Antioch Review Inc.

Duck-Wabbit
Author(s): Bruce Duffy
Source: The Antioch Review, Vol. 45, No. 2, All-Fiction Issue (Spring, 1987), pp. 224-237
Published by: Antioch Review Inc.
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4611726
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BY BRUCEDUFFY

7l7he
philosopherloved the flicks, periodicallyneedingto empty
himselfin thatlavingriverof lightin whichhe couldopenlygapeand
forget.
Followingone of his three-hour lectures,exhaustedby his own
ceaselessinquiries,he wouldhookone of his youngmenby the arm
andaskwitha faintlypleadinglook:Careto see a flick?
TheTivoliwasjust downthe streetfromTrinityCollege,Cam-
bridge,rarelycrowded.Wanting to avoidchancemeetingsin thequeue,
thephilosopher wouldlet the filmstartbeforehe wentstalkingdown
the darkenedaisle, audiblysayingin BritishEnglishwitha German
accent:Forthisyou mustget up close- fourthaisle at least.
TheywerewatchingTopHat. Craningback,spellboundas Fred
twirledGinger"Cheekto Cheek"undera templeof soundstage
moonlight,thephilosopher turnedto his companionandsaiddelight-
edly:Wonderful, howthelightemptiesoveryou. Likea showerbath.
TheyoungEnglishman,precisein inflection,his top buttonbut-
toned, carefullysmiledin the affirmativeas his mentorcontinued:
Now, no one candancelike thisAstairefellow.OnlyAmericanscan
do this sort of thing- the Englishare entirelytoo stiff and self-
conscious.Astairealwaysgetsthegirlandof courseit'sutterlywithout
pretense.Oh, it makesno sense whatsoever.Likethe anticsof that
Americanmouseandhis animalacquaintances-
Theyoungmanperkedup. MickeyMouse,you mean?
Yes,thatone. Entirelycreditableandcharning.Also theduck.I
verymuchlike the duck.A wiseguy, as the Americanswouldsay.
DonaldDuck,you say?

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 duck-wabbit 225

No, no- A quickup-downlook, amazedthata youngmancould

be so removed as not to know this. Not Donald- Daffy.
Butthenthephilosopherwonderedif the youngmanwas instead
makinga veiledphilosophical pointabouttheindeedcuriousfactthat
thesetwoexcitableducksspokewithsputtering lisps.Ah, thoughtthe
philosopher.Hiscompanionwaspointingoutthatthetwoduckswere
of ambiguous,evensynonymous,identity,likethecuriousduck-rabbit
he hadshownin his lectures,a drawingthatcouldbe seen as either
a duckor a rabbitbeforeit dawnedon the viewerthatit was bothor
neither,orjust one continuousline.

Oh, brother!lispedthe philosopher,this to immediatelyfix in

mindtheduckin question.Butdon'tyouthinkit curious,he probed,
pressingthisobscureyoungmanto makehispoint.I meanthatneither
of theseduckscan speakwithoutspitting.Assumingwe couldeven
understanda duck who could speak. But spitting
Theyoungman,accustomed to thephilosopher's
unorthodox
mind,
ogledaround.
Thatis ratherodd, isn't it.
Onthescreen,meanwhile,it waspurestagebusiness-the usual
boy-girlstuffbeforethenextdancenumber.Dispensewiththeduck.
Broadlyhintingnow,the philosophersaid:Andthe rabbit.I likethat
rabbit.Orcwazywa-bbit,as theysay.
Bugs?askedthe youngmancarefully.
It was quitehopeless.He didn'tget it. Ginger,meanwhile,was
in anothersnit. Fred,crestfallen,was pacingin his dressingroom,
handsstuffedin his tuxedopockets.Glancingarounddistractedly,the
philosophersaid:Bugstherabbit,yes.
The youngmanwas squinting,lookingtroubled.Underthe lap-
ping light, the philosopherhardlyheardhim at firstwhenhe asked:
Butas art, Dr. Wittgenstein?
Art? Suddenly,the magisterialDr. Wittgensteinlooked pro-
foundlyuncomfortable. Whateverdo you mean?

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226 the antioch review

Thesefilms.Do you considerthemart?

Fred,by then,waschasingGingeracrossa moonlitbrige.Bathed
in thatpowderylight, Wittgensteinscrewedup his nose as if he'd
whiffedLimburger: Tospeakof theseflicksas art?ThisI wouldview
withthe highestsuspicion.

