THE FRAGILE LOGIC OF NOW 🤫

WHEN SYLLOGISMS WHISPER AND EVERYONE ELSE SHOUTS

Have I mentioned that I love words? I love them, I love language, and I adore learning. Going to bed just a little smarter than when I woke up can make the difference between a good day and a great day.

A Beautiful Word Meets a Noisy World

A few weeks ago, I wrote about a word I had just discovered—equilibrium—and how it captured something quietly powerful in a world spinning with extremes. That post became an exploration of balance, not just in society, but also in our personal lives.

Well, it’s happened again. I stumbled across another word, one that fascinated me immediately: syllogism. There’s something elegant about it—precise, ancient, and oddly calming in its structure. It promises order, a dependable if-this-then-that progression in a time when most things feel like chaos wrapped in opinion.

Syllogism is a word rooted in Greek philosophy, a tool for rational thought. And not just any tool — one of the original jewels in Aristotle’s crown of contributions to logic. Yes, that Aristotle. The one who taught Alexander the Great. The one whose writings laid the foundation for centuries of philosophical and scientific inquiry. While Plato danced with the ideal forms and Socrates made you question your lunch choices with relentless “why” questions, Aristotle sat down and said, “Let’s get organised.”

He gave us the Organon, a collection of works that formalised logic as a discipline. And nestled within that was the syllogism. A structure of thought that looked something like this:

• All men are mortal.

• Socrates is a man.

• Therefore, Socrates is mortal.

Simple. Elegant. Undeniably logical. Even a teenager with three hours of sleep and a TikTok attention span can follow that. (Okay, maybe not before coffee.)

But here’s the thing: logic, as Aristotle envisioned it, wasn’t supposed to be just for dusty tomes and academic debates. It was meant to be applied. Used in law, politics, ethics, even relationships. A way to discern truth from trickery. A filter for clarity in a world already brimming with human folly.

Fast-forward 2,300 years.

We now live in a world where syllogisms get drowned out by slogans. Where reasoned thought is often mistaken for weakness, and emotional manipulation is rebranded as “content strategy.” We live in a world of hot takes, not deep thoughts. Of memes, not meaning. Where tweets are arguments and facts are optional.

Syllogism, my friends, is in deep trouble.

It’s not just that people no longer use logic. It’s that they don’t even expect it. We’ve become suspicious of structure. Distrustful of anything that doesn’t affirm our preloaded beliefs. If it doesn’t align with our team, tribe, algorithm, or worldview, we’re not interested — even if it’s, well, true.

You see it everywhere:

• “I feel it, therefore it’s true.”

• “They disagree with me, therefore they must be evil.”

• “It made me uncomfortable, therefore it must be wrong.”

There’s a name for these, by the way: logical fallacies. Aristotle also warned us about those. But let’s face it — in today’s digital amphitheatre, where everyone has a microphone and the loudest roar wins, fallacies are often more persuasive than facts.

This isn’t just a philosophical crisis. It’s a societal one. Without logic, we lose not only truth but the very ability to have coherent conversations. Nuance dies. Dialogue turns into a duel. And soon we’re not reasoning with each other, we’re performing for our respective echo chambers.

I don’t know about you, but I find this quite terrifying — and oddly exhausting. Because as someone who still believes in the slow, delicious grind of thinking something through, I often feel like the only person whispering “but that doesn’t follow” in a room full of people shouting “you’re either with us or against us.”

So yes, I’m making this personal. I miss logic. I miss it like an old friend who used to calm me down with clean, clear thoughts. I miss how it felt to walk through an argument and reach a conclusion instead of a cliffhanger.

And yet, I still see traces of it. In books. In late-night conversations. In the quiet resistance of people who choose curiosity over certainty. In moments when someone says, “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

This post is for them. For you. For the syllogists in spirit who haven’t given up on thinking clearly, even when the noise tries to drown them out.

Because while it might seem like logic is on life support, I still believe in its quiet, unwavering strength.

