Logic: Scribbles for the Soul

Already well into the summer, working hard at jobs and internships or just vacationing, it’s likely very few of you are thinking about your fall semester schedule. Like myself and so many others, you probably partook in the mad dash of registering for courses, competing with your fellow students to get into your desired classes that will help you graduate. Some of these courses might have been for your major, others for core requirements. But we all know the most important question that comes up when registering for a class: “Is it easy?” 

There’s no doubt that your average YU student’s schedule is a tall order and difficult as it is to manage. For many of us who are in MYP, you are diligently attending morning seder, shiur and night seder, leaving only a five hour window for college courses and even less time for homework (which is either done in between classes or is otherwise started at 10 p.m.). It’s tough, to say the least. It’s only natural that we should try to ease the burden by taking less rigorous courses to meet all our heavy requirements. 

But are we losing something from taking the easy way out?

For those of you who don’t know me personally, I’m one of the seven philosophy majors in YC and a member of the aptly named “Cult of Johnson.” With a department made up of only one full-time professor, philosophy majors find themselves spending long hours with the department’s chair, Dr. David Johnson. 

I didn’t start my YU career as a philosophy major; it was only incidental that I decided to register for his course on philosophy of language. In this first course I had taken with him, Johnson had talked up the beauty of the logic course he would be teaching the following semester. Towards the end of the academic year, having enjoyed my time in his class and now decidedly a philosophy major, I eagerly registered for the fall semester’s logic course. 

Like many others, I didn’t know what was in store for me. “You are all ill. You are all stumbling around blind. And only I can help you.” This was how Dr. Johnson (shlit”a) introduced us to his course on logic. We all raised our eyebrows as he wrote logical syllogisms we didn’t understand on the board, looked at each other and collectively gulped. It was going to be one of those classes.

It didn’t take long for the number of students to shrink from 18 or so to nine. Some students tended to participate more than others, suggesting possible solutions to the logical sequences; for the most part, I stayed mute and attentive, doing my best to glean as much as I could. The name of the game is deriving the conclusion of an argument from its premises, making use of various primitive and derived rules. 

People tend to think that philosophy is a fluffy area of study where those who pursue it are free to spout off whatever thought that comes to mind; they couldn’t be further from the truth. Philosophy is a cold and rigid discipline. Before even weighing the merits behind an argument, one must precisely define his argument and make sure that it’s logically sound.

“You need to go through it as a computer would,” Johnson would remind us as we put forward our proofs in class. “Is everything mechanically correct?” As we made our way through the semester, the proofs went from being 10 lines to 30 lines, to sometimes more than 60 lines long; all the while, I was struggling to keep up. 

I continued to struggle throughout … nevertheless, I started to see the beauty of it all. It took most of the semester, but I came to recognize the role logical symbolism and proofs play as the governing language of philosophy. You can’t just slash your way through it, taking shortcuts that would result in fallacious arguments, you have to be methodical. How intricate, yet how sublime when one observes a 50-line proof from beginning to end, at last staring dumbfounded at a complex proof containing no logical errors. You walk away with the most satisfying feeling you can ever experience: clarity.

This isn’t to say that I am now a master of logic; I’m quite the opposite. Yet I certainly gained from the course in ways I couldn’t have imagined walking in. One lesson I learned is that making assumptions is okay in your reasoning, so long as you mark it as an assumption. For each line in a proof, besides the next step taken, you include the rule used to derive that step as well as the assumptions that it rests on. When learning Gemara, we might come across cases where two de’os [opinions] are expressing conflicting opinions, or when a Rishon offers a surprising explanation; oftentimes they are making underlying assumptions. Noting these assumptions is critical for pilpul [sharp analysis] and helps us better understand the given shitah [position].

But there’s another lesson I learned, one that can best be illustrated by a quote from Johnson. “People who are good at doing hard things don’t do it because they find it easy,” Johnson would say, “but because they get better at doing things which are difficult.” Doing difficult things, be it physical fitness or critical thinking, is like exercising a muscle — the only way to get better at performing such tasks is through practice and continued use. When we continue to challenge ourselves, it might not make the task at hand any easier, but it better equips us to handle challenging things.

When things would get too difficult, Johnson would tell us an anecdote about Julius Caesar. On the eve of his final battle, the seasoned warrior was found to be looking pale and was asked why he looked ill after so many successful campaigns. Caesar responded that he knew that all the difficult things he had done beforehand he now had to do again.

Logic is going to be hard, I’m not going to lie to you. It might take up more time than you would’ve liked or perhaps it might negatively impact your grade. But it’s worth it. If not logic, fine, but take some hard classes; challenge yourself. Please don’t go through your academic journey at YU coasting and just trying to get by, there is so much that our brief years in college have to offer. This isn’t just a white-collared trade school. For those of us who don’t plan on attending graduate school, just remember: we’re not going to get this opportunity again. I’m looking forward to continuing my journey as a Johnson chossid with modal logic this semester and I hope that many of you will heed my advice.

“U’vacharta b’chayim!”

___

Photo caption: A logic proof on a whiteboard 

Photo credit: Schneur Schusterman