Make philosophy at age 20 is for some bare to be in their truth, the truth is cohabiting with the glow of each occurrence, is excited about the dust storms that raise the awkward smacks of thought youth. Doing philosophy at age 20 is belief in the possibility of truth is to assume that the first truth which can be obtained as the last and final. Los ánimos del joven llevan a la filosofía un ímpetu similar al del primer amor, y no es extraño ser apasionado y terco, dogmático y ciego a esa edad. Las páginas de Platón o de Marx, de Schopenhauer o de Nietzsche, de Bakunin o de cualquiera se levantan como quien le alza por primera vez la falda a una mujer. Toda lectura juvenil es erótica, porque el joven necesita entregarse; los pensamientos que descubre, los que descifra, los que grita son como las caricias incendiarias de una amante; diferentes del todo a las caricias maternales. La madre es la religión y sus caricias se han venido depositando en la conciencia hasta adormecerla: son esas pequeñas seguridades con las que nos arroparon la infancia. Los primeros pensamientos philosophical, however, are worried sensual caresses that arouse the desire to possess a lust for knowledge, wanting to wallow in reality to achieve his deepest secret, his mystery opened for us. In the 20 years anyone unconditionally love a philosophy, everyone is willing to die for the truth, everyone is a lover of wisdom or, in short, at age 20 everyone is a philosopher.
But time passes and thus cleared the spirits and clears the sky when it clears, over time and are living together, decay and boredom, the thoughts cease to thrill, the pages of philosophy books rise without shivering, it is discovered that those ideas that caused orgasms in the soul are, at bottom, neither as original nor as bright: it is like that, that is opposed to the other and, finally, one day, The Philosophy, Truth, becomes a sequence of philosophies, a museum of broken truths, the first love is confused with the second and the third with the fourth: they lose track of love, lost love, lover wife becomes the admiration is usual, and burning and incendiary philosophical vocation dawn transformed into a living, in simple trade for a living.
mature philosophy and the philosopher who tends sleepers, like one who builds a railway line: it becomes a university professor and is forced to teach what she loved: to become the most abstruse teaching slurry thoughts to present a project to justify his salary, to develop a critical path that says: Now I thinking about this subject, I will start here, I will continue there and I'll get to this in many months ... The philosopher becomes a bureaucrat mature methodical listening with fatigue and thoughts your own thoughts and those of others. You no longer have the need to surrender, is not seeking to surrender, seeks to teach and to perform its semi-annual research project. Shipping to the ideas considered a childish attitude; be unconditional mean just a childish philosophical ideas. The mature philosopher is suspicious, is reluctant, is skeptical, but skeptical because no doubt, but because they do not love enough: no one would die for truth. He knows that there are too many truths in the world: one for each day of the week, one for each day of the month, a truth for every season. Knows that truth is a list of seasonal fashions. And so begins the metamorphosis of background: the philosopher becomes a professor of philosophy, that is, a scholar, that is, a collector. If truth is not worthwhile, perhaps the collection of all, being a connoisseur, could support life. And no matter the truth, but what you said A, B, C, D, E, F, G ...
But still spending time and spending so much that, finally, the old philosopher discovers that all along has been to back, which lies off time on the shelf, which eventually became the books of philosophy, written or read, in lectures in philosophy in philosophy classes, in philosophical thoughts and at last he had no more time, the old philosopher recharges in her work as parents in their children are recharged, as grandparents are recharged in his chair, tired as trees are recharged in the wall on the supporting branches. This will recharge the old philosopher in philosophy and then there is not much to do: repent or understand, finally, something. Be still like the insatiable Doctor Faustus at the end of the road has instructed to sell his soul to the devil to get a second chance or be like John Jacob Casanova, the Venetian seducer, who after a lifetime, like most in the does not build anything, old, decrepit, helpless, with memories of syphilis, poor finishing and turns from the balcony of his reports and states that to have another life would do the same. The 20-year
either a philosopher, at 80 only a few get to understand that philosophy, or anything to which one has delivered the existence, is the sense. Not that it makes sense, but it was the sense: what we had a bed in the middle of the absurd.
But time passes and thus cleared the spirits and clears the sky when it clears, over time and are living together, decay and boredom, the thoughts cease to thrill, the pages of philosophy books rise without shivering, it is discovered that those ideas that caused orgasms in the soul are, at bottom, neither as original nor as bright: it is like that, that is opposed to the other and, finally, one day, The Philosophy, Truth, becomes a sequence of philosophies, a museum of broken truths, the first love is confused with the second and the third with the fourth: they lose track of love, lost love, lover wife becomes the admiration is usual, and burning and incendiary philosophical vocation dawn transformed into a living, in simple trade for a living.
mature philosophy and the philosopher who tends sleepers, like one who builds a railway line: it becomes a university professor and is forced to teach what she loved: to become the most abstruse teaching slurry thoughts to present a project to justify his salary, to develop a critical path that says: Now I thinking about this subject, I will start here, I will continue there and I'll get to this in many months ... The philosopher becomes a bureaucrat mature methodical listening with fatigue and thoughts your own thoughts and those of others. You no longer have the need to surrender, is not seeking to surrender, seeks to teach and to perform its semi-annual research project. Shipping to the ideas considered a childish attitude; be unconditional mean just a childish philosophical ideas. The mature philosopher is suspicious, is reluctant, is skeptical, but skeptical because no doubt, but because they do not love enough: no one would die for truth. He knows that there are too many truths in the world: one for each day of the week, one for each day of the month, a truth for every season. Knows that truth is a list of seasonal fashions. And so begins the metamorphosis of background: the philosopher becomes a professor of philosophy, that is, a scholar, that is, a collector. If truth is not worthwhile, perhaps the collection of all, being a connoisseur, could support life. And no matter the truth, but what you said A, B, C, D, E, F, G ...
But still spending time and spending so much that, finally, the old philosopher discovers that all along has been to back, which lies off time on the shelf, which eventually became the books of philosophy, written or read, in lectures in philosophy in philosophy classes, in philosophical thoughts and at last he had no more time, the old philosopher recharges in her work as parents in their children are recharged, as grandparents are recharged in his chair, tired as trees are recharged in the wall on the supporting branches. This will recharge the old philosopher in philosophy and then there is not much to do: repent or understand, finally, something. Be still like the insatiable Doctor Faustus at the end of the road has instructed to sell his soul to the devil to get a second chance or be like John Jacob Casanova, the Venetian seducer, who after a lifetime, like most in the does not build anything, old, decrepit, helpless, with memories of syphilis, poor finishing and turns from the balcony of his reports and states that to have another life would do the same. The 20-year
either a philosopher, at 80 only a few get to understand that philosophy, or anything to which one has delivered the existence, is the sense. Not that it makes sense, but it was the sense: what we had a bed in the middle of the absurd.
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