At thistime, in thelaterforties,LudwigWittgenstein,notunlikethe
duck-rabbit, washimselfanobjectof ambiguityandsuspicionin many
philosophical circles.
It came as no surpriseto Wittgensteinthathis ideas were mis-
understood andmisrepresented. In his shunningcontemptforphilos-
ophyandphilosophers, he almostconsciouslyencouraged thisreaction.
Publishing his latework couldhave done much to boosthis reputation
anderasehis mystery-man image,butdespitehis periodicwaverings
andthepleadingsof his friends,Wittgenstein couldnotbringhimself
to bringout his new work- not in his lifetime.Instead,his ideas
wererepeatedby wordof mouthor passedaroundas transcripts of
the shorthand notesthathis studentsdoggedlytookdownduringhis
lectures.
Lectures! Seanceswasmorelikeit. Wittgenstein heldtheseclasses
twice a week in his two small, bareroomsin Trinity'sWhewell's
Court.The doorwouldopen, andhis studentswouldenteras into a
chapelthis roomfurnishedsoley withan arny cot, a shelfof books
andmanuscripts, andthefoldingcardtableon whichhe wrote.Seated
nearthe window,deepin a funkof thought,Wittgensteinwouldbe
facingpartlyaway,like a figureposingfor a life study.Theywould
not havedreamedof greetinghim, muchless of botheringhim with
questionsor smalltalk. He wantedno touristsor gapers,andnone
daredcomelate. Perchedon thefoldinggunmetalchairson whichhe
expectedthemto remainfor two or threehourswithoutsqueaking,
theywerenotto talk,smoke,raisetheirhandsor, in short,do anything
thatmightdistracthim.Thesessionwould"begin"promptlyat four,
butanothertenor fifteenminutesmightpassbefore,withoutwarning,
he eruptedintowords.Grimacing,graspingthemetalseatof his own
chair,castin the forcinghouseof theirexpectantgaze, he mighttalk
brilliantlyfortheentiresession,withouta singlenote.Thesewerethe
good days. But therewere also the slow, halting,or bad sessions,
whenhe wouldsit therementallywhippinghimselffor his torpidity,
snorting, Come - on! Oh, this is intolerable. As you can see, I'm
perfectlystupidtoday....

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 duck-wabbit227

Peoplewouldwatchhim and wonder.Washe happy?Sad?A

troubledmanbeneath?But whatcouldthe outerworldknowof the
inner?Morningandevening,whenthe light was most intense,the
mosttransitional, theywouldsee himbargingthroughtheCambridge
Backs, a wild expanseof cattailsand lilystems,impossiblygreen,
throughwhichtheRiverCamglidesunderductilewillows.Eventhen;
late in his life, Wittgensteinlookeda good ten yearsyoungerthan
fifty-eight.He was a trimmanof averageheight,witha sharpnose,
flat,literallips, andcurlybrownhairgrayingat thetemples.Hiseyes
weredarkandpiercing,andhe oftencarrieda bamboocane, not as
a crutch,but as a foil andpointer.Abouthim therewas a vaguely
martialair, a certaincleannessandsobriety,like thatof a prieston
an off Sunday.His dresswas functional,meticulous,and,aboveall,
consistent:an old tweed coat or a worn leatherjacket, a shirtopen at
thecollar.Thedarkflanneltrouserswerewornbutcarefullypressed,
andthecrackedleatherof his old oxfordswasbuffedto theburnished
hueof an old pipebowl.
Oftenone of his youngfriendswouldaccompanyhim on these
walks.Thesewere,as a rule,self-effacing,innocentyoungmenfrom
middle-or lower-middle-class families,the type who tookthe early
schoolprizesandweredulybroughtunderthe wing of some lonely
masterwhomadeit hiscauseto gettheladintoOxfordorCambridge.
Butbesidesbeinginnocentandbrainy,Wittgenstein's youngmenwere
slenderandgood-looking.Morebeguilingstill,forWittgenstein, they
wereoften as not quiteunawareof theirlooks andindeedof sex in
general.Obliviousto thepullof mirrors,theywerethemselvesmirrors
- deep, drowsingpools of innocencein whichWittgensteincould
lose himselfwhilefeeling,in certainfundamental respects,morein-
nocenthimself.
He cravedtheircompanionship. Like a possessivemother,he
fussedoverthemandreadtheirfate like tea leaves:to marrylate, if
ever, andbe forevertied to him. A few yearsbefore,in fact, Witt-
gensteinhadeven takenone of theseyoungmenwithhimto Russia
- for Wittgenstein the spirituallandof TolstoyandDostoyevsky-
withtheideaof theiremigrating thereto studymedicinein preparation
for a life spenttreatingthe poor.Theywentquietly,secretively,but
of coursestoriesgot out thatWittgensteinwas a Red or a Marxist,
while otherssnottilysaid thatthe formeraeronautical engineerhad
takenhis youngshadowto Russiaso they mightget theirwings-
theirangel'swings.

