Science, because it never can be actual science, makes an effort at least not to be of the laity, and endeavours to make good this its distinctive characteristic by the striking, one might almost say the sensational, manner in which it formulates its problems. Thus it tries to signalize the commanding nature of its standpoint with respect to the problems of life by telling the dumbfounded layman of a death that is purely a phenomenon of adaptation--yea more, of a death that is nothing but a bad habit. Upon this point, Weismann in his _Dauer des Lebens_ says: “From a purely physiological standpoint there is no perceivable reason why it should not be possible for the fission of the cells to proceed _ad infinitum_, _i.e._ for the organism to function eternally. To me the necessity for death is intelligible only from the standpoint of utility.... An individual that lived for ever would always become infirm and useless to the species. Death is merely a utilitarian arrangement; it is no necessity, grounded in the essential nature of life.” This is about as sensible as if one said, relying upon the facts of kitchen routine, “The going out of the fire is merely a utilitarian arrangement: it is no necessity grounded in the essential nature of fire.” To speak of death as a phenomenon of adaptation is to juggle with death as with some empty concept. In truth it is not as some think, death that accommodates itself to life, but simply thinking to the facts. The crass absurdity only becomes evident when out of this mere “reading” of the facts one seeks to evolve a truth of practical application, as Metchnikoff does in his “daring” surmises. I assert that science ought to be ashamed of herself for filling the nursery room of mankind with such fabulous tales of the future, when already the air is thick enough with the fables of the past. The old Salernitanian school of medicine used to ask: “_Cur moritur homo, cui crescit salvia in hortis?_” In much the same way the new--nay, the very newest--school of medicine demands: “Why does man die, for whom in the laboratory grows the Maya Yoghurt?” thereby showing that in the depths below the surface she grows on the same stock as the so much contemned “blind faith.”