ENOWNING - EREIGNIS (Open Thinking Journal)

Aristotle on Man

2011-05-02T16:06:00.000-07:00

Man is the animal with the word.

Man is the political animal.

Is the word political? Is the essence of thought, when it is not poetic, political in the sense that it operates by discrimination (this is good, this is bad; this is me, this is not me; this belongs to me, this belongs to you), by appreciations of rank within fields (philosophers refer to philosophers, rock musicians refer to rock musicians, lawyers to lawyers, poets to poets, writers to writers, semi-politicians, i.e. people behind the media, to politicians), by judgements of others and of self, by estimations of good and bad, good and evil...

Is art political? Does the music I choose to listen to, the films I choose to watch, the hobbies I choose to partake in, the jobs I choose to apply for, the institutions I choose to get involved in (all operations of the mind that are discriminatory) reflect one's political nature?

What is politics?

One man alone on an island - no politics (Robinson Crusoe). Two or more men on an island - politics? (in the sense of power relationships which can result, through the exercise of common self-interest, in a relatively equal distribution of power between individuals - "homooi", "equals", e.g. Spartan with Spartan but not Spartan and Heliot, Roman aristocrat with Roman aristocrat, but not with Roman plebeian let alone slave. Confirmed by George Orwell: some are more "equal" than others.)

The word as political. Language and the origins of language as political. The use of language as political.

For example, in contemporary political debate, left-wing theorists attack "neoliberalism". By "neoliberal" such a theorist intends "free-marketeer" or "conservative". However the person so intended would rarely, if ever, refer to himself as a "neoliberal."

Or in Nietzsche, the godlike warrior refers to himself as "good" - his victim refers to him as "evil".

Marx is apparently more "objective" than Nietzsche but is "objectivity" in the realm of thought as opposed to science a left-wing requirement? Pierre Bourdieu, a Marxist sociologist, believed that sociology was a science because it satisfied objective criteria such as scientific method - but is sociology not also thought and hence political?

Link between thought and politics. Is all thought political? What about poetic thought? Problem of imagination.

Presumably, Margaret Thatcher, according to biographer John Campbell, lacked imagination, a definite asset, he claims, for a politician.

Politically loaded word such as "niggar".

Black rappers use "nigga" as a matter of course in their lyrics. They re-appropriate the politically loaded term to distinguish themselves and their kind. But a white rapper, unless bent on suicide, would never use the word "nigga" in his raps - Eminem for example.

Different languages as containing different political sensibilities?

French term "anglo-saxon" often used against English-speaking hegemony, esp. Britain and the USA, and their economic doctrines.

Conflict between nationalities, peoples with different languages...

Romer defines truth as That which makes meaning possible and is suggested by the possible meaning of a word. What political position does such a formulation of truth entail or mean? Heidegger: the pre-linguistic poetic word is decisive. Saint John Gospel: In the Beginning was the word and the word was God. Nietzsche: that gospel is a priestly ruse to give power to priestly physiologies and types - "rabble rousers" and demise of supposedly aristocratic Roman Empire.

Heidegger's Greek and German etymologizing - politics of the word, for what? power? certainty? Being and Time - philosophy as giving rise to a people (and its works cf. Introduction to Metaphysics).

Beginning of traditional logic with Aristotle. What was his politics for such a logic? See his book Politics and his Ethics...

The philosopher and politics - Hannah Arendt. She distanced herself from the label "political philosopher" because of the conflict between politics and philosophy. Case in point: Romans as highly political, yet not philosophically as "advanced" as the Greeks. Heidegger sides with Philosophy against Politics repeating Platonic bias - the Roman translation of Greek philosophical terms into Latin destroys and transforms their full meaning, e.g. logos into ratio, or phusis into natura, giving rise in English to reason and nature - far removed from the Greek.

Episode in the film American History X: Derek Vinyard (Ed Norton) is irritated by the liberal transformation of terms - I say one thing and you call it something else...

Coming back to Arendt in The Human Condition: where there is language, there is politics - the technological question is political through and through she claims and not neutral - thereupon she agrees with Heidegger (the essence of technology is not neutral)... Spiegel interview: what political system is most suited to the technological age? Heidegger says he is not convinced that it is democracy.

Nietzsche's theory of language - the problem of physiology.

The words that our mouth forms reflect a physiological reality - our body - and that physiological reality determines, in Nietzschean thought, the class of individual,whether master or slave. Importance of the body in Nietzsche - in Zarathustra, he exhorts us to listen to the "healthy body" which, he claims, "speaks of the meaning of the earth."

In psychoanalytical language, words are shaped by whether or not we are physiologically aroused - in common talk, emotionally - and the word carries that physiological event - in common talk, emotion - through to others; attunement and mood. You're angry, i.e. you have been physiologically aroused. Problem of the body - inherited from prehistory but now contained in rationalized world (at least in the West). Fight or flight mechanism.

Religious extremists and people from the far right and the far left - are they easily aroused, prone easily to anger and the passions? The traditional philosophical stance: passions are bad - i.e. they are detrimental to the business of the philosopher BUT, as Nietzsche noticed, philosophers never add that proviso - they assume that what is bad for them is bad for mankind in general. Need, according to Nietzsche in Beyond Good and Evil and elsewhere, for NEW philosophers, philosophers who have overcome the perennial prejudices of philosophers over the centuries... Kant as such a prejudiced philosopher.

Are such new philosophers possible? Am I one of them or just a thinker?

Arendt: Prejudice as necessary for a great deal of life - one cannot suspend judgement all the time - one has to pre-judge a large amount of things. The thinker may pre-judge much less than the non-thinker -

Thinker as God, i.e. as The Last Judgement.

Perhaps that would explain the notion of a "Freeman's religion".

Thinking as intellectual masturbation - giving pleasure to one's self from one' self.

Thinker as tyrant. Thinker as law-giver. Was Lycurgus, founder of the Spartan Law and Way of Life, a thinker? Thinker as warrior - Romer drawing from Nietzsche. Implicit in Heidegger's philosophy.

Political bias inherent in a language - German, English, French, Spanish, Chinese.

Wittgenstein's philosophy of "language games" - interesting to note that Wittgenstein is also controversial, despite lack of Nazi affiliation a la Heidegger and Nietzsche.

What class of politics do writers, thinkers and comedians belong to?

Of course, it varies, writers' politics come through what they write and on what they write. Art as pertaining to historical time -

The UK now produces a great deal of historical warfare fiction - e.g. Simon Scarrow, Harry Sidebottom... The paradigm of Rome as a paradigm of power, rank and ruthlessness.

Comedians - Sacha Baron Cohen as Ali G or Bruno, Trey Parker and Matt Stone with South Park (Parker hates conservatives, but really hates liberals). Satire as political through and through, South Park is a good example, so is Ali G. What is it that makes us laugh about those shows? In South Park no one is spared - Cartman as anti-hero, as everyone's "bad" (or "good" according to Nietzsche) conscience. Eminem as "26 year old skinny Cartman".

Rock bands often reveal their political allegiances - Foo Fighters as horrified by Republican appropration of one of their songs for their campaign. Eminem as controversial, very unliberal rapper - yet not conservative. Interesting that he did a spoof South Park song (The Kids). Coldplay as run of the mill, mainstream fair trade, make poverty history political stance - politically correct.

On The Exceptional Human Being

2011-03-26T07:48:00.000-07:00

An exceptional human being is human being who, in his being, constitutes an exception.

Consoles

2011-03-14T20:31:00.001-07:00

Consoles are consoling.

Deleuze

2011-03-11T13:33:00.000-08:00

I'm not familiar with the work of Gilles Deleuze but I was struck by a statement my step-father borrowed from him, which was:

"There is no master discourse."

Now, anyone with half a brain will realize that this sentence is false. Why? Because if there is no master discourse, then the sentence itself does not belong to a master discourse. It is replaceable with any other statement such as "there is a master discourse."

I, on the other hand, believe that there is a master discourse, the discourse of masters. Masters are those who think their habituation and therefore contain the world in their habits (see Habitation). He whose habituation is thoughtful is a master [of the world] and his discourse is discourse and not mere talk. As the master wrote:

"We never come to thoughts. They come to us.
That is the proper hour of discourse." - Heidegger

Civilisation

2011-03-10T16:14:00.000-08:00

Civilisation is the process by which man is tamed and becomes a domestic animal. Modern technology is to be understood in terms of civilisation. Televisions, electronics, restaurants belong to the realm of civilisation, i.e. of man as domestic animal. [I imply no moral judgement by domestic animal. It is an observation.]

Civilisation is not the same as culture, since culture appears long before civilisation, as shown by cave art. It is arguable to say the least whether the Greeks or even the Romans belonged to what we call civilisation although what we call civilisation may have borrowed from them.

Perfection

2011-03-10T07:09:00.000-08:00

Does the perfect human being exist? What does "perfect" mean in this instance?

Perficere: to complete, to accomplish

The finished book, essay, musical recording, speech, art work is perfect. The accomplished human being is perfect.

Often by perfect we intend the adjective "irreproachable". Few, if any, people are irreproachable, as no mortal is a god, but many mortals are perfect in the sense that they are accomplished and complete.

Nihilists

2011-03-08T11:40:00.001-08:00

Nihilists are people who believe that spirit is a lie.

Security

2011-03-05T15:03:00.000-08:00

National security. Individual security. What is this word security? A Latin understanding of this term, like on the rest of this blog, will shed some light on it:

sine cura: without care, careless

Security is its English derivation. Does the carelessness of the population embolden the power of the "they" who can act for us in the name of our security, i.e. carelessness?

Da-sein by contrast is as care (Being and Time).

Courage

2011-01-22T21:21:00.001-08:00

Courage, la rage du coeur.

Plutarch on the Predicament of Public Life

2011-01-02T11:37:00.001-08:00

"This is really the predicament of men in public life who respond to the caprices and impulses of mobs: they make themselves slaves and followers so that they may be called leaders of people and rulers."

This sentence, taken from his account of Agis and Cleomenes, two Spartan leaders, is thought-provoking, and this for two reasons:

(1) rulers and leaders who respond to the mobs' interests are so because they are "called" rulers and leaders. Their essential being, however, lies in making themselves "slaves and followers". This observation brings us to realize

(2) that conventional truth and thoughtful truth are at odds, raising the question of Plutarch the thinker, and the role of the thinker in general. The fact that the statement is still true today compounds the issue.

Taking (1) first, we must emphasize the fact that Plutarch's remark concerns those who, in public life, respond to the caprices and impulses of mobs. According to Plutarch, this type of public man is not an authentic leader - he is merely called that. The label "leader" conceals the truth: that he is the follower and slave to the whims of the mobs. Why? Because in taking up the banner of the mobs, the so-called leader is their servant - he is accountable to the mobs.

I'm unsure what Greek term "mobs" is translating but it is noteworthy that it is in the plural. There are different kinds of mob - in fact the word "mob" itself needs to be appraised, all the more so that it appears in the work of Nietzsche (Thus Spoke Zarathustra: "Pöbel") and in Hannah Arendt's Origins of Totalitarianism, e.g. in her discussion of Nazism.

Nethertheless we can conjecture that the "mobs" have interests and want to see those interests satisfied by those in public life who are open to their demands. These public men, in turn, have no choice but to satisfy or be seen to satisfy those interests, with the means available to them. In return, these public men are acknowledged as "rulers."

Yet this acknowledgement is crooked (Nietzsche: "[the mob] is innocently crooked. It always lies.") since to rule understood authentically, i.e. the Greek way, means to command: archein. He who commands begins something - archein also means to begin. The mobs' public men, however, are not beginning anything and very far from commanding, they are being commanded.

This brings us to the problem of (2): the problem of truth. As I wrote in an earlier post, thought does not think against convention, which is the product of the coming together of men, but next to it. This is the problem of perspectivism, so emphasized by Nietzsche. From the perspective of the thoughtless these mob rulers are genuine rulers. They do not question whether they are rulers in an essential sense, i.e. in the sense of Being.

Who then would dare question the mob's judgement? Those, obviously, who came up with the word "mob" in the first place to designate those beneath them: the spiritually high-minded, the aristocracy, the masters. Strangely enough, Plutarch, in speaking from a thoughtful viewpoint is actually speaking aristocratically. Truth as unconcealment or disclosure (aletheia) is thoughtful truth.

This supports my contention that the thinker addresses himself always to the noble-minded, and that Heidegger's work, which is thoughtful through and through, is essentially for the noble species. According to Beyond Good and Evil, aphorism 257, "the predominance of [the noble/barbarian caste] did not lie mainly in physical strength but in strength of the mind - they were more whole human beings (which also means, at every level, 'more whole beasts')."

Observations sur les mots «privé» et «propriété»

2011-01-01T15:39:00.000-08:00

Avoir une propriété privée c'est avoir la capacité à priver les autres de la jouissance de cette propriété. Selon cette pensée, l'adjectif privé vient du nom substantif privation. De surcroit, ce qui nous est privé - ce dont la jouissance nous pouvons priver les autres - est ce qui nous est privatif.

Par exemple, les parties privées d'une femme lui sont propres, c'est dire sont sa propriété. Elle peut priver en droit toute personne d'utiliser ou de jouir de ses parties privées. Il serait im-propre d'affirmer le contraire. Ainsi la propriété inclue la notion de propreté ; d'autant plus lorsque la propriété (privée) détermine le rang social d'un individu.

La propriété s'obtient dans l'acte de propriation. L'ex-propriation c'est retirer quelqu'un de sa propriété. S'ap-proprier une chose c'est retirer une chose du domaine public pour y exercer sa propriété (considérer la justification philosophique de Locke de la propriété privée en terme de labeur).

Observations on the words "private" and "property"

2011-01-01T15:21:00.000-08:00

To have private property is to be able to de-prive others of that property's enjoyment. According to this thought, the adjective private comes from the substantive noun privation. Moreover, what is private to one - i.e. the enjoyment of which we can de-prive others - is what is privy to one.

For example, a woman's private parts are proper to her, i.e. are her property. She can de-prive in law any person from making use of or enjoying her private parts. It would be im-proper to claim otherwise. Thus property includes the notion of propiety; all the more so when (private) property determines the social rank of an individual.

Property is obtained through propriation. To ex-propriate is to remove someone from their property. To ap-propriate a thing is to remove it from the public domain in order to exercise one's property over it (consider Locke's philosophical justification for private property in terms of labour).

La Patience dans Penseur comme poète

2010-12-13T06:32:00.000-08:00

«Dans la patience prospère la magninimité.»

Cette phrase précède «Celui qui pense grandement doit errer grandement.»

La magninimité est un mot rarement usité. Il signifie, etymologiquement, grandeur-d'âme ou bien grandeur d'esprit (magnus : grand ; animus : esprit).

En quoi dans la patience prospère, c'est a dire est engendré, la magninimité ?

La patience signifie une relation au temps. Nous pouvons dire que la patience est la capacité à attendre. Heidegger, je pense dans son «Introduction a la métaphysique» (commes les grecs anciens je cite de memoire et donc pas forcément de manière exacte), dit que celui qui est ancré dans l'être, s'il se doit, peut attendre pour un temps-de-vie entier.

De quoi devons nous etre patients ? Dans le contexte de la théologie de Heidegger cela pourrait dire plusieurs choses. Patience pour l'arrivée du dernier dieu est un sens possible. Cela pourrait aussi signifier patience avec les derniers hommes, a savoir les hommes qui ont perdu le désir de ou la capacité à se transcender, adhérant bien plutôt à leur nature conventionnelle qui reste marquée par l'esprit de vengeance (sur lequel voir Périr : Une Note sur «Ainsi Parlait Zarathoustra»).

Cela peut aussi vouloir dire patience avec sa pensée. Plus tôt dans le poème, Heidegger écrit, je paraphrase, que notre pensée est amenée dans le jeu du monde comme la réponse qui écho le premier appel de l'être. «Dans la pensée toutes choses deviennent solitaires et lentes.» Peut-être Heidegger met-t-il en garde contre la pensée trop hâtive, qui, on le présume, serait le résultat de l'impatience, une incapacité à attendre.

Peut-être, de manière plus vérace, la patience dans ce contexte signifie la capacité-à-attendre les pensées qui viennent à nous, plutôt que d'aller vers ces pensées : «nous ne venons jamais aux pensées. Elles viennent à nous.» Prêter notre oreille et, comme dirait Nietzsche, non pas seulement notre oreille a l'être de telle sorte que, quand la vérité se dévoile, nous sommes là pour répondre à l'appel. Ceci, Heidegger appelle, «la réponse qui fait écho a l'être.»

La patience entendue de cette façon est dîte d'engendrer la grandeur d'esprit. Le grand esprit, selon cette interprétation, serait l'esprit qui permait les pensées de venir à lui, au lieu des alternatives que sont, d'une part, ne pas permettre les pensées de venir dans notre tête (acte qui mérite dans un certain sens respect puisqu'il marque une certaine force de volonté) ou bien, d'autre part, essayer de produire des pensées dans sa tête, chose caractéristique du «danger confus» du philosophage, à savoir le raisonnement caractéristique de l'homme traditionnel, l'animal «raisonnable».

Patience in "Thinker as Poet"

2010-12-13T00:37:00.000-08:00

"Patience nurtures magnanimity."

This sentence precedes "He who thinks greatly must err greatly."

Magnanimity is a seldom used word. It means, etymologically, great-spirited or great-minded (magnus: great; animus: mind, spirit).

How does patience nurture, that is foster, magnanimity?

Patience signifies a relationship to time. We could say that patience is the ability to wait. Heidegger, I think perhaps in his Introduction to Metaphysics (like the Ancient Greeks I quote from memory and thus may not be exact in my phrasing), says that he who is rooted in Being can, if need be, wait for an entire lifetime.

What are we to be patient about? In the context of Heidegger's theology this could mean several things. Patience for the arrival of the last god is one possible meaning. It could also mean patience with the last men, i.e. men who have lost the desire or ability to transcend themselves, adhering rather to their conventional nature which is still marked by the spirit of revenge (on which see Perish: A Note on Thus Spoke Zarathustra).

It could also simply mean patience with one's thinking. Earlier in the poem, Heidegger writes, I paraphrase, that our thinking is brought into the play of the world as the echoing response to the first call of Being. "In thinking all things become solitary and slow." Perhaps Heidegger is warning against over-hurried thinking, which presumably would be the result of impatience, an inability to wait.

Perhaps, even more truthfully, patience in this context means being able to wait for thoughts to come to us, rather than us going to thoughts: "we never come to thoughts. They come to us." To lend our ears and, as Nietzsche would say, not only our ears to Being so that, when truth discloses itself, we are there to heed the call. This, Heidegger calls, the "echoing response to Being."

Patience understood in this way is said to foster great-mindedness. The great mind, according to this interpretation, would be the mind that allows thoughts to come to it, rather than the alternatives which are, on the one hand, disallowing thoughts to come into our head (which in a sense deserves some respect as it marks a certain strength of will) or, on the other hand, trying to produce thoughts in one's head, which is characteristic of the "muddled danger" of philosophizing, i.e. reasoning characteristic of traditional man, the 'reasonable' animal.

«Périr» : Une Note sur «Ainsi Parlait Zarathoustra»

2010-11-28T16:45:00.000-08:00

Dans «Ainsi Parlait Zarathoustra», par exemple dans le prologue, Nietzsche parle de ceux qui descendent et qui périssent et, par la même, forment un pont vers le surhomme. Untergehen, en Allemand, descendre. Mais quoi de périr ? Nietzsche n'encourage-t-il pas l'action irresponsable qui mène à une mort certaine ?

Périr vient du latin perire, qui litteralement signifie aller au-dela ; per, au-dela, ire, aller. Nietzsche étant philologue, il y a une certaine ambigûité ici. Certainement, périr est généralement entendu comme mourir. Mais si nous prenons une vue pleine-de-pensée, philologique, périr signifie aller au-dela. Vers où ?

Nullement un après-monde, car pour Nietzsche il n'y a pas d'après-mondes (voir surtout les mots de Zarathoustra au somnanbule qui approche la mort, inquiété du fait qu'il finira en enfer : «il n'y a pas de diable, ni d'enfer. Ton âme sera morte même avant ton corps : ne crains plus rien.»)

Vers le surhomme alors ? Doit-on mourir tel que l'on est, afin de devenir surhomme ?

L'homme traditionnel : «l'animal raisonnable». Le surhomme : «celui qui va au-delà de l'esprit de vengeance» que nous pouvons caractériser avec Heidegger comme le ressentiment de la volonté contre le temps et son «il était». (Qu'appelle-t-on penser ?).

Comment l'homme peut-t-il libérer sa volonté et ainsi embrasser l'enseignement central de Zarathoustra, l'éternel retour du même ? Selon «L'Habitation», l'homme est homme lorsqu'il pense son habituation, lorsque son habituation est pensée.

Celui dont l'habituation est pensée, c'est dire répond à ce qui provoque à la pensée (l'habituation étant un processus qui va d'une vie durant et ainsi est ancrée dans le temps) est en meilleure position pour supporter la pensée de l'éternel retour - car ses habitudes contiennent le monde et ne sont pas contenues dans le monde. Il n'a aucune raison alors d'être plein de ressentiment vers le monde car en pensant activement son habituation, il va là où il n'y a plus d'espace pour la vengeance. Il est libre.

Note. «Périr» dans la version française traduit «zu Grunde gehen.» «Zu Grunde gehen», littéralement, aller au fond ou bien toucher le sol. «Grund» prend ce double sens de sol et de raison (en-deça de quelquechose). L'insistence de Heidegger sur toucher le fond des choses (voir, entre autres, son cours magistral «Der Satz vom Grund», «Le principe de raison») signal sa transition vers le surhomme. En vérité, le surhomme, l'homme qui pense son habituation, touche le fond, le sol, le sol surlequel on se meut et sur lequel on meurt. Il atteint une prise ferme parmi les étants - devenant ainsi maître du monde, libre-homme.

"Perish" - A Note on Thus Spoke Zarathustra

2010-11-28T16:24:00.000-08:00

In Thus Spoke Zarathustra, e.g. in the Prologue, Nietzsche talks of those who go-under and who perish and as such are a bridge to the overman (in the Kaufmann translation). Untergehen, in German, to go-under. But what about perish? Is Nietzsche not encouraging reckless action that leads to certain death?

To perish comes from a Latin verb, perire which taken literally means to go beyond; per, beyond, ire, to go. Nietzsche being a philologist, there is a slight ambiguity here. Certainly to perish is usually taken as meaning to die. But if we take a thoughtful, philological view, to perish means to go beyond. Whereto?

Certainly not any afterworld, as for Nietzsche there are no afterworlds (see especially Zarathustra's words to the dying tight-rope walker worried that he will end up in hell: "there is no devil and no hell. Your soul will be dead even before your body: fear nothing further.").

To the overman then? Must one die as one is, only then to become overman?

Traditional man: 'the reasonable animal.' The overman: 'he who goes beyond the spirit of revenge' which from Heidegger we know is the will's ill will towards time and its 'it was.' (What is Called Thinking?)

How is man to liberate his will and thus embrace Zarathustra's central teaching, the Eternal Recurrence of the Same? According to 'my' Habitation, man is man when he thinks his habituation, when his habituation is thoughtful.

He whose habituation is thoughtful, i.e. pays heed to the thought-provoking (habituation being a life-long process and thus rooted in time) is better able to withstand the thought of the Eternal Recurrence - for his habits contain the world and are not contained in the world. He has no reason therefore to feel resentful towards the world because in actively thinking his habituation, he goes where there is no space for revenge. He is free.

Note. 'Perish' in the English translation renders the German 'zu Grunde gehen.' Zu Grunde gehen, literally, to go to the ground, to fall, and ground can mean both 'reason' (underneath something) and 'surface' as in 'playground.' Heidegger's insistence on reaching the 'Grund' of things (see, among others, his lecture course Der Satz vom Grund, 'The Principle of Reason') signals his transition to becoming overman. In truth, the overman, the man who thinks his habituation, touches the ground, the ground on which we move and we die. He atteins a steadfastness within beings - thereby becoming a master of the world, a freeman.

Errer : une phrase de Penseur comme poète

2010-11-24T10:02:00.000-08:00

«Celui qui pense grandement doit errer grandement.»

Un dit très riche du maître lui-même. Dans une première lecture, et ainsi superficiellement, on peut conjecturer que par «errer» Heidegger réfère à son «erreur», à savoir son affaire avec le national socialisme.

Et pourtant, en tant qu'être historial, Heidegger n'est pas à même de demander pardon gratuitement à ceux qui ont une passion pour l'auto-déniement et le châtiment [considérer les politiciens modernes].

Dans le contexte de la philosophie de Heidegger, errer prend un sens différent de celui de «tomber dans l'erreur.» Pour lui, errer est «la fuite de l'homme du mystère vers ce qui est déjà disponible d'une chose a l'autre, outrepassant le mystère.»

Le mystère, que nous penseurs connaissons bien, est le voilement de l'être et peut prendre la forme d'une question : pourquoi l'être se voile-t-il ?

Celui qui pense grandement est biensûr celui qui pense l'être, la vérité de l'être. Et pourtant, cette personne doit aussi être proie a l'errance, la poursuite des étants dans l'oubli de l'être.

Il se peut que l'être requiert cette errance de ses gardiens. Comme Heidegger lui-même dit dans ce qui est peut-être sa plus grande oeuvre, «D'ereignis» : nous devons des-cendre. L'être lui-même le requiert.

Parce que l'être se voile, «il» présuppose l'errance. L'errance est la norme. Si l'être devait se faire sentir à tous moments nous aurions aucune tâche en tant que penseurs ; la tâche de confronter la realité afin dé-couvrir la vérité de l'être.

Quelle est l'étymologie du verbe «errer» ? Errer vient du latin errare, qui implique l'errance, l'erreur.

Ce n'est donc pas une surprise qu'un maître plus ancien, Nietzsche, parla «Du Voyageur et son ombre». Il fut un des premiers a des-cendre, à errer.

Erring - A Sentence from "Thinker as Poet"

2010-11-22T17:03:00.000-08:00

"He who thinks greatly must err greatly."

A loaded saying from the master himself. On a first reading, and thus superficially, one may conjecture that by 'erring' Heidegger is referring to his 'error', i.e. his involvement with National Socialism.

And yet, as a historical human being, Heidegger is not one to apologize cheaply to those who have a passion for self-abnegation and blame [consider modern politicians].

Within the context of Heidegger's own philosophy, however, erring takes a different meaning than simply falling into error. Rather erring is "man's flight from the mystery toward what is readily available from one current thing to the next, passing the mystery by."

The mystery, as we thinkers know well, is the concealment of Being and can take the form of a question: why does Being conceal itself?

He who thinks greatly is of course he who thinks Being, the truth of Be-ing. Yet this very person must also fall prey to erring, the chasing after beings in the oblivion of Being.

It could be that Being requires this errancy of its guardians. As Heidegger himself puts it in possibly his greatest work, From Enowning: we must go-under. Be-ing itself requires this.

Because Being conceals itself it presupposes errancy. Erring is the norm. If Being were to make itself felt at all times we would have no task as thinkers; the task of confronting real reality to uncover the truth of Being.

What is the etymology of the verb 'to err'? To err comes from the Latin errare, to wander.

It is no surprise then that an older master, Nietzsche, spoke of 'The Wanderer and His Shadow.' He was one of the first to go-under.

Telemachus

2010-11-09T08:37:00.000-08:00

[TMA 01 – This essay is an analysis of the opening pages of Homer's Odyssey]

This passage comes from The Odyssey Book 1 in the section known as the Telemachy, i.e. the account of the doings of Telemachos. Here, Pallas Athene, disguised as a male guest [Mentes] in the palace of Odysseus on Ithaka, is “stirring up” Telemachos by asking him questions that force him to reconsider the unpleasantness of his situation. This is in keeping with her plan, previously outlined to Zeus (l.88-89). The passage under study is a dialogue written in direct speech.

Homer”s primary purpose here is to start building up the tension which will lead to Telemachos’s direct ourburst to the suitors (lines 368 [sq. – use ff.]). Pallas Athene’s apparently innocent questions are subtly designed to achieve this end. Any account of Telemachos’s character must pay attention to his particular epithet “the thoughtful.” Indeed, the young man’s thoughtfulness is manifest in this passage. He is extremely lucid in his description of the situation. He has already thought the situation through in terms of posterity; his father would have been better off perishing on the plains of Troy rather than dishonourably lost at sea. These considerations show a precocious maturity in that they reflect major themes of the epic.[explain this point further, making reference to kleos (fame, renown)] In this passage, to his characteristic thoughtfulness, is added the emotional charge of anger brought on by “pain and lamentation” (l.242). Telemachos’s primary anger at the gods “the gods with evil intention” (l.234). seems in part directed also against his father and certainly, later in the passage, against the suitors, whom he regards with fear and awe “the greatest men who have the power in the islands. . . holders of lordships.” (l.245-7). Here the poet presents a Telemachos who is undoubtedly thoughtful but is also aggrieved and emotionally wounded.

