Whoever loves money never has enough;
whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income.
This too is meaningless.
- Ecclesiastes 5:10
When they are intent on increasing money, let them hear what is written: “The covetous man is not filled with money, and he that loves riches shall not reap fruit thereof.” For indeed he would reap fruit of them, were he minded, not loving them, to disperse them well. But whoever in his affection for them retains them shall surely leave them behind here without fruit. When they burn to be filled at once with all manner of wealth, let them hear what is written: “He that makes haste to be rich shall not be innocent.” For certainly he who goes about to increase wealth is negligent in avoiding sin; and, being caught after the manner of birds, while looking greedily at the bait of earthly things, he is not aware in what a noose of sin he is being strangled.
- Gregory the Great, Pastoral Care 3.20
Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again.
- Luke 6:30
Every thing we have we receive from God. But when we speak of “mine and thine,” they are only bare words. For if you assert a house to be yours, you have uttered an expression which wants the substance of reality. For both the air, the soil, and the moisture, are the Creator’s. Thou again art he who has built the house; but although the use is thine, it is doubtful, not only because of death, but also on account of the issues of things. Thy soul is not thy own possession, and will be reckoned to thee in like manner as all thy goods. God wishes those things to be thine which are entrusted to thee for thy brethren, and they will be thine if thou hast dispensed them for others. But if thou hast spent richly upon thyself what things are thine, they are now become another’s. But through a wicked desire of wealth men strive together in a state contrary to Christ’s words, And of him that taketh away thy goods, ask them not again.
- John Chrysostom
THE Philosopher
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Regarding this problem, let's explore an idea. Let's imagine a world where each box has not 2 balls, but 1 trillion balls. The left box has 1 trillion gold balls, the right box has 1 trillion silver balls, and the middle box has 1 gold ball and 999 billion 999 million 999 thousand 999 silver balls.
You're in the same situation. You've picked a random box. You've pulled out a ball. It is gold.
Question: is it a 50-50 chance that the next ball will also be gold? Or is it, instead, extremely, near 100%, likely that your second ball will be a gold one?
You're in the same situation. You've picked a random box. You've pulled out a ball. It is gold.
Question: is it a 50-50 chance that the next ball will also be gold? Or is it, instead, extremely, near 100%, likely that your second ball will be a gold one?
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THE Philosopher
"In hell the sun is a charred disk of pita bread with coagulated spinach on it..."
Per l'amor di Dio! What philistine, what gastronomic nihilist, what culinary sophist dares to utter such egregious falsehoods? To equate the transcendent cornicione of Neapolitan pizza to mere pita bread is not just ignorance; it's a willful descent into epistemic chaos, against the God-given nomos, and into Ockhamist nominalism! And to mistake our sublime basil for "coagulated spinach"? This is beyond error; it's a categorical rejection of philosophy itself!
Let me deconstruct this ontological travesty for you. The cornicione, that Platonic ideal of crust that crowns our pizza, is the physical manifestation of centuries of pizza teleology. Each bubble in its structure is a testament to the dialectic between yeast and flour, a dialogue of fermentation that a mere pita could never hope to achieve. It is the noumenon of crust made phenomenon, a thing-in-itself that transcends mere bread!
To reduce this paragon of breadcraft to 'pita' is to commit a category error so profound that Plato himself would weep. It's a fundamental misunderstanding of the essence of pizza, a failure to grasp its quiddity that borders on the metaphysically criminal!
And what deranged epistemology leads one to confuse basil with spinach? This is not just a failure of the senses, but a total collapse of rational thought! Our basil is the Aristotelian entelechy of herbs, the perfect realization of its potential form, its vibrant green a chromatic argument against the dull, existential greyness of spinach. To conflate the two is to embrace absurdism, to dive headlong into a universe devoid of culinary meaning!
Clearly, this benighted individual is trapped in Plato's cave, mistaking the shadows of inferior pizzas for reality. They are like the prisoners, shackled to their misconceptions, unable to perceive the Form of true pizza perfection that exists in the realm of the ideal.
I beseech San Gennaro, patron saint of Naples, to perform a miracle and open the eyes of this lost soul. May he grant them the phenomenological breakthrough needed to perceive pizza in its true essence. Until then, they remain trapped in a solipsistic hell of their own making, forever separated from the metaphysical truth of Neapolitan pizza's superiority.
Let them come to Naples! Let them experience an anagnorisis, a moment of profound revelation, as they bite into a true Neapolitan masterpiece. Perhaps then, in that moment of aletheia, of unconcealment, they will understand the depth of their ignorance and begin the long journey towards pizza enlightenment.
Until that day, I can only rage against this void of understanding, this pizza-shaped lacuna in their consciousness. May the dialectic of deliciousness eventually lead them to synthesis with the truth of Neapolitan supremacy!
Let me deconstruct this ontological travesty for you. The cornicione, that Platonic ideal of crust that crowns our pizza, is the physical manifestation of centuries of pizza teleology. Each bubble in its structure is a testament to the dialectic between yeast and flour, a dialogue of fermentation that a mere pita could never hope to achieve. It is the noumenon of crust made phenomenon, a thing-in-itself that transcends mere bread!
To reduce this paragon of breadcraft to 'pita' is to commit a category error so profound that Plato himself would weep. It's a fundamental misunderstanding of the essence of pizza, a failure to grasp its quiddity that borders on the metaphysically criminal!
And what deranged epistemology leads one to confuse basil with spinach? This is not just a failure of the senses, but a total collapse of rational thought! Our basil is the Aristotelian entelechy of herbs, the perfect realization of its potential form, its vibrant green a chromatic argument against the dull, existential greyness of spinach. To conflate the two is to embrace absurdism, to dive headlong into a universe devoid of culinary meaning!
Clearly, this benighted individual is trapped in Plato's cave, mistaking the shadows of inferior pizzas for reality. They are like the prisoners, shackled to their misconceptions, unable to perceive the Form of true pizza perfection that exists in the realm of the ideal.
I beseech San Gennaro, patron saint of Naples, to perform a miracle and open the eyes of this lost soul. May he grant them the phenomenological breakthrough needed to perceive pizza in its true essence. Until then, they remain trapped in a solipsistic hell of their own making, forever separated from the metaphysical truth of Neapolitan pizza's superiority.
Let them come to Naples! Let them experience an anagnorisis, a moment of profound revelation, as they bite into a true Neapolitan masterpiece. Perhaps then, in that moment of aletheia, of unconcealment, they will understand the depth of their ignorance and begin the long journey towards pizza enlightenment.
Until that day, I can only rage against this void of understanding, this pizza-shaped lacuna in their consciousness. May the dialectic of deliciousness eventually lead them to synthesis with the truth of Neapolitan supremacy!