English translation of the French transcript, made with AI and not yet proofread — click a paragraph to jump to it. Show the French original
Haile Selassie booed at the League of Nations 0:00 [Inaudible fragment: "of spirit, agitating, agitating..." repeated] I ask the audience to excuse me.
0:40 I do not express myself in French as well as I would have liked. I would express my whole thought better, with all the force of my mind and my heart, speaking in Amharic. Should I apologize for this rather abrupt beginning, or ask forgiveness for not starting by wishing you good evening? But I was still captivated by the voice of Haile Selassie, Emperor of Ethiopia, the Negus, King of Kings, Lion of the Tribe of Judah, descendant of Prester John.
1:23 The only state which, mysteriously, had never been colonized in Africa. And a state that has been Christian for longer than almost all European countries. This video shows the moment when the head of state of Ethiopia addresses the League of Nations in 1935.
1:53 The UN did not yet exist; it was the League of Nations that was supposed to take its place. And he comes to address the League of Nations to give a report on the aggression his country had just suffered, to the point that he was forced to flee, since the fascist Mussolini forces of Italy had even occupied the capital, Addis Ababa. So he was a refugee in Great Britain. Haile Selassie makes his declaration from there, in Geneva, at the League of Nations.
2:30 And imagine the Italian air force against horsemen armed mostly with edged weapons, a few rifles that weren't even automatic. In short, a slaughter. And not to mention — and in his speech afterward he showed damning documents — not to mention the use of mustard gas. Eleven thousand Ethiopian infantrymen died in atrocious suffering after inhaling mustard gas that had been stockpiled since the war of 1914.
3:11 Now you might ask me why I'm showing this. No, it's not a jubilee, it's not an anniversary, it's not... not even a memorial. I was about to say, everyone pretty much doesn't care. These aren't people oppressed by Chinese or Russian totalitarians, I don't know, so nobody's interested. Why am I showing it? Because of the whistling — you heard it — as soon as he opens his mouth, he's immediately booed.
3:43 Well, in the front row it was the Italian fascists, but among all the Western states present, no one lifted a finger to actively condemn the Italian aggression, that of fascist Italy. Small parenthesis — yes, I know, it won't be the last — but people often mock the Italians for not liking war, for not being good soldiers, for often being defeated because they're not warlike.
4:16 Personally I admire people who are not warlike. There you go. Well here, no, no, no — I stress this, pay attention. Here, as we'd say now, it was an asymmetric war. It's like the Americans in Iraq or Afghanistan. It's the most formidable armadas of all time, against peoples barely emerging from nothing, technologically speaking. And you saw the booing. And I thought of the welcome now given to those who rehabilitate the very worst Nazi leaders of the last world war, dedicating avenues and monuments to them.
4:56 Yes, yes, I'm thinking of Bandera, of course, in Ukraine. With a consensus of the gravest obscenity. I wanted to start with this video to show the contrast — these same powers that didn't flinch when Ethiopia was attacked by Mussolini's Italy, at a time when people were already saying "rather Hitler than the Popular Front." These are roughly the same years, the 1930s.
The West, a concealing concept 5:26 And it's the year Chamberlain came back from the Munich Agreements. Munich — that rings a bell. Ah yes, but today too there was the Munich Conference. And yes, all our so-called Western heads of state — you know, I don't like that term, with everything it conceals. There are concepts made to show. The concept of glasses, the concept of a screen, the concept of a light bulb.
5:56 Fine, that hides nothing. It expresses reality. And then there are concepts called concealing concepts. They're made not to show, not to say. How do we speak — is it to say something? No, one can speak in order to say nothing. Or to say "the West." Shall we play a little game? Go on, what is the West? It's what's to the west, most of you will answer. Yes, very good. And so where is west, since we've known the Earth is round? I ask you. Do you agree that Germany is the West?
6:28 Ah no — it's true that relative to France it's the East. But relative to Poland, it's the West. Yes, I tell you, Poland is west of Russia. I could even tell you that Russia is west of the United States. But yes, yes — look at Alaska. Alaska is the United States. Three kilometers away — I'm exaggerating, maybe six kilometers — there's a small strait, and you can see across with binoculars during the Cold War. And even now it's bristling with missiles and radars, that whole region, on small islands in the Bering Strait called Little and Big Diomede.
7:02 There you go, that's it. There are only a few Inuit there, outside the military installations — well, what's in the ice. So, when you're in the United States, in the West, you take one step west and you land in Russia. Come on, that means nothing. So the West isn't the west. "West" is wherever you want. Let me remind you that the owner of the castle — I pointed this out in a video a long time ago, that's my cat, sorry — the owner of the castle in Kafka's masterpiece, which is also his testament, and which is perhaps all the more mysterious in that we never speak of the castle's owner, never give his name, except for a quarter-line at the beginning, and never again after — his name is Count Westwest.
7:47 West-West. You see? All right. You can guess I'm troubled by the war. So, I'm still on my theme of hesitation, or rather, I come back to you again on my theme of hesitation — I would so much like to talk to you about something else. That's what I'm going to try to do this evening, but I wanted to begin with this anyway. Without it being entirely unrelated to what we'll see afterward.
The quiet bell tower and the hell of carnage 8:18 By recalling — I thank Pierre-Alain for making this opening image, where on the left we see the most peaceful, the most tranquil thing there is: the top of a bell tower overlooking a quiet little village, whether it's in France, Germany, elsewhere, it doesn't matter. In any case, it's clearly some small backwater. And on the right, whether thousands of kilometers away or right nearby, as you like — hell.
8:49 The slaughter, the carnage. That carnage — Ulysses, the first great Westerner we speak of, about whom things are written, begins with the carnage of the sack of Troy, and ends with the carnage of the massacre of the suitors. Ten years in between. However hard he tries to escape this Western destiny of carnage, making stopovers, as travel agencies would say, every time he needs fresh water — an island, he lands, he coasts along — a shipwreck.
