14. Dubai: 4th Philosophical Meeting (13 pgs.)

ACT I - CHAPTER 14

DUBAI

4TH MEETING:

EPISTEMOLOGY — PART 3

Saturday January 20, 2018

Dubai United Arab Emirates

Alexandre waited in the lobby of the Luxor Arab Hotel in Dubai to meet Yellow. His French teammates were saying goodbye after defeating the United Arab Emirates team four to one in a friendly match before the World Cup.

Victoria had fully recovered and was thrilled about their wedding. She proposed several dates, and they chose Saturday, September 15 of 2018, some months after the World Cup. They wanted something intimate, familiar, exclusive, and elegant, without journalists.

The engagement made headlines, but Alexandre never discussed his private life, only football, as Patrick, his agent, had taught him.

Patrick still worried about Alexandre going offline one weekend each month. Alexandre reassured him that everything was fine and that things would return to normal after the World Cup.

He still struggled to grasp some parts of epistemology but made a sincere effort because he knew it mattered. He summarized his notes on a new tablet after removing the microphone and every part that could track or connect him to the Internet.

He expected Yellow to enter through the lobby door, but instead, Yellow emerged from the elevator.

“Follow me,” he said.

They re-entered the elevator, ascended to the fifty-seventh floor, and walked to one of the suites. Yellow opened the door with a card.

The suite’s vast living room glowed with light from floor-to-ceiling windows. The sea shimmered against the long beach, blending with the first lights of Dubai. The sun had just sunk behind the horizon.

“Hello, Alexandre! It feels like a century since our last meeting in London,” Ricardo said, approaching to hug him.

“Indeed. And what a different view we have today.”

“Congratulations, Alexandre! Fiancé of the year! What great news! Victoria is beautiful,” Arturo said, celebrating his engagement.

“Thank you.”

“For any emergency,” Ricardo said, “we have a helicopter waiting on the hotel’s heliport. As for Mr. Walker, the good news is that he’s recovering. The injuries weren’t serious, and he’ll walk again soon.” Two elegant Arab women served dinner, Arab cuisine.

After, they cleared the table. In one corner, as usual, they placed the beautiful trio: Ronald. Ball. Tetrahedron. His picture in the middle, his smile contagious. Below, the butcher’s knife. At the centre, a copper pot, a bottle of vodka, and four small glasses.

“Today it’s my turn to open Ronald’s letter,” Alexandre said, holding the envelope and the butcher knife. He cut it open and read aloud.

“DEAR EAGLES:

THIS IS RONALD SPEAKING.

THIS MEETING IS TO OPEN A DEBATE.

TODAY YOU’LL CONTINUE DISCOVERING THE POWER OF THE EPISTEMOLOGY TOOL.

THE QUOTE: WHO SAID: ‘ALL MEN BY NATURE DESIRE TO KNOW’?

a) SOCRATES

b) ARISTOTLE”

They placed their bets. All guessed right: Aristotle. No one lost. Alexandre continued reading:

“THE JOKE: I TRIED TO DEFINE HAPPINESS. THE DICTIONARY REPLIED, ‘GOOD LUCK WITH THAT ONE.’”

They weren’t sure if they understood the joke. Alexandre burned the letter, completing the ritual, and they toasted with vodka.

Now comes my pep talk, he thought, and shouted, “Are you ready to suffer?”

“Yes!” they replied.

“Will you climb?”

“Yes!”

“Will you acclimate your minds?”

“Yes!”

“Is learning bitter?”

“Yes!”

“How is its fruit?”

“Sweet!”

“Are you eagles or chickens?” he yelled louder.

“Eagles!”

“I don’t hear you!” Alexandre shouted.

“Eagles!” they roared together.

“Then let’s begin!” Alexandre exclaimed, placing the meeting summary on the table. The room felt electric, again.

For hours they discussed the precision of thought and certainty you gain through objective epistemology. Then they took a break and talked about the upcoming World Cup.

“Brazil is strong and was the first to qualify,” Ricardo said, “but I’m worried about Germany, and the Russians are throwing all their meat on the grill.”

“Argentina can win,” Arturo said. “It’s Tessini’s chance to reconcile with Argentina. He still feels that missed penalty in the Copa América final.”

The World Cup in Russia was around the corner. Many countries were in a campaign of training.

Russia was preparing the stadiums and everything else to make the best World Cup ever.

