Like Socrates, Wittgenstein saw philosophy as at least as much an exercise in self-honesty as an intellectual endeavor. In a 1931 remark among the collection of notes posthumously published as “Culture and Value” (“Vermischte Bemerkungen,” 1977), Wittgenstein writes that philosophy’s difficulty lies “with the will, rather than with the intellect.” The same goes for confession. Wittgenstein didn’t lack the insight to locate and define his own failings; rather, as Rhees says, Wittgenstein found it difficult to recognize that he had been behaving “in a character that was not genuine … because he hadn’t the will.” To escape self-deception Wittgenstein needed to do “something that needed courage” — to confess.

Admitting wrongdoing and seeking forgiveness weren’t Wittgenstein’s main concerns; his concerns were escaping self-deception and changing himself. Confession fulfills this role because it requires courage and askesis — self-discipline. Wittgenstein’s demands on himself were high: during his confession Pascal asked, “What is it? You want to be perfect?” — to which he proudly replied, “Of course I want to be perfect.”

Wittgenstein saw philosophy in a similarly ascetic way: “Working in philosophy,” he wrote in 1931, “is really more a working on oneself.” Rhees writes that Wittgenstein expressed in various letters and personal notes that he wanted to be “rid of self-deception regarding his own failings and in this way lead a different life.” The aim was to be a different person. “A confession,” Wittgenstein also wrote in 1931, “must be part of your new life.”

Wittgenstein’s confession is best understood as part of a spiritual means of self-development. Two thinkers he respected deeply probably influenced him: St. Augustine of Hippo and Tolstoy, both of whom conceive of confession similarly in their autobiographies. The ultimate purpose of Augustine’s and Tolstoy’s confessions, like Wittgenstein’s, was ascetic: self-improvement through the catharsis and penance confession elicits.

Wittgenstein’s desire for self-development went back further than his teaching years. Rhees recalls that Wittgenstein sought to facilitate character change by engaging in activities “that would change the way he looked on his life and on himself,” including public displays of courage which might motivate self-development, such as being “placed in situations where his life was constantly in danger.” To this end, in 1916 Wittgenstein requested one of the most dangerous roles in the army, the forward observation post in No Man’s Land. This involved the two criteria he saw as the means of escaping self-deception: courage and the askesis such an experience could precipitate.

For these reasons, Wittgenstein relished knowing that on every night he stood a good chance of dying. In 1916 he wrote: “Yesterday I was shot at. I was scared! I was afraid of death. I now have such a desire to live.” For “only death,” he also wrote in his war diaries, “gives life its meaning.” Although a coward by his own exalted standards, he was a hero by more conventional ones, testament to which are the medals he received for bravery.

Wittgenstein’s character is as difficult to get to grips with as his philosophy. G.E.M. Anscombe, considered by many to be the greatest philosopher of her generation, as well as another of Wittgenstein’s literary executors and perhaps his best student, felt “deeply suspicious of anyone’s claim to have understood Wittgenstein.” But one thing we can understand about Wittgenstein is that he longed to change himself; and he saw confession as a means to fulfilling this.