David Brooks predica la idea de un menor gasto del estado, y que afine en las inversiones.
El argumento es muy lógico, recortar gastos e invertir mejor, las recetas liberales son más razonables que las que predican el incremento del gasto.
WikiLeaks – Collateral Murder
Vídeo espeluznante, ¡¡¡esto es la guerra!!!
Ataque de un helicóptero Apache del ejército estadounidense sobre supuestos insurgentes, pero que en realidad era gente desarmada entre los que se encontraban dos periodistas de Reuters. También se dispara sobre los que van a socorrer a las víctimas del primer ataque.
Versión corta:
Versión corta:
Versión completa:
Por unas obras completas por Arcadi Espada
Artículo de Arcadi Espada sobre Jordi Pujol y su bibliografía.
Todo un intelectual este Pujol, y un demócrata convencido por supuesto.
ARTÍCULO:
Querido J:
Jordi Pujol cumplió el otro día 80 años y los celebró con un artículo en La Vanguardia en el que decía que no quería celebraciones porque él es el Niño del Hoyo, el Noi del Clot en vernáculo, que, ¡lo que es la vida!, es también como le llaman al cantante Loquillo. Te lo resumiré rápido. Empezando con sus propias palabras:
«El chico de la hondonada vivía en un oasis. Era su casa. Había aprendido allí las canciones de niño. Había vivido en el oasis con sus padres y sus hermanos. Y con los amigos. Amaba aquel oasis. Pero era un oasis amenazado. Por la arena del desierto, que avanzaba. Por las caravanas de comerciantes de esclavos. Amenazado también por el cansancio y el desánimo de los mayores. Por eso decidió un día dejar el oasis, andar a través del desierto, en dirección al mar.»
El artículo está escrito originalmente en catalán. A La Vanguardia ha debido parecerle más fino escribir «hondonada». Pero tú y yo seguiremos con hoyo que es adonde llevan al pobre chico.
«Los bandidos del desierto le atacaron. Luchó contra ellos. Fue un combate más por el honor que por una victoria todavía imposible. Y le hicieron descender a una hondonada profunda, de la que no podía salir. (…) Yo soy como el chico de la hondonada. Que había andado un buen trecho del camino. Él ya no haría más de lo que ha hecho. Ni pedía nada. Pedía tan solo que no se borraran las pisadas que él -y otros como él- habían dejado en el desierto. Que la tormenta de arena no las borrara. Y pedía también que alguien, o que muchos, continuaran dejando pisadas. Un largo rastro de pisadas.»
Según explica en su blog, Salvador Sostres le preguntó un día a Pujol, con mucha ilusión, si el mar significaba independencia. Y él le contestó que no; pero que el interpetar independencia era también «válido y correcto». Esto parece que alivió mucho a Sostres, porque interpretó que el presidente le daba permiso. Es muy exacto: a pesar de su obstinada presunción en presentarse como un hombre de convicciones, el expresidente Pujol siempre ha dado permiso para todo. De ahí su éxito.
