Chapter XVIII: Introduction (3)

[232] Animated by the feeling of this truth, Robert Owen, after
passing in review the numerous and often very large Australian
fossile _marsupialia_--sometimes as big as the rhinoceros--came as
early as 1842 to the conclusion, that a large beast of prey must
have contemporaneously existed. This conclusion was afterwards
confirmed, for in 1846 he received part of the fossile skull of a
beast of prey of the size of the lion, which he named _thylacoleo_,
_i.e._ lion with a pouch, since it is also a marsupial. (See the
"Times" of the 19th of May, 1866, where there is an article on
"Palæontology," with an account of Owen's lecture at the Government
School of Mines.) [Add. to 3rd ed.]

[233] Kirby and Spence, "Introduction to Entomology," vol. i. p.
355. [Add. to 3rd ed.]

[234] Blumenbach, "De hum. gen. variet. nat." p. 50. Sömmering, "On
the Negro," p. 8.

As the will has equipped itself with every organ and every weapon, offensive as well as defensive, so has it likewise provided itself in every animal shape with an _intellect_, as a means of preservation for the individual and the species. It was precisely in this account that the ancients called the intellect the ἡγεμονικόν, _i.e._ the guide and leader. Accordingly the intellect, being exclusively destined to serve the will, always exactly corresponds to it. Beasts of prey stood in greater need of intellect, and in fact have more intelligence, than herbivorous animals. The elephant certainly forms an exception, and so does even the horse to a certain extent; but the admirable intelligence of the elephant was necessary on account of the length of its life (200 years) and of the scantiness of its progeny, which obliged it to provide for a longer and surer preservation of the individual: and this moreover in countries teeming with the most rapacious, the strongest and the nimblest beasts of prey. The horse too has a longer life and a scantier progeny than the ruminants, and as it has neither horns, tusks, trunk, nor indeed any weapon save perhaps its hoofs, it needed greater intelligence and swiftness in order to elude pursuit. Monkeys needed their extraordinary intelligence, partly because of the length of their life, which even in the moderate-sized animal extends to fifty years; partly also because of their scanty progeny, which is limited to one at a time, but especially because of their _hands_, which, to be properly used, required the direction of an understanding. For monkeys depend upon their hands, not only for their defence by means of outer weapons such as sticks and stones, but also for their nourishment, this last necessitating a variety of artificial means and a social and artificial system of rapine in general, the passing from hand to hand of stolen fruit, the placing of sentinels, &c. &c. Add to this, that it is especially in their youth, before they have attained their full muscular development, that this intelligence is most prominent. In the _pongo_ or ourang-outang for instance, the brain plays a far more important part and the understanding is much greater during its youth than at its maturity, when the muscular powers having attained full development, they take the place of the proportionately declining intellect. This holds good of all sorts of monkeys, so that here therefore the intellect acts for a time vicariously for the yet undeveloped muscular strength. We find this process discussed at length in the "Résumé des Observations de Fr. Cuvier sur l'instinct et l'intelligence des animaux," par Flourens (1841), from which I have quoted the whole passage referring to this question in the second volume of my chief work, at the end of the thirty-first chapter, and this is my only reason for not repeating it here. On the whole, intelligence gradually increases from the rodents[235] to the ruminants, from the ruminants to the pachyderms, and from these again to the beasts of prey and finally to the _quadrumana_, and anatomy shows a gradual development of the brain in similar order which corresponds to this result of external observation. (According to Flourens and Fr. Cuvier.)[236] Among the reptiles, serpents are the most intelligent, for they may even be trained; this is so, because they are beasts of prey and propagate more slowly than the rest--especially the venomous ones. And here also, as with the physical weapons, we find the will everywhere as the _prius_; its equipment, the intellect, as the _posterius_. Beasts of prey do not hunt, nor do foxes thieve, because they have more intelligence; on the contrary, they have more intelligence, just as they have stronger teeth and claws too, because they wished to live by hunting and thieving. The fox even made up at once for his inferiority in muscular power and strength of teeth by the extraordinary subtility of his understanding. Our thesis is singularly illustrated by the case of the bird _dodo_ or _dronte_ (_didus ineptus_) on the island of Mauritius, whose species, it is well known, has died out, and which, as its Latin name denotes, was exceedingly stupid, and this explains its disappearance; so that here it seems indeed as if Nature had for once gone too far in her _lex parsimoniæ_ and thereby in a sense brought forth an abortion in the species, as she so often does in the individual, which was unable to subsist, precisely because it was an abortion. If, on this occasion, anyone were to raise the question as to whether Nature ought not to have provided insects with at least sufficient intelligence to prevent them from flying into the flame of a candle, our answer would be: most certainly; only she did not know that men would make candles and light them, and _natura nihil agit frustra_. Insect intelligence is therefore only insufficient where the surroundings are artificial.[237]

