The Limits of Knowledge

Chapter 1

Matter and Form

I n addressing the issue at hand, the relation between matter and form, we do not do so on the assumption they may be compared in any strict or unconditional way. Nor do we do so on the assumption of any gradation or hierarchy of being. What is, quite simply is, and what is not, quite simply is not. What we can discern through our senses exists in a purely concrete or corporeal way. What we can discern through the mind or imagination exists in a purely chimerical or incorporeal way. Thus, what we would suggest is that form may be prior to matter or that matter may be prior to form, but not that the one is conditional upon the other or the cause of the other in any way that is altogether fixed. Form appears in the absence of matter and matter appears in the absence of form, but also in the case of the latter, under the species of quality, quantity and kind. Thus, in absolute terms we might describe matter as what is determinate or indeterminate and form as what is embodied or disembodied, although of course we are more likely to connect what is concrete with what is determinate and what is ideal with that which is less so.

Let us consider in the first place what we might mean when we say it is form that is prior to matter. There is the kind of matter that may be impressed or imposed on, as for instance when a piece of wax becomes a seal, a piece of clay becomes a brick or a piece of bronze becomes a statue. These are good examples of what might be termed ideal form, because the matter is inert and different influences may be brought to bear to shape it from without. Such may also be described as a versatile whole, since we have a definite product, but in conjunction with a somewhat nebulous background or base. Another illustration is when we have what could be called an elemental form, when the form is derived exclusively from a part but expressed in the manner of what is whole. We might consider the properties of something such as fire or water, where there is a constant state of flux but some degree of cohesion nonetheless. What we mean by an extensive whole is something that can undergo a change in its parts, but which retains the same basic shape, as in the case of a river or a plastic cast. On the other hand, when we consider how or in what sense it is matter that supersedes form, then this occurs when there is more complexity in the relation between whole and part. That is, when the parts are articulated, when the parts can be separated, or when there is diversity in their function or use. If the parts can in any sense be said to be self-existent or if a whole can be assembled from them, then it is the whole that is possible and the parts that are real. We can see this in the case of both artificial and living things. Certainly a living thing does not have appendages which we can remove and replace (or at least not easily), nor can it ever be reconstituted as a whole, but there is nonetheless, a certain wherewithal in each of its parts, and this should not be confounded with the meaning of the whole or at least a whole that is dependent upon all its parts. Thus, what we have in both instances could be described as something heterogeneous in its kind.

So far however as it concerns the relation between any object and its motive force, of what is indispensable and what is not, then in no way would we consider that there is any strict precedence in respect to one another. Matter is neither indispensable to form nor form to matter, and there is no ‘actuality’ in the one or ‘potentiality’ in the other, if what this implies is that the one is only cognizable through and in conjunction with the other. Since, as we shall later argue, the basis for creation is inexplicable, there is no more a being as the cause of what-is than there is a being as the consequence of what-was. We can only conceive of potentiality in either of two respects: first, where it concerns a change in quality, quantity or relation, and secondly, where something has the potential to desist altogether, or at least, that what waxes and wanes, what grows and diminishes, must ultimately take leave of such changes as well. What we mean by actuality on the other hand, or the reality and necessity of being, requires a somewhat different approach, and this we might pursue in terms of the difference between essence and existence.

If you take the view that all the things that occupy a world must be altogether different, then what is adventitious in one respect may yet be quite essential in another. That is, if what we mean by a subject is just this particular set of attributes, then what is proper to the individual will be incidental to any species, and what is proper to any species will be incidental to any member. Here we can see that it is numerical identity that is subordinate to specific identity, since although the number of such things may be illimitable, the classes or groupings that divide them must remain constant throughout. On the other hand, we might take a different viewpoint to this and argue that it is really specific identity which is contingent upon numerical identity. To the extent that a class or a species is exclusive of any coordinate group, one might suppose that its members are too, and that for each type will there be just one member that is exclusive to that type. The implication here is that although all the attributes of a species are not common to the genus, separate species may yet be linked through their differentiae, so that where there is a greater diversity in number this will also be mirrored by a greater diversity in detail. On the other hand, what this assumes is that the differentiae can be added to the genus, which, if it were true, would enable us to generate different individuals merely through the discernment of some minimal difference in the kinds of things which they are.

