“You want to work spells,” Ogion said presently, striding along. “You’ve drawn too much water from that well. Wait. Manhood is patience. Mastery is nine times patience. What is that herb by the path?”
“Strawflower.”
“And that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fourfoil, they call it.” Ogion had halted, the coppershod foot of his staff near the little weed, so Ged looked closely at the plant, and plucked a dry seedpod from it, and finally asked, since Ogion said nothing more, “What is its use, Master?”
“None I know of.”
Ged kept the seedpod a while as they went on, then tossed it away.
“When you know the fourfoil in all its seasons root and leaf and flower, by sight and scent and seed, then you may learn its true name, knowing its being: which is more than its use. What, after all, is the use of you? or of myself? Is Gont Mountain useful, or the Open Sea?” Ogion went on a half mile or so, and said at last, “To hear, one must be silent.”
This is a concept I often draw upon in programming. To understand or create something you must learn its true name. If you don't know what to call the thing you're creating, it's a sign to step back and take a broader view. A good name can give you the power to work with huge ideas.
Last week I committed a change of a type name from "TimeThing" (always just a tentative placeholder) to "TimeDomainSwapper" precisely because I finally (?) understood what is was.
My interpretation is that the name is the name. If you can't properly name, say, a class, then you don't truly understand it and don't have real power over it. And that's dangerous.
Once you have full understanding of the code, the proper name should reveal itself. You didn't chose the name, it was simply not clear to you yet.
You have done well at mimicking Le Guin's style here, but this isn't actually from Earthsea, is it? Did you write this yourself? Or this being Hacker News, did you ask an LLM to continue the except above?
I don't think Le Guin would have said that reality as a complete concept is something like an unspeakable horror, and I'm not sure I like the idea of presenting a creative fictional except as if it's legitimate.
“You want to work spells,” Ogion said presently, striding along. “You’ve drawn too much water from that well. Wait. Manhood is patience. Mastery is nine times patience. What is that herb by the path?”
“Strawflower.”
“And that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fourfoil, they call it.” Ogion had halted, the coppershod foot of his staff near the little weed, so Ged looked closely at the plant, and plucked a dry seedpod from it, and finally asked, since Ogion said nothing more, “What is its use, Master?”
“None I know of.”
Ged kept the seedpod a while as they went on, then tossed it away.
“When you know the fourfoil in all its seasons root and leaf and flower, by sight and scent and seed, then you may learn its true name, knowing its being: which is more than its use. What, after all, is the use of you? or of myself? Is Gont Mountain useful, or the Open Sea?” Ogion went on a half mile or so, and said at last, “To hear, one must be silent.”