You know how every class starts with a syllabus—

That's the document nobody reads?
 

The one you sign…
and then don’t look at again until the professor asks that horrible question:

“Have you read the syllabus?”

This is that.

Only for thinking.

This is the space in My Thoughts—a non-blog about my thoughts.

Not particularly original… but then again, most of my thoughts aren’t.

This isn’t a set of conclusions.

It’s more of an agreement about how you and I can approach them.

So here’s the first rule in the syllabus:

I’m not preaching.

I’m exploring.

And I’m asking you to do that with me.

Thinking is a little trickier than most people think…

That sentence is probably a poetic form.

We’ll ignore that for now.

Thinking—real thinking—doesn’t happen by accident.

It requires a kind of contract.

Not between teacher and student…
but between you and yourself.

And in this case—
you and me.

Here’s mine.

I’ll tell you what I believe, not because I’m right,
but because it’s where I’m standing today.

If I move tomorrow, that’s not inconsistency—
that’s learning.

Being right isn’t a great place to stay.
Being wrong isn’t either.

They’re just places to stand.

And I’ve found I don’t like staying in one place too long.

So as you read My Thoughts—

you get to disagree.

I get to disagree with you.

And if you do it well enough,
I may change my mind.

And maybe you’ll change yours.

And if we’re lucky…
we both change our minds
and find something new between us.

That would mean disagreement isn’t weakness.

It’s information.

Neither of us gets to stop thinking
even when it becomes uncomfortable.

Discomfort isn’t a problem to solve—

it’s often a signal that something is shifting.

(That’s a polite word for changing.)

Here’s another rule. I call this epistemic humility. Simply put...

I’ll try to be charitable.

As part of our agreement, I ask you for the same. "Epistemic Humility"
I’m asking you to be polite.

More specifically—

I will assume the most charitable version of what you say,
and I’m asking you to try to do the same with me.

Not because we always deserve it…

but because it keeps the field open long enough
to see what’s actually there.

And we’ll leave a little space in our certainty.

Not to become unsure of everything—
although that’s not always a bad thing—

but to stay aware that we don’t see everything.

This isn’t a claim about truth.

Well… maybe it is—just about the parts of truth we don’t see.

I’m usually a little unsure about truth as a rule.

But this is a structure for approaching it.

If it’s useful, use it.

If not, set it aside.

That’s part of the agreement too.