Thinking into the Wild
We all know the drag of sitting through a gathering where everybody speaks and nobody listens.
It is like a battlefield. People shoot arguments that never hit home, while the defensive barriers of certainty remain invincible. Endless "Yes, but..." evasive answers—they make me sick.
What does "Yes, but..." even mean? It receives while throwing away, doesn't it?
This morning, an idea popped up from nowhere. That is the place where they hide: when you are thinking about nothing special, they come like a whisper in the dark, barely audible. Only a silent mind will notice.
The idea went like this:
If you know nothing about a certain subject—if you are as innocent as a child—your mind can impartially consider any hypothesis that explains it.
Likewise, the more you know about a subject, the less you will be able to calmly listen to hypotheses that challenge your vision.
And likewise, the more things depend on that vision—money, status, reputation—the less intellectually honest your reflection will be.
After that, my thoughts went looking for a question that could fundamentally change the way we talk with each other. A question like:
"What would the consequences be for you if you found out that you are wrong, and I am right?"
"Why do you so angrily and aggressively defend one side while attacking opposing views?"
We all know the drag of sitting through a gathering where everybody speaks and nobody listens.
It is like a battlefield. People shoot arguments that never hit home, while the defensive barriers of certainty remain invincible. Endless "Yes, but..." evasive answers—they make me sick.
What does "Yes, but..." even mean? It receives while throwing away, doesn't it?
This morning, an idea popped up from nowhere. That is the place where they hide: when you are thinking about nothing special, they come like a whisper in the dark, barely audible. Only a silent mind will notice.
The idea went like this:
If you know nothing about a certain subject—if you are as innocent as a child—your mind can impartially consider any hypothesis that explains it.
Likewise, the more you know about a subject, the less you will be able to calmly listen to hypotheses that challenge your vision.
And likewise, the more things depend on that vision—money, status, reputation—the less intellectually honest your reflection will be.
After that, my thoughts went looking for a question that could fundamentally change the way we talk with each other. A question like:
"What would the consequences be for you if you found out that you are wrong, and I am right?"
"Why do you so angrily and aggressively defend one side while attacking opposing views?"
Thinking into the Wild
We all know the drag of sitting through a gathering where everybody speaks and nobody listens.
It is like a battlefield. People shoot arguments that never hit home, while the defensive barriers of certainty remain invincible. Endless "Yes, but..." evasive answers—they make me sick.
What does "Yes, but..." even mean? It receives while throwing away, doesn't it?
This morning, an idea popped up from nowhere. That is the place where they hide: when you are thinking about nothing special, they come like a whisper in the dark, barely audible. Only a silent mind will notice.
The idea went like this:
If you know nothing about a certain subject—if you are as innocent as a child—your mind can impartially consider any hypothesis that explains it.
Likewise, the more you know about a subject, the less you will be able to calmly listen to hypotheses that challenge your vision.
And likewise, the more things depend on that vision—money, status, reputation—the less intellectually honest your reflection will be.
After that, my thoughts went looking for a question that could fundamentally change the way we talk with each other. A question like:
"What would the consequences be for you if you found out that you are wrong, and I am right?"
"Why do you so angrily and aggressively defend one side while attacking opposing views?"
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