The barbarian is, first and foremost,
the man who believes in barbarism.
It was on this note that we left each other
at the end of our first session
of the Humanities Forum,
which focused on the theme:
'Thinking against Oneself'.
It is now time to come back to this quote, 
and to clarify its meaning.
By way of preamble, let us look at the
etymology of the word 'barbarian'.
This term comes from the Greek,
and was initially used to designate
anyone who was not Greek,
anyone who did not belong to their world,
especially, anyone who did
not speak their language;
in other words, anyone who
didn't speak properly.
Claude Levi-Strauss once said
that barbarians' languages
could be likened to the
indistinct chirping of birds,
which reminds one of a form
of stomach rumble: Ba, Be, Bi, Bo, Bu.
I do not understand the
language of foreigners,
and everything I don't
understand is barbarian.
These incomprehensible rumbling sounds
are in contrast with our own
language, the Greek language,
whose legacy includes the logos,
i.e. discourse based upon reason.
It is the language that
I speaking to you now,
which you can hear, and the
meaning of which you understand.
After the Greeks, there were the Romans.
They used the term 'barbarian' to apply
to anyone living beyond their borders,
hence anyone who no longer
belonged to humanity.
Humanity stopped at the borders
of the Roman Empire.
So, it is clear: for both
the Romans and the Greeks,
'barbarian' in its traditional
meaning referred to the Other.
It always refers to others.
Whoever they may be.
We could even say that this
Other is purely mythical,
since, in a way, he is nowhere to be found.
I, myself, am somebody else's Other.
If I perceive myself as
the centre of the world,
I am, at the same time,
the Other for another person.
So this Other, this barbarian,
isn't he but a fantasy?
What difference does it
make?, you might ask.
Fantasy or not, this imagined
person will have an impact.
He will give rise to barbarism.
It is because there are barbarians
that there is barbarism.
Let us take an example from history.
Let us go back to the beginning
of the 18th century.
A woman, named 'The Black Venus'
in a recent French film
with the same name by Abdellatif Kechiche,
was taken away from South Africa,
to England and then to France,
where she was placed in 'human zoos'
and presented to visitors.
She was a circus freak, a monster,
a curiosity for visitors, who saw
in this black woman (shown here),
in her so-called physical deformity
as defined by our own standards,
signs and traces of animal life.
In their eyes, this woman
was more closely related
to a chimpanzee than to a human being.
As a mirror image, she shows
us our own humanity.
Our own humanity is
emphasised to her detriment
because she is refused
this same recognition,
She is not part of humanity.
Through this thought development,
we have explored the meaning
of barbarian, barbarism.
And I think that we are now starting
to see what Claude Levi-Strauss meant:
The man who becomes the barbarian is,
first and foremost, the man
who believes in barbarism.
It means that barbarism is the failure
to recognise another person's humanity,
that person's right to
belong to the human race.
Barbarism is denying that another
person belongs to the human race.
Now we have made this point,
I suggest we return to our
main theme for this lesson,
i.e. 'Thinking against Oneself'.
Let me reiterate an idea we kicked off with:
according to Claude Levi-Strauss,
there is not a single human culture,
but there is a plurality of cultures.
This view of a plural humanity
could be described as relativist.
What does that mean exactly?
It means that as a relativist,
Claude Levi-Strauss,
excludes the notion of a hierarchy
among cultures.
There are no absolute values,
there are no ultimate,
transcendental references
by which we can judge and
assess other human groups
according to a particular set of
criteria for civilizational advancement.
If we think about contemporary wars,
this is one of the criticisms that
can be made of western powers.
Justifying their intervention
in armed conflicts,
- I am for example referring to Libya -
by citing fundamental and universal
principles, such as Human Rights,
- however noble they may sound -
they are nonetheless the
product of a history,
a unique history, that is to say, ours.
Claude Levi-Strauss therefore encouraged us
to be wary of such grand and noble ideas,
which have utimately led to 
a uniformization of cultures.
They are a form of violence that is directed
 against other human groups.
He praised and defended diversity,
and the variety of cultures in the world.
But we can clearly see the danger
that might lurk behind such ideas.
People who are too firmly rooted in their own
diversity, plurality and their own culture,
are likely to withdraw into themselves,
and to promote an aloof
national-interest attitude,
with a polite indifference to others.
Let us now be bold enough to
forward another hypothesis
that creates a dialogue between
cultures, sometimes even polemically.
What if primitive societies offered us
an alternative - at least in thought -
to our own vision of the world,
to our vision of progress,
to our socio-economic model,
to our dependence on technology,
to the destructive power of our weapons,
e.g. nuclear weapons?
And what if primitive societies
helped us to think differently
in their rejection of our
model that they advocate,
and in their rejection of our methods 
and our choices?
This bold hypothesis does not come from me.
It comes from Pierre Clastres,
the author of the famous work
"Society against the State".
