Perder a memória e o juízo

«… one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it».

– T.S. Eliot, “Four Quartets”, ‘East Coker’, V.

 
Há pouco tempo, eu e um amigo procurávamos um nome para um projecto. Propusemos um ao outro algumas dezenas deles, sem alcançarmos comum acordo. O tempo passou, até que, certa manhã, acordei com um nome já caído em desuso, e que, conscientemente, já nem me lembrava que conhecia e o que significava. Eureka!, o meu amigo anuiu que era mesmo aquilo, não acreditando que um nome daqueles me pudesse ocorrer daquela forma. Como se recordasse algo que não sabia que já sabia, enterrado no fundo do inconsciente.

No entanto, acontece amiúde deitar-me com uma questão e acordar com a resposta, sem esforço consciente algum, após um sono sem sonhos. Talvez, por isso, os antigos atribuíssem ao travesseiro dotes de bom conselheiro (ando com uma tendência terrível para rimar).

Ontem, deitei-me com um certo manifesto filosófico a ecoar na cabeça: «Odeio, odeio a MEMÓRIA».

(Qual das memórias – “anamnésis”, “alétheia” e “Mnemosyne”? Todas?)

E acordei a «rememorar» um dos meus poemas favoritos de Camões que, desde pequena, sei de cor:

«Alma minha gentil, que te partiste
Tão cedo desta vida, descontente,
Repousa lá no Céu eternamente
E viva eu cá na terra sempre triste.

Se lá no assento etéreo, onde subiste,
MEMÓRIA desta vida se consente,
Não te esqueças daquele amor ardente
Que já nos olhos meus tão puro viste.

E se vires que pode merecer-te
Alguma cousa a dor que me ficou
Da mágoa, sem remédio, de perder-te,

Roga a Deus, que teus anos encurtou,
Que tão cedo de cá me leve a ver-te,
Quão cedo de meus olhos te levou».

O conceito que liga estes dois enunciados culturais é a Memória, sobre a qual pronunciam perspectivas opostas.

Deitei-me com a frase de um filósofo que repudia a teoria da reminiscência platónica e acordei com a obra de um poeta que cultivava o amor de características platónicas e petrarquianas, ou seja, aquele que suscita a elevação da alma através da reactivação da memória. Não é de desprezar que os versos sejam dedicados a uma tal Dinamene (quanto de dínamo há em Dinamene?).

Primeiro que tudo, relendo o poema, sinto a inversão das suas margens. Não faço mais a leitura de outrora: o céu e a terra trocaram de posições relativas, a vida, a visão, a ardência são novas para mim (nem sempre estive viva, estava morta, cega e apagada e não sabia…).

Mas qual foi o papel da memória nesse processo de composição da alma, da Dinamene/dínamo/’dynamis’ que há em nós? Neste ponto, tenho que dar a mão à palmatória à filosofia anti-reminiscência platónica: a memória não exerce papel nenhum, ou, então, a sua única utilidade será contradizer-se de tal forma que as suas múltiplas versões acabam sabotadas, neutralizadas, anuladas, auto-destruídas. A falácia de que a memória recupera alguma coisa… De certeza, que não a vida.

Platão é conhecido pelas suas ambiguidades, por ensinar o contrário do que faz (1), por fazer, ao fim e ao cabo, a sua própria crítica, por ser o primeiro a inverter o platonismo (2). É também o caso no que respeita à teoria da reminiscência (ou anamnese): se, por um lado, ele postula que as almas contemplaram no Além as Ideias, de que se esqueceram ao atravessar o rio Letes* (Esquecimento), e que devem reavivar ou reanimar neste mundo (teoria presente em vários momentos da sua obra como, por exemplo, o mito de Er n’ “A República”, a alegoria do Cocheiro e da Parelha de Cavalos Alados no “Fedro”, etc.), por outro lado, destitui os suportes mnemónicos deste mundo da eficácia necessária para despertar a memória (o mito de Toth no “Fedro”, as considerações da “Carta VII”, a demonstração com o escravo em “Ménon”, etc.). Uma mesma obra pode possuir dois mitos que se curto-circuitam mutuamente, como se passa no “Fedro”.

Platão, assumidamente discípulo de Sócrates, tal como este, provia a dialéctica de uma função desbastadora. Segundo a “Carta VII”, a finalidade da dialéctica, por meio do exame e da prova da discussão, não seria chegar a uma proposição verdadeira, mas antes colocar em fricção e desbaste mútuo todas as formas proposicionais, a fim de produzir a “faísca” que exprimiria o conhecimento verdadeiro: «After much effort, as names, definitions, sights, and other data of sense, are brought into contact and friction one with another, in the course of scrutiny and kindly testing by men who proceed by question and answer without ill will, with a sudden flash there shines forth understanding about every problem, and an intelligence whose efforts reach the furthest limits of human powers».

E quem é afinal o Cocheiro dos dois cavalos alados senão Zeus-Thor, o deus do trovão/relâmpago (som/faísca)?

A metafísica em Platão está ligada a esse repúdio da representação linguística ou da memória enquanto registo histórico, como assinala novamente a Carta VII: «Posso dizer o seguinte sobre todos aqueles que escreveram ou que escreverão: todos os que afirmam saber as coisas sobre as quais medito, seja por tê-las ouvido de mim, seja por tê-las ouvido de outros, seja por tê-las descoberto sozinhos, não é possível, segundo meu parecer, que tenham entendido algo desse objeto. Sobre essas coisas não existem um texto escrito meu nem existirá jamais (oǔxouv έμόv γε πεрì αủтẅv εoтιv σúγγрαμμα oủбέ μήποтε γένηтαι). De nenhuma maneira o conhecimento dessas coisas é comunicável como o dos outros conhecimentos, mas, depois de muitas discussões sobre elas e depois de testadas por uma comunidade de vida, subitamente, como luz que se acende de uma faísca, ele nasce na alma e alimenta-se de si mesmo [outra tradução da passagem acima referida]. (…) Não creio que um tratado escrito e uma comunicação sobre esses temas seja um benefício para os homens, a não ser para aqueles poucos capazes de encontrar a verdade sozinhos, com poucas indicações que lhes forem dadas, enquanto os outros se encheriam, alguns de um desprezo injusto e inconveniente, outros, ao contrário, de uma presunção soberba e vazia, convencidos de ter aprendido coisas magníficas. (…) Portanto todo homem sério evita escrever coisas sérias para não abandoná-las à aversão e à incapacidade de compreensão dos homens. Em suma, de tudo isto deve-se concluir que, ao vermos obras escritas de alguém, seja leis de legisladores ou escritos de outro tipo, as coisas escritas não eram para tal autor as mais sérias (οποuбαιóтαтα), sendo ele sério, pois essas estarão depositadas na parte mais bela dele; ao contrário, se consigna por escrito aqueles pensamentos que são para ele verdadeiramente os mais sérios, “então certamente” não os deuses, mas os mortais “fizeram-no perder o juízo”» (341 c-e, 344 c-d).

