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The Title of the Song (reworked)

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Posted by Andrew Nightingale in Questions in Logic

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history, philosophy, politics, writing

Has justice become sense-making? The many senses of the over-worked concept of justice allow justice to generally sound like a good idea to the atomized American. Even our best politicians repeat the term Justice, as if forgiveness and mercy were the irrational ways and means for religion. (separated from matters of the state)  I think Americans in their deep mind control bubble crave sense-making, and they crave agency in what makes sense to them. They are confused, afraid and overworked. Their “education,” their language, their intellectual preoccupation with sex (including gender), are all reductionist. I generally try to approach this problem by looking at the logical positivist project to refine language and how that reduces larger things like houses, feelings, and communities into talk of a smaller, more atomized reality. So I focus on vagueness in my work because people in America badly need a way to synthesize information, houses, feelings, communities, etc. The effect of the English language is felt in everything else.

But vagueness is the linguistic approach; how to move to a political approach? I think people lean on some products of the Social Sciences to conceive the neoliberal “individual” and contrive a linking of hands with others to form a political community, the same way electrons link atoms, and the mind senses a great synthesis of atoms into a house. Even if that same mind doesn’t believe in things anymore, because we are told that everything is actually atoms, or subatomic particles, or quanta, etc. I originally approached the problem linguistically because it seems more fundamental. Justification using pseudo-scientific “experiments” with statistical language dominated the Social Sciences for a long time. The linguistic style of statistics was the persuasive force, though now, qualitative research diminishes that force somewhat. In any case the view that mathematics and therefore statistics are languages incited me to offer vagueness as a recognized form of synthesis.

Vagueness, although a very useful and widespread linguistic device, is not appropriate for politics and the Social Sciences that study politics. Media is the compelling force in politics. And it should be persuading people, not compelling us the way we got used to in our math classes.

The problem isn’t that Americans lack meaning, it’s that they’ve been told which meanings are permitted. Media outlets employ Elite People like Anand Giridharadas, a fixture of elite media commentary who wrote for the New York Times to argue that we shouldn’t listen to just anybody.

[Giridharadas]: “114 percent of Americans now having their own podcast, … Were there a German word for emotion-question (and it turns out there is), that title may be our era’s Gefühlsfrage. As people reel from crisis to crisis, outrage to outrage, this Gefühlsfrage hangs in the air and creates space for writers.”

That desire to regroup atomized communities to the tune of the New York Times was visible then. Not that the New York Times wanted us to really regroup, just enough for us to keep coming to them for their information-framing. Actually, we need space for the common writer, and Mr. Giridharadas attempted to rhetorically close that space, which is unhealthy politically. We need synthesis but not to the tune of the elite who brought us more neoliberal presidential candidates which were, unfortunately, the optimistic outcomes.

For the common human’s politics, instead of academic disciplines, we need another term/concept for synthesis. Justice seems to be the general answer to the Gefühlsfrage, but what is justice? Not a question I am prepared to answer, but I will make a guess that it is what is best for the state, in the same way we have an idea of what is best for ourselves, we extend that to the state, and that is justice.  One of the oldest senses of justice was “Eye for an eye” which involves taking action in a symmetrical way to how we have been wronged. To some of us, justice means: if there is a problem, if we have been wronged, the “answer” is an action that hurts the wrong-doer in like kind. This kind of justice is obviously unachievable, there are many wrong doings that have no symmetrical punishment (unless you are completely taken in by capitalism: How much is unjustly getting cancer worth? Being cured of cancer?), but I think this old, violent, barbaric definition of justice resonates with the beleaguered people of America.

Americans feel wronged, and justice is how to act on the world so that it makes sense, a very material sense. Justice is the proposed answer. Just look at the amount of work in a court case to accomplish a minuscule amount of worldly justice. It is plainly not worth it except for the most grievous acts, even so, there are too many severe injustices. Any real-world event is too complex to set “right”, and only the ones that get attention are addressed, so every thought on how we have been wronged is clamoring for a like or a share, etc. What is the goal of Justice? We get one thing right, after great outcry, what next? There are too many things wrong, and that is the way it will always be.

American “education” can be found especially in American movies, where a keen sense of justice is fed with powerful images and stories, drawn from previous cultural mythologies and reframed to raise Justice to the highest political ideal. Once we are educated in this way, there is a terrible, schizophrenic dissonance between the expectation of Justice and the reality of American life. This causes a great deal of pain for the common human. Everyone’s individual fight for “Justice” feeds everyone’s own concept of being wronged, and Justice, even more.