He celebrado, en cualquier caso, esta vuelta al pasado de Pujol. Sus textos son muy instructivos. Los párrafos del Niño del Hoyo están sacados de Des dels turons a l’altra banda del riu, sus escritos de cárcel, entre 1960 y 1962. Un libro bíblico, repleto de parábolas. Lo habrás observado en el primer párrafo. Está el oasis, aquel invento fundacional de Rovira i Virgili y Esquerra Republicana. Está el desierto, es decir, Castilla. Y están las caravanas de comerciantes de esclavos, es decir, las caravanas de charnegos. El párrafo te habrá dejado con ganas, y lo comprendo. Des dels turons… está lleno de párrafos interesantes. Pero es un libro muy difícil de encontrar, que no se reedita desde el año 1978. Y aquí entramos en la misteriosa clave de esta carta. ¿Qué hace Jordi Pujol, ahora que acaba de cumplir 80 años y goza de buena salud, con su pasado? Pasaremos por alto el compendio de vacuidades de los dos tomos de sus presuntas memorias. ¿Dónde están sus obras completas? Pujol escribió mucho. En la cárcel y fuera de ella. Se trata de los textos de una persona de importancia capital en la historia contemporánea de Cataluña y España. ¿Por qué no se encuentran ni en librerías de viejo? No hablo vagamente. Un libro de 1976, algo menos parabólico que Dels turons…, al que llamó La immigració problema i esperança de Catalunya ha desaparecido, incluso de los desvanes. Ni en Iberlibro, ni en ILAB, ni en Uniliber, ni en Marelibri, ni en eBay, ni en Amazon. ¿Cómo es posible tan poco aprecio por la palabra pujolista? Trataré patrióticamente de remediarlo. En La immigració… está por ejemplo este párrafo tan conocido y sugerente: «El hombre andaluz no es un hombre coherente, es un hombre anárquico. Es un hombre destruido […], es generalmente un hombre poco hecho, un hombre que hace cientos de años que pasa hambre y que vive en un estado de ignorancia y de miseria cultural, mental y espiritual. Es un hombre desarraigado, incapaz de tener un sentido un poco amplio de comunidad. A menudo da pruebas de una excelente madera humana, pero de entrada constituye la muestra de menor valor social y espiritual de España. Ya lo he dicho antes: es un hombre destruido y anárquico. Si por la fuerza del número llegase a dominar, sin haber superado su propia perplejidad, destruiría Cataluña. Introduciría en ella su mentalidad anárquica y pobrísima, es decir su falta de mentalidad.» ¿A que merece papel de Biblia, y una dedicatoria a don José Montilla y a don Justo Molinero? Es cierto que Pujol se disculpó en 1997 por sus palabras. Pero poco para estos tiempos de penitencias desbordantes. La áspera verdad es que esta declaración racista le ha traído a Pujol muy pocos problemas, al margen de los íntimos.
A las obras completas no les faltarían inéditos. Inéditos en libro, quiero decir. En el año 1980 Pujol reunió en Construir Catalunya sus llamados artículos dominicales de posguerra. Se dejó dos. Uno prácticamente marxista y El Ejército de Ocupación. He leído este último con gran emoción, gracias a Francisco Caja, que prepara ya el segundo tomo de La raza catalana, donde se incluye un capítulo dedicado a Pujol que lleva un título estupendo: La invasión de los cuerpos. El artículo, de enero de 1965, empieza fuerte: «Es muy conveniente que las cosas se digan por su nombre. Que los conceptos sean claros. Que se vean las cosas tal como son, y no como el hábito y el camuflaje o el cansancio las hacen ver. Concretamente, es del todo necesario que 150 ó 200 mil hombres que viven en Cataluña sean considerados como lo que son en realidad: como ejército de ocupación». Bueno, no eran pocos hombres, teniendo en cuenta que la población activa no llegaba a los dos millones. Aunque fíjate: yo creo que Pujol quiso hacer desaparecer este artículo por esto que viene: «Los hombres del ejército de ocupación se pueden presentar honorablemente como maestros, como obispos, como médicos, como escritores, como funcionarios como porteros o bedeles, como directores de banco o como ingenieros, como Redentoristas o Misioneros del Sagrado Corazón o monjas de un montón de órdenes y ocultar su condición de ocupantes, su mentalidad colonial. Pero, nosotros, nos tenemos que meter entre ceja y ceja que además de todo esto, son ocupantes, son coloniales. (…) Se ha de crear un nuevo tipo, el del ocupante.» Obispos, misioneros y monjas. Fue por eso, estoy seguro.
Querría seguir. Tengo otras gemas prodigiosas. Como aquel artículo de la revista Forja donde, después de un Barça-Madrid, decía que los seguidores culés habían demostrado «poca virilidad» y luego se persignaba ante la evidencia de que se trataba del público «más auténtica y conscientemente catalán.» Puede que algún día haya que escribir la biografía de Jordi Pujol. Pero lo más urgente ahora es la bibliografía.
