Phenomenology of Spirit: The Path to the Absolute

Sure, or we could just look at what Buddha used to say—that craving and ignorance, or avidya, are basically the root causes of all our suffering. In this context, avidya isn't just being clueless; it’s that deep, metaphysical lack of understanding regarding our own true nature.

Amanda Jackson5 said:Sure, or we could just look at what Buddha used to say—that craving and ignorance, or avidya, are basically the root causes of all our suffering. In this context, avidya isn't just being clueless; it’s that deep, metaphysical lack of understanding regarding our own true nature.

So, what exactly constitutes our "true nature" according to Buddha?
(I haven't studied Buddhism deeply...)

(On a side note, thanks for the Chesterton quote in that other thread. I just finished one of his books and he’s so brilliant I’m planning to read his entire catalog. 🙂 It reminds me of what Joseph Campbell rightly observed: " ... read real books by real people. When you find an author who truly grabs hold of you, read everything they have ever written. Simply consume what that author has to offer. From there, you can begin to explore what they themselves were reading. Only then does the world open up to you in a way that aligns with a specific perspective. )

Oh boy, here we go again with Chesterton.
So, I’m guessing you read "Orthodoxy" in an old edition, not one of those versions put out by someone like Ivo Džeba. I actually went through it twice over Christmas—just like all those translated works back then—and even tried writing in that style myself before telling myself, "No thanks, I'll just be my own person. What is Chesterton anyway?" It’s a nice, snappy style, full of wit... but watch this—he doesn't even truly grasp Nietzsche. Honestly, I could probably write five books modeled after Chesterton's "Orthodoxy" just to mock him using his own weapons, but what do I know? Maybe I should just be a Voltaire, mocking every author from here to Europe, while sipping gallons of coffee like Balzac.

What am I supposed to get out of authors like that in terms of actual seriousness, real knowledge, or total understanding? Reading them is fine, sure, but why would I spend my time on Chesterton when I could be diving into the "Organon," or "Ethics," or actual systems of science? I'm not crazy. Are you looking for pretty prose or actual knowledge? If you want beautiful styles, then that's what you read, and that tells you exactly what you want from words and thoughts: entertainment, diversion, decadence. Chesterton is a decadent—he's witty, he has a great style and a cheerful spirit, but most importantly, he's a decadent. And look, cheerful spirits can be decadent too. He even dares to write about Nietzsche, but—get this—Nietzsche doesn't even care about what a book *can* be about. Why? Because he starts from—wait for it—Christianity. When you analyze an author within a Christian framework, you aren't thinking what the thinker actually thought; you're just thinking Christianly. Nietzsche himself—his whole essence—is outside of metaphysics, which Chesterton completely misses. If he actually knew, he wouldn't have written the things he did about Nietzsche.

That's the thing. With Chesterton, you won't find anything absolute besides some clever paradoxical "nay-saying." If that's your vibe, go ahead and read everything he wrote. But seriously, Hegel gives you a SYSTEM. A system! And you're over here reading Chesterton? Is there anything else you need to add?

I'll take Hegel any day, since we're even talking about it. What on earth is Chesterton? Cheerful spirit, lovely style, sure, but the guy doesn't actually *know* anything significant. He's just easy to read and pleasant, a bit fun, a bit paradoxical—and of course, people like that have their readers.
You type "Hegel" into a search engine and look at the photos. Just look at him. That is a serious man. You can tell from his portrait he isn't interested in joking around; he doesn't bother with paradoxes. That stuff is for kids—pardon me, for Chestertonians.

We'll be getting back to Hegel soon enough. I've had enough of these "juvenile" types and those little clubs where kids gather to debate Chesterton's "ideas." Any real thinker would see right through Chesterton's "ideas."

Sandra Murphy33 As if I haven't heard enough already:
What exactly do we mean when we talk about our "true nature" in relation to Buddha?
I haven't exactly spent my life deep-diving into the study of Buddhism...

Well, you can't exactly wrap that up in a single sentence. It’s one of those things where you really have to dive in and figure out your own nature for yourself. In principle, the same logic applies that we were discussing when we touched on substance versus accidents, or essence versus appearance—basically, the whole concept of being itself. You only ever grasp one thing through another; you perceive the substance through its accidents, and so on. Nothing actually possesses a permanent, rock-solid essence because everything is in a constant state of flux. If you look at what Buddha taught, Man doesn't possess a permanent or self-subsistent self—meaning his substance is nothing more than a collection of his various accidents. Just take a look at the "three marks of existence."

Sandra Murphy33 said:So, what exactly constitutes our "true nature" according to Buddha?
(I haven't studied Buddhism deeply...)

(On a side note, thanks for the Chesterton quote in that other thread. I just finished one of his books and he’s so brilliant I’m planning to read his entire catalog. 🙂 It reminds me of what Joseph Campbell rightly observed: " ... read real books by real people. When you find an author who truly grabs hold of you, read everything they have ever written. Simply consume what that author has to offer. From there, you can begin to explore what they themselves were reading. Only then does the world open up to you in a way that aligns with a specific perspective. )

Don't mention it. Chesterton is truly top-tier. If you’re really that obsessed, you might as well just go ahead and join the American Chesterton Society:
http://americanchestertonians.blogspot.com/

Sandra Murphy33 said:So, what exactly constitutes our "true nature" according to Buddha?
(I haven't studied Buddhism deeply...)

(On a side note, thanks for the Chesterton quote in that other thread. I just finished one of his books and he’s so brilliant I’m planning to read his entire catalog. 🙂 It reminds me of what Joseph Campbell rightly observed: " ... read real books by real people. When you find an author who truly grabs hold of you, read everything they have ever written. Simply consume what that author has to offer. From there, you can begin to explore what they themselves were reading. Only then does the world open up to you in a way that aligns with a specific perspective. )

It’s basically just a modern take on that classic bit of wisdom from Joseph Campbell: "Follow your bliss."

Quote:, or the Ethics, or some massive system of science? I'm not out of my mind.

Paul Bailey95 says: Personally, I’m looking for depth, real knowledge, and a complete grasp of things—what do I actually get from authors like that? It’s all lovely to read, sure, but am I supposed to be reading Chesterton when I could be diving into the Organon

Well, you might not feel like it, but why shouldn't she read him if she enjoys it? Why be so incredibly rigid about it? Besides, you even admitted yourself that his writing is elegant and entertaining. It’s not as if there isn't something to learn from Chesterton. Personally, I lean toward Hegel when it comes to heavy philosophy, but I don't really view Chesterton as a philosopher anyway. It's the same with Eagleton; just because he was recently in Washington, D.C., doesn't mean he isn't writing stuff worth reading.

I’m gonna have to break this whole deep dive into consciousness up into four separate posts—mostly because I’ll hit that 10,000-character limit if I try to cram it all in at once. There’s just way too much ground to cover here. It’s like trying to carve a statue out of a massive block of granite; you can't exactly rush the process if you want something worth looking at.

Let's get this show on the road.
In the beginning, there was the Word.

The first section—that whole subjective spirit vibe.

1.1 Consciousness
1. Sensory Certainty: This vs. Opinion
2. Observation: Reality vs. Deception
3. Reason

Sensory certainty, "this," and what we call opinion—it’s all a bit of a mess, isn't it?

So, let's dive into sensory certainty—basically where Hegel kicks things off. He argues that the object sitting right there in front of us—the thing he calls "this," like, say, this potted plant or this house—represents our immediate knowledge. And what exactly is "immediate" knowledge here? It’s just the stuff we pick up through our senses—what we see with our eyes or hear with our ears. It’s the raw data of what exists. As subjects, we approach this information directly; we take in what's being shown to us via our senses and we don't mess with it. We just accept it as it is given. At this stage, we aren't even bothering to analyze the object itself—we aren't digging into its essence or anything—we're just taking it at face value. For the consciousness of sensory certainty, the thing is just... there.

Sensory certainty—it’s that immediate kind of knowledge that just hits you—tends to treat itself like the ultimate buffet of cognition. It thinks it’s being served the richest possible truth on a silver platter, like a massive feast laid out on a table or a tree heavy with fruit. It just grabs a piece of whatever is there and starts handing it out to everyone else. Essentially, sensory certainty is just playing around with the "thisness" of things—the fruits on the tree or the food on the table we call "this." As it stands, sensory certainty presents itself as the most authentic thing imaginable, refusing to leave out a single detail of the object in front of it. It views everything before it as a total, complete whole. But here’s the kicker: while that certainty feels incredibly absolute and true, it’s actually nothing more than the most abstract, poorest kind of truth. All it really does is point at something—some pure "this" sitting right there in front of it—and say, "Yeah, this thing simply exists." Its entire truth is limited to the mere existence of those "this" things. Within this certainty, a consciousness emerges that perceives the pure "this" (the object) as the pure "this" (the Self). But this "Self"—this "I"—isn't actually aware of its own nature, because that "I," acting as consciousness, is the very thing driving and developing all our thoughts. Let me give you an example.

So, here’s the thing—I’m looking at this book right now, just staring at "this." It’s right there, sitting in front of me, totally real and solid. But the second I turn my head or even just let a few minutes tick by, that book isn't really "there" anymore in the same way—even though I took it for granted as this permanent, finished object. Or take my watch, for example. As I’m typing this out, it says exactly 4:02 PM. But by the time I actually shift in my chair? It’s not 4:02 anymore. It’s not even Sunday—which is what today happens to be—it’s not March 13th, it’s not 2016, and so on and so forth. Everything is just... slipping.

Neither "this" guy (me) nor "this" thing (the subject at hand) actually has anything to do with the truth of some sensory certainty—whether we're talking about a specific moment in time or a book sitting on a shelf. Look, there are two things we really need to keep in mind here:
So, yeah—that’s me.
So, here it is—the actual subject at hand.

Let’s take "this" (an object) and pretend that this "this" we find sitting right in front of the Self is a tree. That tree standing before the Self is exactly that—this "this." Now, I see the tree as a tree, but the Self isn't actually conscious of the tree itself because—as we touched on earlier—the Self is constantly developing and driving thoughts; it’s in a perpetual state of flux (think Heraclitus). Sure, the tree—or this "this"—has a whole bunch of different properties, and it relates to other things the Self takes for granted. But none of that actually touches the truth of sensory certainty itself. Neither the Self nor "this" (the tree) carries any inherent meaning. The Self and "this" simply *are*, and they only exist because they exist. And honestly, that raw fact—that the Self or "this" just exists—is the core of sensory knowledge. This simple immediacy between the Self and "this" represents the truth of sensory knowledge. That’s where it lies. It’s just the Self and "this," and that’s the whole truth of it—it hits you in the chest like you're actually seeing the essence of things. Take a scientist, say a psychologist—doesn't matter where they went to school. A psychologist only knows one thing or another within a specific, isolated field called "so-and-so" psychology. If a woman walks up to a psychologist and says she’s struggling with hysteria, the psychologist either sees that her problem is indeed hysteria, or it isn't. If it is, then the psychologist is looking at a single instance—specifically, that woman's hysteria. All he knows is that the hysteria is present in her, and that’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. However, even though the psychologist has reached a diagnosis of hysteria, the pure essence that makes up the core of that certainty (in this case, the woman's hysteria) isn't everything sensory certainty perceives. There’s a whole lot more going on behind the scenes that consciousness doesn't even catch. Sensory certainty isn't just that simple immediacy (the aforementioned woman's hysteria); rather, it is an *example* of it. An example—not the certainty itself—which serves as an example of what sensory certainty really is.

So, here’s where we find the main split in all this. Out of the whole mess, two distinct "this-nesses" emerge: "this" as the Self, and "this" as the object or thing. If we look at the distinction between "this self" and "this thing," we realize that neither the Self nor the "thing" is actually immediate—meaning they aren't just sitting there in raw sensory certainty. Instead, they both rely on something else to exist. My sense of "me" is only certain because of "this thing," and without the "thing," my sense of self vanishes. Take that woman's hysteria mentioned earlier—it wouldn't even be a detectable reality if it weren't for the psychologist's sense of "self." That hysteria only becomes an undeniable fact through him. On the flip side, "this thing" is only certain because of the Self; without the Self, there’s no way to experience "this thing." I am certain of a book, but the book is only certain because of me. You pull one thread, and the whole thing unravels. This tension between what's direct and what's mediated is baked right into sensory certainty itself. It's the kind of thing Hegel says we have to accept as being "in itself"—not to be confused with, say, the actual time on my watch when I was typing this, or any other random examples I throw out. Look, the woman's hysteria isn't "in itself"; it's only real through the lens of the Self.

When we talk about "in itself," we’re talking about something simply existing—an object that exists whether anyone knows about it or not. But the other side of the coin is non-essential and mediated. That’s not "in itself"; it's known via something else—specifically, the Self that perceives the object. The object just *is*—that hysteria just *exists*—but whether that existence matches our sensory perception is a whole different story. Let's put it this way: my watch shows it’s 4:02 PM while I'm writing, but the second I look away, that "4:02 PM" is gone. That specific moment shown on the watch isn't the thing "in itself," even though sensory certainty treats it as such in the moment—taking things as given, ready-made facts. Sensory certainty looks at a tree and says, "this tree is." But then, suddenly, the tree is gone and there's a building there instead. Now, sensory certainty says, "this building is." Then the building gets knocked down and a skyscraper goes up, and it's back to "this skyscraper is," and so on. You can play that game forever. We end up with an endless loop of these sensory "is-ness" moments. To sensory certainty, the object—whether it's a tree, a building, or a skyscraper—just *is*, regardless of whether anyone's paying attention. The object remains even when ignored; that woman's hysteria stays real even if the psychologist stops looking at it. Knowledge doesn't exist here unless the "this" of the object exists. We have to figure out if the object's essence in sensory certainty actually matches how it appears to us—does its existence in our senses actually align with its true nature? When we talk about "this" (the object), we aren't wondering what the tree or the skyscraper *actually* is deep down; we're looking at how sensory certainty swallows it up as a "given." We need to see how it's perceived.

Let's try a little dialogue.
I'll ask sensory certainty: "Hey, tell me, what is this?"
Sensory certainty: "This? It's a tree."
And now?
Sensory certainty: "Now it's a building."
And now?
Sensory certainty: "A skyscraper."

That’s how sensory certainty answers. If you ask it, "What is 'now'?" it might say something like: "This 'now' is a cloudy, rainy day." Now, listen—sensory certainty (as I'm typing these lines on a Sunday, sitting in my room in Seattle, March 13th, 2016, or whatever) is technically correct. It is raining outside, and it is cloudy. But by tomorrow, or in a couple of days, that "truth" won't exist anymore. And get this: if we write down or remember that truth—that it was raining and cloudy—that specific sensory truth vanishes. Sensory certainty treats the cloudy day as something immediately present, taking it as a solid reality, even though it's actually fleeting and non-existent in the long run. You could argue that "now" persists, but not as the specific cloudy day it once perceived as true. It’s the same for a sunny, dry day. For sensory certainty, a sunny day is treated exactly the same way as a rainy one.

What’s actually happening right in front of us isn't really the "immediate" thing—that's just the sensory certainty part. Everything else is mediated. Think about it: a gloomy, rainy day and a bright, sunny one—both are just temporary states. They persist precisely because they eventually cease to be. Sensory certainty doesn't really care what kind of weather we're having. Neither a downpour nor a clear sky defines its essence, yet for our senses, both are equally real. We call this simplicity—this idea where negation shows us that "this" or "now" aren't fixed certainties, but rather a shifting state of "not-this" or "not-now"—the universal. That universality is the actual truth behind sensory certainty. Of course, the sensory itself is also universal, but before we dive deep into the abstract stuff, let's grab a quick example to illustrate what I mean by "this" in terms of sensory certainty.

Paul Bailey95 said:Oh boy, here we go again with Chesterton.
So, I’m guessing you read "Orthodoxy" in an old edition, not one of those versions put out by someone like Ivo Džeba. I actually went through it twice over Christmas—just like all those translated works back then—and even tried writing in that style myself before telling myself, "No thanks, I'll just be my own person. What is Chesterton anyway?" It’s a nice, snappy style, full of wit... but watch this—he doesn't even truly grasp Nietzsche. Honestly, I could probably write five books modeled after Chesterton's "Orthodoxy" just to mock him using his own weapons, but what do I know? Maybe I should just be a Voltaire, mocking every author from here to Europe, while sipping gallons of coffee like Balzac.

What am I supposed to get out of authors like that in terms of actual seriousness, real knowledge, or total understanding? Reading them is fine, sure, but why would I spend my time on Chesterton when I could be diving into the "Organon," or "Ethics," or actual systems of science? I'm not crazy. Are you looking for pretty prose or actual knowledge? If you want beautiful styles, then that's what you read, and that tells you exactly what you want from words and thoughts: entertainment, diversion, decadence. Chesterton is a decadent—he's witty, he has a great style and a cheerful spirit, but most importantly, he's a decadent. And look, cheerful spirits can be decadent too. He even dares to write about Nietzsche, but—get this—Nietzsche doesn't even care about what a book *can* be about. Why? Because he starts from—wait for it—Christianity. When you analyze an author within a Christian framework, you aren't thinking what the thinker actually thought; you're just thinking Christianly. Nietzsche himself—his whole essence—is outside of metaphysics, which Chesterton completely misses. If he actually knew, he wouldn't have written the things he did about Nietzsche.

That's the thing. With Chesterton, you won't find anything absolute besides some clever paradoxical "nay-saying." If that's your vibe, go ahead and read everything he wrote. But seriously, Hegel gives you a SYSTEM. A system! And you're over here reading Chesterton? Is there anything else you need to add?

I'll take Hegel any day, since we're even talking about it. What on earth is Chesterton? Cheerful spirit, lovely style, sure, but the guy doesn't actually *know* anything significant. He's just easy to read and pleasant, a bit fun, a bit paradoxical—and of course, people like that have their readers.
You type "Hegel" into a search engine and look at the photos. Just look at him. That is a serious man. You can tell from his portrait he isn't interested in joking around; he doesn't bother with paradoxes. That stuff is for kids—pardon me, for Chestertonians.

We'll be getting back to Hegel soon enough. I've had enough of these "juvenile" types and those little clubs where kids gather to debate Chesterton's "ideas." Any real thinker would see right through Chesterton's "ideas."

🤣
Maybe you were being completely serious, Paul Bailey95, but to me, it sounds like you're just joking and laughing at yourself while you talk like this. 🙂
Perhaps that's already the influence of Chesterton—"Orthodoxy" isn't quite my turn yet. I've read "The Man Who Was Thursday" and before that "The Magic City"; now I'm reading "The Ball and the Cross." He has this gentle, diplomatic humor that I enjoy—is that typical English humor, given how much I love that detached irony in English authors? I don't know...
I don't know what he said about Nietzsche. By the way, why is everyone so obsessed with Nietzsche? That's literature for adolescents... just like Dostoevsky, Sartre, Camus, Faulkner—all those people who complain and wish things were different than they are. I am at an age where I need exactly what Chesterton (and other English authors) provides: a gentle, self-ironic acceptance of oneself and the world, without unnecessary internal conflicts, irreconcilable opposites, overwhelming emotions, or constant turmoil.
To quote Campbell again: "Older ages demand a stronger mythology." 😉
You seem to prefer reaching "knowledge, full understanding, and seriousness," but there are plenty of people who learn much more effectively through humor than through excessive solemnity. I also can't quite bring myself to agree that Chesterton was the man you described—cheerful, witty, lighthearted—because his characters skip the pleasantries. Instead of a simple "Good day, how are you, where are you from?", they dive straight into deep philosophical debates and exchanges, quoting their favorite authors. That’s actually how I imagine reality TV should work 😉 (If it were actually like that, my life would probably just consist of endless walks through the city engaging strangers in philosophical discourse, and I wouldn't even bother owning a laptop at home)
I am also curious how someone as brilliant as Chesterton could become a Catholic. To me, Catholicism is the worst religion in the world, and regarding religion in general, I tend to agree with Campbell: they are merely "defenses against true experience (God)."

