Introduction To Tractatus - Friedrick Hustler

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Cover Design: Ingrid Truemper
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hülster, Friedrich, 1905–1992

Introduction to Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-
Philosophicus / Friedrich Hülster
translator O’Hea, W. E.
editors Truemper, Ingrid and Truemper, Klaus
Includes bibliographical references and subject index.
ISBN 0-9663554-5-8
1. Wittgenstein Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. 2. Introduction
Table of Contents
Editors’ Note . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Author’s Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Chapter 1 The World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
1.1 The World Common to All Men 13

1.2 Things and Facts 16
1.3 Elementary Things and Elementary Facts 20
1.4 Properties 23
1.5 Logical Form of Things 29
1.6 Essential Unconnectedness of Facts 30
1.7 Things, the Substance of the World 34
Chapter 2 Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
2.1 Means of Communication 37

2.2 Wittgenstein’s Picture Theory 39
2.3 Wittgenstein’s Idea of a Picture 41
2.4 True and False Pictures 46
2.5 Logical Form Common to Picture and Reality 47
2.6 Form of Representation 48
2.7 Thoughts and Speech Propositions 48
2.8 Elements and Structure of Verbal Pictures 51
Table of Contents 4
2.9 Elementary Propositions 53

2.10 Precise Definition of the Tractatus Problem 56
2.11 Intellectual Value of the Picture Theory 59
Chapter 3 Efficiency of Speech . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62

3.1 Peculiarities of Picture Components 63
3.2 Simple Propositions 66
3.3 Negation in Simple Propositions 73
3.4 Compound Propositions by Logical Operations 75
3.5 Universal Propositions 83
3.6 Propositions About Intentions 85
Chapter 4 Misuse of Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89

4.1 Colloquial and Scientific Misuses 89
4.2 Traditional Philosophy 90
4.3 Inadmissibility of Philosophical Propositions 93
4.4 Inadmissible Questions 99
Chapter 5 Genuine Philosophy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103

5.1 Tasks of Philosophy 103
5.2 Philosophical Method and the Tractatus 104
Appendix A Time Relations in Physics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
Appendix B Elementary Things and Facts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
Table of Contents 5
About Author and Translator . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115

About the Author 115
About the Translator 117
Subject Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118

Editors’ Note
The editors of this book are a grandniece and nephew of author

Friedrich Hülster.
After the death of Hülster in 1992 and his wife Eva Hülster in
1996, the nephew received from the executor of the estate a large
box containing Hülster’s writing about philosophy, all of which is
in German. The box included an introduction to Wittgenstein’s
Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, which we had known about, but
also, rather unexpectedly, an English translation by W. E. O’Hea.
This book is based on that material. The delay in issuing this book
has a simple explanation. For many years, it was not clear how
the material could be published, since it seemed unlikely that a
publisher would anticipate sufficient profit to print the material.
But that is no longer a concern. The future of books lies in electronic
versions, and they can be produced and distributed without help of
a publisher.
The editors have freely modified the text to clarify or revise state-
ments, and to update the spelling to US English.
Citations of Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus are based
on a 1961 edition that contains the translation by D. F. Pears and
B. F. McGuinness. Wittgenstein assigned decimal numbers to para-
graphs. Citations use these numbers even when a portion of the
material is quoted. Here and there, we have adjusted a citation to
achieve a US English version that, we hope, properly represents the
original German version of the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus.
Editors’ Note 7
To keep the presentation uncluttered, the modifications of the trans-

lation by O’Hea as well as of the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
citations are not specially marked.
As an aside, the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus is available free of
charge from several websites; just google “Wittgenstein Tractatus
free pdf.”
About Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
In 1921, Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein (1889-1951) published

a landmark book in philosophy, the Tractatus Logico-Philosophi-
cus. The book, now often just called the Tractatus, puts forth a
picture theory of the meaning of language. There is little doubt
that Wittgenstein would have been upset by this characterization.
He would have been right, too. There is no brief way to characterize
the main hypotheses and conclusions of the Tractatus. But clearly a
key goal, if not the key goal of Wittgenstein, was to help the reader
avoid errors of philosophy.
By 1929, Wittgenstein realized that important arguments of the
Tractatus were not correct. Indeed, in the subsequent book Philo-
sophical Investigations published in 1953 shortly after his death—
followed by a number of additional books assembled later from his
notes by his students—he set out to describe methods that, just as
intended by the Tractatus, help the reader avoid errors of philoso-
phy. But the approach had drastically changed.
Editors’ Note 8
In the preface of the Philosophical Investigations, he wrote that

the Tractatus contained “grave mistakes.” Despite Wittgenstein’s
harsh assessment, the Tractatus has been reprinted time and again.
There is good reason: Understanding the explanations put forth in
the Tractatus and then reading the Philosophical Investigations and
realizing why certain arguments are incorrect, is an excellent way to
see why determination of the meaning of language is so complicated.
Amazingly, current methods for the computation of meaning of lan-
guage often implicitly assume parts of the Tractatus to be correct
that according to results in the Philosophical Investigations are in
error. Accordingly, any such method must fail.
Why You May Want ...
... to read this book: If you are a person whose profession is not
philosophy, and if you are interested in the fundamental question
“What can be expressed by language?” then this book is a good
way to start an investigation of that question.
It is written by a physicist who for many years was baffled by the
fact that language is frequently abused. He then decided to focus
on the above question. He started out by studying the works of
Wittgenstein, who had dedicated most of his life trying to answer
this question.
Don’t be deterred from reading this book by the fact that Witt-
genstein later refuted the Tractatus. Actually, he desired to publish
the Tractatus together with the Philosophical Investigations, so that
the reader could see how the two works are related.
Editors’ Note 9
Wittgenstein is considered by some the most important philosopher

of the 20th century. We agree. The Tractatus is a work of genius.
Reading this little book about the Tractatus, you will not just un-
derstand the main arguments in that profound work of Wittgen-
stein, but—as an important side effect—you will also learn how
to recognize and cope with the nonsensical statements that swirl
around us and try to confuse us.
If reading this book motivates you to delve further into Wittgen-
stein’s works, then that is another positive effect.
Numerous Introductions and Commentaries ...
... exist about Wittgenstein’s Tractatus. When you google “Intro-

duction Wittgenstein Tractatus,” many references appear, some of
them recently published. Examples are G. E. M. Anscombe, An
Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus; Eli Friedlander, Signs of
Sense; Howard O. Mounce, Wittgenstein’s Tractatus; Alfred Nord-
mann, Wittgenstein’s Tractatus; Roger M. White, Wittgenstein’s
‘Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus’. These texts are important con-
tributions in philosophy and quite complex, even when described
as introductory.
In contrast, this book is not a technical work in philosophy, in fact is
not intended for the specialist. There is no attempt of completeness
of approach. But the book does bring out the fundamental ideas of
Wittgenstein’s Tractatus.
In the Author’s Preface, which immediately follows this note, Hülster
cites the book Wittgenstein und die moderne Philosophie (Wittgen-
Editors’ Note 10
stein and Modern Philosophy) by Justus Hartnack as an outstand-

ing example of a short, clear, and concise commentary of the Tracta-
tus that is accessible to nonspecialists. The book is indeed excellent,
but also really brief. It explains the Tractatus in just 45 pages of
small format. In contrast, this book covers the Tractatus at a more
leisurely pace, includes many examples, and is written from the
viewpoint of a physicist instead of a philosopher.
Acknowledgement
Thanks are due to a number of people who assisted in the publica-

tion. Mechthild Opperud and Ute Truemper reviewed a first version
of the book and suggested changes. Bettina Scheidegger and Jens
Trümper provided data about the author and the translator. Mark
Hittinger helped with technical aspects of the typesetting. The Uni-
versity of Texas at Dallas generously supported this effort; special
thanks are due to Provost Hobson Wildenthal.
Last but not Least
Since we made numerous changes in the translated text, any errors

in this book, of whatever kind, are ours alone.
I. T. and K. T.
Summer 2015
Author’s Preface
These notes had their origin in a habit of mine—dating from long

before I became acquainted with Wittgenstein’s book—of never be-
ing sure of understanding anything until I could write it down in my
own words. It seemed worthwhile to apply this method to the Trac-
tatus. When I began writing, I was not yet aware of the existence
of commentaries on the Tractatus which are not only profound but
easily understood. An outstanding example is the short book Witt-
genstein und die moderne Philosophie (Wittgenstein and Modern
Philosophy) by Justus Hartnack.
Is it still worthwhile today, so many years after its first appearance
in 1921, to work through the Tractatus, if one isn’t a professional
philosopher? Didn’t Wittgenstein himself at a later date, particu-
larly in his Philosophical Investigations—written between 1936 and
1949 and published posthumously in 1953—move away from his
earlier work and even subject it to sharp criticism?
Indeed, the later work of Wittgenstein is more general in content
than the Tractatus, since it treats the informational statements cov-
ered by the Tractatus as one among many possible language games.
But the method of research and exposition used in the Philosophical
Investigations is the same as in the Tractatus.
Both books agree to a great extent in their practically important
conclusions. In fact, the warning against the misuse of language
becomes more insistent in the Philosophical Investigations, and the
rejection of philosophy as a doctrine more radical.
Author’s Preface 12
Wittgenstein’s later work, although written almost entirely in ev-

eryday words and phrases, is not easy to understand. The reader
will hardly succeed in fathoming that material without having first
worked through the Tractatus.
Friedrich Hülster
Louveciennes, France, July 1969
Chapter 1
The World
1.1 The World Common to All Men
The Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, hence simply referred to as

Tractatus, begins with statements about the world. One could also
say that the book indirectly outlines what it means by “world.” We
will ignore that aspect for the moment and instead explore the use
of “world” in an informal discussion.
On the one hand, the concept of “world” is so broad that it escapes
direct definition, like the concepts of consciousness and existence.
On the other hand, “world” is not simply the same as “everything.”
Hence, we can only elucidate the concept of “world” by pointing to
particular aspects, and thus obtain limits of its use.
The word can be used in quite different senses. Among these, we
must disregard its often quite arbitrary use in everyday language
where, for example, it is applied to the earth or turns up in metaphors
like the “world of sounds.” Yet even if we confine ourselves to sci-
ence and philosophy, we find the concept of “world” occurring with
sharply differing emphasis upon its individual aspects, as in the
following examples.
“The world we live in.” This is the title of a book by Lincoln Bar-
nett. The chapters cover nature: its origins, its laws, and its struc-
ture from heavenly bodies down to microbes.
“The world of primitive man” and “The world views of 18th-century

philosophers.” Here a quite different aspect of the world concerns
various human groups.
“An aging man ceases to understand the world.” In this phrase from
Jean Amery’s book On Aging, the world is primarily a process in
which the individual is involved.
“The world created by God.” Here “world” particularly stresses the

idea of something which could exist in some other form or not exist
at all.
In contrast, the world of the Tractatus is the same for all think-
ing beings, the one about which their thoughts, if rightly formed,
must coincide. This presupposes that thoughts are communicable.
Consequently, the world only includes what can be the object of
communicable thoughts.
At this point, we find ourselves already in the midst of the problems

dealt with in the Tractatus. Indeed, it is by no means obvious what
is communicable. How far does this include man’s subjective activi-
ties, his imagination, his sensations and his feelings? Also, not every
object about which we can think and communicate necessarily be-
longs to the world; we must also find such an object actually present
in the world. And just what do we mean by “finding it present”?
No problem arises with physical things such as plants, animals or

houses. However, we can think and speak about centaurs, yet they
do not belong to the world. Must we then count our idea of centaurs
as part of the world?
Quite clearly, we do not find hexagonal circles or wooden iron in

the world, though we can say something even about these objects;
that is, that the idea of them is self-contradictory.
There are still more difficult questions. What about numbers and
geometrical figures, or any kind of ideal objects? What about nat-
ural laws? What about the human soul?
The above concept of the world therefore leads us to ontological

questions—that is, questions about the most general characteristics
of everything that exists. Questions of this kind are not, however,
Wittgenstein’s aim. In the Tractatus, he deals with something that
looks much more modest—that is, the nature of communication.
How is information passed on? What conditions must our speech
comply with so that genuine information is transferred? Lastly,
what can be so conveyed?
Before we can inquire into the nature of communication, we must

already have some, possibly vague, idea of what we want to convey.
Of course, the knowledge we want to convey influences the process
in which we convey it, and conversely.
Regardless of this interaction, we must begin with what is to be

communicated. For this reason, Wittgenstein puts the world at the
beginning of his considerations. It follows that complete answers to
the above metaphysical questions are not to be expected when the
idea of the world is first introduced. But as we accompany Wittgen-
stein in the course of the inquiry, we will gain some insight regarding
those questions.
1.2 Things and Facts
We first take a look with Wittgenstein at the world and observe to

what extent its parts are common, or at least capable of becoming
common, to all thinking persons.
The condition of commonality is that human beings are able to form
an identical judgement. In other words, they can discuss common
parts with one another without being at cross purposes.
Now we find in the world things and facts. We define these concepts
next, beginning with things.
We can divide things into two groups.
First, there are easily understood things, that is, things that we
either perceive directly, like houses, human beings, and planets. Or
things whose existence we conclude from their effects upon things
that we do perceive; examples are atoms, electromagnetic waves,
and animals that existed in earlier ages of the earth.
Human beings can reach agreement about all such things through
the exchange of information.
Second, there are things which obviously exist, but about which
we are unable to convey satisfactorily intelligible information to
anyone. Our own sense perceptions, pains, and feelings belong to
this class.
The color in my field of vision when I look at a cloudless sky, and
what makes it different from the color impression when I look at an
orange, are things that I cannot explain to anyone else, not even by
pointing to a color chart. For I do not know what the other person
experiences when looking at the same things.
If I describe to someone a pain in my shoulder as being acute,

dull, or shooting, then that person can only vaguely guess what
experience of her own may perhaps correspond to it.
Next we define the concept of facts.
In the world, we find relations between existing things. Between the
earth and the sun, there exists the relation that the earth is smaller
than the sun, and also the relation that the earth goes around the
sun. Between Plato and Socrates, there is the relation that Plato
was younger than Socrates, and also that he was a pupil of Socrates.
Wittgenstein calls relations between things facts.
It is easier for us to understand one another when we talk about
relations or connections between things—that is, about facts, than
when we talk about the things themselves.
In most cases, a thing has many characteristics. We can only men-
tion a few and do not know whether these are the essential ones for
the person we are talking with. For a mechanic, a car consists of
wheels, axles, pistons, and so on. For a scrap dealer, a car consists
of steel, brass, and aluminum, together with a few worthless pieces
of textiles and plastics.
In contrast, we can express ourselves with unmistakable clarity
about facts within our knowledge, even if we have no effective knowl-
edge of the things connected by the facts. For instance, when we
say, “The pills are in the blue box; they relieve headaches,” we are
always correctly understood. Yet we may not have the slightest idea
what these pills are made of.
In the past, people agreed about the facts that make up thermody-
namics—for example, that heat passes between bodies of different
temperatures—long before agreement could be reached about the

thing called heat.
The distinction between information concerning things and infor-
mation concerning facts comes out clearly in the different way we
speak of the two sorts of information. We say that we communicate
a fact, but we cannot say that we communicate a thing. We only
communicate something about a thing when we describe it.
The two ideas of things and facts can no more be defined than
the idea of the world discussed earlier. Philosophers call such ideas
categories.
To define any idea, we must state the more general class into which
it falls (genus proximum) and what special characteristics (differen-
tia specifica) distinguish it from the rest of the class. For example,
a rhombus is a parallelogram whose sides are equal.
Now a category cannot be defined in this way, nor in either of the
following two ways of definition, which at any rate are not always
considered to be admissible. These two ways are, first, an enumer-
ation of the characteristics of an idea and, second, an enumeration
of all the objects to which it applies.
In Wittgenstein’s view, everything that exists in the world can be
included in one or other of the two categories called things and
facts. This may astonish us. For example, properties of things, such
as being hard or green, appear to be neither things nor facts. Where
does human behavior such as honesty or constancy belong? What
about numbers and other subject matter of mathematics? What
about logic relations such as negation? What about properties and
property-like attributes ascribed to persons? What about abstract
ideas? In short, what about everything that since the time of Plato
has been included in the category of ideal objects?
As for ideal objects, it will become clear in the course of our inquiry
where they belong. But a look ahead is useful: Ideal objects in the
sense of things that we find in the world, do not exist; they do not
form part of what we can state about the world, but are part of the
process of making statements.
So how do we accomplish the description of a thing? The things
we encounter in the world are mostly not simple, but composed
of other things that are their constituent parts. Even these latter
parts are in most cases made up of other things. For example, a tree
is composed of a trunk, large and small branches, and leaves; the
leaves are made up of nerves and leaf tissue; the leaf tissue is made
of cells, which in turn consist of nucleus, plasm, and membrane; and
so on.
When we describe a complex thing, in our mind we take it apart into
pieces. By so doing, we discover new things which are its constituent
parts; we then stop considering the complex thing and focus on the
constituents. We also discover relations connecting these new things.
These relations are facts. For example, branches end in leaves, plasm
surrounds the nucleus of the cell.
The further we continue the process of description, the more we split
up constituent parts into their sub-constituent parts. At the same
time, we state the facts linking the larger units to the smaller ones.
At the end, we have obtained a chain of facts. The original thing and
its components have gradually faded out of our statements, leaving
finally the last sub-sub-constituents when we are unable to carry out
further analysis. In the example of the tree, the final components

