Tag Archives: Sophie

On the Justice of Platocrates

Dearest Father,

I have finally finished reading Platocrates’ Republic. I have read his points on forms and ideals, on truth and knowledge. I have seen his perfect city, a beautiful world where all men know their place, where they all perform the functions for which they are made, and where their kings are lovers of Sophie in the highest degree, pure of heart and sound of mind; and I must say, dear Father, that I am impressed. With smart logic and wonderful analogies Platocrates has managed lay before me a most comprehensive work on reality and justice and government, and he did so with such flair I found myself smiling as I sifted through his words.

It was not smooth, this road to justice. There were many false starts along the way, preconceived notions held by his companions that had to be put away before his truth on just things could be revealed. The first definition of justice, brought forth by a man named Cephalus and championed in turn by Polemarchus, stated that justice is doing good deeds to friends and ill deeds to enemies, a most intuitive definition if there ever was one. One can see the sense in helping those that wish you well and spurning and harming those that wish you ill; one can see the ‘good’ in it.

Socrates, however, showed two glaring issues with this line of thought. The first is one of knowledge. People often seem friends when they are truly enemies, and enemies when they are truly friends. It is rather impossible for one to know in truth who is one’s friend and who is not; actions can be deceiving and intent is all too often very difficult to ascertain. Applying Polemarchus’ definition of justice would then imply that ‘just’ men would at times do good to people who were in fact their enemies and evil to people who were in fact their friends, the very antithesis of the definition itself.

The second issue with Polemarchus’ definition lay in the perceived nobility of justice. For Platocrates justice can never result in the production of evil, much like heat can never produce cold, and a (true) musician can never by his art make men unmusical. By associating justice with evil, whether this evil is done to a perceived or actual foe, Cephalus and Polemarchus had rendered it contradictory; they had turned justice into injustice.

The second definition of justice was put forward by a very animated fellow by the name of Thrasymachus, and for him justice was whatever proved to be “in the interest of the stronger”.  Socrates, once again seeking something much more noble and pure, made quick work of this definition. As with the first, he illustrated its two problems. The first problem, once again, was one of knowledge. It is not always that a man knows what is in his interest; many times he makes decisions that are revealed to be so damaging to his person they would appear to have come from his enemy and not himself. As in the first case, this then would imply that ‘just’ men are once again doing unjust things, as they are working to their detriment and not in fact to their benefit, the very opposite of what the definition purports.

Thrasymachus, ever ready to counter Socrates, replied vehemently that such a person is not a true ruler, is not truly the stronger. The true ruler, you see, would never work against himself; all that he does would indeed be towards his exultation, and not, as Socrates pointed out, towards his downfall. Socrates then proceeded to demonstrate the issue with this secondary point, employing a wonderful analogy. To use his words:

“…no physician, in so far as he is a physician, considers his own good in what he prescribes, but the good of his patient; for the true physician is also a ruler having the human body as a subject, and is not a mere money-maker…. And the pilot in the strict sense of the term, is a ruler of sailors and not a mere sailor… and such a pilot and ruler will provide and prescribe for the interest of the sailor who is under him, and not for his own or the ruler’s interest…

Justice for Platocrates could not then mean one’s interest but the interest of one’s subject, and for a ruler this meant the interest of the thing(s) he ruled, and not himself.

The third definition of justice, much like the second, focused on power, attempting to prove that justice is in fact in the hands of the powerful and is a compromise between men of power seeking to prevent ‘injustice’ being done to them by their peers. With such a definition the unjust man with unlimited power could do what he pleased with impunity, without fear of punishment or retaliation. Men that attempted to remain just would find themselves at a severe disadvantage, for the unjust man would possess neither the scruples nor the deterrent to do what was right. Justice then would not result in happiness for the truly just man, but in loss. Socrates, firm believer in the ultimate good of justice, did not agree with this and he was thus challenged to show how justice would benefit the just man, a point he made by building his perfect republic.

I will spare you further details of the journey, dearest Father; rest assured that fine points from Socrates’ long monologue will surface in coming letters. My business today is with the wonderful nature of the city he constructed, and the men he placed at its helm.  As I said at the beginning of this letter, in Platocrates’ Republic everyone knows his place. In this city, the soldiers have no purpose but to fight; the musicians to make music; the poets to compose; and the writers to write. And as a direct consequence the rulers have no purpose but to rule. For Platocrates this is perfection, this is where justice lives: in a city where all do as they should and where rulers rule as they must.

