What if all the world around us unfolds in certain ways while we, human beings, constantly tell ourselves different stories about it? What if what we call human understanding is nothing else than stories we make up about some of the world's events, stories that are for the most part either flawed or incomplete? And if that is the case, to what extent do we do so and why do we even do it? What if we have always been living more in our stories than...
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Philosophy