So let’s talk syllogisms. Not just the textbook ones, but the fragile, funny, maddening ways we try (and fail) to use logic in real life. Let’s connect Aristotle to Instagram. Let’s look at the collapse of coherence in politics, social media, and even modern love.

Let’s ask ourselves what happens when if-this-then-that is replaced by whatever-feels-good-now.

Spoiler: it’s not great.

But it’s also not hopeless.

Because maybe — just maybe — if we can learn to hear the whisper of a syllogism again, we might just find our way back to something sane.

Bring coffee. Bring curiosity. And bring your sense of humour.

We’re going in.

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Syllogisms vs. Shouting Matches

Once upon a time — and I mean back when people still wrote letters and read more than headlines — a logical argument could win a debate. You know, logic? That crisp, cool-headed method of connecting dots that didn’t involve cancel buttons, internet mobs, or a 24-hour news cycle with the attention span of a squirrel on espresso?

These days, reasoned thinking is like an endangered species. You might still spot it occasionally, usually in a dusty philosophy book or in the quiet gaze of someone who decided not to reply to a ridiculous Facebook comment — but it’s increasingly rare in the wild.

Let’s start with a classic.

All humans are fallible.
Politicians are human.
Therefore, politicians are fallible.

Simple. Elegant. Rooted in millennia of logic. Aristotle would give it a proud nod.

Now, take that syllogism into a modern political discussion — say, at a dinner table, a university lecture, or (God forbid) Twitter/X — and see what happens.

You’ll be accused of betrayal by someone, naivety by another, and “spreading dangerous ideas” by the rest. Someone will share a meme. Another will post a TikTok stitch. And a third will send you a three-minute WhatsApp voice message starting with “As someone who’s lived experience is…” and ending with “you really need to reconsider.”

Why? Because logic doesn’t trend. Outrage does.

We don’t seem to want logical arguments anymore. We want rhetorical fireworks — something flashy, emotional, and outrage-inducing. Something that validates our feelings, not our thinking.

We’ve replaced rationality with reaction.

In a sane world, you’d expect this:

• Problem

• Information

• Discussion

• Solution

But in our current logic-starved climate, it goes more like this:

• Problem

• Hashtag

• Accusation

• Tribal split

• Zero resolution

And in the background, truth quietly packs its bags.

Politics: Where Syllogisms Go to Die

Politics is the perfect petri dish to observe the slow, agonising death of logic.

Take Germany, where the traditional balance between fiscal conservatism and social responsibility has slowly eroded into performative outrage and ideological warfare. But this isn’t exclusive to Germany. Look (almost) anywhere in Europe and you’ll see the same virus spreading: the rise of logic-immune populism.

Destructive socialism is on the rise. Not the kind that actually helps lift communities or offers responsible safety nets. No, I’m talking about the utopian kind — the kind that promises free everything while ignoring the laws of economics, human motivation, and, well, basic syllogisms.

Let’s try one:

All systems require funding.
Universal basic income, free healthcare, and debt forgiveness are systems.
Therefore, these require funding.

Now, try saying that out loud. Suddenly, you’re a capitalist oppressor. Or worse: middle class.

But the erosion of logic isn’t just limited to economics. It has seeped into language itself, making every word a landmine.

“Words Mean Things” — Until They Don’t

One of the beautiful things about syllogisms is that they depend on clear definitions. You need to know what a “man” is, what “mortal” means, and who “Socrates” was. Without that shared understanding, the whole structure collapses.

Today, though, definitions have become slippery, bendable, subjective — often shaped more by vibes than by dictionaries. Everyone wants to be right, but fewer people want to be precise.

Try this syllogism:

All women deserve respect.
A woman is an adult human female.
Person X is a woman.
Therefore, Person X deserves respect.

Clarity. Precision. Logic. And yet… watch someone recoil.

It’s not a debate. It’s a declaration. And yet we’re living in times where even defining reality is met with suspicion, hostility, or accusations of being offensive.