The beauty of this definition lies in the fact that it is yet another analogy, for Platocrates’ city refers not to an actual city, but to a soul. Like the city the human soul is composed of many parts, each with separate purposes. One finds true justice when one allows one’s mind to rule his soul, and the other parts to follow. Like the Sophie-loving kings of his city, schooled in truths most profound, when we let our minds discover the truths of our world and give them power over our hungers and lusts and feelings, when we let them rule us as they should, we shall truly be just; we shall truly be good.

With this final statement Platocrates showed why he is at heart a lover of Sophie, for the entire point, the entire quest for justice, was in fact a means of illustrating the necessity of seeking out the great Sophia. Loving Sophia meant seeking truth; finding truth meant finding justice; and knowing truth meant knowing what was best, both for oneself and for all. Thus one that knew, one that had stepped out of the allegorical cave and glimpsed the sun, could never be said to be the loser when placed against the man that did not know; justice could never result in harm for the man that practiced it.

It is a wonderfully optimistic book, Plato’s Republic, and I admit that these days I need such wonderful optimism. I am, as you know, yet to fully recover from the damaging blow struck by the more contemporary Russell in his Problems of Philosophy. Platocrates fills me with hope that my quest for Sophia would not be in vain. If finding her means finding justice and finding justice means finding you then maybe, just maybe, there is yet hope that I will return home, Father. I see Doubt shaking his head; I hear him saying very clearly that without verification Platocrates’ words are nothing but sweet, sweet arbitration, but I do not care. On this day I need such sweet arbitration; it has been quite the while since my thoughts and discoveries have brought a smile to my face.

With cautious optimism,

Your Prodigal Son

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

On Knowledge and Arbitration

Dear Father,

As you recall, the past few letters I have written have dealt with the nature of truth and the state of mind oftentimes required for weak children like myself to even consider such lofty notions. My fixation on the topic of truth is multi-faceted, stemming from my trials with my friend, my desire to find Sophie, and my hopes of seeing you. Truth is tied to all these things in a way nothing else is, for one must know the properties of truth before one can know that he has found it. But even more important, and more fundamental, is the question of knowledge. One has to know what knowing is before one can know whether or not something is true. Of course knowing that you know, and more importantly knowing what you know, is a subject that has plagued many a lover of Sophie, and being of amateur status it seems all but impossible that one such as myself would ever be able, single-handedly, to arrive at satisfactory answers to this question. I already attempted to define truth, and while my definition at the time seemed very satisfactory, my views on things true and things arbitrary has yielded little fruit in my battle with Doubt. The reason for this, as I have now discovered, is that Doubt doesn’t care much for truth; he cares for knowledge.

The definition of knowledge, much like truth, has been heavily contested over the ages, with famous lovers of Sophie knowing that their opponents’ definitions were wrong even though they could not satisfactorily articulate how they knew, or what knowing meant. There is a whole path on the way to Sophia dedicated to the study of knowledge, and a little walk along this road has alerted me to a number of things. The first is that a vast majority of the lovers of Sophie that pitched their tents on this road, including Plato the Most Versatile, are of the opinion, dare I say the knowledge, that things known must be true. Of course for younglings like myself such a statement is very confusing; if one can only know truth when one knows what knowing is, and in order to really know, the thing one claims to know must in fact be true, our dear friend One would inevitably be left in an infinite loop of ignorance. This definition, I have been told, was made in order to distinguish knowledge from opinions or beliefs, things that may not be true but hold the convictions of a number of people. Of course this means that truth is tied to knowledge as tightly as arbitration is tied to opinion, and while this definition satisfies me because it validates my nice arbitration concerning truth and arbitration, it does nothing to advance my quest. This is because, as I have said, Doubt does not quite care for how true something really is. He cares for how convinced you are that it is true, how highly on your personal knowledge scale your little belief ranks.

You see Father, the reason I have not yet been able to shake Doubt’s terrible claws from my shoulder is because I cannot claim to know the answers to the questions he asks me. Now in hindsight I believe I can be forgiven for mistaking this problem with the problem of truth. As you must have surmised from this entire quest, I am obsessed with truth. In order for me to accept something I must confirm it is true, and it is by these means that Doubt has been able to attack time and time again. And while the lovers of Sophie that line the roads of Epistemology would say that placing truth as a fundamental criterion for knowledge is noble, on days such as this, when Doubt seems more powerful than ever, their endorsements do little for me. Unlike a good chunk of your children I not only care a great deal about truth, I also have a very high standard for what can be termed truth. And honestly I am really starting to envy this good chunk of your children.

