Yesterday I alluded to wildcards, and want to take a moment and expound. In a search string the symbols *.* indicated any character or string of characters and is called a Wildcard.
When searching for answers it is effectively an algebraic expression for concepts or thoughts. The answer, the solution can be anything.
Here is the lesson: *.* can mean anything because anything you put here is viable.
What is true and truth are not the same. Something that solves the equation is considered true, but not necessarily true.
Anything can take the place of the wildcard, but not just anything has value, therefore not everything is TRUTH.
So, to bring home my point let's examine syllogisms, those wonderful 2 premise statements which conclude - math for words.
Take the following syllogism:
All dogs have fur.
Spot is a dog.
Therefore Spot has fur.
But we know some dogs don't have fur. We see here that the conclusion is in error, even though it's "true," because the premise has to be true for the conclusion to be true.
In logic, strictly logic mind you, the word true simply means satisfied. It's like saying, "Check". Got my bat? check. Got my ball? Check.
Does the conclusion satisfy the two preceding premises? Check.
Does the answer contain any characters? Check. Wildcard. Anything works. Anything satisfies. Anything allows you to say, "check." But that doesn't mean truth is contained therein.
So, how do we know truth?
In a day and age where the majority of people are not able to follow a syllogism and do a "check" for what is "true", it is all but impossible to think those same people can determine what is truth. Truth is so much bigger than, so much higher than, true...
Most don't understand the implications of FACTS, let alone Truth. They are generally able to sidestep facts, to disassociate themselves from them. They wouldn't know one if it bit them on the nose.
And when they do make such arguments, these "FACTS" they banter about only apply to others. Not themselves, or those they associate with at this present moment.
Truth in this case is momentary and fleeting and positionally dependent.
How has the definition or relationship to truth been reduced to this?!
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
Along For The Ride
I wanted to name this blog "Along For The Ride." It's a sentiment that haunts me of late. But, alas, the name was taken already. This post will have to suffice, much to my chagrin.
Why, might you ask, is this concept frequently in my thoughts of late? Perhaps it's the soul searching I am engaged in at the moment. Perhaps nearing fifty at a hurtling speed. Maybe the final dying gasps of hopes that no longer fight to live, as they succumb to numb reality. I don't know. Maybe it means nothing.
Were this another day I might wax poetic or weave a tale rife with emotion. Today I'm just along for the ride.
Is it passive or realistic? Is it hopelessness that weighs me down or indifference? I can't tell any longer, and because of this I don't offer any solutions or suggestions to impact a viewpoint. My youth is certainly slipping away or is it wisdom setting in? Does it even matter?
I proffer a guess, or it's near approximation; I think in the final analysis it really doesn't matter. How you are viewed, considered, remembered is all determined by those who remember. You can't effect their perspective. They must arrive at it alone.
You can determine the props and setting, the pieces they consider, but not the meaning. In the end you did and said what you did. They cannot know the fullness of your experience, background, circumstance. They see through their glass darkly, not yours, just as you viewed your encounters with others; came to your conclusions. Incorporated or rejected. So it goes.
We are constantly landing on a platform of grace or condemnation. We take our stands and come to rest, be it peaceful or not. And life is over.
Those that engage are all that's left of us, and how they view us is determined by the light that is in them. What light fills us? Emits our eyes? Most don't bother to discern or even raise their heads to ask. Sadly this is true.
How many encounters with the lost and aimless sheep? Or worse, pigs on wings or wanton dogs? Floyd had much to say, but most don't listen, do they?
Perhaps it is the giving in, the yielding to "whatever" that makes me feel this way. Maybe it is best. Who knows? Certainly not me.
Where do you put the pieces that won't be put? How do you express that which won't be expressed?
Here is the lesson: *.*
Wildcards. Endless possibilities. I don't know the answers. Does any one?
Why, might you ask, is this concept frequently in my thoughts of late? Perhaps it's the soul searching I am engaged in at the moment. Perhaps nearing fifty at a hurtling speed. Maybe the final dying gasps of hopes that no longer fight to live, as they succumb to numb reality. I don't know. Maybe it means nothing.
Were this another day I might wax poetic or weave a tale rife with emotion. Today I'm just along for the ride.
Is it passive or realistic? Is it hopelessness that weighs me down or indifference? I can't tell any longer, and because of this I don't offer any solutions or suggestions to impact a viewpoint. My youth is certainly slipping away or is it wisdom setting in? Does it even matter?
I proffer a guess, or it's near approximation; I think in the final analysis it really doesn't matter. How you are viewed, considered, remembered is all determined by those who remember. You can't effect their perspective. They must arrive at it alone.
You can determine the props and setting, the pieces they consider, but not the meaning. In the end you did and said what you did. They cannot know the fullness of your experience, background, circumstance. They see through their glass darkly, not yours, just as you viewed your encounters with others; came to your conclusions. Incorporated or rejected. So it goes.
We are constantly landing on a platform of grace or condemnation. We take our stands and come to rest, be it peaceful or not. And life is over.
Those that engage are all that's left of us, and how they view us is determined by the light that is in them. What light fills us? Emits our eyes? Most don't bother to discern or even raise their heads to ask. Sadly this is true.
How many encounters with the lost and aimless sheep? Or worse, pigs on wings or wanton dogs? Floyd had much to say, but most don't listen, do they?
Perhaps it is the giving in, the yielding to "whatever" that makes me feel this way. Maybe it is best. Who knows? Certainly not me.
Where do you put the pieces that won't be put? How do you express that which won't be expressed?
Here is the lesson: *.*
Wildcards. Endless possibilities. I don't know the answers. Does any one?
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