Language has become untethered. A woman is — and always has been — an adult human female. This is not ideology. It’s biology. Yet even stating that now can get you labelled.

And look, language evolves. Definitions shift. But if we can’t even agree on what we’re talking about, how in the world are we supposed to think together?

Syllogisms don’t work when each term is a moving target. And let’s be honest, half the time, we’re not even arguing the same point — we’re just defending our identities.

Identity Over Inquiry

We live in a time when the conclusion is decided before the premise is even considered.

I feel offended.
Therefore, you’re wrong.

This is not a syllogism. It’s an emotional shortcut masquerading as a truth claim.

And because outrage is monetisable — because platforms reward clicks, comments, and chaos — these emotional claims spread faster than any nuanced argument ever could.

Today, feelings have become facts, and anyone pointing out logical fallacies is accused of being cold, detached, privileged, or worse. But feelings are not facts. They’re valid. They’re real. But they are subjective — and logic, by its nature, isn’t.

Which brings us to…

Social Media: Logic’s Shiny Guillotine

If syllogisms are the slow-cooked meals of thought, social media is a vending machine filled with rage snacks.

Want to share a nuanced opinion?
Too long, didn’t read.

Want to shout into the void with emotional flair?
Welcome to virality!

Syllogisms require patience. They require listening, hearing, critical thinking, and the humility to accept an uncomfortable conclusion. Social media requires none of these. Instead, it rewards:

• Quickness over depth

• Certainty over curiosity

• Noise over nuance

And then we wonder why people feel more divided than ever.

So Where Did We Go Wrong?

We stopped teaching logic. We stopped praising restraint. We stopped tolerating ambiguity.

Instead, we celebrated rawness, authenticity (which often just means impulsivity), and moral certainty — as long as it comes wrapped in enough likes and emojis.

We reward the performance of conviction, not the pursuit of truth.

Let’s try another syllogism — this time, a more sensitive one:

A society has the right to protect its citizens.
Uncontrolled immigration brings increased risk if criminal behaviour is not addressed.
Therefore, immigration policies must include accountability and consequences.

Now let’s clarify:

Refugees who genuinely flee war, persecution, and hardship — who come with the willingness to contribute, integrate, and respect the laws of their new home — are welcome. Deservedly so. But those who commit crimes, disregard the law, or refuse to adapt to the society that granted them safety — they forfeit the right to remain.

This is not cruelty. It’s logic. It’s consequence. And yes, it’s also compassion — for both sides.

Because sustainable compassion requires structure. And without logic, even compassion collapses into chaos.

But Not All Hope Is Lost

Because here’s the thing about logic: it doesn’t shout. It doesn’t trend. But it endures.

It sits quietly in the corner, waiting for the noise to die down.
It shows up in the calm conversation that doesn’t go viral but changes a heart.
It’s the sigh of relief when someone finally says, “Wait — can we actually talk this through?”

And it’s that little voice inside you — the one that whispers, something doesn’t quite add up — even when everyone else is clapping.

So yes, the world may feel allergic to logic right now. But that doesn’t mean it’s gone. It just means it’s whispering.

And maybe — just maybe — it’s time we listened a little closer.

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Truth on Trial – And the Lawyer Wins

Another uncomfortable reality: Truth now often belongs to whoever can afford the best legal team.

Justice and logic may go hand in hand in theory, but in practice, it’s about interpretation, performance, and perception. If you’ve ever followed a high-profile trial, you’ll know this isn’t a game of syllogisms—it’s courtroom theatre. With lighting, rehearsed tears, and a PR team.

Truth? That's negotiable.

Even in everyday life, being right isn't enough. You need to present well, be emotionally savvy, and preferably have an online following ready to back you up. Because syllogisms don’t go viral—but personal attacks and polished manipulation do.

Let’s be blunt: the law, like language, is being bent to accommodate feelings over facts.

Once upon a time:

A crime is committed.
The law is applied.
Justice is served.

Now:

A crime is committed.
The perpetrator’s background, trauma, and “cultural context” are weighed.
Justice is interpreted, explained away, or indefinitely postponed.

