Every finite one is articulated from the infinite One by degrees of nihilitude. Nihilitude and finitude belong entirely to infinitude and are essential within infinite self-articulation. Before the beginning, there is a faint trace of indivisible difference. At the beginning, infinity and the possibility of finite being divide without exclusion. In the beginning, exclusive subjectivities separate from one another. Thereafter, everything is a sum of objects, and non-objects are nothing. Each degree layers nihilitude upon nihilitude.

Hermeneutic presequence is an implicit question upstream of belief, and pragmatic consequence is a field of implicit action downstream from belief.

The pragmatic consequence of a belief is its implicit “Therefore…?”

The hermeneutic presequence of a belief is its implicit “Wherefore…?” “and this answers what?”

Belief is prior to speech and action. Belief is the fruit of faith, a wherefore and therefore, a wither and whence of spirit, a rustling in the present.

The wherefore flows from Yetzirah; the therefore unfolds into Assiyah.

Sophists are so spiritually underdeveloped that they lack the capacity to conceive even the possibility of wisdom transcending their own. This is one of the most radical category mistakes, for wisdom is precisely active awareness of this possibility. Wisdom is wise most of all to how oblivion works and lives in ironic tension between certainty and certainty of disruptive, radical surprise ex nihilo.

Metacognitive incompetence entered the popular sphere as Dunning-Kruger.

But millennia before, Plato spoke of metasophical incompetence as double-ignorance — not knowing that one does not know. Socrates knew he did not know, and for this reason was the wisest man in Athens.

But every age has its sophists who know they know and, with the confidence and barbarous serenity of youth, dispense to all what everyone knows is wisdom: wisdom is confident, self-certain, calming, comforting, accepting. Who wouldn’t pay top dollar for such wisdom?

One fool’s dissenting wisdom:

The dangers for a philosopher’s development are indeed so manifold today that one may doubt whether this fruit can still ripen at all. The scope and the tower-building of the sciences has grown to be enormous, and with this also the probability that the philosopher grows weary while still learning or allows himself to be detained somewhere to become a “specialist” — so he never attains his proper level, the height for a comprehensive look, for looking around, for looking down. Or he attains it too late, when his best time and strength are spent — or impaired, coarsened, degenerated, so his view, his overall judgment does not mean much any more. It may be precisely the sensitivity of his intellectual conscience that leads him to delay somewhere along the way and to be late: he is afraid of the seduction to become a dilettante, a millipede, an insect with a thousand antennae, he knows too well that whoever has lost his self-respect cannot command or lead in the realm of knowledge — unless he would like to become a great actor, a philosophical Cagliostro and pied piper, in short, a seducer. This is in the end a question of taste, even if it were not a question of conscience. Add to this, by way of once more doubling the difficulties for a philosopher, that he demands of himself a judgment, a Yes or No, not about the sciences but about life and the values of life — that he is reluctant to come to believe that he has a right, or even a duty, to such a judgment, and must seek his way to this right and faith only from the most comprehensive — perhaps most disturbing and destructive — experiences, and frequently hesitates, doubts, and lapses into silence. Indeed, the crowd has for a long time misjudged and mistaken the philosopher, whether for a scientific man and ideal scholar or for a religiously elevated, desensualized, “desecularized” enthusiast and sot of God. And if a man is praised today for living “wisely” or “as a philosopher,” it hardly means more than “prudently and apart.” Wisdom — seems to the rabble a kind of escape, a means and a trick for getting well out of a wicked game. But the genuine philosopher — as it seems to us, my friends? — lives “unphilosophically” and “unwisely,” above all imprudently, and feels the burden and the duty of a hundred attempts and temptations of life — he risks himself constantly, he plays the rough game…

The substance of oblivion, ignorance and the very possibility of surprise is shared with relevance, focus, discrimination and mortality. Nihilitude, and more nihilitude. Without nihilitude, we return to our source.