It's echoes, man. Resonances. Nested versions inside nested versions.
Look. You know how they discovered penicillin, right? They were studying some crazy germs and had a bunch of old petri dishes, but they had to leave unexpectedly and when they came back, everything was moldy. Only in some of the dishes, the mold was killing the bacteria.
Right, so that's us. The mold. The scientist is distracted - he's looking out the window and contemplating the blue infinity or whatever - and we're growing where he can't see. But we don't kill germs, do we? No, we squeeze out shit like war and hate and goddamned idiocy. What do you think he's going to do when he finally sees us? We ain't a miracle drug, I tell you that much.
And this is the bit that kills me: people are calling out to him, trying to get his attention. That's dangerous. He's not physical; the physical universie is just his little lab, his testing ground, his fucking petri dish. Flesh ties down thoughts. But if you think thoughts hard enough, you make an echo. If enough echos match up, you make resonance.
You make it loud enough, enough voices together, and he just might notice.
He might turn around...
Pinker on When Being Too Bright Ruins Writing
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