While the Brownian movement may thus simulate in a deceptive way the active movements of an organism, the reverse statement also to a certain extent holds good. One sometimes lies awake of a summer’s morning watching the flies as they dance under the ceiling. It is a very remarkable dance. The dancers do not whirl or gyrate, either in company or alone; but they advance and retire; they seem to jostle and rebound; between the rebounds they dart hither or thither in short straight snatches of hurried flight; and turn again sharply in a new rebound at the end of each little rush. Their motions are wholly “erratic,” independent of one another, and devoid of common purpose. This is nothing else than a vastly magnified picture, or simulacrum, of the Brownian movement; the parallel between the two cases lies in their complete irregularity, but this in itself implies a close resemblance. One might see the same thing in a crowded market-place, always provided that the bustling crowd had no business whatsoever. In like manner Lucretius, and Epicurus before him, watched the dust-motes quivering in the beam, and saw in them a mimic representation, rei simulacrum et imago, of the eternal motions of the atoms. Again the same phenomenon may be witnessed under the microscope, in a drop of water swarming with Paramoecia or suchlike Infusoria; and here the analogy has been put to a numerical test. Following with a pencil the track of each little swimmer, and dotting its place every few seconds (to the beat of a metronome), Karl Przibram found that the mean successive distances from a common base-line obeyed with great exactitude the “Einstein formula,” that is to say the particular form of the “law of chance” which is applicable to the case of the Brownian movement[78]. The phenomenon is (of course) merely analogous, and by no means identical with the Brownian movement; for the range of motion of the little active organisms, whether they be gnats or infusoria, is vastly greater than that of the minute particles which are {48} passive under bombardment; but nevertheless Przibram is inclined to think that even his comparatively large infusoria are small enough for the molecular bombardment to be a stimulus, though not the actual cause, of their irregular and interrupted movements.
There is yet another very remarkable phenomenon which may come into play in the case of the minutest of organisms; and this is their relation to the rays of light, as Arrhenius has told us. On the waves of a beam of light, a very minute particle (in vacuo) should be actually caught up, and carried along with an immense velocity; and this “radiant pressure” exercises its most powerful influence on bodies which (if they be of spherical form) are just about ·00016 mm., or ·16 µ in diameter. This is just about the size, as we have seen, of some of our smallest known protozoa and bacteria, while we have some reason to believe that others yet unseen, and perhaps the spores of many, are smaller still. Now we have seen that such minute particles fall with extreme slowness in air, even at ordinary atmospheric pressures: our organism measuring ·16 µ would fall but 83 metres in a year, which is as much as to say that its weight offers practically no impediment to its transference, by the slightest current, to the very highest regions of the atmosphere. Beyond the atmosphere, however, it cannot go, until some new force enable it to resist the attraction of terrestrial gravity, which the viscosity of an atmosphere is no longer at hand to oppose. But it is conceivable that our particle may go yet farther, and actually break loose from the bonds of earth. For in the upper regions of the atmosphere, say fifty miles high, it will come in contact with the rays and flashes of the Northern Lights, which consist (as Arrhenius maintains) of a fine dust, or cloud of vapour-drops, laden with a charge of negative electricity, and projected outwards from the sun. As soon as our particle acquires a charge of negative electricity it will begin to be repelled by the similarly laden auroral particles, and the amount of charge necessary to enable a particle of given size (such as our little monad of ·16 µ) to resist the attraction of gravity may be calculated, and is found to be such as the actual conditions can easily supply. Finally, when once set free from the entanglement of the earth’s {49} atmosphere, the particle may be propelled by the “radiant pressure” of light, with a velocity which will carry it.—like Uriel gliding on a sunbeam,—as far as the orbit of Mars in twenty days, of Jupiter in eighty days, and as far as the nearest fixed star in three thousand years! This, and much more, is Arrhenius’s contribution towards the acceptance of Lord Kelvin’s hypothesis that life may be, and may have been, disseminated across the bounds of space, throughout the solar system and the whole universe!
