We have been taught to avoid thinking in ways that lead
to ambiguous, vague, or contradictory ideas. What we are
after are Clear and distinct ideas. To that purpose, Plato
and Aristotle formed laws of thought to govern our thinking.
These laws of thought include the law of identity (A equals
A), the law of non-contradiction (A does not equal not A),
and the law of the excluded middle (either A or not A, but
not both A and not A). These laws of thought are at the
base of our thinking and are largely responsible for how
we arrange our understanding.
The teachings of Jesus, however, seem to be full of ambiguity
and vagueness, and contradictions seem to be at the core
of the theology that develops out of those teachings. God
is one but also many (three), simple and without parts yet
three distinct persons, both an infinite God and a finite
man, immanent and transcendent, all-powerful and meek.
Some explain such things as mysteries that transcend reason.
Others try to show how such apparent aberrations are in
fact reasonable and do conform to the laws of thought.
Yet another possibility, however, is to understand that
the laws of thought do not govern all modes of reason, but
are in fact only appropriate concerning a specific type
of reasoning. That is, that there is another mode of reason
to which the laws of thought do not apply. According to
such an alternative mode of reason vague, ambiguous, and
contradictory ideas are what we are after. It may well
be the case that at least certain aspects of Christianity
are better understood through such a mode of reason that
is not based upon the laws of thought.
The Laws of Thought
The fact that the laws of thought are not universal and
only apply to a certain kind of thinking was certainly understood
by Plato. In the Euthydemus, Dionysodorus, Euthydemus’
brother, argues that Socrates must be the father of a dog,
since the dog had a father, and Socrates has admitted that
he is a father.
[1] Since one cannot be a father and not be
a father at the same time, Socrates must be the father of
the dog. Although Socrates is obviously not the father
of the dog, it was not so obvious where Dionysidorus’ thinking
went wrong and why the law of non-contradiction should not
apply in such a case. What was obvious was that if left
unrestricted, the laws of thought could lead to absurd conclusions.
Plato solves the problem by establishing the restrictions
that need to be set in order for the laws of thought to
apply. In the Republic, Socrates says,
It is obvious that the same thing will never do or suffer
opposites in the same respect in relation to the same thing
and at the same time. [2]
Or, as he says more specifically a little later, it is
not
Possible for the same thing at the same time in the same
respect and the same relation to suffer, be, or do opposites. [3]
Thus, if we are to apply the laws of thought in a way that
they do not lead to absurd conclusions they must be applied
to the same attributes “at the same time,” “in the same
respect,” and “in the same relation.” By so doing, we isolate
the object of thought by removing it from all time and circumstance
but one. That is, although I am involved in many relationships,
when I think about myself relationally, I must restrict
my thought to one relationship, at one time, in order for
the laws of thought to be applicable.
Aristotle says much the same thing in several places. [4] What he says is that such laws
apply to attributes and attributes at a particular time
and in a particular respect.
The same attribute cannot at the same time belong and not
belong to the same subject and in the same respect. [5]
Essentially, what both Plato and Aristotle have done is
to create a domain over which the laws of thought might
rule. That domain is established through a process of analysis
whereby the objects of thought are divided into smaller
and smaller units until all contradictions disappear. Thus,
the laws of thought are in fact laws of analysis rather
than laws that govern all right thinking. When we think
synthetically, rather than analytically, and consider multiple
respects holistically, the laws of thought no longer apply
and contradictions are to be expected. Plato was certainly
aware of the fact that synthetic thinking ran contrary to
the laws of thought. In the Symposium, he gives
us an example of such reasoning when he has Socrates tell
us that eros or love, is ideally understood as containing
two very contradictory aspects. Since eros was personified
as a god, Socrates explains the contradiction within love
by explaining the origin of the god, Eros.
On the day of Aphrodite’s birth the gods were making merry,
and among them was Resource, son of Craft. And when they
had supped, Need came begging at the door because there
was good cheer inside. Now it happened that Resource, having
drunk deeply of the heavenly nectar -- for this was before
the days of wine -- wandered out into the garden of Zeus
and sank into a heavy sleep, and Need, thinking that to
get a child by Resource would mitigate her penury, lay down
beside him and in time was brought to the bed of Love.
So Love became the follower and servant of Aphrodite because
he was begotten on the same day that she was born. . . .
