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Hegel, the Legend of Evil, and Flusser’s Scepticism

Wanderley Dias da Silva

Katholieke Universiteit Leuven

wanderley.diasdasilva@student.kuleuven.be

Abstract In this paper I‟ll consider two interpretations of legends derived from the Book of

Genesis in connection with evil: Hegel‟s version of the story of the Fall of Man and Vilém Flusser‟s

analysis of the story of Creation, defending the latter. Hegel‟s historical theory is a theodicy. This is

to say that history is nothing but the content of God‟s governance. So, says Hegel, we must

understand that „What was intended by Eternal Wisdom is actually accomplished in the domain of

existence, as well as in that of mere Nature.‟ Flusser did not buy any of this. On the contrary, history

is, he says, nothing but the unfolding of the Devil, the serpent Hegel exonerated in his account of the

fall. In Flusser‟s own terms, the whole symphony of civilization, „all the progress of humanity

against the limits imposed upon us by the divine is nothing but the majestic work of the Devil.‟

What follows from this is a particular type of Epicureanism. To be moral agents, says Flusser, we

must „refuse to be made prisoners of the [tiring] and boring conversation now under way in the

Western civilization, that tedious conversation called progress.‟ For this purpose, the task of

philosophy is to restore the „myth‟ science has long forgotten. Flusser‟s radicalism, I would say,

marks his best contribution to moral philosophy, avoiding as it does the complications associated

with Hegel‟s theory. So, it is tempting to claim that Flusser‟s scepticism puts him closer to solving

the problem of evil than Hegel. But the question whether his moral reflections can be integrated into

our daily lives remains to be answered.

Keywords: God, Devil, Mosaic Myths, World History, Progress, Evil.

Introduction

In its simplest form, Hegel‟s historical theory is a theodicy, i.e., a vindication of the divine

plans. On his view, then, human history is nothing but the content of God‟s governance and

will. In his own terms, we must understand that “What was intended by Eternal Wisdom

[God] is actually accomplished in the domain of existence [history], active Spirit, as well as

in that of mere Nature” (2007:15). Now, it is obvious that if Hegel is going to talk about

history in this way, he needs to account for the presence of worldly evil.

Hegel discusses the problem in his version of the Mosaic story of the Fall of Man1

(or fall for short). In this articulation, when we turn to the lives of Adam and Eve in the

Garden of Eden we find, in principle, a state of existence that is not meant to be, since it is a

condition of innocence and ignorance. For Hegel, then, life in the paradise of unity is evil

and thus has to be overcome. So he says, “Nature is for man only the starting point which he

has to transform.” Ultimately, this is what the assertion “he must produce and eat bread in

1 Following on Hegel, I shall use the term “man” synecdochically throughout this essay to mean “human

being” in general, unless stated otherwise.

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the sweat of his brow” means (1892:46-47). Otherwise stated, for Hegel man is not fully

self-conscious at first and, therefore, needs to undergo a process of cognitive development.

This means man needs to triumph over natural evil, making himself what he is, as a self-

conscious act. That is why Eve and then Adam ate the forbidden fruit of the tree of

knowledge of good and evil in the first place. But when that begins to happen, when man

becomes self-conscious, evil emerges again; this time in the form of knowledge.

Talk of such a double evil surely brings us to Hegel‟s dialectics. I shall leave this to

be considered in the next section though. What is relevant for the moment is that, arguing

the way he does – that history manifests an increasing degree of rationality as it evolves –

Hegel turns evil into a necessary and inevitable step in the improvement of human nature.

This of course raises important questions. But first it will be in order to consider Vilém

Flusser‟s objection. Unlike Hegel, Flusser doesn‟t think that history encompasses the work

of a Supreme God. On the contrary, for him world history is actually nothing but the

unfolding of the Devil, the serpent Hegel exonerates in his account of the fall.2 In Flusser‟s

own terms, the whole symphony of civilization, “all the progress of humanity against the

limits imposed upon us by the divine, and our daily struggle for the Promethean fire of

freedom, is nothing but the majestic work of the Devil” (2008:22). This contention deserves

careful consideration since Flusser hasn‟t spoken of evil in an equally vigorous manner that

often. We shall, nevertheless, find a related claim in his later essay War and the State of

Things, in which he says that “everything that is good for something is pure Evil” (1999:33).