Amanda Jackson5:

Well, you can't answer that with a single sentence. One has to penetrate their own nature personally. In principle, one could say the same principles apply as when we discussed substance and accidents, or essence and appearance. Or, more simply, the concept itself. One thing is understood through another (substance through its accidents, etc.). Nothing possesses a permanent, solid essence. Everything is transient. According to Buddha, Man has no permanent or self-subsistent self (meaning his substance is nothing more than the aggregate of his accidents). Look at the "three marks of existence."

I've come to understand it more as Buddha, when speaking of "one's own nature," was referring generally to human nature—that which is common to everyone... I agree that "one is understood through another" and that the whole exists because of the parts that compose it, and that there is nothing that can be isolated to say, "This is eternal while everything else decays"—though the concept of "emergence" comes to mind, which if I remember correctly, was "that which transcends both the whole and its parts"?
Regarding the idea that everything is transient, I think there is something that isn't: life itself 🙂 It constantly renews itself; it appears where you least expect it, flowers bloom through narrow cracks in the concrete, and in nature, the cycle of generations never stops. Since we humans are essentially life itself—its manifestation—could we say we are "eternal" because the life within us is eternal? (It's similar to physics, where energy cannot be lost, only transferred from one state to another). I've found that when I think of myself this way—as "life" rather than a "person" (a person is an illusion, something transient)—I feel much better. I find myself more in the moment and less stuck in the past or future, which, unlike before, I only "use" (when they occur) if I can find something beautiful in them, some kind of pleasure, or something good for the soul
In a Hegelian sense, could it be said that I don't identify with either the substance or its accidents, but rather with emergence? 😁
(Paul Bailey95 is going to lose his mind over this...)

If you like it that much, you're welcome to join the American Chesterton Society:
http://americanchestertonians.blogspot.com/

Thanks!!!!! 🎉

Sandra Murphy33 said:🤣
Maybe you were being completely serious, Paul Bailey95, but to me, it sounds like you're just joking and laughing at yourself while you talk like this. 🙂
Perhaps that's already the influence of Chesterton—"Orthodoxy" isn't quite my turn yet. I've read "The Man Who Was Thursday" and before that "The Magic City"; now I'm reading "The Ball and the Cross." He has this gentle, diplomatic humor that I enjoy—is that typical English humor, given how much I love that detached irony in English authors? I don't know...
I don't know what he said about Nietzsche. By the way, why is everyone so obsessed with Nietzsche? That's literature for adolescents... just like Dostoevsky, Sartre, Camus, Faulkner—all those people who complain and wish things were different than they are. I am at an age where I need exactly what Chesterton (and other English authors) provides: a gentle, self-ironic acceptance of oneself and the world, without unnecessary internal conflicts, irreconcilable opposites, overwhelming emotions, or constant turmoil.
To quote Campbell again: "Older ages demand a stronger mythology." 😉
You seem to prefer reaching "knowledge, full understanding, and seriousness," but there are plenty of people who learn much more effectively through humor than through excessive solemnity. I also can't quite bring myself to agree that Chesterton was the man you described—cheerful, witty, lighthearted—because his characters skip the pleasantries. Instead of a simple "Good day, how are you, where are you from?", they dive straight into deep philosophical debates and exchanges, quoting their favorite authors. That’s actually how I imagine reality TV should work 😉 (If it were actually like that, my life would probably just consist of endless walks through the city engaging strangers in philosophical discourse, and I wouldn't even bother owning a laptop at home)
I am also curious how someone as brilliant as Chesterton could become a Catholic. To me, Catholicism is the worst religion in the world, and regarding religion in general, I tend to agree with Campbell: they are merely "defenses against true experience (God)."

Amanda Jackson5:

Well, you can't answer that with a single sentence. One has to penetrate their own nature personally. In principle, one could say the same principles apply as when we discussed substance and accidents, or essence and appearance. Or, more simply, the concept itself. One thing is understood through another (substance through its accidents, etc.). Nothing possesses a permanent, solid essence. Everything is transient. According to Buddha, Man has no permanent or self-subsistent self (meaning his substance is nothing more than the aggregate of his accidents). Look at the "three marks of existence."

I've come to understand it more as Buddha, when speaking of "one's own nature," was referring generally to human nature—that which is common to everyone... I agree that "one is understood through another" and that the whole exists because of the parts that compose it, and that there is nothing that can be isolated to say, "This is eternal while everything else decays"—though the concept of "emergence" comes to mind, which if I remember correctly, was "that which transcends both the whole and its parts"?
Regarding the idea that everything is transient, I think there is something that isn't: life itself 🙂 It constantly renews itself; it appears where you least expect it, flowers bloom through narrow cracks in the concrete, and in nature, the cycle of generations never stops. Since we humans are essentially life itself—its manifestation—could we say we are "eternal" because the life within us is eternal? (It's similar to physics, where energy cannot be lost, only transferred from one state to another). I've found that when I think of myself this way—as "life" rather than a "person" (a person is an illusion, something transient)—I feel much better. I find myself more in the moment and less stuck in the past or future, which, unlike before, I only "use" (when they occur) if I can find something beautiful in them, some kind of pleasure, or something good for the soul
In a Hegelian sense, could it be said that I don't identify with either the substance or its accidents, but rather with emergence? 😁
(Paul Bailey95 is going to lose his mind over this...)

If you like it that much, you're welcome to join the American Chesterton Society:
http://americanchestertonians.blogspot.com/

Thanks!!!!! 🎉

When discussing life, Hegel describes it as the "immediate idea" or the "presupposition of the concept." It’s important to remember that for Hegel, an idea represents the unity of the concept and reality:
"...since cognition is a concept insofar as it is for itself, but as subjectivity in relation to objectivity, the concept is in relation to the idea as a presupposed or immediate idea. But the immediate idea is life .
This refers to logical life (life viewed as a logical category), as opposed to "natural life." Natural life is defined as:
"...life as projected into the externality of existence, conditioned by an anorganic nature, where the moments of the idea are the multiplicity of actual formations."
...whereas:
"Life is in the idea without such presuppositions which take the form of actual shapes; its presupposition is the concept."

...and further:
"In nature, life appears as the highest stage, the stage at which the externality of nature withdraws into itself and overcomes itself within subjectivity. In logic, this is simple interiority (Insichsein), which, in the idea of life, has achieved the externality that originally corresponds to it; the concept that
previously appeared on the scene as a subjective concept is the soul of life itself; it is the impulse that mediates its own reality everywhere within objectivity."

The relationship between life and spirit:

"In spirit, however, life appears partly as its opposite, and partly as being postulated in unity with spirit, and this unity is reborn as the pure progeny of spirit. For here, life is taken generally in its true sense as natural life, because what is called the life of spirit as spirit is its particular nature which stands in opposition to mere life; just as we also speak of the nature of spirit, even though spirit is not a natural being but rather the opposite of nature. Life, therefore, as such, is for spirit partly a means, and as such, spirit opposes it; and partly, spirit is the living individual, and life is his body; and again, this unity of spirit with its own living corporeality is born from spirit itself as the ideal. None of these relations with spirit concern logical life, and life should not be considered here either as an instrument (Mittel) of spirit, nor as a moment of that ideal or beautiful. In both cases, as natural life and as life standing in relation to spirit, life possesses the determinacy of its externality—in the first case through its presuppositions which are other formations of nature, and in the second through the goals and activity of spirit."

...because:

"Life, now considered more closely in its idea, is in itself and for itself absolute universality."

Sandra Murphy33 said:🤣
Maybe you were being completely serious, Paul Bailey95, but to me, it sounds like you're just joking and laughing at yourself while you talk like this. 🙂
Perhaps that's already the influence of Chesterton—"Orthodoxy" isn't quite my turn yet. I've read "The Man Who Was Thursday" and before that "The Magic City"; now I'm reading "The Ball and the Cross." He has this gentle, diplomatic humor that I enjoy—is that typical English humor, given how much I love that detached irony in English authors? I don't know...
I don't know what he said about Nietzsche. By the way, why is everyone so obsessed with Nietzsche? That's literature for adolescents... just like Dostoevsky, Sartre, Camus, Faulkner—all those people who complain and wish things were different than they are. I am at an age where I need exactly what Chesterton (and other English authors) provides: a gentle, self-ironic acceptance of oneself and the world, without unnecessary internal conflicts, irreconcilable opposites, overwhelming emotions, or constant turmoil.
To quote Campbell again: "Older ages demand a stronger mythology." 😉
You seem to prefer reaching "knowledge, full understanding, and seriousness," but there are plenty of people who learn much more effectively through humor than through excessive solemnity. I also can't quite bring myself to agree that Chesterton was the man you described—cheerful, witty, lighthearted—because his characters skip the pleasantries. Instead of a simple "Good day, how are you, where are you from?", they dive straight into deep philosophical debates and exchanges, quoting their favorite authors. That’s actually how I imagine reality TV should work 😉 (If it were actually like that, my life would probably just consist of endless walks through the city engaging strangers in philosophical discourse, and I wouldn't even bother owning a laptop at home)
I am also curious how someone as brilliant as Chesterton could become a Catholic. To me, Catholicism is the worst religion in the world, and regarding religion in general, I tend to agree with Campbell: they are merely "defenses against true experience (God)."

Amanda Jackson5:

Well, you can't answer that with a single sentence. One has to penetrate their own nature personally. In principle, one could say the same principles apply as when we discussed substance and accidents, or essence and appearance. Or, more simply, the concept itself. One thing is understood through another (substance through its accidents, etc.). Nothing possesses a permanent, solid essence. Everything is transient. According to Buddha, Man has no permanent or self-subsistent self (meaning his substance is nothing more than the aggregate of his accidents). Look at the "three marks of existence."

I've come to understand it more as Buddha, when speaking of "one's own nature," was referring generally to human nature—that which is common to everyone... I agree that "one is understood through another" and that the whole exists because of the parts that compose it, and that there is nothing that can be isolated to say, "This is eternal while everything else decays"—though the concept of "emergence" comes to mind, which if I remember correctly, was "that which transcends both the whole and its parts"?
Regarding the idea that everything is transient, I think there is something that isn't: life itself 🙂 It constantly renews itself; it appears where you least expect it, flowers bloom through narrow cracks in the concrete, and in nature, the cycle of generations never stops. Since we humans are essentially life itself—its manifestation—could we say we are "eternal" because the life within us is eternal? (It's similar to physics, where energy cannot be lost, only transferred from one state to another). I've found that when I think of myself this way—as "life" rather than a "person" (a person is an illusion, something transient)—I feel much better. I find myself more in the moment and less stuck in the past or future, which, unlike before, I only "use" (when they occur) if I can find something beautiful in them, some kind of pleasure, or something good for the soul
In a Hegelian sense, could it be said that I don't identify with either the substance or its accidents, but rather with emergence? 😁
(Paul Bailey95 is going to lose his mind over this...)

If you like it that much, you're welcome to join the American Chesterton Society:
http://americanchestertonians.blogspot.com/

Thanks!!!!! 🎉

If you ask me, it’s all essentially the same thing. If you claim to identify with emergence, you’re really just identifying with substance or essence under a different name. Whether you call it substance, being, essence, or the whole—they all eventually get folded back into a single unity through *Aufhebung*. The distinction between them is purely contextual, existing only because we treat them as separate logical categories. Each one is basically just a lonely attempt to define the Absolute, and they fail to stay absolute because they run headfirst into their own internal contradictions. The only truly absolute idea—the perfect marriage of concept and reality—is the Absolute Idea itself. And when it finally shows up, it reveals that it is actually the same thing as that first, most basic category: pure Being. The only real difference is that Being is totally immediate, whereas the Absolute Idea represents the ultimate act of mediation.

"I read 'The Man Who Was Thursday'"

Well, I'm the kind of guy who read "The Man Who Was Thursday" on a Friday—totally on purpose. Maybe a little "wicked," but I actually enjoyed tackling it on a Friday, haha, just kidding.

Regarding Orthodoxy—after my first pass and being totally swept up by his style—I actually set it aside. Once the initial hype died down, I thought about writing my own "anti-orthodoxy," basically a counter-belief, using that same Chestertonian style to write a parody from the opposite perspective. But I gave up on that pretty quickly for a bunch of reasons I won't get into here. Honestly? Chesterton is just one jolly, chubby little jokester with a rather unfortunate psyche. Yeah, really. Did you know he actually tried to take his own life when he was younger? That’s what I mean by an unfortunate psyche. Those paradoxes of his? They're just his style. It’s all fun and games, but for me, it feels a bit like watching kids playing marbles in a park—how do I put this?—kind of silly. And look, I'm not a creep, for crying out loud; I don't want the cops chasing me through the streets like they did during my wilder days back in the day—and no, that wasn't because of anything weird like that. Chesterton himself is a parody to anyone who isn't Christian, and in his head, it all makes perfect sense. I respect the intent, but I can't respect the headspace. To me, it feels two-fold: hollow and empty. Just... hollow-empty. And there's one glaring issue with his logic that anyone with half a brain can see. The thing is, it isn't even about philosophy—and mind you, philosophy is something that still needs to be overcome, so there we have it.

His books deal in—as Hegel would say—abstractions. And that's the truth; everything he writes is pure abstraction. Everything he puts down is just "common sense." Personally, I'm more of a "psychiatric case"—that common sense stuff doesn't really do much for me, which is probably why I'm labeled as such. Knowing what abstractions actually are (not going to dive into that here, though Hegel is incredibly fascinating when you realize what he was actually doing), I just can't bring myself to read stuff like that anymore without feeling like I'm regressing to playing marbles in a park. Chesterton used his style to arrive at Christianity, but get this: you could use that exact same style to arrive at atheism or anything else non-religious. His writing isn't an argument for faith; it's just abstraction. I shouldn't have to write two forum posts about things handled by "common sense," yet you have these Chestertonians calling him the "Apostle of Common Sense," which, if you ask me, is the height of irony. I can only laugh at that, and I'm apparently the only one who gets why it's so ironic and funny. Anyway.

From a philosophical standpoint (which is the most important part here), Chesterton is a populist. Just as Hitler was a populist to Junger, that's how Chesterton is to me. You aren't going to learn anything intellectually from him, even if he technically "philosophizes" in his works. Aside from the style—which you could mimic if you have "that certain something"—he mostly just plays with abstractions. But that's just common sense, or rather, reactionary thinking. What Chesterton does is operate within a binary, an "either-or" framework. He toys with logic in a way that makes it easy to build a parody once you learn how to flip his specific perspective. If they declare him a saint in the Church (and they surely will), there's nothing left to say. They know he walks hand-in-hand with them. An apologist is an apologist, and those are the types they canonize. On the other hand, if someone isn't in their camp, even if they're just as "saintly" as the others, they won't be called a saint. Why? Because they aren't *theirs*. You have to exist within their dogmas and their entire hierarchy just to be considered for sainthood. They can't canonize someone outside their circle; they only recognize their own. It's logical, really—it stays within their framework, much like what Nietzsche discussed in 'On Truth and Lie in a Moral Aspect.'

Look, if you’re looking for high-level philosophical depth from the Czechs, you’re barking up the wrong tree—specifically when it comes to Chesterton. If someone actually expects serious philosophy out of him, they're going to leave hungry. That’s my point, anyway, and I think it’s pretty obvious here. It brings up that classic dilemma: "Is it better to spend a month or two devouring all of Chesterton's translated works, or should I dive into Aristotle—even if it means grinding through just two pages a month while really chewing on the ideas?" I don't know about you, but I know my own answer. I know what I want to do. If you're the type who lives for wandering through thoughts, pure reasoning, entertainment, or some sort of "complete" education, then hey, do your thing. I’m tolerant of all that—I wouldn't say I'm as strict as Amanda Jackson5 made it out to be—I’m just pointing it out. Though, knowing this place, I doubt anyone "gets" the point of pointing things out. Honestly, pointing stuff out on a forum feels almost as pointless as reading these ancient posts. Since this is just a forum and everyone just posts whatever random junk comes to mind, you might stumble upon something smart once in a while, but at its core? This whole forum—and most others, really—is just one big, inflated bubble of nonsense. If I had a match, I’d love to see this forum like a giant round balloon, where the air inside is heated so intensely by the words being written that the whole thing just pops. I’d probably laugh, too—not like some villain, but more like those monks warming themselves by Buddha statues. Anyway, enough with the metaphors.

It really just comes down to what interests you: deep philosophy, something else entirely, or maybe a bit of both. You can't have everything—you can't have this and that at the same time. I mean, I’d love to grab both if I could, if you catch my drift, but since I can't, well, life goes on. They aren't exactly willing to accommodate my brand of tolerance for this or that. The Czech (that's my little nickname for him, kind of like how a dog named Lassie might be "Czech" to me) in his search for God—and indeed, like all unhappy consciousnesses—was basically just trying to end it all. If I had been alive back then and knew him personally, I would have handed him a rope and said, "Listen, you apostle of common sense, this pear tree has branches strong enough to hold your weight." He probably would have replied in his usual style: "I think I'll pass; the branch might snap."
As for why it's so ironic to call Chesterton the "apostle of common sense," I'll keep that joke to myself.

Anyway, excuse me, I've got to go finish my coffee and rejoin reality.

2.

Take some world-class athletes we all know—like Ivica Kostelić or Blanka Vlašić. Now, obviously, Ivica and Janica are incredible skiers. But let’s be real: they became that way simply because their father basically used them as little training dummies from the time they were toddlers. He projected his own ambitions onto them, molding them into versions of himself—which, honestly, is a massive failure for both the parent and the kids. That whole "this-ness" of sensory certainty was everything to Janica and Ivica’s development. Their consciousness got stuck right there in that loop of immediate, sensory experience. It means the only thing they ever knew, the only thing they know now, and the only thing they’ll ever truly grasp is that raw, sensory "this-ness." And frankly, that’s the tragedy of most people—they are defined by that exact limitation. That's just what it means to be a Man, in the broadest sense. A buddy of mine actually mentioned seeing something in a diary where Ivica Kostelić says his greatest love is skiing. Look, I don't sit around watching TV, but I stay in the loop through friends, family, and actual conversations. You can see how deep this madness goes just by looking at that one statement. It’s not really that he loves skiing more than anything else; it’s that he exists entirely within that realm of sensory certainty. He lives at that level. And get this—according to Hegel, that is the absolute lowest level of existence. Seriously, think about it. At that stage, you might as well be a dog, a pig, or a goat. It doesn't matter if the dog or the pig has a massive inheritance, plenty of food, or is literally rolling in money—it changes absolutely nothing. We aren't even talking about a Man in the philosophical sense here; we're talking about someone existing purely on an animalistic level.

Just like Ivica, Janica, and Blanka Vlašić—our other absolute legends on the track—they’re basically stuck at this baseline level of consciousness. It's that raw, purely sensory certainty where you're just existing in the "now." They haven't even scratched the surface of true self-awareness yet—which, honestly, is still just the starting line of real longing. That sensory certainty has pretty much just morphed into a primitive craving for that first spark of self-consciousness. There isn't anything lower than that state, unless you count those blonde characters from those tired old jokes—but I guess you'd have to dig even deeper to find something more mindless than that. Jokes aside, though, why is it that they can't get past it?

