One of the striking things about Rhees’ passage is this: there is not only something deeply peculiar about the question that seeks understanding in philosophy, but there is also something deeply peculiar about the understanding which is sought. It is not something that can be formulated, stated. I will say more about that this week, but for now I just want to relate the idea to the work of Rhees himself.
Reading Rhees is itself a peculiar experience. In one sense, everything is simple, and its simplicity is further simplified by its repetitive, chant-like structure. Sentences are short. Rarely is any technical or recondite vocabulary employed. And yet, and yet Rhees work is extremely difficult. It is as though what he wants you to understand cannot be found in any of his sentences, no matter how often repeated. It is as though what he wants you to understand is somehow floating among the sentences, brought to presence by them, but embodied in no one of them nor in their conjunction. —So maybe Rhees has found a way of writing that is true to his conception of the understanding that is sought in philosophy?