Take for example people I have met called Abductees. These are children of yours that assert that beings from beyond the stars have seized them and used them as subjects in strange experiments. Now, based on my statements on truth and arbitration, I would conservatively term such statements arbitrations. Barring verification, one cannot really say that these things are true. That, however, matters not to those that have put them forth. They know these things, as much as any man on earth can claim to know anything. We could find out tomorrow that their statements are false, that extra-terrestrial beings have not in fact been collecting our siblings and doing strange things to them, and their knowledge would be rendered hollow. This, however, would not change how much they believed them. At the time before verification they knew that these statements were true. They would have died for such beliefs, confident that they were right. Plato and his ilk would adamantly state that this level of conviction does not change the fact that they do not know, but for one like me, facing the deep voice of Doubt, such adamance is useless. The fact remains that for such people, wrong they may be, Doubt is no problem. He does not hang over their heads and bring their affairs to a grinding halt; he does not colour their every action with the shadow of uncertainty. Whether or not they are wrong, one must admit that they do not have the problem that I have, and on some days I feel as though I would not wish this problem on my worst enemies.

In spite of making this discovery however, my ‘nobility’, or perhaps my lack of ability, did not let me seek an easy out from the ramblings of my once little friend. Unfortunately I have been wearing the Hat of Unverified-Arbitration-is-not-Truth for far too long, and honestly I do not think I am ever going to be able to completely take it off. This state of mind appears to now be a fundamental state of my mind, and I fear only desperation the likes of which I have never felt before would push me to divest myself of this mode of thinking. Even faced with such desperation I get the feeling (no doubt inspired by Doubt) that in time my high standards for truth would soon come sneaking back into my head and I would once again relegate any statement to the land of arbitration. In an odd twist it seems the very thing which caused me to smile in the face of Doubt but a few weeks ago now brings me lower than I have been in quite the while.

My continued foray along the path of Episteme did not do much to help me. I happened upon a book by a more recent lover of Sophie called Bertrand Russell, and reading it has perhaps caused me more pain than my discovery on Doubt’s real desires. Now I know I promised to only focus on the works of the ancients Father, but this book was called “The Problems of Philosophy”; I felt it wise to read it. If there are any problems with my love for Sophia and my quest to find her, would it not be smart to discover them before I go too far?

In this book Russell, in a manner most calm, showed that almost all the little things that one claimed to know were nothing but bald-faced arbitrations. By doing nothing but observing a single table the man laid waste to all that I thought I knew, even issues not yet questioned by my friend. The questions he used to destroy my preconceptions were very similar to those often put forth by Doubt himself, and his major achievement lay not in asking them, but in showing that they had no real answers. He, in effect, took my personal arbitrations and extended them, growing their reach till they covered almost everything, including the very nature of the paper on which I write this letter. So sensible was his rhetoric that even questions Doubt asked me long ago, questions that I found easy to ignore, such as whether or not the sky is blue, returned, suddenly pressing and very important. Allow me to pat myself on the back for reading on, dear Father; I honestly do not know how I continued to indulge Mr Russell even with the rising amplitude of my friend’s voice.

Russell’s brutal attack on knowledge, and by extension truth, was apparently inspired by another fairly contemporary lover of Sophie, a Frenchman by the name Rene Descartes. Reading the means by which he arrived at his conclusion of universal arbitrariness, I think I can say that the Frenchman was perhaps as plagued by Doubt as I am. As legend would have it he locked himself in a room and decided to put to question everything he thought he knew, and the result was what I read before me that day. Nothing is known and so nothing can be known to be true. Everything we speak, however evident, is arbitration. The implications of such a worldview are staggering, Father, but luckily before I could descend into a pit of confusion most supreme Russell revealed the one thing Descartes had discovered to be true. It is a very famous statement, one I’d heard even as a child parading the halls of the House. It read: “I think therefore I am”.

A brief analysis reveals why this statement cannot be doubted. Regardless of how one views one’s existence, regardless of the countless questions and answers that Doubt can bring forth, the fact remains that because one is even thinking these questions, considering these answers, he must exist. One cannot doubt one’s existence. I think, therefore I am. This is the one thing Doubt cannot touch, the one thing Doubt cannot question. Apt, then, that the process by which the Frenchman arrived at this conclusion is often termed the “Method of Systematic Doubt”.

Now discovering that Doubt would never be able to question whether or not I exist is but a small victory. I still have to contend with the fact that everything else, if Russell and Descartes are to be believed, is open to question, that everything everyone says is nothing but arbitration no matter how hard one tries to verify it. Reading Russell’s book so far has not given me much confidence in the rest of my quest for Sophia, and honestly Father I am just about ready to give up. But Platocrates is getting really deep with his description of governments, and Augustine apparently smuggled some metaphysics into his Confessions, and I have been told by a stray lover that Russell has an optimistic message at the end of his book, and so I will continue. Fearing I will never find real truth, but knowing I can always be certain of my own existence, I will continue. Besides, soon I will take off whatever Hat(s) allowed me to reflect so deeply, and I would forget, albeit temporarily, about Russell’s words. I honestly cannot wait, dear Father, to look upon the world without the taint of universal arbitration.