would be the constituent parts of the cells or atoms.
When the analysis stops, we only have names for the final compo-
nents, and no further information about them.
1.3 Elementary Things and Elementary Facts
The description of any complex thing comes to a stop when we

reach a stage of analysis beyond which our knowledge ceases. Witt-
genstein, however, is of the opinion that there is a limit to the
possible analysis of things that is independent of our knowledge.
In this postulate, Wittgenstein follows the trend of thought called
atomism that was introduced by the philosopher Democritus (circa
460–370 BCE). Atomism received triumphant verification in the
natural sciences during the 20th century.
According to Wittgenstein’s postulate, in every analytical descrip-

tion we are bound to reach at last elementary things that cannot be
further analyzed and that we can only name. Our statements about
these things are confined to mentioning the relations in which they
occur—that is, the facts involving them. Let us call them elemen-
tary facts.
Naturally, one would like to see a practical example where the ana-
lytical description of a thing is continued down to elementary things
and elementary facts. However, Wittgenstein gives no such example
and—according to notes in his diary—concluded that he could not
do so.
Yet he believes that, even though he succeeded in proving that anal-

ysis of this kind practically cannot be carried out, the theoretical
possibility of such analysis follows from logical arguments.
He is certain that there is a limit to the analyzability of things; just
as for a mathematician, the total value of a converging infinite series
exists even if it cannot be found with step by step calculations.
To understand the difficulty of reaching elementary things, we must
bear in mind that Wittgenstein’s atomism, also called logical atom-
ism, is much wider in scope than physical theory. First, it covers
not only all physical things, but also all mental things capable of
being the object of communication. Second, it requires an analysis
pushed much farther than the physicist normally undertakes.
Given these considerations, we must expect that the analytical de-
scription of the world contains things other than physical elemen-
tary things—for instance, simplest space-time occurrences such as
rotation or momentary movement in a straight line, as well as simple
space or time relations like bigger than, beside, or earlier than.
We emphasize that in Wittgenstein’s phraseology the existence of a
relation between two things is a fact, but that a relation by itself is
not a fact but a thing. To call such dissimilar matters things may
seem rather artificial. In Hauptströmungen der Gegenwartsphiloso-
phie (Mainstream Contemporary Philosophy), Wolfgang Stegmüller
uses for the latter things the expression not-facts. But that defini-
tion is open to the objection that ideal objects then are not-facts
as well. Yet Wittgenstein does not include them among things.
An example illustrates the definitions. Plato and Socrates are things,
as is the relation “was younger than.” Then “Plato was younger
than Socrates” is a fact. Note that this fact can be viewed as a

sequence of three things: Plato, “was younger than”, Socrates.
Our physical knowledge of atoms furnishes us with a good working

model of Wittgenstein’s atomistic theory of logic, in spite of the
differences between them. In physics, we have pushed the analytical
description down to elements that cannot be further analyzed, but
whose relations can be indicated. At the same time, we cannot do
more than just give names to the elements themselves.
Physics also shows us how things that once passed for being ele-
mentary may dissolve under further analysis into things yet more
elementary and related to one another by new facts.
When the Tractatus appeared, atomic nuclei and electrons were

regarded as the ultimate building blocks of matter that could be
named, but whose nature could not be stated. What could be stated
were facts in which they occurred, such as their mutual attraction
or the distances between them inside the atom.
Since then, the complex theory of atomic nuclei, with their neutrons,
mesons, etc. and the intricate facts about how these are packed
together and how much energy they hold, has become tragically
famous through the development of nuclear weapons. Despite such
detailed insight, we still cannot predict where further analysis will
lead us. But some physicists hope that someday we shall come up
against particles which are absolutely and finally elementary.
It is difficult to understand why Wittgenstein thought it so impor-

tant that in the logical analysis of all the things in the world we
should come upon an absolute limit.
1.4 Properties 23
If the limit were dependent upon the knowledge we have at the

moment—in much the same way as is the case today in the natu-
ral sciences—this would not make much difference to his philoso-
phy. Indeed, it would not influence the account of his views given
here. For every stage of knowledge, it would remain true that the
world—common to all because we can inform one another about
it—contains only facts.
The ultimate frame of reference of facts—that is, the elementary
things—remains in the dark. This is the meaning of the first two
sentences of the Tractatus:
The world is all that is the case. (Tractatus 1)
The world is the totality of facts, not of things. (Tractatus 1.1)
The precedence of facts over things is completely familiar to the
physicist when research goals are defined. For instance, to the physi-
cist it would be beside the point to ask what kind of things electric-
ity and magnetism are; the task is completed when one can state
in an exhaustive manner the connection of electrical phenomena
with one another and the relations between electrical and magnetic
phenomena.
1.4 Properties
Suppose in the analytical description of some things we finally come

upon things that cannot be further analyzed. Can we really say
nothing else about these things other than that they are frames of
reference for certain relations and connections? Can’t we at least
state their properties? After all, properties such as being hard,
1.4 Properties 24
round, or blue play an essential part in the description of things

we commonly encounter. On the other hand, Democritus already
held that the atoms of the physical world must be propertyless.
In reality, if we found properties in them, we would be tempted to
explain them. To do this, we would have to suppose that the so-
called elementary particles are composed of still more elementary
ones. As long as we imagined the atoms of physics to be like little
balls, we were unable to avoid the curious question: What might be
inside them?
Likewise, the essence of Wittgenstein’s elementary things is that
they are without properties. Indeed, the properties of complex things
can be decomposed by analytical description and replaced by facts
in one of two ways. First, the facts are relations between the things
under consideration and other things. Second, the facts are relations
between component parts of the things considered.
Often, the derivation of the facts is easily done.
For instance, the first of the two alternatives occurs with the prop-
erty of being poisonous. When we call a plant poisonous, we mean
that its use is harmful to people or animals. This interpretation
suffices to define the property, since an island never reached by
plant-eating creatures would have no poisonous plants.
An example of the second alternative is the property of being rusty.
A piece of rusty iron consists of a pure metallic iron core and a
surface layer of oxides. Neither of these two components can itself
be called rusty.
But there are also properties that at first sight can hardly be re-
duced to anything else, whether things or facts. These are the prop-
1.4 Properties 25
erties that we experience directly and do not identify by an act of

judgement—properties such as blue, hot, loud, or heavy. Such des-
ignations are used with two different meanings, as follows.
First, to denote our sense impressions of things. For instance, blue
is then what the sky or the forget-me-not flower looks like, and hot
is when our hand touches a steaming cup of coffee.
Second, to denote things of the physical world. Blue is then light
with a wavelength between 450 and 495 nanometers that undergoes
a characteristic refraction in a prism. A body is hot if a thermometer
touching it goes up. Generally, properties of the second case can
be determined independently of our sense impressions by means of
instruments for observation or measurement. If need be, this can
be done without human intervention—for example, when a space
probe measures the temperature on Venus.
The same names are used for properties in both of these meanings,
since in earlier stages of civilization our actual sense impressions of
properties were attributed to things existing independently of us.
In everyday life, that still happens even now. For example, we may
say, “The sun is hot today,” meaning that today we feel particularly
hot due to the sun.
Nevertheless, we know that our sense impressions are reactions to
events in the world outside us, and also that a particular sensation
does not always arise from the same external event. For example, if
I have been gazing at length at a red surface, then immediately af-
terward a sheet of paper that normally would look white appears to
be greenish. In general, sugar tastes sweet, but with certain diseases
it tastes bitter.
1.4 Properties 26
Due to these considerations, we cannot know in principle what the

sense impressions in the minds of other persons are like—for in-
stance, what the blue sky looks like to them. For this reason, in a
driver’s test one must make sure that the candidate can distinguish
between red and green traffic lights.
We conclude that directly perceived properties of things are some-

thing in the mind of the person who experiences them, as are mem-
ories and feelings. We could say that these properties signify some-
thing in the pictures that appear in our mind as we experience
things.
Suppose we analyze a complex thing and wonder how its properties

could be reduced to something other than properties—that is, to
things or facts. Then we first must state clearly whether we are
talking about constituent parts of physical things, or about the
images of them that appear in our minds.
It is obvious that the properties of physical things are reducible to

facts in any analytical description of such things, since instruments
for observing and measuring can only record facts. For example, a
spectroscope pointed at a blue sky registers the shorter wavelength
of the received light rays, but does not tell anything about the blue
that we see.
In physics, all qualitative data have gradually been resolved into

quantitative ones. Indeed, in today’s physics, it isn’t even possible
without fear of contradiction to associate the fundamental building
blocks of matter with a shape in space; they can only be character-
ized by their behavior.
1.4 Properties 27
More problematic is the analytical description of the things in our

consciousness, which are pictures of appearances. These things also
turn out to be complex and reducible to components, as follows.
Many properties of a given mental picture can be described in terms
of facts. For instance, in our visual picture of a rusty piece of iron,
we can mention that a number of irregular spots occur next to each
other on the surface. Moreover, more than one organ of our senses
often contributes to the picture of an experience.
For example, a picture that may seem entirely optical includes in
most cases sensations of muscle movement or position. An instance
is our sense impression that a thing is spherical. It includes the fact
that for all movements of the head, the shape of the boundary of the
thing is seen to remain the same. In contrast, the sense impression
that a thing is disc-shaped includes the fact that by moving either
the head or the hand holding the object, we can reduce its shape
from a circle to a line.
In the analysis of complex pictures of phenomena, we generally
reach irreducible component parts much sooner than in the analysis
of physical objects. At the same time, these irreducible component
parts may still have properties. How can we eliminate the properties
by yet another reduction?
Let’s analyze an example. Suppose I look at the green surface of a
leaf and think of it as split up into tiny elementary surfaces, lying
side by side in my field of vision. Then in spite of this subdivision,
every one of these elements is still green.
But is the greenness of the elementary surfaces, which are at the
limit where we still distinguish them, really still a property? Am I
1.4 Properties 28
using the word “property” in the same sense as elsewhere if I apply

it to a point in my visual field?
I could equivalently say: There is greenness at this point of my

visual field. In other words, the colors we see are already part of
the basic elements of the field of vision, and can rightly be called
elementary things.
The same is true of pure notes in our auditory experience, and of

localized sensations of heat or pain.
Of course, such elementary things differ from those of the physi-

cal world, since they are more immediately experienced. Yet they
share with them something very essential; that is, they cannot be
communicated.
We can give an account of our complex images of phenomena. For

instance, I can state that the green of this leaf is identical to the
green I find at the coordinates 0.3/0.4 on a color chart placed next
to it. I thereby communicate a fact about my picture of phenomena.
But by any such statement I cannot communicate the phenomenon
green itself.
The case is the same with any mental experience, such as grief at
someone’s death. Indeed, with a bit of training in self-observation,
I can divide the complex whole of the experience into pieces: enu-
merating memories of the dead person, my love for her, thoughts
of my future loneliness, and so on. But I cannot communicate the
grief which colors all these elements.
1.5 Logical Form of Things 29
1.5 Logical Form of Things
Elementary things have no properties in the sense in which we as-

cribe properties to the ordinary things in the world. Nevertheless,
elementary things are not indeterminate.
Every one of them may occur in elementary facts. However, the facts
must be of a certain kind. For example, elementary things of the
material world can occur in connection with space-time changes
such as intensities and forces, but not in connection with mental
states. Color, as a phenomenon, can occur in facts within our visual
field, such as the color of an object that we see. It can also occur in
facts concerning colors as such, like the contrast we feel between a
color and its complementary color. But it cannot occur in matters
of acoustics.
There are similar limits for complex things to occur in facts. For
instance, gravity of physics cannot occur in an intrinsic connection
with color blindness.
The possibilities with which things may occur in actual facts are
called by Wittgenstein their formal properties, or alternately their
internal properties. This is in contrast with the external properties,
which are properties in the true sense.
An internal property is necessary to a thing. The essence of an
external property is that a thing may or may not have it. Internal
properties can be defined by enumerating the possible ways a thing
can occur, but also in some cases by abstract statements.
Thus it is inseparable from objects in space that statements can
be made about their position in space. Specifically, for each point
within such an object, three numbers can be specified that define

the coordinates in an arbitrarily chosen coordinate system.
It is inseparable from colors that they can be arranged according
to their degrees of similarity—for example, red, orange, and yellow.
All colors can be represented together in a three-dimensional system
using tint, degree of darkening, and degree of lightening.
Wittgenstein calls such characteristics of the most general kind,
particularly those concerning the compatibility or incompatibility
of occurring together, the logical form of things. That things will
at any given time retain their fixed logical form is the basis of the
“logic of the world,” a phrase used by Wittgenstein to express the
fact that we can find our way about the world by means of logical
thinking.
This is impossible in the world of feverish dreams, where the logical
form of things is blurred.
1.6 Essential Unconnectedness of Facts
As we have seen, it is in the nature of elementary things that they

do not occur in isolation—indeed, are connected with one another
by means of facts. At first glance, it would appear that some facts
we meet in the world may be connected with one another by some
conditions.
This interconnection is often merely the chance that several facts
concern the same object. Connections of this kind—such as between
the two facts “This book has two hundred pages” and “It is written
in French”—are fortuitous.
But there are other facts that on the contrary seem to have an
internal, necessary connection with one another.
A particular example are facts about events that follow one an-
other in temporal succession and concern two or more objects. An
instance is the collision of two billiard balls and the subsequent
recoil.
In the case of a temporal connection of this kind, we speak of a
causal connection or a cause-and-effect relation between two facts.
We also speak of the rule of natural laws by which one event is
followed by a foreseeable—indeed, absolutely determined—event,
and not just by some arbitrary event.
In daily life, we get along very well by assuming the truth of such
causal connections or natural laws. For example, if a pot is put on a
fire, can’t we predict with certainty that it will get hot? Yet physics
objects: Although the passage of heat from a hotter to a colder
body is a valid rule for cooking in a kitchen, it is not a strict law
of nature. What appears to us as heat, is in physics a disorderly
movement of atoms. In a hot body, this movement is on average
faster than in a cold one. Indeed, when the two bodies touch, the
faster moving atoms on average pass some of their energy of motion
to the slower ones. But the opposite must also occur in small areas
of a body, and indeed is observed to do so.
In fact, the events of the macroscopic world are not determined
by strict laws, but rather by extremely reliable rules. For example,
according to the rules of gravity, a stone released from some height
will always fall down to the ground. But quantum physics declares
that there is a probability, though very small, that at some point
in time, a stone may rise in the air instead of fall, contrary to the
rule of gravity. This exceptional event is predicted to occur once in
tens of billions of years.
If perfect strictness existed in natural laws at all, it would be con-
fined to the world of atoms. Even supposing that we found it there,
could we mean by it anything other than regularity? Are we en-
titled to speak of necessity in connection with consecutive facts?
That the idea of necessity has for so long been applied unhesitat-
ingly but wrongly to the events of the macroscopic world should be
a warning that we must be very careful.
The word “necessary” has a clear meaning in the case of logical
necessity, as found for instance in the logical conclusions we draw
in a mathematical proof. In that case, we can know—in the genuine
sense of the word—that something is true if something else is true.
Our knowledge of logical necessity is of an a priori nature, not
depending upon real experiences. We possess no such knowledge of
natural laws.
In Wittgenstein’s view, facts are only externally connected by their
simultaneous occurrence in a configuration of things, and not by
any inner necessity. Although the consecutiveness of two events may
invariably have been observed, we still do not know—in the strict
meaning of the word—that this will also be the case in the future.
Wittgenstein’s opinion produces less of a shock today than it must
have caused in 1921, when his Tractatus first appeared. For in the
meantime, physics has further undermined our old ideas of the iron
laws of nature. The discovery of the bending phenomena observable
in corpuscular radiation has in fact led us to view the sequence of
movements occurring on the atomic scale as something determined