Entrevista a Borges por Dennis Dutton y Michael Palencia-Roth
Entrevista a Borges de Dennis Dutton y Michael Palencia-Roth.
Se trata fundamentalmente de filosofía y literatura. Con audio incluido.
Entrevista:
Denis Dutton: Why don’t you tell us about some of the philosophers who have influenced your work, in whom you’ve been the most interested?
Jorge Luis Borges: Well, I think that’s an easy one. I think you might talk in terms of two: those would be Berkeley and Schopenhauer. But I suppose Hume might be worked in also, because, after all, of course Hume refutes Berkeley. But really, he comes from Berkeley — even if Berkeley comes from Locke. You might think of Locke, of Berkeley, and of Hume as being three links in an argument. But when somebody refutes somebody else in philosophy, he’s carrying on the argument.
Michael Palencia-Roth: Where would Schopenhauer come in?
Borges: Schopenhauer is very different from Hume. Of course, Schopenhauer had his idea of the Will. That is not to be found in Hume. But of course in the case of Berkeley it is different. I suppose he thought of God as being aware of all things all the time, I mean if I don’t get him wrong. If we go away, does this room disappear? No, it doesn’t, of course, because God is thinking about it.
Now, in the case of Schopenhauer, I was rereading Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, The World as Will and Idea, and I was rather taken aback, or rather baffled I should say, or puzzled by something that keeps on recurring in Schopenhauer. Of course it may have been a slip of the pen, but as he goes back to it, and as he was a very careful writer, I wonder if it is a slip of the pen. Well, for example, Schopenhauer begins by saying that all this, the universe, the stars, the spaces in between, the planets, this planet, those things have no existence, except in the mind which perceives them — no?
MP-R: Yes.
Borges: But then, to my surprise — and I suppose you can explain this to me, since you are philosophers and I am not — what Schopenhauer says is that all those things have no existence except in the brain. And that the universe — I remember these words, I don’t think I’m inventing them now — “ist ein Gehirnphänomen,” that the world is a cerebral phenomenon. Now, when I read that I was baffled. Because, of course, if you think of the universe, I suppose the brain is as much a part of the external world as the stars or the moon. Because the brain after all is a system of — I don’t know — of visual, of tactile, perceptions. But he keeps on insisting on the brain.
MP-R: Yes.
Borges: But I don’t think, for example, that Bishop Berkeley insists on the brain, or Hume, who would have insisted on the mind, consciousness….
DD: People sometimes say that they see Berkeley in stories like “Orbis Tertius.”
Borges: Yes, I suppose they do. Well, of course. But in that story I was led by literary means also.
DD: How do you distinguish the literary from the philosophical means in that story? Could you explain that?
Borges: Oh, well, yes, I’ll explain very easily…. Encyclopedias have been, I’d say, my life’s chief reading. I have always been interested in encyclopedias. Well, I used to go to the Biblioteca Nacional in Buenos Aires — and since I was so shy, I felt I could not cope with asking for a book, or a librarian, so I looked on the shelves for the Encyclopædia Britannica. Of course, afterwards, I had that book at home, by my hand. And then I would pick up any chance volume and I would read it. And then one night I was richly rewarded, because I read all about the Druses, Dryden, and the Druids — a treasure trove, no? — all in the same volume, of course, “Dr–.”
Then I came to the idea of how fine it would be to think of an encyclopedia of an actual world, and then of an encyclopedia, a very rigorous one of course, of an imaginary world, where everything should be linked. Where, for example, you would have, let’s say, a language and then a literature that went with the language, and then a history with it, and so on. Then I thought, well, I’d write a story of the fancy encyclopedia. Then of course that would need many different people to write it, to get together and to discuss many things — the mathematicians, philosophers, men of letters, architects, engineers, then also novelists or historians. Then, as I needed a quite different world from ours — it wasn’t enough to invent fancy names — I said, why not a world based on, let’s say, Berkeleyan ideas?
