Didactics of the Infernal: theatre, pandemonium, translation

ABSTRACT

This paper examines the word didactics, starting from its vernacular usage and moving towards its genesis in Greek culture. Against the philologists, it wants to know the usage values that are inside the word. When the current use of the term is investigated, obtained from dictionaries, the choice of the Greek word from Christian texts is identified as much more of the first use, inscribed in the archaic Greek theatre. This forgetfulness, like repression, reveals the instinctual investment that the subject contains. Hence, the hypothesis of this text is that, despite its efforts from the second half of the 20th century onwards, didactics holds in the field a metaphysics of presence that finds an ideal of human being. In order to distance itself from this conception, it choses to follow Sandra Corazza’s philosophy of hell towards a didactics of the infernal that considers, on the one hand, the fractures of a diabolical thought and, on the other hand, its assumption as a transcreation of didactics.

Keywords
Didactics; Transcreation; Philosophy of difference; Education

RESUMO

Este ensaio examina a palavra didática partindo do seu uso vernacular em direção à sua gênese na cultura grega. Para além de filologismo, quer encontrar os valores de uso que encharcam a palavra. Ao investigar o uso hodierno do termo, obtido de dicionários, identifica-se a escolha da palavra grega vinda de textos cristãos, em detrimento do uso primeiro, inscrito no teatro grego arcaico. Esse esquecimento, como recalque, indica o investimento instintual que o assunto contém. Daí, a hipótese deste texto é que a didática, não obstante seus esforços a partir da segunda metade do século XX, segue inscrita em uma metafísica da presença que estabelece um ideal de ser humano. A fim de se distanciar dessa concepção, opta-se por recorrer à filosofia do inferno de Sandra Corazza em direção a uma didática do inferno, que considere, por um lado, as fraturas de um pensamento diabólico, e, por outro, assuma-a como transcriação didática.

Palavras-chave
Didática; Transcriação; Filosofias da Diferença; Educação

Introduction

The purpose of this article is to examine didactics, as concept and field. For such purposes, I begin with the Greek origins of the word. This choice is due not to mere philological curiosity, but seeks, in the genesis of the word, to examine the values underlying its constitution. This is the procedure that Nietzsche refers to as genealogy. As a psychologist, that is, as a “reader of signs” (Nietzsche, 2000, § 8), Nietzsche demonstrates how he works with words. For him, in the first place, “the origin and the purpose” of words does not necessarily presuppose that their current is the result of an original purpose. Rather, “they are toto coelo [totally] different” (Nietzsche, 2001, Second dissertation, § 11-12). Second, words that assume conceptual responsibilities must be appreciated, as they respond both to philosophy and morality, and “[…] wherever we come across morality, we find an evaluation and hierarchy of human impulses and acts” (Nietzsche, 2001, § 116). Finally, Nietzsche’s evaluation of values, understood as their transvaluation, is opposed to the “[…] inversion of the gaze that establishes values” (Nietzsche, 2001, First dissertation, § 10), typical of resentment; in transvaluation, one wants to examine “[…] our yeses and nos, our ifs and whats” (Nietzsche, 2001, Prologue, § 2), because “[…] every word has its scent: there is a harmony and a disharmony of scents and, therefore, of words” (Nietzsche, 2008, § 119).

This text is written from epigraphs that sing a kind of song to didactics, reflecting its beginnings, denouncing certain forces that have influenced it and dreaming of its transcreative reinvention. Textual structure here follows lines of composition inspired in the work of Sandra Corazza (2002; 2012; 2013), written in different moments, renewing the power of meaning. It is not a matter of polishing concepts to bring back their shine. We must recompose the energy of meanings that have been forgotten or neglected – through censorship, carelessness, or repression – as a way of invoking those whom morality has murdered. In this sense, this article deals with words, as an archaeologist who expects from them new configurations of meaning. Although using etymologies, it is not a philology; although it follows the paths that words take, it is not historicist; although tied to the field of didactics, it is not merely educational. It places its wager on the ability to capture, beyond the din of the tombs, the sounds of new encounters with life.

In this regard, the present text delivers an essay of self-criticism, in veritable Nietzschean style: here, self-criticism counters a historicist-humanist didactics, of Christian undertones, in an attempt at a didactics of the infernal. This movement of self-criticism takes off from a reading of Sandra Corazza’s book Para uma filosofia do inferno na educação [Toward a Philosophy of the Infernal in Education], published in 2002, and from which come both my structure of argumentation and my epigraphs. As Corazza (2002, p. 33) argues,

In order to carry out such experimentation, we must create, as a means of immanence, a pure infernal contingency, opposed to the transcendence of absolute goodness and humanist love, and one which does not imply any prior interest, necessity, origin, history or nature of Education, even if malignant.

Historicist-Humanist Didactics

Is the Devil a derivative of historicist humanism? Does he enter the interstice between madness and reason, healthy life and death, words and things, good and evil?

(Corazza, 2002).

Examining didactics as a concept in its limits and possibilities, by a Derridian style, is to to deconstruct didactics, encounter its silences and its idle chatter. To this end, we evoke the history of the concept, as a gesture of remembrance, pushing it in its effects of repetition and insistence in order to develop an unfolding of possibilities for new realizations.

This structure of movement finds in Freud (2010) a good translation: remember, repeat, and elaborate. Scrutiny of the history of a concept requires rejecting the assumption that lost meaning be restored, to preserve an original semantic force, like a warning to poor users of the concepts who distort their essence. Such a position, typically metaphysical, has been vanquished by authors who are suspicious of its project, as Foucault well observed in his book Nietzsche, Freud and Marx: they did not give new meanings to the old concepts but “[…] actually changed the nature of the symbol [signe] as well as the commonly used way of interpreting the symbol [signe]” (Foucault, 1997, p. 17-18).