We’ve seen violent offenders—especially illegal migrants—commit heinous crimes, only to be declared “unfit for sentencing” due to psychological trauma. Not once. Repeatedly. These individuals, whose gratitude toward their host country is apparently expressed in stabbings and assaults, walk free. The victims? Forgotten footnotes.

Let’s try a syllogism:

The law is meant to protect the innocent.
Inconsistent application of the law fails to protect the innocent.
Therefore, inconsistent application of the law betrays justice.

This isn’t about being anti-migrant. Let’s again be very clear: Anyone who flees war, persecution, or hardship and comes here ready to contribute, adapt, and respect the law deserves support and protection. Full stop.

But if you abuse that generosity — if you bring violence, refuse integration, or openly scorn the culture that took you in — then your right to remain should be reconsidered. This is not xenophobia. It’s simple logic.

And yet, in today’s legal culture, logic itself is suspect.

Justice in a Time of Meme Surveillance

Let’s take the absurdity one step further — and sadly, I’m not being metaphorical.

In today’s climate, you can be arrested, interrogated, and even have your home raided for sharing a meme. Not a weapon, not classified information — a meme. A satirical image, a bite-sized joke, a reposted opinion that stepped on the wrong algorithmic toe.

The syllogism used to be:

Criminal activity threatens public safety.
Police are tasked with preventing threats to public safety.
Therefore, police investigate criminal activity.

Now, we’re seeing this instead:

A meme may offend.
Offence is equated with harm.
Therefore, sharing a meme is treated as a potential criminal act.

Welcome to the theatre of the absurd — where law enforcement prioritises digital sarcasm over physical safety, and where edgy humour carries more risk than repeat violent offenses.

Meanwhile, violent offenders roam free on “psychological grounds,” and dangerous ideologues walk the streets in the name of “cultural understanding” — but you better not post that politically incorrect cartoon, or the knock on your door will come before your coffee's even brewed.

All Animals Are Equal, But…

And if you're wealthy, famous, or politically connected? Well, the law is simply... friendlier.

Everyone is equal before the law.
Person X is politically favoured.
Therefore, Person X is not treated equally before the law.

A contradiction? Sure. But that’s not a bug — it’s the system working as intended.

We are living in a time where syllogisms must now bow to slogans, and the courtroom is just another stage for the ideological play du jour. Logic isn’t dead. But it’s currently gagged and shoved into the evidence locker.

And we wonder why trust is eroding.

Because when the people see justice abused, reason dismissed, and speech criminalised, they don’t just lose trust in leaders — they lose trust in truth itself.

That’s what happens when syllogisms whisper and everyone else shouts.

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Logic at Home – And the Dishwasher Argument

It’s not just society at large where logic struggles—it’s in our kitchens, our group chats, and our relationships.

Let’s take an everyday example:

Dirty dishes go in the dishwasher.
This plate is dirty.
Therefore, this plate should go in the dishwasher.

And yet, there it sits. On the counter. Staring at you. Daring you to bring it up again.

Because we don’t live in the land of syllogisms—we live in the land of emotional context. Maybe your partner was tired. Maybe they were silently protesting your tone from last week. Maybe they simply don’t believe in dishwashers. Who knows?

This is where logic folds under the weight of... vibes.

You might present your case like Cicero, but if your tone implies judgment—or worse, superiority—you’ve lost the argument before you’ve even hit “send” on the group chat.

Logic may guide traffic, but emotion drives the car. And often, it's a self-driving car with a questionable moral compass.

Try this one:

I am cold.
The window is open.
Therefore, I would like the window closed.

What you hear back is:

“So now I’m not even allowed to breathe fresh air in my own home?”

Suddenly you're not just cold—you’re controlling. The conversation derails faster than your last attempt at assembling IKEA furniture together.

We want reason, but we live in relationships.

