In the end, the outcome of the endeavor to establish a connection
between the relation of the idea to human experience and its relation to
the absolute system does not appear satisfying. The idea is left either
with two independent purposes--one to reconstruct finite experience, the
other to represent and symbolize the absolute system--or one of these
purposes is merged in the other. When the attempt is made from the
standpoint of the absolute system, the reconstructive purpose is
swallowed up in the representative. When, on the other hand, the need
for a basis of distinction between truth and error "here on this bank
and shoal of time" is felt, the representative disappears in the
reconstructive function. Nowhere are we able to discover a true
unification. To be sure, we have been told again and again that the
representation of the absolute object, if only we could accomplish it,
would be "the final fulfilment," "completion," and "realization" of the
human, finite purpose. But besides a confessed impotency at the very
start, this involves, as we have seen, either a sudden transformation of
the specific purpose of singing in tune, etc., into that of representing
the absolute system, or a sheer assumption that the representation of
the absolute object does somehow help in the realization of the specific
finite purpose. Nowhere is there any account of _how_ this help would be
given.
And this suggests that if the analysis of the idea as purpose, given at
the outset of Mr. Royce's lecture, had been developed further, if the
conditions and origin of purpose had been examined, it is difficult to
see how this discrepancy could have escaped disclosure. Mr. Royce starts
his account by simply accepting from psychology a general description of
the purposive character of the idea. Even in the more detailed passages
on purpose we have nothing but descriptions of purpose after it is
formed. Nothing is said of the origin of this purposiveness. The
purposive character of experience is of course very manifest, but what
is the significance of this purposing in experience as a whole? What is
the source and the material of the purposes?
It is this uncritical acceptance of the purposive quality of the idea
that obscures the irrelevancy of its relation to the absolute system. If
the idea must merely be or have a purpose, then it may as well be that
of representing the absolute system as any other. Of course, there are
troublesome questions as to how our finite ideas ever got such a
purpose; but, after all, if it is simply a matter of having any sort of
a purpose, representing the absolute system may answer as well as
anything. But when now we come to deal with the problem of fulfilment,
with the question of truth and error, we have to reckon with this
neglect of the source of this purposiveness.
It is this unanalyzed ground of the purpose that makes the matter of
fulfilment so ambiguous. Such an analysis, we believe, would have shown
that the conditions out of which the idea as a purpose arises determine
also the sort of fulfilment possible. There are, indeed, one or two very
general, but very significant, statements in this direction, if they
were only followed up. For instance:
In doing what we often call "making up our minds" we pass from a
vague to a definite state of will and of resolution. In such cases
we begin with perhaps a very indefinite sort of restlessness which
arouses the question: "What is it that I want, what do I desire,
what is my real purpose?"
In other words, what does this restlessness mean? What is the matter?
What is to be done?
Purpose is born, then, out of restlessness and dissatisfaction. But
whence comes this restlessness and dissatisfaction? Surely we cannot at
this point charge it to a discrepancy between our finite idea and the
absolute object, since it is just this restlessness that is giving birth
to the purposive idea. One thing, at any rate, appears pretty certain:
this "indefinite restlessness" presupposes some sort of activity already
going on. The restlessness is not generated in a vacuum. But why should
this activity get into a condition to be described as "indefinite
restlessness" and dissatisfaction?
Repugnant as it will be to many to have psycho-physical, to say nothing
of biological, doctrines introduced into a logical discussion, I confess
that, at this point facing the issue squarely, I see no other way. And
it appears to me that just at this point it is the fear of
phenomenalistic giants that has kept logic wandering so many years in
the wilderness.
What, then, in this action already going on is responsible for this
restlessness? First let us note that "indefinite restlessness" and
"dissatisfaction" are terms descriptive of what Mr. James calls "the
first thing in the way of consciousness." This assumes consciousness as
a factor in activity. So that our question now becomes: What is the
significance of this factor of restless, dissatisfied consciousness in
activity? Now, there appears no way of getting at the part which
consciousness plays different from that of discovering the function of
anything else. And this way is simply that of observing, as best we may,
the conditions under which consciousness operates, and what it does.
Here the biologist and psychologist with one voice inform us that this
indefinite restlessness which marks the point of the operation of
consciousness arises where, in a co-ordinated system of activities,
there develop out of the continuation of the activity itself new
conditions calling for a readjustment and reconstruction of the
activity, if it is to go on. Consciousness then appears to be the
function which makes possible the reorganization of the results of a
process back into the process itself, thus constituting and preserving
the continuity of activity. So interpreted, consciousness appears to be
an essential element in the conception of a self-sustaining activity.
This "indefinite restlessness," in which consciousness begins, marks,
then, the operation of the function of reconstruction without which
activity would utterly break down.
Precisely because, then, the idea "as a plan" is projected and
constructed in response to this restlessness must its fulfilment be
relevant to it. It is when the idea as a purpose, a plan, born out of
this matrix of restlessness, begins to aspire to the absolute system,
and attempts to ignore or repudiate its lowly antecedents, that the
difficulties concerning fulfilment begin. They are the difficulties that
beset every ambition which aspires to things foreign to its inherited
powers and equipment.
