This thought, which is proposed as the instrument of philosophic knowledge, itself calls for further explanation. We must understand in what way it possesses necessity or cogency: and when it claims to be equal to the task of apprehending the absolute objects (God, Spirit, Freedom), that claim must be substantiated. Such an explanation, however, is itself a lesson in philosophy, and properly falls within the scope of the science itself. A preliminary attempt to make matters plain would only be unphilosophical, and consist of a tissue of assumptions, assertions, and inferential pros and cons, i.e. of dogmatism without cogency, as against which there would be an equal right of counter-dogmatism.
A main line of argument in the Critical Philosophy bids us pause before proceeding to inquire into God or into the true being of things and tells us first of all to examine the faculty of cognition and see whether it is equal to such an effort. We ought, says Kant, to become acquainted with the instrument, before we undertake the work for which it is to be employed; for if the instrument be insufficient, all our trouble will be spent in vain. The plausibility of this suggestion has won for it general assent and admiration; the result of which has been to withdraw cognition from an interest in its objects and absorption in the study of them, and to direct it back upon itself; and so turn it to a question of form. Unless we wish to be deceived by words, it is easy to see what this amounts to. In the case of other instruments, we can try and criticize them in other ways than by setting about the special work for which they are destined. But the examination of knowledge can only be carried out by an act of knowledge. To examine this so-called instrument is the same thing as to know it. But to seek to know before we know is as absurd as the wise resolution of Scholasticus, not to venture into the water until he had learned to swim. — Hegel, Logic, paragraph 10
Although I've never read any of his writings, I'm superficially familiar with Hegel, due to his prominence in modern philosophical discussions. But, I'm not qualified to speculate on his particular notion of "absolute" or "something infinite". On the other hand, this thread may not really be about Hegel's formulation, but about any unwarranted assumption of an extra-sensory "something infinite" underlying the 4-Dimension world we all know via the physical senses. FWIW, my personal opinion of Infinity is based more on scientific concepts than on philosophical theories.So maybe the question is, if there is and can be something infinite, what would that be? — Gregory
That's interesting because in theology relation is the only difference between persons of the Trinity. They are completely one, but a one that relates 3 ways — Gregory
The crucial point is agential separability. It matters whether or not we are ‘looking’ inside the phenomenon (in which case the ‘instrument’ itself is excluded from the description, and it is only the marks on the ‘instrument’, indicating and correlated with the values intra-actively attributable to the ‘object’-in-the-phenomenon as described by a mixture, that are being taken account of), or viewing that particular phenomenon from the ‘outside’ (via its entanglement with a further apparatus, producing a new phenomenon, in which case the ‘inside’ phenomenon as ‘object’, including the previously defined ‘instrument’, is treated quantum mechanically). — Karen Barad, ‘Meeting the Universe Halfway’
Arithmetically "infinite?" – no actual thing. Geometrically unbounded? – many things (e.g.) planets, moons, suns, apples, donuts, melodies, knots ...So maybe the question is, if there is and can be something infinite, what would that be? — Gregory
Despite being absent in De Magistro, this tripartite structure reappears implicitly in De Doctrina Christiana (426) and De Trinitate (419 or 426), with a much larger role for the Holy Spirit. In De Doctrina, a mature Augustine turns to the problem of the interpretation of the Bible, an issue of paramount importance for his theory of signs. Here we see the Spirit with a key role in the transmission meaning. It is the “implanting of the Holy Spirit,” which “yields the fruit… love of God and neighbor,” and this love is essential to draw the correct meaning from the Scriptures.1 More overtly, it is the “Holy Spirit [who] ministers unto us the aids and consolations [that come from] the Scriptures.”2
Similarly, Augustine, citing Mathew 10:19-20, admonishes those preparing to preach to seek the guidance of the Spirit, that they might understand the will of God.3 Thus, the Spirit has a twin role, both aiding the reader in properly interpreting what they read (a task accomplished solely by Christ in De Magistro), and in guiding the authors of the Scriptures as they infuse the words they set down with meaning. The Spirit helps us interpret the words, while “[Christ] is called the Word of the Father because it is through him that the Father is made known.”4
In this model, the Father is the source of all knowledge, the thing about which all signs ultimately refer, the ground of being; the Son is the Word, the mediating symbol through which all things are known; and the Holy Spirit is the meaning, the interpretant, that which indwells the soul and interprets. Thus, a model based on the Plotinian hypostases, with their necessarily hierarchical nature, gives way to a model where all three parts are equally necessary components for meaning to exist.
