Very dear Bruno. The time has come, so much feared, to learn to live without you. For your birth family, first, and for the one you formed by marrying Chantal, who will have to mend day after day the wires disjointed with an interrupted presence, of a love whose physical support was absent. For the crowd of your friends, all distraught no longer being able to resume the course of the conversation with you where he had interrupted himself, no doubt remembering with your last words, of the last state of the resonance between them and you .
Each of us retains a particular reason to love you, images of you who stand out from others, uttered or written words that still vibrate like so many ties because they have become a little of You who survive in us. How to coincide this flow of affects, concepts, gestures, diffracted in all those who knew you, so that it forms a whole doing justice to what you were for all of us? The Achuar of the High Amazon which we have often talked about together invented a treatment of the dead, shocking at first glance, but which could offer a track for this company of conciliation of the multiple traces that you have deposited in us.
In the memory of a deceased, they brutally dissociate memories of the loved person, the fabric of emotions and shared moments, from the removal of his achievements as an actant particularly estimated by a parentles and whose actions oblige those who survive him. The first, personal memories, must be banned from memory, for fear that the deceased leads you all go to the land of the dead, while the latter are readily mentioned so that the framework of social relations does not fall apart. Far from me, dear Bruno, the idea of directly transposing such a pathetic way of treating the memory of the dead. It seems only to me that this dissociation between the memories of your person, which take for each of us a different look in our inner forms, and the memories of what you have bequeathed to your life as a thinker could allow me to speak From you without having the impression of constraining to endorse my words the procession of those who accompany you today.
You started as a philosopher, Bruno, and, in fact, you remained a philosopher all your life, harvesting over time of the qualifiers of circumstance – sociologist, anthropologist, historian of science, even, Horresco Referens, epistemologist – which only conjured in a conjunctural defining one element among others of the palette of your areas of interest and your fields of investigation. “It’s so beautiful philosophy,” you said in a recent interview; Not because it leads to unattainable eternal truths, not because it provides an idiom cleared of the contingencies allowing to legislate on everything, but because it is a powerful antidote against what you called category errors, that It makes it possible to think about the diversity of being in an empirical and diplomatic way.
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