say, "it does not consist of arbitrary abstractions: it is not a petrifaction of reality, but a summary of reality in all its richness and fullness. Philosophical abstractions are necessary, and are therefore adequate to reality, and do not mutilate or falsify it."
But in this case the word concrete is evidently to be taken in some sense other than the ordinary sense, and cannot mean "something tangible and existent," for if it did, then the individual sciences would also be concrete. It must then indicate something complete and adequate to reality. Scientific concepts impoverish reality, and the philosopher, it would seem, represents reality entire.
Supposing that he does, how does he do it? By means of words so general and so vague ("becoming," for example) that whatsoever occurs and whatsoever exists is of necessity comprised therein. If to be complete is to find words which have so vast an extension as to comprise everything, then the most complete description of the world would be: "Things exist." Such a formula omits nothing—but at the same time it tells us nothing. A reporter describing a crowd at the races cites the names of only a few of those present, and thereby impoverishes reality. If a philosopher referring to the same scene should state that at a given point there were a certain number of men and women, his statement would be
