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Lectures on Philosophy George Edward Moore Digital
Instant Download
Author(s): George Edward Moore
ISBN(s): 9780415295499, 0415295491
Edition: Reissue
File Details: PDF, 19.32 MB
Year: 2004
Language: english
 Muirhead Library of Philosophy

LECTURES ON PHILOSOPHY

ZMuirfuad
li/franj o f
Thilofopfuj
 Muirhead Library of Philosophy

2 0 T H C E N T U R Y P H IL O S O P H Y
In 22 Volumes

I Contemporary American Philosophy Adams &

(Vol I) Montague
II Contemporary American Philosophy Adams &
(Vol II) Montague
III G E Moore Ambrose &
Lazerowitz
IV Ludwig W ittgenstein Ambrose &
Lazerowitz
V Philosophy in America Black
VI Contemporary Philosophy in Australia Brown & Rollins
VII A H istory of Philosophy (Vol I) Erdmann
VIII A H istory of Philosophy (Vol II) Erdmann
IX A H istory of Philosophy (Vol III) Erdmann
X Ideas Husserl
XI The Development of Bertrand Russell's
Philosophy Jager
XII Contemporary British Philosophy (Vol III) Lewis
X III Contemporary British Philosophy (Vol IV) Lewis
XIV A H undred Years of B ritish Philosophy Metz
XV Lectures on Philosophy Moore
XVI Commonplace Book Moore
XVII Philosophical Papers Moore
XVIII Some Main Problems of Philosophy Moore
X IX Bernard Bosanquet and H is Friends Muirhead
XX Contemporary British Philosophy (Vol I) Muirhead
XXI Contemporary British Philosophy (Vol II) Muirhead
X X II Bertrand Russell Memorial Volume Roberts
LECTURES ON PHILOSOPHY

GEORGE EDWARD MOORE

 First published 1966 by Routledge

Published 2014 by Routledge

2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY, 10017, USA

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

© 1966 Routledge

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced

or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical,
or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying
and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the publishers.

The publishers have made every effort to contact authors/copyright holders

of the works reprinted in the Muirhead Library of Philosophy. This has not
been possible in every case, however, and we would welcome
correspondence from those individuals/companies we have been unable to
trace.

These reprints are taken from original copies of each book. In many cases
the condition of these originals is not perfect. The publisher has gone to
great lengths to ensure the quality of these reprints, but wishes to point
out that certain characteristics of the original copies will, of necessity, be
apparent in reprints thereof.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library

ISBN 13: 978-0-415-29549-9 (hbk)

 MUIRH EAD LIBRARY OF PHILOSOPHY
An admirable statement of the aims of the Library of Philosophy was
provided by the first editor, the late Professor J. H. Muirhead, in his
description of the original programme printed in Erdmann's History of
Philosophy under the date 1890. This was slightly modified in subse­
quent volumes to take the form of the following statement:
‘The Muirhead Library of Philosophy was designed as a contribution
to the History of Modern Philosophy under the heads: first of Different
Schools of Thought—Sensationalist, Realist, Idealist, Intuitivist;
secondly of different Subjects—Psychology, Ethics, Political Philo­
sophy, Theology. While much had been done in England in tracing
the course of evolution in nature, history, economics, morals and reli­
gion, little had been done in tracing the development of thought on these
subjects. Yet “ the evolution of opinion is part of the whole evolution,\
‘By the co-operation of different writers in carrying out this plan it
was hoped that a thoroughness and completeness of treatment, other­
wise unattainable, might be secured. It was believed also that from
writers mainly British and American fuller consideration of English
Philosophy than it had hitherto received might be looked for. In the
earlier series of books containing, among others, Bosanquet’s History of
Aesthetic, Pfleiderer’s Rational Theology since Kant, Albee’s History of
English Utilitarianism, Bonar’s Philosophy and Political Economy,
Brett’s History of Psychology, Ritchie’s Natural Rights, these objects
were to a large extent effected.
‘In the meantime original work of a high order was being produced
both in England and America by such writers as Bradley, Stout,
Bertrand Russell, Baldwin, Urban, Montague, and others, and a new
interest in foreign works, German, French and Italian, which had either
become classical or were attracting public attention, had developed. The
scope of the Library thus became extended into something more inter­
national, and it is entering on the fifth decade of its existence in the
hope that it may contribute to that mutual understanding between
countries which is so pressing a need of the present time.’
The need which Professor Muirhead stressed is no less pressing to­
day, and few will deny that philosophy has much to do with enabling
us to meet it, although no one, least of all Muirhead himself, would
regard that as the sole, or even the main, object of philosophy. As
Professor Muirhead continues to lend the distinction of his name to the
Library of Philosophy it seemed not inappropriate to allow him to
recall us to these aims in his own words. The emphasis on the history
of thought also seemed to me very timely; and the number of important
works promised for the Library in the very near future augur well for
the continued fulfilment, in this and other ways, of the expectations of
the original editor.
H. D. LEWIS
LECTURES ON
PHILOSOPHY

BY
GEO RG E EDW ARD MOORE
O.M.
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge,
and Emeritus Professor of Philosophy
in the University of Cambridge

EDITED BY
C A S IM IR L E W Y
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge,
and Sidgwick Lecturer in Moral Science
in the University of Cambridge

R Routledge
Taylor &. Francis Group
LONDON AND NEW YORK
 F IR ST P U B L I S H E D I N 19 6 6

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of
private study, research, criticism or review, as
permitted under the Copyright Act, 1956, no portion
may be reproduced by any process without written
permission. Enquiries should be addressed to the
publisher.
© Routledge 1966
 E D IT O R ’ S P R E FA C E

This volume consists of selections from three courses of lectures.

The first course was given in the academic year 1925-26, the
second in 1928-29, and the third in 1933-34. The first two
(entitled “ Metaphysics” ) were intended primarily for Part II of
the Moral Sciences Tripos; the last (entitled “ Elements of
Philosophy” ) for Part I. (The selections from the second course,
which are the most extensive, are printed first.)
The task of editing Moore’s lecture-notes was not an easy one.
They were not intended for publication and he never revised
them. Moreover, each of the three manuscripts consists of a
bundle of loose sheets, and in each bundle many sheets are missing
altogether and many others are very fragmentary indeed. A great
deal of editorial work was therefore necessary in order to produce
anything suitable for publication. And I thought that this could be
best achieved by omitting those portions of the manuscripts
which were so closely connected with the missing or fragmentary
ones as to be very largely unintelligible. The only other possibility
was to attempt to reconstruct the missing and fragmentary parts.
But I could see no way of doing so.
There was another difficulty. Many of the sheets have remarks
written in the margins, on the back, and even between the lines
of the text itself. It is not always clear where these remarks should
be inserted, and I thought it best to indicate the insertions by
enclosing them in pointed brackets. Round brackets, on the other
hand, are Moore’s, except that I have added them in those places
where he had obviously left them out by oversight. Lastly,
square brackets are used for my own insertions and also for my
own footnotes.
I have in general retained Moore’s contractions of words, and
I have not interfered systematically with his use of quotation
marks and italics. This is not uniform, but I do not think that it
will cause the reader serious difficulty. I have also interfered
as little as possible with Moore’s punctuation.
The division into sections and the titles of the sections are my
own; but the order in which the sections are arranged is the same
as in the manuscripts.
 e d i t o r ’s p r e f a c e

I am very grateful to Mrs G. E. Moore for her advice on a

number of questions; to Timothy Moore for his help with proof­
reading; and to the Rockefeller Foundation for financial assistance
in connexion with the typing of the manuscripts.
C. L E W Y
Trinity College
Cambridge
September 1965
 CO NTENTS

e d i t o r ’s p r e f a c e page vi ii

P A R T I. S E L E C T I O N S F R O M A COURSE OF LECTURES
GIVEN IN 1 9 2 8 - 2 9

I. What is meant by “ nature” ? 3

II. Are material things real? 12
in. “ Real” and “ imaginary” 20
iv. Do we know that material things are real? 44
v. Sense-data and sense-qualities 53
vi. Sense-data> events and change 58
vii. Perceptual continuity 67
v iii. Identity and places 77
ix. The representative theory of perception 87

P A R T II . S E L E C T I O N S F R O M A COURSE OF LECTURES
GIVEN IN 1 9 2 5 - 2 6

I. Classes and incomplete symbols 107

II. Necessity 129
in. Propositions and truth 132

P A R T I I I . S E L E C T I O N S FR OM A COURSE OF LECTURES
GIVEN IN 1 9 3 3 - 3 4

I. What is analysis? 153

II. The justification of analysis 165
hi. Questions of speculative philosophy 172
iv. Other philosophical questions 180
v. Philosophical methods 191
IN D E X OF PRO PER NA M E S 1 97

ix
This page intentionally left blank
 PART I

S E L E C T IO N S FR O M A C O U R SE OF L E C T U R E S
G IV E N IN 19 3 8 -2 9
This page intentionally left blank
 I
WHAT IS M E A N T BY “ N A T U R E ” ?

What is meant by Nature; & what has philosophy to do with it—

what kind of questions about Nature are philosophical, as opposed
to scientific, questions.
This term “ Nature” , with a capital “ N ” , is constantly used in
philosophy, as elsewhere, as if we all understood what it meant;
but I think it’s important for philosophy to attempt to define it.
There are 2 senses, pretty sharply distinguished: a narrower &
a wider.
(1) The narrower in wh. Phil, of Nature is opposed to Phil, of
Mind—i.e. one in wh. Nature doesn't include our minds & mental
processes; the sense in wh. Whitehead uses it, when he talks
about Nature being closed to Mind; the sense in wh. it is used
when we talk of Natural as opp. to Moral Science, & don’t
include Psych, in the Natural Sciences.
(2) A wider sense in wh. our minds & mental phenomena, all
those of living creatures on the earth or anywhere in the material
universe, are included in Nature.
<It might be thought that in this sense Nature is identical with
the Universe; & so perhaps it is in extension; but certainly not in
intension, since it is possible to hold without contradiction that
there are existents which neither are Nature nor fall within it.
E.g. the Absolute.)
Both these conceptions are important conceptions & neither is
at all easy to define.
We’re obviously meant to confine ourselves to (1); & (1), with
a certain proviso, = the material universe. The proviso is that if,
as some Behaviourists & Materialists seem to have held, all our
mental processes are, in fact, merely material processes, then we
should have to define Nature = all that part of the material
universe wh. is not mental. I think such views are certainly not
true, & in that case Nature simply = the material universe.
(2) in any case needs, I think, to be defined by reference to
material universe; it is the material universe & all mental entities
that have a certain relation to it.
In any case, the def. of Nature, in our sense, depends on def,
3
4 LECTURES ON P H I L O S O P HY

of “ material universe” : either it’s identical, or we have to define

it as material universe minus whatever is mental in it.
What do we mean by “ the material universe” ?
Let’s consider the matter in this way:
There are two prima facie different types of entity, which we
certainly consider as forming part of, or included in, the material
universe. I mean: physical things & physical events. I mean by
“ things” what Johnson calls “ continuants” & Whitehead physical
objects. The sun, the earth & planets, the stars & nebulae etc.
certainly form part of or belong to the material universe. And
there is at all events a prima facie difference between them &
physical events during an earthquake, or the eruption of a volcano:
which also form part of the material universe. There are, as you
know, some philosophers who maintain that continuants are really
only a certain sort of event, e.g. Broad, & still others who think
they can only be defined in terms of events. And I shall presently
discuss this: I don’t think it can possibly be true. But even if it
is, we can at all events say that both physical continuants &
physical events are included in the material universe.
Can we then say that by the material universe we mean the sum
of all physical continuants past, present & future, & all physical
events past, present & future? All these are included in it: can
we say it is their sum, or the class of which they’re all members?
The first thing I want to say is that though, in a sense, I think
we can, yet in another sense, & perhaps the most obvious one,
I think we certainly cannot.
Both by physical things & by physical events, one thing we
mean, is things & events of a certain character or quality: & the
first thing I want to emphasize is that, if we mean this, we can’t
say that the material universe means the sum of all such things,
because there may be parts of such things which don’t belong to
the physical universe at all.
This is a point which I’m afraid some philosophers might deny,
but which seems to me quite clear, & a point that certainly should
be considered in philosophy.
Why I say it is this.
When we talk of the material universe, I think it’s quite plain
we always really mean this material universe: the material universe,
for instance, to which the sun & the earth belong. And this
material universe does not include necessarily all material things,
 WHAT IS MEANT BY “ N A T U R E ” ? 5
but only those which have or had or will have a certain positive
real relation—not merely a relation in respect of resemblance—to
the sun, or any other object belonging to it which we pick out.
You may say the material universe is a unity constituted by the
fact that not merely all the things within it are of a certain sort,
but that there’s a certain real relation which holds between any 2
of them.
Now there may be, so far as I can see, ever so many continuants
which resemble physical continuants, & are in that sense physical
continuants, & yet haven’t got this relation to the sun say. I think
we certainly don’t know that there are any; but it is logically
possible that there should be; & to say this is to say that we can’t
define the material universe simply as the sum of all physical
things & events; but only as the sum of all those which have a
certain relation to this physical event. This is one reason why
Nature certainly isn’t identical with the whole Universe.
Try to consider what actually happens when you think of Nature.
By “ Nature” , then, I think, we mean: All the entities which
have a certain property.
But what property?
I feel great hesitation as to what I’m going to say; for it’s
certainly not easy to see for certain: but I can’t help thinking that
something like what I ’m going to say is true, & that it contains
very important points.
It seems to me that the connotation of the word Nature is
almost certainly different nearly every time we use the word:
though the denotation is always the same: that is to say we are
referring to a class of things defined by an immense number of
different properties. The only question is then of saying what
sort of properties they are. One class of such properties is the
following.
What are we thinking of when we actually think of Nature?
I can’t help thinking that we all of us are always thinking of
some particular material thing or a number of them—a different
one on different occasions, but always some particular one or
group.
And here I mean by a material thing, a thing wh. is material in
the sense in which my body most certainly is so: there is such a
sense, what it is we shall be engaged in trying to define: but it
certainly includes 2 things (a) having shape & size in 3 dimensions,
6 LECTURES ON P H I L O S OP H Y