Later, the three eagles returned to philosophy. Logic needed to be in Ronald’s book. Alexandre asked them to place a banner to that meeting. Similar to the other meetings, they hanged it in one of the walls. It read:

LOGIC

“Logic is your most powerful tool,” Alexandre said. “It starts with the Law of Identity, formulated by Aristotle.”

“Yes, of course. A is A. The ball is the ball. And if the ball is the ball, the ball doesn’t get dirty,” Arturo said, laughing. I made many mistakes, he thought, but it’s true, the ball doesn’t get dirty.

They knew he had a heart of gold. People loved him for his sincerity.

Alexandre leaned on the table’s edge. “Logic rests on the fact that something can’t be two things at once. That’s all you need to gain certainty and precision. Two plus two equals four, not 4.1.” He stood up and cleared the table with quick movements. “Let’s see,” he said. “How many glasses are there now?”

“None,” Arturo said, and thought, He’s getting boring again!

“Good.” Alexandre placed two glasses on the table. “Now, how many?”

“Two.”

“Are you sure?”

Ricardo nodded. Arturo thought, Definitely, he’s getting boring!

Alexandre pointed to the counter at the far end of the room. “Each of you bring one more glass.”

They crossed the room, picked up a glass each, and returned. Their silhouettes, framed by the vast windows, mirrored the stars outside. The glasses gleamed as they set them down.

“How many glasses are on the table?” Alexandre asked.

“Come on, man! You are so boring!” Arturo complained, winking at Ricardo.

“Four,” Ricardo said, smiling.

“What are you trying to explain? You’ve already gotten boring!” Arturo teased.

“You tell me,” Alexandre said, frowning, and thought, Sometimes he is unbearable.

“Well, that one glass is equal to one glass, two equal two, three equal three… I think you’re underlining the Law of Identity, aren’t you?” Arturo asked.

“Why?”

“Each glass is equal to itself. A is A. Two or more of the same kind are equal to themselves.”

“Correct. That’s how reality works,” Alexandre said. “When you count real things, numbers don’t lie. Logic isn’t theory. It’s the language of existence,” he said, looking at Arturo, hand on his chin smiling, who thought, My dear friend has surprised me once more.

“I love these meetings,” Arturo said with the ball in his hands.

They continued debating and browsing the Internet. Modern logic, they discovered, was complex and hard to grasp.

Here comes the next act, Alexandre thought. He gathered white sheets stacked beside a pile of pens, stood up, and placed them neatly on the table.

Arturo and Ricardo watched him. The moon was behind him. Below stretched the sea, the beach, and the lights of Dubai.

“Modern logic doesn’t give you a tool simple enough to use,” Alexandre said, his hands resting on the sheets and pens. “Today there’s too much information.”

“In logic and everything else,” Arturo intervened.

“Yes. It’s hard to tell what matters,” Alexandre continued. “You could study modal systems, fuzzy sets, meta-logic, or proof theory. What would you gain? Confusion. Wasted effort. Lost opportunity. You’d get lost in a maze of symbols and jargon.”

“For me, the real treasure is Aristotle’s law of logic,” Ricardo said. He stood and walked to the window, gazing at the view.

“Exactly. Logic is a simple law with three parts: the Law of Identity, the Law of Non-Contradiction, and the Law of the Excluded Middle. Once you leave confusion behind, your mind can grasp reality and make sound decisions.”

“It doesn’t sound that simple,” Ricardo said, still watching the city lights. The moon shone above the sea.

“Come back to the table,” Alexandre said. He handed them the sheets. “Now let’s make the three parts visible. Each of you will write different definitions of logic. Search the Internet and fill each page with any kind of logic you find. Then we’ll count how many we have.”

He took one sheet. Without thinking he wrote in capital letters LENEL. Arturo noticed it.

“What is that?” he asked pointing the paper.

“Nothing,” Alexandre answered. What am I doing! he thought, crumpling the paper, slipping it into his pocket, and walked to the windows. On one side, the moon, the sea, and the lights of Dubai. On the other, Arturo and Ricardo typing on their phones and writing. In the back of his mind was Boris and Lenel.

They filled page after page with words: symbolic logic, dialectical logic, modal logic, quantum logic, informal logic, propositional logic, deontic logic. Soon the table was covered with dozens of sheets, many full of contradictions.