With fatigue,

Your Prodigal Son

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

On Hearts, Hats and Minds

Dear Father,

In my last letter I attempted to define truth, to make the distinction between things that were true and things that were simply appealing. It was the latest in many attempts at permanently, or more effectively, silencing my companion, and while I may have declared victory as I finished the missive but a few weeks ago, I am sad to inform you that my triumph was rather short-lived.

You must not be surprised by this, dearest Father. As you know your children have very short memories. On a particularly busy day, attempting to recollect details of even routine and mundane tasks like breakfast can leave one pensive for minutes. While we are capable of displaying better skill with our memories when the situation demands it, we know that even the best of these memories is seldom a perfect record of events transpired. Our minds colour them with our personalities, focusing on the things that we deem important and pushing into irrelevancy things that we deem not. All but the very best of your children suffer from this, and oftentimes I am left wondering whether this flaw is by design, or whether it is a glitch in the otherwise perfect world you have made.

And so, not long after I had smugly agreed with Doubt as to the arbitrary nature of my rather long missive, my powerful convictions were all but wiped from my mind. I did not forget them entirely; my distinction between truth and arbitration remains an important one, if not to you or him, at least to me. I arrived at this distinction because of the pain and distrust Doubt has caused me since the day I met him; it is not one that would so easily go the way of my breakfast. Unfortunately, however, one of the side effects of the poor memories your children possess is that knowing in one’s mind that a thing is true does not always translate to knowing the same in one’s heart. Our short memories compel us to remember things by repetition; it is only by doing something over and over again that the strong (and still less than accurate) records we so desire may be formed and accumulated. And so while I may be able to reason wonderfully and come to great truths that would make gifted lovers of Sophie like Platocrates quite proud, the moment I turn from such musings to the mundane affectations of my life they are quickly forgotten, and Doubt is once again allowed to have his way with my mind.

It is at such moments I am reminded of how much I envy you, dearest Father. In much the same manner as Doubt is endemic to me and the rest of your children, he is foreign to you. Of course you must know of him, very well I dare say. But he does not possess you as he does me. This distinction, between knowing something and knowing of something, between knowing something in words but not in heart, is one that is very important, and unfortunately manifests itself in completely different ways in your children and yourself. After I had devised my new definitions for truth and arbitration, one can safely say that I knew of them, that I had the words in my mind. I could recall them with relative ease, and speak of them freely from memory. However, one cannot say that I knew them. I am far more intimate with Doubt, more comfortable with my old definitions of truth as that which makes sense or which feels right, than I am with the new and possibly more accurate distinctions between actual verified statements and simple arbitrations.

You can easily see why your children are really glaring statements of imperfection when placed alongside yourself. In order to know things, to remember them reflexively, we must learn them. We must train ourselves to see them in a certain way. And if these things are the wrong things, then we must spend time learning the right things and unlearning the wrong. Contrast this with yourself, Father, you that never has to learn anything. You know what you know. More importantly, the things you know are the right things and the things you know of are the “unright” ones. Because truth for you is a non-issue, your knowledge operates on a level far above ours. For example you know Sophia, very well in fact, in a way that no human ever will. But you must also know of not knowing Sophia, as the very act of knowing her is something that you made. You are always filled with certainty, but you know of Doubt, as once again Doubt’s very existence cannot be without your will. Very few of your children, both within the House and outside it, possess this skill, and when they do it is usually over a very small scope of trivial, lesser things. I cannot even count myself in their ranks, and so it should come as no surprise that Doubt is still fluttering about my head even after the bold discoveries listed in my last letter.

It seems to me that when I was uttering those statements, discovering those potential “truths”, I was of a certain mind. I, compelled by the pettiness of my companion, had temporarily discarded my normal way of thinking and had entered a new one, one that allowed me to view the world in a different manner and in so doing make different assumptions and arrive at different conclusions. There is a saying amongst your children that, to me, describes this perfectly: “Put your thinking cap on”. It is a statement that enjoins the listener to pause a moment and think deeply on an issue, to pull from his mind a rich vat of knowledge and reason and inspect it carefully so as to reach a desired conclusion. Perhaps then whenever your children think on things we would not normally consider, in ways that we would not normally use, we are putting our thinking hats on. (I personally consider hats to be much cooler than caps, hence the personalisation of the phrase). We are wearing these things over our heads that force us to consider the world from a certain perspective, to forget, temporarily, what we already know and consider more deeply the things we only know of. The thinking hat, in its various shapes and forms, changes the very nature of our minds. Unfortunately we do not – cannot – always wear these hats, and the moment we take them off the knowledge in our hearts, carefully cultivated and grown from years of reinforcement, takes hold of us once more.