[235] That the lowest place should be given to the rodents,
seems however to proceed from _à priori_ rather than from _à
posteriori_ considerations: that is to say, from the circumstance,
that their brain has extremely faint or small convolutions; so
that too much weight may have been given to this point. In sheep
and calves the convolutions are numerous and deep, yet how is
it with their intelligence? The mechanical instincts of the
beaver are again greatly assisted by its understanding, and even
rabbits show remarkable intelligence (see Leroy's beautiful work:
"Lettres Philosophiques sur l'Intelligence des Animaux," lettre 3,
p. 149). Even rats give proof of quite uncommon intelligence, of
which some remarkable instances may be found in the "Quarterly
Review," No. 201, Jan.-March, 1857, in a special article entitled
"Rats."

[236] The most intelligent birds are also birds of prey, wherefore
many of them, especially falcons, are highly susceptible of
training. [Add. to 3rd ed.]

[237] That the negroes should have become the special victims of
the slave-trade, is evidently a consequence of the inferiority of
their intelligence compared with that of other human races; though
this by no means justifies the fact. [Add. to 3rd ed.]

Everywhere indeed intelligence depends in the first instance upon the cerebral system, and this stands in a necessary relation to the rest of the organism; therefore cold-blooded animals are greatly inferior to warm-blooded ones, and invertebrate animals to _vertebrata_. But the organism is precisely nothing but the will become visible, to which, as that which is absolutely _prius_, everything constantly refers. The needs and aims of that will give in each phenomenon the rule for the means to be employed, and these means must harmonize with one another. Plants have no self-consciousness because they have no power of locomotion; for of what use would self-consciousness be to them unless it enabled them to seek what was salutary and flee what was noxious to them? And conversely, of what use could power of locomotion be to them, as they have no self-consciousness with which to guide it. The inseparable duality of Sensibility and Irritability does not yet appear therefore in the plant; they continue slumbering in the reproductive force which is their fundament, and in which alone the will here objectifies itself. The sun-flower, and every other plant, wills for light; but as yet their movement towards light is not separate from their apprehension of it, and both coincide with their growth.--Human understanding, which is so superior to that of all other beings, and is assisted by Reason (the faculty for non-perceptible representations, _i.e._ for conceptions; reflection, thinking faculty), is nevertheless only just proportionate, partly to Man's requirements, which greatly surpass those of animals and multiply to infinity; partly to his entire lack of all natural weapons and covering, and to his relatively weaker muscular strength, which is greatly inferior to that of monkeys of his own size;[238] lastly also, to the slowness with which his race multiplies and the length of his childhood and life, which demand secure preservation of the individual. All these great requirements had to be satisfied by means of intellectual powers, which, for this reason, predominate in him. But we find the intellect secondary and subordinate everywhere, and destined exclusively to serve the purposes of the will. As a rule too, it always remains true to its destiny and subservient to the will. How nevertheless, it frees itself in particular instances from this bondage through an abnormal preponderance of cerebral life, whereby purely objective cognition becomes possible which may be enhanced to genius, I have shown at length in the æsthetic part of my chief work.[239]

[238] As is likewise his capacity for escaping from his pursuers;
for in this respect all the four-footed mammalia surpass him. [Add.
to 3rd ed.]

[239] [See Third Book of the W. a. W. u. V.; later also, in my
"Parerga," vol. ii. §§ 50-57 and § 206. (§§ 51-58, and § 210 of the
2nd edition.)]

