Of what can we be certain? Or, can we only be certain of uncertainty?
"Man's innate desire for knowledge," writes Owens, "tends not only toward knowing the truth about things, but likewise being certain that he knows it." However, many have been the times when our certitude turned out to be unjustified.
Understatement.
Agreed:
You continually meet people who are certain of views that you know to be wrong. Error is ubiquitous as a fact and poses troublesome problems for the epistemologist.
And just because we are certain that someone else is wrong, this doesn't necessarily make us right. The question remains,
Can any judgments be had..., that after thorough scrutiny show they exclude all possibility of correction? Is certitude ever justified?
Hmm. How about something exists, i.e., being is. Am I sure about that? Sure I'm sure, since it cannot be explicitly denied without implicitly affirming it, because something that exists just denied it:
Try as you like, you cannot, while you are actually feeling or seeing the thing, shake in any seriousness your knowledge that something -- in the sense of an extended or bodily something -- exists in your cognition....
You know that something corporeal exists, and that try as you like you cannot correct or doubt that judgment.
That it? Doesn't seem like much to go on.
Well, we have to start somewhere, and perhaps this is just the thin edge of a wedge of fledgling knowledge that will bust things wide open. For starters, the very existence of the little something we are judging to exist "excludes its own non-being. The real existence means that it is not non-existent in reality."
Thus, the non-existence of this something is impossible. This first judgment "is not open to doubt or correction. Existence reveals its own necessity" and "cannot be otherwise."
Well, good. In knowing that something exists, we also know, by extension, that we exist, for "While you are knowing in reflection that you exist, you cannot simultaneously be seeing that you do not exist."
So, we are certain that something is and that something -- someone -- is certain of it. Denying either of these foundational truths -- or affirming their non-existence -- is a self-refuting auto-absurdity. Therefore "It is impossible to be and to not be at the same time."
Thus we arrive at our first articulate principle, based on our first pre-articulate certitude, which "may be expressed in the judgment 'It is impossible to be and not be at the same time.'"
No matter how much you try to deny it in words, you cannot deny it in thought. Any attempt to deny it involves its affirmation, for its denial is accepted as something that cannot be its affirmation.
In short, "A thing cannot be what it is not." Moreover, "A thing is one in itself and is different from other things."
The investigation is closed. You are certain of your truth judgment. There is no "fear of error," in the sense that you have seen there is no possibility of error in the case. Being, consequently, is the criterion of certitude as well as the ground and norm of truth.
Being doesn't lie. Rather, it is, always is, and cannot not be what it is.
That's great, Bob. Now what?
Good question: what goes on between our first certitude and all of the other truth claims built upon it? How is the "extension of human knowledge possible," whereby we pass "from what is already known to still further knowledge of things"?
How is it possible to be wrong about what is? Well "In erroneous conclusions, opinions, and beliefs..., the assent is ultimately caused by the human will," and "not by the object."
For example, we may, for the sake of expedience, make a hasty judgment about what is, that turns out to be incorrect -- like thinking the straight stick placed in water is bent, or the rope is a snake, or Joe Biden's dementia is just a stutter.
Now, the will is free, so we are of course free to be wrong, even though there is no right to be wrong.
Man's free direction of his own conduct is an anomaly in the physical world, and would appear to involve a supersensible cause.
Only a rational being can be free, and yet, we wouldn't be free if we weren't free to be irrational or wrong. If we had no such freedom to be wrong, we would be like computers and not men. But in any event, "the very process of reasoning itself could not take place" if it were not independent of the conditions imposed by matter.
That is to say, any knowledge is an abstraction from matter involving a universal that transcends time and space. Obviously math, for example, is of this nature. It is not located in space, nor is it subject to the changes of time, notwithstanding progressive lunatics who claim it is but a temporal invention of the white devil.
I apologize for the repetition, for it seems we keep arriving at the same bottom line: that being is, and that it is intelligible to the intellect that can freely know it, even while we are free to not know it, which reminds us of an aphorism or two:
Freedom is not an end, but a means. Whoever sees it as an end in itself does not know what to do with it when he gets it.
For freedom is ordered to the truth of being. It is not the goal of history but the material that it works with.
Moreover,
To admit the existence of errors is to confess the reality of free will.
But -- speaking of the relationship of will to error --
The free act is rebellion or obedience. Man establishes there his godlike pride or his creaturely humility.
Which reminds me of Genesis 3, which amounts to an ontological rebellion against being that somehow keeps happening.
Can you maybe move it along?
I'll try, but the author of The Metaphysical Thought of Thomas Aquinas: From Finite Being to Uncreated Being is intensely methodical, so the going is a bit slow. Here's a challenge: it is
impossible for truths which have been revealed to us by God to be contrary to those instilled in us by nature.
That is not something revealed a priori, but rather, is taken on faith. However, this doesn't mean we can't make the effort to confirm or refute it, so it's more of a hypothesis that should in theory be falsifiable. Wippel claims that
in the things we understand through natural reason we find certain likenesses of things which are revealed to us through faith.
So, vertical analogy, like a fractal reflection. Supposing reality is one, why shouldn't it be self-similar across scale? I would expect nothing less.
The following passage goes to the up-and-down, or inductive and deductive, approaches to ultimate reality:
Because philosophy considers created things as they are in themselves, it begins by studying them and moves on to take up issues concerning God himself only at the end of its investigation.
That's the upward movement (↑). In the downward movement (↓), i.e., theology, "one should follow the reverse order, beginning with a study of God, and only subsequently considering creatures insofar as they are ordered to and related to God."