The concept that we have of a living organism, or at least at the highest level, is that it is a composite of two things: what is purely physical on the one hand and what is purely mental on the other. What we mean by the mind is what is rudimentary in both its operation and its esse, and by the body, an empty vessel in the hands of such a power, what can be acted on but cannot be active in and of itself. The body, and the organs that belong to it, may respond to outside influences, but it is the mind that has its own source of change (the will) and its own source of identity (the imagination). And so, if there is a reflexive sense of who and what we are, there can also be a reflexive sense of what we can and cannot do, or at least, not only what exists apart from us but also what is causative in and of itself. Since we know who we are and are aware of our surroundings, then so also do we know when we are mobile, and that by a discernible change do we mean not just the interaction of purely physical things. What we mean by volition or the will is consistent with the view that our ‘doing’ must proceed from within, not without, and that we have just as keen an awareness of desire as we do something altogether requisite for the attainment of any end. We tend to think that a watch or a radio for instance, will continue to operate so long as there is a battery to sustain it, but that in living organisms what pervades them is both self-sustaining and self-restoring - that it does not arise from without, but rather from within. Thus, we tend to connect the idea of what becomes with the idea of what just is, and just as we connect the instrument with its maker so is it self-scrutiny on the one hand that mirrors our aspirations and ideals on the other.

In order to address the question then of how something may be regarded as a ‘cause in itself’, or the cause of its very most being, we need to distinguish between two very different kinds of causality: what on the one hand could be called efficient and what on the other hand could be called immanent. Where it concerns the idea of efficient causality, we need to consider the relation between an instrument and its end, that is, in what the act terminates but not necessarily from whence it proceeds. We need only know the basis for what does what to what, not the reason that something is done, or what directs the requisite means to such and such an end. An earthquake for instance may have devastating effects on a building or a bridge, a bush fire may rip through a log cabin and lay it to waste, but this is no different from the way that any means may conspire to any quite unintended end. Where it concerns immanent causality on the other hand, then there is something more to be discerned, and that is the ultimate source or the ultimate ground from which such action proceeds. What we are dealing with here is the question of both an origin and an end, or the initial conception of an end and its realization through such and such a set of means.

And in broad terms, there may be two ways this could be viewed. In the first place, when it is the intention or purpose behind the act that guides it in some significant way, and in the second, when the origin is reflected in the instrumental value of the end. Let us consider this in a little more detail. In taking up the habit of walking or jogging the reason a person may have is to overcome an injury or simply to improve his general state of health. At another level, we tend to see this in the purpose or the function of a thing. Why for instance does the builder construct a house? So that it may serve as a fit place for human habitation. Why does the engineer design and the workmen construct a bridge? So that it may obviate the problem when there is the need for a certain conveyance. Why does the potter work diligently to mould and shape a piece of clay? So that he may create a utensil that is fit for human use. And in the same way, we may consider the parts of an animal as pertaining to such and such a use, only here where there is a deeper and more radical connection between the parts and that end they are meant to sub serve. What therefore we understand by an immanent cause involves the connection between three basic ideas. Firstly, we have the conception of a thing or its essence and function; secondly, we have the realization of a thing or its production and means, and thirdly, we have the materials or ingredients from which such a thing may be made.

So far as it concerns the question of any general critique, then there are two basic issues we need to address: firstly, whether the relation between matter and form is such that the latter must always take precedence, and secondly, whether we are entitled to treat a final cause as commensurate with what is original or primordial in itself. In the first place, it should be clear that the relation between potentiality and actuality is such that it is not the former that is subordinate to the latter but that latter that is subordinate to the former. That is, to be means having the potential to change, but in order for that to occur must there also be something from which it is changing, that is, from potentially what is-not as well as what is (e.g. a bud is not only potentially a flower but also potentially not a bud). And so, what is in one state at one time may well be in another at some other, but that is not to say that what becomes is merely the realization of what was but is no more, and what is, is the realization of what must be but is not yet.