DD: A world in which Berkeley is common sense instead of Descartes?
Borges: Yes, that’s it. Then I wrote that story, “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius” that day, which has attracted many readers. And of course, the whole thing was based on the theory of idealism, the idea of there being no things but only happenings, of there being no nouns but only verbs, of there being no things but only perceptions.…
Lawrence I. Berkove: “Tlön” is a good example of one of your stories where, however the story ends, the reader is encouraged to continue applying your ideas.
Borges: Well, I hope so. But I wonder if they are my ideas. Because really I am not a thinker. I have used the philosophers’ ideas for my own private literary purposes, but I don’t think that I’m a thinker. I suppose that my thinking has been done for me by Berkeley, by Hume, by Schopenhauer, by Mauthner perhaps.
MP-R: You say you’re not a thinker…
Borges: No, what I mean to say is that I have no personal system of philosophy. I never attempt to do that. I am merely a man of letters. In the same way, for example that — well, of course, I shouldn’t perhaps choose this as an example — in the same way that Dante used theology for the purpose of poetry, or Milton used theology for the purposes of his poetry, why shouldn’t I use philosophy, especially idealistic philosophy — philosophy to which I was attracted — for the purposes of writing a tale, of writing a story? I suppose that is allowable, no?
DD: You share one thing certainly with philosophers, and that is a fascination with perplexity, with paradox.
Borges: Oh yes, of course — well I suppose philosophy springs from our perplexity. If you’ve read what I may be allowed to call “my works” — if you’ve read my sketches, whatever they are — you’d find that there is a very obvious symbol of perplexity to be found all the time, and that is the maze. I find that a very obvious symbol of perplexity. A maze and amazement go together, no? A symbol of amazement would be the maze.
DD: But philosophers seem not content ever to merely be confronted with perplexity, they want answers, systems.
Borges: Well, they’re right.
DD: They’re right?
Borges: Well, perhaps no systems are attainable, but the search for a system is very interesting.
MP-R: Would you call your work a search for a system?
Borges: No, I wouldn’t be as ambitious as all that. I would call it, well, not science fiction, but rather the fiction of philosophy, or the fiction of dreams. And also, I’m greatly interested in solipsism, which is only an extreme form of idealism. It is strange, though, that all the people who write on solipsism write about it in order to refute it. I haven’t seen a single book in favor of solipsism. I know what you would want to say: since there is only one dreamer, why do you write a book? But if there is only one dreamer, why could you not dream about writing a book?
DD: Bertrand Russell once suggested that all the solipsists ought to get together and form a solipsist association.
Borges: Yes, he wrote very cleverly about solipsism. And so did Bradley in his Appearance and Reality. And then I read a book called Il Solipsismo by an Italian writer, where he says that the whole system is a proof of the egoism, of the selfishness of this period. That’s idiotic. I’ve never thought of solipsism in that way.
MP-R: How do you think of solipsism?
Borges: Well, I suppose that solipsism is unavoidable.
MP-R: Avoidable or unavoidable?
Borges : I should say, it’s unavoidable in a logical way, since nobody can believe in it. It is a bit like what Hume says of Berkeley: “His arguments admit of no refutation and produce no conviction.” Solipsism admits of no refutation and produces no conviction….
DD: Do you think that it is possible then for a story to represent a philosophical position more effectively than a philosopher can argue for it?
