C as in Culture

Transcript

Yep, we've finished "B". My, we're speeding along. . . Yep, we've finished "B". My, we're speeding along. . .

Claire Parnet.. so we pass on to "C," and "C" is vast. . .

What is it?

Claire Parnet"C as in Culture."

Sure, why not?

Claire ParnetOK, you are someone who describes himself as not "cultivated." That is, you say that you read, you go to movies, you observe things to gain particular knowledge, something that you need for a particular, ongoing project that you are in the process of developing. But, at the same time, you are someone who, every Saturday, goes out to an art exhibit, goes out to a movie, in the broad cultural domain. . . One gets the impression that you have a kind of practice, an effort towards culture, that you systematize, and that you have a cultural practice, that is, you go out, you make an effort at a systematic cultural practice, you aim at developing yourself culturally. And yet, I repeat, you claim that you are not at all "cultivated," so how do you explain this little paradox?. . . You're not "cultivated?"

No, because. . . I would say that, in fact. . . When I tell you that, I don't see myself, really, I don't experience myself as an intellectual or experience myself as "cultivated" for a simple reason: when I see someone "cultivated," I am terrified, and not necessarily with admiration, although admiring them from certain perspectives, from others, not at all. But I am just terrified of a "cultivated person," and this is quite obvious to "cultivated people." It's a kind of knowledge, a frightening body of knowledge on everything. . . One sees that a lot with intellectuals, they know everything. Well, maybe not, but they are informed about everything- they know the history of ltaly during the Renaissance, they know the geography of the North Pole, they know. . . the whole list, they know everything, can talk about anything. . . It's abominable. So, when I say that I am neither "cultivated," nor an intellectual, I mean something quite simple, that I have no "reserve knowledge," At least, there's no problem, at my death, there's no point in looking for what I have left to publish. . . Nothing, nothing, because I have no reserves, I have no provisions, no provisional knowledge. And everything that I learn, I learn for a particular task, and once it's done, I immediately forget it, so that if ten years later, I have to -and this gives me great joy- if I have to get involved with something close to or directly within the same subject, I would have to start again from zero, except in certain very rare cases, for example Spinoza, who is in my heart whom I don't forget. It's my heart and not my mind. Otherwise. . . So why don't I admire this "frightening knowledge," these people who talk. . .

Claire ParnetIs this knowledge a kind of erudition, or just an opinion on every subject?

No, it's not erudition. They know. . . they know how to talk. First, they've traveled a lot, traveled in geography, in history, but they know how to talk about everything. I've heard them on t.v., it's frightening. . . I have heard. . . well, since I am full of admiration for him, I can even say it, people like Eco, Umberto Eco. . . It's amazing. . . There you go, it's like pushing on a button, and he knows all of it as well. I can't say that I envy that entirely, I'm just frightened by it, but I don't envy it at all. To a certain extent, I ask: what does culture consist of? And I tell myself that it consists a lot of talking. I can't keep myself. . . Especially since I have stopped teaching, since I have retired, I realize that talking is a bit dirty, a bit dirty, whereas writing is clean. Writing is clean and talking is dirty. It's dirty because it means being seductive. I could never stand attending colloquia ever since I was in school, still quite young, I could never stand colloquia. I don't travel much, and why not? lntellectuals. . . I would gladly travel sometime if. . . Well, actually I wouldn't travel, my health prevents it, but intellectuals travelling is a joke. They don't travel, they move about in order to go talk. . . They go from one place where they talk in order to go to another place where they are going to talk even during meals, they talk with the local intellectuals. They never stop talking, and I can't stand talking, talking, talking, I can't stand it. So, in my opinion, since culture is closely linked to speaking, in this sense, I hate culture, I cannot stand it.

Claire ParnetWell, we will come back to the separation between writing itself and dirty speech because, nonetheless, you are a very great professor and. . .

Well, that's different. . .

