Читать книгу History of Botany (1530-1860) - Julius Sachs - Страница 9

Ray’s chief merit is that he to some extent recognised natural affinities in their broader features; the systematic separation of the smaller groups was but little advanced by him. He too, like Morison, found two adherents in Germany in the persons of Christopher Knaut (1638-1694), who published a flora of Halle in 1687 arranged after Ray’s method, and Christian Schellhammer (1649-1716), professor at Helmstädt and afterwards at Jena.

Augustus Quirinus Bachmann (Rivinus)[24] (1652-1725) was for Germany what Morison and Ray were for England, and Tournefort for France. From the year 1691 he was Professor of botany, physiology, materia medica, and chemistry in Leipsic; he applied himself with such ardour to astronomy that he injured his eyesight by observing spots in the sun. With such a variety of occupations it is not surprising that his special knowledge of plants was inconsiderable when compared with that of the three just named; but he was better able than they to appreciate the principles of morphology laid down by Jung, and to use them for deciding questions of systematic botany. He did most service by his severe strictures on the more prominent errors which botanists up to his time had persisted in, his own positive contributions, at least as far as the recognition of affinities is concerned, being inconsiderable. His ‘Introductio universalis in rem herbariam,’ which appeared in 1690, and contains 39 pages of the largest size, is the most interesting for us; in it he declines the great quantity of unnecessary work with which botanists occupied themselves, and declares the scientific study of plants to be the only end and aim of botany. He first treats of naming, and lays down with respect to generic and specific names the principles which Linnaeus afterwards consistently applied, whereas Bachmann himself did not follow his own precepts, but injured his reputation as a botanist by a tasteless nomenclature. Nevertheless he declared distinctly that the best plan is to designate each plant by two words, one of which should be the name of the genus, the other that of the species, and he ingeniously pointed out the great convenience of this binary nomenclature in dealing with medicinal plants, and in the writing of prescriptions. He refused to regard cultivated varieties as species, though Tournefort and others continued to do so.

In his system he rejected the division into trees, shrubs, and herbs, showing by good examples that there is no real distinction of the kind in nature. From many of his remarks in his critical dissertations we might infer that he possessed a very fine feeling for natural relationship, but at the same time expressions occur which seem to show that he did not at all appreciate its importance in the system; we notice this in Tournefort also. Because flowers come before the fruit he jumps with curious logic to the conclusion that the main divisions in the system should be derived from the flower, and in following this rule he makes use of exactly that mark in the corolla which has the least value for classification, namely, regularity or irregularity of form. It is strange, moreover, that Bachmann, who spent a considerable fortune on the production of copper-plate figures of plants without any special object, though he founded his system on the form of the flower, should yet have devoted only a superficial study to its construction; his account of it is very inferior to that of any one before or since his time. His classification thus founded cannot be said to be an advance in systematic botany; nevertheless, he had no lack of adherents, and among them in Germany, Heucher, Knaut, Ruppius, Hebenstreit, and Ludwig; in England, Hill and others, who made alterations here and there in his system, but any real development of it was from its nature an impossibility; he endeavoured to defend it against the assaults of Ray and Dillen; Rudbeck also declared against him.

Joseph Pitton de Tournefort[25] (1656-1708) founded his system also on the form of the corolla, but his views are to some extent opposed to those of Bachmann. While the latter was pre-eminently critical and deficient in knowledge of species, Tournefort was more inclined to dogmatise, and atoned in the eyes of his contemporaries for want of morphological insight by his extensive acquaintance with individual plants. He is commonly regarded as the founder of genera in the vegetable kingdom; but it has been already shown that the conceptions of genera and species had been framed as early as the 16th century from the describing of plants, and that Kaspar Bauhin also, in naming his plants, consistently distinguished genera and species; moreover Bachmann in 1690 had supported the claims of the binary nomenclature as the most suitable for the designation of plants, though he did not himself adopt it; Tournefort did adopt it, but in an entirely different way from that of Bauhin. Bauhin gave only the name of the genus, and supplied the species with characters; Tournefort, on the other hand, provided his genera with names and characters, and added the species and varieties without special description. Tournefort therefore was not the first who established genera; he merely transferred the centre of gravity, so to speak, in descriptive botany to the definition of the genera; but in doing so he committed the great fault of treating specific differences within the genus as a matter of secondary importance. How little depth there was in his botanical ideas may be seen not only from his very poor theory of the flower, the imperfections in which, as in the case of Bachmann, are the more remarkable, since he founded his system on the outward form of the flower, but still more from the expression which he uses at the end of his history of botany, a work otherwise of considerable merit; he says there that the science of botany has been so far advanced since the age of Hippocrates, that hardly anything is still wanting except an exact establishing of genera. His general propositions on the subject of systematic botany, together with much that is good, but which is generally not new and is better expressed in the works of Morison, Ray, and Bachmann, contain strange misconceptions; for instance, he classes plants which have no flower and fruit with those in which these parts are to be seen only with the microscope, that is, the smallness of the organs is equivalent to their absence. It may seem strange that his theory of the flower should be so imperfect, when the excellent investigations of Malpighi and Grew into the structure of flowers, fruit, and seed were already before the world (1700), and Rudolph Jacob Camerarius had made known his discovery of sexuality in the vegetable kingdom. This doctrine, however, Tournefort expressly refused to admit. But the reproach of neglecting the labours of Malpighi and Grew is equally applicable to Bachmann and the systematists up to A. L. de Jussieu; we have here only the first example of the fact since so often confirmed, that professed systematists shrank with a certain timidity from the results of more delicate morphological research, and rested their classifications as far as possible on obvious external features in plants,—a proceeding which more than anything else delayed the construction of the natural system.