This is of course the central point of contention between Flusser and Hegel. Where

Hegel sees God‟s governance and the execution of divine plans, Flusser sees the majestic

work of the devil. That is why, unlike Hegel, Flusser doesn‟t think that history manifests an

increasing degree of rationality as it develops. Quite the opposite, human history only

deteriorates as it progresses. Arguing this way, Flusser also rejects Hegel‟s notion of a linear

development of Geist within world history. Simply put, for Flusser progress is not a good

place for spirit to end up. This radicalism, I would say, is Flusser‟s best contribution to

moral philosophy, as it demands us to rethink our sources of true happiness. But before

embarking on a detailed discussion, something needs to be said about Flusser‟s general

claim. What does it mean to say that history is nothing but the unfolding of the Devil? This,

2 Hegel clearly adopts the Gnostic view that the serpent in the Garden of Eden was the Devil in disguise;

but a word of explanation may be in order here. There is no evidence in the Book of Genesis or in the Old Testament for that matter in support of this idea. Of course Ezekiel 28:13 speaks of the devil thus: “You were in Eden, the Garden of God”. Yet, this is no clear evidence that the devil was there as the serpent. What about the New Testament? Paul, for example, in II Corinthians 11:3 says: “But I am afraid that just as Eve was deceived by the serpent’s cunning, your minds may somehow be led astray from your sincere and pure devotion to Christ.” This passage is sometimes interpreted to fit the Gnostic argument. Still, one can easily contend that Paul is speaking in a rather metaphorical way. It is only in the Book of Revelation (12:9 and 20:2) – the same book Marcion, Tertullian, Luther, and Calvin rejected on the basis of being “not Christian at all” or “simply offensive” – that we shall find direct quotes identifying the serpent with the devil, “the serpent is called the devil or Satan.” This indicates that the idea developed much later. Let’s consider the Koranic version of Genesis, for example – which didn’t exist in book form at the time of Muhammad’s death in 632 CE. There the issue is very clearly stated: Iblis (Satan) was sent to earth along with Adam and Eve, after having deceived them into eating the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil. It is not hard to see that this is partially coherent with the episode in Ezekiel quoted above. However, this is still a matter of interpretation, as Satan could have been in “Eden, the Garden of God” in his heydays, as Lucifer – the Light Bearer. So, on this picture, it is perfectly sound to argue that the concept serpent-devil is a much later invention. Perhaps, as Flusser has it, it is another adaptation of the logos Christianity borrowed from Orphism (2008:195). Nevertheless, for the sake of argument, I am going to follow on Hegel and accept the serpent as the representation of the Devil.

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of course, provokes yet another important question. If “everything” is pure Evil as Flusser

says, how are we to realistically provide the more human element with the meaning, values,

truth, and goals it pursues? Inasmuch as he equates “the whole symphony of civilization”

(2008:22) with the unfolding of the majestic work of the Devil, at times Flusser appears

incapable of succinctly explaining how exactly avoiding evil is even possible.

Interestingly enough, despite the vigour of his writings, Flusser himself seemed

dissatisfied with the intellectual cul-de-sac into which his claims had led him. Thus, when

asked by J. C. Ismael in an interview in 1970 whether the devil had the last laugh, he

admitted: “I have not resolved the problem of the devil; I have decided instead against

madness.” The difficulty arises because, apparently, Flusser‟s argument ends

inconclusively. This, I take it, is a reasonable objection but one that doesn‟t stand up to

scrutiny. If we read the two texts mentioned above closely, we shall see that Flusser‟s

solution to the problem of evil is rather simple and uncompromising, avoiding as it does the

difficulties associate with Hegel‟s historical theory. The most serious objection to the

Hegelian thesis is that it can only account for the kind of evil which evolves from inner

struggle. But an effective moral theory must justify other types of evil such as all forms of

crimes, wars, and genocide (Beiser 2005:275). So on this picture, we should not be

surprised to hear that, for Flusser, all Hegel accomplished with his historical model was to

“replace the self-indulgent gods of thunder and rain for a pallid notion of nationalism”

(2008:89). The net result is, I would say, that Flusser is much closer to solving the problem

of evil than Hegel.

To proceed, I will look first at Hegel‟s concept of evil, then, too briefly to be sure, at

the claim that his interpretation of evil as “self-negation” is simply too subjective. I next

investigate Flusser‟s analysis of the story of Creation, and how his Epicurean doctrine bears

on our understanding of evil; as I hope will become clear, arguing the way he does, Flusser

contributes both to moral philosophy and to the possibility of that in practice. Flusser‟s

radicalism, I suggest, marks his best contribution to current discourses in ethics, avoiding as

it does the difficulties associated with Hegel's theory. The paper will conclude with a rather

concise note on what I take to be an intriguing problem with Flusser‟s model.

Hegel and the story of the Fall of Man

If we begin with Hegel‟s interpretation of the fall, we will end up with a picture of evil as a

necessary and inevitable step in the improvement of human nature and understanding. To

appreciate Hegel‟s account, though, it is best that we begin with a summary of the original

story.

The Book of Genesis vividly informs us that, in the beginning, God told Adam and

Eve that they could freely eat of every fruit in the garden, but of the tree that stood in the

middle of paradise, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil they should not eat or they

would die. The legend also tells us that along came a being in the form of a serpent, “slier

than every beast in the field,” which tempted Eve to disobey God. The serpent told Eve that

eating the fruit would make her as God – knowing good and evil. To make a long story

short, Eve and then Adam ate of the forbidden fruit of knowledge, becoming aware of their

nakedness. Then, ashamed, they made coverings of fig leaves and hid from the sight of God.

