rarely implies any direct connection with the cessation of vital functions in all its constituents. The question however arises, whether it is right or useful to limit the conception of death to the cessation of the functions of the organism. Our conceptions of death have been derived from the higher organisms alone, and hence it is quite possible that the conception may be too limited. The limitation might perhaps be removed by accurate and scientific comparison with the somewhat corresponding phenomena among unicellular organisms, and we might then arrive at a more comprehensive definition. Science has without doubt the right to make use of popular terms and conceptions, and by a more profound insight to widen or restrict them. But the main idea must always be retained, so that nothing quite new or strange may appear in the widened conception. The conception of death, as it has been expressed with perfect uniformity in all languages, has arisen from observations on the higher animals alone; and it signifies not only the cessation of the vital functions of the whole organism, but at the same time the cessation of life in its single parts, as is shown by the impossibility of revival. The post-mortem death of the cells is also part of death, and was so, long before science established the fact that an organism is built up of numerous very minute living elements, of which the vital processes partially continue for some time after the cessation of those of the whole organism. It is precisely this incapacity on the part of the organism to reproduce the phenomena of life anew, which distinguishes genuine death from the arrest of life or trance; and the incapacity depends upon the fact that the death of the cells and tissues follows upon the cessation of the vital functions as a whole. I would, for this reason, define death as an arrest of life, from which no lengthened revival, either of the whole or any of its parts, can take place; or, to put it concisely, as a definite arrest of life. I believe that in this definition I have expressed the exact meaning of the conception which language has sought to convey in the word death. For our present purpose, the cause which gives rise to this phenomenon is of no importance,—whether it is simultaneous or successive in the various parts of the organism, whether it makes its appearance slowly or rapidly. For the conception itself it is also quite immaterial whether we are able to decide if death has really taken place in any particular case; however uncertain we might be, the state which we call death would be not less sharply and definitely limited. We might consider the caterpillar of Euprepia flavia to be dead when frozen in ice, but if it recovered after thawing and became an imago, we should say that it had only been apparently dead, that life stood still for a time, but had not ceased for ever. It is only the irretrievable loss of life in an organism which we call death, and we ought to hold fast to this conception, so that it will not slip from us, and become worthless, because we no longer know what we mean by it.
We cannot escape this danger if we look upon the post-mortem death of the cells of the body as a phenomenon which may accompany death, but which may sometimes be wanting. An experiment might be made in which some part of a dead animal, such as the comb of a cock, might be transplanted, before the death of the cells, to some other living animal: such a part might live in its new position, thus showing that single members may survive after the appearance of death, as I understand it. But the objection might be raised that in such a case the cock’s comb has become a member of another organism, so that it would be lost labour to insert a clause in our definition of death which would include this phenomenon. The same objection might be raised if the transplantation took place a day or even a year before the death of the cock.
Götte is decidedly in error when he considers that the idea of death merely expresses an ‘arrest of the sum of vital actions in the individual,’ without at the same time including that definite arrest which involves the impossibility of any revival. Decomposition is not quite essential to our definition, inasmuch as death may be followed by drying-up60, or by perpetual entombment in Siberian ice (as in the well-known case of the mammoth), or by digestion in the stomach of a beast of prey. But the notion of a dead body is indeed inseparably connected with that of death, and I believe that I was right in distinguishing between the division of an Infusorian into two daughter-cells, and the death of a Metazoon, which leaves offspring behind it, by calling attention to the absence of a dead body in the process of fission among Infusoria (See below.). The real proof of death is that the organized substance which previously gave rise to the phenomena of life, for ever ceases to originate such phenomena. This, and this alone, is what mankind has hitherto understood by death, and we must start from this definition if we wish to retain a firm basis for our considerations.
We must now consider whether this definition, derived from observation of higher animals, may be also applied without alteration to the lower, or whether the corresponding phenomena which arise in these latter, differ in detail from those of the higher animals, so that a narrower limitation of the above definition is rendered necessary.
Götte believes the process of encystment which takes place in so many unicellular animals (Monoplastides) to be the analogue of death. According to this authority, the individuals in question, not only undergo a kind of winter sleep—a period of latent life—but when surrounded by the cyst they lose their former specific organization; they become a ‘homogeneous substance,’ and are resolved into a germ, from which, by a process of development, a new individual of the same species once more arises. The division of the contents of the cyst, viz. its multiplication, is, according to this view, of secondary importance, and the essential feature in the process is the rejuvenescence of the individual. This rejuvenescence however is said to not only consist in the simple transformation of the old individual, but in its death, followed by the building up anew of another individual. ‘The parent organism and its offspring are two successive living stages of the same substance—separated, and at the same time connected, by the condition of rejuvenescence which lies between them’ (l. c., p. 79). An ‘absolute continuity of life does not exist’; it is only the dead organic matter which establishes the connection, and the ‘identity of this matter ensures heredity.’
It is certainly surprising that Götte should identify encystment with a cessation of life, and we may well inquire for the evidence which is believed to support such a view. The only evidence lies in a certain degree of degeneration in the structure of the individual, and in the cessation of the visible external phenomena of life, such as feeding and moving. Does Götte really believe that it is an incorrect interpretation of the facts to assume that a vita minima continues to exist in the protoplasm, after its complexity has diminished? Are we compelled to invoke a mystical explanation of the facts, by an appeal to such an indefinite principle as Götte’s rejuvenescence? Would not the oxygen, dissolved in the water, affect the organic substance the life of which it formerly maintained, and would it not cause its decomposition, if it were in reality dead?
I, too, hold that the division of the encysted mass is of secondary importance, and that the encystment itself, without the resulting multiplication, is the original and essential part of the phenomenon. But it does not follow from this that the encystment should be considered as a process of rejuvenescence. What is there to be rejuvenated? Certainly not the substance of the animal, for nothing is added to it, and it can therefore acquire no new energy; and the forms of energy which it manifests cannot be changed, since the form of the matter is just the same after quitting the cyst as it was before. Rejuvenescence has also been mentioned in connection with the process of conjugation, but this is quite another thing. It is quite reasonable, at least in a certain sense, to maintain the connection of rejuvenescence with conjugation; for a fusion of the substance of two individuals takes place, to a greater or lesser extent, in conjugation, and the matter which composes each individual is therefore really altered. But in simple encystment, rejuvenescence can only be understood in the sense in which we speak of the fable of the Phœnix, which, when old, was believed to be consumed by fire, and to rise again from its own ashes as a young bird. I doubt whether this idea is in agreement with the physiology of to-day, or with the laws of the conservation of energy. It is easy to pull down an old house with rotten beams and crumbling walls, but it would be impossible to build it anew with the old material, even if we used new mortar, represented in Götte’s hypothesis by water and oxygen. For these reasons I consider the idea of rejuvenescence of the encysted individual to be contrary to our present physiological knowledge.
It is much
As in the case of the bodies of monks on the Great St. Bernard, or the dried-up bodies in the well-known Capuchine Monastery at Palermo.
