Professor Huxley affirmed life to be 'a property of protoplasm,' the inevitable outcome of 'the nature and disposition of its molecules,' and he sought to cover the absurdity of the dictum by claiming as analogous a case wholly disparate. Water, he argued, has qualities totally unlike those of oxygen or hydrogen, and protoplasm may similarly, by mere intricacy of arrangement, and the evoking of latent affinities, become endowed with the transcendant powers connected with animated existence. 'What better philosophical status, then,' he exclaimed, 'has _vitality_ than _aquosity_?'[123] 'True,' he added, 'protoplasm can only be generated by protoplasm, in a manner that evades our intelligence, but does anybody quite comprehend the _modus operandi_ of an electric spark which traverses a mixture of oxygen and hydrogen?' The illustration is inapt. The electric spark fulfils no constructive function. It simply agitates the molecules so as to bring their native affinities into play. It acts like a mechanical blow on dynamite. Further, water is a stable compound, because its formation is attended by loss of energy; it represents a plane permanently occupied because reached by a steep descent; but protoplasm is, in this respect, the antitype of water. It needs force for its composition; water needs force for its decomposition. Protoplasm needs force plus a suitable apparatus; it can be turned out only by an artfully adapted machine with a head of steam on. It is thus continually manufactured by plants under the stimulus of light. They provide the apparatus, sunbeams the energy. If the supply of power is cut off, the machinery comes to a halt, protoplasm ceases to be generated, the organism dies of inanition.