The upshot is that, upon discovering that Adam and Eve had disobeyed him, God expelled

them from paradise. He then cursed the serpent above all animals, “You will crawl on your

belly and you will eat dust all the days of your life.” Eve God punished with pain in

childbirth and with subordination to her husband; and Adam He punished with a life of hard

work (Genesis 3:1-24).

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Admittedly, the tenets of this story vary according to religious view and

circumstances.3 But we need not dwell here on these differences, for (I trust) the outline

above suffices for our understanding of Hegel‟s argumentation.

In commenting this story, Hegel explains: “the very concept of human being [spirit]

suffices to show us that man is evil by nature” (1892:46-47). Hence we may call the Garden

of Eden a “zoological garden,” since here spirit is not distinguished from the natural, i.e.,

from animal life. This state of innocence and ignorance is thus evil. It is exactly for this

reason that humanity elevates itself to the knowledge of good and evil; that is why Adam

and Eve ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. This legend portrays, then, two

fundamental aspects of human existence: 1) that man is not fully self-conscious at first and,

therefore, needs to undergo a process of cognitive development; and 2) that “humanity must

make itself what it is; it must produce and eat bread in the sweat of its brow, [and this]

belongs to what is most essential and distinctive about it [life], and coheres necessarily with

the knowledge of good and evil” (1985:303). More simply, man has to overcome natural

evil, making himself what he is, as a self-conscious act.

However, in the course of discovering reason, man moves from one evil to another;

from the state of innocence in the natural paradise of unity to the level of knowledge or

cognition. So for Hegel knowledge is also evil, since it means a “general judging or

dividing.” Now, says Hegel, “We seem at first to have a double evil here: but both are really

the same” (ibid:301). So, although there appears to be two different definitions of evil here,

and perhaps two different ways to transcend it, strictly speaking there is just one form of

evil. This of course brings us back to a point I put aside earlier, Hegel‟s dialectics. Let us,

then, briefly consider it.

For Hegel the whole of reality is involved in a compulsory dialectical process of

self-realization; moving from the more general to the more specific, from the abstract to the

concrete. On this view, everything progresses in a triadic manner. Hegel calls these stages

affirmation, negation, and negation of the negation, that is, the affirmation of something

new. And at every step in this process, spirit manifests (necessarily) an increasing degree of

rationality, self-understanding, and freedom.

In short, this is what the double source of evil in Hegel amounts to: Man begins in a

condition of innocence and ignorance; this is the most general and abstract state in which

spirit resides. But in such a situation man is an individual simply. To remain in this state of

innocence is to remain an individual only. As Hegel puts it, in this position the individual

just lives in “the natural wickedness of man – being a creature of nature, behaving and

following the cravings of his appetite.” So he insists on this feature: “Nature is for man only

the starting point which he has to transform.” The moment man leaves the path of mere

nature “marks the difference between him, as a self-conscious agent [though yet to be], and

the natural world” (1892:46-47). In dialectical terms, knowledge negates the state of nature.

But this split from nature, this lapse from the natural paradise of unity – “though it forms a

necessary element in the very notion of spirit” – is not man‟s ultimate environment either.

Hence it is also evil. Why is this? Because it is a contradiction; it contains the two sides:

good and evil.

3 Perhaps the most controversial aspect of the story concerns the “true” identity of the serpent; whether

it was the devil himself. See previous footnote for further discussion.

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Following Hegel‟s dialectics, we shall see that this contradiction (inevitably) leads

us to a third category, the affirmation of something new. And one thing that quickly

emerges from Hegel‟s reading of the fall is that “in the same way this cleavage is a source

of evil; it is also the midpoint of the conversion that consciousness contains within itself

whereby this cleavage is also sublated” (1985:302). More simply, to think dialectically is

not only to see distinctions, but also to understand that these distinctions must be overcome.

But how, one might wonder, the fall illustrates this elevation?

Recall that God expelled Adam and Eve from paradise, and cussed them

accordingly. For Hegel now man is distinguished from animal life. In general, says Hegel,

animals do not have to work hard for their existence, or they do so “only when compelled,

and not by nature.” So, animals do not “eat their bread in the sweat of their brow or produce

their own bread, but rather find the satisfaction of all their needs directly in nature.” Surely

humans also find “the material for their satisfaction in nature, but this material is, so to

speak, the least important element for them; the infinite provision for the satisfaction of their

needs occurs only through labour” (ibid:303). I conclude that there are, then, two levels to

the curse of eating by the sweat of one‟s face: material labour and the labour of the spirit.

The upshot is that overcoming the evil of cleavage or cognition involves exercising

our freedom; that is the labour of the spirit. That is when spirit moves necessarily to a

higher degree of rationality and self-understanding. Because animals have no consciousness,

says Hegel, they cannot make distinctions within themselves. In other words, they are not

free to exercise their freedom of the will. This freedom grows out of the nature of the

individual that makes a conscious decision. Only here freedom can be properly itself.