In group chats, logic is replaced with emojis. In families, it’s replaced with twenty years of unspoken resentment and a passive-aggressive comment about how “some people clearly didn’t learn to rinse their mugs.”

Even parenting isn’t immune:

All children need sleep.
It’s past bedtime.
Therefore, it’s time to sleep.

Cue the tantrum.

Somewhere between “brush your teeth” and “I hate you and I’m running away,” you realise syllogisms don’t work on five-year-olds either.

Or adults, apparently.

Take, for instance, the timeless argument about directions:

We are lost.
Stopping to ask for directions would help.
Therefore, let’s stop and ask.

Cue the thousand-yard stare, the silent grip on the steering wheel, and the inevitable, “I know where I’m going.”

Or how about:

The bin is full.
Full bins should be emptied.
Therefore, someone should empty the bin.

Not only is the bin not emptied, but the act of mentioning it is met with, “Why is everything always my responsibility?”

Sometimes it’s not even verbal logic that fails, but visual logic. Consider the famous bathroom towel conundrum:

Wet towels need drying.
Hooks are designed for drying towels.
Therefore, towels go on hooks.

Instead, you find them draped artistically across the bed, or bundled in a heap on the floor. Apparently, gravity now counts as ventilation.

Even in romantic relationships, syllogisms get murky:

I’m upset.
You ignored my message.
Therefore, I feel unimportant.

To which you might hear:

“I was busy. You’re overreacting.”

Now you’re not just upset—you’re dramatic. The original feeling has been replaced with defensiveness, and logic has once again left the chat.

So what do we do?

We adapt. We laugh. We roll our eyes and nudge the plate toward the dishwasher for the eleventh time. Because life isn’t lived in neat arguments—it’s lived in messy, irrational, beautifully human interactions.

Still, just once, it would be nice to win an argument with logic.

But if all else fails: just load the dishwasher yourself. It’s faster, quieter, and you still get to feel superior. (Even if only in silence.)

And on a side note; choose your battles wisely. You may win each and everyone of them and still loose the war in the end.

And maybe that’s the only syllogism that always holds true:

Logic doesn’t always win the argument.
But it does load the dishwasher.
Therefore, logic wins in the end. 🍽️

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Postscript – A Little Personal Logic

When my daughter was about fifteen, she asked if she could visit a friend after school and then head to a party later that evening. I agreed—but with one simple request: that she send me a quick message when she arrived at her friend’s house and another when she got to the party.

You could literally hear her eyes roll.

So I gave her my own little syllogism:

It is my job to worry about you for as long as I live.
It is your job to be terribly annoyed by it.
Therefore, we’re both just doing our jobs.

She actually smiled. And some time later, she told me that—annoying as it was—she was glad I worried.

Admittedly, not much has changed. The worrying bit, I mean. It never really does, especially with children.

But sometimes, a well-placed syllogism still gets the job done. Especially when it’s delivered with love (and maybe a slightly raised eyebrow).

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The Contradictions We Love to Ignore

We live in a society that claims to prize logic, dialogue, and open-mindedness. But scratch the surface—even just very lightly—and what you’ll often find underneath is not reason, but reaction. The contradictions we live with, and often excuse, are not only exhausting—they’re quietly corroding our capacity for clarity, truth, and collective sanity.

Let’s start with a simple claim:

All people deserve compassion.
That person is a person.
Therefore, they deserve compassion.

Beautiful. Clean. Uncomplicated.

Except… what if they don’t agree with you? What if they post things you find offensive? What if they voted for someone you despise, or worse, refuse to post anything political at all?

Suddenly, the syllogism breaks down:

All people deserve compassion.
Except those who are wrong.
Therefore, some people deserve punishment.

That’s not logic. That’s tribalism dressed in academic robes.

This is where our once-shiny tools of reason become twisted into blunt instruments for exclusion. We redefine compassion to mean “compassion for people like me.” We redefine tolerance to mean “tolerating only what I already believe.”

We’re living in a strange intellectual climate where people claim to love “science” and “facts,” but only when those facts support their personal worldview. If they don’t, suddenly the facts are misinformation, the source is corrupt, and the expert is a sellout.