Now, after all these reflections upon the precise agreement between the will and the organisation of each animal, if we inspect a well-arranged osteological collection from this point of view, it will certainly seem to us as if we saw one and the same being (De Lamarck's primary animal, or, more properly, _the will to live_) changing its shape according to circumstances, and thus producing all this multiplicity of forms out of the same number and arrangement of its bones, by prolonging and curtailing, strengthening and weakening them. This number and arrangement of the bones, which Geoffroy de St. Hilaire[240] called the anatomical element, continues, as he has thoroughly shown, in all essential points unchanged: it is a constant magnitude, something which is absolutely given beforehand, irrevocably fixed by an unfathomable necessity--an immutability which I should compare with the permanence of matter in all physical and chemical changes: but to this I shall soon return. Conjointly with this immutability of the anatomical element, we have the greatest susceptibility to modification, the greatest plasticity and flexibility of these same bones with reference to size, shape and adaptation to different purposes, all which we see determined by the will with primary strength and freedom according to the aims prescribed to it by external circumstances: it makes out of these materials whatever its necessity for the time being requires. If it desires to climb about in trees, it catches at the boughs at once with four hands, while it stretches the _ulva_ and _radius_ to an excessive length and immediately prolongs the _os coccygis_ to a curly tail, a yard long, in order to hang by it to the boughs and swing itself from one branch to another. If, on the other hand, it desires to crawl in the mud as a crocodile, to swim as a seal, or to burrow as a mole, these same arm-bones are shortened till they are no longer recognisable; in the last case the _metacarpus_ and _phalanges_ are enlarged to disproportionately large shovel-paws, to the prejudice of the other bones. But if it wishes to fly through the air as a bat, not only are the _os humeri_, _radius_ and _alnus_ prolonged in an incredible manner, but the usually small and subordinate _carpus_, _metacarpus_ and _phalanges digitorum_ expand to an immense length, as in St. Anthony's vision, outmeasuring the length of the animal's body, in order to spread out the wing-membrane. If, in order to browse upon the tops of very tall African trees, it has, as a giraffe, placed itself upon extraordinarily high fore-legs, the same seven _vertebræ_ of the neck, which never vary as to number and which, in the mole, were contracted so as to be no longer recognisable, are now prolonged to such a degree, that here, as everywhere else, the neck acquires the same length as the fore-legs, in order to enable the head to reach down to drinking-water. But where, as is the case when it appears as the elephant, a long neck could not have borne the weight of the enormous, unwieldy head--a weight increased moreover by tusks a yard long--the neck remains short, as an exception, and a trunk is let down as an expedient, to lift up food and draw water from below and also to reach up to the tops of trees. In accordance with these transformations, we see in all of them the skull, the receptacle containing the understanding, at the same time proportionately expand, develop, curve itself, as the mode of procuring nourishment becomes more or less difficult and requires more or less intelligence; and the different degrees of the understanding manifest themselves clearly to the practised eye in the curves of the skull.

[240] "Principes de Philosophie Zoologique," 1830.

Now, in all this, that _anatomical element_ we have mentioned above as fixed and invariable, certainly remains in so far an enigma, as it does not come within the teleological explanation, which only begins after the assumption of that element; since the intended organ might in many cases have been rendered equally suitable for its purpose even with a different number and disposition of bones. It is easy to understand, for instance, why the human skull should be formed out of eight bones: that is, to enable them to be drawn together by the fontanels during birth; but we do not see why a chicken which breaks through its egg-shell should necessarily have the same number of skull-bones. We must therefore assume this anatomical element to be based, partly on the unity and identity of the will to live in general, partly on the circumstance, that the archetypal forms of animals have proceeded one from the other,[241] wherefore the fundamental type of the whole race was preserved. It is this anatomical element which Aristotle means by his ἀναγκαία φύσις, and the mutability of its shapes according to different purposes he calls τὴν κατὰ λόγον φύσιν,[242] and explains by it how the material for upper incisors has been employed for horns in horned cattle. Quite rightly: since the only ruminants which have no horns, the camel and the musk-ox, have upper incisors, and these are wanting in all horned ruminants.

[241] "Parerga," vol. ii. § 91; § 93 of the 2nd edition.

[242] See Aristotle, "De Partibus Animalium," iii. c. 2 _sub
finem_: πῶς δὲ τῆς αναγκαίας φύσεως κ. τ. λ.

No other explanation or assumption enables us nearly as well to understand either the complete suitableness to purpose and to the external conditions of existence I have here shown in the skeleton, or the admirable harmony and fitness of internal mechanism in the structure of each animal, as the truth I have elsewhere firmly established: that the body of an animal is precisely nothing but the _will itself_ of that animal brought to cerebral perception as representation--through the forms of Space, Time and Causality--in other words, the mere visibility, objectivity of Will. For, if this is once pre-supposed, everything in and belonging to that body must conspire towards the final end: the life of this animal. Nothing superfluous, nothing deficient, nothing inappropriate, nothing insufficient or incomplete of its kind, can therefore be found in it; on the contrary, all that is required must be there, and just in the proportion needed, never more. For here artist, work and materials are one and the same. Each organism is therefore a consummate master-piece of exceeding perfection. Here the will did not first cherish the intention, first recognise the end and then adapt the means to it and conquer the material; its willing was rather immediately the aim and immediately the attainment of that aim; no foreign appliances needing to be overcome were wanted--willing, doing and attaining were here one and the same. Thus the organism presents itself as a miracle which admits of no comparison with any work of human artifice wrought by the lamplight of knowledge.[243]

[243] The appearance of every animal therefore presents a totality,
a unity, a perfection and a rigidly carried out harmony in all its
parts which is so entirely based upon a single fundamental thought,
that even the strangest animal shape seems to the attentive
observer as if it were the only right, nay, only possible form
of existence, and as if there could be no other than just this
very one. The expression "natural" used to denote that a thing is
a matter of course, and that it cannot be otherwise, is in its
deepest foundation based upon this. Göthe himself was struck by
this unity when contemplating whelks and crabs at Venice, and it
caused him to exclaim: "How delightful, how glorious is a living
thing! how well adapted for its condition; how true, how real!"
("Life," vol. iv. p. 223). No artist therefore, who has not made it
his business to study such forms for years and to penetrate into
their meaning and comprehension, can rightly imitate them. Without
this study his work will seem as if it were pasted together: the
parts no doubt will be there, but the bond which unites them and
gives them cohesion, the spirit, the idea, which is the objectivity
of the primary act of the will presenting itself as this or that
particular species, will be wanting. [Add. to 3rd ed.]

