Is it possible we could do experimental philosophy? We saw you from across the bar.

P1. Nobody can definitely prove God exist or not.

P2. If Nobody can definitely prove God exist or not therefore Agnosticism must be true.

C1. Agnosticism is True.

What do you guys think?

Do you think Redditors actually change for once and Reddit actually change instead of being the same from the beginning until the end?

Running a red team exercise on Bostrom's argument and the authentication keeps failing. His disjuncts assume a base reality with enough compute to spawn nested instances, but there's no threat modeling on what happens when the hypervisor itself is compromised. If we're in a sim, the admin has godmode and no SOC to report to. That's not a philosophical position, that's an unpatched privilege escalation waiting for exploit.

Gaming's got me thinking about this differently. Load any open world and watch the NPC pathfinding break when you clip through geometry. The bugs are the ontology. If reality's a sim, dark matter is just the engine culling distant assets to save cycles. Been testing this on trails lately, and the render distance out there is suspiciously good but the collision detection on loose scree needs work.

The real vuln is the observer. Bostrom assumes simulated minds are substrate-independent but my threat model says consciousness needs a physical root of trust. A VM can't verify its own hypervisor. You bootstrap from silicon or you don't boot at all. The hiking helps here too. Dirt under your nails is pretty decent tamper evidence.

I guess I am in academia now as well

The logic was like: Greek has democracy, US has democracy, US is Greek. But for the same reason, I can say: Rasputin is man, I am man, I am Rasputic hence I am supposed to share his big cock.

That two things exists it is implied by existing that they do not contain each other or else they are undifferentiated. That is, the existence of other things can not constrain or determine any given thing completely. 

Thus freedom always exists in a given thing as a matter of its being.  That is what emergence is and also explains the inherent indeterminism we have observed.

I feel this might be a consequence of an ontic infinity....but I am high so what do I know.

I bid you well on your journey.

PROPOSED REPARATIONS: LET'S START AT THE EXTREME

My personal opinion is that we should begin by disenfranchising men and see what happens with that.

Yes, I'm serious about proposing it. No, I'm not claiming that women have collectively asked for it, that men have collectively agreed to it, or that I've been authorized to impose it.

I'm also gathering polling data on less draconian alternatives.

Perhaps you have a better proposal. Perhaps you think the entire premise is absurd. Perhaps you have a specific grievance for which you can suggest a practical remedy.

I'm interested in your answer.

What reparations would you propose? How would we measure whether they worked? What unintended consequences should we anticipate?

I'm offering an apology, a controversial personal proposal, and an invitation to help develop something better.

No election was held. No consensus is presumed. Questions, objections, and counterproposals are welcome.

not

not A

not not A

not not not A

(repeat ad infinitum)

TRUE = any shit you want

Your consciousness is your identity, thoughts, beliefs, emotions, and metacognition—a class of exactly five functions, by the way. I mapped my mind under absurd circumstances.

Now that this is public, I have exactly one year to create a prototype, or I will lose my chance to file an intellectual property patent.

the irony of me posting this, is disgusting. But I need some real world connections, so don't hold back on getting me back into reality.

I started this to make a list of my problems, but it ended up being a transcription of my stupid brain.

I don't mean actually jumping off a cliff. it's a metaphor

--

current problems:

I have to find a place at university as soon as possible.
I have to find a job as soon as possible.
I have an incredible urge not to have to be in reality. Because of this, I neglect almost everything.
I’m extremely afraid, as a protective function, of doing many things. So strongly that I actually don’t do them.
I’m confused about what my problem actually is.
I’m detached from reality. I’m mostly in my room, in my head, on my phone, and I’m rarely in real situations. I have strong values and ideas, but I have no idea what it’s like to actually put them into practice.
I feel incredibly bad.

I feel like I’m standing at an abyss. It’s so deep that I can’t see the bottom. However, I’ve already convinced myself that I have to jump in order to solve everything. Still, I don’t jump. Because I’m alone, and I’m surviving up here. It still works, my not jumping. Besides, I would just jump, that’s all. What happens afterwards, I don’t know.

