Penser juste parler vrai - Julia de Funès & Rav Elie Lemmel

Before starting this discussion, I would like to introduce a text that we will be reading this week at the synagogue, and you know there is always a small link between these texts and current events, without needing too much convolution. This week, we will be talking about the story of the flood. And quite curiously, when we speak of the flood and Noah, the survivor who will restart humanity, they go into this famous ark. This ark is, therefore , a vessel.

And in Hebrew, there are several terms that designate a boat, a vessel. And here, we have a very curious term that only appears twice in the Bible, which is the word "Teva." Teva is very curious because we see it here, and also regarding Moses, you know, when he is in his little skiff at the moment he is placed on the Nile. And then the text specifies something else. It gives us the dimensions of this ark, for which we really don't see the point.

What does that change? And it tells us it is 300 amot—a unit of measurement—long, by 50 by 30. What is being told to us here? Teva is also a word that designates a letter.

And when you take the measurements of this ark, well, you know that in Hebrew, each letter has a numerical correspondence. And these three letters correspond to the letter Shin (300), Nun (50), and Lamed (30), which make the term "lashon," meaning language. And fundamentally, humanity restarts when we rethink the relationship to language, when we understand the necessity of knowing how to create a language that will allow humanity to create its history. And the second one is Moses.

I will conclude with that, and we will move right on to this interview. Moses, you know, the Torah relates to us, tells us that Moses is " kevad peh" or "kevad lashon," which we translate into French as stuttering. But fundamentally, what are we being told? Someone who has difficulty expressing themselves takes the time to think about the word they are going to pronounce, and the person in front of them must be particularly attentive and listening, respecting the other's time to speak and succeeding at that moment in integrating it.

And the skiff on which Moses begins his story is also " Teva." It is also the letter that is, therefore, the entry point of language. That’s a bit of the context, I’d say, and it was interesting to note that this is what we will read this week at the synagogue, and so I will begin now by first asking you a very simple question. So, what drove you and what made you want to write this book? And fundamentally, what was happening on a societal level that made you say, "I have to write this book"?

>> All right. Well, good evening, everyone . Thank you for coming. I am very happy to be here with you to talk about language beyond my book.

So, why did I write it? For several reasons. The first is that I had wanted to write a philosophy book about distinctions for a very long time because I found that in philosophy, we learn that language is our greatest strength. How we win a debate through language, how we win a trial through language, and that distinctions and nuances are its greatest precision.

And in my study of philosophy, I had always been fascinated by the decisive distinctions , by the decisive nuances that my professors passed on to me through their courses, and I would think, this is incredible because it can really solve a problem, it can resolve a discussion, a contradiction. So that had been running through my mind for a very long time, thinking that this small arsenal of distinctions, nuances, and conceptual tools is a strength that is truly useful and accessible to everyone. So that was an idea that had been crossing my mind for a long time. Trying to be the intermediary for everything most precious that philosophy had passed on to me, and distinctions were one example.

Secondly , this book is a concomitance of several facts. Secondly, I found that last year, during the literary season last September, almost all philosophy books revolved around confession, autobiography, uh, personal history. You see, I felt that the philosophers of my generation insisted a lot on their history, on their personal lives. And I wanted to take the opposite approach, thinking, because we always lament that books don't sell, but I told myself, perhaps it's not that the books don't sell, perhaps the books aren't that interesting to most people either.

That’s a hypothesis, and so I preferred to make a book that was truly generous for the reader, asking myself what we truly need. And the third element that triggered the writing of this book is that following my lectures , many people would tell me, "I feel exactly what you are saying." I perceive what you're saying, but I don't always have the words to say it. So all those three factors, plus, I forgot, social media, where we really see a narrowing of vocabulary, a polarization of discussions:

we're no longer in argumentation at all, but in disqualification; we're not in nuance at all, we're in binary, in a rather, rather sterile Manichaeism. So all that , social media, the demand from clients who told me "We don't have the words," the need to pass on what philosophy had bequeathed to me, all these reasons pushed me to write this book which is called "Thinking, Distinguishing." I'll just say a word about the title because it might be enigmatic.

Thinking, Distinguishing. I wanted to make a book that was very accessible, easy to read, because today it's very complicated to read a philosophy essay. We don't necessarily have the mental disposition , the courage to embark on a philosophy essay at 10 p.m. when we go to bed.

So I wanted a book that we could dip into based on the themes that interest us, depending on the subjects, the distinctions, the nuances. You don't have to read it from the first page to the last. It's really easy to access. And I wanted it to be an epistolary relationship because I thought that letters were much easier to dip into than a real text.

So it's an epistolary relationship between two women, and " Thinking, Distinguishing" is, first of all, obviously a closing salutation at the end of the letters that shows precisely that it's an epistolary exchange. Secondly, obviously, it's a book of distinctions. So that's why it's also called "Thinking, Distinguishing," because all the letters focus on a decisive distinction , a decisive nuance. And thirdly, I thought that speaking with distinction was a way, today, to stand out, because it's quite rare to have the most appropriate words, to have an acuteness in one's vocabulary; and so it was also a way to distinguish oneself in the midst of the masses and social media.

So for these three reasons, I called this book "Thinking, Distinguishing," and it obviously revolves around language and distinctions. >> So basically, in what I hear, it's the confrontation with what language is losing that drives you to want to eventually get people to rethink their relationship with language. >> Yes. So, it's in all my works, the only goal, the unique goal, you know, it was Berkson who said that we always write the same book through slightly different themes, but we always write the same book.

And indeed, I find that when we look back at these books, we realize it's the same book, and for me, the only book I have written is ultimately one that is always a quest for freedom. When I wrote about companies and managerial norms, it was about how to free oneself from these managerial norms. I wrote a book on personal development, an indictment of personal development, because the goal was to free ourselves from the behavioral recipes and behavioral precepts that we are flooded with today . *Le siècle des égarés*was about how to free oneself from a form of identitarianism.

We were just talking about it before, *La vertu dangereuse*, how to free oneself from self-righteousness and binary dogmatism . And this one is also a book about freedom. For me, language is the greatest of freedoms. At once, an individual freedom.

Because being free is not just saying what you want when you want. It's saying what you want when you want, but exactly how you want . When you cannot say exactly as you wish what you are feeling, you are in a form of internal fog. You are a prisoner of your feelings, a prisoner of your impressions, of your opinions, and therefore you are less free.

So, language is already a tool of individual freedom. So, the more words you have at your disposal, the more, well, the more free you feel, of course . And it is also a tool of collective freedom, because when you don't have the words, when you don't have the nuances, you very quickly turn to insults, to violence, why not to the point of...The use of appropriate words allows, if you will, for the civility of disagreement; it allows for avoiding violence; it allows for everything we see, once again, on social media. So it is at once a democratic tool to value this language and to say, well, despite the narrowing of the current vocabulary , we will try to give people as many words as possible at their disposal.

So it is a tool of democratic freedom, collective freedom, and individual freedom as well. >> Nevertheless, what is interesting to see is that basically, the whole stake of the beginning of an individual's history is precisely an inaudible language. It's interesting to see that, basically, the starting point begins first with the child. And for the child , we will have to decipher what they are trying to say because they don’t have the words to say it.

And at some point, well, even when they do have the words to say it, is it certain that we will manage to understand them? Basically, that is perhaps the whole problem of a common dictionary. Meaning that, at one point, what you are saying is very interesting, but how can we be certain that the other person will hear in my words what I truly intend to convey? And beyond that, is my language , are the words I use, the sentences I speak, the expression of a thoughtful and elaborate idea, or is it much more a form of copy-paste of an idea that I rephrase with other words, but which is fundamentally the same principle?

There is a famous master called the Maharal of Prague. You know, the one to whom the famous golem is attributed in the 16th century in Prague. And the Maharal tells us that there are two types of thought. what we call constructed thought constructed thought and instinctive thought.

He says constructed thought is when I try to develop my own reflection regarding a subject. And instinctive thought is when I act as a loudspeaker for the thoughts of others, which I rephrase with words that seem to belong to me but are not the fruit of my own reflection. And when you raise the issue of language here, how can we basically know if what the other person says is the fruit of their thought or, conversely, a pre-existing thought that they adopt but haven't passed through the

filter of their own reflection? It's it's not a but it's difficult it's a exactly but me >> I didn't think it would be so difficult at this hour, me at 8:30 I'm no longer capable of but you can say but that’s exactly it >> No, not at all.