Freedom, then, lies not only in being able to make distinctions, but also in the power to

choose one‟s course of action. That is how spirit elevates itself from contradiction. And this

is Hegel‟s conclusion.

Needless to say, Hegel‟s philosophical system is much more sophisticated and

comprehensive than might be thought from the necessarily short summary given here. I

hope, however, that this sketch can give us a proper understanding of his interpretation of

evil.

What is worth noting it that, even though this seems a compelling account of evil,

there is a problem we cannot so easily dismiss. Hegel‟s interpretation of evil as self-

negation is rather subjective to say the least. On this account, we may perhaps be able to

justify one form of evil: that which evolves from inner struggle. But if we accept the

Hegelian argument, we are left with a harder case to settle, as reason demands that we

explain other sorts of evil. Suppose we concur with Hegel that human history (necessarily)

manifests an increasing degree of rationality as it progresses. If so, then we have to consent

to other forms of evil: crimes, wars, abuse, and genocides; since “history is nothing but the

unfolding of a divine plan” (Beiser 2005:275). This certainly challenges Hegel‟s historical

theory. Hence, it seems understandable enough that Flusser should think history doesn’t

encompasses the work of a Supreme Being. More simply, Flusser was not impressed with

Hegel‟s historical theodicy. But we will leave this to be considered later..

To bring this section to an end, let us refer to one more feature of the story of the fall,

the serpent who we have, for the sake of our discussion, accepted as the representation of the

Devil. In light of Hegel‟s reading, that creature – slier than every beast in the field – can be

finally absolved. As Hegel explains, the original story depicts the serpent as a deceiver; the

Prince of Darkness himself. In Hegel‟s own terms:

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[T]he story reports that an alien creature, the serpent, seduced humanity by the pretence

that, if one knows how to distinguish good and evil, one will become like God. In this

way the story represents [wrongly] the fact that humanity‟s deed springs from the evil

principle [Satan]. However, the confirmation of the fact that the knowledge of good and

evil belongs to the divinity of humanity is placed on the lips of God himself: “Behold,

Adam has become like one of us (Gen. 3:22)” (1985:302).

Implicit in this passage is a comment Hegel makes somewhere else: that “The serpent

represents likeness to God as consisting in the knowledge of good and evil: and it is just this

knowledge in which man participates when he breaks with the unity of his instinctive being

and eats of the forbidden fruit” (1892:46-47). Hegel‟s aim in this argument is to refocus

reflection on the idea that the fall was a necessary step towards self-realization.

Now let us compare Hegel with Flusser, who not only exonerated the serpent, but

also made him the absolute lord of history. Wherein Hegel saw the execution of divine

plans, Flusser saw the majestic work of the Devil, manifested in the infinite human desire to

transform this transient world into a second-order reality. Such is the concept of evil Flusser

proposes for consideration in his The History of the Devil.4 The question is, then, how does

this proposition bear on our understanding of human nature in relation to evil?

Flusser and the Story of Creation

Flusser was obviously dazzled by the very first verse in the Bible, “In the beginning God

created the heavens and the earth.” He thought that we could, perhaps, look at this passage

thus: “at the beginning God created space and time.” That is, “God created the phenomenal

world and the Devil.” This very process imposed upon the Devil, and consequently upon

humanity, three ultimate constraints, beginning, heavens, and earth. On this picture, we

surely bear a likeness with the Devil. And, perhaps, as Flusser points out, this might explain

why “it is [always] easier and simpler to follow him than the unintelligible ways of the

divine;” for man and the Devil are both confined by the same balls and chains (2008:31).

We may add another similarity: that according to tradition both Satan and man freely

initiated evil in heavens and earth respectively. But this resemblance is ephemeral and,

therefore, ends here. Whereas the “Devil is (probably) eternal, has a clear sense of his duties

and, thus, accomplishes it with splendour, humanity runs in an endless circle, always

arriving at the crossroad between good and evil” (ibid:22); that is, in the cleavage. Flusser

believes this conflict grows from our desire to transform this transient reality into a sort of

permanent one. More simply, we take in the Devil‟s job, which involves keeping this world

moving. To see this better, let us reflect on Flusser‟s complete foray:

How was he [the Devil] born? It is written: In the beginning God created the heavens and

the earth. In this sentence, every word is a mystery [...]. True, our pundits managed to

shove “beginning” further into the bottomless abysm of time. Our scientists managed to

dilate, distort, and curve the heavens; and they have given it dimensions totally

unimaginable. They have also rounded “earth”, making her small and easy to manipulate;

and they are about to leave her precariously. Even so, beginning is still beginning,

heavens are still heavens, and Mother Earth continuous to shelter and feed us as she did in

her first day [...].

The Devil was never satisfied with these three handcuffs [beginning, heavens, and earth].