Claire Parnet. . . and we will come back to it because the letter "P" is about your work as professor, and then we will be able to discuss "seduction". . . I still want to come back to this subject that you kind of avoided, to this effort, discipline even, that you impose on yourself-even if, in fact, you don't need to-to see, well, for example, in the last two weeks, the [Sigmar] Polke exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art. You go out rather frequently, not to say on a weekly basis, to see a major film or to see art exhibits. So, you say that you are not erudite, not "cultivated," you have no admiration for "cultivated people," like you just said, so what does this practice, all this effort, correspond to for you? Is it a form of pleasure?

I think. . . Yes, certainly, it's a form of pleasure, although not always. But I see this as part of my investment in being "on the lookout." I don't believe in culture, to some extent, but rather I believe in encounters. But these encounters don't occur with people. People always think that it's with people that encounters occur, which is why it's awful. . . Now, in this, that belongs to the domain of culture, intellectuals meeting one another, this disgusting practice of conferences, this infamy. So encounters, it's not between people that they happen, but with things. . . So I encounter a. . .. painting, yes, or a piece of music, that's how I understand an encounter. When people want to add an encounter with themselves, with people, well, that doesn't work at all. . . That's not an encounter, and that's why encounters are so utterly, utterly disappointing. Encounters with people are always catastrophic. So, as you said, when I go out on Saturdays and Sundays, to the movies, etc., I'm not certain to have an encounter. . . I go out, I am "on the lookout" for encounters, wondering if there might be material for an encounter, in a film, in a painting, so it's great. I'll give an example because, for me, whenever one does something, it is also a question of moving on from it, simultaneously staying in it and getting out of it. So, staying in philosophy also means how to get out of philosophy. But, getting out of philosophy doesn't mean doing something else. One has to get out while remaining within. . . It's not doing something else, not writing a novel. First off, I wouldn't be able to in any event, but even if I could, it would be completely useless. I want to get out of philosophy by means of philosophy. That's what interests me. . .

Claire ParnetThat is. . .?

Here is an example. Since all this will be after my death, I can speak without modesty. I just wrote a book on a great philosopher called Leibniz in which I insisted on the notion that seemed important in his work, but that is very important for me, the notion of "the fold." So, I consider that it's a book of philosophy, on this bizarre little notion of the fold. What happens to me after that? I received a lot of letters, as always. . . There are letters that are insignificant even if they are charming and affectionate and move me deeply, They are letters that talk about what I have done. . . letters from intellectuals who liked or didn't like the book. . . And then I receive two other letters that make me rub my eyes in disbelief. Letters from people who tell me, "Your story of folds, that's us!" and I realize that it's from people who belong to an association that has 400 members in France currently, perhaps they now have more, an association of paper folders. They have a journal, and they send me the journal, and they say, "We agree completely, what you are doing is what we do." So, I tell myself, that's quite something! Then I received another kind of letter, and they speak in exactly the same way, saying: "The fold is us!" I find this marvelous, all the more so because it reminded me of a story in Plato, since great philosophers do not write in abstractions, but are great writers and authors of very concrete things. So, in Plato, there is a story that delights me, and it's no doubt linked to the beginning of philosophy, maybe we will come back to it. . . Plato's theme is. . . He gives a definition, for example, what is a politician? A politician is the pastor of men. And with that definition, lots of people arrive to say: "Hey, you can see, we are politicians!" For example, the shepherd arrives, says "I dress people, so I am the true pastor of men"; the butcher arrives, "I feed people, so I am the true pastor of men." So these rivals arrive, and I feel like I have been through this a bit: here come the paper folders who say, we are the fold! And the others who wrote and who sent me exactly the same thing, it's really great, they were surfers who, it would seem, have no relation whatsoever with the paper folders. And the surfers say, "We understand, we agree completely because what do we do? We never stop inserting ourselves into the folds of nature. For us, nature is an aggregate of mobile folds, and we insert ourselves into the fold of the wave, live in the fold of the wave, that's what our task is. Living in the fold of the wave." And, in fact, they talk about this quite admirably. These people are quite. . . They think about what they do, not just surfing, but think about what they do, and maybe we will talk about it one day if we reach sports, at "T as in Tennis"

Claire ParnetSo these belong to the "encounter" category, these encounters with surfers, with paper folders?