Our admiration for the consummate perfection and fitness for their ends in all the works of Nature, is at the bottom based upon our viewing them in the same light as we do our own works. In these, in the first place, the will to do the work and the work are two different things; then again two other things lie between these two: firstly, the medium of representation, which, taken by itself, is foreign to the will, through which the will must pass before it realizes itself here; and secondly the material foreign to the will here at work, on which a form foreign to it has to be forced, which it resists, because the material already belongs to another will, that is to say, to its own nature, its _forma substantialis_, the (Platonic) idea, expressed by it: therefore this material has first to be overcome, and however deeply the artificial form may have penetrated, will always continue inwardly resisting. It is quite a different thing with Nature's works, which are not, like our own, indirect, but on the contrary, direct manifestations of the will. Here the will acts in its primordial nature, that is, unconsciously. No mediating representation here separates the will and the work: they are one. And even the material is one with them: for matter is the mere visibility of the will. Therefore here we find Matter completely permeated by Form; or, better still, they are of quite the same origin, only existing mutually one for the other; and in so far they are one. That we separate them in works of Nature as well as in works of Art, is a mere abstraction. Pure Matter, absolutely without Form or quality, which we think as the material of a product of Nature, is merely an _ens rationis_ and cannot enter into any experience: whereas the material of a work of Art is empirical Matter, consequently already has a Form. The [distinctive] character of Nature's products is the identity of form and substance; that of products of Art the diversity of these two.[244] It is because Matter is the mere visibility of Form in Nature's products, that, even empirically, we see Form appear as a mere production of Matter, bursting forth from its inside in crystallisation, in vegetable and animal _generatio æquivoca_, which last cannot be doubted, at any rate in the _epizoa_.[245]--For this reason we may even assume that nowhere, either on any planet or satellite, will Matter come to a state of endless repose, but rather that its inherent forces (_i.e._ the will, whose mere visibility it is) will always put an end again to the repose which has commenced, always awaking again from their sleep, to resume their activity as mechanical, physical, chemical, organic forces; since at all times they only wait for the opportunity to do so.

[244] It is a great truth which Bruno expresses ("De Immenso et
Innumerabili," 8, 10): "_Ars tractat materiam alienam: natura
materiam propriam. Ars circa materiam est; natura interior
materiæ._" He treats this subject much more fully, "Della Causa,"
Dial. 3, p. 252 _et seqq._ Page 255 he declares the _forma
substantialis_ to be the form of every product of Nature, which is
the same as the _soul_. [Add. to 3rd ed.]

[245] Thus the saying of the Schoolmen is verified: "_Materia
appetit formam._" See "Die Welt a. W. u. V." 3rd edition, vol. ii.
p. 352. [Add. to 3rd ed.]

But if we want to understand Nature's proceeding, we must not try to do it by comparing her works with our own. The real essence of every animal form, is an act of the will outside representation, consequently outside its forms of Space and Time also; which act, just on that account, knows neither sequence nor juxtaposition, but has, on the contrary, the most indivisible unity. But when our cerebral perception comprehends that form, and still more when its inside is dissected by the anatomical knife, then that which originally and in itself was foreign to knowledge and its laws, is brought under the light of knowledge; but then also, it has to present itself in conformity with the laws and forms of knowledge. The original unity and indivisibility of that act of the will, of that truly metaphysical being, then appears divided into parts lying side by side and functions following one upon another, which all nevertheless present themselves as connected together in closest relationship one to another for mutual help and support, as means and ends one to the other. The understanding, in thus apprehending these things, now perceives the original unity re-establishing itself out of a multiplicity which its own form of knowledge had first brought about, and involuntarily taking for granted that its own way of perceiving this is the way in which this animal form comes into being, it is now struck with admiration for the profound wisdom with which those parts are arranged, those functions combined. This is the meaning of Kant's great doctrine, that Teleology is brought into Nature by our own understanding, which accordingly wonders at a miracle of its own creation.[246] If I may use a trivial simile to elucidate so sublime a matter, this astonishment very much resembles that of our understanding when it discovers that all multiples of 9, when their single figures are added together, give as their product either the number 9 or one whose single figures again make 9; yet it is that very understanding itself which has prepared for itself this surprise in the decimal system. According to the Physico-theological argument, the actual existence of the world has been preceded by its existence in an intellect: if the world is designed for an end, it must have existed as representation before it came into being. Now I say, on the contrary, in Kant's sense: if the world is to be representation, it must present itself as designed for an end; and this only takes place in an intellect.

