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More Grad School Thoughts

Sunday 30 January 2000

I did some reading yesterday afternoon/last night — Talcott Parsons. It’s something of a critique of Durkheim’s theories. The problem is that I really don’t know enough about Durkheim’s thoughts to be able to see the points he’s making. I understand to some degree, but at the same time I have a little trouble figuring out what’s Parsons’ thoughts (i.e., critique of Durkheim) and what’s simply restating D’s ideas (i.e., explication). And of course there’s the whole issue of the academic voice that makes it incredibly boring reading: “In spite of these legitimate ethical objections the immense sociological importance of Durkheim’s work must not be lost sight of.” This simply makes me want to scream. Why not simply say, “We shouldn’t lose sight of . . .” or even “Social scientists should not lose sight of . . .” There’s just something about the whole tone of the article/chapter that makes it dizzingly tiring. One has to struggle with almost every sentence with all the subordinate clauses and generally poor writing.

Why is it that academia compels itself to write in such an obfuscating fashion that, unless one is not well versed in the tools and lexical developments of the particular field in question and has read said field’s entire canon (and this is not to say that those not inducted into the field in any way is somehow lacking cognitive abilities, a conclusion that, regrettably, many scholars seem drawn toward), it is completely illegible? Even when I try, as in that example, to write so pompously, I fail miserably. That’s a good sign . . .

I think of writers like Peter Berger who share incredibly profound thoughts in their writing without sounding so ridiculous — it makes me wonder why the hell everyone can’t write like that. I guess they get so involved in their research that they never bother taking courses on or reading books about good writing. Of course once you read enough of it, you tend to start writing like that yourself. It’s a sort of stylistic blackhole.

And to what end? It doesn’t seem to do much for me other than torture me — force me to struggle through something on a Saturday afternoon that I could probably read in a few moments if it were written in a little clearer fashion. I can’t understand this need, though. Granted there’s a lot of shorthand that needs to be in academic writing, but that doesn’t mean the whole thing has to be so muddy.

Grad School Thoughts

Thursday 27 January 2000

Last night during class Dr. Seligman asked a question that has remained unasked all semester: “Did you read this?” He didn’t of course ask me in particular, but the whole class. And when did he ask this? The one class for which I hadn’t read every single word assigned. In fact, I only read one article — a bit from Durkheim’s Sociology and Philosophy. It was a little embarrassing. “This won’t do,” he said when he saw how few hands went up for the Parson’s reading. “No, it won’t,” I though, and I immediately felt like an idiot for not having gotten my packet or readings earlier.

One of the things he talked about during class that wasn’t in the reading was Durkheim on suicide. Durkheim found within the notion and statistics of suicide a “proof” that society exists. There are those — Margaret Thatcher among them — even today who feel that we’re just a collection of individuals, that “society doesn’t exist.” (I won’t really comment on how shockingly medieval such a notion seems to me.) Durkheim points out that suicide is the most personal of acts imaginable. There is nothing more intimate and individual than the taking of one’s life. If there is no such thing as society, then the distribution within suicide rates should be completely random. There shouldn’t be different levels of suicide within different cultures — or between different groups of the same culture. However, there are. More Protestants tend to kill themselves than Catholics, for example. This shows that even in the most intimate of acts, there are social forces at work.

“Well, this is just illustrative of differences in theology,” one might argue. But it’s more than that, I think. Both Catholics and Protestants (by and large) believe that suicides go to hell — not much difference in theology there. But look at the differences in social stigma: a Catholic suicide won’t get a church funeral in some places; a Catholic suicide isn’t buried in the main, “blessed” portion of the cemetery but in a corner designated for the “sin” of suicide; Catholicism (though now a stereotype) plays more heavily on guilt than Protestantism. And so on. This shows that there is something at work other than the individual’s thoughts and desperation. It’s really quite ingenious.

Dr. Seligman said something else — more in passing than anything else — which stuck in my mind. He was discussing the fact that sociology and other social sciences deal with “facts” in a way that the humanities don’t. Facts, data, statistics — whatever. At any rate, he said, “If John [Clayton] were here, I would add, ‘Not like those in the humanities, who just tell stories.’”’ This leads me back to my thoughts concerning philosophy of religion versus sociology of religion. I really need to talk to someone about this to see if in the latter I could still deal with the issues of the former which interest me: knowledge, language, &c. I was going to talk to Dr. Seligman about this, but I still haven’t emailed him to set up some kind of appointment. I should do that today — this week at the very latest.

