"You just keep pushing. You just keep pushing. I made every mistake that could be made. But I just kept pushing"
About this Quote
The most revealing thing here is how un-Descartes it sounds at first: no crystalline syllogisms, no grand system-building, just the blunt rhythm of endurance. But that repetition is doing philosophical work. "You just keep pushing" reads like a lab note from the inside of a mind trying to outlast its own errors. It’s a creed for method, not motivation.
Descartes is the poster figure for certainty, yet his actual project begins in controlled collapse: doubt everything, strip away inherited authorities, admit how easily the intellect confuses itself. In that light, "I made every mistake that could be made" isn’t confession so much as calibration. He’s naming fallibility as a feature of inquiry, not a moral failure. The subtext is almost anti-heroic: if the mind is a machine prone to bad inputs, progress isn’t purity, it’s iteration.
The cadence matters. The sentence refuses ornament because it’s not trying to persuade an audience so much as discipline the self. Repetition becomes a metronome: keep the tempo when the experiment goes wrong, when the proof collapses, when the metaphysics start to feel like scaffolding. That’s a mathematician’s spirituality - less epiphany than persistence under constraint.
Contextually, it also sneaks in a quiet rebuke to the era’s scholastic certainty. Descartes didn’t win by being right the first time; he won by treating wrong turns as data. The "push" is the method: forward motion against error, habit, and the seductions of premature certainty.
Descartes is the poster figure for certainty, yet his actual project begins in controlled collapse: doubt everything, strip away inherited authorities, admit how easily the intellect confuses itself. In that light, "I made every mistake that could be made" isn’t confession so much as calibration. He’s naming fallibility as a feature of inquiry, not a moral failure. The subtext is almost anti-heroic: if the mind is a machine prone to bad inputs, progress isn’t purity, it’s iteration.
The cadence matters. The sentence refuses ornament because it’s not trying to persuade an audience so much as discipline the self. Repetition becomes a metronome: keep the tempo when the experiment goes wrong, when the proof collapses, when the metaphysics start to feel like scaffolding. That’s a mathematician’s spirituality - less epiphany than persistence under constraint.
Contextually, it also sneaks in a quiet rebuke to the era’s scholastic certainty. Descartes didn’t win by being right the first time; he won by treating wrong turns as data. The "push" is the method: forward motion against error, habit, and the seductions of premature certainty.
Quote Details
| Topic | Never Give Up |
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