The differences of form, and changes of form, which are brought about by varying rates (or “laws”) of growth, are essentially the same phenomenon whether they be, so to speak, episodes in the life-history of the individual, or manifest themselves as the normal and distinctive characteristics of what we call separate species of the race. From one form, or ratio of magnitude, to another there is but one straight and direct road of transformation, be the journey taken fast or slow; and if the transformation take place at all, it will in all likelihood proceed in the self-same way, whether it occur within the life-time of an individual or during the long ancestral history of a race. No small part of what is known as Wolff’s or von Baer’s law, that the individual organism tends to pass through the phases characteristic of its ancestors, or that the life-history of the individual tends to recapitulate the ancestral history of its race, lies wrapped up in this simple account of the relation between rate of growth and form.
But enough of this discussion. Let us leave for a while the subject of the growth of the organism, and attempt to study the conformation, within and without, of the individual cell.
CHAPTER IVON THE INTERNAL FORM AND STRUCTURE OF THE CELL
In the early days of the cell-theory, more than seventy years ago, Goodsir was wont to speak of cells as “centres of growth” or “centres of nutrition,” and to consider them as essentially “centres of force.” He looked forward to a time when the forces connected with the cell should be particularly investigated: when, that is to say, minute anatomy should be studied in its dynamical aspect. “When this branch of enquiry,” he says “shall have been opened up, we shall expect to have a science of organic forces, having direct relation to anatomy, the science of organic forms[198].” And likewise, long afterwards, Giard contemplated a science of morphodynamique,—but still looked upon it as forming so guarded and hidden a “territoire scientifique, que la plupart des naturalistes de nos jours ne le verront que comme Moïse vit la terre promise, seulement de loin et sans pouvoir y entrer[199].”
To the external forms of cells, and to the forces which produce and modify these forms, we shall pay attention in a later chapter. But there are forms and configurations of matter within the cell, which also deserve to be studied with due regard to the forces, known or unknown, of whose resultant they are the visible expression.
In the long interval since Goodsir’s day, the visible structure, the conformation and configuration, of the cell, has been studied far more abundantly than the purely dynamic problems that are associated therewith. The overwhelming progress of microscopic observation has multiplied our knowledge of cellular and intracellular structure; and to the multitude of visible structures it {157} has been often easier to attribute virtues than to ascribe intelligible functions or modes of action. But here and there nevertheless, throughout the whole literature of the subject, we find recognition of the inevitable fact that dynamical problems lie behind the morphological problems of the cell.
Bütschli pointed out forty years ago, with emphatic clearness, the failure of morphological methods, and the need for physical methods, if we were to penetrate deeper into the essential nature of the cell[200]. And such men as Loeb and Whitman, Driesch and Roux, and not a few besides, have pursued the same train of thought and similar methods of enquiry.
Whitman[201], for instance, puts the case in a nutshell when, in speaking of the so-called “caryokinetic” phenomena of nuclear division, he reminds us that the leading idea in the term “caryokinesis” is motion,—“motion viewed as an exponent of forces residing in, or acting upon, the nucleus. It regards the nucleus as a seat of energy, which displays itself in phenomena of motion[202].”
In short it would seem evident that, except in relation to a dynamical investigation, the mere study of cell structure has but little value of its own. That a given cell, an ovum for instance, contains this or that visible substance or structure, germinal vesicle or germinal spot, chromatin or achromatin, chromosomes or centrosomes, obviously gives no explanation of the activities of the cell. And in all such hypotheses as that of “pangenesis,” in all the theories which attribute specific properties to micellae, {158} idioplasts, ids, or other constituent particles of protoplasm or of the cell, we are apt to fall into the error of attributing to matter what is due to energy and is manifested in force: or, more strictly speaking, of attributing to material particles individually what is due to the energy of their collocation.
The tendency is a very natural one, as knowledge of structure increases, to ascribe particular virtues to the material structures themselves, and the error is one into which the disciple is likely to fall, but of which we need not suspect the master-mind. The dynamical aspect of the case was in all probability kept well in view by those who, like Goodsir himself, first attacked the problem of the cell and originated our conceptions of its nature and functions.