounds and combine them together to form more complex ones in such a way that the total result is an increase of chemical compounds of high complexity. In doing this they use the energy of sunlight, which they then store away in the compounds formed. They thus produce starches, oils, proteids, woods, etc., and these stores of energy now may be used by artificial machines. The living machine builds up, other machines pull down. The living machine stores sunlight in complex compounds, other machines take it out and use it. The living organism is therefore to be compared to a sun engine, which obtains its energy directly from the sun, rather than to the ordinary engine. While this does not in the slightest militate against the idea of the living body as a machine, it does indicate that it is a machine of quite a different character from any other, and has powers possessed by no other machine. Living machines alone increase the amount of chemical compounds of high complexity.
We must notice, however, that this power of construction in distinction from destruction, is possessed only by one special class of living machines. Green plants alone can thus increase the store of organic compounds in the world. All colourless plants and all animals, on the other hand, live by destroying these compounds and using the energy thus liberated; in this respect being more like ordinary artificial machines. The animal does indeed perform certain constructive operations, manufacturing complex material out of simpler bodies; as, for example, making fats out of starches. But in this operation it destroys a large amount of organic material to furnish the energy for the construction, so that the total result is a degradation of chemical compounds rather than a construction. Constructive processes, which increase the amount of high compounds in nature, are confined to the living machine, and indeed to one special form of it, viz., the green plant. This constructive power radically separates the living from other machines; for while constructive processes are possible to the chemist, and while engines making use of sunlight are possible, the living machine is the only machine that increases the amount of high chemical compounds in the world.
The Vital Factor.—With all this explanation of life processes it can not fail to be apparent that we have not really reached the centre of the problem. We have explained many secondary processes, but the primary ones are still unsolved. In studying digestion we reach an understanding of everything until we come to the active vital property of the gland-cells in secreting. In studying absorption we understand the process until we come to what we have called the vital powers of the absorptive cells of the alimentary canal. The circulation is intelligible until we come to the beating of the heart and the contraction of the muscles of the blood-vessels. Excretion is also partly explained, but here again we finally must refer certain processes to the vital powers of active cells. And thus wherever we probe the problem we find ourselves able to explain many secondary problems, while the fundamental ones we still attribute to the vital properties of the active tissues. Why a muscle contracts or a gland secretes we have certainly not yet answered. The relation of the actions to the general problems of correlation of force is simple enough. That a muscle is a machine in the sense of our definition is beyond question. But the problem of why a muscle acts is not answered by showing that it derives its energy from broken food material. There are plainly still left for us a number of fundamental problems, although the secondary ones are soluble.
What can we say in regard to these fundamental vital powers of the active tissues? Firstly, we must notice that many of the processes which we now understand were formerly classed as vital, and we only retain under this term those which are not yet explained. This, of course, suggests to us that perhaps we may some day find an explanation for all the so-called vital powers by the application of simple physical forces. Is it a fact that the only significance to the term vital is that we have not yet been able to explain these processes to our entire satisfaction? Is the difference between what we have called the secondary processes and the primary ones only one of degree? Is there a probability that the actions which we now call vital will some day be as readily understood as those which have already been explained?
Is there any method by which we can approach these fundamental problems of muscle action, heart beat, gland secretion, etc.? Evidently, if this is to be done, it must be by resolving the body into its simple units and studying these units. Our study thus far has been a study of the machinery of the body as a whole; but we have found that the various parts of the machine are themselves active, that apart from the action of the general machine as a whole, the separate parts have vital powers. We must, therefore, get rid of this complicated machinery, which confuses the problem, and see if we can find the fundamental units which show these properties, unencumbered by the secondary machinery which has hitherto attracted our attention. We must turn now to the problem connected with protoplasm and the living cell, since here, if anywhere, can we find the life substance reduced to its lowest terms.
Vital Properties.—We have seen that the general activities of the body are intelligible according to chemical and mechanical laws, provided we can assume as their foundation the simple vital properties of living phenomena. We must now approach closer to the centre of the problem, and ask whether we can trace these fundamental properties to their source and find an explanation of them.
