Semantics

The most beneficial personal classification as far as distinction of truth is to be a realist with occasional appeal to nominalistic accusations of vague generality when circumstantially appropriate. Thus, authoritative status is preserved semantically while maintaining its value pragmatically.

Have you ever had a conversation with a mirror?

They never let you get a word in.

Quotation justification

I think it's funny when people use quotations like they are automatically point-proving statements. As if just because someone said something sometime makes it true. I don't know about you, but I have said a lot of stupid things in my life that right now I sure am glad aren't true. I also know a lot of people that have said some ridiculous things. Someone once told me that you should never quote somebody if you can't remember exactly who it is you're quoting. Well, take that. Anyway, maybe that means that you should always know how to correctly cite what you quote, or (and this is the way I like to think of it) you can just speak for yourself, and anyone who helped you think the way you do because of the things they've said doesn't really need to be brought up; make it your own! Here's the deal: we don't have that many words, there have been a lot of people, and people say a lot of things. Therefore, whatever you say has probably already been said. You don't need to waste your time finding out all of the people who have already said what you're saying in attempts to prove that you don't think for yourself. Maybe it helps if you want to show that someone else shares your opinion, but I'd like to think that my ideas and opinions are strong enough on their own, without the quotation crutches.

Oftentimes, after saying something funny or interesting, I am asked: "what's that from?" Well, what if it's from me? Can you believe that I came up with that on my own, right here, on the spot?! But that's never assumed. I just never get the credit I think I deserve: congratulations for thinking, I guess. That's just the problem: why do we always have to give credit for things? We're all so good at evaluating and critiquing and comparing and score keeping and grading and judging that we think we have to do it in every conversation. Who cares?! Don't worry Alex, there are enough people throwing out judgments for you to feel like you have to make your own. But because I can, here's one:

I was told today (as I have heard countless times before) and I quote: "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions." I don't agree. Of course, thinking of things that way helps people to be a more productive. So, as far as intention (which apparently isn't good enough), it's not bad, but as far as my understanding, real and pure intention is characterized by its realization. I'm pretty sure that the way a lot of people understand the quotation is mostly true, but what they deem a "good intention" is just a little too liberal for me. I mean, as far as eternal destination, "...The Lord looketh on the heart." (God said that one, by the way, and I'll prove it: 1st Samuel 16:7), so good intention is good enough. Who said that pretending to want to do something and then not doing it was a good intention? That's a bad intention in my book (Hale, Alex. Alex's Book of Intentions, Random House, 2023). I just pretended that the person was telling me that dishonest intentions don't prove anything, and I was able to agree. Because when it really comes down to it, I shouldn't be so critical of people who like to quote things.

Unquote.

Drawing toward humiliation

I don't go to my history of philosophy class as much as I probably should. I like the subject, but it's so late in the afternoon (4:00-4:50), that usually by the time it rolls around, I've had enough time to decide on something else to do instead. So it's no surprise that I was a little confused about the instructions for our take-home exam we had this week, since my professor probably explained it on one of those days I played hooky. The exam had five essay prompts, and we were instructed to use about 3,000 words to answer them. One of the prompts, for example, was: "Explain the metaphysics and epistemology of Plato's Theory of Forms". I'm pretty sure I rocked that one. The confusion came on prompt #4: "Sketch Aristotle’s views about the nature of the universe in terms of the four causes and the distinction between the natural world and the supernatural world." I know what you're thinking: Draw a picture. That's what I thought too. Especially when Aristotle himself drew a picture to illustrate it. So I did. I typed the prompt at the top of the paper and left the rest of it blank so I could sketch Aristotle's universe after printing the rest of the paper. It was a pretty good sketch too! I did think it was a little odd; It seemed unusual for that type of assignment, and a little out of place, but that's what it said to do! When I got to class, everyone had their own six-to-eight-page, printed and stapled packets that they were so relieved to have completed, and were in the process of proudly sharing their unique answers and approximation to the suggested word count. Before I could even sit down in my usual, unassigned desk, a classmate shoved his own exam in my face, convinced I'd be astounded by his extraordinary achievement. It didn't take long to notice that his answer to #4 was not a picture, but an essay. Slightly confused, and mostly worried, I asked to see another student's exam claiming to be interested in her conclusion to the definition of Anaximander's "apeiron" (prompt #2). Also an essay in place of #4's expected hand-sketched universe. Even from a distance, as many students thumbed through their papers in self assurance, I noticed the absence of any artwork.

Sketch: 1. verb intrans. to draw or paint a sketch. 2. verb trans. to describe roughly or briefly or give the main points or summary of. (CRAP!)

Boy, did I feel sheepish! I sat quietly at my desk too embarrassed to show my paper to anyone. I had nothing to boast about. I hated mine. I wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible, but the professor didn't even collect the exams at the beginning of class. He went right into the lecture, so I put it back in my backpack. hiding it. protecting it from inquiry. My eyes were on the lecture, but my thoughts were staring at my backpack; at my secret shame. After an hour of futile worry and inaudible, nervous laughter, I placed my paper on the pile of unblemished, sketchless exams at the front table, and left the classroom. I walked more quickly than usual in attempt to escape the humiliation that would inevitably take place in some grading office within the next couple of weeks. As if my distance would protect me. My physical anonymity would only last until the exams were returned. Judgment passed in red pen. Who knows, maybe I'm the only one who did it right. Fingers crossed!