" But is not this," I may be asked further, " a sur- render of your position? Does not this admit that the criterion used for theory is merely a practical impulse, a tendency to movement from one side of our being? And, if so, how can the intellectual standard be predominant? " But it is necessary here to distinguish. The whole question turns on the difference between the several impulses of our being.1 You may call the intellect, if you like, a mere tendency to movement, but you must remember that it is a movement of a very special kind. I shall enter more fully into the nature of thinking hereafter, but the crucial point may be stated at once. In thought the standard, you may say, amounts merely to "act so"; but then "act so" means "think so," and "think so" means " it is." And the psychological origin and base of this movement, and of this inability 1 Compare here Chapter xxvi.
THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY. 1 53 to act otherwise, may be anything you please; for that is all utterly irrelevant to the metaphysical issue. Thinking is the attempt to satisfy a special impulse, and the attempt implies an assumption about reality. You may avoid the assumption so far as you decline to think, but, if you sit down to the game, there is only one way of playing. In order to think at all you must subject yourself to a standard, a standard which implies an absolute knowledge of reality; and while you doubt this, you accept it, and obey while you rebel. You may urge that thought, after all, is inconsistent, because appearance is not got rid of but merely shelved. That is another question which will engage us in a future chapter, and here may be dismissed. For in any case thinking means the acceptance of a certain standard, and that standard, in any case, is an assumption as to the character of reality.
"But why," it may be objected, "is this assump- tion better than what holds for practice? Why is the theoretical to be superior to the practical end? " I have never said that this is so. Only here, that is in metaphysics, I must be allowed to reply, we are acting theoretically. We are occupied specially, and are therefore subject to special conditions; and the theoretical standard within theory must surely be absolute. We have no right to listen to morality when it rushes in blindly. " Act so," urges morality, that is "be so or be dissatisfied." But if I am dis- satisfied, still apparently I may be none the less real. " Act so," replies speculation, that is, " think so or be dissatisfied; and if you do not think so, what you think is certainly not real." And these two com- mands do not seem to be directly connected. If I am theoretically not satisfied, then what appears must in reality be otherwise; but, if I am dissatis- fied practically, the same conclusion does not hold. Thus the two satisfactions are not the same, nor does there appear to be a straight way from the one to the 154 REALITY.
154 REALITY.
other. Or consider again the same question from a different side. Morality seemed anxious to dictate to metaphysics, but is it prepared to accept a corre- sponding dictation? If it were to hear that the real world is quite other than its ideal, and if it were unable theoretically to shake this result, would morality acquiesce? Would it not, on the other hand, regardless of this, still maintain its own ground? Facts may be as you say, but none the less they should not be so, and something else ought to be. Morality, I think, would take this line, and, if so, it should accept a like attitude in theory. It must not dictate as to what facts are, while it refuses to admit dictation as to what they should be.
Certainly, to any one who believes in the unity of our nature, a one-sided satisfaction will remain in- credible. And such a consideration to my mind carries very great weight. But to stand on one side of our nature, and to argue from that directly to the other side, seems illegitimate. I will not here ask how far morality is consistent with itself in demand- ing complete harmony (Chapter xxv.). What seems clear is that, in wishing to dictate to mere theory, it is abandoning its own position and is courting foreign occupation. And it is misled mainly by a failure to observe essential distinctions. "Be so" does not mean always " think so," and " think so," in its main signification, certainly does not mean "be so." Their difference is the difference between " you ought " and " it is " — and I can see no direct road from the one to the other. If a theory could be made by the will, that would have to satisfy the will, and, if it did not, it would be false. But since meta- physics is mere theory, and since theory from its nature must be made by the intellect, it is here the intellect alone which has to be satisfied. Doubtless a conclusion which fails to content all the sides of my nature leaves me dissatisfied. But I see no direct way of passing from " this does not satisfy my THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY. 1 55 nature " to " therefore it is false." For false is the same as theoretically untenable, and we are suppos- ing a case where mere theory has been satisfied, and where the result has in consequence been taken as true. And, so far as I see, we must admit that, if the intellect is contented, the question is settled. For we may feel as we please about the intellectual conclusion, but we cannot, on such external ground, protest that it is false.