Nostalgia and the Trumpet

Sunday 23 January 2000

I somehow made it through the afternoon/evening without thinking too much of what was going on in Lipnica. Of course it wouldn’t have done any good — I’m here, unable to go there for months at least. And to be honest, at this point I’m glad I wasn’t there — the morning/day after studniówka is always a bit horrendous. I wouldn’t have gotten back home (wherever that might have been — the Matelas’ place, I guess) until sometime this morning, and the rest of today would have been shot. What would I have done today? All things considered (i.e., I would be there on vacation with responsibilities for tomorrow — no lesson plans, no grading, nothing), I might have tried to meet Janusz at Quattro sometime this afternoon and just sit around doing next to nothing. But I’m here, not there — moot points all in all.

I got a new Philadelphia Trumpet (the December ‘99 issue) in the mail Friday and I’ve thumbed through it throughout the weekend. I’ve noticed two things afresh:

  1. There is an increasing number of articles about China — specifically the “Red” aspect of its political structure. The reasons for this are a little unclear. In the two articles in the latest Trumpet, there are no mentions of China “in prophecy” and considering how it’s supposed to be Germany that defeats America, I’m a little unclear on what role China is supposed to play in all this. I can understand the article on the Panama Canal if it were Germany that was gaining control over it, but it’s China — or at least a Chinese conglomerate.
  2. Among the Trumpet writers (or at least those in the Flurry clan — Stephen and his father Gerald) there seems to be virtual worship of two folks: Teddy Roosevelt and Winston Churchill. They are great leaders, oft quoted in the Trumpet. Yet, according to PCG’s theology, they are by necessity deceived people. They might as well be worshipping Satan — they didn’t tithe; they didn’t keep the Sabbath; they didn’t abstain from Christmas; they ate crab and shrimp and pork. They are as foul as the rest of the unconverted scum of the earth.

I started a letter to Anna P. yesterday, though I really didn’t get that far with it. It was taking me quite a bit of time to eek out a few lines in Polish. I’m torn about whether to write in Polish or English. If I write in the former, then everyone can read it — and I trust no one in that village regarding mail. Poczta Polska has a less-than-stellar record in my experience, and further, if the letter gets delivered to the wrong address, I have no doubt that the individual who accidentally receives it will read it. Not that I’m writing the most personal things in the world — to a degree, it wouldn’t even bit a big deal considering the content. Yet I know how people in that village talk, so I don’t really want to take a chance. Yet if I write in English, then it will be all the more enticing if it’s mis-delivered; and Anna might not have the motivation to wade through all the unknown portions. For now I’m writing in Polish, but we’ll see.

Studniowka and Complaining

Saturday 22 January 2000

As I write, some of my absolutely favorite students are knee-deep in their studniówka. How I wish I could be there. I wonder if Adam is there? I can’t really see why he would be — if he doesn’t even know the students’ names, why would he care about their studniówka? On the other hand, if he’s the freak he seems to be, he might just be there, sitting with the teachers, not saying a word. I wonder if Danuta is there. In some ways, I really doubt it. She certainly wouldn’t want to spend so much time with the teachers, but she might have gone to see the students. Doubtful, but one never knows.

Yesterday I had to go to Carberry’s for lunch — I was expecting to go out with Adam (he’s offered to buy me lunch because of all the time I wasted working on that stupid project this week that seems to have been, by and large, for naught) but he’d already brought something for lunch. And of course that meant if I wanted to eat, I’d have to go get something myself — and pay for it myself, that is. Anyway, I went with several of the DLG folks — Ryan, Stephen, Jennifer (Asian), Rob, and a tech guy who’s name I can’t recall. I didn’t really say that much because I didn’t have anything to say about the topics of conversation. They talked (for some bizarre reason) about how much they hated Dunkin’ Donuts — how they won’t even set foot in there. They talked about the “horrible” work environment — I could have added something here, but to what end? I just sat there thinking, “Try the teachers’ room in Liceum Techniczne. That’s bad. This is heaven in comparison.”

Another topic: complaints about the fact that they’ve stopped bringing pastries and instead are bringing bagels for lunch. How ridiculous — they’re complaining about free food. For all intents and purposes, they’re wanting to say to DLG administration, “Look, we know you’re giving us this food, but we’re not satisfied with what you’re giving us!” It’s just a little ludicrous.

