2.47
Why do I use the? Because it tries to subvert rigid structure or structuralism—which either take the cube as exclusively one of its projections or reduce it to a series of lines—by showing other possibilities internal to a given picture. And it shows a way of moving, a dynamism. That is, it subverts rigid or universal structure with metaphoric ‘structure.’ It isn’t the naked truth upon which group interpretations and understandings are lain. It, too, is a metaphor: a metaphor for metaphors (§2.2). It’s like Wittgenstein’s ladder (§1.47): it tries to do the impossible.
“6.54 My propositions serve as elucidations in the following way: anyone who understands me eventually recognizes them as nonsensical, when he [sic] has used them—as steps—to climb up beyond them. (He must, so to speak, throw away the ladder after he has climbed up it.)
“He must transcend these propositions, and then he will see the world aright.”[1]
Wittgenstein’s ladder comes in the penultimate subsection of the Tractatus, prepared for by definite steps. Ultimately, however, neither the cube nor the ladder, despite Wittgenstein’s claims for the latter, lead to a higher place to “see the world aright”,[2] nor can we simply throw them away; rather, they can lead only sideways or in a circle; they’re caught in the gust of a historic throw, an inescapable whirlwind of context, from within a particular disclosure. There are certain definite steps, which we can trace through the history of our tradition and philosophy, that lead to the possibility of their use and understanding. Nobody can climb out of this, or beyond themselves. Additionally, if they’ve led us to see something, these steps stay with us, for they’ve shown us something from a particular angle.
I want the cube to be ‘enfolded’ back upon itself. What would this mean? The cube, and images like it, try to express the inexpressible. The cube tries to point outside its particular disclosure while acknowledging it cannot do so: it tries, impossibly, to acknowledge its own limits. And yet, there’s something responsible about the attempt, despite the impossibility of success.
Nothing that matters is guaranteed. Ethics precisely emerges from the impossibility of doing justice—responding adequately or sufficiently—to the situation. Nonetheless, we cannot but respond, for we can’t forsake ethics. It’s a question of whether we do a good job or not even though we never guarantee that we’ve adequately responded to what phenomena demand.
[1] Wittgenstein, Tractatus, §6.54, p. 89.
[2] ibid.