If one agrees with Foucault, Genealogy of Morals (Nietzsche, 2001), The Interpretation of Dreams (Freud, 2019) and Capital (Marx, 2013) are all books that bring the 19th century to an end, producing a different nature of the sign and, at the same time – albeit without a common project – changing the way of these new and old signs were read. Deleuze expresses his accord when stating that

[…] a phenomenon is not an appearance, not even an apparition, but a sign [signe], a symptom that finds its meaning in an actual force. All of philosophy is a symptomatology, a semiology. The sciences are a symptomatologic and semiological system

(Deleuze, 1976, p. 3).

Philosophy as symptomatology stems from the way in which Nietzsche, Freud and Marx treated signs: philosophy as a symptomatologic system. Marx is in agreement when he writes that “[…] every time we believe we catch a glimpse of the announcing symptoms, they disappear again into thin air” (Marx, 2013). Nietzsche, in his critique of moral values, enquires into the “conditions and circumstances in which these moral values were born”, seen “[…] as a consequence, as a symptom, mask, stupor, illness, misunderstanding; but also moral, as cause, remedy, stimulant, inhibition, poison” (Nietzsche, 2001, Prologue, § 6). Finally, Freud treats the “dream as a symptom” with its own method of interpretation, as after all, symptoms are not completed indications of unknown causes, but investigative entry points, invitations to a multiplicity of paths through a labyrinth (Freud, 2019).

In addition to hermeneutic strategies that pursue the given meanings of things, ideas, or values, forces condensed in concepts are interesting. On the one hand, interpretation turns into a symptomatology and, on the other, into a scenario for the creation of meaning for such forces. The task that this article takes on is to call forth the concept of didactics and, with it, the reflections it can render, as a field and a practice.

On Words

We shout out words that cannot be spoken

(Corazza, 2002).

The adjectives frequently attached to the word didactics are indicative of the way pedagogical action has been combined with moral precepts. Common sense revealed this mix when, even recently, it was said that teaching – the alleged site of didactics – was a matter of vocation, a term predominantly used in mystical religions.

The feminine noun didática of the Portuguese language maintains semantic ties to the Greek language. Chantraine (1980) and Liddell and Scott (1996) indicate that the verb dáô [δάω] – which means to learn (in Portuguese, “aprender”, which also fuses with apreender, or “to apprehend”) became the verb didáskô [διδάσκω], to instruct. The aorist verb is édidáchthên [ἐδιδάχθην], which refers both to the past as “taught” and “learned”, as in the use that the ancient comic poet Cratinos (519-422 a.C.) gave to play [drãma | δρᾶμα] that was produced. In a certain sense, it may be said that the play was taught. This indicates that the word, in its initial environment, belonged to the context of ancient comedy. The poet was a producer [dîdaskãlos | δῐδασκᾰλος] who taught and rehearsed the comic play. Thus, it is no mere coincidence that the word teacher was also referred to by the word dîdaskãlos.

In the Greek language, the feminine noun dídaksis [δίδαξις] refers to teaching, instruction, as in Aristotle’s Metaphysics (1933) in which he writes that “[…] it is evident that, in the case of simple things, we can neither pry into or teach [dídaksis] them; the method for investigating them is another” (Aristotle, 1933, 1041b). From the same root, didaskalía [διδασκαλία] holds the same meaning as dídaksis. This becomes evident in Plato’s Republic (1988), when Socrates treats the Sophists as mercenaries, in their attempt to make a compendium of common sense and calling this a science “[…] to be turned into the object [technên | τέχνην] of education [didakalían | διδασκαλίαν]” (Plato, 1998, 493b).

Today, the word didactics appears in different linguistic traditions:

1. in the Brazilian Houaiss, didática is a word dating back to 1836, referring to the “[…] art of knowledge transmission; teaching techniques; that part of pedagogy that deals with the scientific precepts that guide educational activity in order to make it more efficient” and coming from the Greek didaktikê (Houaiss, 2009);

2. in the German dictionary Duden, Didaktik has its origins in the Greek term didaktikós; the meaning of the term is linked to teaching theory and method (Drosdowski, 1996);

3. in French, the term didactique is said to come from the Greek didaktikós, “the art of teaching” (Littré, 1957);

4. similarly, the Spanish word didáctico (from the Greek didaktikós), when used as an adjective signifies “belonging or related to teaching”; as a noun, it refers to the “art of teaching”;

5. the Italian Treccani (2014) asserts that the noun didàttica comes from the adjective didàttico (from the Greek didaktikós), derived from the verb didáskô; the feminine noun is connected to theories and methods of teaching;

6. the Oxford Dictionary of English (Stevenson, 2010) situates the word didact in the mid-17th century, coming from the Greek didaktikós and conserving the same meaning as in other languages;

7. the Grande Dicionário da Língua Portuguesa (Teixeira; Da Costa; Da Silva, 2013), from Portugal, asserts that the feminine noun didática refers to an “ancillary pedagogical science”, a “series of methods and techniques” of teaching and the “art and science of making people learn”; its origin is indicated as the Greek didaktiké or “art of teaching”.

This brief survey enables us to identify the Greek word didaktikós [διδακτικός] as origins of the word didactics whose meaning is “appropriate for teaching”. There are but a few occurrences of this Greek word, in which the use of the term as a moral attribute prevails, that is, didactics [didaktikós] is understood as a moral quality. If this assumption is correct, it is possible to explain the reception of this term in living languages, as well as the quasi-religious connotation of its use, in ideas such as teaching is a vocation or something that should be done out of love – expressions that are no longer in use, but still present in the social imaginary.