A key indication of Telemachos’s ‘make-up’ is to be found in the following lines, “I should not have sorrowed so over his dying if he had gone down among his companions in the land of the Trojans for he would have won great fame for himself and his son hereafter.” (l.236-40). This statement shows that Telemachos is driven by an honour ethic typical of Homeric warrior society (BHAG, pp.49-51) in which the idea of honour -- of one’s timae -- is paramount. This shows that even though he has been brought up without his father he is still imbued with the values of his society. [tutor: crucial to his characterisation within the epic; the protagonists must all be heroes (or potential heroes)] Moreover, allusions to his mother and the state of his household point to a seriousness and sense of responsibility to be expected from the heir of a great Lord like Odysseus. [tutor: yes, once again taking up your point about his being ‘thoughtful’. Perhaps make more of the characterisation of Penelope in this passage, and her dilemma]

The first thing to say from this passage is that Homer is clearly a great story teller. Irony is present in the fact that Pallas Athene’s identity is concealed from Telemachos. Unlike the reader who knows the purpose of her questions and the fact that Odysseus is alive, Telemachos is in the dark. The use of direct speech in this passage and the rest of the epic lends immediacy to the scene and brings it dramatically to life. Questions of honour (timao) and justice (dike), heavily present in the Iliad, and crucial as they are to the whole poem are here reiterated in the opening book of the Odyssey. [tutor: yes, repeatedly, in this and other scenes. You might mention nostos (νοστος) here also]

IRAGMO

2010-09-16T08:24:00.000-07:00

Die Letzte Gott wird Iragmo heiBen.

The Last God will be named Iragmo.

Le dernier dieu s'appelle Iragmo.

Note. The name Iragmo came to me very suddently and decisively. While I could find no Ancient Greek root for it, I did find a Latin one - ira, meaning wrath or anger. This is in accordance with 'Habitation' and 'Lathoron' which look to Rome rather than Ancient Greece. Nietzsche himself went from being a Hellenophile to an admirer of Rome (even saying in Genealogy that the world had never known more noble human beings than the Romans). Heidegger tended to see Rome as a decline from Greece yet found himself quoting Nietzsche in What is Called Thinking? on the need for tradition, for a solidarity between generations which is the pre-requisite for the emergence of something like an Imperium Romanum.

Note. Le nom d'Iragmo m'est venu soudainement et de manière décisive. Alors que je n'ai pû lui trouver une racine grecque, je lui ai trouvé par contre une racine latine - ira, qui signifie rage ou colère. Cela accorde avec «L'Habitation» et «Lathoron» qui visent Rome plutot que la Grèce ancienne. Nietzsche lui-même, d'abord hellenophile, vint à admirer Rome (allant jusqu'à dire dans Généalogie que le monde n'a jamais connu des être humains plus nobles que les Romains). Heidegger tendait plutôt à voir Rome comme un déclin de la Grèce et pourtant cita Nietzsche dans Qu'appelle-t-on penser ? sur le besoin d'une tradition, d'une solidarité entre générations qui est la condition première de l'émergence d'un phénomène comme l'Imperium Romanum.

Note 1. It is worth reminding our-selves with Heidegger that the emergence of a god co-incides with the naming of that god. Iragmo has emerged into the world.

Note 2. Psychologically a god of anger allows for an anger-free attunement, in the sense that the god is angry for you.

Roman Funerary Monuments

2009-09-20T14:46:00.001-07:00

Look at Figures 4.5, 4.6 and 4.7, ‘funerary altar of Gaius Munatius Faustus’ (Block 4, pp.36-7), and read the following description:

This tomb is found, fronting the road, at the Herculaneum Gate cemetery at Pompeii. It dates to the mid first century AD and is in the form of an altar decorated with sculptural reliefs. On one side these depict a bisellium (a double seat) and footstool. This ‘double seat’ may have been utilised at the theatre, amphitheatre and other public events. A ship in full sail, manned by several figures, is depicted on the west side of the altar. On the front is a detailed scene, showing a ceremony of some kind, perhaps a distribution of grain or money by the deceased to the people of Pompeii. The epitaph reads ‘Naevolia Tyche, freedwoman of Lucius, for herself and for Gaius Munatius Faustus, an Augustalis, from the Country District, to whom the town councillors, with the consent of the people, decreed an honorific seat (bisellium) for his merits. Naevolia Tyche had this monument made in her lifetime for her own freedmen and freedwomen and those of Gaius Munatius Faustus’. A small bust of Naevolia Tyche is located in the floral frame that surrounds the inscription.

Consider these sources, and in no more than 500 words:
(i) Briefly provide the context;
(ii) Discuss any points of significance in respect of the following
a. Content
b. Form
c. The value as a source for understanding certain aspects of the Classical world

As Block 3 Part 1 notes, an important source for understanding ancient Rome from a non-elite perspective consists in funerary and sepulchral inscriptions. The tomb under consideration dates from the first century CE at which time most dead bodies were still cremated. The remains were placed in a container buried in the ground or housed in a tomb as here. To stand a chance of being noticed, tombs tended to face the roads, as a result of which cemeteries had an elongated shape. It was during this period that funerary monuments came into fashion for many freed slaves, even bringing the practice into disrepute for the better off; having too lavish a tomb could be seen as a sign of lesser social status. But for the many freedmen and women of Rome, such monuments provided an opportunity to make good their status as freed persons, having faced many social difficulties as a result.

Gaius Munatius Faustus was a freedman of relatively high social status, being an augustalis, a priest of the imperial cult. His tria nomina contains the praenomen and nomen of his ex-master, Gaius Munatius. As was the custom, the commemorator’s name also features on the epitaph (Naevolia Tyche); she was likely to be of freed status also. Like most epitaphs, the one under consideration, although relatively long, is condensed so as to focus on the name of the deceased and commemorator, the positions and honours received by the deceased, and some information concerning the beneficiaries of the tomb (in this case, their combined freed slaves). To prepare for the future in this way was done to secure the tomb’s maintenance and its longevity. We might also speculate and say that it does the deceased and the commemorator a special favour to be seen as having freed slaves of their own, a real sign of their progression on the social ladder. The epitaph is completed by pictorial representations on the tomb itself; on the east side we have a double seat, probably awarded as a privilege, and used at the theatre or amphitheatre. On the west side is a ship in full sail with its crew and could either be an indicator of the deceased’s occupation or simply of the passage into the afterlife. On the front, and hence most visible to the passer-by, is the deceased distributing corn or money to a crowd of people – an element of his occupation perhaps and his civic status, something he must have been proud of as it shows him in a position of power (giving the dole).

As is argued in the DVD, funerary monuments such as this one were a way to construct an identity for yourself and your descendants, presenting to the world those facets of your existence most worthy of remembrance. They can tell us a great deal about ancient Roman society from an angle which is not as elitist as ancient literature, which was the exclusive product of the well-to-do.

472 words

Bibliography
Ancient sources
Funerary altar of Gaius Munatius Faustus from the Herculaneum Gate cemetery, Pompeii, first century CE.

Modern scholarship
DVD 4, Section 1: Roman funerary monuments
Hope, V. And Huskinson, J. (2006) A219 Block 4: Rome – City and People, Milton Keynes: The Open University

Roman Baths

2009-09-20T14:44:00.000-07:00

Answer the following question in no more than 2,000 words:
‘Bathing occupied a central position in the social life of the day’ (OCCC, p.115). To what extent does the available evidence support this claim about the Roman baths?

To determine whether or not the above statement is supported by primary evidence we must analyse and assess the latter. First, we will look at the archaeological evidence which alone provides solid proof that baths of some description existed in Ancient Rome and that they were not a rarity. We will then turn our attention to the literary evidence which is the main port of call for assessing the social significance of bathing during the Imperial period as well as the late Republic. Finally, in the light of modern scholarship, we will conclude on the extent to which the available evidence corroborates the OCCC statement in its entry on ‘baths’.

According to DVD 4, Section 3, track 1, baths in Ancient Rome were the largest consumers of water, itself a near-sacred commodity. Impressive remains exist of the vast aqueducts the Romans built for the transportation of water. This already gives us an idea of the scale of some of the baths in question, including the baths of Caracalla built near Rome in CE 211-6 by the emperor of that name. They occupied 12,000 m2 and as the DVD points out, were ‘designed to impress.’ Plate 48 of the Illustrations Book gives us a plan of the baths and reveals their architectural symmetry and the fact that thermae such as this one were large complexes featuring a vast amount of rooms and hallways, each with their own function; among them were the changing rooms, the warm and hot, cold and tepid rooms, all with their own basins and pools, and the palaestrae or exercise-areas. In addition, the general plan (Illustrations Book, Plate 47) indicates that the baths in question boasted extra facilities such as gardens, exercise-grounds and a library. There is also physical evidence that the thermae were intricately decorated (Illustrations Book, Plate 50-51) with statues and mosaics. This information supports the view that baths were socially prominent; for what else could justify such an expenditure of resources, financial and physical? In fact the evidence goes further: a lot of time must have been spent in these thermae given the graded nature of the baths going from hot to cold, not to mention the exercise areas, gardens and library. Clearly, bathing in these baths was far removed from the quick morning swim in the local swimming pool! That Roman baths were not a rarity can be deduced from catalogues of publicly accessible establishments which amount to about one thousand (G.G.Fagan, 1999, p.25 in Reading 4.26).

According to Garrett G. Fagan (2005, p.12 in Reading 4.28) there are few ancient descriptions of what a visit to the baths was like. One such a description, albeit only as a context for further moral teachings, is Seneca’s (c.4 BCE-CE 41) letter 56 (Reading 4.5) which features a survey of the baths from the viewpoint of the sound emanating from them. Indeed this letter gives us slightly more tangible and substantial evidence (compared to other literary sources) of what actually went on in the baths; for example he hears the grunts of those exercising, the smack of a hand massaging, the ball player shouting out the score, a brawl, the noise of someone caught thieving, somebody singing in the bath, the splashes of those leaping into the pool, the penetrating cries of those whose hairs are being removed and the various exclamations of the nearby merchants and sellers. From this narrative it is obvious that public baths were not only noisy but busy places bustling with people from all walks of life, including thieves and sellers, and that they were not strictly limited to bathing per se. In letter 86 (Reading 4.5) Seneca bemoans the move towards greater luxury in bathing and implies that baths can be in and out of fashion depending on the ‘novelties’ they provide. Fashions only concern mass phenomena so we can imagine that baths were such a phenomenon. Yet further evidence needs to be adduced to complete the picture: what was the nature of the social interactions that Seneca merely glosses over? Martial (CE 38-c.101 CE) in his epigrams illustrates the fact that the baths were the setting for many a social relationship, including between patron and client (3.36), between rivals (3.44) and between potential lovers or men and women (3.51). Epigram 1.59 also shows that dining and bathing were linked activities (Reading 4.2). Indeed in Petronius’ (-CE 66) Satyricon (26-28) the ‘beginning of dinner’ occurs at the baths in the midst of much social ostentation on the part of the host Trimalchio (Reading 4.3). These authors largely support the view that bathing was a central social activity.

Other evidence is less explicit in this regard. Ovid (43 BCE-CE17) and Horace (65 BCE-8 BCE) both refer to the baths in their poems (Art of Love, Book 3 and Satire 1.6 in Readings 4.12 and 4.16). It is no exaggeration to say that popular poets such as these speak for many in their verse. Thus, for Ovid, ‘public baths provide plenty of private fun for girls’ and for Horace the right time to have a bath is ‘when the sun grows fiercer’. Authors also have their preferences; both Martial and Statius (CE 45) (Epigram 6.42 in Reading 4.3 and Silvae 1.5 in Reading 4.17) praise the baths of Claudius Etruscus in their own different ways with Statius, in particular, drawing on mythological references and humour to make his point. Lucian (120 CE) and Vitruvius are more detached sources, focusing more on architecture and layout. What is striking about their viewpoint is how elaborate the design of the baths actually was and, to repeat a point made earlier on, such effort in construction would not be commendable if it were not for an important end, namely the building of a public bath. Pliny the Elder (c.CE 23-79) (Natural History 36.121) demonstrates the ubiquity of baths by noting that the number of public baths in Rome has ‘grown infinitely’ since the 170 known to have existed during the time of Agrippa in the second half of the first century BCE. Another pointer to the centrality of bathing in the social life of Rome is to be found in Celsus’ On Medicine 1.4 (Reading 4.23) which describes the procedure to be taken when entering the baths. Indeed, the medical aspects of bathing must have been a concern for many Romans. As observed by Inge Nielsen (1990 pp.144-8 in Reading 4.25), statues of Hygieia and Asclepius featured in some baths, bearing witness to the importance of hygiene, even at that time.

If baths occupied a central occupation in society what is the evidence pertaining to the bathing habits of the elite? The emperor Marcus Aurelius (CE 121-180) himself, in his Meditations (8.24) created an analogy between baths and ‘life in all its parts’ both bringing as they do ‘sweat, dirt, greasy water and everything that is disgusting.’ Suetonius (b. c. CE 70) in his Lives of the Caesars (Readings 4.15 and 4.19) shows how some emperors like Titus and Hadrian occasionally bathed in public. As was probably the case in the Circus or the amphitheatre, the common folk would have appreciated the proximity of the emperor to their world and the emperors in turn could reap the benefits (ECW, Essay Nine). If the emperor chose the baths to appear in public that must be a sign, if not proof, that they were socially key. On his tomb epitaph, the emperor Antoninus Pius (Corpus Inscriptiorum Latinarum XIV 98 in Reading 4.8) privileged the completion of public baths using quality material (marble) over his conquest of Parthia. As Natasha Zajac (1999, pp.100-105) argues, the dedication of public baths by the emperors could be seen as an expression of social supremacy, bringing them kudos and lasting power, the baths being highly frequented and used. Further evidence of this is to be found in Pliny’s (c. CE 61-c. 112) letters 10.23 and 10.39; in the first letter Pliny makes a plea to the emperor to support the rebuilding of a public bath in Prusa, a move Piny states worthy of Trajan’s (CE 53-117) reign. The permission and funds having been granted, Pliny asks the emperor in the second letter about the site to be used. Again he reaffirms the notion that ‘the splendid public monument will be worthy of [Trajan’s] name.’ That emperors of all people should be directly implicated in the building of public baths shows that their social significance was high¬ – indeed, no one could be seen to compete with the princeps on public matters of this importance. Pliny himself, owner as he was of many private baths and swimming pools (letters 2.17 and 5.6), ordered the construction of public baths in his will, a deed recorded on his epitaph (CIL V 5262 in Reading 4.8).

What about the lower social orders? It is common knowledge that even the very poorest had access to the public baths (Carcopino, 1941, p.254). As for slaves, there is some evidence that they were accepted free of charge in some specified baths but ordinarily visited the baths in their dependent capacity, i.e. as attendants (Fagan, 1999 pp.25-34 in Reading 4.26). This is borne out by, among others, Pliny’s letter 3.14 where a slave attendant causes a citizen to hit his master. Some inscriptions record popular perceptions of the baths. The most famous is that of Tiberius Claudius Secundus (CIL VI 15258 in Reading 4.8) who places baths on the same level as wine and sex (‘the essence of life’). Socially, it would seem, the baths constituted a microcosm of Rome itself (Zajac, 1999 in Reading 4.27).

In conclusion, the evidence tends to support the claim that ‘bathing occupied a central position in the social life of the day.’ However, hard evidence of what actually went on in the baths is hard to come by, as Garrett G. Fagan has pointed out (1999 in Reading 4.26). Rarely does a source consider bathing for its own sake; rather, it is alluded to in passing, as though it were something that most Romans took for granted. Perhaps this is due to the activity’s centrality; it was so common a practice that few had much to say about it, like eating or drinking wine. That said, one has to bear in mind that the evidence is not typical (Fagan, 1999); it is geographically and chronologically specific. Baths undoubtedly evolved during Rome’s long history and, with them, bathing habits. Thus, although we can accept the OCCC statement at first, the word ‘bathing’ encompasses many a social a reality, especially between rich and poor, and hence each source must be treated with care. In fact, we may contrast Tiberius Claudius Secundus’ epitaph (see above) with a letter by Pliny (letter 2.8) that replaces the word ‘sex’ with ‘cool springs.’ Bathing and the perception of it varied according to your background.

1,804 words

Bibliography
Ancient sources
Seneca, Letters from a Stoic, in Campbell, R. (ed and trans.) (1969), Harmondsworth: Penguin
Martial, Epigrams, in Shackleton Bailey, D.R. (ed and trans.) (1993) Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, vol.I
Petronius, The Satyricon, in Sullivan, J. (ed and trans.) (1965) The Satyricon and The Fragments, Harmondsworth: Penguin
Ovid, The Art of Love: Book 3 in Green, P. (ed and trans.) (1982) Ovid: The Erotic Poems, Harmondsworth: Penguin
Horace, Satire 1.6 in Rudd, N. (trans.) (1979) Horace: Satires and Epistles, Harmondsworth: Penguin, p.70
Statius, Silvae 1.5 in Shackleton Bailey, D.R. (ed and trans.) (2003) Statius: Silvae, Cambridge Mass: Harvard University Press
Lucian, Hippias or the Bath 5-8 in Harmon, A.M. (trans.) (1979) Lucian, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press
Vitruvius, On Baths 5.10 in Granger, F. (ed and trans.) (1962) Vitruvius: On Architecture, London: William Heinemann
Pliny the Elder, Natural History 36.121-23 in Eichholz, D.E. (trans.) (1971) Pliny: Natural History, London: William Heinemann
Celsus, On Medicine 1.4 in Spencer, W.G. (trans.) (1971) Celsus: De Medicina, London: William Heinemann
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations in Staniforth, M. (trans.) (1964) Harmondsworth: Penguin
Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars in Graves, R. (trans.) (1989) Harmondsworth: Penguin
Suetonius, Lives of the later Caesars in Birley, A. (trans.) Harmondsworth: Penguin
Radice, B. (trans.) (1963) The Letters of the Younger Pliny London: Penguin
Corpus Inscriptiorum Latinarum

Modern Scholarship
Hornblower, S. and Spawforth, A. (eds) (1998) The Oxford Companion to Classical Civilization, Oxford: Oxford University Press
DVD 4, Section 3, Track 1: The Baths of Caracalla
A219 Illustrations Book, Plates 47 and 48
Garrett G. Fagan (1999) ‘Interpreting the evidence: did slaves bathe at the baths?’ in DeLaine, J. And Johnston, D.E. (eds) Roman Baths and Bathing, Proceedings of the First International Conference on Roman Baths held at Bath, England, 30 March-4April 1992. Part : Bathing and Society, Portsmouth, Rhode Island, pp.25-34
Garrett G. Fagan (2005) ‘A visit to the baths with Martial’ in Fagan, G.G., Bathing in Public in the Roman World, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, pp.12-39
Nielsen, I. (1990) Thermae et Balnea: The Architecture and Cultural History of Roman Public Baths, vol.I text, Aarhus University Press, pp.144-48
Hope, V. (2006) ‘The voice of a Roman audience’ in Perkins, P. (ed.), Experiencing the Classical World, Milton Keynes: The Open University, pp.193-212
Zajac, N. (1999) ‘The thermae: a policy of public health or personal legitimation?’ in DeLaine, J. And Johnston, D.E. (eds) Roman Baths and Bathing, Proceedings of the First International Conference on Roman Baths held at Bath, England, 30 March-4April 1992. Part : Bathing and Society, Portsmouth, Rhode Island, pp.100-105
Carponico, J. (1941) Daily Life in Ancient Rome, Toronto, Mitcham and Sea Point: Penguin

Marius

2009-07-24T03:30:00.002-07:00

Part 1 (source analysis question)
Read Sallust, The Jugurthine War, 85, ‘To live in luxury ... receive from another’ (Reading 3.20 in Readings Book 2). In no more than 500 words:
(i) Briefly provide its context;
(ii) Discuss any points of significance in respect of the following
a. Content
b. Form
c. The value as a source for understanding certain aspects of the Classical world

Sallust, the author of the text under consideration, was a Roman historian who was born in 86 BCE, the year of Marius’ seventh and final consulship. The extract is taken from his monograph of the war against Jugurtha, The Jugurthine War. This war caused an outcry of indignation in Rome by the way it was dealt with by Roman aristocrats and generals who succumbed to Jugurtha’s manipulative tactics of bribing the enemy into peace favourable to his interests. A commission was set up by the tribune Mamilius to investigate the matter and “aristocratic corruption generally” (Block 3, p.107). This provided Marius, an ambitious military man, with an opportunity to stir up the people and win popular support for his first consulship in 107 BCE. The extract seeks to capture this turn of events.

Sallust punctuates his monograph with a speech given by Marius to the people of Rome in which he decries the corruption of the ruling class and blames them for the failure to check Jugurtha’s illegitimate rule over Numidia. In particular he accuses the noblemen of double standards, of “subjecting [their] army to rigorous discipline” whilst living in luxury. Marius, on the other hand, took part in the nitty-gritty of military duties in Africa when serving under Metellus, his patron. In doing so, he won the affection of his fellow soldiers and convinced them to elect him for the next consulship (Reading 3.19). Whence his statement that “it was by conduct such as I recommend that your ancestors won renown for themselves and for the state.” Marius compares himself to the Romans of the ‘golden age’, in particular those who fought in the first two Punic Wars, thus winning the hearts of the common people. He contrasts his conduct with that of the noblemen, whose only achievement is to share in the past glory of their ancestors whilst failing to live up to their standards. Indeed they are, according to Marius, luxury-loving and idle yet expect to hold “all posts of honour” at the hands of the people. Although the theme of degeneration is evident, the speech is inflammatory because it reawakens the spectre of the Gracchi brothers whose popular legislation met with the opposition of the nobles. The tone used is threatening. Thus, he says, “these proud men make a very big mistake.” For, although they may have inherited “riches, portrait busts, and [...] glorious memory” they cannot lay claim to having inherited the “virtue” of their illustrious forebears, for, by its nature, virtue cannot be bequeathed. This is a very radical statement as it undermines head on the principle of heredity and the justification for aristocracy (which, etymologically, means rule by the ‘best’). Like the Gracchi brothers and Caesar after him, Marius is a demagogue, a man of the people, at least in appearance.

This anti-aristocratic speech, although clearly coloured by Sallust for the purposes of his monograph, gives us an insight into the very deep tensions of the late Republic, between the plebeians and the patricians. Indeed, this tension was so great that it created a rift among the ruling cast itself, as increasingly, ambitious politicians appealed to the people over and above the heads of the Senate and long-established families.

536 words

Bibliography
Ancient sources
Sallust, The Jugurthine War 85 in Handford, S.A. (trans.) (1963), Sallust, The Jugurthine War/The Conspiracy of Catiline, London: Penguin, pp.120-122
Plutarch, Life of Marius 7-8 in Warner, R. (trans.) (1972), Fall of the Roman Republic, Six Lives by Plutarch, London: Penguin, pp.18,20).

Modern Scholarship
Andrews, C., Fear, T. and Perkins, P. (2006) A219 Block 3: The Roman Republic, Milton Keynes: The Open University

The Past in the Roman Republic

2009-07-23T11:19:00.000-07:00

Part 2 (essay question)
Answer the following question in no more than 1,500 words:
‘What the Romans wrote about their past was strongly influenced by their present.’ Discuss this statement with reference to Roman society, culture and politics, using examples that you have studied.

A favourite quotation of Cicero’s was by the poet Ennius (239-169 BCE) who had written a narrative poem on the history of the Roman people, the Annales: “Moribus antiquis res stat Romana virisque.”1 For Cicero and his contemporaries it epitomized the debt they owed to their forebears and the admiration they held for the ‘golden age’ of Rome (Cowell, 1956). This notion of a ‘golden age’ of Rome was relatively common among the elite (Block 3, p.40) and found expression, as we shall see, in the works of various writers (such as Sallust, Livy and Horace) . Yet this glorification of the past had as its context the (out)growth of the Roman empire and the eventual demise of the Republican system. In other words, the more chaotic and torn Rome became, the more the past seemed to offer a measure of redemption, a tendency which culminated in the literature of the Principate of Augustus. With the exception of Virgil (70-19 BCE), who was a case apart as he was concerned with writing the founding myth of Rome in the Aeneid, the historians, poets and active politicians considered below undoubtedly adapted their vision of the past according to the requirements of their different agendas.

Another way in which the Romans linked to their past was through genealogy and the cult of their ancestors. A surviving example of this cult is to be found in the epitaphs dedicated, among others, to the Scipio family on their stone sarcophagi. Inscriptions celebrating the link between the past and the present also appeared on public monuments; thus the inscriptions of Augustus’ Res Gestae adorned bronze pillars outside his home in Rome and other monuments throughout the empire (Block 3, p.134). Let us therefore consider these sources and their respective contexts.

The problems of the present and the decline from past values are captured by the historian Sallust (86-35 BCE) (Reading 3.7). He notes that “by hard work and just dealing the power of the state increased” until Rome’s greatest rival, Carthage, was defeated in 146 BCE. “It was then that fortune turned unkind and confounded all her enterprises.” The spoils of war that naturally followed from victory, he says, “proved a burden and a curse.” They engendered in the Roman spirit the twin evils of avarice and ambition, “[destroying] honour and integrity” in their wake, and leading to religion being neglected. He characterizes the ascent of Sulla in scathing terms leading as it did to “universal robbery and pillage” and even his troops succumbed to oriental luxury, wine and women. Gone were the days of “our godfearing ancestors” who had been replaced by “bare successors” who knew no kind of rule other than that of oppression. Here, the author portrays the present (or at least, the very recent past) negatively in favour of the (more distant) past but it must be noted that this glorification of earlier generations would carry no force with it were it not for the apparent loss of scruple and order that followed the defeat of Carthage.

A similar but more subtle portrayal of past mores comes through the work of the Roman historian Livy (59 BCE-17 CE) (Reading 3.10). His use of exempla in his historical account of early Rome would have shown contemporary Romans “correct or righteous behaviour” (Block 3, p.46), that is to say, a virtuous path to follow. There is, for example, the episode involving Horatius Cocles who single-handedly kept Etruscan enemies in abeyance while his comrades burnt the bridge behind him, the only viable access to the inner city. Just as impressive is the feat of Caius Mucius who, after a failed attempt at stabbing the Etruscan king, burnt his right hand in defiance of his enemies who consequently granted him a pardon. The effect of these tales on later generations should not be underestimated. Witness an epigram by the poet Martial (c.38-c.101 CE) who recounts how he saw a representation of this event “in Caesar’s arena” and considered the act to be “glorious” (Block 3, p.49). Although extreme, the telling of these early feats of human will was no doubt designed “to help and inspire contemporary readers in their public life” (OCCC p.346), confirming the view that considerations about the present weighed heavily in the representation of the past.

It was such considerations that fuelled the celebrations of ancestors and family on the occasion of a funeral of one of the elite. Polybius (c.200-c.118 BCE) tells us that these were of a largely public character, featuring a speech on the deceased’s achievements and successes by his son or relative (Reading 3.12). The laudatio funebris would then embrace the exploits of other dead ancestors and “these orations were preserved for future exploitation” (Lintott, 1986). In some cases these achievements would be inscribed on the tomb of the deceased, as in the case of the Scipios. These inscriptions would list political offices held, military successes, public monuments in the deceased’s name and, more often than not, contain the names of the male forebears who had also achieved distinction. It was also fashionable in those times to boast divine or heroic ancestry to enhance the prestige of the family in the eyes of contemporaries (Block 3, p.71-2). Thus in the funerary oration for his aunt, Gaius Iulius Caesar claimed that she sprang from kings on her mother’s side and from Venus on her father’s side, his grandfather (Reading 3.13). This remarkable lineage of course reflected on Caesar himself who was proud in this instance to use the past to boost his status at the time he made the speech in 69 BCE.

The tie between past and present could be acute in the writing of history, especially when the author “told of events in which he had played a part” (OCCC, p.346), as in the case of Caesar’s Commentaries on his Gallic and Civil Wars. Through the use of third person narrative, Caesar purported to create a temporal distance between the actual events and his writing of them. Arguably, this device enhanced the historical dimension of the works. However, it has been argued (ECW, Essay six) that the commentaries were in fact disseminated during the campaigns, forming as it were a kind of correspondence from the front. If such was the case, here was an instance where the past, in the form of Caesar’s accounts, was actually determined by the present, namely the securing of a position back home as a leading Roman figure. Caesar being “a man of the people” (ECW, Essay six), the oral dissemination of these works would have hugely increased his popularity and constituted a deft political move.