It seems then that in order to unlearn wrong things and learn the right ones we must wear our thinking hats as often as possible, each hat suited for a different kind of inquiry. The Hat of Truth, for example, will allow me to consider what is true and what is not, as I did in my last letter, while the Hat of Reason may help me distil the pure nature of logic and reasoning from the all too common mixtures of fallacies…

Much as I felt at the end of my last letter, dearest Father, I very much like this conclusion. It is inevitable that whatever immediate victories I gain against Doubt would be short-lived, but by wearing my wonderful hats as often as possible it is not farfetched to believe that I may come to discern truths strong enough to dispel the pesky fellow. I may come to know in my heart, as much as in my mind, what is true and what is not, and by so doing make my triumphs more permanent.

Of course postulating on the nature of hats and truths implies that I must be wearing the Hat of Hats and the Hat of Truth at the same time, and while this imagery certainly calls the efficacy of this metaphor into question, I humbly request, dear Father, that you look the other way. I am but a little child in a strange forest, very far from home. Allow me, in this one case, to be a Small Arbiter, and to have my varied hats when I can.

With a thinking hat,

Your Prodigal Son

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

On Truth and Arbitration

Dearest Father,

As expected my quest continues, enriching my young mind in the process. I have met many on this path, both seasoned lovers of Sophia and young amateurs like myself, but it seems none wants to give me the time of day. I do not blame them; I myself am not a very talkative fellow. I am sure a single look at my scowling visage, as my winged companion rambles on on whatever topic he fancies, has served as a deterrent for many a prospective friend. I have been very busy with my regular duties as a human, and the next few weeks promise to be rather hectic. I am approaching a milestone in my training, a point at which I shall finally be awarded a document that states I am worthy to call myself a bachelor in my art, and the days leading up to such a ceremony are bound to be tasking. This perhaps explains why I’ve found myself scowling more often than not. It is certainly not as a result of my little friend’s ramblings; he knows better than to speak on issues surrounding my studies. With matters so pressing I cannot afford to entertain his musings for more than a few minutes.

I will not bore you, Father, with tales of my studies. I suspect you will not find such topics too interesting. On the issue of my quest, however, I must say that it is going rather swimmingly. Now I may not be able to travel very far in the coming weeks – the aforementioned issues have all but captivated my attention – but the progress I have made thus far has been very rewarding indeed.

With regards to Platocrates and his Republic, it has finally become clear to me exactly why the book is called thus. Initially it boggled the mind as to why a treatise concerning justice would bother with the description of a state, but it seems that in order to show his listeners and readers what the true meaning of justice is, Platocrates has elected to construct the perfect city – he reasons that in such a city the most perfect rendition of justice would be all too easily discovered. This is an act I find both admirable and slightly annoying. Admirable, for it shows the immense dedication of the lover with whom I have cast my lot; annoying, because it makes this one segment of my journey stretch even longer. I would much rather he got to the point in short order, but I suspect that his long-windedness will eventually pay off. I have already learned quite a bit from his words so far, not in the least of which is the fact that he eventually bests whomever questions his postulations. I suspect this is because we are passively experiencing his account on the matter, an account that attempts to drive home a point. As the points are being made by Platocrates himself, it would certainly be odd if each and every one was struck down and he was shown to be the fool. There is also the fact that we are reading a one-sided account of the dialogues. For all we know Platocrates did miss a few points that fateful afternoon in the house of Polemarchus, and pride kept him from writing about it.

As I settle in to follow him on this journey into the perfect city, I suspect it will not be long before you start seeing missives from me addressing both these issues: justice and perfection. While Platocrates may seek to join them in order to make a point, this young lover still considers them to be very separate things indeed.

On the Numidian’s Confessions, an almost similar theme is discovered. When I left him, Augustine was lamenting his sinful nature, comparing some of the ways of your children with those of their almighty Father, and of course finding them lacking. He spoke about the deplorable nature of his youth, with his wayward father and his good, but at times misguided, mother. All of this was delivered, of course, with the requisite tone of exultation, as the Numidian never misses an opportunity to praise you and your ways, even the manner in which you mete out punishment.

Perhaps it is because I am also walking the path of justice with Platocrates, but his mention and acceptance of your punishments made me think once more of justice and what it means to be just, especially for one such as yourself. I doubt Platocrates will address divine justice in his dialogue, and so I expect that this is another issue on which you will soon be hearing from me. If I am finally to find and understand you, understanding the purpose and impetus behind the laws with which you rule the universe is essential, no?

