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August 4, 2020 / Congau

Umpteen Umpires

There were so many of them, umpteen at least, maybe even more, it’s hard to count when you don’t know how. Let’s just say all those bugs came crawling in upon me, multiplying as I was trying to brush them away. Some would say they were just a product of my own imagination and therefore not real, but I beg to differ. For me they were as real as real can be, since nothing can be more certain than our own thinking, just like the old philosopher has taught us.

I think, therefore I am. My identity is in my thinking. Does that mean that whatever I happen to think about immediately becomes my indisputable self, and that my perception of reality cannot be questioned? In that case, there is no such thing as madness, and everyone will have to accept my bugs as if they were genuine. And what is worse, I’ll have to accept them myself.

It’s a crazy world, there seems to be a general consensus about that verdict, but most people are reluctant to include themselves in the craziness. When pressed, they may admit to certain personal flaws, but they feel convinced about their own sound judgment and common sense. Above all, don’t try to doubt their perception of their own identity: They are what they think they are.

Do you really want to believe in those bothersome bugs that are making you miserable? Once you have accepted their existence, they stubbornly multiply and become an obsession poisoning your thoughts. What a waste to be contaminated by something that may not even exist. Do they exist?

Existence is not subjective. You can ask all the judges you can find, and all those umpteen umpires may rule differently. But man is not the measure; you are not, and they are not; reality is.


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