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228 the antioch review

ButRussiawasnotwhatWittgenstein wanted.Whateverits mer-

its, philosophywasn'twhathe wantedeither,not whenlife offered
so manyotherusefulpursuits.Certainlyhe didnotadvisehis students
to becomephilosophers; thatwas the last thinghe wouldhave sug-
gested.No, he warned them to avoidat all cost thetrapof academic
life at leastif theyplannedto do anyhonestor originalthinkingof
-
theirown.
On the surface,this mighthaveseemedhypocritical,comingas
it did froma manwith a tolerablycomfortablechairat a greatuni-
versity.ButWittgenstein wasnotadvocating a pathhe hadnothimself
followed,for he had done manythingsin life besidesphilosophy.
Afterthe FirstWorldWar,wherehe foughtwiththe Austrianarmy
on the Russianfront,Wittgensteinhadeven abandonedphilosophy
for ten years,dispensingwitha sizablefortunehe hadinheritedand
goingoff to live a life of servitudeandpenuryas a ruralschoolmaster
in a poorAustrianvillage.Hardas he tried,though,he was not cut
out for life amongstuntedvillagefolk, andhe left a few yearslater.
He then workedfor a time as a gardenerin a monasteryand even
consideredtakingvows untilthe abbotwisely talkedhim out of it.
Withthat,he returnedto his nativeVienna,wherehe puthis early
engineering background to use designingandbuildingforhis wealthy
older sister a splendidmodernisthome of angledsteel and stone,
whosechaste,rigorouslines suggestedthe ascendinglogic of a tone
poem.In the Viennatelephonedirectoryat thistime, duringthe late
twenties, he even listed himself as Ludwig Wittgenstein:Architekt.
But architecturecouldn'thold him either.Philosophy,he was
forcedto realize,was his supremegift, yet whenhe returnedto phi-
losophyin 1929,his mindneverentirelysettledthere.Still, muchas
he hatedCambridge,he instinctivelyknewthatcollegelife, andthe
relativefreedomit affordedhim, was moreconduciveto his work
thana life spenton the Russiansteppes,tendingan endlessline of
humanmisery.Butbecausehe couldn'tsettleon anything,theyoung
men aroundhim couldn'treallysettleeither.And so this, too, was
his legacy:to leavethemandlaterphilosophydelugedwithhis huge,
half-consciouswill, which,like a sweepingflame,suckedup all the
oxygen.
This influencewasn't an entirelyconsciousthingon Wittgen-
stein'spart.On the contrary;becauseit was so deeplyrootedin his
character - becauseit was not overtlyselfishor deliberately
manip-
ulative- thebondhe createdwas all themorepowerful.Andstrong

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 duck-wabbit 229

as this bondwas in life, it was thatmuchstrongerafterhis death,

when in the collectivememoryof those who knew him he would
becomea sortof splatched andangledconcatenationof images,wishes,
evasions,runningfeuds,regrets.Forsomewhoknewhim, his name
wouldevoke painssuchas old menfeel - sharp,bunionlikepangs
thatwouldshootout at the mentionof Witt-gen-stein, thatfractious
weathersystemof remembering andforgettingthatfinallyconsumes
the life of the thingremembered.