[246] Compare "Die Welt a. W. u. V." 3rd edition, vol. II. p. 375.
[Add. to 3rd ed.]

It undoubtedly follows from my doctrine, that every being is its own work. Nature, which is incapable of falsehood and is as _naïve_ as genius, asserts the same thing downright; since each being merely kindles the spark of life at another exactly similar being, and then makes itself before our eyes, taking the materials for this from outside, form and movement from its own self: this process we call growth and development. Thus, even empirically, each being stands before us as its own work. But Nature's language is not understood because it is too simple.

PHYSIOLOGY OF PLANTS.

The corroborations I am now about to bring forward of the phenomenon of the will in plants, proceed chiefly from French sources, from a nation whose tendencies are decidedly empirical and which is reluctant to go a step beyond what is immediately given. The informant moreover is Cuvier, whose rigid adherence to the purely empirical gave rise to the famous dispute between him and Geoffroy de St. Hilaire. So we must not be astonished if the language we meet with here is less decided than in the preceding German corroborations and if we find each concession made with cautious reserve.

In his "Histoire des Progrès des Sciences Naturelles depuis 1789 jusqu'á ce jour,"[247] Cuvier says: "Plants have certain apparently spontaneous movements, which they show under certain circumstances and which at times so closely resemble those of animals, that a sort of feeling and _will_ might almost be attributed to plants on this account, especially by those who think they can perceive something of the same kind in the movements of the _inward_ parts of animals. Thus the tops of trees always have a vertical tendency, excepting when they incline towards the light. Their roots seek out good earth and moisture and, in order to attain these, deviate from the straight course. Yet these different tendencies cannot be explained by the influence of external causes, unless we also assume the existence of an inner natural disposition, susceptible of being roused, which differs from the mere mechanical force in inorganic bodies.... Decandolle made some remarkable experiments that proved to him the existence of a sort of habit in plants which may be overcome by artificial light, but only after a certain time. Plants that had been shut up in a cellar which was continually lit by lamps, did not on this account leave off closing in the evening and opening again in the morning for several days. And there are other habits besides which plants are able to adopt and to abandon. Flowers that habitually close in wet weather, finish by remaining open if the wet weather lasts too long. When M. Desfontaines took a sensitive plant with him in his carriage, the jolting movement at first caused it to contract, but at last it expanded again as when in complete repose. Therefore even in these cases, light, moisture, &c., &c., only act in virtue of an inner disposition, which may be neutralized or modified by the continuation of that very activity itself; and the vital energy of plants, like that of animals, is subject to fatigue and exhaustion. The _hedysarum gyrans_ is singularly characterized by the movements of its leaves which continue day and night without needing any sort of stimulus. Surely, if any phenomenon can cause illusion and remind us of the voluntary movements of animals, it is this. Broussonet, Silvestre, Cels and Halle have fully described it, and have shown that the plant's action depends entirely upon its own healthy condition."

[247] Vol. i. p. 245. 1826.

Again, in the third volume of the same work, p. 166 (1828), Cuvier says: "M. Dutrochet adds some physiological considerations to which his own experiments had led him, and which in his opinion prove that the movements of plants are _spontaneous_, _i.e._ that they depend upon an inner principle which immediately receives the influence of outer agencies. As he is however reluctant to admit that plants have feeling, he makes use of the word '_nervimotilité_.'"--Here I must observe, that when we come to examine it closely, what we think to ourselves in the conception of _spontaneity_, is in the end always the same thing as manifestation of will, with which spontaneity would therefore be simply synonymous. The only difference between them consists in the conception of spontaneity being derived from outer perception, while that of manifestation of will is drawn from our own consciousness.--I find a remarkable instance of the impetuous violence of this spontaneity, even in plants, in the following communication contained in the "Cheltenham Examiner:"[248] "Last Thursday four enormous mushrooms performed a heroic feat of a new kind, in one of our most crowded streets, by lifting up a huge block of stone in their strenuous effort to make their way into the visible world."

[248] Repeated in the "Times" of June 2nd, 1841.

