- The Madness of King George (1994)
Very British, ewww! its alright 6.5/10
- Philosophical Ramblings #05: Morality and Intentions
I believe the only moral dimension of an action lies in its intention. In other words, every action and every outcome is morally neutral; only the intention is not.
The thoughts that led me to this theory are based on two things. First, I am a strong believer in Heidegger’s concept of Dasein, that all purpose and meaning are dependent on human existence. This, leads to Sartre’s conclusion that if nothing has inherent objective meaning, then we ourselves give things meaning. Secondly, I believe in the Cynic, Buddhist, and Stoic principle that externals have no value. That is, we should be indifferent toward them. If we receive a new sports car as a gift, we can use it and even enjoy it, but if it is damaged or destroyed, we should not lament it.
From this, I conclude that because externals have no value, unintended consequences are not morally blameworthy. However, the individual still bears responsibility for the outcome. One might ask: if there is no moral responsibility, why should someone rectify their unintended consequences? My answer is that, as a society, we have created a framework of rules to which everyone who wants to be part of society must adhere. If someone violates that framework, they need to remedy the violation. Of course, they could choose not to do so—that is their choice—but then they cannot be part of society. All of this is rational and logical; it has no moral dimension.
Because outcomes have no moral dimension, and actions also do not (which seems entirely plausible, what would it even mean for them to have one? Where would it come from? Metaphysically, this seems strange), the only thing that remains is intention. And because of Heidegger’s Dasein- in which human existence is the origin of all meaning and, importantly, value-subjectivity itself carries a moral dimension. This is expressed through authenticity, which manifests in intention.
- Rsevoir Dogs (1992)
A solid movie with great characters, a cool story, and creative dialogue. 7/10
- Philosophical Ramblings #04: The Problem of Religion
The fundamental problem of religion is that all religions presuppose certain metaphysical claims that we have no way of verifying. If that’s the case, then how do we evaluate their truth?
One way to approach this is by adopting a universalist position—suggesting that all religions contain some form of truth and are, in some way, all valid. However, the problem with this view is that religions often contradict one another, sometimes making completely opposing claims. How do we reconcile these contradictions?
For example, Protestant Christianity advocates for salvation through faith alone, which stands in stark contrast to Buddhist traditions, where personal experience and direct validation are central. Another example is that the Christian end goal is to live in heaven with God and praise Him, while the Buddhist goal is the cessation of desire—a state that seems incompatible with the Christian goal, which explicitly involves wanting (e.g., desiring God or heaven).
But Buddhism itself encounters a paradox: desiring the cessation of desire is itself a form of desire. So a Buddhist should stop wanting the cessation of desire—but if they do that, they have nothing left to strive for or advocate.
One Potential Solution:
“Suppose there was a person travelling along the road. They’d see a large deluge, whose near shore was dubious and perilous, while the far shore was a sanctuary free of peril. But there was no ferryboat or bridge for crossing over. They’d think:
‘Why don’t I gather grass, sticks, branches, and leaves and make a raft? Riding on the raft, and paddling with my hands and feet, I can safely reach the far shore.’
And so they’d do exactly that. And when they’d crossed over to the far shore, they’d think:
‘This raft was very helpful to me. Riding on the raft, and paddling with my hands and feet, I have safely crossed over to the far shore. Why don’t I hoist it on my head or pick it up on my shoulder and go wherever I want?’
What do you think, mendicants? Would that person be doing what should be done with that raft?”
“No, sir.”
“And what, mendicants, should that person do with the raft? When they’d crossed over they should think:
‘This raft was very helpful to me. … Why don’t I beach it on dry land or set it adrift on the water and go wherever I want?’
That’s what that person should do with the raft.
In the same way, I have taught how the teaching is similar to a raft: it’s for crossing over, not for holding on.
By understanding the simile of the raft, you will even give up the teachings, let alone what is against the teachings.
~ Middle Discourses 22
I want to offer two ways to address this issue:
First, we can ask: What does “living in heaven with God” actually mean? Following thinkers like Meister Eckhart or Paul Tillich, if we understand God not as a being among other beings but as the “ground of being”—that which makes existence possible—then “heaven” should not be imagined as a literal place where hymns are sung forever. Instead, it could be understood as the fulfillment of our deepest potential, a kind of merging with the Abgrund (ground or abyss), not becoming Being itself but becoming our truest selves.