hadbeenengagedin a strugglewithlanguage,
Foryears,Wittgenstein
examining- and indeed exhaustivelyauditing- languagein its va-
rietyto discernits endlessgamesandguises. He was discouraged to
hearof Einstein'scontinuedeffortto bringthe forcesof gravitation
andelectromagnetism undera singlelaw. How,he wondered,could
so greata mindsuccumbto the will-o'-the-wispof mereunity?The
world,he was now convinced,defiedreductionor summary,despite
his ownattemptsin thatdirectionas a youngman.Philosophyneeded
no moredinosaurs,no moregrandsystems.His own intentionswere
as humble as the words table, lamp, door.
As he sawit, therightfulcourseof philosophywasnotthepursuit
of eleganceor the distillationof intoxicatingmathematical essences.
Ournaturalcravingfor generality,for the handyruleof thumb,was
preciselytheproblem.Ourcruderuleswereonlyhammers,whenwe
also neededchisels and screwdrivers - when we neededa whole
toolbox,as well as anencyclopediaanda taxonomyof the thingswe
say, andwhatwe thinkwe meanby them. A language,he said, is
nothingmorethana collection,andto understand it, we mustplow
overthe wholegroundof language,examiningit in all its particular
crotchetsanduses.Forthephilosopher, he felt, theproblemwasmuch
like thatof seeingthe rabbitwithinthe duck- thatis, seeingwith
thefreshnessof secondsight,holdingin mindtheimageof whatone
firstsawwhileyet bringingto it theforceof whatone sawlater,since
one was alwaysseeingmorein the picture.Still, in an age addicted
to scientificleaps,he knewtheambiguous,ongoing,necessarilyfrag-
mentarynatureof thesearchwasnotexactlya cheeringprospect.Like
manya stealthythinkerwhopresentssomethingdifficultandvaguely
uncongenial,he was often at some painsto makehimselfclear, at
timeseven droppingbroadhints.Once,for instance,he tolda friend
thatwheretheusualthinkerwantsto showunexpectedresemblances,
his taskwas ratherto showmanydiscretedifferencesamongthevar-

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230 the antioch review

ious familiesof language,familiesthateach have theirown resem-

blancesandeccentricities, theirrulesanddisguises.Theirduck-rabbits,
so to speak.
Incontrastto his earlyhostilityto Freudian
thinking,Wittgenstein
now spokeof himselfas a discipleof Freudbut warnedthatFreud
hadto be readextremelycritically.Sincewhen,askeda youngman
to whomhe hadgiventhis advice,hadhe everreadanythinguncrit-
ically?Wittgensteinlaughed.Butherewas anotherhint,andhe was
pleasedwhensomeonelaterremarkedthatthe seeminglyunordered
remarksthatcomposedhis PhilosophicalInvestigationsandotherlate
workshadthecumulativeeffectof a kindof linguisticpsychoanalysis
designedto helpthe analysandovercomethe muddlesthatcloudun-
derstanding.Suspiciousof the dubiousvirtuesof orderandequally
suspiciousof how ordercouldleadto errorandintellectualandcom-
placency,Wittgenstein foundthisa fairanalogy.Still, it wasa some-
whatguilty explanation:despitehis misgivings,he and othershad
expendedmuchlaborin a fruitlesseffortto organizehis ideas. But
theriverwouldnotbe diverted:he couldnotchangethecourseof his
mind.Likeanalysis,andindeedlike thinkingitself, the methodwas
notlinearbutcircular,obsessivelyreturning to thesamegeneralcon-
cerns:conceptsof meaningandunderstanding, statesof conscious-
ness, logic, thenatureof propositionsandphilosophyand,aboveall,
the "games"throughwhichlanguageis acquiredandtransmitted. A
questionwouldappear,disappear,thenresurfaceagaina few pages
laterin alteredform,cloudedas thought,trickyas talk. Yethe still
felt thattheindeterminacy of his methodwasoddlyappropriate to the
very ambiguityandindeterminacy of the subject,his pointbeingto
presentthoughtas a process, ratherthana cannedresultto be read
and forgotten.And finallyfor him, these investigationswent even
beyondthemoreparochial concernsof philosophy.Afterall, he asked,
whatwas the use of studyingphilosophyif it did not improveyour
thinkingaboutimportant questionsof everydaylife?Theinvestigation
is eternallyopen, longerthanlife, as endless.Thinkingis begetting.
Wedo not practicephilosophy,or think,in orderto forget.