But you're right, but the problem is the problem of language. Once again, I don't know why I’m quoting him for a second time tonight, but it's true, the thinker of language also tells us: the problem with language is that words are general categories that do not allow for capturing the singularity of a feeling, the singularity of a thought, or even the singularity of an identity. When we define ourselves, if I tell you, well, I am a 47-year-old woman, Parisian, etc., that says nothing about me. These are general categories, even if we get into more psychological categories, uh, I don't know, ADHD, narcissistic pervert, and so on.

Anyway, you see that language generalizes, words are general categories that do not allow us to grasp the individuality, the singularity, and the selfhood of a being. So that is the problem with language. But nevertheless, I believe that is also the purpose of—well, the interest of philosophy—is to put meaning back behind words that are so conventional or so overused that they completely lose their flavor, they completely lose their meaning. There are a lot of—you know, I often use this example today, it's very striking.

Many people, especially in companies, but in our society more globally, talk about kindness all the time. You’ve noticed that it’s a theme that comes up systematically in every context and in every situation. We are all for kindness, of course, obviously, it goes without saying. But by dint of overusing this word, we empty this notion of its content.

And to appear kind, what happens? Well, we no longer dare to say what we think for fear of coming across as someone mean, critical , or negative. So, we must above all not appear so critical, so negative. So , we prefer to say nothing.

As a result , this is where the story of language is incredible. That’s where, as a result, we transform kindness into the unspoken, into complacency, and we prefer—and yet, there is nothing more violent than the unspoken. There is nothing more violent than complacency. If you are kind to me this evening, you might tell me after our meeting, "I disagree with everything you said." I contradict you above all.

Well, it would be very kind nonetheless, because one, you listened to me until the end, that is respectful. Two, I am going to challenge you on your ideas. You will challenge me on mine, and we will move together gradually toward fairer ideas, toward truer ideas. So when there is a real concern for kindness, one must dare to contradict, dare to say, "But what do you mean by that term?""What is going on?" But to dare to offer a contradiction in our country today has become very complicated, because the slightest contradiction is considered or perceived as a humiliation, where the confrontation of viewpoints is immediately seen as a conflict.

But if we turn the slightest contradiction into a humiliation, at that point, we prefer to say nothing at all and we transform kindness into complacency. And that is what I call a dangerous virtue. Initially, it's a good intention, but it turns into a vice because complacency is something to be banished. So, behind the words, all this illustrates that behind the words, we can strip words of their content.

We might not understand at all what the other person is saying to us, but even with feelings, when someone says "I love you," we don't really know what is going on behind it. It's problematic. We would like to know exactly how the other person loves, and so on, but we can't. So, what you are essentially bringing up is one of the great difficulties we face: do I have the courage to ask the other person to translate and tell me what they mean by that?

And we see it unfortunately often in issues involving children, children who are victims of bullying, for example, who will tell you something in their own words. For example, "this teacher bothers me," but that's because they don't know how to say things differently. And our difficulty is that we take the words as we understand them , and you take the term "kindness." But what is kindness to you? And what is very interesting is to see that we can, at a certain point, redefine terms >> that will lead us to head in a radically different direction.

You know , there is a very interesting text that relates in the Torah that famous story of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Obviously, it’s an immense theme. The Talmud asks a question, it says, "But what was this tree?" Because the apple story, forget about it, that wasn't it. And the Talmud has several proposals, and we know that when the Talmud gives several proposals, it isn't there to say what actually happened, but it is there to tell us what we should take from it.

And in one of the proposals, it says, "It's wheat. " So, first, we have to understand how wheat is a tree. That’s another subject. The Talmud speaks about it.

But the Talmud's answer is to say it's because the child begins to speak when they are more or less at the age of cereals. Great. And so we are very interested to learn that. Basically, the Talmud is telling us, "Evil and good arrive when I can name things.

Because if I name them, I can rename them. Because he who steals from the rich to give to the poor will no longer be a thief, but will be a vigilante. He who sees in the feminine a place of consumption will be called a ladies ' man. He who has killed, but because he has the badges that allow it, will have committed a blunder.

And so, we clearly see that the difficulty will be this word that allows me to extricate myself from a problem, because quite simply, I was able to reinvent it along with the problem, the definition. And I want to pause precisely on the example you gave first: to love. Ronsard and Johnny, two great poets, right? We talked a lot about love.

Let's go see the rose that this morning had folds, and so on. And it's interesting to ask ourselves," But what does it mean to love? "And that's where I would like to hear how you think about things, because in the Jewish tradition, we say there is basically a point of reference, which is this famous Torah. I believe it was Pascal who said that the Jewish people have traversed history in the shadow of this book.

And the Torah, like in the song, but almost, is going to talk to us about love too. What is very curious is that it asks us to love God, an imperative of love. And asks us to respect our parents. We could have imagined that logically the text would tell us, love your parents, respect God .

And Maimonides says," But how can you force someone to love? "And the answer is a form of brilliance. He says," But if you start from the principle—which we could discuss elsewhere—but if you start from the principle that God gives you what you need to flourish, then you know there is a place for love. " Translation.

To love is to want the other to flourish. To feel loved is to realize that the other has this desire for us to flourish through the knowledge they have of who we are, to give us what we need in a singular and unique way. And what is interesting, precisely, is when you pose the problem of language and the words you have used : do you think that today we aren't, at heart, in this difficulty of saying words with definitions where we don't know where they come

from, and which can sometimes paradoxically create a break and a distance because I didn't understand, in your words, what you wanted to put into them today, at heart ? How could we imagine a society in which we manage to truly decrypt the meaning the other person wanted to put into the word they are pronouncing, beyond non-verbal language and everything that goes around it?

>> I don't know, but that is the work of thought, that is the work of philosophy . When you dissect the notion of love, for example—well, it's all literary disciplines anyway—but when you decrypt the concept of love in philosophy, we will have three meanings for the word love, in which we will also find, eh... >> it's the...But what do you understand by it? I mean, at heart, how do we do it in dialogue??

>> We dare and, well, we dialogue. That is to say, one must already have a conceptual arsenal at one's disposal to have enough words to question the other . One must, uh, also, I believe, exit the register of opinion to enter that of thought, which is very difficult because, when we stay in opinion, precisely, we repeat—it's what you said earlier—we repeat the words that are suitable, we repeat the formulas that sound good, but opinion is the opposite of thought. When we enter into the unthought, it is saying to oneself, " But based on what am I saying this?

" " or "Based on what are you saying this ? What is the prejudice that allows you to say this? What allows you to say that?" and we dissect the thought. And that is where we refine things a little , even if the outcome is vain anyway because we will not be able, once again , to capture a feeling or something so intimate through a general category.

So , in any case, it is vain. But we will be able to get closer to it by working on this thought, by having a technique and tools at our disposal, by daring to confront, by daring to provide contradiction and exit this moralization, this reign of opinion. easy moralization, virtue signaling, good intentions, words that sound good. I could give you an endless list of them.

It is obviously often the subject of my columns, but, uh, and this reflection, this thought, that is what allows, I believe, for reaching a more precise use of words. Moral reflection, moral thought stands in opposition to moralizing. Moralizing is truly a binary dogmatism that places the camp of good on one side, and the camp of evil on the other. Whereas when we enter the realm of thought, of moral reflection, we try to see what can be good in evil, evil in good, unjust in the just, just in the unjust.

So you see, we dissect reasoning much more, we unsettle the obvious, we unsettle our certainties. So there you have it, it is daring to confront, daring to engage in dialogue. For that, one must know how to speak. So, one must already have words at one's disposal and, above all, work on one's thinking.

And working on one's thinking, for me, starts from the youngest age. I would like philosophy to be—not in the sense of philosophical theory, of course, but in the sense of an exercise in discernment , in critical thinking—to be obviously taught in the very earliest grades, because I see the...I envision the mind exactly like any other muscle. And just as to tone your body, you need constraint; that is called sports and discipline. Well, I believe that for the mind, it is exactly the same thing.

