Too often in England, whether in private conversation or media interviews, a debate is little more than a tennis rally of anecdotes indignantly told, overinflated to the status of a general rule. But the French understand the difference between conclusions drawn from personal experience and those based on a recognised framework of concepts. They take philosophy seriously. Every schoolchild is taught it.
Nor do they just mug it up for the Bac and then forget it. England has a growing number of reading groups. In France, in the last decade, Caf?s Philosophiques have sprung up. One meets regularly in our local town of Sarlat, population just over 11,000. The meeting was announced in the weekly newspaper, L'Essor Sarladais: "The next meeting of the Caf? Philosophique will take place on 11th June at 7:30pm in the Caf? de Paris. The subject under discussion will be: 'Is violence natural to humankind?' All are welcome."
We turn up at the caf?, order a glass of wine and murmur enquiringly, "Caf? Philosophique...?" We are directed to a small room at the back. Half a dozen people are there already, one or two of whom we recognise from previous meetings. Smiles, handshakes; friendly nods to everyone else.
The two people presiding informally over the discussion are philosophy teachers at local schools. On this occasion there are 17 people present, although at last autumn's sessions the number was sometimes double that. Long, light, summer evenings in the Dordogne do not leave much time for philosophy. As we drove to this meeting, peasant farmers were still hard at work in the fields bordering the road, planting or watering young seedlings. During peak season, half a million visitors overwhelm our little mediaeval town and most residents find themselves drawn in to the tourist industry.
On this occasion, women outnumber men. One chic old lady of about 75 warns us that she is deaf, but takes part enthusiastically in the discussion. Her memories go back to the Resistance. When it comes to violence, she knows what she is talking about. Several middle-aged women arrive alone, as does one imposing man, but there is no flirting. This is a philosophy group, not a singles' night out. A schoolboy of about 14 turns up. In the course of the evening he speaks only once, although he listens intently. The only (as far as I can tell) working class couple, Sophie and Francis, is accompanied by a small boy who immediately vanishes-presumably to play in the square opposite the caf?. By now we are complete; chairs are arranged in a semi-circle, each person cradling a cup of coffee or a glass of wine.
One of the teachers-Roland-starts the ball rolling with a ten-minute exegesis about violence. First, he asks, what do we mean by calling violence "natural"? That it occurs among humankind is indisputable; but is it innate or acquired? If acquired, how? By imitation? From films and television? Is there a difference between violence that people are proud of (in battle) and violence that they are ashamed of (towards children, even if ostensibly used as a sanction)? Or should we argue from the behaviour of animals, who use violence as a regulatory system, that it is innate to human beings, too? Roland touches on the existence of non-physical, psychological violence. It is obvious from their faces that his audience is engrossed, their minds brimming with questions, objections, examples.
The discussion begins slowly; as always, people are reluctant to speak first. Then one man suggests that sport is organised violence, used to dissipate feelings of tension among the crowd. Another points out that, with so much football hooliganism nowadays (this was just before the English invasion of France for the World Cup), it is clearly failing to work. Another draws a lengthy analogy between violence and economic competition. It is ingenuous but not persuasive. One of the women defines violence as the imposition of anything by one person upon another without the latter's consent. This leads to a discussion of domestic violence during which we hear a good deal about the home life of Sophie's neighbours. The old lady points out demurely that men are so weak that they have to use violence to assert themselves. She claims that violence is needed to teach children how to behave. At this point everyone starts to disagree furiously and people break up into separate groups. Anecdotes threaten to take over.
Occasionally one of the teachers will intervene, pushing the discussion in a new direction or citing a classic philosophic text, but they are mostly silent. The Caf? Philosophique demands no fee or qualification; there is no order of speakers, no hierarchy, no reading list, no deference to the ideas of college-educated or professional people.
The problem which bedevils all such meetings is what to do if one person-in this case, Sophie-monopolises the discussion. Without a chair or formal procedure, there is nothing to prevent her and although after a while it becomes obvious that people are annoyed by her garrulousness, they treat her with remarkable tolerance. Towards the end of the two-hour session, when she says for the 50th time, "I have heard that..." one of the teachers interrupts a little sharply: "You may have heard it, but that does not oblige you to say it."
It is after 9pm by the time the other teacher draws together the threads of the evening's discussion with a masterly summing-up, to which everyone listens attentively. The subject for the next evening is agreed ("Do we need utopias?") and we break up in high good humour.
