Wittgenstein Jr by Lars Iyer Read Free Book Online Page B

a
freedom
to the English don—no German stuffiness, no French pretension …
    The old world! The old dons! The old lawn—spreading into the distance! The old dream of a Jerusalem to be built on England’s green and pleasant land!
    The English lawn is receding, Wittgenstein says. And with it, the world of the old dons of Cambridge.
    New housing estates, where once was open countryside … A new science park where once were allotments and orchards … New apartment blocks near the station, their balconies in shade … And towering barbarisms: Varsity Hotel, looming over Park Parade; Botanic House, destroying the Botanic Gardens; Riverside Place, desecrating the River Cam …
    They’re
developing
the English lawn, Wittgenstein says. They’re building glassy towers on the English lawn. They’re laying out suburbs and exurbs on the English lawn. They’re developing new business parks on the English lawn. They’re constructing Megalopolis on the English lawn.
    And they’re developing the English
head
, Wittgensteinsays. They’re building glass-and-steel towers in the English
head
. They’re building suburbs and exurbs in the English
head
 …
    The new don is nothing but a
suburb-head
, Wittgenstein says. The new don—bidding for funds,
exploring synergies with industry
, looking for
corporate sponsorship
, launching
spin-off companies
. The new don, courting venture capitalists, seeking business partners, looking to
export the Cambridge brand
. The new don—with a
head full of concrete
. A finance-head. A capitalist-head.
    Do we believe the dons
teach
at Cambridge? No, they
train
at Cambridge! Do we believe the dons
think
at Cambridge? No, they
bid
at Cambridge! They
network
. They grub about for money. They ride the waves of global finance.
    The new don has sold his soul!, Wittgenstein says. The new don has sold his university! The new don has
monetised
Cambridge! The new don has made Cambridge into an
advert
.
    It was the new dons who made Oxford unbearable for his brother, Wittgenstein says. The new-style philosophers!
    English philosophy has become
business
philosophy,
grant-chasing
philosophy, his brother told him. The Oxford philosophy department dreams only of being
Big Philosophy
, his brother said. Of founding Philosophy Parks, of donning philosophical lab coats …
    There are Oxford chairs in the
desecration
of philosophy, his brother told him. In the
murder
of philosophy. In the
destruction
of philosophy. In the
strangulation
of philosophy.
    His brother overheard a don use the phrase
learning competencies
, Wittgenstein says. His brother was asked todemonstrate the
real-world applicability
of his fundamental work in logic. His brother was expected to make a case for the
impact
of his thought on the world at large.
    His brother said nothing, Wittgenstein says. He kept mute. But he knew he had to leave the high table, and to leave Oxford. He knew he had no choice but to
leave England
.
    Almost all of us have liaisons. Brief encounters, lasting no more than a night. But
relationships
—no, not really. Never anything that serious. There is never anything that serious at Cambridge. The Cambridge years don’t count. They’re years out, years on holiday.
Frivolous
years, not part of ordinary life. Cambridge is just a playground …
    Brief encounters … One-night stands … One-week flings … One-term relationships … But
romance
? Romance has nothing to do with us.
    A one-nighter—snog in a club, home in a taxi, pulling off clothes, opening a condom packet, a study-bedroom fuck, bed rocking, bed creaking, staggering home in the dawn. A whole weekend—lying in bed and doing it again, and then again and again. As long as a fortnight—as long as infatuation surges through us, until, one day, lust gets bored, yawns and stretches its limbs …
    But Ede’s love for Phaedra (Fee) is entirely different, he says.
    He tracked her down, he says. He found her at some dreadful rah birthday