Wittgensteinoftenspokeof the "bewitchments" of language,buthe

was farless mindfulof the bewitchmentsof his own personality.
Surely,nothingcouldhavebeen moredisagreeableto him than
the mountingspectacleof his own influence,engulfingotherminds.
The lastthinghe wantedwas to foundanotherschoolor movement,

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 duck-wabbit 231

yet he couldplainlysee it comingand,wittinglyandunwittingly,he

fosteredit. He hatedto see his studentsunconsciouslymimic his
gesturesandparrothis expressions,andhe wasevenmoredistressed
to see his unpublished ideaspiratedanddistorted.Indeed,at times,
he fearedhe wouldleavenothingbuta collectionof mannerisms: The
Do-This-in-Rememberance-of-Me School.
Inevitably,he hadhis rivalsanddetractors, chiefamongthemhis
formerteacherandmentor,BertrandRussell.It painedWittgenstein
to thinkthathe andRussellshouldbe doomedto bearthisantagonism
throughtherestof theirdays.Still, it couldhaveendedonlythisway.
Theirnaturesweretoo disparate.Besides,theirreputations hadboth
growntoo large,andtherewasnowmuchelse atstake-fundamental
valuesandbeliefs, not to mentionthe addedgoadof vanity.
Difficultto say how this emnityhadcome about.Attributeit to
time, timeandthe misunderstandings of time, ingrown.Russellhad
long felt thatWittgensteindisapproved of his life, of his couplings
and anti-Christian beliefs, of his politicsand popularwritings,his
easy socializingandcelebrity.Russellwas not entirelywrongin his
suspicions.Wittgenstein diddisapprove,butnotas sternlyas Russell
thought.OnWittgenstein's endit wasthesame.Inthetwenties,when
he was off in thatAustrianbackwaterteachingschool,Wittgenstein
fanciedthatRussellfelt himto be moremisguidedandconfusedthan
in fact he did. Besides,Russellhada familyby then. He hadmore
on his mindthanWittgenstein.
Timewasthebreach,then.Friendship,it seemed,wasn'tlongor
durableenoughfortime. Slowly,almostinevitably,theylost sightof
one another.Andtheychanged-they changedmorethantheyknew,
accepting alltooreadilythosewaysin whichtheyfelttheyhadchanged
forthebetterandspurningwhattheyhadlostordiscardedas theprice
of becomingsomethingelse. It wasa veryhumanamnesia,thisspew-
ing of the pastwhilehungrilyswallowingthe future.Likecolliding
waves, theybrokeandfell away.
But to think:Russellhad once calledthe twenty-three-year-old
Wittgenstein hisphilosophical heir,themostbrilliantmanhe hadever
met. Now Russellcalledhim tragic,a brilliantfailure.Russellsaid
manycuttingthings,especiallyas Wittgenstein's influencein certain
circlesbeganto eclipse his own. This was whatwas beginningto
happenby 1946. Russell'sphilosophicalworkwas thenundergoing
one of those periodicdeclinesof reputation.Indeed,his reputation
was sufferingthe aftershocksof his own hegemonyandgrandeuras

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232 the antioch review

a thinker.He was too gargantuan; his successorshad to throwhim

off, hadto debunkanddevaluehimso theirownworkcouldproceed,
unintimidated. Butbeyondthat,Russellwasa victimof his ownfame
andsuccess,qualitiesthatto thosewhowereunknownor, worse,only
marginallysuccessfulmeanthe mustnow be a smugold fraudwho
washappilycoasting- andcashingin -on his name.Russellsimply
didtoo manythingswell, woretoo manyhats-educator, journalist,
sexualrevolutionary, libertarian, gadfly,pundit,peaceadvocate,and
moralleader.Andthese wereby no meansall his hats. To his now
venerablehead,otherswouldhavesoonerfastenedgoat'shornsand
plasteredhis foreheadwith scarletlettersproclaiming"Atheist,"
"Philanderer," "Pervert,""PublicPest."
ThiswasthesameRussellwhocorresponded withEinstein,Gan-
dhi, andNiels Bohr,who hectoredandadvisedkings,premiers,and
presidents,andwho hadlong shownan intransigent willingness- if
not an appetite to be jailedif necessaryin the causeof peaceand
-
thefreeexchangeof civil beliefs.Russelldidn'tjusthavedetractors,
he hadswornenemies.The pressloved andhatedhim, butearlyon
Russellhad been shrewdenoughto see that, in the long run, the
periodicblackeyes theygavehimmadeno differenceandsometimes
even workedin his favor.All thatreallymattered,he realized,was
thathe be provocativeandquotable.He wasthestory;thepaperswere
onlythe mouthpiece,andhe pliedthemlike a masterventriloquist so
thatno matterhowtheydistortedor vilifiedhim, theyspokewithone
voice, blabbingthe universalpraiseof publicity.
Russellwas a masterof thebonmotandthe slogan,of theseem-
ingly good-natured slight, fraughtwith elan and bonhomie,which
fizzeduplikea fatalheartburn in thepersonslighted.InWittgenstein's
case, theold fox knewbetterthanto showhimselfas a bitterold man
nursinga grudgeagainsta now famousassociate.His tone was not
angry.Rather,it implieda wistfulwhatif as he shookhis hoaryhead
with the thoughtof all Wittgensteinmighthavebeen. Ah, it was a
tragicloss. Yes, he opined,it musthavebeenthe FirstWar- why,
it wouldhave been enoughto unhingeanyone,let alone so finely
tuneda mind.Andthentherewasthe longabsencefromphilosophy,
the deliberateisolationfromhis colleagues.Sad, verysad.
Yet withoutfail therecamethe but, andthenthe blow. Tragic,
Wittgenstein's influence.Incalculable, thedamagehe haddone.Rus-
sell - and now most emphaticallyLord Russell - was now penning
his memoirs.Yes, LordGadaboutRussellwas talkingmorefreely

