A Short Conversation

“Descartes was an idiot,” said Colin.

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “Are you really saying ‘I think, therefore I am’ is idiotic?”

“Well, in a way, I am,” he replied. “Descartes thought it was only the mind that mattered; if you can think then you exist.  But, in reality, you have both a body and a mind and in that mind there could be more than one you.”

“That’s nonsense,” I said, tapping my head. “There’s just me in here, the whole me and nothing but the me.”

“I wouldn’t be so hasty. You mightn’t be where you think. That’s Lacan by the way,” said Colin.

“Who’s Lacan?” I asked.

“The man who said Descartes was an idiot,” replied Colin. “He was French.”

“That’d be right. So according to him I know I exist because I think, but I don’t exist where I think.” I paused scratching my head. “How the hell does that work?”

Colin chuckled. “Well, you have to take into consideration the postmodern, decentred self.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sometimes you do talk such bollocks!”


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