The letter from Wittgenstein
From the case book of Sherlock Holmes
As recorded by Dr Watson/ Kvant
Chapter one.
The letter from Wittgenstein
1
“This letter is from Wittgenstein”. Holmes voice was ice cold.
A rather anonymous looking envelope, stamped in Cambridge on October the 25th, had arrived at Baker Street two days later, moist, damped and the paper had yellowed. The postman delivered it personally although it was insufficiently stamped for such a service.
“Would you sign here, sir, if you would, please”, demanded the postman. His uniform shining new, he was a worthy representative of the British civil service at its very best. He could do with a haircut, though, I thought. “Was he Scottish by any chance?
The famous detective scrutinised the envelope, tore open the letter rapidly, studied carefully its content, folded it again thoughtfully and placed it in his inner pocket. The postman, arranging his bag, hadn’t yet left.
“This may prove to be our last case, Watson”, said Holmes. “No more cases will remain in now. Mr Postman, would that be all?»
“Yes of course, excuse me. I’ll be on my way”. Holmes accompanied him to the door, closing it with care.
Clearly the famous detective was concerned. His forehead in wrinkles, eyes half shut, he turned sharply, snapping his fingers as if to shake off something.
“I’m afraid we must prepare to leave now at once, Watson. Remember to trust no one, keep to ourselves until we have finished. Guard this treasure as if it were all that is the case. The risk however, my dear friend, is far from negligible at all, that we may not return from this as people once remembered us”, said Holmes.
It did seem unlikely somehow, that a letter of this appearance could be of recent origin so I wanted to ask Holmes what he thought of it. Living so close to the great detective for so many years had taught me to observe even the minuteness of details. Wasn’t this after all the very essence of Holmes’ so very successful methods?
Holmes glanced puzzled at me and handed me the letter. It was clearly addressed to him.
Holmes
221B Baker Street
London
I opened it. Was it really from Wittgenstein? How could it be?
The famous Austrian philosopher didn’t exist any longer. He died in 1951. Was it at all possible that a letter from him could arrive now? Had he composed it himself all these years ago? If so, where had the letter been? Who had posted it? And why indeed had he chosen to write to Holmes in the first place on these matters?
It was by no means an elegant letter, simply hand-written with a ball-pen on his note-paper. It was stained with damp marks everywhere and clearly not of recent origin. Thousands and one questions rushed through my mind as I read the content of the letter. The text was very short, condensed.
1.World too narrow! Even if, as I have proved, there is only one.
1.1.The World was all that was the case
1.2.If truth was true, then truth is true now.
1.3.Does future exist?
1.3.1.Butterflies, grids and quantum physics.
2.Will truth prevail? - Probability is left with no choice.
2.1.Probability is man’s free will
3.Methods inadequate
4.(line was empty, erased, smeared or spotted with a liquid)
5.Speech not essential
5.1.Oysters do not speak much
5.2.Darwin and hubris govern still
6.Please join at Diogenese Club on October 27th at 1700 hours precisely.
6.1.Better keep quiet about silence.
6.2.Necessarily named Ludwig, ha! not him. Your destiny forever.
7.A priori.
8.Proof available but now to short to write it down!
Servus, for ever. Ludwig.(Wittgenstein)
This was all that the letter contained.
A rather strange kind of letter, undisputedly.
I pride myself of a good portion of common sense but this letter required Moore. It certainly made little sense to me. My linguistic skills are no worse than anybody’s but the text clearly needed to be broken down further to be analysed, understood and verified.
“What do you make of it? Holmes”, I asked.
Holmes stood by the French window, looking out onto the foggy October-misty London street. The tulle curtains trickled the feeble afternoon light falling on his figure further sculpturing his chin. I glanced at him, subordinately.
“Elementary, my dear friend, they are not, these thesis”, answered Holmes somewhat contemptuously. “And if had they been, I’m afraid it wouldn’t have brought us much closer. However, once we’ve understood what this is about, then we may very well forget all about it.. Watson, is it not but too obvious that we know far too little? Holmes paused, sighing..
“Is it really from Wittgenstein”, I asked Holmes. “ It certainly is signed Ludwig (Wittgenstein) and it looks old enough. But, could it be a malicious hoax or the act of an adulterator? I mean, he’s been dead for some time already, not forgotten, no, but physically his body is no longer with us. He must have sent this letter way back in 1950 or so. To invite us to meet him today at the Diogenes Club. Is someone trying to trap us into something? No, surely all this is too improbable”.
“Watson, the letter is from Wittgenstein. No doubt about that. It’s written by someone of philosophical disposition and you see yourself, that the letter finishes with the greeting “Servus”, which is a courtesy phrase exclusively used by Austrians. And it’s stamped in Cambridge, where Wittgenstein lived most of his life”.
“Circumstantial proof”, Holmes, “and not at all like you”, I protested. “Any philosophically minded Austrian might cook up such a forgery”.