As stated above, the adjective didaktikós – “apt for teaching”, “appropriate for instruction”, “didactic” – appears in just three texts out of all archaic and ancient Greek literature. Initially, in two Pauline letters sent to a Christian named Timothy and in Against the Ethical, by Sextus Empiricus. In the first letter to Timothy, the following passage appears:

[1] This is a faithful saying: If a man desires the position of a bishop, he desires a good work. [2] A bishop then must be blameless, the husband of one wife, temperate, sober-minded, of good behavior, hospitable, able to teach [didaktikón | διδακτικὀν]. […] [7] Moreover he must have a good testimony among those who are outside, lest he fall into reproach and the snare of the devil [toû diabólou | τοῦ διαβόλου]

(Bíblia..., 2018, 1 Timóteo, livro 3, § 1-7).

No effort is made to understand, from this list of eminently moral recommendations, that didactics be considered as one among other moralist orders. This is reinforced in the second letter:

[24] And a servant of the Lord must not quarrel but be gentle to all, able to teach [didaktikón], patient, [25] in humility correcting those who are in opposition, if God perhaps will grant them repentance, so that they may know the truth, [26] and that they may come to their senses and escape the snare of the devil, having been taken captive by him to do his will

(Bíblia..., 2018, 2 Timóteo, livro 2, § 24-26).

Both these Pauline letters that oppose the “passions of youth” warn of the risk of succumbing to “diabolical” or “demonic snares”. Being “able to teach” [didaktikón] figures among the other impositions of Pauline morality. The third reference, in this case, non-Christian, comes from the skeptical physician Sextus Empiricus in his admonition to the ethical,

Furthermore, if the sensible man teaches the foolish, wisdom must show awareness of the lack of wisdom, just like art in regard to non-art. But sense cannot be aware of folly; therefore, the sensible man is not fit-for-teaching [didaktikós] the foolish (Sextus Empiricus, 1936, pp. 504-505, § 248).

With Sextus Empiricus and Saint Paul on the table, we see the apostle, at the last minute, telling a leader of a Christian community what, in good will, we could call wisdom: for Sextus Empiricus, wisdom does not teach the foolish; therefore, those who are sensible are not “able to teach” folly, the precise target of their education. However, this term which appears so infrequently in ancient Greek literature is precisely the one that contemporary dictionaries cite as linked to the “art of teaching”, to didactics. The hypothesis of this work is that this Christian moral ideology establishes a notion of didactics that insists on not abandoning the “ability to teach”, seen not as technique but as moral device. Some examples will be used to determine whether this statement is sustainable.

Faced with the apostolic threat of the diabolical ties of those opposed to the aforementioned moral precepts - among them, the “aptitude for teaching” – there is a response that does not qualify didactics in the way it had been hitherto understood. It is one that dispenses with its founding spiritualized aura, as vocation, good conduct, example of rectitude, to design a formless substance that is a verb [didáskô] whose action is remunerable [didaktra | δίδακτρα] and is exercised within an institution [didaskaleîon | διδασκαλεῖον] by a teacher [didáskalos | διδάσκαλος] who handles teaching [didaskalía | διδασκαλία] through providing lessons [didaskálion | διδασκάλιον].

In Nietzsche’s Antichrist (2007, § 6), a book that addresses the meaning of good, evil and happiness, the philosopher strikes out at Christ, St. Paul’s greatest invention. His main argument is that the values ​​of humanity lack life and will and therefore are values ​​of decline: such “[…] nihilistic values ​​prevail under the most sacred names”. In this sense, we can take the work as a possible reading of the texts and recommendations of Saint Paul. The late apostle, in creating his gospel, did what others also do, “[…] translating his own crudeness into an existence totally immersed in symbols and incomprehensibility” (Nietzsche, 2007, § 31). The result of this undertaking is that “with Paul, the priest wants to return to power— he was useful only for concepts, teachings, and symbols with which the masses are tyrannized and flocks are formed”. He goes on to repeat that “[…] with Paul the priest wanted to return to power” (Nietzsche, 2007, § 42). For, here, Nietzsche makes an important distinction: the will to power is opposed to the priest who wants power: the will wants to dominate, yes, and this is a symptom of life; the priest wants to dominate, yes, but his result was decadence, because, unlike life, he subjected it to the pettiness of morality. The impulse to life says yes; the impulse toward priesthood says no.

Thus, the word didactics that one achieves is in its current use, as a translation of the Greek word didaktikós, which is forged in the early evangelical literature of Christian communities, as the moral power of their leaders.

In opposition to Christian didactics [didaktikós], the didactics of the infernal does not see ties to the diabolic [diábolos | διάβολος] as captivity, but as liberation. As Corazza (2002, p. 31) suggests, it is about freeing oneself “[…] from the cult of totality, transcendence, dialectics, metaphysics, humanism, as well as the binaries of right/wrong, guilt/punishment, good/evil, death/life. It flees from the ‘single story’ or way of thinking to make singularities possible, affirming the multiple, multiplying processes of becoming”. This didactics advocates for those who are known to be unsuitable for teaching, who do not have the vocation for it, although they insist on rehearsals and experimentation; it understands that substance is a name that is given and not an essence.

On Books

Transliteration: to change the book is to change one’s life. A scenography of space and time. Over the journeys of life, characters step forth

(Corazza, 2014, p. 61).

There are two books that contribute fundamentally to the notion of didactics, Didactic Magna (Comenius, 2011) and Ratio Studiorum (Miranda, 2009). Both were crucial in organizing the modern educational ideal. Both are inscribed in the Christian environment. While the modern philosophical thought is progressively understood as distancing itself from its medieval religious grounding, it is noted that this does not seem to be the case for didactics. Thus, we assume that Christianity was responsible for the transposition of the Greek ideal of didaksis or didaskalía into the ascetic ideal of Christian didactics, such as didaktikós.