I find a great many excuses for why I shouldn’t jump. I think I create extremes. Because they’re so extreme, I say, “I can’t jump, can I?!” Then I accuse myself of not wanting to jump and of looking for excuses. This creates a feedback loop in which I let myself think that, precisely because I resist the extreme so much, it seems to be the only right thing. I keep going around in this circle. It’s endless. Besides, the extremes are probably not even true? Because jumping would be crazy, but it’s even crazier that I just sit up here and do nothing, so actually I should jump. But it works like this. So I don’t jump.

It’s so incredibly much: I’m completely dismissive toward people I already know who want to help me. On the one hand I want help, but on the other hand I don’t want to tell anyone everything about myself. I don’t want anyone to know that I need help. I don’t want anyone to know that I ever needed help to such a great extent. Actually I don’t want any help at all; I just have to manage it alone. Besides, I’m already in therapy. What kind of help do I even mean?

I don’t want anyone to take care of me. I don’t have the feeling at all that I deserve anything. Nothing at all.

I live in Germany. I will certainly inherit a lot of wealth, so I’ll never have problems there either. At home it’s relatively quiet. All my problems are small compared to other people’s. And yet I feel lost, bad, worthless, insecure. It’s as if rational thoughts are useless. As if they weren’t a real counterargument. I could say, “You understand more and more over the course of your life. I shouldn’t cause myself so much stress and grief and should just live life.” I don’t know how.

It’s only more confusing for me when I remember how, in the last few days, I thought completely differently, that is, positively. I was positive. I wrote down smart things and worked.

The trigger was when reality hit me again. It’s always like that with me: even when I’ve managed to do something, I still avoid reality. Mentally. It just happens automatically. I forget things very quickly, as protection. Because I wouldn’t find a solution, because I don’t know how to deal with it.

It feels to me as if I’m writing down the absolute truth here. Regarding my actual thoughts, they are indeed the true thoughts, but the claims that I wouldn’t describe this way in my sober thought process also feel true.

Because I truly believe that I haven’t really deserved anything. I can’t think of any reason why I should have. All I can think of is that it’s “so” unhealthy to think this way and that it “couldn’t possibly be true,” and then I talk myself into believing, because “you mustn’t just put up with bad thoughts,” that I’m “completely normal,” that I shouldn’t think so badly of myself, and so on. But I truly believe I’ve deserved nothing. I think the expression is wrong, though. One shouldn’t walk around thinking one deserves things one hasn’t received. But I go even further. I don’t only think I’ve deserved nothing, I also don’t want to take anything from anyone. But I also think I’m not allowed to accept anything. I don’t want to be given anything. I want everyone to leave me alone. I’d like to do something for others here and there, but please, please, nobody for me. So I’d like to let myself be helped so that I can at least manage everyday things. But I don’t want anyone to “take care” of me. Or for anyone to love me. Or for anyone to do something good for me.

I would just like to make up for what I did to the people around me. Namely, being depressed. Not being there. At 23, not being a role model, at least an orientation, for my siblings or anyone. But I can’t make that up. The time has passed. I don’t know what others think of me; I don’t talk to anyone and nobody talks to me. But it should have been noticed, shouldn’t it?

I’m crying right now, but that’s a lie. I feel so “bad,” and oh, look what sad things I’m writing here, and oh, you poor thing. But I don’t want to feel this bad. It’s a race between being sad about myself and becoming colder and colder and allowing nothing anymore. At some point I’ll be both. Incurably sad and absolutely cold.

How can that be the “I” that’s writing here right now? How can the consequence of my sadness about myself be that I want to ignore it? It just doesn’t help. Crying doesn’t help, but I also don’t have to pretend that I say crying doesn’t help and then do something else. No. It’s actually that ironic. I tell myself crying doesn’t help and then I stay sitting at the edge. I carry on exactly as before. Actually unconsciously. I forget again what I’m writing here and convince myself that everything will be fine if I just look ahead. I forget. Everything. Without noticing.