Neste sentido, Platão afirma o carácter grego em relação com a criança que nada guarda ainda na memória: «Sólon, Sólon, vós, os gregos, sois sempre crianças! Um grego não fica velho» (“Timeu”, 22b4-5); «… como se fôsseis criancinhas, recomeçais outra vez do ponto de partida, sem que ninguém saiba o que se passou [nos tempos passados], tanto aqui como entre vós mesmos» (“Timeu”, 23b1-6).

No “Fedro”, o mito de Toth (transcrito abaixo), vem esclarecer a aparente antinomia entre uma memória que não é inata, porque as Almas foram mergulhadas no Esquecimento e encarnam como crianças, mas que também não é adquirida, pois nenhum registo a poderá reavivar.

Nessa obra, Platão molda um enquadramento conceptual com base em dois termos opostos, a «memória» e a «rememoração», e apresenta-o na fala do rei ao sábio Toth: «Tu, neste momento e como inventor da escrita, esperas dela, e com entusiasmo, todo o contrário do que ela pode vir a fazer! Ela tornará os homens mais esquecidos pois que, sabendo escrever, deixarão de exercitar a memória, confiando apenas nas escrituras e só se lembrarão de um assunto por força de motivos exteriores, por meio de sinais, e não dos assuntos em si mesmos. Por isso, não inventaste um remédio para a memória, mas sim para a rememoração. Quanto à transmissão do ensino, transmites aos teus alunos uma aparência de sabedoria [sophías … dóxan] e não a sabedoria verdadeira [alétheian], pois passarão a receber uma grande soma de informações [polygnómones], sem a respectiva educação! Hão-de parecer homens de saber, embora não passem de ignorantes em muitas matérias, e no convívio insuportáveis, por conseqüência, tornar-se-ão sábios imaginários [doxósophoi], em vez de sábios verdadeiros!».

Em “Ménon”, reitera-se a mesma ideia: «o buscar e o aprender, em sua totalidade, são rememoração [anamnésis]» (81d4-5).

Platão usa para designar a sabedoria ou o conhecimento verdadeiro o termo grego “alétheia” que é antinómico de “lethe”, estar em esquecimento ou oculto. Literalmente, “a-létheia” é não-esquecimento, descobrimento, epifania (leitura já feita por Heidegger). Descobrir Heráclito: “A natureza ama esconder-se”.

No “Crátilo”, Platão decompõe “alétheia” em “ale” (corrida) e “theia” (divina). O não-esquecimento é concebido como uma corrida, a que se atribui cariz divino para a distinguir das corridas ordinárias dos atletas gregos. É esta a noção, ou, melhor dito, a moção da Verdade que descobre Ser (“alétheia ton onton”, a verdade das coisas que são).

Platão usa diferentes termos para o que é traduzido (e traído) uniformemmente como memória: “anamnésis”, “alétheia” e “Mnemosyne”. Os jogos de Platão entre estes três níveis distintos perdem-se com a tradução daqueles por uma mesma palavra.

A “anamnésis” ou reminiscência constitui o esforço pelo qual a alma desoculta a verdade esquecida, a qual é a “alétheia”. No “Fedro” (tal como em Camões), é o delírio amoroso suscitado pela beleza do objecto amado que faz encetar o esforço de reminiscência para saber/saborear a corrida divina (“alétheia”) até ao Belo em si.

Porém, a “anamnésis” é oposta à “alétheia” no mito de Toth acima referido. O rei afirma que a escrita é “pharmakon” (fármaco ou droga, com o duplo sentido de medicamento e veneno) para a anamnese, mas não para a “alétheia”. Através deste mito, Platão torna a destituir de valor quaisquer suportes de apoio à memória. No seu entender, as obras e produtos materiais do labor humano não promovem (pró-movem) a verdadeira memória, a “alétheia”, entendida como moção, movimento, corrida, velocidade.

Quanto a Mnemosyne,

Mnemosyne’s name derives from Mene, Moon, and mosune, ‘wooden house’ or ‘tower’, so literally means ‘the House of the Moon.’ As Plato somewhat disparagingly said, the Moon can teach even the very slowest creature to count, and gain ‘a general insight into the relations of number with number,’ watching the waxing and waning, and counting from Moon to Moon, giving us past, present and a predictable future (Epinomis, 978b-979a). And practically all the words in Greek concerned with measurement and mind, menstruation, wisdom and mania, have the Moon root of Me, Men or Ma in them from the Sanskrit. (Mene, Moon; Mneme, remembrance; mnesthenai, remember, anamnesis, recollection; metis, wisdom, mania, mania, amnesis, forgetfulness, etc). In the Aitareya Upanishad, for instance, when the heavenly bodies are asked to find an abode within the human being, we are told that ‘the Sun became sight and entered the eyes, and the Moon became mind and entered the heart.’ (Cashford, The Moon: Myth and Image, ch. 5).

 

ela é a deusa que, unindo-se a Zeus, gerou as nove Musas que presidem à inspiração de adivinhos e poetas e levam à recordação dos feitos dos heróis. Tal como Lethes, ela é representada por uma fonte de água de que a alma bebe. Quando chega a morte, Mnemosyne une-se a Lethes. As duas fontes – a do Esquecimento e a da Memória – unem-se. Morte híbrida de esquecimento e de memória, mistura indiferenciada de duas águas, as duas águas que a génese (ou o Génesis) separou.

«Thou shalt find on the left of the House of Hades a Well-spring [Lethes],
And by the side thereof standing a white cypress.
To this Well-spring approach not near.
But thou shalt find another by the Lake of Mnemosyne,
Cold Water flowing forth, and there are guardians before it.
Say: “I am a child of Earth and of Starry Heaven;
But my race is of Heaven (alone). This ye know yourselves.
And lo, I am parched with thirst and I perish. Give me quickly
The cold water flowing forth from the Lake of Mnemosyne.”
And of themselves they will give thee to drink from the holy Well-spring.
And thereafter among the other Heroes thou shalt have lordship.» – The Petelia Tablet (of very thin gold, worn as amulet round the neck of the deceased, found in South Italy).