Tournefort’s system is thoroughly artificial, if possible, more artificial than that of Bachmann, and certainly inferior to Ray’s. If we meet with single groups that are really natural, it is simply because in some families the genera so agree together in all their marks, that they necessarily remain united, whatever mark we select for the systematic purpose. We do not find in Tournefort the distinction between Phanerogams and Cryptogams already established by Ray, nor the division of woody plants and herbs into Monocotyledons and Dicotyledons; if his chief work, to which we confine ourselves here, the ‘Institutiones rei herbariae,’ did not bear the date of 1700, we might conclude that it was written before the ‘Historia Plantarum’ of Ray, and the chief work of Bachmann. Yet it has one merit of a purely formal kind; it is pervaded by a rigorous spirit of system; every class is divided into sections, these into genera, and these again into species; figures of the leaves and of the parts of the flower, very beautifully engraved on copper-plate and filling a whole volume, are perspicuously arranged; the whole work therefore is easy to consult and understand. But to form an idea of the confusion as regards natural affinities that reigns in his system, we need only examine the first three sections of his first class, when we shall find Atropa and Mandragora together in the first section, Polygonatum and Ruscus in the second, Cerinthe, Gentiana, Soldanella, Euphorbia, and Oxalis in the third. The handiness of the book, the little interest taken by most of the botanists of the time in the question of natural relationship, and the continually increasing eagerness for a knowledge of individual plants, are evidently the reasons why Tournefort gained over to his side most of the botanists not only of France, but also of England, Italy, and Germany; and why later attempts in systematic botany during the first thirty or forty years of the 18th century were almost exclusively founded on his system, as they were afterwards on the sexual system of Linnaeus. Boerhaave, among others, proposed a system in 1710, which may be regarded as a combination of those of Ray, Hermann, and Tournefort, but it met with no support on any other grounds.

We here take our leave of the systematists of the 17th century, and, passing over the mere plant-collectors of the first thirty years of the 18th, turn at once to Linnaeus.

Carl Linnaeus[26], called Carl von Linné after 1757, was born in 1707 at Rashult in Sweden, where his father was preacher. He began the study of theology, but was soon drawn away from it by his preference for botany, and in this pursuit he was encouraged by Dr. Rothmann, who sent him to the works of Tournefort. In Lund, where he now studied medicine, he became acquainted with Vaillant’s treatise, ‘De sexu plantarum,’ and had his attention drawn by it to the sexual organs. In 1730, when he was only twenty-three years old, the aged Professor Rudbeck gave up to him his botanical lectures and the management of the botanic gardens, and here Linnaeus began the composition of the ‘Bibliotheca Botanica,’ the ‘Classes Plantarum,’ and the ‘Genera Plantarum.’ In the year 1732 he made a botanical journey to Lapland, and in 1734 to Dalecarlia; in 1735 he went to Holland, where he obtained a degree; in that country he remained three years, and printed the works above-named, together with the ‘Systema Naturae,’ the ‘Fundamenta Botanica,’ and other treatises. From Holland he visited England and France. In the year 1738 he returned to Stockholm and was compelled to gain a livelihood as a physician, till in 1741 he became Professor of Botany in Upsala, where he died in the year 1778.

Linnaeus is commonly regarded as the reformer of the natural sciences which are distinguished by the term descriptive, and it is usual to say that a new epoch in the history of our science begins with him, as a new astronomy began with Copernicus, and new physics with Galileo. This conception of Linnaeus’ historical position, as far at least as his chief subject, botany, is concerned, can only be entertained by one who is not acquainted with the works of Cesalpino, Jung, Ray, and Bachmann, or who disregards the numerous quotations from them in Linnaeus’ theoretical writings. On the contrary, Linnaeus is pre-eminently the last link in the chain of development represented by the above-named writers; the field of view and the ideas of Linnaeus are substantially the same as theirs; he shares with them in the fundamental errors of the time, and indeed essentially contributed to transmit them to the 19th century. But to maintain that Linnaeus marks not the beginning of a new epoch, but the conclusion of an old one, does not at all imply that his labours had no influence upon the time that followed him. Linnaeus stands in the same relation to the systematists of the period we are considering that Kaspar Bauhin does to the botanists of the 16th century; as Bauhin gathered up all that was serviceable in his predecessors, Cesalpino only excepted, while the botanists of our second period drew again from him, though they set out from other points of view than his; so Linnaeus adopted all that the systematists of the 17th century had built upon the foundation of Cesalpino’s ideas, gave it unity and fashioned it into a system without introducing into it anything that was fundamentally and essentially new; all that had been developed in systematic botany from Cesalpino to Tournefort culminated in him, and the results, which he put together in a very original form and with the power of a master, were no more unfruitful for the further development of botany than the contents of Kaspar Bauhin’s works for the successors of Cesalpino.

Whoever carefully compares the works of Cesalpino, Jung, Morison, Ray, Bachmann, and Tournefort with Linnaeus, ‘Fundamenta Botanica’ (1736), his ‘Classes Plantarum’ (1738), and his ‘Philosophia Botanica’ (1751), must be thoroughly convinced that the ideas on which his theories are based are to be found scattered up and down in the works of his predecessors; further, whoever has traced the history of the sexual theory from the time of Camerarius (1694), must allow that Linnaeus added nothing new to it, though he contributed essentially to its recognition, and that even after Koelreuter’s labours he continued to entertain some highly obscure and even mystical notions on the subject.

But that which gave Linnaeus so overwhelming an importance for his own time was the skilful way in which he gathered up all that had been done before him; this fusing together of the scattered acquisitions of the past is the great and characteristic merit of Linnaeus.

Cesalpino was the first who introduced Aristotelian modes of thought into botany; his system was intended to be a natural one, but it was in reality extremely unnatural; Linnaeus, in whose works the profound impression which he had received from Cesalpino is everywhere to be traced, retained all that was important in his predecessor’s views, but perceived at the same time what no one before him had perceived, that the method pursued by Cesalpino, Morison, Ray, Tournefort, and Bachmann could never do justice to those natural affinities which it was their object to discover, and that in this way only an artificial though very serviceable arrangement could be attained, while the exhibition of natural affinities must be sought by other means.

As regards the terminology of the parts of plants, which was all that the morphology of the day attempted, Linnaeus simply adopted all that was contained in the Isagoge of Jung, but gave it a more perspicuous form, and advanced the theory of the flower by accepting without hesitation the sexual importance of the stamens, which was still but little attended to; he thus arrived at a better general conception of the flower, and this bore fruit again in a terminology which is as clear as it is convenient; the terms monoecious, dioecious, triandrous, monogynous, etc., still used in the science, and the later-invented expressions dichogamous, protandrous, protogynous, etc., owe their origin to this correct conception of the sexual relations in plants. But there was one great misconception in the matter, which has not a little contributed to increase Linnaeus’ reputation. He called his artificial system, founded on the number, union, and grouping of the stamens and carpels, the sexual system of plants, because he rested its supposed superiority on the fact, that it was founded upon organs the function of which lays claim to the very highest importance. But it is obvious that the sexual system of Linnaeus would have the same value for the purposes of classification, if the stamens had nothing whatever to do with propagation, or if their sexual significance were quite unknown. For it is exactly those characters of the stamens which Linnaeus employs for purposes of classification, their number and mode of union, which are matter of entire indifference as regards the sexual function.