9:28 A storm, a vengeance of Poseidon, and once again there's an island, a woman. And there — we've escaped the carnage, we're elsewhere, no. Every time, the nightmare returns, he's chased off the island, again by some small local carnage. It's Circe, it's the Cyclops, well anyway, you know all that. So we're supposed to know all that — we were supposed to.
9:58 I'm going to talk like people on the right — still, at school, we used to learn something. No, no, it was mostly left-wing schoolteachers who taught all that, and who cared about transmission. Under the aristocracy, the transmission of history, of peoples, interested nobody. There was, yes, religious history. In short, the lives of the saints. That can be useful, I mean.
10:30 Let's be serious. The carnage. To the right of the little bell tower, peaceful. Like the text I'm going to read you, which relates to that very place, right at the top, even more peaceful than the rest of the village. Because it's even above the church, there isn't even the crowd passing by, going in and out. There aren't even beggars at the entrance asking for charity. It's up there. Now and then a bell-ringer comes to hang on the ropes. But otherwise, it's...
11:00 Let's not get ahead of ourselves, it's the text I'm going to read you afterward. It will be so much more beautiful than anything I'm telling you. But... There you go, I... I would have liked to talk about something else. And I'm going to begin with this little... it's just a few seconds where the Emperor of Ethiopia, a victim of aggression — that's exactly what we're denouncing, the vile aggression of a small state by a great state, the eternal Goliath. David — you see, I can't manage to say "attacked by Goliath."
11:30 Well, David has behind him, as reinforcement, the greatest armada of all time, technologically, financially, militarily. But apart from that, it's David. Fine, I'll grant that. That's what he's up against. But in any case, he's the opening act, as they say in showbiz, of all the great international gatherings, including the one happening today in Munich. And where — I heard it! I tried to learn.
12:00 I didn't even want to bother with this meeting, because I know in advance what will be said, but when I opened it, I quickly closed it again, after hearing Macron say... It's not a question... The time is not for negotiation, there's no question of it, Russia must be weakened, it must be defeated before any talk. Oh! No, but this concerns us! Well, you'll find that in the papers... actually, you'll find it on the Internet, a few voices worried about this war.
12:32 Einstein said he didn't know whether there would be a Third World War, but what was certain was that the Fourth would be fought with sticks and stones. Ah yes, no, this isn't the war to come. It's a war like none ever seen. And yet humanity has seen its share of wars. "Woe to the vanquished," as it's said, as the Scriptures put it. There you go. So, you'll tell me, but that's not our program.
Fusion of genres and presentation of the poem by Jaccottet 13:03 We were supposed to answer your questions. So, I'll get to it. But current events have disturbed me, you understand. And each passing day disturbs me more and more. And I know that among you, some of you... it worries you too. And we're not the only ones. More and more people are worried. But not enough of them. Still, more and more. But precisely, I'm going to read a text, a poem, I tell you.
13:33 A poem by Hölderlin. You see, this reminds me — not long ago, with Mallarmé and Nietzsche, I began a series, thanks to our comrade and friend Philippe Moreau, who wanted to package all that together. And it's a bit in that spirit that I'm apparently going to read the Hölderlin poem.
14:04 But I'm not going to give, over a rather long stretch of time, a close textual commentary. I'm going to mix several of our genres. I'm a bit pressed by the war. To the point that the different genres of our broadcasts — sometimes it's our workshops, thematic ones — we had gotten to... and we still are, tonight, for the first time after quite a few interruptions, with the holidays, the fundraiser for Clouscard which I'll come back to.
14:39 And on the theme of hesitation — that's the workshops. And then there are the answers to your questions, another genre. And then there are the audio podcasts, musical ones. I thank Aljoucha again here. There are the analytic reveries, and the analytic dreams. Well, precisely, you see, if I undertake this fusion of these different genres to save time, inaugurating this fusion tonight, it's because I opened this session with the Italo-Ethiopian war of 1935, and the unbearable way in which the head of state, despite all his dignity, the only head of state of color in the General Assembly of the League of Nations at the time — the only one.
15:43 And the contrast between the indifference of the great powers, especially Western ones, to the aggression he was subjected to, and on the contrary, you see, the way people welcome those who are victims of Russian fire — the fire that liberated us from Nazism. Well yes, well yes, it's all rather consistent, terrifyingly so.
16:17 So, I'm going to read this poem a bit in order to stop, well, in order to, for a few moments, the time it takes for me to reconnect with you today — I promised to answer your questions, but the material is so rich that I've made this long introduction to answering your questions, which I have all ready, but which will be the subject of the next video. Because I'm going to approach this text by first introducing it through what Philippe Jaccottet says about it.
16:54 Some of you may know, those interested in poetry, the noble figure of Philippe Jaccottet, who left us a few years ago, who lived in Grignan in the Drôme, and the Hölderlin poem I'm going to read you was translated by André du Bouchet, who was a great friend of Philippe Jaccottet — Philippe Jaccottet having produced, for the Pléiade collection, the volume on Hölderlin, but all that is quite closely connected.
17:26 And here is how Philippe Jaccottet introduces the text I'm going to read you. I prefer to go through a third party, because otherwise people will say, yes, we know you love Hölderlin, you're going to use superlatives. Well, look. Not about Hölderlin the greatest poet, no, about this poem in particular — I don't know, whose title is taken from the very first words of the poem, "In lovely blueness," adorable. In lieblicher Bläue, adorable.
17:57 This poem is taken from Wilhelm Waiblinger's novel Phaeton, where it is attributed to a mad poet of whom Hölderlin is the model. Waiblinger notes — Waiblinger being one of Hölderlin's earliest biographers, a bit ridiculous at times, but valuable because he gives us glimpses into Hölderlin's daily life when he was shut up in his tower and received celebrities from all over Europe without recognizing them, or at least without recognizing himself, since he signed "Scardanelli" — Waiblinger speaks of Hölderlin, saying: "Here are a few pages in his hand which give an idea of the dreadful derangement of his mind."
