The Knowing World: VII. When an Instance Becomes an Instance Of

An instance occurs.

But when does it become an instance of something?

The difference is small in language, but perhaps enormous in consequence.

A particular event occurs. We construe it as an instance of a process.

A particular organism appears. We recognise it as an instance of a kind.

A particular utterance occurs. We understand it as an instance of a pattern.

In each case, something singular is being related to something more general.

But the generality is not simply sitting behind the instance, waiting to be discovered.

It is part of the system through which the instance becomes intelligible.

For something to be an instance of something, the system must be able to sustain a distinction between this occurrence and the kind of occurrence it can count as.

The instance is particular.

The type is potential.

And yet they are not separate.

The type exists, for the system, in the possibility of recognising further instances. The instance exists, for the system, as something that can be construed through that possibility.

This gives the tiny word of its importance.

It marks a relation between occurrence and potential.

But there is a further complication.

An instance need not fit perfectly.

It may resemble previous instances without being identical to them. It may belong to a familiar type while displaying something unexpected. Indeed, without variation between instances, there would be no need for a system capable of recognising them as instances in the first place.

Identity therefore cannot mean sameness.

It means that a difference can be sustained as a difference within a continuing relation.

The instance becomes an instance of something when its particularity can be carried into a larger organisation of possibilities.

And that means that classification is not merely putting things into boxes.

It is one of the ways a world acquires continuity.

Something happens here.

Something similar happens there.

The system makes it possible for us to say that they are instances of the same thing.

But now the direction of movement reverses again.

For if new instances can become instances of an existing type, they can also accumulate differences that eventually make the type itself inadequate.

A new kind of instance may be waiting to be recognised.

So perhaps the relation between instance and system is also the beginning of novelty.

The system tells us what something can be an instance of.

The instance may eventually tell us what the system has not yet learned to distinguish.

And now the question becomes unavoidable:

What happens when what we can recognise is no longer enough to say what we are seeing?