Differenze

ETICA EUDEMEA

PHILOSOPHERS have often distinguished  two kinds of truth: the truth of some statements is logical, necessary, based upon meaning, while that of other statements is  empirical, contingent, dependent upon the facts of the world. The following two statements belong  to the first kind: (1) 'Fido is black or Fido is not black' (2) 'If Jack is  a bachelor, then he is  not married' In either case it is  sufficient to understand the statement in order to establish its truth; knowledge of (extra-linguistic) facts is not involved. However, there is a difference. To ascertain the truth of (1), only the meanings of the logical particles ('is,' 'or,' 'not') are required; the meanings of the descriptive (i.e., nonlogical) words ('Fido,' 'black') are irrelevant (except that they must belong to suitable types). For (2), on the other hand, the meanings of some descriptive words are  involved, viz., those of 'bachelor' and 'married.'

A MAP OF VERONA Quelle belle heure, quels bons bras me rendront ces régions d'où mes sommeils et mes moindres mouvements? A map of Verona is open, the small strange city; With its river running round and through, it is river-embraced, And over this city for a whole long winter season, Through streets on a map, my thoughts have hovered and paced. Across the river there is a wandering suburb, An unsolved smile on a now familiar mouth; Some enchantments of earlier towns are about you: Once I was drawn to Naples in the south. Naples I know now, street and hovel and garden, The look of the islands from the avenue, Capri and Ischia, like approaching drum-beats— My youthful Naples, how I remember you! You were an early chapter, a practice in sorrow, Your shadows fell, but were only a token of pain, A sketch in tenderness, lust, and sudden parting, And I shall not need to trouble with you again. But I remember, once your map lay open, As now Verona’s under the still lamp-light. I thought, are these the streets to walk in the mornings, Are these the gardens to linger in at night? And all was useless that I thought I learned: Maps are of place, not time, nor can they say The surprising height and colour of a building, Nor where the groups of people bar the way. It is strange to remember those thoughts and try to catch The underground whispers of music beneath the years, The forgotten conjectures, the clouded, forgotten vision, Which only in vanishing phrases reappears. Again, it is strange to lead a conversation Round to a name, to a cautious questioning Of travellers, who talk of Juliet’s tomb and fountains And a shining smile of snowfall, late in Spring. Their memories calm this winter of expectation, Their talk restrains me, for I cannot flow Like your impetuous river to embrace you; Yet you are there, and one day I shall go. The train will bring me perhaps in utter darkness And drop me where you are blooming, unaware That a stranger has entered your gates, and a new devotion Is about to attend and haunt you everywhere. The flutes are warm: in tomorrow’s cave the music Trembles and forms inside the musician’s mind, The lights begin, and the shifting crowds in the causeways Are discerned through the dusk, and the rolling river behind. And in what hour of beauty, in what good arms, Shall I those regions and that city attain From whence my dreams and slightest movements rise? And what good Arms shall take them away again?

By the logical syntax of a language, we mean the formal theory of the linguistic forms of that language -- the systematic statement of the formal rules which govern it together with the development of the consequences which follow from these rules. A theory, a rule, a definition, or the like is to be called formal when no reference is made in it either to the meaning of the symbols (for examples, the words) or to the sense of the expressions (e.g. the sentences), but simply and solely to the kinds and order of the symbols from which the expressions are constructed.

1 Tutta la terra parlava la stessa lingua e usava le stesse parole. 2 Dirigendosi verso l'Oriente, gli uomini capitarono in una pianura nel paese di Scinear, e là si stanziarono. 3 Si dissero l'un l'altro: «Venite, facciamo dei mattoni cotti con il fuoco!» Essi adoperarono mattoni anziché pietre, e bitume invece di calce. 4 Poi dissero: «Venite, costruiamoci una città e una torre la cui cima giunga fino al cielo; acquistiamoci fama, affinché non siamo dispersi sulla faccia di tutta la terra». 5 Il SIGNORE discese per vedere la città e la torre che i figli degli uomini costruivano. 6 Il SIGNORE disse: «Ecco, essi sono un solo popolo e hanno tutti una lingua sola; questo è il principio del loro lavoro; ora nulla impedirà loro di condurre a termine ciò che intendono fare. 7 Scendiamo dunque e confondiamo il loro linguaggio, perché l'uno non capisca la lingua dell'altro!» 8 Così il SIGNORE li disperse di là su tutta la faccia della terra ed essi cessarono di costruire la città. 9 Perciò a questa fu dato il nome di Babel, perché là il SIGNORE confuse la lingua di tutta la terra e di là li disperse su tutta la faccia della terra.

La fede nella verità

Valmorbia, discorrevano il tuo fondo fioriti nuvoli di piante agli àsoli. Nasceva in noi, volti dal cieco caso, oblio del mondo. Tacevano gli spari, nel grembo solitario non dava suono che il Leno roco. Sbocciava un razzo su lo stelo, fioco lacrimava nell'aria. Le notti chiare erano tutte un'alba e portavano volpi alla mia grotta. Valmorbia, un nome ,-  e ora nella scialba memoria, terra dove non annotta.