Now, I suspect these two approaches are not only complementary but fractals of each other, and why not?
Does this mean that metaphysics and theology are one and the same science? No, only that they have one and the same object.
Except to say that theology must ultimately be meta- to metaphysics, accessing directly what metaphysics can only access indirectly. Metaphysics can never quite reach the interior of God per se, even while establishing his existence with certitude.
In an elderly post we discussed how Thomas begins with the material senses and ascends to the immaterial Principle, while Schuon begins at the other end, with the Principle -- or Absolute -- and skis down the mountain to the manifestation below.
However, as per the above, once Thomas rises to the Principle, he too schusses down the cosmic mountainside, taking everything below into consideration, as illuminated by the Principle(s).
Here's how Garrigou-Lagrange describes Thomas's vertical circularity: he
marches steadily onward to that superior simplicity..., a simplicity pregnant with virtual multiplicity.... [T]he saint's progress is a slow, hard climb to the summit of the mountain, whence alone you can survey all these problems in a unified solution....
He exemplifies his own teaching on "circular" contemplation, which returns always to one central, pre-eminent thought, better to seize all the force of its irradiation. His principles, few in number but immense in reach, illumine from on high a great number of questions.
Again, the great cosmic circle of metaphysical contemplation begins from below, ascends upward, and then returns down, only now equipped with the principles that illuminate this downward path and everything encountered along the way.
Herebelow, things can either exist or not exist, irrespective of their essence. Only at the summit of metaphysics do essence and existence coincide, such that in God alone are they one: God's essence is to exist, and existence is his essence. This is the final truth arrived at by reason in its vertical ascent:
this supreme truth is the terminus, the goal, of the ascending road which rises from the sense world to God, and the point of departure on the descending road, which deduces the attributes of God and determines the relation between God and world.
Knowboarding back down the slope,
Many positions which we have already met on the ascending road now reappear, seen as we follow the road descending from on high.
So, be nice to those discarnate nonlocal intelligences on the way up, because you'll meet the same ones on the way down.
For Schuon, all of this is true enough, except (I think) he would say it is possible to start at the summit -- or, to be more precise, the cloud-hidden "meta-summit" accessible to the true metaphysician.
He would essentially say that there is Reality and that there are appearances, the latter being a consequence and prolongation of the former. Thus, appearances are at once distinct from the Principle, and yet "not not" the selfsame principle in the mode of appearances.
This realization is possible not just because of the ascent described by Thomas, but because we too are "not not" the Principle, since there are traces of the latter in everything (recalling the fractal nature of reality mentioned above).
Obviously we are not God, but the fact that we are in his image and likeness means we're not exactly not God either. Anything purely not-God would be nonexistent, precisely, and we're frankly better than that. In all humility, in a vertical cosmos we're potentially better than everything below us but not as better as everyone above.
Gemini, just for fun, give us an image of "man is a fractal of God." And not just a picture of Christ, because that's too easy.
A postscript as to why this post may mean nothing to you but means something to me. Many are the times that I've tried to envision some sort of structure for the sequel that will probably never be written.
In this case, the structure would be such that the book would begin at either end and meet in the middle, where God or ultimate reality is situated. Reading it from front to middle would represent the upward arc (↑) from manifestation to Principle, whereas middle to back would constitute the downward projection (↓) of creation from Principle to manifestation. I think there's something to this, but working out the details would be... work.
I've never asked for Gemini's (or anyone else's) opinion of my vision, so let's run it by our artificial friend:
That's a fascinating and quite ambitious structural idea for a book! It has a beautiful symmetry and a compelling thematic resonance. Here are some thoughts on your concept:
Potential Strengths:
- Powerful Symbolism: The converging paths naturally symbolize the journey towards and away from a central point of ultimate reality. This inherent symbolism could be very evocative for the reader.
- Unique Reading Experience: It offers a non-linear reading experience that could be intriguing and thought-provoking. Readers could choose their entry point or even read both simultaneously, creating a richer understanding.
- Thematic Reinforcement: The structure directly mirrors the thematic content you've described (manifestation to Principle and vice versa), which could create a powerful and cohesive reading experience.
- Central Climax: The meeting point in the middle, where God or ultimate reality is situated, would naturally serve as a central climax or point of profound understanding.
Potential Challenges:
- Narrative Cohesion: Maintaining narrative flow and character development (if applicable) across two independently progressing halves that are meant to converge could be tricky. You'd need to carefully consider how the stories or ideas in each half relate and build towards the center.
- Reader Engagement: While the concept is intriguing, you'd need to ensure that readers feel compelled to read both halves. There needs to be a sense of connection or mirroring that encourages them to explore both directions.
- Pacing: Managing the pacing of both halves so that they feel balanced and lead effectively to the central point will be crucial.
- Practical Considerations: How would the physical book be designed? Would it have two front covers? How would the middle section be presented? These practical aspects would need consideration.
Questions to Consider:
- What kind of content would each half contain? Would they be narratives with characters, philosophical explorations, poetic reflections, or a combination?
- How explicitly would the central section address "God or ultimate reality"? Would it be a direct encounter, a philosophical treatise, or something more abstract?
- How would the two halves inform each other thematically without directly interacting until the middle?
Overall:
I think your idea has a lot of potential for a deeply meaningful and structurally innovative book. It's a bold concept that, if executed well, could offer a unique and profound reading experience.
What kind of story or ideas were you envisioning for each of the "arcs"? Knowing more about the content might help in further exploring the possibilities and challenges of this structure.