An equally self-serving account of the recent past was the Res Gestae of the princeps Augustus. This account of his own life sought to create a link between Rome’s golden age and his personal rule. Thus, he claimed that he “transferred the republic back from my power into the authority of the senate and people of Rome” and that “after this time [27 BCE] I surpassed all in status yet I held no more power than those who were my colleagues in office” (Block 3, pp.134-5). However we choose to view this high-handed statement, the fact is it sought to strengthen Augustus’ legitimacy as a ruler by creating the impression that he was in fact restoring Rome to her former greatness. He also justified his legislative programme in similar terms: “I recalled many ancestral habits that were disappearing from our own way of life and I myself handed down many exemplary habits to be imitated by posterity” (Block 3, p.139). Again, only the past seemed to offer legitimacy to present political decisions and this philosophy can be detected in the work of the poet Horace (65-8 BCE).

Horace’s Ode 3.6 (Reading 3.25) decries the loss of piety in Rome which, in his view, was a major cause in Roman military defeats and the turmoil of the Civil War. He urges his readers to “atone for the crimes of [their] fathers” by restoring the temples and shrines of the gods, a policy which Augustus successfully pursued. He then deplores the pollution of “marriage, children and households” (Block 3, p.151) through a decline in morality and the pervasiveness of “sin.” Again, these ‘problems’ were addressed by Augustus in his legislation on marriage and adultery. For our purposes, however, most interesting are the final stanzas of the poem where his “graphic image of contemporary depravity [leads] into a contrasting picture of past virtue” (Block 3, p.151), be it in terms of military success, righteous behaviour or rural habits. His last verse concludes on a pessimistic note of inevitable degeneration through time. Like Sallust, Horace relates to the Roman past as an idyll which, although corrupted through time and religious neglect, should continue to inspire contemporary Romans to act the right way. It also paved the way for the reforms of Augustus who posed as the saviour of the Republic.

1,533 words

Bibliography
Ancient sources
Sallust, The Conspiracy of Catiline 1.10-13 in Handford, S.A. (trans.) (1963), The Jugurthine War/The Conspiracy of Catiline, London: Penguin, pp.181-83
Livy, 2.10-13 in de Selincout, A. (trans.) (1967), The Early History of Rome, Books I-IV The History of Rome from its foundation, London: Penguin, pp.98-104)
Martial, Epigrams 8.30
Polybius, 6.53 in Scott-Kilvert, I. (trans.) (1979) Polybius, The Rise of the Roman Empire, London: Penguin, pp.346-47)
Horace, Delicta maiorum, in Shepherd, W.G. (trans.) (1983) Horace: The Complete Odes and Epodes, London: Penguin pp.138-40; Bennett, C.E. (trans.) (1978) Horace: the Odes and Epodes, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press and London, Heinemann

Modern Scholarship
Cowell, F.R. (1956) Cicero and the Roman Republic, London and Chochester: Pelican Books
Andrews, C., Fear, T. and Perkins, P. (2006) A219 Block 3: The Roman Republic, Milton Keynes: The Open University
Hornblower, S. and Spawforth, A. (eds) (1998) The Oxford Companion to Classical Civilization, Oxford: Oxford University Press
Lintott, A. (1986) ‘Roman Historians’ in Boardman, J., Griffin, J. and Murray, O. (eds), The Oxford History of the Roman World, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press
Wiseman, T.P. (1974) ‘Legendary Genealogies in Late Republican Rome’ in Greece and Rome, 2nd series, vol.21, no.2, pp.153-64)
James, P. (2006) ‘Roman reputations: famous figures and false impressions in the late republic’ in Perkins, P. (ed.), Experiencing the Classical World, Milton Keynes: The Open University

Lysistrata

2009-05-26T11:04:00.000-07:00

Read Aristophanes, Lysistrata, lines 167-83, ‘CALONICE: Well, if that’s what you both think ... LAMPITO: ... we are ready to swear.’ Consider the above passage in no more than 500 words:
(i) Briefly provide its context;
(ii) Consider how far this passage, while at first sight appearing to be written for comic effect, nevertheless has serious issues underlying it.

This passage is taken from the prologue of Lysistrata by Aristophanes. It occurs before the parodos, the entrance of the chorus on stage. Lysistrata has outlined her plan to the Greek women gathered around her¬ – ¬“we must abstain from – cock and balls” (124). It is an important exchange between Lysistrata, the Athenian, and Lampito, the Spartan. The passage ends with the all-important pledging of the oath to enforce the plan. The two leading women also encourage each other, in a kind of friendly rivalry, to demonstrate their power over their respective menfolk. Further, challenged by Lampito, Lysistrata pledges herself to a practical political act – the seizure of the Acropolis, i.e. physically to block access to the temple that houses the state treasury.

The comic effect of the passage stems from the absurdity of the exchange. That women should be able, through sexual abstinence, to provoke peace is clearly a fantasy. The humour thus stems from the apparent seriousness of what is said, including the pledging of an oath, with the very shaky premise of the play. As is clear from the exchange, the immediate issue at stake is the apparently never ending conflict with Sparta. The war has exhausted both human and material resources on both sides. Furthermore, the structure of Athenian democracy itself has become increasingly under threat, following the disastrous Sicilian expedition (BHAG, p.213-17). The return of the tyranny of Hippias is often trailed as a threat (Aristophanes, Lysistrata, 619). The second and more central issue, from the point of view of the comedy, is the unprecedented political role played by the women of Athens and Sparta. The comedy may seem to the males of the audience as a pure fantasy given the traditionally subservient role of women during that period (OCCC p.777, BHAG pp. 157-161). He cleverly chooses the one instance of communal power the women did have in 5th century Athens, viz their specific role in all-women religious ceremonies (such as the Greek festivals of Aphrodite and Demeter that involved sexual humour, OCCC p.779) to drive the point home and this is confirmed by the fact that “the over-age women have instructions [...] to seize the Acropolis under pretence of making a sacrifice” (176-9). Lysistrata herself reminds her audience of such gatherings in the opening lines of the play (Aristophanes, Lysistrata, 1-2). Aristophanes does this specifically to counter the otherwise preposterous premise of the play. At this point, to see the play as in any way a proto-feminist tract would be a serious misreading because the real power the women wield in it is entirely based on their sexuality such as in the scene between Cinesias and Myrrhine (Aristophanes, Lysistrata, 829-1013). A third issue lies in the deprecation of Athens in the mouth of Lampito: “how is one going to persuade that riffraff not to act barmy?” (170-1). On a superficial level, of course, this statement illustrates what the Spartans typically think of the democratic Athenians. But that Aristophanes should make such a side-comment in his play is revealing of a certain loss of Athenian self-esteem following the set-back of the war and of the Sicilian expedition. While the play as a whole portrays Sparta in a favourable light, this barely implicit jibe at Athens’ reputation is revealing of Aristophanes’ trenchant humour and satirical power.

549 words

Bibliography
Ancient sources
Aristophanes, Lysistrata, 167-83, in Sommerstein, A.H. (trans.), Oxford: Oxbow Books, pp.15-53

Modern scholarship
Budelmann, F., Hardwick, L. and Robson, J. (2006) A219: Block 2: Classical Athens, Milton Keynes: The Open University
Pomeroy, S.B., Burnstein, S.M., Donlan, W. And Roberts, J.T. (2004) A Brief History of Ancient Greece: Politics, Society and Culture, Oxford: Oxford University Press
Hornblower, S. And Spawforth, A. (eds) (1998) The Oxford Companion to Classical Civilization, Oxford: Oxford University Press

The Acropolis

2009-05-26T11:03:00.000-07:00

Answer the following question in no more than 1,500 words:
‘A conscious programme of display.’ Making close reference to the art and architecture of the Acropolis, explain and illustrate what is meant by this phrase. Then take any one of the other sources you have studied in Block 2, and briefly analyse the comparisons and contrasts that may be made between this source and the Acropolis in this matter of display.

If the Acropolis in Athens is to be treated as ‘a conscious programme of display’ (Block 2, p.76) we must briefly look at the historical and political context in which it was built so as to understand the purpose and nature of the undertaking. We can then seek to interpret the remaining material evidence of the Acropolis in the light of that building programme. As we shall see, the material evidence carries with it a metaphysical dimension as well as an obvious physical one. We shall then briefly draw an analogy between the intended effect of the Acropolis and Thucydides’s rendering of Pericles’s speech dedicated to those who fought and died in the first year of the Great Peloponnesian War in 431 BCE.

By the time the Athenians, and Pericles first among them, turned their attention to re-building the site of the Acropolis in the middle of the fifth century BCE ¬-- a site which had been sacked by the Persians in 480 BCE and left largely untouched since then -- the Athenian empire was very much alive, although weakened by a revolt in Euboea and the defection of Megara to the Peloponnesian league. A connection was made in the mind of ordinary Athenian citizens between the radical democratic constitution in Athens and the possession of the empire bringing wealth and success to the polis (Joint Association of Classical Teachers, 2008, p.26). Indeed, after Xerxes’s defeat, Athens became a major cultural centre (BHAG, p.138) and some of the money received from the league against Persia led by Athens was used to celebrate religious festivals and to build magnificent buildings, such as the Parthenon in 447 BCE (ibid).

As “the guiding spirit of Athenian imperialism” (BHAG, p.145) Pericles instigated the building of this temple and others, all adorned with sculptures, on the Acropolis meaning ‘city-top’ or ‘citadel’ (JACT, 2008, p.74). According to the same source (2008, p.26) “there is little doubt that, from the first, these buildings made a statement about Athenian power and superiority. Through them, Athens presented herself as a city fit to be the leader of an empire.” Pericles justified this display of power in the following terms, according to Plutarch (Life of Pericles, 12.4): “It is fair that the city, once she has been equipped with what is necessary for war, should turn the surplus over to works which, when completed, will bring her everlasting glory.” Democratically, the public building would, appropriately, “stir every hand until almost the whole city will be under contract” (Plutarch, Life of Pericles, 12.4). In what way then does the Acropolis symbolise an imperial, yet democratic, programme?

The first point to note is that of location (Illustrations Book, Plate 3). The Acropolis is situated on a rocky hillside that rises 120 m from the surrounding plain (JACT, 2008, p.74). This made it “a natural place of refuge in time of trouble” (ibid). Secondly, on top of being “the central fortress,” the Acropolis is “the principal sanctuary of Athena, patron goddess of the city” (OCCC, p.93). One of the first monuments to be erected after the sack by the Persians was a bronze statue of Athena Promachos “set up to celebrate victory over the Persians” (ibid). This statue was visible from what was to later be the Propylaea, the gateway building to the Acropolis (Illustrations Book, Plate 10). Towards the end of the fifth century, the statue was housed in the most sacred of the temples of the Acropolis, the Erechtheion. Thus, the imperial implications of the Acropolis are evident from the outset, chronologically and geographically; at its entrance lay a statue celebrating that victory which was instrumental in the formation of the Athenian empire.

Next came the Parthenon, undoubtedly the most known and celebrated monument of the Acropolis. Temple to Athena, housing an unprecedented gold and ivory statue of the goddess, the Parthenon also served as the state treasury (Block 2, p.74) confirming its status as “a monument to Athens’ imperial position” (JACT, 2008, p.80). Indeed, the move of the treasury of the Delian league from Delos to Athens in 454 BCE (Block 2, p.74) marks the beginning of what is now called the Athenian empire. This was no ordinary treasury however. The Parthenon was “the largest temple of its day” (ibid), positioned in the centre of the Acropolis and visible from afar, to friends and foe alike (Experiencing the Classical World, p.98). Especially of interest are the temple’s sculptures, i.e. the pediments, the metopes and the endlessly controversial frieze. Together these can be viewed “as celebrating Athens’ spiritual life, military prowess and cultural pre-eminence” (ECW, p.99).

The pediments, for example, depict, on the east end, the birth of Athena, and on the west end, the contest between her and Poseidon for the possession of the land (Readings Book 1, Reading 2.6., Pausanias 1.24.5). These pediments portray the power of the polis as having divine origin (birth of Athena) on the one hand and divine sanction (reign of Athena) on the other. The metopes “depict various battles between the powers of civilisation and groups that are somehow uncivilised – the gods battle against the giants, the Greeks against the Amazons” (ECW, p.99). The message thus conveyed is unequivocal: Athens is the bastion of civilisation, Hellenism, and has to assert herself in the struggle against un-Greek barbarians on the one hand, and possibly undemocratic Greek poleis on the other, i.e. poleis not forming part of her empire, the chief among them being Sparta.

The frieze itself is said to depict the festival of the Panathenaia, dedicated to the patron goddess Athena, and certainly suggests as much in terms of the procession it depicts although its actual constitution is somewhat mythical, if not aristocratic, with a predominance of cavalry and charioteers (Robin Osbourne, 1987, pp.103-104). Nevertheless, the fact that the procession (which was all-inclusive in that all members of the polis, citizens and denizens alike, took part in it) made its way to the Parthenon frieze shows that the building programme was open to influences which were not solely those of the powerful. The frieze is a loose but undeniable representation of unity and not of struggle, like the metopes.

In his essay on Classical Athens (ECW, pp.99-100), James Robson points out the thematic unity of the Acropolis as a whole. Thus the already mentioned statue of Athena Parthenos included “a shield sculpted with scenes of the battles between both gods and giants and Greeks and Amazons [and] sandals whose decoration included the battle between Lapiths and centaurs (all motifs found on the temple’s metopes).” In addition, the Parthenos statue could be seen as complementing the already mentioned Promachos statue, while the temple of Athena Nike that sits just outside of the Acropolis boasts a frieze representing the battle of Marathon which was a major Greek victory against the first Persian invasion by Darius. Rather like the Parthenon frieze, an actual event, in this case a battle, had entered the world of myth and was thus fit to be the object of a temple’s decoration.

A similar glorification of past deeds is to be found in Pericles’ Funeral Speech dedicated to those who died in the first year of the Great Peloponnesian War in 431 BCE (Readings Book 1, Reading 2.8 Thucydides 2.34-46). In 2.36 Pericles glorifies, alongside “our ancestors,” “our own fathers, who added to their inheritance the empire which we now possess.” The not- too-distant past, symbolised by the battle of Marathon on the temple of Athena Nike, features in the opening words of the statesman’s speech. In 2.43 he notes that “heroes have the whole earth for their tomb.” The following sentence in 2.41 sums up the building programme on the Acropolis: “the admiration of the present and succeeding ages will be ours, since we have not left our power without witness, but have shown it by mighty proofs.”

As with the Parthenon frieze, there is no reference in the speech to named individuals or fighting units, although the war dead were mainly cavalry, i.e. from the upper-classes. Athens being a democracy of sorts, Pericles was careful not to single out any individuals or groups of individuals which would undermine the unity of the state. The emphasis is on participation, and there is no doubt that the construction of the Acropolis entailed a wide participation from the citizen and non-citizen body alike, as noted above. Intriguingly, Thucydides puts the following words in Pericles’ mouth: “For Athens alone of her contemporaries is found when tested to be greater than her reputation.” This sits oddly with Thucydides’ own statement (Thucydides 1.10) that were Athens to be found in ruins, “one would conjecture from what met the eye that the city had been twice as powerful as in fact it is.” This, if anything, points to the success of the Acropolis in conveying the power of Athens and her empire, making her, to quote Pericles, “the school of Hellas.” Pericles’s observation in 2.45 that the most ‘glorious’ women keep themselves discreet is mirrored in the aforementioned frieze in which a tiny minority of women figure.

1,510 words

Bibliography
Ancient sources
Plutarch, Life of Pericles
Pausanias, Guide to Greece, vol.1, in Levi, P. (trans.) (1979 [1971]), Hammondsworth: Penguin, pp.69-70)
Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, 2.34-46, in Crawley, R. (trans.) (1997), Ware: Wordsworth Editions, pp.93-100
Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, 1.10, in Crawley, R. (trans.) (1997), Ware: Wordsworth Editions

Modern scholarship
Budelmann, F., Hardwick, L. and Robson, J. (2006) A219: Block 2: Classical Athens, Milton Keynes: The Open University
Joint Association of Classical Teachers (2008) The World of Athens, Cambridge and NY: Cambridge University Press
Pomeroy, S.B., Burnstein, S.M., Donlan, W. And Roberts, J.T. (2004) A Brief History of Ancient Greece: Politics, Society and Culture, Oxford: Oxford University Press
Robson, J. (2006) ‘Self and Society in Classical Athens’ in Perkins, P. (ed.), Experiencing the Classical World, Milton Keynes: The Open University
A219 Illustrations Book

The Gods in Homer

2009-03-22T05:58:00.000-07:00

(a) Choosing the books you have read in either the Odyssey or the Iliad, consider the role of the gods. Do you think they enhance or detract from the effect of the poem?

Let us consider the role of the gods through the medium of Lattimore’s translation of the Iliad, focusing on Books 1, 22, 23 and 24, bearing in mind that as a modern translation, the text cannot convey the religiosity that the oral performances must have had for the Greek listeners of 8th century BCE (CD1, Track 20). As will soon be apparent, the role of the gods appears to be both theological and poetic. I will consider both aspects together in what follows.

Book 1 (Readings Book 1, 1.1) opens with an appeal to the Muse to sing “the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles” (Homer, Iliad 1.1). This shows that the role of the gods is not merely confined to the narrative but is actually central to the performance of the poem itself. And it is because Homer is the Muse’s mouthpiece, so to speak, that he has knowledge of divine happenings (Naoko Yamagata, 2006, p.72).

Homer then notes that “Zeus’ will was accomplished” (Homer, Iliad 1.5) from the moment of the bitter enmity that opposed Achilles to Agamemnon. Thus, from the very beginning, the epic is presented as the necessary consequence of Zeus’s power over the mortal world.

The confrontation between the two kings is said to be the work of Apollo, who has been petitioned by a priest of his, Chryses, to inflict suffering on the Achaeans (Homer, Iliad 1.8-42). In this instance Apollo is making up for an injustice committed against one of his protégés (Homer, Iliad 1.26-34). He is indebted to the latter (Homer, Iliad 1.40-41). Apollo is moved to come to Chryses’s help because Chryses has sacrificed in his favour (Homer, Iliad 1.40-1). In coming to his help, Apollo is upholding the principle of reciprocity. Thus one role of the gods is to uphold certain values, for example repayment of debts and acknowledgement of sacrifices offered (Block 1, p.50).

Line 55 shows how the gods can manipulate mortal minds; in this case Achilles calls his people to assembly because Hera has put the idea into his mind. In line 56 it is said that Hera “had pity upon the Danaans when she saw them dying”. Similarly in Book 23 the gods are filled with compassion in the face of Hector’s body being mistreated by Achilles (Homer, Iliad 23.23). Not only are the gods moved by the plight of mortals but despite their ruthlessness they are capable of profound human emotion. The gods as spectators of the human world are also influenced by it as the experiences and emotions that animate it are not foreign to them. In this way they form an audience within the poem which ponders on the events that have occurred so far.

Divine concern and sympathy (Homer, Iliad 1.195-6) can translate into deus ex machina intervention. Athena’s intervention at the point when Achilles “weighed in mind and spirit” two courses of action allows the epic to continue; a dead Agamemnon would halt the seizure of Troy (Homer, Iliad 1.194-222). As Oliver Taplin (1986, p.50) points out, some scholars have suggested that this episode is merely a poetic personification of Achilles’s better judgement and says little about the role of the divine. He goes so far as to argue that “the gods in Homer do not have a theological existence independent of particular poetic context” (p.75). In my view the question is an open one: the gods, Zeus especially, certainly have fixed theological attributes and, as we shall see, are beyond fate. In terms of their strictly poetical role it might be noted at this point that many of the lesser divinities in the poem are nature personified; Dawn (Homer, Iliad 23.109), the winds Boreas and Zephyros (Homer, Iliad 23.195), Helios (sun).

In lines 238-9 Achilles characterizes the Achaeans as “administering the justice of Zeus.” This confirms the opening lines of the epic that portray mortals as agents of divine will (Homer, Iliad 1.5). The following pages of Book 1 highlight another important function of the gods which is to bestow honour, which in the case of Achilles means punishing the Achaeans (Homer, Iliad 353-4). The scene on Olympus at the end of Book 1 sheds light on the human-like interaction between the gods, providing relief and counterbalance to the grim affairs in Troy (see esp. Homer, Iliad 1.599-600).

Jumping to Book 22 (Readings Book 1, 1.3) Apollo meets Achilles in the heat of battle and probes him, drawing a vexed answer (Homer, Iliad 22.7-20). Apollo contrasts his nature that is “not fated” with Achilles’s, and he in turn notes that the god has “no retribution to fear.” The role of the gods is characterized by their impunity as compared to mortals or, in other words, their lack of fate.

However, they play a part in determining the fate of mortal protagonists ; for example, when Zeus weighs the scales (or mixes the urns of sorrow and blessing in Homer, Iliad 24.527-33) while Achilles chases Hector (Homer, Iliad 22.208-213) and the latter’s death is decided¬ . This weighing of the scales at this point of the narrative is surely designed to heighten the tension, although we know through Athena that Hector was “long since doomed by his destiny.” The gods appear to be partisan, favouring those with divine blood (see Hera’s reply to Apollo at 24.56-63). These instances of divine participation elevate the action. Indeed, what good would great heroic deeds be without the gods as witnesses?

The gods’ favouring of some over others is manifest in Book 23 (Readings Book, 1.4) which describes the funeral games in honour of Patroclus. This happens after the gods (Aphrodite and Apollo) have prevented Hector’s body from decomposing and being fed on. In so doing they uphold Hector’s dignity as a deceased human being (Homer, Iliad 23.184-191). During the chariot race Apollo dashes the whip from Diomede’s hands (Homer, Iliad 23.383-4) and Athena, detecting his “foul play”, returns the whip to the warrior (Homer, Iliad 23.388-90). In this instance the competition between mortals is paralleled by competition between the immortals as they aid their favourites and harm those they despise.

Book 24 (Readings Book 1, 1.5), the last of the Iliad, reveals how the epic is unimaginable without the gods; they are essential to its unfolding. Lines 33 to 76 consist of a conversation between the gods over Hector’s dead body. Apollo bemoans the gods’ supporting of Achilles “within whose breast there are no feelings of justice. . . [whose] purposes are fierce. . .[whose] spirit is haughty. . . [who is without] shame” (Homer, Iliad 24.39-45) It may be argued that the gods, as omniscient beings, have a certain claim to judging the behaviour of mortals. More interestingly, Apollo’s characterisation of Achilles as a ruthless man reveals a limitation to the gods’ influence over mortals. “They do not change human nature” (Lattimore, 54). Achilles is Achilles; the gods do not make him what he is.

Do the gods enhance or detract from the effect of the poem? It is undoubtedly an intrusion of modern sensibility to think you can dispense with the gods in the narrative. The question betrays a modern taste which is used to different literary devices and certainly not to divine intervention. But it is clear in my view that both poetically and practically the gods enhance the poem enormously, giving it an extra layer of meaning as it were, not to mention of magnificence.

1,234 words

Ancient source

Richmond Lattimore (trans.) (1961) The Iliad of Homer, Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press

Modern scholarship

Emlyn-Jones, C. and Yamagata, N. (2006) A219 Block 1: Homer and the Greek ‘Dark Age’, Milton Keynes: The Open University

CD1, Track 20: Homer in Translation-introduction

Naoko Yamagata, ‘Sing Muse: Authorial voices in Ancient Greek Poetry’ in Phil Perkins (ed.) (2006), Experiencing the Classical World, Milton Keynes: The Open University, 69-85

Oliver Taplin (1986), ‘Homer’ in Boardman, Griffin, Murray (eds), Oxford History of the Classical World, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 50-77

Richmond Lattimore (trans.) (1961) The Iliad of Homer, Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 54

Ideology as Axiom

2009-01-29T06:14:00.000-08:00

Peter M. Higgins, "Mathematics for the Curious", states at page 56, "Where a line cuts two parallel lines, the corresponding angles are equal. This is an axiom, one of our fundamental starting rules for which we give no proof in terms of other assumptions. (Any system of mathematics begins with some assertions that are not proved. Pure mathematics is the study of their consequences)."

It is possible, though perhaps a little simplistic, to draw an analogy between the mathematical axiom, which is beyond proof, and constitutes a common assumption on which any system of mathematics is founded, and modern political ideology which seeks to enshrine itself as an axiom, a starting point, on which the social system ought to be based, determining both worth and content of human endeavours. It is inherent in ideology to ignore individuality, difference, to consider human lives as pure Bios, and not as Forms of life, that are all distinct from one another (Agamben).

As Mrs Arendt noted, ideo-logy is merely the logic of an idea, and as logic, denies the indeterminacy of language. The totalitarian states — Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia — were laboratories for the application of such systems, based as they were on a set of ideological principles to be put into practice through violent means. Before the modern era, the axioms of living-together were provided by the trilogy of tradition, religion and authority which were the bases on which humans — in the plural — lived their lives, and the grounds on which each successive generation was integrated to the world.

I will take the end of tradition as a starting point. Two of the symptons of the end of tradition, of the slow degradation and ultimate decay of the axioms of living-together are the all pervasiveness of doubt in the intellectual sphere (think of Descartes' "de omnibus dubitandum est") and its correlative, the rise of fanaticism. Indeed one presupposes the other. It is only in a context of overarching doubt that those who hold themselves out as possessing the truth can be labelled fanatical and, conversely, the fanatic is someone who has consciously eradicated his doubt in favour of a world-conception that supposedly has a monopoly over truth and righteousness. So when I said that religion had ended, I did not mean religious experience as such, but rather the kind of religious experience that is free from doubt, that does not need to confront doubt in order to affirm its faith in God. Today, at least in Western society, the believer is merely someone who has integrated doubt into the religious equation so that, paradoxically, the presence or absence of doubt has become the test measure of his faith in God, that is to say, the lesser the doubt, the greater the faith and vice-versa. I regard the philosophical stance according to which authentic faith is one that accommodates doubt as rather unsustainable on a scale beyond the individual.

So much for the fanaticism embedded in post-modern culture. Two further mathematical concepts shed light on the logic of the idea that is ideology.

A constructible number, as its name suggests, is a number which can be arrived at geometrically, that is to say, physically. "To say that a number A is constructible means that, given any line segment to act as a standard of unit length, there is a sequence of operations that can be performed using a straight edge. . . and compasses which leads to another line segment of length A." The key idea is that constructible numbers may proceed from any "standard of unit length", but have to proceed from such a standard. A similar function is performed by the ground principles of a political ideology. Firstly, their selection is as arbitrary (i.e. does not obey any law of logic) as the choice of the length of the original segment. It is enough that the principles are susceptible of acting as "measures" from which other principles can be deduced or 'constructed'. Secondly, it is these ground principles that insure the internal coherence of an ideological system so that by deconstructng the deductions or secondary principles we should always arrive at the ground principles beyond which logical scrutiny is futile. More fundamentally, however, is the realization that ideology is a construct, that everything that derives from it is constructed and that someone who professes to have the ideological upper hand is merely saying that his 'ground principles' are superior to that of his adversary, a statement which comes to us as both unsurprising and empty given the fact that, as we saw, ground principles are the result of choice, not construction. It just so happens that that somebody chose ground principles — perhaps without realizing it — which are different from those of his ideological opponent; provided that both ideologies are internally coherent neither can claim to have the logical upper hand. If he wants to be convincing he has to resort to external determinations such as, for example, the 'practical' application of his system, its 'popularity', its 'moral' superiority and so on. By doing this, however, our ideological zealot is betraying the fact that there is a reality outside of his system and that that reality is superior to his own system in at least two respects; it is the source of his system (any ideological system presupposes the basic concept of 'reality', if only because it owes its existence to that 'reality') and, as we have seen, its judge — we can be even more bold and say that history is the ultimate judge of ideology. So far so good, but the obvious danger is that by wanting to align his ideology too closely on that outside reality 'Zealot' is going to have to transform that reality in some way. Therein lies the manipulative and potentially violent nature intrinsic to any ideological position. But there is a deeper conflict; reality can never be wholly reduced to artificial constructions as surely as numbers are not all constructible (in passing, the idea that "everything is possible", that everything can be somehow constructed if there is the will, is the basic feature of the totalitarian state as defined by the creator of the concept, Mrs Arendt).

A further mathematical curiosity is the transcendental number. In constrast to constructible numbers which are algebraic, transcendental numbers are not algebraic, and are impossible to construct. π is such a number (which, incidentally, is the reason why it is impossible to square the circle as it is impossible to construct √π). Again, on the basis of an analogy, I would have thought that the existence of transcendental numbers reminds us of the limitations of our own 'constructed' reality, or more aptly, our 'constructed artificiality' and that the concept of a transcendental Being (God) proves to be intractable. The characteristic feature of transcendental numbers is that they are infinite (like algebraic numbers) but extremely difficult to identify and uncountable (unlike algebraic numbers), with the impressive result that "we can know that there are uncountably many transcendental numbers without necessarily knowing the identity of a single one of them." (Higgins, ibid).