Take the debates about gender and biology. It should not be controversial to say:

A woman is an adult human female.

This is a definition, not an opinion. It’s how language works. Yet simply stating this can invite an avalanche of fury, de-platforming, or legal consequences in certain contexts.

Why? Because feelings have become more powerful than facts. Identity has become immune to inquiry. And challenging anything—no matter how calmly—is seen as a form of violence.

Let’s zoom out for a moment.

We claim to love democracy, yet when it delivers outcomes we don’t like, we scream about how “the system is broken.” We want free speech, but also want “safe spaces” free from disagreement. We want diversity, but we don’t want to feel uncomfortable.

Our syllogisms have become so malformed they’d most certainly make Aristotle weep:

Freedom of speech is good.
Your opinion offends me.
Therefore, your speech must be silenced.

It’s nonsense. And yet it’s normalised.

And the worst part? We know it.

We know we’re being inconsistent. But instead of correcting course, we double down. We invent complex justifications for the hypocrisy and reward each other for parroting them.

Here’s another logical structure that seems to have fallen apart:

All are equal before the law.
This individual committed a violent crime.
Therefore, they should be held accountable.

But now add a twist:

This individual is an illegal migrant.
Therefore, their crime is somehow excused as a product of trauma, displacement, or cultural misunderstanding.

Now, before the knives come out: Yes, trauma is real. Yes, asylum seekers are often fleeing hellish circumstances. And yes, compassion is vital.

But compassion does not mean abandoning justice or the victims of crimes.

This might feel somewhat repetitive, yet if someone seeks refuge in a country and is welcomed, that welcome must come with the clear expectation of lawful conduct and basic respect for the host society. Otherwise, what we’re creating is not refuge—it’s chaos. And worse, we’re undermining the very foundation of equality before the law.

This isn’t just about immigration. It’s about the tendency to bend principles until they snap in the name of sensitivity or ideological fashion. If you are treated differently in court because of your politics, background, or public profile, then syllogistic logic is dead—and with it, trust in institutions.

Let’s be even more honest: In today’s climate, you can have your house raided for reposting a meme that someone decides is offensive. That’s not Orwellian exaggeration—it’s already happened.

Expression is free.
Memes are expression.
Therefore, memes should be protected.

Except... not anymore.

This isn’t the healthy discomfort of a society evolving—this is the dysfunction of a society unraveling. When logic must bow to emotional consensus, we lose the very tool that allows us to think clearly through difficult issues.

And yet we’re surprised that people are confused, angry, and retreating into echo chambers.

But there’s another piece to this puzzle: we don’t just ignore contradictions in others—we ignore them in ourselves.

We say we want nuance, but we rage at grey areas. We crave understanding, but only offer it to those who speak our emotional dialect. We demand tolerance but deliver it with a moral invoice attached.

Here’s the problem: syllogism requires humility. It asks us to look at things as they are, not as we feel they should be. It requires us to accept uncomfortable truths—about ourselves, our politics, our heroes.

That’s not easy. But it’s necessary.

Because when we lose the structure of logic, we don’t just lose arguments—we lose the possibility of shared reality.

And without shared reality, democracy doesn’t work. Relationships don’t last. Society fractures.

So what can we do?

We can start by applying our own syllogisms to ourselves:

I want to live in a fair society.
Fairness requires consistency.
Therefore, I must hold myself to the same standard I expect from others.

It’s not revolutionary. But in 2025, it might as well be.

Let’s bring back the dignity of contradiction. Let’s admit we don’t always live up to our own values. And let’s try anyway.

Because if we can recover even a shred of logical honesty, we might just rebuild the trust we’ve lost—one clean, ancient, quietly rebellious syllogism at a time.

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What This Means for Relationships (Yes, Again)

Logic, as comforting and orderly as it is, has always struggled to find its place in the emotional landscape of human relationships. It’s not just that people are irrational (although, let’s face it, we often are)—it’s that feelings operate in a completely different ecosystem from syllogisms.

