Hitherto I have only spoken of animals and have hardly mentioned plants. I should not have been able to consider them at all, had it not happened that a work of Hildebrand’s [See Note 12] has recently appeared, which has, for the first time, provided us with exact observations on the duration of plant-life.
The chief results obtained by this author agree very well with the view which I have brought before you to-day. Hildebrand shows that the duration of life in plants also is by no means completely fixed, and that it may be very considerably altered through the agency of the external conditions of life. He shows that, in course of time, and under changed conditions of life, an annual plant may become perennial, or vice versa. The external factors which influence the duration of life are here however essentially different, as indeed we expect them to be, when we remember the very different conditions under which the animal and vegetable kingdoms exist. During the life of animals the destruction of mature individuals plays a most important part, but the existence of the mature plant is fairly well secured; their chief period of destruction is during youth, and this fact has a direct influence upon the degree of fertility, but not upon the duration of life. Climatic considerations, especially the periodical changes of summer and winter, or wet and dry seasons, are here of greater importance.
It must then be admitted that the dependence of the duration of life upon the external conditions of existence is alike common to plants and animals. In both kingdoms the high multicellular forms with well-differentiated organs contain the germs of death, while the low unicellular organisms are potentially immortal. Furthermore, an undying succession of reproductive cells is possessed by all the higher forms, although this may be but poor consolation to the conscious individual which perishes. Johannes Müller is therefore right, when in the sentence quoted at the beginning of my lecture, he speaks of an ‘appearance of immortality’ which passes from each individual into that which succeeds it. That which remains over, that which persists, is not the individual itself,—not the complex aggregate of cells which is conscious of itself,—but an individuality which is outside its consciousness, and of a low order,—an individuality which is made up of a single cell, which arises from the conscious individual. I might here conclude, but I wish first, in a few words, to protect myself against a possible misunderstanding.
I have repeatedly spoken of immortality, first of the unicellular organism, and secondly of the reproductive cell. By this word I have merely intended to imply a duration of time which appears to be endless to our human faculties. I have no wish to enter into the question of the cosmic or telluric origin of life on the earth. An answer to this question will at once decide whether the power of reproduction possessed by these cells is in reality eternal or only immensely prolonged, for that which is without beginning is, and must be, without end.
The supposition of a cosmic origin of life can only assist us if by its means we can altogether dispense with any theory of spontaneous generation. The mere shifting of the origin of life to some other far-off world cannot in any way help us. A truly cosmic origin in its widest significance will rigidly limit us to the statement—omne vivum e vivo—to the idea that life can only arise from life, and has always so arisen,—to the conclusion that organic beings are eternal like matter itself.
Experience cannot help us to decide this question; we do not know whether spontaneous generation was the commencement of life on the earth, nor have we any direct evidence for the idea that the process of development of the living world carries the end within itself, or for the converse idea that the end can only be brought about by means of some external force.
I admit that spontaneous generation, in spite of all vain efforts to demonstrate it, remains for me a logical necessity. We cannot regard organic and inorganic matter as independent of each other and both eternal, for organic matter is continually passing, without residuum, into the inorganic. If the eternal and indestructible are alone without beginning, then the non-eternal and destructible must have had a beginning. But the organic world is certainly not eternal and indestructible in that absolute sense in which we apply these terms to matter itself. We can, indeed, kill all organic beings and thus render them inorganic at will. But these changes are not the same as those which we induce in a piece of chalk by pouring sulphuric acid upon it; in this ease we only change the form, and the inorganic matter remains. But when we pour sulphuric acid upon a worm, or when we burn an oak tree, these organisms are not changed into some other animal and tree, but they disappear entirely as organized beings and are resolved into inorganic elements. But that which can be completely resolved into inorganic matter must have also arisen from it, and must owe its ultimate foundation to it. The organic might be considered eternal if we could only destroy its form, but not its nature.
It therefore follows that the organic world must once have arisen, and further that it will at some time come to an end. Hence we must speak of the eternal duration of unicellular organisms and of reproductive cells in the Metazoa and Metaphyta in that particular sense which signifies, when measured by our standards, an immensely long time.
Yet who can maintain that he has discovered the right answer to this important question? And even though the discovery were made, can any one believe that by its means the problem of life would be solved? If it were established that spontaneous generation did actually occur, a new question at once arises as to the conditions under which the occurrence became possible. How can we conceive that dead inorganic matter could have come together in such a manner as to form living protoplasm, that wonderful and complex substance which absorbs foreign material and changes it into its own substance, in other words grows and multiplies?
And so, in discussing this question of life and death, we come at last—as in all provinces of human research—upon problems which appear to us to be, at least for the present, insoluble. In fact it is the quest after perfected truth, not its possession, that falls to our lot, that gladdens us, fills up the measure of our life, nay! hallows it.
APPENDIX
Note 1. The Duration of Life among Birds
There is less exact knowledge upon this subject than we might expect, considering the existing number of ornithologists and ornithological societies with their numerous publications. It has neither been possible nor necessary for my purpose to look up all the widely-scattered references which are to be found upon the subject. Many of these are doubtless unknown to me; for we are still in want of a compilation of accurately determined observations in this department of zoology. I print the few facts which I have been able to collect, as a slight contribution towards such a compilation.
Small singing birds live from eight to eighteen years: the nightingale, in captivity, eight years, but longer according to some writers: the blackbird, in captivity, twelve years, but both these birds live longer in the natural state. A ‘half-bred nightingale built its nest for nine consecutive years in the same garden’ (Naumann, ‘Vögel Deutschlands,’ p. 76).
Canary birds in captivity attain an age of twelve to fifteen years (l. c., p. 76).
Ravens have lived for almost a hundred years in captivity (l. c., Bd. I. p. 125).
Magpies in captivity live twenty years, and, ‘without doubt,’ much longer in the natural state (l. c., p. 346).
Parrots ‘in captivity have reached upwards of a hundred years’ (l. c., p. 125).
A single instance of the cuckoo (alluded to in the text) is mentioned by Naumann as reaching the age of thirty-two years (l. c., p. 76).
Fowls live ten to twenty years, the golden pheasant fifteen years, the turkey sixteen years, and the pigeon ten years (Oken, ‘Naturgeschichte, Vögel,’ p. 387).
A golden eagle which ‘died