Their skiing and track careers? Honestly, that’s just their father’s project—his vision, his dream. They aren't exactly "individuals" in the way we usually think about it; they're more like products of their dad. Their whole athletic life didn't really stem from some deep sense of self or a conscious choice to pursue greatness. Instead, it was essentially handed down to them—shown to them by their father through Blanka, Ivica, and Janica—by projecting this specific, sensory certainty onto them. They basically adopted his reality rather than forging their own. I won't get into the "why" behind all this because, frankly, it’s irrelevant to the point. It’s almost as if—and I mean this with all due respect to their actual trophies—they were programmed. Their entire lives have been marked by their father’s desires being projected onto children who just... accepted it. Almost without any input from their own consciousness. And here's the kicker: people actually admire this. It's tragic, really. People look at them and say, "That's what a real Man does," or "I wish I could do that," even though it isn't truly "Manly" and it certainly isn't smart to live that way. None of them were ever really asked what *they* wanted. They were trained to become exactly what they became—trained, or better yet, rendered into these featureless shells. It’s like a dog that’s been broken in; a trained dog absolutely adores its owner, listens to every command, eats whatever is put in the bowl, and just follows the script. It’s a total loss for Ivica, Janica, and Blanka. And honestly, you see this with pretty much any elite athlete who is just a vessel for a parent's ambition.

We’ve all been there—somehow, growing up, someone was always drilling something into our heads. It’s like this endless loop of repetition. I remember knowing this one guy whose dad used to drone on about nothing but "football, football, football" until you just wanted to tune him out completely. Then you had the other type, the dad constantly pushing "ballet, ballet, ballet" on his kids, also to that same point of total exhaustion. If we're being honest, most of us have dealt with some version of that mindless, infinite loop from one parent or the other. You see it all the time—a father who thinks the only real "value" he can pass down is handing his kid a Ball and telling them to kick it around the yard until they inevitably smash a neighbor's window, rather than actually sitting down to teach them something meaningful. Or maybe it's a different kind of distraction, but the result is the same: they aren't really raising or educating their kids. The thing is—and this happens way too often—most parents are just stuck in this cycle. Because they weren't properly taught or given a real education themselves, they lack the tools to actually teach their own children anything substantive. So, instead of passing on wisdom, they just hand them a Ball to kick around and call it a day.

When people say parents aren't "self-educated," they aren't just talking about whether someone grabbed a degree or not—it’s way deeper than that. You can have a PhD and still be totally unlearned in the ways that actually matter, though I guess that’s a bit less common than stumbling upon those certain K-12 teachers who—let's be honest—really haven't done the work to actually learn anything (not everyone, obviously, don't come for me). Unfortunately, you see this pattern in a lot of homes. You get these folks stuck in a provincial, traditional mindset who honestly don't even know how to teach their own kids—and get this—it's because they never actually learned how to teach themselves. They’re essentially living as copies of something else, kind of alienated from their own souls... just these hollowed-out, characterless shells of people.

Look, when you run into this kind of situation in a family—this total regression where parents haven't actually bothered to educate themselves—you end up with them trying to raise kids, and we all know exactly how that plays out. It’s right there in front of us. Honestly, if you just take a quick walk around any local elementary school, a high school, or even just hang out near a coffee shop or a club one night, you’ll see it. You look at kids anywhere from ten to twenty-five years old and you’re basically looking at a mirror image of their own parents. It’s wild. It’s like what Vanja Sutlić says—we didn't even see this level of dysfunction back at the fall of the Roman Empire. We're talking about a specific mindset here, a kind of idiocy and backwardness where you don't really encounter a true Man anymore. Instead of actual people, you find these... I don't know, semi-humans? Or maybe just creatures that look like people but aren't. It's like Gajo would put it—a "Man who isn't a Man." They lack any sense of self or character. You step outside your front door and that's the reality hitting you in the face. I won't beat around the bush: fathers, and parents in general, just aren't teaching their kids anything. And even though they aren't doing the work, the fallout is absolutely devastating for the kids. But hey, that's just the specific example. Let's get back to the bigger picture.

When we say things like "this" tree exists, or "now" is the day, or "there" stands a building—well, that little word "this" becomes this broad, general concept. But here’s the kicker: we aren't actually grasping that universal essence itself; we're just using it to express it. We aren't really touching the raw, absolute "thisness" of it all. No, not quite. The thing is, through language, we end up contradicting our own perceptions of that "this." Language basically points out that our immediate sensory certainty isn't quite hitting the mark of what "this" truly represents. Since the truth of those sensory certainties is found in the general concept—and since language is what carries that truth—it turns out we can never actually put the raw, sensory essence of what we're thinking into words. It's a bit of a paradox, honestly.

We were talking earlier about those examples—the tree, the building, the skyscraper—that just seem to vanish the second you turn your back. Whatever was "over there" (the tree, the building, that massive skyscraper) simply ceases to exist the moment we look away. It’s like things disappear from "over there" or "there," whereas "here"—this immediate "here"—doesn't actually vanish. Instead, "here" is basically the permanent stage where all that vanishing happens. Take a city like Washington, D.C., for instance. It exists; it is "here," right in front of us, as the city of Washington, D.C. And within it, right this very second, at this exact hour while I'm typing this out, people are being born and passing away, laughing and grieving, gossiping and sitting around, lying down and whatnot. All of that stuff happening in "here" stays true regardless of what exactly is going on (whether it's a birth, a death, or someone dropping a glass vase). Basically, "here" remains "here," no matter what happens within it.
It’s all the same around here.

So, what we’re looking at here is this kind of mediated simplicity—you know, that version of "general" that feels a bit processed.
Look, when we talk about that sensory certainty—the kind that presents itself as the absolute truth of an object—we’re really just looking at its pure essence. But here’s the kicker: that essence isn't some immediate, obvious thing. It’s actually defined by negation and mediation. It’s not what we typically think of when we say "essence," but rather a specific type of being that functions as the pure universal—even though our actual thoughts aren't truly universal. For our own reasoning, that sensory certainty doesn't feel universal at all. Take something like "this" tree, "that" building, or "this" guy right here. We group them all under the label of "this," treating it as if it's almost a given, but for our conscious minds, it isn't actually universal. That specific tree standing "here" isn't the universal truth of sensory certainty. Our brains accept it as true, sure, but in reality? This thing right here isn't actually *this* thing right here.

So, basically, what we’re saying is that for our own sense of truth—that raw, sensory certainty we all lean on—it isn't actually "purely general" at all. To that specific feeling, all you’ve really got left is this empty, hollow sense of "this" and "here." If we take the relationship between the self (the one doing the knowing) and "this" (the object itself) and compare it to how they stand once you reach a result, things get weird. You can see that the whole relationship has flipped on its head. That object—which was supposed to be the central, essential thing—suddenly becomes irrelevant to our sensory certainty because it has transformed into something purely general. It’s become secondary. Now, that sensory certainty exists entirely within the knowledge (the "I") which, if you think about it—and really, do think about it—was the part that used to be considered unimportant in the first place.

So, we’ve reached this point where truth is basically just sensory certainty within my specific subject—my subject, mind you. Right now, that object (this "thing") is defined by what I know about it. We're already seeing that first transition, moving from the "this" of sensory certainty into the "I." Now, me knowing "this" doesn't mean the sensory certainty itself just vanishes—not at all. It just means that even though it's been pushed out of the object, it's still right there; it's just migrated into the "I." Hegel argues that it gets repressed back into that "I." It isn't annihilated, which is a crucial distinction to make here. The truth of sensory certainty now resides within the "I." Within the immediacy of that "I," everything that usually disappears into a single "this" or "here" is preserved—because since the "I" is holding onto it, it doesn't vanish anymore.
Take a tree, for example. A tree is "here," I see it, but by tomorrow, that tree isn't "here" anymore. It has vanished from the "here," yet the "I" has retained it. In this "this/here" scenario, let's say someone—let's call him Mark—looks at a cathedral. Mark sees it and confirms, "Yes, this cathedral is right here." On the flip side, let's look at Mary, whose "I" perceives some lingerie shop. Mary, just like Mark, sees it and confirms (in her case) the existence of the lingerie shop, regardless of whether Mark might find lingerie somewhat irrelevant to Mary. But anyway, where am I going with this?

(I'll get to that next time)

Quincy:

Paul Bailey95 As specified by: Chesterton is nothing more than some overweight jokester, a man possessed by a deeply troubled consciousness. You know, he actually attempted suicide in his youth. Yes, that’s exactly what a fractured consciousness looks like.

When a young person contemplates suicide, it isn't particularly surprising. Youth is a period defined by questioning, yet it often leads straight into a dead end. If one possesses any semblance of logical reasoning, they inevitably find themselves staring down that age-old dilemma: To be, or not to be.
Contemplating death or suicide during one's youth is, if you ask me, more an indicator of a healthy consciousness than an unhappy one. It’s a tension that simply has to be navigated. What really interests me, though, is where that process eventually leads you. And while we're on the subject, I’d pose this question to you: what exactly would a "happy consciousness" even look like?

Paul Bailey95 said:

"I read 'The Man Who Was Thursday'"

Well, I'm the kind of guy who read "The Man Who Was Thursday" on a Friday—totally on purpose. Maybe a little "wicked," but I actually enjoyed tackling it on a Friday, haha, just kidding.

Regarding Orthodoxy—after my first pass and being totally swept up by his style—I actually set it aside. Once the initial hype died down, I thought about writing my own "anti-orthodoxy," basically a counter-belief, using that same Chestertonian style to write a parody from the opposite perspective. But I gave up on that pretty quickly for a bunch of reasons I won't get into here. Honestly? Chesterton is just one jolly, chubby little jokester with a rather unfortunate psyche. Yeah, really. Did you know he actually tried to take his own life when he was younger? That’s what I mean by an unfortunate psyche. Those paradoxes of his? They're just his style. It’s all fun and games, but for me, it feels a bit like watching kids playing marbles in a park—how do I put this?—kind of silly. And look, I'm not a creep, for crying out loud; I don't want the cops chasing me through the streets like they did during my wilder days back in the day—and no, that wasn't because of anything weird like that. Chesterton himself is a parody to anyone who isn't Christian, and in his head, it all makes perfect sense. I respect the intent, but I can't respect the headspace. To me, it feels two-fold: hollow and empty. Just... hollow-empty. And there's one glaring issue with his logic that anyone with half a brain can see. The thing is, it isn't even about philosophy—and mind you, philosophy is something that still needs to be overcome, so there we have it.

His books deal in—as Hegel would say—abstractions. And that's the truth; everything he writes is pure abstraction. Everything he puts down is just "common sense." Personally, I'm more of a "psychiatric case"—that common sense stuff doesn't really do much for me, which is probably why I'm labeled as such. Knowing what abstractions actually are (not going to dive into that here, though Hegel is incredibly fascinating when you realize what he was actually doing), I just can't bring myself to read stuff like that anymore without feeling like I'm regressing to playing marbles in a park. Chesterton used his style to arrive at Christianity, but get this: you could use that exact same style to arrive at atheism or anything else non-religious. His writing isn't an argument for faith; it's just abstraction. I shouldn't have to write two forum posts about things handled by "common sense," yet you have these Chestertonians calling him the "Apostle of Common Sense," which, if you ask me, is the height of irony. I can only laugh at that, and I'm apparently the only one who gets why it's so ironic and funny. Anyway.

From a philosophical standpoint (which is the most important part here), Chesterton is a populist. Just as Hitler was a populist to Junger, that's how Chesterton is to me. You aren't going to learn anything intellectually from him, even if he technically "philosophizes" in his works. Aside from the style—which you could mimic if you have "that certain something"—he mostly just plays with abstractions. But that's just common sense, or rather, reactionary thinking. What Chesterton does is operate within a binary, an "either-or" framework. He toys with logic in a way that makes it easy to build a parody once you learn how to flip his specific perspective. If they declare him a saint in the Church (and they surely will), there's nothing left to say. They know he walks hand-in-hand with them. An apologist is an apologist, and those are the types they canonize. On the other hand, if someone isn't in their camp, even if they're just as "saintly" as the others, they won't be called a saint. Why? Because they aren't *theirs*. You have to exist within their dogmas and their entire hierarchy just to be considered for sainthood. They can't canonize someone outside their circle; they only recognize their own. It's logical, really—it stays within their framework, much like what Nietzsche discussed in 'On Truth and Lie in a Moral Aspect.'

Look, if you’re looking for high-level philosophical depth from the Czechs, you’re barking up the wrong tree—specifically when it comes to Chesterton. If someone actually expects serious philosophy out of him, they're going to leave hungry. That’s my point, anyway, and I think it’s pretty obvious here. It brings up that classic dilemma: "Is it better to spend a month or two devouring all of Chesterton's translated works, or should I dive into Aristotle—even if it means grinding through just two pages a month while really chewing on the ideas?" I don't know about you, but I know my own answer. I know what I want to do. If you're the type who lives for wandering through thoughts, pure reasoning, entertainment, or some sort of "complete" education, then hey, do your thing. I’m tolerant of all that—I wouldn't say I'm as strict as Amanda Jackson5 made it out to be—I’m just pointing it out. Though, knowing this place, I doubt anyone "gets" the point of pointing things out. Honestly, pointing stuff out on a forum feels almost as pointless as reading these ancient posts. Since this is just a forum and everyone just posts whatever random junk comes to mind, you might stumble upon something smart once in a while, but at its core? This whole forum—and most others, really—is just one big, inflated bubble of nonsense. If I had a match, I’d love to see this forum like a giant round balloon, where the air inside is heated so intensely by the words being written that the whole thing just pops. I’d probably laugh, too—not like some villain, but more like those monks warming themselves by Buddha statues. Anyway, enough with the metaphors.

It really just comes down to what interests you: deep philosophy, something else entirely, or maybe a bit of both. You can't have everything—you can't have this and that at the same time. I mean, I’d love to grab both if I could, if you catch my drift, but since I can't, well, life goes on. They aren't exactly willing to accommodate my brand of tolerance for this or that. The Czech (that's my little nickname for him, kind of like how a dog named Lassie might be "Czech" to me) in his search for God—and indeed, like all unhappy consciousnesses—was basically just trying to end it all. If I had been alive back then and knew him personally, I would have handed him a rope and said, "Listen, you apostle of common sense, this pear tree has branches strong enough to hold your weight." He probably would have replied in his usual style: "I think I'll pass; the branch might snap."
As for why it's so ironic to call Chesterton the "apostle of common sense," I'll keep that joke to myself.

Anyway, excuse me, I've got to go finish my coffee and rejoin reality.

Wait, isn't all philosophy—whether it's Hegelian or anyone else's—just pure abstraction? Unless you're actually writing instructions on how to open a tin of soup or quoting Muhammadian rules for living a clean, pious life, you’re just lost in abstraction.
I might not stumble upon anything groundbreaking in Chesterton, but I’m not exactly hunting for "novelty" to begin with. Chasing the new is really just another symptom of youth. 😉 What I’ll find there, primarily, are mere diversions—wordplay, visual trickery, games played in a million subtle ways. This approach resonates with me; there is a certain part of my nature that finds genuine joy in it. Boris Vian worked with similar tools, though his style strikes me as far more pretentious and heavy-handed, always striving to hammer home a specific message. Chesterton might also be aiming to convey a point, but I get the impression that the "message" is secondary to him. It feels as though his true preoccupation is his own relationship with himself. He seems to be perpetually engaged in a dialogue with his own internal landscape, debating his inner contradictions and attempting to resolve them. He simply performs this entire process in front of an audience, likely as a way to hold himself to a higher standard of seriousness while performing such vital internal work. 😉
So, he possesses these internal contradictions and is actively working to reconcile them. The mere fact that they exist suggests an inner richness—and in my view, that is the only true wealth anyone can possess, the kind that no one can ever strip away from you. Furthermore, the way he strives to organize those riches, attempting to imbue them with some semblance of order, meaning, and beauty—even if that meaning ultimately manifests only through laughter or a sense of profound emotion—is proof that he has chosen the right path. At least, as far as I'm concerned.

Paul Bailey95 said:

"I read 'The Man Who Was Thursday'"

Well, I'm the kind of guy who read "The Man Who Was Thursday" on a Friday—totally on purpose. Maybe a little "wicked," but I actually enjoyed tackling it on a Friday, haha, just kidding.

Regarding Orthodoxy—after my first pass and being totally swept up by his style—I actually set it aside. Once the initial hype died down, I thought about writing my own "anti-orthodoxy," basically a counter-belief, using that same Chestertonian style to write a parody from the opposite perspective. But I gave up on that pretty quickly for a bunch of reasons I won't get into here. Honestly? Chesterton is just one jolly, chubby little jokester with a rather unfortunate psyche. Yeah, really. Did you know he actually tried to take his own life when he was younger? That’s what I mean by an unfortunate psyche. Those paradoxes of his? They're just his style. It’s all fun and games, but for me, it feels a bit like watching kids playing marbles in a park—how do I put this?—kind of silly. And look, I'm not a creep, for crying out loud; I don't want the cops chasing me through the streets like they did during my wilder days back in the day—and no, that wasn't because of anything weird like that. Chesterton himself is a parody to anyone who isn't Christian, and in his head, it all makes perfect sense. I respect the intent, but I can't respect the headspace. To me, it feels two-fold: hollow and empty. Just... hollow-empty. And there's one glaring issue with his logic that anyone with half a brain can see. The thing is, it isn't even about philosophy—and mind you, philosophy is something that still needs to be overcome, so there we have it.

His books deal in—as Hegel would say—abstractions. And that's the truth; everything he writes is pure abstraction. Everything he puts down is just "common sense." Personally, I'm more of a "psychiatric case"—that common sense stuff doesn't really do much for me, which is probably why I'm labeled as such. Knowing what abstractions actually are (not going to dive into that here, though Hegel is incredibly fascinating when you realize what he was actually doing), I just can't bring myself to read stuff like that anymore without feeling like I'm regressing to playing marbles in a park. Chesterton used his style to arrive at Christianity, but get this: you could use that exact same style to arrive at atheism or anything else non-religious. His writing isn't an argument for faith; it's just abstraction. I shouldn't have to write two forum posts about things handled by "common sense," yet you have these Chestertonians calling him the "Apostle of Common Sense," which, if you ask me, is the height of irony. I can only laugh at that, and I'm apparently the only one who gets why it's so ironic and funny. Anyway.

From a philosophical standpoint (which is the most important part here), Chesterton is a populist. Just as Hitler was a populist to Junger, that's how Chesterton is to me. You aren't going to learn anything intellectually from him, even if he technically "philosophizes" in his works. Aside from the style—which you could mimic if you have "that certain something"—he mostly just plays with abstractions. But that's just common sense, or rather, reactionary thinking. What Chesterton does is operate within a binary, an "either-or" framework. He toys with logic in a way that makes it easy to build a parody once you learn how to flip his specific perspective. If they declare him a saint in the Church (and they surely will), there's nothing left to say. They know he walks hand-in-hand with them. An apologist is an apologist, and those are the types they canonize. On the other hand, if someone isn't in their camp, even if they're just as "saintly" as the others, they won't be called a saint. Why? Because they aren't *theirs*. You have to exist within their dogmas and their entire hierarchy just to be considered for sainthood. They can't canonize someone outside their circle; they only recognize their own. It's logical, really—it stays within their framework, much like what Nietzsche discussed in 'On Truth and Lie in a Moral Aspect.'

