Every paper that I have written for school is contrived, unoriginal, uninteresting garbage. That’s exactly what my teachers want us to write. I don’t want to write it, they don’t want to read it. I get As on all of them. I write things like this:
Hume’s hierarchy of the flow of information through the human psyche dictates that impressions provide the most accurate basis from which knowledge can be attained.
Hume believes that knowledge is “that evidence which arises from that comparison of ideas” (124), which would seem to answer the question nicely. But ideas, themselves, cannot serve as a foundation, as they, in turn, have a foundation of their own: impressions. In this regard, Hume cannot be relied upon as a source of information about his own theory of knowledge.
Blah blah blah. It’s so obtuse, so trite, so nothing. I gain nothing from the exercise. Nobody gains anything from the exercise. The problem isn’t that I think that I’m so bloody special that I can’t be bothered with such things, but I fear that I may actually become stupider. What if, after two years of this, I forget how to write about anything meaningful? Could my admittedly limited writing abilities be completely stultified, atrophied through disuse as I resign myself to slogging through useless academic papers?
I guess shouldn’t have watched Adaptation while in the midst of writing a pair of six-page papers.