Pain, suffering, and limitations impose themselves as events. This was the original meaning of pathos: something that happens. When we are faced with our own frailty, the inevitability that we must suffer, and our ineludible struggle with limits, all language appears to fall apart, all forms of explanation appear to break down. Attemts to discuss pain in logical terms are doomed to failure. Talking about pain or trying to soothe it makes words appear to be either inadequate or superfluous. The vanity of the logos seems to introduce a distance between us and our experience. Yet it is from words that we expect to draw relief, salvation. Because if pain can be expressed, then some form of support becomes possible. If there are words to speak pain, then not only is its existence confirmed, but subjects can gain access to, or realize that they already possess, the resources for coping with their suffering. It can even happen that words of pain, through over- repetition or over-familiarity, lose their proximity to the agony that prompted them in the first place, to the experience they rested on or of which they were born. The relationship between words and pain is crucial to a philosophy of education that sets out to engage with the connection between learning and suffering, between pathos and mathos. Language teaches an “ethics of the finite nature of meaning” which enables us to go on constructing and reconstructing, time and again, a coherent landscape of otherwise irreconcilable experiences. It is through language and the potential that it offers us to start afresch (which the philosopher Maria Zambrano defines as the experience of des-nacer, or being unborn) that we can experience words, dialogue, and relationality as a form of learning. Heidegger suggests that language can become the abode of being, if we can grasp that it is through our struggles with words and unceasing “beginning again” through them that enables us to be in the world, and to dwell in its space of possibility and discursive openness.
Dolore, sofferenza e limite si impongono come accadimenti. Questo era il primo senso del pathos: qualcosa che accade. Rispetto al riconoscimento della precarietà, della necessità del patire e dell’inevitabile confronto con il limite, sembra lacerarsi ogni tipo di linguaggio, sembra infrangersi ogni tipo di spiegazione. Argomentare il dolore è esperienza fallimentare. Dire il dolore o cercare di consolarlo pone la parola di fronte alla sua manchevolezza o di fronte al suo eccesso. La vanità del logos sembra allontanare dall’esperienza. Eppure è dalla parola che ci si aspetta lenimento, salvezza. Perché se un dolore diventa dicibile, allora lo si può, in qualche modo, sostenere. Se ci sono le parole per dirlo, non solo il dolore esiste, ma il soggetto acquista o si accorge di possedere gli strumenti per maneggiare la sofferenza. Addirittura può accadere che le parole del dolore, se troppo ripetute o diventate abituali, perdano la loro prossimità con l’agonia che le ha originate, con l’esperienza su cui si sono posate o da cui nascono. La relazione tra parola e dolore diviene cruciale per una filosofia dell’educazione che tenti di sporgersi sul legame tra apprendimento e sofferenza, tra pathos e mathos. Il linguaggio insegna un’“etica del finito del senso” che permette di costruire e ricostruire sempre, e di volta in volta, un territorio che sappia tenere insieme esperienze inconciliabili. È attraverso il linguaggio e la possibilità di un suo ricominciamento (che la filosofa Maria Zambrano definisce esperienza del des-nacer, del disnascere) che diviene possibile sperimentare la parola e l’esperienza del dialogo, della relazione all’interno di una dimensione di apprendimento. Il linguaggio può diventare la dimora dell’essere, secondo l’idea di Heidegger, se impariamo che è dai suoi conflitti, dal suo ricominciamento inesausto che si rivela come la parola ci permetta di stare al mondo, di abitarne lo spazio di possibilità, l’apertura discorsiva.
Mancino, E. (2019). Per un pugno di terra. conflitto, grazia e dialogo: la dis-nascita di antigone come modello etico del binomio del non-ancora e del non-più. METIS, 9 [10.30557/MT00060].
Per un pugno di terra. conflitto, grazia e dialogo: la dis-nascita di antigone come modello etico del binomio del non-ancora e del non-più
Mancino, E
2019
Abstract
Pain, suffering, and limitations impose themselves as events. This was the original meaning of pathos: something that happens. When we are faced with our own frailty, the inevitability that we must suffer, and our ineludible struggle with limits, all language appears to fall apart, all forms of explanation appear to break down. Attemts to discuss pain in logical terms are doomed to failure. Talking about pain or trying to soothe it makes words appear to be either inadequate or superfluous. The vanity of the logos seems to introduce a distance between us and our experience. Yet it is from words that we expect to draw relief, salvation. Because if pain can be expressed, then some form of support becomes possible. If there are words to speak pain, then not only is its existence confirmed, but subjects can gain access to, or realize that they already possess, the resources for coping with their suffering. It can even happen that words of pain, through over- repetition or over-familiarity, lose their proximity to the agony that prompted them in the first place, to the experience they rested on or of which they were born. The relationship between words and pain is crucial to a philosophy of education that sets out to engage with the connection between learning and suffering, between pathos and mathos. Language teaches an “ethics of the finite nature of meaning” which enables us to go on constructing and reconstructing, time and again, a coherent landscape of otherwise irreconcilable experiences. It is through language and the potential that it offers us to start afresch (which the philosopher Maria Zambrano defines as the experience of des-nacer, or being unborn) that we can experience words, dialogue, and relationality as a form of learning. Heidegger suggests that language can become the abode of being, if we can grasp that it is through our struggles with words and unceasing “beginning again” through them that enables us to be in the world, and to dwell in its space of possibility and discursive openness.I documenti in IRIS sono protetti da copyright e tutti i diritti sono riservati, salvo diversa indicazione.