Das Wohnen

2009-01-23T12:07:00.001-08:00

«Eine Welt zwar bist du, o Rom, doch ohne die Liebe
Wäre die Welt nicht die Welt, wäre denn Rom auch nicht Rom.»
—Goethe—

I. Wohnung heißt Gewöhnung

Hannah Arendt schriebte, dass die Menschen [auf der Erde leben und] in der Welt wohnen.

Was bedeutet das?

Das bedeutet,

(1) daß wir in der Welt wohnen. Die Welt ist eine Sache von Gewohnheit. Wir sind in der Welt in der Gewöhnung.

(2) daß die Welt in uns wohnt. Die Welt ist in uns, die in der wohnen. Ohne uns ist keine Welt.

Es folgt, daß die Welt in der wir wohnen—und in uns wohnt—uns gewöhnt.

II. Eine Gedankenlose Welt

Wenn die Welt in der wir wohnen—und in uns wohnt—gedankenlos ist, gewöhnt uns diese Gedankenlosigkeit daran, gedankenlos zu sein.

In einer solchen Welt, da die Gedankenlosigkeit so gewöhnlich ist, sind die Einwohner daran gewohnt, dass Niemand denkt.

Können wir uns über Gewöhnung erheben?

Wir können nicht.

III. Gedankenvolle Gewöhnung

Unsere Gewöhnung kann aber gedankenvoll sein.

Durch gedankenvolle Gewöhnung gewöhnt uns die Gedankenlosigkeit der Welt nicht mehr auf gedankenlose Weise.

Durch gedankenvolle Gewöhnung ist die Gedankenlosigkeit der Welt uns nicht mehr gewöhnlich.

Wie unterschied sich die gedankenvolle Gewöhnung von der Gedankenlose?

IV. Die beherrschte und beherrschungsvolle Gewöhnungen

Durch gedankenlose Gewöhnung sind unsere Gewohnheiten gedankenlos. Wenn die Welt in der wir wohnen—und in uns wohnt—gedankenlos ist, werden unsere Gewohnheiten gedankenlos.

Die Welt herrscht unsere Gewohnheiten.

Durch gedankenvolle Gewöhnung sind unsere Gewohnheiten gedankenvoll. Wenn die Welt in der wir wohnen—und in uns wohnt—gedankenlos ist, werden unsere Gewohnheiten nicht gedankenlos.

Unsere Gewohnheiten herrschen die Welt.

V. Beherrschung heißt Enthaltung

Martin Heidegger beobachtete, daß Mensch Mensch und nicht Tier ist insofern, als er weltreich ist.

Es ist verlockend hinzusetzen,

(1) daß Mensch Mensch und nicht Tier ist, wenn seine Gewöhnung gedankenvoll ist, weil dann seine Gewohnheiten die Welt beherrschen und er weltreich ist. Er ist weltreich, weil seine Gewohnheiten die Welt beherrschen; darum enthalten seine Gewohnheiten die Welt aber die Welt die nicht enthalt.

(2) daß Mensch Tier und nicht Mensch ist, wenn seine Gewöhnung gedankenlos ist, weil dann seine Gewohnheiten von der Welt beherrscht sind und er weltlos ist. Er ist weltlos, weil die Welt seine Gewohnheiten beherrscht; darum enthalt die Welt seine Gewohnheiten aber die keine Welt enthalten.

VI. Eine Religion des Freimensches

Die Welt selbst gewöhnt an Gedankenlosigkeit. Ereignis kann nur eine Religion fur Freimenschen sein, Römische, weil ihre Wahrheit die Beherrschung unserer Gewöhnung durch Gedanke verlangt, daher auch Herrschaft der Welt, die lädt jeden zur Gedankenlosigkeit ein. Die die sich von der Welt in dieser Weise gewöhnen lassen, sind, paradoxerweise, weltlos, Tieren, weil ihre Gewohnheiten die Welt nicht durch Herrschaft enthalten aber im gegenteil sind dort enthalt.

Habitation

2009-01-23T12:06:00.002-08:00

"Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul!
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way
O'ver steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye!
Whose agonies are evils of a day -
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay." —Lord Byron—

I. Habitation Means Habituation

Hannah Arendt wrote that men [live on the earth and] inhabit the world.

What does this mean?

It means

(1) that we inhabit the world. The world is a matter of habit. We are in the world in habituation.

(2) that the world inhabits us. The world is in us who inhabit it. Without us there is no world.

It follows that the world we inhabit—and inhabits us—habituates us.

II. Thoughtless World

If the world we inhabit—and inhabits us—is thoughtless, this thoughtlessness habituates us into being thoughtless.

In such a world, because thoughtlessness is so habitual, the inhabitants are habituated thereto, that nobody thinks.

Can we overcome habituation?

We cannot.

III. Thoughtful Habituation

However, our habituation can be thoughtful.

In thoughtful habituation the world's thoughtlessness no longer habituates us thoughtlessly.

In thoughtful habituation the world's thoughtlessness is to us no longer habitual.

How does thoughtful habituation differ from thoughtless habituation?

IV. Masterered and Masterful Habituations

In thoughtless habituation our habits are thoughtless. If the world we inhabit—and inhabits us—is thoughtless our habits become thoughtless.

The world masters our habits.

In thoughtful habituation our habits are thoughtful. If the world we inhabit—and inhabits us—is thoughtless our habits do not become thoughtless.

Our habits master the world.

V. Mastery Means Containment

Martin Heidegger observed that man is man and not animal in so far as he is world-rich.

It is tempting to add

(1) that man is man and not animal when his habituation is thoughtful for then his habits master the world and he is world-rich. He is world-rich because his habits master the world; therefore his habits contain the world but the world does not contain them.

(2) that man is animal and not man when his habituation is thoughtless for then his habits are mastered by the world and he is world-poor. He is world-poor because the world masters his habits; therefore the world contains his habits but they contain no world.

VI. A Freeman's Religion

The world itself habituates in non-thought. Enowning can only be a religion for freemen, Roman, since its truth requires mastery of our habituation through thought, therefore also of the world which invites each and everyone to thoughtlessness. Those who let themselves be habituated by the world in this way are poor-in-world—animal—since their habits do not contain the world through mastery but to the contrary are contained in it.

Note. The Greek word ethos, which singularly ressembles the word ethic, is commonly translated as "habit". Thoughtful habituation is an ethic.

L'Habitation

2009-01-23T12:06:00.001-08:00

«Nouveau venu, qui cherches Rome en Rome
Et rien de Rome en Rome n'apperçois,
Ces vieux palais, ces vieux arcz que tu vois,
Et ces vieux murs, c'est ce que Rome on nomme.

Voy quel orgueil, quelle ruine : et comme
Celle qui mist le monde sous ses loix,
Pour donter tout, se donta quelquefois,
Et devint proye au temps, qui tout consomme.

Rome de Rome est le seul monument,
Et Rome Rome a vaincu seulement.
Le Tybre seul, qui vers la mer s'enfuit,

Reste de Rome. Ô mondaine inconstance !
Ce qui est ferme, est par le temps destruit,
Et ce qui fuit, au temps fait resistance.» —Du Bellay—

I. Habitation signifie habituation

Maurice Merleau-Ponty a dit que nous ne sommes pas dans le monde mais nous l'habitons.

Que signifie cela ?

Cela signifie

(1) que nous habitons le monde. Le monde est une matière d'habitude. Nous sommes dans le monde dans l'habituation.

(2) que le monde nous habite. Le monde est en nous qui l'habitons. Sans nous il n'y a pas de monde.

Il suit que le monde nous habitons—et nous habite—nous habitue.

II. Un Monde sans pensée

Si le monde que nous habitons—et nous habite—est sans pensée, cette absence de pensée nous habitue à être sans pensée.

Dans un tel monde, puisque l'absence de pensée est habituel, les habitants sont habitués à cela, que personne ne pense.

Pouvons-nous surmonter l'habituation ?

Nous ne pouvons.

III. L'Habituation pensée

Toutefois, notre habituation peut être pensée.

Dans l'habituation pensée l'absence de pensée du monde ne nous habitue plus dans une habituation impensée.

Dans l'habituation pensée l'absence de pensée du monde ne nous est plus habituel.

En quoi l'habituation pensée diffère-t-elle de l'habituation impensée ?

IV. Habituations maîtrisée et pleine de maîtrise

Dans l'habituation impensée nos habitudes sont impensées. Si le monde que nous habitons—et nous habite—est sans pensée nos habitudes deviennent sans pensée.

Le monde maîtrise nos habitudes.

Dans l'habituation pensée nos habitudes sont pensées. Si le monde que nous habitons—et nous habite—est sans pensée nos habitudes ne deviennent pas sans pensée.

Nos habitudes maîtrisent le monde.

V. Maîtrise signifie contenir

Martin Heidegger observa que l'homme est homme et non animal dans la mesure où il est riche-en-monde.

Il est tentant d'ajouter

(1) que l'homme est homme et non animal lorsque son habituation est pensée puisqu'alors ses habitudes maîtrisent le monde et il est riche-en-monde. Il est riche-en-monde parce que ses habitudes maîtrisent le monde ; dès lors ses habitudes contiennent le monde mais le monde ne les contient pas.

(2) que l'homme est animal et non homme lorsque son habituation est impensée puisqu'alors ses habitudes sont maîtrisées par le monde et il est pauvre-en-monde. Il est pauvre-en-monde parce que le monde maîtrise ses habitudes ; dès lors le monde contient ses habitudes mais elles ne contiennent pas de monde.

VI. Une religion de libre-hommes

Le monde lui-même habitue à la non-pensée. Ereignis ne peut être qu'une religion pour libre-hommes, romaine, puisque sa vérité requiert maîtrise de notre habituation à travers la pensée, donc aussi du monde qui invite tout un chacun à la non-pensée. Ceux qui se laissent habituer de la sorte par le monde, paradoxalement, sont pauvres-en-monde, animaux, puisque leurs habitudes ne contiennent pas le monde à travers la maîtrise mais au contraire y sont contenues.

Note. Le mot grec "ethos" est communément traduit comme habitude. L'habituation pensée est une éthique.

Truthfulness and Money (sequel to "On Truth")

2009-01-23T11:40:00.002-08:00

"Quid faciant leges, ubi sola pecunia regnat?"
- Petronius

Truthfulness measures the meaningfulness of a truth-value for a life form, as meaning cannot be dissociated from the life form that acknowledges it. The less meaningful the truth-value for life in general, the less meaningful it will be for most life forms.

In a system that runs on capital, i.e. capitalism, money is the most truthful of truth-values since it is (1) the most meaningful of values (2) for the greatest number of life forms. This predominance of money as truth-value is borne out by ordinary language (3) and the legal system (4).

(1) The most meaningful of values. Money is a measurable truth-value which also means that it is relative only to itself. It does not have to compete with non-measurable truth-values such as justice, beauty, spirit. All the more so that money is a condition of life—it is exempt from the battle of values. Because meaning is always meaning for a form of life, hence for life in general—all form of life presupposing life—money, as condition of life in capitalist society, is the most meaningful of values. In fact money is so meaningful for life in general that money becomes the criterion of meaning, so much so that the truthfulness of truth-values is measured in terms of their usefulness for making money.

(2) For the greatest number of life forms. It so happens that most activities in a capitalist society are directed toward making money—hence money is in fact the truth-value of all these activities as it is their end and their meaning. Moreover money, as material condition of life, is common to all life forms within the capitalist system (on an increasingly immaterial level.) One may speak of the universality of money for calculation, which money presupposes, is the universal language.

(3) The fact that the words price and value are used interchangeably testifies to this predominance of money as truth-value, as that which gives meaning to life forms and life and is suggested by the meanings of words, for instance economy, investment, wealth, saving, cheap, growth, honesty, order, free, interest, productive, profitable, transparency, health, autonomy, exchange, charity, dole (in Thomas Malory this has a very different meaning, e.g. "Then Arthur made great dole when he understood that sir Ector was not his father."), debt, security, public, private, good, product, season, trust (fund). I may say that money is that which makes life possible and what is suggested by the possible meaning of life (insurance).

(4) In law the link between money and life form is effected in the notion of solvency or wealth. It comprises all the rights, goods and obligations—as measurable in money—of a person; property rights, rights in personam, debts. The link between life forms is pecuniary in nature, obligational in character. It is perpetuated thanks to inheritance through which new forms of life succeed their predecessors. And what is litigation but a legally clothed extorsion of money?

To conclude, it may be the case that the only life form for whom money is not the most truthful, that is meaningful, of truth-values is the life-form (cf. essay of that name by Giorgio Agamben); indeed this life will be seen as non-sense by other life forms. Why? Because truth as such, truth-values, meaning can only be known by somebody who thinks. Only he therefore is in a position to detach himself from the capitalist confusion between value and money, between meaning and means, between truthfulness and usefulness.

Post-scriptum:

Concerning the prevalence of banking and the practice of usury, let us sing with Shakespeare:

"Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?"

Véracité et argent (suite de «de la vérité»)

2009-01-23T11:40:00.001-08:00

«Quid faciant leges, ubi sola pecunia regnat?»
- Pétrone

La véracité mesure le degré de sens d’une valeur-vérité pour une forme de vie, puisque le sens ne peut être dissocié de la forme de vie qui le reconnaît. Plus le sens de la valeur-vérité est faible pour la vie en générale, plus il sera faible pour toute forme de vie.

Dans un système qui tourne au capital, c’est à dire le capitalisme, l’argent est la plus vraie des valeurs-vérité, puisqu’il est la plus sensée des valeurs (1) pour le plus grand nombre de formes de vie (2). Que l'argent soit la plus sensée des valeurs-vérité est vérifié dans le langage ordinaire (3) et dans le système juridique (4).

(1) La plus sensée des valeurs. L’argent est une valeur-vérité mesurable ce qui signifie qu’elle n’est relative qu’à elle même. Il ne doit pas confronter des valeurs-vérité non mesurables : la justice, la beauté, l’esprit ; d’autant plus que l’argent est une condition matérielle de vie—il est dispensé de la bataille des valeurs. Parce que le sens est toujours sens pour une forme de vie, donc pour la vie en générale—toute forme de vie présupposant la vie—l’argent, comme condition de vie dans la société capitaliste, est la plus sensée des valeurs. En fait l’argent est tellement sensé pour la vie en générale que l’argent devient le critère du sens, à un tel point que la véracité ou le degré de sens des valeurs-vérité sont mesurés en terme de leur utilité pour gagner de l’argent.

(2) Au plus grand nombre de formes de vie. Il s’avère que la plupart des activités dans la société capitaliste visent à gagner de l’argent—ainsi l’argent est de fait leur valeur-vérité puiqu’il est leur fin et leur sens. De surcroît l’argent, comme condition matérielle de vie, est commun à toute forme de vie au sein du système capitaliste (et ce de manière de plus en plus immatérielle). On pourrait parler de l'universalité de l'argent, puisque le calcul, que l'argent présuppose, est la langue universelle.

(3) Que les mots prix et valeur soient usités l’un pour l’autre témoigne de la prédominance de l’argent comme valeur-vérité, comme cela qui donne un sens aux formes de vie et à la vie et ce qu'est suggéré par le sens des mots, par exemple : économie, investissement, épargne, travail, chômage, croissance, commande, richesse, productif, profitable, intérêt, santé, transparence, autonomie, échange, charité, dette, sécurité, emploi, public, privé, bien, saison, temps (plein ou partiel). Je peux dire que l’argent est ce qui rend possible la vie et ce que suggère le sens possible de (l'assurance) vie.

(4) En droit, le lien entre forme de vie et argent s'opère dans la notion de patrimoine ou de solvabilité : celle-ci regroupe l'ensemble des droits, biens et obligations, appréciables en argent, d'une personne qu'il s'agisse de droits réels (propriété), droits personnels (contrat), droits intellectuels, de créance ou de dettes. Le lien juridique entre formes de vie est de nature pécuniaire, de caractère obligatoire. Il se perpétue dans le temps grâce à l'héritage par lequel de nouvelles formes de vie succèdent aux obligations de leurs prédecesseurs. Et qu'est-ce qu'un litige si ce n'est une extorsion d'argent légalement revêtue ?

Pour conclure, il se peut que la seule forme de vie pour laquelle l’argent n’est pas la plus vraie, c'est à dire sensée, des valeurs-vérité est la forme-de-vie (cf. article du même nom par Giorgio Agamben) ; aussi sera-t'elle qualifiée d'insensée par les autres formes de vie. Pourquoi ? parce que la vérité en tant que telle, les valeurs-vérité, le sens ne peuvent être connus que de celui qui pense. Il est le seul à même de se détacher des confusions capitalistes entre la valeur et l’argent, entre le sens et le moyen, entre la véracité et l'utilité.

On Truth

2009-01-23T11:39:00.003-08:00

With Romer's definition of truth as that which makes meaning possible and is suggested by the possible meaning of a word, a link can be drawn with the philosopher Nietzsche.

(1) "There is no truth but truths."

[This might not be an actual Nietzsche pronouncement. Still, its thought-provoking nature demands discussion.]

This statement must be read in conjunction with that author's concept of the will-to-power. We posit truth-values in order to give meaning to what we do, ultimately to our lives. For Nietzsche such truth-values are conditons of life; because no truth-value ("truth") can subsume all life forms (but see Truthfulness and Money, above), that is, give meaning to all of them at once, at least not since we killed God, there are as many truth-values ("truths") as there are life forms that posit them.

At once, however, a question arises: if there are only truths and no truth what is it that gives meaning to the truths in the first place? do the values derive meaning from and in themselves or are they preceded by a truth that makes their ability to confer meaning possible? The answer to this question was hinted at in the opening sentence: will-to-power precedes values, determines them and their force for the life forms that posit and/or acknowledge them. Will-to-power finds expression in the truth-values we posit, for, in Nietzsche's thinking, such values serve only the interests of will-to-power.

Nietzsche's conception of will-to-power comes very close to Romer's definition of truth as that which makes meaning possible and is suggested by the possible meaning of a word. For Nietzsche will-to-power is the truth as just understood although (1) shows that Nietzsche himself did not acknowledge a single truth other than those many truths entailed by will-to-power. However this refusal to equate will-to-power with truth makes will-to-power suspicious; is it not just another truth-value disguised as the truth, as that which makes meaning possible? does will-to-power derive meaning from itself or is it grounded in a deeper source? For Nietzsche the latter alternative is out of the question—will-to-power is the source.

But if will-to-power derives meaning from itself, and in turn is that which posits itself in as many values as there are positing life forms, is it not reduced to being a will-to-values, a will that cares not whether the values it wills are grounded in a meaning-conferring truth other than itself as will? If yes, will-to-power degrades itself into a will-to-will, a will that asserts itself as the truth, as the source of meaning, as Heidegger was to find out to his great shame in his embrace of National Socialism. The void left over by the will-to-will, in its forgetfulness of an original source which makes meaning, hence language, possible was perhaps recognized by Nietzsche himself, although he was unable in the course of his lifetime to bring himself to see beyond that void other than through his prophecy of the overman.

(2) "Truth is that kind of an error without which a certain category of being could not exist."

This statement shows that for Nietzsche truth in the singular is singularly the concern of the thinker. Truth is the truth-value posited by the thinker to give meaning to what he does, which is to seek the truth, therefore also to his lifetime. Without truth he would not exist. However this truth-value differs from the truth-values posited by non-thinkers in one important respect; the thinker—in this case Nietzsche himself—is aware that it is the characteristic of truth to make meaning possible—in his terminology, to serve life. This thinker's truth underpins all truth-values in so far as they too give meaning to the life forms that posit and/or acknowledge them.

The thinker's truth, namely, his realization that truth, be it error, prejudice or folly, is that which makes meaning possible, and indeed is what meaning suggests, betrays another truth-value of the thinker, including Nietzsche, other than that there is a truth. That prejudice is the following; to tolerate meaninglessness, therefore the absence of truth, is to tolerate lifelessness. This neatly fits in with that author's view of art, namely:

(3) "We have art in order not to perish from the truth."

While truth is an error for Nietzsche, it is a necessary error as it makes life possible. However we die from truth if we dissociate it from its life conditioning function, i.e. if we dissociate it from meaning. This is the risk we face with scientific or objective truth when it becomes meaningless, or is no longer concerned with providing meaning to life. Art, in so far as it gave meaning to life in general and to our lives in particular, was a stronger, because more meaningful, type of truth for Nietzsche.

(4) "Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies."

In an age when convictions pass as judgments, and where these non-judgments in turn form the bases of actions, inevitably bringing havoc and confusion in their wake, it would be wise to consider this thought of Nietzsche's above all others. What does he mean by "convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies?" To answer this question we must distinguish convictions and lies from the point of view of truth, since this statement supposes that the two, convictions and lies, bear a relationship to truth which is left undefined.

Let us take Romer's definition of truth as our basis: truth is that which makes meaning possible and is suggested by the possible meaning of a word. In what way are convictions enemies of truth? How is the convinced person an enemy of truth? Enemy of truth can be said of the person who is willing to offend truth, to attack it. Conversely, convictions are enemies 'of' truth in the sense that truth attempts to fight them too. In the midst of this battle between convictions and truth lies Nietzsche's thought—the convinced person attacks the truth, that which is the source of meaning, by appropriating it, by seeking to make his convictions the source of meaning.

Thus both the free-market politician and his left-wing counterpart are enemies of truth in so far as they seek to enshrine their convictions—the goodness of free-market capitalism in the first case, the badness of it in the second—as the sources of all possible meaning. Their vocabulary in turn suggests that theirs is the truth, e.g. 'growth', 'freedom' in the one case, 'social justice,' 'education' in the other. Their temptation is to usurp the truth by confusing their own truth-values with truth, that which makes values, as purveyors of meaning, possible at all, and which I have accordingly baptized "truth-values." [The positivist is someone who posits values, be they of a scientific nature or otherwise, and takes this positing to be the source of meaning.]

The liar by contrast is a lesser enemy of truth for he does not seek to appropriate it, to make it his own or to impose the meaning of his conviction on all beings. Rather the liar merely hides the truth—or distorts it—but in so doing recognizes the idea of truth. By obfuscating the truth the lie does not appropriate it like the conviction but to the contrary almost preserves it, at least the idea of it, by concealing it. In a fundamental sense the liar recognizes the truth by hiding or distorting it—for a truth, even distorted, remains—whereas the convinced person fails even to pay attention to the truth by seeking to enshrine his own truth-value as the truth. Indeed, as though to hammer the point home, Nietzshe noted in Thus Spoke Zarathustra that "He who cannot lie does not know what truth is."

What happens if a conviction succeeds in becoming the original source of meaning, what Heidegger called that "disclosure of beings through which an openness essentially unfolds?" What happens is that meaning is lost, for truth that is appropriated is no longer truth in any sense of the word. The result is that the conviction or truth-value itself becomes meaningless, ungrounded as it is in truth, i.e. in that [disclosure] which makes meaning possible. The truth-value becomes a mere value; exchangeable, replaceable, beneath money.

What happens if a lie parades as a conviction? Or to put the question differently, what if the conviction is a lie, and not merely a truth-value? A lie, as hider or distorter of truth, does not take root in it, or rather it does but only to hide or distort it. The truth-value does not conceal the truth per say; it is a manifestation of it by virtue of its ability to confer meaning on the life form that posits and/or acknowledges it. The lie has no such a quality—the lie does not confer meaning on the life form that posits it precisely because it is a lie.

When Stalin's collaborators were framed as "enemies of the people" the prosecutors knew this to be a lie, a lie to which the accused assented under torture or the threat of it. The sentence could only have had meaning for those who were not aware of its being a lie—which is precisely why the lie-convictions were fabricated in the first place. The lie that "parades" as a conviction (e.g. christianity) is destined to be meaningful for those who do not know it to be a lie (the Lords), but not naturally for those who do, i.e. the liars themselves (the saints and priests). This finding relates to another aphorism, the penultimate in this presentation:

(5) "The visionary lies to himself, the liar only to others."

The liar lies only to others because as liar he knows his lie to be a lie, that is, to be a hider or distorter of truth, of that [unconcealment] which makes meaning possible, and in the example above, of the fact that the prosecuted were not "enemies of the people" for want of evidence of genuine betrayal. The sentences that declared them so were lies, deriving meaning from the truth of the proposition "enemies of the people" whilst distorting the truth "enemies of the people" by having it applied to individuals who were not "enemies of the people" in the sense the sentence declared them to be, or in the sense the spectators who were not aware of the lie understood the sentence "enemies of the people" to mean—the perpetrators or would-be perpetrators of heinous crime—treason—against the State, therefore, by common extension, the people.

(From this paragraph it is easy to see why common sense takes truth to mean correspondence between proposition and thing—in this case between "enemies of the people" and the fact that indeed the accused were "enemies of the people." The reason this definition is unsatisfactory is that it fails to consider how "enemies of the people" in proposition corresponds to "enemies of the people" in fact, since this "fact" is itself a proposition whose ultimate sanction remains hidden. It is as though common sense had forgotten about the primary meaning of truth as that which makes meaning possible and had reduced it to one of its consequences which is the possibility for meaning to be instrumentalized in such a way that it no longer bears on "facts." However these facts themselves need to correspond to what is true if they are not to be lies, and this regression shows the bankruptcy of this common definition of truth. Rather lies occur as soon as that [disclosure] which makes meaning possible is instrumentalized—hidden or distorted, that is to say, concealed—so as to make a proposition appear to be meaningful of itself or, worse, to be the source of meaning.)

The statement that "the visionary lies to himself, the liar only to others" is doubly provocative. Firstly, it takes for granted the far from obvious finding that a person may lie to him or herself. It proceeds, secondly, by drawing a distinction between the visionary, who lies to himself, and the liar, who lies only to others. Could this mean that the visionary who, according to Nietzsche, does lie, not only to himself, but also, as can be inferred, to those who behold his vision—his disciples—is no liar?

Again, a reference to Romer's aforementioned definition of truth is necessary to untangle the wisdom of this thought; truth is that which makes meaning possible and is suggested by the possible meaning of a word. If the visionary is someone who lies to himself—it is left open whether such lying to one's self is a condition of visionhood—then he is someone who hides or distorts the truth that gives meaning to the vision both for himself and for those who behold it, his disciples. On this understanding, the vision fulfils the same function Nietzsche assigned to the "value" or "truth" which I have so far called the truth-value, which is the value that confers meaning on a form of life by virtue of its grounding in truth as the original source of meaning, what Heidegger called "that disclosure of beings through which an openness essentially unfolds." That function is a life affirming function for, as we have seen, truth, even as error—as scientists are never at a loss to indicate—is a condition of life by virtue of its ability to confer meaning on it (although it has been conceded that this last assertion may simply be the thinker's own truth-value in (2), above.)

Does our enquiry end here? It cannot for two reasons. The first is that despite its being revealed to be a mere truth-value among others, the vision remains a vision, which translates in Nietzsche's mind as the visionary remaining a visionary, distinct from the liar, who lies only to others. This invites us to consider the first point raised above, which constitutes our second reason why the enquiry into the truth of statement five should not be halted prematurely: the lie to one's self.

With Romer's definition of truth such a lie becomes utterly conceivable, and belongs to the realm of daily experience; I lie to myself whenever I take or mistake my conviction, truth-value or "truth" (see (1), above) to be the source of meaning, that is, to be truth itself. I lie to myself when I mistake the one for the other because in so doing I hide from myself that which makes my conviction or "truth" meaningful, i.e. truthful, for me, and that "that" necessarily precedes my own truth-value by making it, and its ability to confer meaning on my life, possible. It would appear that, for Nietzsche at least, the visionary can be, and is only ever, a visionary when he hides from himself that which makes the meaning of his own vision possible and, by implication, its credibility for those to whom he addresses it—for one would be hard pressed to argue that a vision could be believed by those who deem it to be meaningless!

To take an example; Adlolf Hitler had a vision of a German Reich that would rule the Western Hemisphere for a thousand years. Hitler himself believed in the truth, i.e. the meaning, of this vision, which truth was in turn adopted by his followers of the time. Hitler would count as a visionary according to our aphorism in so far as he lied to himself as well as to others in the establishing of his vision; he hid or distorted the truth that rendered the vision meaningful at all by seeking to enshrine this particular vision, which was also a truth-value, as the source of meaning, as the truth. Thus the vision soon became laughable, absurd, meaningless, for, having appropriated the truth, it was no longer grounded in it nor in anything capable of conferring meaning on the vision any longer.