During the whole conversation I just sat gazing out the window, not really saying a single word. I’m not sure what I could say — I’m not good at “small talk” I’ve realized. I said that to Chhavi yesterday — “You’re just not good at talk,” she laughed. I’d have to disagree in a way. If it’s something that I’m interested in, and if it’s something that I feel at least vaguely knowledgeable, then I’ll contribute to the discussion. But talking about bagels and the oily nature of the coffee there (they were complaining about that as well) — no thanks. Nothing worth wasting my breath on.

I had a very Eastern sequence of thoughts while sitting there. Why am I so ambivalent to so many things? Why are the most common words to come from my mouth, “I don’t care?” It’s simply because the less preferences I have, the less stress I have to worry about. If I don’t care, then anything will do. If I can drink any kind of coffee put in front of me, then that’s one less thing I have to stress about. If I don’t care that I chose a rye bagel and just go ahead and eat it, so much the better for my stress levels.

More Nostagia

Thursday 20 January 2000

I still want to write “1999,” I guess because I don’t actually write enough in here. The twentieth already and all I’ve got are seven pages to show for the month. Rather pathetic, but I just don’t have anything to write about. I’m not reading anything that makes me want to write; I’m not doing anything that makes me want to write. I’m just existing — going to work, coming home, cooking dinner, realizing I’m in a rut only to repeat it the next day.

As I go back and read over entries from my time in Lipnica, I realize that I wrote almost exclusively about two or three things: the changes in the WCG, my new LW friends and the adventures I was having (i.e., drinking in bars, hanging out with Charles, listening to blues with Janusz), and — most frequently — about students. Now I’m burned out on the stupidity within the WCG and its sister churches; I never see my friends from Poland; and I never have any interaction with anyone other than those at work. So what does that leave me as journal fodder? Not much.

I suppose I could write about what’s been happening at work, but what good would that be? It’s just a bunch of office nonsense — nothing remotely meaningful. Nothing, at any rate, worth writing about, I guess. I could write about what happened today — the nonsense with the American History 2 book. Yet to what avail? Will I ever go back and read that entry and think, “Oh, those were the days!” Will I ever remember this at some point and wonder when exactly it happened? Will I ever really remember writing this? I doubt it. On the other hand, I have memories of writing in my journal in Lipncia — I could journalize about my Lipnica journal. And I guess that’s exactly what I’m doing now. The point is, I won’t ever do that about this period of my life, I think. In fact, I believe journal keeping will never again be like it was when I was living in Lipnica.

I went back to read old journal entries about my student teaching to see how much I was writing about teaching — tons, is the predictable answer. I didn’t know how to motivate; I didn’t know how to take charge and give them personal, intellectual freedom; I didn’t know anything. I was an utter failure! Of course it was my first time. As I read about my woes, I realized in the back of my head I was forming mini-lesson plans to deal with the same topics, thinking at the same moment, “I could teach that much better now.”

I also came across this gem:

Sunday 15 October 1995

9:34 p.m.

I am finally back home after a somewhat torturous departure. I cried again, upset with the fact that my last feast for several years (three or four, at least) was such a pathetic failure. I guess the main thing that was so very upsetting was the fact that I was still alone. I spent the whole day alone (except for sitting with Mom during church) and it was just depressing.

Fairly amazing — it wasn’t “my last feast for several year.” It was, indeed, my last Feast of Tabernacles ever. I will never again go to such a thing, and I feel my life is much better for it.

With all the things I’ve done in my life since quitting the WCG, it feels as if — in some weird way — I never attended. I’ve grown so accustomed to Saturdays being just like any other day; to eating whatever the hell I please; to spending all my money and not having to hold back twenty percent; to going out on Friday nights (though I haven’t really done that since coming back from Poland) — it’s unreal. Friday night rituals in Poland became Dudek with Charles or Adam’s with Janusz and Kamil.

Another fun quote:

Winter will always bring memories of Kathe. I will constantly recall the countless times we would lie in front of the heater as it blew its welcomed warm air over our toes. Even when I have been married (Will I get married?) for fifty years, I will recall the cold, dark drives to her house, or the sound of her pulling into our driveway as dinner was being prepared.