“Turn them over and mix them,” Alexandre said. They flipped the pages, shuffled them, and spread them across the table until it looked like a storm of paper.

“What is logic?” he asked.

“It depends on which one,” Arturo said, pointing at the mess on the table.

“Too many contradictions,” Ricardo added. “I can’t tell which is right.”

“Exactly,” Alexandre said. “This is what the world did with logic, multiplied words until meaning vanished.” He stepped back, crossed his arms, and said, “I’ll clear the rubbish and keep only what has power.”

He picked one paper, turned it, frowned, and crushed it in his hand. The sound echoed through the quiet room. He tossed it into the air, kicked it, and sent it flying. Then another. “Bloody rubbish,” he said. “Rubbish, rubbish,” he repeated, kicking each paper ball like a footballer celebrating a goal.

Arturo stood, laughing. He ran to the corner where the paper balls landed. “Goal!” he shouted, heading one away. “To the rubbish!”

Ricardo laughed behind his hands. Alexandre threw another ball. Arturo blocked it with his chest, let it drop, then kicked it away. “Rubbish!” he shouted again.

Soon only three sheets remained on the table. Alexandre placed his hands on them. “These stay,” he said. “This is the gold we keep.”

He turned them face up. One read: A is A. Another: A cannot be both A and non-A. The third: Between A and non-A, there is no third alternative.

Alexandre switched on a flashlight and focused the beam on the three papers. The light touched them as if marking them.

“Logic is simple as that?” Arturo asked.

“Yes. Simple as that,” Alexandre said. “Everything else is noise.” He pointed at the crumpled papers on the floor. “Let’s write them large so we’ll never forget.”

He turned off the flashlight and laid out three big white cardboards with thick black markers.

“Let’s write the three laws of logic in big capital letters,” Alexandre said hanging them huge white carboards.

Arturo wrote:

THE LAW OF IDENTITY: A IS A.

Ricardo wrote:

THE LAW OF NON-CONTRADICTION:

A CANNOT BE BOTH A AND NON-A.

Alexandre wrote:

THE LAW OF THE EXCLUDED MIDDLE: BETWEEN A AND NON-A, THERE IS NO THIRD ALTERNATIVE.

They left the markers on the table and stood in silence. The three cardboard posters lay side by side. The rest of the room was covered with crumpled paper balls. Alexandre switched on the flashlight again and aimed it at the three posters.

For a moment they were silent. Then he turned off the light of the flashlight and placed it on the table. He stepped back, raised his hand to his forehead, and bowed. “To Aristotle,” he said. The others followed.

“To reason,” Ricardo said.

“To us, because we separated rubbish from truth,” Arturo added, pointing at the floor. They bowed again.

Alexandre looked through the window and thought, I have an idea. “Turn off all the lights,” he said.

The room went dark. Moonlight filled the space. The three posters glowed on the table. The three laws of logic shone clearly, a sight to remember.

They turned the lights back on and discussed the benefits of that simplicity. They analysed syllogisms, subjects, predicates, propositions, and conclusions. That clarity, they realized, helps you spot fallacies: false arguments dressed as truth, dangerous to your life.

They had fun searching the Internet for fallacies and testing how each deception worked. They discovered that by studying fallacies alone, you could become much more intelligent, and almost immune to propaganda.

Late that night, Alexandre stopped the recorder. They went to rest. He watched the news: US SENDS SECOND AIRCRAFT CARRIER TO NORTH KOREA’S COAST AFTER ITS LATEST NUCLEAR TEST.

He sighed. I don’t think The Family is behind this.

The next morning, they resumed their meeting before and after breakfast. Sunlight filled the room. The sea below shone deep blue.

Ricardo said he had a surprise. Mr. Walker had made it a condition for his continued help, after the bomb in the airplane had almost killed them.

At noon they went up to the heliport. Yellow was waiting. The helicopter lifted off, and ten minutes later they landed at a private airport. Alexandre didn’t know what awaited them, but he would soon find out.

“Learning to jump with a parachute will help us in case of emergency,” Ricardo told them. “Our enemies already attacked the plane and could attack the helicopter. Francisca’s father demanded it. He’s very worried about our lives. They’ve tried to kill him several times since the plane attack,” he continued. “The three of us will do it, and we’ll keep it secret.”

Walking along the runway of the small airport, Alexandre saw the planes and noticed some parachutes. He felt a sense of vertigo. They all shook hands with three men in military clothes. Yellow followed them, armed to the teeth.