In Brazil, the construction of education, as a civilizing ideal, took place under the tutelage of the Christian faith. As Saviani (2019) explains, “ Brazil’s entrance into the so-called western world took place, thus, through a process involving three closely interwoven aspects: colonization, education and catechesis”. Even if the history of didactics in Brazil is assumed as a progressive distancing from Catholic educational Christianity, to which are added the important contribution of American technicism and the critical thinking of the 1980s, the sense of vocation, the humanist ideal, and redemptive expectations remain ingrained in educational practices and conceptions.

The concept of different books with “didactic” purposes – textbook is the term commonly used in the English language – sounds differently according to the period, of course. Designated as an epic genre in ancient Greece and Rome; as instruction manuals for faith, throughout Christian history; and as academic treatises for schools, in contemporary times; here, they will serve as an illustration of currents of thought in the field of Pedagogy. Yet calling the texts which are referred to below textbooks is a rhetorical exaggeration, sounding like something very typical of Brazilian schooling and the pioneering textbook that Gustavo Capanema implemented in 1938. And this is certainly not what they were.

In this context, some books can be recognized as belonging to the literary genre of the didactic. As Peter Toohey has written, a “[…] didactic epic speaks with a single authorial voice and this is directed explicitly to an addressee”. It is a text that takes the place of the doctor, scholar, praeceptor, that is, a text that intends to give teachings, guidelines. Its content “[…] is instructional, rather than merely hortatory”, which awards the genre a role of its own; in this style, there are “[…] illustrative panels”, figurations, in many cases mythological, that work together with the text (Toohey, 2010, p. 4). Such characteristics seem to bring these works closer to the textbooks of our days. However, the didactic literary genre does not concern this work; here, the willing is to trace, by deliberation, certain texts that demonstrate how the West pushed on, little by little, giving meaning to the idea of didactics by moving closer to the Greek word didaktikós.

For this endeavor, six books will be briefly introduced: Ovid’s Ars Amatoria, as an example of didactic poetry, written between 1 a.C. and 1 d.C. and which can be characterized by its instructional intent; Didachê, written in Greek – a Christian document of the late First Century – as an example of moral didactics, which condenses Christian precepts that were to be instructed in the Pauline religion; Dĭdascălicon, written in Latin at the end of the 1120s, and becoming the main document of Christian catechesis because it brought together, in a single document, the structure of knowledge necessary for philosophy and the arts, as satellites of sacred knowledge; Ratio Studiorum, as a Jesuit pedagogy, which played a major role in the construction of Brazilian education; Amós Comenius’ Opera Didactica Omnia, the most robust book on didactics in modernity; and The Technology of Teaching, a founding text of the technicism that emerged in Brazil in the 1970s. In this brief journey, verifying if didactics came to constitute its field as fluctuations from one essential point, which is the Christian meaning that the term took on, will be seen, thus distancing itself from the nascent atmosphere of Greek theater.

Ars Amatoria

What would ‘Pedagogical Love’, which is a Christian value, be without this ‘Power of Resentment’, which is a Judaic practice, if the morality of Pedagogy did not transform the will of the child’s power into the moral of adult weakness?

(Corazza, 2002).

Text written in the last century b.C., Ovid’s Art of Loving (2011) situates the reader within an experience of classroom learning over its entire three books: the first two, addressed to men, the last, to women of Rome. As defined by Volk (2002), this literary genre, recognized as didactic, places Ovidian poetry predefined by four relational criteria pertaining to the genre frameworks of that which was supposed to be taught. Although the text does not maintain a strictly professorial tone, the elegiac couplet reproduced in this technique structures, over its three books, narratives which are often mystical, often digressive, for the teaching of strategies for the conquest of love partners. This runs counter to the records of Ovid’s time. Hence, when reporting the legend of the abduction of the Sabine women, the writer takes on the traits of the magister who, although interested in erotic games, links the paths of love to a reading plan that collects a set of precepts which, in addition to practical advice, make his text more than just a practical manual.

Let us look at the text’s opening lines,

If anyone among this people knows not the art of loving, let him read my poem, and having read be skilled in love. By skill swift ships are sailed and rowed, by skill nimble chariots are driven: by skill must Love be guided. Well fitted for chariots and pliant reins was Automedon, and Tiphys was the helmsman of the Haemonian ship: me hath Venus set over tender Love as master in the art; I shall be called the Tiphys and Automedon of Love

(Ovid, 2011).

We may argue that the poem serves to instruct, since from it comes learnings in the skills of seduction. The poet uses the word ars to refer to his teachings, that is, love can be a subject that is taught, given its practical nature. The Latin word ars is correlated to the Greek téchnê [τέχνη]. In this case, the poem is didactic because it brings necessary knowledge to the domain of technique. To the apprentice – presented as belonging to the common people – is bequeathed the task of reading; the expression legat et lecto suggests that the apprentice read with engagement, bringing the reading close to him or herself. The poem also sings to how Tiphys, master [magister], and Venus, artificer [artifex], endowed the poet-poem with the arts of which they themselves were masters, used to teach the reader the art of loving.

The Greek tradition that associates the word téchnê to the rise from routine practice to technical systematization turns, in the Ovidian text, in this case, to the art of loving. Its systematic and somehow universalizing character posits the seduction poem as teaching, something that can be learned and, consequently, taught. The relationship of someone who teaches – the poet, the author, the teacher – to an apprentice willing to master the teachings, explains why it was called a didactic poem.

Didachê

[This book of the Inferno] is a part of the critique of subjectivity […]; it problematizes an essentially representative subject, coherent, active, autonomous, conscious, rational, subjected to the Principle of Universal Identity, capable of exorcising all forms of difference

(Corazza, 2002).

As the second book for this humanist history of didactics, we chose a document from the end of the first century d.C. Didaqué, or The Teachings of the Twelve Apostles. It is one of the texts whose excerpts appear most frequently in the Christian literature that emerges from the post-apostolic period. There is a hypothesis regarding its authorship, attributed to a Jew converted to Christianity, a listener of the apostles, an assistant or something of the sort. The text was to be used in the indoctrination of neophytes. In fact, as a collection, it seems to condense the fundamental elements of the new Jewish religion, which progressively takes on Roman features.