For politics, I would propose another concept that does no cutting out of people’s eyes: the concept is Rhetoric, and in this case, I direct you to Deirdre McCloskey‘s works. Western philosophy tries to block up rhetoric as something for the sophist who isn’t interested in the truth, as if the truth and its persuasiveness could be separated. There is no separating Truth from its natural sweetness (and Deirdre agrees, read her wonderfully brief book on writing!). Here Deirdre writes “they are egg and yolk in a scrambled egg.” or “their differential equations are nonseparable.” Sweet language, such as poetry, expresses the truth best (not mathematical or statistical language). There is still freedom where there is truth. The freedom to be found is in our own creative interpretations. This freedom should not be limited to poetry. The more elastic concept that also allows freedom but is less categorically artistic is Rhetoric.

Related: https://questionsarepower.org/2014/09/08/the-valid-logical-argument/

the lighgh of Thunder (reworked)

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buddhism, poetry, writing

(after Aram Saroyan’s “lighght”)

the lighgh of Thunder

whatever i follow becomes my lamp
whatever i hold dear, i let fly

slow your toiling mind
listen, and you will fly on a—


(((now)))

whatever i fool, i fool into freedom
even Thunder lies

Thunder is my lighgh
“I” am a whaTever


Mary in the Mirror

22 Thursday Jan 2026

Posted by Andrew Nightingale in Questions in Logic

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fiction, writing

There was once a man who looked in the mirror too much, though not in a soul-searching way. He was not interested in his wrongdoings, nor in whether he could hold up under his own gaze. His thought and judgment fell on the contours of his lips and the shape of his eyes.

When he looked into the mirror he found no good angle, and yet there was always a glare in his eyes that seemed both hollow and angry. No matter what he did with his mouth, his eyes, or the way he held his head, an evil look followed him.

Unfortunately, when he looked away from the mirror, his real features were so designed by the Maker that he wore a carefree, proud expression—so long as there was no reflection to sabotage him. He wanted to be attractive, and that was as deep as he went with the hours he spent obsessed with his face. And when he saw himself in a selfie, he could not believe his own beauty, because he lacked the simple education that would have explained how light lies in glass.

Mary became acquainted with this man, whose name was Isildor, by chance. He looked at her with fire in his eyes, and she liked his look. She approached him and invited him to dinner at her place. Isildor was so shocked he fumbled out a yes. They exchanged numbers, and Mary was gone before he could undo himself.

At her house there was music and candles. The table was low and they sat on cushions—her perfect plan to make the table a bed at the same time. The beautiful man sat as if in a spell while she brought out a three-course dinner, complete with éclairs for dessert. In truth, he was in a spell because he had taken a couple shots of whiskey before arriving.

Mary’s sparkling conversation—her large eyes brightening when he smiled—was almost lost on him as he poured himself red wine. Yet he found himself kissing her, hands rising as if by reflex, and she drew him close. Their love was quick and hot, and she was satisfied completely.

Isildor lay contentedly, sweating naked in Mary’s arms, until his obsession returned. He jerked upright and clumsily gathered his clothes while his head swam. Mary tried to soothe him with caresses and kind words, but he recoiled from comfort as if it were danger. Shirt half-tucked, he thanked her for her hospitality and wiped lipstick from his mouth with his sleeve.

A day passed. Mary called him in the evening, while Isildor was staring at his own (to him) hideous features.

“Hello, Isildor?” she said, doubtfully.

He kept his eyes on his reflection as he spoke into the phone.

“Yes, Mary… I hope you are well,” he replied with stinging formality.

“I’m okay… Did you want to call me?” she asked directly.

“Yes… yes, very much,” he nearly stuttered.

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked, trembling.

At that moment Isildor saw his face change in the mirror. He was beautiful, and Mary stood beside him. Flashes in the glass showed them turning in a slow dance; then he was kneeling to ask her hand; then they walked the aisle as bride and groom. As the flashes came, they grew more distant, more vague—like pictures taken long ago and poorly kept.

He reached for these beautiful images, but they vanished.

“Mary?” he said, rough with feeling. There was no answer.

“Mary!” he said again, but the phone was not connected. However he tried, he could not reach her—he was blocked, as if by a law of the world.

He never saw her again. But he saw his old, hideous face in the mirror as he knew it.

In old age Isildor began to lose himself, and he believed he remembered his marriage with Mary, seen in dim light as in a reflection—the embracing, the sex, the pleasures of love. He remembered her death, and his pain, and his sorrow, but it did not touch him much. Only a vague grief, flickering in his mind like the flashes in the mirror he remembered so well.