by rules whose validity is only statistical—that is, as an average of
many individual cases—and not absolute.
Such experiences help us understand Wittgenstein’s thesis. But we
must remember that they can neither prove it nor disprove it. For
even if everything, down to the smallest detail, happened exactly
according to some supposed law, that, too, would be mere chance
according to Wittgenstein.
We can agree to all this, at least in the following sense: We should
make sure that we do not take the idea of necessity occurring in
logic and apply it to the world of events.
Obviously, the crudely visible facts of the world are fortuitous as
well, since they are composed of elementary facts, every one of which
is fortuitous.
Wittgenstein expresses the above arguments as follows.
It is a hypothesis that the sun will rise tomorrow; and that means
that we do not know whether it will rise. (Tractatus 6.36311)
Just as the observed regularity and relative predictability of natural
events makes us speak loosely about necessity, so likewise we have
been led by the events within our minds—about which nothing can
ever be predicted with certainty—to the use of an equally foggy
idea: the notion of freedom—in particular, of free will.
What Wittgenstein says about this lies outside the traditional con-
troversies about free will. That battle addressed the following ques-
tions: Should the functioning of our motives and decisions be in-
terpreted along the lines of causally connected sequences of events
in nature, though in this case we cannot trace in detail the events

or their connections? Or are our decisions formed spontaneously,
without being forced on us by our motives?
Wittgenstein confines himself to the only point that is clear in the
idea of freedom, heavily charged with emotions as it is:
The essence of free will is that future actions cannot be known now.
We could know them only if causality were an inner necessity like
that of logical inference. (Tractatus 5.1362)
Although there are no necessary connections—in the strict sense—
among the facts of the world, this is not incompatible with our
ability in the natural sciences, especially in physics, to infer a mul-
titude of facts one from another in perfectly logical fashion, often
by mathematical considerations.
There are indeed purely logical connections, not of course in nature,
but in our description of nature. Actually, we do not infer different
facts one from another, but an aspect of a fact from another aspect
of the same fact.
For example, consider the fact that disturbances on a still surface of
water spread over it in all directions with equal speed. If we conclude
that waves on the surface of water form circles around their point
of origin, then we have not stumbled upon a new fact. Indeed, we
have merely expressed the same fact in another manner.
1.7 Things, the Substance of the World
Wittgenstein’s analysis of the world may give the impression that

the world is devoid of substance. Indeed, the world seems to be
an accumulation of relations and connections except for a sort of

sediment called elementary things. These elementary things are not
part of the world. They have no properties, and we can state noth-
ing about them except the connections in which they occur. Such
connections, called facts, are not connected by any inner necessity,
but simply by the fact that they either occur together or follow each
other. Wittgenstein says:
Each item can be the case or not the case while everything else
remains the case. (Tractatus 1.21)
Anyone who finds all this difficult to accept should call to mind
once more that we are focusing on the world common to all thinking
beings. In everyday life, we too easily delude ourselves about how
much is exactly the same for us and our fellow citizens. Wittgenstein
demolishes these delusions.
Yet the world has substance, in the sense that there is something
beyond mere phantoms that get combined higgledy-piggledy as if
in a dream.
That something does not itself belong to the world. It consists pre-
cisely of what is not our common possession as humans, and not of
what we can pass on to one another by communication. It consists
of elementary things. Wittgenstein sometimes calls them objects,
or depending on context, things; see Appendix B. We cannot com-
municate them, but nevertheless they are the items that provide
consistency for our communications.
Objects make up the substance of the world. (Tractatus 2.021)

Even though elementary things are beyond our powers of communi-

cation, we surely are aware of them. Indeed, we may say that they
manifest themselves.
This is certainly the case for the objects in our consciousness. For
instance, the colors we see force themselves upon us. However, it
is also true of physical objects, except that these force themselves
upon us when our intelligence acts upon our surroundings.
A fixed and substantial feature of elementary things is their un-
changeable logical form—the fact that every one of them can only
occur together with certain other ones and only in predetermined
connections. The logical form of objects can only manifest itself.
When we try to state anything about it beyond purely abstract
generalities like dimensionality, we regress to tautologies. For ex-
ample, a spatial object cannot be explained without referring to
space.
Chapter 2
Communication
2.1 Means of Communication
There are a great many methods for communicating something—

that is, passing on information. The methods can be classified into
three groups.
The first group of methods uses propositions formulated in words
and thus consists of speech and various forms of writing.
Speech includes sign language, where propositions are formed by a
succession of gestures.
Writing may use phonetic symbols, syllabic symbols, or hieroglyphs.
It may also use figures and other symbols—for example, in the equa-
tions used in mathematics and physics, which are propositions writ-
ten in a kind of shorthand.
For simplified terminology, from now on we will use the term “speech”
to mean both oral and written propositions. Thus, the first group
of methods is speech in various forms.
The second group of methods includes drawings, photographs, maps
whether in relief or plane, solid models of machines for training
purposes, and also every kind of information in the form of graphs,
such as temperature charts. All these methods rely on our senses,
most often of sight.
2.1 Means of Communication 38
Both groups have in common that they rely on a composition pro-

cess that uses many different signs. In the case of speech proposi-
tions, the signs are individual words. On a map, they are the signs
representing rivers, towns, heights above sea level, and so forth.
Lastly, there are methods of communication where for each bit of in-
formation exactly one sign is employed. Examples are exclamations
such as “Halt!” or “Fire!”, the red traffic light meaning “Stop!”, or
the blaring sound of a siren. Clearly, the use of these signs and their
ability to express anything is limited. Yet they do play an important
role in our lives.
In the three means of communication we have named, speech is of
overwhelming importance.
The methods of the second group, which mostly rely on our sense of
sight, do not by themselves provide any information; we first must
explain them in words. Here are two examples.
First, in a graph, the meaning of the coordinates has to be stated.
Second, a photo can only give us information about something un-
known when we have been told what the photo represents; the photo
itself does not give that preliminary information. For instance, a
photo showing palm trees can only tell us something about the
composition of southern flora if we are first told that it was taken
in a southern landscape and not in some botanical garden.
Once an informational method of the second group has been ex-
plained to us, it tells us more than has been included in that expla-
nation. For example, suppose for a map the signs for rivers, roads,
railroads, and so on have been explained. Then without further help,
the map tells us much about the depicted country.
The isolated symbols in our third group are not like this. They just
say what has already been explained to us, and no more. To un-
derstand them, we first must have learned their whole message. For
example, we learned as children that, when a building is burning,
a shout of “Fire!” is a cry for help and not a request for a match
to light a cigarette. Consequently, the signs in the third group are
rarely used to make statements, but rather as signals or instructions
to behave or act in a certain way.
We can therefore confine our inquiry into means of communication
to the two first two groups, which rely on a composition process
that involves many symbols.
It must be emphasized—and this is of decisive importance for un-
derstanding the Tractatus—that in the case of speech we are only
interested in speech propositions that are intended to actually con-
vey information. Typically, this is not the case with lyric poems,
songs, requests, prayers, or curses.
2.2 Wittgenstein’s Picture Theory
We have already seen that the informational methods we are con-

cerned with have a common feature: They assemble signs to convey
information. How do they manage to do that?
Here is Wittgenstein’s answer: They make pictures of what they
state. In particular, he asserts that propositions—the logicians’ name
for statements—that occur in speech are pictures of the reality that
is to be conveyed. Later, we shall introduce a more precise formula-
tion of this claim.
In everyday speech, making a picture of an object means producing

something that has—or at least is intended to have—an obvious
resemblance to the object. We call the product a representation of
the object, or a picture of it.
In daily life, picture has a slightly less precise sense than represen-
tation and often is used in a metaphorical sense. Wittgenstein uses
both words in the same sense. But what is the exact meaning in his
picture theory?
The question is easily answered for the informational methods of

the second group. Here, “representation” typically is interpreted
directly depending on the method. For example, it refers to a pho-
tograph, or a drawing of things, or a map. As an exception, a tem-
perature chart may in everyday usage be referred to with a some-
what vaguer term such as a picture of the course of a fever. But
here, too, it is considered a representation.
For speech propositions—our first group of means of communica-

tion—the word “representation” is rather unusual. Only in special
cases do we call a proposition a picture or representation. For ex-
ample, the picture case occurs when a proposition employs a simile,
such as saying “the storm is dying down” when a dispute is becom-
ing less intense.
Wittgenstein calls not only such propositions but all informational

propositions pictures or representations. Obviously, that use relies
on a more general idea than the everyday notion of a representation.
We shall see that this idea can nonetheless be precisely described.
2.3 Wittgenstein’s Idea of a Picture
Let us take a look at the diagram of connections of a radio. The

drawing obviously belongs to the second group of informational
methods. On the diagram, we find symbols for switches, transistors,
coils, etc., and a number of lines indicating connections between
these constructional elements.
The symbols of the constructional elements in no way resemble the
actual elements, nor does their position in the diagram correspond
to their position in the actual radio. Also, the connecting lines be-
tween the symbols take a different course, bend at different places,
and cross one another in different ways than the actual wires in the
set.
There is only one point where the diagram of connections agrees
with reality; it shows how parts are connected by wires. For the
technician making the connections, the diagram is a good picture
of the radio. It doesn’t matter at all that most of the diagram does
not resemble reality.
Things that are pictures only in this broader sense are called models
of reality. A model does not have to reproduce every characteristic of
the reality it represents, whether the reality is a thing or a process.
It only must have the characteristics needed at a given moment.
The model of an engine intended only for instruction may well have
pistons made of wood, but it must clearly show at which positions
of the pistons the valves are open or closed.
Wittgenstein’s idea of a picture is a bit more abstract. In his view,
the following two conditions are sufficient to characterize a picture:
(1) Its elements, called the picture elements, must represent things
in the reality which is being pictured.
(2) The relations existing between the picture elements must repre-
sent relations between the real things in such a way that the latter
relations can be read off, so to speak.
We illustrate the idea of a picture with an example used by Witt-

genstein: the sketch of a house. The drawing contains an element
in the form of a quadrangle that represents the roof. Another ele-
ment is in the form of a coat of red coloring matter that represents
redness visible on the real house. Moreover, a relation exists in the
picture between these two elements. That is, the coat of red color-
ing material just covers the quadrangle. From this relation in the
picture, we read off the fact that the roof of the actual house has
something to do with redness.
The sketch would not be a picture at all—in the sense that we are
discussing—if the elements standing for roof and redness were not
arranged so as to indicate their connection—for instance, if the red
was put just somewhere at the edge of the picture, as can occur in
modern paintings.
The elements in the sketch of the house and those of the real house
have a visible resemblance. Due to this fact, the example is too
narrow to serve as a generally valid explanation of the picture idea.
Fundamentally, such a resemblance is not necessary. The real red-

ness of the roof could have been equally well represented by a partic-
ular kind of hatching having a pre-agreed meaning, as is the custom
in heraldry.
Indeed, picture elements can be very different from the real elements
they represent. A piece of music can be depicted in a score, the
sounds being represented by the notation, or on a vinyl record using
wave impressions in the grooves as picture elements.
The picture elements must obey the following three conditions.
First, the picture must contain as many different kinds of elements
as there are different real elements that are to be distinguished.
Second, each picture element must always represent the same kind
of real element.
The third condition is a bit more complicated. Although the ele-
ments of the picture and their arrangement need not have any ob-
vious resemblance to reality, something in the picture and the real
object must in some sense be not merely similar, but absolutely
identical. Specifically, between the picture elements, the same num-
ber of kinds of relations must be possible, the same number be
necessary, and the same number be incompatible as between the
corresponding elements of reality. In other words, the relations be-
tween the elements in the reality and those between the elements
in the picture must exhibit the same mathematical multiplicity.
When the three conditions are satisfied, Wittgenstein says that pic-
ture and reality have identical structure.
The requirement of identical structure is met automatically when
the picture elements and the real elements are of the same nature—
for instance, when real colors are to be depicted by colors in the
picture, degrees of brightness by degrees of brightness, and spatial
elements by spatial elements.
But the requirement of identical structure becomes something quite

out of the ordinary when the elements of reality are to be repre-
sented by pictorial elements of a different type. Let us look at a few
examples.
The colors humans perceive can be classified according to three
kinds of relations. First, by their hue—for example red, blue, or
green. Second, by their white content—for example red, pink, or
bright pink. Third, by their black content—for example red, reddish
brown, or dark reddish brown.
Therefore, we say that the relations between colors are of threefold
multiplicity, and we can arrange all colors in a three-dimensional
figure called the color cone or color pyramid. Once we have that
arrangement, we can refer to a color by its geometric position in
the figure.
A piece of music, for the purpose of making a picture of it on a vinyl
record, is a temporal sequence of sounds. Each sound contains notes
of varying pitch. Each note has its proper degree of strength. For
stereo recordings, the two sound channels are recorded by variations
in the two sides of a V groove.
In summary, identity of structure in picture and reality requires the
following. If relations of a particular kind are possible, necessary, or
incompatible among the particular elements of the reality to be de-
picted, then an equal number of possible, necessary, or incompatible
relations must appear between the picture elements.
An example of such agreement involves the plane and the sphere,
as taught in geography: One can depict on the plane the surface of
a sphere with the exception of a single point of the sphere. For one
possible construction, imagine a globe model resting with its south

pole on the plane. Then for any given point of the globe, draw the
line going through that point and the north pole. The intersection
of the line with the plane is the point in the plane corresponding to
the point on the sphere. Clearly, each point on the globe can be so
processed except the north pole.
An example of disagreement involves the plane and the torus; that
is, one cannot make a flat picture of a torus. For between the ele-
ments of the surface of a torus, there are possible relations to which
nothing on a flat surface corresponds. For a demonstration, define a
simple closed curve on a surface to be a connected curve that does
not cross itself and ends at the same point where it begins. Now on
the surface of a torus, two simple closed curves can be drawn that
intersect exactly once, while on a flat surface the number of points
of intersection is always even.
We see now that what makes a picture a picture is not any particu-
lar choice of elements, such as choosing them for their resemblance
to the real elements. Indeed, the picture elements can be quite dif-
ferent. But essential are the relations and connections between the
picture elements. Wittgenstein calls these relations and connections
facts.
Suppose in a given picture a variety of facts occur simultaneously.
Then this simultaneous occurrence is also a fact. It informs us that
in the depicted reality there is also a corresponding set of facts
occurring together. In this sense, it is true of the picture as a whole
that
A picture is a fact. (Tractatus 2.141)
2.4 True and False Pictures
Identity of structure in picture and reality, in the sense explained

above, is not enough to guarantee the truth of a picture, but only
to make it a picture at all. It may still be true or false.
For example, the sketch of the house mentioned earlier would be a
false picture if the real roof was not red but black. The truth of a
picture can only be ascertained by comparison with reality, and not
by just looking at the picture.
Even a false picture is still a picture, and not just something mean-
ingless. For the sketch in our example to be a picture of the house,
it is not necessary for the facts depicted in the picture to exist in
reality; they need only be possible. Identity of structure guarantees
that this is the case.
Now assume identity of structure. Then a picture is true if the
following two conditions are satisfied.
First, as many elements must be distinguishable in the picture as
are needed to describe the house. The extent of the need depends on
the situation. For example, an architect will require other elements
in the house than a house painter.
Second, the relations between the picture elements must be clearly
associated with the relations existing between the elements of the
real house—as we explained when dealing with the relation between
the roof and the color of the roof.
If this second requirement is met, but the picture contains fewer el-
ements than reality and therefore also fewer relations (facts), then
2.5 Logical Form Common to Picture and Reality 47
it will not be called false but incomplete. For example, if our sketch
shows no chimney, an architect would consider the picture incom-
plete.
2.5 Logical Form Common to Picture and Reality
In Chapter 1, Section 1.5, which concerns the logical form of things,

we spoke of the formal or internal properties of both elementary
and complex things. We meant by this the variety of determining
characteristics we need to know about a thing: How it can occur
in facts in conjunction with other things, and the various relations
of compatibility or incompatibility it can have with them. We also
defined the totality of a thing’s internal properties as its logical
form.
We now have encountered the same determining characteristics in

our inquiry into pictures. Every picture—whether true or false—
must have in common with the depicted object the degree of mul-
tiplicity of its elements and of the relations possible between them.
In addition, if it is to be a true picture, then the relations between its

elements must reflect the relations which exist in reality. Therefore,
we can say that every picture must have in common with its object
at least its logical form. Or as Wittgenstein puts it:
Every picture is also a logical one. (Tractatus 2.182)
The word “also” implies that a picture can in addition have more
specialized qualities, such as being spatial or colored.
2.6 Form of Representation
It is not obvious from a picture which things are represented by

which elements in the picture, nor which kinds of relations between
real things are reproduced by which kinds of relations between pic-
ture elements. This information must be found outside the picture.
For example, in a map the meaning of its colors needs explana-
tion. On many maps, green areas represent wooded country, but on
others, lowlands. The explanations of colors, hatchings, and other
symbols are not sufficient for us to deduce from the spatial relations
on the map the real relations of position and distance. For this, we
need to know the scale of the map.
The manner in which the relations in the picture reflect the real
relations is called by Wittgenstein the form of representation.
2.7 Thoughts and Speech Propositions
Sections 2.3–2.6 have provided a detailed explanation of the idea of