Yes, these are encounters. When I say "get out of philosophy through philosophy," this happened to me all the time. . . I encountered the paper folders. . . I don't have to go see them. No doubt, we'd be disappointed, I'd be disappointed, and they certainly would be even more disappointed, so no need to see them. I had an encounter with the surf, with the paper folders, literally, I went beyond philosophy by means of philosophy. That's what an encounter is. So, I think, when I go out to an exhibit, I am "on the lookout," searching for a painting that might touch me, that might affect me. [Same] when I go to the movies. . . I don't go to the theater because theater is too long, too disciplined, it's too. . . it's too. . . it does not seem to be an art that. . . except in certain cases, except with Bob Wilson and Carmelo Bene, I don't feel that theater is very much in touch with our era, except for these extreme cases. But to remain there for four hours in an uncomfortable seat, I can't do it any more for health reasons, so that wipes theater out entirely for me. But at a painting exhibit or at the movies, I always have the impression that in the best circumstances, I risk having an encounter with an idea. . .

Claire ParnetYes, but there is no. . . I mean, films only for entertainment do not exist at all?

Well, they are not culture. . .

Claire ParnetThey may not be culture, but there is no entertainment. . .

Well, entertainment. . .

Claire Parnet. . . that is, everything is situated within your work? For the future. . .

No, it's not work, it's just that I am "on the lookout" for something that might "happen," asking myself, does that disturb me? Those [kinds of films]. . . they amuse me a lot, they are very funny.

Claire ParnetWell, it's not Eddie Murphy who is going to disturb you!

It's not. . .?

Claire ParnetEddie Murphy, he's a director. . . no, an American comedian and actor whose recent films are enormously successful with the public.

I don't know him.

Claire ParnetNo, I mean, you never watch. . . no, you only watch Benny Hill on television. . .

Yes, well, I find Benny Hill interesting, that interests me. Well, it's certainly nothing that is necessarily really good or new, but there are reasons why it interests me.

Claire ParnetBut when you go out, it's for an encounter.

When I go out . . . if there is no idea to draw from it, if I don't say, "Yes, he had an idea". . . What do great filmmakers do? This is valid for filmmakers too. What strikes me in the beauty of, for example, a great filmmaker like Minnelli, or like Losey, what affects me if not that they are overwhelmed by ideas, an idea. . .

Claire ParnetYou're starting in on my [letter] "l"! Stop right away!

Ok, let's stop on that, but that's what an encounter is for me, one has encounters with things and not with people. . .

Claire ParnetDo you have a lot of encounters, to talk about a particular cultural period like right now?

Well, yes, I just told you, with paper folders, with surfers. . . What could you ask for that's more beautiful?

Claire ParnetBut. . .

But these are not encounters with intellectuals, I don't have any encounters with intellectuals. . .

Claire ParnetBut do you. . .

. . . or if I have an encounter with an intellectual, it's for other reasons, like I like him so I have a meeting with him, for what he is doing, for his ongoing work, his charm, all that. . . One has an encounter with those kinds of elements, with the charm of people, with the work of people, but not with people in themselves. I don't have anything to do with people, nothing at all.

Claire ParnetPerhaps they rub up against you like cats.

Well yes, it could be like that, their rubbing or their barking! It's awful!

Claire ParnetLet's think about culturally rich and culturally poor periods. So what about now, do you think it's a period that's not too rich, because I often see you get very annoyed watching television, watching the literary shows that we won't name, although when this interview is shown, the names will have changed. Do you find this to be a rich period or a particularly poor period that we are living through?

Yes, it's poor, it's poor, but at the same time, it's not at all distressing.

Claire ParnetYou find it funny?

Yes, I find it funny. I tell myself, at my age, this is not the first time that impoverished periods have occurred. I tell myself, what have I lived through since I was old enough to be somewhat enthusiastic? I lived through the Liberation and the aftermath. It was among the richest periods one could imagine, when we were discovering or rediscovering everything. . . The Liberation. . . The war had taken place and that was no piece of cake. . . We were discovering everything, the American novel, Kafka, the domain of research. . . There was Sartre. . . You cannot imagine what it was like, I mean intellectually, what we were discovering or rediscovering in painting, etc. One has to understand. . . There was the huge polemic, "Must we burn Kafka?". . . It's unimaginable and seems a bit infantile today, but it was a very stimulating, creative atmosphere. And I lived through the period before May '68 that was an extremely rich period all the way to shortly after May '68. And in the meantime, if there were impoverished periods, that's quite normal, but it's not the fact of poverty that I find disturbing, but rather the insolence or impudence of people who inhabit the impoverished periods. They are much more wicked than the inspired people who come to life during rich periods.

Claire ParnetInspired or just well-meaning? Because you referred to the Kafka polemic at the time of the Liberation, and there was that Alexander whats-his-name who was very happy with the fact that he had never read Kafka, and he said it while laughing. . .

Well, yes, he was very happy. . . The stupider they are, the happier they are, since. . . Like those who think, and we come back to this, that literature is now a tiny little private affair. . . If one thinks that, then there's no need to read Kafka, no need to read very much, since if one has a pretty little pen, one is naturally Kafka's equal. . . There's no work involved there, no work at all. . . I mean, how can I explain myself? Let's take something more serious on this than those young fools. I recently went to the Cosmos to see a film. . .

Claire ParnetParajanov?

No, but Parajanov, that was admirable. . . A very moving Russian film that was made about thirty years ago, but that has only been released very recently.

Claire ParnetThe Comissar?.

The Commissar. In this, I found something that was very moving. . . The film was very, very good, couldn't have been better. . . perfect. But we noticed with a kind of terror, or a kind of compassion, that it was a film like the ones the Russians used to make before the war. . .

Claire ParnetIn the time of Eisenstein. . .

. . . in the time of Eisenstein, of Dovzhenko. Everything was there, parallel editing notably, parallel editing that was sublime, etc. It was as if nothing had happened since the war, as if nothing had happened in cinema. And I told myself, it's inevitable, the film is good, sure, but it was very strange too, for that reason, and if it was not that good, it was for that reason. It was literally by someone who had been so isolated in his work that he created a film the way films were made 20 years ago. . . It wasn't all that bad, only that it was quite good, quite amazing for twenty years earlier. Everything that happened in the meantime, he never knew about it, I mean, since he had grown up in a desert. It's awful. . . Crossing a desert is nothing much, working in, passing through a desert period is not bad. What is awful is being born in this desert, and growing up in it. . . That's frightful, I imagine. . . One must have an impression of solitude. . .

Claire ParnetLike for young people who are 18-years old now, for example?

Right, especially when you understand that when things. . . This is what happens in impoverished periods. When things disappear, no one notices it for a simple reason: when something disappears, no one misses it. The Stalinian period caused Russian literature to disappear, and the Russians didn't notice, I mean, the majority of Russians, they just didn't notice, a literature that had been a turbulent literature throughout the nineteenth century, it just disappeared. I know that now people say there are the dissidents, etc., but on the level of a people, the Russian people, their literature disappeared, their painting disappeared, and nobody noticed. Today, to account for what is happening today, obviously there are new young people who certainly have genius. Let us suppose, I don't like the expression, but let us suppose that there are new Becketts, the new Becketts of today. . .

Claire ParnetI thought you were going to say the "New Philosophers". . .

Yes, well. . . But the new Becketts of today. . . Let us assume that they don't get published-after all, Beckett almost did not get published -it's obvious nothing would be missed. By definition, a great author or a genius is someone who brings forth something new. If this innovation does not appear, then that bothers no one, no one misses it since no one has the slightest idea about it. If Proust. . . if Kafka had never been published, no one could say that Kafka would be missed. . . If someone had burned all of Kafka's writings, no one could say, "Ah, we really miss that!" since no one would have any idea of what had disappeared. If the new Becketts of today are kept from publishing by the current system of publishing, one cannot say, "Oh, we really miss that!" I heard a declaration, the most impudent declaration I have ever heard- I don't dare say to whom it was attributed in some newspaper since these kinds of things are never certain- someone in the publishing field who dared to say: "You know, today, we no longer risk making mistakes like Gallimard did when he initially refused to publish Proust since we have the means today. . ."

Claire ParnetThe headhunters. . .

. . . You'd think you were dreaming, "but with the means we have today to locate and recognize new Prousts and new Becketts." That's like saying they have some sort of Geiger counter and that the new Beckett-that is, someone who is completely unimaginable since we don't know what kind of innovation he would bring- he would emit some kind of sound if. . .

Claire Parnet... If you passed It over hls head...

. . . if you passed it in his path. So, what defines the crisis today, with all these idiocies? The crisis today I attribute to three things-but it will pass, I still remain quite optimistic- this is what defines a desert period: First, that journalists have conquered the book form. Journalists have always written [books], and I find it quite good that journalists write, but when journalists used to undertake a book, they used to believe that they were moving into a different form of writing, not the same thing as writing their newspaper articles.

Claire ParnetOne can recall that for a long time, there were writerswho were also journalists. . . Mallarmé, they could do journalism, but the reverse didn't occur. . .

Now, it's the reverse. . . The journalist as journalist has conquered the book form, that is, he finds it quite normal to write, just like that, a book that would be nothing more than a newspaper article. And that's not good at all. The second reason is that a generalized idea has spread that anyone can write since writing has become the tiny little affair of the individual, with family archives, either written archives or archives. . . in one's head. Everybody has had a love story, everybody has had a grandmother who was ill, a mother who was dying in awful conditions. They tell themselves, ok, I can write a novel about it. It's not at all a novel, I mean, really not at all. So. . .

Claire ParnetThe third reason?

The third reason is that, you understand, the real customers have changed. One realizes. . . Of course, people are still there, still well informed, but the customers have changed. I mean, who are the televlsion customers? It's notthe people llstenlng, but rather the advertisers, they are the real customers. The listeners have what the advertisers want.

Claire ParnetThe television viewers. . .

Yes, the television viewers.

Claire ParnetAnd the third reason is what?

Like I was saying, the advertisers are the real customers, and there is no longer. . . And I was saying that, in publishing, there is a risk that the real customers of editors are not the potential readers, but rather the distributors. When the distributors become the real customers of the editors, what will happen? What interests distributors is the rapid turnover, which results in mass market products, rapid turnover in the regime of the best seller, etc., which means that all literature, if I dare say it this way, all creative literature in the manner of Beckett, will be crushed by it, naturally.

Claire ParnetWell, that exists already, they are pre-formed on the basis of the public's needs. . .

Right, which is what defines the period of drought: for example, [Bernard] Pivot, literature as nullity, the disappearance of all literary criticism in the name of commercial promotion. Yet, when I say that it's not all that serious, it's obvious that there will always be either parallel circuits or a black market, etc. It's not possible for us to live. . . The Russians lost their literature, but they will manage to win it back somehow. All that falls into place, rich periods following impoverished periods. Woe betide the poor!

Claire ParnetWoe betide the poor. About this idea of parallel markets or black markets: for a long time [literary] topics have been pre-determined. That is, in a given year, one sees clearly on publication lists that it's war, in another year, it's the death of one's parents, another year, it's attachment to nature, that sort of thing, but nothing appearing to emerge anew. So have you seen the resurgence of a rich period after an impoverished one, have you lived through that?

Well, yes, like I already said, after the Liberation, it wasn't very strong until May '68 occurred. Between the creative period of the Liberation and. . . when was the beginning of the "New Wave", it was 1960?

Claire Parnet1960. . . even earlier. . .

Between '60 and '72, let's say, there was a new rich period. Certainly! It occurred. . . It's a little like Nietzsche said so well, someone launches an arrow into space. That's what. . . Or even a period, or a collectivity launches an arrow, and eventually it falls, and then someone comes along to pick it up and hurl it out elsewhere, so that's how creation happens, how literature happens, passing through desert periods. how literature happens, passing through desert periods.