in the sense in which my body has—a sense with wh. we are all
familiar, though the analysis of it is difficult & (b) continuing to
exist for a certain time, in the sense in which my body has done
so.
Starting from this, part at least of what we mean by Nature is,
I think, this thing together with all those wh. have the property
of being related to it in both the following ways:
(a) are similar to it in the z respects mentioned
(b) are also positively related to it in this respect: that they
either have been or will be, or both have been and will be, at
every moment of their existence, in the same space in which it is
or was.
The first point I want to insist on is that both these things are
necessary in order that a material thing may form part of the
material Universe or of Nature.
So far as I can see, there may be things wh. fulfil the first
without the second; & in that case they would not be parts of the
material Universe or Nature.
What I’m insisting on is that Nature does not mean merely
all those things wh. have a certain intrinsic property: but all those
things wh., besides this, stand in a certain relation to this thing.
Try to think of what you mean by all the things that are now
parts of Nature, or parts of the Material Universe.
This is, of course, only a part, because things that have been &
have ceased to exist, & things that will be (if any will be) will also
be parts of nature.
Well, one natural way of thinking of it, is, I think, certainly this.
We start from certain things we are perceiving, things in this
room, our own bodies & their parts, this desk & so on, these are
quite certainly part of Nature now: not mere sense-data: whether
these are or are not included in Nature, is to be left over.
But this does not constitute the whole of Nature now: we know
that there are, or may be, other things which are also parts of
Nature now: we know that is, of certain properties, that if there
are any things wh. have those properties they also are parts of
Nature now.
What properties?
These at least: Things wh. resemble our bodies etc. in this
respect at least, that they have size & shape in 3 dimensions, in the
familiar sense, whatever it is, in which our bodies have
 WHAT IS MEANT BY “ N AT U R E ” ? 7
& also have one or other of three important relations to things
we are perceiving:
are either parts of, or in contact with, or at some distance from
them.
Part at least of what we mean by Nature now is “ Those things
& all those things that satisfy the 2 conditions (a) that they’re
extended in 3 dimensions (b) that they are in the same Space with
these.”
This may not be a//, but it is part.
But now, for the past & future.
We don’t necessarily include in Nature all the things wh. have
been or will be, which are extended in 3 dimensions.
It’s only those among them wh. fulfil a condition analagous to
(b) —have been or will be in the same Space with these.
And the trouble is that to say that A was in the same space in
which B is, can’t have the same meaning as is in the same space
in wh. B is.

I said when we think of Nature on any occasion, we have

vaguely in our minds a certain property, & what we mean is:
“ all the entities which possess this property” .
I said it’s a different property on each different occasion, but
the different properties all have the same extension.
And then I went on to try to describe what sort of properties
they were, by giving an instance of one of the sort.
But I didn’t complete this.
I said starting from anything wh. I am now perceiving in the
sense in which I ’m perceiving my hand, the blackboard, that
clock, part of what I mean by Nature may be:
This thing, together with all that fulfil the 2 conditions
(a) that they have size & shape in 3 dimensions in the same sense
in wh. this has it
(b) that they are all of them in the same Space with it = either
parts of it or in contact with it or at some distance from it— again,
in certain defined senses ( = R).
<It’s possible, as far as I can see, that there may be things
existing now, which satisfy (a) but not (b). If so, they are certainly
not parts of Nature.)
But obviously this isn’t all we mean, since things that have
ceased to exist, or wh. don’t yet exist, did belong to Nature.
8 LECTURES ON P H I L O S O P HY

And such things simply haven’t got now to any of the things
I’m perceiving now relation (b).
What they do have to those is some relation wh. can be ex­
pressed by saying that they were in the same space in which these
are.
Now the analysis of this I don’t pretend to give, but I said I
thought I could give a criterion = something which is true of
all those things & those things only which were at any time in the
same Space in wh. these are now.
(1) All those things which exist now as parts of Nature & also
existed in the past, were at every moment of this past existence
in the same Space in which they now are.
(2) All those things which had at any time to one of these the
relation R were in the same Space in which these are now.
This includes a very great deal; since e.g. the earth & sun &
moon & stars exist now & have existed for a very long time in the
past: & every extended thing which has at any time had R to
any of these is then included in Nature.
(3) But even this is not enough: for Nature may have existed
(& that it may is enough) before any of the things wh. exist now
did exist, & may continue to exist in the future after they have
ceased. What do we mean by this supposition?
I think the case may be met by taking instead of R, R# \
But even this is not enough: this only gives us things in Nature;
events are also certainly in Nature, & this forms part of our
conception.
But how are we to define natural or physical events?
I think we can define them as (1) events which have happened,
are happening, or will happen to natural things or which hap­
pened where certain physical things were (I’m inclined to think,
in opposition to Whitehead, that to say they happened somewhere
in physical space is to say something wh. is to be defined in terms
of this), & (2) events wh. are not mental events, i.e. not of a kind
such that any event of that kind must be an experience.

If you ask for a property which belongs to all physical things

(in wide sense) belonging to Nature which exist now & only to
those, the following will, I think, do: namely this desk together
1 [R , = the ancestral of R. Cf. Principia Mathematica, vol. I, 2nd ed.,
pp. 543 ff.]
 WHAT IS MEANT BY “ N A T UR E ” ? 9
with all other things that are either parts of it or in contact with
it or at some distance or other from it. (We ought perhaps to add
“ or share with it a common part” & “ of which it is a part” :
since I ’m afraid I’m wanting to use “ thing” in a sense in which
this desk together with the atmosphere in this room make “ one
thing” ; & therefore also any part of the desk, together with any
part of the atmosphere that is in contact with it. It’s only if you
do say this, you’ll be able to say that any drop of water in a
glassful of water is one thing.)
Call this relation “ U ” . U is a relation wh. 2 things can have to
one another only if they exist at the same time.
I say among physical things wh. exist now, it’s only those which
have U to this desk that belong to Nature. But it seems to me
clearly conceivable logically that there may be any number of
physical things (in wider sense) wh. don't belong to Nature.
Perhaps I’m wrong here. Some philosophers would be inclined
to ask: Where can they be? The answer must be “ nowhere” , &
this it might be said is self-contradictory, since by def. they are
extended & must therefore be somewhere. But “ nowhere” means
nowhere in the space of nature, which is equivalent to not having
U now to this desk. And it seems to me perfectly conceivable
that there are whole worlds of physical things, existing now, that
haven’t got U to this desk.
But obviously there have belonged to Nature things wh.
neither have now nor ever have had in the past U to this desk—
things wh. existed before it existed; & it certainly may be the case
that there will be such in the future. What is meant by saying of
such a physical thing that it has belonged or will belong to Nature?
It neither has nor ever has had nor will have U to this desk;
& there may be things which neither have, have had, nor will have
U to anything which exists now.
By “ has been” when I use it now I mean what has been
previously to the present time; yesterday I meant previously to
the then present time; tomorrow (if I exist tomorrow) I shall
mean past relatively to the then present time.
It might be thought this could be avoided by taking a particular
date e.g. noon on Oct. 14 ,1923, & defining Nature as all the mater­
ial things & physical events wh. are (in a non-temporal sense)
either present or past relatively to or future relatively to that date.
In fact, however, I feel doubtful whether there is any such
10 LECTURES ON P HI L O S OP HY

non-temporal sense of are—whether in fact “ has been” is analy-

sable in terms of is (non-temporally) at a time previous to this
time: & not rather “ is” in any non-temporal sense into “ either
has been, is, or will be” . And even if it can be done, we don’t do it:
we always do know of any date we take whether it is past, present
or future, & speak of it as such.
And even if it is we certainly shouldn’t get over the difficulty
of having many different connotations for Nature, since it’s quite
certain that by no means every time we use it are we referring to
the same date.
And it’s quite certain we don't mean by Nature all things that
have (non-temporally) a certain property which doesn’t refer to
any date.

The Natural Sciences do raise & answer (rightly or wrongly)

all sorts of questions about Nature, & everybody is agreed that
many of these questions, at all events, are not questions of the
kind we now call philosophical, although many that are not of
this kind used to be so called when Natural Philosophy was used
in the same sense in wh. [“ science” is now used].
Thus, to give illustrations wh. it’s important to bear in mind:
The question of the age of the earth, how long it has existed,
whether as implied in the Bible only since about 4000 B.C., or
for longer, & how much longer, is certainly not a philosophical
question: it’s no part of the business of philosophy to discuss
whether it’s true. Though with regard to another question, not
very easy to separate from it, viz. whether Nature has always
existed, I think it must be allowed that it is a philosophical
question.
Similarly everybody would agree with Wittgenstein, 4 .112 2 1,
that Darwin’s Theory of the Origin of Species, including man,
has nothing more to do with philosophy than any other hypothesis
of Natural Science: & that whatever it may have to do with it, it’s
not the business of philosophy to discuss whether it’s true or not.
I ’ve taken these because they’re historical questions about
Nature, dealt with by the Natural Sciences; too often people
forget that such questions belong to the Sciences as well as
generalizations like the Law of Gravitation.

1 [L. Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (London, 1922).]

 WHAT IS MEANT BY “ N A T U R E ” ? II

Whether Newton’s Law of Gravitation or Einstein’s is more

nearly correct is again not a philosophical question.
What questions are philosophical?
It’s quite clear that the question I’ve discussed about whether
the word “ Nature” has a connotation, & if so what it is, is a
philosophical question: nobody but a philosopher would discuss
it: but it isn’t about Nature, but about the word Nature, or about
a certain concept.
I’m going to distinguish 5 questions, wh. must I think be
allowed to be philosophical questions about Nature, & wh. seem
to me the most important in the sense that they have been most
discussed in philosophy.
I ’ll formulate them as follows:—
(1) Is Nature Real? or is it an appearance, an illusion?
(2) Do we know that Nature is real?
(3) If we do, how do we know that Nature is real?
(4) What is the analysis of the concepts that occur in the con­
notation of “ Nature” ?
(5) Is Nature, in any sense, dependent on “ mind” ?
 II
ARE M A T E R I A L T H I N G S REAL?

Is Nature real? or is it a mere appearance or illusion?

I don’t intend to discuss this question fully now; some of the
detailed questions which require to be gone into for a full dis­
cussion will, I think, come better later; but I ’ll try to indicate now
what these are, & I think it’s desirable now at once to try to give
a general idea of what the points are which do arise.
First of all, some of you may think this is a very queer question
to raise. It may seem to you that there’s no doubt whatever that
Nature is real; & that it’s not worth while discussing the view
that it isn’t; that that view is purely fantastic & absurd. And I’m
bound to say I agree as to the first & last point: I do think there’s
no doubt whatever that Nature is real, & I ’m afraid I don’t really
understand how anybody could have come to think that it isn’t.
But this calls for an explanation: I think I can understand how
people should have come to doubt whether it is real; though not
how they should have come to think it isn’t. By thinking that it
isn’t, I mean something much more than merely doubting whether
it is: I mean, what I think we all do mean, thinking that it’s really
more likely than not that it isn’t or even that it’s certain that it
isn’t. A person who doubts whether it is, may quite well think,
though he doubts, that it probably is—i.e. that it’s more likely
than not; that is to say, he will believe that Nature is real, but
will only think we don’t know for certain that it is. That is to say,
his view will be a negative answer to my second question, not to
my first: he will be a believer in the reality of Nature, but one
who holds that it’s not one of the things we know to be true.
This difference of attitude, I think, does really exist & is impor­
tant; & that’s why I distinguished my first & second questions.
And I think I can understand how people should have come to
have this attitude of doubt; but I ’m afraid I don’t really under­
stand how anybody should have come to think it’s really more
likely than not or certain that Nature is an illusion: the view does
seem to me absurd & fantastic. That is to say, I ’m afraid I shall
be an unsympathetic critic of such views.
But though I think the view absurd & fantastic, I do think it’s
12
 ARE MATERIAL T H I N G S REAL? 13
worth while discussing it, & trying to see what there is to be said
for & against it; because it seems to me that some of the ablest
philosophers have really held it, or, in other cases, have held
views which implied it, if not it itself. And it seems to me part of
the business of Metaphysics to try to face such views. I shall,
I ’m afraid, do it badly, because I’m an unsympathetic critic,
because I do really think the view simply absurd: but at least I
can try to explain why I think so.
But now in all this, I’ve been assuming that the view that Nature
is not real has really been held not merely by madmen but by able
philosophers, or at least views which imply it. But is that really
the case? I think some people would be inclined to doubt whether
it is: I think they would be inclined to think that I’ve merely
misunderstood the views of those philosophers to whom I should
attribute this view—that in attacking this view, I’m merely
attacking a man of straw; & that the view which I mean by the
view that Nature is real is a view which nobody has ever doubted
or disputed. And that sort of misunderstanding is undoubtedly
possible in philosophy: philosophers do express their views so
obscurely, often using such a technical jargon, that it’s very
possible to think they mean one thing when after all they mean
another. But nevertheless in this particular case, I can’t help
thinking that I am right.
Now, on the def. I gave of Nature, Nature can’t be real, unless
physical things are real. If I was right in saying that it is quite
conceivable that there are physical things which don’t form part
of nature, then the prop, that there are real physical things is
by no means equivalent to the prop, that Nature is real: on the
contrary there might be real physical things, & yet Nature might
not be real. In order to prove that Nature is real, it is not sufficient
to prove that there are physical things: you have also to prove
2 other things; viz. that there are also physical events: & also
that there are both physical things & physical events which form
part of a system of physical things & events to which this desk,
or some other thing or event which belongs to the same system
to which this desk belongs, belongs. You will see that this last con­
dition is one which involves rather complicated logical puzzles to
think out. But though, in order to prove that Nature is real, you’d
have to prove all this; in order to prove that Nature is not, it
would be sufficient to prove that there are no real physical things.
H LECTURES ON P H I L O S OP H Y