But though the notion that this artificial system has any important connection with the doctrine of the sexuality of plants is evidently due to a confusion of ideas, yet the progress of the science has shown, that Linnaeus’ sexual system did often and necessarily lead to the establishing of natural groups for the very reason, that the characters of the stamens which he employed are entirely independent of their function; for we must regard it as an important result of the labours of systematists, that those characters of organisms are shown to be of the greatest value for classification, which are entirely or in a very great measure independent of the functions of the organs. The error, which led Cesalpino to make the functional importance of the parts of fructification the principle of his division, reappears therefore in Linnaeus in another form; to find a principle of division, he turns to those organs, whose function appears to him the most important, but he takes his characters not from differences of function, but from the number and mode of union, which are of no importance for the sexual function. We meet with this error in Leibnitz and Burckhard, who are mentioned here merely to defend Linnaeus from the charge repeatedly brought against him by his contemporaries that he was indebted to these two writers for the idea of his sexual system. They erroneously found in the great physiological importance of the sexual organs a reason for deriving from their differences the principles of division that were to found a system; this error in theory Linnaeus shared with them, but they did not correct it in practice, as Linnaeus did, by confining himself to purely morphological features in working out his system. What the renowned philosopher[27] incidentally uttered in the year 1701 on the matter in question is moreover so unimportant and so indistinct, that Linnaeus could not gain much from it; what Burckhard[28] says on the subject in his often-quoted letter to Leibnitz (1702) is indeed much better, and comes near to Linnaeus’ idea; but it is a very long way from the hints there given to the completion of the well-articulated and highly practical system which Linnaeus constructed.

The botanists of the 16th century, and in the main even Morison and Ray, had in one-sided fashion devoted their chief attention to distinguishing species, Bachmann and Tournefort to the establishment of generic characters, while they neglected species; Linnaeus, on the contrary, applied equal care and much greater skill to describing both genera and species. He reduced to practical shape the suggestion which Bachmann had left to his successors, and so must be regarded, if not as the inventor, at least as the real founder of the binary nomenclature of organisms.

It is only fulfilling the duty of a historian to state the sources from which Linnaeus drew, but it would be a misapprehension to see in this any depreciation of a great man; it were to be desired that all naturalists would, like Linnaeus, adopt all that is good in the contributions of their predecessors, and improve or adapt it as he did. Linnaeus himself has repeatedly quoted the sources of his knowledge as far as they were known to him, and has in many cases estimated the services of his predecessors with a candour which never betrays a trace of jealousy, but often displays a warm respect, as may be seen especially in the short introductions to the several systems given in the ‘Classes Plantarum.’ Linnaeus could not only recognise what was good in his predecessors and occasionally make use of it, but he imparted life and fruitfulness to the thoughts of others by applying them as he applied his own thoughts, and bringing out whatever theoretical value they possessed. It was evidently this freshness of life that often misled his successors into believing that Linnaeus thought out and discovered everything for himself. We learn to appreciate the contributions of Cesalpino and his successors in the 17th century, and even of Kaspar Bauhin for the first time in the works of Linnaeus; we are astonished to see the long-known thoughts of these writers, which in their own place look unimportant and incomplete, fashioned by Linnaeus into a living whole; thus he was at once and in the best sense both receptive and productive, and he might perhaps have done more for the theory of the science if he had not been entangled in one grave error, which was more sharply pronounced in him than in his predecessors and contemporaries, that, namely, of supposing that the highest and only worthy task of a botanist is to know all species of the vegetable kingdom exactly by name. Linnaeus distinctly declared that this was his view, and his school in Germany and England adhered to it so firmly that it established itself with the general public, who to the present day consider it as a self-evident proposition that a botanist exists essentially for the purpose of at once designating any and every plant by a name. Like his predecessors, Linnaeus regarded morphology and general theoretical botany only as means to be used for discovering the principles of terminology and definition, with a view to the improvement of the art of describing plants.

We have hitherto spoken chiefly of the manner in which Linnaeus dealt with his subject in matters of detail; in his inner nature he was a schoolman, and that in a higher degree than even Cesalpino himself, who should rather be called an Aristotelian in the strict sense of the word. But to say that Linnaeus’ mode of thought is thoroughly scholastic is virtually saying that he was not an investigator of nature in the modern meaning of the word; we might point to the fact that Linnaeus never made a single important discovery throwing light on the nature of the vegetable world; but that would still not prove that he was a schoolman.