In the "Mém. de l'Acad. d. Sciences de l'année" (1821), Cuvier says[249]:--"For centuries botanists have been searching for the reason why in a seed which is germinating the root invariably grows downwards, while the stalk as invariably grows upwards, no matter what be the position in which the seed is placed. M. Dutrochet put some seeds into holes bored in the bottom of a vessel filled with damp mould, which he hung up to a beam in his room. Now, in this case, the stem might have been expected to grow downwards. Not at all: the roots found their way to the air below, and the stems were prolonged so as to traverse the damp mould until they reached its upper surface. According to M. Dutrochet, the direction in which plants grow, is determined by an inner principle and not at all by the attraction of the bodies towards which they direct themselves. A mistletoe seed that was fastened to the point of a perfectly moveable needle fixed on a peg, with a small plank placed near it, was induced to germinate. It soon began to send out shoots towards the plank, which it reached in five days without having communicated the slightest movement to the needle. The stems of onions and leeks with their bulbs, deposited in dark places, grow upwards, although more slowly than in light ones; they grow upwards even if placed in water: a fact which suffices to prove that neither light nor moisture determines the direction of their growth."--Still C. H. Schultz asserts[250] that he made seeds germinate in a dark box with holes bored in the bottom, and succeeded in inducing the plants to grow upside down, by means of a mirror fastened to the box, which reflected the sunlight.

[249] Vol. v. p. 171. Paris, 1826.

[250] C. H. Schultz, "Sur la Circulation dans les Plantes," a
prize-essay, 1839.

In the "Dictionnaire des Sciences Naturelles" (article _Animal_) we find: "If, on the one hand, animals show avidity in their search after nourishment as well as power of discrimination in the selection of it, roots of plants may, on the other hand, be observed to direct themselves towards the side where the soil contains most nourishment, nay, even to seek out the smallest crevices in rocks which may contain any food. If we twist a bough so as to make the upper surface of its leaves the under one, these leaves even will twist their stems in order to regain the position best suited for the exercise of their functions (_i.e._ so as to have the smooth side uppermost). Is it quite certain that this takes place unconsciously?"

F. J. Meyen has devoted a chapter, entitled "Of the movements and sensations of plants," to a full investigation of the subject now before us. In this he says[251]: "Not unfrequently potatoes, stored in deep, dark cellars, may be observed towards summer to shoot forth stems which invariably grow in the direction of the chinks through which the light comes into the cellar, and to continue thus growing until they at last reach the aperture which receives the light directly. In such cases potato-stalks have been known to reach a length of twenty feet; whereas under ordinary circumstances, even such as are most favourable to the growth of the potato, the stalk is seldom longer than from three to four feet. It is interesting to watch closely the course taken by a potato-stalk thus growing in darkness, in its endeavours to reach the light. It tries to do so by the shortest road, but not being firm enough to grow straight across through the air without support, it lets itself drop on to the floor, and thus creeps along the ground till it reaches the nearest wall, up which it then climbs." Even this botanist too is led by his facts to the following assertion (p. 576): "On observing the freedom of movement of _oscillatoria_ and other inferior plants, we may perhaps have no alternative but to attribute a species of _will_ to these beings."

[251] F. J. Meyen, "Neues System der Pflanzenphysiologe" (1839),
vol. iii. p. 585.

Creepers bear distinct evidence as to manifestation of will in plants; for, when they find no support near enough for their tendrils to cling to, they invariably direct their growth towards the shadiest place, or even towards a piece of dark-coloured paper, wherever it may be placed; whereas they avoid glass, on account of its glitter. In the "Philosophical Transactions" of 1812, Th. Andrew Knight relates some very pleasing experiments on this subject (especially with _ampelopsis quinquefolia_,)[252] although he strives hard to explain the matter mechanically, and will not admit that it is a manifestation of will. I appeal to his experiments, not to the conclusions he draws from them. A good test might be, to plant several free creepers in a circle round a tree-trunk and to observe whether they all crept towards the trunk centripetally. On the 6th Nov. 1843, Dutrochet read a treatise on this subject in the "Acad. de Sciences" called "Sur les Mouvements Révolutifs spontanés chez les Végétaux," which, notwithstanding its great length, is well worth reading, and is published among the "Comptes rendus des Séances de l'Académie des Sciences" for Nov. 1843. The result is, that in _pisum sativum_ (green pea), in _bryonia alba_ (wild bryony) and in _cucumis sativus_ (cucumber) the stems of those leaves which bear the tendrils, describe a very slow circular movement in the air, the time in which they complete an ellipsis varying from one to three hours according to temperature. By this movement they seek at random for solid bodies round which, when found, they twine their tendrils; these then support the plant, it being unable to stand by itself without help. That is, they do the same thing as the eyeless caterpillar, which when seeking a leaf describes circles in the air with the upper part of its body. Dutrochet contributes a good deal of information too concerning other movements in plants in this treatise: for instance, that _stylidium graminifolium_ in New Holland, has a column in the middle of its _corolla_ which bears the anthers and _stigma_ and alternately folds up and unfolds again. What Treviranus adduces is to the same effect:[253] "In _parnassia palustris_ and in _ruta graveolens_, the stamina incline one after the other, in _saxifraga tridactylites_ in pairs, towards the stigma, and erect themselves again in the same order."--Shortly before however, we read in Treviranus with reference to this subject: "Of all apparently voluntary movements of plants, the direction of their boughs and of the upper surface of their leaves towards the light and towards moist heat, and the twining movements of creepers round their supports, are the most universal. In this last phenomenon especially there is something which resembles animal movements. While growing, creepers, it is true, if left to themselves, describe circles with their tips and by this means reach an object near at hand. But it is no merely mechanical cause that induces them to adapt their growth to the form of the object they have thus reached. The _cuscuta_ does not twine round every kind of support: for instance, limbs of animals, dead vegetable matter, metals and inorganic substances are not used for this purpose, but only living plants, and not even all kinds--not mosses, for instance--only those from which it can extract nourishment by its _papillæ_; and these attract it from a considerable distance."[254] The following special observation, communicated to the "Farmer's Magazine," and reproduced by the "Times" (13th July 1848) under the title "Vegetable Instinct," is however still more to the point: "If a basin of water be placed within six inches of a young pumpkin-stalk, or of a stem of the large garden pea, no matter on what side, the stalk will approach the basin during the night and it will be found next morning with one of its leaves floating on the water. This experiment may be renewed every night till the plant begins to fructify.--Even if its position be changed every day, a stick fixed upright within six inches of a young convolvulus is sure to be found by the plant. If, after having wound itself for a certain distance round the stick, it is unwound and wound round again in the opposite direction, it will return to its original position or lose its life in the endeavour to do so. Nevertheless, if two such plants grow close to one another without having any stick near enough for them to cling to it, one of them will change the direction of its winding and they will twine round each other. Duhamel placed some Italian beans in a cylinder filled with moist earth; after a little while they began to germinate and naturally sent their _plumula_ upwards in the direction of the light and their _radicula_ downwards into the mould. After a few days the cylinder was turned round to the extent of a quarter of its circumference and the same process was repeated until it had been turned completely round. The beans were then removed from the earth, when it was found that both _plumula_ and _radicula_ had twisted at each turn that had been given, in order to adapt themselves to it, the one endeavouring to rise perpendicularly, the other to descend, so that they had formed a complete spiral. Yet, notwithstanding this natural tendency to descend, when the soil below is too dry, roots will grow upwards in order to reach any moist substance which may be lying higher than themselves."