Then again, as the son of Resource and Need, it has been
his fate to be always needy; nor is he delicate and lovely
as most of us believe, but harsh and arid, barefoot and
homeless, sleeping on the naked earth, in doorways, or in
the very streets beneath the stars of heaven, and always
partaking of his mother’s poverty. But secondly, he brings
his father’s resourcefulness to his designs upon the beautiful
and good, for he is gallant, impetuous, and energetic, a
mighty hunter, and a master of device and artifice.
[6]
Thus, in the view that Plato sets forth here, eros or
love is not a species of pure want and desire, but neither
is it a species of satisfaction and contentment. Instead,
eros is understood as somehow in the middle, having
characteristics of both want and satisfaction. Socrates
compares it to philosophy, which also must have a contradictory
nature. That is, philosophy must have a basis in ignorance,
otherwise it would not desire knowledge; but it cannot be
completely ignorant, or it would not know what to seek.
Thus, philosophy must be a middle ground and contain the
contradictory aspects of ignorance and wisdom.
[7]
Of course, it could be argued that it is in different respects
and at different times that eros is either want or
satisfaction. We can certainly think of eros in
such an analytic way and divide love into different aspects
until the contradictions disappear, but it is equally true
that we can think of it holistically and allow the contradictions
to remain. Certainly there are situations where we would
want to analyze things and understand something in a particular
respect, and at a particular time, and thus apply the laws
of thought. In other situations, however, it may be more
appropriate to understand things more holistically and consequently
without the aid of the laws of thought.
The Other Logic
Although Aristotle developed a formal logic for analytic
thinking based upon the laws of thought, a logic to govern
synthetic thinking would not be forthcoming until Hegel.
Hegel’s maxim that the truth is the whole meant that contradictions
could not be eliminated through analysis. If we are to
reason synthetically by joining things together into ever-greater
wholes rather than analyzing them into ever-smaller parts,
the laws of thought do not apply and contradictions are
natural and to be expected. When dealing with the whole,
rather than the parts, we are treating all the respects
or parts together and then we certainly may encounter contradictions,
and the truth is often both/and rather than either/or.
Thus, for Hegel, contradictions are the natural state of
things. The traditional logic of Aristotle, which based
itself upon analysis and the laws of thought, was to Hegel
artificial and focused on abstract identities which were
very different from what we actually experience. According
to Hegel, traditional logic made “abstract identity its
principle.”
[8] It was not Socrates that we were reasoning
about but one abstracted aspect of Socrates at one particular
time. Of course, by so doing, traditional logic created
a realm over which the laws of thought could sovereignly
rule. Once proper objects of thought had been created through
abstraction, the laws of thought do universally apply.
When we reason about the world that we actually experience,
however, “everything is inherently contradictory,”
[9] and the law of contradiction, rather than
the law of non-contradiction is the guiding principle.
Likewise, Hegel attacks the law of identity and claims
that, “the law of identity says very little in itself.”
[10] The fact that A equals A is no more than
a tautology and has little meaning. It tells us almost
nothing about the identity of a thing. The only way a
thing truly takes on identity is through its otherness or
what it is not. What a thing is not is as necessary to
the identity of a thing as what it is, since what it is
not is what gives a thing boundaries, definition, and meaning.
Thus, a thing’s otherness must be contained within the very
identity of the thing. This further opens us to the possibility
of contradictions.
Furthermore, since living things are always becoming, they
must contain within themselves that which they are not.
Thus, what we actually experience is a world in constant
flux, thus making any fixed, abstract identity impossible
or at least unrealistic.
It is one of the fundamental prejudices of logic as hitherto
understood and of ordinary thinking, that contradiction
is not so characteristically essential and immanent a determination
as identity; . . . but contradiction is the root of all
movement and vitality; it is only in so far as something
has a contradiction within it that it moves, has an urge
and activity.