True investigation of nature consists not only in deducing rules from exact and comparative observation of the phenomena of nature, but in discovering the genetic forces from which the causal connexion, cause and effect may be derived. In the pursuit of these objects, it is compelled to be constantly correcting existing conceptions and theories, producing new conceptions and new theories, and thus adjusting our own ideas more and more to the nature of things. The understanding does not prescribe to the objects, but the objects to the understanding. The Aristotelian philosophy and its medieval form, scholasticism, proceeds in exactly the contrary way; it is not properly concerned with acquiring new conceptions and new theories by means of investigation, for conceptions and theories have been once for all established; experience must conform itself to the ready-made system of thought; whatever does not so conform must be dialectically twisted and explained till it apparently fits in with the whole. From this point of view the intellectual task consists essentially in this twisting and turning of facts, for the general idea of the whole is already made and needs not to be altered. Experience in the higher sense of investigation of nature is rendered impossible by the fact, that we are supposed to know all the ultimate principles of things; but these ultimate principles of scholasticism are at bottom only words with extremely indefinite meaning, abstractions obtained by a series of jumps from every-day experience, which has not been tried and refined in the crucible of science, and is therefore worthless; and the higher the abstraction is raised, the farther it withdraws from the guiding hand of experience, the more venerable and more important do these ‘abstracta’ appear, and we can finally come to a mutual understanding about them, though again only through figures and metaphors[29]. Science, according to the scholastic method, is a playing with abstract conceptions; the best player is he who can so combine them together, that the real contradictions are skilfully concealed. On the contrary, the object of true investigation, whether in philosophy or in natural science, is to make unsparing discovery of existing contradictions and to question the facts until our conceptions are cleared up, and if necessary the whole theory and general view is replaced by a better. In the Aristotelian philosophy and in scholasticism facts are merely examples for the illustration of fixed abstract conceptions, but in the real investigation of nature they are the fruitful soil from which new conceptions, new combinations of thought, new theories, and general views spring and grow. The most pernicious feature in scholasticism and the Aristotelian philosophy is the confounding of mere conceptions and words with the objective reality of the things denoted by them; men took a special pleasure in deducing the nature of things from the original meaning of the words, and even the question of the existence or non-existence of a thing was answered from the idea of it. This way of thinking is found everywhere in Linnaeus, not only where he is busy as systematist and describer, but where he wishes to give information on the nature of plants and the phenomena of their life, as in his ‘Fundamenta,’ his ‘Philosophia Botanica,’ and especially in his ‘Amoenitates Academicae.’ From among many instances we may select his mode of proving sexuality in plants. Linnaeus knew and lauded the services rendered to botany by Rudolph Jacob Camerarius, who as a genuine investigator of nature had demonstrated the sexuality of plants in the only possible way, namely, that of experiment. But Linnaeus cares little for this experimental proof; he just notices it in passing, and expends all his art on a genuine scholastic demonstration intended to prove the existence of sexuality as arising necessarily from the nature of the plant. He connects his demonstration with the dictum ‘omne vivum ex ovo,’ which Harvey had founded on an imperfect induction, and which he evidently takes for an a priori principle, and concludes from it that plants also must proceed from an ‘ovum,’ overlooking the fact that in ‘omne vivum ex ovo’ plants already form a half of the ‘omne vivum’; then he continues, ‘reason and experience teach us that plants proceed from an ‘ovum,’ and the cotyledons confirm it’; reason, experience, and cotyledons! Surely a remarkable assemblage of proofs. In the next sentence he confines himself at first to the cotyledons, which according to him spring in animals from the yolk of the egg, in which the life-point is found; consequently, he says, the seed-leaves of plants, which envelope the ‘corculum,’ are the same thing; but that the progeny is formed not simply from the ‘ovum,’ nor from the fertilising matter in the male organs, but from the two combined, is shown by animals, hybrids, reason, and anatomy. By reason in this and the previous sentence he understands the necessity, concluded from the nature, that is, the conception of the thing, that it must be so; animals supply him with the analogy, and anatomy can prove nothing, as long as it is not known what is the design of the anatomical arrangements. But the weakest side of this proof lies in the hybrids, for Linnaeus, when he wrote the ‘Fundamenta,’ knew of none except the mule; hybrids in plants were first described by Koelreuter in 1761, and these Linnaeus nowhere mentions; and what amount of proof can be drawn from the vegetable hybrids, which Linnaeus afterwards supposed himself to have observed, but which were no hybrids, we shall see in the history of the sexual theory; here we need only remark that he arrives at the existence of these hybrids from the idea of sexuality exactly as he arrived at that of sexuality from the idea of hybridisation. Then he goes on with his demonstration; ‘that an egg germinates without fecundation is denied by experience, and this must hold good therefore of the eggs[30] of plants—every plant is provided with flower and fruit, even where these are not visible to the eye’; with Linnaeus, of course, this is logically concluded from the conception of the plant or of the ‘ovum’; he alleges indeed certain observations as well, but they are incorrect. He continues, ‘The fructification consists of the sexual organs of the flowers; that the anthers are the male organs, the pollen the fertilising matter, is proved by their nature, further by the fact that the flower precedes the fruit, as also by their position, the time, the loculaments (anthers), by castration, and by the structure of the pollen.’ Here too the main point with Linnaeus is the nature of the male organs, and that we may know what this nature is he refers to a former paragraph, where we learn that the essence of the flower is in the anthers and stigma. Almost all his demonstrations consist of such reasonings in a circle and in arguing from the thing to be proved. And while the passages quoted show how much he did for the doctrine of sexuality, we find this sophistical style of reasoning still more copiously displayed in the essay entitled ‘Sponsalia Plantarum’ in the ‘Amoenitates’ (i. p. 77), and in a worse form still in the essay, ‘Plantae Hybridae’ (Amoen. iii. p. 29). That Linnaeus had not the remotest conception of the way in which the truth of a hypothetical fact is proved on the principles of strict inductive investigation is shown by these and many other examples, and by his enquiry into the seeds of mosses (Amoen. ii. p. 266), upon which he prided himself not a little, but which is really inconceivably bad even for that time (1750). It was not Linnaeus’ habit to occupy himself with what we should call an enquiry; whatever escaped the first critical glance he left quietly alone; it did not occur to him to examine into the causes of the phenomena that interested him; he classified them and had done with them; as for instance in his ‘Somnus Plantarum,’ as he called the periodical movements of plants. We cannot read much of the ‘Philosophia Botanica’ or the ‘Amoenitates’ without feeling that we are transported into the literature of the middle ages by the kind of scholastic sophistry which is all that his argumentation amounts to; and yet these works of Linnaeus date from the middle of the last century, from a time when Malpighi, Grew, Camerarius, and Hales had already carried out their model investigations, and his contemporaries Duhamel, Koelreuter, and others were experimenting in true scientific manner. This peculiarity in Linnaeus explains why men like Buffon, Albert Haller, and Koelreuter treated him with a certain contempt; and also why his strict adherents in Germany, who lived on his writings and were unable to separate what was really good in him from his mode of reasoning, came to make their own botany like anything rather than a science of nature. Linnaeus was in fact a dangerous guide for weak minds, for his curious logic, among the worst to be met with in the scholastic writers, was combined with the most brilliant powers of description; the enormous extent of his knowledge of particulars, and above all the pre-eminent firmness and certainty which distinguished his mode of dealing with systematic botany, could not fail to make the profoundest impression on those who judged of the powers of an investigator of nature by these qualities alone. One of his greatest gifts was without doubt the power which he possessed of framing precise and striking descriptions of species and genera in the animal and vegetable kingdoms by means of a few marks contained in the smallest possible number of words; in this point he was a model of unrivalled excellence to all succeeding botanists.