For if there aren’t, what we mean by Nature certainly isn’t real;

though, even if there are, it might well be that Nature isn’t.
And one reason why I think some philosophers have denied or
implied denial of reality of Nature is because I think they’ve
really held that physical things aren’t real.
Let’s consider then this prop.: that physical things are real—
that there really are real physical things.
Some philosophers certainly seem to have denied it—to have
held that it’s most likely or even certainly untrue. But have they,
perhaps, not meant by these words what I mean by them? I think
that the prop, that physical things aren’t real—that there aren’t
really any real physical things is purely fantastic & absurd. But
possibly all the philosophers who seem to have held it have
meant something different, which isn’t.
Now I think there’s no doubt some have. One has to admit
that the words “ Physical or material things are real” are am­
biguous, & that in 2 respects: different people mean different
things by “ material things” & different things by “ real” .
Let me first try to say how I understand them, when I say the
prop, that they aren’t real is absurd.
(1) How I use “ material thing” or “ physical thing” . I think
I can give a very clear definition—a definition much clearer
than philosophers generally give; but, as you’ll see when I give
it, it’s a queer sort of definition, & unsatisfactory in some
ways.
It’s a def. by examples: i.e. all I can tell you is that I use
“ material thing” in such a sense that if there are any chairs, or
desks, or blackboards, or planets, or human bodies etc. etc., then
there certainly are material things.
It seems to me that there certainly is one proper use of the
terms “ material thing” , “ physical object” etc. which is such that
a person who says “ there are human bodies, but there are no
material things” is contradicting himself, just as would be a
person who said “ There are things which are red, but there are
no things which are coloured” or who said “ There are grey­
hounds, but there are no dogs” . It seems to me that if a person
tells you “ Material things aren’t real” , you would naturally
understand him to imply that this book, this hand, this piece of
paper aren’t real; & would have a right to accuse him of misusing
language if he didn’t mean something which implies this.
 ARE MATERIAL T HI N GS REAL? *5
And to say as much as this, does seem to me to be saying
something very clear & definite.
Why it’s unsatisfactory is for 3 reasons:
(1) it doesn’t enable you to settle definitely, with regard to
certain kinds of things that can be mentioned, whether they are
material things in the required sense or not: e.g. is a rainbow a
material thing; is an electron a material thing?
(2) it’s possible that there are several different senses of “ material
things” wh. satisfy the given condition, & it doesn’t tell you which
of them is meant: e.g. it’s possible there’s one sense in wh. both
a rainbow & all the things I’ve mentioned are & another in which
they are but a rainbow isn’t.
(3) it doesn’t mention any property wh. is both necessary &
sufficient for being a material thing: it tells you that to be a
human body is sufficient, but of course that isn’t necessary.
I’m presently going on to enquire under my fourth question
what it is that’s common to all these different kinds of things,
which makes us call them “ material” : it’s of course a very difficult
job.
But for the present it seems to me my def., in spite of its defects,
is sufficient & very clear: for it enables us to know that the sense
of “ Material things are not real” with which we’re concerned is
one which does involve that human bodies, desks, blackboards
etc. aren’t, & hosts of other things, with regard to which, though
I ’ve only given examples, you will have no doubt.
This being how I use “ material thing” , do philosophers ever
perhaps use it in a different sense, a sense in which the denial
that material things are “ real” does not entail that my body is
not real?
I think some certainly do. There are, I think, 2 other uses,
sometimes adopted, such that “ There are no material things”
does not entail “ There are no human bodies” .
(a) May be illustrated by reference to Berkeley. B. is commonly
held to have denied the reality of matter; and so, in a sense, he
does. But if you read him carefully you will find he does not deny
the reality of human bodies, & clouds, & mountains & loaves of
bread. On the contrary he insists he holds such things are real.
He is careful to say that what he denies is only matter in the
philosophical sense. By saying so, he of course implies that some
philosophers have used matter in such a sense that to deny
i6 LECTURES ON P H I L O S O P HY

matter does not involve denying loaves of bread. And I think

he’s right that they have. And in trying to define what the sense
is, he mentions one characteristic which is, I think, often in­
cluded—that of being independent of perception. This is, of
course, an ambiguous phrase. But if you do include it in your
def., then you are using “ material thing” in a different sense.
It may possibly be true, as B. would have said, that this desk is not
independent of perception.
<“ This is a desk but is not independent of perception” is not
self-contradictory but “ This is a desk but is not a material thing”
is.)
From the prop, that there are no extended things that are
independent of perception, it certainly does not follow logically
that there are no blackboards. Of course, I believe myself that
blackboards are independent of perception. But I am not using
“ material thing” in such a sense that, if they’re not, then they’re
not material things. I think myself that such a usage is absurd &
unjustifiable. It seems to me a separate question whether material
things are real, & whether they’re independent of perception:
that’s why I distinguished (i) & (5). But the questions wouldn’t
be separate if we included in the meaning of material things,
independent of perception.
This is one meaning of “ material things” such that “ There
are no material things” does not entail “ There are no black­
boards” : & therefore a different one from mine.
(b) Another, wh. I think occurs, I will illustrate in this way.
There are some philosophers who seem to hold, I will cite
Leibniz & James Ward, who seem to hold that blackboards &
human bodies are really collections of conscious beings—monads.
And there are some who use “ material thing” in such a way, that,
if a blackboard is such a collection, then they would say it isn’t a
material thing. They include in the def. of “ material things”
“ not dependent upon mind” in a sense in wh. if a blackboard
was a colony of monads it would be dependent upon mind. This
again is a quite different usage from mine. I don’t use “ material
thing” in such a sense that in saying that a blackboard is a material
thing I ’m saying that it’s not a colony of monads. Of course,
I think it isn’t: the view that it is seems to me fantastic & absurd.
But not nearly so fantastic & absurd as the view that there are no
material things in my sense.
 ARE MATERIAL T H I N G S REAL? 17
I say: That is a blackboard, does entail “ that’s a material
thing” but does not entail “ that’s independent of perception” or
“ that’s not a colony of monads” .
I say my sense is the right one, & the others are wrong &
improper senses; but even if they’re right, they’re certainly
different.
Possibly there are other senses in which “ material thing” may
be used such that the denial of the reality of “ material things”
would not involve the denial of this blackboard.
But I’ve said that I’m only concerned with a use in wh. it does.

We are considering the expressions “ Material things are real”

& “ Material things are not real” ; and I said that different philo­
sophers may possibly use these expressions to convey very different
props., & that for 2 different reasons: (1) bee. they use “ material
things” in different senses, (2) because they use “ are real” in
different senses.
I pointed out last time what seems to me to be the chief
different senses in which “ material things” is used: they can be
summed up briefly as follows.
(1) Senses such that from “ There are human bodies” by itself
there follows “ There are material things” : i.e. such that the prop.
“ There are human bodies, but there are no material things” is
self-contradictory.
I intend to use “ material things” exclusively in this kind of
sense. I feel quite sure I am right in saying that that is one proper
usage.
But it’s worth noting that this assumes there is no corresponding
ambiguity in “ There are human bodies” . I think there isn’t.
But it’s worth noticing that, as Russell has pointed out, “ human
bodies” is, in a sense, a vague term.1 Suppose that Darwin’s view
of the descent of man is true. Then there will in the past have
been among the ancestors of man creatures with regard to which
it would be impossible to say with certainty whether their bodies
were human bodies or not. If you go far enough back, there will
be creatures of whom you can say with certainty that their bodies
are not human bodies—that they aren’t men; & we can say with
certainty that ours are. But at some point in our ancestry there
1 [B. Russell, “ On Vagueness” . The Australasian Journal of Psychology and
Philosophy, vol. I, 1923.]
i8 LECTURES ON P HI L O S O P HY

will have been hosts of creatures—if the transition was gradual,

as Darwin supposes—with regard to which you couldn’t say
whether they are or not: R. says, not only you can’t say, but they
neither are nor aren’t: the Law of Excluded Middle doesn’t
hold for such terms. And the same can be shewn by considering
the development of each human body. The ovum can hardly be
said to be a human body; at what point in the development of the
embryo does it become one? It seems impossible to draw a clear
line. And so, if you consider what happens to the body after
death. A skeleton is not a human body; but at what point in the
process of decay by which a corpse is reduced to a skeleton, does
the corpse cease to be a human body? This kind of consideration
is, I think, undoubtedly of great philosophical importance, if
only one knew what to make of it: something very important
about the nature of concepts & the laws of logic does follow from
it. But I must confess I ’m wholly unable to see what follows.
Why I’ve mentioned it now is because, in spite of it, my way
of defining “ material things” by reference to human bodies, &
other kinds of things with regard to all of wh. the same sort of
difficulty occurs, does seem to me really clear, with the sort of
clearness that is wanted in philosophy. There isn’t any ambiguity
about the term “ human body” , in the sense in which there is
about “ material thing” or “ physical object” ; although what I’ve
just said shews that in a sense there is an ambiguity. I don’t
need to try to define to you what’s meant by a “ human body” , as
Broad tries to define what’s meant by a physical object. It isn’t
true that philosophers have ever used the term “ human body” in
different senses.
(2) Senses such that from “ There are human bodies” alone
“ There are material things” won’t follow; but such that from
“ There are human bodies which are independent of perception” ,
it will follow.
In saying that there are such senses I am, of course, assuming,
what is perhaps disputable, that from “ This is a human body”
there does not follow “ This is independent of perception” : that
is to say that the prop. “ This is a human body, but is not inde­
pendent of perception” , is not self-contradictory.
<So far as I can see, with regard to all meanings of “ independent
of perception” , this is true.)
(3) Senses such that from “ There are human bodies” alone
 ARE MATERIAL T HI N GS REAL? *9
“ There are material things” won’t follow; but such that from
“ There are human bodies which are not systems of monads” it
will.
Here again, it may be held that “ This is a human body, and is
also a system of monads” is a self-contradictory prop. I don’t
think it is. But if it is then I ’m wrong in supposing that there is
such a sense as this.
(4) We ought perhaps also to add: senses such that “ There
are material things” will only follow from “ There are human
bodies which are neither dependent on perception nor systems
of monads” .
But now let’s turn to different uses of “ real” . This is a fright­
fully difficult subject.
 Ill
“ R E A L ” AND “ I M A G I N A R Y ”

