Veritas adequatio intellectus ad rem

-Vision is the adequation of optical organs to the EM spectrum; hearing is the adequation of auditory organs to percussion waves in a medium, and all other senses (whether actual or possible, and they are infinite) are a similar sort of atunement to some bandwidth of reality, or some surface-level manifestation of the physical world. But truth is the adequation of intellect to thing.

-Adequation is being equal to (ad-equatio).

-When we understand truth in opposition to other sorts of knowing, three things follow: (1.) “thing” is infinite and transcendental in opposition to limited, surface-level modes of knowing, (2.) ‘Truth’ shares in this in a complete manner by the adequation. (3.) Intellect contains truth, and in this sense transcends even transcendence.

-There are things we cannot know, even in principle: we can’t know Graham’s number by enumerating it, or various possible languages, or the exact liturgy of the Apostles from known texts, etc. But to know things at all is belongs to intellect; and to fail to know them is from a failure to be commeasurate to a thing. But it’s  no surprise to hear we are not pure intellects.

-Vision is the adequation of optical organs to the EM spectrum, but truth is the adequation of intellect to a thing. But even to see the EM spectrum as a thing is to see it through intellect. It’s not that the world is given to us by sensation and we have to find some special object of intellect on top of it, as though intellect were a sixth sense.

-Plenty of animals have more acute sense powers than us, but they don’t see things for all that.

 

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7 Comments

  1. February 24, 2013 at 8:12 pm

    I’m not a philosopher but recently I’ve been having a new appreciation for the word “adequate.” The connotation of adequate has been for me, “reaching the minimum necessary,” like, “is that rivet adequate to hold?”

    Now I appreciate the word much more, as in “an adequate anthropology,” which really does mean the whole thing or “equal to.” An adequate anthropology fully explains about man what needs explaining.

    • February 25, 2013 at 8:10 am

      When Latin joined a preposition to something to make a new word, the preposition came first, while in English, for whatever reason, the preposition tends to be put second. So we say “thrown back” where Latin would say “rejectus”, we say [they] “are away” and the Latin is “absunt” we say “carry across” and they say “transfero” etc. in the same way the English is “Equal to” where the Latin is “adequatus”.

      The paradox of the word is that “equal to” ends up meanign “merely equal to” that is, nothing superlative or special. It ends up being the C- adjective.

  2. Paul Trueman said,

    February 24, 2013 at 10:07 pm

    I doubt I need to post on here as yet. I am in no doubt that I know you very well. You are certainly a female knight and a Saint to say the least. Your insights are reminiscent of those of my one time girlfriend Holy Santa Maria and that might well be who you are.. It was Her Mother who’s name was Mary, hence Mary Mother of Maria, The Mother of the World. The Book has a photo of a girl facing away: you look like The Holly and Ivy Holy Maria. So if it is you, this song is for you as is based on Cavatina: –

    She Was Beautiful

    She was beautiful,
    Beautiful like the sun,
    And the very first time,
    Ever I saw her face,
    The world had yet to come,
    And she was so beautiful there to behold,
    That the moonlight in her eyes,
    Defined her,
    And designed her,
    Arms and things and bows and strings,
    A birdwing butterfly,

    Yes she was so colourful carefree and wild,
    That my calling was her fame,
    But the days passed,
    The love lost,
    The memories remain,

    She was beautiful,
    Beautiful like the sun,
    And the very first time,
    Ever I saw her face,
    The world had yet to come,
    And she was so beautiful there to behold,
    That the moonlight in her eyes,
    Defined her,
    And designed her,
    Arms and things and bows and strings,
    A birdwing butterfly,

    Now a heart beats to a freedom ensnared,
    By the words born of a song,
    Did she hear me,
    Or fear me,
    Tell me I am wrong,

    She was beautiful,
    Beautiful like the sun,
    And the very first time,
    Ever I saw her face,
    The world had yet to come,
    And she was so beautiful there to behold,
    That the moonlight in her eyes,
    Defined her,
    And designed her,
    Arms and things and bows and strings,
    A birdwing butterfly,

    For she was beautiful,
    Perhaps too beautiful,
    For the world,
    Such beauty as life,
    Could hold,
    Here among the scattered helpers,
    Lost among the fallout shelters,
    Wherever the fearful tread the wild,
    For she was beautiful,
    And she was freedom’s child,

    Did the time pass in the still of the night?
    Did I realize far too late,
    How she wired me,
    Inspired me,
    Destiny or fate,

    She was beautiful,
    Beautiful like the sun,
    And the very first time,
    Ever I saw her face,
    The world had yet to come,
    And she was so beautiful there to behold,
    That the moonlight in her eyes,
    Defined her,
    And designed her,
    Arms and things and bows and strings,
    A birdwing butterfly,

    For she was beautiful,
    Beautiful,
    Far too beautiful to be mine,

    copyright Paul Trueman 2006, 2007, 2011, 2012.

    Saint Paul – The Lord of Love. Mother nature’s Son.

    • Rose said,

      August 15, 2013 at 8:53 pm

      If you’re talking about the blog owner, it’s a guy.

  3. Paul Trueman said,

    February 24, 2013 at 10:09 pm

    The Cradled Dream

    She was sleeping,
    I’m still dreaming,
    Lost in the memories,
    Of all that I found there,
    Somewhere,
    In a time when I knew her,
    In moments awoken,
    Long ago,
    Knowing soulful the words,
    On a song sheet arrayed,
    They must all fade into grey,
    Never to rival,
    The light of her day,
    Surrendering nothing,
    No calling betrayed,
    For deep are the fountain’s,
    Sacred soul,
    Passing milestones,
    Testing tolls,
    They were her landmarks,
    One and all,

    And I will never say,
    Never again,
    To her heart,
    Never say,
    Never again,
    To the part,
    Or the cradled dream departs,

    For if the love lines,
    Are the right lines,
    Can a love song,
    Lost in a desert,
    Reach out,
    Futile and dreaming,
    Beyond where the meanings,
    Must reside,

    And when the dark lines,
    Measure the deep times,
    Can the lover,
    Though scorned and a stranger,
    Shine on,
    Never fearing betrayal,
    With all that is hateful,
    Cast aside,

    That he may never say,
    Never again,
    To the heart,
    Never say,
    Never again,
    To the part,
    Or the cradled dream departs,

    For the love lines,
    Are fragile and treasured,
    Being the right lines,
    Measure their part,
    Knowing a lifetime’s,
    Dreams are forever,
    In spite of the right time’s,
    Failing chart,

    And should our lifelines,
    Last our lifetimes,
    May their memories,
    Eternally play here,
    Stay here,
    Wide awake on the ocean,
    Where breaking emotions,
    Turn the tide,

    That we may never say,
    Never again,
    To the heart,
    Never say,
    Never again,
    To the part,
    Or the cradled dream departs,

    Ending in never say never again,
    To the heart,
    Never say never again,
    Torn apart,
    Or the cradled dream departs,

    She was sleeping,
    I’m still dreaming,
    If she’s out there…

    © copyright Paul Trueman 2012.

    And this one is for you anyway, based on what I have read so far.
    .

  4. Paul Trueman said,

    February 24, 2013 at 10:16 pm

    I know of no young lady in the world with a more beautiful character than yours as things stand. I want to read all of your blog and books and I will do that as quickly as possible.

    Paul

  5. Paul Trueman said,

    February 24, 2013 at 10:19 pm

    Even so, if I makes mistakes, and we all do, I can set them right. I may well have been deceived in this masquerade in the past. But, the fruits of your labours are untainted, and indicative of the utmost good faith towards others. I at least one beehive, you would be the queen bee.

    Paul


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