The Story of the Living Machine / A Review of the Conclusions of Modern Biology in Regard / to the Mechanism Which Controls the Phenomena of Living / Activity

by H. W. Conn

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.