On the Hospice Care of Clear Communication

Words have meaning and sometimes those meanings fluctuate and move along the semantic conveyor belt like silly putty soldiers in Wittgenstein’s verbal factory clinging on to an image of what they used to be. And yet, precision does exist- there is such a thing as being clear and precise, although I fear that the syllogisms are burning.

It seems that many find clear communication to be a completely unrealistic adventure as they favor painting presumptuously laden emotional thumbnails and impressionistic murals in an attempt to communicate. Feelings and deep-seated emoticons rule the day. Logic is smoldering.

Felt needs have become the catalytic adverbs that force feed hearers a Modus Ponens IV tube while not having a proper theorem at all. It’s like trying to listen to a prattling child and being accused of insensitivity and pickiness because you find nonsensical babbling to be incomprehensible when you should be understanding and caring and sensitive. Yes, sensitive… yes, oh so sensitive. The Avon rep is calling.

Whatever happened to truth tables? Whatever happened to right and wrong and black and white? Has gray now become the color of those who claim to be enlightened? Certainly gray exists but using it to cloak a slothful mind is shameful.

Like all cultural problems there isn’t just one reason or answer for this love of nonsense. Many shaping influences have contributed to the postmodern pyrite city’s fortification. The most dominant one goes back far, far into the past. It goes all the way back to Eden where the embodiment of evil succeeded in convincing man that he was autonomous.

Believing that one has no accountability outside of themselves to an Absolute rule giver will drive not only their soul into destruction, but as I’ve come to see, it will also herd their thinking into a maddening cesspool as well.