Também um hino órfico homenageia a deusa da memória:

«Mnemosyne I call, the Queen, consort of Zeus, Mother of the sacred, holy and sweet-voiced Muses. Ever alien to her is evil oblivion that harms the mind, she holds all things together in the same dwelling place, in the mind and soul of mortals, she strengthens the powerful ability of humans to think.

Most sweet, vigilant, she reminds us of all the thoughts that each one of us is for ever storing in our hearts, overlooking nothing, rousing everyone to consciousness. But, blessed goddess, awaken for the initiates the memory of the sacred rite, and ward off forgetfulness from them».

Em que é que Mnemosyne se distingue de “alétheia”? A segunda parece ser apenas a corrida sempre em curso, movida pelo desejo de encontrar a primeira, a fonte/deusa.

No “Crátilo”, a palavra Eros é feita derivar de “esros”, “esrein”, influir, influência, influxo. Eros é algo que escorre a partir de dentro. Platão estabelece ainda relações com “heros”, herói, e afirma que os heróis são uma geração de semideuses nascidos do amor, eloquentes indagadores (ou dialécticos), hábeis em questionar (“erotân”). é constante, ao longo do “Fedro”, esse jogo de formas homófonas que renova a etimologia: entre “érota” (relativo ao amor) e “érota” (o imperativo de perguntar: Pergunta!). O amor que gera o herói compõe-se com o desejo de indagar. Amor curioso: quando já não queremos saber, deixámos de amar.

A palavra que Platão usa para “indagar” não é a mesma da seguinte expressão de Heráclito: «É necessário que os homens filósofos sejam bons indagadores [“historas”] de muitas coisas». Para Platão, a questão do herói é questão de desejo e não de história. É um influxo, uma seta lançada por Eros, e não uma pergunta hermenêutica sobre proposições do passado.

A tríade platónica desejo-questão-herói reúne-se no fluxo de homofonias que envolvem “Eros”.

‘‘At once that man forgets his heavy heart,
And has no memory of any grief,
So quick the Muses’ gift diverts his mind.’ (Hesiod, Theogony, 105-8)

Contudo, Platão ao registar as suas teorias sobre a memória, preserva o que rejeitava na “Carta VII”: «se consigna por escrito aqueles pensamentos que são para ele verdadeiramente os mais sérios, “então certamente” não os deuses, mas os mortais “fizeram-no perder o juízo”».

E foi aí que Platão, segundo o próprio, “perdeu o juízo”.

 

(1) «Mas o Uno não precederá todo o conceito? Aí é que Platão ensina o contrário do que faz: cria conceitos, mas tem necessidade de os pôr como representando o incriado que os precede» (Deleuze, “O Que é a Filosofia?”, p. 32).

(2) «Não era preciso que Platão tivesse sido o primeiro a inverter o platonismo, que ao menos tivesse sido o primeiro a mostrar a direcção de uma tal inversão? Recorde-se o grandioso final do Sofista: a diferença é deslocada, a divisão volta-se contra si mesma, funciona ao revés e, à força de aprofundar o simulacro (o sonho, a sombra, o reflexo, a pintura), demonstra a impossibilidade de o distinguir do original ou do modelo. O Estrangeiro dá uma definição do sofista que não pode mais distinguir-se do próprio Sócrates: o imitador irónico» (Deleuze, “Diferença e Repetição”, p. 138).

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Platão, “Fedro ou da Beleza”:

«Sócrates – Conheço uma lenda que nos foi transmitida pela tradição antiga. Se é verdadeira ou falsa, não sei, mas, se por nós mesmos pudéssemos descobrir a verdade, importar-nos-íamos com o que os homens dizem?

Fedro – Que pergunta! Vamos, conta-me essa história que dizes ter ouvido!

Sócrates – Pois bem: ouvi uma vez contar que, na região de Náucratis, no Egito, houve um velho deus deste país, deus a quem é consagrada a ave que chamam íbis, e a quem chamavam Thoth. Dizem que foi ele quem inventou os números e o cálculo, a geometria e a astronomia, bem como o jogo das damas e dos dados, e, finalmente, fica sabendo, os caracteres gráficos (escrita). Nesse tempo, todo o Egito era governado por Tamuz, que residia no sul do país, numa grande cidade que os gregos designam por Tebas do Egito, onde aquele deus era conhecido pelo nome de Ámon. Thoth encontrou-se com o monarca, a quem mostrou as suas artes, dizendo que era necessário dá-las a conhecer a todos os egípcios. Mas o monarca quis saber a utilidade de cada uma das artes e, enquanto o inventor as explicava, o monarca elogiava ou censurava, consoante as artes lhe pareciam boas ou más.

Foram muitas, diz a lenda, as considerações que sobre cada arte Tamuz fez a Thoth, quer condenando, quer elogiando, e seria prolixo enumerar todas aquelas considerações. Mas, quando chegou a vez da invenção da escrita, exclamou Thoth: “Eis, oh Rei, uma arte que tornará os egípcios mais sábios e os ajudará a fortalecer a memória, pois com a escrita descobri o remédio para a memória”.

“Oh, Thoth, mestre incomparável, uma coisa é inventar uma arte, outra julgar os benefícios ou prejuízos que dela advirão para os outros! Tu, neste momento e como inventor da escrita, esperas dela, e com entusiasmo, todo o contrário do que ela pode vir a fazer!

Ela tornará os homens mais esquecidos pois que, sabendo escrever, deixarão de exercitar a memória, confiando apenas nas escrituras e só se lembrarão de um assunto por força de motivos exteriores, por meio de sinais, e não dos assuntos em si mesmos. Por isso, não inventaste um remédio para a memória, mas sim para a rememoração.

Quanto à transmissão do ensino, transmites aos teus alunos uma aparência de sabedoria [sophías … dóxan] e não a sabedoria verdadeira [alétheian], pois passarão a receber uma grande soma de informações [polygnómones], sem a respectiva educação! Hão-de parecer homens de saber, embora não passem de ignorantes em muitas matérias, e no convívio insuportáveis, por conseqüência, tornar-se-ão sábios imaginários [doxósophoi], em vez de sábios verdadeiros!”

Fedro – Com que facilidade inventas, caro Sócrates, histórias egípcias e de outras terras quando isso te convém!

Sócrates – Dizem, caro amigo, que os primeiros oráculos no templo de Zeus, em Donona, foram feitos por um carvalho! É evidente que os homens daquele tempo não eram tão sábios como os da nossa geração e, como eram ingênuos, o que um carvalho ou um rochedo dissessem tornava-se muito importante, conquanto lhes parecesse verídico! Mas para ti talvez interesse saber quem disse determinada coisa e de que terra é natural, pois não te basta verificar se essa coisa é verdadeira ou falsa!