Aside from the lessons I am learning from my wonderful teachers, I still have my once little friend to contend with. As I mentioned, I have found it very easy to ignore his mutterings these past few days; my human duties leave no space in my head to entertain him. As you know his questions, per his name, always play on my perceived ignorance. He finds anything that I may have ever questioned before, even in my earliest days, and he brings the full force of his evil voice to bear upon it. It has occurred to me in the weeks past that if I am to rid myself of him completely, I must be certain of the answers I give him; I must be as convicted as the greatest elders in the House, as wise as Sophie’s most prolific lovers. Unfortunately, for one as conscientious as myself, in order to be certain of my answers I must be convinced that they are true, and if there is one thing I have discovered thus far Father, it is that finding the truth is very hard indeed.

The subject of truth is one that I know many lovers of Sophie have battled with across centuries and millennia. One cannot know Sophia if one does not know truth, but how does one know when one has found truth? Of course the very question of how one knows anything is an even more fundamental problem for lovers of Sophie, one that ties directly to my conundrum with Doubt. Once again I find myself envious of you, dearest Father. Such petty questions as how to know what you know have never bothered you; would that I could be like you in that regard.

Now I am sure that countless men before me have tackled the issue of truth in an attempt to settle it once and for all. As an amateur on this path, I cannot even hope to come to conclusions as rich and as complex as theirs. For this I ask your forgiveness, dear Father; whatever you read in this letter today will be but the simple musings of a child plagued by a wily foe…

As a younger man, the question of truth was a non-issue for me. I believed everything I was told by parents and elders, and in my mind those things were true. I did not know any better, you see, and, as you must have observed in your children, in the absence of actual, concrete knowledge, anything goes. If we are not told what to believe we create our own beliefs, extrapolating from whatever foundations we have previously established until we arrive at a worldview. The problem arises when something challenges this worldview. At such a moment we have two choices: change our views, or prove to ourselves that our views are true while the other view, the challenger, is false. Of course I have found my challenger in my companion.

Now a long time ago I believed that logic, or to my young mind sense, was a good metric for determining what was true and what was not. Things that made sense were true, and things that did not were not. Of course this is a very flimsy method of determining the truth, and when Doubt finally came along it was not long before I was made aware of this. On this journey alone I have discovered numerous positions taken by various lovers of Sophie, all addressing the same issues, and yet all diametrically opposed to each other. The presence of multiple Families within the House is another immediate strike-down for this line of reasoning. To a certain extent, as much as my inexperienced mind can discern, the positions held by the chief dissenter at the time of the Great Rebellion made quite a bit of sense. I have often told myself that had I been alive with the German at the time, I may have joined his cause. Many positions put forth by members of the Family of Rebels make sense; in many ways they are logically consistent. The same can be said of the core beliefs of my Universal Family. And while I do not know much about them, I am fairly certain that the Orthodox Family, which broke off long before the Rebels even came into view, also has teachings that are sensible and logically consistent. And yet all these Families vehemently disagree on fine points, and all of them teach that each is the true way to your heart and the Great Upstairs. From this alone it is rather evident that sense, or logic, is not enough to ascertain what is true; after all, even Doubt’s words make sense. Evidently in order to find truth, its essence must be separated from that of logic and sensibility.

After some thought it occurred to me that at its core, a truth is something that is accurate, a fact. A statement such as “John is male” is true in so far as the concept described by male can accurately be attached to the person known as John. Now there is a danger for me to devolve into definitions of “concept” and “knowledge”, and Doubt is whispering dangerous nothings into my ear, trying to compel me to verify exactly what these are. But I am tired, and my mind is not yet formed, so I beg that you use basic intuition to understand what it is that I mean. (Even the word “intuition” causes the creature to smile.) I do not think this should be a problem for you, Father. While mere humans may quibble over the true meanings of these words, you see into my heart; you must know exactly what I am trying to describe.

From the aforementioned definition it becomes clear that every statement that asserts something has the potential for truth, including this one. In fact I can say that most of the sentences I have written to you thus far possess truth-potential; all that is required is the fulfilment of such potential, their verification if you will. In this way the question of logic becomes a secondary one, one that I must admit is difficult to push aside. Whether by nature or by nurture, I look with disdain upon statements that make no logical sense; I am far more likely to consider an inconsistent statement to be false than to consider it true. But if we are to go by our new definition of truth then its logical consistency is irrelevant. “John is not John”, while apparently nonsensical could in fact be true. One just needs to ascertain this fact and harvest, so to speak, its truth-potential.