pictures. That information is needed now for a more precise formu-
lation of the picture theory sketched in Section 2.2.
Recall that Section 2.5 leads up to the following conclusion.
Every picture is also a logical one. (Tractatus 2.182)
The theory goes on to say that there are purely logical pictures
defined as follows. First, they do not require any material means of
representation. Second, they do not have any perceptible likeness
to, or characteristic shared with, the pictured object, except the
indispensable sharing of its logical form.
These pictures represent not only our thoughts, but also the speech
propositions by which our thoughts are transmitted to others. Witt-
genstein states this as follows:
A logical picture of facts is a thought. (Tractatus 3)
In a proposition, a thought finds an expression that can be perceived
by the senses. (Tractatus 3.1)
The word thought as used above requires more precise explanation.
As is customary among philosophers, Wittgenstein makes a distinc-
tion between thoughts and the mental events of thinking, in which
mental images of things and of words occur within us.
As an example, suppose I think “France is larger than Belgium.”
At the same time, I can imagine myself accommodating on a map
the whole area of Belgium well inside France. The thought is not
identical with this act of imagination, any more than the number 5
is identical with our imagination of five apples.
Thus, the thought is something abstracted from the images; it
emerges from them. Our ability to examine a thought, to consider
it, and to discuss it with other people—as if it were something
effectively present—arises from our ability to make perceptible im-
ages. The component parts of the images—for example, Belgium
and France on the map—then represent the component parts of the
thought.
We make up signs for the components of the thought, and for the
thought itself. In practice, we use for this purpose the words and
propositions of speech.
In principle, other kinds of elements could be used for this purpose.
As Wittgenstein remarks, signs used for the thought might be
... composed of spatial objects (such as tables, chairs, and books)

instead of written signs.
Then the spatial arrangement of these things will express the sense
of the proposition. (Tractatus 3.1431)
There has been controversy as to whether we can think without for-
mulating verbal propositions in our minds. That is a psychological
question of no importance for the present inquiry, for we are not
discussing the process of thought.
The essential thing is that we are able to express our thoughts in
words. We often have the experience of curious thoughts that we are
not able to put into words—for instance, what we take for thoughts
in a dream—and that upon closer consideration turn out to be
simple chains of associations.
Since thoughts become intelligible only by being expressed in propo-
sitions, could not the picture theory have been more simply formu-
lated, without mentioning thoughts at all, by saying that proposi-
tions are logical pictures of facts?
Indeed, if a picture of an object, such as the sketch of a house, is
itself pictured over again, say by photographing it, the result is,
after all, just another picture of the object.
So why explain the picture theory in a roundabout way by intro-
ducing thoughts, which constitute an interim picture that does not
even really exist?
The reason is this: In verbal propositions, as in all material means
of expression, many variations are possible. Indeed, the propositions
are formed using spoken words according to grammatical rules. Both
the words and the rules of grammar allow a certain freedom to
express the same thought in various ways. Instead of saying “France

is larger than Belgium,” I can say “Belgium is smaller than France,”
expressing thereby the same thought.
Now as far as our inquiry into the nature of communication is con-
cerned, we are only marginally interested in propositions as gram-
matical formations. Indeed, we want to know what it is in the propo-
sitions that is not an accidental variation. And that consists pre-
cisely of the thoughts that propositions express.
Having thus clarified our ideas, we shall feel free from now on to
proceed as follows. Whenever Wittgenstein does not explicitly speak
of propositions as actual strings of words, we interpret the word
“proposition” to mean not the grammatical construction but the
logical one—that is, the relation between ideas.
Similarly, when we write a word in quotes, we mean—unless the
contrary is stated—not the combination of letters but the idea for
which it stands. Of course, the inquiry must be carried out by some
concrete means—that is, by verbally formulated propositions. But
we shall not cling too closely to their grammatical exterior.
2.8 Elements and Structure of Verbal Pictures
If the picture theory is to be anything more than a vague allegory,

one must be able to demonstrate the following. First, that the ob-
jects of reality are represented by the elements of the propositions—
that is, by its words. Second, that the relations between things,
which constitute the facts of reality, are represented the way in
which the words in the proposition are related to one another—
that is, by the structure of the proposition.
In an inflected language such as German, the structure of a propo-

sition includes not only the order of the words and the way they
are grouped by punctuation, but also the case endings that imply
relations between words in the proposition.
Structure is also expressed by many things that are words in the
grammatical sense, but are meaningless outside a proposition.
For instance, take the word “is.” It can be used as a simple link, as
in the proposition “the leaf is green.” But elsewhere it can have a
meaning of its own, such as “exists” or “is equal to.” The same is
true of the word “has” in propositions like “the equation has two
solutions,” where it asserts a particular connection between two
ideas and does not mean “possesses.”
Not only in verbal pictures but in other kinds as well, elements are
often used that strictly speaking are not picture elements. Indeed,
they do not represent real things, but only indicate related informa-
tion. For instance, a technical drawing of a machine contains dotted
lines which show how horizontal and vertical sections correspond.
Similarly, two-way arrows indicate measurements.
The picture theory directly concerns only simple propositions that
do not contain negations. We shall see later how the theory deals
with propositions containing negations such as “not” or “none,”
and with complex propositions where component propositions are
logically bound together by “if,” “or,” “and,” and so on.
Just using the insight gained so far into the elements and structure
of propositions, many simple propositions can without further ado
be explained as pictures. In the simple relational proposition “The
book is on the writing pad,” the words “book” and “writing pad”
represent real things; that is, they are names. Then “is on” denotes
a spatial relation, which in the logical form is also a thing. The
structure of the proposition consists of the fact that the two names
“book” and “writing pad” are separated by the name of the relation,
and “book” comes first and “writing pad” after the relation.
The meaning of “is on” is that the name coming before it denotes
the higher placed object, and the name coming after it the lower
placed one. Thus, the fact that the words are ordered in a certain
way allows us to express a fact in space.
2.9 Elementary Propositions
The picture theory does not claim that all simple propositions—
in the casual form in which we meet them in daily speech—can
at once be identified as pictures of reality. It asserts rather that
the underlying thoughts can be expressed in propositions which are
pictures in the sense we have explained.
Indeed, the propositions occurring in everyday language often in-
clude elements that aren’t part of the actual information. Examples
are words expressing wishes, beliefs, or doubts of the speaker, like “I
hope” and “regrettably”; or words intended to draw the attention
of the listener to some important point, like the word “himself” in
the proposition “he saw it himself.”
More importantly, colloquial propositions contain adjectives, and
these are neither names of things, nor do they serve to assert rela-
tions between the names occurring in the proposition. They are, in
fact, names of properties.
In Chapter 1, Section 1.4, we explained that properties only occur

in things that are complex. For by analytical description, we can
arrive at simpler things, and finally at elementary things, and these
have no properties.
Hence, we can process a proposition of everyday language containing
adjectives—that is, property names—as follows. We replace every
combination of name-plus-adjective by a description of the complex
thing to which the combination refers. Then we do the same with
the resulting names-plus-adjectives, and so on, until there are only
elementary things. At that time, we have obtained from the original
proposition a series of propositions in which property names no
longer occur.
Propositions about elementary things can only state facts. Wittgen-
stein calls such propositions elementary propositions, and he calls
the process which leads us from an ordinary proposition to elemen-
tary ones the analysis of the ordinary proposition.
In suitable context, he often calls elementary propositions simply
propositions.
At last, we see that—in the strict meaning of the picture theory—
elementary propositions are pictures of real facts. They contain only
names of things—indeed, of elementary things—and the order of the
names can then depict the relations between these things. In this
connection, we must remember that among elementary things we
also find incorporeal items such as elementary space relations and
elementary time events.
We have already pointed out that an analysis of the complex things
in the world right down to elementary things is impossible. This
implies that it is also impossible to carry out a complete analysis

of everyday propositions.
How far we can push the analysis obviously depends upon our per-
severance, our detailed knowledge, and our ability to keep in mind
the ever increasing network of new propositions that we discover.
A very useful model, which helps us to understand such an anal-
ysis, is the method for preparing a patent claim for a complicated
machine.
The initial simple description mentions only the principal compo-
nents of the machine. Then the naming of these components is re-
placed by enumeration of their sub-components, their relative po-
sitions, and their interconnections. The same procedure is then ap-
plied to the sub-components, and so on. The process stops when in
the entire description the named parts are so simple that a specialist
can no longer have any misunderstanding about the characteristics
of the machine.
The example of a patent claim is not only a useful elucidation of how
analysis works. It also explains why Wittgenstein attached such im-
portance to the reducibility of propositions to elementary proposi-
tions. In his view, the reducibility gives our communications precise
meaning.
In practice, all propositions that deal with complex things—and the
propositions of daily speech do this more than any others—contain
something indeterminate. In the Dialogues of Plato, Socrates is con-
stantly obliged to ask his interlocutors “What do you mean by
that?” This question comes to an end when elementary proposi-
tions are reached.
Just as the world common to all men consists of the totality of facts,
so must all possible communications about the world be capable of
being assembled out of the totality of valid elementary propositions.
This is true for communications concerning individual events and
relations—as in daily life and in history—and likewise for commu-
nications of general import arising from empirical science.
Wittgenstein calls this totality natural science. However, he includes

psychology.
The totality of true propositions is the whole of natural science (or

the whole corpus of the natural sciences). (Tractatus 4.11)
2.10 Precise Definition of the Tractatus Problem
Up to this point, the problem of the nature of communication ad-

dressed in the Tractatus was defined by the following three, rather
vague, questions introduced in Chapter 1, Section 1.1:
First, how is information passed on?

Second, what conditions must our speech comply with so that gen-
uine information is transferred?
Third, what can be so conveyed?
We now can make these questions precise.
First, what is essential in a speech proposition?

Second, what distinguishes a meaningful proposition from a mere
string of words?
Third, what can we communicate by a proposition?
The remainder of this section begins to address these questions and

covers related issues. The next chapter includes the answers given
by the Tractatus.
The first question—how is information passed on?—is answered by
Wittgenstein’s picture theory. Nevertheless, some questions remain
open regarding the kinds of representation that are characteristic
of propositions.
For an answer of the second question—what conditions must our
speech comply with so that genuine information is transferred?—we
must start from the already adopted view that the arrangement of
words in a meaningful proposition must express relations between
real things.
Now words can be arranged so that they do nothing of the kind;
many surrealist poems are examples. Therefore, we must inquire
what arrangements of what kind of words furnish pictures. For a
start, we should look for guiding principles derived from the very
idea of representation.
The third question—what can we communicate by a proposition?—
obviously has the greatest philosophical importance.
We already know that propositions can communicate facts. In par-
ticular, we have seen that hidden communications concerning ele-
mentary facts occur in every proposition.
The elementary propositions, which explicitly communicate these
elementary facts, cannot always—and maybe cannot ever—be iso-
lated in the pure state. But by pushing the analysis far enough,
we can always reach things and propositions that are elementary
enough for the practical circumstances of any particular case.
However, the following question arises: Can propositions and com-

plex propositions of everyday speech communicate something more
than the facts discovered during the analysis?
Let us rephrase the question. Suppose we turn simple propositions—

that is, our hypothetical elementary propositions or any other propo-
sitions that communicate nothing but facts—into propositions of
daily speech. The process may apply artifices of style to the simple
propositions and may introduce negation into them. But above all,
it creates propositions with sentence structure. What meanings can
the resulting propositions of daily speech have?
Suppose the answer were that propositions of daily speech can ex-
press nothing but facts. This would imply that our thoughts, insofar
as they are real thoughts capable of being communicated, can only
occur within the sphere of facts. Or as many of us would say with
regret, on a dull level of matter-of-factness.
Suppose thinking means nothing than making for ourselves a picture

of a factual situation, in the strict sense explained in the preceding
pages. Does this then still permit a higher flight of the intellect? Is it
still possible for us to wrestle in thought with questions that concern
us more deeply than facts, such as the quest of the meaning of life
and of the world, and about moral values? Such thoughts cannot
be dependent on what actually is occurring in the world.
In view of these weighty consequences, it is fitting that we insert

here a retrospective summary and evaluation of the picture theory.
2.11 Intellectual Value of the Picture Theory
If we had to pass on information with isolated signs such as single

words and not with propositions, we would need as many signs
as we had pieces of information to communicate. In a primitive
tribe with a very limited and unvarying cycle of occurrences, such
a method of communication might be conceivable. But every time
there was something new to communicate, a new sign would have
to be introduced and explained by a reference to the new event.
On the other hand, if one wants to communicate new events with
a limited number of signs, the only possible way is to arrange the
signs in groups.
It is not immediately obvious how this can done in such a way that
one can communicate every new event intelligibly without having
to explain the groups of signs.
For instance, it is not self-evident—as the picture theory main-
tains—that things are represented by words and the relations be-
tween the things by the way the words are arranged. Why couldn’t
it be the other way around?
From this detail, we see already that the picture theory is not a
statement that is a priori true; nor can this be demonstrated.
If we consider our own speech propositions, we are forced to admit
that the theory states something that is correct. But we would like
to say something about speech that isn’t just empirical.
For an evaluation of the picture theory, it is relevant that we feel
an overall mental discomfort in trying to state in words and propo-
sitions what words and proposition are. The concept of represen-

tation of the picture theory provides insight into the source of our
discomfort.
According to the arguments in Section 2.6 concerning the form of
representation, a picture conveys no information about the form in
which it represents reality.
In pictures not produced by speech this creates no problem. For
example, in a map a table can be added in the margin that explains
the signs employed.
But in a purely logical picture, and in its reflection in speech, we
do not have at our disposal a margin, so to speak, that lies outside
the language used.
Indeed, the propositions which we would need for an explanation
are themselves parts of language.
Propositions can exhibit the whole of reality, but they cannot exhibit
what they must have in common with reality in order to represent
it—logical form.
In order to be able to represent logical form, we should have to be
able to station ourselves with propositions somewhere outside logic,
that is to say outside the world. (Tractatus 4.12)
This is true for speech as a whole, and not just for a proposition
involving a particular form of representation.
In his picture theory, Wittgenstein attempts to say about proposi-
tions exactly how much can possibly be said in language. He first
explains to us what a representation consists of, by pointing out the
characteristics common to all representations.
Then he confronts us with speech propositions and asks, as it were,

whether anything attracts our attention. What we are expected to
notice cannot be explained by a process of demonstration; it can
only appear to us.
We must see this for ourselves, just as we have to see for ourselves
what the difference is between red and green. One can only give
hints that may help us to see more clearly.
Such hints are sometimes needed in daily life. Not everyone can
spot game in a thicket, or fish beneath smooth water, but a hunter
or a fisherman can make us see them. Such directions for seeing
are contained in Wittgenstein’s explanations of what can be com-
municated about the world, especially in his thesis that everything
communicable that we find in the world can be reduced to facts.
Hints about something that we can only see for ourselves will not
strike everyone as being a sufficient point for an intellectual con-
struction. After all, even actual vision contains possibilities of error.
Yet, if we are to philosophize, this is something we must accept.
Toward the end of this book, we will return to the above concerns
and discuss them in detail.
Chapter 3
Efficiency of Speech
It isn’t easy to describe the main lines along which Wittgenstein
pursues his inquiry into the logical nature of simple and complex
propositions. While doing so, he also works out the requirements for
a meaningful proposition and what propositions can say in principle.
His inquiries do not rest exclusively on the concepts of the commu-
nicable world and of the way in which communications about it are
made using pictures—topics that have occupied us till now.
On the contrary, as one of the founders of modern logic, he also
develops a number of related logical theses. In fact, his purely log-
ical reflections frequently outgrow the limits of an inquiry into the
efficiency of speech.
Sometimes, even professional philosophers do not entirely succeed
in giving a methodical account of the very abstract train of thought
in this part of the Tractatus. A partial reason for this are Wittgen-
stein’s all too brief statements, which at times resemble aphorisms.
Some of the material reflects disagreement with other logicians, like
Gottlob Frege and Bertrand Russell; related brief notes of Wittgen-
stein, recorded before the Tractatus as well as subsequently, barely
succeed in clarifying even the core of the problems under discussion.
As a result, we are forced to confine ourselves to discussion of some
of Wittgenstein’s essential ideas and conclusions. In the rather loose
form in which they are set out here, without the aid of his notation
for logic, they indeed do not describe the results of his book. But
they familiarize us with his method of inquiry and help us grasp

the meaning of its central results.
3.1 Peculiarities of Picture Components
Let us first consider the raw material available in speech for making
pictures.
The components of a proposition that contribute to its meaning
from a logical, not grammatical, viewpoint, are called symbols by
Wittgenstein. The perceptible portions of the symbols—for exam-
ple, nouns, adjectives and so on, but also whole portions of the
proposition—are called the signs of the symbols.
If we treat the symbols as identical with the signs, fatal errors will
arise, in particular because a single word can be the sign of different
symbols. For instance, the word “is” may occur as a simple link—
without any separate meaning of its own—or as the sign of equality,
or with the meaning “exists.”
The essence of a symbol is not its sign, but the way in which the
sign is used. When we say that in a proposition—considered as a
picture of reality—the words are the elements of the picture, then
by “words” we mean symbols and not signs used for them.
When we discussed the picture, we spoke of the necessity that the
elements of the picture and the possible relations between them
should exhibit the same degree of multiplicity as exists in elements
of the thing to be depicted and in the relations between those ele-
ments.
In a proposition, the symbols must reflect the degree of multiplic-

