NATURE AS AN ORGANISM 



no possibility is left unexploited. And yet the plants are growing, 

 and their seeds are laying claim to fresh soil ; and the animals have 

 the power of movement. The whole is like a piece of clockwork. 

 Every living creature is a tiny wheel that turns in such a way that 

 it does not hinder the rest, and yet it is so fitted into the whole 

 that it cannot leap out of its framework. And it seems as though 

 the clockmaker were continually testing his work, to discover 

 whether there is not yet some little corner unused, whereupon he 

 fits in yet another little wheel. The whole is so devised that it is 

 self-regulating, and adapts itself to new modifications. All these are 

 qualities lacking in our technical creations, for they are the qualities 

 of life itself. 



We call the individual creature which is capable of maintaining 

 itself and regulating its activities an organism. An organism is a 

 harmony of the parts within the idea of the whole. In Chapter VIII 

 we saw how all the organs of the human body co-operate har- 

 moniously to maintain the body. The same harmony exists in every 

 animal, every plant, and in every department of Nature ; and lastly, 

 it exists in the whole living world of any country which possesses 

 a special individuality. Such a country is Brazil. 



No Brazilian animal lives entirely to itself; each is dependent on 

 others ; its relation to them is a necessary one, and cannot be filled 

 by any other creature. We shall understand the individual animal 

 only if we consider it in relation to others. And to learn what this 

 is we must first of all consider its environment, its natural habitation. 



And here a comparison with human conditions will help to elucidate 

 the matter. When a block of flats is let, a certain apartment is 

 assigned to each family before it moves in ; otherwise confusion and 

 strife would ensue. Now the forest may be said to contain a number 

 of different stories, and even these are divided among the birds 

 according to a predetermined scheme. The birds do not simply 

 build their nests in any indiflferent position, as chance may direct; 

 each bears within its breast the inexorable command to build in 

 a certain situation, whether in a bush or a tree, or on the ground. 

 If it cannot find the proper situation it does not without more ado 

 put up with another, but either goes further, or does not nest at all. 

 For the individual bird such compulsion is, of course, unpractical, 

 but it is essential to the order of the whole. 



On the floor of the forest, and particularly in the dense thickets 



185 