To make one's mind stronger, that is to say, to broaden one's frameworks of thought, to review one's ways of speaking, to revise one's ways of thinking, it also requires a constraint , that is to say, a discipline. And it is learned from the youngest age, I believe, critical thinking, discernment . Never take for granted a word that you have not questioned. Never take at face value an opinion you have heard and repeat and debase until you exhaust the meaning of those very words.

So for me, it is the work of thought that will come to refine the imprecision inherent in language. It is true that this work, the question is, are we ready to take the risk of confronting it, because deep down it requires something that today is less and less present, which is the world of effort? >> Exactly. Exactly.

And it requires an effort, and the spirit of convenience goes against that trend. It is much easier to submit to dominant ideas, to the spirit of the times, to dominant opinions. And that is, moreover, why moral correctness is so hegemonic in our discussions today, because it is very difficult to oppose it. For one, it is very widely shared, so that is where a certain form of power comes from.

Secondly, it is steeped in good intentions. So as soon as you criticize it, you come across as someone negative , someone critical. And above all, it is an obedience to the dominant ideas of the moment. And it is difficult to oppose an obedience.

It is much easier to rise up against something scandalous . The crimes in Mazan, we are all scandalized, but it is easy to be scandalized by the crimes in Mazan. On the other hand, an obedience, it is much harder to oppose. Yet, in human history, the worst crimes have often been committed out of obedience.

The Inquisition was part of canon law. Islamist terrorists do not feel they are transgressing the law of Allah. On the contrary, they want to enforce it to the letter. Eichmann, an officer of Hitler, justified the industrialization of death by saying, "I was obeying the Führer's orders, I had no other choice but to obey, and I was doing my job very well, and so on." So, often, obedience can also lead to the worst, but it is much harder to oppose.

So for all those reasons, submitting to obedience, which is steeped in good intentions, requires effort. For all these reasons, we prefer not to engage in a real conversation, a real reflective work of thought, and we prefer to submit to the dominant opinions. Now, it is true that this idea, at its core, is, I almost want to say, consubstantial to the history of the people of Israel. Since you know that the one who is the source of what we call the Hebrew people is Abraham.

Abraham the Hebrew. Moreover, it is very interesting because if you ask people, "The Hebrew, why, where does it come from?" So, you have to take the word in Hebrew precisely, we call him Avraham. Avram the Hebrew, Ivri. But what is special about Hebrew is that it is primarily a consonantal language.

So you can vocalize it in a different way, and furthermore, you can work on the letters that make up the word to be able to reconstruct others and understand through these other words what it means. Ivri comes from the root meaning "from the other side," and it is a text, moreover, that we say on the evening of Passover when we are gathered at this famous Seder, that is to say, that moment in which we celebrate the youth of the people of Israel as a people. We recall the story and we say "Nahar." Abraham was on the other side of the river. Great.

Do we need a geographical location for Abraham? And in the Kabbalistic tradition, it is explained to us that " nahar," the river, is thought. But Abraham placed himself on the other side of thought. Meaning that the beginning of the history of the people of Israel is having had the courage to think differently and not being afraid to live the involving dimension of that thought which, deep down, will lead Abraham to find himself in the famous furnace.

That is to say, Abraham realizes that at a certain point, one must not be afraid to take the risk of a stance that will necessarily create opposition. But you know that paradoxically, that is how you build. It is like in the relationship with a child; it is the parental stance that allows for the child's opposition and which will subsequently create dialogue . It is interesting to see that precisely the entire history of the people of Israel will pass through the universe of language, which therefore begins with Abraham, who proposes a different way of thinking.

But what is very interesting is that in the Talmudic tradition, you know that these are constant exchanges. And what is very curious is that when the Talmud poses a problem, whatever it may be in field X, Y, or Z, then there are discussions, arguments, and then at the end, a conclusion is reached. What is curious is that the Talmud reports the entirety of the arguments, the questions, and the answers. Why?

To allow us, among other things, to register as soon as possible the idea that there is another hypothesis. We can perhaps understand things differently. To open ourselves to a different hypothesis. This is what will allow us not to be frozen in the readings we are offered, because deep down they satisfy those who put them in place to justify their approach, their demagoguery, whatever you like.

And this is undoubtedly one of the great difficulties we find today, meaning that beyond the problem of language and the words we use, which can completely reframe a situation and transform it, there is also the entire stake involved . Are we ready to have other hypotheses for reading things, not only in the dimension of the event itself but also in the understanding we have of speech expressed by the other in one way or another? And that is, deep down, perhaps also the whole stake of the

relationship in the family: that is, do I create for myself a different hypothesis for reading the other's reaction, stance, or word, but which might perhaps, at some point, prevent me from justifying the stance I will take in the relationship? Are we not, deep down, also at some point—how do we...how do we think about that?

There are, yes, there are many things because . First of all, why we don't dare to let ourselves be challenged by another hypothesis, or why we often don't dare to debate or confront ideas, is that we very often speak today, I find, at the level of identities and not at all at the level of ideas and arguments. So, as soon as we speak at the level of identities, it becomes very complicated to accept a hypothesis contrary to one's own dogma or an opinion that contradicts my own. Because identities are much more sensitive to flattery and much more resistant to criticism.

So if you criticize me, we're in a debate together and you criticize me, if I'm speaking from my identity, well, once again, the contradiction will become a humiliation. So I think that learning to think, learning to speak, means learning to speak at the level of ideas and reasoning. And at that moment, when we are at this level of ideas and reasoning, we can go very far in contradiction. We can, uh, not disparage in the intellectual sense of the term someone's idea.

We can go very far, but we won't feel offended, and the debate won't turn into an identity-based fight. So I think one of the obstacles to crossing to the other side of the river, as you were saying earlier, is that we also have to get past identity politics and speak at the level of ideas. Uh, secondly, regarding the various hypotheses, I find that there is something difficult to instill today. And we also confuse—it's a distinction I make in the book—we often confuse, we don't dare to enter into a perspectivist logic.

What I mean by that is, for a single problem, for a single subject, what is perspectivism? It is trying to approach the subject from different perspectives. It is what judges do when they approach a legal problem. It is what doctors do when they meet in a colloquium and you have the oncologist, the radiologist, all the doctors you want.

Suddenly, there is a multiplicity of points of view, of perspectives that will try to grasp the objective reality of a problem. And often today, we are not in perspectivism at all, we are in relativism. We say: "Yes, there are many different points of view, but my point of view is worth as much as yours ," and then we are in a sort of smug satisfaction with our own point of view , and we fall into relativism, which is not at all the same thing as perspectivism. My point of view is not yours, but I remain on the side of my own point of view.

We do not confront our points of view. It is very different because in relativism, there is no longer any truth since everyone has their own truth. There is no longer any morality since everyone has their own morality, and there is not even really any science anymore because if I decide that 2 + 2 = 5, well, why should I think otherwise? So relativism is very dangerous, and today it is very fashionable.

Do you hear it? I heard it again yesterday during a lecture; someone was saying—concluding my own lecture, no less—by saying "and to each their own truth." Well, no, not " to each their own truth." Just because there is a multiplicity of points of view does not mean there is no objective reality, but it is difficult to grasp or understand if we do not engage in a form of perspectivism. And these are two completely different approaches because perspectivism tries to objectify a subjective point of view through

a multiplicity of perspectives, whereas relativism denies the objectivity of reality and, if you will , subjectivizes the objectivity of the world. So you see that these two approaches, which a priori one might group together by saying, "Well, in both cases it's a multiplicity of points of view," are not at all the same.

They are two opposite approaches. So, to think and to try to open oneself to the hypothesis of the other, I think one must adopt a form of perspectivism regarding every problem. That is what philosophy teaches masterfully; when you begin philosophy studies on any issue—love, happiness, death—you have ten or more schools of philosophy that provide you with a point of view, and all these points of view are just as rigorous and valid as the others, and so you have a constellation of points of view on the same subject. That is philosophical openness; that is the openness of thought.

So, open yourself to perspectivism, of course, and try to speak as little as possible from your own identity or your own ego, in order to speak as much as possible at the level of ideas and arguments, so as to go far in discussions and far in contradictions. >> You are raising a fundamental issue here, because it is true that we hear a lot—and I see this in the academic world—we hear this phrase a lot that begins with "Personally, I think." I love the "personally, I," agreed.