A detailed account at this point of the construction and fulfilment of
the idea as "a plan of action" would contain a consecutive
reinterpretation of Mr. Royce's principal rubrics. Such an account the
limits of this paper forbid. We shall have to be content with pointing
out in a general way a few instances by way of illustration.
In the first place, it is in this matrix of indefinite restlessness out
of which the idea is born that the "fragmentary character of
experience," of which Mr. Royce is so keenly conscious, appears. But,
once more, this fragmentary character is discernible only by contrast
with the wholeness on both sides of the fragments; the wholeness that
precedes the restlessness, and the new "pause of satisfaction" toward
which it points. Nor must we forget that the habit matrix, out of the
disintegration of which the restlessness is immediately born, does not
exist as some metaphysical ultimate out of which thought as such has
evolved. Back of it is some previous purpose in whose service habit was
enlisted. On the other hand, this disintegration means that the old
purpose, the old plan, must be reconstructed; that it, along with the
disintegrated habit, becomes the material for a new plan, a new wholing
of experience.
In the next place, the construction of this new plan of action does
involve "re-presentation." The first step in the transition from the
condition of "indefinite restlessness" toward a "plan" is the diagnosis,
the definition of the restlessness. This involves the re-presentation in
consciousness of the activities, out of which the restlessness has
arisen. This re-presentation is also the beginning of the
reconstruction. The diagnosis of the singing activity as being "out of
tune" is the negative side of beginning to sing in tune. It is now a
commonplace of psychology that all representation is reconstruction. And
this is where Mr. Royce's emphasis of the symbolic, the algebraic, as
against the copy type of representation, has its application. All we
want here is some sort of an image--visual, auditory, motor, it matters
not--that shall serve to focus attention upon the singing activities
until they are reconstructed sufficiently to bring us to the "pause of
satisfaction."[203] But nowhere in all this is there any reference to
the idea's object in the absolute system. Nor does there appear to be
any call or place for such reference. The representation here is a part
of the very process of forming the plan of further reconstruction out of
the materials of the specific situation. Representation is not the
plan's own end and aim. This is to stimulate a new set of activities
that shall lead out of the present state of unrest and dissatisfaction.
It is also true, as already mentioned, that in the process of fulfilling
the plan, of realizing the idea, further determination and specification
is produced in the plan itself. The idea as a plan is certainly not
formed all at once. Nor does it reach and maintain a fixed content. No
purpose is ever realized in its original content. But this does not mean
that its realization is, therefore, "partial," "incomplete," or
"fragmentary." It is a part of its business to change. The purpose is
not there for its own sake. The purpose is there as a _means_ to the
reorganization and reconstruction of experience. It exists, as Mr. Royce
says, as an instrument, "as a tool" for "introducing control into
experience." And as, in the process of use, a tool always undergoes
modification, so here, as an instrument for reconstructing habit, the
plan, too, undergoes reconstruction. Indeed, as regards its content, it
is itself, as Mr. Royce says, as much a habit, as much "the product of
association," as any part of experience. The purposing function, the
purposing activity, remains; its content is constantly shifting.
Here, too, is where "the submission of the idea to the object" takes
place. Only, here, it is not a submission to an object already
constituted as it is in Mr. Royce's conception of the absolute system.
The idea as an hypothetical plan of action, as a trial construction,
must be tested by the activities it is attempting to reconstruct. That
is to say, at this point the question is: Does the plan apply to the
activities actually involved in the unrest? Has it diagnosed the case
properly, and is it therefore one in and through which these activities
can operate and come to unity again? The "submission" here is the
submission of the purpose, the end, to the material out of which it is
formed, and with which it must work. But again this material to which
the idea submits itself is anything but finally fixed and "complete" in
form. On the contrary, as we have seen, it is just the fragmentary and
incomplete condition of this material that calls for the idea. Yet the
idea as a plan must be true to its mission, and to this material, and in
this sense must submit itself to whatever modifications and
reconstruction the material "dictates" as necessary in order that it may
function in and through the plan.[204]
On the other hand--and this is the point to which Mr. Royce gives most
emphasis--it is equally apparent that "the idea must determine its
object." On this all philosophy, from Plato down, which approaches
reality "from the side of ideas" is at stake. And this does not appear
impossible if, again, the object is not already and eternally fixed and
complete. If the object is one constructed out of the very mass of habit
material which the idea is reconstructing, and if "determination" means
not copying, but construction, then, indeed, must the idea "determine
its object." Just for that does it have its being. That is its sole
mission. Here the determination of the object by the idea is not a mere
abstract postulate; it is not based upon a general consideration of the
disastrous consequences to our logical and ethical assumptions, if it
were not so determined. Here not only the general necessity for it, but
the _modus operandi_ of this determination, is apparent. But, at the
risk of tedious iteration, must it again be said that for the
determination of the completed and perfected object in the absolute
system not only is there nowhere any _modus_ to be found, but, even if
there were, it is difficult to see what it would have to do with the
kind of determination demanded by such a specific sort of unrest as
"singing out of tune," etc. The process of submission is thus a
reciprocal one. Neither in the object nor in the idea is there a fixed
scheme or order _to_ which the other must submit and conform. And this
is simply the logical commonplace that submission cannot be a one-sided
affair, that determination must be reciprocal.