Hence if we understand by perfection a state ot harmony with pleasure, there is no direct way ot showing that reality is perfect. For, so far as the in- tellectual standard at present seems to go, we might have harmony with pain and with partial dissatisfac- tion. But I think the case is much altered when we consider it otherwise, and when we ask if on an- other ground such harmony is possible. The intel- lect is not to be dictated to; that conclusion is irre- fragable. But is it certain, on the other hand, that the mere intellect can be self-satisfied, if other ele- ments of our nature remain not contented? Or must we not think rather that indirectly any partial discontent will bring unrest and imperfection into the intellect itself? If this is so, then to suppose any imperfection in the Absolute is inadmissible. To fail in any way would introduce a discord into perception itself. And hence, since we have found that, taken perceptively, reality is harmonious, it must be harmonious altogether, and must satisfy our whole nature. Let us see if on this line we can make an advance.
If the Absolute is to be theoretically harmonious, its elements must not collide. Idea must not dis- agree with sensation, nor must sensations clash. In every case, that is, the struggle must not be a mere struggle. There must be a unity which it subserves, and a whole, taken in which it is a struggle no <:r. How this resolution is possible we may be I56 REALITY.
able to see partly in our subsequent chapters, but for the present I would insist merely that somehow it must exist. Since reality is harmonious, the struggle of diverse elements, sensations or ideas, barely to qualify the self-same point must be precluded. But, if idea must not clash with sensation, then there cannot in the Absolute be unsatisfied desire or any practical unrest. For in these there is clearly an ideal element not concordant with presentation but struggling against it, and, if you remove this dis- cordance, then with it all unsatisfied desire is gone. In order for such a desire, in even its lowest form, to persist, there must (so far as I can see) be an idea qualifying diversely a sensation and fixed for the moment in discord. And any such state is not compatible with theoretical harmony.
But this result perhaps has ignored an outstanding possibility. Unsatisfied desires might, as such, not exist in the Absolute, and yet seemingly there might remain a clear balance of pain. For, in the first place, it is not proved that all pain must arise from an unresolved struggle; and it may be contended, in the second place, that possibly the discord might be resolved, and yet, so far as we know, the pain might remain. In a painful struggle it may be urged that the pain can be real, though the struggle is apparent. For we shall see, when we discuss error (Chapter xvi.), how discordant elements may be neutralized in a wider complex. We shall find how, in that system, they can take on a different arrange- ment, and so result in harmony. And the question here as to unsatisfied desires will be this. Can they not be merged in a whole, so as to lose their charac- ter of discordance, and thus cease to be desires, while their pain none the less survives in reality? If so, that whole, after all, would be imperfect. For, while possessor of harmony, it still might be sunk in misery, or might suffer at least with a balance of pain. This objection is serious, and it calls for THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY. 1 57 some discussion here. I shall have to deal with it once more in our concluding chapter.
I feel at this point our want of knowledge with regard to the conditions of pleasure and pain.1 It is a tenable view, one at least which can hardly be refuted, that pain is caused, or conditioned, by an unresolved collision. Now, if this really is the case, then, given harmony, a balance of pain is impos- sible. Pain, of course, is a fact, and no fact can be conjured away from the universe; but the question here is entirely as to a balance of pain. Now it is common experience that in mixed states pain may be neutralized by pleasure in such a way that the balance is decidedly pleasant. And hence it is possible that in the universe as a whole we may have a balance of pleasure, and in the total result no residue of pain. This is possible, and if an un- resolved conflict and discord is essential to pain, it is much more than possible. Since the reality is har- monious, and since harmony excludes the conditions which are requisite for a balance of pain, that bal- ance is impossible. I will urge this so far as to raise a very grave doubt. I question our right even to suppose a state of pain in the Absolute.