" Personally, I think." And it's interesting, because at some point, it's the whole challenge of horizontality versus verticality. Meaning that even in the relationship with a student—agreed, a student is someone we are "raising" in the fullest sense of the word—there is indeed a horizontality in the debate.

But at some point, there is a form of verticality linked not just to someone who possesses knowledge, but who has a form of legitimacy to draw conclusions, provided they are willing to be shaken by a perspective that is not their own and that can lead them to rethink their relationship with things. And it's interesting because, in the Talmudic tradition, we are taught something; and I really like this sentence I heard from one of my teachers, who said: "An encounter with an individual or a book only

has meaning to the extent that I am willing to let myself be shaken." That is to say, on one hand, we anchor within ourselves a certain vision that passes—whether we like it or not— through a subjectivity that is present because of the filter of our subjectivity, which has been nurtured by our history. And at the same time, we might find ourselves momentarily shaken by a thought, and if my identity does not depend on my certainties, in that case, we can create this dialogue. The question is

whether I need >> to exist through the validity of my own thoughts.

How am I going to do that? And we see this in all fields, even in scientific domains. I believe it was Louis Leprince-Ringuet who said one day —how is it that we find...well, people will hear my sentence in two ways there. How is it that we encounter so many Jews in fundamental research?

And he said—he himself provided this answer. He said it is because I have the impression that in the Jewish tradition, the concept of mystery does not exist. But we have to understand, we have to construct a hypothesis. And the question I ask you, which is not simple, is: how do we manage today to give ourselves the freedom to be shaken by a thought other than our own, with all its involving dimensions, and from there, to develop a new movement?

How do we do it? And it's, well yes, but ultimately we don't even have to have an answer because that's >> why it's a dialogue. >> We are dialoguing. You're here just because we wanted to talk to each other , right?

Uh, listen, so, uh >> this is high-end, huh, tonight; it certainly is a change from my, from my columns. Alright, so listen to me, so yes, no, so several things. The first is that, wait, what did I want to say? Yes, it's that there is, you know, Hannah Arendt used to say that man is a beginning.

He is a beginning. Birth is, all of a sudden, man is a mystery. What will he become? We have strictly no idea.

Well, when we talk with someone and we tell ourselves the other might be a beginning, that means that thanks to Arendt, we are contradicting Sartre. You know the famous phrase, hell is other people. What does that mean? It means that we assign someone an identity, a role.

Here, you are all looking at me, judging me, you're saying, "She is like this, she is like that.""And so you are squeezing me in a vise, in a hell, you are defining me." Whereas a human being always exceeds the definition that the other will give them. And that is what hell is, other people. But when we try to get out of these identity categories that crush, that lock the other in, to try to think of individuality as a beginning, precisely it frees us a little and

we accept being shaken up a little more easily than by mapping out others and even mapping out ourselves, by saying: "I am, I must embody this or that." You know, it's what Sartre called bad faith , that is to say, lying to oneself. I am going to play the role of the lecturer here.

If I play my role tonight, but I believe in my role and I am in the role of the lecturer, I am in bad faith. I am lying to myself because I can never be reducible to a single being as a human consciousness, as a human. I am from the start a doubling. Here, I am in my role, but at the same time, I see myself talking to you.

I say to myself, well, the questions are too difficult. Well, uh, I forgot to say this or that, etcetera. So I am already double. I am never just a thing , you see.

So I cannot be reduced to an identity, to an archetype, to a role. And I cannot reduce the other either to the identity I project onto them. Otherwise, once again, it is hell in the Sartrean sense of the term. So let us go beyond Sartre to arrive at Arendt : man as a beginning, because at that moment, we can accept, we can feel overwhelmed and accept the upheaval and the worry, the restlessness that the other will generate in me.

And secondly , I am just building on what you said, because it is another way of being overwhelmed, regarding the verticality and horizontality of society that you mentioned earlier. It is very difficult today, indeed, to accept any feeling that implies a verticality, like admiration. When we are overwhelmed because suddenly we admire someone who —personally, I was moved by my philosophy teachers who made me love this discipline, and so we are often overwhelmed by a superiority, by a verticality. Today, it is very difficult to accept verticality because we are in a democratic drift that Tocqueville had already foreseen, meaning we have transformed the equality of democratic rights, the democratic pillar of our society.

We are all equal in rights in this room, it goes without saying, we must always fight for more equality. But we have drifted insidiously from equality of rights toward a form of egalitarianism, of equivalence, of "everything is equal ." Because we are all equal in rights, all our judgments would be of equal value. It is a—it is a huge mistake. Equality of rights is not equivalence of competence.

And you remember during —I am just making a parenthesis, but I am coming back to the idea, I am trying to follow along. Uh, you remember during the—the—the Covid, the first lockdown, on television sets, philosophers thought they were great epidemiologists, epidemiologists thought they were politicians, politicians thought they were doctors, and there was a confusion of roles. Why ? Because it was this climate of equivalence.

My judgment is not worth less than yours. We are equal in rights . Well, yes, my judgment is worth less than yours in certain fields because I am not qualified to speak about a subject I do not know. But the problem is that as soon as you express a difference today or you prioritize something, you are—the hierarchy, the difference is immediately considered an injustice.

And that is a huge mistake as well, by the way, because there are differences that are just. If I pay more taxes than my neighbor, that is a difference, and it is perhaps just, and that is called equity. But today, in the reign of egalitarianism, of equalization, of equivalence, of lack of differentiation, the slightest differences are perceived as injustices , and we can no longer tolerate difference, and therefore verticality, so we put everyone on the same level. But that contributes to absolutely leveling the playing field and no longer being moved by anyone since we are all on the same level.

How do you expect to be seduced by someone, to be, uh, charmed by someone you consider superior—not again, of course, in the moral sense of the term, but in the sense of, uh, competence, knowledge, whatever you like. And I think that there is, for example, regarding authority, why is there such a problem, such a crisis of authority today in our society? Because, once again, authority marks a verticality that is impossible to accept in this world that is so horizontal and so egalitarian. To accept it, one would still need to make a distinction.

You see the importance of distinctions; it's not intellectual refinement, it's not a play on words, it's truly different conceptions that are in opposition. To accept authority, one must still distinguish between submission and subordination. Subordination is not submission. When you are subordinate to your master, your teacher, your professor, your parents, you are not completely submissive.

The two ideas come together through the common notion of obedience. In both cases, one obeys. But in submission, one cannot free oneself from authority. Uh, and in subordination, one can always free oneself from it.

So the two notions are not equivalent, but when one accepts being subordinate, when one accepts an authority— "augere" indeed means to increase. Someone who has authority increases others. A teacher who has authority increases their students. A parent who has authority increases their children.

So it is a very noble notion, which must not be confused, of course, with authoritarianism, which has nothing to do with it. And there, when one is authoritarian, it is precisely because one no longer has any authority. If I become authoritarian with my daughters, a bit strict, it's because I feel I am losing my authority . So I am going to start raising my voice a little.

They are here, so they know very well what I mean. And so authoritarianism is the opposite of authority, and authority is truly a noble value, but one that is only accessible, admissible, and tolerated if we distinguish between subordination and submission and if we accept verticality in our society. That does not mean that we deny equality, far from it. So, you are raising a point here that, at some level, calls into question the very principle of democracy.

>> No. >> Yes, I am, forgive me, obviously. >> Here we go. >> No, on the contrary, because I’m sure I’ll learn something new.

If you take the reasoning to its logical conclusion , it would mean—and this is understood in the business world—that if we must decide on a new financial strategy at some point...The person in charge of transporting goods, who is someone important, whom I deeply respect as an individual, and who may have human values much more developed than my own, has no right to speak; not because I forbid it, but because they lack the competence to give an opinion in a field that does not concern them. In

a way, and I’m being a bit provocative here, democracy—which is obviously absolutely necessary today— poses the problem of manipulating those who lack the skills, leading them toward these "bright futures" built on a form of illusion in order to seize power. And clearly, aren't we dealing with a stopgap measure here? But couldn't we imagine that, at some point , this famous equality, which is the very foundation...you know that when we talk about the creation of humans, we speak of the creation of humans as male and female

before speaking of man and woman?