To take another example; the prophet Jesus of Nazareth. The man told his contemporaries that the end of the [Roman] world was nigh, that he was the son of God, that rewarded would be those who believed him and followed his instruction. Was Jesus guilty of lying to himself in enshrining his vision as the truth, as the source of meaning? Certainly a ruthless reading of Nietzsche's statement points to a positive answer—Jesus lied to himself in so far as he hid from himself and his disciples that which gave his vision meaning, namely his insight into the "disclosure of beings through which an openness essentially unfolds." Worse, Jesus distorted the truth in so far as his vision borrowed heavily from the disclosure—e.g. "Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them; otherwise you have no reward of your Father which is in heaven" Matthew 6:1—but never acknowledged the disclosure as disclosure. Rather he referred to his Father, the maker of all things, to the primary necessity of Faith, to the Law as interpreted, i.e transformed, by him. Yet, unlike with Hitler, his vision held ground—somehow it remained grounded in truth so as to convey meaning to the generations who succeeded him—but at a heavy price, namely the dogmatic falsifications of his view by Saint Paul the apostle and the early members of the clergy.

It is no stretch of the mind to conclude, at least provisionally, that with this aphorism Nietzsche was in fact telling us what he was doing as self-styled visionary in "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" and his other works; lying to himself—by concealing from himself What conferred meaning on his vision, What made it meaningful—and to us who believed in the vision as meaningful of itself! (wherefore perhaps the mysterious subtitle of that book "A book for everyone and no one," which subtitle both includes and excludes the author himself. That is to say, an author has no property over his thought because "we never come to thoughts. They come to us.")

(6) "Perhaps no one has ever been sufficiently truthful about what 'truthfulness' is."

See Truthfulness and Money.

(7) "Truth is a woman, she only loves a warrior."

Truth is a woman. She only ever loves a warrior. On a first reading, the equation made between truth and woman seems gratuitous and a poetic fancy. But from the point of view of sexual selection, at least from the viewpoint of man, it is woman that chooses the man she has sex with (discarding the possibilities of rape and prostitution). As men we may wish to have sex with many a woman, but in the end it is women that choose us as their sexual partners or lovers. Supposing that this view of sexual selection contains some truth in it, then the first part of Nietzsche's pronouncement must be understood as follows: truth as woman selects those whom are to make her their business; in other words, we do not select seeking the truth as a possible occupation among others but rather truth selects us as those who are to make that seeking an occupation, indeed a preoccupation. In so far as truth as [unconcealment] discloses itself to us on rare occasions, which event Heidegger considers to be a gift, we as thinkers or freemen can be said to make love to her. (This is what Heidegger means by the expression "truth propriates." She takes us in her ownership and as such we are en-owned).

However it is not said by Nietzsche that truth loves thinkers. It is said, rather, that she loves a warrior. Yet warriors are not known for seeking the truth. And indeed what is a warrior? A warrior is a man whose business is war-making, war-fighting. The greek term for war is polemos. The great Greek thinker Heraclitus even said that "war (polemos) is the father of all things." This is sometimes rendered as "struggle is the harbinger of all beings." In his Nietzsche lectures, Heidegger claimed that struggle was the ultimate law of Being. Is war not symptomatic of that struggle? Is the warrior not unusually caught up in the struggle of Being for Being? Indeed, is it not of the essence of the thinker to be caught up in this way, i.e. in the struggle for Being? In the section "On Warriors" of the Zarathustra book, Nietzsche tells the warriors "I have always been of your kind." Are warriors and thinkers of the same kind? How does this suggest itself?

Plato already suggested via Socrates that thinkers are close to death, since as thinkers they realize the key to living the good life is learning how to die. Indeed, living is a kind of dying, becoming a coming-to-be, ageing an ineluctable process bringing us ever closer to the possibility of death (see Time and Moment). Similarly, warriors, if they are warriors and not mere soldiers, see death first hand, are at risk of death, and are thus close to death. They are all the more daring and courageous when they increase the risk of death upon themselves in their actions and deeds in battle (in order to gain an advantage or even for the sake of honour). But what does the possibility of death have with truth?

The answer is that truth is only accessible to those who have grasped the essence of the nothing (das Nichts). The nothing is part and parcel of our lives as freemen in so far as we incorporate death as an ultimate possibility, i.e. as a price worth paying for freedom. I think this is partly contained in Heidegger's concepts of 'historicity' and 'resoluteness.' Hannah Arendt remarked in her unfinished work 'Was ist Politik?' (What is Politics?) that the freemen of Rome looked down upon too great an attachment to life for that was characteristic of the unfree. To be a freeman, you must be ready to put your life at risk (especially when freedom is understood politically rather than philosophically).

But what have freemen to do with thinkers? And what has freedom got to do with truth? The answer: everything. Freedom is the essence of truth - freedom is that which makes meaning possible (the openness of beings). When Heidegger speaks of truth as "[that] disclosure of beings through which an openness essentially unfolds" he is saying that truth unconceals beings in such a way that an opening for Being, i.e. freedom, is made evident. Freedom as truth, as the source and goal of truth, is to be gained through an adequate grasp of the nothing, that is to say through an adequate grasp of our mortality. In so far as he does this, the thinker is a warrior, someone who looks death in the eye. Nietzsche: "He has courage who sees the abyss, but sees it with pride."

In summary we may formulate Nietzshe's aphorism as follows: truth, whose essence is freedom (the openness of beings), selects a thinker as her lover, in so far as he struggles and endangers himself like a warrior, by grasping in his being the essence of the nothing.

(8) "We are attempting an experiment with truth. Mankind may perish because of it. Fine!"

This statement will no doubt be taken by the common man to be symptomatic of Nietzsche's misanthropy and disregard for humanity. (Bertrand Russell, as an incarnation of the 'reasonable animal' with the complete ignorance of the spirit that goes with it, would have found rich pickings for his anti-Nietzsche tirade in this aphorism - Bertrand Russell who thought Nietzsche was only good enough for the unserious fancies of 'literary circles' and 'artists', Bertrand Russell who was the supporter of the unquestionable superiority of Reason and Mathematics, Bertrand Russell who alienated us even more from language with his obsession with logic, and yet patently unable to help himself writing unmathematical prose, e.g. his 'History of Philosophy'...).

I will precede with this aphorism as I have with the others - in English. No doubt this will give rise to many good-natured objections, for example, what gives me the right to philologize a text in translation, deriving 'arguments' from it when the author himself did not use those words? My response is four-fold:

(1) Walter Benjamin in his essay on 'The Task of the Translator' revealed that an original text contains the possibility of its translation within it, a translatability, and that the translation perpetuates the dissemination of that text, its anchoring in time, through interpretation, transmission, influence: in Benjamin's phrase "its most abundant flowering". Thus in systematically ignoring the translation in favour of the original I would not actually be doing the original any favours.

(2) "The kinship of languages is brought out by a translation" (same essay). This is evident in 'Habitation' which was a translation of 'L'Habitation', which I in turn came to translate in 'Das Wohnen.' That kinship enables us to gain, as translators, an originary relationship to that which gives to think. In the case of L'Habitation, the genius of the French language was readily translateable into English and again into German. Benjamin, in this regard, speaks of pure language, the non-language where all languages meet as modes of intention in so far as they translate into each other. Benjamin's pure language is truth, that which makes meaning possible.

(3) Again in that genial essay, while, say, 'zu Grunde gehen' intends something like 'perish', 'zu Grunde gehen' for the German is not the same as 'perish' for the Englishman. While I could try to grasp 'perish' in the German way for the Englishman, I intend to grasp 'perish' in an English way for the Englishman (Heidegger's Ancient Greek translations were, he claimed, trying to think the Greek in a Greek way, but in the mode of German. Can I attempt to think 'zu Grunde gehen' in a German way, but in the mode of English? In fact, I have made this attempt (Perish - A Note on Thus Spoke Zarathustra)).

(4) "The task of the translator consists in finding that intended effect upon the language into which he is translating which produces in it the echo of the original." That echo, especially with Nietzsche, echoes "the purposeful manifestation of life [whose end] is in the expression of its nature." The thinker is the one who struggles for Being. It is my duty therefore to capture the "purposeful manifestation of life" found in Nietzsche, with what means I have.

We are attempting an experiment with truth. The 'We' could be taken to mean Nietzsche himself, as indivi-dual (Perception and Knowledge). But, on my reading, the 'we' is that of us freemen, thinkers, warriors. We are attempting this experiment to overcome nihilism which, for Nietzsche, is the force driving Western History since Plato (see Heidegger "Nietzsches Wort: Gott ist tot"). This is the history of metaphysics and the oblivion of Being. Heidegger is ambiguous on the matter: is it human beings who have abandoned Being or is it Being that has abandoned beings? Why does Being make itself felt only to the few and the rare, why does it conceal itself? Whence does it come from?

Was it Confucius who said, in times of great danger, "words must be set aright"? Paraphrasing from memory, the horse must be a horse, the man a man, the child a child. But in times of decline a separation arises between Being and Language. The people do not know where to set hand and foot. The superior man sets words aright, bridging the separation between Being and Language. "He who has the inner being has the words. He who has the words does not always have the inner being."

The people, in this case, would be Iragmo's people.

----

Mankind may perish because of this experiment. Yet to perish, understood etymologically, means to go beyond - but where? The overhuman?

In Beyond Good and Evil, aphorism 257 "Every enhancement of the type 'man' has so far been the word of an aristocratic society - and it will be so again and again - ...".

De La Vérité

2009-01-23T11:38:00.001-08:00

Avec la définition de Romer de la vérité comme cela qui rend possible le sens et que suggère le sens possible d'un mot, un lien peut être tissé avec le philosophe Nietzsche.

(1) «Il n'y a pas de vérité mais des vérités.»

[Il se peut cet aphorisme Nietzsche n'a jamais prononcé. Il n'en demeure pas moins qu'elle provoque a la pensée, justifiant sa discussion.]

Cette affirmation doit être conjuguée avec le concept de cet auteur appelé volonté-de-puissance. Nous posons et/ou reconnaissons des valeurs-vérité pour donner un sens à ce que nous faisons, en dernière instance, à nos vies. Pour Nietzsche de telles valeurs-vérité sont des conditions de vie ; parce qu'aucune valeur-vérité («vérité») peut subsumer toute forme de vie (mais voir Véracité et argent, ci-dessus), c'est à dire, leur donner à toutes un sens, du moins pas depuis que nous avons tué dieu, il y a autant de valeurs-vérité («vérités») qu'il y a de formes de vie qui en posent.

Immédiatement, une question se soulève : si il n'y a que des vérités et pas de vérité, qu'est ce que c'est qui donne un sens aux vérités en premier lieu ? est-ce que les valeurs tirent leur sens de et en elle-mêmes ou sont-t'elles précédées par une vérité qui rend possible leur capacité à conférer un sens ? La réponse à cette question fut indiquée par la phrase d'ouverture : la volonté-de-puissance précède les valeurs, les détermine et leur force pour les formes de vie qui les posent et/ou les reconnaissent. La volonté-de-puissance trouve expression dans les valeurs-vérité que nous posons, puisque, dans la pensée de Nietzsche, ces valeurs ne servent que les intérêts de la volonté-de-puissance.

La conception qu'a Nietzsche de la volonté-de-puissance est très proche de la définition de Romer de la vérité comme cela qui rend possible le sens et que suggère le sens possible d'un mot. Pour Nietzsche la volonté-de-puissance est la vérité ainsi entendue, bien que (1) montre que Nietzsche lui-même ne reconnaissait pas une vérité au singulier autre que la multitude de vérités impliquées par la volonté-de-puissance. Toutefois, ce refus d'associer la volonté-de-puissance à la vérité rend suspecte la volonté-de-puissance : n'est-t'elle pas juste une autre valeur-vérité déguisée en vérité, en ce qui rend possible le sens ? la volonté-de-puissance tire-t'elle son sens d'elle-même ou est-t'elle ancrée dans une source plus profonde ? Pour Nietzsche la seconde alternative est hors de question : la volonté-de-puissance est la source.

Mais si la volonté-de-puissance tire son sens d'elle-même, et à son tour est ce qui s'impose dans autant de valeurs qu'il y a de formes de vie qui en posent, n'est-t'elle pas réduite à être une simple volonté-de-valeurs, une volonté qui ne se préoccuppe pas de savoir si les valeurs qu'elle veut sont ancrées dans une vérité conféreuse de sens autre qu'elle-même en tant que volonté ? Si oui, la volonté-de-puissance semble se dégrader en une volonté-de-volonté, en une volonté qui s'affirme être la vérité, la source même du sens, chose que Heidegger devait découvrir à sa grande honte lors de son adoption du national socialisme. Le vide laissé par la volonté-de-volonté, dans son oubli de la source originelle qui rend le sens, donc le langage, possible, fut reconnu par Nietzsche lui-même, bien qu'il ne fût point capable durant son temps de vie de voir au-delà de ce vide, autrement que par sa prophécie du surhomme.

(2) «La vérité est ce type d'erreur sans laquelle une certaine catégorie d'être ne pourrait exister.»

Cette affirmation montre que pour Nietzsche la vérité au singulier est singulièrement l'affaire du penseur. La vérité est la valeur-vérité posée par le penseur pour donner un sens à ce qu'il fait, rechercher la vérité, donc aussi à son temps de vie. Sans la vérité il n'existerait pas. Toutefois cette valeur-vérité diffère des valeurs-vérité posées par les non-penseurs sur un point crucial. En effet, le penseur—ici Nietzsche lui-même—sait qu'il est caractéristique de la vérité de rendre possible le sens—selon sa terminologie, de servir la vie.

Cette vérité du penseur sous-tend toutes les valeurs-vérité dans la mesure où celles-ci aussi donnent un sens aux formes de vie qui les posent et/ou reconnaissent. La vérité du penseur, qui est sa réalisation que la vérité, soit-elle une erreur, un préjugé ou une folie, est ce qui rend possible le sens et en effet est ce que suggère le sens, trahit un préjugé du penseur, dont Nietzsche, autre que l'existence de la vérité. Ce préjugé est le suivant : tolérer le non-sens, donc l'absence de vérité, c'est tolérer le non-vie. Cela rejoint nettement la conception qu'a cet auteur de l'art à savoir :

(3) «Nous avons l'art afin de ne pas mourir de la vérité.»

Si la vérité est une erreur pour Nietzsche, elle est une erreur nécessaire parce qu'elle rend possible la vie. Toutefois nous mourrons de la vérité si nous la dissocions de sa fonction condition de vie, c'est à dire si nous la dissocions du sens. C'est le risque qui nous fait face lorsque la vérité scientifique ou objective ne se préoccupe plus de donner un sens à la vie. L'art, en tant qu'il donnait un sens à la vie en générale et à nos vies en particulier, était un type de vérité plus fort pour Nietzsche, car plus sensé.

(4) «Les convictions sont de plus dangereux ennemis de la vérité que les mensonges.»

A une épôque où les convictions passent pour des jugements, et où ces non-jugements à leur tour forment la base d'actions, entrainant avec elles sisanie et confusion, il serait sage de s'attarder sur cette pensée de Nietzsche plus que toute autre. Que veut-t'il dire par «les convictions sont de plus dangereux ennemis de la vérité que les mensonges» ? Pour répondre nous devons distinguer convictions et mensonges du point de vu de la vérité, puisque cette affirmation suppose que les deux, convictions et mensonges, contiennent une relation à la vérité qui n'est pas définie. Prenons comme base la définition de Romer : la vérité est cela qui rend possible le sens et que suggère le sens possible d'un mot.

En quel sens les convictions sont-t'elles ennemis de la vérité ? En quoi une personne convaincue est-t'elle ennemi de la vérité ? Est ennemi de la vérité la personne qui est prête à offencer la vérité, à l'attaquer. Inversement, les convictions sont-t-elles ennemis «de» la vérité dans le sens où la vérité tente aussi de les combattre. C'est au milieu de cette bataille entre convictions et vérité que repose la pensée de Nietzsche—la personne convaincue attaque la vérité, qui est source du sens, en se l'appropriant, en cherchant à faire de ses convictions la source du sens.

Aussi le politicien du libre-marché et son collègue de gauche sont-t-ils des ennemis de la vérité dans la mesure où ils cherchent à établir leurs convictions—la bonté du libre marché dans un cas, sa mauvaiseté dans le second—comme les sources de tout sens possible. Leur vocabulaire suggère que leurs vérités est la vérité, par exemple, «croissance», «liberté» dans un cas, «justice sociale», «éducation» dans l'autre. Leur tentation est d'usurper la vérité, en confondant leurs propres valeurs-vérité avec la vérité même, celle-là qui rend possible les valeurs pourvoyeuses de sens que j'ai baptisées «valeurs-vérité». [Le positiviste est quelqu'un qui pose des valeurs, soient-t-elles d'une nature scientifique ou non, et prend ce posement comme étant la source du sens.]

Le menteur par contraste est un moindre ennemi de la vérité car il ne cherche pas à se l'approprier, à la faire sienne ou à imposer le sens de sa conviction à tous les étants. Bien plutôt le menteur cache la vérité—ou la distorte—mais ce faisant reconnaît l'idée de la vérité. En obfusquant la vérité, le mensonge ne se l'approprie pas comme la conviction mais au contraire la préserve presque, au moins dans l'idée, en la voilant. Dans un sens fondamental le menteur reconnaît la vérité en la cachant ou la distortant—car une vérité, même distortée, demeure—tandis que la personne convaincue échoue même de faire attention à la vérité en cherchant à faire de ses valeurs-vérité la vérité. En effet, dans «Ainsi parla Zarathoustra», Nietzsche, comme s'il voulait marteler le point, nota que «celui qui ne sait pas mentir ne sait pas ce qu'est la vérité.»

Que se passe-t'il lorsque la conviction parvient à devenir la source originelle du sens, ce que Heidegger appellait «ce découvrir des étants à travers lesquels une ouverture se dévoile essentiellement» ? Ce qui se passe est que le sens est perdu, car la vérité qui est appropriée n'est plus vérité dans n'importe quel sens du mot. Il résulte que la conviction ou valeur-vérité elle-même devient un non sens, car sans fondement dans la vérité, c'est à dire dans cette source originelle qui rend possible le sens. La valeur-vérité se dégrade en simple valeur ; échangeable, remplaçable, en-deçà de l'argent.

Que se passe-t'il lorsqu'un mensonge se fait passer pour une conviction ? autrement dit, qu'en est-t'il de la conviction qui est un mensonge, et non pas seulement une valeur-vérité ? un mensonge, qui cache ou distorte la vérité, n'y prend pas sa racine, ou plutôt si mais seulement afin de la cacher ou la distorter. La valeur-vérité ne cache pas la vérité en tant que telle, elle en est simplement une manifestation en vertu de sa capacité à conférer un sens à la forme de vie qui la pose. Le mensonge n'a pas cette qualité—le mensonge ne confère pas de sens à la forme de vie qui le pose précisément parce que c'est un mensonge.

Lorsque les collaborateurs de Staline furent encadrés comme «ennemis du peuple», les procureurs savaient que c'était un mensonge, un mensonge auquel l'accusé acquiescait sous la torture ou sa menace. La sentence ne pouvait avoir de sens que pour ceux qui ne savaient pas que c'était un mensonge—ce qui est précisément la raison pour laquelle les convictions-mensonge furent fabriquées de toute pièce. Le mensonge qui «se fait passer pour» une conviction (exemple : le christianisme) est destiné à être sensé pour ceux qui ne savent pas que c'est un mensonge (les seigneurs), mais naturellement pas ceux qui le savent, à savoir, les menteurs eux-mêmes (les saints et les pretres). Cette trouvaille se relie à un autre aphorisme, l'avant-dernier de cette présentation :

(5) «Le visionnaire se ment à lui-même, le menteur seulement aux autres.»

Le menteur ne ment qu'aux autres parce qu'en tant que menteur il sait que son mensonge est un mensonge, c'est à dire, est quelquechose qui cache ou distorte la vérité, ce[dévoilement]la qui rend possible le sens, et dans l'exemple ci-dessus, que les accusés n'étaient pas «ennemis du peuple» pour défaut de preuve de trahison effective. Les sentences qui les déclaraient ainsi étaient des mensonges, tirant leur sens de la vérité de la proposition «ennemis du peuple» tout en distortant cette vérité «ennemis du peuple» en l'appliquant à des individus qui n'étaient pas «ennemis du peuple» au sens où la sentence les déclarait être, ou au sens où les spectateurs qui n'étaient pas conscients du mensonge comprenaient le sens de la sentence «ennemis du peuple» : les perpétrateurs ou perpétrateurs potentiels d'un crime odieux—la trahison—contre l'Etat, donc, par extension commune, le peuple.

(Ce paragraphe permet de voir pourquoi le sens commun comprend la vérité comme étant la correspondance entre une proposition et une chose—ici, entre «ennemis du peuple» et le fait qu'en effet les accusés étaient «ennemis du peuple». La raison pour laquelle cette définition n'est pas satisfaisante est qu'elle échoue de considérer en quoi «ennemis du peuple» en proposition correspond à «ennemis du peuple» en fait, puisque ce «fait» est lui-même une proposition dont la caution ultime reste cachée. C'est comme si le sens commun avait oublié le sens premier de la vérité comme cela qui rend possible le sens et l'avait réduit à une de ses conséquences qui est la possibilité pour le sens d'être instrumentalisé de telle sorte qu'il ne porte plus sur des «faits». Toutefois ces faits eux-mêmes doivent correspondre à ce qui vrai si ce ne sont pas des mensonges, et cette régression montre la banqueroute de cette définition commune de la vérité. Bien plutôt les mensonges arrivent dès que ce [dévoilement] qui rend le sens possible est instrumentalisé—caché ou distorté, c'est a dire voilé—de telle sorte à faire apparaître la proposition comme étant sensée en soi ou, pire, comme étant la source du sens.)

La déclaration «Le visionnaire se ment à lui-même, le menteur seulement aux autres» est doublement provocatrice. Premièrement, elle prend pour acquise la trouvaille, pourtant loin d'être évidente, qu'une personne puisse se mentir à elle-même. Elle procède, deuxièment, par une distinction entre le visionnaire qui se ment à lui-même et le menteur qui ne ment qu'aux autres. Est-ce à dire que le visionnaire, qui, selon Nietzsche, ment, non seulement à lui-même mais, on peut le supputer, aux tenants de sa vision—ses disciples—n'est pas un menteur ?

Encore une fois, la référence à la définition déjà évoquée de Romer se révèle nécessaire afin de démêler la sagesse de cette pensée : la vérité est ce qui rend possible le sens et ce qu'est suggéré par le sens possible d'un mot. Si le visionnaire est quelqu'un qui se ment à lui-même—est laissée ouverte la question de savoir si oui ou non mentir à soi-même est une condition de la vision—alors il est quelqu'un qui cache ou distorte la vérité qui donne le sens à sa vision tant pour l'auteur que pour ceux qui la tiennent pour vraie, ses disciples.

Selon cette interprétation, la vision remplit la même fonction que Nietzsche assignait à la «valeur» ou «vérité» que j'ai jusque là nommé la valeur-vérité, c'est à dire, la valeur qui confère sens à une forme de vie en vertu de son enracinement dans la vérité comme source originelle du sens, que Heidegger appellait «ce découvrir des étants à travers lesquels une ouverture se dévoile essentiellement». Cette fonction est affirmatrice de vie car, nous l'avons vu, la vérité, même en tant qu'erreur—ce que les scientifiques ne manquent jamais de démontrer—est une condition de vie en vertu de sa capacité d'y conférer un sens (même si il a été objecté que cette dernière affirmation soit simplement la valeur-vérité du penseur, voir (2), supra).

Notre investigation s'arrête-t'elle ici ? Elle ne puit pour deux raisons. La première est qu'en dépit de s'être révélée être une simple valeur-vérité parmi d'autres, la vision demeure une vision, ce qui se traduit dans l'esprit de Nietzsche par le visionnaire demeurant visionnaire, distinct du menteur qui lui ne ment qu'aux autres. Cela nous invite à considérer le premier point levé ci-dessus, et qui constitue la seconde raison pour laquelle l'investigation dans la vérité de la cinquième déclaration ne doit pas être arrêtée prématurément. Ce point était : le mensonge à soi-même.

Avec la définition de Romer de la vérité un tel mensonge devient tout à fait concevable et appartient au champ de l'expérience quotidienne ; je mens à moi-même à chaque fois que je prend ou méprend ma conviction, valeur-vérité ou «vérité» (voir (1), plus haut) pour être la source de tout sens, c'est à dire la vérité même. Je mens à moi-même lorsque je méprend l'une pour l'autre parce qu'en faisant cela je cache à moi-même cela qui rend ma conviction ou «vérité» sensée ou vraie pour moi, et ce «cela» précède nécessairement ma propre valeur-vérité en la rendant possible ainsi que sa capacité à conférer un sens à ma vie. Il apparaitrait que, pour Nietzsche au moins, le visionnaire ne peut être, et n'est jamais que, visionnaire que lorsqu'il cache à lui-même ce qui rend possible le sens de sa propre vision, et par implication, la crédibilité de celle-ci pour ceux à qui elle est adressée—car vous seriez bien forcenés de soutenir qu'une vision puisse être crue par ceux qui l'estiment sans sens !

Pour prendre un exemple : Adolf Hitler eut la vision d'un Reich allemand qui dirigerait l'hémisphère occidentale pendant mille ans. Hitler lui-même croyait en la vérité, c'est à dire le sens, de cette vision, laquelle vérité fut à son tour adoptée par ses suiveurs du moments. Hitler compterait comme visionnaire d'après notre aphorisme dans la mesure où il mentit à lui-même ainsi qu'aux autres dans l'établissement de sa vision : il cacha ou distorta la vérité qui rendait sensée sa vision en cherchant à faire de cette vision particulière, qui était aussi une valeur vérité, la source de tout sens, la vérité. Ainsi la vision devint bientôt risible, absurde, insensée, puisque, ayant approprié la vérité, elle n'y était plus enracinée, ni dans quoi que ce soit encore capable de lui donner un sens.

Pour prendre un autre exemple ; le prophète Jésus de Nazareth. L'homme dit à ses contemporains que la fin du monde [romain] était proche, qu'il était le fils de Dieu, que ceux qui le croyaient et suivraient son instruction seraient récompensés. Jésus fut-t'il coupable de mentir à lui-même en établissant sa vision comme la vérité, comme la source du sens ? certainement une lecture sans scrupule de l'affirmation nietzschéenne indique une réponse positive : Jésus mentit à lui-même dans la mesure où il cacha à lui et ses disciples ce qui donnait à sa vision un sens, à savoir son regard dans le «découvrir des étants à travers lesquels une ouverture se dévoile essentiellement». Pire, Jésus distorta la vérité dans la mesure où sa vision emprunta largement à la découverte—ex. «Prenez garde de ne faire vos aumônes devant les hommes, pour être entendus d'eux : sinon vous n'aurez de récompense de votre Père qui est aux cieux. » (Matthieu 6 : 1)—mais ne reconnaissa jamais la découverte en tant que découverte ; il se référait plutôt à son Père le créateur de toutes choses, à la nécessité primordiale de la Foi, à la Loi telle qu'interprétée, c'est à dire transformée, par lui. Et pourtant, contrairement à Hitler, sa vision se perpétua—d'une certaine manière elle resta ancrée dans la vérité de sorte à conférer un sens aux générations qui le succédèrent—mais à un prix élevé, à savoir les falsifications dogmatiques de sa vision par l'apotre Saint Paul et les premiers membres du clergé.

Ce n'est aucunement un écart de l'esprit que de conclure, du moins provisoirement, qu'avec cet aphorisme Nietzsche nous laisse entendre ce qu'il faisait lui-même en tant que visionnaire auto-façonné dans «Ainsi parlait Zarathoustra» et ses autres travaux ; il se mentait à lui-même, en se voilant cela qui conférrait un sens à sa vision, cela qui la rendait sensée, et à nous qui avions cru à la vision comme étant sensée en soi ! (d'où sans doute le mystérieux sous-titre de l'ouvrage, «un livre pour tout le monde et personne», qui inclue et exclue à la fois l'auteur lui-même. C'est dire que l'auteur n'a aucune propriété sur sa pensée puisque «nous ne venons jamais aux pensées. Elles viennent a nous.»)

(6) «Il se peut que personne n'ait jamais été suffisamment vrai sur ce qu'est la véracité.»

Voir Véracité et argent.

(7) «La vérité est une femme. Elle n'aime qu'un guerrier.»