In the second place, what we mean by a ‘final cause’ is really only the loose description of an action or the intention behind the action, not something of a truly portentous or prevalent kind. We may in many instances provide a reason for the way we behave, but that is not the same as stating the causes for the way we behave. And in a similar vein, we may provide the definition of a thing or state the use and purpose of a thing, but we cannot say how something will be until it exists, until it becomes or is ready to hand. In what sense for instance could a house ever be occupied if it had not first come to be, or in what sense must it always be occupied rather than potentially only so? In what sense could there ever be the use of a cupboard or a wardrobe if there were not first the sawing of wood or the hammering of nails? Quiet clearly then, the existence of a thing must be deemed prior to the purpose of a thing, just as the purpose of a thing must be deemed prior to the definition of a thing, otherwise we could make things just by using the building blocks of our mind.

And the tenor of these remarks will apply equally when we consider what is the purpose or intention behind our acts—as if the body were merely the instrument of the will and yet had no efficiency in and of itself. Of course, it is true that our actions ought not be regarded as what is simply automatic, that we cannot be conscious of what we are doing before we have done it, or that the batting of an eyelid is no different from the aiming of a dart. On the other hand, it will make a considerable difference to a person’s capacity if he suffers a spinal injury, since no matter what the strength of his spirit this will not allow him to raise his legs or walk about freely.

In terms of the relation between form and function, we might approach this in the following way: (a) where there is a perfect coincidence between the two and this is reflected by the relation between whole and part, (b) where there is a chance connection and this reflected in the meaning of contingent being and (c) where there is complete disjunction and this is reflected in the absence of any whole or the absence of all its parts. So far as it concerns the last of these, we have already discussed this in terms of what is artistic, ideal or elemental in its kind. As for the first two, we need to address this in conjunction with a comparison of living and inanimate things, or organisms and mechanisms as such. In comparing art or engineering to nature, we need to consider the degree of organization or utility exhibited in the former and compare this to the organization or utility exhibited in the latter. What we mean by the form or function of an artefact is something that results from a purely extrinsic connection between the parts, but beyond that only indistinctly as concerns the meaning of such a whole. Efficiency could be described as a quantum or a sum of diverse powers, but it is not the parts that are dependent upon the whole, rather it is the whole that is dependent upon the parts. A living organism however is not merely an aggregate of parts, it is also a unified whole, and to the degree this form cannot be qualified it pervades the whole of the body and resides in each and every part.

Or at least what we have stated here is certainly the traditional account— and yet might it not also be a controvertible one? Let us for instance consider the parts that comprise a combustible engine, say the pistons, the spark plugs, the valves—can there be any doubt that what these evince is the most sparing and thrifty arrangement as such. The same might be said for the components that make a bridge (the suspenders, the cables, the towers)—again, is there anything lacking or wasteful in this? Or more broadly consider the purpose of an engine or the purpose of a bridge. Is there anything more evident or apparent than what these are for? Hence what we have here is a unified whole just as much as there is a variety or diversity of parts. There may also be a sense in which the value of a part is reflective of the whole—that we cannot have a watch without a regulator, that we cannot have a globe without a filament, that we cannot have a shoe without a sole. Consider on the other hand how we might regard the purpose of an animal or a plant. Certainly, we may know what is the purpose of an eye or what is the purpose of a hand, but do we really know what is the purpose of the head and consequently, what is the purpose of the whole? We might for instance define ‘man’ as a rational animal that has knowledge and uses language, and we might regard the speakers and bearers of such knowledge as pertaining to just this species, but can we in the same way say what men are good for, or what end they must subserve? Hence it seems that what is fundamental to a part may yet be incidental to the whole, and that we should no more regard a tree as comprising the whole of a root than we should a leaf as comprising the whole of a branch. By a heterogeneous whole therefore, what we mean is that some parts may be useful in and of themselves (as the hand or the eye) whilst others may not (as the toes or the head).