Our imagination refuses to picture a hypothetical situation in which these three constraints

4 As far as I am concerned, this book is not yet available in English. I have worked with the Portuguese

version, História do Diabo. Therefore, I take full responsibility for the translated sections throughout this essay.

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would be destroyed by human effort inspired by the devil. An infinite and eternal world is

beyond our understanding. The devil is, nevertheless, capable of partially evading his

limits in the course of human history. But “spirit” continues to pursue these limits

retrospectively, like the expansion of a gas, but remains handcuffed nevertheless. This

allows us an important consideration: An infinite and eternal world is unimaginable. But a

finite and transient reality is equally inconceivable. The infinite world raises an

insurmountable problem, “limitation”. The finite world provokes an equally impossible

question: what lies beyond the infinite (ibid:31-33).

The divine, says Flusser, “represents all our attempts to surpass or deny time.” It acts within

the world in order to “dissolve” it, to make it “pure being.” More simply, it is “God” who

influences humanity towards that which is infinite and everlasting. By contrast, the Devil

symbolizes “every human attempt to preserve time the way it is.” That is, to break the limits

imposed by God. The Devil interacts with man in order to make this sympathize with his

flamboyant work, “recognising in him a nature similar to his – and perhaps as miserable.”

And in line with this task, the Devil is no idiot, since “his methods are abundant.” Hence,

Flusser remarks, we can say that progress is nothing but the Devil (through us perhaps)

keeping the phenomenal world turning (ibid:23).

At this point one might wish to ask: Who or what exactly is the Devil? Are we the

devil? Or is the devil an actual name for an absolute principle of evil, just like “God” is

(perhaps) a name for the absolute principle of goodness? Or better, is it even coherent to talk

about progress or history as a manifestation of the Devil? But before we attempt to answer to

these questions, it is best that we explore what Flusser has say about the logos. For this

purpose, something needs first to be said about Flusser‟s analysis of Eastern and Western

metaphysics.

To Flusser, the primary theme of Western tradition is its excessive concern with

reason – the principle that allows man to push beginning further into the abysm of time;

dilate, distort, and curve the heavens; and round and manipulate the earth. Flusser‟s major

objective here is to point out that it is under conditions of Western perspective that the battle

between God and the Devil has been described thus far. The story changes once we shift

view.

Let us take, for example, a Buddhist side. At once, all the struggle of the mind to

grasp reality, to surpass time, becomes nothing but the work of the Devil. Here, the very

concept mind is already the negation of the divine. Why? Because, as Flusser has it, the

mind has a strange feature: “the more it drinks, the thirstier it gets.” Hence, a Buddhist seeks

to dissolve reality, merging his mind into shunyata or emptiness. To negate reality is what is

divine. To contemplate permanent death, that is, to escape the cycle of birth and rebirth,

represents divine liberation. On this view, that which Westerns call “faith” is in fact the

ways of the Devil, since it is the method of affirming the immortality of the mind. Put

differently, that which Westerns call heavens, Buddhism calls suffering. What Westerns call

hell, Buddhism calls nirvāna. What Westerns call happiness, Buddhism calls death of the

mind (ibid:208).

The next question then is: “How to explain this inversion of values?” This, says

Flusser, is simply entrenched in the soul. Eastern and Western perspectives are both “deeply

rooted into the logos;” in the way language is structured. More simply, this inversion of

values is within us.

What is relevant in this account is that the two contenders in this metaphysical battle,

God and the Devil, are merely fictions of our imagination; the products of the language

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embedded in us. The object of their dispute, our minds, is just water for their desperate

thirst; in such a way that the more they drink the thirstier they become. “The devil was

created to create the world. And now, when the world is finally dissolved, both the Devil

and the creator of the Devil vanish” (ibid:208).

By the use of these images Flusser aims to show that the absurdity of reality evolves

from the nature of the logos, which has a controversial feature: it can articulate sentences

grammatically incorrect and produce only nonsense; or it can articulate sentences perfectly

structured – the Vienna circle type – and produce nothing. By eliminating the grammatical

errors we can surely eliminate all the metaphysical clangs, rattles and bangs that create the

absurdity of reality: Devil and God, heavens and hell, being and nothingness, affirmation

and negation, and good and evil. But what is the value of sentences perfectly structured?

They produce nothing, says Flusser. And now we are left to decide between metaphysical

noise and emptiness (ibid:187).

This, of course, is an unmistakable influence of Wittgenstein, the philosopher that

disconcerted Flusser the most.5 As in Wittgenstein, Flusser also thinks that the “ladder has to

be thrown away once silence is achieved.” He adds, however, an important feature to the

argument: once we discard the ladder, thinking is also annihilated. We reach a state of

semantic pseudo-nirvana. This logical false meditation, says Flusser, is also the death of the

old “mythical logos Christianity borrowed from Orphism; the same logos that has produced

so many metaphysical speculations” (ibid:195).