On the whole the superiority of Linnaeus lay in his natural gift for discriminating and classifying the objects which engaged his attention; he might almost be said to have been a classifying, co-ordinating, and subordinating machine. He dealt with everything about which he wrote in the way in which he dealt with objects of natural history. The systematic botanists whom he mentions in the ‘Classes Plantarum’ are classified then and there as fructists, corollists, and calycists. All who occupy themselves in any way with botany are divided into two great classes, the true botanists and mere botanophils, and it is very characteristic of his way of thinking that he places anatomists, gardeners, and physicians in the latter class. True botanists again are either mere collectors or systematists. To the collectors belong all who add to the number of known plants, also authors of monographs and floras, and the botanical explorers of foreign countries, whom we should now more courteously call systematists. By systematists Linnaeus understands those who occupy themselves with the classification and naming of plants, and he divides them into philosophers, systematists proper, and nomenclators; the philosophers are those who study the theory of the science on principles founded on reason and observation, and are subdivided into orators, institutors, erystics, and physiologists; the latter are those who discovered the mystery of sexuality in plants, and hence Malpighi, Hales, and such men are not physiologists in Linnaeus’ sense. The second class of systematists, the systematists proper, he distinguishes into orthodox and heterodox, the former taking the grounds of division exclusively from the organs of fructification, while the latter use other marks as well. In this manner Linnaeus treats every subject of which he has to speak, and wherever he can in short, numbered sentences, which look like descriptions of genera and species. His mind and character were fully formed in 1736 when he wrote his ‘Fundamenta,’ and he preserved his peculiarities of style from that time forward; we find the same modes of expression in the ‘Nemesis Divina,’ a treatise on religion and morals addressed as a legacy to his son. Where these peculiarities of manner and expression are suitable they make a favourable impression on the reader, as for instance in the short accounts he gives of the various systems in the ‘Classes Plantarum,’ a work in which Linnaeus was quite in his element; there he traces with a fine instinct the guiding principles of each system, pronounces upon its merits and defects, and sets it before the reader in numbered sentences of epigrammatic brevity. This manner is strictly adhered to in the ‘Philosophia’ also, and it has certainly helped not a little to withdraw the attention of his reader from his many fallacies in argument, especially his oft-recurring reasonings in a circle.

This remarkable combination of an unscientific philosophy with mastery over the classification of things and conceptions, this mixture of consistency in carrying out his scholastic principles with gross inaccuracies of thought, impart to his style an originality, which is rendered still more striking by the native freshness and directness, and not unfrequently by the poetic feeling, which animate his periods.

In any attempt to estimate the advance which the science owes to the labours of Linnaeus, the chief prominence must be assigned to two points; first to his success in carrying out the binary nomenclature in connection with the careful and methodical study which he bestowed on the distinguishing of genera and species; this system of nomenclature he endeavoured to extend to the whole of the then known vegetable world, and thus descriptive botany in its narrower sense assumed through his instrumentality an entirely new form, which, serving as a model for the naming and defining of the larger groups, could be applied without modification to the founding and completing the natural system. When at a later time Jussieu and De Candolle marked out their families and groups of families, their mode of proceeding was in the main that of Linnaeus when distinguishing his genera by abstraction of specific differences. This merit has been always assigned to Linnaeus without reserve. The second merit has been less recognised, and yet it is at least of equal importance; it is that of having first perceived that the attempt made by Cesalpino and his successors to found a system, that shall do justice to natural affinities, on predetermined marks can never succeed. Linnaeus framed his artificial sexual system, but he exhibited a fragment of a natural system by its side, while he repeatedly declared that the chief task of botanists is to discover the natural system. Thus he cleared the ground for systematic botany. He made use of his own system, because it was extremely convenient for describing individual plants, but he ascribed all true scientific value exclusively to the natural system; and with what success he laboured to advance it may be gathered from the fact, that Bernard de Jussieu founded his improved series of families on the fragment of Linnaeus, and that his nephew, A. L. de Jussieu, by simply adopting Linnaeus’ conception of the principle which lies at the foundation of the natural system, succeeded in carrying it on to a further stage of development.

The main features of Linnaeus’ theoretical botany can best be learned from the ‘Philosophia Botanica,’ which may be regarded as a text-book of that which Linnaeus called botany, and which far surpasses all earlier compositions of the kind in perspicuity and precision, and in copiousness of material; and indeed it would be difficult to find in the ninety years after 1781 a text-book of botany which treats what was known on the subject at each period with equal clearness and completeness. In giving the reader some idea of the way in which Linnaeus deals with his subject, it will be well to pass over the first two chapters, which discuss the literature and the various systems which had been proposed, and turn to the third, which under the heading ‘Plantae’ treats of the general nature of plants, and specially of the organs of vegetation. The vegetable world, says Linnaeus, comprises seven families, Fungi, Algae, Mosses, Ferns, Grasses, Palms, and Plants. All are composed of three kinds of vessels, sap-vessels which convey the fluids, tubes which store up the sap in their cavities, and tracheae which take in air; these statements Linnaeus adopts from Malpighi and Grew. He gives no characteristic marks for the Fungi; of the Algae he says that in them root, leaf, and stem are all fused together; to the Mosses he ascribes an anther without a filament, and separate from the female flower which has no pistil; the seeds of the Mosses have no integument or cotyledons; this characteristic of the Mosses is explained in his paper entitled ‘Semina Muscorum’ in the ‘Amoenitates Academicae,’ ii. The Ferns are marked by the fructification on the under side of the fronds, which are therefore not conceived of as leaves. The very simple leaves, the jointed stalk, the ‘calyx glumosus,’ and the single seed mark the Grasses. The simple stem, the rosette of leaves at the summit, and the spathe of the inflorescence are characteristic of the Palms. All vegetable forms which do not belong to any of the previous families he names Plants. He rejects the customary division into herbs, shrubs, and trees as unscientific. This arrangement of the vegetable kingdom must not be confounded with Linnaeus’ fragment of a natural system, in which he adopts sixty-seven families (orders), the Fungi, Algae, Mosses, and Ferns forming each a family. He evidently introduces the divisions in the ‘Philosophia,’ in order that it may be seen how far the statements that follow are applicable to all the Vegetabilia or only to certain sections of them. The parts in the individual plant which the beginner must distinguish are three; the root, the herb[31], and the parts of fructification, in which enumeration Linnaeus departs from his predecessors, by whom the fructification and the herb together are opposed to the root. In the central part of the plant is the pith, enclosed by the wood which is formed from the bast; the bast is distinct from the rind, which again is covered by the epidermis; these anatomical facts are from Malpighi; the statement that the pith grows by extending itself and its envelopes is borrowed from Mariotte. Cesalpino’s view on the formation of the bud is expressed by Linnaeus in the statement, that the end of a thread of the pith passing through the rind is resolved into a bud, etc. The bud is a compressed stem, capable of unlimited extension till fructification puts a term to vegetation. The fructification is formed by the leaves uniting into a calyx, from which the apex of a branch issues as a flower about one year in advance, while the fruit arising from the substance of the pith cannot begin a new life till the woody substance of the stamens has been absorbed by the fluids of the pistil. In this way Linnaeus corrected Cesalpino’s theory of the flower, that he might take into account the sexual importance of the stamens discovered by Camerarius. He concludes by saying that there is no new creation but only a continuous generation, for which he gives the remarkable and thoroughly Cesalpinian reason, ‘cum corculum seminis constat parte radicis medullari.’

The root, which takes up the food, and produces the stem and the fructification, consists of pith, wood, bast, and rind, and is divided into the two parts, ‘caudex’ and ‘radicula.’ The ‘caudex’ answers pretty nearly to our primary root and rhizomes, the ‘radicula’ to what we now call secondary roots.

