Against the Robots

The contemporary world is thrilled by the phrase "to make ," a perfect translation of the Anglo-Saxon expression . It's so comforting to repeat this phrase to ourselves, even though it doesn't really make any sense. We gather little things that make sense , but what are these tiny pieces of meaning found on the ground almost by chance? What are these fleeting that appear without our involvement, or almost none, except the remnants of a past meaning, a common sense, a good sense sculpted by centuries? Through the methodical destruction of the family, transmission between generations is lacking, the meaning of our actions is lost, so we must invent meaning, we must fabricate meaning, we must give ourselves the illusion of still living, of not having given up. Deception thrives on ignorance, and on this point too, trickery is nothing new. The meaning given to death within the family, a meaning almost entirely forgotten today, is recalled by Antigone in Sophocles' play, where she stands as a guardian of liberating values, because they protect humanity from the animalistic. Antigone reaffirms what humanity can and cannot do; she seizes a force meant to protect us from our will to power and to teach us about the importance of responsibility—a time now entrusted to specialists who replace the family, its members, and the tenuous bonds woven between them by the passage of time.