Look, if you’re looking for high-level philosophical depth from the Czechs, you’re barking up the wrong tree—specifically when it comes to Chesterton. If someone actually expects serious philosophy out of him, they're going to leave hungry. That’s my point, anyway, and I think it’s pretty obvious here. It brings up that classic dilemma: "Is it better to spend a month or two devouring all of Chesterton's translated works, or should I dive into Aristotle—even if it means grinding through just two pages a month while really chewing on the ideas?" I don't know about you, but I know my own answer. I know what I want to do. If you're the type who lives for wandering through thoughts, pure reasoning, entertainment, or some sort of "complete" education, then hey, do your thing. I’m tolerant of all that—I wouldn't say I'm as strict as Amanda Jackson5 made it out to be—I’m just pointing it out. Though, knowing this place, I doubt anyone "gets" the point of pointing things out. Honestly, pointing stuff out on a forum feels almost as pointless as reading these ancient posts. Since this is just a forum and everyone just posts whatever random junk comes to mind, you might stumble upon something smart once in a while, but at its core? This whole forum—and most others, really—is just one big, inflated bubble of nonsense. If I had a match, I’d love to see this forum like a giant round balloon, where the air inside is heated so intensely by the words being written that the whole thing just pops. I’d probably laugh, too—not like some villain, but more like those monks warming themselves by Buddha statues. Anyway, enough with the metaphors.

It really just comes down to what interests you: deep philosophy, something else entirely, or maybe a bit of both. You can't have everything—you can't have this and that at the same time. I mean, I’d love to grab both if I could, if you catch my drift, but since I can't, well, life goes on. They aren't exactly willing to accommodate my brand of tolerance for this or that. The Czech (that's my little nickname for him, kind of like how a dog named Lassie might be "Czech" to me) in his search for God—and indeed, like all unhappy consciousnesses—was basically just trying to end it all. If I had been alive back then and knew him personally, I would have handed him a rope and said, "Listen, you apostle of common sense, this pear tree has branches strong enough to hold your weight." He probably would have replied in his usual style: "I think I'll pass; the branch might snap."
As for why it's so ironic to call Chesterton the "apostle of common sense," I'll keep that joke to myself.

Anyway, excuse me, I've got to go finish my coffee and rejoin reality.

You claim you aren't being strict, yet you follow up with all this talk about "popping balloons" and "offering ropes"... Fine, perhaps you don't see it as strictness, but rather as "consistency," "seriousness," or some other quality you happen to admire. 😉
Searching for God—or for meaning, for an explanation of what isn't clear at first glance (or second, third, fourth, fifth...)—is so deeply ingrained in every Man that I can't fathom how anyone could speak of "searching for God" as something inferior or cowardly, as if one were searching for comfort when, in reality, one is searching for logic the entire time. That will never make sense to me... Perhaps the only possible explanation is that those who speak of this search condescendingly actually imagine that "seekers" are looking for some external authority, a father figure to help them out and make life easier, and so on. In truth, searching for God = searching for oneself = searching for meaning, for the complete picture, for an answer to the questions: Who are we, where did we come from, and where are we going? In other words: the most basic search for the still-unknown cause-and-effect relationships between things, phenomena, and events. One day, science will deal with "God" itself, and I wonder where philosophy will be then...

And regarding the "apostle of common sense"—to be honest, I don't really know why they call Chesterton that either. He left me with the impression of someone slightly eccentric but piercing, an archetypal Fool forced to speak the truth through absurdity so that it might actually reach anyone. As for whether people understand him, it brings to mind Jesus's words: "He who has ears, let him hear..." Besides, Jesus himself was a sort of Fool during his lifetime, who later became a Hero, but that's a different story. I must tell you, that is my favorite archetype. 😉
That is what remains: while seriousness, serious study, and the serious adoption of something new eventually devolve into a kind of comedy, such a comedy carries nothing serious or true within it, because it is the exact opposite of those things, stripped of all its supposedly praiseworthy original intentions.
So, here’s the thing: outward madness often conceals a deep, underlying wisdom, whereas an outward display of seriousness almost always carries a seed of ridicule within it.
Now you tell me—is it better to be ridiculous on the surface, or to be ridiculous at your very core? 😉

Paul Bailey95 said:

"I read 'The Man Who Was Thursday'"

Well, I'm the kind of guy who read "The Man Who Was Thursday" on a Friday—totally on purpose. Maybe a little "wicked," but I actually enjoyed tackling it on a Friday, haha, just kidding.

Regarding Orthodoxy—after my first pass and being totally swept up by his style—I actually set it aside. Once the initial hype died down, I thought about writing my own "anti-orthodoxy," basically a counter-belief, using that same Chestertonian style to write a parody from the opposite perspective. But I gave up on that pretty quickly for a bunch of reasons I won't get into here. Honestly? Chesterton is just one jolly, chubby little jokester with a rather unfortunate psyche. Yeah, really. Did you know he actually tried to take his own life when he was younger? That’s what I mean by an unfortunate psyche. Those paradoxes of his? They're just his style. It’s all fun and games, but for me, it feels a bit like watching kids playing marbles in a park—how do I put this?—kind of silly. And look, I'm not a creep, for crying out loud; I don't want the cops chasing me through the streets like they did during my wilder days back in the day—and no, that wasn't because of anything weird like that. Chesterton himself is a parody to anyone who isn't Christian, and in his head, it all makes perfect sense. I respect the intent, but I can't respect the headspace. To me, it feels two-fold: hollow and empty. Just... hollow-empty. And there's one glaring issue with his logic that anyone with half a brain can see. The thing is, it isn't even about philosophy—and mind you, philosophy is something that still needs to be overcome, so there we have it.

His books deal in—as Hegel would say—abstractions. And that's the truth; everything he writes is pure abstraction. Everything he puts down is just "common sense." Personally, I'm more of a "psychiatric case"—that common sense stuff doesn't really do much for me, which is probably why I'm labeled as such. Knowing what abstractions actually are (not going to dive into that here, though Hegel is incredibly fascinating when you realize what he was actually doing), I just can't bring myself to read stuff like that anymore without feeling like I'm regressing to playing marbles in a park. Chesterton used his style to arrive at Christianity, but get this: you could use that exact same style to arrive at atheism or anything else non-religious. His writing isn't an argument for faith; it's just abstraction. I shouldn't have to write two forum posts about things handled by "common sense," yet you have these Chestertonians calling him the "Apostle of Common Sense," which, if you ask me, is the height of irony. I can only laugh at that, and I'm apparently the only one who gets why it's so ironic and funny. Anyway.

From a philosophical standpoint (which is the most important part here), Chesterton is a populist. Just as Hitler was a populist to Junger, that's how Chesterton is to me. You aren't going to learn anything intellectually from him, even if he technically "philosophizes" in his works. Aside from the style—which you could mimic if you have "that certain something"—he mostly just plays with abstractions. But that's just common sense, or rather, reactionary thinking. What Chesterton does is operate within a binary, an "either-or" framework. He toys with logic in a way that makes it easy to build a parody once you learn how to flip his specific perspective. If they declare him a saint in the Church (and they surely will), there's nothing left to say. They know he walks hand-in-hand with them. An apologist is an apologist, and those are the types they canonize. On the other hand, if someone isn't in their camp, even if they're just as "saintly" as the others, they won't be called a saint. Why? Because they aren't *theirs*. You have to exist within their dogmas and their entire hierarchy just to be considered for sainthood. They can't canonize someone outside their circle; they only recognize their own. It's logical, really—it stays within their framework, much like what Nietzsche discussed in 'On Truth and Lie in a Moral Aspect.'

Look, if you’re looking for high-level philosophical depth from the Czechs, you’re barking up the wrong tree—specifically when it comes to Chesterton. If someone actually expects serious philosophy out of him, they're going to leave hungry. That’s my point, anyway, and I think it’s pretty obvious here. It brings up that classic dilemma: "Is it better to spend a month or two devouring all of Chesterton's translated works, or should I dive into Aristotle—even if it means grinding through just two pages a month while really chewing on the ideas?" I don't know about you, but I know my own answer. I know what I want to do. If you're the type who lives for wandering through thoughts, pure reasoning, entertainment, or some sort of "complete" education, then hey, do your thing. I’m tolerant of all that—I wouldn't say I'm as strict as Amanda Jackson5 made it out to be—I’m just pointing it out. Though, knowing this place, I doubt anyone "gets" the point of pointing things out. Honestly, pointing stuff out on a forum feels almost as pointless as reading these ancient posts. Since this is just a forum and everyone just posts whatever random junk comes to mind, you might stumble upon something smart once in a while, but at its core? This whole forum—and most others, really—is just one big, inflated bubble of nonsense. If I had a match, I’d love to see this forum like a giant round balloon, where the air inside is heated so intensely by the words being written that the whole thing just pops. I’d probably laugh, too—not like some villain, but more like those monks warming themselves by Buddha statues. Anyway, enough with the metaphors.

It really just comes down to what interests you: deep philosophy, something else entirely, or maybe a bit of both. You can't have everything—you can't have this and that at the same time. I mean, I’d love to grab both if I could, if you catch my drift, but since I can't, well, life goes on. They aren't exactly willing to accommodate my brand of tolerance for this or that. The Czech (that's my little nickname for him, kind of like how a dog named Lassie might be "Czech" to me) in his search for God—and indeed, like all unhappy consciousnesses—was basically just trying to end it all. If I had been alive back then and knew him personally, I would have handed him a rope and said, "Listen, you apostle of common sense, this pear tree has branches strong enough to hold your weight." He probably would have replied in his usual style: "I think I'll pass; the branch might snap."
As for why it's so ironic to call Chesterton the "apostle of common sense," I'll keep that joke to myself.

Anyway, excuse me, I've got to go finish my coffee and rejoin reality.

Regardless, Chesterton acts as a mirror!
Everyone sees in him whatever they carry within themselves. 😉

Many great figures respected Chesterton far more than Paul Bailey95 does.

So now, does Paul Bailey95 disrespect Chesterton because almost nobody respects him? 🤔

Or do great men respect Chesterton simply because they are great men themselves? I'll leave that for you to judge, but for your own enlightenment, I'll point out just how much these absolute legends actually admired Chesterton. 😉
===========

1.
The 1. famous philosopher (and atheist) Ernst Bloch stated that Chesterton "was the wisest man in the world." 😲

2.
Even Mahatma Gandhi admitted he was significantly influenced by one Chestertonian essay, applying its ideas to his political struggle for India's independence. Gandhi remarked that reading that essay felt like being struck by lightning. 😲

3.
Michael Collins claimed that a certain Chestertonian novel influenced his way of fighting for a free Ireland.

4. Ingmar Bergman claimed his favorite drama was a Chestertonian one, and he actually filmed a movie based on it in 1958.

5. Chesterton is, by any measure, the most cited 😲 writer in his home country, despite never finishing college. (For what it's worth, he wrote 80 books, about 200 short stories, roughly 4,000 essays, and several plays.

6. He stood 6'5" and weighed 310 lbs, so people affectionately called him a colossal genius or a genial colossus.

7. He used to unnerve Miroslav Krleža when they discussed Chesterton's main work during gatherings among Krleža's circle of friends.
Krleža once remarked that he "stands bewildered before Chesterton as if before a Sphinx, testing my old age and my illumination."

8.
Jorge Luis Borges admired Chesterton's detective novels, which feature a Catholic priest as the protagonist. In a film, this priest-detective was immortalized by sir Alec Guiness, who wrote in his autobiography that this fictional priest-detective influenced him so deeply that he left atheism and converted to Catholicism. 😲
While filming and playing the role of the Catholic priest-detective, sir Alec Guiness's eleven-year-old son fell ill with polio and was paralyzed from the waist down. Guiness writes that during a shoot in France, while dressed in his priest costume, he went to a nearby church and began to pray, vowing not to object if his son became a Catholic, provided God healed him.
It looks like his prayers were answered; his son recovered, and interestingly enough, at just 15 years old, the boy decided to become Catholic. sir Alec Guiness didn't put up a fight and held up his end of the bargain.
Later on, Alec Guiness himself converted to the Catholic faith.

9.
In 1922 (when he was 48), Chesterton was received into the Catholic Church, calling it "the most important event of my life."
He remarked that it was "the only church that actually dared to go down into the depths of my own being."
------------------------

A few of Chesterton's thoughts include:

-If there were no God, there wouldn't even be any atheists.

- When it comes to miracles, the most staggering part is that they actually happen.

- Love means loving what is unlovable; otherwise, it isn't really a virtue at all.

-"People who start fighting against the Church in the name of freedom and humanity end up discarding both freedom and humanity just so they can keep fighting the Church. Their enemies will use every weapon imaginable against her—swords that cut their own fingers and torches that burn down their own homes...
They burned their own grain just to light a fire under the Church; they destroyed their own resources just to destroy her. Every club was good enough to strike at the Church, even if it was just the last scrap of wood left from their own shattered furniture."

Paul Bailey95 said:2.

Take some world-class athletes we all know—like Ivica Kostelić or Blanka Vlašić. Now, obviously, Ivica and Janica are incredible skiers. But let’s be real: they became that way simply because their father basically used them as little training dummies from the time they were toddlers. He projected his own ambitions onto them, molding them into versions of himself—which, honestly, is a massive failure for both the parent and the kids. That whole "this-ness" of sensory certainty was everything to Janica and Ivica’s development. Their consciousness got stuck right there in that loop of immediate, sensory experience. It means the only thing they ever knew, the only thing they know now, and the only thing they’ll ever truly grasp is that raw, sensory "this-ness." And frankly, that’s the tragedy of most people—they are defined by that exact limitation. That's just what it means to be a Man, in the broadest sense. A buddy of mine actually mentioned seeing something in a diary where Ivica Kostelić says his greatest love is skiing. Look, I don't sit around watching TV, but I stay in the loop through friends, family, and actual conversations. You can see how deep this madness goes just by looking at that one statement. It’s not really that he loves skiing more than anything else; it’s that he exists entirely within that realm of sensory certainty. He lives at that level. And get this—according to Hegel, that is the absolute lowest level of existence. Seriously, think about it. At that stage, you might as well be a dog, a pig, or a goat. It doesn't matter if the dog or the pig has a massive inheritance, plenty of food, or is literally rolling in money—it changes absolutely nothing. We aren't even talking about a Man in the philosophical sense here; we're talking about someone existing purely on an animalistic level.

Just like Ivica, Janica, and Blanka Vlašić—our other absolute legends on the track—they’re basically stuck at this baseline level of consciousness. It's that raw, purely sensory certainty where you're just existing in the "now." They haven't even scratched the surface of true self-awareness yet—which, honestly, is still just the starting line of real longing. That sensory certainty has pretty much just morphed into a primitive craving for that first spark of self-consciousness. There isn't anything lower than that state, unless you count those blonde characters from those tired old jokes—but I guess you'd have to dig even deeper to find something more mindless than that. Jokes aside, though, why is it that they can't get past it?

Their skiing and track careers? Honestly, that’s just their father’s project—his vision, his dream. They aren't exactly "individuals" in the way we usually think about it; they're more like products of their dad. Their whole athletic life didn't really stem from some deep sense of self or a conscious choice to pursue greatness. Instead, it was essentially handed down to them—shown to them by their father through Blanka, Ivica, and Janica—by projecting this specific, sensory certainty onto them. They basically adopted his reality rather than forging their own. I won't get into the "why" behind all this because, frankly, it’s irrelevant to the point. It’s almost as if—and I mean this with all due respect to their actual trophies—they were programmed. Their entire lives have been marked by their father’s desires being projected onto children who just... accepted it. Almost without any input from their own consciousness. And here's the kicker: people actually admire this. It's tragic, really. People look at them and say, "That's what a real Man does," or "I wish I could do that," even though it isn't truly "Manly" and it certainly isn't smart to live that way. None of them were ever really asked what *they* wanted. They were trained to become exactly what they became—trained, or better yet, rendered into these featureless shells. It’s like a dog that’s been broken in; a trained dog absolutely adores its owner, listens to every command, eats whatever is put in the bowl, and just follows the script. It’s a total loss for Ivica, Janica, and Blanka. And honestly, you see this with pretty much any elite athlete who is just a vessel for a parent's ambition.

We’ve all been there—somehow, growing up, someone was always drilling something into our heads. It’s like this endless loop of repetition. I remember knowing this one guy whose dad used to drone on about nothing but "football, football, football" until you just wanted to tune him out completely. Then you had the other type, the dad constantly pushing "ballet, ballet, ballet" on his kids, also to that same point of total exhaustion. If we're being honest, most of us have dealt with some version of that mindless, infinite loop from one parent or the other. You see it all the time—a father who thinks the only real "value" he can pass down is handing his kid a Ball and telling them to kick it around the yard until they inevitably smash a neighbor's window, rather than actually sitting down to teach them something meaningful. Or maybe it's a different kind of distraction, but the result is the same: they aren't really raising or educating their kids. The thing is—and this happens way too often—most parents are just stuck in this cycle. Because they weren't properly taught or given a real education themselves, they lack the tools to actually teach their own children anything substantive. So, instead of passing on wisdom, they just hand them a Ball to kick around and call it a day.

When people say parents aren't "self-educated," they aren't just talking about whether someone grabbed a degree or not—it’s way deeper than that. You can have a PhD and still be totally unlearned in the ways that actually matter, though I guess that’s a bit less common than stumbling upon those certain K-12 teachers who—let's be honest—really haven't done the work to actually learn anything (not everyone, obviously, don't come for me). Unfortunately, you see this pattern in a lot of homes. You get these folks stuck in a provincial, traditional mindset who honestly don't even know how to teach their own kids—and get this—it's because they never actually learned how to teach themselves. They’re essentially living as copies of something else, kind of alienated from their own souls... just these hollowed-out, characterless shells of people.

Look, when you run into this kind of situation in a family—this total regression where parents haven't actually bothered to educate themselves—you end up with them trying to raise kids, and we all know exactly how that plays out. It’s right there in front of us. Honestly, if you just take a quick walk around any local elementary school, a high school, or even just hang out near a coffee shop or a club one night, you’ll see it. You look at kids anywhere from ten to twenty-five years old and you’re basically looking at a mirror image of their own parents. It’s wild. It’s like what Vanja Sutlić says—we didn't even see this level of dysfunction back at the fall of the Roman Empire. We're talking about a specific mindset here, a kind of idiocy and backwardness where you don't really encounter a true Man anymore. Instead of actual people, you find these... I don't know, semi-humans? Or maybe just creatures that look like people but aren't. It's like Gajo would put it—a "Man who isn't a Man." They lack any sense of self or character. You step outside your front door and that's the reality hitting you in the face. I won't beat around the bush: fathers, and parents in general, just aren't teaching their kids anything. And even though they aren't doing the work, the fallout is absolutely devastating for the kids. But hey, that's just the specific example. Let's get back to the bigger picture.

When we say things like "this" tree exists, or "now" is the day, or "there" stands a building—well, that little word "this" becomes this broad, general concept. But here’s the kicker: we aren't actually grasping that universal essence itself; we're just using it to express it. We aren't really touching the raw, absolute "thisness" of it all. No, not quite. The thing is, through language, we end up contradicting our own perceptions of that "this." Language basically points out that our immediate sensory certainty isn't quite hitting the mark of what "this" truly represents. Since the truth of those sensory certainties is found in the general concept—and since language is what carries that truth—it turns out we can never actually put the raw, sensory essence of what we're thinking into words. It's a bit of a paradox, honestly.

We were talking earlier about those examples—the tree, the building, the skyscraper—that just seem to vanish the second you turn your back. Whatever was "over there" (the tree, the building, that massive skyscraper) simply ceases to exist the moment we look away. It’s like things disappear from "over there" or "there," whereas "here"—this immediate "here"—doesn't actually vanish. Instead, "here" is basically the permanent stage where all that vanishing happens. Take a city like Washington, D.C., for instance. It exists; it is "here," right in front of us, as the city of Washington, D.C. And within it, right this very second, at this exact hour while I'm typing this out, people are being born and passing away, laughing and grieving, gossiping and sitting around, lying down and whatnot. All of that stuff happening in "here" stays true regardless of what exactly is going on (whether it's a birth, a death, or someone dropping a glass vase). Basically, "here" remains "here," no matter what happens within it.
It’s all the same around here.