Borges: I have never thought of that, but I suppose you’re right, Sir. I suppose you — yes, yes, I think you’re right. Because as — I don’t know who said that, was it Bernard Shaw? — he said, arguments convince nobody. No, Emerson. He said, arguments convince nobody. And I suppose he was right, even if you think of proofs for the existence of God, for example — no? In that case, if arguments convince nobody, a man may be convinced by parables or fables or what? Or fictions. Those are far more convincing than the syllogism — and they are, I suppose. Well, of course, when I think of something in terms of Jesus Christ. As far as I remember, he never used arguments; he used style, he used certain metaphors. It’s very strange — yes, and he always used very striking sentences. He would not say, I don’t come to bring peace but war — “I do not come to bring peace but a sword.” The Christ, he thought in parables. Well, according to — I think that it was Blake who said that a man should be — I mean, if he is a Christian — should be not only just but he should be intelligent ... he should also be an artist, since Christ had been teaching art through his own way of preaching, because every one of the sentences of Christ, if not every single utterance of Christ, has a literary value, and may be thought of as a metaphor or as a parable.
DD: What do you think ultimately, then, separates the philosophical from the literary temperament, if they share these things in common?
Borges: I suppose a philosopher goes in for a rigorous way of thinking, and I suppose a writer is also interested in narratives, he’s telling tales, with metaphors.
MP-R: Can a narrative, especially a short narrative, be rigorous in a philosophical sense?
Borges: I suppose it could be. Of course, in that case it would be a parable. I remember when I read a biography of Oscar Wilde by Hesketh Pearson. Then there was a long discussion going on about predestination and free will. And he asked Wilde what he made of free will. Then he answered in a story. The story seemed somewhat irrelevant, but it wasn’t. He said — yes, yes, yes, some nails, pins, and needles lived in the neighborhood of a magnet, and one of them said, “I think we should pay a visit to the magnet.” And the other said, “I think it is our duty to visit the magnet.” The other said, “This must be done right now. No delay can be allowed.” Then when they were saying those things, without being aware of it, they were all rushing towards the magnet, who smiled because he knew that they were coming to visit him. You can imagine a magnet smiling. You see, there Wilde gave his opinion, and his opinion was that we think we are free agents, but of course we’re not….
But I would like to make it clear that if any ideas are to be found in what I write, those ideas came after the writing. I mean, I began by the writing, I began by the story, I began with the dream, if you want to call it that. And then afterwards, perhaps, some idea came of it. But I didn’t begin, as I say, by the moral and then writing a fable to prove it.
Se trata fundamentalmente de filosofía y literatura. Con audio incluido.
Entrevista:
Denis Dutton: Why don’t you tell us about some of the philosophers who have influenced your work, in whom you’ve been the most interested?
Jorge Luis Borges: Well, I think that’s an easy one. I think you might talk in terms of two: those would be Berkeley and Schopenhauer. But I suppose Hume might be worked in also, because, after all, of course Hume refutes Berkeley. But really, he comes from Berkeley — even if Berkeley comes from Locke. You might think of Locke, of Berkeley, and of Hume as being three links in an argument. But when somebody refutes somebody else in philosophy, he’s carrying on the argument.
Michael Palencia-Roth: Where would Schopenhauer come in?
Borges: Schopenhauer is very different from Hume. Of course, Schopenhauer had his idea of the Will. That is not to be found in Hume. But of course in the case of Berkeley it is different. I suppose he thought of God as being aware of all things all the time, I mean if I don’t get him wrong. If we go away, does this room disappear? No, it doesn’t, of course, because God is thinking about it.
Now, in the case of Schopenhauer, I was rereading Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, The World as Will and Idea, and I was rather taken aback, or rather baffled I should say, or puzzled by something that keeps on recurring in Schopenhauer. Of course it may have been a slip of the pen, but as he goes back to it, and as he was a very careful writer, I wonder if it is a slip of the pen. Well, for example, Schopenhauer begins by saying that all this, the universe, the stars, the spaces in between, the planets, this planet, those things have no existence, except in the mind which perceives them — no?
MP-R: Yes.