La vérité est une femme. Elle n'aime qu'un guerrier. Sur une première lecture, l'équation faîte entre vérité et femme semble gratuite et une fantaisie poétique. Mais du point de vue de la sélection sexuelle, au moins du point de vue de l'homme, c'est la femme qui choisit l'homme avec lequel elle fait l'amour (sans tenir compte des possibilités du viol et de la prostitution). En tant qu'hommes on aurait peut-être l'envie de faire l'amour avec nombre de femmes, mais au final c'est la femme qui nous choisit comme partenaire sexuel ou amant. À supposer que cette vue de la sélection sexuelle contienne de la vérité, alors la première partie du prononcement de Nietzsche doit être entendue comme suit : la vérité en tant que femme sélectionne ceux qui font d'elle leur affaire ; en d'autres mots, nous ne sélectionnons pas la recherche de la vérité comme une occupation possible parmi d'autres mais bien plutôt c'est la vérité qui nous sélectionne comme ceux qui font de cette recherche une occupation et, à vrai dire, une préoccupation. Dans la mesure où la vérité comme [dévoilement] se dévoile a nous en de rares occasions, lequel évènement Heidegger considère un présent, il peut être dit que nous penseurs ou libre-hommes font l'amour avec elle. (C'est précisément cela que Heidegger entend dans l'expression «La vérité nous proprie». La vérité nous approprie, nous prend dans sa propriété - c'est l'évènement que constitue ereignis.)

Cependant, il n'est pas dit par Nietzsche que la vérité aime les penseurs. Il est dit, plutôt, qu'elle aime un guerrier. Et pourtant les guerriers ne sont pas connus pour leur recherche de la vérité. Et, en effet, qu'est-ce qu'un guerrier ? Un guerrier est un homme dont l'affaire est la guerre, la bataille. Le terme grec pour guerre est polemos. Le grand penseur grec Heraclite a même dit que «la guerre (polemos) est le père de toutes choses.» Cela est rendu quelquefois comme «la lutte est l'auberge de tous étants.» Dans ses cours sur Nietzsche, Heidegger avança que la lutte est la loi ultime de l'être. La guerre n'est-t-elle pas symptomatique de cette lutte ? Le guerrier n'est-t-il pas empiégé de manière prononcée dans la lutte de l'être pour l'être ? En effet, n'est-t-il pas de l'essence du penseur d'être empiégé de cette manière, à savoir dans la lutte pour l'être ? Dans la section intitulée «Des Guerriers» du livre de Zarathoustra, Nietzsche dit aux guerriers «[que] j'ai toujours été de votre genre.» Sont guerriers et penseurs du même genre ? Comment cela ce suggère-t-il ?

Platon déjà suggérat à travers Socrate que les penseurs sont proches de la mort, puisqu'en tant que penseurs ils réalisent que la clé de la bonne vie est d'apprendre à mourir. En effet, vivre est une sorte de mourir, devenir un venir-à-être, vieillir un processus inéluctable qui nous approche toujours plus près de la possibilité de la mort (voir «Temps et moment»). De manière similaire, les guerriers, si ce sont des guerriers et non pas de simples soldats, voient la mort de première vue, sont à risque de mort, et sont dès lors proches de la mort. Ils sont tout le plus courageux lorsqu'ils augmentent le risque de la mort qui pèse sur eux par le biais de leurs faits et actions dans la bataille (de sorte a gagner un avantage ou pour l'honneur). Mais qu'a à avoir la possibilité de la mort avec la vérité ?

La réponse est que la vérité n'est accessible qu'à ceux qui ont compris l'essence du néant (das Nichts). Le néant fait partie intégrante de nos vie de libre-hommes dans la mesure où nous incorporons la mort comme la possibilité ultime, à savoir le prix à payer pour la liberté. Je pense que cela est contenu en partie dans les concepts chez Heidegger «[d']historialité» et «[de] résolution.» Hannah Arendt remarqua dans son livre non-complété «Was ist Politik?» («Qu'est-ce que la politique ?») que les libre-hommes de Rome fronchaient sur an attachement trop grand à la vie qui était caractéristique des non-libres (surtout lorsque la liberté est entendue politiquement et non pas philosophiquement).

Mais qu'ont à avoir les libre-hommes avec les penseurs ? Et qu'a à avoir la liberté avec la vérité ? La réponse : tout. La liberté est l'essence de la vérité - la liberté est cela qui rend possible le sens (l'ouvertude des étants). Lorsque Heidegger parle de la vérité comme «cette découverte des étants à travers laquelle une ouverture se dévoile essentiellement» il dit que la vérité dévoile les étants de telle sorte qu'une ouverture pour l'être, à savoir la liberté, s'annonce. La liberté comme vérité, comme source et but de la vérité, doit être atteinte à travers une prise adéquate du néant, c'est dire une prise adéquate de notre mortalité. Dans la mesure où il effectue ceci, le penseur est un guerrier, quelqu'un qui regarde la mort dans l'oeil. Nietzsche : «Il a du courage qui voit l'abîme, mais le voit avec fierté.»

En résumé, nous pouvons formuler l'aphorisme de Nietzsche comme suit : la vérité, dont l'essence est la liberté (l'ouvertude des étants), sélectionne un penseur comme son amant, dans la mesure où celui-ci lutte et se met en danger comme un guerrier, en prenant prise dans son être sur l'essence du néant.

(8) «Nous sommes en train de tenter une expérience avec la vérité. Peut-être l'humanité en périrera. Très bien !»

Cette phrase sera sans doute prise par l'homme commun comme étant symptomatique de la misantropie de Nietzsche et son mépris de l'humanité. (Bertrand Russell, comme l'incarnation même de l'animal raisonnable et l'ignorance complète de l'esprit qui en découle, aurait sans doute trouvé cet aphorisme parfait pour sa tirade contre Nietzsche - Bertrand Russell qui pensa que Nietzsche n'était bon que pour les fantaisies de «cercles littéraires» ou «les artistes», Bertrand Russell qui était le supporter de la superiorité incontestable de la raison et de la mathématique, Bertrand Russell qui nous aliéna encore plus du langage avec son obsession pour la logique, et pourtant incapable de se retenir d'écrire en prose non mathématique, ex. son «Histoire de la Philosophie»...).

Je procéderai avec cet aphorisme comme je l'ai fait avec les autres - en français. Sans doute cela donnera-t-il lieu à nombres d'objections, par exemple, que me donne le droit de philologer un texte en traduction, en tirant des 'arguments' alors même que l'auteur n'utilisa pas ces mots ? Ma réponse est quadruple :

(1) Walter Benjamin dans son essai «La Tâche du traducteur» révéla qu'un texte original contient en lui la possibilité de sa traduction, une translabilité, et que la traduction perpétue la dissémination du texte, son ancrage dans le temps, à travers l'interprétation, la transmission, l'influence : dans la phrase de Benjamin «son fleurissement le plus abondant.» Ainsi en ignorant systématiquement la traduction en faveur de l'original je ne ferai l'original aucune faveur.

(2) «Le proche-parent des langues est mis en évidence par une traduction» (même essai). Cela est évident dans «Habitation», qui est une traduction de «l'Habitation», que je traduit alors dans «Das Wohnen». Cette proche-parenté nous permet de gagner, en tant que traducteurs, une relation originaire à cela qui donne à penser. Dans le cas de L'Habitation, le génie du français était à l'avance traduisible en anglais et puis après en allemand. Benjamin, dans cette lignée, parle du pur langage, du non-langage où toutes les langues se rencontrent en tant que modes d'intention, dans la mesure où elles se traduisent l'une dans l'autre. Le pur langage de Benjamin est la vérité, cela qui rend possible le sens.

(3) Encore une fois, dans cet essai de génie, alors que, disons, «zu Grunde gehen» vise quelquechose comme «périr», «zu Grunde gehen» pour l'Allemand n'est pas la meme chose que «périr» pour le Francais. Tandis que je pourrai essayer de saisir «périr» d'une façon allemande pour le Français, je compte saisir «périr» d'une facon française pour le Français (les traductions de Grec ancien de Heidegger sont, il affirmait, une tentative de penser le grec d'une façon grecque, mais dans le mode de l'allemand. Puis-je tenter de penser «zu Grunde gehen» d'une façon allemande, mais dans le mode du français ? En fait, j'ai fait cette tentative (Périr : une note sur «Ainsi Parlait Zarathoustra»)).

(4) «La tâche du traducteur consiste à trouver l'effet visé sur la langue dans lequel il traduit qui produit en elle l'écho de l'original.» Cet écho, surtout avec Nietzsche, écho «la manifestation pleine de front de la vie [dont la fin] est l'expression de sa nature.» Le penseur est celui qui lutte pour l'être. Il m'incombe dès lors de capturer cette «manifestation de vie pleine de front» que l'on trouve chez Nietzsche, avec les moyens dont je dispose.

Nous tentons une expérience avec la vérité. Ce «nous» peut être pris à vouloir dire Nietzsche lui-même, comme indivi-du («Perception et connaissance). Mais, selon ma lecture, ce «nous» est celui des libre-hommes, penseurs, guerriers. Nous sommes en train de tenter une expérience afin de surmonter le nihilisme qui, pour Nietzsche, est la force directrice de l'histoire de l'Occident depuis Platon (voir Heidegger, «Nietzsches Wort: Gott ist tot»). Ceci est l'histoire de la métaphysique et de l'oubli de l'être. Heidegger est ambigûe sur la matière : est-ce les êtres humains qui ont abandonné l'être ou est-ce l'être qui a abandonné les étants ? Pourquoi l'être se fait-t-il sentir seulement par les peu-en-nombres, pourquoi se voile-t-il ? D'où provient-t-il ?

N'est-ce pas Confucius qui a dit, en temps de grand danger il faut «remettre les mots à leur place» ? Paraphrasant de mémoire, le cheval doit être un cheval, l'homme un homme, l'enfant un enfant. Mais en temps de déclin une séparation se produit entre l'être et la langue. Le peuple ne sait où mettre main et pieds. L'homme supérieur remet les mots à leur place, reconstruisant le pont entre l'être et la langue. «Celui qui a l'être en son for a les mots. Celui qui a les mots n'a pas toujours l'être en son for.»

Le peuple, ici, s'agit du peuple d'Iragmo.

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L'humanité périrera peut-être de l'expérience. Mais périr, compris étymologiquement, signifie aller au-delà - vers où ? le surhumain ?

Dans «Par Delà Bien et mal», aphorisme 257 «Chaque élevage du type 'homme' a jusque-là été l'oeuvre d'une société aristocratique - et il en sera ainsi encore et encore - ...»

Lathoron

2009-01-23T11:37:00.001-08:00

ROMER: Today I had an imaginery dialogue with the great sociologist Lathoron.
SPIEGLER: What about?
ROMER: It was about science.

ROMER: Lathoron! We meet at last!
LATHORON: Indeed we do Romer.
ROMER: If you don't mind I would like to ask you a few questions about science. I have heard great things about your knowledge on this subject. It is said, for example, that you know science better than the scientists themselves do!
LATHORON: It is the case that science for scientists is not the same as science for ordinary people. My concern is to look at what scientists do and what it is we call science.
ROMER: A most interesting and necessary task my friend! Many persons I have talked to refer to science in conversation but it is never clear what they mean by this.
LATHORON: I know.
ROMER: What is science Lathoron?
LATHORON: Science is a culturally produced symbolic of objective truth, whose method is required to meet certain criteria of validity if it is to be accepted as scientific.
ROMER: A learned definition if ever I heard one Lathoron! I'm not sure, however, that this is what people have in mind when they use the word "science." I think they mean "objective truth" but have dropped, out of ignorance or forgetfulness, the other elements of your definition.
LATHORON: I wouldn't be surprised if they had. It is in the nature of a symbolic to be confused with what it symbolises.

ROMER: What about "science" Lathoron? Is "science" culturally determined?
LATHORON: Yes. As I just told you.
ROMER: I beg your pardon. I mean is the word "science" culturally determined?
LATHORON: What?
ROMER: Let me ask you this: is language a cultural symbolic?
LATHORON: I believe it is. Language is the most cultural of phenomena. And of course it is symbolic.
ROMER: Do you agree that the symbolic of language consists of words?
LATHORON: Yes. The English language consists of words. Other languages consist of signs or even gestures. Body language for instance.
ROMER: I dare say you are right Lathoron! We agree however that our language, which is English, consists of words. Right?
LATHORON: Absolutely Romer. But what is your point?
ROMER: I will tell you in a moment. First you must agree to answer my questions. Can you do this for me?
LATHORON: I must confess that I am not used to being cross-examined like this Romer. But go on.
ROMER: Thank you Lathoron. We agree then that language is a cultural symbolic and that our language, English, consists of words. Is that correct?
LATHORON (sighing): Yes that's correct.
ROMER: From these propositions we can infer that words are cultural symbols, since language as cultural symbolic was said to consist of words. Am I right?
LATHORON: Yes. But get to the point quickly please. I am busy.
ROMER: No doubt you are, Lathoron. A man of your know-how must be in high demand. But you needn't wait much longer. I think we have arrived at a satisfactory answer.
LATHORON (scornfully): Which is it?
ROMER: That if your statement according to which "science is a culturally produced symbolic" is part of our language then it must be part of a cultural symbolic consisting of words. This gives rise to the question: how can we be sure that science is a cultural symbolic if the words "science", "cultural" and "symbolic" are cultural symbols?
LATHORON: I will reflect on it some other time. I have to go now.
ROMER: Please bear it mind. Farewell.

ROMER: That was how we left it, Spiegler.
SPIEGLER: What about the rest of Lathoron's definition—"objective truth" I think it was?
ROMER: You are quite right. We did not touch on that crucial statement. How would you characterize objective truth?
SPIEGLER: I would characterize it as truth pertaining to the object.
ROMER: And is there truth that does not pertain to the object?
SPIEGLER: I would suppose so. But how could we know?
ROMER: My feeling is that were objective truth truth there would be no sense in qualifying it as objective.
SPIEGLER: Indeed! What is objective is often taken to be the truth.
ROMER: If that were true then talk about objective truth would be empty jargon. Let us revert to your definition; objective truth is truth that pertains to the object. What does this tell us?
SPIEGLER: That truth needn't pertain to the object; that they are separate things. Truth needn't pertain to anything at all.
ROMER: But surely truth is not separate from us Spiegler? I mean, it took the tongue and our ability to form sounds with it to establish the idea?
SPIEGLER: What are you saying?
ROMER: That talk about objective truth implies a subjective truth. Only subjective truth pertains to the subject.
SPIEGLER: To ourselves you mean!
ROMER: Precisely. An ancient colleague formulated it thus: "know thyself."

SPIEGLER: Who am I? This sounds like a recipe for madness Romer.
ROMER: Yes. Madness is how convention would qualify this pursuit Spiegler. But that [old lie] should not deter you from seeking the truth.
SPIEGLER: What truth?
ROMER: That knowledge of the self should not be dissociated from knowledge of the object. If you do not know yourself you will mistake your objective knowledge to be objective. In other words you will mistake your knowledge of the object to be the object itself. Lack of this self-knowledge explains the modern confusion between objectivity and truth.
SPIEGLER: How am I to gain self-knowledge?
ROMER: By appealing to your conscience.
SPIEGLER: My conscience?
ROMER: The knowledge of your knowledge.

SPIEGLER: Why is it that what is objective is so often taken to be the truth?
ROMER: This is a tricky question to answer. What is objective is what characterizes the object. An object is objective in its relationship to the beholder of the object whom we call the subject.
SPIEGLER: Yes.
ROMER: I suppose it is believed that subjects interfere with the objectivity of objects coming as they do from different horizons and backgrounds, affected as they are by their subjectivity; be it their emotions, prejudices, sillinesses and so on. Because an object is seen differently by each beholder some agreement is required as to what characterizes the object in such a way that each beholder can agree to those common characteristics in his dealings with the object. And, to answer your question, what characterizes or is believed to characterize the object in this way, i.e. in a way which all can agree to, this "what" we call science. Science therefore has a claim to universal validity, since all those who adhere to these "common characteristics" otherwise known as conventions must deem these characterizations to be valid.
SPIEGLER: And, in your view, what is held to be universally valid, valid for all, is confused with the truth?
ROMER: That is what happens. Thus, for example, "2+2=4" or "in 1939 Germany invaded Poland" or "distance by time is velocity," universally valid as they are by force of convention, are all held to be valid, hence true. Truth then becomes understood to mean validity, or, at best, correctness.
SPIEGLER: All the more so, I would surmise, that technology, such as that which makes viewing of this page possible, is in part an application of scientific findings?
ROMER: Yes. Technology is a physical, i.e. objective, validation of scientific conventions in the twofold sense that objects such as the computer equiped with internet access validate whatever characterizations made their fabrication possible; and that technology enables scientists to verify the reliability or exactitude of theoretical formulas or hypotheses.

SPIEGLER: Do you have a better understanding of what is meant by truth?
ROMER: I suggest we investigate the meaning of the word this minute.
SPIEGLER: But isn't that simply an impossible task?
ROMER: Why so?
SPIEGLER: It seems to me that we cannot investigate the meaning of the word truth without knowing what truth is, for in the absence of that knowledge we could not know whether the meaning our investigation produced was true or false.
ROMER: This is true. But by decreeing that such an investigation is impossible we would be agreeing to something about the word truth that made its investigation impossible. That something could only be suggested to us by its meaning.
SPIEGLER: That merely tells us that truth has a meaning but not what the meaning is.
ROMER: You will find the same problem for all investigations into the meanings of words. Without knowledge of truth we could never know whether the meanings our investigations produced were true or false.
SPIEGLER: Precisely. The need to know truth seems all the more necessary as it is impossible.
ROMER: But are we not speaking like blind men?
SPIEGLER: How so?
ROMER: Truth must be That which makes meaning possible!
SPIEGLER: What do you mean?
ROMER: In the same way that denying the possibility of meaning suggests a meaning that is not possible, truth must be both that which makes meaning possible and is suggested by the possible meaning of a word.
SPIEGLER: I see. And so on its own terms the meaning of this definition of truth suggests truth and is made possible by it?
ROMER: Yes.
SPIEGLER: That is all very well but how are we to determine whether a meaning is true or false?
ROMER: A meaning, my friend, is neither true nor untrue. It merely suggests the truth by virtue of which it is made possible. Where there is no meaning there is no truth. And where there is no truth there is no meaning.
SPIEGLER: I see. So when you complain about the meaninglessness of law you're in fact bemoaning its untruth?
ROMER: Yes. Where there is no meaning there is no truth. But there is no desire for meaning either—hence no desire for truth.
SPIEGLER: That's a rather damming verdict for a venerable Roman institution I must say! But you must be right!
ROMER: A Roman institution that has degenerated through priestly influence—Hebrews, Christians, Moslems are all but the same. To recover our law from this petty meddling—this is our task!

Epilogue:
An epigram by the poet Friedrich Holderlin may help elucidate the spirit of this dialogue:

"Being at one is godlike and good, but human, too human, the mania which insists there is only the One, one country, one truth and one way." - Holderlin (Michael Hamburger's translation).

The epigram is called "The Root of All Evil". Thus, in the thinking of Holderlin as well as mine, the idea that truth is what is universally valid is the root of all evil, the word "evil" in this case requiring special consideration and definition.

Lathoron

2009-01-23T11:36:00.002-08:00

ROMER : Aujourd’hui j’ai eu un dialogue imaginaire avec le grand sociologue Lathoron.
SPIEGLER : À propos de quoi ?
ROMER : C’était à propos de la science.

ROMER : Ah Lathoron ! Nous nous rencontrons enfin !
LATHORON : En effet Romer.
ROMER : Si cela ne vous importune, j’aimerai vous poser quelques questions sur la science. J’ai entendu de grandes choses à propos de votre connaissance sur cette matière. Il est dit, par exemple, que vous connaissez la science mieux encore que les scientifiques eux-mêmes!
LATHORON : Il est vrai que la science pour les scientifiques n’est pas la même chose que la science pour les gens ordinaires. Ma préoccupation est de regarder ce que font les scientifiques et ce que c’est que nous qualifions de science.
ROMER : Une tâche des plus intéressantes et nécessaires, mon ami ! Beaucoup de personnes avec qui j’ai eu des conversations se réfèrent à la science sans que l'on sache jamais ce qu’elles entendent par là.
LATHORON : Je connais ça.
ROMER : Qu’est ce que la science, Lathoron ?
LATHORON : La science est un symbolique culturellement produit de vérité objective dont la méthode doit satisfaire à certains critères de validité pour qu’elle soit qualifiée de scientifique.
ROMER : Une définition érudite, si jamais il m’en a été donnée une Lathoron ! Cependant je ne suis par certain que c’est cela qu'ont en tête les gens lorsqu’ils emploient le mot «science». Je pense qu’ils veulent dire «vérité objective» mais ont laissé tomber, par ignorance ou par oubli, les autres éléments de votre définition.
LATHORON : Cela ne me surprendrait guère. Il est dans la nature d'un symbolique d’être confondu avec ce qu’il symbolise.

ROMER : Et quoi de la «science» Lathoron ? La «science» est-t'elle culturellement déterminée ?
LATHORON : Oui, je viens de vous le dire.
ROMER : Je vous demande pardon. Je veux dire, est-ce que le mot «science» est culturellement déterminé ?
LATHORON : De quoi parlez-vous ?
ROMER : Permettez-moi de vous demander ceci : le langage est-t'il un symbolique culturel ?
LATHORON : Je crois que oui. Le langage est peut-être le plus culturel des phénomènes. Et bien sûr il est symbolique.
ROMER : Êtes-vous d’accord que le symbolique du langage consiste dans des mots ?
LATHORON : Oui. Du moins la langue française consiste dans des mots. D’autres langues consistent dans des signes, voire des gestes. Le langage corporel, par exemple.
ROMER : Vous avez bien raison Lathoron ! Toutefois nous sommes tous deux d'accord que notre langue, le français, consiste dans des mots. N'est-ce pas ?
LATHORON : Absolument Romer. Mais où voulez-vous en venir ?
ROMER : Je vous le dirai dans un moment. D’abord vous devez accepter de répondre à mes questions. Pouvez-vous m'accorder cette faveur ?
LATHORON : Je dois vous avouer que je ne suis pas habitué à ce que l'on me questionne ainsi, Romer. Mais poursuivez.
ROMER : Je vous remercie Lathoron. Nous sommes d’accord que le langage est un symbolique culturel et que notre langue, qui est le français, consiste dans des mots. Est-ce correct ?
LATHORON (gémissement) : Oui, c’est correct.
ROMER : De ces propositions nous pouvons déduire que les mots sont des symboles culturels, puisque le langage comme symbolique culturel, nous l'avons dit, consiste dans des mots. Ai-je raison ?
LATHORON : Oui. Mais venez en au fait rapidement s'il vous plaît. Je suis occupé.
ROMER : Sans doute l’êtes vous, Lathoron. Un homme de votre savoir-faire doit être très sollicité. Mais nul besoin d'attendre plus longtemps. Je pense que nous sommes arrivés à une réponse satisfaisante.
LATHORON (d'un ton niais) : Laquelle ?
ROMER : Que si votre déclaration selon laquelle «la science est un symbolique culturellement produit» fait partie de notre langue alors elle fait partie d'un symbolique culturel consistant dans des mots. Cela soulève la question : comment pouvons-nous être certains que la science soit culturellement symbolique si les mots «science», «culturel» et «symbolique» sont des symboles culturels ?
LATHORON : J'y réfléchirai une autre fois. Maintenant je dois m'en aller.
ROMER : Gardez-la en tête s'il vous plaît. Au revoir.

ROMER : C’est sur ces mots que nous nous sommes quittés, Spiegler.
SPIEGLER : Mais qu'est-t'il advenu du reste de sa définition—«vérité objective» ou quelquechose comme ça ?
ROMER : Tu as raison. Nous n'avons pas abordé cet affirmation cruciale. Comment caractériserais-tu la vérité objective ?
SPIEGLER : Je la caractériserai comme la vérité qui a trait à l'objet.
ROMER : Et y a-t'il une vérité qui n'a pas trait à l'objet ?
SPIEGLER : Je le suppose. Mais comment pouvons-nous le savoir ?
ROMER : Mon sentiment est que si la vérité objective était vérité alors il n'y aurait aucun sens à la qualifier d'objective.
SPIEGLER : En effet ! Ce qui est objectif est souvent pris pour être la vérité.
ROMER : Si c'était vrai alors parler de vérité objective serait du jargon vide. Revenons plutot à ta définition : la vérité objective est la vérité qui a trait à l'objet. Que cela nous dit-il ?
SPIEGLER : Que la vérité n'a pas forcément trait à l'objet ; que ce sont deux choses séparées. La vérité n'a pas forcément trait à quoi que ce soit.
ROMER : Mais sûrement la vérité ne nous est pas séparée Spiegler ? Je veux dire, il a fallu une langue et notre capacité à former des sons avec elle pour établir cette idée ?
SPIEGLER : Que dis-tu ?
ROMER : Que parler de vérité objective implique une vérité subjective. Seulement la vérité subjective a trait au sujet.
SPIEGLER : A nous tu veux dire ?
ROMER : Précisément. Un ancien collègue l'a formulé ainsi : «connais toi toi-même».

SPIEGLER : Qui suis-je ? cela à l'air d'être une recette pour la folie, Romer.
ROMER : Oui, c'est de folie que la convention qualifierait cette poursuite Spiegler. Mais ce[vieux mensonge]la ne doit pas te décourager de chercher la vérité.
SPIEGLER : Quelle vérité ?
ROMER : Que la connaissance de soi ne doit pas être séparée de la connaissance de l'objet. Si tu ne te connais pas tu confondras ta connaissance objective avec l'objectivité. Autrement dit tu confondras ta connaissance de l'objet avec l'objet lui-même. C'est le manque de cette connaissance de soi qui explique la confusion moderne entre la vérité et l'objectivité.
SPIEGLER : Comment puis-je acquérir la connaissance de soi ?
ROMER : En faisant appel à ta conscience.
SPIEGLER : Ma conscience ?
ROMER : La connaissance de ta connaissance.

SPIEGLER : Pourquoi ce qui est objectif est-t'il si souvent pris pour être la vérité ?
ROMER : C'est une question délicate à traiter. Ce qui est objectif est ce qui caractérise l'objet. Un objet est objectif dans son rapport à l'observateur de l'objet que nous appelons sujet.
SPIEGLER : Oui.
ROMER : Je suppose que l'on s'imagine que les sujets interfèrent avec l'objectivité des objets, puisque venant d'horizons et de milieux différents, affectés en outre par leur subjectivité ; que ce soit leurs émotions, préjugés, idioties ou autres. Parceque l'objet est aperçu différemment par chaque observateur un accord est exigé sur ce qui le caractérise de telle sorte que chaque observateur peut se mettre d'accord sur ces caractéristiques communes dans ses rapports avec l'objet. Et, pour répondre à ta question, ce qui caractérise ou ce que l'on croit caractérise l'objet de cette façon, c'est à dire d'une façon sur laquelle tous peuvent se mettre d'accord, ce «ce» se nomme science. La science a dès lors une prétention à être universellement valable, puisque tous ceux qui adhèrent à ces «caractéristiques communes» qui s'appellent aussi «conventions» doivent croirent en la validité de ces caractérisations.
SPIEGLER : Et selon toi, ce qui est tenu pour être universellement valable, valable pour tous, est confondu avec la vérité ?
ROMER : C'est ce qui arrive. Ainsi, par exemple, «2+2=4» ou «en 1939 l'Allemagne envahit la Pologne» ou «la distance par le temps égale la vélocité», universellement valables par force de convention, sont tous tenus pour être valides donc vrais. La vérité est alors comprise comme ce qui est valide, ou, dans le meilleur des cas, comme ce qui est juste.
SPIEGLER : D'autant plus que, je hasarde, la technologie, comme celle qui rend possible la vision de cette page, est en partie application de découvertes scientifiques ?
ROMER : Oui, la technologie est une validation physique, c'est à dire objective, de conventions scientifiques dans le sens double que des objets comme l'ordinateur équipé d'accès à internet valident les caractérisations qui ont rendu possible leur fabrication ; et que la technologie permet aux scientifiques de vérifier la fiabilité ou l'exactitude de formules ou hypothèses théoriques.