The Grasshopper and the Ant Final Version

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children-stories, fiction, nature, writing

The Grasshopper and the Ant

by Andrew Nightingale

Once upon a time, there was a grasshopper that just sat around and breathed in the thick summer air all day and night. He would eat the green leaves that were everywhere—more than anyone could eat. He sat and sat, until the ant, who was sweating and carrying heavy food to his anthill, grew angry.

“Grasshopper, you fool,” said the ant. “You’re not going to have anything when winter comes.”

The grasshopper looked at the ant and smiled. “Come here, friend. I have things to tell you about breathing air and eating grass.”

But the ant wasn’t listening. He kept working and working all summer long.

Finally, the fall came, and the air turned cold. The grasshopper ran out of food. He didn’t move much, except to hop gently when the whim came to him. He didn’t cry for the cold, and he wore the same smile he had in the summer.

When the snow and icy winds arrived, the ant sat in his anthill with his wife and children. Sometimes he thought about that foolish grasshopper, but most of the time he was busy raising his kids.

The winters and summers went by, and other grasshoppers came and went. They were different, but every now and then, there was one that acted like the first foolish grasshopper. Once, the ant’s own son began to listen to a grasshopper and never returned to the anthill.

Years passed. One winter, the ant was old and began to fear death. He thought about all his work and wondered how he could bring his food, or his children, or his wife with him after death. These were dark thoughts, but eventually, he remembered that foolish grasshopper.

He thought about how the grasshopper smiled, even in the cold of fall—and it made the old ant smile a little too.

He did nothing then. He simply sat, breathing, and eating the food he had stored over the years.

In the end, he wished he had had a whole summer to breathe and eat and learn to smile.

But his time was over, and he died.

Stag

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fantasy, fiction, poetry, writing

Nobody without a home, yet

another footprint on a world that needs nothing


A foothold I can call my own, a place that would forever accept my step
I wander on blank sheets of paper,

I wanted to write about that piece of empty space that is home to all

Dip the page in water, they say, and let the ink run by itself.
A paper vase with animals primitively drawn 
Turning the vase in my hands, the animals run, bleeding, until the vase contains something.
(Write something into the vase)
writing curled round its inner walls, saying “The truth is no-w-here.”

now I etch it in wood carvings

the medium of the woods I wandered 

on blank sheets of paper until
I was accepted into the Hall of Trees.


Numbers are Metaphors

28 Saturday Sep 2024

Posted by Andrew Nightingale in Questions in Logic

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poetry, writing

Mathematics proposes numbers to measure real things. There are notches corresponding to numbers on the measuring tape, but even if the notches succeed in referring to that real position. (although they remain a sign of the real object), gaps are still on the measuring tape with no notch and no number to describe the intermediate positions.The real number system attempts to fill the gaps that most numbers leave when describing something real, removing the need for metaphor. “Metaphorical language is language proper to the extent that it is related to the need for making up for gaps of language”(Giuliani, 1972, p. 131). The system “covers the gaps” and does the job of describing physical reality (and more) without metaphor. But how do real numbers go about covering the gaps?

The work of covering the gaps and freeing real numbers from metaphor is done with The Axiom of Completeness:

A bounded increasing sequence has a least upper bound (that is a real number)

Why would the axiom of completeness cover all the gaps of a real line?

A good example is in the act of measuring a plank with a straight-looking side. One compares the plank with a measuring tape and measures the whole meters, but there is still some plank left to measure. (The number of whole meters is the first number (position)in the sequence.) So one counts the number of decimeters left (the resulting position is the second number in the sequence), but there still remains more plank after the largest marker for decimeters. The process continues until the precision of the measuring tape is exhausted, eyesight fails, or the measurer loses interest. Even though one must fail in measuring the exact length of the plank, the axiom of completeness provides assurances that there exists a real number for the “actual” length of the plank (and that there is an “actual” length of the plank). But the process cannot take the full measure of the plank, and so we remain in the poetic world of metaphor, “a process, not a definitive act; it is an inquiry, a thinking on” (Hejinian, 2000).

We want to talk about something real, something as simple and straightforward as the length of a plank. We have an apparatus of controlled inquiry, tools and will-more than the casual use of words, but we still fail.

We must admit that the measurements (words) we have used remain metaphorical and the actual measure of the plank (object) ultimately falls into the gaps of language. The words (measurements) we started with in our task of measuring the plank are no less metaphorical than the measurement we have when we stop. How can we wake up from metaphor?


(PDF) Many Roads from the Axiom of Completeness. Available from: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/327227248_Many_Roads_from_the_Axiom_of_Completeness [accessed Sep 28 2024].

