What is a philosopher thinking about when he decides, as André Glucksmann did, that he wishes to be cremated? Resolute atheism? Residual Platonism? The uselessness of this body, of which nothing need remain? Confidence in books, the philosopher’s real tomb, the only one that counts, the only memorial worth putting his name on? Nothing before, nothing after, a brief passage between two tempests, two vertiginous voids? Quite a few of us, I imagine, are asking ourselves the same question on this strangely mild fall Friday around the funeral hall of Père Lachaise, its dreariness transcended today by …read more
Source: The Huffington Post