Fedro – Tens razão para me castigares com essas palmatoadas mas, no que respeita à escrita, parece-me que o tebano tinha razão.

Sócrates – De onde se conclui o seguinte: se alguém expõe as suas regras de arte por escrito e um outro vem depois, que aceita esse testemunho escrito como sendo a expressão sólida de uma doutrina valiosa, esse alguém seria tolo, não entendendo o aviso de Ámon, e atribuiria maior valor às teorias escritas do que a um simples tópico para rememoração do assunto tratado no escrito, não é assim?

Fedro – Perfeitamente!

Sócrates – O maior inconveniente da escrita parece-se, caro Fedro, se bem julgo, com a pintura. As figuras pintadas têm atitudes de seres vivos mas, se alguém as interrrogar, manter-se-ão silenciosas, o mesmo acontecendo com os discursos: falam das coisas como se estas estivessem vivas, mas, se alguém os interroga, no intuito de obter um esclarecimento, limitam-se a repetir sempre a mesma coisa. Mais: uma vez escrito, um discurso chega a toda a parte, tanto aos que o entendem como aos que não podem compreendê-lo e, assim, nunca se chega a saber a quem serve e a quem não serve. Quando é menoscabado, ou justamente censurado, tem sempre necessidade da ajuda do seu autor, pois não é capaz de se defender nem de se proteger a si mesmo.

Fedro – Continuas a exprimir-te com toda a justeza!

Sócrates – Deveremos agora examinar uma outra espécie de discursos, irmã legítima da precedente, como nasce e em que é superior à outra espécie.

Fedro – A que espécie de discursos aludes e como surge?

Sócrates – Refiro-me ao discurso conscienciosamente escrito, com a sabedoria da alma, ao discurso capaz de se defender a si mesmo, e que sabe quando convém ficar calado e quando convém intervir.

Fedro – Por acaso estás a referir-te ao discurso vivo e animado do sábio, do qual todo o discurso poderia ser tomado com um simples simulacro?

Sócrates – Exatamente a esse! Diz-me então: um agricultor inteligente possui sementes às quais dá grande valor e de que pretende obter os frutos. Achas que esse agricultor pensaria em semear essas sementes durante o verão, nos jardins de Adônis [NT: Forma grega da palavra semítica “Adon”, o Senhor], e que esperaria vê-las desenvolvidas, tornadas plantas, no prazo de oito dias? Seria possível que assim acontecesse, mas a simples título de culto religioso, na altura das festas em honra de Adônis. Mas, quanto às sementes a que deseje dar um fim útil, semeá-las-á em terreno apropriado, utilizando a técnica da agricultura, e sentir-se-á muito feliz se, ao oitavo mês, colher todas as que semeara!

Fedro – É evidente, Sócrates, que esse homem faria ambas as coisas, uma com intenção séria, outra com intenção diversa!

Sócrates – Mas podemos nós dizer que o homem conhecedor do justo, do belo e do bom, dará às suas próprias sementes um uso menos avisado do que o agricultor?

Fedro – Por nada deste mundo!

Sócrates – Pois bem, é evidente que, quem conheça o justo, o bom e o belo não irá escrever tais coisas na água, nem usará um caniço para semear os seus discursos, os quais, além de impotentes para se defenderem por si mesmos, não servem para ensinar corretamente a verdade.

Fedro – Pelo menos não seria provável que o fizessem:

Sócrates – É evidente que não! Não deixará, naturalmente, de semear nos jardins literários, mas apenas por passatempo. Ao escrever, apenas procurará acumular para si mesmo um tesouro de rememoração para a velhice, pois os velhos esquecem tudo. Tirará também grande prazer em escrever para os que seguem no seu caminho e muito se alegrará vendo crescer essas tenras plantas. Enquanto uns se divertirão em banquetes e outros festins semelhantes, o homem de quem falo divertir-se-á com as coisas que referi.

Fedro – Que magnífico divertimento, Sócrates, quando comparado com essoutro gênero de divertimentos de que falaste! Que bela atividade a de um homem que se compraz escrevendo discursos sobre a Justiça e sobre outras virtudes!

Sócrates – Assim é, meu caro Fedro! Todavia, acho muito mais bela a discussão destas coisas quando se semeiam palavras de acordo com a arte dialética, uma vez encontrada uma alma digna para receber as sementes! Quando se plantam discursos que se tornam auto-suficientes e que, em vez de se tornarem estéreis, produzem sementes e fecundam outras almas, perpetuando-se e dando ao que os possui o mais alto grau de felicidade que um homem pode atingir!

Fedro – Isso que agora disseste é ainda mais belo!

Sócrates – Já que chegamos e um acordo, caro Fedro, podemos decidir agora sobre outro assunto? (…)».

‘Lamed’

Retirai o início de fogo e o final de água, e ficais com o “lamed” envolto por duas vogais em simetria, construção assinalável em variantes de uso comum: “Alô!”, “Hallo!”, “Alá!”, “Olá!”. Todas estas expressões exclamativas são usadas, no primeiro contacto, para saudar ou receber alguém que chega. A consoante “lamed”, “lam”, “lambda” ou “ele”, na notação musical, designa o lá, que é a nota de afinação dada pelo diapasão normal, e aquela de que a la-ringe humana é mais afim, ou seja, a nota mais aguda ou de frequência mais elevada (o máximo de vibrações ou de ondas sonoras) de que a voz humana é capaz. É vulgar que a onomatopeia usada para referir que alguém canta seja: “lá-lá-lá”. “Shalom” pode também ser decomposta em: Tridente, que representa a letra “shin”; “El”, que nas línguas semíticas significa “Deus”; e “Om”, sílaba que, em sânscrito, toma o nome de “pranava” (som, oração, canto, reverberação nasalada), e tem por análogas “Amen” e “Amin” (Assim seja).

We are what we eat

Masanobu Fukuoka, “The One-Straw Revolution”.

Natural agriculture

«If we throw mother nature out the window, she comes back in the door with a pitchfork».

«If you use thinking to divide red from black, you’ve learnt about division but you know nothing about red and black».

«I wonder how it is that people’s philosophies have come to spin faster than the changing seasons».

– Masanobu Fukuoka

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«Agriculture is now a motorized food industry, the same thing in its essence as the production of corpses in the gas chambers and the extermination camps, the same thing as blockades and the reduction of countries to famine, the same thing as the manufacture of hydrogen bombs».

– Martin Heidegger

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Masanobu Fukuoka (福岡 正信, Fukuoka Masanobu) (2nd February 1913 – 16th August 2008) was schooled in the Western sciences of microbiology and began his career as a soil scientist specialized in plant pathology, working as an agricultural customs inspector in his native Japan, until he became gravely ill at the age of twenty-five.