To say that even this very real and concrete difference cannot, at some point, create any form of relational verticality. That's not possible. But, at some point, in any system whatsoever , you are raising a complex issue here, which unfortunately sometimes leads us to deviations. Because, if we look at it, the great totalitarianisms were built on the democratic concept that provided a form of equality for those who, at the time, lacked the perspective to think and reflect on what they were being told, without treating people like idiots.

But how? >> Well, I don't agree with that. >> Because the best way to protect democracy is to reveal its possible deviations. And one of those deviations —which doesn't mean it is democracy itself—is one of the drifts of democracy: shifting into egalitarianism .

And when you speak of totalitarian regimes, that was exactly what Primo Levi explained. The first step is not entering into a democratic form of equality; it is entering into egalitarianism. Everything is standardized; everyone is put in a uniform in the concentration camps. We reduce man to his outward appearance, to the same uniform.

We standardize, we equalize, we fail to differentiate. So for me, the drift we are highlighting here leads directly to totalitarianism, which is the very opposite of a democratic regime. But it is by highlighting this drift that we protect democracy. Therefore, true democracy includes differences; it obviously includes equality, but above all, the opposite.

It is egalitarianism, standardization, and a lack of differentiation that lead directly to indifference, and at that point, we enter totalitarian regimes because one man is like another, and they become mere samples and specimens; they are no longer full-fledged individuals. So, a lack of differentiation leads directly to indifference, which is the opposite of recognition. Uh, recognition, when we value people for their true worth... It still requires, as you were speaking about the case of the man in the company who was in logistics but didn't have the skills, who couldn't express himself, and so on; precisely, we recognize people for their true worth when we dare to distinguish them, when we dare to differentiate them.

Recognition is not born of self-righteousness and good intentions; it is born of the courage to distinguish, to rank, and to address the issue. So it is a democratic drift, but it is precisely democracy that must be protected from this possible drift which indeed leads to a lack of differentiation and, why not, to totalitarianism. And wait, what was the first thing? I wanted to tell you, oh yes, and in democracy, we must not confuse, once again, the freedom to speak—freedom of expression, which is a democratic right—with the equivalence of competence.

Just because I have the right to express myself on any subject does not mean I am equivalent to anyone else on any subject. If I talk to you about the Talmud, frankly, it is better that I shut up because I know nothing about it , and that doesn't mean I don't have the right to speak. We are in a democracy; I have the right to tell you something, but you will tell me, "Well, your point of view isn't very legitimate, it isn't very well-founded because you don't know much about it." That is the possibility of being free in a democracy. So, freedom of expression, yes, but freedom of expression already has limits that we know, which are in the law.

But above all, freedom of expression is not the equivalence of knowledge, the equivalence of opinion, or the equivalence of judgment. >> I hear you, but at some point, is freedom of expression the right to decide the path a universe will take without having the skills to weigh in on it? That is, deep down, the question . But >> that's a question I'm not asking you.

It's a question I'm asking myself. >> Good for you. >> No, it's a question I'm asking myself. >> Alright.

Well, ask it to yourself. >> There you go. It's a question I'm asking myself. There, that's all.

>> No, but I am asking it to myself. It's, it's because we, we see a little bit where it can lead and it's, it's not simple, because on the other hand, what you say about the standardization and everything it generates, we've seen it and we experience it, so we're a bit, well. So to, to pick up, to, to pick up , to pick up on what I was saying. >> Well, it's interesting because earlier you were talking precisely about subordination and a dominant position.

It's interesting because there is a text about that, you sparked a bit of reflection on the text that talks about the world of subordination. And the translation is actually very poor. We speak of the*eved ivri*, the Jewish slave. Now, *eved ivri*is not a slave, but that's the bad translation.

It's the one who is, fundamentally, someone's employee. But when the Torah tells us about the laws that concern him specifically, it's a very particular case, of someone who has stolen, who doesn't have the means to repay his theft, and who will therefore come to work to be able to pay back his larceny. And what is interesting is that the Talmud will tell us, "Whoever buys an*eved*acquires a master," meaning he who literally buys this individual who will work for him for a certain time, is buying his own master. Why?

Because the Torah raises the question of how the person will interpret their position within a system. And it says to the one for whom he works, you must behave towards him as you would with a guest. If he lives at your home, he must sleep with the same level of comfort. He must drink the same quality of wine as you.

Because to rehabilitate someone is to help them, precisely, to find their proper place in the world of relationships. Even if, in the structure where he finds himself at that moment, he may see himself as being in a form of inferiority, because that is, fundamentally, the whole problem of the interpretation the individual will make of their subordination, which, even if it is not domination, is a reality they live with every day. I must be attentive to others. And it goes very, very far, because the masters of the Talmud tell us: let's imagine I'm walking outside with someone who works with me, because it’s a bit like that, and at one point my shoelace comes undone and my back hurts.

I don't have the right to ask them to bend down to tie my lace because I'm afraid of falling. Why? Because the subordinate relationship means they don't feel able to say no. And here, the masters of the Talmud establish a foundational principle: that the value of a "yes" depends on the ability to say "no." And so, in this world of subordination, we are forced to think about how the person perceives themselves, and from there, to maintain a special level of vigilance.

So, even in what you express so accurately regarding this distinction to be made, we will try to go even further by questioning how the other person experiences their own situation. Even if in my mind and in my way of operating, I don't see it as a relationship of domination at all. It is about entering the world of language , what I would call beyond the word, and entering the world of relationships , beyond what is unsaid, and trying to imagine what the other person is experiencing within something that, to me, seems clear. It was just that; it evoked that.

So now, we are often faced with the issue of sincerity today. I am going to be sincere. So, I'm telling you what I think. All right.

Sincerity, truth—are they things that oppose each other? How do you perceive the framework and limits of these two words ? Because being sincere is so important , and being true is too. But what tools do we have to know if they won't become toxic at some point?

Yes, because as for sincerity, not every truth is good to say, right? Frankness does not exempt one from tact and delicacy. I like people who tell you, "I'm going to be frank with you, you really look tired." Well, no thanks, keep your frankness; I don't want to hear your comments. So no, frankness or sincerity , it doesn't matter, it's one's own truth.

But once again, is it said at the right time? What is the point of what I am going to say through my sincerity? Simply telling one's own truth is not enough for it to be a virtue. Obviously, the two notions converge through the idea of a common truth, but with sincerity, we fall back a bit into the problem of relativism: it's my truth, and that's it, as if there weren't, you see, another, more objective one.

And so, at that moment, we enter into a confrontation, a conflict of subjective points of view, and we fall into relativism. So no, well yes, sincerity is one's own truth. Of course, one must be sincere, authentic, as fair and as true as possible. But, and I’m drifting a little here: for me, the great paradox of authenticity and sincerity is that, to be as sincere as possible, sometimes , to be as close as possible to one's truth, to one's authenticity, one must sometimes leave one's identity behind.

Because I find that identity can be a sort of leading astray, if you will, from one's own authenticity, because we want to conform to our identity role, we want to match the image we want to project of ourselves. What you mentioned regarding the conscious image of oneself. So, we want to fit the role , and sometimes that distances us from ourselves. Often, people say to themselves, "At 40, 50, I've played every role; I matched what my parents wanted, what my children wanted, what Maurice wanted.""And then at 50, 60, I say,' But actually, this isn't quite my life.

'""I would have done something else instead." So, we realize that authenticity can paradoxically be a bit distant, a bit different from identity, and that the more we try to fit into an identity, the further we move away from our sincerity, our truth, and our authenticity. It’s a great paradox, but it’s actually what I wanted to defend in my philosophy thesis. And I believe that authenticity and sincerity toward oneself are acquired through means other than the path of identity, which can distance us, which can already be a lure, a deception toward oneself, because it can be a theft of oneself. We play at being more than we truly are; we play at being the sexy woman, we play at being, I don't know, the macho man, or whatever you want.

So we are playing and we aren't truly ourselves, whereas authenticity can be grasped through other means. In many authors, we find those very means. For Proust, how do we get the feeling of being ourselves in our own truth? It’s certainly not by fitting into an identity category.

It happens suddenly when an involuntary memory, an involuntary sensation, comes to make us relive an old self, and by reliving an old self, I become aware of who I was at the time, and we feel what we were. Bergson tells us that the authenticity, the sincerity of who we are, is palpable through a choice. That idea from Pascal is brilliant, just for a second, because I find it so powerful. He tells us we often have the impression—it's conventional to think —that we deliberate, we weigh the pros and cons, and then we choose, as if choice were the deduction, the consequence of a deliberation.

