To Work Is To Undertake To Think

And More Than Once In The Course Of Time, The Same Theme Reappears: Among The Mystics Of The Fifteenth Century, It Has Become The Motif Of The Soul As A Skiff, Abandoned On The Infinite Sea Of Desires, In The Sterile Field Of Cares And Ignorance, Among The Mirages Of Knowledge, Amid The Unreason Of The World - A Craft At The Mercy Of The Sea's Great Madness, Unless It Throws Out A Solid Anchor, Faith, Or Raises Its Spiritual Sails So That The Breath Of God May Bring It To Port.

Wars Are No Longer Waged In The Name Of A Sovereign Who Must Be Defended; They Are Waged On Behalf Of The Existence Of Everyone; Entire Populations Are Mobilized For The Purpose Of Wholesale Slaughter In The Name Of Life Necessity: Massacres Have Become Vital.

The Constitution Of Madness As A Mental Illness, At The End Of The Eighteenth Century, Affords The Evidence Of A Broken Dialogue, Posits The Separation As Already Effected, And Thrusts Into Oblivion All Those Stammered, Imperfect Words Without Fixed Syntax In Which The Exchange Between Madness And Reason Was Made. The Language Of Psychiatry, Which Is A Monologue Of Reason About Madness, Has Been Established Only On The Basis Of Such A Silence.

Death Left Its Old Tragic Heaven And Became The Lyrical Core Of Man: His Invisible Truth, His Visible Secret.

The Real Political Task In A Society Such As Ours Is To Criticize The Workings Of Institutions That Appear To Be Both Neutral And Independent, To Criticize And Attack Them In Such A Manner That The Political Violence That Has Always Exercised Itself Obscurely Through Them Will Be Unmasked, So That One Can Fight Against Them.