Dylan Shaul

This paper reconstructs and evaluates Hegel’s reply to Kant’s critique of Mendelssohn’s argument for the immortality of the soul. In the Phädon, Mendelssohn argues that the soul cannot be destroyed, since it cannot be instantaneously annihilated, nor can it be gradually diminished into nothing. Against Mendelssohn, in the first Critique, Kant argues that it is possible that the soul could be destroyed by the gradual remission of the intensive magnitude of its powers to zero. In the Science of Logic, Hegel objects that both Mendelssohn and Kant’s arguments fail, since they each conceive the soul under inappropriate categories. Yet Hegel endorses a revised conception of immortality, while accepting Kant’s general critique of the pre-Kantian account of the soul. I argue that Hegel’s intervention into the Mendelssohn-Kant debate reflects his philosophical goal of formulating a higher synthesis of pre-Kantian rationalist metaphysics and Kantian transcendental philosophy.

This article evaluates whether Kant’s argument in §IX of the second Critique’s Dialectic—that theoretical knowledge of God and immortality would make the highest good practically impossible—would be convincing to a pre-Kantian “dogmatic” metaphysician who affirms this knowledge. Taking Aquinas as an exemplar of pre-Kantian metaphysics, I argue that Kant’s argument would not be convincing, since it turns out that Kant begs the question against the dogmatist. Kant therefore lacks this practical reason to reject knowledge of the unconditioned in favour of faith.

This article explores the conjunction of Hegel and the Hollywood Western through a close analysis of The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, adjudicating between competing readings of Hegel by considering their varied application to the interpretation of the film. In particular, I examine how Pippin’s reformist reading and Žižek’s revolutionary reading of Hegel produce different understandings of key themes of the Hollywood Western, including violence, law and the right of heroes. I argue that Pippin’s view of the central drama of The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance – the transition from the Old West to modern America, through a mythologised heroic act of lawless violence – is in fact much closer to Žižek’s Hegel than to his own. Specifically, Tom Doniphon emerges as a model of the Hegelian world-historical individual, whose passions bring about a revolutionary historical transformation, but who ultimately faces his own personal tragic end. I further consider the relevance of these ideas to a diagnosis of the contemporary world, especially the contemporary United States, where the intersection of violence, law and heroism remains as relevant as ever.

In the Star of Redemption, Rosenzweig excludes Purim from his account of the annual Jewish liturgical cycle, along with the other historical holidays. After reconstructing and rejecting Rosenzweig’s reasons for this exclusion, I propose a Rosenzweigian interpretation of both the Purim story and Purim practices. I argue that Purim should be considered a holiday of Redemption, whose narrative depicts the hidden hand of God in redeeming the world, and whose commandments and customs give us a foretaste of the redeemed world itself. Ultimately, pace Rosenzweig, I suggest that Purim ought to be regarded as the genuine redemptive climax of the liturgical year.

This article argues that Derrida’s critique of Hegel in Glas should be understood as a modified Neoplatonic critique. Specifically, Derrida claims that Hegel’s systematic philosophical account of the speculative identity of Thought and Being is in fact conditioned by the prior unconditional gift of Being, which necessarily lies outside the Hegelian system. I argue that this gift of Being should be understood in terms of the Neoplatonic conception of the One, which likewise gives the gift of Being, while itself remaining beyond Being. After reconstructing Derrida’s critique, I consider and evaluate possible Hegelian responses, drawing on Hegel’s own reading of Neoplatonism.

This article offers three supplements to Badiou’s claim that Hegel would have regarded cinema as the absolute art, had he lived to see it. First, I argue that we can understand Badiou’s proposed sublation of theatre by cinema on analogy to Hegel’s account of the sublation of sculpture by painting, both of which entail a transition from three-dimensionality to two-dimensionality. Second, I argue that we can understand Badiou’s proposed sublation of comic negativity by cinema on analogy to Hegel’s account of the sublation of comedy by the Revealed Religion, thereby demonstrating cinema to be the revealed art. Third, I argue that Hegel’s philosophy contains the necessary resources for recognizing the novelty of the aesthetic event of cinema, in the precise Badiousian sense, after the so-called “end of art.” Yet I suggest that this ultimately proves to bring Hegel much closer to Badiou than Badiou himself supposes.

