As I was setting up this page I recalled with a shock the reason why my late wife nicknamed me 'Archilochus'. Funny, I remembered everything else except that. The first reader appointed by Oxford University Press quoting Isaiah Berlin said I was l like the hedgehog, I knew one big thing: 'The world is and will always remain absolutely other than I.' That was from my manuscript First Philosophy which was eventually published (though not by OUP) as Naive Metaphysics.
So long ago.
But it's all coming back, my recent posts on Tentative Answers have raked it all up again. The world is becoming strange, stranger. I watch the TV News and think, 'Who are those people?' I thought I had it under control, this sense of increasing distance, detachment. 'Don't many feel that way?' 'Yes, but I wrote the book, didn't I?' I broke the taboo, talked about the one thing that academic philosophers aren't supposed to talk about. 'Don't go there,' they said. But I did.
Why me? That's a good question. I don't have an answer. Stirner, Nietzsche, Wittgenstein, Sartre. Blame them if you like. But then, they didn't take that final plunge. There are things you just can't say, even if you think it. Maybe it's just the way I read, the way I misunderstand. Out of laziness or sheer cussedness, I don't know. Or maybe my brain has never really fired on all cylinders. Yes, now we're getting to the truth of it, I'm just a bit dim. Take that as read. Puts me in a big enough crowd dim witted people writing blogs. My cloak of anonymity. Ha!