But is this the end of the self? Of course not! The logical death of the logos is

certainly not the death of the soul. Hence, according to Flusser, Wittgenstein‟s analysis

missed one important aspect of the logos. In this sense, the following passage is

representative:

But it is obvious that logical analysis of language does not capture the totality of the

logos. It misses the musical aspect of it. That is why pure logic is not Buddhism yet. It

lacks the last radicalism. Surely pure logic manages to eradicate thought in a definite and

inoperable way. In this sense, it is Buddhist. But it cannot annihilate life. Pure logic

annihilates the “I” in its logical and epistemological sense. But it cannot destroy its

psychological, existential aspect of it (ibid:208).

This extract seems to allude to a positive aspect in Flusser‟s account, otherwise concealed

throughout his writings, that there is a proper attitude we must incorporate into our daily

lives in order to avoid evil. But before we consider this, let us summarize the discussion thus

far.

Throughout this section we have been seeking, at least implicitly, to find answers to

the question: Who is the devil? It should be quite obvious that, to Flusser, the logos created

the devil and consequently his counterpart, God. And if there is any other reality towards

which spirit strives, that is also a metaphysical fantasy. Flusser tried to emphasize this by

pointing at how Eastern and Western traditions think reality differently. The tension between

these two forces, God and the Devil, takes place in our minds. By eliminating the “noises”

of language, that is, by producing only propositions grammatically perfect we are surely able

to eradicate the contradiction; i.e., the logical and the epistemological self. The only survivor

in this battle, though bleeding badly if I am allowed the metaphor, is the psychological self.

5 See História do Diabo [History of the Devil] pages 13-14.

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But what is left for the self that survived? After all, it is clear from the passage above

that logical positivism cannot capture the totality of the logos. In short, the will, says

Flusser. In his own terms, that is what the death of the logos amounts to: “the murderer of

God, of the Devil, and of the logical and the epistemological „I‟ was unable to kill its own

will.” Hence, it remains in cleavage (ibid:208-9). Still, in Flusser‟s account, it would appear

that a degree of consolation doesn‟t come for free.

What about the musical aspect of the logos? What is it? Here, far from giving a

simple answer, Flusser takes us back to the “murderer” of metaphysical reality, merges it

into Leibniz‟s epistemological mathematics, and into the “purely formal” music of Bach and

Handel to illustrate how the logos finds balance in the combination of life (music) and

thought (mathematics). I can make no attempt here to present a comprehensive comment on

this argument. But the key to this intricate aspect of Flusser‟s thought lies in his concept of

philosophy itself. That is why philosophy exists, says Flusser (ibid:196). Now, granted that

Hegel has already established that spirit is finally and most perfectly realized in philosophy,

i.e., on the level of notion, the question is just how to understand philosophy in the

Flusserian sense.

Rather than propose a Hegelian definition, Flusser refers to philosophy or methodical

reflection as a deadly sin; in fact Flusser equates philosophy to two of the most “severe”

forms of sin in the theological tradition, pride and melancholy. Simply put, for Flusser

philosophy is the deepest level of hell. To be sure, philosophy is, nevertheless, the turning

point for spirit to become properly itself; it is the musical aspect of the logos. How is this?

The greatness of philosophy, says Flusser, is that “to the neophyte, philosophy is an

intellectual discipline in search for answers. Whereas for the initiated ones, it is the relaxing

scent of a reality conquered” (ibid:202-3). Put differently, to the neophyte philosophy is

existential salvation. To the advanced disciple, it is the existential proof of the death of the

mind. But what does that mean?

We can understand Flusser‟s argument thus: For the neophyte philosophy is pride.

For the initiated ones philosophy is melancholy. In Hegelian terms, this would simply mean

that the first form of philosophy is not philosophy properly itself. It is philosophy in its

immediate level. When philosophy becomes the existential proof of the death of the mind,

the death of the logical and the epistemological self, philosophy becomes properly itself.

Now, space precludes further examination of this important aspect of Flusser‟s doctrine. But

we can begin to see the sense behind his central thesis, that progress is not the execution of a

divine plan as Hegel imagined, but the unfolding of the Devil.

Remember the logic of Hegel‟s philosophical system: everything progresses in a

dialectical manner, always towards a higher stage. Flusser didn‟t buy any of that. To be sure,

Flusser doesn‟t deny the idea of progress; what he refutes is Hegel‟s assumption that every

stage of development in human history manifests a higher step towards self-realization and

freedom. Why? Flusser thinks that every time spirit returns from its otherness, it only finds

itself a footstep further away from its ultimate reality; a reality strange to the psychological

self from scratch. Here we can think of a circle closing infinitely; perhaps Jörmungandr, the

Norse mythological serpent biting its own tail; and every bite is a deadly sin. This means

that the self, unable to kill its own will is impelled by the same level of lust and desire to

control nature that prompted it out of the natural paradise of unity in the first place. But how,

one should wonder, might a “deadly sin” be also the turning point for spirit?