This article provides a new reconstruction and evaluation of Kant’s argument in §IX of the second Critique’s Dialectic. Kant argues that our cognitive faculties are wisely adapted to our practical vocation since their failure to supply theoretical knowledge of God and the immortal soul is a condition of possibility for the highest good. This new reconstruction improves upon past efforts by greater fidelity to the form and content of Kant’s argument. I show that evaluating Kant’s argument requires settling various other issues in the interpretation of his moral philosophy, e.g. his account of moral psychology, motivation, education, and development.

This article offers a new argument that there must be something rather than nothing, grounded in the PSR. Inspired by the rationalist tradition running from Parmenides to Spinoza and Leibniz, I argue that there must be something rather than nothing because the contrary would constitute a violation of the PSR. In particular, I argue that, if there was nothing, there could be no sufficient reason for it, since nothing at all would exist to serve as a sufficient reason. Therefore, given the PSR, something must exist after all. After presenting and explaining this new argument, I consider a series of objections and replies, and develop some of its broader philosophical implications.

This article tracks Derrida's readings of Kant and Husserl as they explore the relation between, on the one hand, faith and knowledge, and on the other, theory and practice. Kant had to limit the scope of theoretical knowledge in order to make room for a practical faith in the rational ideas of the unconditioned, generated through the unconditionality of the moral law. Husserl deployed the figure of ‘the Idea in the Kantian sense’ at those crucial moments in the exposition of his transcendental phenomenology where the unconditioned comes into play, a problematic strategy that Derrida judges to have revealed the limits of the phenomenological project. While Husserl's call for an unconditional theoretical and practical renewal of faith in reason appears to offer him an out, Husserlian faith is ultimately dependent on an untenable circularity, to which the Kantian variety also succumbs. Only Derrida's unconditional gift of faith can save the honour of reason from its mortal crisis, but in a manner that is itself not wholly a matter of reason.

Abstractabstract:This article argues for an interpretation of doctrine 7 of universal faith in Spinoza's Theological-Political Treatise—that God pardons the sins of those who repent—that renders it true in the terms set by Spinoza's Ethics. Though categorized in the Ethics as a vice, repentance nevertheless has a positive political function as the lesser of two evils, supplanting the greater evils of unrepentant pride and shamelessness. The philosopher can understand God's pardon as the natural advantage conferred by repentance itself insofar as it supplants those greater evils. This pardon arises through the laws of Nature (God's mercy and grace), which are equally responsible for that very repentance. The philosophical truth of the doctrines of universal faith ensures that freedom of philosophizing can be granted without harm to the peace or piety of the Republic and cannot be denied without destroying the same.

This article imagines an alternative outcome to Hegel’s life-and-death struggle for recognition, one commensurate with Derrida’s critique of Hegel’s allegedly reserved negativity. Rather than pro-ducing lord and bondsman, the struggle is shown to be capable of producing a host and a guest, operating under the relation of hos-pitality. Pitt-Rivers’s reinterpretation of Boas’s classic ethnographic account of Inuit hospitality provides a model for the emergence of the alternative outcome. Derrida’s equation of deconstruction with hospitality illustrates its fundamental differences from Hegelian dialectics, expanding the significance of the struggle and its out-comes to the meaning of Hegel’s philosophy as a whole.

This article investigates Levinas’s readings of Plato and Descartes in Totality and Infinity, in relation to the question of teaching. Levinas identifies Plato’s Form of the Good and Descartes’s idea of the infinite as two models for his own conception of the Other. Yet while Levinas lauds Descartes’s theory of teaching, he is highly critical of Plato’s. Plato’s theory of teaching as recollection or maieutics is judged by Levinas to display merely the circular return of the Same to its own interiority. In contrast, the Cartesian God supplies the idea of the infinite to a subject incapable of generating it for itself, offering an account of teaching that respects the Other’s transcendent exteriority. I nonetheless argue for the possibility of a rapprochement between Levinas and Plato with regard to teaching. Ultimately, this serves to bolster Levinas’s own theory of teaching, for which both Plato and Descartes can rightly serve as fitting predecessors.