[252] These have been translated for the "Bibliothèque Britannique,
Section des Sciences et Arts," vol. lii.

[253] Treviranus, "Die Erscheinungen und Gesetze des Organischen
Lebens" (Phenomena and Laws of Organic Life), vol. i. p. 173.

[254] Brandis, "On Life and Polarity," 1836, p. 88, says: "The
roots of rock-plants seek nourishing mould in the most delicate
crevices of rocks. These roots cling to a nourishing bone in dense
clusters. I saw a root whose growth was intercepted by the sole of
an old shoe: it divided itself into as many fibres as the shoe-sole
had holes--those by which it had been stitched together--but as
soon as these fibres had overcome the obstruction and grown through
the holes, they united again to a common stem." And p. 87: "If
Sprengel's observations are confirmed, even mediate relations are
perceived (by plants) in order to obtain this end (fructification):
that is to say, the anthers of the _nigella_ bend down in order to
put the pollen on the bees' backs, and the pistils bend in like
manner to receive it from the bees." [Add. to 3rd ed.]

In Froriep's "Memoranda" for 1833 (No. 832) there is a short article upon the locomotivity of plants: in poor soil, where good mould lies near at hand, many plants will send out a shoot into the good mould; after a time the original plant then withers, but the offshoot prospers and itself becomes the plant. By means of this process, a plant has been known to climb down from a wall.

In the same periodical (1835, No. 981) is to be found a communication from Professor Daubeny, of Oxford (taken from the "Edinburgh New Philosophical Journal," April-July, 1835), in which he shows with certainty, by means of new and very careful experiments, that roots of plants have, at any rate to a certain degree, the power to make choice from those substances in the soil which present themselves to their surface.[255]

