Wallace's story illustrates the solipsistic problems caused by the (hyper)reflexive attitude. For this attitude causes us to regard our so-called internal processes--thoughts, feelings, et cetera--as objects, 'as things that we have', and ourselves as the exclusive 'owners' of those objects. Although this might seem like an innocent line of thought, the effects are irrevocably far-reaching. Hacker writes: 'If we think of "pain" as the name of a sensation we have on the model of names of objects (in a generalized sense of 'object'), then solipsism is unavoidable. A public language cannot be construed as the confluence of private languages that happen to coincide.' If I think that for me the meaning of the word 'pain' lies anchored in an essentially private experience, then I will never be able to speak meaningfully about my pain with others. It is impossible to connect myself to the outside world if I, from a reflexive attitude, regard the meaning of myself and the world to be derived from processes that take place inside me.

However, Wittgenstein has shown, through his private language arguments, that my understanding of myself and the world cannot and does not depend on such looking-inside. A word has a certain meaning because it has a certain use in language. That use is not invented by me at the moment that I pronounce a word while I point inside. Rather, it is the other way around, Wittgenstein writes: 'Grammar tells what kind of object anything is.' It is grammar--the use a certain word has in language--that determines what I mean when I say 'I am in pain.' Or, as Wallace summarizes Wittgenstein's position: 'a word like pain means what it does for me because of the way the community I'm part of has tacitly agreed to use pain'.

[...] according to Wittgenstein, meaning is not determined by reference to the world or to the thoughts of the speaker but results from the communal structures of language users. In light of this view, the non-referentiality of literary texts does not pose a problem: fiction is not an atypical form of language use or a form of linguistic pretence intrinsically cut off from expressing anything about the world. As a result, the late-Wittgensteinian view enables us to see literature as most of us experience it: as directly concerned with our form of life, with the world we live in. [...]

[...] our use of these concepts cannot take place without their being 'founded' by what we could call 'paradigmatic cases': examples that are common knowledge within a certain life-form, that function as a sort of standard, and thereby form part of the foundation of our meaningful use of certain concepts. Literary fiction and other cultural products could be seen as important suppliers of these paradigmatic examples.

I have little difficuty explaining to somebody what I mean by the world 'brown' or 'meter'. But how do I explain other, more complex relationships, like 'love' [...]? I could contend that my relationship with my wife is a perfect example of 'love', but most people do not know me or my wife, and will therefore not find my example very illuminating. If, on the other hand, I suggest the story of Romeo & Juliet as an example of 'love', then almost everybody will know what I mean. The concept of 'love' cannot be explained (or defined) in one sentence; it requires stories to acquire meaning.

The most influential of these stories we can regard as 'paradigmatic cases' that form the foundation of the meaning that we ascribe to certain concepts, that 'traverse' our talk of them. We can imagine that such complex concepts are not based on just one but many of these paradigmatic cases, and that they do not signify rigid standards, but change, together with the stories that, as time passes, we come to find either more or less meaninful. People make different selections from the available paradigmatic cases and emphasize different aspects. Concepts change as the paradigmatic cases, on which we base our understanding of them, change. Such transformations are changes of our life-form, of our socio-cultural identity. [...]

[...] This Wittgensteinian approach to the functioning of language entails a view of literature that does not regard fictional texts as expressing something unreal, but as a fundamental activity within a community of language users: literary fictions offer detailed depictions of concepts that are essential to our collective understanding of reality.

[...] Wallace is not calling for a return to old truths and values. In other interviews, he says: 'we're going to have to make up a lot of our own morality, and a lot of our own values'. And: 'there's probably no absolute right in all situatons handed down from God on the stone tablets. [...] it is our job as responsible decent spiritual human beings to arrive at sets of principles to guide our conduct in order to keep us from hurting ourselves and other people.'

Now, most theorists of authenticity prefer to speak of authenticity as the product of continuous self-creation and development and not of an inherent, fixed self-essence. But if there is nothing 'inherent' about the authentic self, then the question arises as to whether we can even speak meaningfully about something--a self--that is at risk of being corrupted from the outside, in the first place. If authenticity requires the self to be fully autonomous--that is, not subject to any external influences, being completely self-determining--then that self-determination--if it is even possible--has to consist, by definition, of influences that are inherently present 'in' that self. In other words, the whole idea of an authentic self (over against the outer-directed ideal of sincerity) seems to depend on the implicit assumption of a profound, internal purity of the self that differs fundamentally from the impurity that lies outside it.

[...] In Infinite Jest it is exactly this abhorrence of 'unsophisticated naïveté', this 'transcendence of sentiment' through hyperreflexivity and irony, that leads to emptiness, to 'anhedonia, death in life'. The desire to avoid naïveté at all costs is itself a form of naïveté--the 'queerly persistent U.S. myth that cynicism and naïveté are mutually exclusive'--that has catastrophic consequences for the self.

[...] despite being the most empathetic character in the novel who is always perceptive of other people's pain and suffering, Mario himself does not feel pain. [...] this neurological deficit seems an unmistakable reference to Wittgenstein's question [...]: what determines the meaning of the utterance 'I am in pain'?

[...] Wanting despair, despairing, means recognizing that something has to change, and that means changing despair from a state that one is in (with or without knowing it) to a self-chosen act; and with that choice the individual leaes despair behind (for he has thereby taken on the task of becoming). As the ethicist writes: 'in order truly to despair, a person must truly will it; but when he truly wills it, he is truly beyond despair'.

[...] Kierkegaard, like Sartre, regards human existence as characterized by the tension between what one is and what one still has to become (as we know, Sartre calls these aspects facticity and transcendence). For Kierkegaard, becoming a self means relating both aspects of human-reality to each other, constantly bringing them into 'synthesis'. He calls these two aspects the gift and task of human existence. [...]

The aesthete does not realize this task. His reality 'is only possibility', and he wants to keep it that way; everything has to remain possible at all times for the aesthete. The ironic-aesthetic attitude is a flight for the responsibility from the becoming of one's existence: to redeem his task, the individual cannot just remain (non-committal) possibility, but has to freely determine himself, that is, realize himself as a positivity, an actuality.