“To think means to object. The naïve person listens and believes: his gullible mind accepts words much like his eyes receive light. No sooner the first shadow of doubt issues from his soul, and he progressively becomes aware of it, dogma is replaced by the problem, thought comes forth. He is no longer a passive listener but reacts and speaks. The first word that enlivens his discourse also nourishes his personality; yet that first word, which defines and asserts his personality, is a terrible monosyllable: but.
Antithesis overcomes thesis, doubt overcomes faith, and antinomy overcomes conclusion, giving rise to discourse with others and with oneself, to the desire to persuade others and himself, to resolve the problems that continually reappear, and to answer the objections that always turn into new objections until, finally, this process comes to a stop. Individuals either show disappointment for not being able to reach a solution, or they are satisfied for having achieved it: but the result is that in both cases, thinking stops, and when all objections are exhausted, discussion ends.
In its historical development, human thought not only is incapable of putting an end to the debate, but takes it to the extreme, multiplying the antinomy by an infinite number of antinomies: an endless series of subsequent buts. I look around and observe a multiplicity of things that have a history, and only within the context of that history can I understand them. However, history tells me what happened yesterday and the day before yesterday, when none of today's things existed. As well, other things that exist today did not exist then. Afterwards, history tells me nothing more than that the initial chaos existed. I can look at tomorrow and think about the modifications that today's things will undergo; at the day after tomorrow when today's things will have ceased to exist and others that I can only force myself to imagine will have come into being. Finally, I stop imagining and everything gets lost in that distant vagueness. So many civilizations have flourished and disappeared. What will the future of our civilization become? Progress can be identified as an ascent of a parable, which subsequently descends. Even the industrial civilization may begin to fade and, little by little, airplanes and skyscrapers will disappear into the void just as all things that once existed inside [the ancient city of] Ninive or within the Chinese walls have passed out of existence. Even human beings and our planet—of which our astronomers strive to measure the past and tuture ages from that of tire to the glacial one, from the origin to the end of the solar system—will vanish someday. Caught in this fatal succession of birth and death of everything, retreating into that microcosm that is my conscience, I cannot help but consider life as nothingness. Everything becomes, while the infinite flow of things nullifies all that exists in its incessant motion, without me being able to preserve anything of the world or of myself.
In the meantime, this flow is powerful and the world that surrounds me is full of wonders; if I fully open my eyes, I cannot help but remain stupefied. Our civilization will be destroyed someday. However, it continues to live with an even faster rhythm while its complexity becomes even more structured. Everything will be 'in vain, but the reason of the flow itselt—of such a wonderful flow—cannot be 'in vain.' Moreover, the same thinking the 'in vain' implies the thought of that which 'in vain is not,’ and it cannot be different. If something is preserved from the eternal becoming, and with it the reason of its being, the whole becoming is also preserved, and nothing can be thought of if not absolutely necessary. Both the walls of Ninive and those of China are elements of our civilization just as the entire history, pre-history, original chaos, and the future that we need to determine with our daily creativity and with our most profound ideals are elements of it.
Anyone who delves into the multiplicity and variety of things and, above all, into the logical structure of certain partial organisms, cannot doubt the logic of the entire organism. Though swept by the desperation of not being able to conclude the discourse, we can still affirm that everything is merely appearance. Afterward, we are blocked by the thought that such a complex appearance must carry a meaning and must have a reason behind it; and the reason for the existence of appearance cannot be appearance. Variation implies that which varies; appearance that which appears; becoming that which is: there is, therefore, a principle, a reality, a value, a reason for everything and for myself.
I deny and affirm. I reduce the world to the void and the void itself reintroduces the world as even more complex and rich. I deny life, and I realize that the negation itself is an act of life. However, if I want to affirm something, moved as I am by the conviction of not being able to negate everything, just before any affirmation, but reappears inexorably and the problem renews itself in the same antinomic manner.
