I hope this statement of the difficulty, however inadequate, will
serve at least to indicate that a functional logic inherits the
problem in question and does not create it; that it has never for a
moment denied the prima facie working distinction between "ideas,"
"thoughts," "meanings," and "facts," "existences," "the environment,"
nor the necessity of a control of meaning by facts. It is concerned
not with denying, but with understanding. What is denied is not the
genuineness of the problem of the terms in which it is stated, but
the reality and value of the orthodox interpretation. What is insisted
upon is the relative, instrumental, or working character of the
distinction--that it _is_ a _logical_ distinction, instituted and
maintained in the interests of intelligence, with all that
intelligence imports in the exercise of the life functions. To this
positive side I now turn.
In the analysis it may prove convenient to take an illustration of a
man lost in the woods, taking this case as typical of any reflective
situation in so far as it involves perplexity--a problem to be solved.
The problem is to find a correct idea of the way home--a practical
idea or plan of action which will lead to success, or the realization
of the purpose to get home. Now the critics of the experimental theory
of logic make the point that this practical idea, the truth of which
is evidenced in the successful meeting of a need, is dependent for its
success upon a purely presentative idea, that of the existent
environment, whose validity has nothing to do with success but depends
on agreement with the given state of affairs. It is said that what
makes a man's idea of his environment true is its agreement with the
actual environment, and "generally a true idea in any situation
consists in its agreement with reality." I have already indicated my
acceptance of this formula. But it was long my misfortune not to be
possessed offhand of those perfectly clear notions of just what is
meant in this formula by the terms "idea," "existence," and
"agreement" which are possessed by other writers on epistemology; and
when I analyzed these notions I found the distinction between the
practical idea and the theoretical not fixed nor final, and I found a
somewhat startling similarity between the notions of "success" and
"agreement."
Just what is the environment of which an idea is to be formed: i.e.,
what is the intellectual content or objective detail to be assigned to
the term "environment"? It can hardly mean the actual visible
environment--the trees, rocks, etc., which a man is actually looking
at. These things are there and it seems superfluous to form an idea of
them; moreover, the wayfaring man, though lost, would have to be an
unusually perverse fool if under such circumstances he were unable to
form an idea (supposing he chose to engage in this luxury) in agreement
with these facts. The environment must be a larger environment than the
visible facts; it must include things not within the direct ken of the
lost man; it must, for instance, extend from where he is now to his
home, or to the point from which he started. It must include
unperceived elements in their contrast with the perceived. Otherwise
the man would not be lost. Now we are at once struck with the facts
that the lost man has no alternative except either to wander aimlessly
or else to _conceive_ this inclusive environment; and that this
conception is just what is meant by idea. It is not some little
psychical entity or piece of consciousness-stuff, but is _the
interpretation of the locally present environment in reference to its
absent portion_, that part to which it is referred as another part so
as to give a view of a whole. Just how such an idea would differ from
one's plan of action in finding one's way, I do not know. For one's
plan (if it be really a plan, a method) is a conception of what is
given in its hypothetical relations to what is not given, employed as a
guide to that act which results in the absent being also given. It is a
map constructed with one's self lost and one's self found, whether at
starting or at home again, as its two limits. If this map in its
specific character is not also the only guide to the way home, one's
only plan of action, then I hope I may never be lost. It is the
_practical_ facts of being lost and desiring to be found which
constitute the limits and the content of the "environment."
Then comes the test of _agreement_ of the idea and the environment.
Supposing the individual stands still and attempts to compare his idea
with the reality, with what reality is he to compare it? Not with the
presented reality, for _that_ reality is the reality of himself lost;
not with the complete reality, for at this stage of proceedings he has
only the idea to stand for the complete theory. What kind of
comparison is possible or desirable then, save to treat the mental
layout of the whole situation as a working hypothesis, as a plan of
action, and proceed to _act_ upon it, to use it as a director and
controller of one's divagations instead of stumbling blindly around
until one is either exhausted or accidentally gets out? Now suppose
one uses the idea--that is to say, the present facts projected into a
whole in the light of absent facts--as a guide of action. Suppose, by
means of its specifications, one works one's way along until one comes
upon familiar ground--finds one's self. _Now_, one may say, my idea
was right, it was in accord with facts; it agrees with reality. That
is, acted upon sincerely, it has led to the desired conclusion; it
has, _through action_, worked out the state of things which it
contemplated or intended. The agreement, correspondence, is between
purpose, plan, and its own execution, fulfillment; between a map of a
course constructed for the sake of guiding behavior and the result
attained in acting upon the indications of the map. Just how does such
agreement differ from success?