The real and the absurd

Today I went to a book store and saw some wonderful books I’d love to purchase, if only I had the money! The wonderful books were:

i. Issues in Artificial intelligence [sic] (philosophy and mathematics/computer science)

ii. Looking for Spinoza – Antonio Damasio (A neurobiologist reads Spinoza and thinks ‘hmmm, maybe there is something to this rationalist metaphysics that complies with current research on the brain’) – I looked at him for my Spinoza class, he’s NOT easy.

iii. The Cambridge Companion to Kant and Modern Philosophy

iv. A commentary to Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason – Norman Kemp-Smith

v. The Enlightenment Reader – various

vi. Essays on Human Understanding – Locke

vii. Philosophical Essays – Leibniz (with a few pages on Leibniz v Newton, yay!!)

viii. Kant – Guyer

When I read about the nature of mind, I feel closer to knowing what I want to do. I feel closer to Spinoza and Kant, as well as, of course, philosophy in general.

Hume says that we must be men foremost, philosophers second. As I engage with the real world and my biography, I am surrounded by mediocrity and shame. All those who constituted my biographical past are worth nothing when compared to the greats of our intellectual history. Plato, Aristotle, Aquinas, Bacon, Locke, Newton, Leibniz, Kant, through to Davidson, Popper, Kripke; all give us something very difficult to consider, we challenge ourselves so that we are worthy of the truth, we ring out the falsities of life with rigour and force through the power of reason; our natural light, our only light.

People who hold on to human love, friends, family and their temporary affiliations of life have nothing to hold on to at all. Ideals, Gods, laws. Those are the candidates of apodictic knowledge, not assertoric or problematic contingent propositions, but certain first principles which follow from definitions and deductions.

I seek the emendation of the intellect, in order to do that, one must understand their own mind and world. The intellectual love of God is the highest joy, but it too is transient.

 – Michael

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