It’s exactly the opposite. If we go deep within ourselves, we know very well that for very important choices, we have already chosen internally what we are going to choose, and then we deliberate to try to justify our initial decision. So the choice is not secondary; it is primary, and the deliberation is secondary. And it’s in that moment of authentic choice, in that force that is stronger than us, that we feel our sincerity, that we feel our authenticity.

Anyway, there are plenty of authors who show that, precisely, authenticity is not at all linked to identity, which is a display, if you will, most of the time; it is a role, a construction, a game that distances us from the "I," which is obviously more on the side of authenticity and sincerity. Why are we here? I don't remember the origin of the question at all. >> But I, on the other hand, still have something to...

>> Oh, I see. Yes. So yes, that's it. All right.

No, but because there are fascinating things—first of all, it's interesting because there is a verse that tells us, "Shiftmirma," you are settled in your own lie. That is to say , "Shiftmirma," and one of the great masters of Jewish thought, named Laura Volbet—whom I had the privilege, at any rate, to absorb myself in his teachings—used to say: "If you have two friends talking about you in a room , but they don't know you're outside and listening. There is one who adores you, he's your absolute aficionado;

the other one, he knows you." The first is lavishing dithyrambic compliments on you, he says: "Yes, it's true, but nevertheless there's a strong chance you'll side with the second one." And it's interesting, not being afraid to encounter oneself. And some masters of the tradition say it's a form of hell within our existence, but at the same time a place from which we will re-emerge.

Interesting, because you have made significant use of the issue of truth. Now, we aren't going to revisit our high school philosophy classes on truth—that's not the subject—but there is a Talmudic text that describes a bit of what we call the pre-messianic period, that is to say, a period of upheaval, a period in which the relationship to the world and to others is fractured; anyway, it's fascinating. And it tells us one of the characteristics, it says: "Truth will be' ne '..."—and' ne'dar 'normally means' will disappear '.

Rashi, the commentator from Champagne, who sheds light on the text, tells us: "it means herds,' adarim adarim '—herds of truth." And he tells us that, basically , one of the characteristics of eras in which we can disseminate speech everywhere is that we will arrive with our own truths.

And what you were saying at the end, essentially, is to know: where does this inner drive that leads me to want to speak, and which I will justify later with my intellect, take its source? And perhaps that is the real question we must ask ourselves . Directing one's life is a bit like the image of a king who, in a way, is the sole master on board. And I'll take a small detour through the Hebrew language.

A king in Hebrew is called " Melech." Melech, therefore, consists of three letters. And the masters of the Kabbalistic tradition tell us: "Take the three letters and see, each one of them is the source of another word."" Mem"(m), the first, "moach," which is the intellect; the second, "lamed"(l), which is "lev," the heart; and the third, "chaf"(ch), which is "kaved," the liver, an organ engorged with blood that represents the being in its most carnal dimension. And they say: " Basically, directing one's life means being in this

alignment, having first this initial reflection that will then integrate with what we would call emotional intelligence, before moving to action."» And what is interesting is that when we do the opposite—and this is the question that, when I say I'm asking you, that I'm asking us in a real moment of reflection—is: if we do the opposite, then it's true that in terms of the word, it's brilliant. Because if the entry point starts from there, afterwards, emotions are present and justify, I use my intellect to justify it,

we have the word backwards.

And the word backwards gives the non-existent nail. And basically, how could we imagine succeeding, at some point, in being sure that it's not that dimension which is the source? With the second question, it's that when you tell yourself, at some point—and this is what we find at times—: "Without a true self...", now, I'm exaggerating, I'm pushing it, I'm exaggerating, but we find so much of it in couples and, if some are affected, please excuse me. Because we will take that with a grain of salt, but we hear so often, "no, that wasn't really me." My true self was elsewhere.

Well, what was your true self's name? Often it has the name of a young woman for a man somewhere, uh, sometimes we use it, so without any form of judgment because as you said perfectly, I am not the other, so I cannot imagine what the other has experienced. Sometimes words are only there to avoid saying something else. How do we, fundamentally, manage to be both in what you are proposing, which is fundamental, and not end up in a form of justification for movement by precisely saying, "this is where I find myself, and so I must break away or do something else"?

So, I pushed the point , and it is, at heart, an issue that I have, that we have. And how do you, how do we manage to be in that balance, according to you? It’s nothing, but the "self" is always very problematic because there is a philosopher I like very much, whom you certainly know, named Clément Rosset, who was a philosopher who died not—a contemporary philosopher who died not so long ago—and who wrote a book called*Far from Me*. And he showed that the more...and this goes against the current era that focuses on personal development, psychology, narcissistic concentration, there can be benefits to all of that.

I am not criticizing, I am not rejecting all of that outright. But the more we focus narcissistically, the more we want to reach our deepest self, the more we find a black hole. Because there, we arrive at a definition of man , of the self, of individuality that is , well, it's a cliché, but it's so true. I find it very difficult to grasp an individuality, what we truly are.

We never succeed. Why? Well, because man, as they say, man is what he is not and is not what he is. We are always beyond what we are.

We are always beyond our identity, so we cannot grasp ourselves. So, looking for a self, an indivisible, intimate core inside oneself, is an infinite search. And in any case, isn't it all a bit, a bit, a bit futile? And as a result, to become yourself, to build yourself as an actor, you have mentioned the word action, the word act , several times.

Indeed, a man, a woman is defined by their actions. We don't have a predefined model like a bottle has a template, and then it is manufactured according to that template . We don't have a pre-established model , so we build ourselves through our actions. And to become yourself, I believe there are two necessary phases.

At the same time, one—and this really returns to the concept of identity. I think that, in the end, we hadn't intended to talk about this at all, but everything points toward this theme. There is, at the same time, a necessary phase of identification when we are building ourselves. Of course, you have to identify with norms, with a family, with models, with authorities.

There is a form of identification, but there is also, afterwards, a form of individualization. And the two movements are very contradictory. And that is exactly the contradiction we find in the concept of identity because , to define identity, the self, identity is very paradoxical; it is one of the most paradoxical, most contradictory concepts in philosophy. Identity already means the same, identical, a equals a.

It is a mathematical concept. So, when you search for your identity, you are already searching for an identification , that is to say, sameness, the search for the same in order to build yourself . But identity is also exactly the opposite. My identity is not yours.

This means that identity is difference. It is not at all the search for the same. It is singularity, it is difference. And in every quest for identity, in every quest for the self, you find these two dimensions that oppose each other.

at once a phase of identification, the search for the same , and at once a phase of individualization, differentiation, and singularization. For adolescents, it's very striking. There is always a phase where we conform to a group, or yes, a group or friends, and then at some point we also individualize, become ourselves. But it is this transition and these two necessary steps contained within the concept of identity, which are seemingly contradictory yet simultaneously necessary for building oneself, that lead to a result which is still quite aberrant: to be what we are not, ultimately, and not be what we are .

>> I hear you, it's—it's fascinating. No , no, but I just want to go a little bit further. Fundamentally, it's the whole challenge of a system's unity, because as soon as we speak of identity , we are speaking of a system, but within a plurality. And, uh, basically, the word that defines the human in Hebrew, Adam, Adam, its numerical value is 45.

And 45 corresponds to another word, which is that of "ma.""Ma" is questioning, that is to say the Adam, which incidentally is a term that has no plural. It's interesting for talking about humans. We don't say "adamim," we say "bene," children of the human. Meaning there is this unique dimension that characterizes us all.

And then, there are these plural dimensions. Are we, at heart, afraid today of a singularity that would therefore necessarily create a responsibility? Because, fundamentally, behind the singular being, I ask myself the question of my own responsibility. And the first singularity we have, which is common to us all, is the capacity we have to create an improved version of ourselves.

So, of self-acceptance, but one that is not meant as a form of renunciation in an upward movement, but on the contrary, an opening toward something that will transform us. And this singularity that we find in the human in their identical dimension will subsequently create this question of this unique movement I can make and what I can bring to the world in which I find myself. And somewhere, are we ready to go that far? Because, deep down, perhaps that is where the principle of otherness is built, with the small' a 'and the capital' A '.

