by the same breath and spirit. _Neshemet chayim_, or the _breath of
lives_, and not the _breath_ of _life_ as the text of the common
version has it, is said to be in the inferior creatures as well as in
man. _Chayim_ in the Hebrew is in the plural number, and therefore
the words _neshemet chayim_ should be rendered as above. Thus, God
said, “I bring a flood of waters upon the earth to destroy _all flesh_
wherein is _ruach chayim_ spirit of lives.” And in another place, “they
went in to Noah into the ark, two and two of _all flesh_, in which is
_ruach chayim_ spirit of lives.” And _all flesh_ died that moved upon
the earth, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of beast, and of every
creeping thing, and every man; all in whose nostrils was _neshemet
ruach chayim_, BREATH OF SPIRIT OF LIVES. Now, as has been previously
affirmed, it was the _neshemet chayim_ with which God, according to the
testimony of Moses, inflated the nostrils of Adam. If, therefore, this
were a particle of the divine essence, as it is declared, which became
the immortal soul in man, then all other animals have likewise immortal
souls, for they all received breath of spirit of lives in common
with him. Begotten of the same Invisible Power, and formed from the
substance of a common earth mother, man and beasts were animated by the
same spirit, and constituted to be _living breathing frames_, though
of different species, and in God they lived, and moved, and had their
continued being.
Returning to the philology of our subject, it is to be remarked that
by a metonymy, or a figure of speech where the container is put for
the thing contained, and conversely, _nephesh_, _breathing frame_,
is put for _neshemet ruach chayim_, which, when in motion, causeth
the frame to respire. Hence _nephesh_ signifies not only _breath_ and
_soul_, but also _life_, or those mutually affective, positive and
negative principles in all living creatures, whose closed circuits
cause motion of and in their frames. By Moses these principles, or
qualities of the same thing, are apparently styled the _Ruach Elohim_,
or by Timothy the Spirit of Him “who only hath immortality, dwelling
in the light which no man can approach unto, whom no man hath seen,
nor can see,” and which, when the word was spoken, first moved upon
the face of the waters, and afterwards disengaged the light, evolved
the expanse, gathered the waters together, brought forth the green
vegetation, manifested the celestial universe, vitalized the breathing
frames of the dry land, the firmament and the seas, and formed man
in His own image and likeness. This _ruach_, or spirit, was the
instrumental principle commissioned by the glorious Increate for the
elaboration of the natural world, the erection of this earthly house,
and its equipment with living souls of every species; and it is this
same instrumentally formative power that, together with the _neshemeh_,
or breath, that keeps them from perishing, or returning to the dust.
“If God set his heart against man, He will withdraw to himself _ruachu
veneshemetu_, that is, _His spirit and His breath_; all flesh shall
“perish together, and man shall turn again to dust.” “By the _neshemet
el_,” or breath of God, “frost is given.” Speaking of reptiles and
beasts, David saith, “thou withdrawest _ruachem_--_their spirit_--they
die; and to their dust they return. Thou sendest forth _ruheck_--thy
spirit--they are created.”
[Illustration: REPRESENTATIVE LIFE OF WESTERN ASIA.
Illustrating the Scriptural Idea of Living Souls].
From this cumulative evidence it is manifest that the _ruach_ is
all-pervading. It is in heaven, in sheol, or in the dust of the deepest
hollow; in the uttermost depths of the sea; in the darkness as well as
in the light; in all things animate and inanimate. In the broadest, or
I may say, in an illimitable sense, it is an _universal_ principle. It
is the substratum of all motion, whether manifested in the revolutions
of the planets, in the ebb and flow of the sea, in winds and storms and
tempests, or in the organisms of plants and animals. The atmospheric
expanse is charged with it; but it is not the air. Animals and plants
breathe it, but it is not their breath; yet without it, though filled
with air, they would die. _Neshemet el_, or atmospheric air, is the
breath of God, as Job puts it, or the mighty expanse, as affirmed by
Moses. What the _ruach_, or spirit, is, none with certainty can say.