Flusser saw clearly that philosophy acquires a new priority when the mind moves

from pride to melancholy. Here, he says, faith “in the words of the great thinkers” is reduced

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to a radical stage where spirit makes philosophy for the sake of philosophy itself. Spirit

philosophizes “not in search for answers, illumination, or happiness, but with detachment.”

At this point, we must surrender to philosophy without asking questions or favours.” This is

what Flusser means by melancholy – a sort of existential scepticism. Only in this mood,

philosophy becomes the turning point for spirit to elevate itself. In this state, “the mind

desires nothing, it just wishes to die” (ibid:204). To be sure, this is a not a physical, but a

metaphysical death. I do not have space in this paper to examine this important aspect of

Flusser‟s theory any further. Yet, it is possible to argue that this line of reasoning places

Flusser much closer to solving the problem of evil than Hegel. Let me briefly point this out.

Naturally such powerful remarks, explicitly, 1) that history is nothing but the

unfolding of the Devil and, 2) that man finds himself perpetually in an ontological cleavage,

would lead Flusser to raise critical questions about a clear light of day through the other side

of the jungle. Of course this light does exist, but it is purchased at a high price: the death of

the mind. So, on the face of it, Flusser‟s positive recommendations are not as clear as his

radicalism and scepticism. And, what‟s more, it would appear that he leaves the discussion

unresolved to some extent. Hence, as noted earlier, when asked later in an interview (1970)

whether the devil had the last laugh, Flusser admitted: “I have not resolved the problem of

the devil; I have decided instead against madness. If I had persisted on the same argument I

would have lost the critical control of my thoughts. Therefore, I opted for sanity and against

the radical speculation [...].” But we shall see that Flusser‟s cynicism didn‟t prevent him

from taking ethics seriously, albeit with aporetic answers.

If we take one particular aspect of his arguments earnestly, we might come close to

an answer to the problem of evil. Flusser presses this point in Chapter 9, Post Scriptum:

At the beginning of this book we had the guts to defy the devil. At the end of this book

this courage has faded away [...] We had the intention to kill the Devil [evil], at the end

we almost killed ourselves [...] We have become more modest, and this is the only

positive result of this great journey surrounded by so many promises [...] But we should

not deride this result. Perhaps this may show us the critical situation in which Western

society finds itself. It could be that this result is our fate. Perhaps it was about time, after

such a grandiose voyage, to return to a less pretentious mind. And perhaps the time has

come, in this stage of human evolution, to feel just a bit embarrassed [...].

After so much progress, great inventions, pompous discoveries and conquests, it is

perhaps the time to admit to our defeat. But this book does not wish to be pessimist.

Throughout our journey we tried to remain hopeful. But what hope? Silly question! Just

another conviction of the logos: it is impossible to be quiet. This may be either a curse or

a blessing, but the impossibility of silencing is a mark of continuity. The only message

then is this: continue (2008:213).

So, although there seems to be a sort of vagueness in the way Flusser ends his whole

discussion in the History, the same sort of abstraction that later led him to say he had not

resolved the problem of the devil, I would say that this is in fact an unmistakable influence

of Socrates. Recall that most Socratic dialogues (in Plato) are aporetic, i.e., they raise

philosophical discussions without any proffered solution. This does indeed appear to be

Flusser‟s intention. But what, one might argue, is the point of such an argument? Simply

put, Socrates‟ method intended to stimulate critical thinking. Now, if we take Flusser‟s

advice not to deride the upshot of the passage above, modesty, we shall realize that his

contention carries an important feature. But to see this better, we need to refer to Flusser‟s

essay War and the State of Things (1999:30-34).

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There Flusser reformulates Goethe‟s request for man to be noble, generous and good

thus: “Let Man be noble, generous and good, but – having said that – does he need to be all

that good?” (ibid:30). Otherwise stated, let man be noble, generous and less good. Here one

may point out that Flusser has two ideas of “good” in mind, moral good and functional

good. The latter is pure evil, simply; “the daily struggle for the Promethean fire of freedom”

(2008:22).

Now recall that, according to Hegel, evil is not separate from spirit, it is rather a

negative moment in the life of spirit. Overcoming this moment of negation is a possibility

that essentially belongs to spirit. Flusser seems to propagate the same sort of hope for self-

reconciliation when he talks about philosophy. But Hegel believed that this self-resolution is

a necessary result of progress. In other words, the teleological movement of history

represents the gradual and continuous unfolding of spirit, or the idea of freedom. To Flusser,

this teleological movement represents nothing but the degradation of all moral good. The

only positive aspect of progress is that it allows us to become modest; to realize that we are

hopeless creatures, and that we cannot transform this transient reality into a permanent one.

But how exactly is “functional good” pure evil? Look, says Flusser:

[S]ince technicians had to apologize to the Nazis for their gas chambers not being good

enough – i.e., not killing their „clients‟ quickly enough – we have once more been made

aware what is meant by the Devil. We realize once more exactly what is lying in wait

behind the notion of good design. Unfortunately, this does not stop us wanting to have

elegant and convenient objects. We insist, despite what we know about the Devil, that the

designer should be noble, generous and good” (1999:34).

