Bardet argues that thought and movement are intertwined gestures. The intersection of thinking and moving creates a dynamic where movement becomes thought, and thought becomes movement. This abstraction of dance to its most primal form—movement—suggests that thought without movement cannot exist. Echoing Heraclitus, Bardet reminds us that the essence of existence is movement itself.

The movement inherent in dance represents the mind’s journey through the Platonic world of ideas. If we consider parallel dimensions, dance might create a fissure allowing pure ideas to enter reality, ready to be grasped by the dancing thinker. This thinker, through dance, can break free from the rigid structures that bind them to a world of superficial opinions and cognitive biases.

Imagining a philosophy infused with dance that could be studied or even expressed in academic prose is challenging. The impersonal nature of academic writing seems at odds with the spontaneous vitality of dance. This raises several questions: Can philosophy exist without dance? Or is all philosophy inherently a display of movement? How should we judge the work of thinkers who lack this agility?

In this light, philosophical prose would require a style akin to the Socratic-Dionysian dance. The aesthetic character of dance would become essential to philosophical writing and philosophy itself. Consequently, the relationship between philosophy and aesthetics would shift; aesthetics would no longer be a mere branch of philosophy but its backbone, especially in an era of widespread skepticism and disillusionment.

It is also crucial to understand dance as an individual phenomenon and see how its essence infiltrates the philosophical realm. From a Nietzschean perspective, Martinez Gallardo describes dance as an intrinsic quality of God, portraying a being vital and transcendent beyond conventional morality. Dance emerges as a significant element in an epistemological quest and a quality that brings life and connects humans with a higher aspect of themselves. This understanding gains even more importance in the modern era, marked by the death of God and the triumph of philosophical skepticism. Thus, dance, with its total bodily engagement, can revitalize the art of thinking and bring us closer to a new conception of divinity.

In this new vision, the divine arises from human willpower, guiding us across the abyss. This god is rooted in an archaic substrate beyond rationality, embodied in the pure expression of creativity—an unstoppable cosmic instinct. This divine presence shines brightest during the wild, unrestrained Dionysian festivals, outside the established order and Apollonian restraint, where blood, wine, desire, and dance merge in vigorous communion.

The convergence of dance and philosophy, as Bardet suggests, occurs in a setting that is not necessarily civilized. Dance offers an escape from the ordinary, Apollonian, and confined civilization. There is perhaps a connection between dance and madness, as both can open the field to new forms of understanding reality. Physicist Vadim Zeland notes that excessive seriousness and importance attributed to an idea create a kind of resistance that hampers the free flow of vital consciousness energy. This resistance, termed potential excess, dissolves through concrete action, particularly when it involves both body and mind. In this sense, dance acts as a perfect solvent for potential excess and, thus, the primary opponent of the free flow of consciousness and thought.

Dance, therefore, becomes a medium through which we can transcend the limitations of rigid, schematic thinking. It allows for a fluid, dynamic interaction with truth, mirroring the perpetual motion of life itself. Through dance, the thinker can break free from the chains of dogma and preconception, embracing a more holistic and embodied approach to philosophy. It is not a surprise, then, that even in the most authoritarian of environments, dance is usually the last thing that can be prohibited. Perhaps this is a signal of the intrinsic freedom that is found within the rhythmic movement, which has not only a liberating power but also the capacity to elevate the morale of whoever allows himself to go with the flow

From the movement of molecules to the explosion of the Big Bang, life in retrospect seems to be nothing more than a grand, majestic dance that transcends language itself and reconnects the individual with their true self. And if the thinker of the most abstract order dares to learn this discipline, perhaps they may reach places where few dare to venture. And perhaps it is this never-ending dance that is destined to take us there. Thus, we must think, dance, and think once more.

References:

Alvaro, D. (2016). Articulating gestures: Review of Bardet, M. (2012). Thinking with movement: An encounter between dance and philosophy. Buenos Aires: Cactus. In Diferencia(s) Journal, 3(2), 223-230. ISSN 2469-1100.

Bardet, M. (2012). Thinking through movement: An encounter between dance and philosophy. Buenos Aires: Editorial Cactus.

Martinez Gallardo, A. (2018). Why every philosopher should know how to dance. Retrieved from Pijama Surf.

Zeland, V. (2004). Reality transurfing, vol. 1: The space of variants. S.l.: Obelisco Editions.