The truth is, I never think about Kathe anymore. I talked to Lori about her for a while on 1 January, but that was the first time in ages that I’d even thought of her.

Qualifications

Thursday 13 January 2000

Yet another birthday. For the first time in years I won’t be going to work thinking, “I wonder if anyone remembers. I wonder if any classes will do anything?” It was a nice sign that they liked me, and I always tried to be a pleasant teacher whom students actually thought was an okay person. Such was “proof,” I suppose.

Last night, after walking home from class, I was thinking about knowledge — again. I was recalling the interview I had with Rob for the job I now have, and he asked me if I’d be more interested in an editing position or a content-based position (“course developer” is the official title now, I think). I said that I didn’t know enough yet to be comfortable with the idea of being a content person. Muttering to myself as I walked down North Beacon Street, “I know just enough to realize how little I really know.” And I thought of my adventures trying to determine whether any of the New Testament was written in the second century or not as ample proof. I talked to Peter — large guy with earrings and a husky voice — last night after class and he confirmed that there was something written in the second century. (I mentioned 2 Peter and he said that it was a possibility, along with the other Neo-Pauline epistles, “But I really haven’t studied 2 Peter that much,” he said, and I realized, “God, in New Testament studies you could devote a significant portion of your life to studying one single book.”) Anyway, he said that there was something written in the second century, and now I “know.” But to what degree do I know? How can I be sure? What is the criterion for “knowing” versus simply “believing” or “thinking that . . .”? On what authority can I say I know this? Because he told me. On what authority does he have it? Because someone told him, or he read it (which constitutes the same thing as being told something — simply a different form). Someone, at some point in the process, knows it because she has examined the various documents — the scrolls and such — and done textual examination, and through various processes determined that it was second century. She “knows” it in a way different than I now “know” it. But what is the criterion? Expertise? Certainly not.

A good example of this is chaos theory. At one point, all meteorologists and atmospheric physicists (if there be such a thing, which I sure there is) “knew” that there really were no laws governing cloud shape. It was just random nonsense — noise, in other words. Then along comes fractals and fractional dimensions and we start saying, “Well, no, it’s not quite like that. It’s really a matter of nonliner equations.” So did the meteorologists “know” beforehand? Obviously not. Of course the same is true of any scientific revolution. Did people “know” before Copernicus that the sun revolves around the earth? They certainly thought they did. And they could have “proved” it in much the same way that I can now prove that some of the canonized New Testament was written in the second century.

Knowledge at one point was defined as “true justified belief,” but can someone know something and not realize that they know it? They just think they believe it? For example, most Christians “know” that God exists, but some more liberal might admit that they only believe it. If it turns out to be true, it was indeed “true, justified belief.” But they didn’t claim it as knowledge, simply as belief. Did they “know” it even though they only thought they “believed” it?

Something I’ve been meaning to write about: What was the purpose of the Passover symbols? Why put blood on the mantel and doorposts? Could God not discern without this visual aid which houses were Israelite homes and which were Egyptian? Wouldn’t it be a little obvious by the sectioning of the city? I sort of doubt that any of the Egyptians lived with the “defiled, uncivilized” Israelites.

Nostalgic Thoughts

Monday 10 January 2000

“My old addition,” sings kd lang — the first time I’ve listened to it since coming back to the States, I think. Another one of those songs that I’d sit and listen to while looking out the window at the school, at the EKG treeline, at the shell of a house abandoned by those gone off to “greener pastures” (Didn’t they realize the paradise they had? As if Lipnica really were a paradise.).

It’s funny — I never really longed for America like this. I was happy when 1998 rolled around — the calendar year of my return, I wrote on 1 January 1998 (after the great party with the guys).

Today I spent a lot of time finishing up the silly lists of glossary terms (as well as bios, images, and so on). Robert wasn’t there, but I’m not sure that was such a loss. He wasn’t feeling well Friday and I don’t think he managed to accomplish much in that condition — it probably would have turned out the same way.

I just don’t have that much to write about in my job. When my job was teaching I had tons to write about. Conversations I’d had; teachers’ lack of professionalism; difficulty with Damian; difficulty remembering that Jola was my student; playing basketball with the guys; unbelievable (and disappointing) instances of cheating — and now. Nothing worth writing about, really. So sad.

(Strange realization — it has now been six months since I left Lipnica. A little more than that, but six months definitely. In some ways it has absolutely flown by — disappeared in a flash. The next six months probably won’t be so merciful.)