And yet there is also another line of reasoning which would seem to support exactly the same conclusion. Where it concerns the parts of an artefact there are two aspects to be discerned: first, that we can remove and replace all the parts so that the object can be reproduced as a whole, and secondly, that we can remove and rebuild all the parts so that the object can be revitalized as a whole. Furthermore, we can devise a plan or a blueprint for the things we construct, we can use ceramics in the plastic arts, chromatics in the visual arts and choreography in the dramatic arts. Where on the other hand it concerns a living organism then there are many more restrictions to be discerned. It cannot be reconstructed as a whole or returned it to its original state, and we cannot reverse those processes that are necessarily developmental in their kind. Consequently if there is any plenitude in the whole this can only be through the actual capacity of all its parts, if there is any growth this can only be through the irregularity of some of its parts, and if there is versatility this can only be through the loss of some of its less indispensable parts.

Chapter 2

Actuality and Potentiality

W ith respect to the relation between actuality and potentiality, we need to consider this within a particular arrangement of things, that is, as we ascend In in the first place, where it concerns the idea of artistic design, then there is certainly a sense in which it is actuality that precedes potentiality, since the matter is entirely indifferent to anything that may be imposed or impressed on it. The artist has a particular objective which he hopes to body forth, and so there is a very real sense in which it is the materials that have the potential to-be, that is, to be this or that colour, to be this or that harmony, to be this or that shape. We can however discern something similar in the workings of nature, as for instance, in a hive or a web, only where the end or ideal is exhibited in a certain uniformity of parts and where both the making and shaping contribute to what is useful on the whole. The activity of a spider or a bee represents one kind of intelligence, the diligence of a sculptor or a painter quite another. In the case of the former there is a collecting or a garnering for the sake of something else, in the latter, only a shaping or a moulding, since here the materials have no real value in and of themselves.

When we say therefore, that matter has the potential to be shaped in such and such a way, what we are not saying is that it is potentiality per se, rather, that when it is differentiated it serves what is made and when it is undifferentiated it serves what can be changed. Where however it concerns the idea of productive form or the meaning of a specialized whole, then we might approach this in either of two ways. First, we have potentiality in the matter and actuality in the form qua the product of building, and secondly, potentiality in the matter and actuality in the form qua the knowledge of construction and design. Let us pursue this in a little more detail. So far it could be argued that the parts of a house are a precondition for the making of a house, then the potential to be must antecede to the completed product. Even if we have the bricks and mortar, the framework and the tiles, a house will not be built unless we have the requisite means as well. It requires the agency of a builder, someone to assemble all these parts, a mason to lay the foundations, a plasterer to seal the walls. On the other hand, what could also be argued is that knowledge or the art of building must always precede any actual design, just as the process of building must always precede any finished result. And since the architect has a broader knowledge than does the builder, it is the skill of the former that will be reflected in what it is that results, not just the prospect of a result that is reflected in the materials for bringing it about. We might accept that a bee could construct a hive, but we would not imagine it could construct a house—what it has is a certain kind of knowledge, but not what is more perfected or more complete.