[11]
A little later, he says something that is even more shocking
to those who strictly adhere to the traditional laws of
thought and imagine them to be universal and the basis of
all right thinking. What he says is that
Something moves, not because at one moment it is here and
at another there, but because at one and the same moment
it is here and not here, because in this “here”, it at once
is and is not. [12]
This is an obvious contradiction, and the laws of thought
would say that something could not be here and not here
at the same time. Of course, what is behind Hegel’s statement,
and what rests at the base of this question of whether or
not something can be here and not here at the same moment,
is a matter of how we conceive of time itself. If we think
of time analytically whereby the continuum of time moves
from one fixed, analyzable point to another (i.e., t1,
t2, t3 . . .), thus constituting a
series of present moments, then Hegel is certainly wrong,
since something is here (e.g., t4) and not anywhere
else. If, however, there are no fixed points on the continuum
that is time, and time is continually moving, then it cannot
be stopped and analyzed without making it something other
than what it is. Certainly the nature of motion defies
arrest and to freeze motion into fixed analyzable points
is to make motion into something other than motion. If
the nature of time, like motion, defies arrest, then Hegel
is right and analytic thinking is not suited to understand
such a thing. To think of time as an ongoing continuum
forces us to think contrary to the laws of non-contradiction
and excluded middle, and understand that something is both
here and not here at the same time. Since motion defies
the traditional laws of thought, then all living things
violate the laws of thought in so far as they are in constant
motion – not in the sense that they experience constant
local motion but in the sense that all living things experience
perpetual internal motion. This internal motion of all
living things prevents them from having any fixed, analyzable
point of identity.
Abstract self-identity is not as yet a livingness....
Something is therefore alive only in so far as it contains
contradictions within it. [13]
For Hegel, the identity of living things must be understood
in their wholeness, and understanding something in its wholeness
requires that we understand the contradictions within it.
Of course, we can eliminate those contradictions by reasoning
analytically. When we say that life is both joyful and
sorrowful, we can analyze life and divide it into joyful
parts and sorrowful parts. If, however, we resist this
temptation to always think analytically by portioning life
into abstracted parts, what we often actually experience
is that life is often simultaneously and in the same respect
joyful and sorrowful. We have been taught to think analytically
in order that the laws of thought might apply, but that
is only one way of thinking about our experience. We can
also think about our experience more holistically, and,
when we do, we are often brought closer to what we actually
experience.
Our Bicameral Brains
Hegel’s logic is certainly contrary to the logic that Plato
and Aristotle founded upon the laws of thought. That does
not mean, however, that we must choose between the two by
selecting one to the exclusion of the other. Human beings
are certainly capable of reasoning in either fashion.
Since the time of the Greeks, we have known of the bicameral
nature of the human brain. Today, however, our advanced
technology has brought us to a much better understanding
of the two hemispheres and the way they function. With
the fMRI (functional magnetic resonance imaging)
we are able to see how the different parts of the brain
respond to different types of stimulus and thus involve
different types of thinking. What we have found is that
although the two hemispheres certainly work together, they
alternate in dominance with different types of thinking.
In general the left hemisphere participates in the analysis
of information . . . . In contrast, the right hemisphere
is specialized for synthesis; it is particularly good at
putting isolated elements together to perceive things as
wholes.
[14]
What we understand much better today is that we are naturally
equipped with two very distinct abilities in terms of how
to think about our experience. We can analyze our experience
and break it down into ever-smaller parts until the laws
of thought perfectly apply and clear and distinct ideas
result, or we can join the parts of our experience together
into ever-greater wholes and bear the contradictions that
inevitably follow. Of course, both modes of thought are
within our power, and to prefer one to the exclusion of
the other is to limit our rational capacity and make us
half-witted. Sadly, much of the Western intellectual tradition
has done just that, and our preference has been to think
almost exclusively out of the left-brain. It would seem,
however, that a good part of wisdom is a matter of knowing
when and where to employ which mode of reason.
We may want clear and distinct ideas when building a bridge,
but, at other times, vague and ambiguous ideas best represent
what we wish to understand. This is especially true in
regard to our desire to know a person. In attempting to
know a person, whether it be ourselves, other human beings,
or God, we can, and very often do, think analytically and
divide them into different parts or respects. Such abstract,
analytic thinking certainly allows us to apply the laws
of thought, but such thinking does not always best represent
what we wish to understand.
In regard to ourselves, what we often actually experience
is that our motives and emotions are mixed and even contradictory.
When we question why we did a particular thing, we may search
for a single clear and distinct answer, but many times the
truth is much more muddled. In trying to understand whether
we acted courageously or cowardly in a certain situation,
we declare it to be one or the other, but the actual reality
is often very different from the way we choose to reason
and understand what had happened. The laws of thought forbid
us to understand our actions as both courageous and cowardly
at the same time and in the same respect, but that often
forces us to understand our actions unrealistically. If
we honestly consider the state of our soul at a particular
moment, what we often find are contradictions.
To take another example, we can reason analytically and
imagine that we are free moral agents, at least in this
respect, or at this particular time; and in other respects,
or at other times, our behavior is determined. We can certainly
do that in order that we retain our clear and distinct ideas,
but we do not need to always resolve the contradictions
that surround the question of whether we are determined
or free. We can choose to be faithful to the laws of thought
and attempt to resolve the contradiction through analysis,
but that is not something that is necessitated by reason.