So, what we’re looking at here is this kind of mediated simplicity—you know, that version of "general" that feels a bit processed.
Look, when we talk about that sensory certainty—the kind that presents itself as the absolute truth of an object—we’re really just looking at its pure essence. But here’s the kicker: that essence isn't some immediate, obvious thing. It’s actually defined by negation and mediation. It’s not what we typically think of when we say "essence," but rather a specific type of being that functions as the pure universal—even though our actual thoughts aren't truly universal. For our own reasoning, that sensory certainty doesn't feel universal at all. Take something like "this" tree, "that" building, or "this" guy right here. We group them all under the label of "this," treating it as if it's almost a given, but for our conscious minds, it isn't actually universal. That specific tree standing "here" isn't the universal truth of sensory certainty. Our brains accept it as true, sure, but in reality? This thing right here isn't actually *this* thing right here.

So, basically, what we’re saying is that for our own sense of truth—that raw, sensory certainty we all lean on—it isn't actually "purely general" at all. To that specific feeling, all you’ve really got left is this empty, hollow sense of "this" and "here." If we take the relationship between the self (the one doing the knowing) and "this" (the object itself) and compare it to how they stand once you reach a result, things get weird. You can see that the whole relationship has flipped on its head. That object—which was supposed to be the central, essential thing—suddenly becomes irrelevant to our sensory certainty because it has transformed into something purely general. It’s become secondary. Now, that sensory certainty exists entirely within the knowledge (the "I") which, if you think about it—and really, do think about it—was the part that used to be considered unimportant in the first place.

So, we’ve reached this point where truth is basically just sensory certainty within my specific subject—my subject, mind you. Right now, that object (this "thing") is defined by what I know about it. We're already seeing that first transition, moving from the "this" of sensory certainty into the "I." Now, me knowing "this" doesn't mean the sensory certainty itself just vanishes—not at all. It just means that even though it's been pushed out of the object, it's still right there; it's just migrated into the "I." Hegel argues that it gets repressed back into that "I." It isn't annihilated, which is a crucial distinction to make here. The truth of sensory certainty now resides within the "I." Within the immediacy of that "I," everything that usually disappears into a single "this" or "here" is preserved—because since the "I" is holding onto it, it doesn't vanish anymore.
Take a tree, for example. A tree is "here," I see it, but by tomorrow, that tree isn't "here" anymore. It has vanished from the "here," yet the "I" has retained it. In this "this/here" scenario, let's say someone—let's call him Mark—looks at a cathedral. Mark sees it and confirms, "Yes, this cathedral is right here." On the flip side, let's look at Mary, whose "I" perceives some lingerie shop. Mary, just like Mark, sees it and confirms (in her case) the existence of the lingerie shop, regardless of whether Mark might find lingerie somewhat irrelevant to Mary. But anyway, where am I going with this?

(I'll get to that next time)

🤣
Amanda Jackson5, I think they've finally found someone to "popularize" Hegel 😉
Just determine if this is actually a discussion about Hegel, given that other names seem to pop up more frequently (Mark, Mary, Blanka, Janica, and Ivica—not to mention their ambitious father, who acts like some kind of wicked witch 😁)

hiddenpuma75 said:Regardless, Chesterton acts as a mirror!
Everyone sees in him whatever they carry within themselves. 😉

Many great figures respected Chesterton far more than Paul Bailey95 does.

So now, does Paul Bailey95 disrespect Chesterton because almost nobody respects him? 🤔

Or do great men respect Chesterton simply because they are great men themselves? I'll leave that for you to judge, but for your own enlightenment, I'll point out just how much these absolute legends actually admired Chesterton. 😉
===========

1.
The 1. famous philosopher (and atheist) Ernst Bloch stated that Chesterton "was the wisest man in the world." 😲

2.
Even Mahatma Gandhi admitted he was significantly influenced by one Chestertonian essay, applying its ideas to his political struggle for India's independence. Gandhi remarked that reading that essay felt like being struck by lightning. 😲

3.
Michael Collins claimed that a certain Chestertonian novel influenced his way of fighting for a free Ireland.

4. Ingmar Bergman claimed his favorite drama was a Chestertonian one, and he actually filmed a movie based on it in 1958.

5. Chesterton is, by any measure, the most cited 😲 writer in his home country, despite never finishing college. (For what it's worth, he wrote 80 books, about 200 short stories, roughly 4,000 essays, and several plays.

6. He stood 6'5" and weighed 310 lbs, so people affectionately called him a colossal genius or a genial colossus.

7. He used to unnerve Miroslav Krleža when they discussed Chesterton's main work during gatherings among Krleža's circle of friends.
Krleža once remarked that he "stands bewildered before Chesterton as if before a Sphinx, testing my old age and my illumination."

8.
Jorge Luis Borges admired Chesterton's detective novels, which feature a Catholic priest as the protagonist. In a film, this priest-detective was immortalized by sir Alec Guiness, who wrote in his autobiography that this fictional priest-detective influenced him so deeply that he left atheism and converted to Catholicism. 😲
While filming and playing the role of the Catholic priest-detective, sir Alec Guiness's eleven-year-old son fell ill with polio and was paralyzed from the waist down. Guiness writes that during a shoot in France, while dressed in his priest costume, he went to a nearby church and began to pray, vowing not to object if his son became a Catholic, provided God healed him.
It looks like his prayers were answered; his son recovered, and interestingly enough, at just 15 years old, the boy decided to become Catholic. sir Alec Guiness didn't put up a fight and held up his end of the bargain.
Later on, Alec Guiness himself converted to the Catholic faith.

9.
In 1922 (when he was 48), Chesterton was received into the Catholic Church, calling it "the most important event of my life."
He remarked that it was "the only church that actually dared to go down into the depths of my own being."
------------------------

A few of Chesterton's thoughts include:

-If there were no God, there wouldn't even be any atheists.

- When it comes to miracles, the most staggering part is that they actually happen.

- Love means loving what is unlovable; otherwise, it isn't really a virtue at all.

-"People who start fighting against the Church in the name of freedom and humanity end up discarding both freedom and humanity just so they can keep fighting the Church. Their enemies will use every weapon imaginable against her—swords that cut their own fingers and torches that burn down their own homes...
They burned their own grain just to light a fire under the Church; they destroyed their own resources just to destroy her. Every club was good enough to strike at the Church, even if it was just the last scrap of wood left from their own shattered furniture."

... everything is a mirror 😉 ....

hiddenpuma75 said:Regardless, Chesterton acts as a mirror!
Everyone sees in him whatever they carry within themselves. 😉

Many great figures respected Chesterton far more than Paul Bailey95 does.

So now, does Paul Bailey95 disrespect Chesterton because almost nobody respects him? 🤔

Or do great men respect Chesterton simply because they are great men themselves? I'll leave that for you to judge, but for your own enlightenment, I'll point out just how much these absolute legends actually admired Chesterton. 😉
===========

1.
The 1. famous philosopher (and atheist) Ernst Bloch stated that Chesterton "was the wisest man in the world." 😲

2.
Even Mahatma Gandhi admitted he was significantly influenced by one Chestertonian essay, applying its ideas to his political struggle for India's independence. Gandhi remarked that reading that essay felt like being struck by lightning. 😲

3.
Michael Collins claimed that a certain Chestertonian novel influenced his way of fighting for a free Ireland.

4. Ingmar Bergman claimed his favorite drama was a Chestertonian one, and he actually filmed a movie based on it in 1958.

5. Chesterton is, by any measure, the most cited 😲 writer in his home country, despite never finishing college. (For what it's worth, he wrote 80 books, about 200 short stories, roughly 4,000 essays, and several plays.

6. He stood 6'5" and weighed 310 lbs, so people affectionately called him a colossal genius or a genial colossus.

7. He used to unnerve Miroslav Krleža when they discussed Chesterton's main work during gatherings among Krleža's circle of friends.
Krleža once remarked that he "stands bewildered before Chesterton as if before a Sphinx, testing my old age and my illumination."

8.
Jorge Luis Borges admired Chesterton's detective novels, which feature a Catholic priest as the protagonist. In a film, this priest-detective was immortalized by sir Alec Guiness, who wrote in his autobiography that this fictional priest-detective influenced him so deeply that he left atheism and converted to Catholicism. 😲
While filming and playing the role of the Catholic priest-detective, sir Alec Guiness's eleven-year-old son fell ill with polio and was paralyzed from the waist down. Guiness writes that during a shoot in France, while dressed in his priest costume, he went to a nearby church and began to pray, vowing not to object if his son became a Catholic, provided God healed him.
It looks like his prayers were answered; his son recovered, and interestingly enough, at just 15 years old, the boy decided to become Catholic. sir Alec Guiness didn't put up a fight and held up his end of the bargain.
Later on, Alec Guiness himself converted to the Catholic faith.

9.
In 1922 (when he was 48), Chesterton was received into the Catholic Church, calling it "the most important event of my life."
He remarked that it was "the only church that actually dared to go down into the depths of my own being."
------------------------

A few of Chesterton's thoughts include:

-If there were no God, there wouldn't even be any atheists.

- When it comes to miracles, the most staggering part is that they actually happen.

- Love means loving what is unlovable; otherwise, it isn't really a virtue at all.

-"People who start fighting against the Church in the name of freedom and humanity end up discarding both freedom and humanity just so they can keep fighting the Church. Their enemies will use every weapon imaginable against her—swords that cut their own fingers and torches that burn down their own homes...
They burned their own grain just to light a fire under the Church; they destroyed their own resources just to destroy her. Every club was good enough to strike at the Church, even if it was just the last scrap of wood left from their own shattered furniture."

... or rather, "Love your enemy" (because loving your friends is natural, easy, and nothing special—the whole world does that)
This is also the core principle behind the method known as Ho'oponopono; for Martinus, "loving the unlovable" is the prerequisite for the so-called "second birth," through which Man attains cosmic consciousness. Campbell, meanwhile, noted regarding this "second birth" that myths most often depict it as a "virgin birth"—a spiritual rebirth, an emergence of the spirit, the transition from animal to Man... In concrete terms, this would involve opening the fourth heart chakra, which is the first truly "human" chakra, whereas the lower three are considered "animalistic" since they serve as the seats for instincts shared with the animal kingdom (the survival instinct, the sexual instinct, and the instinct for power, or the assertion of will)
There you have it... it all aligns perfectly. 😉

Let's hear what Hegel—or rather, Paul Bailey95—has to say next...
(we left off with Mark, Mary, and the lingerie trade)

Sandra Murphy33 said:🤣
Amanda Jackson5, I think they've finally found someone to "popularize" Hegel 😉
Just determine if this is actually a discussion about Hegel, given that other names seem to pop up more frequently (Mark, Mary, Blanka, Janica, and Ivica—not to mention their ambitious father, who acts like some kind of wicked witch 😁)

... everything is a mirror 😉 ....

... or rather, "Love your enemy" (because loving your friends is natural, easy, and nothing special—the whole world does that)
This is also the core principle behind the method known as Ho'oponopono; for Martinus, "loving the unlovable" is the prerequisite for the so-called "second birth," through which Man attains cosmic consciousness. Campbell, meanwhile, noted regarding this "second birth" that myths most often depict it as a "virgin birth"—a spiritual rebirth, an emergence of the spirit, the transition from animal to Man... In concrete terms, this would involve opening the fourth heart chakra, which is the first truly "human" chakra, whereas the lower three are considered "animalistic" since they serve as the seats for instincts shared with the animal kingdom (the survival instinct, the sexual instinct, and the instinct for power, or the assertion of will)
There you have it... it all aligns perfectly. 😉

Let's hear what Hegel—or rather, Paul Bailey95—has to say next...
(we left off with Mark, Mary, and the lingerie trade)

I’ve been following along with what our esteemed colleague Paul Bailey95 is writing, and honestly, I don't have much to add. I actually like it; you can tell by my lack of complaints. If I had one nitpick, I’d say it could be a bit more concise, but it's fine as it is.

Anyway, enough with the random off-topic tangents—let's get back to Phenomenology.
Amanda Jackson5
Look, I get it, but I’m sticking to the text as it is. Shortening it feels too much like summarizing, and while I can definitely do that as an add-on if needed, I don't want to lose the essence. I actually added some extra paragraphs about three weeks ago just so I wouldn't lose my place—the problem is, once you start expanding from those paragraphs, you could end up writing pages of stuff I haven't even posted here yet. As for this whole thing regarding consciousness—the first chapter on consciousness is still a work in progress. I do have a finished version, but I’m not posting it because it’s basically in a constant state of flux. You know how it goes—you'll be working and suddenly something hits you, so you tack it on, and the whole thing starts filling out and shaping itself. Or maybe something ends up feeling a bit too mechanical or dry, so you circle back to fix it and beef it up. Honestly, there's a ton of work to do—it's a real grind.

hiddenpuma75
Sorry to break it to you, but buckle up—this next part is gonna be a long one.

1.

I look at Hitler and I see exactly what's lurking inside me.

Alright, enough with the empty suits—it’s my turn to weigh in on hiddenpuma75’s post. This might get a little long, and I'll be being pretty open and serious here. Consider this a light smack—not like that brutal hit omen took on this forum a few months back, but more like that sharp little sting a baby gets when they sit on a hot stove. You know, a stove where there's actually a fire burning—unlike inside hiddenpuma75's head, where things seem suspiciously cool. I’ll apologize in advance for being blunt, but someone had to say it, so I'm stepping up. I honestly can't stand the smell of pretension; it reeks. It’s like fertilizer sitting in a field, attracting all these flies buzzing around like hyenas over a carcass, or those birds circling overhead before diving down to peck at a corpse like they’ve never seen death before. I don't get what draws people to this kind of "wisdom"—usually, it's just hollow noise. And just to be clear, when I write like this, I’m staying on topic. I'm not trying to go off on a tangent like half the comments I see floating around here. When I mention names like Mary or Mark, I'm just using them as placeholders to keep things from getting too dry—just enough flavor so people behind their forum handles don't fall asleep. It's about that first chapter of sensory certainty, giving you a sense of what Hegel is actually getting at in that opening section. Sure, it’s easy to read the words, but you have to actually *think* through it—to digest it properly. It's like how I’m sipping this coffee right now; my body has to break it down and absorb it. Some people try to treat Hegel's Phenomenology like a flight of stairs, but once I've fully digested the whole thing, I'll happily toss the remains aside. It would be great if someone could actually contribute something meaningful—staying on track—while showing some respect to Amanda Jackson5, who was just asking, "What exactly is this 'this' that Hegel keeps referring to in the chapter?" If we did that, we could actually have a coherent discussion. After all, this is a forum, and making sense matters just as much as staying away from the temptations of a Don Juan. Since hiddenpuma75 decided to drift off-topic, I guess I have no choice but to wander off-course myself, especially since he already took a detour into talking about Czechia—all because of Neo's comment, which was the original derailment. Instead of discussing Hegel—and it doesn't even have to be the Phenomenology specifically—we're out here debating fruit on a tree. But hey, I'm the one who kicked things off by bringing up Chesterton, so I guess we can all join the madness, like crazies at a bullfight in Spain. First it's Sandra Murphy33, then me, then hiddenpuma75, and after this, it'll probably be him or Sandra again or someone else entirely. Good grief, where is Hegel in all this? Maybe we should just start a separate thread for Chesterton so we can all chatter away like old ladies at a flea market. If anyone wants to be a gossip, be my guest; personally, I've never been a fan of the market, and I've never had much interest in the gossips.

I see you’re aiming for the big leagues, hiddenpuma75—honestly, I respect that, because I am too. But I also noticed you have this real itch to be the ultimate authority on everything, which is... well, let's just say it's a bit of a step backward. Your last post really laid it all out there. First off, you're throwing around names like they’re just ingredients in a box of Cocoa Puffs, trying to lean on "authority" rather than actually making a point. And second, there's that subtle little ad hominem attack tucked away in there—very sneaky, but still very much an attack on the person. Look, if you’re feeling "irritated" by what you read, I get it. Anyone can react sharply when something hits a nerve or touches on something they're tied to. But, as Kant teaches us, if a Man wants to truly live up to his potential, he has to set aside those more animalistic impulses. So, if you're looking for some light summer reading, maybe dive into a study of Kant's Anthropology. Might help.

On the flip side, even Aristotle gets this through his categories—specifically substance, if we aren't going to get bogged down in other descriptors—and Chesterton too, since Sandra Murphy33 brought up certain principles, which I then built upon. You all will probably jump back in after this, but I’m stepping back because I actually care about Hegel—meaning, let's stay on topic, like a rider staying on a horse rather than trying to ride a giraffe. See, Chesterton doesn't really fit into those specific descriptors. You, hiddenpuma75, look just like any other Man I pass on my way to the library. We have the same skin color, the same citizenship, we've probably read similar books, but you aren't a "Man" yet. You're about as far from it as a bandit is from freedom, or a Stoic is from freedom, or whatever. How does one become a Man? You have to grasp it—not just superficially, but completely. That's why Aristotle’s categories, especially substance, are so vital. Think of them as a finger pointing at a door (if you're into that kind of imagery), and it's up to you to walk through it. If you just stare at the finger, you'll never see the door. Unfortunately, a lot of pseudo-intellectuals spend their whole lives staring at the finger instead of seeing the door, and the most tragic part is when they try to collect souls around them while doing it. I'm not saying this to hear myself talk—I'm not that important—but the idea matters. All the great thinkers say the same thing: you have to be a Man. And what you're showing in this post isn't coming from a Man; it's coming from something else—forgive me, but from an animal. Honestly, one woman's hysterical outburst is no different from the "tone" of your post, which is just pathetic, powerless, irrational... whatever you want to call it. And if you're an older gentleman, that makes it even worse, because by that age, we should have minds that can actually hold the reins. Personally, I like horses, but they smell too much, they whinny constantly, they wander off here and there—so I use reins to control them, rather than being controlled *by* them. Otherwise, I'd just be a dog on a leash. And as for leashes? What do I care about leashes?

Not to mention the errors—those logical fallacies like appealing to authority or launching those thinly veiled personal attacks disguised as "respect." It's embarrassing. Mature people—real men—don't do that; only horses do. You simply don't know that you don't know, and you don't even realize you're clueless. Want me to prove it? Look, I might seem like some random drifter passing through on the street with no reputation, but I could read you your own book, live or in writing, and do it quite politely. But fine. Since you're muddying the waters with this babble—which started with a woman, maybe a lady, maybe just a girl—since a woman must follow a woman, I'd suggest you start a new thread about Chesterton. Go ahead and write as much as you want about him; people, especially young folks, are genuinely interested in Chesterton. That's why we have those chatty clubs where people grab a beer or coffee and just ramble about him. "Chesterton-lovers." I'm not a fan of any kind of "lover"—it's never good to be overly devoted to anything, whether it's a country or a woman, but that's a whole other conversation. Chesterton is attractive, like a blonde I saw once—very striking—but she was just a blonde. I'm not calling you a blonde, don't get me wrong, and I'm joking around a bit here, but I'll admit blondes can be pretty. I just don't "love" them unless I need something, and frankly, there's usually nothing behind those eyes regardless of the hair color. I've been with blondes, so I know what goes on in those heads (shoes, perfume, small talk, etc.). Since they don't demand high intellect from me—they don't need me to lecture them on Dostoevsky for six hours, and I don't need to listen to them drone on about what they bought today or how pretty they look—we meet halfway and strike a deal. But what's inside? Emptiness. Just a void. And that's basically what you are regarding Chesterton, except he wasn't blonde and he was huge. He was so big he probably couldn't even fall over; he probably didn't sleep in a bed because his body *was* the bed and his head was the pillow. Also, when you quote Ernst Bloch, I'd be very careful. With all due respect, you clearly don't know what Bloch actually meant, nor the context, nor where you even pulled that quote from. Let's not even go there.

