VIII: Mr Blottisham and the Faithful Mirror (or Mr Blottisham Attempts to Carry Reality)

St Anselm's Senior Common Room, Late Afternoon

Rain had once again settled itself outside the windows with the determination of a long-term resident.

The fire glowed quietly.

Professor Quillibrace sat in his customary chair reading.

Miss Elowen Stray was writing notes in the increasingly dense collection of notebooks now surrounding her.

Peace reigned.

Then the door opened.

Mr Blottisham entered carrying an enormous mirror.

He manoeuvred awkwardly through the doorway, struck one side against the frame, apologised to it, and lowered it onto the table with visible effort.

Quillibrace stared.

Miss Stray stared.

Silence lingered.

Finally Quillibrace removed his spectacles.

"...should I ask?"

Blottisham smiled triumphantly.

"No need."

"I see."

"I have solved knowledge."

Miss Stray looked interested.

"The entire thing?"

"Entirely."

Blottisham tapped the mirror.

"There."

Silence.

Quillibrace looked at the mirror.

Then at Blottisham.

Then back at the mirror.

"...knowledge is apparently reflective."

"Exactly."

Blottisham sat down with satisfaction.

"The matter is perfectly obvious."

He gestured grandly.

"The world exists outside us."

"Mm."

"The mind forms images of the world."

"Mm."

"Knowledge is simply possessing accurate images."

He tapped the mirror.

"Like this."

Miss Stray smiled faintly.

"We do speak that way."

"Of course we do," said Blottisham.

"Science builds better representations."

"Yes."

"Truth means matching reality."

"Quite."

"Errors are distorted pictures."

He leaned back.

"Simple."

Quillibrace folded his hands.

"And thus the familiar picture quietly appears."

He began counting on his fingers.

"The world exists as objects and states of affairs."

Blottisham nodded.

"Correct."

"The mind forms internal representations."

"Yes."

"Knowledge consists in accurate representation."

"Precisely."

"And truth becomes correspondence between representation and reality."

Blottisham looked pleased.

"Exactly."

Quillibrace regarded him thoughtfully.

"Mr Blottisham."

"Yes?"

"Where precisely is this representation?"

Blottisham blinked.

"...inside the mind."

"More specifically."

Blottisham frowned.

"A mental picture."

Quillibrace nodded.

"And what makes a mental picture about anything?"

Silence.

Blottisham stared.

"...what?"

"Suppose one has an image in the mind."

"Yes."

"What makes it refer to a tree rather than a cloud?"

Blottisham frowned harder.

"Well..."

Quillibrace continued quietly.

"Suppose instead it is a sentence."

"Oh."

"What gives marks or sounds reference in the first place?"

"Oh."

"Suppose it is a neural pattern."

Blottisham had become very still.

"Oh no."

Miss Stray looked up.

"So the bridge itself seems to disappear."

Quillibrace nodded.

"The representational picture assumes meaning."

"Without explaining it."

"Precisely."

Blottisham stared at the mirror with growing suspicion.

Miss Stray was writing rapidly.

"And knowing itself doesn't seem to behave like copying."

Quillibrace smiled faintly.

"No."

"We act within situations."

"Yes."

"We respond to possibilities and constraints."

"Quite."

"A map is not useful because it resembles a territory."

Quillibrace nodded.

"It is useful because it supports navigation."

"And a theory does not function because it mirrors reality..."

"...but because it participates in prediction, explanation, and action."

Blottisham stared into the middle distance.

"So knowing begins to look less like representation."

"Yes."

"And more like participation."

"Quite."

Silence settled around the room.

Rain tapped softly against the windows.

The fire shifted and cracked.

Blottisham looked at the mirror for a long time.

Then he spoke.

"I have had a troubling thought."

Quillibrace looked entirely unsurprised.

"I had assumed we would end there."

Blottisham frowned deeply.

"If knowledge is not a mirror of reality..."

He glanced uneasily toward the object on the table.

"...what exactly have I been carrying all afternoon?"

Quillibrace considered this carefully.

"A mirror, Mr Blottisham."

A pause.

"Though with your usual philosophical efficiency, you appear to have carried it a very long way in order to discover that it mostly reflects yourself."