All we have is experience, and inferences based on experience. And inference is always uncertain. I'm of the opinion that the quality of 'being real' is a meaningless term, held over from times when metaphysical assumptions were simpler and more naive. Any moment now, we may awaken, only to realize this been nothing more than a dream. Science appears to produce good guesses as to what happens next, providing my memories of it are real, and not just illusory, momentary apprehensions. And black swans haunt our nightmares. Even, "I think, therefore I am," turns out to be unreliable. Assuming materialist assumptions, it's relatively clear why this is. The mind is a recurring event, happening in a small bowl of jello like flesh. It has no access to anything outside it's representations and models and present tense. It wouldn't know the real if it were bit by it. It's a wholly self contained simulation. And it's relationship to anything outside of itself cannot be known from inside it. It can guess, but of what use are guesses? What's out there is of almost no importance. What's happening "in here," and what we expect to happen next "in here," is the only "reality" worth contemplating. This moment, the law of gravity appears to hold, but the next moment, my memories and beliefs may be those of a third century Arab who has never heard of gravity. Damn those black swans.
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