June
With its several short chapters, The Life of Lines rehearses a correspondence, akin to a collection of letters. They are not dispatches from the field, written from some distant locality that might seem strange and even exotic to those who receive them in the home country. I write about a world that we can all experience by walking on the ground during the day and observing the stars at night, by drawing lines or spinning a thread, by leading our lives together with others. I invite you to join me in this experience, and to share the many perplexing questions that emanate from it.
Those questions are of a philosophical type, but unlike our philosophers, I do not approach them by resorting to canonical texts. I insist that we can address them in the very process of living life, and that life itself is an endeavor of a fundamentally philosophical nature. And that, in turn, philosophy must be a way of being-and-staying alive. Put another way, I do my philosophy out in the open air, not inside a castle. And you can do it too. This philosophy of ours is what I mean by anthropology. To practice anthropology is to philosophize together, outside, in the world.