Another Year Back in the States

Sunday 9 January 2000

Yet another calendar year away from Poland. This is the first calendar year in five that I haven’t spent at least some time in Poland. Of course I’m a little sad, but not quite like I was. I might even be “getting over” this nonsense. Naturally that’s a bit of a lie, because I still think of Lipnica, that sense of complete fulfillment I experienced sometimes, and I still wonder whether I’ll ever feel that way again. At this moment, if I could, I would go back. And yet I sit here, thinking about all the nasty thing about the work — the boring planning, the Sunday nights not having any idea what I’d be doing the next day, and I think, “It wasn’t all shiny, happy days.” And I understand once again that all I miss is the interaction with the kids (primarily), feeling that I was contributing to their lives in some meager way. I miss seeing kids smile in class — especially when it wasn’t just be being stupid for silliness’ sake, but because I was being silly while teaching something. Like what Krystyna remembered, I guess.

The funny thing is, I don’t even really remember much about that lesson. I remember plenty of other lessons — the safe-sex lesson with class IV, “guest lecturing” in class IIC, line-reading exercises. That’s another thing I miss, too, I guess — the unexpected good lesson.

I got a zaproszenie to class IV’s bal studniókowy on 22 January. If I were living alone and had no responsibilities other than to pay for my way through the world, I would go, I think. Seven hundred dollars for a couple of days? Maybe I wouldn’t after all, but I’d certainly love to. I’d love to see their faces when I walked in — that would be the best part.

I actually got a lot of mail while I was in Christiansburg, mainly Christmas cards. Still, it’s true what they (who?) say about the thought. I’m just happy that they thought of me, that they remember me. Krystyna said that they would never forget me, and asked that I not forget either, and so maybe I’ll be getting Christmas cards from them for a while.

I guess it’s true about never knowing the impact one has had on others, and what makes it difficult to be back is that I know I’m no longer making an impact. I guess I never really knew how I was affecting folks’ lives while I was there, but I was fairly sure that I was having some impact. (Halina’s unexpected letter is perfect evidence of that, I guess. I had no idea that she was sitting there thinking, “I want to be like that when I grow up.”) Here I’m fairly certain that I’m doing nothing for much of anyone.

One of the things I got (rather, Chhavi and I received) was a letter from Danuta in England. It’s good that she was able to get away from Lipnica for a while. She said that things in the staff room are worse than ever — they’re gossiping about others when they’re in the same room, whispering about each other at the end of the table. Agata and Ramzes were a topic for a while, and Danuta told Agata but they decided not to do anything about it. Adam is a lazy ass as usual. She said that she can’t trust him in any sense whatsoever. When students come to her during consultation, they ask her endless questions about what he was supposed to have covered. And she said that there’s no chance of him leaving or getting kicked out because he likes it there. He doesn’t talk to anyone; he doesn’t even know the students’ name; his favorite lesson is babysitting; he’s doing nothing — why he likes it there, I don’t know. Gravy train, I suppose — he doesn’t have to do anything and he’ll get paid for it. I really should thank him when I get there. “You’ve really done so much to make me look like an incredible teacher! You show how bad things can be while I showed them how good things can be. You showed them that I’m an exceptional teacher! Thanks.”

Reading a Fundamentalist

Tuesday 4 January 2000

I’ve had a thought about Christianity in my head since driving down to Abingdon Friday afternoon. I was imagining having a conversation with Stephanie about why I’m not a Christian, wondering what she would say to this and that, and yet another contradiction in basic Christian doctrine.

It all came about from thinking about a book of Maw-Maw’s I skimmed when I first got here. I was sitting by the television and I noticed “Satan” in the title, and obviously became intrigued. I picked it up and saw the wonderful title: Satan Is Alive and Well on Planet Earth. It’s by Hal Lindsey, whom I researched just a little on the internet, but nothing significant. The surprising thing is it’s published (in 1972) by Zondervan Press in Grand Rapids. Who made the decision to publish such idiocy? At any rate, during his silliness, he writes the following:

When man fell into Satan’s hands, God immediately launched His plan to redeem man from this helpless situation. What Satan didn’t count on was that God would be so just that He wouldn’t forgive man unless divine justice was satisfied. And something much more incredible — that God would be so loving that He would be willing to step down from heaven and temporarily lay aside all of His divine rights and become a man. Satan didn’t anticipate that God, as a man, would later to a cross and bear His own righteous judgment against the sin of the whole universe.