And this doubt becomes more grave when we o consider another point. When we pass from the conditions to the effects of painful feeling, we are on surer ground. For in our experience the result of pain is disquietude and unrest. Its main action is to set up change, and to prevent stability. There is authority, I am aware, for a different view, but, so far as 1 see, that view cannot be reconciled with facts. This effect of pain has here a most impor- tant bearing. Assume that in the Absolute there is a balance of pleasure, and all is consistent. For the pains can condition those processes which, as processes, disappear in the life of the whole; and these pains can be neutralized by an overplus of lCf. J//W, xiii. pp. 3-14 (No. 49).
pleasure. But if you suppose, on the other hand, a balance of pain, the difficulty becomes at once in- superable. We have postulated a state of harmony, and, together with that, the very condition of in- stability and discord. We have in the Absolute, on one side, a state of things where the elements can- not jar, and where in particular idea does not con- flict with presentation. But with pain on the other side we have introduced a main-spring of change and unrest, and we thus produce necessarily an idea not in harmony with existence. And this idea of a better and of a non-existing condition of things must directly destroy theoretical rest. But, if so, such an idea must be called impossible. There is no pain on the whole, and in the Absolute our whole nature must find satisfaction. For otherwise there is no theoretical harmony, and that harmony we saw must certainly exist. I shall ask in our last chapter if there is a way of avoiding this con- clusion, but for the present we seem bound to accept it as true. We must not admit the possibility of an Absolute perfect in apprehension yet resting tran- quilly in pain. The question as to actual evidence of defect in the universe will be discussed in Chapter xvii.; and our position so far is this.
We cannot argue directly that all sides of our nature must be satisfied, but indirectly we are led to the same result. For we are forced to assume theo- retical satisfaction; and to suppose that existing one-sidedly, and together with practical discomfort, appears inadmissible. Such a state is a possibility which seems to contradict itself. It is a supposition to which, if we cannot find any ground in its favour, we have no right. For the present at least it is better to set it down as inconceivable.1 And hence, for the present at least, we must be- 1 In our last chapter this conclusion will be slightly modified. The supposition will appear there to be barely possible.
Till \L NATURE OF REALITY. 1 59 lieve that reality satisfies our whole being. Our main wants — for truth and life, and for beauty and goodness — must all find satisfaction. And we have seen that this consummation must somehow be experience, and be individual. Every element of the universe, sensation, feeling, thought and will, must be included within one comprehensive sen- tience. And the question which now occurs is whether really we have a positive idea of such sen- tience. Do we at all know what we mean when we say that it is actual?
Fully to realize the existence of the Absolute is for finite beings impossible. In order thus to know we should have to be, and then we should not exist. This result is certain, and all attempts to avoid it are illusory. But then the whole question turns on the sense in which we are to understand M know- ing." What is impossible is to construct absolute life in its detail, to have the specific experience in which it consists. But to gain an idea of its main features — an idea true so far as it goes, though abstract and incomplete — is a different endeavour. And it is a task, so far as I see, in which we may succeed. For these main features, to some extent, are within our own experience; and again the idea of their combination is, in the abstract, quite intellig- ible. And surely no more than this is wanted for a knowledge of the Absolute. It is a knowledge which of course differs enormously from the fact. But it is true, for all that, while it respects its own limits; and it seems fully attainable by the finite intellect.
