A few years ago, whenever a tourist visited
Paul Valéry's famous Oceanside cemetery at Sete and asked
the caretaker to show him the location of Paul Valéry's
tombstone, the caretaker would wake up his dog and give the command,
"Valéry!" Whereupon the dog, all on its own,
would lead the tourist to the poet's grave.
A French minister of culture---what business of it was his?---decided
that the procedure was not respectful and forbade the dog to serve
as a guide for these literary pilgrimages.
Yet I know of a very pretty dog portrait sketched by Paul Valéry
himself.
When I'm in the presence of a dog, I always ask myself a lot of
questions. I may be naïve, but I'm in good company, for Paul
Valéry shared my naiveté: "The animal, that
inevitable enigma, is the opposite of us in its very likeness."
And Lacan: "Dans animal domestique il y a d'homme."
His pun plays on the fact that domestic animals are managed.
The animal is "poor in world," says Heidegger, whereas
"the stone is without world" and "man is world-forming."
This is Heidegger's detour to the question, "What is world?"
How can such an understanding exist between two species? It seems
more miraculous, more precious to me than any relationship among
humans. At the same time, what could be easier? You come across
a dog. A word, a caress, and it responds with no further ado.
It is the mystery of these exchanges that led me to write this
book. But I know it will resolve nothing and that dogs will never
cease to amaze me.