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 duck-wabbit 233

thanever. I'm an old goatbutI don'tbuttorbite, he wouldplayfully

tell studentsandreporters.Ask, I say! That'sall. Youhave only to
ask.
Aristocraticand elegant,wearinga rumpledchalk-striped suit,
Russellwas persuasiveandcharming,even seductive.A mistof dry
whitehairsweptbackoverhis oblongskull.The face was long and
drawn,andthe nobbedupper-classchin, thoughreceding,was still
hard,rearingbacklike a ball-peenhammerwhenhe laughed.Then
therewasthepipewithits gurglingandpopping.Thumbingthepipe,
thenknockingit againstthe wide heel of his palm.Lockingit back
betweenhis discoloredmolarswhereit seemeda slot had formed.
Grinning.Justgrinning.
His voice was Whig-BBC,a little shrillwhenexcited. Yes, he
said, Wittgensteinhad broughtchaos, beguilingmanynaiveyoung
men, not to mentionmanyolderphilosopherswho oughtto have
knownbetter.Worse,addedRussell,betrayinga littletestiness,there
wereWittgenstein's beliefs.Takehis disingenuous,Tolstoyanfantasy
thatphilosophycanbe conductedsolelywithordinarylanguage.Rus-
sell threwup his arms.As if an ordinarypersonwouldbotherto read
-let alonecomprehend a wordWittgenstein haswritten!YetWitt-
gensteinactsas if employinga moreprecise,technicalvocabularyis
a sin againstdemocracy!
Russellsighed.Forthe life of me, I can'tfathomhis concerns.
Reallynow, who careswhatsilly peoplemeanwhenthey say silly
things?If I wereto say, I see the table,Wittgenstein
wouldask, But
in whatsenseof thewordsee? Oh, I canjustsee him,bitingtheword
like a piece of badmoney.Well, life is simplytoo shortfor thatsort
of nonsense,don'tyou agree?
Realizinghe was gettingnighintoa rant,Russellreinedhimself
in. Lookat me, he said, droppinghis shoulderswitha smile.HereI
amgoingon aboutWittgenstein andthepoorfellowhasn'tpublished
a wordintwentyyears-why, twenty-fiveyearsatleast.Butof course,
concededRussell,grinningout the side of his mouth,a humbleman
likeWittgenstein canhardlybeconcernedwithmerepublishing.Jesus
neverpublished,afterall....
Peoplewereonlytoohappyto carryandembellishRussell'swords
or inventthem. One way or another,though,the wordsalways
returnedto Wittgenstein,harsherandmorestinging.Wittgenstein
wasn'tone for mudslinging,but he madean exceptionin Russell's
case. Inresponseto Russell'sbarblikeninghimto Jesus,Wittgenstein

