Russell's Paradox

Excerpt from Russell’s Paradox

 

 

 

ACT II

 

                                                            SCENE 1

 

(Russell’s room in Cambridge. A vase displays a bouquet of roses. Wittgenstein, deep in thought, paces up and down, occasionally bumping into walls and furniture.)

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN (Aloud)

There must be a way out…  There is no such thing as a philosophical cul-de-sac.

                                                (He walks some more, his hands locked behind him. Enter                                                         Russell.)

 

                                                            RUSSELL

Hullo, Wittgenstein. I’m sorry I’m late. The train from London was delayed for a few minutes because of a signal problem.

                                                (He sits in his chair. He looks at the flowers for a few                                                    seconds, smiles to himself.)

 

                                                            RUSSELL

Where did the roses come from ?

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

They’re from me.

 

                                                            RUSSELL

Why?

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

I had been thinking about our last meeting, which ended in a row… I know I used harsh words, but I didn’t mean to insult you.

 

                                                            RUSSELL

You mean the argument we had about my publishing a book on philosophy for the layman?

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

Yes.

 

                                                            RUSSELL

Wittgenstein, I’m never hurt by words spoken in the heat of an argument. I have had spirited arguments with everyone in Cambridge… Whitehead, Moore, Keynes… Besides, you did not attack me personally. All you said was that writing a book on philosophy for the masses was demeaning to a professional philosopher… I do not agree with you, so let the matter drop.

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

Yes.

                                                (Wittgenstein walks around the office, deep in thought, his                                                         pace quickening as he walks. Russell stares at him for a                                                             while, without speaking.)

 

                                                            RUSSELL

You seem agitated, Wittgenstein. Is anything wrong?

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

When I think of the problems in philosophy, my thoughts, initially clear and straightforward, end up in a maze of doubts… I try to find a way to a clear road but end up with no idea of where I am…

 

                                                            RUSSELL

I know the feeling only too well… When I was developing the logic for numbers using the theory of sets, I ran into a brick wall when I discovered the Barber’s Paradox… And for several weeks after that, I was like a lost man until one day the solution came to me in a flash and I was able to move forward.

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

Actually, my problem is that I don’t have a specific problem that I can state clearly, like you were able to do. My problem is with language itself, the language we use to state problems. Language provides us with vocabulary and grammar, and the trouble begins when we try to represent reality using words and grammar. (He paces.) Look at use of the word “is”, which we use a thousand times a day. It means one thing when you say “four plus three is seven” and another when you say “Mr. Jones is brave”. In one case you use it to express arithmetical equality and in the other you use it to describe a characteristic or property. The same thing goes for “has”, as shown by “Mr. X has a sword” and “Mr. X has a headache”. In the first case the statement denotes an ownership relation between a specific object and a specific person, and in the second case it denotes a vague, tenuous, unverifiable solipsism. (Pleadingly) You see what I mean, don’t you, Russell? I’m trying to use logic to build the foundations of philosophy, just as you used logic to build the foundations of mathematics. In order to do that, there must be a logically perfect language… I don’t know how to do build one yet… And even if I did build such a perfect language, what will philosophy look like after I apply the language to it? Will philosophy be more than a collection of logical statements that are verifiable by independent observers? And, if every complex logical statement is be broken down into its component simple logical statements, how will we know if each such atomic statement has its counterpart in reality? (Putting his hand over his head in a gesture of despair) I don’t know the answers and I’m being driven mad.

 

                                                            RUSSELL (Gently)

You are being hard on yourself, Wittgenstein. (Smiling) We have an English proverb – I don’t know its German equivalent – which says “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”.

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

In German, it is “Wer viel arbeitet, muß auch mal ausspannen”.

 

                                                            RUSSELL

Yes, that is the gist of it… you’ve been working too hard… You skip regular meals and make do with a biscuit or a bun when you get hunger pangs… You complain of fits of dizziness… You should spend time outdoors, swim in the river Cam, or rent a boat and row up and down the river, and it will relax you. Or, go for a long walk in the lovely English countryside - pick up bread, cheese and a couple of bottles of ale, and find a nice rustic bench to have lunch. (Reminiscently) Moore and I used to go on walking tours, when we were your age, and we would come back refreshed and fit. Ask one of your friends to go on a walking tour to Norfolk or Suffolk, it will do you a world of good…

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

I want to be alone… I want to live like a hermit, entirely by myself. Not for a few days, but for several years… I’m thinking of moving to Norway.

 

                                                            RUSSELL

Why Norway?

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

Here in Cambridge there are too many distractions – lectures, people dropping in, clubs, parties, dinners. (With great effort) I feel I do not belong here… I don’t like most of the people here, apart from you and my friend Pinsant, they aren’t very sympathetic towards me, and I, on the other hand, feel contempt towards them as I see them strutting like peacocks, spreading their intellectual feathers, trying to outsmart one another in debates at the Moral Sciences Club or the Apostles. Then I feel guilty. I feel I have no right to be contemptuous of them since I haven’t done any great intellectual work myself. I think the reason I feel that I’m a misfit lies in my own nature and that is why I’m planning on leaving.

 

                                                            RUSSELL

But Norway! During winter months it is cold and dark. You don’t even get to see the sun rising in the morning.

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

That’s fine with me. I hate daylight.

 

                                                            RUSSELL

It is a godforsaken place, Wittgenstein. The only people that you get to see are shepherds and fishermen.

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN

I prefer their company to that of the intellectuals in Cambridge. I feel I can breathe easier.

 

                                                            RUSSELL (Shaking his head)

You must be mad, Wittgenstein.

 

                                                            WITTGENSTEIN (Angrily)

If I’m mad, may God protect me from your kind of sanity, Mr. Bertrand Russell!

                                                (He walks up and down furiously).