The herb springs from the root, and is terminated by the fructification; it consists of the stem, leaves, leaf-supports (‘fulcrum’), and the organs of hibernation (‘hibernaculum’). Then follow the further distinctions of stem and leaves; the terminology, still partly in use and resting essentially on the definitions of Jung, is here set forth in great detail. Linnaeus however does not mention the remarkable distinction between stem and leaf which Jung founded on relations of symmetry, and in general he shows less depth of conception than Jung, confining himself more to the direct impression on the senses, and so distinguishing sometimes where there is no real difference. Examples of this are furnished by the paragraph devoted to ‘fulcra.’ By this term he designates the subsidiary organs of plants, among which he reckons stipules, bracts, spines, thorns, tendrils, glands, and hairs. It appears from this, that Linnaeus did not extend the idea of the leaf (‘folium’) to stipules and bracts, and the examples he gives of tendrils show at the same time that he was ignorant of the different morphological character of the organ in Vitis and Pisum. The putting the seven organs above-named together under the idea of ‘fulcrum’ shows plainly enough that Linnaeus, in framing his terminology, aimed only at distinguishing what was different to the sense by fixed words, in order to obtain means for short diagnoses of species and genera. He had no thought of arriving at more general propositions from a comparison of forms in plants, in order to attain to a deeper insight into their nature. The same thing appears from his notion of ‘hibernaculum,’ by which he understands a part of the plant which envelopes the stem in its embryonal state and protects it from harm from without; he here distinguishes bulbs from the winter buds of woody plants. In this course of mixing up morphological and biological relations of organs he was followed by botanists till late into our own century.

Linnaeus goes far beyond his predecessors in distinguishing and naming the organs of fructification, the subject of the fourth chapter of the ‘Philosophia Botanica.’ The fructification, he says, is a temporary part in plants devoted to propagation, terminating the old and beginning the new. He distinguishes the following seven parts: (1) the calyx, which represents the rind, including in this term the involucre of the Umbelliferae, the spathe, the calyptra of Mosses, and even the volva of certain Fungi,—another instance of the way in which Linnaeus was guided by external appearance in his terminology of the parts of plants; (2) the corolla, which represents the inner rind (bast) of the plant; (3) the stamen, which produces the pollen; (4) the pistil, which is attached to the fruit and receives the pollen; here for the first time the ovary, style, and stigma are clearly distinguished. But next comes as a special organ (5) the pericarp, the ovary which contains the seed. As bulbs and buds were treated not simply as young shoots, but as separate organs, so here too the ripe fruit is regarded not merely as the developed ovary, but as a special organ. Nevertheless, Linnaeus distinguishes the different forms of fruit much better than his predecessors had done. (6) The seed is a part of the plant that falls off from it, the rudiment of a new plant, and it is excited to active life by the pollen. The treatment of the seed and its parts is the feeblest of all Linnaeus’ efforts; he follows Cesalpino, but his account of the parts of the seed is much more imperfect than that of Cesalpino and his successors. The embryo is called the ‘corculum,’ and two parts are distinguished in it, the ‘plumula’ and the ‘rostellum’ (radicle). The cotyledon is co-ordinated with the ‘corculum,’ and is regarded therefore not as part of the embryo but as a distinct organ of the seed; it is defined as ‘corpus laterale seminis bibulum caducum.’ Nothing could be worse, and it seems almost incredible that so bad a definition and distinction could be given in 1751, and again in 1770, by the first botanist of his time, when Malpighi and Grew, nearly a hundred years earlier, had illustrated the parts of the seed and even the history of its development and its germination by numerous figures. He does not mention the endosperm, evidently confounding it with the cotyledon, though Ray had already distinguished it clearly from the other parts of the seed. Linnaeus’ terminology of the seed supplies more than sufficient corroboration of our previous remark, that he shows incapacity for the careful investigation of any object at all difficult to observe, and it will now seem a small matter that he, like most of the earlier botanists, treats one-seeded indehiscent fruits as seeds, and hence makes the pappus a part of the seed. (7) By the word ‘receptaculum’ he understands everything by which the parts of the fructification are connected together, both the ‘receptaculum proprium,’ which unites the parts of the single flower, and the ‘receptaculum commune,’ under which term he comprises the most diverse forms of inflorescence (umbel, cyme, spadix).

He concludes with the remark that the essence of the flower consists in the anther and the stigma, that of the fruit in the seed, that of the fructification in the flower and the fruit, and that of all vegetable forms in the fructification, and he adds a long list of distinctions between the organs of fructification with their names; among these organs appear the nectaries, which he was the first to distinguish.

In the fifth chapter he discusses the question of difference of sex in plants. His views on this subject have been already mentioned in order to show that they were entirely founded on worthless scholastic deductions; here we may quote a few of the propositions which were famous in after times. We assume, he says, that two individuals of different sexes were created in the beginning of things in every kind of living creatures. Plants, though they are without sensation, yet live as do animals, for they have a beginning and an advance in age (aetas), and are liable to disease and death; they have also a power of movement, a natural appetency (propulsio), an anatomy, and an organic structure (organismus). Simple explanations are given of these words, but they prove nothing about the matter. He then expounds the whole theory of sexuality, which is made to rest entirely on scholastic arguments, and in doing this he spins out to excessive length the parallel which he draws between the conditions of sexuality in animals and plants. It is manifestly this chapter of the ‘Philosophia Botanica,’ together with the treatise ‘Sponsalia Plantarum,’ which led the adherents of Linnaeus, who were ignorant of the older literature of the subject and were much impressed by his scholastic dexterity, to celebrate him as the founder of the sexual theory of plants; whereas a more careful study of history shows incontrovertibly that Linnaeus helped in this way to disseminate the doctrine, but did absolutely nothing to establish it.

The writings of Linnaeus which we have hitherto examined are occupied with the nature of plants, and of this he knew nothing more than he gathered from the investigations and reflections of his predecessors; and it is here especially that his peculiar scholasticism is exhibited in contrast with the facts obtained by induction which he communicated to his readers. But the strong side of his intellect appears with splendid effect in the succeeding chapters of the ‘Philosophia,’ which treat of the principles of systematic botany; here, where he has no longer to establish facts, but to arrange ideas, to dispose and summarise, we find Linnaeus thoroughly in his element.