ity of what is symbolized. For example, a proposition intended to
communicate something about two persons must use two names—
whether proper names or any other means of distinguishing them—
and the structure of the proposition must establish a relation be-
tween the two names. Similarly, a proposition about a surface must
confine itself to concepts of surface—for example, area—and must
not contain ideas belonging to a different dimension such as thick-
ness or weight.
If we are making a spatial picture of a spatial object—like the teach-
ing model of an engine already mentioned—then we can fit together
every spatial element of the picture with every other one. The re-
sulting picture can, at the most, be a false one; in that case, it is the
picture of something that perhaps does not exist, but could exist.
When we are making a picture with speech elements, worse can
happen. Indeed, we may choose an arbitrary arrangement of speech
elements that cannot be a picture of anything.
Hence, the meaningful employment of the words of any language is
controlled by the syntax of that language. The syntax is made up of
rules that define the sole combinations in which a word occurring
in a proposition can have any meaning.
An adjective such as “yellow” must be used differently than a cor-
relating word or a phrase like “to the right of”: “That flower is
yellow” versus “That fork lies to the right of the plate.”
Word sequences having the appearance of propositions, but with
false syntax, are occasionally used by advertisers; for example,
“Product X is better.” This conveys no specific information and is

merely meant to stimulate demand for product X.
Why does language need syntax, while other forms of representa-
tion—for example, musical notations and maps—manage without
anything of the kind? A map can indeed falsely represent Paris to
be north of London. But why does language go further than this
and make it possible to say something completely nonsensical about
the geographical situation of Paris? For example, “Paris is north of
sea level.”
Nonsense cannot occur if the pictorial elements are so chosen in
advance that they possess the same logical form as the elements
of the object being depicted. That is, relations between them are
mutually compatible or incompatible in agreement with the corre-
sponding cases between the elements of reality.
However, speech elements do not guarantee this, since there are
more possible combinations of signs in speech than situations that
could possibly occur. Only the restrictive effect of syntax achieves
agreement between the combinations of picture elements versus
those of real elements.
The various languages of everyday speech have evolved to facilitate
daily life rather than make communications as precise as possible.
This explains not only the often misleading way in which the signs
of everyday speech are employed, but also the high degree of arbi-
trariness in its syntax. Even the language of science is not exempt
from these imperfections.
For these reasons, logicians use an artificial language. Its syntax is
purely logical and not empirically formed. In fact, in the language
of logic the rules of syntax are self-evident. Consequently, the signs

for basic ideas like “not,” “all,” “if ... then,” “thing,” and “there
is” can no longer cause confusion through some chance similarity in
the signs or in the way they are used.
For example, a proposition like “all is transitory” is correctly formed
by the standard of colloquial syntax. But it cannot be expressed in
the language of logicians, where “all” may only be used when a
universe of discourse has been defined.
3.2 Simple Propositions
We define simple propositions to be propositions that cannot be

analyzed into partial propositions like the condition and conclusion
of “if ... then ...” statements. The simple propositions discussed in
this section may be propositions in everyday speech. That is, when
logically analyzed, they may turn out to be reducible, in contrast
to elementary propositions.
Simple propositions fall mostly into the following two groups.
First, propositions attributing a predicate to some object, such as
“This paper is white,” “Lilac smells sweet,” or “Whales are aquatic
mammals.”
Second, propositions expressing the existence of a proportion or
relation between two or more objects, such as “This book is thicker
than that one,” or “Max is Karl’s son.”
When a simple proposition is considered as a logical picture, then
the meaning of the proposition is determined by its components,
which we have called symbols. These are solely names of objects,
properties, or relations, to the exclusion of logical expressions such

as “or,” “if ... then ...,” and “neither ... nor ....”
Names refer to elements that are part of the reality to be exhibited
in the proposition; they represent it in the proposition. This refer-
ence or representation is their only task. It completes what we call
their meaning. But no information is to be found in them. Only the
proposition as a whole has a sense; it expresses a thought.
These definitions are by no means superfluous in view of the in-
eradicable but superstitious belief that merely naming an object
can be true or false, and that just calling something by a name is a
meaningful utterance. For example, pantheists think they have said
something by calling the universe “God” or “God’s body.”
Similarly, the proposition as a whole is also a symbol. The sign of
this symbol is the spoken or written proposition, which we therefore
call the propositional sign. Yet the propositional sign is not merely
the totality of the elements used in it—namely the words; it consists
rather in the fact that these elements are arranged in a particular
manner.
Consequently, in Wittgenstein’s terminology the propositional sign
is a fact. If we compare it with marine signals composed of flags,
then the point of comparison is not the totality of the flags hoisted
in the course of the signal, but the fact that these flags have actually
been hoisted in a particular order.
Because the propositional sign is a fact, it can picture other facts,
but not objects.
Propositions can only say how things are, not what they are. (Trac-
tatus 3.221)
In order to understand a proposition, one must have learned the

words used and the syntactical rules for using them. But one does
not learn beforehand the meaning of the proposition; the proposi-
tion is not a name for a fact or for a situation, as we may say of
exclamations consisting of single words, like “Attention!” Instead, a
proposition can communicate hitherto unknown facts by means of
known names. The meaning of a proposition appears—is read off,
we might say—from the way the words are ordered. For example, if
I know the expression “taller than” to be the name of a certain size
relation and also know the syntactical rule for grouping the names
of the things being compared on either side of this expression, then
I can understand the propositions “Paul is taller than Peter” and
“Peter is taller than Paul.”
So propositions do not themselves tell us how to understand them,
or how the facts contained in them depict the facts of reality, any
more than a letter entirely written in code can directly communicate
the code employed. In particular, a proposition gives no information
about the logical form that is common to the real fact and the
picture of it.
Propositions cannot represent logical form: it is mirrored in them.
What finds its reflection in language, language cannot represent.
What expresses itself in language, we cannot express by means of
language.
Propositions show the logical form of reality.
They display it. (Tractatus 4.121)
What can be shown, cannot be said. (Tractatus 4.1212)
We can distinguish two parts in the content of a simple proposition:
A proposition shows its sense.

A proposition shows how things stand if it is true. And it says that
they do so stand. (Tractatus 4.022)
One may say that a proposition gives a picture and asserts that it
is a correct one. The assertion of correctness is usually contained
in the proposition just by implication, but it can also be added
explicitly to the proposition—for example, in a phrase like “It is
true that ....”
Yet neither the picture given by the proposition, nor the assertion
that it is a true picture, makes us aware whether the proposition is
true. To know whether it is true or false, we must compare it with
reality. The proposition by itself cannot tell us this.
Therefore, we must require of any meaningful proposition that it

be capable of comparison with reality. For a proposition of which
it can never be known whether or not it is true, can just as well
remain unspoken. A proposition must enable us to decide how reality
appears if it is true, and how reality appears if it is not true.
This is the principle of verifiability, the importance of which—and

its applications in science—were later worked out by the philoso-
phers of the Vienna circle. According to this principle, understand-
ing the sense of a proposition can only mean knowing how things
stand if the proposition is true, and how they stand if it is false.
This also implies that a proposition only has a meaning if it could
also be false. We shall return to this requirement later on.
For a long time, people considered statements about absolute simul-

taneity of two events to have a meaning. According to the principle
of verifiability, this is so, since an observer essentially could confirm

that two events occurred simultaneously.
In everyday life, an accurate enough verification is also possible for
events occurring at a distance from each other using communication
and synchronized clocks.
Based on this view, people became used to the idea that state-
ments about simultaneity, and more generally about consecutive-
ness in time, could be true or false, but never without a meaning.
Indeed, time was considered as something objective, rather like a
fluid evenly permeating the universe.
Even in physics, this belief prevailed until about the turn of the
20th century. At that time, it was found that, under the traditional
view, two fundamental experimental results could not be reconciled.
This led to Albert Einstein’s complete abandonment of the idea of
absolute time in his theory of relativity.
Since then it is current practice of physicists to consider state-
ments about time relations of events as only having a meaning if
the method of ascertaining them is included in the statement. For
example, if two events occur in places that are in different states of
motion or rest with respect to the observer—and this is very often
the case—then the resulting statement about their order in time
can differ according to the position of the observer for which it is
intended to be valid. For instance, whether he is at rest with respect
to one or other of the places where the two events are occurring.
Details are included in Appendix A.
The above conclusions—it cannot be seen whether a proposition is
true by just examining it, and a proposition has sense only if it could
possibly be false—imply that we definitely do not include tautolo-

gies or contradictions among genuine propositions. For the truth of
tautologies and the falsity of contradictions is a priori assured—that
is, without comparison with reality.
It may seem that daily life tautologies such as “Boys will be boys”
and “Time passes,” and contradictions like “That is true and also
not true” and “Sixty minutes are more than an hour” do have a
certain meaning or even profundity. But this is only so, because we
do not interpret them literally.
Wittgenstein calls tautologies and contradictions senseless. We will

avoid this term since it could be confused with the term “nonsensi-
cal.” Instead, since tautologies and contradictions have no meaning,
we will use the term “meaningless.”
Wittgenstein has to defend application of his term “senseless” to

tautologies and contradictions, since they can be extremely valu-
able. Indeed, arguing back from propositions to tautologies or con-
tradictions is a useful method of proof.
Even the laws of logic and those of mathematics are tautologies.

Mathematical laws are arrived at by starting from axioms. Ax-
ioms contain no information, and laws are built up by the repeated
use of tautologies. For example, there is the procedure of forming
new equations by performing the same mathematical operation on
both sides of an initial equation. Hence, mathematical laws do not,
strictly speaking, give us any new information; that is, they tell us
nothing which was not either already known or at least capable of
being known.
Tautologies and contradictions are not pictures of reality. They rep-

resent no facts. They bring together in a single statement not the
names of different things, but only different names of the same
things. Thus in the tautology “Time passes,” time is first named by
the word “time” and second as that which passes.
Tautologies and contradictions have only the semblance of proposi-
tions. Yet, although they are devoid of meaning and not real propo-
sitions, this does not make them nonsense. Wittgenstein reserves
the designation “nonsensical” to word pictures that combine the
names of things whose logical forms do not fit each other, and thus
can be neither true nor false.
Wittgenstein gives us an excellent example: “Twice two at three
o’clock is four” combines the logical operation 2 + 2 = 4, which
does not allow spatial or temporal limitation, with an indication of
time.
Actually, there is no need to make up artificial examples of this
kind. Articles dealing with technical and scientific subjects are full
of them. When a storm snapped the antenna of a radio transmitter
in two, one article offered this explanation: “The center of gravity
of the antenna had broken in two.”
Likewise, all propositions are nonsensical that assert the truth of
something necessary. They contain no information; for a piece of
information tells us something precisely because, instead of its con-
tent, something else could have been the case. Consequently, it
means nothing if a statement says that the laws of logic are valid.
However, statements about natural processes are not meaningless.
For we saw in Section 1.6 the following. Even though the natural
processes seem to occur according to some rules, it is not really

necessary that they should do so. Thus, natural laws can be as-
serted with the interpretation that they describe regularly occur-
ring events. The philosophers who first asserted that the regularity
of nature was complete and without exception were in fact going
against general opinion, which held that natural events were per-
meated by chance.
Here is a summary of the distinction of meaning between the terms
“meaningful,” “meaningless” and “nonsensical” as applied to propo-
sitions. The summary introduces the term pseudoproposition for the
case of a meaningless or nonsensical proposition.
Propositions
Meaningful Propositions: convey information, may be
true or false
Pseudopropositions: convey no information
Meaningless Propositions: are a priori true or false
Tautologies: are always true
Contradictions: are always false
Nonsensical Propositions: are neither true nor false
3.3 Negation in Simple Propositions
Propositions can include negations of various forms, such as: “This

watch is not running,” “Whales are not fishes,” or “This problem
is insoluble.” Negation and its meaning in a proposition or a group
of propositions is one of the chief subjects of formal logic. Here we
limit ourselves to our everyday, intuitive knowledge about negation,
and only give a brief description of its role when propositions supply
pictures.
According to Wittgenstein, negation does not appear at all in the
picture that a proposition supplies.
Remember the dual function of a proposition. First, it gives a pic-
ture. Second, it asserts the truth of that picture. Negation itself
cannot appear in the picture; there is nothing in reality that corre-
sponds to it. It does not even turn the picture into a sort of negative
picture, comparable to a photographic negative. Take the propo-
sition “The letter is on the notepad.” The corresponding negative
picture would be something like “The notepad is on the letter.” But
the negated proposition says “The letter is not on the notepad.” In
this proposition, the picture elements, apart from the negation, are
the same as those occurring in the original phrase. But the second
function of the proposition has been changed by the negation: The
assertion of truth is reversed.
Affirmation and negation when applied to the contents of a propo-
sition are called logical constants analogously to the mathematical
idea of constants. Indeed, when a mathematical variable is multi-
plied by a nonzero constant, a new variable is obtained that pre-
serves all the essential characteristics of the original variable, such
as the position of extreme values. For a proposition, affirmation and
negation play a part analogous to that played in mathematics by
multiplication of a variable by 1 and by −1, respectively. Multipli-
cation by the constant 1 leaves the variable unaltered, while the
constant −1 leads to a reversal of the sign of values of the variable.
Affirmation and negation are also called logical operations, and their
symbols are called logical operators. In mathematics, an operator is
the name for a symbol that, when placed before an expression, spec-
ifies that a certain operation is applied to that expression. The use
of the names “operation” and “operator” therefore implies that the
logician does not consider affirmation or negation as part of the pic-
ture furnished by a proposition. On the contrary, it is considered as
an instruction to perform a particular mental act upon the picture
as a whole.
3.4 Compound Propositions by Logical Operations
In the discussion to follow, we frequently refer to compound propo-

sitions and their component propositions. For brevity and clarity,
we shorten the term “component propositions” to “components.”
Logicians have thoroughly investigated the compound propositions
where the truth of one of the components is in some way com-
bined with the truth of another component. An example compound
proposition is “If this glass falls to the ground, then it will break.”
The components “The glass falls to the ground” and “It will break”
are said to be included in a single proposition by means of a logical
operation.
From simple propositions, we have already become acquainted with
the logical operations of affirmation and negation. They assert, re-
spectively, the truth or falsity of the picture conveyed by the propo-
sition.
One can express this also in another way: An affirmative proposi-
tion—the affirmation can be either specially mentioned or silently
taken for granted—claims to be true if the conveyed picture is a
true one. A negative proposition—the negation always needs to be
specially mentioned—claims to be true if the conveyed picture is

false.
The above discussion may seem unnecessarily complicated, but it
makes it easier to understand the subsequent developments.
Only two assertions can be made about the truth of a simple propo-
sition: “It is true” or “It is false.” We therefore say that simple
propositions have only two truth possibilities. Now a group contain-
ing two propositions has the following four truth possibilities:
(1) Both propositions are true.
(2) The first proposition is true, the second false.
(3) The first proposition is false, the second true.
(4) Both propositions are false.
So at least four different assertions can be made about the truth
of two propositions. Each of these four assertions results from a
particular kind of connection between the two simple propositions.
As an example, let us consider the following two simple propositions:
(a) The wind is from the east.
(b) The sun is shining.
If the first assertion in the list of truth possibilities is made with
respect to these two propositions, then the logical operation called
conjunction is employed. Thus, propositions (a) and (b) are linked
together by the grammatical conjunction “and.” The resulting com-
pound proposition—also called combined or complex—is: “The wind
is from the east, and the sun is shining.”
This compound proposition, by its use of the word “and,” claims
to be true if the original propositions (a) and (b) are both true.
Hence, the word “and” expresses assertion (1) in our table and
rejects assertions (2), (3), and (4). It claims that the compound
proposition is false if, in fact, the wind is from the east without
the sun shining (2), or the wind is not from the east and the sun
is shining (3), or the wind is not from the east and the sun is not
shining (4).
These last three propositions already show us the kinds of com-
pound propositions by which assertions (2), (3), and (4) can be
expressed. Thus the compound proposition “The wind is not from
the east and the sun is not shining” expresses assertion (4). Linking
the two propositions by “neither ... nor ...” claims that the com-
pound proposition is true if it is the case that original propositions
(a) and (b) are false; and it claims that the compound proposition
is false in all three of the other cases.
Notice that each of the four compound propositions contains not
one but four assertions—that is, one assertion about the condition
under which it is true, and three assertions under which it is false.
The four kinds of compound propositions we have discussed so far
are not the only ones that can be formed by the use of assertions (1)–
(4). Indeed, instead of declaring a single one of these four assertions
to be true and the other three to be false, additional compound
propositions choose several of the four at once and assert the truth
of the compound proposition if any chosen one is true. We explore
these cases while discussing compound propositions formed with
“or.”
First, we note that “or” is used with two distinct meanings. There
is an inclusive “or,” which means one or the other, or both together;
and an exclusive “or,” which means either one or the other, but not
both together.
Suppose my desk lamp fails to work. When I say “The bulb is
burned out, or the current has failed,” I mean the inclusive “or,”
since both cases are possible.
The use of the inclusive “or” makes the compound proposition as-
sert that one of assertions (1)–(3) of the table is true, and assertion
(4) is false.
On the other hand, when I say “I’m going to bed now, or I’m going
for a walk,” I have the exclusive “or” in mind, for I cannot do both
at once. This “or” asserts that the compound proposition is true if
one of the assertions (2) and (3) in our table is true, and (1) and
(4) are false.
The four truth possibilities that occur in a proposition with two
components enable us to form a total of 16 groups of conditions in
which the compound proposition is true; each of these groups, as
we have seen, is composed of four individual conditions called truth
conditions. Of course not all these 16 groups occur in everyday
speech. The most frequently used of them are as follows:
Disjunction (inclusive “or”)
Alternative (exclusive “or”)
Implication (“if ... then ...”)
Equivalence (“is the same as”)
Incompatibility (“is inconsistent with”)
Unfortunately, these designations have not been internationally stan-
dardized; for example, one finds disjunction and alternative con-
fused with each other.
For k components, there are 2k = 2·2·...·2 (k times) truth possibili-

