Yeah okay he was smart, but come on...

Yeah okay he was smart, but come on, the real reason that people say he was “the best philosopher of the 20th century” and overhype him all the time was that firstly, he had a cool interesting life story, secondly, he looked badass (intelligent and handsome, rugged face with excellent chad-like jawline), and most importantly, because he really was good at playing up the “super-intense” mystical mysterious philosopher persona. There were a lot of holes in his thought, and there were plenty of philosophers who made more significant contributions than he did, but they were mostly boring academic bookworms who looked like ugly unkempt betas and who spent their entire lives in a university library.

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are you serious he looks like a nerd youd beat up for lunch money

But that’s not Camus

its witgenstein

i'm a Wittgenstein fan and actually agree. I think him having a really interesting life story adds significant amounts of traction to every other aspect of his work.

I'm Wittgenstein and I actually disagree.

>there were plenty of philosophers who made more significant contributions than he did
Name one, Heidegger is the only one that comes close

see

>Finally, toward the end of my time in Cambridge, I ventured to speak to him. I told him I had enjoyed reading the Tractatus, and I asked him whether he still held the same views that he had expressed twenty-eight years earlier. He remained silent for a long time and then said, “Which newspaper do you represent?” I told him I was a student and not a journalist, but he never answered my question.
Wittgenstein’s response to me was humiliating, and his response to female students who tried to attend his lectures was even worse. If a woman appeared in the audience, he would remain standing silent until she left the room. I decided that he was a charlatan using outrageous behavior to attract attention. I hated him for his rudeness. Fifty years later, walking through a churchyard on the outskirts of Cambridge on a sunny morning in winter, I came by chance upon his tombstone, a massive block of stone lightly covered with fresh snow. On the stone was written the single word, “WITTGENSTEIN.” To my surprise, I found that the old hatred was gone, replaced by a deeper understanding. He was at peace, and I was at peace too, in the white silence. He was no longer an ill-tempered charlatan. He was a tortured soul, the last survivor of a family with a tragic history, living a lonely life among strangers, trying until the end to express the inexpressible.

Faggot, he was jew