So it's huge. Really huge. Monstrous. Possessing Gigantor-like proportions.

That's what she said.

Also, Logicmills. Oh. Em. Gee. It's expanded like some sort of ...expanding thing. A duck. It's expanded like a duck.

In other news, Singapore is awesome.

So I've been reading Crime and Punishment, probably in some subconscious attempt at a buffer for when I have to write my paper on continental philosophy. I can see why Ted loves it so much, but I find myself oddly unsympathetic to the plight of the protagonist (if he's even such). The struggles he faces, the torment and the guilt and the bewilderment - it's hard to determine if it's right and good to feel such things.

Should a good person ever feel regret, or guilt, or mental anguish? The Nietzschean ubermensch probably never does. The Randian Roark probably doesn't either. The Catholic saint probably lives an entire life characterized by alot of it. A Buddha transcends it. It's probably not even relevant to a Utilitarian or a Deontologist. What about Aristotle's virtuous man?

I suppose the issue is mired (or quagmired, as it were) in so many other thorny problems that it is hard to get a hard clean look at just what is involved. The large part of this mire seems to me to lie in just how to fit a picture of what is good into an imperfect world, or an imperfect life. It's easy enough to see that a perfectly virtuous man (assuming the relevant moral agent is a space-time worm rather than a slice or point) would never feel regret, because he would do nothing that would be the target of regret. But, what if he does? If you commit an evil act, what happens? Does regret mitigate the evil, or should you let it go, casting it aside as something no longer having power over your character? Or is a virtuous life no longer possible once an act of evil has been performed?

I should go read more. Raskolnikov is fascinating, even if he is alien.