Prolegómenos a la Doctrina del Crimen

Toda sabiduría sucumbe bajo la vista de su emblema: el único emblema del hombre es el cadáver. En estas líneas no nos ocuparemos, pues, del hombre, sino de sus contrafiguras, de lo que en él apunta hacia una heráldica. Con ello esperamos que el espíritu, mudo para unos, hablará para nosotros. Haremos una anatomía filosófica del crimen y la crueldad a través de la Historia y el Arte, desplegada sobre un andamiaje teórico en el que prevalezca el buen gusto: Aristóteles, Shakespeare, Milton, Leibniz, Poe, De Quincey, Schopenhauer, Stevenson, Borges, Benjamin, Foucault, Deleuze. Una colección de fragmentos monádicos cuyo fin es configurar las constelaciones de lo eidético, único testigo posible de la invocación de lo humano bajo la sombra de una nueva Noche.

martes, 31 de julio de 2007

Un Mapa de las Tinieblas: hacia la Cartografia del Progreso

It appears the Company had received news that one of their captains had been killed in a scuffle with the natives. This was my chance, and it made me the more anxious to go. It was only months and months afterwards, when I made the attempt to recover what was left of the body, that I heard the original quarrel arose from a misunderstanding about some hens. Yes, two black hens. Fresleven--that was the fellow's name, a Dane—thought himself wronged somehow in the bargain, so he went ashore and started to hammer the chief of the village with a stick. Oh, it didn't surprise me in the least to hear this, and at the same time to be told that Fresleven was the gentlest, quietest creature that ever walked on two legs. No doubt he was; but he had been a couple of years already out there engaged in the noble cause, you know, and he probably felt the need at last of asserting his self-respect in some way. Therefore he whacked the old nigger mercilessly, while a big crowd of his people watched him, thunderstruck, till some man,--I was told the chief's son,--in desperation at hearing the old chap yell, made a tentative jab with a spear at the white man--and of course it went quite easy between the shoulder-blades. Then the whole population cleared into the forest, expecting all kinds of calamities to happen, while, on the other hand, the steamer Fresleven commanded left also in a bad panic, in charge of the engineer, I believe. Afterwards nobody seemed to trouble much about Fresleven's remains, till I got out and stepped into his shoes. I couldn't let it rest, though; but when an opportunity offered at last to meet my predecessor, the grass growing through his ribs was tall enough to hide his bones. They were all there. The supernatural being had not been touched after he fell. And the village was deserted, the huts gaped black, rotting, all askew within the fallen enclosures. A calamity had come to it, sure enough. The people had vanished. Mad terror had scattered them, men, women, and children, through the bush, and they had never returned. What became of the hens I don't know either. I should think the cause of progress got them, anyhow.
Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

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