In the first place, what are these properties? The vital powers are varied, and lie at the basis of every form of living activity. When we free them from complications, however, they may all be reduced to four. These are: (1) Irritability, or the property possessed by living matter of reacting when stimulated. (2) Movement, or the power of contracting when stimulated. (3) Metabolism, or the power of absorbing extraneous food and producing in it certain chemical changes, which either convert it into more living tissue or break it to pieces to liberate the inclosed energy. (4) Reproduction, or the power of producing new individuals. From these four simple vital activities all other vital actions follow; and if we can find an explanation of these, we have explained the living machine. If we grant that certain parts of the body can assimilate food and multiply, having the power of contraction when irritated, we can readily explain the other functions of the living machine by the application of these properties to the complicated machinery of the body. But these properties are fundamental, and unless we can grasp them we have failed to reach the centre of the problem.
As we pass from the more to the less complicated animals we find a gradual simplification of the machinery until the machinery apparently disappears. With this simplification of the machinery we find the animals provided with less varied powers and with less delicate adaptations to conditions. But withal we find the fundamental powers of the living organisms the same. For the performance of these fundamental activities there is apparently needed no machinery. The simple types of living bodies are simple in number of parts, but they possess essentially the same powers of assimilation and growth that characterize the higher forms. It is evident that in our attempt to trace the vital properties to their source we may proceed in two ways. We may either direct our attention to the simplest organisms where all secondary machinery is wanting, or to the smallest parts into which the tissues of higher organisms can be resolved and yet retain their life properties. In either way we may hope to find living phenomena in its simplest form independent of secondary machinery.
But the fact is, when we turn our attention in these two directions, we find the result is the same. If we look for the lowest organisms we find them among forms that are made of a single cell, and if we analyze the tissues of higher animals we find the ultimate parts to be cells. Thus, in either direction, the study of the cell is forced upon us.
Before beginning the study of the cell it will be well for us to try to get a clear notion of the exact nature of the problems we are trying to solve. We wish to explain the activities of life phenomena in such a way as to make them intelligible through the application of natural forces. That these processes are fundamentally chemical ones is evident enough. A chemical oxidation of food lies at the basis of all vital activity, and it is thus through the action of chemical forces that the vital powers are furnished with their energy. But the real problem is what it is in the living machine that controls these chemical processes. Fat and starch may be oxidized in a chemist's test tubes, and will there liberate energy; but they do not, under these conditions, manifest vital phenomena. Proteid may be brought in contact with oxygen without any oxidation occurring, and even if it is oxidized no motion or assimilation or reproduction occurs under ordinary conditions. These phenomena occur only when the oxidation takes place in the living machine. Our problem is then to determine, if possible, what it is in the living machine that regulates the oxidations and other changes in such a way as to produce from them vital activities. Why is it that the oxidation of starch in the living machine gives rise to motion, growth, and reproduction, while if the oxidation occurs in the chemist's laboratory, or even in a bit of dead protoplasm, it simply gives rise to heat?
One of the primary questions to demand attention in this search is whether we are to find the explanation, at the bottom, a chemical or a mechanical one. In the simplest form of life in which vital manifestations are found are we to attribute these properties simply to chemical forces of the living substance, or must we here too attribute them to the action of a complicated machinery? This question is more than a formal one. That it is one of most profound significance will appear from the following considerations:
Chemical affinity is a well recognized force. Under the action of this force chemical compounds are produced and different compounds formed under different conditions. The properties of the different compounds differ with their composition, and the more complex are the compounds the more varied their properties. Now it might be assumed as an hypothesis that there could be a chemical compound so complex as to possess, among other properties, that of causing the oxidation of food to occur in such a way as to produce assimilation and growth. Such a compound would, of course, be alive, and it would be just as true that its power of assimilating food would be one of its physical properties as it is that freezing is a physical property of water. If such an hypothesis should prove to be the true one, then the problem of explaining life would be a chemical one, for all vital properties would be reducible to the properties of a chemical compound. It would then only be necessary to show how such a compound came into existence and we should have explained life. Nor would this be a hopeless task. We are well acquainted with forces adequate to the formation of chemical compounds. If the force of chemical affinity is adequate under certain conditions to form some compounds, it is easy to conceive it as a possibility under other conditions to produce this chemical living substance. Our search would need then to be for a set of conditions under which our living compound could have been produced by the known forces of chemical affinity.