SPIEGLER : As-tu une meilleure compréhension de ce que l'on entend par vérité ?
ROMER : Je propose que nous cherchions le sens de ce mot cette minute même.
SPIEGLER : Mais n'est-ce pas là simplement une tâche impossible ?
ROMER : Pourquoi ça ?
SPIEGLER : Il me semble que nous ne pouvons pas chercher le sens du mot vérité sans connaître ce qu'est la vérité, car dans l'absence de cette connaissance nous ne saurions pas si le sens produit par notre recherche était vrai ou faux.
ROMER : Tout à fait, mais en décrétant qu'une telle recherche soit impossible nous serions d'accord sur quelquechose du mot vérité qui rendrait impossible sa recherche. Ce quelquechose ne pourrait nous être suggéré que par son sens.
SPIEGLER : Cela nous dit seulement que la vérité a un sens mais pas quel est ce sens.
ROMER : Tu auras le même problème pour toutes les recherches de sens des mots. Sans connaître la vérité nous ne saurions jamais si les sens produits par nos recherches étaient vrais ou faux.
SPIEGLER : Précisément. Le besoin de connaître la vérité semble d'autant plus nécessaire qu'impossible.
ROMER : Mais ne discutons-nous pas là comme des aveugles ?
SPIEGLER : Comment ça ?
ROMER : La vérité doit être Cela qui rend possible le sens !
SPIEGLER : Que veux-tu dire ?
ROMER : De même que dénier la possibilité du sens suggère un sens qui n'est pas possible, la vérité doit être à la fois ce qui rend possible le sens et ce que suggère le sens possible d'un mot.
SPIEGLER: Je vois. Et d'après ses propres termes le sens de cette définition de vérité suggère la vérité et est rendue possible par elle ?
ROMER: Oui.
SPIEGLER: Ceci est très bien mais comment pouvons-nous déterminer si un sens est vrai ou faux ?
ROMER : Un sens, mon ami, n'est ni vrai ni faux. Il ne fait que suggérer la vérité en vertu de laquelle il est rendu possible. Là où il n'y a pas de sens il n'y a pas de vérité. Et là où il n'y a pas de vérité il n'y a pas de sens.
SPIEGLER : Je vois. Alors lorsque tu te plains du non-sens du droit tu critiques en fait sa non vérité ?
ROMER : Oui. Là où il n'y a pas de sens il n'y a pas de vérité. Mais il n'y a pas non plus de désir de sens—donc de vérité.
SPIEGLER: C'est un verdict assez accablant pour une vénérable institution romaine je dois dire ! Mais tu as sûrement raison !
ROMER: Une institution romaine qui s'est laissée dégénérer par l'influence des prêtres—chrétiens, hébreux, musulmans, ce sont les mêmes. Relever notre droit de ces piètres influences—telle est notre tâche !

Epilogue:
Un fragment du poète Friedrich Holderlin est a même d'élucider l'esprit du dialogue ci-dessus :

«Etre un avec soi-même est divin et bien ; pourquoi alors la recherche parmi les hommes que seule soi l'une et l'une seule chose.» (ma traduction)

Ce fragment s'appelle «Racine de tout mal». Ainsi, dans la pensée de Holderlin ainsi que la mienne, l'idée que la vérité est ce qui est universellement valable est la racine de tout mal, le mot «mal» dans ce cas exigeant considération et définition spéciales.

Time and Moment

2009-01-23T11:36:00.001-08:00

Were we to forget for an instant conventional time measurements and the linear movement that christian dating imposes us we would not kill time for we would still acknowledge that a moment had lapsed since you first began reading this sentence. Why would we acknowledge that a moment had lapsed and what happened in this moment? I will start with the second question first which presupposes the former. What happened in this moment?

The biological cycle that is our becoming. The regular motion of your breathing, your heart beat, the sensation of digestion; all these and more have happened in that moment. Together these cyclical happenings constitute our biological cycle. Because these happenings are continual we tend to forget about them. Except when they force our attention. They force our attention in different circumstances: some of them have become a matter of habit, a habit we like to obfuscate and hide from others, and which certainly brings to light our own powerlessness as to how our bodies function (our body is outside of us, is that side of us which is out of us); others manifest themselves strongest when interrupted or made difficult like breathing; and still others are completely invisible to us except as to their effect which we can perceive—my hair is longer now than it was six months ago, and so too my nails compared to a week ago, perhaps even my nose. We can say in each case that Time is at work. Changes apparently imperceptible but irretrievable have occurred, and inherent in change is time: something was that is no longer and something is that was not. These changes affect us in our appearence (cf. P and K, note iv). This being-affected is what we call ageing.

These obvious thoughts—even to contemporaries—do not exhaust the meaning of the word becoming. Indeed if the word becoming has any meaning at all in this context it is because of the knowledge we have of our own finitude. Let us be clear. We have learnt to know that the cyclical happenings that make up our biological cycle are not perpetual. That is to say we have learnt that our biological cycle is not infinite. We know that it will come to an end, if not to a halt (a seizure is a moment that seizes us from ourselves). Indeed as I speak we are being drawn closer to the physical realization of this finitude. Perhaps realizing this will cause frustration—why am I wasting my time reading these lines about something which I know will happen but would rather not think about?—but this frustration is misplaced. We can choose to ignore something, to deny it even, but by doing so we are in fact affirming the very thing that is being ignored or denied. Even if we choose not to ignore the thing, however, we are not to know it necessarily (cf. P and K, (6)). Such is the case here. We may know the thing as fact, as inevitability (cf. P and K, (2) and (9)), but we cannot know the thing in itself (ibid, (8)). This includes experience. Since all experience is lived experience knowledge of our finitude qua finitude is not open to us (more on what we mean by experience below). The knowledge of the fact of finitude is enough, however, to bring to light the meaning of becoming. Becoming is a coming-to-be and while in spatial terms we are inasmuch as we are perceptible (cf. P and K, note iii), in temporal terms we 'are' not but are always coming-to-be. What seemed to be static about the ontology of perception below is in movement as soon as time is factored in. Indeed the body rots and decays even after the end of the biological cycle. To say that the "are" of "we are" is truly static only at the end of our coming-to-be, that is to say, in death, requires us to move on to the next question whose breadth includes this first attempt at elucidating time.

Before considering the pertinence of the word moment—so as to show the reader that the latter is not just an empty word designed to trick him into thinking that this message is substantial when it isn't—a rather obvious but necessary preliminary step is called for. In "why would we acknowledge that a moment had lapsed?" we must consider the "why would we acknowledge?" The would is important here. The question is not formulated as an injunctive "why should we acknowledge?" Such injunctions have no place in philosophical thought because they require acceptance of certain conventions that transcend the conscience of the individual. Similarly the would is not a "need" but is stronger than a "may." We "need" not acknowledge anything. We could live our whole lives as skeptics in the certainty that nothing is certain except our own certitude that nothing is certain. Conversely we "may" always acknowledge something, including the fact of acknowledgment; just as equally, we may not. By contrast we "would" acknowledge something only if we had some reason to, and compelling enough to shift the balance of probability in favour of acknowledgement over non-acknowledgement. For instance why would the reader acknowledge any of the above? Because he has read it, perceived it, and not to acknowledge it would be close to absurd in the face of this perception (cf. P and K, (9)).

If we acknowledge the acknowledgement that stems from the perception by the reader of his own perception therefore also of what is perceived, we must probe deeper into the question of what happened in the moment of reading the first sentence. What confuses us here are the words "moment of." They drew my attention to what happened during the reading of the first sentence away from the actual reading itself. And yet even on this account I cannot dismiss the initial discussion on becoming because that happened too, albeit during and outside the act of reading. The word "outside" here is quite deliberate since our body is not wholly attached to the perception of our perception. As we saw the body makes claims on our conscience, requires us to eat, sleep, to make love; we may ignore these claims even if this means putting our lives at risk. The inmate who is on hunger strike ignores or rejects the claims his body makes on his conscience; they appeal to his immediate perception but the perception of his perception says "no." In so doing he asserts the will-power of conscience against and in the face of necessity; he knows however that necessity will and does prevail (the original meaning of necessity was death but this primitive sense was already lost in the ancient Greek anangke, J.V. Vernhès, Initiation au grec ancien, p.45). The irony of course is that the conscience that says no is attached to the body, and is unthinkable in isolation from it (but what is unthinkable can be imagined, i.e. fabricated in images). Therefore the body is best seen as outside of us, as outside of our conscience (since "us" has no meaning for the body), as that side of us which is out of "us."

This brings me to the full question, "why would we acknowledge that a moment had lapsed?" Why not a century, or a second or any time at all? Why "moment"? Why "lapsed"? It cannot have lapsed since we are talking about "it" at this very moment! The thought experiment of the first sentence excluded "conventional time measurements" to consider the concept of time. This was an easy choice to make because thinking next to convention, not against it, brings us directly to ourselves, to our conscience. Convention is the result of the coming-together of men. There are good and bad conventions, opinions differ, but none so forceful as to trump the individual in his own conscience. Conventions that attempt to do this are trying to usurp the "God" of days bygone, to forbid the individual in his individuality, i.e. in his completeness. Why "moment"? Because in our shared perception of things which is English (cf. P and K, note ii), I, that is, my conscience, perceived or seized the word moment as appropriate or proper to the task of this article on Time. Why did I say that this moment had lapsed? It had lapsed because the moment is gone as you formulate it. The "now" is already a "not now" but a "then." But these observations tell us something about Time which is altogether essential—while Time works on our bodies, and things in general, we can divide Time, think about Time, turn Time into an allegory or metaphore ("Love is not Time's fool", Shakespeare) because we have conceptualized it. Indeed all of the above, and more still, is included in the four letter word "Time." (As for the word "instant" in "forget for an instant" we must think of it as being instantaneous, as asking the reader to seize the moment and forget in the instant of that moment conventional time measurements and christian dating).

A moment—which is conceptualized—is always a double moment. The outer moment of becoming (body) and the inner moment of perception (conscience). This pervades many day-to-day notions. For example, memory is the accumulation of (inner and outer) moments within our conscience. The inner moment of conscience can be in complete communion with the outer moment of becoming—"we" are then truly "in the moment." To memorize is to wilfully bring a moment into one's conscience. To remember is to have a moment within our memory represent itself to our perception. To recollect is to wilfully draw from our memory a moment that we bring to our perception. In remembering and recollecting, the dichotomy between the moment of perception and the biological moment is evident—in remembering we forget the perception of the present biological moment in favour of a perception of a moment that occurred at an earlier stage of our becoming (even if the perception was not of our biology as such it was anchored within its time frame); in recollecting we leave the perception of the present outer moment in favour of a perception of a moment that is no longer outer but within our conscience. In light of this, what do we mean by experience? Experience is the inference made from the accumulation of moments within our conscience—from our memory—of a knowledge of the outside that reverberates on our inner selves. In a professional context we say of someone that he is experienced because of the know-how that he can derive from the accumulated moments of his memory. Experience is linked to appearence (cf. P and K, note iv) because in truth our experience is no more than a know-how that is rooted in the accumulation of repeated and similar moments. But from the point of view of our appearence, that is to say from the point of view of human perceptions other than our own, experience is a know-how that is acquired and is available. The difference between the two is not great, a difference of perception in fact, but which is worth highlighting nonetheless, especially in an age where professional experience as it appears on "curricula vitarum" is a condition of livelihood.

Temps et moment

2009-01-23T11:35:00.001-08:00

Si nous devions un instant oublier les mesures conventionnelles du temps et le mouvement linéaire que les dates chrétiennes nous imposent nous ne tuerions point le temps pour autant car nous reconnaitrions encore le moment qui s'est tue depuis que vous avez commencé à lire cette phrase. Pourquoi reconnaitrions nous le moment qui s'est tue et que s'est-il passé dans ce moment ? Je commencerai par la seconde question en premier qui présuppose la première. Que s'est-il passé dans ce moment ?

Le cycle biologique qu'est notre devenir. La motion régulière de votre respiration, votre coeur qui bât, la sensation de votre digestion : tout ceci et plus encore se sont passés dans ce moment. Ensembles ces évènements cycliques constituent notre cycle biologique. Parce que ces évènements sont continuels nous les oublions. Sauf quand ils forcent notre attention. Ils forcent notre attention dans différentes circonstances : certains sont devenus matière à habitude, une habitude que nous aimons obfusquer et cacher des autres, et qui nul doute éclaire notre propre impuissance quant au fonctionnement de notre corps (notre corps est en-dehors de nous, est ce en-nous qui est hors de nous) ; d'autres se manifestent le plus fortement lorsqu' interrompus ou rendu difficiles tel la respiration ; et d'autres encore nous sont complètement invisibles sauf quant à leurs effets que nous pouvons percevoir : mes cheveux sont plus long maintenant qu'ils ne l'étaient il y a six mois, ainsi que mes ongles comparés à il y a une semaine, peut-être même mon nez. Nous pouvons dire dans chaque cas que le Temps est au travail. Des changements apparemment imperceptibles mais irrécupérables ont eu lieu, et inhérent au changement est le temps : quelquechose était qui n'est plus et quelquechose est qui n'était pas. Ces changements nous affectent dans notre apparence (cf. P et c, note iv). Ce être-affecté est ce que nous appelons vieillir.

Ces pensées évidentes—même aux contemporains—n'exhaustent pas le sens du mot devenir. En effet si le mot devenir a un sens quelconque dans le contexte-ci c'est à cause de la connaissance que nous avons de notre propre finitude. Soyons clairs. Nous avons appris à savoir que les évènements cycliques qui font notre cycle biologique ne sont pas perpétuels. C'est dire que nous avons appris que notre cycle biologique n'est pas infini. Nous savons qu'il prendra fin, sinon qu'il s'arrêtera (une crise est un moment qui nous désaisit de nous-mêmes). En effet alors que je parle nous sommes tirés plus près encore de la réalisation physique de notre finitude. Peut-être cette réalisation sera-t-elle cause d'une frustration—pourquoi perdre mon temps à lire ces lignes sur quelquechose que je sais arrivera mais auquel je préfère ne pas penser—mais cette frustration est méconnue. Nous pouvons choisir d'ignorer quelquechose, de la dénier, mais ce faisant nous affirmons en fait la chose qui est niée ou ignorée. Même si nous choisissons de ne pas ignorer la chose nous ne sommes pas à même de la connaître (cf. P et c, 6)). Tel est le cas ici. Nous pouvons connaître la chose comme fait, comme inévitabilité (cf. P et c, 2) et 9)), mais nous ne pouvons connaître la chose en elle-même (cf. P et c, 8)). Ceci inclue l'expérience. Puisque toute expérience est expérience vécue, la connaissance de notre finitude en tant que finitude ne nous est pas ouverte (plus sur ce que nous entendons par expérience plus bas). La connaissance du fait de finitude est suffisante, par contre, pour éclairer le sens de devenir. Devenir c'est venir-à-être et tandis qu'en termes spatiaux nous ne sommes qu'en ce que nous sommes perceptibles (cf. P et c, iii), en termes temporels nous ne «sommes» pas mais toujours nous venons-à-être. Ce qui semblait statique dans l'ontologie de la perception ci-dessous est en mouvement dès lors que le temps y est intégré. En effet le corps pourrit et dépérit (périre, per-ire, aller au-delà) après la fin du cycle biologique. Dire que le «sommes» de «nous sommes» n'est véritablement statique qu'à la fin de notre venir-à-être, c'est à dire dans la mort, exige que nous passions à la question suivante dont l'étendu inclue cette première tentative à élucider le temps.

Avant de considérer la pertinence du mot moment—pour montrer au lecteur que ce dernier n'est pas un mot vide visant à le tromper dans une croyance au caractère substantiel d'un message qui ne l'est pas—une étape préliminaire, évidente mais nécessaire, est sollicitée. Dans «pourquoi reconnaitrions-nous le moment qui s'est tue ?» nous devons considérer le «pourquoi reconnaitrions-nous ?». Le reconnaitrions-nous est important. La question n'est pas formulée comme un ordre «pourquoi devons-nous reconnaître ?» De tels ordres n'ont pas leur place en pensée philosophique parce qu'ils nécessitent d'accepter certaines conventions qui transcendent la conscience de l'individu. De même le reconnaitrions n'est pas un «avoir besoin de» mais est plus fort qu'un «pourrions reconnaitre». Nous «n'avons besoin» de ne rien reconnaître. Nous pouvons vivre nos vies comme des sceptiques dans la certitude que rien n'est certain sauf notre propre certitude que rien n'est certain. Inversement nous «pourrions» toujours reconnaître quelquechose, dont le fait de reconnaissance ; tout aussi également, nous «pourrions» ne pas la reconnaître. Par contre nous «reconnaitrions» quelquechose seulement si nous avions raison pour le faire, et raison assez forte pour faire pencher la balance de probabilité en faveur de la reconnaissance au détriment de la non-reconnaissance. Aussi pourquoi le lecteur reconnaitrait-il ce qui précède ? Parce qu'il l'a lu, l'a perçu, et ne pas le reconnaître serait presque absurde compte tenu de cette perception (cf. P et c, 9)).

Si nous reconnaissons que la reconnaissance découle de la perception par le lecteur de sa propre perception donc également de ce qui est perçu, nous devons interroger plus pronfondément la question de ce qui s'est passé dans le moment de lecture de la première phrase. Ce qui nous perturbe ici sont les mots «moment de». Ils ont dirigé mon attention vers ce qui s'est passé pendant la lecture de la première phrase hors de la lecture elle-même. Mais même sur ce fondement je ne puis rejeter d'un coup la discussion initiale sur le devenir qui s'est aussi passé, bien que pendant et hors l'acte de lecture. Le mot «hors» est ici délibéré car notre corps n'est pas complètement attachée à la perception de notre perception. Le corps fait des demandes à notre conscience, nous demande de manger, de dormir, de faire l'amour ; nous pouvons ignorer ces demandes quitte à y risquer nos vies. Le prisonnier qui fait une grève de la faim ignore ou rejète les demandes que lui fait son corps à sa conscience : elles font appel à sa perception immédiate mais la perception de sa perception dit «non». Ce faisant il affirme la volonté de puissance de la conscience contre et au-devant la nécessité ; il sait toutefois que la nécessité aura et a le dernier mot (le sens original de nécessité est mort, mais ce sens primitif avait déjà été perdu dans le grec ancien anangke, J.V.-Vernhès, Initiation au grec ancien, p.45). L'ironie bien sûr est que la conscience qui dit non est attachée au corps et est impensable isolément de celui-ci (mais ce qui est impensable peut être imaginé, c'est à dire, fabriqué en images). Dès lors le corps est mieux vu comme hors de nous, comme hors de notre conscience (puisque «nous» n'a aucun sens pour le corps), comme ce côté de nous qui est hors de «nous».

Ceci m'amène à la question en entier, «pourquoi reconnaitrions-nous qu'un moment s'est tue ?» Pourquoi pas un siècle, ou une seconde ou un temps quelconque ? Pourquoi «moment» ? Pourquoi «tue» ? Il ne peut s'être tué car nous parlons de «lui» en ce moment même ! L'expérience de pensée de la première phrase exclut «les mesures conventionnelles du temps» afin de considérer le concept du temps. C'était un choix facile à faire parce que penser à côté de la convention, et non pas contre elle, nous amène à nous-mêmes, à notre conscience. La convention résulte du venir-ensemble des hommes. Il y a de bonnes et de mauvaises conventions, les opinions diffèrent, mais aucune n'est si forcenée à triompher de l'individu chez sa propre conscience. Les conventions qui le tentent essaient d'usurper le «Dieu» de jadis, d'interdire l'individu dans son individualité, c'est à dire dans sa complétude. Pourquoi «moment» ? Parce que dans notre perception partagée des choses qu'est le français (cf. P et c, note iii), j'ai, c'est à dire, ma conscience, perçu et saisis le mot moment comme approprié ou propre à la tâche de cet article sur le Temps. Pourquoi ai-je dis que ce moment s'est tue ? Il s'est tue parce que le moment a déjà disparu alors qu'on le formule. Le «maintenant» est déjà un «plus maintenant» mais un «avant». Mais ces observations nous disent quelquechose sur le Temps qui est somme toute essentielle—alors que le Temps travaille nos corps, et les choses en général, nous pouvons diviser le Temps, le penser, en faire une allégorie ou métaphore («L'amour n'est pas le bouffon du Temps», Shakespeare) parce que nous l'avons conceptualisé. En effet tout ce qui précède et plus encore est inclu dans le mot de cinq lettres «Temps». (Quant au mot «instant» dans «oublier un instant» nous pouvons le penser comme instantané, comme demandant au lecteur de saisir le moment et d'oublier dans l'instant de ce moment les mesures conventionnelles du temps et les dates chrétiennes).

Un moment—qui est conceptualisé—est toujours un double moment. Le moment dehors du devenir (le corps) et le moment dedans de la perception (la conscience). Cela recoupe de nombreuses notions journalières. Par exemple, la mémoire est l'accumulation de moments (dehors-dedans) dans notre conscience. Le moment dedans de la conscience peut-être en communion avec le moment dehors du devenir—«nous» sommes alors véritablement «dans le moment». Mémoriser c'est volontairement amener un moment dans sa conscience. Se souvenir c'est avoir un moment dans notre mémoire se représenter à notre perception. Remémoriser c'est tirer volontairement de notre mémoire un moment que nous amenons à notre perception. Dans le souvenir et la remémorisation, la dichotomie entre le moment de la perception et le moment biologique est évidente—en se souvenant nous oublions la perception du moment biologique présent en faveur d'une perception d'un moment qui s'est passé plus tôt dans notre devenir (même si la perception n'était pas celle de notre biologie elle s'ancrait dans le temps qui était la sienne) ; en remémorisant nous quittons la perception du dehors présent en faveur d'une perception d'un moment qui n'est plus en-dehors mais en notre conscience. A cette lumière, que voulons-nous dire par «expérience» ? L'expérience est la déduction faîte de l'accumulation de moments dans notre conscience—de notre mémoire—d'une connaissance de l'extérieur qui se répercute sur notre for intérieur. Dans un contexte professionnel nous disons de quelqu'un qu'il a de l'expérience du fait du savoir-faire qu'il peut tirer des moments accumulés dans sa mémoire. L'expérience est liée à la mémoire (cf. P et c, note iv) parce qu'en vérité notre expérience n'est rien d'autre qu'un savoir-faire enraciné dans une accumulation de moments répétés et similaires. Du point de vu de notre apparence, c'est à dire d'un point de vue de perceptions humaines autres que la notre, l'expérience est un savoir-faire qui est acquis et disponible. La différence entre les deux n'est pas grande, une différence de perceptions en fait, mais qu'il convient de souligner malgré tout, surtout à une épôque où l'expérience professionnelle telle qu'elle apparaît sur les «curricula vitarum» est une condition de vie.

Perception and Knowledge

2009-01-23T11:34:00.001-08:00

This message is a reformulation of the subject-object dichotomy (Karl Jaspers) from the points of view of perception, knowledge and communication. It can be summarized as that strand of thought which is concerned with conscience, the perception of our perception. (Our time shows that consciousness is merely a form of awakeness, so much so that I feel quite comfortable in saying that a dog is conscious by virtue of his being awake.)

(1) There are things.
(2) It is inherent in the fact of a thing to be perceptible (knowable, communicable).
(3) We perceive (know, communicate) the perceptible (knowable, communicable).
(4) What we perceive (know, communicate) of the perceptible (knowable, communicable) is conditionned by our perceptive (cognitive, communicative) faculties.
(5) Alterations in our perceptive (cognitive, communicative) faculties may alter what we perceive (know, communicate) of the perceptible (knowable, communicable).
(6) What is perceptible (knowable, communicable) is, regardless of its being perceived (known, communicated).
(7) With the alterations in (5) we may only say that what we perceive (know, communicate) of the perceptible (knowable, communicable) has changed, not the things whose perceptibility (knowability, communicability) is perceived (known, communicated).
(8) As such we recognize that the things are, independently of how we perceive (know, communicate) "them," that is, their perceptibility (knowability, communicability).
(9) We acknowledge that the things are because we perceive (know, communicate) them and it is inherent in the fact of a thing to be perceptible (knowable, communicable) (2).

Note i: Science as determined body of knowledge is such as to cause an alteration in our cognitive faculty via an acquisition of information so as to increase our knowledge of the knowable, (5). Science whose task it is to make unknown knowables (as opposed to known unknowables, e.g. "God") known, and hence perceptible and communicable, presupposes (6). In common parlance this thought translates as "science is derived from the facts," since, (2), it is inherent in the fact of a thing to be knowable. The unknown knowables that science attempts to reveal are usually imperceptible to our senses. Technology makes them visible, therefore perceptible to our senses, but only mediately. Similarly, symbolic formulae that describe and measure visible or invisible phenomena are, at first glance, an exact perception of these phenomena but are not of course their equivalent; they are true only in so far as the symbolic conventions already established by us are so. Such measurements, in keeping with their conventional force, have a claim to universal validity; but validity is not truth.

Note ii: Language is a common perception (Walter Benjamin: a mode of intention) of things via tongue (English, Chinese) that makes common their communicability in (and not by) communication. Thing-communicabilities admit multiple common perceptions, that is, multiple making-commons in language; indeed, each tongue or communicative faculty (gesture, sign) communicates the communicability differently. Learning another language reflects a desire to change perception. The truth of linguistic communication escapes us for there is no communication that does not communicate hence that can abstract, in all conscience, its own communication relative to the thing communicated. In other words a communication of "the truth of language" begs the question of the truth of the communication that communicates it.

Note iii: We are inasmuch as we are perceptible, (2). We know that we are when our perceptibility is perceived, be it by us (conscience) or by others, such as when someone minds out of our way on the pavement; our knowability known, such as when somebody acknowledges us; or our communicability communicated, such as when someone calls out our name ("Thomas"). Psychology considers the relationships to our perceptibility. For example, we say of someone that he is shy when he is made uncomfortable by the perception of his perceptibility; that he is vain when he is concerned with how his perceptibility is perceived; that he is proud when he believes in the superiority of his perceptibility which is unequalled by the perceptions of others; that he is narcissistic when he needs to perceive his own perceptibility through the perceptions of others. Certainly the solitary person, who is content with the fact of his perceptibility, is distinguishable on that basis from the wordly person, who is not content with the fact of his perceptibility if it is not perceived. Be that as it may, our own perception of ourselves is imperfect, (8). The perceptibility that is ours is intimated by the word individual. Our individuality is that duality which is indivisible. This is why individual thinkers refer to themselves with the pronoun "we": it unites them as Dasein, which is the duo of the Da (here) and the Sein (being). This duality can take the form of a duel as sung by Ian Curtis in "Dead Souls:" "A duel of personalities - that stretch all true realities."

Note iv: We perceive each other. Appearence is that part of the each-other that we each perceive. In other words, appearence is that part of our perceptibility that is a-part from us as it is appurtenant to other human perceptions. Our appearence is immediatly available to them, except in case of mediation, but is always only mediately available to us; I perceive it in the mirror, on a photograph, on a vocal recording for the voice. That our appearence is appurtenant to other perceptions is confirmed by the habits we have taken of shaving, making up, de-odorizing. To be sure the dog does not perceive our appearence as it does not appertain him: through smell he appropriates our perceptibility in a way that escapes us completely. It is often said that things appear, that appearence is the character of all things. However it would be more exact to say that every thing is perceptible, and to reserve the term of appearence for the designation of the perceptibility of human beings as political beings (to say that a thing appears, according to the preceding thought, is a personification or humanization of that thing).

Note v: Politics is concerned with appearence: the modern politician seeks to turn the (mediated) appurtenance of his appearence into an alliance and his discourse overlooks individuals in favour of categories (the young, foreigners, workers, the homeless, the jobless, moslems etc.), which categories are labels assigned to our appearence, that is to say, to that part of ourselves that is a-part from us that belongs to other human perceptions (to society). By its very nature political discourse is anti-individualist. The will to dominate manifests itself when the discourse con-fuses appearence and perceptibility, by subtituting the individual with the category (which translates into numbers), so as to reduce the individual (who is dual and in-divisible) to the sole dimension of his appearence—that part of him which is a-part from him—which amounts to placing a perception of the individual above his or her perceptibility (of which as we know appearence is but a part, and a part that belongs to other individuals, i.e. to society). This is the well-known betrayal by politics of that which it ought to preserve, namely the individual as indivisible duality.

Note vi: The mask is that by which we hide our appearence from others. We refuse them the appurtenance of our appearence; they perceive the mask but not our perceptibility. However, as we saw in note iv, appearence is that part of the each-other that we each perceive. The mask as a hiding-of-appearence has a meaning for this each-other. The mask takes into account its perception by others. It reaches to their conscience. The binary structure of the each-other comes to light in the wearing of the mask because the mask is a temporary suspension of the "each" in the each-other. Indeed I am not perceived in my own distinct appearence (which remains a part of my perceptibility) but as wearer of a mask, as the "other." The "each" has changed as a consequence—it is no longer apparently homogenous. Similarly, where others also wear masks the "each" in the each-other is temporarily suspended in favour of the "other." Here it is the space between the each-other that comes to the fore. Paradoxically enough, this temporary suspension of the "each" in the each-other enables the "each" to be in-dividuated, i.e. to retake his or her own distinct place within the each-other. Not only that. We saw in note iv that appearence concerns the human each-other because it is directed toward human perceptions as opposed to animal perceptions who perceive us in their own distinct ways. By wearing a mask we bring to light the human element of the each-other because the mask is in-human, i.e. not-quite-human (for only a human can be in-human). To take an example: quite obviously the masked criminal does not want to be known or perceived; but the mask enables him to except himself from the each-other implied by appearence, the human each-other. The masked man is in-human. Where all wear masks, the each-other is in-human. Only in this limited sense can we say of the dramatic arts, festivals or private gatherings that use masks that they reflect a human desire for the in-human, perhaps as a way to throw light on what it is to be human.