The groundwork of botanical science, he begins, is twofold, classification and naming. The constituting of classes, orders, and genera he calls theoretical classification; the constituting of species and varieties is practical classification. The work of classification carried out by Cesalpino, Morison, Tournefort, and others leads to the establishing of a system; the mere practice of describing species may be carried on by those who know nothing of systematic botany. These expressions of Linnaeus are interesting, because like other remarks of his they show that he placed the establishment and arrangement of the larger groups above the mere distinguishing of individual forms; his disciples to a great extent forgot their master’s teaching, and fancied that the collecting and distinguishing of species was systematic botany. He opposes the system itself, which deals with the relative conceptions of classes, orders, genera, species, and varieties, to a mere synoptical view, serving with its dichotomy only to practical ends. Then comes the often-quoted sentence, ‘We reckon so many species as there were distinct forms created “in principio.”’ In a former place he had said ‘ab initio’ instead of ‘in principio’; instead therefore of a beginning in time he here posits an ideal, theoretical beginning, which is more in accordance with his philosophical views. That new species can arise is, he continues, disproved by continuous generation and propagation, and by daily observation, and by the cotyledons. It is hard to understand how the Linnaean school till far into our own century could have remained firm in a doctrine resting on such arguments as these. Linnaeus’ definition of varieties shows that he understood by the word species fundamentally distinct forms; there are, he says, as many varieties as there are different plants growing from the seed of the same species; and he adds that a variety owes its origin to an accidental cause, such as climate, soil, warmth, the wind; but this is evidently mere arbitrary assumption. Judging by all he says, his view is that species differ in their inner nature, varieties only in outward form. Here, where we find the dogma of the constancy of species for the first time expressed in precise terms,—a dogma generally accepted till the appearance of the theory of descent, we should be justified in demanding proof; but since dogmas as a rule do not admit of proof, Linnaeus simply states his view[32], unless we are to take the sentence, ‘negat generatio continuata, propagatio, observationes quotidianae, cotyledones,’ as proving the assertion that new species never appear. We shall see further on to what surprising conclusions Linnaeus was himself led by his dogma, when he had to take into account the relations of affinity in genera and larger groups. The species and the genus, he continues, are always the work of nature, the variety is often that of cultivation; the class and the order depend both on nature and on art, which must mean that the larger groups of the vegetable kingdom have not the same objective reality as the species and the genus, but rest partly on opinion. That Linnaeus estimated the labours of the systematists after Cesalpino and the contributions of the German fathers of botany up to Bauhin, as they have been judged of in the present work, is shown by paragraph 163, where he explains the word habit, and adds that Kaspar Bauhin and the older writers had excellently divined (divinarunt) the affinities of plants from their habit, and even real systematists had often erred, where the habit pointed out to them the right way. But he says that the natural arrangement, which is the ultimate aim of botany, is founded, as the moderns have discovered, on the fructification, though even this will not determine all the classes. It is interesting therefore to observe how Linnaeus further on (paragraph 168) directs, that in forming genera, though they must rest on the fructification, yet it is needful to attend to the habit also, lest an incorrect genus should be established on some insignificant mark (levi de causâ): but this attention to the habit must be managed with reserve, so as not to disturb the scientific diagnosis.

Linnaeus next lays down with great detail each several rule, which must be observed in establishing species, genera, orders, and classes, and it is here that he displays his unrivalled skill as a systematist. These rules were strictly observed by himself in his numerous descriptive works, and thus a spirit of order and clearness was introduced into the art of describing plants, which gave it at once a different appearance from that which it had received at the hands of his predecessors. Whoever therefore compares the ‘Genera Plantarum,’ the ‘Systema Naturae,’ and other descriptive works of Linnaeus with those of Morison, Ray, Bachmann, or Tournefort, finds so great a revolution effected by them, that he is impressed with the persuasion that botany first became a science in the hands of Linnaeus; all former efforts seem to be so unskilful and without order in comparison with his method. Without doubt the greatest and most lasting service which Linnaeus rendered both to botany and to zoology lies in the certainty and precision which he introduced into the art of describing. But if a reformation was thus effected in botany, as Linnaeus himself took pleasure in saying, it must not be overlooked that the knowledge of the nature of plants was rather hindered than advanced by him. Ray, Bachmann, and in part also Morison and Tournefort, had already liberated themselves to a great extent from the influence of scholasticism, and they still give us the impression of having been genuine investigators of nature; but Linnaeus fell back again into the scholastic modes of thought, and these were so intimately combined with his brilliant performances in systematic botany, that his successors were unable to separate the one from the other.

The feeling for order and perspicuity, which made Linnaeus a reformer of the art of describing, combined with his scholasticism, was evidently the cause of his not bestowing more energetic labour on the natural system. It has been repeatedly mentioned that it was he who first established sixty-five truly natural groups in his fragment of the early date of 1738; and a certain feeling for natural affinity is shown in the establishment of his seven families, Fungi, Algae, Mosses, Ferns, Grasses, Palms, and Plants properly so-called. Moreover in paragraph 163 of the ‘Philosophia Botanica,’ he carries out the division of the whole vegetable kingdom into Acotyledons, Monocotyledons, and Polycotyledons with their subdivisions very admirably; and thus we see him continually impelled towards a natural arrangement, but never bestowing upon it the necessary labour and thought.

And so two different conceptions of a system of plants continued to subsist side by side with each other in the mind of Linnaeus; one more superficial, and adapted for practical use, expressed in his artificial sexual system, and one more profound and scientifically valuable, embodied in his fragment and in the natural groups above-mentioned.

The same may be said also of Linnaeus’ morphological views; here, too, a more superficial pursued its way along with a more profound conception. He formed his terminology of the parts of plants for practical use in describing them, and convenient as it is, it seems nevertheless shallow or superficial, because its foundations are not more deeply laid in the comparative study of forms. But we discover from very various passages in his writings that he felt the need of a more profound conception of plant-form, and what he was able to say on the subject he put together under the head of ‘metamorphosis plantarum.’ His doctrine of metamorphosis is entirely based on the views of Cesalpino, with which we have already become acquainted, though he did not adopt them in their original form, but endeavoured to develop them in true Cesalpinian fashion; for on the one hand he derived leaves and parts of flowers from the tissues of the stem, and on the other conceived of the parts of the flower as only altered leaves. This doctrine of metamorphosis appears in somewhat confused form in the last page of his ‘Philosophia Botanica.’ There he says that the whole of the herb is a continuation of the medullary substance of the root; the principle of the flowers and leaves is the same, because both spring from the tissue-layers surrounding the pith, as Cesalpino had taught. The statement which follows, that the principle of the bud and the leaves is identical, would be a departure from Cesalpino, and in any case inconsistent, without the explanation that the bud consists of rudimentary leaves; but this again puts the axial portion of the bud out of sight. The perianth, he says, comes from concrescent rudiments of leaves. How closely Linnaeus adhered to Cesalpino in his later years appears in his explanation of the catkin, which comes next and which is taken entirely from Cesalpino’s theory. That a more superficial and a more profound conception pursue their way together unadjusted in Linnaeus’ speculations on form is specially shown by the fact, that in the text of the ‘Philosophia Botanica,’ paragraph 84, he places the ‘stipulae’ under the idea of ‘fulcra’ and not under that of ‘folia,’ while on the contrary at the end of the same work, where he brings together the different paragraphs respecting metamorphosis, he speaks of the ‘stipulae’ as appendages of the leaves.

