Of gently rolling biconditionals...

p <--> q. That's p if and only if q. If not p, not q. If not q, definitely not p. Just your standard logical biconditional, two logically codependent items. Think about it in terms of a husband and his wife. If no husband, certainly no wife (she cannot be a wife by definition without her husband; she must be a wife to someone), and vice versa. But what if our dear, sweet antecedent is stripped of its precious consequent abruptly, unwillingly, tragically? What if all the forces of mathematics, physics, and fate conspire to strike a fatal blow to our gentle biconditional connective, leaving it shattered, dangling helplessly in some kind of sad, irrational limbo. p -->. If p then what? If p then what?

Like every other aspiring philosophy major at the university I attend (and there aren't very many with these ludicrous aspirations), I was obligated to take one course in formal logic to satisfy a requirement. The university offers one logic course taught by one professor, and this is how I met the university's resident logician, Jacob, who is apparently the only scholar at a giant academic institution capable of transmitting some of the most abstruse and infuriating material I've ever encountered. I recall boo-hoo-ing in my car on the rides home after the first few classes like a pathetic little baby, beating inanimate objects into submission (the steering wheel, the gas pedal etc.) and setting the stage for a very animated (read: reckless) drive home. I would then whine to my fiance about how difficult the material was, which only proved to exacerbate my academic wounds. I couldn't properly explain how difficult the subject matter was because I couldn't explain anything!

I would occasionally e-mail the good professor my questions, as he was usually accosted by almost everyone else after class. Gradually, I was able to integrate much of the information into my brain (somewhere between the correcting-other-people's-grammar lobe and the is-this-movie-worth-watching-if-it-doesn't-have-any-sex-scenes? lobe). Following the mid-term exam, it was brought to my attention by Jacob that I was his "top student". This title was at the top of my verbal resume for several days, but it was incomprehensible to me that there were not only a few students more lost than I, but every other student was more lost than I! I was on top of the world, rolling in the the soft, warm narcissism of my Teacher's Pet Syndrome like a dog rolls in the dirt. And then ... my fiance stalked my professor.

Okay, okay, he didn't exactly stalk him per se; it was really more an an impromptu visit to the house of a man he'd never met before in a town two hours away from the university I attend. Sounds fishy, I know, but I can explain! I had mentioned to my fiance, David, that I had heard that Jacob lives in the same town that David grew up in. Being the seasoned Google detectives we are, we looked him up and mapquested his house (This really isn't helping my case, is it? And yes, we zoomed in with the satellite tool; we're only human!) We just wanted to get an idea of where in town he lived (David's mother still resides there). Well, that weekend, David went to visit his mother, and the two of them somehow made the ridiculous decision to visit Jacob's house, where David proceeded to introduce himself to Jacob, who was apparently doing yard work and was covered in grass clippings. "My fiance is a student of yours!"

The above was relayed to me via an excited phone call from David fifteen minutes after he had unintentionally embarrassed the bejeezus out of me. "Guess who I just met? Your professor!" As the story unfolded, I realized that David had, benevolent intentions aside, kind of stalked my professor whom I barely knew. The mortification swept over me like a heat wave. A hot, HOT heat wave. No wait, hotter than that, much hotter than that. Lava! The molten lava of Mt. St. Awkward pouring over me! Smoldering, singeing, scalding every inch of my...well, you get the idea. It was embarrassing.

As humiliated as I was, I needn't have been. Jacob didn't seem to think it was all that odd. I later discovered that he lives in a little piece of history built in the mid 1800's, and is no stranger to the occasional uninvited drive-by. Still, I apologized profusely, and eventually my mortification faded. We began a very superficial student/professor semi-friendship. I continued to do well in the course, and began to find his sense of humor in class particularly endearing. His dichotomous nature was both perplexing and amusing. On the one hand, here we have a brilliant man who probably dreams in logical notation (I would call those nightmares). On the other, we have this goofy mid-fifties-something man who makes completely random statements about red angus cows that do not moo and stands there, grinning hugely, waiting for the students to laugh. And we did. We always did.

I attended a party around that time. Also in attendance were my former ethics professor and friend and a recent philosophy graduate I knew. We were merrily discussing Jacob's merits one moment, and the next moment the two of them were telling me that Jacob had lost his wife unexpectedly to cancer a couple years ago. Died. Cancer. Unexpectedly. At that moment, despite the fact that I had consumed many happy helpings of pina colada from a large blender, I was sobered, stomped upon, demolished. Not him. Not Jacob. It didn't seem fair. I won't get all choked up about death as a concept. "Tag, you're it" is about as much meaning as I'll ever attach to it. I'm not religious and I'm not a subscriber to romanticized portraits of destiny, but there was something about this particular situation that moved me more that usual. Firstly, I was very fond of Jacob. He had such a sweet disposition, such a gentle way about him. Really, all of his students love him; they are in many ways powerless not to. But it was more than that. Upon hearing of his wife's death, I felt an immediate sense of duty, of purpose. I could help this man. Let me make it known that I understand exactly how narcissistic and self-righteous that sounds. What can I say but that my intentions have been pure from the start, and remain pure.

Less than a week after that night, Jacob surprisingly opened up in an e-mail and revealed himself to me as a widower. I admit, I felt a bit phony having already known his painful secret, but there would have been no benefit in explaining to him that I had already had the news delivered to me by an intoxicated third party. When I read his words, it was as though I was hearing the news for the first time. I never prodded him to confide in me. I had very casually asked him to tell me a little bit about himself, even offering light suggestions such as "Have you lived in Brandenburg all your life?" He ignored everything light and fluffy and went straight to the devastated-man-with-a-dead-wife nitty gritty. I was touched that he trusted me enough to share that with me, but my sadness (not pity) for him deepened.

I have since grown to know Jacob much better. While I do not know the specific circumstances surrounding his wife's passing, he has spoken to me about missing her and even "speaking" to her many times. Jacob is a broken man. He is somewhat reclusive, delicate, and absolutely terrified of starting over/letting go. He puts on a pretty good poker face for his day-to-day, but he's got a long way to go.

So, here we have this blog, which is not a goal of any kind. This blog is merely my way of documenting my budding friendship and my progress with Jacob, as well as Jacob's progress with himself. I am not a psychologist, and I do not have a hero complex (Wait. Do I have a hero complex?). Jacob is genuinely my friend, and I want nothing more than to see him happy again, with new joys, new adventures, and a heart filled with a lust for possibility and prosperity.

Which brings me back to our sad little biconditional. q is no longer, so what will become of p? Logically, we established that p cannot exist without q in a biconditional, and in an emotional sense, that may be true right now. However, this is the real world, and joy will find a way to return even when it seems the source of all joy has perished. p's heart beats and he continues breathing because his body wants him to, and as long as that body insists he move on, it would be a pity not to at least try. And so we say goodbye to our broken biconditional, appreciating the perfect push and pull it provided for many years, this sweet mutual exchange now but a memory. p is now a lonely antecendent in a lonely conditional, an if without a then. But we have only just begun. If p then what? Oh, my poor dear, I will show you what...