I read somewhere that, when Abraham Lincoln’s assassin, John Wilkes Booth, was finally hunted down and shot by federal troops, his last words was, “meaningless, meaningless.”
I’m not really sure what Booth meant by what he said, but I suspect that in his last moments he realized that that whole assassinate the president thing hadn’t turned out quite like he planned.
He defeats the tyrant just to die in a barn.
That might have been the “meaningless” John Wilkes Booth was talking about.
You know, philosophy is supposed to be meaningful. At the very least it’s supposed to serve a good purpose.
But sometimes it’s kind of hard to see the meaningfulness or purpose for philosophical thinking.
After all, philosophy doesn’t seem to be as useful as listening to the newest Kei$ha single, owning an iPod, having a Facebook account, Skypeing with potential internet hook-ups before meeting them in person, or knowing how to say “I think I killed your cat” in Spanish.
In a world where renowned physicists Stephen Hawking and Laurence Krauss declare philosophy dead, it’s pretty difficult to argue that contemplating the number of angels on the head of a pin has anything to do with anything going on in the real world.
That is, of course, unless you’re explaining to your neighbor how his cat is one of those angels.