Where we may see, like the parrots themselves, that, in the end, each one of us might be nothing more than a tiny piece of a vast puzzle... cast at random upon the stage of a theatre whose logic we can no longer perceive once the scenery precedes the curtain... once the stage hangs suspended between a sky and an absent earth, where the roots have lost their soil and begin to sprout in every direction... while awaiting the next eruption...
— In the end, each one of us might be nothing more than a tiny piece of a vast puzzle... cast at random upon the stage of a theatre whose logic we can no longer perceive once the scenery precedes the curtain.
— Do you happen to know where the word puzzle comes from?
— No more than I know where I myself come from...
— Precisely... The verb to puzzle originally meant to place someone in a state where he no longer knows how things fit together.
— I believe... as you do... that I know something of that condition.
— Then the puzzle was not, at first, an object.
— What, then, was it?
— An experience...
— ...that of a mind which has lost the thread!
— That origin matters. You see... before becoming a game of reconstruction, the puzzle is an experience of disorientation.
— One might almost say that a puzzle is a catastrophe in the etymological sense.
— Entirely so... According to our master, the Greek word katastrophē signifies an overturning.
— Then, if I understand correctly... a puzzle is an image that has been cut apart, laid upon a table... then overturned and scattered.
— Exactly so... but let us notice something rather curious...
— I am fond of curious things... provided they do not unsettle me too much.
— You will observe that the pieces of the puzzle, though scattered, have not become strangers to one another.
— They have merely lost the immediate possibility of manifesting their belonging together.
— In other words, the relation still exists.
— Only its visibility has disappeared...
— There is already a profoundly philosophical thought.
— There may exist an order that we no longer see.
— As our master tells us... most modern philosophies oscillate between two models.
— Just as we do...
— The first—yours, for example—imagines that the world is made up of separate elements which are afterwards assembled.
— And I, as your faithful companion, maintain that there is first of all a whole from which the parts arise.
— Thus the puzzle would appear to belong to the first model.
— I have the feeling that you are about to contradict me immediately...
— In truth, it belongs entirely to the second.
— I was certain of it... Pray explain.
— The pieces, contrary to what one might suppose, do not acquire their identity when they are assembled.
— I believe I understand... They were already the pieces of this puzzle before they were brought together.
— Their truth precedes their reunion.
— And we discover that truth only little by little.
— Is there not here something almost Platonic, when you say that relations exist before our knowledge of those relations?
— More than likely... Yet the puzzle surpasses Plato on one essential point.
— Which is?
— A piece signifies nothing by itself.
— It is not an autonomous fragment.
— It is a form of expectation.
— Its contour is already a dialogue.
— Every hollow calls for a projection.
— Every curve carries within it the memory of another curve.
— A piece never says: "I am."
— What does it say, then?
— It always says: "Someone is missing from me."
— In that respect, it resembles you... whenever I am absent.
— Other philosophers*, however, would probably have insisted upon another aspect.
— And what might that be?
— We almost never solve a puzzle through pure reasoning alone.
— What do you mean?
— The hands often know before the intellect does.
— One turns a piece.
— Brings it close.
— One senses that it is not yet right.
— And then, all at once...
— Like lightning across the sky!
— More quietly than that... without any real demonstration, something falls into accord.
— The body recognizes a coherence...
— Thus the puzzle shows that knowledge is not purely intellectual...
— It is perceptual as well.
— The fingers learn a logic that concepts formulate only afterwards.
* Merleau-Ponty, for example.
— Do you happen to know where the word puzzle comes from?
— No more than I know where I myself come from...
— Precisely... The verb to puzzle originally meant to place someone in a state where he no longer knows how things fit together.
— I believe... as you do... that I know something of that condition.
— Then the puzzle was not, at first, an object.
— What, then, was it?
— An experience...
— ...that of a mind which has lost the thread!
— That origin matters. You see... before becoming a game of reconstruction, the puzzle is an experience of disorientation.
— One might almost say that a puzzle is a catastrophe in the etymological sense.
— Entirely so... According to our master, the Greek word katastrophē signifies an overturning.
— Then, if I understand correctly... a puzzle is an image that has been cut apart, laid upon a table... then overturned and scattered.
— Exactly so... but let us notice something rather curious...
— I am fond of curious things... provided they do not unsettle me too much.
— You will observe that the pieces of the puzzle, though scattered, have not become strangers to one another.
— They have merely lost the immediate possibility of manifesting their belonging together.
— In other words, the relation still exists.
— Only its visibility has disappeared...
— There is already a profoundly philosophical thought.
— There may exist an order that we no longer see.
— As our master tells us... most modern philosophies oscillate between two models.
— Just as we do...
— The first—yours, for example—imagines that the world is made up of separate elements which are afterwards assembled.
— And I, as your faithful companion, maintain that there is first of all a whole from which the parts arise.
— Thus the puzzle would appear to belong to the first model.
— I have the feeling that you are about to contradict me immediately...
— In truth, it belongs entirely to the second.
— I was certain of it... Pray explain.
— The pieces, contrary to what one might suppose, do not acquire their identity when they are assembled.
— I believe I understand... They were already the pieces of this puzzle before they were brought together.
— Their truth precedes their reunion.
— And we discover that truth only little by little.
— Is there not here something almost Platonic, when you say that relations exist before our knowledge of those relations?
— More than likely... Yet the puzzle surpasses Plato on one essential point.
— Which is?
— A piece signifies nothing by itself.
— It is not an autonomous fragment.
— It is a form of expectation.
— Its contour is already a dialogue.
— Every hollow calls for a projection.
— Every curve carries within it the memory of another curve.
— A piece never says: "I am."
— What does it say, then?
— It always says: "Someone is missing from me."
— In that respect, it resembles you... whenever I am absent.
— Other philosophers*, however, would probably have insisted upon another aspect.
— And what might that be?
— We almost never solve a puzzle through pure reasoning alone.
— What do you mean?
— The hands often know before the intellect does.
— One turns a piece.
— Brings it close.
— One senses that it is not yet right.
— And then, all at once...
— Like lightning across the sky!
— More quietly than that... without any real demonstration, something falls into accord.
— The body recognizes a coherence...
— Thus the puzzle shows that knowledge is not purely intellectual...
— It is perceptual as well.
— The fingers learn a logic that concepts formulate only afterwards.
* Merleau-Ponty, for example.
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