The title of the book, didaché [διδαχή] is a noun that derives from the Greek verb didáskô. Thus, teaching, or instruction, imparts the meaning of the document; in other words, it provides instructions, coming from the twelve apostles, of moral precepts to be incorporated into the behavior and values of newly converted Christians. Didaché appears in Plato’s Republic, when he states that “Consequently, calculus, geometry and all the propaedeutics that constitute the preparation for dialectics must be taught in childhood, without making children learn by imposing our system of instruction [didaché]” (Plato, 2013, p. 186).

Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (1926) provides another example of the use of the Greek word

Now some thinkers hold that virtue is a gift of Teaching is powerless without a foundation of good habits. nature; others think we become good by habit, others that we can be taught [didachê] to be good. Natural endowment is obviously not under our control; it is bestowed on those who are fortunate, in the true sense, by some divine dispensation. Again, theory and teaching [didachê] are not, I fear, equally efficacious in all cases: the soil must have been previously tilled if it is to foster the seed, the mind of the pupil must have been prepared by the cultivation of habits, so as to like and dislike aright

(Aristóteles, 1926, p. 630).

Instruction as it flows from the Didaqué text begins by inferring that there are two paths for people: “There are two paths, one of life and one of death, and the difference between the two paths is great”. This opening is similar to the Parmenidian formulation that “[…] what are the only roads of investigation for thought. The one, that ‘is’, and that it is not possible that ‘is not’ […] the other, that ‘is not’, and that it is necessary that ‘is not’” (Apostolic Fathers, 2003, p. 416). This logical dualism of Parmenides seems to undergird the Christian document. The path of life is to love God and your neighbor, even if he is an enemy. Therefore, the first path is the path of unconditional love. The teaching that flows from this path is to ask for divine favor from everyone, whether or not they are adversaries. The second instruction is presented in a list of prohibitions, as “do not kill”, “do not commit adultery” among others, similar to the Moses’ Tablets of the Law, that is, instructing against certain behaviors or actions. In Chapter 4, the document insists that children must be instructed in the same precepts as adults. Chapter 11 takes an important step through the use of the Greek word didachê: “[…] if the one who teaches distances himself and teaches something else [didachên], pay him no heed” (Apostolic Fathers, 2003, p. 435). This statement, as it was presented earlier, and its reference to the deviant mark the teacher [didáskalos] as perverse. Further on, in Chapter 15, the document lists values ​​assumed by Christianity as a condition for becoming teachers within the communities.

In this sense, the document that circulated among first century apostolic communities obliged instruction [didachê] to be carried out by those whose moral qualities were compatible with Christian values. It is not possible to derive other problems from the document, but one wonders if such instruction, in the case of content that is in line with Christian precepts yet imparted by those behavior is not morally accepted by the apostles, is rendered worthless; that is, whether the message must correspond to the messenger.

Dĭdascălicon

In experimenting with the infernal, [this] book seeks to formulate new questions, appreciate other values, conceive new affections, fortify different emotions. […] It should be read as posing nothing to be understood or interpreted, and all to be taken in with surprise

(Corazza, 2002).

The book Dĭdascălicon (São Vítor, 2018) introduces an “art of reading” – ars legendi –, a proposal for what should be read, in what order and how it should be carried out. Written in the late 1120s by Hugh of Saint Victor, a Saxon theologian and professor at the Parisian abbey of Saint Victor, the book sought to integrate philosophical knowledge, considered profane, with sacred knowledge from the Catholic biblical canon. His conclusion is that philosophy is “[…] the discipline that thoroughly investigates the reason for all things human and divine”, For these purposes, he urges, “[…] learn everything, and then you will see that nothing is superfluous. Limited knowledge does not please us” (São Vitor, 2018).

The Latin word dĭdascălicon – a correlate of the Greek word didaskalikós – means “pertaining to instruction”. In the case of this book, Saint Victor (2018) adopts learning, more than teaching, as a principle. In his view, teaching that allows for learning is, above and beyond all else, focused on reading correctly; thus, “[…] it teaches the qualities with which the Holy Scriptures should be read, by those who come to it to rectify their customs and way of life. Lastly, it instructs those who read it for the sake of love of knowledge, and thus the second part also has its ends” (São Vitor, 2018). In other words, the technique of reading allows access to human and divine knowledge, where there is a willingness to reach the supreme objective of knowledge. At the beginning of the book, Hugo of Saint Victor recognized that there was sometimes a lack of willingness to learn, noting that those who “[…] did not want to learn” did not do so “[…] so they would not have to act correctly” (São Vitor, 2018). This conception resembles that of the Greeks, who also considered error to be a result of ignorance. Thus, it seems that the terrain of instruction must concern itself with the learning of logically organized study, regardless of greater or lesser efforts to learn.

While the Pauline text exhorts those who are “fit for teaching” to be leaders, this is not a medieval concern of Saint Victor’s: the only situation in which the perfect association between profane and divine knowledge and the technical mastery of correct reading does not lead to good is when the subject deliberately refuses to become a good Christian. Ultimately, correct moral behavior stems from the willingness to master the art of reading.

Ratio Studiorum

[…] it is only through the exalted madness of thought that the educational imagination can map out its own plan of immanence and create its characters, as conceptual invention begins its festivities

(Corazza, 2002, p. 13).