What different things may philosophers have meant by denying

the reality of matter (assuming we understand what they mean
by “ matter” ) i.e. by “ material objects aren’t real” ?
According to me, one thing they have meant is simply: There
are no material objects.
And this is the meaning which seems to me absurd & fantastic.
But is it clear what this means?
I think it is. Its contradictory is: There are material objects.
But there are, of course, difficulties about its meaning which I
will raise later.
But some people would be inclined to argue that “ material
objects aren’t real” carCt ever properly mean “ There are no
material objects” , for the following reasons.
(i) They might say
“ Material objects aren’t real” is of the same form as “ Lions
aren’t blue” .
And that, if we examine “ Lions aren’t blue” , we find it means
“ There are lions, & no lion is blue” .
Similarly, then, “ Material objects aren’t real” must mean
“ There are material objects, but no material object is real” .
And obviously, so far from being identical with “ There are
no material objects” , this is incompatible with it.
They maintain, therefore, that any proper sense of “ real” must
be such that “ Material objects aren’t real” is quite compatible
with “ There are material objects” :
there is no sense of “ real” such that “ Material objects aren’t
real” = There are no material objects.
This kind of argument has I think really been influential in
leading people to suppose that there must be some sense of “ real”
such that “ Material objects aren’t real” is quite compatible with
“ There are material objects” . This, I think, may partly serve to
explain why Bradley insists that appearances are & exist & yet
aren’t real. You see, it presents an argument for the view that in
order not to be real, a thing must at least be: there must be lions,
20
 “ real” and “ im ag in ar y” 21

if it’s to be true that they’re not blue. Similarly it might seem that
in order not to be real, a thing must at least be.
Now as to this argument, I fully admit that there are senses of
“ real” such that “ Material objects aren’t real” is compatible
with There are material objects. But what I want to insist on is
that there is a sense in which it’s not: & why I’ve used this
argument is because it brings out that to say so involves saying
that “ Material objects aren’t real” is not of the same form as
“ Lions are not blue” . For I do think that “ Lions are not blue”
does = “ There are lions & no lion is blue” .
In support of my contention consider what is meant by:
Unicorns aren’t real; griffins aren’t real; dragons aren’t real.
It’s quite clear, I think, that in asserting these things we aren’t
asserting “ There are unicorns” , “ There are griffins” , etc.
But
(2) some people might use another argument in favour of the
view that “ material objects aren’t real” can’t possibly be properly
used = “ There are no material objects” .
They might say:
Unicorns & dragons are imaginary material objects; & since
they are, it follows that there really are imaginary things.
But if there’s a sense of “ real” such that “ There are material
objects” = “ Material objects are real” , then it follows that in
that sense “ There are imaginary material objects” must = “ Im­
aginary material objects are real” . But there’s certainly no sense
whatever of “ real” in which imaginary material objects are “ real” .
(Some philosophers have drawn just the opposite conclusion
that there is a sense in which imaginary things are real.)
Or, put it in another way: if “ Material objects aren’t real”
= There are no material objects; then “ Imaginary material
objects aren’t real” should mean “ There are no imaginary material
objects” : but it certainly doesn’t, in any sense, because “ There are
no imaginary material objects” is false, whereas the other is true.
I think this argument is really puzzling, & I want to try to
say how I shall meet it.
I think the expression “ There are imaginary material objects”
is true, in a sense, & I also agree that there’s no sense whatever
in which imaginary material objects are real: and I can, therefore,
only meet the argument by saying that the way in wh. “ There are”
is used in “ There are imaginary material objects” , where this
22 LECTURES ON P HI L O S OP HY

expresses something true, is different from the way in wh. it’s

used in “ There are material objects” : & this seems inconsistent
with my maintaining that the latter is unambiguous.
I want to maintain, of course, that though, in one sense, “ There
are imaginary material objects” is true, in another it is false:
thatthoughin one sense “ There are no imaginary material objects”
is false, in another it is true. What’s the difference between the
2 senses?
The argument used to prove “ There are imaginary material
objects” was “ Unicorns are so” , therefore there must be; & I
think it’s true that unicorns are, & also that in a sense this does
prove it. We ought to be able to discover the sense by considering
in what sense it’s true that “ Unicorns are imaginary material
objects” .
Now it’s quite plain that this is not like “ Lions are mammals”
where that has existential import: we’re not asserting both
“ There are unicorns” & “ There’s nothing which is a unicorn &
isn’t imaginary” .
What it seems to me it does mean is this:
“ If anything were a unicorn it would be a material thing, but
there are no unicorns (where one includes never have been &
never will be)” .
I f there are, or ever have been or will be, any unicorns, then
unicorns are not imaginary.
But in what sense does this conjunction justify the prop, that
there are imaginary physical things?
It justifies the prop.: There are properties such that both (a) any­
thing which had them would be a material thing & (b) nothing has
them.
This, then, is the interpretation I offer of “ There are imaginary
material things” in the sense in which it’s true.
The sense in which it’s false is that in which it would
mean:
“ There are things which are both material things & imaginary” ,
i.e. if it were like “ There are vertebrate animals” .
Our problem is to find senses of “ real” such that the prop.
“ Material things are not real” is compatible with “ There are
material things” .
I’ve so far given only one sense of “ real” & that is such that
“ Material things are not real” is incompatible with “ There are
 “ real” and “ im ag in ar y” 23
material things” , since it is such that Material things are not
real — There are no material things.
And it’s to be noticed that with this sense of “ real” , “ Material
things are not real” does not mean “ A ll material things are not
real” <nor yet Some material things are not real): on the contrary,
it’s a sense of “ real” such that in the expression “ A ll material
things are not real” , “ real” couldn’t possibly be being used in this
sense; we can say it’s a sense of “ real” such that, for that sense,
“ All material things are not real” is meaningless.
For consider. A prop, of the form “ All material things are not
real” is, as is well known, capable of 2 interpretations—the one
with existential import & the one without.
The one without is “ There’s nothing which is both a material
thing & real” .
The one with is “ There are material things, & there’s nothing
which is both a material thing & real” .
But the sense of “ real” we’ve given is such that “ Material
things are not real” = There’s nothing which is a material thing.
And obviously “ There’s nothing which is a material thing”
can’t mean the same as “ There’s nothing which is both a material
thing & real” , since this does not entail “ There’s nothing which
is a material thing” .
This is another way of bringing out that with this sense of
“ real” , “ real” doesn’t stand for any conception since: “ There’s
nothing which is both a material thing & real” can have a meaning
only if “ real” does stand for a conception.
And still more obviously it can’t mean the one with existential
import; & this also would be meaningless with this sense of
“ real” .
And similarly the sense is one with which “ A ll material things
are real” will have no meaning.
For this will mean either “ There’s nothing which is both a
material thing & not real”
or “ There are material things & there’s nothing which is both
a material thing & not real” .
And with our sense of “ real” you can’t get any meaning for
“ There’s nothing which is not real” .
If, therefore, there is any sense of “ real” in which “ A ll material
things are not real” has a meaning (whether true or false), it must
be different from this,
c
24 LECTURES ON P HI L O S OP HY

And now consider the following argument to prove that there

is such a sense & to point out what it is.
The use of “ rear’ we’ve so far considered is one in which it
occurs in general props, like “ Unicorns are not real” , “ Lions are
real” .
The use which this argument appeals to is one in which it occurs
in singular props, like “ The unicorn in Alice Through the Looking
Glass was not real” , “ The centaur Chiron was not real” , “ Caliban
was not real” , “ Mr. Pecksniff wasn’t real” , “ Henry V III was real” .
It seems to me it’s most important to consider these separately.
Aladdin’s lamp was a material thing, & Aladdin’s lamp was
not real
There is at least one thing which is both a material thing &
not real.
But if this has a meaning, so will “ There is nothing which is
both a material thing & real” .
Therefore, this is a sense of “ real” different from the one hitherto
considered; & such also that “ No material things are real” is
compatible with “ There are material things” ; since the former
asserts merely “ There’s nothing which is both a material thing &
real” & this is quite compatible with “ There is something which
is a material thing” .
How are you to meet this argument? It may seem to you a
mere quibble; & so I think it is; but I’m afraid some philosophers
are inclined to take it very seriously.
Both the premisses are true, in a sense.
But the sense is not such that there follows “ There is at least
one thing wh. is both material & not real” .
From “ Aladdin’s lamp was a material thing” in the sense in
which it’s true there does not follow “ There is at least one material
thing” since it only means “ Aladdin’s lamp, if it had existed,
would have been a material thing” .
That is to say, when we say “ There are material things”
= Some props, of the form “ This is a material thing” are true,
we don’t mean to include props, like “ Aladdin’s lamp was a
material thing” , in the sense in which it’s true, but only props,
like “ This desk is a material thing” , where the meaning is different,
or St. Paul’s cathedral is a material thing.
What is the difference?
When we say “ Aladdin’s lamp was a material thing” we are I
 “ real” and “ im ag inary” 25
think undoubtedly referring to a certain property, & are saying:
If anything had had this property, it would have been a material
thing. (It’s very difficult to say what property.) And obviously this
doesn’t imply that there is anything wh. has the property, nor
therefore that there is any material thing. When I say “ This desk
is a material thing” I am again referring to a certain property
but I am also asserting that there is something wh. has it.
Surely it is obvious that when you say “ Aladdin’s lamp was a
material thing” you’re not asserting that there ever was such a
thing as Aladdin’s lamp? any more than when you assert that
Unicorns are material things, you’re asserting that there are
unicorns.
For this reason this argument doesn’t prove that the sense in
which “ real” occurs in “ Aladdin’s lamp was not real” , is a sense
such that in that sense “ There are things which are both material
& not real” has a meaning: still less that it’s a sense such that
“ All material things are unreal” both has a meaning & is compatible
with There are material things.
Yet I’m afraid it’s an argument which does appeal to some
people.
It can be put in another form as follows:
Aladdin’s lamp is an imaginary material thing: there are
imaginary material things: but there are imaginary material things
entails there are material things: & if so, “ All material things are
imaginary” must be compatible with “ There are material things” .
The mistake is in supposing that “ There are imaginary material
things” , in the sense in which it is true, entails “ There are material
things” : it doesn’t: it would only do so, if it meant “ There are
things which are both material & imaginary” , which is meaning­
less with that sense of imaginary wh. occurs in “ Aladdin’s lamp
is imaginary” .
There are imaginary material things = There are properties,
which belong to nothing, & which are such that, if they belonged
to anything, then they would be material.
I’m afraid, however, some people would still persist that in
some sense or other there certainly is such a thing as Aladdin’s
lamp.
They would say: There must be, because it’s just one par­
ticular, identifiable imaginary thing: you & I & crowds of other
people can all think of just that particular imaginary thing, just
26 LECTURES ON P HI L O S O P HY

as we can of Caliban & Ariel & Mr. Pecksniff. What on earth can
be meant by saying that we all now are just thinking of Aladdin’s
lamp—that it is an object to all of us, if there is no such thing?
Of course it’s unreal, but it has being, & it is material: & hence
from the fact that it is material, it does really follow that there is
at least one material thing.
The point here is a different one from the one I raise explicitly
in Phil. Studies, p. 2 1 7 1, when I try to explain what must be true
of me, if it’s to be true of me at a particular time that I am thinking
of a unicorn. What I say there is true so far as it goes: particularly
of course the fundamental point that “ S is thinking of a unicorn”
does not mean There is something of wh. it’s true both that it is a
unicorn & that S is thinking of it: it’s not true that the fact that S
is thinking of a unicorn proves that there is at least one unicorn:
as, if it were true that I was shooting a unicorn, it would be true
that there was: S is shooting a unicorn does = There’s something
of which it’s true both that it is a unicorn & that S is shooting it.
It’s also true, I think, so far as it goes, that in order that it may be
true that I am thinking of a unicorn, I must (1) be thinking of
some property, such that, if anything had that property, it would
be a unicorn & (2) conceiving the hypothesis that there is some­
thing wh. has that property. But this though it’s necessary is
certainly not sufficient in order that it should be true that I am
thinking of a particular unicorn: for it is something wh. happens
when I am merely conceiving the hypothesis that there are unicorns,
wh. is not the same thing as thinking of a particular unicorn. But
I can do this. I can think of the unicorn in Alice Through the
Looking Glass: you & I can both think of the same particular
unicorn. What more am I doing? It is natural here to think of
Russell’s statement that “ Apollo” means “ the object having such
& such properties” 2, i.e. as he elsewhere puts it that it is “ a
definite description” : so that to conceive any hypothesis with
regard to Apollo, e.g. that he was brother of Artemis, is to conceive
with regard to some property or collection of properties, <f>9
“ There’s a thing which has </>, which alone has </>, & wh. is
brother of Artemis” . And this is actually offered by R. as an
explanation of how it can be true that Apollo isn’t real: he says

1 [G. E. Moore, Philosophical Studies (London, 1922).]