I am thinking of otherness with the universe and otherness with the other. who is precisely radically different from me, even though there is a common identity. And fundamentally, can we actually propose that today? And what could we imagine in the world that somehow challenges you and led you to develop this subject?

How do you imagine things, assuming we can get there? Yes, I don't know, but in any case, the only way to make this singularity tangible is to make humans —well, I'll say humans, since humans are actors—of themselves. It's very difficult to...Why is it difficult? Because we are afraid, first of all, of displeasing others; we are afraid of not living up to the roles or identities expected or presumed to be expected of us.

But to be an actor, to be a subject, it’s not enough... it’s not enough to be a man or a woman to be a human. You also have to be a subject and not simply subjected to norms, to injunctions, to to everything that codifies us and that makes society as well, which are absolutely necessary. So to be an actor , to be a subject, and therefore to be responsible, since we are only responsible for our actions.

If they are not our actions, we are not responsible for those actions. We are not a human subject. And being an actor , that does assume, well, several things. It assumes, above all, in the age of artificial intelligence, it seems necessary to me to recall this.

To be an actor, to be a subject and not someone subjected, it assumes firstly, I believe, the ability to take, even in a very restricted sphere of one's life, professional or personal, it doesn't matter, it's the same thing. A risk. Every action is a risk-taking. But today, out of fear, out of precaution, we prefer to abolish almost all risks before acting.

But if we seek zero risk , total safety before acting, we never actually act at all. So every action is a risk-taking. Otherwise, we are in procedural application, but we are not in true action. Secondly, to be an actor, to be a subject, one must be able to answer, and this seems so important to me, the question of the meaning of what we do.

If we cannot say why I am doing this, why I am doing that, and we apply things just to apply them, then—and especially in the age of AI—we are a very low-end robot. We completely artificialize our thinking. And you know, the link between meaning and humanization, I mentioned it earlier, but I'm using this example again because it is so striking; you all know it, but it is truly the historical example of Eichmann. Eichmann justified the industrialization of death, as I said earlier, by saying: "I was following procedures very well," and so on.

Hannah Arendt, who attended the trial, wrote the book*Eichmann in Jerusalem*in which she conceptualizes this argument by asking: "How can I be capable of the worst?" By using this line of reasoning : "I did not see the ultimate meaning of my actions, but I was following procedures and I was doing my job very well." And that is what she called... it's a very well-known expression, obviously, now, but at the time she released the expression, it caused a scandal because people thought she was trivializing Nazi crimes. That

is what she called the banality of evil. Meaning that evil, the worst of things, dehumanization in its chemically pure state, arrives the moment we no longer want to or can no longer answer the question of the meaning of what we do, and we apply things just to apply them.

So the question of meaning is directly linked to humanization. When we can no longer, or no longer want to answer the question of meaning, we are no longer even human. We really are, and especially in the age of AI. And I...

and there would be many other dimensions, of course. I also think that to take action, to act from oneself, to be a subject, to recover this potential for action and thus be a responsible being and a human, one must —it is not just a matter of entering into an individual logic but—one must also have a certain form of trust. Self-confidence, of course, trust in others, in one's surroundings; without trust, it is impossible to act. And trust is precisely of the order of faith.

Even the etymology of the word, as you surely know, "confiance" comes from "confidere." It means with faith. You can hear the word "foi"(faith) in " confiance"(trust). So when we are in trust, we are in faith, which means we are in belief. When we are in belief, it is because we are in the opposite of knowledge.

When we believe, it is because we do not know, we are not certain. When we know, when we are certain, we do not need to believe. I do not believe that 2 plus 2 makes 4 because I know that 2 plus 2 makes 4. But if I believe in you, it is because I do not know how you are going to behave.

If I believe in myself, it is because I do not know if I will succeed in a given action. If I believe in God, it is because I do not know if God exists or not. We have never been able to prove His existence. We have never been able to prove His non-existence.

So there is doubt, there is uncertainty , and trust, belief, and faith are a wager on an uncertainty. So you see that to be an actor, to be a subject— I could go on, and there would be other dimensions, of course, but I don’t want to be too long—there are at least these three necessary dimensions. Taking risks, which AI is incapable of doing. The risks it takes today—in five years, I have no idea—but today, they are risks integrated into its algorithms.

They are not risks based on a novel situation like the risks we can take. Meaning, reflexivity regarding one's own actions, being able to say: " I always put meaning first, and processes, procedures, standards, and directives at the service of meaning, never the other way around." Otherwise, it leads to Eichmann, which is obviously the extreme example. Even strong AI is incapable of deviating from its algorithm and its protocol. And trust, I said, is in the realm of faith, of wagering on the unknown, of belief as opposed to knowledge, to the rational, to the algorithmic, which is precisely the domain of the machine.

So , if we want to cultivate what makes our relationships human, if we want to remain human in the age of AI, and to ensure these new technologies don't become autonomous powers that replace us, but rather tools at our service, we must humanize our relationships. And this shouldn't be just a slogan, because you know—especially in companies—we have heard for years: " Oh, this year, we will put people back at the heart, we will put people back at the center; the company would be nothing without the men and women who constitute it." Most of the time, it's nonsense, it's fluff, it's useless. They are empty, hollow slogans. But today, we no longer have the choice to treat it as a hollow slogan.

It is becoming a technological necessity precisely in the age of AI. So, to humanize relationships, we must first consider people as subjects, as full-fledged actors. And that implies certain things: I mentioned taking risks, meaning, trust...There would be plenty of other things, but these are levers that allow us not to reduce the individu...Well, that allow us to humanize what actually makes a human... what makes an individual, a being, a subject.

>> But perhaps it also starts with the acceptance of seeing ourselves that way >> Yes. But now, we no longer have a choice because people who say, "Yeah, but I prefer to stay behind my role and just apply the little rules, I don't want to be a subject.""Yeah, but you'll be replaced by AI right away, right now ." So, it's not even a question of choice or will; it's that people who won't accept being subjects and taking ownership of their uniqueness and potential, or those who

don't necessarily have the capacity, will unfortunately be replaced very quickly and are already almost replaceable by AI. You know, we all have examples of this kind of...well, no, go ahead, it's fine, no, it's just that it's a neurosis of mine, it makes me hysterical, so I need to talk about it. A little.

And you know, when you run into people who tell you...The other day, I'm at a company and I say: the procedure, of course, consists of giving your ID in exchange for a badge to go up to the floors. And one of the receptionists, it's the same one, I know him, I've been going to this company for years, and I say to him: "I don't have my ID, can I still get the badge to go up to the floors?" I head toward the one I think I

know, telling myself that some rapport might save my day. Then, the person retorts...But we all have daily examples of this in our lives constantly. "Oh no, procedure is procedure." So, hiring people or reducing oneself to the role of saying "procedure is procedure" today is much more serious than yesterday.

Not only does it make us hysterical because we feel like we are no longer dealing with a human. We have a very low-end machine , we have stone; nothing moves in their brain anymore. So that already makes you a little hysterical. And secondly, it's very serious to hire people just to make them say "it's the process." >> I can make it disappear.

>> Yes, but you saw, I am still a little annoyed. But can I make your neurosis disappear? >> Yes. >> Be careful, after 10:30 PM, things are different.

>> Uh, why couldn't we have another hypothesis? >> Which one? >> Perhaps we could imagine that this person needs to feel, at some point, that they represent something through their ability to use the rule to make themselves exist, which in no way diminishes the problem you are raising. But >> I have the impression—but go ahead.

>> I find that using the rule to feel like one exists is no longer the right way today, because the rule will be applicable and applied by robots. >> But you are right. You are right. >> And there is—it is everyone's responsibility to say we will find another area, another scope, to make them feel their necessity.

So, so we go back to what you were saying earlier. Somewhere, this relationship of trust that was undoubtedly missing >> Exactly. >> for those who need to position themselves in this way, which undoubtedly goes back to what happened when they were children. Meaning, when I feel that it is only when I occupy such a posture, such a place, that I will exist.

That, to use a terribly overused expression, love is conditional, that I don't have the freedom to be anything other than what the other expects in order to have a place. So there is perhaps something to address much further upstream. >> And somewhere, how can I today—and I understand this irritation which is totally legitimate—but how can I today say to myself, facing a person like that, what happened at the source? Without wanting to do armchair psychoanalysis, but basically, aren't we today in a state of absolutely necessary reflection on this dimension of self-awareness that will create this self-confidence and allow us to act, and for which we perhaps lack the tools ?