Almost five hundred years after Hugo of Saint Victor wrote his text, another religious pedagogical model was launched, this time held up by Jesuit representations: the Ratio Studiorum. Meant for a project of education and training of members of the Society of Jesus, the book, in a simplistic reading, is a practical manual: an educational plan with more than 400 rules for all those involved in Jesuit teaching. Miranda (2009) sees the manual as a combination of humanistic and scientific studies whose educational agenda was ideal for both lay people and religious, attempting to promote harmonious learning for the development of mental and affective faculties according to the nature and destiny of spiritual dispositions. The choice of teacher [professors quomodo comparandi] must prioritize those who “[…] seem to be the most competent [videntur aptiores], the most erudite, applied and assiduous, those who show greatest zeal for students’ progress not only in the classroom but also in other literary exercises” (Franca , 1952, p. 120). Leonel Franca’s choice to translate the expression videntur aptiors as “more competent” is a curious one. The Latin word videntur comes from vĭdĕor – to be seen, to show oneself, to appear –; aptiores, adjective taken from aptus, which refers to “proper”, “appropriate”. Taking aptiores in the same sense of apt, in the Portuguese language, allows a translation to something like “which shows itself to be more apt”, a meaning that is close to the Greek didaktikós, “apt-for-teaching”. The nominal suffix tikós qualifies didactics as something close to one who teaches. The Latin expression videntur aptiores can be understood as “seems more inclined”; this translation chosen, here, refers to the sense that an inclination concerns a natural or proper movement of something or someone. Thus, the Ratio Studiorum prescribes the choice of teachers who seem to have vocational inclination.

Thus, on the one hand, the Society of Jesus recognizes that a person may or may not have an “inclination” to teach, even though it creates a different roster of characteristics for its candidates. On the other hand, it aligns itself with the legacy of Saint Victor in terms of intentions to organize teaching, the choice of content and the moral values that should be part of education. It seems that the Pauline exhortations, more so than Ovid’s didactic poems, create a necessary nexus between the act of teaching and the moral qualities of one who teaches.

Opera Didactica Omnia

The Mother Goddess of paganism reigns for millennia without a partner. Gradually, she is associated with a young god, a son, who assumes the role of Son Lover, subject to her. In the divine plan, the Magna Mater Deorum engenders this Son who is also her lover

(Corazza, 2002).

In this possible genealogy, another father-function was recognized: if Ovid could be seen as the father of didactic poetry, this perception could only come from the theorist responsible for the beginning of the systematization of Western didactics. Comenius [Jan Amos Komenský], in his Didactica Magna, turned to the rationalization of all educational actions by electing theoretical categories for the daily life of the classroom (Comenius, 2011).

Unlike the missionaries or the poet mentioned above, this didactics was not written in meter or according to rules, although the author was also a Christian Protestant. Didactica Magna is one of the texts responsible for the professionalization of that which is taught, and runs counter to the pedagogical models that had been in place until that point. Nonetheless, the author still believed that the soul could be saved in some way, although, in the 17^th century, this would occur through a logics that was ancillary to science and earthly existence. Composed between 1627 and 1642, the work Didacticorum Operum reserves its second part to the well-known Didactica Magna, the art of teaching everything to everyone [Didactica Magna, Omnes omnia docendi artificia exhibens]. The words of the title stand out: the verb docendi is gerundive – therefore, its meaning is passive – from doceo, which means “to be taught”, “to be instructed”, “to have awakened”. There is an ambiguity in this word, because in Latin, as in Portuguese, it can mean “one who learns easily”, but also “one who submits without offering resistance”, as well as “one who has a mild temper” (Houaiss, 2009); these translation possibilities combine as a gerundive of the Latin verb. The plural noun artificia, from the singular artificium, refers to “profession”, “artifice”, “management”, “art”; likewise, exhibens is the present participle of the verb exhibeo which, as it is a verb form with adjective characteristics, can be translated as “exhibition”, “presentation”, “arousal”, “cause”, “supply”.

In this sense, the well-known subtitle of Didactic Magna sounds as if the book were to introduce an art that is capable of teaching any subject or content to anyone. But it can also sound like a device that renders everyone docile when a subject is presented to them. This tradeação (Monteiro, 2018, p. 163) – a play on words which has been coined to bring out the ways in which translation can subvert tradition – sounds anachronistic, taking what is possibly a modern-day meaning and applying it retrospectively. Yet the strategy makes it clear that the current meaning of didactics does not distance itself from its founding framework; even more so, as Nietzsche argues, because every instituted concept obeys a logic of forces, which has it “[…] transformed and transposed onto a new use” (Nietzsche, 2000, § 473). There seems to have been no transformation or transposition since the Comenian formulation; persistence in the face of change can be indicative of resistance, or sign of an inertia that says no to life.

The Technology of Teaching

Are we discovering that both religion and critical-technoscientific reason come from the same source?

(Corazza, 2002).

B. F. Skinner’s book, The Technology of Teaching, published in 1968, inaugurated a tendency that came to Brazil under the name of “technicism”. Skinner’s influence can be gleaned in Vera Candau’s doctoral thesis, published under the title Ensino Programado [Programmed Learning] (Candau, 1969). Skinner’s attention turned to the act of teaching, “[…] teaching is the expediting of learning; a person who is taught learns more quickly than one who is not” (Skinner, 1972, p. 4). With his mind on the modification of student behavior through teaching, Skinner provides a succinct definition, as follows:

Teaching is the arrangement of contingencies of reinforcement under which students learn. They learn without teaching in their natural environments, but teachers arrange special contingencies which expedite learning, hastening the appearance of behavior which would otherwise be acquired slowly or making sure of the appearance of behavior which might otherwise never occur

(Skinner, 1972, p. 62).

