The following two propositions are collectively inconsistent but individually plausible:
1. Being dead is not an evil for any dead person at any time.
2. Being dead at a young age is an evil for some dead persons.
Obviously, the limbs of the dyad cannot both be true. Each entails the negation of the other. And yet each limb lays serious claim to our acceptance. Arguments from Epicurus support (1), and our intuitions support (2). Most of us believe that if a healthy, well-placed, promising young person dies, then he or she is deprived of value and suffers an evil.
If philosopher A urges (1) and philosopher B urges (2), and neither can convince the other, then I say that A and B are in a standoff.
There cannot be sound arguments for both limbs. This is because there are no true contradictions. A plausible argument needn't be sound. And a sound argument needn't be plausible. A sound argument, by commonly accepted definition, is a valid deductive argument all of the premises of which are true. It is easy to see that every such argument must have a true conclusion.
The above propositions cannot both be true, and they cannot both be false: they are logical contradictories. Nevertheless, the standoff is not merely logical, but also dialectical.
This means that what generates the standoff or impasse are not logical norms and notions taken in abstracto and applied to propositions taken in abstracto, but logical norms and notions embedded in a concrete dialogue situation playing out between two or more finite and fallible agents who are trying to arrive at a rational resolution of a difficult question. I assume that the interlocutors are sincere truth seekers possessing the intellectual virtues. There is thus nothing polemical about their conflict. They are friends, not enemies. Of course, some standoffs are polemical, most political ones for example, but at the moment I am not worrying about polemical standoffs. Nor am I concerned with physical standoffs or the sort of standoff that occurs in a game of chess when neither side has sufficient mating material. I am concerned with the standoff situation in philosophy in which two persons, engaged in serious dialogue, attempt to arrive at a truth that neither antecedently claims to possess, a truth both regard as objective and thus as transcending their individual belief-systems.
A second example.
3. God by his very nature as divine is a concrete being who exists of metaphysical necessity.
4. Nothing concrete could exist of metaphysical necessity.
By 'concrete' I mean causally active/passive. What is not concrete is abstract. The abstract is causally inert. The God in question is not a causally inert abstract object like a number or a set-theoretical set. Clearly, (3) and (4) form a contradictory pair and so cannot both be true. And yet one can argue plausibly for each.
This is not the place for detailed arguments, but in support of (3) there are the standard Anselmian considerations. God is ens perfectissimum; nothing perfect could be modally contingent; ergo, etc. God is "that than which no greater can be conceived"; if God were a merely contingent being, then a greater could be conceived; ergo, etc.
In support of (4), there is the difficulty of understanding how any concrete individual could exist necessarily. For such a being, possibility suffices for actuality: if God is possible, then he is actual. But this possibility is not mere possibility; it is the possibility of an actual being. (God is at no time or in any possible world merely possible, if he is possible at all.) The divine possibility — if it is a possibility at all and not an impossibility — is a possibility that is fully actualized. Possibility and actuality in God are one and the same in reality even though they remain notionally distinct for us. (In classical jargon, God is pure act, actus purus.) Equivalently, essence and existence in God are one and the same in reality even though they must remain notionally distinct for our discursive intellects. It is God's nature to exist. God is an existing essence in virtue of his very essence. God's existence is in no way subsequent to his essence, not temporally, of course, but also not logically or ontologically. So it is not quite right to say, as many do, that God's nature entails his existence; that would make the divine existence logically subsequent to the divine nature. To say that in God essence and existence are mutually entailing is also not quite right either; that would presuppose in God a real distinction of essence and existence and would also raise the Euthyphro-reminiscent question: does God have the nature he has because he exists, or does he exist because he has the nature he has? This question of metaphysical priority presupposes a real distinction in God between nature and existence which is ruled out if God is the unity of both.
God's nature is his existence, and his existence is his nature.
If you think this through very carefully, you will realize that the ground of the divine necessity is the divine simplicity. It is because God is an ontologically simple being that he is a necessary being. If you deny that God is simple but affirm that he is necessary, then I will challenge you to state what makes him necessary as opposed to impossible. If you say that God is necessary in virtue of existing in all possible worlds, then I will point out that that gets us nowhere: it is simply an extensional way of saying that God is necessary.
Divine simplicity implies no real distinctions in God, and thus no real distinction between essence and existence. It is the identity of essence and existence in God that is the root, source, ground of the divine necessity. The problem is that we, with our discursive intellects, cannot understand how this could be. Anything we conceive as existent, we can also conceive as nonexistent. (David Hume) The discursive intellect cannot grasp the possibility of a simple being, and so it cannot grasp the possibility of a necessary concretum. Here then we have the makings of an argument that, in reality, every concretum is contingent, which is equivalent to the negation of (4).
So if one philosopher urges (3) and his interlocutor (4), and neither can convince the other, then the two are in a standoff.
Now you may quibble with my examples, but there are fifty more I could give (and you hope I won't).
Philosophy is its problems and these are in canonical form when cast in the mold of aporetic polyads. The typical outcome, however, is not a solution but a standoff.
The Inquirer, the Dogmatist, the Theoretical, and the Practical
I have so far characterized in a preliminary way what a standoff in philosophy is, and I have given a couple of examples in support of the claim that there are standoffs in philosophy. But there are those who are loathe to accept that there are such standoffs. These are people with overpowering doxastic security needs: they have an irresistible need to be secure in their beliefs. They don't cotton to the idea that many of the deepest problems are insoluble by us. These are people in whom the dogmatic tendency wins out over the inquiring/skeptical tendency. Among these are people who think one can PROVE the existence of God, or prove the opposite. Among them are those who are CERTAIN that there are substances in the Aristotelian sense of the term. It would be very easy to multiply examples and ‘beyond necessity’ to do so.
As I see it, the spirit of genuine philosophy is anti-dogmatic. A real philosopher does not bluster. He does not claim to know what he does not know, and in some cases, cannot know. A real philosopher does not confuse subjective conviction with objective certainty. He has time and he takes his time. He can tolerate suspense and open questions. But his suspension is not a Pyrrhonian abandonment of inquiry, but is in the service of it. His happiness is not a porcine ataraxia, but the happiness of the hunt. Unlike the dogmatist, however, he has high standards with the result that is hunt is long and perhaps endless as long as he remains in statu viae wandering among the charms and the horrors of the sublunary.
And yet we are participants in life's parade and not mere spectators of it. Curiously, we are both part of the passing scene and observers of it. To us as participants in the flux and shove of the real order a certain amount of bluster has proven to be life-enhancing and practically necessary. To live is to maneuver, to position oneself, to take a position, to adopt a stance, to grab one's piece of the action and defend it, and in the clinch to shoot first and philosophize later.
As so we are torn. It is a broken world and we are broken on its samsaric wheel. To put it grandly, the human condition is a tragic predicament. We must act in conditions of poor lighting, maintaining ourselves in the Cave's chiaroscuro, with little more than faith and hope to keep us going. At the same time we seek light, light, more light and the transformation of faith into knowledge and hope into having.