Non è la felicità che conta?. Non è per la felicità che si fa la
revoluzione? [Pier Paolo Pasolini]
page where you opened this book is not a thing. Not even a picture of a
thing. Because it is a virtual page. However it is text, contextuado in
its particular means: use, interpretation and speech (jargon) that
generates. Scripta manent. And these writings also remain, though
'otherwise'. Real-time, historical. The time of 'what happens', what
happens. On 'real' geometric and emotive spaces. This moment, what
happens as I write. This place where today I wake up, guarantor of the
places of memory. My memory. And the memory of our ancestors. A
cultural text, in the broadest sense of the term. A text that tells of
a life in development, in (original) dialogue with nature, And that is
what we mean by 'progress'.
page, which simulates the world of things and organization within that
(assumed) world, which is yours. And mine. Take one, therefore, a risk
if you open a door. Because the temptation of the unknown attracts more
than retains the fear of what is (still) hidden. Now (when opening this
page) about to be unveiled. For you. It may start (now) a (possible)
transit, unknown, or discover a way of escape, escape, flight. Now.
Simulating announced jumping, when looking inwards. From a (protector)
outside. Believing to see what there is at the beginning of a path to
go. That is mystery. And passion. For knowing and knowing. A way to go,
at the end of which each reader has located his particular Ithaca.
door or window is opened, a gap is discovered in the thing, because it
feels the need to broaden the field of vision or to 'move on'. A gap in
things that are not things, nor game of things (between things).
open something because you feel the need to see or pass. Look 'to
another site'. Move to another place. It is also assumed risk to the
open page. And if the page is virtual you feel especially insecure.
were born, like me, in the world. And you adapted to that world. There
was no other way to be born. In the 'natural environment' where you
lived your first years, first sensations. And first contradictions,
doubts. But also, first affections. Then you were not virtual, nor did
you need to be virtual. You had to play dreaming. You were something
that 'stepped ashore'. One thing among things, that discovers the
'naturalness' of nature.
am happy to be able to write the welcome text to this official site of
EMUI_ EuroMed University. It supposes for me to see how they have been
consolidating consecutive projects, not always in chains. Critical
dreams, supposedly responsible, originating in 1975.
talking with things I learned the language of things. Language that did
not always give meaning to academic-institutional discourse. The
'official culture'. Those my everyday things, trapped in my dreams,
which I was gradually proclaiming autonomous. Once 'proven innocence'.
Once we were taking on the process of 'pollution', we call 'educate'
welcome greeting must necessarily be literary. Speaking of what I think
I know, I'm talking about what I do not know. Confessing publicly my
ignorance. In apparent silence. Because, at this point in my
intellectual and professional life, I rely more on texts for narration
and writing, without recognizable support. I distrust those others who
circulate as excluding discursive legitimacy. I rely more on the
discourse of everyday life. But also in the sub-speeches of the
different options within our reach. Texts for narrating and writing.
And in the adventures to have, in the experiences to enjoy.
would be a mistake to pretend to tell my academic and intellectual life
history of the last forty years, regardless of the traces that,
throughout all this time, have left in me (rectifying my original
project of history) the accomplices stories I have shared. By action or
omission. The lived history, as recorded, of each one in particular.
Rather, believing that the new was already in me, when what made me
strong was always part of my environment, turning around me. That which
is considered 'university life'. Public or private.
know that now I am what I am, because my students were 'gone'. I know I
have not been without my students, nor my readers. And how many know me
and I know. Without my struggle to defend what I consider a priority:
that at any age, at any time, it is necessary to take risks and think
for oneself, unleashing, when appropriate, what is imposed. Without
asking permission from anyone. And if we are to speak of 'development'
to give the name that corresponds to the culture of our time, it will
have to be done without forgetting that progress is 'human progress'.
In nature and in its history, which is its renewed culture. Never a
'force of the past' to fight and eliminate. Always to reconvert, in a
dialogue of equality with her.
'culture of our time' founds its own religion over the alleged ashes of
the religion of our fathers. Culture of uncontrolled consumption.
Because 'only that gives us happiness'. The fearsome god of our time.
Culture of saturation and waste, at the cost of a 'progressive'
destruction of nature and the environment, under the pretext of
'modernizing' the field and its productive force, to be a reflection of
'the city'. The rural and peasant world, in the small medium that is
its mark of identity. Witness and guardian of their traditions,
book-story of their relationship with nature and with the sacred, noble
heritage that until then received the children. Guilt is now a sin of
the bourgeoisie: always doing 'what is permitted' and not doing what is
forbidden, regardless of whether someone does what is not forbidden. My
'fault' is to be 'obedient, disobeying'.
I know that another present is possible. I've always been clear.