The idea of Cesalpino, that the parts of the flower which surround the fruit arise like the ordinary leaves from the tissues that enclose the pith, is further developed by Linnaeus in his ‘Metamorphosis Plantarum,’ in the fourth volume of the ‘Amoenitates Academicae’ (1759), in a very strange manner. He compares the formation of the flower with the metamorphosis of animals, and especially of insects, and after describing the changes that take place in animals, he says at page 370 that plants are subject to similar change. The metamorphosis of insects consists in the putting off different skins, so that they finally come forth naked in their true and perfect form. This metamorphosis we also find in most plants, for they consist, at least in the truly living part of the root, of rind, bast, wood, and pith. The rind is to the plant what the skin is to the larva of an insect, and after putting this skin off there remains a naked insect. When the flower is produced in the plant the rind opens and forms the calyx (exactly Cesalpino’s view), and from out of this the inner parts of the plant issue to form the flower, so that the bast, the wood, and the pith issue forth naked in the form of corolla, stamens, and stigma. So long as the plant lies concealed within the rind and clothed only with leaves, it appears to us as unrecognisable and obscure as a butterfly, which in its larva-condition is covered with skin and spines.

In this doctrine of metamorphosis, which Linnaeus founded on Cesalpino, the chief point to observe is, that the ordinary leaves are identical with the exterior parts of the flower, because both originate in the outer tissues of the stem. The pertinent fact, which may easily be observed without a microscope, that the concentric arrangement of outer and inner rind, wood, and pith occurs only in some flowering plants, that the case is quite different with Monocotyledons, and that Cesalpino’s theory of the flower cannot properly be applied to them,—these are things which we must not expect to find Linnaeus with his peculiar modes of thought taking into consideration.

The want of firm standing-ground in experience is shown also by the fact, that with his own and Cesalpino’s theory of the flower he combined another view of its nature, which under the name of ‘prolepsis plantarum’ was set forth in two dissertations in 1760 and 1763, but the two theories are scarcely compatible with one another. While the last paragraph in the ‘Philosophia Botanica’ says, ‘Flos ex gemmâ annuo spatio foliis praecocior est,’ the dissertations contain the doctrine[33], that the flower is nothing but the synchronous appearance of leaves, which properly belong to the bud-formations of six consecutive years, in such a way that the leaves of the bud destined to be unfolded in the second year of the plants become bracts, the leaves of the third year the calyx, those of the fourth the corolla, those of the fifth the stamens, those of the sixth the pistil. Here we see once more how Linnaeus moves in the sphere of arbitrary assumptions with no thought of exact observation, for this whole theory of prolepsis rests on nothing that can be called a well-ascertained fact.

Yet a third time we find in Linnaeus the juxtaposition of a superficial view resting on every-day perception, and a more profound and to some extent a philosophical view; this is the case where he is concerned on the one hand with the dogma of the constancy of species, and on the other hand has to explain the fact of natural relationship and its gradations. Apart from some insignificant verbal explanations, Linnaeus adduced nothing in support of the dogma but the every-day perception of the unchangeableness of species, and to this he held fast to the end of his life; but it was important to find an explanation of the fact, to which he himself repeatedly drew attention, that genera, orders, and classes do not merely rest on opinion but indicate really existing affinities. His mode of solving the difficulty was a very remarkable one; not only does the scholastic manner of thought appear here again quite unalloyed by modern science, but he grounds his explanation once more on the old a priori notion that the pith is the vital principle in the plant, and also on his own assumption, that in the sexual act the woody substance of the anthers combines with the pith-substance of the pistil. Hugo Mohl has given a clear account of the matter in No. 46 of the ‘Botanische Zeitung’ for 1870, although neither he nor Wigand nor most of Linnaeus’ biographers seem to know, that his theories are all to be traced to Cesalpino. Linnaeus’ theory of natural affinities, as he gave it in 1762 in the ‘Fundamentum Fructificationis,’ and in 1764 in the sixth edition of the ‘Genera Plantarum,’ is as follows: At the creation of plants (in ipsa creatione) one species was made as the representative of each natural order, and these plants so corresponding to the natural orders were distinct from one another in habit and fructification, that is, absolutely distinct. In the communication of 1764 the following words occur:—

1. Creator T.O. in primordio vestiit vegetabile medullare principiis constitutivis diversi corticalis, unde tot difformia individua, quot ordines naturales, prognata.

2. Classicas has plantas Omnipotens miscuit inter se, unde tot genera ordinum, quot inde plantae.

3. Genericas has miscuit natura, unde tot species congeneres, quot hodie existunt.

4. Species has miscuit casus, unde totidem quot passim occurrunt varietates.

Hugo Mohl was right in rejecting Heufler’s assumption that a view resembling the modern theory of descent was contained in these paragraphs. It must be plain to any one who knows the ideas of Aristotle, Theophrastus, and Cesalpino, within the sphere of which Linnaeus is here moving, what he understands by his ‘vegetabile medullare’ and ‘corticale’; that he does not for a moment mean a plant of simplest organisation, but that both expressions indicate only the original elements of vegetation which the Creator, according to Linnaeus, united to one another at the first. He assumed that plants of the highest and of the lowest grades of organisation were originally created at the same time and alongside of one another; no new class-plants were afterwards created, but from the mingling together of the existing ones by the act of the Creator generically distinct forms were produced, and the natural mingling of these gave birth to species, while varieties were mere chance deviations from species. But it is to be noticed that in these minglings or hybridisations the woody substance of the one form which supplies the pollen is united with the pith-substance of the other form, whose pistil is thus fertilised; and so in these supposed crossings it is always the two original elements of the plant, the medullary and the cortical, which are mingled together.

No further proof is wanting that this theory of Linnaeus is no precursor of our theory of descent, but is most distinctly opposed to it; it is utterly and entirely the fruit of scholasticism, while the essential feature in Darwin’s theory of descent is that scholasticism finds no place in it.