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234 the antioch review

retortedthatRussell,liketheold Tolstoy,hadfallenvictimto hisown

insanecelebrity.Celebrityhaddrivenhim to the pointthathe could
hearonly his own voice. Why,saidWittgenstein,you couldhardly
turnon a radiobroadcast withouthearingLord-Help-Us Russellspout-
ingnonsenseon therevoltingBBCBrainTrustprogram.Whata life!
Publiclywhiningaboutthe atombombwhile poppingaroundthe
worldcollectingfat lecturefees, havinghis picturetakenandeating
lavishsuppers!Well,if nothingelse, saidWittgenstein, I, unlikeRus-
sell, amapracticingphilosopher. No wonderRussellfindsphilosophy
so easynow.Themanhasdonenorealphilosophical thinkingin thirty
years.
Ina bruisedway,RussellandWittgenstein relishedthesesnipings,
which, paradoxically, madetheirformerclosenessall the moreap-
parent.The last timetheysaw eachother,as it turnedout, was at a
meetingof the CambridgeMoralScienceClubin 1946, five years
beforeWittgenstein's deathandfouryearsbeforeRussell'sNobel.
It was appropriatethatG. E. Mooreshouldhavebeenpresiding
over the meeting.For years, Moorehad actedas a sort of buffer
betweenWittgensteinandRussell.
WittgensteinhadassumedMoore'schairatCambridge whenMoore
hadretired,andthetwowerestillonquitefriendlyterms.Wittgenstein
foundthejudiciousMoorea good soundingboardfor his ideas,and
he metwiththe old doneveryTuesdayto discussphilosophy,music,
literature,or anythingelse thatstrucktheirinterest.Thetwomenalso
met once a monthat the MoralScienceClub, whereWittgenstein
wouldappearlike a guiltyconscienceto braina visitingReputation
or silencesomemouthyyoungtwit.
Moorerana civil meeting,thoughtfully introducing speakersand
rappinghis gavelwhenevera discussiongot out of hand.A boyish,
courtly,paunchymanof seventy-three, withfinewhitehairandrosy
littlechapsforcheeks,Moorewasthemostunvainof men,especially
greatmen.In thisrespectalone,he couldnothavebeenmoreunlike
thecontentiousRussell.Sincetheirundergraduate daysatCambridge
they had knowneach other,and for almostas long they had been
rivals.Typically,thisrivalrywasmoreRussell'sdoingthanMoore's,
but it was largelyquiescentnow, not fromany changeof heartor,
Lordknows, from the supposedsofteningof age, but as a purely
practicalmatter.Afterall, the two menalmostneversaweachother.
Theymovedin completelydifferentorbits,andthoughtheydid not
wantto admitit, they bothknewtheirbest workwas behindthem.

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 duck-wabbit 235

As elderstatesmensecureintheirreputations -indeed, as menwhose

nameswereeven commonlylinkedbecauseof theirearlyalliancein
demolishingtheidealismof Bradley,thereigningismwhentheywere
bothcomingup at Cambridgein the late 1890s- they knew there
wasnothingto be gainedfromsquabbling. ToRussell,Mooredidnot
presentthe threathe hadfortyyearsbefore,whenthe youngauthor
of PrincipiaEthicastoodas the moralguideandexampleto a gen-
erationof youngEngland'sfinestyoungminds,includingMaynard
Keynes,LyttonStrachey,andLeonardWoolf.Andfasterthaneither
of themcaredto imagine,theywerebecominghistorynow-captive
spirits.
Betweenthem,then,wasthetacitunderstanding thateachwould
speakappreciatively,if briefly,abouttheothershouldhis namecome
up.Aninnocentanecdoteorthoughtful a thoughtful
parenthesis, smile
- thatwoulddo it. Mooreadmirably disguisedhis dismaywhenhe
learnedthat Russellwould be attendingthat night'smeeting.The
speaker,a visitingprofessorfromthe Universityof Chicago,might
as well havestayedhome.It wasWittgenstein andRusselltheycame
to see, andthe normalaudienceof two or threedozenswelledto a
standing-room crowdof morethana hundred.
Russellwas the firstto arrive,accompanied by a littlethrongof
studentsandseveraldons. Russellobservedthe etiquette:straighta-
way, he wentup to Mooreandwarmlyshookhis hand.The master
courtieraskedaboutDorothy,Moore'swife. He askedaboutMoore's
two sons,justdemobilized,thenturned,in passing,to askof Moore's
healthandwork.Well... saidMoore,reachingfora comparable ques-
tion(wondering,thatis, whichwife or mistressRussellwas on). Tell
me, resumedthe politicMoore,altogethersidesteppingthe sensitive
questionof woman.How areyourchildren?
Very well - oh, very well indeed....
And so they stood, makingblandsmalltalk, waitingfor Witt-
gensteinwhile answeringthe usualnervousquestionsfrompeople
whonoseduplike frightenedfry,searchingforsomepretextto shake
Russell'shand-longing to feel theheatof his geniuswhileinwardly
marvelingor carpingat the least thingshe said, as if geniusmust
alwaysbe radiantlymanifest,like the emanationsfrom some true
magneticnorth.
The voltagejumpedwhenWittgensteinarrivedwith his contin-
gent.He walkedrightupto Russell,thewaypartingbeforehim.The
two menobservedthe sameetiquette,shakinghandsandwhispering

