Again Over the Classics

In times of information overload, when every second generates torrents of data and opinions, the classics rise like Ariadne's thread in contemporary labyrinths. Their relevance lies not only in the formal beauty of their texts or the depth of their ideas, but in their ability to provide meaning and guidance.

In a world saturated with stimuli, where the ephemeral often prevails over the essential, returning to the classics can be an act of resistance, a way of reaffirming the continuity of thought and art in the face of the dispersion of the present.

But uncomfortable questions immediately arise: who decides what is a classic? Who can set themselves up as judge of what endures?

There’s no supreme court of taste or wisdom. Classical writing is built over time, through rereading, and through the persistence of influence. Sometimes a forgotten author is reborn in another context; other times, a celebrated work loses its relevance.

In any case, the classics are those that continue to challenge us, that engage with each era and are not exhausted by their time.

Accepting the relevance of the classics does not imply denying the diversity or evolution of thought. Rather, it means recognizing a heritage that precedes us and shapes us. Each generation has the right—and duty—to reinterpret that legacy, to engage with it from its urgent needs. Reading Homer, Cervantes, Shakespeare, or José Martí is not an archaeological gesture: it’s a way of better understanding ourselves, of finding at the root the tensions that still define us.

However, in a time when knowledge is multiplying on a scale never seen before, it’s impossible to encompass everything.

No human being today can embrace and internalize the full wealth of culture and science. Given this impossibility, a legitimate question arises: is it valid to approach the classics through references, summaries, or adaptations? Perhaps it is, if done with honesty and genuine curiosity.

The summary can be a gateway, never a substitute for the text; an initial orientation that invites direct experience.

The value of the classics also lies in their ability to generate interdisciplinary dialogue. In art, literature, or philosophy, each reading can nourish the understanding of other areas of knowledge.

But the current era demands specialization: scientists, philosophers, and artists must delve into increasingly specific fields. The challenge, then, is how to maintain this balance between depth and breadth, between technical rigor and humanistic horizon.

The old idea of the encyclopedic man may seem anachronistic, but it’s not entirely so. Perhaps today, true universal knowledge does not consist in possessing all knowledge, but in knowing how to manage it, in drawing connections, in building bridges between disciplines.

A cosmopolitan individual is not someone who knows everything, but someone who engages fearlessly with diversity, who critically appropriates the past and, at the same time, embraces the evolution of technology and its new expressive possibilities.

Therefore, reading the classics—direct or mediated—remains a cultural and ethical necessity. Not to repeat formulas or venerate monuments of the past, but to guide us amidst the noise. The classics contain a wisdom that reminds us of who we are and what we can become. They remain our compass in an age overflowing with information, and perhaps the strongest guarantee that human intelligence will not dissolve in the digital tide.

Translated by Amilkal Labañino / CubaSí Translation Staff