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A review by arthuriana
Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius by Ray Monk
4.0
this is an utterly captivating biography of one of the greatest thinkers of the modern age — or, permit me this hyperbole, perhaps of any age; though wittgenstein might have eschewed this hyperbolic idol worship in favour of actual philosophising. he himself turned against academic tradition and often made very great boasts of him never having read much of the philosophical canon. (in a meeting regarding the validity of descarte's cogito for instance, he turned away from the topic and instead talked about his own philosophy.)
nevertheless, his is a great mind and his philosophy, too, is a great one — if only we could understand it! to be sure, wittgensteinian scholarship is prolific and boundless, but wittgenstein himself despaired of being able to be understood in his lifetime. now that his lifetime is long past, do we now stand a chance of understanding him or is his despair still as valid as ever? his philosophical writings read more like aphorisms from the gnostic gospels than any actual philosophical work, commanding the reader to imagine situations the same way christ might have told parables. nevertheless, like christ, there is an audience for these imaginary landscapes, and it is a landscape that is day by day still being explored.
yet, through it all, a question remains: would wittgenstein approve of the voluminous scholarship regarding him and his work? would he have liked our attempts at pseudo-psychoanalysis, this great work of monk's that links his life and his philosophy and treats them as one? when a contemporary raised up the possibility of his sexuality influencing his philosophy, he disapproved almost immediately: "certainly not!" would he have approved of this, then, which — though it does not make a great big fuss of his sexuality — made a great big fuss of everything else?
don't get me wrong: this is a superb biography, all at once captivating and engrossing, bringing to life a man who is, perhaps, larger than life; yet wittgenstein was also a neurotic man, capable of stern isolationism and a cloying need for companionship. in the baring of the parts of his soul, would he have liked the idea of being understood or would he have been annoyed at our ever-present need to know everything there is to know about him and his life?
paradoxical as it may seem, i think he would have been capable of both at the same time — and that is our struggle to live with now, no longer his, for his time of struggling is now past and it is our turn to grapple with such and many other questions.
nevertheless, his is a great mind and his philosophy, too, is a great one — if only we could understand it! to be sure, wittgensteinian scholarship is prolific and boundless, but wittgenstein himself despaired of being able to be understood in his lifetime. now that his lifetime is long past, do we now stand a chance of understanding him or is his despair still as valid as ever? his philosophical writings read more like aphorisms from the gnostic gospels than any actual philosophical work, commanding the reader to imagine situations the same way christ might have told parables. nevertheless, like christ, there is an audience for these imaginary landscapes, and it is a landscape that is day by day still being explored.
yet, through it all, a question remains: would wittgenstein approve of the voluminous scholarship regarding him and his work? would he have liked our attempts at pseudo-psychoanalysis, this great work of monk's that links his life and his philosophy and treats them as one? when a contemporary raised up the possibility of his sexuality influencing his philosophy, he disapproved almost immediately: "certainly not!" would he have approved of this, then, which — though it does not make a great big fuss of his sexuality — made a great big fuss of everything else?
don't get me wrong: this is a superb biography, all at once captivating and engrossing, bringing to life a man who is, perhaps, larger than life; yet wittgenstein was also a neurotic man, capable of stern isolationism and a cloying need for companionship. in the baring of the parts of his soul, would he have liked the idea of being understood or would he have been annoyed at our ever-present need to know everything there is to know about him and his life?
paradoxical as it may seem, i think he would have been capable of both at the same time — and that is our struggle to live with now, no longer his, for his time of struggling is now past and it is our turn to grapple with such and many other questions.