Extending from the centre of the earth, and thence in all directions
through the immensity of space, is the _Ruach Elohim_, whose existence
is demonstrable from the phenomena of the natural order of things.
It penetrates where _neshemet el_ cannot penetrate, but when speaking
of the motivity and sustentation of organized dust, or souls, they
co-exist with them, the _Ruach Elohim_ becoming the _ruach chayim_, or
spirit of lives; the _neshemet el_, the _neshemet chayim_, or breath
of lives, and both together in the elaboration and support of life,
the _neshemet ruach chayim_, or breath of the spirit of lives. Living
creatures, or souls, are not animated, as is erroneously supposed, by
a vital principle which is capable of disembodied existence. On the
contrary, souls are made living by the coetaneous operation of the
_ruach chayim_ and the _neshemet chayim_ upon their organized tissues
according to certain fixed laws, called natural laws. When the as yet
occult laws of the all-pervading _ruach_, or spirit, shall be made
known, men will be astonished at their ignorance respecting living
souls, as we are at the notion of the ancients that their immortal gods
resided in the stocks and the stones they so ignorantly worshipped.
Though lent to the creatures of the natural world for the allotted
period of their living existence, yet the _ruach chayim_ and _neshemet
chayim_ are still God’s breath and God’s spirit, and to distinguish
them from the expanse of air and spirit in their totality, they are
sometimes specifically styled “the spirit of man” and “the spirit of
the beast,” or collectively “the spirits of all flesh,” and “their
breath.” Thus it is written in Ecclesiastes, “they have all _one
ruach_, or spirit, so that man hath no preëminence over a beast; for
all is vanity or vapor.” “All go to one place; all are of the dust, and
all turn to dust again.” And in the sense of supplying to every living
creature, or soul, spirit and breath, Jehovah is styled by Moses in the
book of Numbers,--“God of the _spirits_ of _all flesh_.”
Enough has been advanced to show the Scriptural import of the text
already quoted, that “the Lord God formed man, the dust of the ground,
and breathed into his nostrils the breath of lives; and man became a
living soul.” The simple, obvious and undogmatic meaning of this is,
that the dust being animalized, and then organized, was next set in
motion by the inrush of the air through his nostrils into his lungs
according to natural laws. This phenomenon was the _neshemet el_, or
“breath of God,” breathing into him; and as it was the pabulum of life
to all creatures constituted of dust, it was very expressively styled
the “breath of _lives_,” and not the “breath of _life_.” God breathes
into every man at his birth the breath of lives to this day, and there
can be no reason, Scriptural or otherwise, why we should deny that
He breathed it into Adam as He hath done into the nostrils of his
posterity by the operation of natural laws. Man, as soon as he began to
respire, like the embryo passing from fœtal to infant life, “became a
_living soul_,” that is, _nephesh chayiah_, a living, breathing frame,
or _body of life_. All kinds of flesh, whether of man, beast, fowl and
creeping thing, are made alive by the same breath and spirit. They all
become, in consequence, living souls, so that, having a _oneness of
spirit_, a man hath no superiority over a beast.
Having now proved, as we think, beyond the possibility of a doubt,
that men and beasts “have all one _ruach_, or spirit,” and hence are
all living souls, we now approach a form of life, termed vegetable
life, about which the Scriptures have little to say. _Neshemet el_, or
atmospheric air, is just as essential to plants as to animals. Deprived
of it they wither and die. No less necessary is the all-pervading
_ruach_, or spirit. It is in the air, though not of the air. Plants,
equally with animals, breathe it, but it is not their breath. Without
it, even though filled with air, they would perish. Perhaps it is the
base of each of the elementary constituents of the air. Uncombined,
may it not be that wonderful fluid whose explosions are heard in the
thunder, whose fiery bolts overthrow the loftiest towers and rive the
sturdy monarchs of the woods, and whose influence, though in less
intensity, gives polarity to light, the needle, and the brain?