Note vii: Lust is the desire to have carnal knowledge of another. To be precise, lust is the desire to change perception; from visual perception I lean towards carnal perception. Carnal knowledge differs from visual perception not only in that it calls upon touch rather than sight, but more significantly in that it signifies our knowability, which stems from our being in the world, (2), in a way that involves our body, which is to say in the co-incidence of the biological moment of becoming and the moment of perception (cf. Time and Moment).

Note viii: Empathy is the perception of a perception different from our own, therefore also of a difference of perception. Empathy can therefore manifest itself with regards to any being. Learning another language, another common perception of things, is by nature emphatic. Moreover, the act of understanding, of standing under the perception of another, is emphatic in so far as this standing-under is a perception of a perception different from one's own. The will to empathy is a pre-requisite for the task of understanding an author. However empathy remains imperfect as it is inferior to the perception it perceives. Empathy is not the same as compassion. Com-passion, to be passionate with, is caused by empathy, is an affect of empathy but is no perception. As passion compassion connotes suffering.

Note ix: Sympathy is empathy in agreement. In other words, the perception that is perceived agrees with the perception that perceives it; the difference of perception is therefore less and perceived as such. This agreement of perceptions is captured by the common interjection "I agree" or the more seldom "I sympathize."

Note x: Interpretation is a transformative perception of a thing perceptibility. What distinguishes the superior interpretation lies in its transformingness; for the inferior interpretation always confuses itself with transposition, so as to deny the transformability, which is to say the interpretability, of what is interpreted. As such Glenn Gould's (5/1-55/1) interpretations remain in my view superior to others concerning the Bach (and arguably Haydn and Mozart) corpus(es), for they do not shy away from transforming the music into sound, from placing sound at the highest level of attention, from seizing the score in all its transformability thereby doing it justice.

Note xi: The "I am that I am" of Exodus 3:14 is the realization that He is but is not knowable. He is the only thing in whose fact it is not inherent to be perceptible. He stands as the eternal Jewish exception to (2).

Note xii: The desire to die is a desire of imperceptibility. In desiring death we desire to disappear. By killing we make disappear. What has disappeared is no longer because imperceptible, (2). Memory perpetuates the thing that has disappeared as communicability.

We can summarize the above by saying that the thing in itself is the thing as perceptibility, knowability, or communicability, and that a perceptibility, knowability or communicability can be perceived, known, or communicated several ways at one time. That this is so follows from (7) and (8). Nevertheless, however numerous the perceptions of the same perceptibility, they all share the perceptibility as starting point, as well as their relativity as perceptions of a perceptibility, which is to say their inferiority relative to the perceptibility. The same applies to conscience which is none other than the perception of the perceptibility that is perception.

Addendum I—"It is not man's conscience that determines his existence but, on the contrary, his social existence that determines his conscience." Marx's well known sentence invites the question of its knowability: as perception of "conscience," does it know the limitation of conscience as communication of a communicability? Does this sentence reveal an awareness of its communication relative to "conscience," i.e. of its inferiority to that knowability?

Addendum II—Service economy is premised on appearence (note iv); it is because our appearence belongs to others that others—society—determine us, who we are, to such a large extent. A way of escaping this is to identify ourselves, our conscience, completely with our appearence so that we become what others think of us. However this poses a problem. By taking refuge in our appearence we are taking refuge in that part of our perceptibility that belongs to others. It follows that our perceptibility or being-in-the-world no longer belongs to ourselves. We have reached the definition of alienation. And since I mentionned Marx, his analysis of the alienating force that is capitalism is as acute today, in our so-called developed economies, as it was in its earlier industrial days.

Perception et connaissance

2009-01-23T11:33:00.000-08:00

Ce message est une reformulation de la dichotomie sujet/objet (Karl Jaspers) des points de vu de la perception, de la connaissance et de la communication. Il peut être résumé en cette qualité de pensée qui s'appelle conscience, la perception de notre perception. (Notre temps continue de montrer que la conscience est souvent confondu avec le simple fait d'être éveillé, à un tel point d'ailleurs que je puisse dire en toute confiance qu'un chien a ce type de conscience en vertu d'être éveillé).

1) Il y a des choses.
2) Il est inhérent au fait d'une chose d'être perceptible (connaissable, communicable).
3) Nous percevons (connaissons, communiquons) le perceptible (connaissable, communicable).
4) Ce que nous percevons (connaissons, communiquons) du perceptible (connaissable, communicable) est conditionné par nos faculté perceptrices (cognitives, communicatives).
5) Des altérations dans nos facultés perceptrices (cognitives, communicatives) peuvent changer ce que nous percevons (connaissons, communiquons) du perceptible (connaissable, communicable).
6) Ce qui est perceptible (connaissable, communicable) est, sans qu'il ait besoin d'être perçu (connu, communiqué),
7) Avec les altérations de 5) nous pouvons seulement dire que ce que nous percevons (connaissons, communiquons) du perceptible (connaissable, communicable) a changé, non les choses dont la perceptibilité (connaissabilité, communicabilité) est perçue (connue, communiquée).
8) Ainsi nous reconnaissons que les choses sont, indépendamment de comment nous «les» percevons (connaissons, communiquons), c'est à dire leur perceptibilité (connaissabilité, communicabilité).
9) Nous re-connaissons que les choses sont parce que nous les percevons (connaissons, communiquons) et il est inhérent au fait d'une chose d'être perceptible (connaissable, communicable), 2).

Note i : La Science comme corps déterminé de connaissances est de nature à causer une altération de notre faculté cognitive par une acquisition d'information de sorte à augmenter notre connaissance du connaissable, 5). La science qui a pour tâche de rendre connus des connaissables inconnus, (par opposition à des inconnaissables connus, ex. «Dieu») et donc perceptibles et communicables, présuppose la proposition 6) ; en langage commun cette pensée se traduit par «la science est dérivée des faits» puisque, (2), il est inhérent au fait d'une chose d'être connaissable. Les connaissables inconnus que la science cherche à révéler sont le plus souvent imperceptibles à nos sens. La technique permet de les rendre visibles, donc perceptibles pour nos sens, mais seulement médiatement. De même, les formules symboliques qui décrivent et mesurent des phénomènes visibles ou non sont une perception à priori exacte de ces phénomènes mais ne leurs sont évidemment pas équivalentes : elles ne sont vraies que dans la mesure où les conventions symboliques déjà établies par nous le sont. De telles mesures, conformément à leur force conventionnelle, peuvent se vanter d'une validité universelle ; mais validité n'est pas vérité.

Note ii : Le Langage est une perception commune des choses (Walter Benjamin : un mode d'intention) au travers la langue qui met en commun leur communicabilité dans (et non pas par) la communication. Les choses-communicabilités admettent de multiples perceptions communes, c'est à dire de multiples mises-en-commun dans le langage ; en effet, chaque langue ou faculté communicative (geste, signe) communique la communicabilité différemment. Apprendre une langue étrangère reflète le désir de changer de perception. La vérité de la communication langagière nous échappe car il n'y a de communication qui ne communique, donc qui puisse faire abstraction, en toute conscience, de sa propre communication relativement à la chose communiquée. Autrement dit une communication de la «vérité du langage» pose la question de la vérité de la communication qui la communique.

Note iii : Nous-mêmes nous sommes dans la mesure où nous sommes perceptibles, 2). Nous savons que nous sommes lorsque notre perceptibilité est perçue, que ce soit par nous (la conscience) ou par les autres, par exemple lorsque quelqu'un nous laisse le passage sur le trottoir ; notre connaissabilité connue, par exemple quand quelqu'un nous reconnaît ; notre communicabilité communiquée, par exemple quand quelqu'un nous appelle («Thomas»). La psychologie se préoccuppe de saisir les relations à notre perceptibilité. Par exemple nous disons de quelqu'un qu'il est timide lorsqu'il est rendu inconfortable par la perception de sa perceptibilité ; qu'il est vaniteux lorsque il se préoccupe de comment sa perceptibilité est perçue ; qu'il est orgueilleux lorsqu'il croit en la supériorité de sa perceptibilité, supériorité que la perception des autres échoue d'égaler ; qu'il est narcissique lorsqu'il a besoin de percevoir sa propre perceptibilité à travers les perceptions des autres. Sans doute le solitaire, qui est quelqu'un qui se satisfait du fait de sa perceptibilité, se distingue sur ce fondement du mondain, qui ne se contente pas du fait de sa perceptibilité si elle n'est pas perçue. Quoi qu'il en soit, notre perception de nous-mêmes est imparfaite, 8). La perceptibilité qui est notre est intimée par le mot individu. Notre individualité est cette dualité qui est indivisible. C'est pourquoi les penseurs individuels utilisent le pronom «nous» : il les unit en tant que Dasein, qui est le duo du Da (là) et du Sein (être). Cette dualité peut prendre la forme d'un duel comme le chante Ian Curtis dans «Dead Souls» : «A duel of personalities - that stretch all true realities.»

Note iv : Nous nous percevons entre nous. L'apparence est cette part de l'entre-nous que chacun perçoit. Autrement dit, l'apparence est cette part de notre perceptibilité qui nous est à-part en ce qu'elle appartient aux autres perceptions humaines. Notre apparence leur est immédiatement disponible, sauf médiation interposée, mais nous est jamais que médiatement disponible : je la perçois dans le miroir, sur une photo, sur un enregistrement sonore pour la voix. Que notre apparence appartienne aux autres perceptions est confirmé par les habitudes que nous avons prises de nous raser, de nous maquiller, de nous dé-odorer. Certes le chien ne perçoit pas notre apparence car elle ne lui appartient pas : par l'odorat il s'approprie notre perceptibilité d'une manière qui nous échappe totalement. Souvent nous entendons dire que les choses apparaissent, que l'apparence est le caractère de toute chose. Or il serait plus exact de dire que toute chose est perceptible, et de réserver le terme d'apparence pour désigner la perceptibilité des êtres humains en tant qu'êtres politiques (dire qu'une chose apparaît est, selon la pensée qui précède, une personnification ou humanisation de cette chose).

Note v : La politique concerne l'apparence : le politicien moderne cherche à tourner l'appartenance (médiate) de son apparence en une alliance, et son discours regarde au-delà des individus en faveur de catégories (les jeunes, les étrangers, les travailleurs, les sans-abris, les chômeurs, les musulmans etc), lesquelles catégories sont des étiquettes assignées à notre apparence, c'est à dire, à cette part de nous-mêmes qui nous est à part appartenant aux autres perceptions humaines (à la société). Par sa nature même le discours politique est anti-individualiste. La volonté de domination se manifeste lorsque le discours opère une con-fusion entre l'apparence et la perceptibilité, en substituant la catégorie (qui se traduit en chiffres) à l'individu, de sorte à réduire l'individu (qui est deux et indivisible) à la seule dimension de son apparence—cette part de lui qui lui est à part—ce qui revient à placer une perception de l'individu au-dessus de sa perceptibilité (dont l'apparence, nous le savons, n'est qu'une part, et une part qui ap-par-tient aux autres individus, c'est à dire à la société). Ceci exprime la trahison bien connue par la politique de ce qu'elle devrait préserver, en l'occurence, l'individu en tant qu'entité indivisible.

Note vi : le masque est ce par quoi nous cachons notre apparence à autrui. Nous leur refusons l'appartenance de notre apparence : ils ne perçoivent que le masque et non notre perceptibilité. Cependant, comme nous l'avons vu dans la note iv, l'apparence est la part de l'entre-nous que chacun perçoit. Le masque qui cache l'apparence a un sens pour cet entre-nous. Le masque prend en compte sa perception par les autres. Il tend vers leur conscience. La structure binaire de l'entre-nous est éclairée par le port du masque puisque le masque est une suspension temporaire du «nous» dans l'entre-nous. En effet je ne suis pas perçu dans mon apparence distincte (qui demeure une part de ma perceptibilité) mais comme porteur du masque, comme «l'autre». Le «nous» s'en trouve changé—il n'est plus apparemment homogène. De même lorsque les autres portent des masques, le «nous» de l'entre-nous est temporairement suspendu en faveur de «l'entre». C'est l'espace entre les perceptions qui prend le dessus. Non sans paradoxe, cette suspension temporaire du «nous» dans l'entre-nous permet à chacun d'être individué, c'est à dire de re-prendre sa place distincte dans l'entre-nous. Ce n'est pas tout. Nous avons vu dans la note iv que l'apparence concerne l'entre-nous humain parce qu'elle est dirigée vers les autres perceptions humaines par opposition aux perceptions animales qui nous perçoivent de leur manières propres. En portant le masque nous amenons à la lumière l'élément humain de l'entre-nous parce que le masque est lui-même in-humain, c'est à dire pas-tout-à-fait humain (seul un humain peut être in-humain). Pour prendre un exemple : évidemment le criminel masqué ne souhaite pas être connu ou perçu ; mais le masque lui permet de s'excepter de l'entre-nous impliqué par l'apparence, l'entre-nous humain. Aussi l'homme masqué est-il in-humain. Là où tous portent des masques, l'entre-nous est in-humain. Seulement en ce sens restreint pouvons-nous dire des arts dramatiques, festivaux et rencontres privées qui utilisent des masques qu'ils reflètent un désir humain de l'in-humain, peut-être comme moyen de jeter de la lumière sur ce que c'est d'être humain.

Note vii : La luxure est le désir d'avoir connaissance charnelle d'un ou d'une autre. Plus précisément elle est un désir de changer de perception : de la perception visuelle je tend vers la perception charnelle. La connaissance charnelle se distingue de la perception visuelle non seulement en ce qu'elle sollicite le toucher plutôt que la vue, mais plus significativement en ce qu'elle signifie notre connaissabilité qui découle de notre être dans le monde, (2), de telle manière à impliquer notre corps, c'est à dire dans la co-ïncidence du moment biologique de devenir et du moment de la perception (cf. Temps et moment).

Note viii : L'empathie est la perception d'une perception différente de la notre, donc à plus forte raison d'une différence de perception. Ainsi l'empathie peut-t-elle se manifester à l'égard de tout être vivant. Apprendre une langue étrangère, une différente perception commune des choses, est par nature empathique. De même, l'acte de com-prendre, de prendre-avec la perception d'un autre, est empathique dans la mesure où ce prendre-avec est une perception d'une perception différente de la notre. La volonté d'empathie est une pré-condition à la tâche de comprendre un auteur. Toutefois, l'empathie est imparfaite en ce qu'elle est inférieure à la perception qu'elle perçoit. L'empathie n'est pas la compassion. La com-passion, être passionné-avec, est causé par l'empathie, est un affect de celle-ci, mais n'est pas une perception. En tant que passion la compassion connote la souffrance.

Note ix : La sympathie est l'empathie en accord. Autrement dit, la perception perçue est en accord avec la perception qui la perçoit : la différence de perception est donc moindre et perçue comme telle. Cet accord de perceptions se traduit en langage courant par l'expression «nous sommes d'accord» ou, moins souvent, «je sympathise».

Note x : l'interprétation est une perception transformante d'une chose perceptibilité. Ce qui distingue l'interprétation supérieure réside dans ce qu'elle a de transformateur ; car l'interprétation inférieure se confond toujours avec la transposition de sorte à nier la transformabilité, c'est à dire l'interprétabilité, de ce qui est interprété. Ainsi les interprétations de Glenn Gould (5/1-55/1) demeurent à mon sens supérieures que celles des autres en ce qui concerne le corpus de Bach, puisqu'elles ne rechignent pas à transformer la musique en son, à placer le son au plus haut niveau de son attention, à saisir la partition dans tout ce qu'elle avait de transformable d'où une fidélité certaine.

Note xi: Le «Je suis celui qui est» de l'Exode 3:14 est la réalisation qu'Il est mais n'est pas connaissable. Il est la seule chose au fait delaquelle n'appartient la perceptibilité. Il est l'éternel exception juive à 2).

Note xii : Le désir de mourir est un désir d'imperceptibilité. En désirant la mort nous souhaitons disparaître ; en tuant nous faisons disparaître. Ce qui a disparu n'est plus parce qu'imperceptible, 2). La mémoire perpétue la chose disparue en tant que communicabilité.

Nous pouvons résumer ce qui précède en disant que la chose en elle-même est la chose en tant que perceptibilité, connaissabilité ou communicabilité, et qu'une perceptibilité, connaissabilité ou communicabilité peut être perçue, connue, ou communiquée de plusieurs manières à un moment. Cela suit de 7) et 8). Néanmoins, quoique nombreuses soient les perceptions de la même perceptibilité, ils partagent tous la perceptibilité comme point de départ, ainsi que leur relativité en tant que perceptions d'une perceptibilité, c'est à dire leur infériorité relativement à la perceptibilité. Il en va même de la conscience, qui n'est autre que la perception de la perceptibilité qu'est la perception.

Addendum I—«Ce n'est pas la conscience de l'homme qui détermine son existence mais, au contraire, son existence sociale qui détermine sa conscience». Phrase bien connue de Marx, la question se pose de sa connaissabilité : perception de la «conscience», connaît-elle la limite de la conscience comme perception d'une perceptibilité ? Cette phrase témoigne t-elle d'une conscience de sa communication relativement à la «conscience», c'est à dire de son infériorité relative à cette communicabilité ?

Addendum II—L'économie de service est soutenue par l'apparence (note iv) ; c'est parce que notre apparence appartient aux autres que les autres—la société—nous déterminent, qui nous sommes, à un niveau très élevé. Une façon de s'échapper est de nous identifier, notre conscience, complètement avec notre apparence de telle sorte que nous devenons ce que les autres pensent de nous. Néanmoins cela pose un problème. En prenant refuge dans notre apparence nous prenons refuge dans cette part de notre perceptibilité qui appartient aux autres. Il suit que notre perceptibilité ou être-dans-le-monde ne nous appartient plus. Nous sommes arrivés à la définition de l'aliénation. Et puisque j'ai mentionné Marx, son analyse de la force aliénante qu'est le capitalisme est tout aussi aigûe aujourd'hui, dans nos économies soit-disant développées, qu'elle ne l'était à l'épôque industrielle.

La Vie des étudiants (extrait)

2009-01-22T17:54:00.000-08:00

Walter Benjamin (1892-13/1), 22 ans (1914), Oeuvres I (Folio), 139 : «L'idée qui hante ce monde estudiantin allemand, tantôt plus tantôt moins, c'est qu'il faut profiter de sa jeunesse. Il était impossible que cette période, tout irrationnelle, où l'on attend fonction et mariage, ne donnât point naissance à un quelconque contenu, lequel ne pouvait ressortir qu'au domaine du jeu, du pseudo-romantisme, du passe-temps. C'est un terrible stigmate sur la fameuse gaieté des chants qui accompagnent les beuveries collectives, sur la nouvelle splendeur de la vie des corporations estudiantines. C'est la peur de l'avenir et, en même temps, façon de pactiser, le coeur léger, avec l'inévitable philistinisme que l'on envisage volontiers pour le temps où l'on sera soi-même un 'ancien'. Ayant vendu son âme à la bourgeoisie, métier et mariage compris, on s'accroche fermement à ces quelques années de franchises bourgeoises. L'échange se conclut au nom de la jeunesse. . . Cette conscience d'une jeunesse gâchée et d'une vieillesse bradée à soif d'apaisement. . . Car les étudiants ne sont point la jeune génération, ils sont ceux qui vieillissent. . . Incapables de reconnaître l'âge qu'ils ont ils traînent dans l'oisiveté. . . C'est la crainte de la solitude, à la peur de se donner, que tient la licence érotique. Ils se mesurent à l'étalon de leurs pères, non à celui de leurs successeurs, et sauvent le faux semblant de leur jeunesse. Leur amitié est sans grandeur, sans solitude. Son lieu [à la jeunesse] est la confrérie, tout ensemble limitée et débridée, la même à la taverne et dans l'union qui se fonde au café. Toutes ces institutions de la vie sont un marché du provisoire, comme la fréquentation des cours magistraux et des cafés, remplissage du vide de l'attente, refus d'entendre la voix qui vous appelle à édifier votre vie sur l'unique esprit de la création, de l'eros et de la jeunesse. . . Faute de courage, la vie des étudiants est fort éloignée d'une telle prise de conscience [celle qui les amenerait à concevoir leur vie non en termes de métier et de mariage mais en termes de création, d'enseignement ou de service aux pauvres, au moyen d'un esprit scientifique non-fonctionnarisé qui se dessine et évolue sur fond des anciennes questions métaphysiques allant de Platon à Nietszche]. . . Mais il n'est forme de vie ni rythme correspondant qui ne procède des préceptes déterminants pour toute vie créatrice. Aussi longtemps que les étudiants se refuseront à cette vie, leur existence sera châtié par la laideur, et même le plus insensible sentira dans son coeur la morsure du désespoir.

Il s'agit de la nécessité extrême et périlleuse, il est besoin du strict redressement. Chacun trouvera son propre précepte, celui qui présente à sa vie la plus haute exigence. Par voie de connaissance chacun libérera l'avenir de ce qui aujourd'hui le défigure.» 7/7/79/1

Solitude, Isolation and Loneliness. Politics and Appearence. Task of Philosophy.

2009-01-22T17:11:00.000-08:00

Quoting Cicero's "Nunquam minus solum esse, quam cum solus esset" (one is least alone in solitude — see the last sentence of the "Condition of Modern Man"), Hannah Arendt considered solitude to be a state that presupposed the existence of a contact with other men, only the contact in question had been temporarily suspended in order to facilitate an inner dialogue or creative plan. We may think of the retreat of the philosopher or of the 'artist' or indeed the scientist (Einstein) in these terms.

Isolation is to be distinguished from solitude for its political connotations. Implied in the term 'isolation' is an external force which has to a greater or lesser extent imposed the condition of isolation on the individual affected by it. We may contrast the self-imposed solitude of the pianist with the isolation-by-force-of-circumstance of the beggar who enjoys no political existence to speak of. He may have private relations, but his public existence is nill. He has to rely on others (e.g. charities), who do assume a public existence, to defend his interests in the public realm. An important observation by Mrs Arendt was that isolation, because it entailed the political death of the individuals affected by it, was the prime aim of tyrannical regimes. Tyrants understood the fact that isolated men are powerless men as surely as political action requires concertation.

Both solitude and isolation are liable to drift into loneliness, the ultimate evil according to Arendt. Isolation turns into loneliness when private as well as public relations are severed. Totalitarian states, in their invasion of the private sphere of human relations, breed loneliness over and above isolation (which denies public but not private existence).

In her definition of the political, Arendt emphasized human plurality in a way reminiscent of Darwin, whose focus on biodiversity was essential to his theory of natural selection. It is the plurality of human beings, the chaos of difference, that defines the political sphere, (as opposed to, for example, philosophy or theology which are concerned with 'Man' in the singular) and, with it, the "world of appearences".

Appearence, far from being a ignonimous human trait, consitutes an essential manifestation of human freedom, a freedom that defines itself in its relationship to others. It would be reductive mind that envisages appearence exclusively in terms of morality and fail to see it as a characteristic feature of the individual in the polis or its modern cousin, 'the spectacle'. Even on a moral level, we rarely say of someone that she 'appears' to be a hypocrite instead of she is a hypocrite — this is because the two are interchangeable, as appearence is taken to be an im-mediate medium of a person's character. The words 'person', 'persona' and 'personality' all stem from the latin root 'persona' which, originally, designated an actor's mask on stage, then the actual character.

It is one of the tasks of philosophy, drawing as it should do from philology, to dig out the great depths of thought contained within these linguistic short-cuts, bring these depths to light, and thereby preserve the originality of language, as against convention on the one hand, and in favour of the possible origins of our language on the other. Ironically, keeping alive this originality of language, provided that it is not done gratuitously but on bases which are essentially founded, is akin to preserving our linguistic heritage against the onslaught of modernity when it is reduced to conventionality, that is to say, thoughtlessness. The equation between convention and thoughtlessness is arguably itself a little thoughtless if regard is had, again, to the latin origin of the word convention, cum-venire, 'to come together'. Why is it that coming together bars thought? I do not know but to save face I will quote Gilles Deleuze (a famed late 20th century French thinker) who said, "un vrai philosophe se cache lorsqu'il entend parler de dialogue", "a true philosopher will hide whenever he hears talk about 'dialogue'." Dialogue is traditionally regarded as a coming together of two or more persons via the spoken word, the Greek logos, which also came to mean Reason. The denigration of convention is entirely erroneous, however, if one regards language itself as an instance of convention, a coming together. According to this view I would be using a conventional tool (language) to denigrate a conventional word, 'convention', which I naively took to reflect an exterior reality, that is to say, a reality outside of the text I am writing. To avoid lengthty debate, I will rectify my use of the word 'convention' and replace it with the word 'presupposition' or 'preconception'. So, to repeat, the indirect task of philosophy (philosophy has no direct task) is to preserve the 'originality' of language as against modern presuppositions, which are thoughtless by definition.

Politics may be considered the pinnacle of the world of appearence and hence of the public freedom to appear. It is never a politician's appearence as such that makes him hypocritical. Rather, he is hypocritical in so far as his appearence is deemed to betray this trait of character. Thus, although a person's appearence may deceive us into thinking that he or she is good when his or her actions are bad, it is not the appearence in and of itself that deceives us but the inference that we make from it, whether or not the 'appearor' is aware of it (most probably yes if he is a politician). The key to this thought then is that we assign meanings to and make inferences from appearence, because that is very often the only means we have of judging others. Appearence, it might be added, is a far more reliable indicator of a person's worth than pretentious psychological guesswork, which purports to strip an individual of his 'layers' — it is pretentious because it is a pretence to think that those 'layers' are not an integral part of the individual in question. It is suggested that thinking about the relationship between appearence and inference — how much and what of a person do we infer from their appearence? — is a more fruitful way to approach an individual than trying to read 'inside', as though we were morality or God itself.

The desert (and the Sahara in Africa is but one form of desert says Heidegger) refers to a reality devoid of human relations in the absolute, but also to a reality which denies true relations between individuals. True relations are those between individuals as wholesome beings, as entities of "differentiation" in the Deleuzian sense, and are characterized by the absence of any "layered core", judgmental psychological conceptions. For example, the Freudian concept of the 'unconscious' purports to be such a core, on which the 'rest' (the 'personality' which is the outward manifestation of one's character) is but mere pathological construction which can be peeled away like onion skin. This psychological way of thinking, which freudism shares with behaviourism, economic theory ('homo oeconomicus'), marketing and so on, wilfully ignores the importance of appearence, and hence the problematic of diversity.

The emphasis on plurality in the political sphere led Arendt to reject, in political matters, conceptions that relied on neutral, unreal notions of 'Man' in the singular. This may be deemed a Christian habit, in so far as God is said to have created Man rather than men and that men are really the creation of men, not God. This habit has a strong legal symbolic in the form of the Rights of Man. As Agamben (a lawyer turned philosopher) pointed out, the Declaration of 1789 is a philosophical justification (humanism) for the modern kind of sovereignty, a sovereingty no longer founded on the Divine as in the Ancien Régime but on Life, or rather, a bare conception of life that is purely biological (though not scientific) which is linked to birth ("Chaque homme naît..."), turning actual lives (which have a form as well as an ontological reality) into mere instances of survival —see especially "Forme-de-vie" in "Moyens sans fins", Rivages de poche.

What is true of the political sphere is true also of the individual — the 'I' needs the presence of others in order to affirm and confirm its identity. Because the I has to be seen and to see for this to be possible, appearence becomes the very foundation of the I. An I alien from the world is an I alien to itself, because the I needs others both to define itself (e.g. by assimilation and/or distinction) and to assert its reality (by being seen). Hence solitude drifts into loneliness when it is reduced to the absence of relations with others, becoming instead a form of desert.

What then is an I alien to itself? It is a lonely I, an I that misses both the company of others and its own company. It is an I that feels estranged from the world. In this way loneliness amounts to a feeling of inner and outer emptiness because to miss something is to acknowledge its present absence, and something absent cannot fill the vaccum of the I. So, whereas in solitude a person lacks, but does not miss, the company of his peers, in loneliness a person misses not only the company of others but also his own company.

Addendum — Desolation is perhaps a better term than loneliness to describe the latter state of mind, as it encompasses physical connotations, such as a desolate landscape, that transcend the individual, rendering the analogy with the desert more pertinent.

*I owe much of the above to Ms Courtine-Denamy's inspired foreword in the French edition of "Was ist Politik?" ("Qu'est ce que la politique ?", Points essais, 1995).