2 [A. N . Whitehead and B. Russell, Principia Mathematica, vol. I, 2nd ed.
(Cambridge, 1925), p. 3 1 J
 “ real” and “ im ag in ar y” 27
that Apollo doesn’t exist is of the form ^ E ! (?x)(<£x). It would
seem to follow that in his view, whenever I think of a particular
imaginary thing, I must be conceiving with regard to some property
which in fact belongs to nothing, not merely that it does belong
to something, but that it belongs only to one thing. Thus in order to
be thinking of the unicorn in Alice Through the Looking Glass,
1 must on his view, so far as I can see, be conceiving, with regard
to some property wh. belongs to nothing, that there’s a thing
which is the only thing which has it & which is also a unicorn.
Now I think this may be correct, though I very much doubt
whether it is. But it doesn’t explain how you & I can both be
thinking of the same imaginary thing. The explanation which he
gives of what happens when you & I both think of the same real
thing, is that I know with regard to a certain property <£, that it
belongs to one thing only, & you know with regard to another
property x that it belongs to one thing only; & we shall then be
thinking of the same thing if x & ^ do in fact both belong to the
same thing. Thus, e.g., you may think of Scott as the author of
Marmion & I as the author of Waverley, & we shall both be
thinking of the same person, because Scott is both the only
person who wrote Waverley & the only person who wrote Mar­
mion. R. insists strongly, & I think undoubtedly rightly, that if
we call the property which belongs to Scott only, by wh. I think
of him on a particular occasion, the description by wh. I think
of him, & that by which you think of him the description by which
you think of him, no 2 people ever think of the same real thing by
the same description. (Pp. 86-7).1 It’s convenient to use “ des­
cription” in this sense = McTaggart’s exclusive descr. It’s true
you & I may both think of Scott as the author of Marmion; but
even then we’re not really thinking of him by the same description:
for we both know Marmion only by d., & the d. by wh. I know it
is different from that by wh. you know it. But now, suppose that
when we think of particular imaginary things, we are, as he seems
to suggest, thinking with regard to some property that it belongs
to one thing only. There is no reason whatever to think that when
2 people both think of the same particular imaginary thing, the
property with regard to which they are thinking that it belongs
to only one thing is the same in each case. On the contrary there
are the same reasons for supposing they will always be different.
1 [B. Russell, The Problems of Philosophy (London, 1 9 1 2).]
28 LECTURES ON P HI L OS OP HY

I had begun discussing what it is that happens when 2 different

people both think of the same imaginary object: as does in fact
constantly happen, whenever 2 people think of any famous
fictitious thing or person, such as Aladdin’s lamp, or Ariel, or
Caliban, or Apollo, or the Centaur Chiron, or Mr. Pecksniff.
The reason for discussing this being that the fact that we can all
think of the same imaginary object may easily seem to be in­
consistent with the view which I want to take, & which seems to
me to be obviously true, that there are no imaginary objects.
If there is no such thing as Aladdin’s lamp, how can you & I
both think of it} This argument, I think, is probably one of those
which influence people who say There certainly is such a thing,
but it is unreal: or it’s a thing which has being, but not existence.
This view, which is a very common one, seems to me to be quite
certainly wrong; and I don’t think it’s possible to understand the
most important usages of the words “ real” & “ unreal” , until you
see that it is wrong & why it is wrong. But if you’re going to say
that it is wrong, you ought to be prepared to give some account
of what the sense is, in which, if it is wrong, 2 different people
can think of the same imaginary thing. I’ve never seen any such
account & I think it’s puzzling; but I think it’s a question that’s
eminently worth considering. I want what I say about it to be at
all events clear, whether it’s right or wrong.
I said that it’s natural to think of R.’s theory of descriptions as
giving some clue to the question: indeed he does actually offer
it as explaining how it is that we can truly say that Apollo is
unreal, when there is no such thing as Apollo. He even goes so
far as to say that “ Apollo is unreal” is a prop, of the form
~ E ! (ix)((f>x). (.Principia, vol. I, 2nd ed., 66 & 67.)
I’m going presently to give 2 separate & distinct reasons for
saying that this is a mistake: I think R. is making 2 mistakes in
saying it. But so far as I know, he has nowhere tried to explain
how you & I can both think of Apollo; & the first thing I want to
shew, is that even if he were right on the point just mentioned,
there are difficulties about this. And in order to bring this out it’s
necessary to compare what happens in this case with what happens
when you & I both think of the same real person, e.g. Julius
Caesar or Bismarck.
Now on this point R. does seem to me to have given a perfectly
satisfactory account. I think he’s the first person in the whole
 “ real” and “ im ag in ar y” 29
history of philosophy who has done so. His theory of descriptions
was perfectly new, & made clear for the first time things about
which everybody had gone wrong. Lots of people still don’t
understand it; but it seems to me eminently worth understanding.
I said last time that according to him, when you & I both think
of Julius Caesar, what happens is this. I have before my mind
some property or other, with regard to which I know that it
belongs to one thing & only to one thing, & of which also it is in
fact true that it’s a property which belonged to J.C. & to no one
else <though I don't know this). Let’s call the property which I
have before my mind </>—it might be that of having written the
De bello Gallico, or having been murdered in the Senate House
at Rome by Brutus or any of hosts of others—any property (it
might be a conjunction of properties) which did in fact belong to
J.C. & to no one else, would do. It’s convenient to call such
properties, as M cT. does, “ exclusive descriptions” : </> is an
exclusive descr. if & only if it is a property which belongs to one
thing & one thing only\ & it is an exclusive descr. of Julius Caesar,
if it belongs to J.C. & to no one else. Well, then, when you & I
both think of Julius C., I have before my mind some property
of which it’s true that (1) I know with regard to it that it belongs
to one thing & one thing only & (2) also true (though I don't
know this) that it does belong to J.C. & no one else. Call the
property, c/>. Then R. says that I am knowing to be true the prop.
E ! (?x)( cf>x)—that is merely his way of writing “ <f> belongs to
one thing & to one thing only” . He says that if (1) I know this with
regard to <£, (2) cf> does belong to J.C. & (3) I don't know that <f>
belongs to J.C., then “ I have merely descriptive knowledge of
J.C .” & he holds that in fact none of us ever does know of any
property that it belongs to J.C., i.e. that we all have merely descr.
knowledge of him. Well, then, when you & I both think of him,
I’m knowing with regard to 0 , E ! (?x)(<£x), & you’ll be knowing
with regard to some other property, x> which also is an exclusive
description of J.C. though you don’t know that, E ! (?x)(xx).
As I said last time, he insists, as I think with obvious truth, that
the exclusive d. with regard to which I know this, will always be
different from that with regard to which you know it. Even if we
both happen to be thinking of him as the author of the De bello
Gallico, the description will be different bee. we know this only
by description & by different ones. What, then, is the explanation
30 LECTURES ON P HI L OS O P HY

of what’s meant by saying that nevertheless we’re both thinking

of the same person? Simply that the exclusive descr. with regard
to which I ’m knowing that it belongs to only one thing does in
fact belong to the same thing as that with regard to wh. you know
this. I think this explanation is obviously right, & completely
satisfactory. The only queer thing about it is the assertion that
I don't know that J.C. was the author of the De bello Gallico: of
course in a sense I do, but the sense in wh. I do, is that of knowing
with regard to z different exclusive descrs. that they both belong
to the same thing & are both exclusive descriptions.
But now let’s ask what happens when we both think of Apollo.
Let’s suppose R. is right (I think he’s wrong) that we are each
conceiving with regard to some property the hypothesis that it
belongs to one thing only <i.e. are conceiving the hypothesis that
it is an exclusive descr.). If, as he & I are supposing, there is no
such thing as Apollo, the property with regard to which I conceive
this hypothesis won’t be an exclusive descr. of Apollo, bee. if
there’s no such thing as Apollo no property can belong to him at
all: of course it might possibly be an exclusive descr. of some­
thing else, but also quite possibly it may not be an exclusive
descr. of anything, nor even a descr. of anything: it is ex hypothesi
a property with regard to which I am conceiving the hypothesis
that it is an exclusive descr., but it doesn’t follow that it is in fact
an exclusive descr., nor that it belongs to anything at all, &
even if it does, ex hypothesi on our view of what’s meant by saying
that Apollo is imaginary, it won’t belong to him, because there’s
no such person for it to belong to. But though thus there’s no
reason whatever to say that you & I will both be conceiving with
regard to some exclusive descr. that it belongs to one thing only,
there’s just as much reason as before to suppose that the property
with regard to wh. I’m conceiving that it is an exclusive descr.
will be different from that with regard to wh. you are. If you & I
never think of Julius Caesar by the same exclusive descr., it’s
quite certain that the properties by wh. we think of Apollo won’t
be the same either. But if so, what on earth can be meant by
saying that nevertheless we’re both thinking of the same imaginary
object?
It can’t possibly be, as in the case of Julius Caesar, that they
both do belong to Apollo: bee., on our view that there’s no such
person as Apollo, nothing can belong to him. Obviously some
 “ real” and “ im ag in ar y” 31
other account must be given of what’s meant by saying that when
I conceive with regard to one property (f>, that it belongs to one
thing only, & you with regard to another, that it belongs to
one thing only, we are nevertheless thinking of the same imaginary
object. It must be because </> & x are somehow related; but how?
I think it may be partly because people have felt obscurely that
the relation must consist in their both being exclusive descrs. of
the same object, that they have felt that there must be such an
object as Apollo, though he isn’t real: they would say </> & x must
really be descriptions which apply to Apollo & Apollo only, else
it wouldn’t be Apollo we were both thinking of. I’ve seen the
objection put in this way. On your view, they say, Apollo, &
Aladdin’s lamp, & the Centaur Chiron, & Ariel are each of them
just nothing. But if each of them were just nothing, they would
all be the same. But they’re not the same, & therefore they must
have different properties. And obviously what requires to be
shewn to answer this is just what is meant by saying that when I
conceive of one property $ that it belongs to only one thing &
you of another x that it belongs to only one thing, we are never­
theless conceiving the same imaginary object. What kind of
relation must hold between <£ & in order that this may be so?
So soon as we see that this question remains to be answered,
even if we do say that I am in fact conceiving with regard to one
property <f> that it belongs to only one thing, & you with regard
to another that it belongs to only one thing, it becomes obvious,
I think, that the hypothesis that we are doing this doesn’t help
us at all. Why shouldn’t it be the case that we’re not? that we’re
not thinking with regard to any properties that they belong only
to one thing? We may equally well be able to give an account of
what relation between the properties it is wh. makes us say that
we’re both thinking of the same imaginary object, whether the
properties are properties with regard to wh. we are conceiving
that they belong to something, or whether we are conceiving that
they belong only to one thing. I don’t think, therefore, that there’s
any reason to accept R.’s suggestion that when we think of Apollo
we are thinking with regard to any property that it belongs only
to one thing: & I shall try to give positive reasons for thinking that
we’re not. And even if we were, I think he would still be mistaken
in saying that “ Apollo is a fiction” jis of the form ^ E ! (?x)(<£x),
for this reason. It seems to me quite plain that when we say these
32 LECTURES ON P HI L O S O P HY

things are fictions, what we are saying is, with regard to some
property or other, that nothing has it. But ~ E ! (ix)(<f>x) does
not say with regard to <£ that nothing has it, but only that it’s not
the case that only one thing has it. Thus R. is asking us to believe
that when we say Apollo is a fiction, we’re only saying with
regard to the properties mentioned in the Classical Diet, under
Apollo, that it’s not true that only one person possessed them all,
& are leaving it perfectly open that there may have been several
who did. Or that when we say that there was no such person as
the author of Slawkenburgius on noses, we are only denying that
“ Slawkenburgius on noses” was the work of one man only, &
are leaving it a perfectly open question whether it wasn’t written
by several persons.1 I think there’s obviously something wrong
here. In all these cases we’re obviously saying of some property
or other that nothing whatever possessed it: we’re not leaving
open the possibility that, though there wasn’t only one thing
which did, yet there may have been several. And this is shewn,
I think, by the extremely careless way in wh. R. introduces his
statement. He is then talking of the prop, “ the round square
does not exist” (a prop., by the way, which nobody would think
of making; & wh. has no meaning). He says we may substitute
“ It’s false that there is an object x which is both round & square” .
This gives us there are no round squares.
But now what does actually happen when 2 people both think
of the same imaginary object? In order to answer this question,
the first thing necessary is to consider what happens when a
person tells you a fairy-tale, or any other fictitious story for the
first time. Take the simplest possible case, such as the parable of
the Good Samaritan in the N .T., or as J. takes (I. 85)2, the story
of Jack & the Beanstalk—only he tells it quite wrong: J. is talking
about the difference between what he calls the Introductory
Indef. article & the Alternative Indef. He says there’s an impor­
tant difference between “ A man must have been in this room” &
“ Once upon a time there was a boy who bought a beanstalk” :
he says the first means “ Some man or other” , & the second means
“ a certain boy” (p. 85). What the difference is, he never tells us:
I don’t believe there is any. But let’s take Luke 10.30: “ A certain
man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho; & he fell among
1 [.Principia, and ed., vol. I, p. 68.]
2 [W. E. Johnson, Logic, Part I (Cambridge, 1921).]
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cases have been recognized. The green and brown color of lizards
may protect them, the green color of many frogs is supposed to
conceal them as they sit amongst the plants on the edge of a stream
or pond. The gray-brown color of the toad has been described as a
resemblance to the dry ground, while the brilliant green of several
tree-frogs conceals them very effectively amongst the leaves. Many
fishes are brilliantly colored, and it has even been suggested that
those living amongst corals and sea-anemonies have acquired their
colors as a protection, but Darwin states that they appeared to him
very conspicuous even in their highly colored environment.
Amongst insects innumerable cases of adaptive coloration have
been described. In fact this is the favorite group for illustrating the
marvels of protective coloration. A few examples will here serve our
purpose. The oft-cited case of the butterfly Kallima is, apparently, a
striking instance of protective resemblance. When at rest the wings
are held together over the back, as in nearly all butterflies, so that
only the under surface is exposed. This surface has an
unquestionably close resemblance to a brown leaf. It is said on no
less authority than that of Wallace that when this butterfly alights on
a bush it is almost impossible to distinguish between it and a dead
leaf. The special point in the resemblance to which attention is most
often called is the distinct line running obliquely across the wings
which looks like the midrib of a leaf. Whether the need of such a
close resemblance to a leaf is requisite for the life of this butterfly,
we do not know, of course, and so long as we do not have this
information there is danger that the case may prove too much, for, if
it should turn out that this remarkable case is accidental the view in
regard to the resemblance may be endangered.
Amongst caterpillars there are many cases of remarkable
resemblances in color between the animal and its surroundings. The
green color of many of those forms that remain on the leaves of the
food-plant during the day will give, even to the most casual
observer, the impression that the color is for the purpose of
concealment; and that it does serve to conceal the animal there can
be no doubt. But even from the point of view of those who maintain
that this color has been acquired because of its protective value it
must be admitted that the color is insufficient, because some of
these same green caterpillars are marvellously armed with an array
of spines which are also supposed to be a protection against
enemies. Equally well protected are the brown and mottled
geometrid caterpillars. These have, moreover, the striking and
unusual habit of fixing themselves by the posterior pairs of false
legs, and standing still and rigid in an oblique position on the twigs
to which they are affixed. So close is their resemblance to a short
twig, that even when their exact position is known it is very difficult
to distinguish them.
Grasshoppers that alight on the ground are, in many cases, so
similar to the surface of the ground that unless their exact location is
known they easily escape attention, while the green color of the
katydid, a member of the same group of orthoptera, protects it from
view in the green foliage of the trees where it lives. The veinlike
wings certainly suggest a resemblance to a leaf, but whether there is
any necessity for so close an imitation may be questioned.
There can be little doubt in some of these cases that the color of
the animal may be a protection to it, but as has been hinted already,
it is another question whether it acquired these colors because of
their usefulness. Nevertheless, if the color is useful to its possessor,
it is an adaptation in our sense of the word, without regard to the
way in which it has been acquired. Even, for instance, if the
resemblance were purely the outcome of chance in the sense that
the color appeared without relation to the surroundings, it would still
be an adaptation if it were of use to the animal under the ordinary
conditions of life.
In the lower groups numerous cases in which animals resemble
their surroundings could be given. Such cases are known in
crustacea, worms, mollusks, hydroids, etc., and the possible value of
these resemblances may be admitted in many instances.
It is rather curious that so few cases of adaptive coloration have
been described for plants. No one supposes that the slate color of
the lichen is connected with the color of the rocks on which it grows,
in the sense that the resemblance is of any use to the lichen. Nor
does the color of the marine red algæ serve in any way to protect
the plants so far as is known. The green color of nearly all the higher
plants is obviously connected with the substance, chlorophyl, that is
essential for the processes of assimilation, and has no relation to
external objects. But when we come to the colors of flowers we
meet with curious cases of adaptation, at least according to the
generally accepted point of view. For it is believed by many
naturalists that the color of the corolla of flowering plants is
connected with the visits of insects to the flowers, and these visits
are in many cases essential for the cross-fertilization of the flowers.
This adaptation is one useful to the species, rather than the
individual, and belongs to another category.
The leaf of the Venus’s fly-trap, which suddenly closes together
from the sides when a fly or other light body comes to rest on it, is
certainly a remarkable adaptation. A copious secretion of a digestive
fluid is poured out on the surface of the leaf, and the products of
digestion are absorbed. There can be no question that this
contrivance is of some use to the plant. In other insectivorous
plants, the pitcher plants, the leaves are transformed into pitchers.
In Nepenthes a digestive fluid is secreted from the walls. A line of
glands secreting a sweet fluid serves to attract insects to the top of
the pitcher, whence they may wander or fall into the fluid inside, and
there being drowned, they are digested. A lidlike cover projecting
over the opening of the pitcher is supposed to be of use to keep out
the rain.
In Utricularia, a submerged water-plant, the tips of the leaves are
changed into small bladders, each having a small entrance closed by
an elastic valve opening inwards. Small snails and crustaceans can
pass into this opening, to which they are guided by small
outgrowths; but once in the cup they cannot get out again, and, in
fact, small animals are generally found in the bladders where they
die and their substance is absorbed by forked hairs projecting into
the interior of the bladder.
 The cactus is a plant that is well suited to a dry climate. Its leaves
have completely disappeared, and the stem has become swollen into
a water-reservoir. “It has been estimated that the amount of water
evaporated by a melon cactus is reduced to one six-hundredth of
that given off by any equally heavy climbing-plant.”