His sickness made him realize that «human knowledge was meaningless» and, particularly, modern agricultural science:

«My method completely contradicts modern agricultural techniques. It throws scientific knowledge and traditional farming know-how right out the window».

After he “reborn”, he began to practice a no-plowing, no-tiling, no-fertilizing, no-weeding, no-pesticides, no-pruning, no-machinery, no-compost  agricultural method which he calls natural farming.

To him it is ego-centric to think that people grow crops. Ultimately it is nature that grows crops.

Modern agriculture, as doing-this and doing-that to grow crops, is mean and meaningless work.

Through his “do-nothing” method, which is not exactly “lazy agriculture”, Fukuoka was able to get yields in his rice fields equal to the highest yields attained with chemical, do-something agriculture. He worked within the laws of ecology to tilt the ecosystem in favor of the plants he wanted.

«With this kind of farming, which uses no machines, no prepared fertilizer and no chemicals, it is possible to attain a harvest equal to or greater than that of the average Japanese farm» (“The one-straw revolution” page 3).

Rudolf Steiner, who created biodynamic agriculture, made a similar statement: the «soil is sick». He believed that living matter was different from dead matter; in other words, synthetic nutrients were not the same as their more living counterparts. He also was convinced that the quality of food had degraded, due to chemical farming’s use of artificial fertilizers and pesticides, and that we had to face a «problem of nutrition»:

«Nutrition as it is today does not supply the strength necessary for manifesting the spirit in physical life. A bridge can no longer be built from thinking to will and action. Food plants no longer contain the forces people need for this».

Fukuoka refers that his system (in India, it is called “Rishi Kheti”) goes further than organic farming:

«The problem, however, is that most people do not yet understand the distinction between organic gardening and natural farming. Both scientific agriculture and organic farming are basically scientific in their approach. The boundary between the two is not clear» (“The Road Back to Nature”, page 363).

He also had successfully been applied his method around the world for reforestation of highly-desertified zones in Africa, India, Thailand, Greece, etc. He won the Magsaysay Prize (equivalent to the Nobel Prize in the Eastern part of the world).

His philosophy aims to maximize diversity:

«The key for success and balance is diversity».

That is why Fukuoka recommends the seeding of the largest number of different species of plants possible in the same place: one hundred or more. He re-introduced an ancient technique: seed balls [nendo dango, “earth balls”]. The seed for next season’s crop is mixed with clay, compost, and sometimes manure, and formed into small balls.

Every species has a role. Ducks are let into the grain plot, and specific insectivorous carp into the rice paddy at certain times of the year to eat slugs and other pests.

Everything is needed, zero waste. The straw from the previous crop is used as mulch because the ground is always covered, in order to keep humidity and nutrients. The weeds are kept in its place.

Each grain crop is sown before the previous one is harvested. This is done by broadcasting the seed among the standing crop. The result is a denser crop of smaller but highly productive and stronger plants.

To find out more about his techniques:

«PLOWBOY: Did you begin practicing natural farming right away?

FUKUOKA: I had started experimenting in some of my father’s mandarin orange orchards even before the war. I believed that — in order to let nature take its course—the trees should grow totally without intervention on my part, so I didn’t spray or prune or fertilize… I didn’t do anything. And, of course, much of the orchard was destroyed by insects and disease. The problem, you see, was that I hadn’t been practicing natural agriculture, but rather what you might call lazy agriculture! I was totally uninvolved, leaving the job entirely to nature and expecting that everything would turn out well in the end. But I was wrong. Those young trees had been domesticated, planted, pruned, and tended by human beings. The trees had been made slaves to humans, so they couldn’t survive when the artificial support provided by farmers was suddenly removed.

PLOWBOY: Then successful natural farming is not simply a do-nothing technique?

FUKUOKA: No, it actually involves a process of bringing your mind as closely in line as possible with the natural functioning of the environment. However, you have to be careful: This method does not mean that we should suddenly throw away all the scientific knowledge about horticulture that we already have. That course of action is simply abandonment, because it ignores the cycle of dependence that humans have imposed upon an altered ecosystem. If a farmer does abandon his or her “tame” fields completely to nature, mistakes and destruction are inevitable. The real path to natural farming requires that a person know what unaltered nature is, so that he or she can instinctively understand what needs to be done—and what must not be done—to work in harmony with its processes.

PLOWBOY: That attitude certainly denies the “manipulate and control” foundation of established modern agriculture. How did you progress from your traditional training to such an unusual concept of farming?

FUKUOKA: During my youth I had seen all the farmers in the village grow rice by transplanting their seedlings into a flooded paddy . . . but I eventually realized that that isn’t the way rice grows on its own! So I put aside my knowledge of traditional agricultural methods and simply watched the natural rice cycle. In its wild state, rice matures over the summer. In the autumn the leaves wither, and the plant bends over to drop its seeds onto the earth. After the snow melts in the spring, those seeds germinate, and the cycle begins again. In other words, the rice kernels fall on unplowed soil, sprout, and grow by themselves. After observing this natural process, I came to view the transplanting/flooded field routine as totally unnatural. I also guessed that the common practices of fertilizing a field with prepared compost, plowing it, and weeding it clean were totally unnecessary. So all my research since then has been in the direction of not doing this or that. These 30 years of practice have taught me that many farmers would have been better of doing almost nothing at all.
People often think, in their arrogance and ignorance, that nature needs their assistance to carry on. Well, the truth is that nature actually does much better without such “help” from humans! Once a field is healthy and working on its own, natural — or “non-interference” — agriculture becomes a real possibility. However, as my orange grove demonstrated, such a condition can’t be initiated suddenly. In Japan and other agricultural countries, the land has been plowed by machines for decades… and before that it was turned by cows and horses. In fields such as those, you wouldn’t have very good results in the beginning if you simply stopped cultivating the earth and adopted a do-nothing attitude. The soil must first be allowed to rehabilitate itself. Fertility can then be maintained by surface mulch and straw that break down into the soil.

PLOWBOY: For folks who may be unfamiliar with your book, The One-Straw Revolution, let’s review the basic practices you follow in your natural system of growing grain, vegetables, and citrus.

FUKUOKA: First of all, I operate, under four firm principles.

The first is NO TILLING… that is, no turning or plowing of the soil. Instead, I let the earth cultivate itself by means of the penetration of plant roots and the digging activity of micro organisms, earthworms, and small animals.

The second rule is NO CHEMICAL FERTILIZER, OR PREPARED COMPOST. I’ve found that you can actually drain the soil of essential nutrients by careless use of such dressings! Left alone, the earth maintains its own fertility, in accordance with the orderly cycle of plant and animal life.