This brings us to what might as well have been our introductory as our
concluding observation. It has just been said that the determination of
the object by the idea is a vital matter in any philosophy which
approaches reality "from the side of ideas." Such a way of approach must
assert "the primacy of the world of ideas over the world as a
fact."[205] Mr. Royce thus further states the case:
I am one of those who hold that when you ask what is an idea, and
how can ideas stand in any true relation to reality, you attack
the world knot in the way that promises most for the untying of
its meshes. This way is of course very ancient. It is the way of
Plato.... It is in a different sense the way of Kant. If you view
philosophy in this fashion, you subordinate the study of the world
as fact to a reflection upon the world as idea. Begin by accepting
upon faith and tradition the mere brute reality of the world as
fact, and there you are sunk deep in an ocean of mystery.... The
world of fact surprises you with all sorts of strange
contrasts.... It baffles you with caprices like a charming and yet
hopelessly wayward child, or like a bad fairy. The world of fact
daily announces itself to you as a defiant mystery.[206]
Here we have concisely stated at the outset of the lectures the position
which we have seen to be fraught with so many difficulties: the
position, namely, which accepts to start with the opposition of the
world as idea and the world as fact, as something given, instead of
something to be accounted for; and which assumes that this opposition
stands in the way of reaching reality, whereas it possibly may be of the
very essence of reality. To be sure, the above statement of this
opposition between the world as fact and as idea is but the expository
starting-point. And it is true that the rest of the argument is occupied
in the attempt to close this breach. But, as we have seen, except where
the idea is expounded as a specific purpose, arising out of a specific
experience of unrest, such as singing out of tune, etc.--except in this
case, the breach is taken as found and the attempt to heal it is made by
working forward from the opposition as given instead of back to its
source. This opposition, of course, has its forward goal, but the
difficulty is to find it without an exploration of its source. It is
back in that matrix out of which the opposition has arisen that the line
of direction to the goal is to be found.
Moreover, in starting from this opposition of fact and idea as given,
the only method of quelling it seems to be either that of reducing one
side to terms of the other, or of appealing to some new, and therefore
external unifying, agency. But if the factors in the opposition are
found, not one in submission _to_ the other, nor having the "primacy"
_over_ the other, but as co-ordinate and mutually determining functions,
developed from a common matrix and co-operating in the work of
reconstructing experience, some of the difficulties involved in the
alternative methods just mentioned appear to drop out.[207]
The point may be clearer if we recur to the passage and ask just what is
meant by "the defiantly mysterious," "baffling," and "capricious"
character of the world as fact--as "brute reality." First, if by the
world as "fact;" as "brute reality," we mean experience so brute that it
is not yet "lighted up with ideas," it is difficult to see how it could
be mysterious or capricious, since mystery and caprice appear only when
experience ceases to be taken merely as it comes and an inquiry for
connections and meanings has begun. That is to say, there can be neither
mystery nor caprice except in relation to some sort of order. And order
is always a matter of ideas. But it is sufficient to submit Mr. Royce's
own statement on this point:
We all of us from moment to moment have experience. This
experience comes to us in part as brute fact; light and shade,
sound and silence, pain and grief and joy.... These given facts
flow by; and were they all, our world would be too much of a blind
problem for us even to be puzzled by its meaningless
presence.[208]
If next we take the world of fact as in contrast and co-ordinate with
the world of ideas, mystery and caprice here, certainly, are not all on
the side of the fact. Here, again, must they be functions of the
relation between fact and idea. We have seen that without thought there
is neither mystery nor caprice. The idea then cannot take part in the
production of mystery and caprice, and forthwith deny its parenthood. Of
course, mystery and caprice are not the final fruits of this co-ordinate
opposition of fact and idea. They are but the _first_ fruits--the
relatively unorganized embryonic mass which through the further
activities of the parent functions shall develop into the symmetry of
truth and law.
There appears then no ultimate "primacy" of either idea or fact over the
other. Nor does either appear as a better way of approach _to_ reality
than the other. It is only when we say: "Lo! here in the idea," _or_
"Lo! there in the fact is reality," that we find it "imperfect,"
"incomplete," and "fragmentary," and must straightway "look for
another." But surely not in "a certain absolute system of ideas," which
is "the object of love and hope, of desire and will, of faith and work,
but never of present finding," shall we seek it. Rather precisely in the
loving and hoping, desiring and willing, believing and working, shall we
find that reality in which and for which both the "World as fact" and
the "World as idea" have their being.