Augustine expands this model further in De Trinitate, where he explores how our souls are themselves trinitarian in nature, having been created in the image of God. In Book 11, Augustine describes the process of semiosis using the example of sight. For sight to occur we must have, “the object itself which we see,” “vision or the act of seeing,” and “the attention of the mind.” In Book 8, we see another example that hews even closer to Peirce’s model, where the Trinity is described as a Lover, the Beloved, and the Love between the two. At first glance, this example seems more dyadic than triadic, but it in fact closely parallels Peirce’s triangle of Firstness, Secondness, and Thirdness. Firstness is the ground (the Lover/the Father); Secondness is reference or reaction, (the Beloved/the Son); and the thirdness is “that wonderful operation of hypostatic abstraction5 which… furnishes us the means of turning predicates from being signs that we think or think through, into being subjects thought of.”xi
Augustine’s mature semiotics is able to find a distinct role for all the persons of the Trinity, while at the same time De Trinitate shows how the Trinity maps on to essential elements of experience. This shift allows Augustine to explain how signs convey intelligible meanings in a way that avoids having to rely on a necessarily hierarchical Neoplatonic model, while also arguably making Augustine’s model more compelling by tying it to the nature of experience.
Instead of considering the divine darkness as a final point of rest beyond the Trinity, as Eckhart had done, Ruusbroec identified it with the fertile hypostasis of the Father. The Father is darkness ready to break out in Light, silence about to speak the Word. Having reunited itself with the Word, the soul returns with that Word in the Spirit to the divine darkness. But it does not remain there. For in that point of origin the dynamic cycle recommences: “For in this darkness an incomprehensible light is born and shines forth—this is the Son of God in whom a person becomes able to see and to contemplate eternal life” ( Spiritual Espousals III/1). Ruusbroec’s vision not only leads out of the impasse of a consistently negative theology; it also initiates a spiritual theology of action. The human person is called to partake in the outgoing movement of the Trinity itself and, while sharing the common life of the triune God, to move outward into creation.
If we ask why we should believe that knowledge of our own awakening should give us a key to understanding God, Boehme would answer that God is a conscious being (indeed, the conscious being). But consciousness arises only through opposition. Consciousness is consciousness of something. Furthermore, self-consciousness only arises through the encounter with otherness. It is only through encountering an other that opposes or frustrates me in some fashion that I turn inward and reflect on myself. “Nothing may be revealed to itself without opposition,” Boehme tells us.13 If God is a conscious being, then something that is not God must stand opposed to him. The obvious implication is that God requires creation to be conscious. Further, Boehme’s logic dictates that God could only be self-conscious through his encounter with this other...
It is, in fact, precisely by positing distinction within God that Boehme attempts both to explain God’s self-consciousness, and to uphold the traditional Judeo-Christian doctrine of the transcendence of God. Boehme does very often speak as if God achieves consciousness through creation. And yet equally often he retreats from this, for this position leads to two problems. First, it suggests that prior to creation God is not conscious, which in turn suggests that God, the supreme being, creates under some kind of compulsion – clearly an unacceptable conclusion. In addressing this problem, Boehme walks a fine line, on the one hand positing a dark, unconscious will within God and simultaneously insisting on God’s absolute freedom.
Second, Boehme’s position seems to suggest that creation “completes” or perfects God – another dangerous idea. And this implies, further, that creation is part of the Being of God. In Aurora, Boehme states that “you must elevate your mind in the spirit and consider how the whole of nature ... is the body of God [der Leib Gottes].”14 On the other hand, he tells us elsewhere that “The outer world is not God.... The world is merely a being [Wesen] in which God is manifesting himself.”15 Of course, there is no real contradiction here: Even if the world is God’s body, there is a distinction between the body and the spirit, the animating soul. Nature is God’s body, but the body is not all. In Signatura Rerum (1622), Boehme compares creation to an apple growing on a tree: Obviously, it is not the tree itself, but it is the fruit of the tree.16
And yet questions linger. Isn’t it correct to say that producing the fruit is the telos (end or goal) of the tree, and that with the emergence of the fruit, the tree completes or perfects itself? Yet in the same text Boehme insists that God did not create in order to perfect himself. This leads to a further, deeper question. Boehme makes it clear that nature is an expression of the Being of God, in the sense that the basic principles informing nature are analogous to the aspects of God’s Being. But if nature is an expression of God’s Being, what is God apart from this expression? The unexpressed God would seem to be inchoate, merely potential. In short, incomplete and imperfect. Boehme’s first step in addressing these problems looks typically kabbalistic: He distinguishes between God as he is in himself and God as he appears to us, or God manifest. “God as he is in himself” Boehme calls Ungrund. Literally, this means “Unground” or “Not-ground.” Sometimes it has been translated as “Abyss.” Like the Ein Sof of the kabbalists, Ungrund is completely withoutform or determination of any kind. Grund immediately calls to mind “ground of being,” and this is precisely what we expect God to be. But Boehme’s choice of Ungrund warns us not to predicate even something this indefinite of God.
