Wittgenstein smiled at the congregation, as he continued. "A serious and good philosophical work could be written consisting entirely of jokes".
"Congregations", an old man said, "don't go beyond the lowest common", as he was about to find for himself.
A sense of calm prevailed over the room, as Ludwig glanced to its farthest reaches. A peaceful acknowledgement, or a confused look, Wittgenstein was attempting to figure.
As he came around, counting more heads today than usual, he wondered what piqued things. "It can't be my thesis", he answered his unborn question, as the rabbit lay cosy in the hat.
There is something perplexing about such peace. Is it one before the storm or one way after another, lingers around without an answer. For someone who chucked it all became a dogged architect fighting over 3cms, it wasn't a bad idea.
"So, that is why I don't call it a table", Ludwig continued; "the elephant there has four legs but a trunk too and eats trees". "Elephants aren't cannibals, after all", a brief pause broke as the crowd burst into laughter.
As the laughter subsided in the hall, confusions changed places, Ludwig questions himself. The worst questions come by when your view goes south and Wittgenstein's no exception. An elephant and table's joke got a handful of laughs, nay a lecture hall full, philosophy though, lost.
With architecture given up earlier, Ludwig wonders of his next choice. Teaching philosophy over jokes, he rethinks, doesn't work with humans. Nietzsche's Ghost over Sils Maria looms, or so Wittgenstein thinks, as he turns away.
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