ABSTRACT
The meditator peers through a window. He sees people in their hats and coats, and wonders if they may be machines. We pity the solipsist. Poor lad, how is he to defeat the goliath of scepticism, armed only with the slings and stones of an all too finite intellect? We admire his willingness to follow the argument wherever it might lead. But we can spare a thought for the people below, should the meditator leave his stove-heated room unconvinced by his counter-sceptical ruminations.