“True, but you can see that the letter was written in great haste. I think you agree, Watson, that a more than brilliant mind is needed to coin such eternal thesis so quickly. And after all, only Wittgenstein would have whistled Beethoven’s Destiny symphony whilst writing such an intricate and complicated letter. He was a brilliant whistler and was particularly fond of whistling the symphonies of Ludwig van Beethoven”.
“Holmes! Whistled van Beethoven? How can you tell that he whistled a piece of Beethoven?
“Watson, the stains! All over the letter you see the damp patches as if the page had been sprinkled by a sneeze. But on closer scrutiny you will notice that the patches are not randomly distributed but follows an up and down pattern, displacing along the text, just as we would expect them to be, moving your head slightly up and down when you whistle. And with the air flow from one’s mouth follows, of course, tiny droplets of saliva, inevitably, yellowing with time to become visible”.
“In fact, it wouldn’t surprise if he had been whistling his fifth symphony at the time. He even jokes about it himself in thesis n° 6.2.”, Holmes continued.
Holmes whistled “The Destiny Symphony” by Beethoven and we were able to follow the up and down pattern to match exactly the ones on the paper. The letter had turned into music scores.
"Strange though". Holmes eyes shrunk. His sight dimmed. The symphony was composed in c-minor and it seems to me as if he whistled a semitone out of key. Well we must ask Wittgenstein himself, perhaps he had his reasons at the time. It would take us too far on the road of guesswork to speculate at this stage”. Holmes eyes had blackened, his pupils hardly visible.
“Well, yes, I see”, I said disillusioned and nodded. “That’s all cleared then”. I was rather thoughtful and still puzzled, confronted with the possible implications of these facts.
“No, the enigma, Watson, is that he has written the letter after his death!"
“But Holmes that’s absurd, no one can write anything after one’s death, letter or not”, I objected. “Why do you say such things? ”
“The letter is hand written with a ball-pen. And the ball-pen was yet to be invented in 1951 when Wittgenstein died. This matter is very serious, Watson, and we should put everything else aside. It’s the most important case we’ve faced so far”. Holmes was portentously solemn.
“But enough of this now, we are, as I said, in a hurry. And again, Watson, please remember, not a sign, a sound, stay incognito! This is of primordial importance. Many a life may depend on it. And still, imagine, there are people who think philosophy is dying when in fact this kind of problems has only just begun.”
Holmes, who undisputedly isn’t recognised primarily for his gayety, gave up a short nervous laughter. He took his coat, hat and stick, ready to leave.
“I have felt it coming for a long time”, said Holmes. “Had it not been for the GAP, it would have been very promising indeed. But I fear what we will witness, may widen the GAP still further. Indeed, we may even contribute to it. This is the paradox of continuity.”
"You mustn’t be too puzzled though, Watson”, continued Holmes. “It’s still a bit early to completely comprehend all this. We will discuss it with Wittgenstein later and thus it will become much clearer to everybody.”
I was used not always to be able to follow the great detective’s quick-witted mind but this, I must admit, was rather too much.
We left. Holmes shut the door behind us firmly as to make sure he’d left everything in order. We descended the staircase and walked out into the greyish London mist. The shop windows continued raying their seductive suggestions as usual. Pavements full of passers by and shoppers looking for yet something to buy perhaps. The traffic was intense. Nothing moved fast. Holmes looked at his watch.
“A brisk walk will do us good”, I suggested.
Said and done, we decided to walk to the Diogonese Club instead of taking a cab. Holmes said nothing and seemed composed. There were people all around us, heading for whatever their aim. Holmes walked purposefully, almost colliding with by-passers.
“Most people go home after work”; I said catching my breath. “Then they have a drink or two and then they switch on the TV to let time pass by”.
“Quite”, said Holmes very short. “That’s part of the GAP”.
“What do you mean? Holmes”, I asked. “How I wish that sometimes people would express themselves clearer”.
“Exactly”, said Holmes.
1
Chapter two
The logical room
1
We arrived at the Diogenes Club, my friend and myself. The main entrance was closed, which is rare.
“We’ve had an incident. Our guardian was taken ill”, the doorman excused himself. “I’ve replaced him on a temporary basis”. He seemed a bit bewildered with his long hair and his foreign accent. He looked familiar somehow. Had we seen him before? Surely not.
Holmes, being the celebrity he is, was of course recognised immediately and we were admitted straight away although we possessed no membership cards. The doorman opened a side door for us. His wrist carried a tattoo, rather a grim looking one too, I thought. Perhaps was he a seaman? Somewhat displaced really to have such a character as doorman at a reputable club like this one. Holmes passed quickly, almost pushing me trough as well. We stopped in the lounge as if to scout. The atmosphere was dense, as always. The brass knobs polished, the mahogany varnish well maintained. The club is still well managed indeed. We saw fewer people than normal there. Some read the Times. A few smoke cigars and some had their glass of Port. The pots of palm trees contributed to the special odour.
