What is at play in our communication…? The question of philosophy as “literature,” which is about asking how far it is possible to take the third person discourse in philosophy. At what point must ontology become… what? Become conversation? Become lyricism? … The strict conceptual rigor of being-with exasperates the discourse of its concept. (Jean-Luc Nancy, Being Singular Plural, p 34)
I’m returning to my old self (the dead one, for whom I attest so well…). That is to say: I’m returning again and again to the subjectivization process that has made me “who I am”: that unknown truth that constitutes me as not yet being myself. In other words, the event of my own discourse, which no one, not even I, can appropriate.
Will I ever be myself? Immortal challenge of “exceedation,” meet animal torment! But I must pursue exceedation in spite of the limitless failure I recognize in my attempt to “inscribe” what is Immortal about “me.” For I am tired of being swayed by those who consider philosophy to be about “usefulness,” those who say, “That is all well and fine, but what can I do with it?” Those who ask such questions don’t have time for me in the first place, and I can’t blame them. For it’s not only am I exhausted by what is going on with me, or rather, by what the “going-on” that I am is. What’s more, I’m trying to be attentive enough to not mask over my exhaustion: to share that too. And because of my graciousness on this point (alas, it was unavoidable for me!), I’m stupid enough to think you’ll have patience for me; that you’ll recognize in all of this that something of your self is at stake. But I’d be lying if this meant we’d form a nice happy community together upon recognizing this. On the contrary, we seem doomed to cast one another out, crying, seized and consigned by the truth-process that we are. Oh, whoever you are, wherever you are, there is a kind of helpless love here, en ruine, despite how it drives us (apart). But at this point, “it is impossible to reach a clear distinction between determination and exhaustion.” The I that I speak, he is “a transient fact, not only as a result of [his] chance birth and [his] approaching death, but also because the process that determines [me] is the one that exhausts [me]” (Bataille). This is all, I know, stated much too seriously. And alas, while it is terribly serious, by the end, it isn’t really serious at all, I know. In fact, I can already hear them laughing… And yet: “There is no point in doing philosophy if it isn’t to try and accompany this exhaustion of discourse to its limits…” Continue reading →