The third guideline I follow is NO WEEDING, either by cultivation or by herbicides. Weeds play an important part in building soil fertility and in balancing the biological community… so I make it a practice to control – rather than eliminate — the weeds in my fields. Straw mulch, a ground cover of white clover interplanted with the crops, and temporary flooding has provide effective weed control in my fields.

The fourth principle of natural farming is NO PESTICIDES. As I’ve emphasized before, nature is in perfect balance when left alone. Of course, harmful insects and diseases are always present, but normally not to such an extent that poisonous chemicals are to correct the situation. The only sensible approach to disease and insect control, I think, is to grow sturdy crops in a healthy environment.

PLOWBOY: Don’t you also grow vegetables in a kitchen garden?

FUKUOKA: Actually, I raise such produce, in a semiwild manner, among the weeds all over the mountain. In my orchard alone I grow burdock, cabbage, tomatoes, carrots, mustard, beans, turnips, and many other kinds of herbs and vegetables. The aim of this method of cultivation is to grow crops as naturally as possible on land that might otherwise be unused. If you try to garden using “improved” high-yield techniques, your attempt will often end in failure as a result of infestation or disease. But if various kinds of herbs and other food crops are mixed together and grown among the natural vegetation, pest damage will be so low you won’t have to use sprays, or even pick bugs off by hand. (…)

PLOWBOY: What about the wild grasses and weeds that grow right among your crops? Don’t they ever threaten to get out of control?

FUKUOKA: Instead of relying on herbicides or mechanical cultivation to control weeds, I’ve always used legumes and other cover crops to limit the spread of the less helpful plants. I also throw straw on the fields as a mulch that will both discourage weeds and let the soil retain enough moisture to germinate seeds in the autumn dry season.

PLOWBOY: It all sounds like the ideal low-labor farming method. But what about the yields of your crops? Is it true that they compare favorably with those of conventional farms?

FUKUOKA: In the beginning my expectations and desires were not great… and my yields were not great, either! But as the condition of the soil stabilized over time and the fields returned to their natural state, my crop output began to rise steadily. I never noticed any dramatic changes, but eventually I found that I could grow rice without plowing or flooding the field all summer long, and still produce as much as the other farmers did with all their machinery and chemicals… sometimes more. My production has now stabilized at about 1,3OO pounds, or 32 bushels per quarter acre for both winter grain and rice. That is close to the highest in Japan! In the future, I expect that my yields of rice, barley, and other grains will continue to increase. After all, until recently I was growing the same kinds of crops that other farmers in the village — and, indeed, all over Japan — were planting. But as a result of practicing natural agriculture, I have now “developed” some new varieties, simply by allowing them to spring up in the fields. With those native seed cultivars, 1 think my farm has the potential to achieve the highest productivity in Japan… and possibly in the world, since my country leads the planet in average rice yields! If natural farming were used on a permanent basis, there’d be no reason why the production capability of any piece of land couldn’t go far beyond its “chemical-based” levels… eventually approaching the highest yield theoretically possible, given the amount of energy reaching a field from the sun.

PLOWBOY: I assume that – given such favorable production figures – you’ve been able to support yourself and your family with natural farming.

FUKUOKA: I haven’t made a lot of money, but my overhead costs are so low that I’ve never been in danger of going completely broke. For one thing, after I began farming this way, word got around that the oranges grown on my mountain were the largest and sweetest in the entire village. That fruit provides the greatest part of my income. Then, too, as my holdings increased and the soil improved, things got easier for us. Yes, I’ve been able to make a comfortable – though modest — living by practicing natural farming. (…)

PLOWBOY: Why the sudden surge of curiosity about your farming technique?

FUKUOKA: I think it’s because many people have gotten very far away from nature. Everything in this modern world has become noisy and overcomplicated, and people want to return to a simpler, quieter life… the kind of life I live as an ordinary farmer. You see, to the extent that men and women separate themselves from nature, they spin out further and further from the unchanging, unmoving center of reality. At the same time a centripetal effect asserts itself, causing a desire to return to nature – that true center – even as they move away from it. I believe that natural farming arises from that unchanging, unmoving center of life. It seems, also, that general recognition of the long-term dangers of chemical farming has helped renew interest in alternative methods of agriculture. Many people are looking at my methods and seeing that what they previously viewed as primitive and backward is perhaps instead far ahead of modern science!

PLOWBOY: You practice a low-cost, low-labor method of growing food that requires no heavy machinery, fossil fuels, or processed chemicals… and yet achieves yields comparable to those of more “modern” scientific methods. That sounds almost like a dream come true. There must be people trying natural farming all over the place!

FUKUOKA: Not really… because my method does seem like a dream to them. In fact, I think natural farming is actually a very frightening concept to many people. It entails a revolutionary attitude that could change the whole climate of our society and our civilization.

PLOWBOY: What would it take, then, to convince such individuals to try your methods?

FUKUOKA: It would be very difficult for single farmers or families to get started by themselves. Natural agriculture requires a great deal of work in the beginning – until the land is brought back into balance — and you can’t do it alone unless you have a lot of time to devote to the effort. The change might be brought about more easily on a village or small-town level, but I really think the best way to start this “one-straw revolution”, as I call it, is on a large scale… through some sort of cooperative effort. The government, the agricultural co-ops, the farmers, the consumers — in other words, everyone — must decide that this is the direction in which our society should go. And, of course, if we don’t get that kind of cooperation, the possibility of bringing about significant change in our farming methods is remote. Most important we’ve got to revise people’s concepts of nature. In America, especially, the outdoors that’s seen often isn’t natural at all… it’s an imitation, man-made nature. For example, look around the grounds of the university. You’ll see beautiful lawns, soft and comfortable, planted here and there with trees. The foliage is indeed lovely, but these aren’t the trees and grasses that originally evolved here. They’ve been put here by human beings for the benefit of other human beings. The native plants were smothered or exterminated… and this nonnative, exotic lawn grass was nurtured instead. Allowing such an artificial landscape to return to its natural state would be good for human beings and for all the other animals and all the plants that live on this planet. However, not everyone would appreciate it… There’d be more flies, more mosquitoes, and other insects that people don’t find very pleasant, and some would say, “Oh, how inconvenient. What a bother!”

PLOWBOY: Several weeks ago you started your American tour in California. did you see “artificial nature” there, too?