This passage clearly adverts to the general thesis of this paper, that Flusser was closer to

solving the problem of evil than Hegel. Why is this? As Frederick Beiser nicely puts it:

“Hegel‟s concept of evil as self-negation seems to account for only one kind of evil, that

which arises from inner struggle; but there are other kinds of evil that are not forms of inner

struggle; that is, crimes, abuses, wars, genocide” (2005:275). Thus, if Beiser‟s critique

obtains, which I think it does, Hegel cannot justify this type of worldly evil: engineers and

scientists apologizing to warlords for their weapons of massive destruction not being good

enough.

In short, all Hegel accomplished with his historical theodicy, according to Flusser,

was to “replace the self-indulgent gods of thunder and rain for a pallid notion of

nationalism” (2008:89). This is of course a rather poetic note; but (I trust) Flusser puts his

finger on the crucial point here. On Flusser‟s view, to praise progress as Hegel did is to

accuse “what is known as the military-industrial complex of being the origin of everything

elegant, amiable and good” (1999:32). Proceeding from this conception, then, it is possible

to argue that Flusser‟s scepticism and irony allowed him to espouse a broader idea of evil in

connection with progress and historical events; one which demands us to look closely at just

what is the purpose of progress, science and technology. And in this light, we are clearly in a

better position to understand not only evil that evolves from inner struggle, but all forms of

evil out there.

Conclusion

On Flusser‟s view, then, it is ignorance about the real source of happiness that induces us to

desire, “despite [what] we know about the Devil,” that the designer should be more and

more noble, generous and good; forgetting that certain forms of behaviour cannot produce

ultimate happiness and well-being. What we need, therefore, is a process of deliberation by

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means of which moral goodness may be further integrated into our daily lives. This can only

be achieved by reducing our persistent desire for infinitely noble, generous and good

functional goods. This, in turn, might bring us closer to ataraxia or the tranquillity of the

soul. And here philosophy can be a source of hope; for the proper task of methodical

reflection, as Flusser has it, is to restore the “myth” science and technology has long

forgotten, providing us with adequate knowledge of the true ground of happiness. It is in this

sense that we must understand Flusser‟s claim: “Those saints are quite right who seek refuge

in isolation from the world, living off roots and hiding their nakedness with fig leaves”

(ibid:33). To use the language of the myths we have discussed in this paper we could say

that, to Flusser, life in the Garden (perhaps an Epicurean garden) portrays a higher

expression of morality, self-realization, and freedom than life in the linear development of

science and culture Hegel simply deified. So, says Flusser, “Let us refuse to be made

prisoners of the tired and boring conversation now under way in the Western civilization,

that tedious conversation called progress” (Flusser 2005). On this picture, then, coming to

our best moral decision involves taking an honest look at our desires and trying to develop

them in accordance with plain living and high thinking. For that purpose, Flusser thinks we

have to decide between “war and an elegant user-friendly life in the midst of good objects,

or everlasting peace and a squalid, inconvenient life in the midst of badly functioning

objects” (1999:33).

I can make no attempt here to present a comprehensive comment on the outcome of

Flusser‟s moral theory. For one, though, if we accept his arguments, the question can still be

posed that, as a result, Flusser‟s self-realized moral agent might come across as old-

fashioned, unsophisticated and rustic. But this does indeed appear to be his view: “I said that

methodical reflection, i.e., philosophy, should lead us towards our origins” (Flusser 2005). If

so, the next question is, then, why should anyone be persuaded by this line of reasoning?

This is certainly an intriguing matter, given the overall unpopularity of Epicureanism itself.

More simply, are Flusser‟s moral considerations just too unrealistic and primitive to be the

overall aim of our daily lives? I would probably suggest that it is not; but this needs to be

examined critically.

References

Beiser, Frederick. (2005). Hegel. New York: Routledge.

Flusser, Vilém. (2008). História do Diabo [History of the Devil]. São Paulo: Annablume.

Flusser, Vilém. (1970). O diabo é um idiota, sr. Flusser? Interview with J. C. Ismael. Ed. Ricardo

Mendes. São Paulo. <http://www.fotoplus.com/flusser.htm>.

Flusser, Vilém. (1999). The Shape of Things: A Philosophy of Design. London: Reaktion Books.

Flusser, Vilém. “Thought and Reflection.” Flusser Studies 01, November 2005. 28 August 2010.

<http://www.flusserstudies.net/pag/archive01.htm>.

Hegel, G. W. F. (1985). Lecture on the Philosophy of Religion. Ed. Peter C. Hodgson, 3 vols.

Berkeley: University of California Press.

Hegel, G. W. F. (1892). “The Fall of Man.” In Logic: Encyclopaedia of the Philosophical Sciences.

Trans. William Wallace. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 46-47.

Hegel, G. W. F. (2007). The Philosophy of History. New York: Cosimo.