ties. For example, k = 3 results in 23 = 2·2·2 = 8 truth possibilities,
and k = 4 in 24 = 16. The number of truth conditions that can be
formed from these truth possibilities increases even more rapidly,
and therewith the number of compound propositions which can be
k
formed from the components. From k components, 2(2 ) = 2·2·...·2
(2k times) compound propositions are possible. For k = 3, that
3 4
number is 2(2 ) = 256, and for k = 4 it is 2(2 ) = 65, 536. Of course,
only a portion of these have any practical importance.
Here is an example of a compound proposition formed from four
components:
a) Either I go on working and (b) let my pension rights increase, or
(c) I retire now and (d) lead a healthier life.
Here components (a) and (b) on one hand, and (c) and (d) on the
other hand, are each part of a conjunction, and these two conjunc-
tions in turn form part of an alternative. This variety of compound
proposition effectively selects six out of the 16 truth possibilities,
which means that the compound proposition is to be true if any
one of six possibilities is fulfilled, and that it asserts its own falsity
for each of the other 10.
A compound proposition says something about two or more facts at
once. Its components sketch pictures of each of the facts involved.
The grammatical connections then imply an assertion about coex-
istence or non-coexistence of these facts.
It is impossible to see by inspection if the assertion is true or not;
it has to be compared with reality, in the same way as has to be
done with a simple proposition and its assertion of being true.
Accordingly, the compound proposition only has meaning if it is

verifiable. For this, it is necessary and sufficient that the pictures
presented by the components can be compared with reality.
Among compound propositions, there are likewise tautologies and
contradictions—that is, propositions that need no comparison with
reality, since they are either always true or always false, respec-
tively, regardless of the state of reality. These propositions contain
no information; they are only apparently propositions.
There are two causes that make a compound proposition tautolo-
gous or contradictory.
First, the compound proposition may be tautologous if it claims
truth for all truth possibilities of its components. And it is contra-
dictory if it maintains the falsity of all the truth possibilities of its
constituents.
Here is an example using the two simple propositions “My work
is successful” and “I drink coffee.” From these we form the tautol-
ogous proposition: “That my work is successful if I do not drink
coffee does not imply that it is successful if I do drink coffee.” This
gives no information at all, neither whether I really do drink coffee,
nor whether coffee improves my work. Yet the simple components
are not themselves tautologous, though the compound of them is
so, and would still be tautologous if we substituted any other pair
of simple phrases. This is so, because the components are joined
in a particular manner. The example also shows that meaningless
propositions are by no means necessarily useless. They may exem-
plify logical rules—in particular, ones that are not always respected
in our daily life.
Second, the components may be related in certain ways and only

certain truth possibilities can occur. Then the compound proposi-
tion is a tautology if it claims truth for all such truth possibilities,
and is a contradiction if it claims falsity.
As an example, consider the compound proposition that has the

form of an implication: “If the purchasing power of money falls, then
prices rise.” This is a tautology, because its two components, though
differently expressed, say the same thing. For another example, the
conjunction “These birds are entirely herbivorous, and hence they
feed upon insects” is a contradiction, because its two components
flatly contradict each other.
In Chapter 2, Section 2.10, we asked ourselves whether compound

propositions, as contrasted with simple propositions, can communi-
cate something other than facts. This question can now be partially
answered for compound propositions formed by means of logical op-
erations.
We have seen that these propositions can be arranged in a uniform

manner according to the ways in which the truth possibilities of the
components are utilized in the truth conditions of the compound
proposition.
In mathematics, the logician says that the truth of the compound

proposition is a function—the truth function—of the truth of the
individual components. The components are the arguments—the
truth arguments—of this function.
If we just know how many components are given, then we know

the number of their truth possibilities as well as the number of
possible truth conditions. That information gives us the number of

compound propositions that can possibly be created from them.
Consider any one of these compound propositions. Regardless of
its specific form, the pictures of the components are not somehow
worked into a new picture that is not foreseen from those of the com-
ponents. Instead, the compound proposition only asserts something
about the possible simultaneous validity of the individual pictures.
We can never reach a form of proposition of which we can say,
“Well! That anything like this should be the case was quite impos-
sible to foresee.” (Wittgenstein’s diary, November 21, 1916)
It follows that the formation of compound propositions via logical
operations cannot ever carry us out of the realm of facts, that is, of
relations between the things in the world.
We claim that the same conclusion holds when compound propo-
sitions are formed with hitherto unmentioned logical operations of
drawing conclusions or giving reasons, indicated by words such as
“therefore” and “because.”
We omit complete arguments, since they would necessitate discus-
sion of further details of formal logic. But we briefly mention that
the formation of compound propositions with the grammatical con-
junction “because” is not employed solely to assign purely logical
reasons, as in “This number is not divisible by 4 because it is a
prime number.” Indeed, it is also used to assert a cause-and-effect
relation between two facts—for example, “The room is warm be-
cause the stove is burning.” Derivatively, it is employed to assert
a motive-and-action relation in the case of persons—for example,
“I’m not going to work because I feel ill.”
Yet even in these not purely logical ways of giving reasons, it seems
impossible that they could lead us out of the domain of the physical
or psychological facts expressed in the components.
3.5 Universal Propositions
Propositions are universal when they include generalizing words

such as “every,” “everywhere,” or “always.” Even though they may
be simple propositions in a grammatical sense, in Wittgenstein’s
view they involve a logical operation, discussed next.
Such propositions do not depict any facts that can be directly ob-
served in the world. For example, a general fact is expressed in
the law of gravitation. It says that every body attracts every other
body. That law cannot be directly observed as a fact. Instead, we
find that the sun and the earth do this, and so do the earth and
the moon; we also find that bodies on earth do this, whether they
are made of stone, metal or anything else, and that not only is this
now the case, but must have been the case in past ages. We are
therefore faced with a series of statements that can be continued
indefinitely. Now the grammatically simple, universal proposition
asserts that these statements are all jointly valid; to this extent, it
is a kind of abbreviation of a compound proposition of a particular
sort—namely, a conjunction with indefinitely many members.
In a genuine compound proposition, the components furnish pic-
tures of a finite number of facts. Instead of this, a universal propo-
sition gives the listener or reader an instruction that enables con-
struction of the components. In the proposition “All humans are
mortal,” a person can successively substitute for “all humans” the
individuals belonging to the class of humans—in particular, rela-

tives, ancestors, descendants, and so on. The proposition also in-
structs the person to bind together the resulting components by
the word “and.”
The general nature of a statement is not always expressed by a spe-
cial sign of generality, such as “all.” Thus, instead of “all humans”
we could have simply said “humans.”
The signs of generality, whether explicit or not, are in some sense
comparable to the mathematical signs for endless series, which sim-
ilarly do not supply the user with the individual members of the
series, but describe how to construct them.
Since the universal propositions are nothing but abbreviations of
conjunctions, they can only communicate facts, and nothing else.
Recall that the facts in the world are not connected by any in-
ner necessity. That conclusion does not rule out the formation of
meaningful generalizations. On the contrary, it makes such forma-
tion possible, since simple as well as compound propositions have
meaning only if they can also be false.
At first sight, it may not be apparent that many compound proposi-
tions of everyday language belong to the above types. Often, propo-
sitions—even in scientific texts—express not only a piece of factual
information, but also—woven into them—the feelings of the speaker
or writer. In particular, a proposition may be so formulated that
it steers the attention of the listener or reader to what the author
considers the more important points. For example, if a logical con-
junction of propositions is unexpected or amazing, the author may
use the words “but” or “although” instead of “and.”
3.6 Propositions About Intentions
In everyday speech, there are other compound propositions that we

have not dealt with so far. They ascribe an opinion, a fear, a desire,
or an act of the will to a person—in brief, what philosophers call
an intention.
An example is “Monsieur Dupont desires that Pompidou be elected

president.” Obviously, this is a reasonable proposition, and yet it
seems to convey information about something that, in Wittgen-
stein’s view, ought not to exist at all and thus cannot be commu-
nicated. Indeed, it appears to communicate not a fact—which is a
connection between things—but a connection between a thing and
a fact. The thing is Monsieur Dupont. The fact is that Pompidou
be elected president.
Bertrand Russell held this view about the time when the Tractatus
was written. Russell’s view and, more importantly, Wittgenstein’s
claim that all propositions are pictures of facts, motivated him to
pay special attention to this kind of proposition.
According to Wittgenstein, the above interpretation of intentional

propositions is erroneous and based on a suggestive process rooted
in everyday speech. We can free ourselves from this influence only by
an analysis of these propositions. They deal with complex things—
indeed, with complex mental things. We have seen in Chapter 2,
Section 2.9, that such propositions can be reduced to simpler propo-
sitions concerning the components of these complex things. Indeed,
we started from propositions about properties and arrived at propo-
sitions about pure facts.
Let us consider what exactly can be communicated about the in-

tentions of a person. To begin with, we can speak of a particular
movement in the mind, such as wishing or fearing, which cannot
be further analyzed. Second, we can mention the mental process of
imagining what is wished or feared. Of course, the complex events
in our imaginations do not wander about as mere accompaniments
to the movements of the mind, but are intimately connected with
them. There is no wishing or fearing without imagining something
wished or feared.
This dry enumeration of the two components of an intention does
not purport to establish any psychological or metaphysical hypoth-
esis about mental acts; we only wish to mentally separate the two
components.
We are entitled to do this, because we can make separate and mean-
ingful statements about each of them. Indeed, mental movements
of one kind, such as fear, can be linked with quite different imag-
ined objects, such as a car accident or being dismissed from one’s
job. Conversely, different mental motions such as hope and fear can
be coupled with identical imagined objects. For example, a farmer
hoping for rain and a tourist fearing rain may have the same imag-
inations of wet earth and coolness.
The imagined complex arising from an intention is evidently the
picture of a fact—sometimes a true picture, sometimes a false one.
That picture can be represented by a speech picture.
The process is analogous to the following. We have a painting of a
landscape. We take a photograph of the painting, and thus obtain
a secondary representation of the landscape.
In an intentional proposition, the component introduced by the

grammatical conjunction “that” is a speech picture of an imagined
picture that accompanies the mental act; it is therefore a secondary
picture of a fact.
But what is the whole compound proposition?
Bertrand Russell interpreted the proposition “Monsieur Dupont de-
sires that Pompidou be elected president” as if the words “desires
that” expressed the joining of two propositions in the manner we
encountered previously with logical operations. That is, the words
“desires that” are treated like “says that” or “is incompatible with.”
The result is a compound grammatical conjunction.
Suppose we adopt that viewpoint. Then this compound conjunction
asserts a relation between “Dupont,” the name of an object, and
“Pompidou is elected,” a proposition that pictures a fact. But then
the compound proposition expresses a relation between a thing and
a fact, which contradicts the picture theory.
In contrast, Wittgenstein would interpret the compound proposi-
tion as follows: In Dupont, an act of the will is occurring, and the
imagined picture involved in this act says the same thing as the
speech picture “Pompidou is elected.”
Consequently, the intentional proposition is an abbreviation for the
logical conjunction of two statements, for it asserts
(1) that a determinate mental movement is occurring in the stream
of consciousness of a person; and
(2) that the imagined picture belonging to this movement is cor-
rectly reproduced by the picture supplied by the component intro-
duced by “that.”
The second of these assertions can also be formulated in the ter-

minology of the picture theory as follows: The picture elements of
the imagined picture can be correlated with the elements of the
proposition following “that.” Thereby, the connections existing in
the imagined picture, which are facts, can be correlated with the
relations existing in the proposition following “that.”
[T]his does not involve a correlation of a fact with an object, but
rather the correlation of facts by means of the correlation of their
objects. (Tractatus 5.542)
Communications about intentions are implicit in compound propo-
sitions formed by means of the grammatical conjunction “in order
that” or any phrase having the same meaning. Take the proposition
“I set the alarm clock in order to be awakened at 6 am.” This is to
be regarded as a conjunction of the following three components:
(1) I set the alarm clock for 6 am.
(2) If I set the alarm clock for 6 am, I will wake up at 6 am.
(3) I wish to wake up at 6 am.
The third of these propositions is to be interpreted in the manner
set out above for intentional propositions.
We draw the following conclusion from all we have said about com-
pound propositions:
No compound proposition can be invented that, over and above the
possibilities of communication belonging to simple propositions, can
communicate anything other than facts—that is, relations between
the things of the world.
Chapter 4
Misuse of Language
4.1 Colloquial and Scientific Misuses
This chapter draws conclusions from the results of the picture the-
ory—in particular, from the necessary conditions that a meaningful
proposition must obey, and, equally important, from the limits of
what a proposition can express.
In daily speech, in professional activities, in fiction, in political
speeches, and in sermons we encounter numerous misuses of speech
that lead to meaningless or nonsensical assertions. These misuses
are sometimes deliberate, whether in jest or from evil intent.
More important for present purposes are abuses of language that
occur unnoticed by the speaker or writer. They can even be found
in scientific practice.
As a general rule, little harm is done when meaningless or nonsensi-
cal propositions arise from careless formulation of correctly observed
circumstances.
The situation is worse if the relations claimed by a proposition are
not yet clearly known, and indeed cannot possibly be known. If such
propositions do not directly conflict with the grammatical rules of
daily speech, then they can hold their ground for a long time and
hinder the progress of knowledge.
Indeed, we have seen in Chapter 3, Section 3.2, how unverifiable,

and therefore meaningless, propositions arise in science; the exam-
ple concerns assertions of scientists before Einstein’s time about the
absolute simultaneity of events, through the uncritical use of a con-
cept of simultaneity that’s barely precise enough for use in daily
life.
For several decades, the idea of the ether produced similar confu-
sion. But then it was noticed that no statement about it was veri-
fiable, and that any supposition that some substance was acting as
support for electromagnetic waves, might as well be abandoned.
Such lapses in thought and speech occur in all sciences. Yet there
is a whole discipline which principally supports itself by the misuse
of language. This is philosophy.
4.2 Traditional Philosophy
In ancient times, “philosophy” simply meant science. A large por-

tion of Aristotle’s writings is devoted to questions of natural science.
However, in the course of history, the sciences have become more
and more independent of philosophy. Yet the frontiers separating
them remained rather blurred. In 1687, Isaac Newton could still
call his book about universal gravity Philosophiae Naturalis Prin-
cipia Mathematica. During the eighteenth century, the philosopher
Immanuel Kant took a lively interest in cosmogony, the science
dealing with the origin of the universe.
But then areas of science split off from philosophy. For example,
during the nineteenth century, psychology divided into two parts.
One was called rational and continued to form part of philosophy.

