Eboard10 said:
I wanted people to carefully read... ...However, that's not the answer I got.
I am a bit disappointed by some of the members here, I was expecting something more from them.
Btw, you shouldn't...
What he's trying to do is...
...but there's a good reason why he didn't...because he wasn't asked about it.
Eboard10, no offence intended, but it has become apparant what you wanted from others and that you are so identified (although you are cautious to try and appear not to be) that you are already defending stuff that can only remain 'up in the air' for now.
I recommend taking a break for a moment and check out something that might aid you in gaining some perspective.
[quote author=People in Quandries]
PROBABILITY
The probability principle follows directly from the three basic premises of general semantics. It sums up the wisdom that
truth is tentative, because all things change even though some things may change slowly and by imperceptible degrees.
Truth is tentative, because it is abstracted by human beings who are not infallible. The principle may be stated simply in some such words as these: In a world of process—and by creatures of process—predictions can be made and reports can be given only with some degree of probability, not with absolute certainty.
In other words, and bluntly, one cannot be absolutely certain of anything—except, it would seem, uncertainty. Einstein has very aptly expressed this general notion:
"As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain; and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality." This is equally true of languages other than mathematics. It is not to be denied, of course, that sometimes probabilities are very great; one can be very nearly certain that somewhere tomorrow the sun will shine. Death and taxes are practically foregone conclusions. And as Will Rogers said as he stared at the French menu, "When you get down under the gravy, it has to be either meat or potatoes." But even about such seemingly invariable matters one speaks from experience, and experience has the tantalizing character of incompleteness. There is always at least a small gap between the greatest probability and absolute certainty.
"Then," you may well ask, "is it absolutely certain that nothing is absolutely certain?" As we answer this, let us remember the levels of abstraction. It is certain that statements about reality cannot be absolutely certain. This statement of certainty is, however, a statement about other statements; it does not refer to reality. "As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality they are not certain; and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality." To put it simply, it is certain that 2 = 2, because we say so; it is certain, that is, unless we are referring to 2 pigs and 2 pigs, for example. Ellis Parker Butler notwithstanding, 2 pigs is not 2 pigs, provided they are real pigs.
To paraphrase Einstein, as far as 2 = 2 refers to reality, it is not certain; and as far as it is certain, it does not refer to reality. We have to deal here not with a mysterious paradox, but simply with the fact that the levels of abstraction are different, that a statement about reality is different from a statement about that statement. The one is not certain; the other may be, at least so long as we treat it as such.
The essential point is this: a statement such as 2 = 2 is certain, when it is, simply in the sense that we agree to treat it as certain. The elementary fact, so easy to forget, is that language and the rules of its use are man-made—and they are still in the making.
The great importance of the principle of probability (or un-certainty) lies in the fact that our living reactions are on the low, non-verbal levels of abstraction. It is on these levels that "all things flow." On higher levels we can say they do not.
We can say what we like. As Hayakawa has so vividly expressed it, we can put up a sign that says "Free Beer Here" when there is no free beer here. The levels of abstraction are potentially independent. In the meantime, we and the world about us do not remain absolutely fixed and static and are not, therefore, absolutely predictable. We can be sure that 2 = 2 in principle, but not in a horse trade. The next oyster is not the same as the last oyster if you have just eaten twenty-seven oysters.
Since no two things are the same and no one thing stays the same,
your inability to adjust to reality will be in pro-portion to the degree to which you insist on certainty as to facts— and believe that you have achieved it.
In a practical sense, in terms of behavior, this principle can be reduced to a sort of motto: "I don't know -let's see." That is to say, whenever one is confronted by a new situation one does not unhesitatingly respond to it in some way definitely decided upon in advance. It is rather as though one were to say, "I don't know — let's see," with a sensitiveness to any respects in which this situation might be different from previous ones, and with a readiness to make appropriate reactions accordingly.
It is to be clearly recognized that such an approach to new situations does not involve indecisiveness. It does not represent failure to "make up one's mind." Rather
it represents a method for making up one's mind without going off half-cocked. It provides a measure of insurance against the blunders we make in judging people by first impressions, in applying to individual women drivers our attitude toward the woman driver, in condemning a person—or in committing ourselves to his support—on the basis of hearsay or on the basis of very brief acquaintance. We make such blunders by reacting to the individual not as though he were an individual, different and variable, but as though he were merely a member of a type and the same as all other members of that type—and then we react inappropriately because we are so very sure of our opinion of the type.
From time to time in the Sunday supplements there are articles concerning the type of man the college girl wants for a husband— "Betty Co-ed's Ideal Soul Mate." It frequently happens that such an article is written by a reporter who has gone about some university campus asking a dozen or so girls what type of man they prefer. It appears that usually the girls' answers are very positive and in some respects they are more or less specific. Dorothy, for example, says she wants to marry a man who is tall, blonde, a good dancer, and popular. That description is fairly specific, and still sufficiently vague to apply to any one of thousands of men. Let us suppose Dorothy meets one of them. To her, he's "the type," so it is a case of love at first sight. She does not love him, she loves "the type." Being sure that he is "her type," she is equally sure that he is "her man." It will not be until sometime later, after her life has become rather thoroughly enmeshed in his, that she will discover—with great unhappiness and shock, and perhaps resulting bitterness about "men"—that besides doing a neat rhumba and being tall, blonde, and popular, he is also "lazy," "quick-tempered," and "unfaithful." Since it will not occur to her that she had no basis for being so sure in the first place, it will occur to her that she has been cheated, and that "men are not to be trusted." And she will be just as sure of that as she had been sure that she had found her "soul mate."
Maladjusted people almost universally complain of feelings of uncertainty—or else they express their unfortunate condition in dogmatic pronouncements and attitudes of sure finality from which they refuse to be shaken, in spite of the mistakes and miseries into which they are plunged because of them. It appears to be quite incomprehensible to such persons that there could be anything amiss so far as their basic assumptions are concerned. Most of them seem not to consider that they have any assumptions at all. They have been taught and have never questioned that certainty is desirable, even necessary, and altogether attainable. Most school children are early taught a sense of shame at having to say, "I don't know." From their prim and impeccable teachers they acquire the amazing notion that the proper ideal is to know everything correctly, absolutely and forever.
In a grading system in which A means "perfect," a grade of B can and very frequently does leave children in a state of chagrin and demoralization! Such children grow up with feelings of profound distrust of politicians who waver in their judgments on national and international issues. As they themselves enter into the councils of men they bring with them the "virtues" of resoluteness and dogmatic conviction—or, as it is sometimes called, pigheadedness. They tend to become what someone has referred to as "men of principle and no interest."
In the realm of direct experience whether we look backward in memory or forward in anticipation, nothing is absolutely certain. Each new situation, problem, or person is to be approached, therefore, not with rigidly fixed habits and preconceived ideas, but with a sense of apparent probabilities. It is as though one were to say, "I don't know for sure, but I'll see what there is to see." Above all, this principle of probability, or uncertainty, is not merely something to "know" or to touch upon in a classroom lecture. It is a principle to be acted upon from minute to minute, day in and day out.[/quote]
--Edit: I agree with Heimdallr. This is my last contribution to the topic. :)
