April 26th, 2007



Пока жгут. А то иногда, некоторый человек может вообразить что Дерек Зуландер был всегда, был сияющ и исходящ и произошёл из ничего. Как прямо весь наш мир по мнению Фомы Аквинского и других мыслителей, ни хрена не знавших о Большом Взрыве.


Аэрокосмическое о том, что так ли уж всё в голове

… The contemporary proliferation of bullshit also has deeper sources, in various forms of skepticism which deny that we can have any reliable access to an objective reality, and which therefore reject the possibility of knowing how things truly are. These "antirealist" doctrines undermine confidence in the value of disinterested efforts to determine what is true and what is false, and even in the intelligibility of the notion of objective inquiry. One responce to this loss of confidence has been a retreat from the discipline required by dedication to the ideal of correctness to a quite different sort of discipline, which is imposed by pursuit of an alternative ideal of sincerity. Rather than seeking primarily to arrive at accurate representations of a common world, the individual turns toward trying to provide honest representations of herself. Convinced that reality has no inherent nature, which she might hope to identify as the truth about things, she devotes herself to being true about her own nature. It is as though she decides that since it makes no sense to try to be true to the facts, she must therefore try instead to be true to herself.

But it is preposterous to imagine that we ourselves are determinate, and hence susceptible both to correct and to incorrect descriptions, while supposing that the ascription of determinancy to anything else has been exposed as a mistake. As conscious beings, we exist only in response to other things, and we cannot know ourselves at all without knowing them. Moreover, there is nothing in theory, and certainly nothing in experience, to support the extraordinary judgment that it is the truth about herself that is the easiest for a person to know. Facts about ourselves are not peculiary solid and resistant to skeptical dissolution. Our natures are, indeed, elusively insubstantial — notoriously less stable and less inherent than the natures of other things. And insofar as this is the case, sincerity itself is bullshit.