But how do I get out of this now? Who is supposed to help me? My therapist can talk with me for one hour a week. What is that supposed to do? In the end I sit alone in my room day after day.
Just now the thought came to me that maybe I have to go into one of those homes. Because everything I’m writing here points to that. But never in my life would I go there. That’s the lowest place a person can be.

Besides, in my desperation I’ve been writing the whole time as if it were hopeless and I were lost, but I must never accept that, because then there’s no way around my life turning out the way I don’t want it to. I must never accept that I’m that weak, because then you get into that typical cycle that you always see in documentaries. Someone once let themselves in for being such a “big problem case,” that is, accepted that they have to go into a home, and then they’re trapped there, because they never know: Am I cured now or not? Most of them come back because they allow themselves to be such a problem case.

Now we’ve reached the peak of irony, because by writing this so decisively just now, I got something again. Strength. And now I’m somewhat calmed. That makes no sense.

I don’t recognize myself. Because I’m also not recognizable. Nobody knows the way I write here. I’ve never shown it. I think I will show it.

My greatest fear is that I’ll get a negative diagnosis. That I won’t be taken seriously. That I’ll be told some extreme paths are the only way out. That the therapist will tell me I need “different” help. Or that “unfortunately, a normal therapy is no longer enough in my case.”

I think in a way I have this in my own hands, because I can suppress everything and simply not show it anymore.

But it feels as though this is my truth. It feels as though, no matter what I do, this is my core. No matter how much I try to change something, I will always come back to this.

That’s connected to what I think is true. Even if I’m convinced it’s true, it doesn’t have to be. My beliefs, for example.

That I deserve nothing, for example. That I feel I “should” feel this bad.

When I’m doing well, I smile at that and wonder how I could ever think something like that about myself.

When I’m doing badly, like right now, I cement that it is the truth after all, no matter how often I tell myself otherwise in my “good” state.

Another side: while writing, I have in the back of my mind that what I’m writing here has value. That’s part of the whole irony. I have the feeling that writing everything down like this has an outside value. For others. Even though I only feel more ashamed when I say it: but sometimes I wonder whether it’s something special that I write it all down like this. Such an absolutely crazy thought. How do I manage, in all this confusion, where any outsider would just say “hey, hey, stop,” to still pull something like this off? It’s part of the truth.

I also notice that I’m quite in flow right now. I’m just writing it down.

I imagine how people would read my texts. But maybe I’m just constructing it that way again in order to talk everything I’ve just written down in a negative way and portray myself as the worst person.

Because actually I also wrote it down so that I don’t forget it and so that I can show it to someone. Because I can’t tell anyone how it “really” is when I’m standing in front of them. That just doesn’t work.

I notice that writing calms me. I also notice that I keep the text somewhat sober at times. Some things I don’t write down at all, although they land in my head. Because then I couldn’t show it to anyone anymore...

I imagine analyzing the text with someone.

In all of this, the problem isn’t actually that I imagine something like that, that is, how people would see my texts as special. There, I’m really only condemning that I’d like to receive the attention.

The real problem is that I apparently truly believe they have value. I apparently truly somehow believe they’re special.

It’s so strange to write this down here, because I’d make the texts more special by saying all this.

By now it’s actually no longer about my feelings, but simply about writing.

That’s why I’m stopping now.

--

If you red everything, congrats. what do you say

I never read nor wrote a thing never used this app also i was just thinking about this so i wanted to try writing. Note i didn't use ai at all

I am a mirror,

A crowned mirror,

A lovable king,

Sitting on a throne on the top of the island,

Between a familiar crowd.

But they are not real;

They are merely a reflected image from me,

The great king.

Are they even real? Do they really love it here?

Do they really like the island?

Do they see in me my reflection,

Or do they see through me the truth?

I am not a stupid glass,

I am the king,

The mirror king.

Mirror?

Is that why I spiral when I look at myself?

I hate it.

I don't care.

The glare of the sun make me see it,

I don't like it.

I don't need a sun on my island;

The night is beautiful,

The moon is beautiful.

