ment. Formerly, Anthropology, the natural history of man, was not represented in philosophical bodies, nor by the periodical press. Now, in Paris alone there are two Philosophical Societies occupied exclusively with this science, and two large publications equally devoted to it. At the Museum the teaching of anthropology is older. It is there aided by a collection which is still the best in the world.
I do not hesitate to say that it is one of the glories of France to have given by these methods an example to the entire world—an example followed to-day in America as well as in Europe. And I wish to make you take a part in this movement, by giving you some serious notion of the ensemble of the human family.
This, gentlemen, is much more difficult for me than for my associates. In all these lectures we are to speak of only a single being, man. Consequently, there will be an intimate union between them, so much so that any person who should miss a lecture would find difficulty in thoroughly understanding those that follow. To remove this difficulty, I mean to shape my teaching so that each lecture will form as definite a whole as possible. Then, at the commencement of each lecture, I shall endeavor to give, in a few words, a résumé of the preceding. In this way I hope to carry you to the end without ceasing to be understood.
Each lecture, then, will be a sort of chapter of what we might call Popular Anthropology.
By and by I hope that these lectures will be collected into a volume, and I shall be very proud if one day they merit the adjective I have employed—if, in reality, they become popular among you.
Let us enter, then, upon our first chapter. Since man is the subject of our discourse, we must first ask what he is. But, before answering, I ought to enter into some explanation.
This question has been often asked, but generally by theologians or by philosophers. Theologians have answered in the name of dogma and religion; philosophers in the name of metaphysics and abstraction. Let it be well understood between us that I shall take neither of these grounds, but shall avoid, with great care, both that of theology and that of philosophy. Before I became professor at the Museum, I was occupied with the study of animals—I was a naturalist. It is as a naturalist that I have taken my chair at the Institute. At the Museum I remain what I was, and nothing else. I shall continue the same at Vincennes, leaving to theologians theology, to philosophers philosophy, limiting myself in the name of science, and, above all, in the name of natural science.
Let us now return to the question I was about to put: What is man?
It is evidently useless to insist that man is neither a mineral nor a vegetable—that he is neither a stone nor a plant. But is he an animal?
