About what is not seen

Constantin Noica
- o incercare de traducere
Duminica 03 aprilie 2015
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...Saint Anthony the Great.. (...) the signs, says he, that reveal a
rational and virtuous soul, are: the glance, the laugh, the occupations and the
encounters with others. It must be so. But we also feel that the soul is one with
the body like the horse-rider is one with the horse. And it might be the case that
you only render the horse, not the horse-rider as well. There is a gallop of the
horse, together with the horse-rider, but above it, there is the gallop of the horserider towards his viewless goal. You can render the former, and it seems to me
that this is where cinematography started from: from the attempt to render the
gallop of the horse. But the later, the gallop of the horse-rider, you do not render.
What is true in the world, cannot be seen. You can rather render in
pictures the paradise than the aspiration towards paradise. Since you have put so
well into play the exterior eye, pulling down the eyelids of the inner eye. He who
wants to be a true man must try to become a shadow in his life. You cannot do
anything with shadows.
Together with everyone else today, you work on the context, not the
text. We do not even realise how much the modern world is latened by the
context. For everyone, we want to create the perfect conditions to. We want to
prepare the apparition of we dont really know what. We perfectly train horses for
gallops towards obscure goals. And the means and the money, but especially the
money, in a considerable part of the world and in so many hearts, represents the
context excellently. Even this legitimate strive for peace and balance in the world
grandly inscribes itself in the line of the context. But what is our text?
And the context is seen, while the text is not seen. When you have it, or
at least when you are under the illusion that you have a text, the context comes
by itself, it grows from the text or it leaves you indifferent.
You can find me in this attick, happy, or under an illusive happiness,
somewhat impassive towards the context, which can, ultimately, belong to others,
to my friends that want to retain something on an inner screen. I asked one young
artist wandering in these places to paint some bisons on the walls of the mansardroofed room that leads to the chamber and that resemble the Cave of Altamira. In
two years time, if I am still alive, I will ask another young friend to paint me
byzantine frescos. If two girls come to find something about the text of an
existence, I will ask them to plant a flower parcel, as they would like, in the front
of the house. I am not in my house. But it is as if I am in my house, which also
belongs to the others. What a happiness - I dont posses it. One of the happenings
in life is to have property without possession.

At the moment I must write a history of philosophy in eighty pages, for

an encyclopedia. I have always been dreaming to arrive to this moment, but I will
write a history of philosophy without philosophers. Philosophers are boring, I have
to admit (recognise), but philosophy is all over the place. And a history of
philosophy as a history of the european spirit, with deep, but implicit philosophical
meanings, in literary works, in artistic creations, in sciences, in the orderings
(randuielile) and misunderstandings (smintelile) of the historical society, such a
thing would be relevant (graitor) namely on the line of the truths that cannot be
seen.
The ultimate problem in philosophy is the being, the attempt to enter
into the being, it being active almost everywhere (peste tot). Do you know why I
believe so? Because, as one medieval was saying, the being is, in the end (pana la
urma), not the (desavarsita) one, it is only its love. Wherever there is love, there is
being. When you love, you do not ask yourself what is in the world. But love is for
a text, not a context. And the texts cannot be seen. They belong to those who
became the shadows of their own lives.
I think there is not enough order in the world, in the soulds, and even in
knowledge (cunoastere), until each of us finds their own text, becoming one and
seeing around us good shadows of lives. In the end (de altfel), what are we in this
life other than (mijlocitori) between the shadows that are not anymore and those
that are not yet.
The (petrecerea lumii) of the world is happening somewhere other than
in the world that can be captured on film.
Someone who wanted to (petreaca) in this world and not just to walk
through it, wishes you a good (petrecere buna)