Today, April 26, is Ludwig Wittgenstein's birthday. (Thank you, Garrison Keilor.)
I took an introductory philosophy class at Michigan - big disappointment - I wanted the answers and I was given the questions. Wittgenstein, however, stuck with me. We think in language - and how can we think about things that don't have any reality, or a reference in real life experience (or at least that's what I think he thought). So "god" was spoiled for me forever. Whenever I think "god," I feel my mind exploding, metaphorically.
From Garrison Keilor on NPR this morning: ...Wittgentsein is
the man who said, 'Philosophy is like trying to open a safe with a combination lock: each little adjustment of the dials seems to achieve nothing, only when everything is in place does the door open": Ludwig Wittgenstein (books by this author), born in Vienna in 1889. He was described by his colleague Bertrand Russell as "the most perfect example I have known of genius as traditionally conceived: passionate, profound, intense, and dominating." He was the youngest of nine children; three of his brothers committed suicide.
Wittgenstein was born into one of the richest families in Austro-Hungary, but he later gave away his inheritance to his siblings, and also to an assortment of Austrian writers and artists, including Rainer Maria Rilke. He once said that the study of philosophy rescued him from nine years of loneliness and wanting to die, yet he tried to leave philosophy several times and pursue another line of work, including serving in the army during World War I, working as a porter at a London hospital, and teaching elementary school. He also considered careers in psychiatry and architecture — going so far as to design and build a house for his sister, which she never liked very much.
Wittgenstein was particularly interested in language. He wrote, "The limits of my language are the limits of my mind. All I know is what I have words for." And, "Uttering a word is like striking a note on the keyboard of the imagination."
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