Station VI. The Unmasking Body: The Vomit of Truth
From the Kukkura-Jātaka: when justice is violent automatism and truth imposes itself from the matter of the body.
In the heart of the throne room, King Brahmadatta looks away. His edict, born of haste and anger, has unleashed a slaughter: all the dogs in the city are to be killed for damage to the royal carriage. This is justice as violent inertia, the automatism of power which, as Cioran wrote, is the true evil, not the error.
At the center of the scene, two bodies speak in place of the law. The first is that of the stray dog, the Bodhisatta: a thin, calm body that, through reason and courage alone, challenges the throne and interrupts the mechanism of condemnation. The second is that of the palace dogs, the privileged ones: their bodies, forced, vomit shreds of leather and straps onto the polished marble. It is truth emerging, physical, incontrovertible, disgusting.
This is Station VI: The Unmasking of Judicial Power. The story of the Kukkura-Jātaka is not an animal fable, but a treatise in political philosophy. It shows us that institutional "justice," when unchecked, degenerates into pure administrative convenience, into the search for a swift scapegoat. Truth does not convince this kind of power: it exposes it, embarrasses it, forces it to look at its own vomit.
The threshold this station leaves us is radical: "Do not ask the throne for justice." Because the throne often does not dispense it. Justice, like truth, must be sought elsewhere: in observation, in the courage of those who speak from below, in the evidence that erupts from the body of the world. Power only trembles when the body speaks. And sometimes, to make it speak, you have to force it to vomit.
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