The other was an empirically based science of psychology. Similarly,
logic began to assert its independence. Mathematicians like Augus-
tus De Morgan and George Boole furnished decisive impulses to its
further development.
At the time Wittgenstein wrote the Tractatus, philosophy, broadly
speaking, claimed to deal with the following spheres.
The Theory of Knowledge tries to answer the question how our
knowledge, both in daily life and in scientific matters, comes into
existence and when it can be considered to be valid. Hence, it in-
vestigates the phenomenon of consciousness by examining the con-
nection between consciousness and its objects, while ignoring the
psychological and physiological conditions of consciousness.
Metaphysics deals with objects of which we neither have nor can
have any empirical knowledge, but which since ancient times hu-
mans have thought important to comprehend. It attempts to grasp
by intellectual processes what is important about existence, the
soul, and God.
Ethics and Aesthetics have as their object the realm of values. What
has value, and why? What is morally good? What is aesthetically
beautiful?
The Philosophy of Life purports to direct a person’s attention to
her own being and her position in the cosmos; it inquires into the
meaning of life—indeed, of existence in general.
The Philosophical Basis of the Sciences examines the epistemolog-
ical—that is, knowledge-theoretical—underpinnings of individual
sciences. In particular, it investigates the manner in which sciences

develop terms, criteria, and proofs.
Logic, when taught in faculties of philosophy of universities, investi-
gates the criteria applicable to correct thinking, irrespective of the
special content of thought.
However, to an increasing degree, logic has been dealt with in facul-
ties of mathematics, in the form of symbolic or modern logic based
on the work of Gottlob Frege, Giuseppe Peano, David Hilbert, Kurt
Gödel, and many others. Similarly, the philosophical basis of science
in the theory of knowledge has been handled by the individual sci-
ences. In the last third of the nineteenth century, the names Heinrich
Hertz, Wilhelm Wundt, Henri Poincaré, and Ernst Mach deserve
special mention.
Philosophy, in the sense in which it is today most widely under-
stood, and indeed itself claims to be understood, is the endeavor to
find a solution to the problems listed above by means of rational
thought. This excludes any recourse to sentimental arguments, in-
tuition, religious revelation, or common sense. Its aim is not reached
until its results have been expressed in propositions.
Here are two pairs of mutually contradictory philosophical proposi-
tions. For brevity and clarity, we have reduced parts of the original
statements.
The first pair is taken from Rudolf Carnap’s Scheinprobleme in der
Philosophie (Pseudoproblems of Philosophy).
(1) The realist thesis: “The corporeal things that I perceive around
me are not only the content of my perceptions but also exist by
themselves.”
(2) The idealist thesis: “What is real is not the outside world itself;
only the perceptions and imaginings that we have about it are real.”
The second pair comes from ethics and concerns the thesis of util-
itarianism and the formal ethics of Immanuel Kant.
(3) The utilitarian thesis: “The highest aim of moral behavior is the
greatest happiness of the greatest number of mankind.”
(4) Kant’s formal ethics: “Act so that the maxim accepted by your
will could always be valid as the principle of a general legislation.”
4.3 Inadmissibility of Philosophical Propositions
According to Wittgenstein’s conclusions about the limits of what

can be expressed in language, we must contest the right of philos-
ophy to set up propositions of the kind just given, for none of the
claimed themes concern facts.
Of course, books of philosophy are not always devoid of concrete
descriptions of situations. For instance, varieties of moral behavior
may be elucidated. Or events and experiences may be recounted
that give rise to particular feelings and attitudes toward the world
and life. For example, Jean-Paul Sartre explained his ideas in a
whole series of novels. Yet the object of the decisive theses of phi-
losophy is not facts, and it is not relations between the things in
the world. Therefore, the resulting propositions cannot really have
any meaning nor contain any information, even though they may
appear to say something.
Even before Wittgenstein there was fundamental criticism of philos-
ophy. Indeed, even philosophers declared whole sections of philoso-
phy to be pseudosciences. The most radical among them in recent
centuries was David Hume, with his rejection of all science not built
up upon sense experience; and perhaps the most profound was Im-
manuel Kant, who rejected all metaphysical speculation about God,
the soul, and the world.
Wittgenstein’s criticism goes even further. It embraces the whole
of philosophy; a philosophical statement without exception is either
meaningless or nonsensical. This is so whether we can identify faults
of reasoning or not. The very questions philosophy asks are absurd.
Most of the propositions and questions to be found in philosophical
works are not false but nonsensical. Consequently, we cannot give
any answer to questions of this kind, but can only establish that they
are nonsensical. Most of the propositions and questions of philoso-
phers arise from our failure to understand the logic of our language.
(Tractatus 4.003)
Faced with the attempts of traditional philosophy to make state-
ments about values, consciousness, the meaning of the world, and
so on, we find ourselves in a situation comparable to that of a tech-
nician or examiner in a patent office to whom today, long after the
discovery of the principle of conservation of energy, an invention is
offered that claims to produce perpetual motion. The examiner is
entitled to reject any such patent application, without any obliga-
tion to refer in detail to the defective logic. And this despite the
fact that the description of the invention may be precisely worked
out, and that the inventor likely will charge the examiner with in-
tellectual arrogance.
The comparison is imperfect, since the statements in patent appli-
cations may have perfectly precise meaning, which makes it possible
to prove their falsity. In contrast, philosophical theses contain no

genuine, informative statements capable of being true or false, even
though they may appear to be meaningful.
Let us consider the two pairs of theses (1)–(4) quoted above from
this viewpoint. It must be stressed that our sole purpose here is to
explain Wittgenstein’s critique, and that our all too simple expo-
sition doesn’t do justice to the philosophers’ earnest striving after
knowledge.
In the spirit of Wittgenstein, Rudolf Carnap analyzed theses (1)
and (2) quoted earlier with exemplary clarity and penetration.
In these theses, the words “exist” and “real” occur. In everyday
life, when we say that an object does or doesn’t exist, we mean the
object can or can’t be observed at a certain place and time.
This empirical meaning of “exist” is demonstrated in the following
three propositions:
(a) “The positron—the positively charged counterpart of an elec-
tron—exists.” Indeed, experiments by Carl D. Anderson proved
Paul Dirac’s conjecture.
(b) “The castle of Berlin no longer exists.” There is a parade ground
where it used to be.
(c) “Centaurs do not exist.”
The empirical idea of existence or reality can be applied to all things
in the world, whether physical or mental; in the case of the latter, at
least the time and circumstances of their occurrence can be stated.
Statements including these ideas are factual statements, for they
assert the existence of temporal and spatial connections of one thing
with other things.
But this kind of existence is certainly not meant in the two philo-
sophical theses concerning the outside world. The theses deny or
assert that the world outside us is a hallucination. A mentally ill
person might face the same predicament. He cannot tell whether
the world is a hallucination. But in principle that person could es-
tablish by himself that such a perception is deceptive by comparing
it with his other perceptions. Among such perceptions, there might
be words he hears from trustworthy friends. But the kind of reality
which is affirmed or denied by theses (1) and (2) cannot be tested
that way.
There is also a metaphorical meaning of the word “exist” in which

it is applied even to mental objects, as in the proposition “There
exist pairs of whole numbers for which the sum of their squares is
itself the square of a whole number.” Or in the statement “There
exists no solution to this problem.” Here, the phrase “something ex-
ists” means that something can be constructed or proved by logical
considerations. But this, too, is not meant in the two theses quoted
above.
In the absence of any direct definition of a word, it is also possible to

fix its meaning by stating a criterion of truth for the propositions in
which the word is employed; that is, it must be clearly stated which
facts, if verified, involve the truth of such a proposition, and which
other facts, if verified, involve its falsity. That way, psychotherapy
can speak in a meaningful way of mental processes or conditions
that at present cannot be observed. For example, one may talk
about an anxiety complex. This notion does not require us to torture
our minds in trying to imagine something in the brain; we only need
to establish clearly what reactions are to be expected from a patient

when anxiety is asserted.
This minimum requirement is not satisfied when the word “exist” or
“real” is used in the two philosophical theses. No one can say what
our experiences or perceptions have to be if either of the two theses
is true. The theses are therefore pseudostatements. If anything at all
is expressed by them, it cannot be an informative communication
but at most a feeling in the mind, an attitude, or a way of imagining
the outer world. The theses try to communicate something which
is not communicable, something which perhaps could find adequate
expression in a lyric poem.
The ethical theses (3) and (4) quoted above are a different case.
They have a clear meaning, insofar as they express a wish. Such
a wish is undoubtedly implied; no ethical philosopher would deny
the desire to see the content of a thesis realized. The theses might
also express the will of a legislator or the will of God. But that is
not what they are intended to do. They are primarily meant to be
statements—in fact, statements about an absolute moral obligation.
An ethical thesis is an attempt to state what a person ought to do,
and the considerations by a writer on ethics are intended to give
reasons why a person is morally bound to do it.
At least in the fully worked out systems of traditional ethics, this
does not mean the psychological or sociological causes for the voice
of conscience and our tendency to follow it; indeed, it means some-
thing that is outside all causes and effects.
If propositions about moral obligation, goodness, or moral values
are genuine statements, it must be possible to state what is the case
if they are true, and what is the case if they are false. This demand
about the truth criterion of the thesis must not be confused with the
question of what happens if the thesis is obeyed and what happens
if it is not obeyed. An ethical thesis claims to be valid even if no
one obeys it. Moreover, there is no way of knowing where to look
for a criterion of the truth or falsity of such a thesis.
Therefore, if an ethical thesis tries to express anything more than
a mere opinion about value, then it is a pseudostatement. This
is always true of propositions dealing with values. Facts, the only
possible objects of communication, contain no value, and among
propositions dealing with facts there is no hierarchy. For they all
necessarily stem from elementary propositions, which are all of equal
value.
If there are any values—and Wittgenstein certainly believes so—
they are not in the world of facts; that is, they do not exist in the
world at all.
The sense of the world must lie outside the world. In the world,
everything is as it is, and everything happens as it does happen; in
it no value exists—and if it did exist, it would have no value.
If there is any value that does have value, it must lie outside the
whole sphere of what happens and is the case. For all that happens
and is the case is accidental. (Tractatus 6.41)
Therefore, there cannot be propositions of ethics. Propositions can
express nothing that is higher. (Tractatus 6.42)
We can indeed follow a system of ethics in our lives; we can also
attract others to it by our example, or by helping them to bring out
neglected feelings and suppressed urges. We can also describe what
kinds of behavior are prejudicial to the security of human society,

but we cannot by logical means give reasons for a moral obligation.
It is clear that ethics cannot be put into words. (Tractatus 6.4.21)
4.4 Inadmissible Questions
Humans expect from verbal propositions, especially from scientific

ones, something that propositions cannot do. People want to say, or
to be told, why and for what purpose they are in the world, what
they ought to do, and what happens to them when they die.
Meaningful answers can only be expected to meaningful questions,
and questions are only meaningful when they are about the ex-
istence or nonexistence of facts in the world. But the things that
trouble us simply cannot be expressed in the form of such questions.
Little by little, science answers all genuine questions dealing with
things, but then leaves us alone. Beyond that point, philosophy—
mistakenly used as a source of information—can only give us pseu-
doanswers. Genuine philosophical reflection, free of illusion, guides
us to see that there are no remaining questions to be answered, but
tasks for us to do.
We feel that even when all possible scientific questions have been
answered, the problems of living remain completely untouched. Of
course, there are then no questions left, and this itself is the answer.
(Tractatus 6.52)
The solution of the riddle of life in space and time lies outside space
and time.
(Indeed, problems that are not part of natural science must be solved.)
(Tractatus 6.4312)
Every person must seek the solution in actively coming to terms
with life. Knowledge of the facts in the world will not help to find
the solution.
All the facts are solely part of the problem, and not part of its so-
lution. (Tractatus 6.4321)
The solution is life itself.
The solution of the problem of life is seen in the vanishing of the
problem.
(Isn’t this the reason why persons to whom the meaning of life be-
came clear after a long struggle with doubts, could not tell what that
meaning consisted of ?) (Tractatus 6.521)
The world of possible communications is limited by what we can
think. This limit has only one side, the one turned toward us. A
wish to formulate the question of what lies beyond this limit already
contains the impossible attempt to cross it.
This is not to say that there does not exist anything uncommuni-
cable, anything that cannot be put into words. We have already
found such things: They are the elementary things. For us, they are
certain a priori; they make themselves manifest. But neither their
nature nor their very existence can be expressed in propositions.
Logical necessities also manifest themselves, but in another way.
They do so in propositions formed with logical correctness; but
they themselves cannot be explained or proved in propositions.
Proof in logic is merely a mechanical expedient for easier recognition

of tautologies in complicated cases. (Tractatus 6.1262)
In an even stronger sense, it is impossible to put into words experi-
ences concerning the existence of the world and our own conscious
life, its meaning or meaninglessness—in any but a logical sense—or
about our moral destiny.
There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make
themselves manifest. They are what is mystical. (Tractatus 6.522)
Such things can be more important to us than anything that can
be put into words. So it is for Wittgenstein, and he showed it in his
life. He only mentions it in the Tractatus in order to urge us to be
consistent and not relate—in an inadmissible and useless manner—
the mystical to the world of facts, which is all that can be expressed
in words:
It is not how things are in the world that is mystical, but that it
exists. (Tractatus 6.44)
How things are in the world is a matter of complete indifference for
what is higher. God does not reveal himself in the world. (Tractatus
6.432)
We get no nearer to what is higher by trying to put anything about
it into words. This only results in nonsense.
What we cannot speak about, we must pass over in silence. (Trac-
tatus 7)
Philosophy cannot give us things of existence, so to speak. Even
deep and obscure formulations cannot capture anything where all
is feeling and guessing:
Everything that can be thought at all can be thought clearly. Ev-

erything that can be put into words can be put clearly. (Tractatus
4.116)
Chapter 5
Genuine Philosophy
5.1 Tasks of Philosophy
What field of activity is left for philosophy after all that has been
said? The search for facts must be left to the individual sciences.
Investigation of a priori truths concerns logic and mathematics.
Philosophy cannot even establish propositions.
Philosophy aims at the logical clarification of thoughts.
Philosophy is not a body of doctrine but an activity.
A philosophical work consists essentially of elucidations.
Philosophy does not result in “philosophical propositions,” but rather
in the clarification of propositions.
Without philosophy, thoughts are, as it were, cloudy and indistinct;
its task is to make them clear and to give them sharp boundaries.
(Tractatus 4.112)
The propositions to be clarified by philosophy are above all those
of the sciences. Philosophy investigates the formation of concepts
and thoughts that the sciences make use of, the criteria for judging
the truthfulness of statements and theories, and the usefulness of
hypotheses.
In this sense, the theory of knowledge is the philosophy of psychol-
ogy; it has to inquire what is the meaning of concepts such as “I,”
“the outer world,” and “the will”; and to decide whether relations
put forward about these concepts have any meaning.
Wittgenstein’s fundamental considerations about the meaning of

propositions, about truth and falsity—which we have only been able
to touch on—and his account of the logical notation of concepts are
contributions to the philosophy of logic.
Philosophy can make no statement whatever about the general
problems of existence that traditionally sustained metaphysics. But
philosophy can render a valuable service to inquirers by deciding
which questions have meaning and can therefore be answered, and
which are nonsensical.
A spiritual liberation ensues when problems such as those concern-
ing death—presented in the guise of questions—are relegated to
their place among practical tasks.
In the past, questions about what is higher were mixed together
with questions about facts. The contribution of philosophy consists
of separating these two types of questions.
5.2 Philosophical Method and the Tractatus
Philosophy now faces an almost insoluble problem. When we decide

and reason why something can or cannot be put into words, doesn’t
that imply that we are attempting to say something that cannot be
said?
If philosophy is to act consistently, only an indirect approach re-
mains open:
It must set limits to what cannot be thought, by working outwards
through what can be thought. (Tractatus 4.114)
It will signify what cannot be said, by presenting clearly what can

be said. (Tractatus 4.115)
Consistently implemented, we arrive at a quite unusual method for
philosophizing:
The correct method in philosophy would really be the following: to
say nothing except what can be said—that is, propositions of natu-
ral science, which have nothing to do with philosophy; and then,
whenever another person wanted to say something metaphysical,
to prove to him that he had failed to give a meaning to certain
signs in his propositions. Although it would not be satisfying to the
other person—he would not have the feeling that we were teaching
him philosophy—this method would be the only strictly correct one.
(Tractatus 6.53)
In the first line of the quotation, Wittgenstein says “would really
be,” for he himself in the Tractatus does not adhere to this method.
If we exclude the parts of the Tractatus dealing with logical con-
nections in the narrower sense—about one third of the book—we
encounter philosophical propositions at every step.
For instance, consider the assertion that everything we encounter
can be analyzed into facts and things; that assertion is of decisive
importance for the entire work.
The matter under discussion is facts, but the possibility of analyzing
them into elementary facts and elementary things is not itself a fact.
The assertion that this analysis can be effected is not verifiable. This
is immediately seen when we attempt to answer the question “What
must the appearance of the world be if the assertion is true, and
what if it is false?”
Besides, the assertion contains no statement which is a priori true.