18:39 There are people like that for whom all this is the fruit of a mental disturbance. In the original they are written in verse in the manner of Pindar. When we say Pindar, we mean the odes, the genre of the ode — not tragedy, not Sophocles. They are translated here in the arrangement given them by Ludwig von Pigenot, who continued Hellingrath's edition. Friedrich Beissner — all these are people who worked on Hölderlin's archives — restores them to a prose arrangement and refuses to consider them as verse.
19:12 André du Bouchet, who translated it, in the version I'm offering you, writes — listen carefully to what the translator says — "the unsurpassed beauty of this poem, as well as its coherence" — we are far from a madman's delirium here — "render such conjectures vain, and its clarity discourages" — sorry — "and its clarity, the clarity of this poem, discourages any attempt at elucidation" — elucidation, interpretation — you know I don't like interpretation, don't worry, I'm not going to elucidate it or interpret it, I'm going to help you hear it, simply, because I've known it for a long time, but in my own way, that is, through analysis and not interpretation. There won't be a gram of interpretation. On the contrary, one could accuse me of sticking almost too closely to the letter of the text.
Roots or migration; blue without contour 20:14 So listen without further delay, I'm going to ask Pierre-Alain to show us this text. So you see, this is the period when he had given up making himself understood by the rest of humanity, and he writes this — I don't forget what I began with, the war and all that — and then our title, you see, roots on one side, migration on the other. The root is the establishment, what is settled — "to settle" in English, "settlement," you see.
20:47 It's the geraniums in the windows in Germanic countries, you see. It's my little bell tower, my hometown, my village, my genes — which I now hate more than ever, there being fewer and fewer companies like ABF Business saying "it's not in our genes to export" — oh, what neo-biologism, in short I recall the worst years — no, roots, I have nothing against them either, everyone has their roots. Myself, I have a Corsican father and mother, was born in Vietnam, grew up in Africa, and often feel at home — home in the sense of home sweet home — in Germany, go figure; and it's in Paris that I've spent, no doubt, if you add it all up, the greatest number of years, along with sub-Saharan Africa — well, I have roots, roots and migration too, the opposite. Let me read the poem first, I'll come back afterward to this title, In lovely blueness — In lovely blue blooms the roof, the metal of the bell tower — now there I say, watch out, I'm already interrupting because there's danger.
21:57 There is danger. The bell tower — the bell tower of a small village, that says nothing unsettling; it's the opposite of reassuring, in the village, the little central square where there's the church with its bell tower. Yes, but here we begin with the roof, we begin with what is right at the top — we've already moved a bit away from the society of people down below going about their business. In lovely blue blooms the roof of the bell tower — around, around the bell tower — that means — but into the emptiness of this blue, around, hovers — and it's not empty — a swallow's cry — around extends the most touching blue — there's a return to blue — you'll notice there's no determinate object — in "determinate" there's "finite," determinate, an outline, a shape — no, there's the ground, not the form. Around extends the most touching blue — danger, threat, indefiniteness, the infinite — I interrupt myself.
23:08 And behind me, three copies of this journal whose title is, there — "Let the infinite enter." I thank our great comrade Claude Gallier, who was kind enough to have subscribed me to this journal, which I recommend to you, which I can only recommend to you, as a comrade, as a friend — frankly I believe you won't regret it, those of you who can subscribe. At the outset it centers around Aragon and Elsa Triolet, and I'm making a brief counterpoint to Hölderlin's beautiful verses — I'm not wandering off, this isn't a detour. Aragon was asked, a few weeks before his death, the classic questionnaire — what do you prefer? He said: Rimbaud and Hölderlin, but for reasons no one will understand, end of quote. So I'm still going to quote a poem by Aragon written in wartime.
Aragon, "Let the infinite in" and Paris 24:18 When he was in hiding, hiding while the Gestapo hunted down communists, he was hidden in the Drôme, not far from where my eldest son lives, in Dieulefit — Dieulefit, which has since been declared a Village of the Righteous, the villagers having saved more than 1,500 Jews at the time, as well as Resistance fighters, and even Aragon, from the clutches of the Gestapo. You see how I hesitate between the bell tower roof, the poetic, the roots with that scent of eternity of the small village, the summer afternoon in lovely blue, and the carnage. Well, poor Aragon — what he lacked while he was in the Drôme, safely hidden, even if always on the alert, was Paris. He wrote an unforgettable poem, look it up online, it's called "Le paysan de Paris chante" ["The Peasant of Paris Sings"]. I'll only give you...
25:30 ...two stanzas — the first, and one from the middle — because perhaps all this will disappear under the ashes, as Einstein said of the coming war, nothing will remain. So wait, wait, here's how this poem goes: "As one leaves a child his toys so he stays quiet, they will fall on the floor, no doubt guessing what liquor I lacked, chance threw me photographs of my city" — small memory lapse — photographs of Paris, its streets, its quays — excuse me, I have a small memory lapse, I'm not sure of the exact wording of the last lines, but now — well, I'll skip a lot of stanzas — it's Paris under the Occupation, of course — "it is a dawn with no first métro, that's all" — there's a whole line I'm taking at random, skipping ahead — "it is a dawn with no first métro, that's all" — and then he arrives, he must be at the Pont des Arts, judge for yourselves by the way he speaks of the Pont Neuf — you see how, on the Pont des Arts, there are two moments.
