на память мне из У.Эко
Jul. 18th, 2008 05:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
babusyatanyaпроигрыш или выигрыш - как дискурсивные понятия
...You see in the case of Brunellus, when I saw the clues I guessed many complementary and contradictory hypotheses: it could be a runaway horse, it could be that the abbot had ridden down the slope on that fine horse, it could be that one horse, Brunellus, had left the tracks in the snow and another horse Favellus, the day before, the traces of mane in the bush, and the branches could have been broken by some men. I didn't know which hypothesis was tight until I saw the cellarer and the servants anxiously searching. Then I understood that the Brunellus hypothesis was the only right one, and I tried to prove it true, addressing the monks as I did.
I won, but I might also have lost. The others beleived me wise because I won, but they didn't know the many instances in which I have been foolish because I lost, and they didn't know that a few seconds before winning I wasn't sure I wouldn't lose. Now fot the events of the abbey I have many fine hypotheses, but there is no evident fact that allows me to say which is best. So rather than appear foolish afterward, I renounce seуming clever now. Let me think no more, untill tomorrow at least.
I understood at that moment my master's method of reasoning, and it seemed to me quite alien to that of the philosopher, who reasons by first principles, so that his intellect almost assumes the ways of the divine intellect. I understood that, when he didn't have an answer, William proposed many to himself, very different one from another. I remained puzzled.
"But then..." I ventured to remark, "you are still far from the solution..."
"I am very close to one," William said, "but I don't know which."
"Therefore you don't have a single answer to your questions?"
"Adso, if I did I would teach theology in Paris."
"In Paris do they always have the true answer?"
"Never," William said, "but they are very sure of their errors."
"And you," I said with childish impertinence, "never commit errors?"
"Often," he answered. "But instead of conceiving only one, I imagine many, so I become the slave of none."
I had the impression that William was not at all interested in the truth, which is nothing but the adjustment between the thing and the intellect. On the contrary, he amused himself by imagining how many possibilities were possible.
...You see in the case of Brunellus, when I saw the clues I guessed many complementary and contradictory hypotheses: it could be a runaway horse, it could be that the abbot had ridden down the slope on that fine horse, it could be that one horse, Brunellus, had left the tracks in the snow and another horse Favellus, the day before, the traces of mane in the bush, and the branches could have been broken by some men. I didn't know which hypothesis was tight until I saw the cellarer and the servants anxiously searching. Then I understood that the Brunellus hypothesis was the only right one, and I tried to prove it true, addressing the monks as I did.
I won, but I might also have lost. The others beleived me wise because I won, but they didn't know the many instances in which I have been foolish because I lost, and they didn't know that a few seconds before winning I wasn't sure I wouldn't lose. Now fot the events of the abbey I have many fine hypotheses, but there is no evident fact that allows me to say which is best. So rather than appear foolish afterward, I renounce seуming clever now. Let me think no more, untill tomorrow at least.
I understood at that moment my master's method of reasoning, and it seemed to me quite alien to that of the philosopher, who reasons by first principles, so that his intellect almost assumes the ways of the divine intellect. I understood that, when he didn't have an answer, William proposed many to himself, very different one from another. I remained puzzled.
"But then..." I ventured to remark, "you are still far from the solution..."
"I am very close to one," William said, "but I don't know which."
"Therefore you don't have a single answer to your questions?"
"Adso, if I did I would teach theology in Paris."
"In Paris do they always have the true answer?"
"Never," William said, "but they are very sure of their errors."
"And you," I said with childish impertinence, "never commit errors?"
"Often," he answered. "But instead of conceiving only one, I imagine many, so I become the slave of none."
I had the impression that William was not at all interested in the truth, which is nothing but the adjustment between the thing and the intellect. On the contrary, he amused himself by imagining how many possibilities were possible.