Borges: But then, to my surprise — and I suppose you can explain this to me, since you are philosophers and I am not — what Schopenhauer says is that all those things have no existence except in the brain. And that the universe — I remember these words, I don’t think I’m inventing them now — “ist ein Gehirnphänomen,” that the world is a cerebral phenomenon. Now, when I read that I was baffled. Because, of course, if you think of the universe, I suppose the brain is as much a part of the external world as the stars or the moon. Because the brain after all is a system of — I don’t know — of visual, of tactile, perceptions. But he keeps on insisting on the brain.
MP-R: Yes.
Borges: But I don’t think, for example, that Bishop Berkeley insists on the brain, or Hume, who would have insisted on the mind, consciousness….
DD: People sometimes say that they see Berkeley in stories like “Orbis Tertius.”
Borges: Yes, I suppose they do. Well, of course. But in that story I was led by literary means also.
DD: How do you distinguish the literary from the philosophical means in that story? Could you explain that?
Borges: Oh, well, yes, I’ll explain very easily…. Encyclopedias have been, I’d say, my life’s chief reading. I have always been interested in encyclopedias. Well, I used to go to the Biblioteca Nacional in Buenos Aires — and since I was so shy, I felt I could not cope with asking for a book, or a librarian, so I looked on the shelves for the Encyclopædia Britannica. Of course, afterwards, I had that book at home, by my hand. And then I would pick up any chance volume and I would read it. And then one night I was richly rewarded, because I read all about the Druses, Dryden, and the Druids — a treasure trove, no? — all in the same volume, of course, “Dr–.”
Then I came to the idea of how fine it would be to think of an encyclopedia of an actual world, and then of an encyclopedia, a very rigorous one of course, of an imaginary world, where everything should be linked. Where, for example, you would have, let’s say, a language and then a literature that went with the language, and then a history with it, and so on. Then I thought, well, I’d write a story of the fancy encyclopedia. Then of course that would need many different people to write it, to get together and to discuss many things — the mathematicians, philosophers, men of letters, architects, engineers, then also novelists or historians. Then, as I needed a quite different world from ours — it wasn’t enough to invent fancy names — I said, why not a world based on, let’s say, Berkeleyan ideas?
DD: A world in which Berkeley is common sense instead of Descartes?
Borges: Yes, that’s it. Then I wrote that story, “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius” that day, which has attracted many readers. And of course, the whole thing was based on the theory of idealism, the idea of there being no things but only happenings, of there being no nouns but only verbs, of there being no things but only perceptions.…
Lawrence I. Berkove: “Tlön” is a good example of one of your stories where, however the story ends, the reader is encouraged to continue applying your ideas.
Borges: Well, I hope so. But I wonder if they are my ideas. Because really I am not a thinker. I have used the philosophers’ ideas for my own private literary purposes, but I don’t think that I’m a thinker. I suppose that my thinking has been done for me by Berkeley, by Hume, by Schopenhauer, by Mauthner perhaps.
MP-R: You say you’re not a thinker…
Borges: No, what I mean to say is that I have no personal system of philosophy. I never attempt to do that. I am merely a man of letters. In the same way, for example that — well, of course, I shouldn’t perhaps choose this as an example — in the same way that Dante used theology for the purpose of poetry, or Milton used theology for the purposes of his poetry, why shouldn’t I use philosophy, especially idealistic philosophy — philosophy to which I was attracted — for the purposes of writing a tale, of writing a story? I suppose that is allowable, no?
DD: You share one thing certainly with philosophers, and that is a fascination with perplexity, with paradox.
Borges: Oh yes, of course — well I suppose philosophy springs from our perplexity. If you’ve read what I may be allowed to call “my works” — if you’ve read my sketches, whatever they are — you’d find that there is a very obvious symbol of perplexity to be found all the time, and that is the maze. I find that a very obvious symbol of perplexity. A maze and amazement go together, no? A symbol of amazement would be the maze.
DD: But philosophers seem not content ever to merely be confronted with perplexity, they want answers, systems.
Borges: Well, they’re right.
DD: They’re right?
Borges: Well, perhaps no systems are attainable, but the search for a system is very interesting.