Let’s try a basic relationship logic:

I said I love you.
You say you feel unloved.
Therefore, you must be wrong.

Congratulations. You’re technically correct and emotionally unemployed.

This is where the whole beauty—and absurdity—of human connection plays out. Because relationships don’t operate like math problems. You don’t solve your partner’s insecurity with a well-worded proof. You don’t resolve trust issues with a logical flowchart. You connect—or disconnect—based on tone, presence, gestures, and timing.

This isn’t to say that logic has no place in love. It does. But only as a tool—not as a hammer.

Take, for example, the phenomenon of selective memory during arguments. You remember the precise date, time, and sequence of events. You’ve got receipts. You’re a walking archive with an almost photographic memory. Meanwhile, the other person remembers only how they felt.

I never said that.
Yes, you did—on March 3rd, at 7:14 PM, right before we ordered the lasagna.
Well, that’s not how I felt you meant it.

And boom: syllogism exits stage left, escorted by emotional subtext and lingering resentment.

You could be entirely accurate and still entirely wrong in the emotional equation.

Let’s talk about “helping.” You do the thing. The chore. The errand. You expect gratitude.

You say you needed help.
I helped you.
Therefore, you should feel supported.

But then comes the emotional curveball:

But you looked annoyed while doing it.

Suddenly your logical structure is in ruins, because emotions interpret tone, body language, timing—and let’s be honest, sometimes imaginary vibes. And sometimes? They’re not so imaginary. You were annoyed. You just hoped they wouldn’t notice.

Human beings are pattern-seeking creatures, but also story-making creatures. We don’t just register what someone does—we create narratives around why they did it, how they did it, and what it means. Logic tries to provide structure. Feelings bring the colour. And sometimes those colours clash.

Another example? Decision fatigue in relationships.

You always choose where we eat.
I asked you to choose this time.
Therefore, it’s your turn.

You’d think that settles it. But no.

“But I don’t want to make the wrong choice.” “But you know what I like better.” “But last time you didn’t like where I picked.”

You see? The logic is sound. The decision is fair. But now you’re on your seventh restaurant suggestion, hangry, and questioning the meaning of compatibility.

Sometimes, even kindness gets trapped in this loop:

I brought you coffee.
You love coffee.
Therefore, I did a good thing.

But it turns out, you brought the wrong milk. Or they were already halfway through another coffee. Or, worse—they were hoping you’d bring tea.

It’s not about the coffee. It never was.

What’s the lesson here?

That logic isn’t enough. That no matter how noble your intent or how carefully structured your syllogism, relationships operate in a realm where nuance rules. Where emotional literacy matters more than intellectual precision.

And still—logic isn’t useless. It just has to be placed in service of connection, not dominance.

Let’s say you’ve been accused of being emotionally unavailable. You could argue:

I show up. I respond to texts. I don’t cheat.
Therefore, I am emotionally available.

But that’s logic’s trap: mistaking presence for connection, performance for intimacy. The other person’s experience doesn’t disappear because your proof is tidy.

True emotional intelligence isn’t about abandoning logic—it’s about knowing when to let it go. About choosing empathy over victory. About asking: “What matters more right now—being right or being understood?”

One of the wisest things you can do in any relationship is to use logic to clarify your own feelings—not to invalidate someone else’s.

So instead of:

“That doesn’t make sense.” Try: “Help me understand what you’re feeling.”

Instead of:

“You’re overreacting.” Try: “What’s behind this reaction?”

Instead of:

“I already explained myself.” Try: “Is there something I missed?”

This isn’t about letting go of structure—it’s about respecting the complexity of human connection. And knowing that, often, the most generous thing you can do is let your syllogism stay silent for a moment while you listen.

Because being logically right in a relationship that’s emotionally wrong? That’s a lonely kind of victory.

Here’s the truth:

Love without logic becomes chaos. Logic without love becomes cruelty. Therefore, we need both—applied with care, humility, and timing.