[255] In this connection I may mention an analysis of an entirely
different kind, given by the French Academician Babinet in an
article in which he treats of the seasons on the planets. It is
contained in the No. of the 15th January, 1856, of the "Revue
des Deux Mondes," and I will give the chief substance of it
here in translation. The object of it is to refer to its direct
cause the well-known fact, that cereals only thrive in temperate
climates. "If grain did not necessarily perish in winter, if it
were perennial, it would not bear ears, and there would be no
harvest. In the hotter portions of Africa, Asia and America,
where no winter kills the grain, these plants grow like grass
with us: they multiply by means of shoots, remain always green,
and neither form ears nor run to seed. In cold climates, on the
contrary, the organism of these plants seems by some inconceivable
miracle to feel, as it were by anticipation, the necessity of
passing through the seed-phase in order to escape dying off in the
winter season" (_L'organisme de la plante_, par un inconcevable
miracle, _semble préssentir la nécessité de passer par l'état
de graine, pour ne pas périr complètement pendant la saison
rigoureuse_). In a similar way, districts which have a "droughty
season,"--that is to say a season in which all plants are parched
up with drought--"tropical countries, for instance Jamaica,
produce grain; because there the plant, moved by the same organic
presentiment (_par le même_ pressentiment organique), in order
to multiply, hastens to bear seed at the approach of the season
in which it would have to dry up." In the fact which this author
describes as an inconceivable miracle, we recognise a manifestation
of the plant's will in increased potency, since here it appears as
the will of the species, and makes preparations for the future in a
similar way to animal instinct, without being guided by knowledge
of that future in doing so. Here we see plants in warmer climates
dispensing with a complicated process to which a cold climate alone
had obliged them. In similar instances animals do precisely the
same thing, especially bees. Leroy in his admirable work "Lettres
Philosophiques sur l'Intelligence des Animaux" (3rd letter, p.
231) relates, that some bees which had been taken to South America
continued at first to gather honey as usual and to build their
cells just as when they were at home; but that when they gradually
became aware that plants blossom there all the year round, they
left off working. The animal world supplies a fact analogous to the
above mentioned change in the mode of multiplying in cereals. This
is the abnormal mode of propagation for which the _aphides_ have
long been noted. The female _aphide_, as is well known, propagates
for 10-12 generations without any pairing with the male, and by a
variety of the ovoviviparous process. This goes on all summer; but
in autumn the males appear, impregnation takes place, and eggs are
laid as winter quarters for the whole species, since it is only in
this shape that it is able to outlive the winter. (Add. to 3rd ed.)

Finally I will not omit to observe, that even so early an authority as Plato[256] had attributed desires, ἐπιθυμίας, _i.e._ _will_, to plants. In my chief work,[257] however, I have entered into the doctrines of the Ancients on this point, and the chapter there which treats of this subject may on the whole serve to complete the present one.

[256] Plat. "Tim." p. 403. Bip.

[257] "Die Welt a. W. u. V." vol. ii. chap. 23.

The reluctance and reserve with which we see the authors here quoted make up their minds to acknowledge the will, which nevertheless undoubtedly manifests itself in plants, comes from their being still hampered by the old opinion, that consciousness is a requisite and condition of the will: now it is evident that plants have no consciousness. The thought never entered into the heads of these naturalists, that the will might be the _prius_ and therefore independent of the intellect, with which, as the _posterius_, consciousness first makes its appearance. As for knowledge or representation, plants have something merely analogous to it, a mere substitute for it; whereas they really have the will itself quite directly: for, as the thing in itself, it is the substratum of their phenomenal being as well as of every other. Taking a realistic view, starting accordingly from the objective, the matter might even be stated as follows: That which lives and moves in plant-nature and in the animal organism, when it has gradually enhanced itself in the scale of beings sufficiently for the light of knowledge to fall directly upon it, presents itself in this newly arising consciousness as _will_, and is here more immediately, consequently better, known than anywhere else. This knowledge therefore must supply the key for the comprehension of all that is lower in the scale. For in this knowledge the thing in itself is no longer veiled by any other form than that of the most immediate apprehension. It is this immediate apprehension of one's own volition which has been called the inner sense. In itself the will is without apprehension, and remains so in the inorganic and vegetable kingdoms. Just as the world would remain in darkness, in spite of the sun, if there were no bodies to reflect its light; or as the mere vibration of a string can never become a sound without air or even without some sort of sounding-board: so likewise does the will first become conscious of itself when knowledge is added to it. Knowledge is, as it were, the sounding-board of the will, and consciousness the tone it produces. This becoming conscious of itself on the part of the will, was attributed to a supposed inner sense, because it is the first and most direct knowledge we have. The various emotions of our own will can alone be the object of this inner sense; for the process of representation itself cannot over again be perceived, but, at the very utmost, only be once more brought to consciousness in rational reflection, that second power of representing: that is, _in abstracto_. Therefore also, simple representation (intuition) is to thinking proper--that is, to knowing by means of abstract conceptions--what willing in itself is to becoming aware of that willing, _i.e._ to consciousness. For this reason, a perfectly clear and distinct consciousness, not only of our own existence but also of the existence of others, only arises with the advent of Reason (the faculty for conceptions), which raises Man as far above the brute, as the merely intuitive faculty of representation raises the brute above the plant. Now beings which, like plants, have no faculty for representation, are called unconscious, and we conceive this condition as only slightly differing from non-existence; since the only existence such beings have, is in the consciousness of others, as the representation of those others. They are nevertheless not wanting in what is primary in existence, the will, but only in what is secondary; still, what is primary--and this is after all the existence of the thing in itself--appears to us, without that secondary element, to pass over into nullity. We are unable directly and clearly to distinguish unconscious existence from non-existence, although we have our own experience of it in deep sleep.