will always look
The Philosophically Inept
If I ever come to power, I am going to make it compulsory for every citizen to watch the original Matrix in an attempt to eradicate inane statements such as “I know this table is here because I’m sitting at it” from human thought/speech.
While I’m on the topic of inane arguments for the existence of the external world, I must introduce you to the most hilariously bad piece of philosophical argumentation I have ever seen. Ladies and gentlemen, here is G.E Moore’s attempt to prove that the external world exists; Here Is A Hand.
- Here is a hand.
- And here is another.
- There are at least two objects in the external world.
- Therefore an external world exits.
“But why not give each according to the value of his work?” you ask.
Because there is no way by which value can be measured. That is the difference between value and price. Value is what a thing is worth, while price is what it can be sold or bought for in the market. What a thing is worth no one really can tell. Political economists generally claim that the value of a commodity is the amount of labor required to produce it, of “socially necessary labor,” as Marx says. But evidently it is not a just standard of measurement. Suppose the carpenter worked three hours to make a kitchen chair, while the surgeon took only half an hour to perform an operation that saved your life. If the amount of labor used determines value, then the chair is worth more than your life. Obvious nonsense, of course. Even if you should count in the years of study and practice the surgeon needed to make him capable of performing the operation, how are you going to decide what “an hour of operating” is worth? The carpenter and mason also had to be trained before they could do their work properly, but you don’t figure in those years of apprenticeship when you contract for some work. Besides, there is also to be considered the particular ability and aptitude that every worker, writer, artist or physician must exercise in his labors. That is a purely individual, personal factor. How are you going to estimate its value?"
Why did the chicken cross the road?
- Camus: "Why?" Does it matter why? It does not. That question has no meaning, no significance. All that is significant, all that is real, is the feel of the sun on her feathers. The scent of the hot pavement. The roar of the approaching car. These sensations are her only reality. When she elects to cross the road, she elects to live. This is all that comes to anything.