Because I went aimlessly in the Borgata. Looking for the traces of the
past in their desperate settlers. Something that 'is not prohibited' as
long as it does not question the bourgeois order of things.
so the doubt settled in me. Before my flesh became a word. It was the
seventies / eighties when I began to learn the language of things. A
system of signs for me hidden, unknown, and that, suddenly, I received
in watered. They were times of revolt. And there was a rush to conquer
the universe demanded of history (which poets and mystics dreamed),
that a new language, 'postmodern', facilitated me. So that the rhythm
of life was 'new'. Soon I was aware that it was not an easy task to
standardize speech and customs, to do better, to produce more, and to
consume. Without having time to saturate and say, to feel like saying,
'enough'. I could not even choose between accelerated abundance and
plurality: what products could satisfy my hunger for knowledge. And end
up accepting that one is 'what you can eat', which consumes. Be or not
superfluous. To better seduce (thought) other adjoining bodies, as much
or more consumers than I. To those who, however, denied the difference,
denying in turn, unknowingly, that I myself was different, difference.
decided for me (and continue). It is true. Even the best forms of
desire, the aesthetic and literary passion. My pathos is reborn
strongly, 'otherwise'. The new 'religion of my time'. But refusing to
subordinate it to rules of the game that, precisely, were those that
plunged me into doubt. Because I could not play the game that I liked.
And I began to realize that for me there could be no alternative but to
resist. To doubt, to admit the one and that which excludes it at the
same time. The fragment will. And of the critical spirit. He had
already prepared the way to be part of a 'new generation of
we already knew so many things and everything pretended to be in the
books, I wondered how it could already have been said all that (me) is
happening. Different, in principle, because we live in progress. We are
progress to be past history (force of the past) that generates
actuality. How to talk about the things I now discover with the
language of things that are no longer 'my (our) things'. Even if they
have left their mark. And that it will be preserved, respecting that
past. That culture of everything that has happened to us, including
what we could never speak using a single system of codes and an
exclusive use of it.
I started designing a strategy. To criticize the academic language to
be able to criticize the daily language, docile and ignored copy of the
institutional one. Not otherwise understood my role of teacher. I
discovered then that Leibniz was right when he stated that theory
without action is a non-theory. There is only 'theoria cum praxis'. And
I discovered Kant. And to a kind of development of that innovative
corpus theoretical understanding the truth as a result of a
controversy: moral right to always tell the truth, but right to lie,
'to keep the coherence.' Controversy, in short, between theory and
reality. Between word and thing. Between 'idea of the world' and
concrete, historical real world. At first it was certainly the truth.
But it was a truth that things hid. And they keep hiding so that things
are our 'things of now', by respecting the sacredness of things.
Included myself in as much as thing.
was thus possible to design a program of Philosophy of Social Sciences,
being my reference the work of Habermas, with whom I had enjoyed a Max
Plank scholarship in Frankfurt.
modernity that would not think without having thought Baudelaire (or
Foucault) before. Impossible thinking outside of that revolution that
supposed that Vienna-fin-de-Siécle. At all levels, both the forms of
creativity, and the new 'customs' that the fact supposed. And so I have
ended up making mine, converted into a 'sacred reference', that phrase
of Klimt, which can still be read on the frontispiece of the Museum of
Secession: Der Zeit ihre Kunst, der Kunst ihre Freiheit. In other
words, each period corresponds to a particular form of artistic
expression, as each form of artistic expression corresponds to a
particular type of freedom.
t is not a pre-text. It's a confession. I know that my book-journal Discours de Combat
will be for me an unfinished project. Because I started my late journey
when the trip was over. And I have now finished that I have reached the
project-term, from fragments of previous projects. Create an
international platform for research and teaching and interuniversity.
And there it is, in the Monastero degli Olivetani in Salento
(Lecce-Italy) the seat of a dream that I have been daydreaming since
1975: The EMUI_ EuroMed University.
concluding this text of welcome I must make one last confession, too
human, no doubt. (Paraphrasing Albert Einstein): If I were not a
philosopher (poet's apprentice), I would probably be a musician. I
often think of music. I live my dreams in music. I see my life in
musical terms. I can not say if I could have done some creative piece
of importance in music, but I do know that what gives me joy in life is
the philosopher caused all his books to be placed on the side of a
mirror, and only one of them-whom Ben Yahya called miraculous-,
subjected to the reflection of water, knew how to say the same thing as
a faithful object: the clear truth of the intimate content . But when
he wanted to communicate his science, the image of a suspended cloud,
the inexplicable, plunged him into silence. [Rafael Pérez Estrada, Treaty of the clouds].
(2017) Leer poesía, hablar imagen.
Lingua scritta della realtà, Plaza
y Valdés, Madrid
de un provocador. Dov'è andato ora Pier Paolo Pasolini?,
Huerga y Fierro, Madrid
(Sur de Gran Canaria), 13 de Agosto del 2015. A las 7:35 (hora local)