another destination. This is why they call it a bridge and not a fact." She
raised her brow playfully.
"You‘re saying our language is the bridge to facts, and our
cooperative assumptions smooth the way?"
"I am, and…?"
"Neither is the truth; we‘re just heading that way?"
"Yes, and if something isn‘t exactly the truth, but represents the truth,
it‘s not the truth, is it?"
"No," I said warily.
"Consider the impact on Vancouver if those bridges wobbled."
"Economic instability?"
"Don‘t guess."
"I‘ll stick with that."
"What would the wobble generate in people?"
"Trepidation."
"Which would manifest as what, in people‘s daily schedules?"
"Uncertainty."
"Now you‘re getting it: Think of our culture as a suspension bridge
that bounces slightly with every step, and each rebound as a nuance of
interpretation that is the wiggle room that keeps people more or less
centred."
"I just said that in a different way."
"You did, but it was in defence of the necessity of that wiggle room—
let me finish," she held up her hand. "What you can‘t detect is the lateral
sway of the structure; we‘ll call that our consensus conformation
overlooking a fact, because you are looking down at your reasons—each
of them being a plank moving in sync with the sway."
"I‘ve got the picture."
"What would standing on that bridge be like if you could break the
spell of your conformation to looking down, and for a second look off to
one side?"
"I‘d detect the motion, and it might be a bit harder on my nerves," I
said, putting myself inside the metaphor.
"Make that professionally relevant."
I stared at her.
"Your television work," she prompted me. "What common practice
of representing facts takes the place of the truth?"
"We have people stage common actions, so that we have pictures of
them during the voice over, but that‘s not really a contrivance."
"Why not?"