In the absence of verification, it seems then that a statement simply remains a statement, neither true nor false as far as the observer is concerned. Of course it is one or the other, (or perhaps – senselessly – both) but not neither… or is it? Doubt is toying with me once again. For now we will state that it must be one or the other. The fact remains that it is impossible to tell which until verified. Such a statement, hanging in the nebula of truth-limbo, could then be termed an “arbitration”, a simple string of words whose actual value is yet to be discovered. And as long as this arbitration is logically consistent, newer, assumed truths can be spun from it and entire paths can be forged in its name.

It seems to me that this is exactly what has happened in reference to the countless things that we your children, both within the House and without it, find ourselves at loggerheads over. Regardless of the truth value of the statements made, it seems some great men have made many arbitrations and, assuming them to be true, have dedicated their lives to the logical implications that follow. By so doing their viewpoints appear very attractive to those of us that hold logical consistency in high esteem, or at the very least agree with, for whatever reason, the underlying arbitration. This of course is most applicable to the differences between the Family of Rebels and the Universals, where with the Rebels I believe there are five fundamental arbitrations, listed and championed by the dissenting German elder, Luther. I am neither disposed, nor do I believe I know enough, to tackle these arbitrations and unearth their real truth value, but it is an exercise I am sure I would undertake at some point.

I like this conclusion, Father, because even Doubt is silent and pensive as I write this. To summarise, I believe there are statements whose truth values may or may not be known. When they are known we can safely term them truths, and as long as they are not we must view them as arbitrations and tread carefully in our consideration of them. Of course such a worldview makes you the Great Arbiter, for whatever you speak becomes the truth, immediately shaping the universe to your desires. The world, then, is nothing more than one very long statement spoken from your lips, in an instant both arbitration and truth. Such a realisation, dear Father, is very humbling indeed.

With much thought,

Your Prodigal Son

P.S. Not to be outdone my companion has pointed out that all of this is nothing but verbose arbitration, and I agree with him. I cannot describe my glee at the horrified look on his face.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,

On My Once Little Friend

Dear Father,

Time trudges on as it must, and so do I. Slow and steady progress is being made on the teachings of both Platocrates and Augustine, and I am starting to find that my journey may be a little more organic than I had imagined. I have taken many detours, exploring various sub-concepts espoused by the great men I follow, and in so doing I am learning far more than I could have hoped to had I simply stayed on the beaten path of justice, Republics and Confessions. The time is coming when you and I shall begin to have discussions on the thoughts and postulations of these and other men, but unfortunately, it is not here yet. At the moment I wish to draw your attention to the fellow that has been following me since my departure; in the weeks past, he has become quite the problem.

As I mentioned in my last letter, the little spat over the season’s sacrifice resulted in the shocking growth and enlargement of my companion. This growth seems to have affected more than just his size. His voice appears to have changed as well, turning slowly from its playful, high-pitched squeal to a deeper, more ominous baritone. And with this change in tone and size has come a disturbing change in demeanour.    When he first joined me, he yammered about useless, trivial things. I would look upon the sky and marvel at its blueness and he would ask how I knew it was blue and not some other colour. I would breathe the air and marvel at its coolness and he would ask whether or not it was hot to the fellow down the road. There was nothing too little, too simple, for him to have an opinion about, and while at times I found his yammering to be nerve-grating, it was for the most part rather harmless.

All that changed when the Season of the Fast began and I was forced to consider what to give up for you. For the first time, it seemed, he turned introspective; he turned serious. It was as though he understood the gravity of the season, and what a sacrifice to you would entail for a soul as lost as mine. For a few moments I felt he’d finally realised that his constant bickering was of no constructive value, and that he was to be quiet while I tried to sort out my deep questions. Of course that is not what happened. His questions did not cease; they became even more disturbing. There was nothing he did not drill; every point, every sacrifice I considered, he questioned till it could be questioned no more, causing me grow increasingly unsure of its worth and its importance. There was nothing I could hide from him, nothing that was sacred to him. Even when I tried to push from my mind the habits to which I was most attached he latched onto them in an almost prescient manner, asking why I did not wish to consider those for sacrifice, questioning my perceived nobility, how much I actually wished to sacrifice, and whether or not I was simply posturing to sate my inner guilt. In those days after we heard the bell it seemed like he saw into my very soul; I may have made light of the matter at the time, Father, but it was a very troubling period for me.

In the end, overwhelmed with uncertainty and unsure of even my innermost intentions, I decided to default to food. It has proven most helpful and useful, and after assuring myself with soothing words and intimidating the creature with harsh ones, he seemed to  quiet, and I was left in peace. The damage had been done, however, as I found the day after that he’d grown much bigger overnight. When I first noticed this many weeks ago I was filled with a deep dread. I already hated the way he had attacked me on the sacrifices; something told me that his playful and frivolous questions were going to get much fewer, and his deeper and more powerful ones much more numerous.