The problem renews itselt trom the time a philosopher's activity was recorded and continues to renew itself for anyone who thinks even if advanced in age and philosophical knowledge. The antinomy that we previously mentioned and captured in its most immediate and elementary form, more or less the way it may reveal itself to a more naive and uneducated spirit, is the antinomy that manifests itself in the most difficult problems of contemporary dialectic. This seems to be anachronistic to those who are familiar with the history of philosophy. Yet it is found at the root of the philosophical inquiry of every true thinker and in a manner ever more radical and primitive as he is more profound and sincere. Sincerity generates in him the need to free himself from every superstructure, from all the knowledge that distracts him, by showing him many other paths and problems. This need leads him back to the point of departure, producing in him even the illusion of liberation from all kinds of experiences. However, he cannot be completely free, because he cannot free himself from himself and because he feels the need to return to the initial formulation of the problem since he acquired a progressively greater awareness of the many antinomies that derived from it. For example, he wants to conceive the world as good and considers love as its law, but he also realizes the presence of evil and hatred that divides. He affirms the existence of God and cannot help but think of him as the principle of goodness. At the same time, he searches in the world for the rationality underlying the development of that principle. However, as he discovers resistance that does not bend to the logic of this rationality, he turns in despair to the affirmation of the principle of evil. He is conscious of his autonomy and enjoys the freedom that allows him to be and to want, to realize himself in the world and to transform the world.
Soon after, the philosopher considers the infinite whole that transcends him and believes that he is at the mercy of a force, of a system of causes that acts in him, from which he is unable to differentiate himself or to resist. He turns to God as a guarantor of his freedom, and freedom becomes the result of God's grace. He denies God as will and infinite freedom to save his will and freedom, only to see God resurrected as a materialistic principle excluding by definition any manifestation of spiritual life. He needs to believe in his immortality with the purpose of finding a meaning for his life, but he sees death before him and is unable to truly overcome it so that being and becoming, unity and multiplicity, spirit and matter, absolute and contingent, goodness and evil, whole and nothingness remain as a permanent condition that he has to face. The world becomes split in two, taking the form of a system of dilemmas, of a single great dilemma, and our soul continues in its perennial questioning from which it is not capable of escaping.
The mystery of life is not an unknown but an antinomy. If the mystery of life were only about the unknown, individuals could abandon themselves to the bliss of ignorance; however, confronted by antinomy, they have no rest. Even so, I cannot become aware of a thesis without being also conscious of its antithesis. This problem compels me to look for a solution even though I am conscious that this solution will turn into the thesis of yet a new antinomy, one that demands a new antithesis and a new solution. Nevertheless, this is not the solution of another problem but the real solution to the first problem, which is not true because it is a solution that posits itself as a new thesis, which is only conceivable apart from every other antinomy. Unless we can break this series of antinomies once and for all, the solution to the first problem, no matter how elementary or obvious it may appear to us, cannot be considered a solution. The first problem turns into the last one and it vanishes into indistinct vagueness. If I think, I cannot help but return to the first step. The airplane is the solution of an immense series of antinomies. However, the beginning of the apkń of the airplane is still today Thale's problem. This is so true that there are those who, after having flown and gone around the world and found the solution to uncountable problems, desperate or strongly convinced of themselves, in order not think anymore or to think more, to live without God or to find God again, return to a life in the woods. They return there to remain if inertia takes over them the same way inertia could have kept them in the vortex of the mechanical civilization. However, if energies don't let them down, they will come out of it again and, then, they will take new paths and reach new goals in a continuous alternation of a beginning and an end constantly converting one into the other and constantly separate: from war to peace and from peace to war, from work to rest and from rest to work in a Faustian state of mind that never calms down.
The antinomy of thought corresponds to the same antinomy of nature since both are products of the antinomy existing between nature and thought. In the same way, just as my mind is constantly oscillating between problem and solution, so my body constantly passes from need to satisfaction and vice versa. Entangled as I am in the antinomy of their relationship, I am not able to separate the problem of the mind from the problem of the body. At a certain point, when thought vacillates and gives in to the inertia that follows effort, this antinomy shifts to the center of the other antinomies, making my body the only priority. My pen stops, my heart closes up, my generous hand withdraws, and I give in to hunger and sleep. I experience the pleasure of breathing, eating, sleeping, having sex, moving my muscles, and all the other joys of animal life. I feel great happiness, and I realize that humanity has considered it as its greatest joy. I also realize that only a saint has the strength to overcome this happiness by enduring the punishment of the flesh. The saint can overcome this joy because he has resolved the antinomy, and he believes in God.” - Ugo Spirito, ‘La vita come ricerca’ (1937)