Is given by outer necessity. But necessary relation of

an element to that which is outside means, as we know,

the disruption of this element internally. The merely

possible, if it could exist, would be, therefore, for

all we know, sheer error. For it would, so far as we

know, be an idea, which, in no way and to no extent, is

accepted by Reality. But possibility, in this sense, has

contradicted itself. Without an actual basis in, and

without a positive connection with, Reality, the

possible is, in short, not possible at all.

There is a like self-contradiction in

absolute chance. The absolutely contingent would mean a

fact which is given free from all internal connection

with its context. It would have to stand without

relation, or rather with all its relations outside. But,

since a thing must be determined by the relations in

which it stands, the absolutely contingent would thus be

utterly determined from the outside. And so, by

consequence, chance would involve complete internal

dissipation. It would hence implicitly preclude the

given existence which explicitly it postulates. Unless

chance is more than mere chance, and thus consents to be

relative, it fails to be itself. Relative chance implies

Inclusion within some ideal whole, and, on that basis,

asserts an external relation to some other whole. But

chance, made absolute, has to affirm a positive

existence in relation, while insisting that all

relations fall outside this existence. And such an idea

contradicts itself.

Or, again, we may bring out the same discrepancy

thus. In the case of a given element we fail to see its

connection with some system. We do not perceive in its

content the internal relations to what is beyond it--

relations which, because they are ideal, are necessary

and eternal. Then, upon the ground of this failure, we

go on to a denial, and we insist that no such internal

relations are present. But every relation, as we have

learnt, essentially penetrates the being of its terms,

and, in this sense, is intrinsical; or, in other words,

every relation must be a relation of content. And hence

the element, deprived by bare chance of all ideal

relations, is unrelated altogether. But, if unrelated

and undetermined, it is no longer any separate element

at all. It cannot have the existence ascribed to it by

absolute chance.

Chance and possibility may be called two different

aspects of one complex. Relative chance stands

for something which is, but is, in part, not connected

and understood. It is therefore that which exists, but,

in part, only somehow. The relatively possible is, on

the other hand, what is understood incompletely, and yet

is taken, more or less only somehow, to be real. Each is

thus an imperfect way of representing reality. Or we

may, if we please, repeat the distinction in another

form. In bare chance something is to be given, and

therefore given in a connection of outer relations; and

it yet is regarded as not intrinsically related. The

abstractly possible, again, is the not-related; but it

is taken, at the same time, in relation with reality,

and is, therefore, unawares given with external

relations. Chance forgets, we may say, the essential

connection; and possibility forgets its de facto

relation to the Real, that is, its given external

conjunction with context. Chance belongs to the world of

existence and possibility to thought; but each contains

at bottom the same defect, and each, against its will,

when taken bare, becomes external necessity. If the possible

could be given, it would be indifferently chance or

fate. If chance is thought of, it is at once but merely

possible; for what is contingent has no complete

connection with Reality.

With this I will pass from a subject, on which I have

dwelt perhaps too long. There is no such thing as

absolute chance, or as mere external necessity, or as

unconditional possibility. The possible must, in part,

be really, and that means internally, necessary. And the

same, again, is true of the contingent. Each

idea is relative, and each lays stress on an opposite

aspect of the same complex. And hence each, forced to a

one-sided extreme, disappears altogether.

We are led from this to ask whether there are degrees

of possibility and contingency, and our answer to this

question must be affirmative. To be more or less

possible, and to be more or less true, and intrinsically

necessary,--and, from the other side, to be less or more

contingent--are, in the end, all the same. And we may

verify here, in passing, the twofold application of our

standard. That which is more possible is either

internally more harmonious and inclusive; it is, in

other words, nearer to a complete totality of content,

such as would involve passage into, and unity with, the

Real. Or the more possible is, on the other hand, partly

realized in a larger number of ideal groups. Every

contact, even with a point in the temporal series, means

ideal connection with a concrete group of relations.

Hence the more widely possible is that which finds a

smaller amount of content lying wholly outside its own

area. It is, in other words, the more individual, the

truer, and more real. And, since it contains more

connections, it has in itself more internal necessity.

For a like reason, on the other side, increase of

contingency means growth in falseness. That which, so

far as it exists, has more external necessity--more

conjunction from the outside with intelligible systems--

has, therefore, less connection with any. It is hence

more empty, and, as we have seen, on that account less

self-contained and harmonious. This brief account,

however incorrect to the eye of common sense, may

perhaps, as part of our main thesis, be found

defensible.

It will throw a light on that thesis, if we end by

briefly considering the "ontological" proof. In

Chapter xiv. we were forced to deal with this in one of

its bearings, and here we may attempt to form an

estimate of its general truth. As an argument, it is a

conclusion drawn from the presence of some thought to

the reality of that which the thought contains. Now of

course any one at a glance can see how futile this might

be. If you identify reality with spatial or even

temporal existence, and understand by thought the idea

of some distinct finite object, nothing seems more

evident than that the idea may be merely "in my head."

When, however, we turn from this to consider the general

nature of error, then what seemed so evident becomes

obscure and presents us with a puzzle. For what is "in

my head" must, after all, be surely somewhere in the

universe. And when an idea qualifies the universe, how

can it be excluded from reality? The attempt to answer

such a question leads to a distinction between reality

and finite existence. And, upon this, the ontological

proof may perhaps seem better worth examining.

Now a thought only "in my head," or a bare idea

separated from all relation to the real world, is a

false abstraction. For we have seen that to hold a

thought is, more or less vaguely, to refer it to

Reality. And hence an idea, wholly un-referred, would be

a self-contradiction. This general result at once bears

upon the ontological proof. Evidently the proof must

start with an idea referred to and qualifying Reality,

and with Reality present also and determined by the

content of the idea. And the principle of the argument