Now that’s a syllogism worth living by.

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In Praise of a Quiet Companion

Let’s be honest—syllogisms won’t save the world. They won’t stop wars, heal heartbreaks, or go viral on social media. But in an age of noise, emotion-driven decisions, and shifting truths, they remain one of the few dependable tools we have left for sense-making.

There’s something beautifully stubborn about logic. It doesn’t bend for feelings, it doesn’t bow to trends, and it doesn’t need to raise its voice. It just… is. A syllogism will sit there quietly in the corner while everyone argues, and when the dust settles, it’ll still be true.

Of course, we know it’s not a cure-all. The world is far messier than a tidy “if A, then B” structure allows. But the clarity it offers? The sanity of thinking through something calmly and rationally? That’s worth a lot. Especially today.

Syllogism is not about being emotionless. It’s about having a foundation. A way to make sense of our thoughts before they get swept away by the latest algorithmically engineered outrage. It’s a compass—not a cage.

In a time where the loudest, most offended, or most viral wins the argument, logic becomes a gentle rebellion. A quiet “no, thank you” to the circus of instant hot takes and emotionally weaponised communication.

It won’t earn you applause on Twitter/X. But it might keep you sane in your own head. It might save a friendship or help you walk away from one without losing your mind. It might help you resist the urge to fire off that snarky reply at midnight—or at least make sure it has a solid premise.

Personally, I’m in love with syllogism. I love logic—especially when it’s paired with love, empathy, and kindness. It softens the sharp edges, turns rigidity into clarity, and helps with my eternal urge to understand things.

One of my former colleagues was driven absolutely mad when I kept saying, “Understanding comes from understanding.” But I stand by that. You simply cannot expect understanding from people when they don’t understand. If that sounds tautological, it is—and that’s the point. It’s not just wordplay. It’s a reminder that comprehension must precede compassion. You can’t build a bridge on assumptions and call it empathy.

Logic helps us break things down, to trace the steps that led to misunderstanding, hurt, or disconnection. And once you understand where something unraveled, you have a better chance of sewing it back together—or at least not repeating the same stitch in the next conversation.

And sometimes, when the world is too much and you feel like nothing makes sense, the simplest syllogism can ground you:

I am confused. Confusion is normal in chaos.
Therefore, I am okay.

Is it a bit silly? Maybe. But it works.

So no, syllogism won’t trend. It won’t headline the news. But it’ll be there, quietly offering you a thread of clarity in a world tangled up in contradictions.

And for that? I remain utterly, irrevocably in love with it.

Yes, I love syllogism.

Even when it whispers while the world shouts.

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🎶My Song for you

I chose The Hardest Part by Olivia Dean as it is the emotional version of:

Premise 1: I tried.
Premise 2: You tried.
Conclusion: We should be okay.
Reality: …we’re not.

It doesn’t use syllogism. It mourns its failure. It makes us feel what happens when logic meets love and unravels.

For more good music, go to this Spotify playlist where you can find all the songs from the Change & Evolve Letters!

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📚My Poem for you

Is by Edgar Albert Guest (1881 – 1959)

It Couldn’t Be Done

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done,

     But he with a chuckle replied

That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one

     Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin

     On his face. If he worried he hid it.

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

     That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;

     At least no one ever has done it”;

But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,

     And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,

     Without any doubting or quiddit,

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

     That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,

     There are thousands to prophesy failure;

There are thousands to point out to you one by one,

     The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,

     Just take off your coat and go to it;

Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing

     That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.

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👀Impression

I love going to tango in the summer at this gorgeous location in Munich - the Königsplatz by night…

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Should syllogism make a comeback or is it an overrated and antiquated concept?

Let me know your thoughts in the comments, leave a ❤️ or send me a message. I always love hearing from you.

Wishing you a beutiful weekend wherever you are.

Yours

Tanja 🤗

PS. You can now also find my podcast on Spotify

Change & Evolve and feel free to get in touch