Wittgenstein Page #2

God be with me!

Amen!

I know this world exists.

But its meaning is problematic.

Am I good or am I evil?

When my conscience upsets my equilibrium,

then I am not in agreement with something.

What is it?

Is it the world?

Or is it God?

Wittgenstein has been taken prisoner.

Oh, how fascinating!

"I am a prisoner of war

in Monte Cassino under the Italians.

I hope we shall see each other after the war.

Being shot at many times

has altered the way I think about philosophy.

So has Tolstoy's Gospel In Brief.

I have written a book called

Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus.

It combines logical symbolism

with religious mysticism.

It's better with no shoes, no shoes at all.

Love, Ludwig."

I must send him some more cocoa tablets.

Sounds like he's rather depressed.

Does he know you've been in prison, Bertie?

I doubt it.

Such nice manners always, Ludwig.

Good stock.

What is logical symbolism?

Oh, it's too difficult to explain.

That's the trouble with you, Bertie.

You can never answer a straight question.

(Church bells ring)

I was released from prison camp

on the 21st of August, 1919.

I wanted to get my Tractatus published,

so I went back to Vienna.

(Dramatic piano music)

Ludwig!

Ludwig, what do you mean

you want to teach in a rural school?

It would be like a precision instrument

opening crates.

Look, you were decorated in the war.

Bertrand Russell

says you're the great philosophical hope.

You can't go and teach in the provinces.

Hermine, you remind me of someone

looking out through a closed window

who cannot explain the strange movements

of someone outside.

You can't tell what sort of storm is raging,

or that this person might only be managing

to stay on his feet with difficulty.

Well, I still think it's a waste of your talents.

If you hadn't been so daft

and given all your money to us,

you could publish your book yourself,

without having to bow and scrape to publishers.

I don't want to force my philosophy

on the world, if a publisher won't publish it.

Can't you understand that?

Well, I would rather have a happy person

for a brother than an unhappy saint.

I am going to teach.

CHILDREN:
? Three blind mice

"Those truth possibilities of its truth-argument

which verify... and prositions...

I shall call its truth grounds..."

Yes, good.

Proposition. So what is this here?

What do you call this here?

Logic.

What's this here?

What do you call this here?

Teaching you

is a... thoroughly... unrewarding experience.

Do you understand what I'm saying?

Do you understand what I'm saying?

It's a waste of time.

It's a waste of my time,

your time, everybody's time.

Do you understand...

Do you understand what I'm saying?

Oh, my God!

Oh, my dear, dear God!

Teaching proved to be a sham.

I had to "do a runner"...

...and lie about my brutality towards the children.

They just weren't any good at logic or maths,

and they drove me crazy.

I kidded myself that my background and class

weren't important,

but I stood out like a sore thumb

at these provincial schools.

The parents hated me and called me strange.

I felt guilty for years.

Somehow I had failed.

Morally.

This is a red pillar box.

How do you know that?

I've done my homework.

Green is green.

Children learn by believing adults.

Doubt comes after belief.

I know what I believe.

Where I come from there are no adults,

and so no doubts.

If I post this letter to New York, does that

strengthen my conviction that the earth exists?

The earth does exist.

And so do Martians.

(Xylophone)

(Ticking)

Well, you end the book with the line,

"Whereof one cannot speak,

thereof one must remain silent."

Why didn't you?

I don't understand a word, Ludwig.

It's gobbledygook.

How much were you paid for this?

I was paid nothing for the rights,

and will receive no royalties.

Typical. You won't be able

to buy a pair of socks soon.

But I have published a book.

I heard that the book was only published

because Bertrand Russell

wrote an introduction.

LUDWIG:
I have Russell's introduction.

He can't understand a word either.

HERMINE:
Who can?

Hermine, we must improve ourselves.

That's all we can do to better the world.

Is it true you're designing Gretyl

a brand-new house?

That's right. The whole thing.

Right down to the window latches

and the door handles.

Well, I hope it's more comprehensible

than your book.

(Phone rings)

Maynard?

- Maynard?

- Waistcoat!

Ah.

His book is obscure and too short.

But good.

My introduction got it published.

Yes, but I still think

we should get him back to Cambridge.

Maynard, we're going to be late.

You're going to have to sort out his grants.

In a moment of amnesia, he gave away

all his money to his brothers and sisters.

An absolute fortune, I'm told.

If I can sort out the economies of the world,

I ought to be able to sort out a stipend

for Wittgenstein.

- That is, if Cambridge will still have him.

- Oh, I'm sure they'll have him.

His Tractatus is all the rage,

whatever we may think of it.

Well, leave it to me, I know how to get him back.

Oh, er, Maynard, hold on a moment, I just...

Johnny, do you feel like a trip to Vienna?

Vienna?

(Choir chants)

Dr Wittgenstein.

Dr Wittgenstein.

I've come to take you home.

Home?

- Where's that?

- Cambridge.

Cambridge.

God help me.

I have letters from Mr Keynes and Mr Russell.

I should introduce myself.

Johnny.

Mr Russell asked me to tell you

that you're the greatest philosopher of our time.

Well...

Tell me, Johnny, are you a philosopher?

Yes.

Are you happy?

You know, you really should give it up.

Get out while you still can.

(Graceful piano music)

Lydia!

Ah, Maynard.

God has arrived. He was on the 5:15 train.

Are you sure it's a good idea bringing him here,

Maynard?

I've heard he's difficult and peculiar.

A philosopher is a citizen of no community.

Does he make fit with Bloomsbury friends?

He seems so heavy-handed and Germanic.

Yes, he is.

Why are you all so interesting in him?

Because he's a genius, Lydoushka.

Yes, but what is he doing?

He's trying to define for us

the limits of language.

And what it is to have communication,

one with another.

Don't be so pompous.

Dearest darling, I am going to be pompous.

The country needs

more than one decent philosopher.

Bertie needs some competition.

Our Viennese import might just do the trick.

Maynardoushka, your head

is infinitely more flexible than my legs.

What are you doing?

Everyone's waiting for you.

Go away, please!

They're torturing me!

For God's sake, just open your mouth

and say the first thing

that comes into your head.

Don't be so ridiculous.

Listen, just get through this seminar

and we can go to the cinema.

A dog... cannot lie.

Neither can he be sincere.

A dog may be expecting his master to come.

Why can't he be expecting him

to come next Wednesday?

Is it because he doesn't have language?

If a lion could speak, we would not

be able to understand what he said.

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