on. The idea persists, none the less, that _there might
be no order at all_, and that the mathematical order of things, being a
conquest over disorder, possesses a positive reality. In examining this
point, we shall see what a prominent part the idea of _disorder_ plays
in problems relative to the theory of knowledge. It does not appear
explicitly, and that is why it escapes our attention. It is, however,
with the criticism of this idea that a theory of knowledge ought to
begin, for if the great problem is to know why and how reality submits
itself to an order, it is because the absence of every kind of order
appears possible or conceivable. It is this absence of order that
realists and idealists alike believe they are thinking of--the realist
when he speaks of the regularity that "objective" laws actually impose
on a virtual disorder of nature, the idealist when he supposes a
"sensuous manifold" which is coordinated (and consequently itself
without order) under the organizing influence of our understanding. The
idea of disorder, in the sense of _absence of order_, is then what must
be analyzed first. Philosophy borrows it from daily life. And it is
unquestionable that, when ordinarily we speak of disorder, we are
thinking of something. But of what?

It will be seen in the next chapter how hard it is to determine the
content of a negative idea, and what illusions one is liable to, what
hopeless difficulties philosophy falls into, for not having undertaken
this task. Difficulties and illusions are generally due to this, that we
accept as final a manner of expression essentially provisional. They are
due to our bringing into the domain of speculation a procedure made for
practice. If I choose a volume in my library at random, I may put it
back on the shelf after glancing at it and say, "This is not verse." Is
this what I have really seen in turning over the leaves of the book?
Obviously not. I have not seen, I never shall see, an absence of verse.
I have seen prose. But as it is poetry I want, I express what I find as
a function of what I am looking for, and instead of saying, "This is
prose," I say, "This is not verse." In the same way, if the fancy takes
me to read prose, and I happen on a volume of verse, I shall say, "This
is not prose," thus expressing the data of my perception, which shows me
verse, in the language of my expectation and attention, which are fixed
on the idea of prose and will hear of nothing else. No