We entered the chambers. Holmes looked around, searching.
“Holmes”, I said. “I think that is von Wright sitting over there. He seems sad somehow.”
“He has his reasons”, answered Holmes. “I’m looking for my brother, Mycroft, he understands a thing or two”.
Behind us someone approached and his deep voice was not to be confused:
“ Sherlock, my dear brother. I haven’t seen you for a long time. Please join our company. We are in here”.
Mycroft took his brother by the arm and lead us along into a back room.
“They call it “The Logical Room”, laughed Mycroft. “It is rather funny, isn’t it?”
Only my professional experience protected my sanity. Years of treating people going through sometimes devastating traumas have taught me to handle even severe chocks. What I saw in this room was not possible however, this I knew, and still there he was in front of my very eyes.
Wittgenstein in person sat at the table looking down, whistling slowly. He was smoking.
“Delighted to meet you again at last, Holmes”, said Wittgenstein. “Sorry about the letter but as you realise there was no other option. The thing is, I need your help with a particularly awesome case”.
I was stunned. My world order collapsed. Wittgenstein had after all been a real person, not a fictitious one like Holmes and me. He couldn’t be here now. He died in 1951. That was in the past. And yet, he shook hands with Holmes, who smiled and remarked that no one had heard much from him lately.
“No, it is true, that I’ve been dead awhile”, said Wittgenstein smiling. “I didn’t mean to, but that was all that was the case. It has permitted me, though, to keep quiet about a few things I that I couldn’t know about. It has its moments to be left with some peace, though, to go through a few loose ends without being too distracted by insignificant things. It’s a state that is normally not to be recommended but it does have a few advantages nevertheless, as a matter of fact.”
“To speak the truth, I’m deeply worried. All the elements are there and yet no one seems aware of its implications. We have the power to avoid the worst crime humanity has ever been threatened with and still it is not clear how to. My present state of health forbids me to prevent it all by myself. I must rely on your help, Sherlock. After all, in this respect, I’m less fortunately equipped than you are. Your existence being less time dependant, alas.”
1
Chapter three
The boundary conditions.
1
Holmes sat down. So did Mycroft and Wittgenstein. The clock struck five.
“Please do take part, Dr Watson”, said Wittgenstein invitingly. “We all value your views and sound mind. May we even ask you to take down some minutes?
I sank down slowly in the armchair, incapable of grasping my role. My mind at this moment was far from sound.
“I’ve expected your letter, Ludwig”, said Holmes. “It was bound to arrive. Recent events as well as all the familiar ones inevitably lead to your conclusions. You are no less brave today than yesterday”.
“I agree”, said Mycroft. “Perhaps the problem lies elsewhere?” he suggested tryingly.
“Sherlock”, said Wittgenstein. “Mycroft and I have already discussed things thoroughly. Yet we fail to conclude. There is also the aspect of common knowledge to address. This side, I’ve learnt over the years, is of no less importance. We all realise, in view of our findings, this side to be indeed the basis of what we realise. But common knowledge becomes so only when that happens. This is another issue where I need all your help. All we are certain of, is that it’s of utmost urgency and capital potency”.
I felt entirely bewildered. What were they talking about? And I was supposed to take records and write it down!
“Pardon me, but may I interrupt shortly?” I asked humbly. “Would it be of great inconvenience if, to get my minutes down correctly, someone gave a short background?”
“Not at all, Dr Watson”, said Wittgenstein. “Right, this is in fact exactly my view. My compliments to you, Dr Watson. All your work also proofs your exquisite talent in recording events. No one is held in higher esteem, I can assure you”.
Wittgenstein concentrated, as is his habit, walked around us, looking up, looking down, his sight elsewhere.
“The background, well, I think events that happen are somehow glued onto it, the background I mean, with couplings of some sort. Do you understand better now, Dr Watson?
I wasn’t much convinced, quite frankly, but my inner pride prevented me from demanding further clarifications.
“I’ve come to rethink some of my earlier thoughts”, said Wittgenstein. “But as I haven’t been present lately, I have had no information at all on what others may have concluded lately. Can someone brief me rapidly?»
“The practical side of life has never been my strong point”, said Mycroft. “I haven’t got a clue”.
“My views are not less biased, I’m afraid”, said Holmes. “As you know, I’ve been preoccupied with the criminal aspect of human behaviour. I certainly haven’t heard anything spectacular.
“May we ask you, Dr Watson, to fill us in?» Wittgenstein turned his head towards me.
I was lost. How could I possibly lecture these people and the very Wittgenstein in particular even if he asked me to? And about what? I realised Wittgenstein wanted to learn about recent events but in which field? About what? I hesitated rather too long and Wittgenstein, eager and intense as always, continued himself.