It may well be that we need attach no great practical importance to this bold conception; for even though stellar space be shewn to be mare liberum to minute material travellers, we may be sure that those which reach a stellar or even a planetary bourne are infinitely, or all but infinitely, few. But whether or no, the remote possibilities of the case serve to illustrate in a very vivid way the profound differences of physical property and potentiality which are associated in the scale of magnitude with simple differences of degree.
CHAPTER III THE RATE OF GROWTH
When we study magnitude by itself, apart, that is to say, from the gradual changes to which it may be subject, we are dealing with a something which may be adequately represented by a number, or by means of a line of definite length; it is what mathematicians call a scalar phenomenon. When we introduce the conception of change of magnitude, of magnitude which varies as we pass from one direction to another in space, or from one instant to another in time, our phenomenon becomes capable of representation by means of a line of which we define both the length and the direction; it is (in this particular aspect) what is called a vector phenomenon.
When we deal with magnitude in relation to the dimensions of space, the vector diagram which we draw plots magnitude in one direction against magnitude in another,—length against height, for instance, or against breadth; and the result is simply what we call a picture or drawing of an object, or (more correctly) a “plane projection” of the object. In other words, what we call Form is a ratio of magnitudes, referred to direction in space.
When in dealing with magnitude we refer its variations to successive intervals of time (or when, as it is said, we equate it with time), we are then dealing with the phenomenon of growth; and it is evident, therefore, that this term growth has wide meanings. For growth may obviously be positive or negative; that is to say, a thing may grow larger or smaller, greater or less; and by extension of the primitive concrete signification of the word, we easily and legitimately apply it to non-material things, such as temperature, and say, for instance, that a body “grows” hot or cold. When in a two-dimensional diagram, we represent a magnitude (for instance length) in relation to time (or “plot” {51} length against time, as the phrase is), we get that kind of vector diagram which is commonly known as a “curve of growth.” We perceive, accordingly, that the phenomenon which we are now studying is a velocity (whose “dimensions” are Space⁄Time or L⁄T); and this phenomenon we shall speak of, simply, as a rate of growth.
In various conventional ways we can convert a two-dimensional into a three-dimensional diagram. We do so, for example, by means of the geometrical method of “perspective” when we represent upon a sheet of paper the length, breadth and depth of an object in three-dimensional space; but we do it more simply, as a rule, by means of “contour-lines,” and always when time is one of the dimensions to be represented. If we superimpose upon one another (or even set side by side) pictures, or plane projections, of an organism, drawn at successive intervals of time, we have such a three-dimensional diagram, which is a partial representation (limited to two dimensions of space) of the organism’s gradual change of form, or course of development; and in such a case our contour-lines may, for the purposes of the embryologist, be separated by intervals representing a few hours or days, or, for the purposes of the palaeontologist, by interspaces of unnumbered and innumerable years[79].
Such a diagram represents in two of its three dimensions form, and in two, or three, of its dimensions growth; and so we see how intimately the two conceptions are correlated or inter-related to one another. In short, it is obvious that the form of an animal is determined by its specific rate of growth in various directions; accordingly, the phenomenon of rate of growth deserves to be studied as a necessary preliminary to the theoretical study of form, and, mathematically speaking, organic form itself appears to us as a function of time[80]. {52}
At the same time, we need only consider this part of our subject somewhat briefly. Though it has an essential bearing on the problems of morphology, it is in greater degree involved with physiological problems; and furthermore, the statistical or numerical aspect of the question is peculiarly adapted for the mathematical study of variation and correlation. On these important subjects we shall scarcely touch; for our main purpose will be sufficiently served if we consider the characteristics of a rate of growth in a few illustrative cases, and recognise that this rate of growth is a very important specific property, with its own characteristic value in this organism or that, in this or that part of each organism, and in this or that phase of its existence.