I’m saying we can’t help believing anything we like, not unless we are willing to let the outside world test it.
We don’t even have to click our heels in order to know anything we like. We don’t even have to open our eyes. We can just know.
As I say, the guys in the back room control the ‘CERTAIN’ button. They can press it down hard, no matter what the narrator is thinking.
So if we want our knowledge to be closer to reality, we have to let others test it.
I see little difference between the two except how hard the guys are leaning on the CERTAIN button.
I think we are using our words in different ways. I can’t really follow that sentence.
The sandstorm. I expose myself to the sandstorm. It helps me create my best guesses yet. Call them beliefs. Call them knowledge. It doesn’t matter what we call them. They are only words.
I think of it as a narrator—the guy talking to you now—plus the guys in the back room, up to whatever mischief they are up to.
I’m not sure what you mean. Belief is just a word. It refers to a thing which is being judged ‘almost certain’ by the back room guys.
Have a scientist make a board with foreign characters. Then—either before or after the test—have a third person make up an equivalency dictionary, assigning your old symbols to the new ones.
Then see if your technique still gives a coherent message. I assume such a setup would be no problem if there is an overarching consciousness out there… but it will be a problem for your local backroom guys, I think.
I’m sorry, man. Just no time. Not unless you get it past the first tranche of scientists.
Stories to tell. Books to write. Heathen to tame.
I don’t think of language that way. Call it a ghost and then tell me that by ‘ghost’ you mean ‘that hammer right there.’ When you say ghost, I’ll think of the thing which I call a hammer.
The sandstorm. Resistance. It’s why I come to debate.
As an elephantine quibble, I hardly believe in true. There is just this apparent reality and a guy trapped in a black and silent cave, building his best guesses as he goes.
And in an especially perverse twist, Whoever put me here filled me with a passion for Truth.
Damned Trickster Gods.