“We’ll practice skydiving on the ground first,” the main instructor said. “Then we’ll launch in tandem, each of you tied to one of us. You’ll learn to pack your own parachute. If you pack it well, you live. If you don’t, you die.” His tone was pure military.

He made them sign a letter releasing the school from all responsibility in case of death.

First, they learned to pack the parachute. The last thing they practiced was steering and landing. The instructor explained they called it a “wing” because it acted like one. It fell while advancing, and the parachutist could guide it toward the landing point.

By mid-afternoon, they boarded a twin-engine plane. When they reached ten thousand feet, Arturo jumped first, tied to his instructor.

Ricardo followed, then Alexandre.

They fell at two hundred kilometers per hour. The wind held them. Alexandre watched the sea, the beach, and Dubai slowly approaching. After fifty seconds of free fall, his instructor opened the parachute. Below, he saw Arturo’s and Ricardo’s parachutes already open, almost touching the landing strip. Moments later, they landed too.

“Here’s the manual and a video of everything we covered,” the instructor said. “Study them. You’ll also take a parachute home to practice packing. In a month, you’ll pack and jump alone. It’ll be a life-or-death matter. Any questions?”

There were no questions. That night they had dinner and toasted their luck at being alive.

“Life is valued only in contrast to death,” said the chief instructor, a man of few words still on active military service.

After lunch, Yellow piloted the helicopter, returning them to the hotel.

From their room on the fifty-seventh floor of the luxury hotel, they talked about what it would feel like to open their parachutes alone.

“I don’t know if I can jump alone, but I’ll try,” Arturo said, looking down from the window.

“I say the same,” Ricardo added.

“But isn’t Francisca’s father demanding it before continuing to help us?” Alexandre asked, also looking down.

“That’s right,” Ricardo said, crestfallen. “We need Francisca and her father to finish Ronald’s book.”

“Our book,” Arturo corrected, and thought with a pale face and a tight stomach, I’m terrified to jump alone. Maybe I’m not as brave as I thought.

Later they continued working through the philosophical topics. When night came, they finished. Alexandre turned off the recorder. As usual, they toasted to Ronald’s picture, the tetrahedron and the ball, and smashed the glasses against the wall. The book was progressing, and they were happy, but not about jumping alone.

Arturo and Ricardo stood, brought their suitcases, and placed them beside the parachutes they were taking home.

“You can stay as long as you want,” Ricardo said.

“Won’t you stay?” Alexandre asked.

“No. We’re going to Oslo. Mr. Walker sent his new plane for us. Yellow will stay here. He’ll take you to the airport tomorrow.” They said goodbye.

Alone in the room, Alexandre remembered the parachute jump and thought, You’d better do it well or you’ll die.

He sat on the couch and turned on the television. The stock market kept rising. Bitcoin was skyrocketing. Gold remained sideways. Tensions in the Middle East had increased after the president of the United States recognized Jerusalem as the capital of Israel. North Korea seemed calm but was preparing to launch another ballistic missile.

Teams qualified for the World Cup included Russia, Brazil, Argentina, Spain, Mexico, Germany, England, Colombia, Uruguay, Japan, and France.

The Russian president was running for re-election and had asked Arturo to handle publicity for the World Cup.

Alexandre must have fallen asleep watching the news. When he woke, his first thought was If it was you, I’ll kill you. He realized he’d had a nightmare: Ronald’s car plunged into a ravine and exploded, with Lenel laughing. He sighed.

Then he saw Francisca standing across the room, watching him from afar.

“You? Here? I thought you were gone,” she said, standing in high heels, looking at him in silence, intrigued. What a shame. In London I behaved like a fool, she recalled. In her eyes was a mixture of pride, sweetness, helplessness, sadness, and joy, as if she wanted to tell him something but couldn’t.

He looked at her curves, her silhouette, her hair. She’s so beautiful, he thought, feeling a surge of electricity. She was like an unread poem, an unpublished symphony. He was drawn not only to her beauty but to a deep mystery, a treasure buried in her soul that he knew he could never reach.

“Arturo and Ricardo left an hour ago. I’m leaving tomorrow morning. How’s your father?” he asked.

“He’s like a cat with seven lives. Already walking, he’ll soon ditch the crutches. Thanks for asking.”