26:41 you, the two halves of the Pont Neuf and in front, like a slit, like that, like a tabernacle, isn't it, the Place Dauphine which begins, the two pink houses from the 16th century which are symmetrical—I'll stay quiet, Aragon, the harp of the Pont Neuf, that's well observed, with the two half-moons, the harp of the Pont Neuf trembles like an orchestra where I hear the wine of my twenty years being preluded, a wind blows from here that comes from the Vert-Galant to die in the hair of the equestrian statue, the heart of life opens there with two shutters—I wanted to know more, Aragon, let the infinite in—well, Hölderlin tragically begins himself with the attraction toward the infinite, I'll start again now, you'll see how clear it is—in adorable blue, immediately the indefinite blossoms, the metal roof of the bell tower, all around hovers the cry of swallows, we go even beyond the bell tower, around it stretches the blue
From infinite blue to the figure of man 27:51 the most touching, the sun above, you see, a sort of breeze, it's higher and higher, goes very high and colors the sheet metal—but the first time there's a movement of stillness—but silently up there in the wind the weathercock cries when someone descends beneath the bell—thanks to Tchala for finding such beautiful photos, the starting photo, isn't it—when someone descends beneath the bell, the steps that only the bell-ringer or a repairman occasionally, those who do the bell's maintenance, once every I don't know how many years, when someone descends—well, one descends, one exposed oneself to a peril—you see the density of this opening, it's so beautiful that I'm going to start again without interruption—in adorable blue blossoms the metal roof of the bell tower, all around hovers a cry of swallows
29:01 around stretches the blue, the most touching, the sun above goes very high and colors the sheet metal, but silently up there in the wind the weathercock cries when someone descends beneath the bell, the steps—so you see, I breathe in, the silence is life, we were a bit strangled by the infinite, for when the body to such an extent detaches itself—you see someone descending a step, the body—there was no more human body, there was no outline, there was no gestalt as they say in German, no form, no structure, there was only the blue, the infinite, and descending, the weathercock that cries silently when someone descends beneath the bell, the steps—so the silence is life, for when the body, the body of man, to such an extent detaches itself, a figure—there we are, we've arrived—the form, the gestalt, the outline, the structure, a figure at once emerges from man—what a beginning of a beauty barely bearable
30:11 the windows from which the bells ring—you saw all the wooden supports in the photo around the bells, often that's where the heavy structure is, the beams, the framework, where the bells are—the windows from which the bells ring are like doors—what do windows and doors have in common? the wood, the forest—the windows from which the bells ring are like doors by virtue of their beauty. Yes, doors, still being of nature, are made of wood—no, they are in the image of the trees of the forest. Let's not forget that this was written when this poor madman, as they said with a somewhat misplaced pity, was being housed at his age by that strange carpenter he was pulled away from the clinic for, where he underwent treatments—I'll spare you the details—and where he had fits of raging madness, and he calmed down as soon as he was in the company of the carpenter and his family, who never regarded him as either a monument or an idol
31:21 nor as a poor madman who shouldn't even be listened to, but as a companion. Doors, still being of nature, are in the image of the trees of the forest—but is purity also beauty of the diverse within? So we leave the forest, we arrive within—you know those little isolated chapels, the little village churches, they all have a somewhat common look, whether in Greece or Germany, there are small cultural differences but it's fairly bare, there are a few objects, a naive art—of the diverse within is born a severe spirit—that's the introduction, a bit—it's sober, especially among Protestants, there's not much by way of decoration—so simple are the images, so holy that sometimes one is afraid, in truth, they—here, the images—to describe them, there he is threatened by another transgression, isn't he
32:31 it's to disturb the simplicity and purity he finds in this place inside—we've left the swallows hovering around the bell tower, the sheet metal glinting in the sun—I think of Balzac in The Lily of the Valley, when the hero suddenly sees for the first time, after a long walk, the château where the lady he is seeking lives—the sun made the slates of his château sparkle—the great writers, the exact word, the sun made sparkle—we've left that, we're in the shade, we're reassured, there are determined forms and very simple objects—so simple are the images, so simple that sometimes one is afraid, in truth, to describe them here—but the heavenly ones, who are always all good, as they are rich, have this virtue and joy, man in this can imitate them—a man, when life is nothing but weariness, who among us could not repeat for themselves
The measure of man and absolute rupture 33:41 this passage, isn't it—a man, when life is nothing but weariness, can a man look up and say, thus too would I wish to be—as at the start of the point, we looked up—yes, as long as in his heart pure benevolence endures, man can, not must, go and measure himself against the divine, not without happiness—is God unknown? let's not say that's just young theologians at the origin of this—is he as evident as the sky? and we come back to the blue—earlier I would rather believe it—such is the measure of man. So you'll say, but all this godly stuff, we're far from it—listen to what follows—such is the measure of man, rich in merit, man—man is rich in merit, that's the famous chorus of Sophocles that Hölderlin knew by heart—man has tamed, he has broken horses, rich in merit but poetically man always dwells—but listen carefully, we have rarely made
34:51 anything less ecological than what follows, against a certain solicitation of—the last line of things that would have turned away with contempt—but the shadow of night with the stars, what could be more beautiful, isn't it, it's Kant who said as long as I have the starry vault of heaven above me and the moral law in my heart—you see, they knew all that by heart, the young seminarians—but here he doesn't say that, but the shadow of night with the stars is not purer, if I dare say so, against today's dominant ideology, isn't it, is not purer than man, whom one must call an image of God—is there on earth a measure? and the answer is tragic: there is none. Never has the creator's world suspended the course of thunder. A flower itself is beautiful because it blooms beneath the sun—often the eye finds in this life creatures
36:01 that might be called more beautiful still than flowers—oh, how well I know it, for to bleed from his own body and even at the heart of no longer being whole, does God take pleasure in it—a God who is, as one might say with Hegel, absolute laceration—I'm not interpreting—to bleed from his own body and even at the heart of no longer being whole, does God take pleasure in it, what a mystery—I quote it in echo to what Hölderlin says there, I do it on purpose because everything has been done to oppose Hölderlin to Hegel, isn't it, on the side of the most Nazi-leaning, let it be said in passing—and then suddenly, when Hegel says spirit only conquers its truth on condition of finding itself again in absolute laceration—so I repeat: for to bleed from his own body and even at the heart of no longer being whole, when an excess