Living plants are a part and parcel of the life of our globe. They
preceded in the grand scheme of creation animal existences. Low down
in the scale of life are forms about which it cannot be predicated
these are plants and these are animals. Scientists are unable to say
where plant-life ends and animal-life begins. No hard-and-fast line
can be drawn between the two vast kingdoms of life, and it is often
wholly impossible to decide whether we are dealing with an animal or a
plant. There can be no question that the earliest life was vegetable
by nature, and that its habitat was the primeval ocean. This is no
less the teaching of science than that of the Scriptures. From some
such life, originating _de novo_ as the Spirit of God passed over the
waters, the two great branches of animate nature may have taken their
rise. What the form of this life may have been, whether cellular or a
mere mass of formless protoplasm, the mind of man cannot asseverate.
It is a mystery, and will doubtless ever remain as such to finite
intelligence. That this life, no matter how apparently insignificant
it must have been, breathed in its own simple fashion, that is, by the
coetaneous operation of the _ruach chayim_ and the _neshemet chayim_
upon its simple substance in accordance with natural law, there can be
no dispute. Breathing is not always conditioned by the existence of
nostrils. Plants respire, or, in other words, take in carbonic acid
from the air through their stomata, or mouths, which they separate into
its components of carbon and oxygen, appropriating the former, which
they build into solid matter, but usually throwing off the latter into
the great receptacle of atmosphere from which it was extracted. Even
a moner, which has no distinction of parts, may be said to breathe,
but it breathes by means of its whole external surface, for _neshemeh_
and _ruach_ are as necessary to it as to man himself. It will thus
be obvious that plants are living, breathing frames, or bodies of
life, and hence are as much entitled to be considered as living souls
as animals are. Let but God withdraw his _ruach_, or spirit, from
them, and they die and to their dust return. Surely no more could be
predicated of animals.
CONSCIOUSNESS IN PLANTS.
Plants, it has been vaguely asserted, differ from animals by not
having the power of movement. Rather should it be stated that plants
acquire and display this power when it is to their advantage. This
will be found to be of comparatively rare occurrence, as they are
affixed to the ground, and food is brought to them by the air and rain.
Evidence of the very high position a plant may attain in the scale
of organization may be seen when we look at one of the more perfect
tendril-bearers. As a polypus adjusts its tentacula for action, so a
plant places its tendrils. If the tendril be displaced, it sets to
work to right itself. Acted on by the light, it bends towards or from
it, or disregards it altogether, whichever course may be the most
advantageous. For several days the tendrils or internodes of the plant,
or both, spontaneously or otherwise revolve with a steady motion. But
should they strike some object, they curl quickly around it, grasp it
with wonderful firmness, and in the course of a few hours contract into
spirals, dragging up the stems, and forming most excellent springs. All
external movements now cease, and by growth the tissues soon become
surprisingly strong and durable.
Such a movement, as has just been considered, is a widely prevalent
one in plants, and is essentially of the same nature as that of the
stem of a climbing plant, which successively bends to all points of
the compass, so that the tip is made to revolve. This movement has
been called _revolving nutation_ by some writers, and _circumnutation_
by others. In the case of the circumnutating movement of the tip of
the radicle of some plants, there can be no doubt that it is it that
affords the radicle some slight assistance in penetrating the ground.
But whether or not a radicle, when surrounded by softened earth, is
aided in making a passage for itself by circumnutating, one thing is
certain, that is, that this movement, by guiding the radicle along a
line of least resistance, can hardly fail to be of high importance.
Should, however, a radicle in its downward growth break obliquely into
any crevice, or an opening left by a decayed root, or one made by the
larva of an insect, and more especially by worms, the circumnutating
movement of the tip will materially aid it in following such open
passages. Not only our own observation, but also those of such eminent
authorities as Darwin and Hensen, conclusively show that roots commonly
run down the old burrows of worms.
But radicles of seedlings, as well as those of more vigorous plants,
would pass over stones, roots and other obstacles, which they must
necessarily encounter in the soil. This they are abundantly able to do,
for they are exceedingly sensitive just above their apices, and bend
like a tendril _towards_ the touching object. When, however, one side
of the apex is pressed by any object, the growing part bends _away_
from that object, and this seems a beautiful adaptation for avoiding
obstacles in the soil, and for following the lines of least resistance.
