Complements Will Get You Everywhere

Our next chapter is called Logical Paradox, and there is much in it that goes to what we call orthoparadox, which the Aphorist describes better than I can: 

For the Christian the truth is in tension between certain contrary propositions.

Thus, 

Theology has no function in resolving the conflict, but in showing its necessity.

I just googled meself, and it looks like I have actually addressed this subject head on in the past:

The etymology of paradox is para + doxos, i.e., contrary to thinking, or thoughts that seem to run counter to one another. Ortho-paradox borrows from it and from ortho-doxy, the latter meaning "correct opinion."

Orthoparadox must be distinguished from mere paradox, which implies a problem in the data or in the thinker, something that can eventually be overcome, e.g. a false assumption or naive expectation or hidden variable.

This is not a new idea, but rather, very old. "Orthoparadox" is just a neologism for a paleoconcept.

For example, over half a millennium ago Nicholas of Cusa wrote of his discovery that God is "girded about with the coincidence of contradictories." He calls this the "wall of paradise" beyond which God resides: "Thus, it is on the other side of coincidence of contraries that you [God] will be able to be seen and nowhere on this side."

Now, I could autogoogle all day long, but then we'd never finish The Matter With Things, and we're close to the end of Volume 1, so let's bear down. With luck we can dive into Volume 2 by Monday or so. 

I'll bet you can already guess that the LH doesn't deal well with paradox, for it "is seen by the analytic mind as a sign of error somewhere," instead of the threshold of a deeper truth. For "in the deep (though clearly not the superficial) structure of reality opposite truths do actually coincide, and we must therefore accept both" (McGilchrist).

I would say that this is what defines an orthoparadox, precisely: that seemingly contradictory truths are in fact complementary. Most famously there is the complementarity principle of physics, whereby the quantum world consists of particles and/or waves, depending upon how you look at it. 

And not to bohr you, but as I've said many times, physics is the way it is because reality (beginning with God) is the way it is, not vice versa. The world begins and ends in orthoparadoxical complementarity. 

Note that this only applies to Deep Truths, not to "everyday truths." The latter is the world of Aristotelian logic, Newtonian physics, and good old mansplaining. Does this imply that the world of orthoparadox is "feminine," so to speak? I suspect it is, but that's an awfully big subject. 

On p. 642 McGilchrist touches on an Extremely Important Point, the idea of "degrees of truth." The LH has a preference for dichotomous, black and white thinking, and will have difficulty appreciating that something can be true on one level but false on another. 

At some point we will return to this subject, because a key to metaphysics is understanding the hierarchical structure of reality, from the Absolute on down. The only alternative is some version of flatland reductionism that can literally never get off (or spiral out of) the goround.

A lot of this chapter deals with famous paradoxes that don't interest me. For example, I don't really care what Zeno says, because I prefer to believe my own eyes rather than his clever logic. 

Later in the chapter McGilchrist touches on another Extremely Important Point, the "spiraling" nature of reality. Combine this with the previous Important Point about hierarchy, and you've really got something. With the open spiral,

there is always another level to which one can go to ask a question that transcends the frame of reference. This difference of spatial depth, even if the space is a cognitive one, differentiates the two hemispheres.

This leads to the next chapter, Intuition's Claims on Truth, but for me it is preaching to the coonverted. No one has to tell me to give intuition a try. It's pretty much my default setting. Although I don't call it "intuition." I don't know that I have a name for it, since it's just me, and I can't step outside of myself. At least not completely.  

McGilchrist notes that "experts can rarely articulate how they are able to do what they do," and this is certainly true of any decent clinical psychologist. The most important skill of psychotherapy -- a kind of spontaneous RH intuitive empathic resonance -- cannot be taught, only refined and reflected upon. In many ways it is a curse -- me being so fucking sensitive and all.

Well, that was fast. The next -- and penultimate -- chapter is called The Untimely Demise of Intuition, but we'll leave it for tomorrow.