Rather it is only one form of reason that tells us that
we must think about ourselves in the abstract, and apply
the laws of thought. If we reason in such a way, we will
feel compelled to eliminate the contradiction, but such
a compulsion may create an understanding very different
from what we actually experience.
Just as two very different musical notes can fill the same
space at the same time, it is equally possible for our souls
to experience both a freedom and an absence of freedom at
the same time and in the same respect. Certainly, we can
choose how we wish to think about such things. The two
very different musical notes can be understood abstractly
and reduced to sound waves or frequencies that can be mathematically
analyzed. By so doing, we preserve the laws of thought,
but we also reduce music to something very artificial, abstract,
and different from what we actually experience.
Just as with our understanding of our own experience, the
same is true in regard to our knowledge of others. Concerning
my understanding of my wife, what I often experience is
that I both know her and do not know her at the same time
and in the same respect. If asked if I know my wife’s feeling
about dogs, the correct answer is both yes and no. I do
know how deeply she feels about these animals, and yet at
the same time an understanding of her love of dogs escapes
me. Again, I could analysis my understanding of her love
of dogs until the contradictions disappear, but I do not
have to – I could leave it whole and tolerate the contradiction
I experience.
As applicable as this synthetic mode of reason is concerning
ourselves or other human beings, it is even more appropriate
in attempting to understand the person of God. The Christian,
triune God is most essentially a contradiction. Furthermore,
the Christian tradition maintains that the contradiction
that is essential to the triune God cannot be resolved analytically
because the three persons are not parts of the Godhead but
are each wholly God. If the three persons form an inseparable
unity that cannot be reduced to parts, analysis would seem
impossible.
Of course, that does not stop us. We insist upon analyzing
the Godhead and explain that they are three in this respect
and one in another respect. The Medievals used the Aristotelian
distinction between substance and relation in their attempt
to show in what respect God was three and in what respect
God was one. According to Aristotle, father and son are
words that signify relations rather than substances. Father
is a relation rather than a substance in that if one’s children
ceased to exist, one would no longer be a father, although
there would be no change to them as a substance. Equally,
once one’s parents die, a person is no longer a daughter
or son, although nothing has changed about their substance.
If the persons of the Trinity were relations rather than
substances, it would easily explain how three persons or
relations could come together to create a unitary God who
was one substance. This was the solution offered by Boethius
(480-524). Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) makes reference to
Boethius in his own explanation of the Trinity but also
notes Augustine (354-430) who held the contrary view that
persons were substances. Aquinas quotes Augustine as saying,
When we speak of the person of the Father, we mean nothing
else but the substance of the Father, for person is said
in regard to Himself, and not in regard to the Son.
[15]
Aquinas’ own position attempts to unite the positions of
both Boethius and Augustine. He explains that the persons
of the Godhead constitute a subsistent relation. He agrees
with Boethius but points out that the relations that make
up the Godhead are not like any other relations. All other
relations are external to a substance and therefore accidental
and not part of a thing’s nature or essence. By contrast,
the persons that make up the Godhead are relations that
are essential and constitute the very nature of God and
are therefore substantive as well.
[16]
We can certainly reason about God in such an analytical
way. Such reasoning is natural and reflects the way part
of our brain works. Furthermore, many things are best understood
analytically. The problem is that our desire for clear
and distinct ideas may become excessive to the exclusion
of any other form or reason. It may be inevitable that
we seek clear and distinct ideas of God, just as we seek
clear and distinct ideas concerning our spouses and children,
but we should never lose sight of the fact that such analytic
reasoning produces abstract entities that are very different
from the reality of the persons we wish to know.
Our knowledge of the actual person of God will never be
accurately represented with a theology based upon analysis.
That is because our knowledge of a person is always based
upon the contradiction that they are both known and not
known simultaneously and in the same respect. This is especially
true of the person of God. The Scripture tells us that
God’s desire is that we would know him, [17] but at the same time that we can
never know him.
O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his
ways! “For who has known the mind of the Lord?
[18]
This is the Scriptural account of our understanding concerning
God. It is a contradictory account so we attempt to resolve
the contradiction by explaining in what respect we understand
and in what respect we do not understand. We can do this,
but we do not have to. In fact, it may be best to simply
remain in that contemplative place of enduring the contradiction
and resisting our urge to analyze.
Notes:
