Ever since societies became politically organised and became aware of it, words have been part of the problem (tell that to us, who don't believe a word when it comes from a certain place). Whether written or spoken, as Plato showed in his "Phaedo", they had no other value than that of rhetoric aimed at public persuasion. The question is why he wrote, but to that he already answered in his "Letter VII" and, as a scholiastic pointed out, the Athenian distinguished very well between what he knew and what he wrote. Words, in their equivalence with knowledge itself, were in turn disputed by the Eastern tradition, which led to a religiosity of renunciation of the world. On this side, distrust was absolute.
I bring you here - in connection with Freund's book and its writer in crisis - a story from almost twenty-five centuries ago attributed to Chuang-Tzu (illustration), in a version by the Trappist monk Thomas Merton, a renowned advocate of civil rights in America, moreover, and a remarkable thinker on spirituality. It is entitled "Duke Hwan and the Wheelwright" (Debate):
"The world values books, and thinks that by doing so it is valuing the tao. But books contain nothing but words. Yet there is something else that gives value to books. Not just the words or the thought contained in the words, but something else contained in the thought, inclining it in a certain direction that words cannot apprehend. But it is the words themselves that the world values when it puts them into books: and even if the world values them, these words are worthless so long as that which gives them value is not honoured.
That which a man apprehends by observation is but the outer form and colour, name and sound, and he believes that this will put him in possession of the tao. Form and colour, name and sound, fall short of reflecting reality. Therefore: 'He who knows does not say, he who says does not know'. How, then, is the world to know the tao through words?
Duke Hwan of Khi, the first of his dynasty, was sitting under his canopy reading philosophy, and Phien the wheelwright was in the courtyard making a wheel. Phien laid aside the hammer and chisel, ascended the steps, and said to Duke Hwan: `May I ask you, sir, what is it that you are reading?' The duke said: `To the experts. The authorities. And Phien asked: `Alive or dead? `Long dead. `Then,' said the cartwright, `you are reading nothing but the rubbish they left behind'. The duke replied: `What do you know about it? You are nothing but a cartwright. You had better give me a good explanation or you will die'. The wheelwright said: `When I make wheels, if I take it easy, they fall apart; if I am too violent, they don't fit; if I am neither too calm nor too violent, they come out well. The work turns out the way I want it to. This cannot be translated into words: you simply have to know how it is. I can't even explain to my son how to do it, and my own son can't learn it from me. So here I am, in my seventies, still making wheels! The men of old took with them to the grave all that they really knew. And so, my lord, what you are reading there is nothing but the rubbish they left behind them".
Comentarios