[Illustration: SEEDLING OF WINTER GRAPE.
Earth Cut Away to Show Directions Taken by Tip of Radicle in Avoiding a
Stone.]
So feeble is the circumnutating movement of the terminal growing part,
both of the primary and secondary radicles, that it can assist them
but little in penetrating the ground, excepting when the superficial
layer is very soft and moist. But it must aid them materially when
they chance to break obliquely into cracks, or into burrows that
have been made by earth-worms or larvæ. Moreover, combined as it is
with the sensitiveness of the tip of the radicle to contact, it can
hardly fail to be of the highest importance, for as the tip is always
endeavoring to bend to all sides, it will press on all sides, and will
thus be able to discriminate between the harder and softer adjoining
surfaces. Consequently, it will tend to bend from the harder soil,
and will thus take the directions of the least resistance. So it will
act if it meet with a stone or the root of another plant in the soil,
as must incessantly occur. If the tip were not sensitive, and did not
excite the upper part of the radicle to bend away, whenever obstacles
were encountered at right angles to its growing direction, it would
undoubtedly be liable to be doubled up into a contorted mass. But with
radicles growing down inclined plates of glass, as shown by experiment,
it has been observed that as soon as the tip merely touched a slip
of wood cemented across the plate, the entire terminal growing point
curved away, so that the tip soon stood at right angles to its former
direction; and thus, as far as the pressure of the surrounding soil
would permit, would it be with an obstacle encountered in the ground.
Thick and strong radicles, like those of the horse-chestnut, are
endowed with less sensitiveness than more delicate ones, and would
therefore be the better able by the force of their growth to overcome
any slight impediment to their progress. Further, as radicles perceive
an excess of moisture in the air on one side and bend towards this
side, it is reasonable to infer that they will act in a similar
manner with respect to moisture in the earth, for the sensitiveness
of moisture resides in the tip, which determines the bending of the
upper part. May not this capacity partly account for the extent to
which drain-pipes often become choked with roots? The direction which
the apex takes at each successive period of the growth of a root,
ultimately determines its whole course. It is therefore very important
that the apex should follow from the first the most advantageous
direction. We can thus understand why sensitiveness to geotropism,
contact and moisture should all reside in the tip, and why it should
determine the upper growing part to bend either from or to the exciting
cause. Darwin has compared a radicle with a burrowing animal, such as
a mole, which wishes to penetrate vertically into the ground. By a
process of circumnutation, or the movement of his head from side to
side, he is enabled to feel any stone or other obstacle, as well as
any difference in hardness of soil that may exist, and will therefore
turn from that side; but if damper on one side than on the other, will
turn thither as a more suitable hunting-ground. Nevertheless, after
each interruption, he, guided by the sense of gravity, will be able to
recover his downward direction and to reach to a greater depth.
Destruction of the tip of a radicle does not prevent the adjoining
part from bending, if this part has already received some influence
from the tip. As with a horizontally extended radicle, whose tip has
been cut off or destroyed, the part which should bend most remains
motionless for many days or hours, even though exposed at right
angles to the full influence of gravity, we cannot do otherwise than
conclude that the tip alone is sensitive to this power, and transmits
some stimulus to the neighboring parts, thereby causing them to bend.
Direct evidence of such transmission has been obtained. When a radicle
was left extended horizontally for an hour or an hour and a half, by
which time the supposed influence will have travelled some distance
from the tip, and the tip was then cut off, the radicle subsequently
became bent, although it was placed in a perpendicular position.
Terminal portions of several radicles thus treated continued for some
time to grow in the direction of their newly-acquired curvature, for
being destitute of tips they were no longer acted upon by the power of
gravity. New vegetative points, however, appeared, and being acted on
by this influence coursed themselves perpendicularly downward as was
their custom.