More radically, during that period, Candau wrote that it is up to teachers to “[…] seek adequate reinforcement for what is done in schools”; (Candau, 1969, p. 53). Skinner, in turn, states that “[…] lectures, textbooks, and their mechanized equivalents, on the other hand, proceed without making sure that the student understands and easily leave him behind” (Skinner, 1972, p. 36). His enthusiasm for “teaching machines” is clear; he sees them as a condensation of both teachers and textbooks, a view that is visible in his assertion that “Arranging effective sequences is a good part of the art of teaching.” (Skinner, 1972, p. 212); arranging a sequence of contingencies means organizing teaching in the interests of behavior modification. Beyond echoes of Comenian pedagogy, for Skinner, art refers to 20th century technique, which means the use of electro-electronic technology. Furthermore, he limits himself to the use of the terms teaching or to teach, without referring to who teaches. Thus, at least in this text, didactic is applied only to books.

This brief narrative on historicist-humanist didactics questions the choice of the Greek term that is closer to Christian morality, leaving aside the didactics of Greek theater. This leads to a closer view to Nietzsche, in agreement with his statement, “I understand corruption, one can already guess, in the sense of decadence: my position is that all the values upon which humanity now concentrates the highest desirability are values of decadence” (Nietzsche, 1978, § 6).

Didactics of the Inferno

By creating concepts, in terms of problems that it considers unwelcome or poorly posed, the philosophy of the inferno can also be said to be a pedagogy or a policy. However, its concepts do not refer to school experience, nor to any didactic or curricular state of affairs, since such propositions or functions, whose expression must necessarily start from lived experience, are not discussed

(Corazza, 2002).

Although there have been significant changes in the initial characteristics of the Christian humanism that took shape within didactics since the establishment of Pauline Christianity, it does not seem that modern didactics have questioned the sacred character of teaching and its moral consequences for those who work in the education field. Yes, despite the emptying of traditionalist teaching practices; the loss of hegemony of behaviorist techniques; the important growth of the political dimensions over the last few decades; despite all this movement, it still seems that the structuring basis of didactics continues to hover in the terrain of the metaphysical.

In his book, Profanations, Giorgio Agamben distinguishes between secularization and profanation:

[…] secularization is a form of removal that leaves forces intact, limited to moving from one place to another […] Profanation, in turn, implies, a neutralization of that which profanes. After being profaned, that which was unavailable and segregated loses its aura and ends up being returned to use

(Agamben, 2007).

Ovid’s The Art of Loving (2011) turns seduction into didactic poetry, teaching young people the skills of erotic conquest. The didactic act, since the days of Pauline religion, must be performed with moral intentions and purposes, as only the good Christian should be considered apt to teach. Rhetoric, knowledge of books, familiarity with one’s own history are all dispensed with, everything yields to the force of the indoctrination of life beyond the grave. If history has been adding elements to this curriculum, such as the liberal arts, for example, the trivium and quadrivium, the imperative for faith to be realized and nurtured has resisted curriculum reform. Didactics is still the promise of beyond, a non-religious and secular one, and still a beyond as promise of the future, as a guarantee of survival, as an access to coming prosperity.

To profane didactics, as Agamben (2007) suggests, means to neutralize sacralizing forces: to take what has been taken from common use, to be sanctified, and put it at the disposal of common life. This can be called the didactics of the inferno in education (Corazza, 2002). At the same time, we must give thought to the plural noun that derives from the Greek word didaksis: didaskalía is understood as “teaching place”. Modern tradition has chosen a specific room as the place where teaching is carried out. Through a process of sacralization, this place has been given the name of classroom, as it is no longer a common place, but a space to be occupied by people duly destined for the “vocation” of those who are apt to teach, the didaktikos as it was called by early Christians. Even though it has been secularized, through competitions, through non-theological subjects, through access for all, and through technologies, the forces of catechetical instruction remain intact. Yet in the Greek understanding, teaching places are didaskalía – taken by the ancients as an indication of the circumstances in which a play was performed –, they represent possible scripts, plans, signs of change, variations, openings.

On Theater

Participating, at the same time, in farce and tragedy, the infernals perform theater within the theater, play the absurd game of roles, convert the world of appearance into reality and vice versa

(Corazza, 2002).

In one of her Chave de escrileitura [Key to read/writing] – there are several –, Corazza experiments with the dramatization of a curriculum in her reading of Gilles Deleuze’s Difference and Repetition. In Introduction to method, she collects fragments that make us think of the theater, and in particular the staging spirit, an educational-philosophical type of didactic function, not the person who is “apt for teaching, in the apostolic catechesis of primitive Christianity – that spreads over history and gives a name to modern and contemporary didaktika – but the tragic theater of Friedrich Nietzsche’s reading. Corazza’s Chave de escrileitura, which experiments with Valéry and Deleuze’s method, is a provocation and call to non-representational, and therefore non-instructional thought, to an artistic didactics of difference. This exercise can be found in another one of Corazza’s books, Didaticário de criação [Didactarium of creativity ] (Corazza, 2012, p. 153-157), which is not taken in further detail on here, in the interests of present narrative fluidity.

The theater, environment from which didactics emerges, is the site of the staging spirit, following the path inaugurated by Nietzsche and pursued by a part of 20^th century philosophy. Here the idea is to produce a movement beyond representation, as the staging spirit creates its representations by specters and not by specular logic. Direct signs are abandoned to empty out, once and for all, the well-known signifier-signified pair, which needs no further criticism, but to simply be dropped by the wayside. The staging spirit is interested in the invention of empty spaces, spaces which remain to be filled by the translating possibilities of matter. Although there is, as in every staging, a script, here it is found in the key to reading and writing: scripts of the imagination, that expand life, that embody creative force.

If the notion of didactics as the art of teaching seems now worn out, an artist-didactics belongs to the staging spirit, like the teaching of infernal art, like the brush strokes of a first sketch, the art-in-making of transcreative translation: “the art of influencing spirits” (Corazza, 2002, p. 61).

On Pandemonium

If the inferno traverses the world of Education, it may terrorize your thought

(Corazza, 2002).