“Is this hotel yours too?” he asked.

“Our chain doesn’t have any in the Emirates. But my father reserves this suit all year.”

“Did you arrive by helicopter?”

“Yes.” She kicked off her heels and went to the bar in her short dress. “Want a whisky?”

“Without ice.”

“I like it that way too,” she said, pouring two glasses. She handed him one and asked, “Were you very afraid?”

“You mean the parachute jump?” he asked.

She looked at him in surprise and thought, Obviously yes, little bird.

“I told my father that all of you should learn to use a parachute. He’s an experienced skydiver. Always carries one on the plane. After the bomb, they threatened him several times, you know? We should all wear parachutes when we fly,” Francisca said.

“Have you jumped?” he asked.

“More than a thousand times,” she said, looking away as if it had long become routine. “I’m not as excited about it as I was at the start, but now it’s necessary. Our enemies are powerful.”

They talked about Dubai and the football cup. Francisca sat on a couch with her bare feet in front of him; Alexandre sat on the same kind of couch across from her. After the third whisky, she moved to his couch, and they stood together looking at the sea.

“I was missing the view of the sea, for the pleasure of looking at you,” she said, flirtatiously when they sat close in the same sofa.

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How irresistible this woman is, he thought, holding back. Her legs were slightly bent, her feet resting on the edge of the coffee table. Her short skirt revealed her thighs. During the conversation, she slowly, carelessly slid it higher until they were almost fully exposed. Alexandre’s hands wanted to move. Then she turned her body, rested her head on the armrest, stretched her legs, and laid her calves across his thighs.

“Don’t mind?” she asked, pulling the skirt down to cover her thighs.

“No,” he said, motionless. How shameless you are. I love you, he thought.

“How I’d like you to give me a massage. I walked a lot today, you know?” she said.

Her feet were beautiful and perfectly cared for. He placed his hands on her insteps and began to caress them with his fingertips. Her skin was soft and warm. He started at her soles and moved up her calves. Then he took one of her feet and kissed it. I want to undress you, he thought.

“Wait,” she said, standing up and leaving. He watched her statuesque figure disappear from the room. She had bewitched him again. Three minutes later she returned barefoot and naked, wrapped in a white silk robe.

“We need to shower. Come,” she told him, taking his hand and leading him to the spacious, luxurious bathroom of the suite. She hung the robe and stepped into the wide glass shower. He froze.

“Come on, Alexandre. Shower with me.”

He looked at her sculpted body. When he reached to take her arm and kiss her, he stopped. Victoria, join the party, he thought, remembering her words in London.

“You are unique and beautiful, Francisca. I love you with all my might, but I can’t. I’ll wait for you in the living room,” he said, leaving the bathroom and sitting on the couch.

“What’s happening? I’m not going to interfere in your marriage,” she said when she returned, wearing her robe and a towel on her head. “Victoria is beautiful and smart like me. I don’t want to hurt her, but what harm would we do if she never finds out? We could be lovers. Will you fall, little bird? Will you fall?” she thought, and added aloud, “You only have to keep the secret. She’d never know. Don’t you hide things from her because you love her? Wouldn’t that be another way to prove it?”

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“Francisca, I want to sleep with you, but I made a pact with her.”

“What pact?”

“That we’ll never lie to each other. She’s willing to accept that I sleep with another woman, but only if I tell her first. She said she’d either leave me or join the party.”

“A trio? What a woman! I’d like to share you with her. I admire her even more now. She’s so attractive.”

“I’ll talk to her when the time is right.”

“Maybe that moment will never come, Alexandre.”

“It’s my final decision.”

“We’ll see. But don’t think I’ll talk. I know how to be a grave. I won’t say a word, and she’ll never know. Think about it. She’ll never know. I’ll wait for you naked in bed,” she said, kissed him on the mouth, dropped the robe, and left.

“Francisca, you’re fascinating. I want you, but my decision is final. Don’t wait for me. Sleep well,” he said, still seated, watching her walk away, completely naked.

Francisca got into bed, unsettled. How much she loved Alexandre. What an example of integrity he had given her. She felt embarrassed, happy, and satisfied all at once, and seemed to glimpse a small light at the end of the tunnel. At that moment, she wanted to be in the arms of the man she had known, yet feared falling in love with him. Hope began to outweigh fear. She took her phone and sent him a message: MAYBE I’LL START LOVING YOU.

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