Page 154 - Lanzarotto Malocello from Italy to the Canary Islands

154 from Italy to the Canary Islands

It is also a matter of light.
Light naturally with reference to the owl’s eyes: for the movement of
which they are capable, their sharpness and their shape, they are like lights
which scour areas close-up and on the horizon. You may say the horizon
is poetical, horizons are logical; the former contains that metaphysical el-
ement which seems to be diminished when the plural performs its task
of change. On the horizon, the unknown amounts to a need for superior
nature and, subconsciously, a sighting, a realisation, requires the singular
form; horizons involve more human reasons, to better promote our moves,
our actions.
We therefore say “a man of limited horizons” to describe an individu-
al’s inability to conceive a beyond. Also, “a man who can see no further
than the end of his nose”. All true. Prominence of the commonplace.
In both cases mentioned, what is missing is the beyond. That beyond re-
quired for inner fulfilment. You would never say: “He is a man of a limited
horizon”, precisely because in the singular, it seems removed from earth,
far out of our reach, something which still concerns us but to a certain
extent. We believe that in the case of sailors we should speak of “horizon”
first and foremost.
The singular automatically refers to the divine.
The project, fitting out the fleet, relations, the legendary act of setting
sail: all true. This is also because a sailor, from his very attitude, would
certainly expect a material profit from his decision “to take on” the ocean.
(Also, perhaps, an acceleration of his becoming with reference to physical
and mental strain). But there would also be another factor which would
change the individual for the better, that is the fact of making history. He
will be the one who, just like a sovereign, a soldier, a scientist, a philoso-
pher, a learned person in general, a saint, he, as we were saying, will be the
one to go down in history. He will be the one to stand out, which is precise-
ly what somebody who goes down in history does. Therefore the assump-
tion that History is paved by those who dare, who put themselves on show
and who reason, and certainly not by the unknown, by the faceless man
in the crowd of History (who is compensated only in the paintings of the
masters but always marked by his impossibility to emerge as an identity).
A revolt in a square, an uprising, gives the chance of distinction: an
individual breaks away from the crowd and it will be he, who just a few
instances earlier was part of the rowdy crowd, who reveals his identity. His
exit is a shout for himself more than for everyone: the need for identity.