Therefore, according to Wittgenstein’s own definition, it is nonsen-
sical.
When we dealt with the picture theory, we already pointed out that
it is not demonstrable, but that Wittgenstein gives it as a guide for
seeing things correctly. That argument may be acceptable, despite
the danger of optical illusion. But the picture theory is to furnish a
criterion of whether or not a proposition has meaning. Yet for use
in any concrete case, we should have to know, for example, whether
the symbols of a proposition are in their logical form compatible
with one another. But with regard to that problem, there is no
knowledge in the genuine meaning of that word, namely, factual
knowledge.
That concepts such as “triangular” and “painful” cannot be con-

nected to each other is something we feel. Even in such a simple
case, we can paraphrase in a most general way why the two con-
cepts belong to different categories.
It seems that all this does not meet Wittgenstein’s requirement that
a philosophical work should consist essentially of elucidations. Here,
the meaning of elucidation is somewhat narrower than the usual one:
Ideas that cannot be defined or only defined with difficulty—such as
the idea of “imagination”—or grammatical forms such as genitive
or dative, can be elucidated by forming propositions in which the
ideas or forms occur.
Put differently, a proposition can be elucidated by examples of

states of things in which it is true.
An inadmissible conclusion can be elucidated by simply using it

once in a significant example; the hearer will see the point without
further elaboration.
The propositions used for the purpose of elucidation do not give the
explanation but allow it to become visible. Thereupon, we should
forget these propositions and only retain what has shown itself in
them.
The doubts we have accumulated while reading the Tractatus are

treated by Wittgenstein at the end of the book in an altogether sur-
prising manner. He does not remove these doubts; he strengthens
them. The reader is told to consider the whole system of propo-
sitions of the Tractatus as being only an elucidation—indeed, an
elucidation of a very peculiar kind.
These propositions, he says, have in reality no meaning that can

be stated. But precisely in the recognition of their meaninglessness,
something should dawn upon the reader.
Wittgenstein’s intention in the Tractatus is to have an overall set-

tlement of accounts with traditional philosophy, and to show that
philosophical propositions are nonsensical. But this is just the sort
of thing that cannot be expressed in propositions; it can only be
elucidated.
Now the elucidation furnished by the Tractatus consists precisely

of this: that the propositions put forth in the course of the inves-
tigation of the problem—however enlightening they may appear at
first sight—reveal themselves to be nonsensical as a consequence of
the investigation itself.
My propositions are elucidations in this way: Anyone who under-

stands me eventually recognizes them as nonsensical, when he has
used them—as steps—to climb up beyond them. (He must, so to
speak, throw away the ladder after he has climbed up on it.)
He must transcend these propositions, and then he will see the world
the right way. (Tractatus 6.54)
This can be paraphrased as follows: Forget these propositions as
quickly as possible, and then try again to go back to making philo-
sophical statements—if you can. It can no longer be done.
Appendix A
Time Relations in Physics
Two kinds of observations can be made concerning the speed of
light that at first sight seem contradictory.
(1) An observer stationed either at the source of light or at a given
distance from it finds that light spreads out in all directions with
equal speed, whether or not the source of light and the observer have
common movement, for example, relative to the earth or relative to
the system of fixed stars.
(2) From observation (1) it would follow by common sense that an
observer moving toward the source of light must record a greater
speed for the light reaching him, and an observer moving away from
the source of light must record a lesser speed. Surprisingly, the light
reaching the observer always has the same speed. For example, the
sun’s light reaches us in the morning, when we are moving toward it,
at the same speed as in the evening, when we are moving away from
it. An observer who is in motion relative to the source of light will
therefore have to consider as false the assertion made by another
observer who is at rest relative to the source of light.
Obviously, this contradiction cannot reside in the natural phenom-
enon itself. It must arise from our applying inadequate concepts to
the phenomenon—that is, inadequate concepts of time and distance,
since they are used to define speed. These concepts must be further
refined if the statements of the two observers are to be compatible
with each other.
Appendix A 110
The refinement is effected by Einstein’s special theory of relativity.

It supplies formulas for determining distance and time when relative
speeds of the observers are involved. The formulas tell each observer
rules to be applied to measurements of length and time when the
experience of the other observer is to be computed.
A remarkable result occurs in the case of two events—for example,

flashes of light—occurring in two places at a great distance from
each other. Suppose we have to decide which event happens first.
The decision can be different according to whether the observer is
at rest relative to the places where the events occur, or is in motion
relative to one of the places or to both of them.
Indeed, according to the observer’s state of motion or rest, the two

events can be simultaneous, or one or the other can occur first. We
have used the word “can” and not “seem(s) to” because there is no
criterion for deciding which time relation exists between the events.
The only way to resolve the supposed discrepancy between the

claims of the two observers, is application of the formulas of the
special theory of relativity. These formulas say that both observers
are right.
The supposition that a real, absolute time relation exists indepen-

dently of the conditions of the observer is therefore shown to be
nonsensical.
Of course, not all events can reverse their succession in time accord-
ing to the conditions of observation; for this to happen, the events
must be close to each other in time, and far apart in space.
Appendix A 111
The same conclusion applies to any two causally connected events;

the special theory of relativity says that the one causing the other
is the earlier one for all observers.
Appendix B
Elementary Things and Facts
Throughout this book, we have used the expressions “elementary
things” and “elementary facts,” which seem more precise than the
words employed by Wittgenstein in the Tractatus. He calls things
that cannot be further analyzed simply “things” or “objects,” and
he calls “complexes” the things we encounter immediately in the
world. Relations existing between things he calls “facts,” irrespec-
tive of whether they consist of simple or composite things.
References
Amery, J., On Aging, Indiana University Press, 1994. Originally

published as Über das Altern, Ernst Klett Verlag, 1968.
Anscombe, G. E. M., An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus,
Hutchinson University Library, 1959.
Barnett, L., The World We Live In, published by LIFE magazine
in 13 installments, 1952-1954.
Carnap, R., Scheinprobleme in der Philosophie (Pseudoproblems of
Philosophy), 1928, available from Meiner Verlag für Philosophie,
2005.
Friedlander, E., Signs of Sense, Harvard University Press, 2001.
Hartnack, J., Wittgenstein und die moderne Philosophie (Wittgen-
stein and Modern Philosophy), Kohlhammer-Verlag, 1962. English
edition, Doubleday, 1965.
Mounce, H. O., Wittgenstein’s Tractatus, University of Chicago
Press, 1981.
Nordmann, A., Wittgenstein’s Tractatus, Cambridge University
Press, 2005.
Stegmüller, W., Die Hauptströmungen der Gegenwartsphilosophie
(Mainstream Contemporary Philosophy), Humboldt-Verlag, 1952.
Revised edition, Kröner, 1960 (title translation by eds.).
White, R. M., Wittgenstein’s ‘Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus’, Con-
tinuum International Publishing Group, 2006.
References 114
Wittgenstein, L., Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, Routledge and

Kegan Paul, Ltd, 1961. Translation by D. F. Pears and B. F. McGuin-
ness, and with the introduction by Bertrand Russell, F.R.S.
About Author and Translator
About the Author
Friedrich Philip Hülster was born 1905 into a wealthy merchant

family in the town of Siegburg, Germany. After high school, he
started studying theology at the Catholic-Theological Faculty of the
University of Bonn, then stopped abruptly. Later he said, “I just
couldn’t accept what I was told.” He turned to physics, finished
with a PhD at the University of Cologne in 1933, and obtained a
position at the research lab of the Telefunken Company in Berlin.
There he specialized in vacuum tube technology.
In 1938, he married Eva Julie Faßnacht, born in 1906. To their great
regret, the couple never had children. Instead, they focused on their
nieces and nephews, often giving significant material support when
they saw a need.
In 1933, the conservative, mostly Catholic, Zentrum Party made a
Faustian bargain with the Nazis. In return for Zentrum support for
the Ermächtigungsgesetz, which gave Hitler dictatorial power, the
Nazis promised that the Catholic Church would remain untouched
by the upheaval to come. That law paved the way for the unspeak-
able crimes of World War II and the Holocaust.
Hülster despised the Nazi regime. Seeing the savagery of the Kristall-
nacht in 1938, he came home crying. There was nothing he could
do; anybody speaking up after 1933 was arrested and put in a con-
centration camp.
About Author and Translator 116
During World War II, he continued to work at the Telefunken lab

in Berlin. Miraculously, he and his wife survived the bombing.
After World War II, he joined the French company Thomson in

Paris. He continued to work on vacuum tube technology, at one
time producing a superb amplifier for large-power radio transmit-
ters. The various alloys and materials were so selected that thermal
expansion caused no stresses, resulting in extraordinarily long life.
But by the end of the 1950s, vacuum tubes were on the way out.
He was unable to make the transition to the new transistor tech-
nology and moved to the patent department of the company. He
was a meticulous scientist, but increasingly considered the paper
work on patents a drudgery he longed to escape. This he did at
age 63. When queried how he could retire so early, he said, smil-
ingly, “I played the retirement game correctly”; meaning that time
was of the essence, and not wealth. Upon asked what he intended
to do after the departure from Thomson, he answered, “I want to
understand what can be said.”
He began this project by studying the book Tractatus Logico-Philo-

sophicus by the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889-1951). By
now, several books have been written about the Tractatus. Hülster
wrote an introduction whose English translation you hold in your
hands. As he explains in the preface, writing about the Tractatus
was his way of confirming that he had understood the book.
He died 1992 in Bad Neuenahr-Ahrweiler, Germany.

About Author and Translator 117
About the Translator
W. E. O’Hea was a friend of Hülster’s. The editors of this book

have been unable to find out details about O’Hea, not even the
names behind the initials W and E. But we know that O’Hea lived
in Vaucresson near Paris, France, was married, and had at least one
child, a girl. He was fluent in German. It is unknown how he came to
translate Hülster’s book about the Tractatus, a formidable task. A
reasonable guess is that he read the typed copy of the German book,
was impressed, and proposed that an English version be created to
assure wider distribution.
Subject Index
aesthetics, 91, see also philosophy

affirmation, 74, see also logical
alternative, 78, see also logical
Amery, Jean, 14
Anderson, Carl D., 95
Anscombe, G. E. M., 9
atomism, 20
logical, 21
Boole, George, 91
Carnap, Rudolf, 92, 95

color
cone, 44
pyramid, 44
communication
means, 37
method
one-sign, 38
sense-of-sight, 37
sign language, 37
speech, 37
writing, 37
complex, Tractatus definition, 112
contradiction, 71, see also logical
Subject Index 119
cosmogony, 90
curve, simple closed, 45
differentia specifica, 18
Dirac, Paul, 95
disjunction, 78, see also logical
Einstein, Albert, 70, 90, 110

elucidation of ideas, 106
equivalence, 78, see also logical
ethics, 93, see also philosophy
formal, 93
fact, 16, 17, 45, see also thing

chain, 19
elementary, 20
existence, 20
non-fact, 21
relation, 17, 21
Tractatus definition, 112
unconnectedness, 30
form of representation, 48
free will, 33
Frege, Gottlob, 62, 92
Friedlander, Eli, 9
genus proximum, 18
Gödel, Kurt, 92
Hartnack, Justus, 10
Subject Index 120
Hertz, Heinrich, 92
Hilbert, David, 92
Hume, David, 94
implication, 78, see also logical

incompatibility, 78, see also logical
Kant, Immanuel, 90, 93, 94
language, see also syntax

inflected, 52
misuse
colloquial, 89
science, 89
logic
mathematics, 92
philosophy, 92
logical
affirmation, 74
alternative, 78
atomism, 21
constant, 74
contradiction, 71
disjunction, 78
equivalence, 78
form, 30
picture and reality, 47
implication, 78
incompatibility, 78
Subject Index 121
necessity, 32
negation, 74
operation, 74
operator, 74
tautology, 71
Mach, Ernst, 92
McGuinness, B. F., 6
meaningful, 73, see also proposition
meaningless, 71, 73, see also proposition
metaphysics, 91, see also philosophy
misuse of language, see language
Morgan, Augustus De, 91
Mounce, Howard O., 9
multiplicity, mathematical, 43
name, reference to elements, 67

natural laws, 32
negation, 74, see also logical
Newton, Isaac, 90
non-fact, 21, see also fact
nonsensical, 73, see also proposition
Nordmann, Alfred, 9
object
ideal, 19
Tractatus definition, 35, 112
observer of speed of light
in motion, 109
Subject Index 122
stationary, 109
operation, 74, see also logical
operator, 74, see also logical
patent claim, analogy for analysis of complex proposition, 55

Peano, Giuseppe, 92
Pears, D. F., 6
philosophy
aesthetics, 91
basis of sciences, 91
correct method, 105
ethics, 91
inadmissibility of philosophical propositions, 93
logic, 92
metaphysics, 91
of life, 91
principle of verifiability, 69
tasks, 103
theory of knowledge, 91
traditional, 90
utilitarianism, 93
verifiability principle, 69
picture
characterization, 41
purely logical, 48
representation of object, 40
theory, 39
Poincaré, Henri, 92
principle of verifiability, 69, see also philosophy
Subject Index 123
property, 23
complex thing, 24
external, 29
formal, 29
internal, 29
two different meanings, 25
proposition
compound, 75
two contradictory pairs, 92
elementary, 53, 54
formed by logical operations, 75
inadmissibility of philosophical propositions, 93
intention, 85
meaningful, 73
meaningless, 71, 73
negation, 73
nonsensical, 73
ordinary, 54
sense, 67
senseless, 71
sign, 67
simple, 66
structure, 51
universal, 83
pseudo-
answer, 99
proposition, 73
statement, 97
Subject Index 124
question, inadmissible, 99
relation, 17, 21, see also fact, thing

Russell, Bertrand, 62
Sartre, Jean-Paul, 93
saying versus showing, 68
senseless, 71, see also proposition
showing versus saying, 68
sign
relationship with symbol, 63
of generality, 84
special theory of relativity, 110
speed of light, 109
Stegmüller, Wolfgang, 21
structure, picture and reality, 43
symbol, 63, see also proposition
syntax
language, 64
rules defining combinations of words, 64
tautology, 71, see also logical

theory of
knowledge, 91, see also philosophy
relativity, 110
thing, 16, see also fact
complex, 19
elementary, 20
existence, 20
Subject Index 125
relation, 17, 21
substance of the world, 34
Tractatus definition, 35, 112
two groups, 16
thought see also proposition
logical picture of facts, 49
process, 50
sense of proposition, 67
time relations in physics, 109
truth possibility, 76
utilitarianism, 93, see also philosophy
verifiability principle, 69, see also philosophy
White, Roger M., 9

world, 13
Wundt, Wilhelm, 92

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What is the structure of the book?

What is the structure of the book?

What is Wittgenstein's picture theory?

What is Wittgenstein's picture theory?

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c 2015 by Leibniz Company

Cover Design: Ingrid Truemper

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Hülster, Friedrich, 1905–1992

Chapter 1 The World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

1.1 The World Common to All Men 13

2.1 Means of Communication 37

2.9 Elementary Propositions 53

Chapter 3 Efficiency of Speech . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62

Chapter 4 Misuse of Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89

Chapter 5 Genuine Philosophy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103

Appendix A Time Relations in Physics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109

Appendix B Elementary Things and Facts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112

About Author and Translator . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115

Subject Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118

The editors of this book are a grandniece and nephew of author

To keep the presentation uncluttered, the modifications of the trans-

About Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus

In 1921, Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein (1889-1951) published

In the preface of the Philosophical Investigations, he wrote that

Why You May Want ...

Wittgenstein is considered by some the most important philosopher

Numerous Introductions and Commentaries ...

... exist about Wittgenstein’s Tractatus. When you google “Intro-

stein and Modern Philosophy) by Justus Hartnack as an outstand-

Thanks are due to a number of people who assisted in the publica-

Last but not Least

Since we made numerous changes in the translated text, any errors

These notes had their origin in a habit of mine—dating from long

Wittgenstein’s later work, although written almost entirely in ev-

1.1 The World Common to All Men

The Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, hence simply referred to as

“The world of primitive man” and “The world views of 18th-century

“The world created by God.” Here “world” particularly stresses the

At this point, we find ourselves already in the midst of the problems

No problem arises with physical things such as plants, animals or

Quite clearly, we do not find hexagonal circles or wooden iron in

The above concept of the world therefore leads us to ontological

Before we can inquire into the nature of communication, we must

Regardless of this interaction, we must begin with what is to be

1.2 Things and Facts

We first take a look with Wittgenstein at the world and observe to

If I describe to someone a pain in my shoulder as being acute,

temperatures—long before agreement could be reached about the

further analysis. In the example of the tree, the final components

1.3 Elementary Things and Elementary Facts

The description of any complex thing comes to a stop when we

According to Wittgenstein’s postulate, in every analytical descrip-

Yet he believes that, even though he succeeded in proving that anal-

than Socrates” is a fact. Note that this fact can be viewed as a

Our physical knowledge of atoms furnishes us with a good working

When the Tractatus appeared, atomic nuclei and electrons were

It is difficult to understand why Wittgenstein thought it so impor-

If the limit were dependent upon the knowledge we have at the