I will end this chapter by briefly mentioning the sources of such knowledge. First, in mere feeling, or immediate presentation, we have the experience of a whole (Chapters ix., xix., xxvi., xxvii.). This whole contains diversity, and, on the other hand, is not parted by relations. Such an experi- ence, we must admit, is most imperfect and un- 1 60 REALITY stable, and its inconsistencies lead us at once to transcend it. Indeed, we hardly possess it as more than that which we are in the act of losing. But it serves to suggest to us the general idea of a total experience, where will and thought and feeling may all once more be one. Further, this same unity, felt below distinctions, shows itself later in a kind of hostility against them. We find it in the efforts made both by theory and practice, each to complete itself and so to pass into the other. And, again, the relational form, as we saw, pointed everywhere to a unity. It implies a substantial totality beyond relations and above them, a whole endeavouring without success to realize itself in their detail. Fur- ther, the ideas of goodness, and of the beautiful, suggest in different ways the same result. They more or less involve the experience of a whole be- yond relations though full of diversity. Now, if we gather (as we can) such considerations into one, they will assuredly supply us with a positive idea. We gain from them the knowledge of a unity which transcends and yet contains every manifold appearance. They supply not an experience but an abstract idea, an idea which we make by uniting given elements. And the mode of union, once more in the abstract, is actually given. Thus we know what is meant by an experience, which embraces all divisions, and yet somehow possesses the direct nature of feeling. We can form the general idea of an absolute experience in which phenomenal dis- tinctions are merged, a whole become immediate at a higher stage without losing any richness. Our complete inability to understand this concrete unity in detail is no good ground for our declining to entertain it. Such a ground would be irrational, and its principle could hardly everywhere be ad- hered to. But if we can realize at all the general features of the Absolute, if we can see that some- how they come together in a way known vaguely THE GENERAL NATURE OF REALITY. l6l and in the abstract, our result is certain. Our con- clusion, so far as it goes, is real knowledge of the Absolute, positive knowledge built on experience, and inevitable when we try to think consistently. We shall realize its nature more clearly when we have confronted it with a series of objections and difficulties. If our result will hold against them all, we shall be able to urge that in reason we are bound to think it true.
CHAPTER XV.
THOUGHT AND REALITY.
There is a natural objection which the reader will raise against our account of the Absolute. The difficulty lies, he may urge, not in making a state- ment which by itself seems defensible, but rather in reconciling any view with obvious inconsistencies. The real problem is to show how appearance and evil, and in general finite existence, are compatible with the Absolute. These questions, however, he will object, have been so far neglected. And it is these which in the next chapter must begin to engage our serious attention. Still it is better not to proceed at once; and before we deal with error we must gain some notion of what we mean by truth. In the present chapter I will try to state briefly the main essence of thought, and to justify its distinction from actual existence. It is only by misunderstanding that we find difficulty in taking thought to be something less than reality.
If we take up anything considered real, no matter what it is, we find in it two aspects. There are always two things we can say about it; and, if we cannot say both, we have not got reality. There is a " what " and a " that," an existence and a con- tent, and the two are inseparable. That anything should be, and should yet be nothing in particular, or that a quality should not qualify and ^ive a character to anything, is obviously impossible. If we try to get the "that" by itself, we do not get it, for either we have it qualified, or else we fail utterly. If we try to get the " what " by itself, we find at once that it is not all. It points to some- thing beyond, and cannot exist by itself and as a bare adjective. Neither of these aspects, if you isolate it, can be taken as real, or indeed in that c?;se is itself any longer. They are distinguishable c/ily and are not divisible.
And yet thought seems essentially to consist in their division. For thought is clearly, to some extent at least, ideal. Without an idea there is no thinking, and an idea implies the separation of con- tent from existence. It is a " what" which, so far as it is a mere idea, clearly is not, and if it also were, could, so far, not be called ideal. For ideality lies in the disjoining of quality from being. Hence the common view, which identifies image and idea, is fundamentally in error. For an image is a fact, just as real as any sensation; it is merely a fact of another kind and it is not one whit more ideal. But an idea is any part of the content of a fact so far as that works out of immediate unity with its existence. And an idea's factual existence may consist in a sensation or perception, just as well as in an image. The main point and the essence is that some feature in the " what " of a given fact should be alienated from its " that " so far as to work beyond it, or at all events loose from it. Such a movement is ideal- ity, and, where it is absent, there is nothing ideal.
