Two Stars, Two Worlds: How Symbolism Shapes Identity and Bias

By Jamison Alister Young

Symbols are more than decorative shapes—they are living containers of meaning, identity, and unconscious belief. In particular, the Star of David and the Soviet star offer two profoundly different ways of seeing the world. These shapes are not just political or religious emblems; they are symbolic architectures of how cultures view power, order, autonomy, and belonging.

The Star of David, composed of two interlocking triangles, embodies a kind of balance—a relational tension. It represents harmony between opposing forces: heaven and earth, spirit and matter, male and female. Its form is self-sustaining, with no single center holding the structure together. Each triangle retains its autonomy even while it contributes to a larger whole. This star reflects a worldview that allows for multiplicity, interpretation, and layered identity—a worldview echoed in Jewish philosophical traditions, which encourage questioning, debate, and existential reflection.

By contrast, the Soviet star—a bold, five-pointed red shape—radiates from a central point. It reflects the ideology it served: unity through centralization, strength through conformity. Unlike the Star of David, its identity comes from the power at its center. It’s a symbol of directed purpose, revolution, and the collective over the individual. It doesn’t invite contemplation so much as command allegiance.

These differences aren’t merely aesthetic—they are symbolic encodings of culture. When individuals internalize these symbols, they begin to see the world through their geometries. One may unconsciously value complexity and nuance; the other, clarity and force. When these systems meet—especially in conflict or political discourse—the result is often deep misunderstanding, not just of ideas, but of the very nature of being.

This is where bias and prejudice are born: not always in rational disagreement, but in symbolic dissonance. One person may find the other’s way of thinking fragmented, chaotic, even dangerous. The other may see centralized thought as authoritarian or deadening. These judgments arise not from logic alone, but from a symbolic imprint buried within the identity of each individual.

By recognizing these symbolic structures, we open the possibility of bridging divides—not by demanding sameness, but by acknowledging that even our shapes—our internal geometry—can differ. To truly understand one another, we must sometimes first learn to see the world through another star.

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Tags: Star of David, Soviet star, symbolism, cultural bias, identity, architecture of thought, tribalism, visual meaning, semiotics

The Harmonic Threshold: 137 Miles, 222 Kilometers, and the Ratio of Our Dancing

By Jamison Young, with ChatGPT

There are moments when numbers — usually cold, logical things — line up in ways that feel more poetic than practical. This story began with a simple unit conversion and turned into an unexpected meditation on measurement, geometry, and rhythm.

It All Started with 222 Kilometers

I was converting 222 kilometers into miles. The result? Approximately 137.94 miles. That’s strangely close to 137 — a number with deep roots in physics. It's associated with the fine-structure constant, also known as alpha, which underpins the way light and matter interact. Feynman called it one of the most mysterious numbers in science.

So I drew a triangle. The vertical height was 222 km, and the base was 137 miles. When I divided 222 by 137, I got:

222 ÷ 137 ≈ 1.6204

That’s remarkably close to the golden ratio — 1.618 — a number woven into pinecones, nautilus shells, the Parthenon, and probably your favorite album cover.

And Then Came Maddalena

While talking about all this around the kitchen table, Maddalena Garettini, a volunteer from Italy, casually said:

"You know, one Roman league is 2.22 kilometers."

That stopped me. She was right. A quick search confirmed it:

• 1 Roman league = 2.22 km
• 100 leghe = 222 km

And again, 222 kilometers equals almost exactly 137.94 miles. So now this triangle wasn’t just modern. It had a Roman road running through it — literally.

Hexagons, Circles, and the Ratio of Our Dancing

If the triangle’s height is a radius — 222 kilometers from center to tip — and you rotate it six times around a central point, you form a hexagon. Each side of the hexagon? 137 miles.

The full perimeter of this symbolic circle becomes:

6 × 137 miles = 822 miles

Convert that to kilometers:

822 miles ≈ 1323 kilometers

The result is symmetrical, rhythmic, and unexpectedly elegant. A geometric loop. A full turn. A harmony. Perhaps what we’re witnessing here is more than just a math trick — perhaps it’s the ratio of our dancing.

So What Is This, Really?

This isn’t a theory. It’s not a buried mystery from ancient times. It’s a moment where systems align — where metric and imperial units, Roman measurement, and the golden ratio quietly converge into a shape that feels, simply, right.

A triangle. A ratio. A road. A rhythm.

Nothing to prove. Just something to notice.