I am sitting with a philosopher in the garden; he says again and again "I know that that's a tree", pointing to a tree that is near us. Someone else arrives and hears this; and I tell him: "This fellow isn't insane. We are only doing philosophy."

a meditative work that illuminates much of wittgenstein's later philosophy, on certainty tries to convince you that perhaps you know less than you claim you do—that, indeed, this state of 'knowing' is not as justified as you think it is. in brilliant pseudo-aphorisms that hearkens to an almost quasi-humean tendency, wittgenstein here tries to break down the limits of our language in the way it articulates human knowledge. the result is a magnificent treatise that serves as a much clearer and more accessible example of his philosophy. it is far easier than his tractatus, that's for certain, and to tell the truth i'm at a loss why my professors didn't include this in their syllabus whenever we tackled wittgenstein.

such concerns aside, i'm enchanted as always to read the words of this brilliant austrian man. i have always been of the thought that wittgenstein would have been a glorious mystical figure, and his philosophy exemplifies that. all his writings read more like religious tracts, with its tendency towards density and examples-almost-like-parables, and on certainty continues that tradition.

the introduction states that wittgenstein wrote this as he was dying. i often think it quite perverse to psychoanalyse authors through their works, but i can't help but do so now. this work reads like it—that is to say, you feel the frenetic need to grasp for an example of certainty... a grasping, perhaps, for the cold comfort of something solid that his tractatus gave him yet his investigations robbed from him. at one point he writes, quite poignantly, "[Here there is still a big gap in my thinking. And I doubt whether it will be filled now.]"

all in all, this is truly a work written by what is doubtless a genius. wittgenstein made me love philosophy, for all its time-wasting quirks and quite unnecessary digressions, so it stands to reason i'm biased—but, well, i haven't once took up the presumption of being neutral about this matter. i look up to wittgenstein, and this book has only solidified my admiration for him.