But suppose, on the other hand, that we find this simplest bit of living matter is not a chemical compound, but is in itself a complicated machine. Suppose that, after reducing this vital substance to its simplest type, we find that the substance with which we are dealing not only has complex chemical structure, but that it also possesses a large number of structural parts adapted to each other in such a way as to work together in the form of an intricate mechanism. The whole problem would then be changed. To explain such a machine we could no longer call upon chemical forces. Chemical affinity is adequate to the explanation of chemical compounds however complicated, but it cannot offer any explanation for the adaptation of parts which make a machine. The problem of the origin of the simplest form of life would then be no longer one of chemical but one of mechanical evolution. It is plain then that the question of whether we can attribute the properties of the simplest type of life to chemical composition or to mechanical structure is more than a formal one.
The Discovery of Cells.—It is difficult for us to-day to have any adequate idea of the wonderful flood of light that was thrown upon scientific and philosophical study by the discoveries which are grouped around the terms cells and protoplasm. Cells and protoplasm have become so thoroughly a part of modern biology that we can hardly picture to ourselves the vagueness of knowledge before these facts were recognized. Perhaps a somewhat crude comparison will illustrate the relation which the discovery of cells had to the study of life.
Imagine for a moment, some intelligent being located on the moon and trying to study the phenomena on the earth's surface. Suppose that he is provided with a telescope sufficiently powerful to disclose moderately large objects on the earth, but not smaller ones. He would see cities in various parts of the world with wide differences in appearance, size, and shape. He would see railroad trains on the earth rushing to and fro. He would see new cities arising and old ones increasing in size, and we may imagine him speculating as to their method of origin and the reasons why they adopt this or that shape. But in spite of his most acute observations and his most ingenious speculation, he could never understand the real significance of the cities, since he is not acquainted with the actual living unit. Imagine now, if you will, that this supramundane observer invents a telescope which enables him to perceive more minute objects and thus discovers human beings. What a complete revolution this would make in his knowledge of mundane affairs! We can imagine how rapidly discovery would follow discovery; how it would be found that it was the human beings that build the houses, construct and run the railroads, and control the growth of the cities according to their fancy; and, lastly, how it would be learned that it is the human being alone that grows and multiplies and that all else is the result of his activities. Such a supramundane observer would find himself entering into a new era, in which all his previous knowledge would sink into oblivion.
Something of this same sort of revolution was inaugurated in the study of living things by the discovery of cells and protoplasms. Animals and plants had been studied for centuries and many accurate and painstaking observations had been made upon them. Monumental masses of evidence had been collected bearing upon their shapes, sizes, distribution, and relations. Anatomy had long occupied the attention of naturalists, and the general structure of animals and plants was already well known. But the discoveries starting in the fourth decade of the century by disclosing the unity of activity changed the aspect of biological science.
The Cell Doctrine.—The cell doctrine is, in brief, the theory that the bodies of animals and plants are built up entirely of minute elementary units, more or less independent of each other, and all capable of growth and multiplication. This doctrine is commonly regarded as being inaugurated in 1839 by Schwann. Long before this, however, many microscopists had seen that the bodies of plants are made up of elementary units. In describing the bark of a tree in 1665, Robert Hooke had stated that it was composed of little boxes or cells, and regarded it as a sort of honeycomb structure with its cells filled with air. The term cell quite aptly describes the compartments of such a structure, as can be seen by a glance at Fig. 7, and this term has been retained even till to-day in spite of the fact that its original significance has entirely disappeared. During the last century not a few naturalists observed and described these little vesicles, always regarding them as little spaces and never looking upon them as having any significance in the activities of plants. In one or two instances similar bodies were noticed in animals, although no connection was drawn between them and the cells of plants. In the early part of the century observations upon various kinds of animals and plant tissues multiplied, and many microscopists independently announced the discovery of similar small corpuscular bodies. Finally, in 1839, these observations were combined together by Schwann into one general theory. According to the cell doctrine then formulated, the parts of all animals and plants are either composed of cells or of material derived from cells. The bark, the wood, the roots, the leaves of plants are all composed of little vesicles similar to those already described under the name of cells. In animals the cellular structure is not so easy to make out; but here too the muscle, the bone, the nerve, the gland are all made up of similar vesicles or of material made from them. The cells are of wonderfully different shapes and widely different sizes, but in general structure they are alike. These cells, thus found in animals and plants alike, formed the first connecting link between animals and plants. This discovery was like that of our supposed supramundane observer when he first found the human being that brought into connection the widely different cities in the various parts of the world.