Contexto: Alicia acaba de salir de la casa de la duquesa y se topa con el gato que siempre sonríe de oreja a oreja posado sobre la rama de un árbol…
The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she thought: still it had very long claws and a great many teeth, so she felt that it ought to be treated with respect.
"Cheshire-Puss," she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. "Come, it's pleased so far," thought Alice, and she went on. "Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where---" said Alice.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"---so long as I get somewhere," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."
Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question. "What sort of people live around here?"
"In that direction," the Cat said, waving its paw round, "lives a Hatter: and in that direction," waving the other paw, "lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad."
"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
Alice didn't think that proved it at all: however, she went on: "And how do you know that you're mad?"
"To begin with," said the Cat, "a dog's not mad. You grant that?"
"I suppose so," said Alice.
"Well, then," the Cat went on, "you see a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore I'm mad."
"I call it purring, not growling," said Alice.
"Call it what you like," said the Cat. "Do you play croquet with the Queen today?"
"I should like it very much," said Alice, "but I haven't been invited yet."
"You'll see me there," said the Cat, and vanished.
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Este pasaje me hace pensar en qué tan posible es que un loco pueda afirmar en qué estado se encuentra. Por su propia naturaleza, no sería fácil dar crédito a las palabras de un loco afirmando que está cuerdo, pero ¿qué ocurre cuando uno nos dice que realmente está fuera de sí? Podríamos creer que sus palabras son ciertas, no por su capacidad de raciocinio, sino por el nuestro que nos podría decir qué clase de persona tenemos frente a nosotros.
Pienso ahora en la doctrina de la depravación total de Calvino al igual que lo hace C.S. Lewis. De acuerdo a ésta, el ser humano está tan descarriado por el pecado que no puede distinguir entre el bien y el mal, pero de acuerdo a Lewis, esto traería consecuencias terribles, pues significa que si decimos que Dios es bueno (o malo), realmente no sabemos qué es lo que estamos diciendo, puesto que no tenemos ninguna noción del bien o del mal. Lewis afirma que creer esto sería una especie de adoración al demonio, pues en todo caso, no sabríamos cómo adorar a Dios o lo que es. Ahora bien, él no cree que esto sea posible, pues con el simple hecho de nombrar algo como bueno significa que al menos tenemos una vaga noción de lo que es.
Al menos Carroll nunca hace que sus personajes afirmen que están completamente locos, lo que hace probable que sí puedan distinguir entre locura y cordura, al igual que una persona que ha bebido una cantidad moderada del alcohol nos puede decir que siente sus efectos. Con Calvino no ocurre lo mismo cuando habla de la depravación humana según C. S. Lewis, pues éste cree que la doctrina del reformador afirma que todos estamos perdidos al extremo, más que los habitantes de Wonderland.
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