FUKUOKA: It was really a shock for me to see the degenerate condition of California. Ever since the Spanish introduced their grazing cows and sheep, along with such annual pasture grasses as foxtail and wild oats, native grasses have been all but eliminated. In addition the ground water there has been overdrawn for agriculture, and huge dams and irrigation projects have interrupted the natural circulation of surface water. Forests have been logged heavily and carelessly, causing soil erosion and damage to streams and fish populations. As a result of all this, the land is becoming more and more arid. It’s a dreadful situation… because of human intervention, the desert is creeping across the state, but no one will admit it.

PLOWBOY: Do you think the widespread adoption of natural farming techniques could help reverse that process and make California green again?

FUKUOKA: Well, it would take a few years for people to learn how to adjust and refine the weed/ground cover rotation, but I think the soil would improve rapidly if growers really attempted to help it. And if it were done, California could eventually become an exciting, truly natural place… where farming could be the joyous activity it should be. But if modern agriculture continues to follow the path it’s on now, it’s finished. The food-growing situation may seem to be in good shape today, but that’s just an illusion based on the current availability of petroleum fuels. All the wheat, corn, and other crops that are produced on big American farms may be alive and growing, but they’re not products of real nature or real agriculture. They’re manufactured rather than grown. The earth isn’t producing those things… petroleum is!

PLOWBOY: Haven’t you said that you’d view a severe oil shortage as a positive development?

FUKUOKA: Of course. I believe that the sooner our oil supply lines dry up, the better. Then we’ll have no choice but to turn to natural agriculture!

PLOWBOY: But the typical “agribiz” farm has hundreds or even thousands of cultivated acres. How could someone apply natural agriculture in such a setting?

FUKUOKA: First of all, there shouldn’t be such large spreads. It’s unfortunate that, in the modern American agricultural system, a very few people are producing the food for millions of others who live in the cities. In Japan, the average field is smaller than in the United States… but its yield per acre is much greater. I can do all the work on my own farm with hand tools, without using power machinery of any kind. But I guess those mega-farms in your country would need some machinery, at least for harvesting. In the future, though, as more and more people move back to the country and begin to grow their own food on small plots of land, there’ll be much less dependence on machines and fossil fuels… and natural farming techniques can begin to be used.

PLOWBOY: So you think that it would be feasible to someday adopt natural farming in North America?

FUKUOKA: Of course, of course! When you talk about nature, it doesn’t matter whether you’re referring to North America or Africa or Indonesia or China… nature is nature. After all, modern industrial farming is now being practiced almost everywhere in the world. In the same way, natural farming could be practiced almost everywhere. I’m just a village farmer who has come visiting from another part of the same world. Through my one-straw research, I’ve come up with some important clues as to how people can relate to nature and live harmoniously with it… wherever they may be.

PLOWBOY: But wouldn’t your method have to be adapted to fit local growing conditions in this country?

FUKUOKA: It’s true that each place is somewhat different. Here in Massachusetts we are very far from the Pacific Ocean and even farther from my home on the island of Shikoku… so it may seem as if the experience and knowledge that I’ve accumulated would not be applicable here. However, the research I did on that little farm eventually led me to a practical and tested method of crop rotation. So I would suggest that beginners at least start with the techniques I’ve already worked out, no matter where they live… even here on the Atlantic coast. A person who does that will probably have some problems during the first year, and the results may not be exactly the same as mine. But it should then be obvious to that grower why things didn’t work out. Maybe a certain crop was planted too late, or perhaps the wrong variety was used for that climate and soil. By the second year of understanding and practicing my principles, a person should see clearly what needs to be done on his or her own land. I tell everyone who wants to try natural farming to take the benefit of my study and research and use it as it is… that is the smart way to begin. If you immediately go off on your own and begin looking for the true “nature” of your area, it’ll take you 20 or 30 years to find it, just as it took me years to do so in Japan. Instead, your first step in any attempt at natural farming should be to throw away your preconceptions… then you can learn by simply doing!

PLOWB0Y: Are you telling us to abandon all logical reasoning?

FUKUOKA: Yes!

PLOWBOY: But Mr. Fukuoka, you did a lot of experimenting and research yourself in the process of developing the concept of natural farming. You used reason… and now you are telling us to discard it all?

FUKUOKA: Exactly! Throw away your own ideas for a moment and let the results of my experiments be the seed of some new ideas and ways of thinking. Many people might be tempted to think, “Hmmm… my climate is totally unlike his, so rather than use white clover, I’ll try this other ground cover.” That line of reasoning could well take you off the track and lead you down a lot of blind alleys! Clover is necessary to keep the weeds back and replenish the soil.

PLOWBOY: But there are many kinds of clover that could be used, aren’t there?

FUKUOKA: Ah, you see? That’s exactly what I mean. That’s your reason speaking! Don’t question so much. If I suggest white clover, use white clover. If I suggest red clover, then use red clover. Over the years I’ve tried vetch, alfalfa, lupine, trefoil, and many kinds of clover… and I reached the conclusion that for natural no-till rotation of grains and vegetables, and as a ground cover in the orchard, white clover is best.
My findings have been verified by others, too. When I visited Rodale’s Organic Farming Research Center in Pennsylvania recently, the people there showed me the experiments they’ve been doing for several years in interplanting grains and row crops with clover and other ground covers. And you know, the plots where they were having the greatest success were the ones in which they were using white clover!

PLOWBOY: In the Pacific Northwest, there’s a network of organic farmers and gardeners called Tilth. They’ve started a “clover project” in which members in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and British Columbia plant various types of clover in barley and corn fields, apple orchards, and vegetable gardens… all to gain experience with that cover crop. Don’t you think that sort of experimentation is worthwhile?

FUKUOKA: Well, yes, it’s fine… but the results are already here and available right in front of us! I did those kinds of experiments 25 years ago, and now others could benefit from my experience if only they’d look at the results. They could save themselves a lot of time and effort by just taking the shortcut of believing. Americans, I think, find it difficult to believe. They have to experiment and see for themselves. But believing is the most direct approach.

PLOWBOY: Some people have noticed a spiritual, almost mystical quality to your theory of farming. Do you feel you’re receiving insight and guidance from a divine source?

FUKUOKA: Although natural farming — since it can teach people to cultivate a deep understanding of nature – may lead to spiritual insight, it’s not strictly a spiritual practice. Natural farming is just farming, nothing more. You don’t have to be a spiritually oriented person to practice my methods. Anyone who can approach these concepts with a clear, open mind will be starting off well. In fact, the person who can most easily take up natural agriculture is the one who doesn’t have any of the common adult obstructing blocks of desire, philosophy, or religion… the person who has the mind and heart of a child. One must simply know nature… real nature, not the one we think we know!

PLOWBOY: Can you be more specific about what that attitude should be?

