In high school (1981—1983) I was taught that (physical) matter (материя) (1) consists of substance (вещество) and energy (энергия). However, in the English-speaking world matter (2) is usually understood as something that has mass (more precisely, rest mass) and occupies space. It does not include photons or waves. So, matter (2) is the same as substance. I find the concept of matter (1) useful for it allows us to talk about conservation of matter even when there is no conservation of mass as, for example, in nuclear reactions.
In Soviet times, the definition of matter (3) that we all were supposed to know by heart was the one given by Lenin in the Chapter II of his 1909 book «Материализм и эмпириокритицизм» (Materialism and Empirio-criticism):
Материя есть философская категория для обозначения объективной реальности, которая дана человеку в ощущениях его, которая копируется, фотографируется, отображается нашими ощущениями, существуя независимо от них.
Matter is a philosophical category denoting the objective reality which is given to man by his sensations, and which is copied, photographed and reflected by our sensations, while existing independently of them.
Now Lenin’s concept of matter does not include dark matter and dark energy whose existence is postulated to explain certain cosmological hypotheses. Quite apart from the fact that Lenin did not know about them, neither dark matter nor dark energy can be observed (that’s why they are “dark”) and thus are not given us in our sensations. Of course, that could change in future. But, for the time being and for most practical applications, matter (1) is pretty much equivalent to Lenin’s matter (3).
Here’s an anecdote that my mum told me on a few occasions. Back in her student days, she also had to take an oral exam on “diamat” (диамат; short for dialectical materialism). The standard practice was, upon entering the examination room, to draw a “ticket” (билет), i.e. a slip of paper with the questions. So she took her “ticket” and sat down at a desk.
A student being examined at that very moment was finding himself in hot water. Not just any student: one of the top students of her class.
“Well, my friend, maybe you should come again another time, when you are better prepared”, the professor eventually suggested.
The student did not object. He got up and headed towards the exit. To the professor’s surprise, my mum also got up and began to pack.
“And where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Home.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know anything. Will come back when I am better prepared.”
“Nonsense!” cried the professor. “You must know something if you came to this exam.”
“But I know that I don’t.”
“Are you Socrates or something?”
“No, but...”
“Are you telling me you don’t even know Lenin’s definition of matter?”
“Why, of course I do know that.”
“Kindly tell us.”
And so she did. “Matter is a philosophical category denoting the objective reality” and so on and so forth.
“See?” said the professor. “Everybody look at her. She says she doesn’t know anything but she knows when I ask the question. Where’s your grade book?”
A grade book (зачётная книжка, or «зачётка») contained the record of exams and scores throughout the student’s university life.
“Here, your five.” (“Five”, or “excellent”, was the top score.) “And you”, he turned to the first student who, by some reason, was still hanging around, “you’re coming back another time.”