Satan Is Alive and Well on Planet Earth (63)

This requires one slight altercation in the Christian definition of God: either he can’t be omniscient or he can’t be completely benevolent. “When man fell into Satan’s hands, God immediately launched His plan . . .” This means that God was waiting for the Fall — he new it was coming, and had planned for it. This makes one wonder how loving God is to create a being knowing that he was creating this being to be damned because of his own nature. It also implies that God didn’t know beforehand — though this implication is admittedly weak.

The whole thing points out the danger in saying God had a plan. When was this plan hatched? Before creation? If so, then he created humans to be damned — at least those who don’t “accept Christ” and all that nonsense. After creation? If so, then he didn’t anticipate the Fall — and he is not omniscient. Of course I’m just butting my head against a cliché wall, for in the end it’s all “a matter of faith” and I realize that such thinking does nothing for anyone but me. It only reinforces what I already believe, just as this Satan Is Alive and Well nonsense probably only reinforced what Maw-Maw believed. (There’s a lot about how Christ came down and suffered for our sakes — this is nothing new. Yet it’s as if he’s explaining it to people for the first time. I suppose the equivalent would be Dr. Clayton reading only intro to philosophy books — it’s filled with stuff he already knows.

Speaking of philosophy, a chapter entitled “Thought Bombs” deserves a few words. He writes that

a few eighteenth-century men . . . dreamed up ideas which have sent shock waves to rock our thinking today.

The contamination of these explosive ideas has been so devastating that it has completely permeated twentieth century thinking. . . . Satan took their concepts and wired the underlying frame of reference for our present historical, educational, philosophical, sociological, psychological, religious, economic, and political outlook. You and I and our children have been ingeniously conditioned to think in terms that are contrary to biblical principles and truths in all these areas — without our even realizing it. . . .

I realize it is a serious charge to imply that these brilliant men, who in many ways made significant contributions to our world, were instruments of Satan to lead men’s thinking away from eternal truths, but as the case against them unfolds I believe the conclusions will be justified.

Satan Is Alive and Well on Planet Earth (84, 85)

That’s a fairly significant claim to make. “He’s basically going to try to show how some philosophers are Satanic,” I thought. “I wonder in how much detail he will deal with these thinkers?” I thought. Of course, I knew it was for the general readership — not for anyone with any background in philosophy whatsoever.

Before launching into these “thought bombers,” he warns, “You may find some of this pretty heavy reading . . .” A nice pat on the back — what I’ve written is so difficult for some to understand, but “it is absolutely essential that we understand how we have come to this present hostility toward God’s viewpoint of life.” He’s setting his readers up for some “heavy” philosophical musings, that’s for sure. With that, he launches his section about the first thought bomber: Kant. I think I’ll put the entire section in:

Immanuel Kant was a German philosopher. He never traveled more than sixty-nine miles from his home in Prussia, where he lived from 1724 to 1804, and yet his original thinking formulated principles which still sway the civilized world.

Until Kantian philosophy began to influence the intellectuals of the age, classical philosophy as based upon the process of antithesis, which means that man thought in terms of cause and effect. This means if A is true then non-A cannot also be true. According to classical philosophy, values were absolute.

The world at large accepted these possibilities of absolutes in both knowledge and morals. Before Kant you could reason with a person on the basis of cause and effect. However, this one man and his critiques began to question whether people could actually accept things which were beyond their five senses.

A modern French philosopher described the Kantian thinking this way: “Kant was able to go definitively beyond skepticism and realism by recognizing the descriptive and irreducible characteristics of external and internal experience as the sufficient foundation of the world.”’

In Kant’s analysis of the process of thought he proposed that no one can know anything except by experience. He believed that individual freedom lies in obedience to the “moral law that speaks within us.”

Kant, therefore, finding no personal basis for accepting absolutes, triggered the ideas which would result in the philosophy introduced by another German[, Hegel.]

Satan Is Alive and Well on Planet Earth (85, 86)

There it is, ladies and gentlemen — in just 237 words he “demolishes” one of the most important philosophers of the eighteenth and nineteenth century. One of the most important in the history of philosophy. And he did it all without having a single primary source. (At least he doesn’t include any of Kant’s books in his “bibliography.”)