FUKUOKA: Many people think that when we practice agriculture, nature is helping us in our efforts to grow food. This is an exclusively human-centered viewpoint… we should instead, realize that we are receiving that which nature decides to give us. A farmer does not grow something in the sense that he or she creates it. That human is only a small part of the whole process by which nature expresses its being. The farmer has very little influence over that process… other than being there and doing his or her small part. People should relate to nature as birds do. Birds don’t run around carefully preparing fields, planting seeds, and harvesting food. They don’t create anything… they just receive what is there for them with a humble and grateful heart. We, too, receive our nourishment from the Mother Earth. So we should put our hands together in an attitude of prayer and say “please” and “thank you” when dealing with nature.

PLOWBOY: Do you think that, partly by helping foster such different altitudes, your method could influence more than the way we grow our food?

FUKUOKA: Yes, natural farming could lead to changes in our way of life that would help solve many of the problems of our present age. I think that people are starting to have misgivings about the way the modern world’s ever-accelerating growth and scientific development, to question such things as nuclear power plants and the massive slaughter of great whales, and to realize that the time for reappraisal has arrived. By living a natural lifestyle and demonstrating its usefulness in this day and age, I feel I am serving humankind. As the steward of my rice fields, I am making my stand against the need to use destructive technology or eliminate other forms of life. After all, the problems of our time are ones all of us must face in our own hearts and deeds. As I see it, the ultimate goal of natural farming is not the growing of crops… but the cultivation and perfection of human beings.»

[Source: “Mother Earth News” interview, 1982]

 

Fukuoka wrote:

«If a single new bud is snipped off a fruit tree with a pair of scissors, that may bring about a disorder which cannot be undone… Human beings with their tampering do something wrong, leave the damage unrepaired, and when the adverse results accumulate, work with all their might to correct them».

«The more people do, the more society develops, the more problems arise. The increasing isolation of nature, the exhaustion of resources, the uneasiness and disintegration of the human spirit, all have been brought about by humanity’s trying to accomplish something. Originally there was no reason to progress, and nothing that had to be done. We have come to the point at which there is no other way than to bring about a ‘movement’ not to bring anything about.» (“One Straw Revolution”)

«Speaking biologically, fruit in a slightly shriveled state is holding its respiration and energy consumption down to the lowest possible level. It is like a person in meditation: his metabolism, respiration, and calorie consumption reach an extremely low level. Even if he fasts, the energy within the body will be conserved. In the same way, when mandarin oranges grow wrinkled, when fruit shrivels, when vegetables wilt, they are in the state that will preserve their food value for the longest possible time.» (“One Straw Revolution”)

«We just serve nature. A piece of advice I need to give you here. When I say gaze at a rice plant or stare at its true form, it does not mean to make an observation or to contemplate the rice plant, which makes it an object different from yourself. It is very difficult to explain in words. In a sense, it is important that you become the rice plant. Just as you, as the subject of gazing, have to disappear. If you do not understand what you should do or what I am talking about, you should be absorbed in taking care of the rice without looking aside. If you could work wholeheartedly without yourself, that is enough. Giving up your ego is the shortest way to unification with nature».

«When a decision is made to cope with the symptoms of a problem, it is generally assumed that the corrective measures will solve the problem itself. They seldom do. Engineers cannot seem to get this through their heads. These countermeasures are all based on too narrow a definition of what is wrong. Human measures and countermeasures proceed from limited scientific truth and judgment. A true solution can never come about in this way».

Fukuoka’s books

‘Bêtes’ in leading departments of philosophy

«Sir,

The University of Cambridge is to ballot on May 16 on whether M. Jacques Derrida should be allowed to go forward to receive an honorary degree. As philosophers and others who have taken a scholarly and professional interest in M. Derrida’s remarkable career over the years, we believe the following might throw some needed light on the public debate that has arisen over this issue.

M. Derrida describes himself as a philosopher, and his writings do indeed bear some of the marks of writings in that discipline. Their influence, however, has been to a striking degree almost entirely in fields outside philosophy – in departments of film studies, for example, or of French and English literature.

In the eyes of philosophers, and certainly among those working in leading departments of philosophy throughout the world, M. Derrida’s work does not meet accepted standards of clarity and rigour.

We submit that, if the works of a physicist (say) were similarly taken to be of merit primarily by those working in other disciplines, this would in itself be sufficient grounds for casting doubt upon the idea that the physicist in question was a suitable candidate for an honorary degree.

M. Derrida’s career had its roots in the heady days of the 1960’s and his writings continue to reveal their origins in that period. Many of them seem to consist in no small part of elaborate jokes and the puns “logical phallusies” and the like, and M. Derrida seems to us to have come close to making a career out of what we regard as translating into the academic sphere tricks and gimmicks similar to those of the Dadaists or of the concrete poets.

Certainly he has shown considerable originality in this respect. But again, we submit, such originality does not lend credence to the idea that he is a suitable candidate for an honorary degree.

Many French philosophers see in M. Derrida only cause for silent embarrassment, his antics having contributed significantly to the widespread impression that contemporary French philosophy is little more than an object of ridicule.

M. Derrida’s voluminous writings in our view stretch the normal forms of academic scholarship beyond recognition. Above all – as every reader can very easily establish for himself (and for this purpose any page will do) – his works employ a written style that defies comprehension.

Many have been willing to give M. Derrida the benefit of the doubt, insisting that language of such depth and difficulty of interpretation must hide deep and subtle thoughts indeed.

When the effort is made to penetrate it, however, it becomes clear, to us at least, that, where coherent assertions are being made at all, these are either false or trivial.

Academic status based on what seems to us to be little more than semi-intelligible attacks upon the values of reason, truth, and scholarship is not, we submit, sufficient grounds for the awarding of an honorary degree in a distinguished university.

Yours sincerely,

Barry Smith
(Editor, The Monist)

Hans Albert (University of Mannheim), David Armstrong (Sydney), Ruth Barcan Marcus (Yale), Keith Campbell (Sydney), Richard Glauser (Neuchâtel), Rudolf Haller (Graz), Massimo Mugnai (Florence), Kevin Mulligan (Geneva), Lorenzo Peña (Madrid), Willard van Orman Quine (Harvard), Wolfgang Röd (Innsbruck), Karl Schuhmann (Utrecht), Daniel Schulthess (Neuchâtel), Peter Simons (Salzburg), René Thom (Burs-sur-Yvette), Dallas Willard (Los Angeles), Jan Wolenski (Cracow)

Internationale Akademie für Philosophie, Obergass 75, 9494S Schaan, Liechtenstein.

May 6.»

– The Times (London). Saturday, May 9, 1992.