37:11 of beauty, does God take pleasure in it—but the soul must remain, I believe, pure—this word comes up all the time, it's the least well defined, we're beginning to understand what pure means: each time it's what tries to resist what would be impurity, which is to let oneself go into that infinity which is not of the order of man—and here I can't help but recall, or rather introduce for those who may not have heard it yet, since I'm happy to note there are many new members joining our little community—little community, I open a parenthesis, which is growing, and whom I thank for their solidarity in the fund we set up to be able to finance an English translation of Michel Clouscard's work, starting with Le capitalisme de la séduction—I ask you to keep talking about it, to make efforts and to spread the good word, if I may say so, because June is starting to loom on the horizon
38:21 but still, and we're still quite far from the goal, but still we've made progress and I wanted to thank you for it in passing—so let's not forget this fund, all of this is on the site, also below the videos, the teasers I made speaking French to raise awareness of this operation to translate Clouscard into English, the site where one can contribute. So you see: to bleed from his own body and even at the heart of no longer being whole, does God take pleasure in it—but the soul must remain, I believe, pure, otherwise—and this is almost already a way of speaking of the reason why he is going to be separated from the community of men—otherwise, with its wings the omnipotence approaches, the eagle with the praise of its song, and the voice of so many birds—you see, it widens too much toward the infinite, it's the essence, it's the body of being, and you immediately see the break—pretty stream, yes
39:31 you seem touching, however, as you flow clear as the eye of divinity along the Milky Way, how well I know you, the tears yet welling from the eye—a joyful life, an allegro life, I see it—forgive me, excuse me, an allegro life I see it in the very bodies of creation blossoming around me—a joyful life, for I compare it without error—so look closely at what he compares those who live in happiness to: doves, alone among the tombs, laughter afflicts me, it seems, at the sight of men, for I have a heart—would that I were a comet, I believe, because they have the swiftness of the bird, they blossom again with fire—apparently a temptation of the infinite—and are in their purity again like the child, wishing for something greater—look, again, as we came back down earlier, again in relation to the infinite, the movement of measure
40:42 that comes to wish for something greater—the nature of man cannot presume such allegro of such restraint—that means the measure I impose on myself here—also deserves to be praised by the severe spirit, sober if you prefer, I restore the sentence in French order, which blows between the three columns of the garden—the allegro, such restraint also deserves to be praised by the severe spirit, which between the three columns blows from the garden—column, measure, but that's the Greek world, that's no longer the infinite—and here I can tell the anecdote I've already told, may the old-timers forgive me, I've only made one trip to Greece—you see all one can see, of course, but I was particularly struck by the temple of Poseidon at Cape Sounion—if one day you go to Greece, make a point of going to Cape Sounion, it's about 50 km east of Athens, roughly. So why
Cape Sounion: the right angle facing the infinite 41:53 it struck me because it's one of the rare places where one sees the infinite in Greece, because in Greece it's more like the Côte d'Azur or like Corsica, very jagged, it's not the infinite, it's not the Atlantic, it's not—no, no, it's not the great ocean swell—it's a peninsula, an island, rocks, a bay, three coves inside the bay, and the bay within the gulf—there, yes, there are three infinities at Cape Sounion: the air, the light, the sea, the wind—and it's there that the Greeks, it's this spot that the Greeks chose to build the right angle, the temple of Poseidon, measure, order, as if wanting to tell us, turning their backs on the infinite, turning their backs on the sea—that's the world of the gods, let's leave it to the god, no hubris, let's find ourselves here around the sacred—the sacred for us is this measure. And you'll say, that's it, you're interpreting
43:03 no, no, I'm talking about Greece because I know it's in the text, the three—so I take up the sentence again and continue: the allegro of such restraint also deserves to be praised by the severe spirit that blows between the three columns of the garden—the beautiful girl must crown her forehead with myrtle flowers because she is simple in essence and in feeling—but myrtles are in Greece—I'll stop my commentary on Hölderlin there, I've given you the full text, you'll find it, because I didn't feel like chopping up and cutting such a beautiful text, without counting that the second one is a bit more obscure, well it would take more time—and there I noticed, thanks to your comments, which I'll answer next time, isn't it—well I mostly answer the questions, because there are comments that delight me, that flatter my vanity sometimes, which are very pleasant to read, but they're not questions—don't stop making them
Migration with a capital M 44:15 personally I like it, but I'll say I'll give priority to those who ask questions all the same, and it can be the same people who both give praise and ask questions—so I recall everything I said at the start, that I tried to merge a bit different genres of our sessions, and I alluded here—I did a bit of the genre of live reading, if you will—and now I move on to the comments on the reading I did in the analytic reveries, I had done a series that was on the reading of the last prose text written by Nerval, that is Promenades et souvenirs, and I had split that into two parts—the first was, you'll see how we come back to the beginning, it was nomadic
45:26 or sedentary—you'll find again roots and migration, well here it would be sedentary or nomadic, sedentary or nomadic, question mark—and the second was nomadic and sedentary, well the solution. So let's clarify all this a bit—first, I don't understand why it's never said, you'll notice that I'm rarely in TV panel debates, I don't talk about blacks and whites, men and women, young and old, Corsicans and French, and all these ideas around it—there will be enough people to talk about it besides me, or if I talk about it, it's to set against each other the positions taken on TV panels on these captious subjects, which also mean capture, isn't it—also I'll address this point—it's not that I'm indifferent
46:36 to the problem of migration and migrants, far from it—but precisely, we never talk about Migration with a capital M. What do I mean by that? Not a migration—the Migration, yours, ours, that of man. What is anthropology if not a history, a movement, not rooted, a movement—how does it begin?
47:10 it begins with people coming out—people, I say people on purpose, hominids, as they say now, let's not stammer over it—who come out of animality, well, a few tens of thousands of years ago, who come out of the forest, they were still animals, and who venture into the savanna and well beyond the savanna, will make this incredible migration that will lead them—some to the Middle East, some to India, some to China, Peking Man, some to the Dordogne, Spain, Altamira, the Vézère valley in the Dordogne, and Cro-Magnon—all these are stages of an immense migration. Is it over?
