Proposition One, Point One, and Beyond

Proposition One, Point One, said Wittgenstein, ignoring the flow of conversation, is this:

The world is the totality of facts, not of things.

That's quite good, said Irma. That means there are not just icecreams, but facts about icecreams as well, that make up the world.

Yes, said Emma. Such as this icecream has raisins in it. And that icecream is smeared all over Professor Freud's glasses.

Oh, said Professor Freud. Is that why I can't see?

Would you like to borrow my handkerchief? asked Saint Nicholas.

No thank you, said Professor Freud stiffly.

What's the matter? asked Saint Nicholas.

There may be certain facts about your handkerchief, said Professor Freud.

I assure you there are not, said Saint Nicholas. Do go on, Ludwig, he said to Wittgenstein.

Ludwig! giggled Emma.

Be quiet, Emma, said Professor Freud.

Does anyone understand what I'm saying? asked Wittgenstein.

Yes of course we do, said Irma. You are saying that philosophy does not need a special language.

Then, said Wittgenstein, I see that I may skip to my final proposition, which is Proposition Seven.

Good, said Saint Nicholas, because we really must be going soon. What is it?

It is, said Wittgenstein, as follows:

What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.

I can't agree with that, said Professor Freud.

Not More Insect Adventures!

I have more interactions with insects than with any other creatures. Take yesterday afternoon.

There I was, sitting in an armchair in the bank, waiting to deposit some cash. It was very busy in the bank, and every armchair was occupied. That is why I was sitting next to another person. If it isn't busy, you leave an empty chair between yourself and the next person, in a bank.

Suddenly I felt something tickling my bare arm. I looked down to see what it was. It was a tiny insect. So tiny that, had another person spotted it, they might well have thought I was suffering from some sort of infestation, of which the tiny bug was evidence.

Fortunately, the insect was on my left arm, and the person I was sitting next to was on my right. Also, I was on the end of a row, so there was no one next to me on the side where the tiny insect was walking down my arm.

Therefore I made bold to put on my glasses, and take a closer look at the tiny insect. It was indeed a very tiny one, but with my glasses on I could see that it had wings. I caught it up on my finger and took a closer look. It flew away. But seconds later I could feel it walking down my leg. It was a hot day and I was wearing shorts.

Perhaps it was the hotness of the day that caused me to do nothing. I think another person would have flicked the tiny insect off at this point. After all any one observing could be forgiven for concluding that I was infested with at least two insects. In fact the thought did cross my own mind momentarily. But there was just the one. I sat in my armchair, letting the tiny insect walk wherever it liked all over my leg, while I waited for my number to be called.

Easter Story 3

What a nice young man that Jesus was, said Pliny the Elder this morning. We had quite a long chat. We discovered we were both alive at the same time. I showed him some of my writings and he admired them very much. He said he was beginning to wish he had at least kept some sort of a diary. And did you know he saved the life of a small creature this morning? There was a ladybird drowning in the shower. I had seen it myself but not taken much notice. Later I saw it had been placed on the side of the bath, to dry out. A bit later on it was gone. I presume he took it carefully outside and placed it gently on a flower.

Pliny, I said severely. That is just how rumours start. It was I who saved the ladybird, and I can prove it by telling you the story. I was about to get out of the shower. I looked down and saw, in a corner, some hairs and two small round things, one larger than the other. I took a blue tissue from the tissue box and wiped up the lot in one sweep. I looked at the tissue. The larger of the round things had a ladybirdish look, but no legs. I went to get my glasses. It was a ladybird. I placed it on the side of the bath. After a minute it put out a few legs. Then I went to get dressed. When I came back it was gone. How do you like the story so far? Enough details to prove it was me?

No, said Pliny. Maybe he had gone into the bathroom while you were getting dressed, seen the ladybird and taken it outside.

Maybe, but I haven't finished the story, I said. I looked everywhere in that bathroom. On the floor, the window sill, in the bath, and even down the plughole, where it was very, very dark. Suddenly I saw the ladybird clinging to the side of the bath on the outside, looking small and disorientated. I went to the kitchen and picked up a little pink plastic bowl, returned to the bathroom and poked the ladybird. She fell to the floor. I scooped her up into the bowl, and carried her outside, where I placed her gently on a brick next to a pot of basil, and, as I realised a bit later on when I went back out to see if she was still there, a nest of ants. Now do you believe me?

Yes, said Pliny the Elder. How irritating you are. And was she still there?

No, she wasn't.