Look, regarding this whole "sensitivity" thing—you really shouldn't be so sensitive. Honestly, sensitivity, much like grand ideas or lofty ideals, has probably killed more people throughout history than anything else. Even Emerson hits the nail on the head when he says more folks have died for an idea itself than for any mere interest. He wraps it up by saying God himself should preserve such spiritualities from that—and if we're bringing God into the mix, I’d just add: may God himself preserve God from us.
When I'm writing about the Czechs, you have to understand that someone's critique, or a joke, or both, or even something else entirely, has its own specific place. In this case, the Czechs are being put where they belong by leaving you wondering what on earth I'm writing or what I actually mean. I'm dropping this off-topic post just so you can see how I'm framing things—basically, how I view Chesterton and everything he ever wrote. It’s not like you take a child, stick them on a bookshelf, and then tell me to grab a book; I mean, a kid on a shelf? Good grief, that's just nonsense. Where on earth would you put a child on a bookshelf? Anyway, I'm putting Chesterton in his—as some might say—"proper" place. And what's that place? Well, he didn't exactly walk through the door; he sort of slammed his head against the side of the doorframe on the way in, and anyone reading him is going to end up slamming their head against that same doorframe too. So, if you're into slamming your head against doors, go ahead and read Chesterton. If not, don't bother at all.

@ hiddenpuma75

2.

Look, personally—regardless of whether you think I’m being pompous or whatever else you want to call it—I have absolutely nothing to learn from the Czech guy, you know? If someone wants to read him, fine, be my guest. Go ahead and bang your head against a wall, stare at your own finger, or buzz around a pile of manure like a bunch of flies—whatever gets you through the day—but don't try to "get" me, because this whole thing is just hilarious to me. I mean, good grief, what's the point of banging your head against a door or staring at a finger? Instead of actually *thinking*, you're just busy performing these little rituals. Fine, but don't come crying to me when your head starts hurting.

What on earth is the big deal about Chesterton? Why waste actual brainpower on him or these abstract mental gymnastics? We've got Aristotle, Kant, Spinoza, Hegel, and the rest—people who are, frankly, on a different level than the Czech guy and his supposed "wisdom."

So, we have things that are actually elevated, while you all seem hell-bent on staying down low—which, personally, is where I prefer certain parts of a woman to be. What does the Czech guy even know about substance (not even getting started on other "things")? He certainly isn't an expert on beef or pork, judging by his physique—if a guy built like that actually fell forward, he wouldn't just break an arm or a hip; he'd crack the damn concrete. Seriously, what's the hype about Chesterton?
Since you've gone ahead and listed a bunch of "giants" to act as a shield—even though I don't see anyone actually attacking—it's time for my rebuttal. The stuff above was just the intro. In here, I'm going to point out the one crucial thing you're missing: you think hunting for fruit on a tree is "seeking wisdom," but I call it "wisdom-pretending."

What is actually happening here? Everyone is reacting to this Czech guy as if he were some kind of deity. And really, who attacks a god? That makes the attacker look suspicious. It's like watching a trial: "Who is this insolent fool attacking Chesterton?"
Alright, that happened, but honestly, this shouldn't be read in a "relaxed" way; it needs a cool head. That's how I'm reading your post, anyway, and let's face it, this forum is drowning in posts just like it. But where are *you* in this? This person, that person... you're nowhere. You could at least tell me what you actually think about Chesterton, assuming you still know how to form an opinion. What's the point of listing names and attacking a person? Mr. Puhovski would probably tell you that you've just written an "electronic cabbage patch," though in my book, this is even worse. For heaven's sake, write something original. Since we've touched on Chesterton, let's not keep talking about him here—we're representing Hegel in this thread. Open a new topic about Chesterton and I'll show up there just to "provoke" you a little. Just a heads-up: even my friends can barely stand it when I start asking questions here and there (thank God I'm finally getting through my comments so I don't have to visit anyone; I love people, but mostly from a distance, if you catch my drift), so I get why a total stranger might find it hard to handle, even if they're being a bit rude. I read somewhere that you claim to be against emptiness, yet you write so emptily. How does that work? Why write nothingness? Even Plato asked this in the *Sophist*—how is it possible for someone to lie or talk nonsense, where what they say isn't true? From those who claim to love wisdom, I expect wisdom, not a hollow performance.
The thing is—and this is what you're actually reacting to—I'm just putting the Czech guy back where he belongs. He's irrelevant to the conversation, and that's the only thing that matters here. So, I'm putting him in his place, rather than letting him occupy a place he doesn't deserve.

And as for those "giants" you mentioned—let me be clear: I'm not denying that the people you've listed were great writers, directors, or artists. But I am denying that they are all "giants" in the sense you're using. I don't expect people who strive for empty wisdom—as I suspect you and others do—to make such elementary mistakes. I deny it, and I'm right to do so. When it comes to true greats or masters, I have to be blunt: I'm an old soul (even if I'm young), and I learn from the old guard. These new types don't interest me. Greats? Bergman and the rest? Not even close.

So, I’d actually want to put you on the spot here—since you're acting like some big-shot truth seeker who thinks they can lecture someone like me—and just ask: what even defines a "great" person? That’s my one and only question, and honestly, let's keep it focused. Answer that in its own separate thread, not right here, because we're supposed to be talking about Hegel in this one, and I like to keep my workspace clean. Go ahead and start a new topic called "Greatness" or whatever, and then we can get into the whole debate. Once you drop your answer there, Sandra Murphy33 can jump in, then maybe Paul Bailey95, and so on—but while we're at it, where did Hegel go?
I was actually thinking about starting some kind of forum series called "Dialogues"—basically a new thread where everyone could engage in one-on-one debates to see what people actually stand for—but honestly, I just don't have the bandwidth right now. Between wrestling with Hegel and Aristotle and everything else, I haven't had the spare time to sit down and craft these kinds of responses. But then again, that’s really the core issue with how this whole thread started in the first place. If you guys actually want to sharpen your skills in the art of dialogue, you should probably take the initiative yourselves instead of waiting for me to set the stage.

Alright, let's get this show on the road.
It looks like everyone’s rushing to jump on the Chesterton bandwagon instead of actually grappling with Hegel—which makes sense, since Chesterton’s stuff is basically background noise compared to him. I’m defending that massive gap between them, honestly. I’ve already laid out my take on Hegel and Aristotle here on the forum—categories I've been fleshing out in every single comment I write. Even this post isn't "finished"; it’s more like the first few strikes of a chisel. For tools, I’ve got two copies of the Hegel dictionary, some commentary from Kojev, and lectures from Vanja Sutlić just to double-check things. I’m really trying to see how consistently I can follow Hegel’s logic, and let me tell you, I’m taking the hard road. Only people actually engaging in the comments understand how brutal that is—you guys spend an entire month staring at fifty pages of a single section. And in that month? You haven't read a single other book. It’s funny, because I haven't read a single book in three months either—mostly because I've already read everything. Reading just for the sake of reading is decadent. There’s this great essay by Barbarić about what reading actually means, so you can draw your own conclusions there. Reading books just to check boxes is regressive; you have to know *how* to read, and hardly anyone does. Someone else might breeze through a whole book in three hours, while I’ll spend that same time on two pages. Let’s be more like those Kahneman tortoises—rabbits are totally overrated. You’re probably sitting there thinking, “What is he talking about? Is he losing it?” If you are, just go grab a translated copy of my namesake Daniel Kahneman’s work. You'll figure out the rabbit and tortoise thing soon enough. Anyway, moving on.

Look, when it comes to Aristotle’s categories, nobody actually gives a damn—and let me tell you, those categories are a rabbit hole. Once you dive in, there’s no coming back. But people? They’re out here reading Chesterton. It makes me wonder: if you had to choose, would you rather go for a swim in a literal sewage puddle or the ocean? If someone is just looking for shallow, empty wisdom, they’ll find plenty of it in some old folk tales. I’m standing my ground defending Hegel against what I consider irrelevant Chestertonian fluff. And before anyone starts—I’m not getting into his biography, his prose style, or how "important" he supposedly is. I’m not disputing any of that. I have every right to be a cynic or just plain lazy—as a certain Cuban guy might say—and honestly, I don't care what other people think about him. I'm not interested in playing those social games; I'm not some gossiping housewife, for God's sake. Everything I’m saying boils down to one single point, whether you like it or not: Chesterton’s thought is hollow. It’s empty. On the flip side, Hegel’s ideas—and even Aristotle’s—aren't empty at all. That’s the ocean. So, why would you choose the sewage puddle? Look, I’m a tolerant person, but if you’re actually hunting for truth, you aren't reading Chesterton, and you know exactly why. Just a quick side note: Avicenna read the *Metaphysics* forty times before he finally "got it" thanks to a commentator. Most commentators spend their entire lives wrestling with Aristotle. What would a man like that say today if someone read a hundred Chesterton books but still had access to Aristotle and Hegel? You should be studying them—the way someone like Dale would—but I won't dwell on names. Do I even need to list more? Seriously, why spend years studying Chesterton when you have Aristotle, Hegel, Spinoza, and Kant sitting right there? I mean, what else is there to say?

Either I’m totally misreading this, or you clearly can't tell what actually matters here—and when I try to point out the obvious, what happens? I get hit with some pretty rude, frankly mindless attacks. If they were actually smart, they might "forgive" hiddenpuma75 (as if I were the one being sensitive), but they aren't. I wouldn't expect much else from a grown man unless the person behind the username hiddenpuma75 is just some kid, which—let's be honest—is probably the case. But hey, I guess that's just how it goes. It reminds me of last year, right around Christmas; a buddy and I went to visit another acquaintance of ours. We walk into the room and start chatting, and the place is so thick with smoke it feels like an old basement bar in the deep South. Anyway, long story short: my first friend gave the second guy his two cents on his plans, and the guy reacted so defensively he practically started tearing down statues from their pedestals—he was completely rattled. You know why? Because the truth was spoken, and the truth always stings right where it hurts most: the brain. What I wrote about Czechia is the truth if you actually listen to what people are telling you; if you don't, well, that's not my problem. My job is to write it down, even if it's just on a forum, because people end up obsessed with the surface stuff while ignoring the real gems. Seriously, where would you rather spend your time? In a sewer or in the ocean? Personally, I've spent enough time wading through the sewage to know better, because once you find the ocean amidst all the junk, you never go back to the gutter.

Hey @ parsifal—

3.

Look, you’re out here hunting for giants in that list you just put together, but honestly? You aren't going to find them there. You're basically slapping the "legend" label on them yourself—and hey, nobody's stopping you from doing that—but you really need to figure out what actually makes someone a giant before you start throwing that word around. If you don't have a clear grip on reality—and I mean *really* clear, like someone struggling with a serious break from it—then this whole conversation is pretty much useless. It's like trying to catch falling leaves or... well, something equally futile. We see plenty of people out in the world every day who are just as disconnected from the truth, and their arguments fall apart just as fast. On the flip side, maybe giants are redundant anyway. We don't even need them anymore. Why not just be that greatness yourself? And yeah, I am being dead serious about what I said regarding the cheese thing.

Regarding Hegel’s brilliant insight into the essence of everything transcendental—you know, that stuff in Chapter Three, including all that empty wisdom, whether it's this version or that one—I’m honestly stumped. There's no way around it: we have brains, so we might as well use them and think for ourselves. I see people getting worked up over their morning coffee just like I do, but they really ought to be getting fired up over Hegel. Through him, we get to hear—get this—the Absolute itself speaking. And who was it that said that? Vanja Sutlić. Honestly, it doesn't matter whose name is attached to it or how much authority they carry; what matters is the thought itself. Speech reveals the truth behind the person. We saw this back in the day with Aristotle in his work on interpretation, too. It’s all about *who* is speaking and *what* they’re actually saying. If you stay silent, you're a fool—though, granted, that's not always true—but if you just spout nonsense, you're definitely a fool. And man, how many people are doing that today? It’s so common that even the word "terrible" feels like an understatement. With someone like Sutlić, the core is the idea. Since the guy behind the idea is Vanja Sutlić, I have to mention the name so people actually know who’s putting in the mental work. An opinion is something you examine, and something that examines you. So, where does that leave us? Do we wallow in the gutter, or do we dive into the ocean? Personally, I’m just sitting here thinking, "Good grief, why would you choose the sewer?" Maybe I'd throw in a "you lunatics" for good measure, but I wouldn't mean it maliciously.

It feels like you’ve got some kind of official job description here—like you’re a paid spokesperson tasked with defending the "honor" of the establishment against any little critique from someone like Danijel Bukvašević. And who exactly are you, Parsifal? Do you even have a real name? You don't have to hide behind a handle if you don't want to. Personally, I don't bother with pseudonyms; I just put my name out there. I think it’s a matter of basic accountability—it shouldn't matter if you're a prince, the Pope, a convict, or a guy sleeping on a park bench—you should stand by what you say. I’ve been around the block enough to see the top tier of the social ladder, having worked for all sorts of bosses over the years, and let me tell you—that view from the top is so incredibly shallow that I decided long ago to just be my own man. But honestly, it doesn't even matter to you, does it? Whether someone has status or not is irrelevant—wisdom doesn't care about your title once the truth has already been spoken.

Hundreds of books, fame, or even the legendary status of Chesterton—what does any of that actually mean? Honestly, nobody needs to say a word about you for you to be someone. You can just be yourself, whether you’re a titan of industry or just a straight-A student. We’re living in a total nihilistic era, yet here you are obsessing over "great men." Wouldn't the truly wise realize how hollow that is? I doubt you see it, but hey, fair enough. What’s the actual difference between Hegelian thought and... well, whatever nonsense we're dealing with here? Look, I haven't written hundreds of books myself—only two people actually know who I am, I have zero influence, and nobody is out there quoting my lines like you suggested—but frankly, I don't care. I’m perfectly fine drowning in the ocean or walking through a door; I'm not losing my mind. Right now, I've got Aristotle on my left and Hegel on my right. I'm sitting there contemplating their ideas, and honestly, it's pretty good company. We kicked the other guy out of the circle—he doesn't belong here. He’s stuck somewhere on a lower rung, trying to act big and important, but he just can't pull it off. It’s almost like watching Nietzsche laugh at him and kick him back down the stairs—purely Nietzschean, really. Okay, I'm joking—as the Joker would say when I was binge-watching movies on TV: "Why so serious?" But seriously, being in this kind of company is better than believing the delusions of those crazies who think they're headed for some paradise in the afterlife. What do I need heaven for when I've got Aristotle and Hegel? Besides, I've never been much for those idealized types anyway; too inexperienced. As for the respect you're demanding—which, let's be real, is bordering on rude—don't worry about me. Just worry about finding some actual wisdom.

Look, just because someone hasn't churned out a hundred books, isn't some household name, or doesn't weigh a solid two hundred pounds—none of which actually matters—doesn't mean they can't hold their own against the giants, or even be one themselves. For me, being enough on my own is plenty—I’m good with myself, or if we're looking at it through a non-Stirnerian lens, I *am* myself. So, I don't bother measuring myself against anyone else. Now, comparing myself to heroes or absolute geniuses? That's a different story, a different context entirely, but even then, it's not really a "measurement." Plus, I’ve never been big on metrics; there's too much pseudo-science in it all. Everything gets quantified these days, yet nobody actually thinks. Take me, for instance—nobody knows me, I don't have any flashy material possessions, I don't go out socializing for the sake of it, and my day is probably incredibly boring to most people—just like I find their days incredibly boring. Just my room, my library, Hegel and Aristotle... I spend my time listening to a lecture or digging up an article online during my breaks from reading Hegel and Aristotle, or popping onto this forum to post something like this. Or maybe someone calls me to check on what some kid is up to, since, as you can see from the intro to this thread, I've "cut myself off from social contact."

With all due respect to the modern crowd, I find my own room far more interesting than their hollow hangouts and endless chatter. My writing here won't be anything permanent—let's face it, posting on a forum is ultimately a futile exercise. That means my commentary on the *Phenomenology* won't be presented in one neat, finished package here; obviously, it will be completed in the end, even if the final commentary ends up being 3,500 pages long. I've already mentioned that once I hit a certain point in a text, I leave this digital space behind. This whole cyber realm feels mostly empty to me. I'm more about the town square—walking around, philosophizing, or at least having a conversation. But if neither of those is an option, then I'll just stay in my room and hold a dialogue in my head with whatever I'm reading—or rather, thinking. It's mostly for hygienic reasons, honestly; if you tried to start a deep debate with someone in the middle of a crowded park, people would just assume the guy has bad breath. What could they possibly hear besides the stench of his mouth? They wouldn't hear anything, because he isn't thinking anything.

As for Chesterton—returning to him—you can spend forever analyzing him, reading him, mimicking his style, or just being awestruck. I guess I'm a bit "crazy," so I see it this way: in just one single category of Aristotle's substance, there's more raw material for thought than in all hundred-odd books that Chesterton ever wrote. Just one category! And what am I supposed to do with that? Read Chesterton? Good grief, I'm not insane—well, I used to be, but I'm not anymore.
As a self-sufficient man—someone who doesn't look up to anyone or blindly accept anyone as a "great," since there are no true greats anyway, and I'm perfectly happy "entertaining" myself with Aristotle and Hegel by commenting on them primarily to myself to truly grasp them—I enter their thoughts to follow the path where "wonders become everyday occurrences." In other words, it's all a bit dull, and I don't need icons. And despite all that, believe me, I know more about them than you do. It's funny how a "non-great"—just an ordinary Joe, really—can so boldly strike out at another ordinary guy. And I'm a bit on the heavier side, too; I wear glasses, and I doubt I'd even recognize Chesterton on the street, though I'd spot him even without them. Actually, I'm not attacking him, even though if he were alive today, I'd probably pelt him with eggs or whack him over the head with a cane. You might instinctively think, "Well, that's an attack," but I can't give you a coherent answer to that because you don't understand anything, with all due respect. I'm simply putting him in his place; it's hardly an attack.

Anyone who actually *wants* knowledge doesn't read Chesterton unless they're looking for a bit of entertainment or a way to look important. The same goes for everything else. I'm not interested in authors like that anymore; I wouldn't even read them at a backyard BBQ—not that I'd go to a BBQ in the first place. Why would I? I have my room. Or, as Voltaire might put it, I have my garden to tend. I think that's pretty clear. Will people in the future read Chesterton the way they read Hegel (since this is his subject)? Of course not. I don't just think it, I know it. They'll read him, sure, but I think you're missing my point. To me, all wisdom is empty once you reach the point suggested by the Bloch quote attributed to Chesterton—and you can be damn sure it's empty for Bloch, too.

I watched Bergman's movies back when I was younger, but calling him a "giant" of cinema feels like you're confusing greatness with just being someone who contributed to the field. It’s more accurate to say he made an impact. Real giants? You find those in Plutarch. What you're listing here aren't giants—not yet. They only become giants if some genius down the road writes about them with the same depth Plutarch used. And honestly, that’s probably not happening because we don't have giants anymore. If we did, I’d happily lock myself in my room for a year—only coming out for the essentials—just to write something worthy of them. But that's the issue: there are no giants left. So, what am I supposed to write about? Chesterton? Bergman? Bloch? I could always write about myself, but I'd need other giants to pair with, and where am I going to find them? The people you mentioned aren't giants, and if you said that to me in person, I’d probably give you a light smack on the head for thinking you were being profound.