48:14 there are plenty of eras where it seemed to be over, there are those who settled for a long time—I'm thinking of the Egyptians, look at the time—Plato was fascinated by the stability of Egyptian power, pharaonic power, over thousands of years, who can do better than that—he who was haunted, isn't it, by the destabilization of his republic, who thereby forbade in his project that citizens leave the city before around age 50, so as not to go seek new ideas elsewhere, to avoid change. So you see this oscillation, this hesitation between putting down roots and moving—and I don't take a side, no more than—remember that discussion we had following the question from several of you, I devoted my answer in the form of a video, it was: is security
49:25 a conservative notion, or is it a progressive one? But the question is silly, obviously at first glance one might say security is typical of a theme that the right always has on its lips—that's statistically true, you go to the Assembly, there it is—and then there's been now, even before the earthquake, before—on the front page I saw a news bulletin start with the accident of, what's his name, the comedian, the one who takes cocaine, well, of his ongoing case—strongly suspected of having taken cocaine and of having consequently driven in a hypnotic state—Palmade I think, something like that—well anyway, thirty years ago something like that was filed under human interest stories, it made a line and a half in some rag, in a section journalists in slang call 'dead dogs,' sorry, had there been deaths I wouldn't put it that way—so the scale
50:36 given by the lesser reaction, isn't it, the mere suspicion of what puts us in insecurity—and meanwhile the same people are indifferent to terrifying statements, including Macron's today, saying no, no, there's no question of moving toward peace with Russia, that is, with the most powerful nuclear power in the world, along with the United States—that's still for our children and grandchildren, for ourselves. Well, I'm not in the style—I'm not called—I don't know where she did those broadcasts, isn't it, where populations, some were even on the brink of suicide, everyone was terrified with talk of an imminent Martian landing on the radio—no, no, I don't mean that, I don't exaggerate, I find that we exaggerate—no, not only do we not exaggerate, but we're not worried enough—so again, an effect of what the media have become, everything is done to lull us to sleep about that violence—except if it comes
51:46 from the Russians or the Chinese or the Iranians—then public opinion is terrified and the media go wild—for a case of ordinary crime, and it's as if there's more of it—oh yes, but there's never been as much—really? look at the figures, it's the exact opposite, the number of homicide deaths, it's the exact opposite—serious, isn't it, all the same, serious, serious, serious. So you see, nomadic or sedentary—nomadic and sedentary—I recall that in Nerval's text—yes, I'm a bit annoyed by a comment someone made saying I go off in all directions, that's a shame, etc.—I say that quite comforted, by the way, by the vast majority of those who tell me: it took me a while to understand, but then, how incredible the coherence of what you say is. Well, since it concerns me, I won't dwell on it, but still, I mean when I did
Nerval: seeking a home while moving 52:56 things on Nerval, not on the war in Ukraine or anything at all, it's really a commentary on a text that takes place in the most beautiful regions of the Île-de-France—they'll follow it on foot sometimes, by train—at the start, what was the pitch of the story, the first sentence: it is truly difficult to find lodging in Paris—well there, it begins with rootedness, with the quest for a home, let's stop moving—Nerval, the writer of travel par excellence, who became famous through his first long prose text, the Voyage en Orient, he too made his journey to the Orient, even if he's alone in talking neither about the pyramids nor the sphinx, but about much more interesting things—somewhere Nerval, with his travels to Germany, to Flanders of course, and above all around Paris in his last years, where he produces his greatest masterpieces, the ones Proust worshipped—but as he says, with time the passion for long journeys fades, the circle narrows, so
54:11 he seeks a home, and to seek it he'll move around—you see, it will be a series of false promises, here it's fine, here it's not, there it's too expensive—it will take us to Saint-Germain, to Versailles—so you see, nomadic or sedentary, is it better, isn't it, to keep moving around, or finally to found a home, a household—these are the problems everyone faces, everyone encounters sooner or later, how often in couples, isn't it, one hears recently—there's a husband, I don't want to take the husband's side against the wife's, but he told me, for years she told me: oh dear, everyone travels except us, look, there's Marie-Antoinette who told me they'd been to the Maldives, in short—so I decided to travel, and now she says it would be nice if we had a little place of our own, a little cottage, a little cottage, a little property
55:22 in the countryside as a second home, far from the city—well anyway it's a normal situation, I'm not blaming anyone, isn't it, she's asking herself what Nerval asks himself: nomadic or sedentary. And here's how it ends: when he is in Senlis, still on his wanderings, still within the same perimeter, isn't it, in the same territory, the Valois, a territory connoted with the maternal world for him, where he spent part of his childhood, but where there are so many interesting things beyond what's specific to Nerval's biography, and which he never tires of telling us about, because that is of common interest—suddenly he's surprised by the opposite, right in the middle of Senlis—remember, and I say this also for newcomers, I'll say it again—where does he take refuge?
