Why you can't say it's raining but you don't believe it

HostWe often think of language as a tool for just passing notes back and forth, like a way to move a fact from my head into yours. But there are these strange moments where you can say something that might be true, yet the moment the words leave your mouth, they sound like a total mistake.

HostWhat's it about saying it's raining, but I don't believe it's, that makes a person sound like they have completely lost their grip on things?

GuestIt's such a weird puzzle. On the surface, it feels like it should be fine. I mean, think about a weather reporter standing out in a heavy storm. Rain is soaking through his suit, the wind is whipping his hair around, and he's reading the rain totals off a screen. But then he looks right into the camera and tells the viewers that he personally thinks it's a bone-dry day. Now, those two things can both be true at once in the real world. It really can be raining while that man truly believes it's dry. Maybe he thinks he's on a movie set with fake rain machines. There's no law of logic that says the world and your mind have to match up perfectly. But the second he says those two things together, it becomes a mess.

HostRight, but if both halves of the sentence can be true, why does it feel like a lie or a slip-up when he says them in the same breath?

GuestBecause when we talk, we're doing a lot more than just acting like a loudspeaker for data. You're not a robot just reading a list of facts. You're a witness testifying to what you see. This is what people call the norm of assertion. It's basically a deep, unspoken rule of human talk. When you make a claim, like saying the cat is on the mat, you're not just describing where the cat is. You're performing an action that tells the world you believe the cat is there. To say a thing is true is to say, I believe this. So, when you add but I don't believe it to the end, you're trying to take back the very thing you needed to say the first part. It's like walking into a room and immediately saying, I'm not in this room. Your very act of speaking makes the words impossible.

HostSo, is it that we can't separate what we say from what we think? I mean, I can tell a lie. I can say it's raining when I know it's not.

GuestWell, sure, you can lie. But even then, you're pretending to follow the rule. When you lie, you're trying to get people to think you believe what you're saying. This specific clash is different. It's what we call a pragmatic contradiction. It's a clash in how you act. The rule is that saying something is true is the same as saying you believe it. So when you say both at once, you're breaking the basic machine of communication. You're trying to be a confident reporter and a doubting skeptic at the exact same time. It falls apart because you're the one saying it. If I say it's raining but you don't believe it, that makes sense. I'm just saying you're wrong. But you can't really be an outside observer of your own thoughts while you're having them.

HostThat's a bit trippy. But wait, if I want to know what I believe, do I not just look inside my own head and check?

GuestYou would think so, right? Like you're looking for a pair of socks in a drawer. But that's not how it actually works. This is what we call the transparency of belief. If someone asks you, do you believe it's raining, you don't actually scan your brain or look at your memories. You look out the window. You look at the sky. We work out what our own beliefs are by looking at the world, not by looking at our minds. Because the evidence for the rain and the evidence for your belief are the exact same thing, they become the same thing to you. To try to pull them apart in a sentence suggests there's a crack in your own mind. It's like you're seeing the rain with your eyes but your mind is refusing to admit it.

HostAnd this only seems to happen when I'm talking about myself in the present moment. I can say I was wrong yesterday, can't I?

GuestExactly. That's the first-person privilege. There's nothing wrong with saying, it was raining yesterday but I didn't believe it then. In that case, you're looking back at your past self like you're an outside judge. You're pointing out that your old self made a mistake. You can do the same thing for other people. You can say, it's raining but he doesn't believe it. That's fine because you're just observing his mistake. But you can't be an outside observer of your own mind right now. You can't hold a belief and a second thought that the belief is wrong at the same time. This is why saying I believe often doesn't even describe you at all. It's just a way of framing what you say. It's like saying it's raining, but with a slight shrug of your shoulders.

GuestThe speaker who tries to pull those two things apart is trying to stand in two places at once, acting as the person who sees the world and the person who watches the person seeing it.

HostThat reporter in the storm can describe every drop of rain falling on his head, but the moment he tries to deny he sees it, the whole report falls apart.