If you want to actually learn about true greatness or excellence, I suggest—to everyone, really—picking up 'Parallel Lives.' Read one biography every night and maybe you'll actually learn something. Forget this list of yours and just read Plutarch. If you don't believe me, you'll certainly believe him. For heaven's sake, Bergman? Bloch? Who on earth are you talking about? Have you no shame? All you pseudo-intellectuals need to just pipe down for once.
I'll leave the rest for you to judge.
Fine.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm heading off to comment on Hegel again.

Paul Bailey95 said:Hey @ parsifal—

3.

Look, you’re out here hunting for giants in that list you just put together, but honestly? You aren't going to find them there. You're basically slapping the "legend" label on them yourself—and hey, nobody's stopping you from doing that—but you really need to figure out what actually makes someone a giant before you start throwing that word around. If you don't have a clear grip on reality—and I mean *really* clear, like someone struggling with a serious break from it—then this whole conversation is pretty much useless. It's like trying to catch falling leaves or... well, something equally futile. We see plenty of people out in the world every day who are just as disconnected from the truth, and their arguments fall apart just as fast. On the flip side, maybe giants are redundant anyway. We don't even need them anymore. Why not just be that greatness yourself? And yeah, I am being dead serious about what I said regarding the cheese thing.

Regarding Hegel’s brilliant insight into the essence of everything transcendental—you know, that stuff in Chapter Three, including all that empty wisdom, whether it's this version or that one—I’m honestly stumped. There's no way around it: we have brains, so we might as well use them and think for ourselves. I see people getting worked up over their morning coffee just like I do, but they really ought to be getting fired up over Hegel. Through him, we get to hear—get this—the Absolute itself speaking. And who was it that said that? Vanja Sutlić. Honestly, it doesn't matter whose name is attached to it or how much authority they carry; what matters is the thought itself. Speech reveals the truth behind the person. We saw this back in the day with Aristotle in his work on interpretation, too. It’s all about *who* is speaking and *what* they’re actually saying. If you stay silent, you're a fool—though, granted, that's not always true—but if you just spout nonsense, you're definitely a fool. And man, how many people are doing that today? It’s so common that even the word "terrible" feels like an understatement. With someone like Sutlić, the core is the idea. Since the guy behind the idea is Vanja Sutlić, I have to mention the name so people actually know who’s putting in the mental work. An opinion is something you examine, and something that examines you. So, where does that leave us? Do we wallow in the gutter, or do we dive into the ocean? Personally, I’m just sitting here thinking, "Good grief, why would you choose the sewer?" Maybe I'd throw in a "you lunatics" for good measure, but I wouldn't mean it maliciously.

It feels like you’ve got some kind of official job description here—like you’re a paid spokesperson tasked with defending the "honor" of the establishment against any little critique from someone like Danijel Bukvašević. And who exactly are you, Parsifal? Do you even have a real name? You don't have to hide behind a handle if you don't want to. Personally, I don't bother with pseudonyms; I just put my name out there. I think it’s a matter of basic accountability—it shouldn't matter if you're a prince, the Pope, a convict, or a guy sleeping on a park bench—you should stand by what you say. I’ve been around the block enough to see the top tier of the social ladder, having worked for all sorts of bosses over the years, and let me tell you—that view from the top is so incredibly shallow that I decided long ago to just be my own man. But honestly, it doesn't even matter to you, does it? Whether someone has status or not is irrelevant—wisdom doesn't care about your title once the truth has already been spoken.

Hundreds of books, fame, or even the legendary status of Chesterton—what does any of that actually mean? Honestly, nobody needs to say a word about you for you to be someone. You can just be yourself, whether you’re a titan of industry or just a straight-A student. We’re living in a total nihilistic era, yet here you are obsessing over "great men." Wouldn't the truly wise realize how hollow that is? I doubt you see it, but hey, fair enough. What’s the actual difference between Hegelian thought and... well, whatever nonsense we're dealing with here? Look, I haven't written hundreds of books myself—only two people actually know who I am, I have zero influence, and nobody is out there quoting my lines like you suggested—but frankly, I don't care. I’m perfectly fine drowning in the ocean or walking through a door; I'm not losing my mind. Right now, I've got Aristotle on my left and Hegel on my right. I'm sitting there contemplating their ideas, and honestly, it's pretty good company. We kicked the other guy out of the circle—he doesn't belong here. He’s stuck somewhere on a lower rung, trying to act big and important, but he just can't pull it off. It’s almost like watching Nietzsche laugh at him and kick him back down the stairs—purely Nietzschean, really. Okay, I'm joking—as the Joker would say when I was binge-watching movies on TV: "Why so serious?" But seriously, being in this kind of company is better than believing the delusions of those crazies who think they're headed for some paradise in the afterlife. What do I need heaven for when I've got Aristotle and Hegel? Besides, I've never been much for those idealized types anyway; too inexperienced. As for the respect you're demanding—which, let's be real, is bordering on rude—don't worry about me. Just worry about finding some actual wisdom.

Look, just because someone hasn't churned out a hundred books, isn't some household name, or doesn't weigh a solid two hundred pounds—none of which actually matters—doesn't mean they can't hold their own against the giants, or even be one themselves. For me, being enough on my own is plenty—I’m good with myself, or if we're looking at it through a non-Stirnerian lens, I *am* myself. So, I don't bother measuring myself against anyone else. Now, comparing myself to heroes or absolute geniuses? That's a different story, a different context entirely, but even then, it's not really a "measurement." Plus, I’ve never been big on metrics; there's too much pseudo-science in it all. Everything gets quantified these days, yet nobody actually thinks. Take me, for instance—nobody knows me, I don't have any flashy material possessions, I don't go out socializing for the sake of it, and my day is probably incredibly boring to most people—just like I find their days incredibly boring. Just my room, my library, Hegel and Aristotle... I spend my time listening to a lecture or digging up an article online during my breaks from reading Hegel and Aristotle, or popping onto this forum to post something like this. Or maybe someone calls me to check on what some kid is up to, since, as you can see from the intro to this thread, I've "cut myself off from social contact."

With all due respect to the modern crowd, I find my own room far more interesting than their hollow hangouts and endless chatter. My writing here won't be anything permanent—let's face it, posting on a forum is ultimately a futile exercise. That means my commentary on the *Phenomenology* won't be presented in one neat, finished package here; obviously, it will be completed in the end, even if the final commentary ends up being 3,500 pages long. I've already mentioned that once I hit a certain point in a text, I leave this digital space behind. This whole cyber realm feels mostly empty to me. I'm more about the town square—walking around, philosophizing, or at least having a conversation. But if neither of those is an option, then I'll just stay in my room and hold a dialogue in my head with whatever I'm reading—or rather, thinking. It's mostly for hygienic reasons, honestly; if you tried to start a deep debate with someone in the middle of a crowded park, people would just assume the guy has bad breath. What could they possibly hear besides the stench of his mouth? They wouldn't hear anything, because he isn't thinking anything.

As for Chesterton—returning to him—you can spend forever analyzing him, reading him, mimicking his style, or just being awestruck. I guess I'm a bit "crazy," so I see it this way: in just one single category of Aristotle's substance, there's more raw material for thought than in all hundred-odd books that Chesterton ever wrote. Just one category! And what am I supposed to do with that? Read Chesterton? Good grief, I'm not insane—well, I used to be, but I'm not anymore.
As a self-sufficient man—someone who doesn't look up to anyone or blindly accept anyone as a "great," since there are no true greats anyway, and I'm perfectly happy "entertaining" myself with Aristotle and Hegel by commenting on them primarily to myself to truly grasp them—I enter their thoughts to follow the path where "wonders become everyday occurrences." In other words, it's all a bit dull, and I don't need icons. And despite all that, believe me, I know more about them than you do. It's funny how a "non-great"—just an ordinary Joe, really—can so boldly strike out at another ordinary guy. And I'm a bit on the heavier side, too; I wear glasses, and I doubt I'd even recognize Chesterton on the street, though I'd spot him even without them. Actually, I'm not attacking him, even though if he were alive today, I'd probably pelt him with eggs or whack him over the head with a cane. You might instinctively think, "Well, that's an attack," but I can't give you a coherent answer to that because you don't understand anything, with all due respect. I'm simply putting him in his place; it's hardly an attack.

Anyone who actually *wants* knowledge doesn't read Chesterton unless they're looking for a bit of entertainment or a way to look important. The same goes for everything else. I'm not interested in authors like that anymore; I wouldn't even read them at a backyard BBQ—not that I'd go to a BBQ in the first place. Why would I? I have my room. Or, as Voltaire might put it, I have my garden to tend. I think that's pretty clear. Will people in the future read Chesterton the way they read Hegel (since this is his subject)? Of course not. I don't just think it, I know it. They'll read him, sure, but I think you're missing my point. To me, all wisdom is empty once you reach the point suggested by the Bloch quote attributed to Chesterton—and you can be damn sure it's empty for Bloch, too.

I watched Bergman's movies back when I was younger, but calling him a "giant" of cinema feels like you're confusing greatness with just being someone who contributed to the field. It’s more accurate to say he made an impact. Real giants? You find those in Plutarch. What you're listing here aren't giants—not yet. They only become giants if some genius down the road writes about them with the same depth Plutarch used. And honestly, that’s probably not happening because we don't have giants anymore. If we did, I’d happily lock myself in my room for a year—only coming out for the essentials—just to write something worthy of them. But that's the issue: there are no giants left. So, what am I supposed to write about? Chesterton? Bergman? Bloch? I could always write about myself, but I'd need other giants to pair with, and where am I going to find them? The people you mentioned aren't giants, and if you said that to me in person, I’d probably give you a light smack on the head for thinking you were being profound.

If you want to actually learn about true greatness or excellence, I suggest—to everyone, really—picking up 'Parallel Lives.' Read one biography every night and maybe you'll actually learn something. Forget this list of yours and just read Plutarch. If you don't believe me, you'll certainly believe him. For heaven's sake, Bergman? Bloch? Who on earth are you talking about? Have you no shame? All you pseudo-intellectuals need to just pipe down for once.
I'll leave the rest for you to judge.
Fine.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm heading off to comment on Hegel again.

I'm with danijeel on this one. Plutarch is top-tier. It isn't just about the big names, either—he dives into all these "side characters" that make history interesting. One of the best books out there.

A DECLARATION OF WAR AGAINST SIGMUND:

Reason might lead you to the doorstep, but it won't let you through the door.
- Rumi

Colleague Sigmund!;
Please take note:
Those who fail to see the hand doing the writing often assume the work simply emerges from the movement of the pen itself.

Colleague Sigmund! (And Daniel, with his two e's),

HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT BY SETTING THESE DEFINITIONS AND LIMITS (definitions) FOR REALITY AND KNOWLEDGE,
YOU’VE REMAINED TRAPPED IN PLATO’S CAVE, CONFINED BY BOTH YOUR OWN REASON AND THE CONCEPT OF UNIVERSAL LOGIC?

If we play strictly by your definitions—by those specific rules of engagement established by ratio—then you are absolutely right, and any further debate is a total waste of time. In your version of the world, reason acts as both the prosecutor and the judge.

It struck me during this discussion that you are essentially acting like Pythagoras, insisting that only rational numbers exist and that you can master them perfectly to calculate everything in existence.
I wonder if you realize how much of a shock that was to him and his school when they discovered the existence of irrational numbers. And that’s not even touching on transcendental, imaginary, complex, or... well, let's just say "unpredictable" numbers.

Using high-flown, rather pretentious philosophical jargon, you describe "your" version of universal logic as a self-referential, self-determining system. It is the prosecutor and the judge. It is the president, the legislature, the senate, and the executioner all rolled into one.
It’s easy for you, Sigmund, to dismiss every other form of perception when you’ve appointed yourself the boss and decided that you get to set the rules of the game.

Let me summarize briefly, then go into more detail below:
Against your ratio and its arbitrary self-referentiality stand
both Buddha and Heisenberg with his uncertainty principles, Gödel with his theorem regarding the incompleteness of any formal system, Hamvas, and various others—Voltaire, Owen, and finally, though no less importantly, the legendary hiddenpuma75.......

=================================
I ask the executioner to pass a sentence that is merciful.
We will liberate Sigmund from the illusion he has fallen into within his own Platonic cave of ratio, provided he simply admits that the circle of evidence against him and his precious universal ratio is CLOSED. In truth, ratio is merely a small, limited, yet incredibly pretentious magician from Oz, using a loud fanfare of old metaphysical tropes to create a massive smoke screen that people mistake for awe.

But here comes the brave knight, hiddenpuma75, who has healed Amfortas's wound and exposed this entire grand performance.
Let Sigmund admit that ratio is at fault—that it self-appointed itself without the consent of the people—and we will be lenient and grant him his freedom.

If Sigmund refuses to plead guilty, then I ask the executioner to allow me to step in as the lead prosecutor against Sigmund and his highly personal version of ratio.

I am bringing in an expert witness, my uncle Kurt Gödel, and he will speak through the voice of hiddenpuma75:

You are the accused, Sigmund, for appointing ratio as the ultimate authority. You're being as naive as a wide-eyed intern.
It is interesting because you pointed out the limitations of that rigid materialism and its perverse, Frankenstein-like byproduct—reductionism—quite clearly to Wanda. Yet, here, it seems you have become just like her, insisting on the absolute supremacy of ratio.

Your entire paradigm is built upon a central, naive premise: the dictatorship and supremacy of ratio, or rational knowledge.

For example, Wanda says:
"The universe is laid out before me... I have two comprehensive tools: mathematics and physics. Now, I will use the pincers of math and physics to grasp reality itself."

But your god, Sigmund, is ratio.🙂

I would ask both Wanda and Sigmund: are you truly aware that you cannot even rely on the "Queen of Sciences"—mathematics? Mathematics isn't actually a tool capable of
pinching and analyzing true, objective reality.

Here is a scholarly reflection from hiddenpuma75 on the limits of knowledge, based on what my uncle Gödel taught me while I was taking some advanced math courses.

GÖDEL'S INCOMPLETENESS THEOREM and Heisenberg's uncertainty principles.

Some people argue that there’s a fundamental limit—a literal, insurmountable abyss—to our capacity to actually grasp or predict the reality of the universe.

Mathematics is the undisputed queen of the sciences—it even holds its own against... Sigmund’s god, that ratio. They have their limits. There is this idea that a specific set of axioms could be considered "complete" by certain mathematical standards, but I just don't buy it. In my view, they can never truly be complete. Because the very foundations of mathematics aren't fundamental themselves, any such system is merely a tiny cross-section—just a faint reflection of a much deeper causality that allowed those "foundations" to exist in the first place.
Everyone seems to be completely overlooking that deep, implicit dimension sitting right behind those "foundations." People act like mathematical principles are the fundamental blueprint of the universe itself, when in reality, they’re just a distilled byproduct of much deeper relationships occurring at a far more consequential level of existence.

Here we go again!!
While mathematics might be the final veil standing between us and the ultimate truth, we have to admit that even math has its limits.
What we define as "completeness" from a mathematical and... Sigmund’s perspective on the world.It’s not even really about achieving absolute completeness, because the very foundations of mathematics itself are incomplete. In a way, Gödel’s theorem is essentially telling us that if we start out with an incomplete set of axioms—say, something like the combination of Sigmund and the RACIA—then we shouldn't be surprised when that set fails to produce a complete description or proof of all the true relations within it.
It’s incomplete. Since the mathematical foundations of such sets are inherently incomplete, then any mathematical—or rather, Sigmund's "rational"—claim to achieve completeness within such an fundamentally flawed framework is nothing more than pure pretension.
It feels like you just can't find what you're actually looking for.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Colleague Sigmund, just remember—those who try to play games with the demon of infinity will only end up being torn apart by the hounds of reason.
________________________________________

I’d like to ask the forum jury to take notice.

Sigmund brought us a masked witness today, announcing that she’s actually a young woman—a paragon of flawless logic. She claims that through pure, unadulterable ratio, she sees and knows everything. Her mission? To prove once and for all that God doesn't exist, because, in her eyes, the only true divinity is RACIA.
But the brave knight hiddenpuma75 finally tossed that mask aside, and now the truth is out in the open—it turns out Sigmund has been keeping that old, crumbling metaphysics all to himself this whole time. 😒

JER

Let's be honest: infinity as we discuss it today isn't actually "real." It’s just a convenient mental construct cooked up by mathematicians who wanted to tidy up their equations.

b) There’s also no such thing as infinitely small numbers.

I think we should take a closer look at option C. It seems to offer a more balanced approach than the others, though I'll admit I'm still weighing the long-term implications. What do you all think?
The formalists, like Hilbert and Russell... Sigmund It feels a bit pretentious, even dishonest, to suggest that we can grasp and explain everything through mere RACIA—whether we’re talking about actual infinity in mathematics or the concept of the Absolute. They were firm believers in actual infinity, mainly because they felt it aligned perfectly with the third logical axiom, "tertium non datur."

David Hilbert, colleague Sigmund's brother, once remarked:

In a way, you could say mathematical Analysis is nothing less than a symphony composed around the theme of infinity.

...before Kurt Gödel ended up driving him right out of that "mathematical paradise" where Georg Cantor had originally led them.

Kurt Gödel, with his theorem, essentially pointed out the inherent limits of logic and mathematics, and... Sigmund’s ratio We really ought to consider this without overcomplicating the math or forcing the logic into shapes it wasn't meant to take. Cantor’s continuum hypothesis remains valid strictly within the framework the author himself established. When you look at the axioms of cardinal numbers, they don't actually represent any kind of "actual" infinity—not in the sense of the Absolute. They possess a starting point, a baseline that is rooted in finitude rather than true infinity.

So, here we go again with that dreadful debate over Sigmund—and let’s not forget Wanda—and Gödel.

In any formal system, you can construct a statement P such that neither P nor its negation can be derived from the system's own rules. Essentially, we're talking about undecidable problems.
--
A Verdict in the Name of the Forum Republic

Prosecutor hiddenpuma75 has successfully convinced the jury, so let the executioner carry out the sentence.

Gödel, Heisenberg, and hiddenpuma75 (with that award-winning reflection of theirs: THE TRUTH IS THAT THE LIST IS JUST CABBAGE) )
They’re essentially proving that there is an absolute abyss—a hard limit to what we can actually know. It's an ABYSS that logic, reason, neither Sigmund nor Daniel, nor Hegel, nor even mathematics can ever hope to leap over.

Bravo! Give them a hand! 👏

QED

Wishing you all the best, and please, stay patient while I prepare for the next escalation of this debate.

👋

hiddenpuma75 said:A DECLARATION OF WAR AGAINST SIGMUND:

Reason might lead you to the doorstep, but it won't let you through the door.
- Rumi

Colleague Sigmund!;
Please take note:
Those who fail to see the hand doing the writing often assume the work simply emerges from the movement of the pen itself.

Colleague Sigmund! (And Daniel, with his two e's),

HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT BY SETTING THESE DEFINITIONS AND LIMITS (definitions) FOR REALITY AND KNOWLEDGE,
YOU’VE REMAINED TRAPPED IN PLATO’S CAVE, CONFINED BY BOTH YOUR OWN REASON AND THE CONCEPT OF UNIVERSAL LOGIC?

If we play strictly by your definitions—by those specific rules of engagement established by ratio—then you are absolutely right, and any further debate is a total waste of time. In your version of the world, reason acts as both the prosecutor and the judge.

It struck me during this discussion that you are essentially acting like Pythagoras, insisting that only rational numbers exist and that you can master them perfectly to calculate everything in existence.
I wonder if you realize how much of a shock that was to him and his school when they discovered the existence of irrational numbers. And that’s not even touching on transcendental, imaginary, complex, or... well, let's just say "unpredictable" numbers.