I mentioned last time how he seems to grow more talkative whenever my thoughts are focused on you and things concerning you. That was why I refused to add your Book to those I was currently focusing upon, in order to pre-emptively keep him from talking. But like a being that knows my innermost thoughts he has brought his questions regardless, determined to force conversation in his direction. It is not enough that I have tried occupying myself with a variety of things, from my on-going quest for you and for Sophie, to my normal duties as one of your children on this earth. Not to be deterred, it seems, he has wormed his new, deep voice into almost everything now. Where his questions were at once fun and foolish they now cast a spectre upon my day, paralysing me completely and preventing me from making a single decision. It is only when faced with matters of extreme urgency, or when I am able to muster the full breadth of my resolve, that I am able to get past his voice. If I have even a modicum of time to think on something, I find it impossible to shut him out.

This has been going on for a while now, and the longer it lasts the larger he grows. I mentioned in my very first letter how I wasn’t sure whether or not he was a minion of You-Know-Who, and in a funny and subversive manner, it seems even he is not aware. I have tried my best to figure out just what he is, and I think I may have arrived at an answer. He is not my conscience, that wonderful thing that many in the House have held up as reason to praise and thank you every day. No. While he may sound and act like it from time to time, I believe he is something even more fundamental than conscience, something that on some level even conscience needs in order to operate. I doubt he is some strange manifestation of myself, or my stereotypical innermost desires. If he were, it would be fun and terrifying to study him, not annoying and incapacitating. No. From the nature of his questions, and the timing of both his appearance and his growth, I believe he is Doubt.

Think about it, dear Father. He questions everything I do, even the very act of doing. He is always there, commenting on even the most mundane of human pursuits. He at times offers amusement and introspection, at others confusion and fear. And perhaps most important of all, he showed himself the moment I left the safety and reassuring protection of the House. Now I have no doubts that he has been with me long before I stepped beyond the Gates of the Rock. I mentioned, in the letter on my reasons, the many questions I had concerning you and your love and your presence; I am certain it was he that was the source of these questions. It seems he joined me when my faculties of reason reached a threshold, when I could finally look upon the world and attempt to understand it.

Where he came from, and who sent him, I do not know. Doubt, I have been told, is a healthy thing, a good thing. Perhaps then he comes from you. That would certainly explain why he grows bigger when I consider the more important issues on this your earth. On the other hand, Doubt is perhaps the underlying motivation behind my departure from the House, which from where I am standing, and from where history has stood, is almost always a bad thing. So perhaps he is from You-Know-Who. It has always struck me as odd that you would allow the Dark One so much access to your House and all within that he is able to plant his minions comfortably among us, and it seems this may be one of them. Strange then that only upon leaving the House did he appear; perhaps you were keeping me from seeing him, that I may defeat him without truly engaging him, and now that I am no longer under your care, you have removed the protective veil…

I have been thinking about what to do with him, Father. I cannot let him continue to grow, and it seems the more I leave him unattended, the more likely that is to happen. I have managed to get to him to cower on occasion, by either berating him into silence or by sufficiently showing him that he is wrong.  Now I am a cultured fellow, dear Father; shouting at someone to get them to shut up is something that should only be done when one has no other recourse. And so it is my initial intention to reason with Doubt. His biggest questions, my biggest doubts, lie with you: Who you are, what you do, where you are, why you seem to have left me, why I am compelled to seek you out. Of course these are perhaps the biggest questions that all of humanity has come to ponder across all ages. Silencing Doubt on such matters will not be easy, and in many ways I doubt simple reason will be sufficient to ensure that he stays quiet – as of this writing there is no issue on which I have managed to guarantee his eternal silence; the best I have been able to achieve is a simple reduction in the frequency of his questions.

So how, Father, shall I tackle and tame my once little friend? With tools learned from my quest for Sophie like reason, truth, observation and evidence? With a dogged, House-like conviction, even as he grows larger and fatter before my very eyes? With choice and fortuitous revelations from you, as you have done for others many times in the past? Of course you know the answer, dearest Father, and of course you will not tell me; I have been told that is not your way. I will not be deterred by this uncertainty, however; it is fairly evident that if the current situation persists the creature will eventually drive me mad, and I am very much in love with my sanity. So I plan to sample all three methods, to the best of my powers of course. Await my letters, dear Father; my battle with this beast is bound to be a very, very interesting one.

With a little hello from Doubt,

Your Prodigal Son

Tagged , , , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: