Don’t you like a bit of turmoil? No? Oh! Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who wants life with no surprises, a flat roller coaster during the off-season.
Hegel’s dialectic has three parts: The thesis, the antithesis, and the synthesis. You probably make it part of your intellectual life. It goes where you go. You make a point to which there is always a counterpoint. Gotta get some resolution. So, you synthesize. You put together something that is greater than thesis and its antithesis. Ah! The world makes sense. You’ve found the resolution to all that is contradictory.
Boring. Without the synthesis, the world is a yin-yang, a plethora of opposites, chaos between different sides of an issue, or a feeling, a behavior, a lifestyle. Synthesis is a smooth world. No bumps. No grumbling. No clashing. No doubts that you might have missed something, that your categories might be overlapping like a platypus: something of bird, mammal, and reptile.
You probably feel a bit more challenged and “alive” when the thesis and antithesis are at odds, when life is a bit more chaotic. Once resolved, where does a former set of contentions leave you? Are you really that kind of person? Really? Are you sure you don’t want just a bit of surprise now and then? Are you sure you don't like being a little unsure? Do you really want every place to be the same color with no hills, no spills—no thrills. We’re not talking jumping from a plane, but we’re not talking about flat lining, either.
The thesis: You argue for balance, equilibrium, smoothness, peace, AND harmony as you believe you can achieve them. You think the argument is the best you can do, that your lifestyle and beliefs all fit together nicely. Then you realize the excluded part, that is, the part of the argument that doesn't fit. Something wrong with the categories, something's left out, or something is included that shouldn’t be there. Holy Cow! You realize you’ve become a platypus. The antithesis: You argue with yourself. How could I have missed that? Not necessarily vociferously, but at least a little protest when you disagree with the thesis you yourself proposed and defended when you needed to stand for a principle that seemed so nailed down and definite at the time.
New argument. New resolution. Then, your new synthesis gives way to new analysis. Doubt, you realize, might be better than surety. For Hegel, synthesis became the new thesis. Doubting is the lifestyle you desire.
You can aim for synthesis if you want, but when you achieve it, you’ll probably ask, “What’s next?” Theses and antitheses drive you.
Hegel’s dialectic has three parts: The thesis, the antithesis, and the synthesis. You probably make it part of your intellectual life. It goes where you go. You make a point to which there is always a counterpoint. Gotta get some resolution. So, you synthesize. You put together something that is greater than thesis and its antithesis. Ah! The world makes sense. You’ve found the resolution to all that is contradictory.
Boring. Without the synthesis, the world is a yin-yang, a plethora of opposites, chaos between different sides of an issue, or a feeling, a behavior, a lifestyle. Synthesis is a smooth world. No bumps. No grumbling. No clashing. No doubts that you might have missed something, that your categories might be overlapping like a platypus: something of bird, mammal, and reptile.
You probably feel a bit more challenged and “alive” when the thesis and antithesis are at odds, when life is a bit more chaotic. Once resolved, where does a former set of contentions leave you? Are you really that kind of person? Really? Are you sure you don’t want just a bit of surprise now and then? Are you sure you don't like being a little unsure? Do you really want every place to be the same color with no hills, no spills—no thrills. We’re not talking jumping from a plane, but we’re not talking about flat lining, either.
The thesis: You argue for balance, equilibrium, smoothness, peace, AND harmony as you believe you can achieve them. You think the argument is the best you can do, that your lifestyle and beliefs all fit together nicely. Then you realize the excluded part, that is, the part of the argument that doesn't fit. Something wrong with the categories, something's left out, or something is included that shouldn’t be there. Holy Cow! You realize you’ve become a platypus. The antithesis: You argue with yourself. How could I have missed that? Not necessarily vociferously, but at least a little protest when you disagree with the thesis you yourself proposed and defended when you needed to stand for a principle that seemed so nailed down and definite at the time.
New argument. New resolution. Then, your new synthesis gives way to new analysis. Doubt, you realize, might be better than surety. For Hegel, synthesis became the new thesis. Doubting is the lifestyle you desire.
You can aim for synthesis if you want, but when you achieve it, you’ll probably ask, “What’s next?” Theses and antitheses drive you.
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