AGuestOnFailure: How they would move -- Footnotes on the Masterworks of Ludwig Wittgenstein

Imagine that Wittgenstein's Tractatus Logico Philosophicus was a person.
He was a young man – driven, entrepreneurial and shaved clean. He woke up early in the morning without setting an alarm clock. He ate quickly, dressed quickly and opened his front door onto the hustle and bustle of a busy sidewalk.
The Tractatus was a young man who always arrived at work on time. Many of his colleagues appreciated his punctuality and always made a point of saying positive things about him. Some tried to imitate his behavior. But those who only witnessed his arrival missed something important. Those who watched the Tractatus on his journey had a better understanding of his character.
When The sidewalk was empty The Tractatus would glide over the pavement with long, elegant strides, covering much distance in little time. When the sidewalk became congested with doddlers and window shoppers his strides would shorten. They became faster and impossibly precise. He wove in and out of the crowd rhythmically; side stepping a leashed dog to the left, lifting his briefcase over the head of an old woman to the right. To some, the Tractatus was not walking at all; rather he was dancing through pedestrians to strange rhythms and beats that only he could hear.
If he was forced to endure the nuisance of waiting at a crosswalk he would observe his environment and try to bring order to his surroundings by naming its constituent parts. He saw a flock of birds in the sky: Branta canadensism, he said to himself. He saw a plucky weed bursting through a crack in the pavement: Taraxacum officinale.
When the light changed and it was his turn to walk he strode confidently into the street, leaving a group of awe-struck pedestrians in his wake.

Imagine that Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations was a person.
He was an old man with a bent back and a house that smelled vaguely of mildew. His house was cluttered with things he found interesting – African wood carvings, out-of-circulation currency, antique golf clubs, etc.
He always woke up slowly and stretched his tired body before going for a walk. Philosophical Investigations left his house with no specific purpose except to continue the endless task of exploring the back alleys and nooks of his city. He tried to avoid the main streets. After all, the treasures he sought were usually in the hidden shops, the types of places where old Chinese men sold mysterious curios from forgotten times.
He wandered through narrow paths, taking his time and investigating everything thoroughly. Even still it was not unusual for him to backtrack, convinced he missed something important. It never bothered him to return to places he'd been before. In fact he was always secretly excited to end up at a place that he had already been, but to have arrived there from a different direction.
He never failed to find things of interest on his walks. It was not unusual to find him looking at brick work at a crumbling building, or reading a declaration of love that had been etched into a bench with a jack-knife. He carried a magnifying glass in his coat pocket. Sometimes when he got tired he would stop at a pond to feed the Branta canadensis. Philosophical Investigations did not know that Branta canadensis was the Latin term for the birds he was feeding (he called them “Honkers”), but he had keenly observed how they were; how they existed in the world. He knew that each bird found just one partner and stayed with that partner until separation by death. He liked that. Once his strength returned, he continued on his way, shuffling towards his next discovery.

It was inevitable that the young Tractatus and the old Philosophical Investigations would cross paths. All the walkers in the city eventually bumped into one another. They approached each other on the sidewalk and between them lay a patch of glimmering ice. Philosophical Investigations recognized this as a hazard and stepped onto the dirty ground beside the pavement in order to avoid the ice.
The Tractatus thought he saw something else in the patch of ice. To the Tractatus the ice looked beautiful – perfect. Its had a smoothness and a grace that was intoxicating to the young man. He wad finally found a surface to match his style. He strode onto the ice and all his elegance could not save him. He fell and slid to the feet of the old man, who watched the whole ordeal with amusement. Philosophical Investigations extended his arm to the young man who took it. They smiled at each other. Between them was a sense that despite traveling in opposite directions, and appearing to have little in common, there was a deeper bond, an unstated understanding between them.
“Son, you can't walk on ice. You need friction, you need rough ground,” the old man said.
“Sorry, no time to chat,” the young man said. “I've got places to be.”
The Tractatus took off, walking even faster than he had been before (presumably to make up for lost time). Philosophical Investigations chuckled to himself, and then bent down to investigate a dandelion.

Peter Jickling
July 16, 2008