Indeed, Ungrund is not a being at all. In Mysterium Magnum (1623), Boehme tells us, “In his essence [Wesen] God is not an essence [Wesen].”17 The German Wesen can be translated as “essence” or as “being.” Hence, Boehme may be understood here as saying “God in his essence is not a being” (or, “God in his Being is not a being”). In other words, as he is in himself God is not. In the same text Boehme states, “in the dark nature [within the Ungrund] he is not called God.”18 But how can the supreme being not be a being? How can God not be God? The answer to these riddles is to be found, again, in Mysterium Magnum. Just after telling us that “God in his essence is not a being,” Boehme writes that God as Ungrund is merely “the power or the understanding for being – as an unfathomable, eternal will in which all is contained, but the same all is only one, and desires to reveal itself.”19 Boehme tells us elsewhere that God “hungers after and covets being [Wesen].”20
The only Being that God possesses as Ungrund is becoming: a pure potentiality for becoming a being (i.e., a thing or substance). As Ungrund, God therefore hovers strangely between Being and not-Being. We cannot say, for example, that God as Ungrund “is” in the sense of “existing” in some primitive sense, for “to exist” literally means to stand forth, emerge, become manifest. But God as Ungrund has not done any of that yet. We are faced with what appears to be an unfathomable mystery: Ungrund, as the primal essence of God and the ground/not-ground of all, is and is not. Boehme says of God “in himself,” as Ungrund, “he is nothing and all.”21 While the Ungrund is utterly indeterminate, it contains (potentially) all determinations; it is non-Being, and potentially Being and all beings.
The will to manifest, to become present, can only express itself from a prior condition of concealment or absence. Boehme calls this darkness (Finsternis), whereas the will to manifest is light (Licht). But the darkness is not simply a state of concealment, it is an opposing will or tendency toward hiddenness. There are thus two conflicting wills within God. Boehme also uses the language of “contraction” and “expansion” to describe these wills, and “indrawing” and “outgoing.” The dark will is contraction: God draws into himself, unconscious and refusing manifestation. This is the “negative moment” within God, and it is also obvious that Boehme is describing the psychology of radical selfishness.
What is remarkable here is the idea of negativity within God. For Boehme, God subsumes not just the negative, but absolute negativity: the primal will to close, withdraw, refuse. But, as Pierre Deghaye writes, “Darkness means suffering.”22 God suffers in the dark aspect, as do all beings that are dominated by this quality of selfish, indrawing negativity. But this is a necessary moment in God, and in any being: Beings – of whatever kind – are only individual and substantial by virtue of possessing a “will” to separateness and coherency (i.e., “contraction”). Something is an individual being only in virtue of possessing some aspect, which can change from moment to moment, of hiddenness or absence, out of which it manifests or gives itself. Thus, “closing” or contraction (darkness) is matched by “opening” or expansion (light).
But how does God turn from the darkness to the light? How is this transition made? Through trial by fire. After all, how can there be light without fire? “Fire is the origin of light,” Boehme says.23 This brings us to another aspect of selfish will not touched on earlier: anger. Since Boehme’s methodology is to argue by analogy from human psychology to theology, we must consider the relation of selfishness and anger in an individual human soul. Very often we find that part of the negative psychology of selfishness is a destructive wrath directed at whatever is not the self, at otherness. Indeed, the desire to harm or destroy that which is other simply because it is other is the essence of evil. And, yes, the “absolute negativity” described above as a moment intrinsic to God is, indeed, evil.
Thus, for Boehme, the indrawing, dark will kindles a fire within God, and this fire is God’s wrath or anger (Grimm, Zorn). But just as light emerges from fire, so can love emerge from wrath. In human psychology, this happens when the nihilating wrath that follows the anguish of extreme, solipsistic selfishness essentially exhausts itself. What must occur in God for him to become God, and what can occur in a human soul, is an exhaustion of selfish will, leading to a kind of surrender to the light. The light, again, represents an outgoing will to manifest, to “give oneself.” This surrender is the birth of love (Liebe) within God, but it is also a kind of death.