>> I think we have the tools, and without getting into psychoanalysis—we aren't psychoanalysts. But >> careful, when I say we have—yes, everyone has them, but does society today >> want to develop that or not? >> Well, anyway, it's not a question of desire, it's a question of replaceability. So we have no choice.

We really have to become actors. And for me, the way—without getting into psychoanalysis by saying, "well, the little one didn't have their place,"" the little one only exists as if"—we aren't psychoanalysts, we aren't going to psychoanalyze everyone. So the only remedy is to give this person a space of autonomy, but a progressive one. It’s not about throwing people into the deep end and so on.

Let me give you an example. Uh, in a hotel in London, the hotel manager gave an envelope to the housekeepers. Uh, I go one day to a ho—I’m really telling my life story here. I go one day to a hotel in London and I forget my charger, and the housekeeper tells me, "No problem, I’ll buy you a charger." Can you imagine that in France?

It’s already, uh, extremely rare. And I ask her, "But what’s going on?" And she says, "My manager left me an envelope of 500..." >> Sling. >> Sterling, or I don't know anymore. " Well, anyway, and so I have the autonomy, I have the responsibility to do whatever I want with it to best meet the guests' needs." You see, it’s a restricted autonomy, but instead of being reduced to just cleaning the room well and so on, she felt, they trusted her, she can—it’s taking a risk, but it makes sense in her job.

She has that autonomy, and she feels like she exists, even if, psychoanalytically speaking, she might not have had the necessary upbringing for it. So I believe that becoming a subject happens through empowerment. And if people have trouble empowering themselves because it’s very difficult—it carries responsibility—well, you have to do it gradually through small actions. But that’s what we do with our children when we raise them.

>> You can only do it to the extent that you don't need your own hierarchical position in order to make yourself exist. So I think the problem starts up there. So, in other words, if at some point I need a subordinate relationship and an extremely restrictive framework to feel that I exist, >> how are we going to manage to stop always being someone’s subordinate? >> Yes, but the question is knowing this person to whom I am subordinate, what is the space they can give me without feeling like they are losing their own place deep down?

Exactly. And and that is perhaps where it will play out. >> And maybe they will find that they have more space and more legitimacy, a stronger existential sense, by leaving room for the other rather than by absolutely wanting to control everything. That can exist too.

>> From the moment I think something capital is present, it is the gratitude of the one who received it toward the one who granted it to them. And so, from that, obviously, it is in the realm of the possible because perhaps it is this recognition of the act of the one who opened this field to me that will give them awareness of the value of what they have just done and allow them to >> It is the whole story of trust. It is the whole story of trust. This trust that improves the human being.

And there is Les Misérables coming out in a film soon; it’s the whole story of Les Misérables. Jean Valjean is on the side of evil; he lies, he steals. You don't want to trust him at the start. And at one point, the bishop decides to trust him, gives him silverware, and for the first time in his life, Jean Valjean will feel recognized as a man, as a subject, through that act.

He will want to prove himself worthy of the trust received from the bishop. He will want to show himself worthy of the trust received from the bishop, and he will gradually switch to the side of good. It is exactly that idea. >> It is indeed the whole danger of reducing someone to a specific issue while forgetting the entirety of the being.

And then, above all, trusting is a question of faith, again betting on the other in general, and we have all experienced it in our lives when we were trusted; it could be a word, a gesture, it doesn't matter, it increased us, it elevated us. We wanted to prove ourselves worthy of that gesture. I'm not saying we should trust everyone; there are people you must absolutely never trust. Otherwise, we fall into the story of Dostoevsky's The Idiot.

But when you trust someone who is worthy of it, it increases them, improves them, empowers them, makes them responsible, makes them a subject, and humanizes them >> completely. I agree 400%. >> Thank you very much. Alright, we'll see each other again.

So now, we have been ...I’ve been doing this for a while to check the time because you know how it goes on Easter night; we start at 8:00 PM and then at 3:00 AM, we are still going. Uh, aware, me? >> No, you weren't aware. >> No, but rest assured, neither was I.

So everything is fine. So, before we wrap up, as I asked you earlier, how do you carry—whether you like it or not—a history in which, at a certain point, laughter conveyed messages, whether we like it or not? Do you, today—and I'm speaking to you—feel that you are able to decipher the messages that laughter tried to convey, on the one hand? And do you think that today, with words and language, you are able to convey in a different way the messages that were once conveyed through laughter?

>> Ah yes, my grandfather, you mean Bourvil. >> His name is written there, on the poster. >> I am the granddaughter of Bourvil. So, uh, listen, I am not at all able to convey the same message.

I don't have the same, uh, I don't have the same genius, I don't have the same talent. Talent is not genetic, genius is not genetic. So obviously no, I don't have the same power as he did at all. On the other hand, I think that laughter and philosophy have very strong points in common.

That is to say that, to laugh or to philosophize, you already need a sort of distance from the world. To philosophize is, after all, to step back from what is happening. And to laugh is to show derision, and therefore it is still looking at reality from a distance. So the positioning is quite similar in laughter and in philosophy.

One through derision, the other through the understanding of the human from a distance. So that, I think—and this may seem strange to you—but I believe there is something genetic in a sort of observational distance. I know in my family, there's a lot—my father is here, he has it particularly. That is to say, seeing things immediately with a shift, immediately with a sense of detachment.

And that, I believe, is common to both laughter and philosophy. After that, the means are not the same at all. Uh, but in any case, it presupposes a fairly tragic awareness of existence. Tragic doesn't mean sad, you know, it's the opposite.

Tragic means that life is a dead end, no matter what happens. So let's take advantage of it to be joyful, to be, as Nietzsche says, superficial out of depth. Since it's a dead end, since it's tragic, let's try to be as gay, as joyful as possible, as superficial as possible, but out of depth, out of awareness of this tragedy. It is what we have in common in the family, it undoubtedly comes from my grandfather, but beyond that, it is truly this derision in relation to this tragedy.

And you know, it reminds me of a phrase by Alphonse Allais that summarizes exactly what I mean. It is "Let's not take ourselves too seriously, there will be no survivors." So it is above all the philosophy of my family, the philosophy of my grandfather through laughter, it was to escape from the spirit of heaviness, from the spirit of seriousness, from the pretension of all this, and in philosophy, my god, how easy it is to be pretentious. You use jargon very easily, you show off your degrees; it is a discipline that can be very pretentious. Well, my family, and my grandfather of course, it was exactly the opposite.

That is to say, truly having a derision, a distancing in relation to this spirit of seriousness, to this spirit of heaviness. But when you have genius like him, you make people laugh. When you are a little more laborious and have no genius, well, you do philosophy >> So, thank you very much. And since we are concluding on this, it is precisely interesting to see what the Jewish tradition tells us about this laughter.

And first of all, a master was in the habit of making people laugh before starting a profound teaching. So perhaps he knew, he surely knew that laughter opens us up to listening to something profound. And at the same time, there is a very curious text about a master who one day walks through the market and meets the prophet between the carrots and the leeks and says to him, "Tell me, in this market, who has a right to the world to come?" We are not going to go into a dissertation on that right now. And he says at one point, "Well, look, you see those two over there, those," he sees what I would call basic Jews, well, just good people arriving who don't look venerable, and so on.

So obviously, he asks them, he says, "What do you do?" They say, "We are humorists , but not the kind of humorist who makes people laugh at the expense of someone else." And they explain that when we see people who have tensions between them, well, through laughter, we manage to help them see things differently and, from that, to be able to start moving forward in life again. And I think that is, at heart, a little bit of this idea too. By the way, uh, one of the three patriarchs is named Yitzhak. Yitzhak means laughter.

He is the one who laughs because laughter is also the confrontation with the unexpected that opens us up to new perspectives. In any case, that is what you have allowed us to open up this evening, clearly, and that is why I thank you very much for it. Thank you for having the courage to confront a universe you might not have known yet, since I think it is perhaps proof for me as well, right? Agreed.

>> But in any case, clearly I had the joy of listening, of learning, and of now having a source of even deeper reflection. Done.