It seems natural to suppose that the burgeoning field of critical phenomenology would come to bear at least some affinities or resemblances (whether implicitly or explicitly) to critical theory, insofar as both are deeply concerned with directing a rigorous critical eye towards the most pressing political, economic, cultural, and social issues of our time. Yet critical theory has also had its share of critics of phenomenology itself, not least of which was the foremost member of the first-generation Frankfurt School critical theorists, Theodor W. Adorno. Adorno’s critique of phenomenology was, for historical reasons, confined to Edmund Husserl and Martin Heidegger, and might be concisely put as follows: for Adorno, classical phenomenology is insufficiently critical towards contemporary realities of oppression and domination (an insufficiency variously attributed to an alleged pernicious idealism, solipsism, methodological individualism, descriptivism, or ahistoricism in classical phenomenology). On this count, critical phenomenologists today may very well agree—at least to the point of affirming that phenomenology’s critical potential remained largely “untapped” in its classical formulations. However, in a twist of historical fate, Adorno failed to engage with a contemporaneous phenomenologist with whom he perhaps had more in common than anyone else: Emmanuel Levinas. Levinas himself was also notably critical of Husserl and Heidegger (while of course also being enormously indebted to them), for reasons not altogether dissimilar to Adorno’s. For Levinas, phenomenology had hitherto neglected the fundamental ethical or moral dimensions of experience—in particular our ethical responsibility towards the Other in the face of the manifold evils and injustices of the world. What might Adorno have thought of Levinas’s work, and Levinas of Adorno’s? What might they have learned from one another? And how might this exchange have affected the trajectories of critical theory, phenomenology, or critical phenomenology?

This article reconstructs and compares Kristeva’s account of psychoanalytic interpretation as a practice of forgiveness with Hegel’s account of the origin of Absolute Knowing in the forgiveness constitutive of mutual recognition. An emphasis on homologies between the memory-work of Kristevan psychoanalysis and the recollective process of Hegelian Absolute Knowing elicits deeper affinities between Kristeva and Hegel than have previously been supposed. Both Kristevan and Hegelian forgiveness operate as the healing of an originary guilt, achieved through the verbal confession and examination of the confessor’s particular biographical and historical past, negating and raising up—sublating or sublimating—the contradictions of consciousness. Psychoanalysis and Absolute Knowing both enact in the present the reconciliation which religion perpetually defers to an unspecified future. While not replacing the institution of legal punishment, Kristevan and Hegelian forgiveness qua personal and social renewal and rebirth provide for the possibility of radical political transformation.

This article employs Freud’s distinction between mourning and melancholia to clarify Adorno’s reading of Kierkegaard. Adorno finds in Kierkegaard’s view of love for the dead both the consummate reified fetish of our instrumentalizing exchange society, and the only unmutilated relation left to us in our otherwise thoroughly damaged lives. Adorno’s negative dialectics emerges as the melancholy science resulting from a disfigured mourning’s present impossibility, upholding a material moral motive rooted in the unmournability of historical catastrophe. Yet this very melancholia also proves to be the last unlikely refuge of hope—in a Kierkegaardian sense—for a future redemption.

This article reconstructs and evaluates a debate between Pippin and Žižek over the proper interpretation of Hitchcock’s Vertigo, in relation to Hegel’s concept of reconciliation. Both Pippin and Žižek agree that Vertigo exemplifies Hegelian reconciliation: Scottie exhibits Hegel’s reconciliatory “negation of negation” when he realizes that his lost love Madeleine had really been Judy all along, thereby losing his original loss. Yet Pippin and Žižek disagree on the precise significance of the concept of reconciliation both for the film and for the contemporary world. Žižek argues for a revolutionary reading of reconciliation in Vertigo: we learn from reconciliation that we must make a revolutionary break from the present world, in order to bring about a wholly new world. Pippin argues for a reformist reading of reconciliation in Vertigo: we learn from reconciliation that we must find the “traces of reason” latent in the present world, in order to gradually reform it for the better. Ultimately, I argue that Žižek’s reading offers the more authentically Hegelian approach to interpreting Hitchcock’s Vertigo. But if nothing else, the Pippin-Žižek debate demonstrates the profound intellectual fecundity of the intersections between film and philosophy for understanding our current historical moment.