56:16 in a caravan—well, a caravan, a wagon of travelers, of Roma as we say today, of gypsies as they said back then, of traveling people—and he's welcomed there, he finds himself in a family that puts on shows, when they're in towns like that they give performances, they have little letters of attestation that they were well received by minor local notables—and so Nerval finds himself somewhat in the world of theater, but inside the enclosure of this wagon there's a girl trying out dance steps, a father giving instructions to a young lead, while the rain falls on the tin roof of the wagon—and Nerval, maybe that's the solution: to live in something that moves. There, that's what I did with the analytic reverie—you know that our genre
Oedipus, poor foreigner in Greece 57:26 analytic reverie is when I carry out a rigorous drift, always based on texts I refer you back to—well, I'm going to move on all the same to the last lines of In lovely blue, if Pierre-Alain would kindly hand it to me, the last lines, because we started with what is most stable, the village, the little town, the bell tower—but there, even in what is most determined, most enclosed, most finite, the little world—well, Mein Heim ist meine Welt, as the German says, my home is my world, Welt—and there it is at the end, just a little bit, one line before, if you can say, when he speaks of the—there it is, thank you, there we go, very good—allusion again to mythology—I start there above, you see, right after the question mark—yes, to struggle like Heracles with God, that is a pain, but to be
58:38 among those who do not die—so there he speaks of the gods, the immortals—but to be among those who do not die, and whom life envies, is also a pain—what dialectic, pain on man's side, pain on God's side, we come back a bit to the beginning—pain too, however, when in summer a man is covered with freckles, covered from head to foot with many spots, such is the work of the beautiful sun, for it summons all things to its end, young it lights the way for the living, there is a seduction at the outset of the sun, of the charm of its rays, as with roses—such pains, they seem, as Oedipus bore—he has just published his latest work, more or less lucid, remarks on the translations that have just been made of Sophocles' Oedipus and Antigone—such pain, they seem, as Oedipus bore—you know Oedipus, let me remind you all the same
59:48 because there are those who don't know it, we're passing on less and less basic knowledge, everyone should know this—for the most monstrous crime there is, seen from the point of view of his contemporaries, it's up to you to judge, I make no—well, the fact that he killed his father and married his mother, each time not knowing it was his father and his mother, that's complicated, what one knows, what one doesn't know—but faced with something so appalling, he suffered the gravest punishment one could suffer in Greece—it's not being put to death, the Greeks were ready—it's not dying on the battlefield, that's not the point, no, no—their greatest value is the city, where there is measure, the city, the polis, P.O.L.I.S, isn't it—and there he is condemned to wander among the cities, never belonging to any, rejected by all until the end—I tell you this because it's not in Oedipus Rex, it's in Oedipus at Colonus, the sequel and end of Oedipus's sorry story
1:01:00 when he arrives in the vicinity of Athens, and there the king of Athens, the young Theseus at the time, allows him to come and die within the perimeter of the city he rules—but for that I refer you to Oedipus at Colonus. In the meantime, such pain, they seem—I pick up my thread and my text—as Oedipus bore, of a man, poor man, who complains of something, son of Laius, and his father, poor stranger in Greece—but look, the last line—to live is a death, and death is also a life. But I come back to the second-to-last line—we started from the bell tower of the church in the German village, from roots, from stillness—no, I don't go off in all directions, I always repeat the same thing—and there he is like a migrant, a foreigner in Greece, he who was king of Thebes, son of Laius, poor stranger in Greece—to live is a death, and death is also a life. There, listen, I thank you most deeply
Perceval, the Grail, and the wandering Jew 1:02:11 for having been here tonight, but I hope—there may be answers to written questions and comments, I'll put those off to next time, but I won't sugarcoat the questions, if you did ask any tonight, which I'll soon know thanks to Pierre-Alain—there aren't really questions, there are more comments—we'll see about that, can you look, or you know, there's the question from Philippe Moreau about Perceval—I don't know if—well I don't see them there—wait, ah yes, there's a difficulty projecting them, I have them on another—there aren't really any questions for now, you know the question from Philippe Moreau about Perceval, yes, but I'd need to see it to reread it for the audience—I'll put it up for you—alright, alright, let's start with a question from our faithful comrade and friend, former stage manager Philippe Moreau, following
1:03:21 the talk I gave on Perceval's hesitation, who, instead of going to greet the king Arthur as everyone does, remains fascinated by the three drops of blood on the snow—the bird that was only wounded, the bird flew off, but he, instead of pursuing it, remains fascinated by the roses on the lilies—and there Philippe Moreau draws some connections: is there a link to be made between Perceval, who doesn't ask the question that would save the Fisher King—I remind you that all of Perceval's misfortunes and his wanderings and his adventure that extends his adventures are attributable, according to the Prud'homme—the Prud'homme at the time is a sage, a hermit living in the forest, supposed to see clearly—to his silence, because he saw the Fisher King who reigns, he saw the showing of the Grail
1:04:31 while all the knights of the Round Table desperately seek to see the Grail, and he saw it, he saw the Grail being carried by, which is a plate roughly speaking—I won't say what it is, that's not enough, but anyway it's linked to food—when the Grail is carried it's to go feed someone, in this case the Fisher King—he saw that in the castle to which his adventures had brought him, and he did not ask the question, stunned, a bit foolish as he often is, the fool—he did not ask the question, and I remind you all the same, to show how serious a fault this was in its consequences, when finally he was at King Arthur's court, when he was admitted after he had defeated all the knights who wanted to disturb his reverie before the drops of blood on the snow, and when the good Gawain, the model knight at the time, with all courtesy, tells him not to force him, he thinks maybe he's taken a vow of silence, goes to find him, speaks to him kindly, and brings him to King Arthur's court—he becomes something of the prince of the feast that evening, and there, just as he becomes
1:05:41 finally worldly, in the sense Michel Clouscard gives that word—in the Gospel it's said that the devil, the sense of evil, is the prince of this world—just as he finally begins to have worldly success, suddenly there appears a creature such as the Middle Ages knew how to forge, a bit like the gargoyles, you see—the Grail's messenger, teeth like egg yolk, eyes like a monkey or a cat, well, you see the terrifying portrait made of these beings—she greets no one, she goes straight to Perceval who is at the table and says to him: ah, Perceval, you saw the Grail and you did not speak, you did not ask to whom, to which rich king, it was being served—yet had you asked, you would have had it, the rich king who is so distressed by it would have been healed of his wound and would have left the world in peace. Well, that didn't fall on deaf ears with Philippe, who tells us: is there a link to be made between Perceval, who doesn't ask the question—so the silence that would save the Fisher King—and Joshua, successor to Moses, you find that in Deuteronomy, first when he is Moses' companion