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We say: my great-grandfather died for this dirt, my grandfather died for this dirt, my father died for this dirt, I would die for this dirt, but I hope my son never has to die for this dirt. Instead of questioning why your family died for that dirt and trying to make the world a place where your son doesn’t have to die for the same patch of dirt that claimed your clan, you stick to your foot in that dirt and hope that your stand will be that last stand. However, with history as a prologue, your son and maybe even his son will sadly die for that same patch of dirt. Watching the new horrors of drone warfare beamed directly to my phone from the battlefields of Ukraine in 1080p; it’s evident that as I watch a soldier beg for his life while being chased down by the high-pitched hum of a $10 drone, there’s a real chance you and your son die for that dirt without ever seeing who valued you, and your divine spark, so little.

It will always be this way. Maybe it doesn’t have to be, but maybe the reality is that though we think concepts like feudalism died, we find ourselves in a new version of it. Our banner lord Amazon calls us up from the fields to push back the invaders – the enemy, Nvidia, is raising the price on processors for the new data center – sally forth, seize the day, and thank the lord for another beautiful day tending the land and two-day delivery. Looking back, maybe developing nuclear weapons was the best thing we could’ve done for humanity – mutually assured destruction made it so our appetites for ending others had to be tempered by the fear that they could end us – after all, an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Human ingenuity knows no bounds. We have to bloodlet a little – those people who have the same attributes as us, but in a different shade, need to be stopped before they do x or y or z to you and me – think of the children, but not their children.

Humans are wonderful beings. Though we can empathize nine times out of ten, that tenth time, we are far better at another ability, rationalization. The rationalization that though that person may appear like us, may have a beautiful family, may have similar hopes and dreams to me, they come from a different patch of dirt, making them less than me. We must be able to rationalize that; we must have strength in numbers, we need the echo chamber, and we need to know that we alone don’t have these dark thoughts. We can overlook that the person fighting beside us may look like the enemy – they are draped in the same cloth as me, and that makes them friends, not enemies.

But as we pivot into remote-controlled warfare, the ethical landscape shifts beneath our feet. Consider the drone operator: sitting in a climate-controlled room, far removed from the chaos of the battlefield, watching the world through a screen. Their job is to decide who lives and dies, with the press of a button unleashing death from above. The emotional and psychological detachment is staggering. This operator doesn’t see the fear in the eyes of their target, doesn’t hear the cries of pain and loss – or they do, but a lifetime of Call of Duty had deadened the concept of real life – the act of killing can become as sterile as deleting an email.

Here, the teachings of Jean-Paul Sartre come to mind – Sartre posited that individuals are condemned to be free and burdened with the responsibility of their choices and actions. For the drone operator, this freedom is both a shield and a sword. They are shielded from the immediate horror of their actions, yet the weight of their decisions may haunt them in ways unseen. The screen (or even their youth) that separates them from their targets does not absolve them of their humanity, but it may be the thing that provides that pivotal extra layer of psychic disconnect from their actions.

This detachment creates a dangerous potential for moral disengagement. When killing becomes a task performed from the comfort of an office chair, the moral gravity of taking a life can be easily forgotten. The philosopher, Hannah Arendt’s concept of the “banality of evil”, comes into sharp focus here. Arendt argued that ordinary people can commit atrocious acts simply by following orders, detached from the human consequences of their actions – we also see that as part of the Milgram Experiment, where people delivered levels of electric shock to another person when ordered to. There was a definite willingness to, under orders, provide fatal levels of shock to people – drone warfare risks normalizing this detachment, making the extraordinary act of killing alarmingly mundane.

Moreover, the implications for international law and the rules of engagement are profound—for example, can a combatant surrender to a drone? Drones operate in a grey zone, often outside the traditional boundaries of war. Their anonymity and ease of deployment can lead to an escalation in conflicts, as nations may resort to drone strikes without fully considering the repercussions. This new era of warfare challenges us to rethink the frameworks that have guided us through centuries of conflict.

Yet, in this bleak analysis, there is a glimmer of hope. Awareness and discourse can spark change. By confronting these ethical dilemmas head-on, we can strive to create a framework that upholds the sanctity of human life, even in the most technologically advanced theaters of war. Granted, that seems like an oxymoron, but the call for empathy, ethical reasoning, and moral accountability is louder than ever.

Ultimately, our technological advancements must be matched by our moral and ethical progress. As we navigate the complexities of drone warfare, we must remember that each action taken from a distance still reverberates in the heart of humanity. The challenge is not just to wield our power responsibly but to ensure that in doing so, we do not lose sight of our shared human essence.

These are the concepts we have wrestled with since Cain killed Abel. We are beautiful because we are flawed. We can descend to darkness, but we can also elevate to greatness—that is the blessing and the curse of humanity. We are depraved, but in that depravity, there is a cyclical nature to the beast. It was the Alan Moore character, Dr. Manhattan, who said it best: “Without condoning or condemning, I understand.”

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