Investigation having shown that it is the tip of the radicle that is
sensitive to geotropism in the members of such distinct families as
the Leguminosæ, Malvaceæ, Cucurbitaceæ and Gramineæ, which may be
represented by the Clover, Mallow, Gourd and Rye, we may justly infer
that this character is common to the roots of most seedling-plants.
Whilst a root is penetrating the ground, the tip must take the
incipient step, as it has to determine the direction of the entire
root. When, however, it is deflected by any subterranean obstacle, it
is essential that a considerable length of the root should be able to
bend, particularly as the tip itself grows slowly and bends but little,
so that the proper downward course should be recovered. Immaterial as
it would seem whether the entire growing part should be so sensitive
to geotropism as to effect this movement, or that it should be brought
about by an influence transmitted exclusively from the tip, we should,
however, remember that it is the tip that is sensitive to the contact
of hard objects, causing the radicle to bend away from them, thus
directing it along certain lines in the soil where the least opposition
interposes. It is again the tip that is alone sensitive, at least in
some instances, to moisture, causing the radicle to bend towards its
source. These last two kinds of sensitiveness conquer for a time the
sensitiveness to geotropism, which, however, ultimately prevails. But
the three kinds most often come into antagonism, first one prevailing,
and then the other. It would, therefore, be an advantage, perhaps a
necessity, for the interweighing and reconciling of these different
kinds of sensitiveness, that they should all be localized in the same
group of cells which have to transmit the command to the adjoining
parts of the radicle, necessitating it to bend to or from the source of
the irritation.
Though generally believed by authors that the modification of the upper
or lower surfaces of a radicle, whereby curvature is induced in the
proper direction, is the direct result of gravitation, yet there can be
no question from all that has been said that it is the tip alone that
is acted on and that transmits some influence to the adjoining parts,
causing them to curve in a downward manner. Gravity, it would seem,
does not act in a more direct way on a radicle than it does on any
lowly-organized animal, which moves away when it feels some weight or
pressure.
When we consider what we have written, it is impossible not to be
impressed with the resemblance between the movements of plants and
many of the actions performed by the lower animals. With plants
an astonishingly small stimulus suffices. One plant may be highly
sensitive to the slightest continued pressure, while a closely-allied
form just as highly sensitive to a slight momentary touch. The habit
of moving at certain periods is inherited both by plants and animals;
and other points of similitude have been specified. But the most
striking resemblance is the localization of their sensitiveness, and
the transmission of a stimulus from the exciting point to another,
which consequently moves. Yet plants do not, of course, possess
nerves or a central nervous system. May we not therefore infer, and
wisely so, too, that with animals such structures but serve for the
more perfect transmission of impressions, and for the more complete
intercommunication of their several parts?
No structure in plants seems more wonderful, as far as its functions
are concerned, than the tip of the radicle. Lightly pressed or burnt
or cut, it transmits an influence to the upper adjoining part, causing
it to bend away from the affected side. But more surprising, however,
is the fact that the tip can distinguish between a slightly harder
and softer object, by which it is simultaneously pressed on opposite
sides. Let the radicle be pressed by a similar object a little above
the tip, and it will be noticed that the pressed part does not transmit
any influence to the more distant parts, but bends abruptly towards
the object. Perceiving the air to be moister on one side than the
other, it likewise sends out an influence to the upper adjoining part,
which deflects towards the source of the moisture. When excited by
light, the neighboring part bends from the light; but when excited by
gravitation, the same part bends towards the centre of gravity. In
almost every instance the ultimate purpose or advantage of the several
movements can be clearly perceived. Two, or perhaps more, of the
exciting causes often act simultaneously on the tip, and one conquers
the other, doubtless in accordance with its importance for the life of
the plant. The course pursued by the radicle in penetrating the ground
being determined by the tip, has acquired for it the diverse kinds of
sensitiveness which it possesses; and it is hardly an exaggeration to
assert that the tip of the radicle thus endowed, and having the power
to direct the movements of the adjoining parts, acts like the brain of
one of the lower animals, which organ, seated within the anterior end
of the body, receives impressions from the sense-organs, and directs
their several movements.