So far we have discussed two of Boehme’s “three principles,” darkness and light (although as should now be clear, he has multiple ways of describing them). We have seen that these principles conflict with each other, but that this conflict is necessary and ultimately results in a kind of reconciliation. The third principle, in fact, just is the reconciliation of the first two. Deghaye refers to the “perpetual alternation” of light and darkness as itself constituting the third principle, which is also “our universe.”24 Nature as a whole is to be understood as “attunement” or equilibrium of the two opposing principles. But these three principles are also present in every individual being. If Boehme believes that the Being of God involves his expressing himself in the created world, in an other, this is only possible if the other truly isother. As I have said, this is only possible if it is characterized, at the deepest level, by self-will, by the desire to exist for itself. Thus, the dark principle is inherent in the Being of beings; the root of self-will, and the evil that inevitably springs from it, are necessary to existence, and to the self-actualization of God. If God had created all things so that they must turn from darkness to the light, then those things would entirely accord with the light-will of God and would not be truly “other” than him
The Bad Infinity
This is (a) that infinite being is simply that which finitude proves in truth to be, and (b) that in order to be explicitly in-finite, infinity must set itself apart from finite being as something other than the latter. As we are now about to see, however, in distinguishing itself from the finite in this way, infinite being logically deprives itself of the very quality that makes it infinite in the first place and turns itself into determinate, finite infinity.
In the second paragraph of 2.C.b, Hegel points out that though they are necessarily other than one another finitude and infinity are not purely other than or indifferent to one another. On the contrary, they are intimately related to one another. After all, it is still true that every finite thing is intrinsically destined to transform itself, and to be transformed, into something different and so to generate unending, infinite being. Infinite being is thus what all finite being itself intrinsically is and should come to be explicitly:
determinate [finite] being is posited with the determination to pass over into its in itself, to become infinite. Infinity is the nothing of the finite, it is what the latter is in itself, what it ought to be (dessen Ansichsein und Sollen), but this ought-to-be is at the same time reflected into itself, is realized. (SL 139/1: 151 [241])
...Understood like this, Hegel says, infinite being proves to be simply the “beyond of the finite” or the “non-finite” (das Nicht-Endliche) (SL 139/1: 152 [243]). Logically, therefore, infinity cannot just be the continuous being that finite things themselves generate; it must also come to be something that lies beyond finite things and to which their own being constantly refers.
Hegel famously names this transcendent infinite the “bad,” or “spurious,” infinite (das Schlecht-Unendliche). The word “bad” is not to be understood in a moral sense. Hegel is not arguing—at this point, at least—that the idea of a transcendent infinite leads to atheism or corrupts public morals. He deems the transcendent infinite to be “bad” simply because it is not actually infinite at all. To say this is not (yet) to claim that the bad infinite falls short of the conception of true infinity that will be reached later in the Logic. That conception has yet to be developed and so cannot be employed at this point as a standard of criticism. The bad infinite is bad, in Hegel’s view, because it falls short of what infinity has already proven to be…
Infinity is not limited just by finitude, however, but also gives itself a boundary at which it comes to an end by setting itself in relation to that which is not infinite. After all, the reason why there is finitude outside the infinite is that infinite being by its very nature is the negation of finitude and must come to be explicitly what it is implicitly. Infinity thus imposes a limit on itself, thereby giving itself an endpoint, and so is not merely limited but finite. To be finite, we recall, is not necessarily to bring oneself to an end over time but is just to come to a stop through what one is oneself. Bad infinity stops itself being simply infinite and unending by running up against finite being; in this sense, bad infinity logically is finite infinity. Accordingly, as Hegel puts it, “there are two worlds, one infinite and one finite, and in their relationship the infinite is only the limit (Grenze) of the finite and is thus only a determinate infinite, an infinite which is itself finite” (SL 139–40/1: 152 [243]).13 The bad infinite is bad, therefore, not for moral reasons but quite simply because it is a limited, finite infinite.
When Hegel employs such terms as "God," "revelation," "elevation," "infinite (or absolute) Spirit," "trinity," "creation," and "incarnation," it is clear that the vocabulary is borrowed from Christian theology.Yet the terms, as he employs them, have a peculiarly philosophical significance, and it is questionable whether turning to the theological tradition will make their meaning clear, precisely because Hegel is quite definitely trying to make what is initially the content of faith rationally comprehensible.To put all this in another way, we might say this: There can be no question in anyone's mind that Hegel repeatedly employs the term "God"; nor should there be any question that, when he uses the term, he intends it not to refer to some unknown or unknowable being, but to have a conceptual content with which human reason can come to grips.
Has Hegel made God too comprehensible? Has he rationalized God out of existence?