This notion is very similar to the Buddhist concept of nirvana: the cessation of suffering through the cessation of desire, resulting in a mode of pure being. Both could be interpreted as forms of “becoming” or “self-realization” (a better term may be needed here). In this way, the two traditions become compatible on a deeper metaphysical level.
However, the problem with this approach is that it flattens the uniqueness of each religion. They become too similar, losing their distinctiveness in terms of ritual, language, and tradition.
Second, we might investigate the nature of God from a different angle. Suppose God transcends not only the physical world but even logic itself. That would mean God comes before anything, including the categories of contradiction and coherence. If God transcends logic, then contradictory things could be true about Him at the same time. Thus, the apparent contradictions between religions would cease to be problematic—they could all be true in different ways.
But this solution, too, is problematic. If anything goes, then concepts like nirvana, God, or heaven lose their specific meaning. If they can mean anything, then they mean nothing.
We can also consider the problem through a phenomenological lens, following thinkers like Husserl, but applied to religion. Phenomenology studies how things appear subjectively to us. Through this lens, even if all religions point toward some shared transcendent reality, their rituals and practices differ because of cultural and subjective differences. Religion becomes the culturally inflected response to a shared, though ineffable, transcendent reality.
- The Slow Regard of Silent Things
The book The Slow Regard of Silent Things is part of the Kingkiller Chronicle series. Though I haven’t read any other books in the series besides this one—and this book is not the first entry—it feels like it can be read on its own. Still, I can’t say that for certain.
The story is about a girl who lives beneath a university, in a hidden network of old rooms and tunnels. She maintains the pipes that run through the tunnels and keeps the rooms clean and organized. This is not a high-stakes story; it’s more laid back. If it were an anime, I might call it slice of life, though that label doesn’t quite fit either—it has a certain surreal quality. The girl never speaks a word to anyone, and her actions are often strange.
The writing style in this book is quite unique. It uses a lot of short sentences—you rarely see one that runs longer than a dozen words, and most are abruptly ended with a full stop. I think this is intentional, meant to reinforce the idea that there isn’t one big, important event happening, but rather many small things. And by making all the sentences equally short, it suggests that all these little things hold equal value.
This is my interpretation of the story: to me, it’s about control and desire. In the spirit of the ancient Greek Cynics, the girl lives frugally, never taking more than she needs, striving to be satisfied with simple things. We see this multiple times throughout the story—she has the opportunity to take more than she needs, but when the desire arises, she reprimands herself.
It’s also in line with the Stoic tradition in two key ways. First, it follows the theorem of control: only caring about things within our direct power and disregarding everything else. For example, even when a day arrives that she dislikes, she faces it without despair, because it’s outside her control. Second, there’s the idea that things are guided by a rational principle—the logos—which gives everything its purpose and determines fate. The girl believes that everything has a role, even mundane everyday objects, and she believes she herself has a clear purpose: to take care of things. Although she occasionally questions this purpose, she remains steadfast in her conviction.
The last influence I want to mention is the Buddhist one. Throughout the book, there’s a recurring theme that “wanting is bad.” While this could be explained using Stoicism—i.e., not desiring things outside one’s control—the book goes further, suggesting that all desire not directly related to one’s personal purpose is harmful. This closely resembles Buddhist doctrine or Schopenhauer’s philosophy, both of which argue that the root of all suffering is desire. In keeping with this, the book emphasizes the appreciation of small things, the quiet joy of doing basic tasks, no matter how boring or gruesome they may seem, and doing them with care and enjoyment.
I’m divided on this book. Although I appreciate what it’s trying to do—and I genuinely feel it shows a great deal of creativity and human authenticity—it personally felt a bit boring to me. If the message was really what I think it was, the book could have been substantially shortened and still conveyed the same idea.
Furthermore, if the book was also trying to provide a cozy, slice-of-life experience, that aspect didn’t work for me. I think that only works if the reader is already deeply invested in the character and wants to see them in everyday situations. You need to hook the reader first before you can focus entirely on atmosphere (though I admit, atmosphere itself can sometimes be a hook). But this should be taken with a grain of salt, as I haven’t read the previous books in the series, where our protagonist has been already introduced.