Fig. 1.—The fertilization of Aristolochia Clematitis.

A, portion of stem with flowers in axil of leaf in different stages.
B and C, longitudinal sections of two flowers, before and after
fertilization. (After Sachs.)

Sachs gives the following account of the fertilization process in

Aristolochia Clematitis, which he refers to as a conspicuous and
peculiar adaptation. In Figure 1 A a group of flowers is shown, and
in Figure 1 B and C a single flower is split open to show the interior.
In B a small fly has entered, and has brought in upon its back some
pollen that has stuck to it in another flower. The fly has entered
through the long neck which is beset with hairs which are turned
inwards so that the fly can enter but cannot get out. In roaming
about, the pollen that is sticking to its back will be rubbed against
the stigmatic surface. “As soon as this has taken place the anthers,
which have been closed hitherto, dehisc and become freely
accessible,” as a result in the change in the stigma and of the
collapse of the hairs at the base of the enlargement which has
widened. The fly can now crawl under the anthers, and, if it does so,
new pollen may stick to its back. At this time the hairs in the throat
dry up, and the fly can leave its prison house, Figure 1 C. If the fly
now enters another flower this is fertilized by repeating the process.
The unfertilized flowers stand erect with widely open mouths. As
soon as they have been fertilized they bend down, as seen in Figure
1 A, and at the same time the terminal flap bends over the open
mouth of the throat, “stopping the entrance to the flies, which have
now nothing more to do here.”
 Adjustments of the Individual to Changes in the
Environment
The most familiar cases of adjustments of the individual to the
environment are those that we recognize in our own bodies. After
violent exercise we breathe more rapidly, and take deeper
inspirations. Since during exercise our blood loses more oxygen and
takes in more carbon dioxide from the muscles, it is clear that one
result of more rapid breathing is to get more oxygen into the blood
and more carbon dioxide out of it. The process of sweating, that also
follows exercise, may be also looked upon as an adaptive process,
since by evaporation the skin is kept cooler, and, in consequence,
the blood, which at this time flows in larger quantities to the skin, is
cooled also.
More permanent adaptive changes than these also take place as
the result of prolonged use of certain parts. If the muscles work
against powerful resistance, they become larger after several days or
weeks, and are capable of doing more work than at first. Conversely,
when any group of muscles is not used, it becomes smaller than the
normal and capable of doing less work. It would be a nice point to
decide whether this latter change is also an adaptation. If so it is
one in a somewhat different sense from that usually employed. The
result is of no direct advantage to the animal, except possibly in
saving a certain amount of food, but since the same change will take
place when an abundance of food is consumed, the result is, under
these conditions, of no use.
The thickening of the skin on those parts of the body where
continued pressure is brought to bear on it is a change in a useful
direction. The thickening on the soles of the feet and on the palms
of the hands is a case in point. Not only is the skin thicker at birth in
these parts, but it becomes thicker through use. In other parts of
the body also, the skin hardens and becomes thicker if pressure is
brought to bear on it. We may regard this as a general property of
the skin, which is present even in those parts where, under ordinary
circumstances, it can rarely or never be brought into use.
Even as complicated and as much used an organ as the eye can
become adaptively improved. It is said that the lateral region of the
field of vision can be trained to perceive more accurately; and every
one who has used a microscope is familiar with the fact that if one
eye is habitually used it becomes capable of seeing more distinctly
and better than the other eye. This seems to be due, in part at least,
to the greater contraction of the iris.
Another phenomenon, which, I think, must be looked upon as an
adaptation, is the immunity to certain poisons that can be gradually
brought about by slowly increasing the amount introduced into the
body. Nicotine is a most virulent poison, and yet by slowly increasing
the dose an animal can be brought into a condition in which an
amount of nicotine, fatal to an ordinary individual, can be
administered without any ill effects at all resulting.
The same phenomenon has been observed in the case of other
poisons, not only in case of other alkaloids, such as morphine and
cocaine, but also in the case of caffein, alcohol, and even arsenic.
There is a curious phenomenon in regard to arsenic, which appears
to be well established, viz., that a person who has gradually
increased the dose to an amount great enough to kill ten ordinary
men, will die if he suddenly ceases altogether to take arsenic. He
can, however, be gradually brought back to a condition in which
arsenic is not necessary for his existence, if the dose is gradually
decreased. It is a curious case of adaptation that we meet with here,
since the man becomes so thoroughly adjusted to a poison that if he
is suddenly brought back to the normal condition of the race he will
die.
Immunity to the poison of venomous snakes can also be acquired
by slowly increasing the amount given to an animal. It is possible to
make a person so immune to the poison of venomous snakes that
he would become, in a sense, adapted to live amongst them without
danger to himself. It is to be noted, moreover, that this result could
be reached only by quite artificial means, for, under natural
conditions it is inconceivable that the nicely graded series of doses of
increasing strength necessary to bring about the immunity could
ever be acquired. Hence we find here a case of response in an
adaptive direction that could not have been the outcome of
experience in the past. It is important to emphasize this capacity of
organisms to adapt themselves to certain conditions entirely new to
them.
These cases lead at once to cases of immunity to certain bacterial
diseases. An animal may become immune to a particular disease in
several ways. First, by having the disease itself, which renders it
immune for a longer or a shorter period afterwards; or, second, by
having a mild form of the disease as in the case of smallpox, where
immunity is brought about by vaccination, i.e. by giving the
individual a mild form of smallpox; or, third, by introducing into the
blood an antidote, in the form, for example, of antitoxin, which has
been made by another animal itself immune to the disease. The first
two classes of immunity may be looked upon as adaptations which
are of the highest importance to the organism; the last case can
scarcely be looked upon as an adaptive process, since the injurious
effect of the poison may as well be neutralized outside of the body
by mixing it with the antitoxin. We may suppose, then, that in the
body a similar process goes on, so that the animal itself takes no
active part in the result.
When we consider that there are a number of bacterial diseases,
in each of which a different poison is made by the bacteria, we
cannot but ask ourselves if the animal really makes a counter-poison
for each disease, or whether a single substance may not be
manufactured that counteracts all alike? That the latter is not the
case is shown by the fact that an animal made immune to one
disease is not immune to others. When we recall that the animal has
also the capacity to react in one way or another to a large number of
organic and inorganic poisons, to which it or its ancestors can have
had little or no previous experience, we may well marvel at this
wonderful regulative power.
The healing of wounds, which takes place in all animals, forms
another class of adaptive processes. The immense usefulness of this
power is obvious when it is remembered how exposed most animals
are to injuries. By repairing the injury the animal can better carry on
its normal functions. Moreover, the presence of the wound would
give injurious bacteria a ready means of entering the body. In fact,
an intact skin is one of the best preventives to the entrance of
bacteria.
Not only have most organisms the power of repairing injuries, but
many animals have also the closely related power of regenerating
new parts if the old ones are lost. If a crab loses its leg, a new one
is regenerated. If a fresh-water worm (Lumbriculus) is cut into
pieces, each piece makes a new head at its anterior end and a new
tail at the posterior end. In this way as many new worms are
produced as there are pieces. And while in a strict sense it cannot be
claimed that this power of regeneration is of any use to the original
worm, since the original worm, as such, no longer exists, yet since it
has not died but has simply changed over into several new worms,
the process is of use inasmuch as by this means the pieces can
remain in existence.
We need not discuss here the relative importance to different
animals of this power of regeneration, but it may be stated, that,
while in some cases it may be necessary to replace the lost part if
the animal is to remain in existence, as when a new head is formed
on an earthworm after the old one was cut off, in other cases the
replacement of the lost part appears to be of minor importance, as
in the case of the leg of the crab. While we are not, for the moment,
concerned with the relative importance of the different adaptations,
this question is one of much importance in other connections and
will be considered later.
The protective coloration of some animals, which is the direct
result of a change in color of the animal in response to the
surroundings, furnishes us with some most striking cases of adaptive
coloration. A change of this sort has been recorded in a number of
fishes, more especially in the flounders. The individuals found living
on a dark background are darker than those living on a lighter
background; and when the color of the background is changed it has
been observed that the color of the fish also changes in the same
direction. I have observed a change of this sort from dark to light, or
from light to dark, in the common minnow (Fundulus) in accordance
with a change of its background, and the same sort of change
appears to take place in many other fishes.
The change from green to brown and from brown to green in
certain tree frogs and in the lizard (Anolis), which is popularly
supposed to take place according to whether the background is
green or brown, is not after all, it appears, connected with the color
of the background, but depends on certain other responses of the
animals that have not yet been satisfactorily made out. If it be
claimed that in summer the animal would generally be warm, and
therefore, often green, and that this color would protect it at this
time of year when the surroundings are green, and in winter brown,
when this color is the prevailing one in temperate regions, then it
might appear that the change is of use to the animal; but if it is true
that the same change takes place in some of the lizards that live in
the tropics, where the prevailing color is always green, it would
appear that the result may have no direct relation with the
surroundings. It has been shown in a number of well-authenticated
cases that the pupæ of certain butterflies vary in color within certain
limits in response to the color of the background. When the
caterpillar fixes itself to some surface, and there throws off the outer
skin, and acquires a new one, the color of the latter is influenced by
the background. The result is a better protection to the pupa. The
change is not brought about through the ocelli or eyes, but through
the general surface of the skin, for the same change takes place
when the eyes have been previously covered with a dark pigment.
The growth of plants toward the light may be looked upon as an
adaptive process, since only in the light can they find the conditions
necessary for their life. The extraordinary elongation of shoots and
young plants when grown in the dark may also be considered an
adaptation for finding the light, since in this way a plant, deeply
embedded in the ground, may ultimately reach the surface. Thus
while the actual process of elongation in the dark is not in itself of
any use, yet under the ordinary conditions of its life, this response
may be of great benefit to the plant.
The closing together of the leaves of some plants has been
supposed to protect them from too rapid radiation of heat, and
incidentally this purpose may be fulfilled; but since some tropical
plants also close their leaves during the night, it can hardly be
maintained that the closing has been acquired for this purpose. It
has been suggested that the opening of certain flowers under
certain conditions of light is connected with the visits of insects that
bring about cross-fertilization.
The preceding examples will suffice to give a general idea of what
is meant by adaptation in organisms. That the term includes a large
number of phenomena of very different kinds is apparent. When we
have examined these phenomena further we shall find, I think, that
it will be necessary to put some of them into different categories and
treat them differently. It is probably incorrect to suppose that all
processes useful to the organism have been acquired in the same
way, nevertheless, for the present the term adaptation is sufficiently
general, even if vague, to cover these different groups of cases.
It may be asked, in what respects are these structures and
processes of adaptation different from the ordinary structures and
changes that go on in the organism? Why is the leg of the mole
more of an adaptation than that of a dog? The one is of as much
use as the other to its possessor. What reason can we give for citing
the poison of the snake, and not mentioning in the same connection
the other glands of the body? In fact, the poison gland of the snake
is supposed to be a modified superior labial gland. Why, in short, are
not the processes of digestion, excretion, secretion, the beating of
the heart, the ordinary reflex acts of the nervous system, and the
action of the sense-organs, as truly adaptations as the special cases
that have been selected for illustration. The answer is simply that we
are more impressed by those cases of adaptation that are more
unusual, as when an animal departs in the use of certain structures
from the rest of the group to which it belongs. For example, if all
mammals lived underground, ourselves included, and the fore-legs
or arms were used for burrowing, we should not think this unusual;
but if we found an animal using all four legs to support the body and
for purposes of progression, we should, most likely, think this was an
excellent illustration of adaptation.
In other instances the condition is somewhat different. The color
of certain animals may unquestionably be of use to them in
concealing them from their enemies. In other cases the color may
not serve this purpose, or any purpose at all. Thus while in the
former case we speak of the color as an adaptation to the
surroundings, in the latter we do not think of it as having any
connection at all with the environment. Even in the same animal the
color of different parts of the body may appear under this twofold
relation. For example, the green color of the skin of the frog renders
it less conspicuous amongst the green plants on the edge of the
stream, but the brilliant orange and black pigment in the body-cavity
cannot be regarded as of any use to the animal.
 Adaptations for the Good of the Species
Aside from the class of adaptations that are for the good of the
individual, there is another class connected solely with the
preservation of the race. The organs for reproduction are the most
important examples of this kind. These organs are of no use to the
individual for maintaining its own existence, and, in fact, their
presence may even be deleterious to the animal. The instincts
connected with the use of these organs may lead inevitably to the
death of the individual, as in the case of the California salmon,
which, on entering fresh water in order to deposit its eggs, dies after
performing this act.
The presence of the organs of reproduction in the individual is
obviously connected with the propagation of other individuals.
Indeed in many organisms the life of the individual appears to have
for its purpose the continuation of the race. In a large number of
animals the individual dies after it has deposited its eggs. The most
striking case is that of the May-flies, whose life, as mature
individuals, may last for only a few hours. The eggs are set free by
the bursting of the abdomen, and the insect dies. The male bee also
dies after union with the queen. In some annelids, the body is also
said to burst when the eggs are set free; and in other forms those
parts of the body containing the eggs break off, and, after setting
free the eggs, die. These are extreme cases of what is seen in many
animals, namely the replacement of the old individuals by a new
generation; and while in general there is only a loose connection
between the death of the individual and the consummation of its
reproductive power, yet the two run a course so nearly parallel that
several writers have attempted to explain this connection as one of
racial adaptation.
It has also been pointed out that in those higher animals that take
care of their young after birth, the life of the individual does not end
with the period of birth of the young, but extends at least
throughout the time necessary to care for the young. It has even
been suggested that this lengthening of the life period has been
acquired on account of its use to the species. When, however, as in
the case of the vertebrates, the young are born at intervals either in
great numbers at a birth, as in fishes and amphibia, or in lots of
twos, threes, or fours, as in many birds and mammals, or even only
one at a time, as in a few birds and in man, it will be evident that
the relation cannot be so simple as has been supposed. It cannot be
assumed in these forms that the end of the life of the individual is in
any way connected with the ripening of the last eggs, for, on the
contrary, hundreds, or even many thousands, of potential eggs may
be present in the ovaries when the animal is overtaken by old age,
and its power of reproduction lost.
In regard to several of the lower animals, we find, in a number of
cases where there are accurate data, that the individual goes on
year after year producing young. Whether they ever grow old, in the
sense of losing their power of reproduction, has not been definitely
determined, but there is, so far as I know, no evidence to show that
such a process takes place, and these animals appear to have the
power of reproducing themselves indefinitely.
The phenomenon of old age (apart from its possible connection
with the cessation of the power of reproduction), which leads to the
death of the individual, has been looked upon by a few writers as an
adaptation of the individual for the good of the species. It has been
pointed out by these writers that the longer an individual lives, the
more likely it is to become damaged, and if along with this its
powers of reproduction diminish, as compared with younger
individuals, then it stands in the way and takes food that might be
used by other, younger individuals, that are better able to carry on
the propagation of the race. It is assumed, therefore, that the life of
the individual has been shortened for the benefit of the race.
Whether such a thing is probable is a question that will also be
discussed later. We are chiefly concerned here only in recording the
different groups of phenomena that have been regarded by
biologists as adaptations.
The so-called secondary sexual characters such as the brighter
colors of the males, ornaments of different kinds, crests, color-
pattern, tail feathers, etc., organs of offence and of defence used in
fighting members of the same species, present a rather unique
group of adaptations. These characters are supposed to be of use to
the individual in conquering its rivals, or in attracting the females.
They may be considered as useful to the individual in allowing it to
propagate at the expense of its rivals, but whether the race is
thereby benefited is a question that will be carefully considered later.
The colors of flowers, that is supposed to attract insects, have
been already mentioned. The sweet fluid, or nectar, secreted by
many flowers is sought by insects, which on entering the flowers
bring about cross-fertilization. Thus while the nectar seems to be of
no immediate service to the plant itself, it is useful to the species in
bringing about the fertilization of the flowers. The odors of flowers
also serve to attract insects, and their presence is one of the means
by which insects find the flowers. This also is of advantage to the
race.
 Organs of Little Use to the Individual

