Sifting through the cataract of words gushing through the airwaves, down the fibreoptic cable, can be daunting. How does one even begin to determine what to read, what to listen to, what to give credence to?
A good heuristic—rule of thumb—is this test:
Does what I read build up arguments from facts, through the adduction of evidence and the application of principles, through the critical review of that evidence, to arrive at conclusions?
Or does it beg the question, take a conclusion as a premise, then build an argument to support that, using only those materials required by the blueprint?
Does what I read seek neutrally to discern reality and its underpinning principles and laws, its trends, drifts, and directions?
Or does it attempt to stipulate reality, to impose a pre-existing model on the subject at hand?
Does what I read recognise the complexity of reality, the existence of unknowability beyond the knowable, the co-existence of the certain and the speculative, in the humility of an enquirer?
Or does it exude the implacable certainty of the podium politician, the Speakers' Corner polemicist?
Does what I read appeal to sense and reason?
Or does it appeal to emotion, to the faculty for grievance and righteous indignation, the eagle-eyed, sharp-tongued, flaming sword-wielding moralist in us all?
Does what I read recognise humanity as a continuum, with good and bad, reason and folly, obtaining in everyone?
Or does it divide into the right and the wrong? The anointed and the wicked? The beneficent and malevolent? The victim and the persecutor (with the writer the rescuer)? Them and us?
Does what I read deal with the plain?
Or does it discern hidden motive, ill intent, conspiracy, all part of a greater conspiracy to keep us down?
Does what I read allow me more room to breathe, more light to see, expanding the universe I live in?
Or does it cause my breath to shorten, my heart to race, my eyes to smart with light shone so brightly that all else about is dimmed to blackness?
Is what I read a glass of water on a hot day, an excellent meal, a biscuit with my tea?
Or is it a burst of amphetamine, a rush of lust, an intoxicating cocktail, activating a thirst for more of precisely the same drug?
Does what I read employ reason to further the objects of good will?
Or does it abuse reason to further the objects of ill will?
Is what I read more of God than of the ego?
Or is it more of the ego than of God?