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art, buddhism, philosophy, poetry, science, writing

A master of lies... He will know what kind and mode of deception is taking place at any moment set before him. He will know the lies of magic are the same as the lies of science. He must have detailed knowledge to the exactitude of a mathematician on why mathematics is a falsehood. A master of lies is most persuasive, and he knows how to hide his persuasion. He knows what purpose his lie serves, whether good or evil, beautiful or ugly or simply complex in how truth and lies are woven into the fabric of space-time.
 
He has found the crack in the wholeness of his being, from where he will shine his lights and darknesses. He will know why he shines a darkness instead of a light, what the dangers are and how to avoid them. It is not mastery if his lies cause him harm. In other words, mastery over lies is not different from a mastery of truth.

And a so-called master of truth only requires blind faith. Waving the flag of truth, he will be insulted if called a liar, as if lies were not integral to our existence on earth. He is blind to his own lies and manipulations, believing them to be right and true.

"Errat ergo sum" -St. Augustine

Come with me, I will guide you through the nightmare land of lies. And when you have crossed this valley of shadow, you will have a mastery that is more valuable than any fact.

The Two Fools

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philosophy, spirituality, writing

The first story is about a girl who loses her family to illness and cannot keep her house because of debt. She leaves her house with only her winter clothes and a loaf of bread, and begins walking down the road with no-where to go. As she walks the day goes by, and a beggar comes and asks for some food. The girl gives half her loaf of bread and keeps walking. But then she meets another beggar on the road who asks for food, so she gives her other half of the loaf. Again she meets a beggar on the road who says he is cold, and she gives him her coat. And again, a beggar with bare feet asks for her shoes, and she gives. Finally it is night on the road, and she has only a little cloth to wear. As the stars come out, they fall down to her feet. She picks them up and realizes they are gold. So many stars fall that night, that she lives the rest of her life without a worry for food or things.

The second story is about a man who works for his employer five years and after completing his work is paid a lump of gold as big as his head. The man takes his wages, the lump of gold, and begins making the day-long trip down the road to his mothers house. As he is walking he meets a man on a horse. The man on the horse explains that a horse can make a lot of money because it can do a lot of work on a farm, and can carry him home to his mother as well. So the Fool agrees to give his 5 years wages to the man with the horse, in exchange for the horse. As the Fool rides down the road on his new horse, he meets a man with a goat. The man with the goat explains that a goat can give milk, and can be shorn for its coat of hair to make clothes. The Fool agrees to exchange his horse and takes the goat, walking on down the road. The Fool meets another man, who is standing next two millstones. This man explains that millstones can do great work grinding the wheat for bread, and so the Fool agrees to exchange his goat for the millstones. Now the Fool is heavily burdened by the stones and grows tired. He finds a well, and thanks God that he can drop the millstones into the well to make water come up so he can have a drink. Finally he reaches his mother with nothing for his 5 years of work.

These two stories at first seem to have two very different ideas about what a Fool is. In one, the girl is not at fault, but continues to give everything away. The idea being that there is an accountancy in an invisible world of magic that repays her for her selflessness. It is rather easy to see that the second Fool is not being selfless, because he is being duped into making bad exchanges for his wealth. The second Fool makes no gain in any invisible world, or so the story goes. There is a strange part of the second story, taken from Grimm’s Fairy Tales, where he thanks God for easily being able to give up his millstones at a well in exchange for a drink of water. Here the logic of the story admits that there is an invisible world, and even though he has failed in this world, as well as the material world, God cares for him anyway, and relieves him of the burden of the stones out of mercy. The girl getting gold coins from magic is not mercy, I think, but the universe paying the debt incurred in the invisible world in the form of gold coins.

We can see clearly here that the world of the invisible and the material world is getting confused. If the girl knew the universe would repay her, she would not be repaid, of course. And if the Fool in the second story knew his exchanges were not savvy in the material world, he would have gained some repayment from the invisible world, beyond mercy. If you use knowledge, you had better get it right, because even though the trades for the second Fool were done with knowledge of the merits of millstones, etc, the loss incurred from this knowledge was complete. The Fool who plays the game of exchange to lose, wins; and the Fool who plays the game of exchange to win, loses. It is clear that if you know you are a Fool, you should play to lose. And, well, it is rather easier to be a Fool and play to lose than to be wise and play to win… isn’t it?

Speaking as a diagnosed Fool, I have to attest that the game of losing is a lot harder than it seems. Eventually you will find that you are wise in spite of yourself, because if you do things for people expecting to gain in the invisible world, you can gain nothing. Eventually you have to learn to control your mind and do things without expectation, and what do you end up doing then? Forest-wandering, or anything else practiced by both involuntary fools and the deliberate ascetic.

I will end with Whitehead’s quote in his masterwork on process philosophy. “God is the Fool of the World.” The World card is the end of the Tarot, and the Fool is the beginning.

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