1:06:51 as Moses grows old—Joshua, and then afterward in the book itself called Joshua, well, it's in the Pentateuch of course, in the Old Testament—successor to Moses, who does not ask him a question before Moses' death, and thus loses a great number of the divine laws—and there, Philippe's apparently hypothetical question, a gap that will be at the origin of the fundamental Jewish questioning: what does it mean to be a Jew—eternal problem posed by the Jew—interesting, the problem of identity—we're no longer on the theme of migration there—oh really? the Jew is the wandering Jew throughout the history of Europe, he's the migrant par excellence—you see, they say that the story of the ghost ship, which Wagner made into one of his early operas, called in Germany Der fliegende Holländer, the Flying Dutchman, for it's a legend coming from the maritime world of the Dutch, of the field—it's originally said to have been inspired by
1:08:03 the legend of the Jew Ahasuerus, who was condemned for having sinned to wander the earth—it's not about being homeless—and then one day the captain of a Dutch ship blasphemed, well, and swore against God because the storm would not calm down, and as a result he was condemned to wander the seas without ever being able to land again—instability, indefiniteness, the sea, infinity—and every seven years he can land for a short while, not long, on land, and there he must quickly find a young woman who will swear fidelity to him until her death if he wants to escape his fate, to avoid returning to the instability of the waves. There, for the rest, the rest is over—you'll look up the story, Wagner, the Flying Dutchman, and the plot—so unless—so if we can move forward a bit, because there's a second—there's a second part of the question that he added afterward, Philippe, where he also draws a connection with another silence
Before the law of Kafka; Joshua omitted nothing 1:09:13 that he very astutely spotted in Kafka—we'll get back to all that after, I'll put it up for you if you want, okay—otherwise, otherwise I recall, it's the silence of the peasant who doesn't ask the question, so he asks it when it's quite late—there, I'll add to this question another link, so another case of muteness, with in Kafka's The Trial the question not asked to the guard at the door of the Law. Well then, yes, I answer yes, there is a link with the silence Kafka speaks of—I recall the plot for those who don't know this story, it's a story found near the second-to-last chapter of The Trial, the one that takes place in the church, to show a client around the church, in short, and it turns out that the client is not there for the appointment, it's very dark, and in fact
1:10:23 inside the church, it is deserted, there's an old woman praying, that's all there is, and even that in silence, and Kafka is about to leave since his appointment isn't there, at that moment he is called by his name by a priest who is a prison chaplain, we'll learn, while he's in the middle of his trial, and a strange dialogue begins, and as Joseph K, who is the main character, isn't it, of this novel, The Trial, always rushes a bit too quickly to solve the problems and questions that arise, the priest tells him, tells him this story: they say that one day a man comes from the countryside, a peasant, to seek admittance to the Law, so he comes to the palace of the Law, and there he wants to enter, except there's a guard at the entrance who says: I can't let you in now—the other one, who didn't expect this, who thought the Law was open to everyone, who didn't think there would be obstacles, looks a bit to the side to see what there is
1:11:33 behind the guard, which makes the guard laugh, he says: you can look as much as you want, behind me there is this hall, and in front of each hall, in front of each door, there is yet another guard, each more terrifying than the last, already from the second one on I can no longer bear the sight of them—he hadn't expected all these problems—all right, I'll go quickly—he's going to spend his whole life there, on the threshold of the entrance to the Law, he tries all sorts of things to try to seduce the guard, to bribe him, he offers him biscuits, things, to let him pass, the guard is unbending, of course, he's doing his job, and he becomes so old in the end that he can no longer even stand up, so he gestures to the guard to bend down like that, and the guard bends down, saying this line that made the guard burst out laughing, the guard says: what more do you want to know, you are insatiable, aren't you?
1:12:27 Yes, and there he asks the question: how is it that since I've been here for years, no one has come to consult the law? And the other one answers him shouting - because he's become a bit deaf - shouting in his ear: this entrance was made only for you; now it's too late, I'm leaving, but I'm leaving and I'm closing the door. That's the text that Philippe Mourot is quite right to connect with Perceval's silence, who did not ask the question of whom the Grail is served, and why the Fisher King has his light, and so on. Now, coming back to Joshua, I haven't found what Philippe was alluding to - I think I know the book of Deuteronomy and the book of Joshua that follows fairly well - I asked myself, did a verse escape me, but nowhere is there any question of a question that Joshua
1:13:37 would have failed to ask Moses just before his death. It's true that we see very clearly Moses's last moments, when he must go up the mountain following what the Eternal tells him, and indeed there is a colloquy between Moses and Joshua alone in the tent where the two of them withdraw, with the Eternal taking the form of a column of smoke before the entrance of the tent - that I remember well. But the proof that he forgot nothing of what Moses told him - if you can scroll down two lines in the text, there - thank you - there it is stated in so many words, in the beginning of the book of Joshua: there was nothing of all that Moses had commanded that Joshua did not read in the presence of the whole assembly of Israel, the women, the children, and the strangers who walked among them. So either there is an interpolation, as they say in sacred texts - that happens often, that is, a variant that escaped me and that is in some more complete critical edition -
1:14:47 in which case I would be delighted for Philippe to send it to me. But for now, I've consulted several Bibles and I've found nowhere this story of questions omitted by Joshua just before Moses's death, which would have - if I may put it in very colloquial terms - swiped from the Jewish people a large part of its memory, isn't that so, because of this gap in transmission. Are there other questions? Well, listen, I'm very flattered and very gratified by this kind of question - thank you very much, Philippe. I'll remind you that the "reading on the fly" format initiated by Philippe will no doubt continue soon, in the days to come - I can't tell you more right now, as soon as it's confirmed you'll know - and in any case I'll see you again in a fortnight for the continuation of our regular workshops,
1:15:57 and live if possible. Thank you. A thousand thanks to the technical crew, to Pierre-Alain, to the chat that didn't come right in front on the keyboard in front of the camera even though it's making noise there, and above all to you - thank you very much for your loyalty, and I look forward eagerly to your comments and questions. See you very soon.