Just as we see in the novel by Herman
Melville, "Bartleby, the Scrivener",
where the attorney, Bartleby,
refuses to do his job,
constantly repeating the words
"I would prefer not to"
We could say that primitive
societies would prefer not to.
They would prefer not to embrace modernity,
to accept change as a driving force
behind history and development.
They would prefer not to have our history.
Before presenting the revolution advocated
by Pierre Clastres to you in more detail,
I suggest we review a few basic concepts,
because, to be able to
understand a revolution,
we first have to understand
our initial point of reference.
Traditionally, there were three criteria
used to distinguish an antiquated society.
The first criterion is the absence
of a written language;
secondly, the absence of an economy,
i.e. the absence of a market
where supply meets demand.
This distinction sometimes led
us to regard primitive societies
as subsistence societies, or
societies suffering from shortages,
and even from extreme poverty,
in contrast to our modern
affluent societies.
And finally, the last criterion
is the absence of the State,
the absence of a State authority.
Through these three criteria,
we can see that
primitive societies are depicted
from a purely negative angle:
as if they were lacking something;
as if they were deprived of something.
They are viewed in terms of insufficiency,
absence, shortages,
incompleteness,
and we could even say, immaturity;
as if they were totally incapable of
having any control over their destiny.
What exactly is the anthropological inversion
of thinking advocated by Pierre Clastres?
He seeks to present primitive
societies in a different light,
by presenting the positiveness 
and affirmativeness
that lie behind the supposed
deficiencies of such primitive societies.
For example, the economy:
If these societies do
not generate a surplus,
it is not because they can't,
it is because they do not want to.
And if they do not want to,
it's because their model
is different from ours.
They are societies that are against work.
Try to picture it: three hours a day.
This is the average amount of time the
Yanomami or Guayaki Indians spend working.
They invented the leisure
society before its time.
These societies are prepared
to do the amount of work
required to satisfy the needs of the group,
but not more than what's required.
Why would a people need
to generate surpluses
in a society where there is no
independent economic sphere,
where certain people would
benefit from the work of others?
Then there is the State:
After economics, there is politics.
And we could apply the same reasoning here.
If these societies do not produce a State,
a separate political power,
it is not because of political immaturity,
it is because they do not want to.
They do not want a separate political power,
They do not want a power 
that is taken out of the group
and which subsequently imposes its law,
its domination on that group.
Primitive people have an odd form of power.
To such an extent that some
anthropological observers
were misguided into thinking they
didn't have any form of politics,
describing them as apolitical,
or pre-political, i.e. before
the emergence of politics.
It is here that Pierre Clastres can help us.
An institution is indeed present
in these primitive societies.
There is a chief, but he does not
exercise any coercive function.
He does not have any authority over
the group, but he serves the group.
This is where his true source
of power lies: within the group.
The chief's role is to ensure
peace and social harmony.
The chief enjoys few privileges.
The right to marry several
women is one of them.
On the other hand, he has a number
of extremely demanding duties,
the first of which being generosity.
Let us take an extreme example.
We are in Melanesia, where the
chief is called the Grand Chief.
When he is at the pinnacle of his notoriety,
he will invite guests to a celebration
that he will organise himself.
It is an extravagant celebration,
where all the guests bring presents
to honour the name, status and prestige
of the Great Chief who has invited them.
Once the celebration is over,
the guests destroy his property.
It is an unprofitable
transaction for the chief.
The gifts received do not make up
for the damage caused to his property.
The previous example should give you some
idea of the chief's responsibility.
The chief belongs to the group,
and the group never fails
to remind him of that fact.
Another feature of power:
the primitive chief is chosen
for his oratory skills.
He is chosen because he is a good speaker.
We could say that this is not so different
from our own democratic society,
where our representatives distinguish
themselves verbally through the media,
by expressing a thought or manifesto.
However, what best distinguishes the
chief's discourse is its emptiness.
It is designed to be edifying,
according to Pierre Clastres.
The chief literally speaks
to say nothing meaningful.
He sometimes speaks for a long time
in front of the group,
who listens to him without
really hearing what he is saying.
It is as if they were being swept away
by a familiar piece of music,
where they only pay attention
if there is a change.
Change is not welcome. His discourse
is designed to be conservative.
So why do they let the chief speak
when he says nothing of any meaning?
Just to make sure that he
does not do anything else;
that he does not start
resorting to violence.
Discourse is a sort of stratagem
they use to protect themselves
against the chief's potential violence
or the emergence of a separate power.
It is now time to conclude
today's session.
As you have just seen, the notion of power
does indeed exist in primitive societies.
But this power is not coercive:
it is a form of power that does not exercise
any form of violence or constraints
upon the social group.
I would like to leave you now
with a question:
What is the point of having a
power that has no authority,
that is powerless to exercise itself?