When the questions are put in this way, we can, perhaps, see that the questions themselves may well be illegitimate, since they are based on three unverified (or unverifiable) presuppositions: (1) that rational thought is finite and only finite; (2) that the questioner knows precisely what Hegel means by "infinite"; and (3) that the questioner has drawn an intelligible distinction between "finite" and "infinite." If rational thought is finite and only finite, then of course it cannot know infinite Being; it can only, as did Kant, "postulate" infinite Being and resign itself to not knowing what it has postulated unless, of course, it is not infinity at all that has been postulated, but only indeterminacy. The human mind can come to grips with mathematical infinity, with the infinity of time or space, or with the infinity of endless repetition, but this would seem to run up against an equally grave problem, namely, the intelligibility of indeterminacyunless what is being said is that indeterminacy is preferable to intelligibility.
Perhaps Hegel too is postulating what he has no right to postulate, the intelligibility of reality, a necessary condition of which is an intelligible God.Perhaps, then, the trouble is that Hegel is too optimistic about the intelligibility of reality, even finite reality.
Because he simply will not accept an unintelligible realitywhich may very well be a nonphilosophical (or prephilosophical) refusal he will presuppose that intelligibility and then spell out in detail the necessary conditions for the conceivability of an intelligible reality. That is, after all, where his Logic takes him. But it takes him further than that: As he sees it, a condition for the reality of the real is that it be intelligible, susceptible of rational comprehension; and by the same token a condition of the intelligibility of the real is that it be actual, a determinate object of rational comprehension...
Hegel is content to let reality speak for itself, and he is convinced that it does speak, not only to the mind but also through the mind, in the mind's thinking. If we can go this far with Hegel, there seems to be no "logical" reason why we cannot go further and say that knowledge of being is being's self-revelation both to thinking spirit and in thought...
If, however, we remember that, for Hegel, to say that God is spirit is to say that God is trinity of persons and that the movement of trinitarian life involves (1) God in himself (universal), (2) the emergence of the reality which is this world in creation (particular), and (3) the divinizing of one man in the Incarnation (individual), all issuing in the dialectical identification of infinite Spirit and infinitized finite spirit, it may seem somewhat less strange.
I assume that your equation of God with Platonic Form*1 may imply A> a separate-but-equal dualism of Ideal & Real, or B> a hierarchical superior vs inferior or ultimate vs proximate Reality (Heaven vs Earth). My philosophical BothAnd*2 dualism has a similar motivation, in that it attempts to reconcile Physical Reality, consisting of material objects & causal forces, with Metaphysical Ideality, consisting of imaginary concepts in individual human minds. Yet for religious purposes, those notions are typically projected into a unitary universal Mind. Which may seem philosophically necessary, but beyond the bounds of science, hence unprovable.I have no problem with scientific philosophy. Physics, as you say, is half philosophy, half empirical. What floats my spiritual boat is God as forms. But words like God or Deus is not really important. When i see a lion, i can cognate ever deeper understanding of its nature and animality. There is some kind of dualism that seems nevessary within our consciousness — Gregory
"But what we have here is the free act of thinking putting itself at the standpoint where it is for its own self, producing its own object for itself thereby, and giving it to itself." Spinoza, as for as I know, never said we were God. So my question on this thread is how we can know whether we are finite or infinite and what this means. — Gregory
In this model, the Father is the source of all knowledge, the thing about which all signs ultimately refer, the ground of being; the Son is the Word, the mediating symbol through which all things are known; and the Holy Spirit is the meaning, the interpretant, that which indwells the soul and interprets. T — Count Timothy von Icarus
Thus, the dark principle is inherent in the Being of beings; the root of self-will, and the evil that inevitably springs from it, are necessary to existence, and to the self-actualization of God. — Count Timothy von Icarus
Father= Absolute
Son= Notion
Holy Spirit= Concept
Do you read the texts differently?
This is like Ying and Yang. If we are free than our evil is not necessary.
Paradox is essential to Hegel's scheme; he thinks paradox is good for the mind. It takes intuition and reason, the union of which is intellect. Then you can see freedom and fate united without having to combine their content.
The world is the unfolding of the Spirit. This table is a part of the unfolding. Therefore this table is Spirit. I think Hegel is making a distinction between the empirical and the rational. What is rational is actual and vice verse. But the empirical is just the empirical and we don't have to stop seeing leaves and kittens as other than finite things. It's about dialectic, which a mechanism cannot imitate
A Universal is the Idea, which is Concept, which is Absolute by way of Notion. — Gregory
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