We can understand this most clearly if we con- sider the nature of judgment, for there we find thought in its completed form. In judgment an idea is predicated of a reality. Now, in the first place, what is predicated is not a mental image. It is not a fact inside my head which the judgment wishes to attach to another fact outside. The predicate is a mere " what," a mere feature of content, which is used to qualify further the M that " of the subject. And this predicate is divorced from its psychical existence in my head, and is used without any 164 REALITY.
164 REALITY.
regard to its being there. When I say " this horse is a mammal," it is surely absurd to suppose that I am harnessing my mental state to the beast between the shafts. Judgment adds an adjective to reality, and this adjective is an idea, because it is a quality made loose from its own existence, and is working free from its implication with that. And, even when a fact is merely analysed, — when the predicate appears not to go beyond its own subject, or to have been imported divorced from another fact outside — our account still holds good. For here obviously our synthesis is a re-union of the distinguished, and it implies a separation, which, though it is over- ridden, is never unmade. The predicate is a con- tent which has been made loose from its own immediate existence and is used in divorce from that first unity. And, again, as predicated, it is applied without regard to its own being as abstracted and in my head. If this were not so, there would be no judgment; for neither distinction nor predication would have taken place. But again, if it is so, then once more here we discover an idea.
And in the second place, when we turn to the subject of the judgment, we clearly find the other aspect, in other words, the "that." Just as in "this horse is a mammal " the predicate was not a fact, so most assuredly the subject is an actual existence. And the same thing holds good with every judg- ment.. No one ever means to assert about anything but reality, or to do anything but qualify a "that" by a "what" And, without dwelling on a point which / I have worked out elsewhere,1 I will notice a source of possible mistake. " The subject, at all events," I may be told, " is in no case a mere ' that.' It is never bare reality, or existence without character." And to this I fully assent. I agree that the subject which we mean — even before the judgment is com- 1 Principles of Logic, Book I.
THOUGHT AND REALITY. 1 65 plete, and while still we are holding its elements apart — is more than a mere " that." But then this is not the point. The point is whether with every judgment we do not find an aspect of existence, absent from the predicate but present in the subject, and whether in the synthesis of these aspects we have not got the essence of judgment. And for myself I see no way of avoiding this conclusion. Judgment is essentially the re-union of two sides, " what " and " that," provisionally estranged. But it is the alienation of these aspects in which thought's ideality consists.
Truth is the object of thinking, and the aim of truth is to qualify existence ideally. Its end, that is, is to give a character to reality in which it can rest. Truth is the predication of such content as, when predicated, is harmonious, and removes incon- sistency and with it unrest. And because the&ven reality is never consistent, thought is compelled to take the road of indefinite expansion. If thought were successful, it would have a predicate consistent in itself and agreeing entirely with the subject. But, on the other hand, the predicate must be always ideal. It must, that is, be a "what" not in unity with its own " that," and tfierefore, in and by itself, devoid of existence. HerVce, so far as in thought this alienation is not made good, thought can never be more than merely ideal.
I shall very soon proceed to dwell on this last con- sideration, but will first of all calr attention to a most important point. There exists a notion that ideality is something outside of facts, something imported into them, or imposed as a sort of layer above them; and we talk as if facts, when let alone, were in no sense ideal. But any such notion is illusory. For facts which are not ideal, and which show no loose- f ness of content from existence, seem hardly actual. They would be found, if anywhere, in feelings with- out internal lapse, and with a content wholly single.
1 66 REALITY.
1 66 REALITY.
But if we keep to fact which is given, this changes in our hands, and it compels us to perceive incon- sistency of content. And then this content cannot be referred merely to its given " that," but is forced beyond it, and is made to qualify something outside. But, if so, in the simplest change we have at once ideality — the use of content in separation from its actual existence. Indeed, in Chapters ix. and x. we have already seen how this is necessary. For the j content of the given is for ever relative to something I not given, and the nature of its " what " is hence es- j sentially to transcend its " that." This we may call the ideality of the given finite. It is not manufac- tured by thought, but thought itself is its develop- ment and product. The essential nature of the finite is that everywhere, as it presents itself, its character should slide beyond the limits of its existence.