In every organism there are parts of the body whose presence

cannot be of vital importance to the individual. We may leave out of
consideration the reproductive organs, since their presence, as has
just been stated, is connected with the continuation of the race. The
rudimentary organs, so-called, furnish many examples of structures
whose presence may be of little or of no use to the individual; in
fact, as in the case of the appendix in man, the organs may be a
source of great danger to the individual. In this respect the organism
is a structure not perfectly adapted to its conditions of life, since it
contains within itself parts that are of little or of no use, which may
even lead to its destruction, and may often expose it to unnecessary
danger. Nevertheless such parts are surprisingly infrequent, and their
presence is usually accounted for on the supposition that in the past
these organs have been of use, and have only secondarily come to
play an insignificant part in the functions of the organism. Another
example of the same thing is found in the rudimentary eyes of
animals living in the dark, such as the mole and several cave
animals, fishes, amphibia, and insects.
There are still other organs, which cannot be looked upon as
rudimentary, yet whose presence can scarcely be considered as
essential to the life of the individual. It is with this class that we are
here chiefly concerned. For instance, the electric organs in some of
the rays and fish can hardly protect the animal from enemies, even
when as highly developed as in the torpedo; and we do not know of
any other essential service that they can perform. Whether the same
may be also said of the phosphorescent organs of many animals is
perhaps open in some cases to doubt, but there can be little
question that the light produced by most of the small marine
organisms, such as noctiluca, jellyfish, ctenophores, copepods,
pyrosoma, etc., cannot be of use to these animals in protecting them
from attack. In the case of certain bacteria it seems quite evident
that the production of light can be of no use as such to them. The
production of light may be only a sort of by-product of changes
going on in the organism, and have no relation to outside conditions.
In certain cases, as in the glowworm, it has been supposed that the
display may serve to bring the sexes together; but since the
phosphorescent organs are also present in the larval stages of the
glowworm, and since even the egg itself is said to be
phosphorescent, it is improbable, in these stages at least, that the
presence of the light is of service to the organism.
It has been pointed out that the colors of certain animals may
serve to conceal them and may be regarded as an adaptation; but it
is also true that in many cases the color of the whole animal or the
color of special parts can be of little if any direct use. While it is
difficult to show that the wonderful patterns and magnificent
coloration of many of the larger animals are not of service to the
animal, however sceptical we may be on the subject, yet in the case
of many microscopical forms that are equally brilliantly colored there
can be little doubt that the coloration can be of no special service to
them. If it be admitted that in these small forms the color and the
color patterns are not protective, we should at least be on our guard
in ascribing off-hand to larger forms a protective value in their
coloration, unless there is actual proof that it serves some purpose.
We also see in other cases that the presence of color need not be
connected with any use that it bears as such to the animal. For
instance, the beautiful colors on the inside of the shells of many
marine snails and of bivalve mollusks, can be of no use to the animal
that makes the shell, because as long as the animal is alive this color
cannot be seen from the outside. This being the case let us not jump
too readily to the conclusion that when other shells are colored on
the outer surface that this must be of use to the mollusk.
In regard to the colors of plants, there are many cases of brilliant
coloration, which so far as we can see can be of no service to the
organism. In such forms as the lichens and the toadstools, many of
which are brilliantly colored, it is very doubtful if the color, as such, is
of any use to the plant. The splendid coloring of the leaves in the
autumn is certainly of no service to the trees.
It should not pass unnoticed in this connection that the stems and
the trunks of shrubs and of trees and also many kinds of fruits and
nuts are sometimes highly colored. It is true that some of the latter
have been supposed to owe their color to its usefulness in attracting
birds and other animals which, feeding on the fruit, swallow the
seeds, and these, passing through the digestive tract and falling to
the ground, may germinate. The dissemination of the seeds of such
plants is supposed to be brought about in this way; and since they
may be widely disseminated it may be supposed that it is an
advantage to the plant to have attracted the attention of the fruit-
eating birds. On the other hand one of the most brilliantly colored
seeds, the acorn, is too large to pass through the digestive tracts of
birds, and is, in fact, ground to pieces in the gizzard, and in the case
of several mammals that feed on the acorns, the acorn is crushed by
the teeth. It would seem, therefore, that its coloration is injurious to
it rather than the reverse, as it leads to its destruction. It has been
suggested by Darwin that since the acorns are for a time stored up
in the crop of the bird, the passenger pigeon for example, and since
the birds may be caught by hawks and killed, the seeds in the crop
thus become scattered. Consequently it may be, after all, of use to
the oak to produce colored acorns that attract the attention of these
pigeons. This suggestion seems too far-fetched to consider seriously.
In the case of the horse-chestnut the rich brown color is equally
conspicuous, but the nut is too large to be swallowed by any of the
ordinary seed-feeding birds or mammals. Shall we try to account for
its color on the grounds of the poisonous character of the seed? Has
it been acquired as a warning to those animals that have eaten it
once, and been made sick or have died in consequence? I confess to
a personal repugnance to imaginative explanations of this sort, that
have no facts of experience to support them.
 Changes in the Organism that are of No Use to the
Individual or to the Race
As an example of a change in the organism that is of no use to it
may be cited the case of the turning white of the hair in old age in
man and in several other mammals. The absorption of bone at the
angle of the chin in man, is another case of a change of no
immediate use to the individual. We also find in many other changes
that accompany old age, processes going on that are of no use to
the organism, and which may, in the end, be the cause of its death.
Such changes, for instance, as the loss of the vigor of the muscles,
and of the nervous system, the weakening of the heart, and partial
failure of many of the organs to carry out their functions. These
changes lead sooner or later to the death of the animal, in
consequence of the breaking down of some one essential organ, or
to disease getting an easier foothold in the body. We have already
discussed the possible relation of death as an adaptation, but the
changes just mentioned take place independently of their relation to
the death of the organism as a whole, and show that some of the
normal organic processes are not for the good of the individual or of
the race. In fact, the perversions of some of the most deeply seated
instincts of the species, as in infanticide, while the outcome of
definite processes in the organism, are of obvious disadvantage to
the individual, and the perversion of so deeply seated a process as
the maternal instinct, leading to the destruction of the young, is
manifestly disadvantageous to the race. As soon, however, as we
enter the field of so-called abnormal developments, the adaptive
relation of the organism to its environment is very obscure; and yet,
as in the case of adaptation to poisons, we see that we cannot draw
any sharp line between what we call normal and what we call
abnormal development.
 Comparison with Inorganic Phenomena
The preceding examples and discussion give some idea of what is
meant by adaptation in living things. In what respects, it may be
asked, do these adaptations differ from inorganic phenomena? The
first group of inorganic bodies that challenges comparison are
machines. These are so constructed that they may be said to
accomplish a definite purpose, and the question arises whether this
purpose can be profitably compared with the purposefulness of the
structure and response of organisms. That the two cannot be
profitably compared is seen at once, when we recall the fact that the
activity of the machine is of no use to it, in the sense of preserving
its integrity. The object of the machine is, in fact, to perform some
useful purpose for the organism that built it, namely, for man.
Furthermore, the activity of the machine only serves to wear it out,
and, therefore, its actions do not assist in preserving its integrity as
do some, at least, of the activities of an animal. It is true, of course,
that in a mechanical sense every action of the organism leads also to
a breaking down of its structure in the same way that a machine is
also worn out by use; but the organism possesses another property
that is absent in the machine, namely, the power of repairing the
loss that it sustains.
One of the most characteristic features of the organism is its
power of self-adjustment, or of regulation, by which it adapts itself
to changes in the environment in such a way that its integrity is
maintained. Most machines have no such regulative power, although,
in a sense, the fly-wheel of an engine regulates the speed, and a
water-bath, with a thermostat, regulates itself to a fixed
temperature; but even this comparison lacks one of the essential
features of the regulation seen in organisms, namely, in that the
regulation does not protect the machine from injury. It may be
claimed, however, that the safety valve of an engine does fulfil this
purpose, since it may prevent the engine from exploding. Here, in
fact, we do find better grounds for comparison, but, when we take
into account the relation of the regulations in the organism to all the
other properties of the organism, we see that this comparison is not
very significant. The most essential difference between a machine
and an organism is the power of reproduction possessed by the
latter, which is absent in all machines. Here, however, we meet with
a somewhat paradoxical relation, since the reproductive power of
organisms cannot be looked upon as an adaptation for the
continuation of the individual, but rather for the preservation of a
series of individuals. Hence, in this respect also, we cannot profitably
compare the individual with a machine, but if we make any
comparison we should compare all the individuals that have come
from a single one with a machine. In this sense the power of
reproduction is a sort of racial regulation. A comparison of this sort is
obviously empty of real significance.
The regenerative power of the organism, by means of which it
may replace a lost part, or by means of which a piece may become a
new whole, is also something not present in machines.
In using a machine for comparison we should not leave out of
sight the fact that machines are themselves the work of organisms,
and have been made for some purpose useful to the organism. They
may perform the same purpose for which we would use our own
hands, for they differ from parts of the body mainly in that they are
made of different compounds having different properties, as the
above comparisons have shown. But the regulations of the machine
have been added to it by man on account of their usefulness to
himself, and are not properties of the material of which the machine
itself is composed. This shows, I think, the inappropriateness of
making any comparison between these two entirely different things.
If, then, we find the comparison between machines and organisms
unprofitable, can we find any other things in inorganic nature that
can be better compared with the phenomenon of adaptation of the
organism? The following phenomena have been made the subject of
comparison from time to time. The bendings, which are gradually
made by rivers often lead to a meeting of the loops, so that a direct,
new communication is established, and the course of the river is
straightened out. The water takes, therefore, a more direct course to
the sea. It cannot be said, however, to be of any advantage to the
river to straighten its course. Again, a glacier moulds itself to its bed,
and gradually moves around obstacles to a lower level, but this
adaptation of the glacier to the form of its surroundings cannot be
said to be of advantage to the glacier. On the contrary, the glacier
reaches so much the sooner a lower level where it is melted.
The unusual case of a solid being lighter than the liquid from
which it forms, as seen in the case of ice, has been looked upon as a
useful arrangement, since were the reverse the case all rivers and
ponds would become solid in winter in cold climates, and the polar
regions would become one solid block of ice. But no one will
suppose for a moment that there is any relation between the
anomalous condition of the lightness of ice, and its relation to the
winter freezing of streams, ponds, etc. It has even been suggested
that this property of ice was given to it in order that the animals
living in the water might not be killed, which would be the case if
the ice sank to the bottom, but such a method of interpreting
physical phenomena would scarcely commend itself to a physicist.
The formation of a covering of oxide over the surface of a piece of
iron delays the further process of oxidation, but who will imagine
that this property of iron has been acquired in order to prevent the
iron from being destroyed by oxygen?
If a piece is broken from a crystal, and the crystal is suspended in
a saturated solution of the same substance, new material is
deposited over its whole surface, and, as it grows larger, the broken
side is completed and the crystal assumes its characteristic form. But
of what advantage is it to the crystal whether it is complete or
incomplete? In the case of an animal it is of some importance to be
able to complete itself after injury, because it can then better obtain
the food necessary to keep it alive, or it can better escape its
enemies; but this is not the case with the crystal.
 In conclusion, therefore, it is obvious that the adaptations of
organisms are something peculiar to living things, and their obvious
purpose is to maintain the integrity of the individual, or that of the
species to which the individual belongs. We are, therefore,
confronted with the question as to how this peculiarity has come to
be associated with the material out of which living things are made.
In subsequent chapters this will be fully discussed, but before we
take up this topic, it will be necessary to reach some understanding
in regard to the theory of evolution, for the whole subsequent issue
will turn upon the question of the origin of the forms of animals and
plants living at the present time.
 CHAPTER II