In the case of organic form, then what we are dealing with is pure potentiality, the dynamism of a living thing in conjunction with its actual use, not the use of a thing in conjunction with any underlying aim. Certainly, an organ such as an eye or an ear has a function which is peculiarly its own, but that is not to say that the capacity of an eye precedes the use of an eye or that the capacity of an ear precedes the use of ear, rather, this is something that can only be approached in an heuristic way— it ought not be assumed that the capacity of the whole will supersede the capacity of all its parts. Of course, we do not say of a person that he is deaf when he is simply inattentive, or that he is blind if he has simply closed his eyes, but that is not because the capacity for sensing overrides the occasion for sensing, rather how we regard the parts in relation to how the whole may be disposed. So far as we say a person who is sleeping is not someone who is active, someone who is walking not someone who is running, then this is because the whole may be incidental to any particular part, not because the capacity of the whole must supersede the capacity of all the parts. Sleep is indispensable for the sake of both a healthy mind and body, it returns the self to the self, it replenishes the source of its being, it dusts it off and allows it to begin all over again. It should be clear therefore that what we are not saying is that the capacity or aptitude to do something precedes the very act itself, as if there were two selves and not the one, rather that there must be a threshold for the whole just as there is for any particular part, that what is blind could potentially be sighted, that what is sluggish could potentially be nimble, that what is impotent could potentially be virile. To have the full use of one’s faculties may also be what it means to be actually sensing, but that does not mean there cannot be sensing without all of our faculties intact. Rather, we must allow that there may not be just a division of powers in the sense of a division of functions, but a division of powers in connection with a diversity of parts, so that the true capacity of the body is measured by the real utility of all the parts, not the real utility of the parts measured by their full potentiality as such.

Having addressed our subject in terms of a certain gradation or ordering of being, what we need to do now is consider actuality and potentiality as this might be viewed in and of itself. If potentiality and actuality are the same, then a condition can only be described in terms of its actual existence—so that to be-able-to-sit-or-stand becomes sitting or standing, and to-be-able-to-walk-or-run becomes walking or running. So far however as they are not the same, it is the potential to do something or the potential to be something that precedes the doing or the being itself. And this would seem to be reasonable enough where it concerns activities and events that are automatic or instinctive in their kind. There is the potential for a person to do something and there is the potential for certain events to occur, but that is not true in the sense that there may be waking or sleeping, choking or breathing, where the implication is that what one has is simply lacking in the other. But then we also need to address the question how the loss of something, or the loss of a skill, relates to its retention and the opportunity for its continual display? In this case it would seem that actuality precedes potentiality, or at least, that we can only lose a skill once we have acquired it, and not the other way around.

However, we might also need to qualify this to some degree, since it is clear that some skills can be lost whilst others quite clearly cannot. It is certainly true in the case of learning to speak or learning to walk, that these are the sorts of skills that will stay with us and for the duration of our lives. Once you have learnt the art of speaking, there is no chance you will ever return to babble, and once you have acquired the art of walking there is no chance you will ever return to crawling, but that is not to say there may not be exceptions to just such a rule. If you undertake learning a foreign language or the playing of a musical instrument, then these are the sorts of habits that may not be so easily retained, especially in the case of the former if you are reduced to practising on your own. In this instance it is not so much actuality that precedes any possible use, but a possible means that prevents the loss of what might otherwise be deemed desirable in and of itself. Without a cello or piano you may not be able to maintain your musical skills, just as, without a certain coterie you may not be able to maintain your linguistic skills. There are some things that require persistence and the application of a quite strenuous means, and there are others that can be acquired with very little difficulty, and yet remain with us till the end of our lives. Even however in the case of the latter, a person who has learnt to walk may not retain that skill if he is unfortunate enough to be involved in something like a motor or skiing accident.

If potentiality and actuality are so related that this could be said to constitute something in the order of a necessary nexus, then it is surely the former and not the latter that must be given our utmost regard. We cannot conceive of becoming otherwise than in terms of what-is, but more importantly, of what was other than in terms of what it has become. In general, we tend to think of what comes from or what comes out of, in terms of the development or the completion of a thing, as the cow is the development of a calf, a horse is the development of a colt, a tree is the development of a seed. Or we might consider something as issuing from a certain place, as thunder or rain from the sky, a tremor or geyser from the earth, a wave or a spray from the sea. Quite clearly therefore, there is something actual in both the origin and the end, but not the same thing when the action is deliberate and the action is unintended. Certainly, the wood that is used in the making of a cabinet is not the same as the function of a cabinet, just as, the rubber in a set of tyres is not the same as the function of any tyre. Nonetheless there is a very real sense in which it is both the parts and the purpose of a thing that determines what it is, whereas a potential use must always be subordinate to an actual use, just as a potential parasite must always be subordinate to a