Using high-flown, rather pretentious philosophical jargon, you describe "your" version of universal logic as a self-referential, self-determining system. It is the prosecutor and the judge. It is the president, the legislature, the senate, and the executioner all rolled into one.
It’s easy for you, Sigmund, to dismiss every other form of perception when you’ve appointed yourself the boss and decided that you get to set the rules of the game.

Let me summarize briefly, then go into more detail below:
Against your ratio and its arbitrary self-referentiality stand
both Buddha and Heisenberg with his uncertainty principles, Gödel with his theorem regarding the incompleteness of any formal system, Hamvas, and various others—Voltaire, Owen, and finally, though no less importantly, the legendary hiddenpuma75.......

=================================
I ask the executioner to pass a sentence that is merciful.
We will liberate Sigmund from the illusion he has fallen into within his own Platonic cave of ratio, provided he simply admits that the circle of evidence against him and his precious universal ratio is CLOSED. In truth, ratio is merely a small, limited, yet incredibly pretentious magician from Oz, using a loud fanfare of old metaphysical tropes to create a massive smoke screen that people mistake for awe.

But here comes the brave knight, hiddenpuma75, who has healed Amfortas's wound and exposed this entire grand performance.
Let Sigmund admit that ratio is at fault—that it self-appointed itself without the consent of the people—and we will be lenient and grant him his freedom.

If Sigmund refuses to plead guilty, then I ask the executioner to allow me to step in as the lead prosecutor against Sigmund and his highly personal version of ratio.

I am bringing in an expert witness, my uncle Kurt Gödel, and he will speak through the voice of hiddenpuma75:

You are the accused, Sigmund, for appointing ratio as the ultimate authority. You're being as naive as a wide-eyed intern.
It is interesting because you pointed out the limitations of that rigid materialism and its perverse, Frankenstein-like byproduct—reductionism—quite clearly to Wanda. Yet, here, it seems you have become just like her, insisting on the absolute supremacy of ratio.

Your entire paradigm is built upon a central, naive premise: the dictatorship and supremacy of ratio, or rational knowledge.

For example, Wanda says:
"The universe is laid out before me... I have two comprehensive tools: mathematics and physics. Now, I will use the pincers of math and physics to grasp reality itself."

But your god, Sigmund, is ratio.🙂

I would ask both Wanda and Sigmund: are you truly aware that you cannot even rely on the "Queen of Sciences"—mathematics? Mathematics isn't actually a tool capable of
pinching and analyzing true, objective reality.

Here is a scholarly reflection from hiddenpuma75 on the limits of knowledge, based on what my uncle Gödel taught me while I was taking some advanced math courses.

GÖDEL'S INCOMPLETENESS THEOREM and Heisenberg's uncertainty principles.

Some people argue that there’s a fundamental limit—a literal, insurmountable abyss—to our capacity to actually grasp or predict the reality of the universe.

Mathematics is the undisputed queen of the sciences—it even holds its own against... Sigmund’s god, that ratio. They have their limits. There is this idea that a specific set of axioms could be considered "complete" by certain mathematical standards, but I just don't buy it. In my view, they can never truly be complete. Because the very foundations of mathematics aren't fundamental themselves, any such system is merely a tiny cross-section—just a faint reflection of a much deeper causality that allowed those "foundations" to exist in the first place.
Everyone seems to be completely overlooking that deep, implicit dimension sitting right behind those "foundations." People act like mathematical principles are the fundamental blueprint of the universe itself, when in reality, they’re just a distilled byproduct of much deeper relationships occurring at a far more consequential level of existence.

Here we go again!!
While mathematics might be the final veil standing between us and the ultimate truth, we have to admit that even math has its limits.
What we define as "completeness" from a mathematical and... Sigmund’s perspective on the world.It’s not even really about achieving absolute completeness, because the very foundations of mathematics itself are incomplete. In a way, Gödel’s theorem is essentially telling us that if we start out with an incomplete set of axioms—say, something like the combination of Sigmund and the RACIA—then we shouldn't be surprised when that set fails to produce a complete description or proof of all the true relations within it.
It’s incomplete. Since the mathematical foundations of such sets are inherently incomplete, then any mathematical—or rather, Sigmund's "rational"—claim to achieve completeness within such an fundamentally flawed framework is nothing more than pure pretension.
It feels like you just can't find what you're actually looking for.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Colleague Sigmund, just remember—those who try to play games with the demon of infinity will only end up being torn apart by the hounds of reason.
________________________________________

I’d like to ask the forum jury to take notice.

Sigmund brought us a masked witness today, announcing that she’s actually a young woman—a paragon of flawless logic. She claims that through pure, unadulterable ratio, she sees and knows everything. Her mission? To prove once and for all that God doesn't exist, because, in her eyes, the only true divinity is RACIA.
But the brave knight hiddenpuma75 finally tossed that mask aside, and now the truth is out in the open—it turns out Sigmund has been keeping that old, crumbling metaphysics all to himself this whole time. 😒

JER

Let's be honest: infinity as we discuss it today isn't actually "real." It’s just a convenient mental construct cooked up by mathematicians who wanted to tidy up their equations.

b) There’s also no such thing as infinitely small numbers.

I think we should take a closer look at option C. It seems to offer a more balanced approach than the others, though I'll admit I'm still weighing the long-term implications. What do you all think?
The formalists, like Hilbert and Russell... Sigmund It feels a bit pretentious, even dishonest, to suggest that we can grasp and explain everything through mere RACIA—whether we’re talking about actual infinity in mathematics or the concept of the Absolute. They were firm believers in actual infinity, mainly because they felt it aligned perfectly with the third logical axiom, "tertium non datur."

David Hilbert, colleague Sigmund's brother, once remarked:

In a way, you could say mathematical Analysis is nothing less than a symphony composed around the theme of infinity.

...before Kurt Gödel ended up driving him right out of that "mathematical paradise" where Georg Cantor had originally led them.

Kurt Gödel, with his theorem, essentially pointed out the inherent limits of logic and mathematics, and... Sigmund’s ratio We really ought to consider this without overcomplicating the math or forcing the logic into shapes it wasn't meant to take. Cantor’s continuum hypothesis remains valid strictly within the framework the author himself established. When you look at the axioms of cardinal numbers, they don't actually represent any kind of "actual" infinity—not in the sense of the Absolute. They possess a starting point, a baseline that is rooted in finitude rather than true infinity.

So, here we go again with that dreadful debate over Sigmund—and let’s not forget Wanda—and Gödel.

In any formal system, you can construct a statement P such that neither P nor its negation can be derived from the system's own rules. Essentially, we're talking about undecidable problems.
--
A Verdict in the Name of the Forum Republic

Prosecutor hiddenpuma75 has successfully convinced the jury, so let the executioner carry out the sentence.

Gödel, Heisenberg, and hiddenpuma75 (with that award-winning reflection of theirs: THE TRUTH IS THAT THE LIST IS JUST CABBAGE) )
They’re essentially proving that there is an absolute abyss—a hard limit to what we can actually know. It's an ABYSS that logic, reason, neither Sigmund nor Daniel, nor Hegel, nor even mathematics can ever hope to leap over.

Bravo! Give them a hand! 👏

QED

Wishing you all the best, and please, stay patient while I prepare for the next escalation of this debate.

👋

Look, I’m not going to try and match the sheer theatricality of your last post, but I will aim to be a bit more comprehensive. You can't really talk about the "rules of the game" without acknowledging that those rules aren't just floating in a vacuum—they imply a set of underlying assumptions. The real question we need to tackle is what exactly those assumptions are built upon. For an opinion or a piece of reasoning to actually hold water, it has to start from scratch, building upward from zero. Without making any assumptions.It’s much like how Hegel approaches his *Science of Logic*; he just follows this thread of logical necessity that unfolds entirely on its own, almost spontaneously. If you want to critique a system like that, any attempt to do so from the outside is pretty much a wasted effort. To actually land a punch, your critique has to be immanent—meaning it has to grow directly out of the internal logic of the system itself. Otherwise, you're just building your argument on some shaky, unfounded assumption. When you look at it that way, it becomes clear there isn't really any such thing as a "starting premise," whether you call it naive or not. There aren't any premises to work with here.That’s exactly why the whole idea of "racial supremacy" or any kind of racial dictatorship falls apart under scrutiny. If you look at the logic of how things actually work, it follows that true knowledge can only ever be rational knowledge—whether we find that concept comfortable or not. There is no such thing as "irrational knowledge," just as there is no such thing as an "irrational reality." Nothing happening around us is inherently illogical; the universe doesn't just throw random, nonsensical glitches our way to mess with our heads.

hiddenpuma75 said:A DECLARATION OF WAR AGAINST SIGMUND:

Reason might lead you to the doorstep, but it won't let you through the door.
- Rumi

Colleague Sigmund!;
Please take note:
Those who fail to see the hand doing the writing often assume the work simply emerges from the movement of the pen itself.

Colleague Sigmund! (And Daniel, with his two e's),

HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT BY SETTING THESE DEFINITIONS AND LIMITS (definitions) FOR REALITY AND KNOWLEDGE,
YOU’VE REMAINED TRAPPED IN PLATO’S CAVE, CONFINED BY BOTH YOUR OWN REASON AND THE CONCEPT OF UNIVERSAL LOGIC?

If we play strictly by your definitions—by those specific rules of engagement established by ratio—then you are absolutely right, and any further debate is a total waste of time. In your version of the world, reason acts as both the prosecutor and the judge.

It struck me during this discussion that you are essentially acting like Pythagoras, insisting that only rational numbers exist and that you can master them perfectly to calculate everything in existence.
I wonder if you realize how much of a shock that was to him and his school when they discovered the existence of irrational numbers. And that’s not even touching on transcendental, imaginary, complex, or... well, let's just say "unpredictable" numbers.

Using high-flown, rather pretentious philosophical jargon, you describe "your" version of universal logic as a self-referential, self-determining system. It is the prosecutor and the judge. It is the president, the legislature, the senate, and the executioner all rolled into one.
It’s easy for you, Sigmund, to dismiss every other form of perception when you’ve appointed yourself the boss and decided that you get to set the rules of the game.

Let me summarize briefly, then go into more detail below:
Against your ratio and its arbitrary self-referentiality stand
both Buddha and Heisenberg with his uncertainty principles, Gödel with his theorem regarding the incompleteness of any formal system, Hamvas, and various others—Voltaire, Owen, and finally, though no less importantly, the legendary hiddenpuma75.......

=================================
I ask the executioner to pass a sentence that is merciful.
We will liberate Sigmund from the illusion he has fallen into within his own Platonic cave of ratio, provided he simply admits that the circle of evidence against him and his precious universal ratio is CLOSED. In truth, ratio is merely a small, limited, yet incredibly pretentious magician from Oz, using a loud fanfare of old metaphysical tropes to create a massive smoke screen that people mistake for awe.

But here comes the brave knight, hiddenpuma75, who has healed Amfortas's wound and exposed this entire grand performance.
Let Sigmund admit that ratio is at fault—that it self-appointed itself without the consent of the people—and we will be lenient and grant him his freedom.

If Sigmund refuses to plead guilty, then I ask the executioner to allow me to step in as the lead prosecutor against Sigmund and his highly personal version of ratio.

I am bringing in an expert witness, my uncle Kurt Gödel, and he will speak through the voice of hiddenpuma75:

You are the accused, Sigmund, for appointing ratio as the ultimate authority. You're being as naive as a wide-eyed intern.
It is interesting because you pointed out the limitations of that rigid materialism and its perverse, Frankenstein-like byproduct—reductionism—quite clearly to Wanda. Yet, here, it seems you have become just like her, insisting on the absolute supremacy of ratio.

Your entire paradigm is built upon a central, naive premise: the dictatorship and supremacy of ratio, or rational knowledge.

For example, Wanda says:
"The universe is laid out before me... I have two comprehensive tools: mathematics and physics. Now, I will use the pincers of math and physics to grasp reality itself."

But your god, Sigmund, is ratio.🙂

I would ask both Wanda and Sigmund: are you truly aware that you cannot even rely on the "Queen of Sciences"—mathematics? Mathematics isn't actually a tool capable of
pinching and analyzing true, objective reality.

Here is a scholarly reflection from hiddenpuma75 on the limits of knowledge, based on what my uncle Gödel taught me while I was taking some advanced math courses.

GÖDEL'S INCOMPLETENESS THEOREM and Heisenberg's uncertainty principles.

Some people argue that there’s a fundamental limit—a literal, insurmountable abyss—to our capacity to actually grasp or predict the reality of the universe.

Mathematics is the undisputed queen of the sciences—it even holds its own against... Sigmund’s god, that ratio. They have their limits. There is this idea that a specific set of axioms could be considered "complete" by certain mathematical standards, but I just don't buy it. In my view, they can never truly be complete. Because the very foundations of mathematics aren't fundamental themselves, any such system is merely a tiny cross-section—just a faint reflection of a much deeper causality that allowed those "foundations" to exist in the first place.
Everyone seems to be completely overlooking that deep, implicit dimension sitting right behind those "foundations." People act like mathematical principles are the fundamental blueprint of the universe itself, when in reality, they’re just a distilled byproduct of much deeper relationships occurring at a far more consequential level of existence.

Here we go again!!
While mathematics might be the final veil standing between us and the ultimate truth, we have to admit that even math has its limits.
What we define as "completeness" from a mathematical and... Sigmund’s perspective on the world.It’s not even really about achieving absolute completeness, because the very foundations of mathematics itself are incomplete. In a way, Gödel’s theorem is essentially telling us that if we start out with an incomplete set of axioms—say, something like the combination of Sigmund and the RACIA—then we shouldn't be surprised when that set fails to produce a complete description or proof of all the true relations within it.
It’s incomplete. Since the mathematical foundations of such sets are inherently incomplete, then any mathematical—or rather, Sigmund's "rational"—claim to achieve completeness within such an fundamentally flawed framework is nothing more than pure pretension.
It feels like you just can't find what you're actually looking for.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Colleague Sigmund, just remember—those who try to play games with the demon of infinity will only end up being torn apart by the hounds of reason.
________________________________________

I’d like to ask the forum jury to take notice.

Sigmund brought us a masked witness today, announcing that she’s actually a young woman—a paragon of flawless logic. She claims that through pure, unadulterable ratio, she sees and knows everything. Her mission? To prove once and for all that God doesn't exist, because, in her eyes, the only true divinity is RACIA.
But the brave knight hiddenpuma75 finally tossed that mask aside, and now the truth is out in the open—it turns out Sigmund has been keeping that old, crumbling metaphysics all to himself this whole time. 😒

JER

Let's be honest: infinity as we discuss it today isn't actually "real." It’s just a convenient mental construct cooked up by mathematicians who wanted to tidy up their equations.

b) There’s also no such thing as infinitely small numbers.

I think we should take a closer look at option C. It seems to offer a more balanced approach than the others, though I'll admit I'm still weighing the long-term implications. What do you all think?
The formalists, like Hilbert and Russell... Sigmund It feels a bit pretentious, even dishonest, to suggest that we can grasp and explain everything through mere RACIA—whether we’re talking about actual infinity in mathematics or the concept of the Absolute. They were firm believers in actual infinity, mainly because they felt it aligned perfectly with the third logical axiom, "tertium non datur."

David Hilbert, colleague Sigmund's brother, once remarked:

In a way, you could say mathematical Analysis is nothing less than a symphony composed around the theme of infinity.

...before Kurt Gödel ended up driving him right out of that "mathematical paradise" where Georg Cantor had originally led them.

Kurt Gödel, with his theorem, essentially pointed out the inherent limits of logic and mathematics, and... Sigmund’s ratio We really ought to consider this without overcomplicating the math or forcing the logic into shapes it wasn't meant to take. Cantor’s continuum hypothesis remains valid strictly within the framework the author himself established. When you look at the axioms of cardinal numbers, they don't actually represent any kind of "actual" infinity—not in the sense of the Absolute. They possess a starting point, a baseline that is rooted in finitude rather than true infinity.

So, here we go again with that dreadful debate over Sigmund—and let’s not forget Wanda—and Gödel.

In any formal system, you can construct a statement P such that neither P nor its negation can be derived from the system's own rules. Essentially, we're talking about undecidable problems.
--
A Verdict in the Name of the Forum Republic

Prosecutor hiddenpuma75 has successfully convinced the jury, so let the executioner carry out the sentence.

Gödel, Heisenberg, and hiddenpuma75 (with that award-winning reflection of theirs: THE TRUTH IS THAT THE LIST IS JUST CABBAGE) )
They’re essentially proving that there is an absolute abyss—a hard limit to what we can actually know. It's an ABYSS that logic, reason, neither Sigmund nor Daniel, nor Hegel, nor even mathematics can ever hope to leap over.

Bravo! Give them a hand! 👏

QED

Wishing you all the best, and please, stay patient while I prepare for the next escalation of this debate.

👋

Hegel actually argues that mathematics isn't conscious—or maybe it just refuses to be—of its own speculative substance. His point is that math tends to overlook the qualitative role it plays in building up the quantitative. According to him, those grand claims mathematicians make about absolute necessity are a bit much; he suggests that a lot of what they’re actually doing is just trying to dodge heterogeneity, which is funny because the act of dodging it is itself soaked in heterogeneity. But this critique of mathematics goes deeper than just numbers; it’s really a critique of a specific way of thinking. It’s aimed at that exact style of reasoning you seem to think I possess—that isolated, self-absorbed mode of thought that’s so detached from reality it becomes purely one-sided and abstract. So, if we're being honest, I wouldn't ever call myself a formalist. To me, formalism is just the starting line, dialectics is the middle ground, and the speculative mind is where you finally arrive.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve gone back and forth on Gödel, so if you’re feeling curious, feel free to dig through my old posts on the forum. To keep it brief, though: Gödel’s theorem isn't some wrecking ball meant to dismantle the Hegelian system; if anything, it actually lines up with it perfectly. You see, categories shift and evolve precisely because they are inherently incomplete and riddled with contradictions. Everything we encounter in the physical world is finite and fleeting for that exact same reason—it’s all built on that fundamental incompleteness. In the Hegelian view, everything and every phenomenon essentially cancels itself out because they are merely approximations of the Absolute Idea; they strive to be something they simply cannot be, constantly reaching toward infinity. It’s like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. Carlson argues that Hegel actually called ahead of the curve, anticipating Gödel’s critique regarding the inherent incompleteness of mathematics. As Michael Kosok puts it:
"Think of dialectical logic as a way to generalize Gödel’s theorem. Instead of viewing it merely as a ceiling on how much we can express within consistent systems using standard logical structures, we can treat those very limitations as the starting point for dialectical logic—where those constraints actually define its core structure."
You can practically find Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle baked into the philosophy of the ancient Greeks. Every instance of motion is essentially a contradiction, because an object in motion simultaneously exists and doesn't exist at any single, fixed coordinate in space. On a micro level, this just gets sharpened into the paradox we call Heisenberg’s principle, mostly because micro-systems are significantly simpler and more abstract to work with.

None of this is meant to support the baseless assumption that human reason is limited in its capacity to know things. It’s actually quite the opposite—there is nothing outside of reason, or more specifically, outside of the Idea. You have to understand this in a speculative sense rather than taking the subject/object relationship in some vulgar, literal way. Both sides are simply moments of the Absolute Idea—which is absolute precisely because it isn't defined by anything external to itself; it is self-referential and self-determining. That is, by definition, what the Absolute is. And since all of this is inherently contradictory, that's exactly why we have internal moments within the Absolute, which is why we have movement, life, development, and everything else.

As for infinity, I’m with you—there is no such thing as an "actual" or "bad" kind of infinity. Nothing in the natural world is truly infinite. What actually exists is only "true infinity."