THE THEORY OF EVOLUTION

One of the most important considerations in connection with the

problem of adaptation is that in all animals and plants the individuals
sooner or later perish and new generations take their places. Each
new individual is formed, in most cases, by the union of two germ-
cells derived one from each parent. As a result of this process of
intermixing, carried on from generation to generation, all the
individuals would tend to become alike, unless something else
should come in to affect the result.
So far as our actual experience reaches, we find that the
succeeding generations of individuals resemble each other. It is true
that no two individuals are absolutely alike, but if a sufficiently large
number are examined at a given time, they will show about the
same variations in about the same proportionate numbers. Such a
group of similar forms, repeating itself in each generation, is the unit
of the systematists, and is called a species.
It has been said that within each species the individuals differ
more or less from each other, but our experience teaches that in
each generation the same kinds of variations occur, and, moreover,
that from any one individual there may arise in the next generation
any one of the characteristic variations. Certain limitations will have
to be made in regard to this statement, but for the present it will
suffice. The Law of Biogenesis states that each living thing arises
from another living thing; that there is no life without antecedent
life, i.e. spontaneous generation does not occur. The law is not
concerned with the likeness or unlikeness of the different individuals
that descend from each other. The theory of evolution includes the
same idea, but in addition it has come to mean nowadays, that there
have been changes, as the succeeding generations have arisen. The
transmutation theory, and even the descent theory, have come to
mean nearly the same thing as the theory of evolution. It is
unfortunate that one of these terms cannot be used to signify simply
the repetition, generation after generation, of groups of similar
individuals. The theory of descent might be used to convey only this
idea, but unfortunately it too has come to include also the idea of
change. I shall attempt nevertheless to discriminate between the
descent and the transmutation theory, and use the term descent
theory when I do not wish to convey the idea of change, and
transmutation theory when I do wish to emphasize this idea.
On the transmutation theory it is assumed that a group (species)
may give rise to one or more groups of forms differing from their
ancestors; the original group being now replaced by its new kinds of
offspring, or the old and the new may remain in existence at the
same time. This process repeating itself, each or some of the new
groups giving rise in turn to one or more new species, there will be
produced a larger group of species having certain similar characters
which are due to their common descent. Such a group of species is
called a genus. The resemblances of these species is accounted for
by their common descent; but their differences must be due to those
factors that have caused them to depart from the original type. We
may now proceed to consider the evidence on which this idea of
transmutation rests.
 Evidence in Favor of the Transmutation Theory
EVIDENCE FROM CLASSIFICATION AND FROM COMPARATIVE ANATOMY

It does not require any special study to see that there are certain
groups of animals and of plants that are more like each other than
they are like the members of any other group. It is obvious to every
one that the group known as mammals has a combination of
characters not found in any other group; such, for instance, as a
covering of hair, mammary glands that furnish milk to the young,
and a number of other less distinctive features. These and other
common characteristics lead us to put the mammals into a single
class. The birds, again, have certain common characters such as
feathers, a beak without teeth, the development of a shell around
the egg, etc., and on account of these resemblances we put them
into another class. Everywhere in the animal and plant kingdoms we
find large groups of similar forms, such as the butterflies, the
beetles, the annelidan worms, the corals, the snails, the starfishes,
etc.
Within each of these groups we find smaller groups, in each of
which there are again forms more like each other than like those of
other groups. We may call these smaller groups families. Within the
families we find smaller groups, that are more like each other than
like any other groups in the same family, and these we put into
genera. Within the genus we find smaller groups following the same
rule, and these are the species. Here we seem to have reached a
limit in many cases, for we do not always find within the species
groups of individuals more like each other than like other groups.
Although we find certain differences between the individuals of a
species, yet the differences are often inconstant in the sense that
amongst the descendants of any individual there may appear any
one of the other variations. If this were the whole truth, it would
seem that we had here reached the limits of classification, the
species being the unit. This, however, is far from being the case, for,
in many species we find smaller groups, often confined to special
localities. These groups are called varieties.
In some cases it appears, especially in plants, these smaller
groups of varieties resemble in many ways the groups of species in
other forms, since they breed true to their kind, even under changed
conditions. They have been recognized as “smaller species” by a
number of botanists.
In this connection a point must be brought up that has played an
important rôle in all discussion as to what limits can be set to a
species. As a rule it is found that two distinct species cannot be
made to cross with each other, i.e. the eggs of an individual of one
species cannot be fertilized by spermatozoa derived from individuals
of another species; or, at least, if fertilization takes place the embryo
does not develop. In some cases, however, it has been found
possible to cross-fertilize two distinct species, although the offspring
is itself more or less infertile. Even this distinction, however, does not
hold absolutely, for, in a few cases, the offspring of the cross is
fertile. It cannot be maintained, therefore, that this test of infertility
between species invariably holds, although in a negative sense the
test may apply, for if two different forms are infertile, inter se, the
result shows that they are distinct species. If they cross they may or
may not be good species, and some other test must be used to
decide their relation.
We should always keep in mind the fact that the individual is the
only reality with which we have to deal, and that the arrangement of
these into species, genera, families, etc., is only a scheme invented
by man for purposes of classification. Thus there is no such thing in
nature as a species, except as a concept of a group of forms more or
less alike. In nature there are no genera, families, orders, etc. These
are inventions of man for purposes of classification.
Having discovered that it is possible to arrange animals and plants
in groups within groups, the question arises as to the meaning of
this relation. Have these facts any other significance than that of a
classification of geometric figures, or of crystals according to the
relations of their axes, or of bodies as to whether they are solids,
liquids, or gases, or even whether they are red, white, or blue?
If we accept the transmutation view, we can offer an explanation
of the grouping of living things. According to the transmutation
theory, the grouping of living things is due to their common descent,
and the greater or less extent to which the different forms have
diverged from each other. It is the belief in this principle that makes
the classification of the biologist appear to be of a different order
from that in any other science; and it is this principle that appears to
give us an insight into a large number of phenomena.
For example, if, as assumed in the theory, a group of individuals
(species) breaks up into two groups, each of these may be supposed
to inherit a large number of common characteristics from their
ancestors. These characters are, of course, the resemblances, and
from them we conclude that the species are related and, therefore,
we put them into the same genus. The differences, as has been
said, between the species must be explained in some other way; but
the principle of classification with which we are here concerned is
based simply on the resemblances, and takes no account of the
differences between species.
In this argument it has been tacitly assumed that the
transformation of one species into another, or into more than one,
takes place by adding one or more new characters to those already
present, or by changing over a few characters without altering
others. But when we come to examine any two species whatsoever,
we find that they differ, not only in one or in a few characters, but in
a large number of points; perhaps in every single character. It is true
that sometimes the differences are so small that it is difficult to
distinguish between two forms, but even in such cases the
differences, although small, may be as numerous as when they are
more conspicuous. If, then, this is what we really find when we
carefully examine species of animals or of plants, what is meant
when we claim that our classification is based on the characters
common to all of the forms that have descended from the same
ancestor? We shall find, if we press this point that, in one sense,
there is no absolute basis of this sort for our classification, and that
we have an unreal system.
If this is admitted, does our boasted system of classification,
based as it is on the principle of descent, give us anything
fundamentally different from an artificial classification? A few
illustrations may make clearer the discussion that follows. If, for
example, we take a definition of the group of vertebrates we read:
“The group of craniate vertebrates includes those animals known as
Fishes, Amphibians, Reptiles, Birds, and Mammals; or in other
words, Vertebrates with a skull, a highly complex brain, a heart of
three or four chambers, and red blood corpuscles.” If we attempt to
analyze this definition, we find it stated that the skull is a
characteristic of all vertebrates, but if we ask what this thing is that
is called skull, we find not only that it is something different in
different groups, being cartilaginous in sharks, and composed of
bones in mammals, but that it is not even identical in any two
species of vertebrates. If we try to define it as a case of harder
material around the brain, then it is not something peculiar to the
vertebrates, since the brain of the squid is also encased in a
cartilaginous skull. What has been said of the skull may be said in
substance of the brain, of the heart, and even of the red blood
corpuscles.
If we select another group, we find that the birds present a
sharply defined class with very definite characters. The definition of
the group runs as follows: “Birds are characterized by the presence
of feathers, their fore-limbs are used for flight, the breast-bone is
large and serves for the attachment of the muscles that move the
wings; outgrowths from the lungs extend throughout the body and
even into the bones and serve as air sacs which make the body
more buoyant. Only one aortic arch is present, the right, and the
right ovary and oviduct are not developed. The eyes are large and
well developed. Teeth are absent. We have here a series of strongly
marked characteristics such as distinguish hardly any other class.
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