Inferno [hell], here, works as a provocation. In the Christian imagination, hell is a place of damnation. Fate of the Unconjured. Right place for the cursed. Certain future for the condemned. Hell and heaven are part of a culture that is convinced that human destiny, as well as origin, are known fact. This vector – subjected to predictability, convinced of Aristotelian causal logic – instills the conviction of the unbearable experience of deviation, error, trial, wandering (Nietzsche, 2008), or as Derrida (1995) uses it, destinerrance.

In such pandemonium there are no guarantees of destination or delivery. Destinerrance, the word that carries weight, destiny and wandering, is a translation of this wandering thought; Derrida’s neologism implies the inability to control how far that which is sent forth will travel, calling into question the conventional way of dealing with communication. Like a postcard, that which goes out is a message or advertisement, although there may be, allegedly, a main recipient. The conviction fueled by the didactics of instruction is that communication strategies can be employed so that a subject is easily understood. On the other hand, the warning of the tragic scene of didáskalos is that going forth implies a labyrinthine path, marked by the uncertainty of arrival. As wandering thought, the translation made in the didaksis gets lost in a tangled pathos. Like a virus, in a pandemic, the didaksis that is sent forth goes out of control, creating paths of its own, subject to the betrayals of those who sent it out into the world. Now, the thought that suspects the possibility of an origin must also abandon the guarantee that it controls its destiny

Thus, the paths of dídaksis are errant, tragic and wandering. Its creations go forth along a path that has not yet been traced, because control over a future agenda is lost, becoming the object of continued dispute, the matter of conflict, and does not turn out the way it was planned.

On Translation

The devil of didactics is able to wait for a universal culture of singularities, in which it is possible to announce the abstract possibility of impossible translation. The devil offers a performative didactics, without dogma or certainties, moving onward against the risk of absolute night

(Corazza, 2002).

Paul’s letters to Christian communities warn that people who are apt to teach should avoid the diabolical path, that is, not strive to acquire the morals stipulated by the late apostle – “a falsifier inspired by hatred”, according to Nietzsche (year, .). The Christian leader’s risk was that the didaktikós would become a didactic devil.

The devil of didactics is a translator because he announces the abstract possibility of the impossible translation; he speaks in Jacques Derrida’s terms when the latter writes that “Nothing is more serious than a translation” (Derrida, 2002, p. 40). Although impossible, there is something necessary in it, because everything asks to be translated, as a force of domination, as expansion. There is an economy of forces of appropriation, of taking as one’s property that which is originally inscribed as another’s. As theft, translation appropriates another’s property, taking advantage of it, trans-creating. What Derrida calls a relevant translation “[…] is a translation whose economy, (property and quantity), is the best possible, the most appropriating and the most appropriate”. (Derrida, 2000, p. 19). The act of translation, appropriation, and calculation is diabolical because the adequacy of calculation struggles with the strength of the proper noun, in a kind of negotiation of gains (accumulations) and losses (letting go), a continuous act of creation with each version.

This rebellious angel of didactics knows the strength of the material with which he works, yet also knows that other words can be pronounced, besides his own words: words of the dead, the unwanted, the damned. This procedure, which resists closure, turns translation into a continuous act, understanding that the original text – from philosophy, science, the arts – is forthright enough to admit its uncountable losses and gains.

Conclusion

Didactics, as a concept, followed the historical trajectory of the trail carved by ancient and medieval Christianity, later adopting humanist features. Reaching the 20th century, it strives to become secularized (onto-theological), as its ultimate meaning remains that of delivering a content that, when examined, contributes to a (moral) end. Fidelity to the subject examined is regulated by replicating the content offered to learners. In a word, the value of didactics lies in its humanistic purpose and in the mere repetition of human productions. This is well illustrated in the well-known hermeneutic expression. “the author meant to say…”, as it presupposes a position of apprehension as a didaché, that which is well suited to catechetical practices. This theoretical essay enquires into the elements surrounding the link between the didaché and thought on representation that serves as a vector of meaning.

As a critique of this conception, we evoke the meaning of didaksis, as an environment in which teaching flourishes as trial, as theatrical practice, as creation (poiêsis), finally, as translation. By making translation the gesture of creating the new, didaksis attempts to bring elements of philosophy, science or the arts to creatively reconfigure them and thereby overcome any disciplinary limit, including its own. Didaksis deals with translation both within the scope of micro-procedures of teaching, and as systemic, in the choice of elements to be translated and in the larger scene to be founded.

The values of didaksis are not those chosen from the canons of learning strategies, but those that work to give life to the originals, life as a movement of the will to power. They understand that poor didactic practices deplete the vitality of thinking, reading and of writing, transforming the dynamis of the matter into easy, trivial or common content. The difference between the didaktikós of catechesis and the didáskalos of ancient Greek theater is that the former is conservative, given its practices of maintaining the language that circulates in educational institutions; the latter, on the other hand, allows itself to be affected other languages. In the former, there is cowardice: it hides behind the security of the reproduction of matter; the latter has the courage to take on the task of translation, aware of its impossibility. Finally, while the former is prone to knuckling under, the latter is always ready to take risks.

The field of didaksis will take on the function of a true scientific, philosophical or artistic element, as it does not give in to submission to occupying a place that belongs to the other, as mere representative or substitute of percepts, affects, concepts and functions. On the contrary, this field seeks autonomy, as an autonomous work of Art, Philosophy or Science. To this end, relationships of reimagination, beyond rudimentary literalism and explanatory banality, become its point of departure. With this, didaksis can be thought of as a practice capable of “relevant translations” (Derrida, 2000), of impacts worthy of reflecting outward, as strategy for the renovation of contemporary educational and cultural systems.

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Editor in charge: Fabiana de Amorim Marcello

Publication Dates

• Publication in this collection
  28 Oct 2022
• Date of issue
  2022

History

• Received
  10 May 2022
• Accepted
  12 July 2022