Why—

Why do I feel close to the moon?

The great moon,

She shines.

I like her gloom

In the dark,

Like me:

A gloomy mirror.

Enough light to shine,

To not spiral,

But it will remove everything.

The island sky dried,

The crowd are dark, empty, dried shells.

They can't see this.

You are the mirror king.

The sea vanished,

The shells broke.

They got pale,

Colorless.

But how would the shells know that?

They can't see that.

I am a great mirror.

They can't take their eyes off of me;

They like what they see.

They see the island,

The beautiful island,

The most beautiful island

In mirror land.

The king wondered

In his "beautiful island"—

To the old harbor,

To the vast dried sea,

To the dead plants,

To the remainings of the birds.

He liked to play with the shells,

But they are dangerous,

They are sharp,

They can hurt him.

But he likes them.

"They like my light," he says.

Wait, are these shattered fragments from me?

Should I be worried?

No,

The shells would like them.

These can reflect as well.

The mirror broke.

The shells got greedy;

Everyone took a piece.

They liked it,

I knew it.

They like me,

Their great king.

But wait, they forgot this:

Two shattered pieces,

Facing each other,

Deep in the sand.

Don't leave with this pathetic, stupid piece!

No,

I don't want to see this.

Please take me,

You will like it,

You will like me.

Please turn the light off completely!

Turn it off, please!

A wave can wash the pieces away.

But wait,

This isn't an island.

Or my dried sea can still make it an island.

The shells left,

The king is in pain.

"Why am I here with this stupid, sad piece?

Take him away,

Please."

He drowned in the spiral that he ran away from.

The king is lost in the spiral,

Looking for familiar places

In the cruel spiral.

He forgot them.

He kept drowning

And drowning.

The sad piece

Can see a gloomy light,

Small, but it's there.

He asks the king.

The king, with a hopeless voice:

"It's from the great moon,

You stupid, pathetic mirror."

The moon,

The great moon,

Knows it's time for a change,

Knows where to stop.

She is the great mirror,

Maybe?

The great moon left,

The sun shined on the ugly island.

A single ray sneaked on the sad piece,

He reflected it to the sky.

Wait,

It started to rain

For ages.

The sea is back:

The waves,

The sea birds,

The refreshing scent.

The harbor opened,

The people are back,

My people.

But there is no mirror,

Only the sad one that shines the skies

And the great king.

Why did they come?

The king is lost.

How?

Why?

They can't see me,

I can't reflect them.

A useless mirror,

Shattered and useless.

But they like it here.

Why do they like the island?

But it's still dead, they can see it now.

Why?

The king is lost,

Deep inside the sand that he came from,

So deep,

Where no light shines,

Except for a single ray of sunlight.

He thinks the island is dead;

He doesn't know.

The great king doesn't know,

The stupid king doesn't know.

The lost king and his sad friend,

Screaming for waves,

Screaming for sweet death.

The shells hear it,

But it's the bird songs,

The dances of the leaves,

The sea whispers

The king is still lost,

Grieving his island.

Longing for his shells.

But the island is growing,

Living,

Happy.

Yet the king wonders in his abyss.

The stupid king doesn't know.

Long live the island.

Long live the king?

1. Choose an identity category (German people)

2. Choose your anti-category (Gypsy)

3. Formulate a social system using 1 and 2

4. Obtain the right to the legitimate use of violence (defense against oppression)

5. Spread the propaganda until it works (WWII)

Hello, fellow lovers of wisdom.

American society has been very polarized for quite some time now.

There is constantly hateful "us vs. them" being spewed forth online. This black-and-white thinking doesn't help anyone, because we all live in the gray areas to some extent or another. So I propose that #Misology start trending online.

Misology
Hatred or distrust of reasoning and argument
In Plato’s Phaedo, it arises when repeated disappointment with arguments leads someone to reject reasoning altogether.

For those that want to mischaracterize this as being "misogynist," you are missing the point entirely, and probably need to consider the possibility that you are in fact a misologist.

Anyone care to open a dialogue?

ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