MP-R: Would you call your work a search for a system?
Borges: No, I wouldn’t be as ambitious as all that. I would call it, well, not science fiction, but rather the fiction of philosophy, or the fiction of dreams. And also, I’m greatly interested in solipsism, which is only an extreme form of idealism. It is strange, though, that all the people who write on solipsism write about it in order to refute it. I haven’t seen a single book in favor of solipsism. I know what you would want to say: since there is only one dreamer, why do you write a book? But if there is only one dreamer, why could you not dream about writing a book?
DD: Bertrand Russell once suggested that all the solipsists ought to get together and form a solipsist association.
Borges: Yes, he wrote very cleverly about solipsism. And so did Bradley in his Appearance and Reality. And then I read a book called Il Solipsismo by an Italian writer, where he says that the whole system is a proof of the egoism, of the selfishness of this period. That’s idiotic. I’ve never thought of solipsism in that way.
MP-R: How do you think of solipsism?
Borges: Well, I suppose that solipsism is unavoidable.
MP-R: Avoidable or unavoidable?
Borges : I should say, it’s unavoidable in a logical way, since nobody can believe in it. It is a bit like what Hume says of Berkeley: “His arguments admit of no refutation and produce no conviction.” Solipsism admits of no refutation and produces no conviction….
DD: Do you think that it is possible then for a story to represent a philosophical position more effectively than a philosopher can argue for it?
Borges: I have never thought of that, but I suppose you’re right, Sir. I suppose you — yes, yes, I think you’re right. Because as — I don’t know who said that, was it Bernard Shaw? — he said, arguments convince nobody. No, Emerson. He said, arguments convince nobody. And I suppose he was right, even if you think of proofs for the existence of God, for example — no? In that case, if arguments convince nobody, a man may be convinced by parables or fables or what? Or fictions. Those are far more convincing than the syllogism — and they are, I suppose. Well, of course, when I think of something in terms of Jesus Christ. As far as I remember, he never used arguments; he used style, he used certain metaphors. It’s very strange — yes, and he always used very striking sentences. He would not say, I don’t come to bring peace but war — “I do not come to bring peace but a sword.” The Christ, he thought in parables. Well, according to — I think that it was Blake who said that a man should be — I mean, if he is a Christian — should be not only just but he should be intelligent ... he should also be an artist, since Christ had been teaching art through his own way of preaching, because every one of the sentences of Christ, if not every single utterance of Christ, has a literary value, and may be thought of as a metaphor or as a parable.
DD: What do you think ultimately, then, separates the philosophical from the literary temperament, if they share these things in common?
Borges: I suppose a philosopher goes in for a rigorous way of thinking, and I suppose a writer is also interested in narratives, he’s telling tales, with metaphors.
MP-R: Can a narrative, especially a short narrative, be rigorous in a philosophical sense?
Borges: I suppose it could be. Of course, in that case it would be a parable. I remember when I read a biography of Oscar Wilde by Hesketh Pearson. Then there was a long discussion going on about predestination and free will. And he asked Wilde what he made of free will. Then he answered in a story. The story seemed somewhat irrelevant, but it wasn’t. He said — yes, yes, yes, some nails, pins, and needles lived in the neighborhood of a magnet, and one of them said, “I think we should pay a visit to the magnet.” And the other said, “I think it is our duty to visit the magnet.” The other said, “This must be done right now. No delay can be allowed.” Then when they were saying those things, without being aware of it, they were all rushing towards the magnet, who smiled because he knew that they were coming to visit him. You can imagine a magnet smiling. You see, there Wilde gave his opinion, and his opinion was that we think we are free agents, but of course we’re not….
But I would like to make it clear that if any ideas are to be found in what I write, those ideas came after the writing. I mean, I began by the writing, I began by the story, I began with the dream, if you want to call it that. And then afterwards, perhaps, some idea came of it. But I didn’t begin, as I say, by the moral and then writing a fable to prove it.
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