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236 the antioch review

inaudiblepleasantries,all too awareof the eyes uponthem.It was

too civil for words- too civil to last, Mooresaw.He quicklycalled
the meetingto order.
Thespeakerwasa large,balding,petulantman.Hispaper,entitled
"The Articulationof MoralRules," was a thicketof grammarand
conjecture grownoverassortedcategorical holesin whichrabbitscon-
sortedwithporcupinesto producepolecats.The speakerknewWitt-
genstein'sreputationas a spoiler,andwhenWittgensteinraisedhis
handimmediatelyafterward,the manwas gunningfor him.
Lookingupthoughtfully, Wittgenstein said,Thesecategoriesyou
haveformoralvalues.It'sall so tidy,everythingin its place,as in an
apothecary's shop.Leavingasidethisquestionable businessaboutar-
ticulation,I am quiteconfusedby thesecategories.
Well, retortedthe speaker,anxiousto landthe firstpunch.I un-
derstandyou'reconfusedby a greatmanythings,Dr. Wittgenstein.
Infact,fromwhatI understand, you'vedoneanadmirable jobyourself
in the confusiondepartment.
The gloves were off. Staringholes throughhim, Wittgenstein
said,It'syourworkwe'rediscussingtonight,not mine.AndI would
sayyou'vebuiltyouredificebyexercisingwhatI wouldcallairrights.
First, you must lay a foundation- somethingon the ground.
Wittgensteindid notreactto the guffawhe got at air rights.The
crowdwas roused.Russell,meanwhile,was chafingto wadein and
singleoutWittgenstein,butthediscussionbetweenWittgenstein and
the speakergrewso heatedhe couldn'tget a wordin.
Russellwasalmostpanting.Hekeptopeninghismouth,snatching
gulpsof air, waitingforhis chanceto seize Wittgenstein by theears.
Moorewas raisinghis gavel. The speakerwas on the mat;he knew
he was aboutto get trouncedandhe was stalling.Sweatgleamedon
his forehead.Redin the face, he leaneddownponderously, his wat-
tlingcheeksshakingasheuttered,All I'veheardfromyouarecharges,
generalities!Again,Dr. Wittgenstein.Ask me somethingspecific.
I'd be happyto, saidWittgenstein.He wasgettingreadyto make
a point- one several steps down the line - and in so doing, he had
absent-mindedly pickedup a pokerfromthehearthbesidehim. Witt-
genstein did not brandishor even pointthe pokerat the speaker.He
justheldit abstractlyandsaid,Good.We'llhaveno moreconfusion.
Hereis a directandhighlyspecificquestion.Justgive meoneexample
of an unassailablemoralrule.
One? roared the speaker,graspingthe sidesof the podiummen-

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 duck-wabbit 237

acingly.Justone, you ask?Yes,HerrDoktor,I'll be happyto!Never

threatenspeakers withpokers!
Theaudiencegasped.Moore'sgavelbangeddown.Wittgenstein
wascompletelyshockedto see everyeye uponhimas if he hadindeed
thrustthe pokerin the man'sface. His eyes blazedat the speaker-
later,some saidtheythoughthe wouldhurlthe ironat him. Clang!
Peoplejumpedas the iron rangon the hearth.Jaw set with fury,
Wittgensteinlungedfor the door,his legs movinglike whips.
Wittgenstein!called Moore, standingup. Moorecalled him a
secondtime, andnotunsympathetically, seeingthatWittgenstein had
meantnothingby thepoker.ButRusselldrownedhimoutas hejumped
up, shouting,Wittgenstein!Come-back-at-once!
LordRussell!remonstrated Moore,rappingthe gavel.
Russellcouldn'thearhim. Neverhadthey seen the unrufflable
Russellin sucha state.Why,theythoughtthe old boy wouldcharge
out anddragWittgensteinback, so furiouswas he at beingcheated
of the last word. But of Russell'ssudden,extravagant anger,what
they most remembered was how he shookhis fist at Wittgenstein's
departingback,bellowing:
Runaway,then!Butit'syou,Wittgenstein! Yooooouarethesource
of confusion!

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