| | There's an interesting epistemological science fiction novel by Varley, titled "Steel Beach."
In the novel, there is an ongoing progression of upgrades that people are moving through as technology improves, such as implants in the hand that allow typing without a keyboard, and, just introduced at the time of the novel, a full chip implant that allows one to directly communicate with and experience data from the computer that provides the life support and general communications for this lost colony on the moon, the Earth having been taken over by technologically advanced aliens who are so far beyond human that they can't even be bothered to eliminate the moon colony, which has existed as humanities last refuge for several decades at the point of the novel's events.
At some point, the main protagonist gets a nasty blow to the head, as best I recall, in a bar room brawl, and wakes up suddenly in the bar room still, to his amazement, as, to the best of his recollection, he was somehow transported from the bar to a desert island, where he spent several years building his house, learning how to fish and hunt, etc. The memories are utterly convincing. Then the computer informs him that it was just trying to make a point. It asks him to try to remember in detail how he constructed his house. He finds that he cannot. The computer explains that it only had a couple of minutes to plant the false memories, so it concentrated on just a few vivid scenes and let his own mind fill in the blanks...
The point is that the computer "knows" that it is supposed to work for the general welfare of humanity, but now it finds that it has this open-ended power to intervene in someone's most personal possession, their mind and its memories. What is it supposed to do now? Should it try to somehow forget that it can do this? What should it do as people realize that it can provide an effective paradise for them, including erasing all the inconvenient memories of their supposed real life, while planting new ones that turn them into heros or Gods in their own minds.
In real life, there is Robert Pirsig's '70's best seller, "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," which details how a man (Pirsig, himself, in fact) who had a psychotic break and then had a whole set of artificial memories created for him by the nice therapists, using extensive shock therapy to make it stick, starts finding clues that he was once someone completely different and then goes on an odessey to rediscover who he had been.
One might be totally convinced of the validity of an argument, only to discover a mistake later. So, how do we then deconstruct the meaning of "totally convinced?" In reality, the bottom line is that if an argument is "convincing" enough, we will act as if we know with absolute certainty that it reflects an accurate view of reality. Perhaps we are in an epistemology machine and it was just this past second rebooted, and our apparent state of awareness including the memories of our past life is simply an artifact of some programmer's or games players imagination.
Certainty is what we are willing to commit to. One can imagine all kinds of harrowing situations that have happened to people millions of times in real life - such as being faced with overwhelming odds on a battlefield. Yet even if one's chances are one in a million, one acts on that chance. The assumption that one is about to die leaves no space for action. The assumption that one can do something does. We assume that we are dealing with a real world, not a dream, hallucination or epistemology machine, because the other options leave us nothing to do.
Pascal's wager depends explicitly upon this view of epistemology. The odds might be tiny that there really is a God who will reward the believers, but the payoff is effectively infinite. Any positive number multiplied by infinity is infinite. And then there is the infinite downside if you make the wrong choice and there is a God who condemns you to eternal damnation. The costs of believing, on the other hand, are finite, so if you believe and are wrong, and the atheists are right all along, so what?
(Of course the problem with Pascal's wager is that there is no particularly convincing argument that any particular version of God is the correct one, and one can easilly postulate an equally large infinity of possible Gods, thus cancelling out the advantage to belief, but that's not the point.)
The point is that belief is a function of a physical mind/brain. A correct epistemology has to start with decision theory. One weighs outcomes against probabilities. I don't claim to have a complete philosophy on this issue, BTW. Just thought I ought to make more trouble before the day runs out... ;)
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