Wittgenstein was surely missing out on something most typical in his upbringing.
Something which leads me right here and now to shake my head solemnly and perhaps even sigh. Maybe chortle a bit mean-spiritedly, but I would surely regret having done so almost immediately, and apologise to the poor bloke, and offer some sort of compensation, maybe in the way of chocolate or assorted sweets. But then, perhaps regaining that mean-spiritedness that surely just grabbed me (or grabs me, either way, possibly garbs me, as well), rescind the offer of the apology and/or sweet treats on the grounds that they may just be an imagining of his.
Nonetheless, what brings me about to a tangent on my purported capacity for meanspiritedness is Wittgenstein's assumption that in saying "I know I have a brain" we have no grounds for doubt, and the statement is absurd.
In the first page.
This philosopher, apparently sifting through the details, trying to get a bit of certainty, if only to have his life in order, be it the wife giving him a hard time for overcooking the eggs again, and never ever getting them exactly the way she likes them since the day of their marriage, or his son up and complaining again about his da not being like all the other kids' das, especially when asked to kick a football around with him this da replies, "I cannot say I have good grounds for the opinion that cats do not grow on trees," instead of something about knowing Newcastle is finally going to get it together this year and take the Premiership, this philosopher completely misses the hard and fast evidence that there is every reason to doubt that last statement.
Ah well, he might have been having a bad day.
We are sitting here, dreaming it is raining.
disclaimer:
In the grandest of Shandean systems, I can think of no finer name than Stephen.
Get thee well.
Go néiri an t-ádh leat, a Stiobhan. Le cuidu Dé, tá suil agam go bhfuil tú go han-mhaith arís.
Yer Weekly Horoscopes. go wittgenstein, go.