Clear Like Day Letter for the twenty years since the death of Jacques Lacan

I met Lacan in January 1964. Lacan appeared to me luxurious and tormented, tender and terrible, an avenger devoured by the injustice done to him, attached to the loss of V. who had abandoned him.

I have carried the Act of Foundation for 20 years to the four corners of the world. However, at that moment, in June 1964, this lovely haughty language that invited one to fight for truth, to chase the infidels from the holy land, which posed the logic of the "return to Freud" as a crusade, yes, if it enchanted me, if it won me over, I didn't leave everything to follow it. It was Lacan's affair, not mine.

The call of 1964 didn't distract me from my studies, from my diploma on John Locke, from my philosophy exam. Then, I espoused not his cause, but his daughter. What I believed to be my cause was "the people's cause." I found it in "68. We were together, Judith and I. Lacan was amicable, even though he voted for de Gaulle. I gave him the Little Red Book, which I delighted in then. He read it and made only this commentary, which stupefied me and seemed to me petty, mediocre...: "that justifies all the meanderings of the Party."