Commentary on Filangieri’s Work. Benjamin de Constant

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СКАЧАТЬ of which the first volume had already been published, and whose remaining three volumes were much on Constant’s mind at the time. Constant mostly devotes himself here to disputing Filangieri’s account of the origin of religion in general and of Greek and Roman religion in particular. His dislike for a priestly caste, evident throughout his writings on politics and religion, is prominent here too. It is in this section that he is most harsh toward Filangieri. The book concludes with a passionate defense of the freedom of thought, no matter how pernicious the ideas expressed may be. Constant was a thorough liberal, as can be seen from the Commentary’s final words: “Let us therefore cross out the words repress, eradicate, and even direct from the government's dictionary. For thought, for education, for industry, the motto of governments ought to be: Laissez-faire et laissez-passer.”13

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       Translator’s Note

      As the translator of Benjamin Constant’s Commentary on Filangieri’s Work I have, like Dennis O’Keeffe in his Liberty Fund translation of Constant’s Principles of Politics, striven to “retain as much as possible of the general elegance and subtle rhetoric of Constant’s writing while seeking to render it in accurate, graceful, and accessible English.”1 This has meant breaking up some of Constant’s very long sentences, and lengthening some of his very brief paragraphs by annexing them to preceding or following ones where appropriate. As conventions change across times and languages, translations must change with them. The intention has always been to give the English reader of the twenty-first century the same ease and comfort that the French reader of the nineteenth century experienced when reading Constant. However, it must be admitted that in Constant’s Commentary on Filangieri’s Work the quality of the writing is very variable. Constant could write with elegance and subtlety when he wished, but he did not always take the trouble to do so. Nevertheless, for the most part even when Constant is not elegant, his meaning is clear, and the task of the translator is in this sense a straightforward one.

      In certain respects, however, any translator of eighteenth- or nineteenth-century French social thought has to make choices that are less than straightforward. It is only proper to give the reader fair warning of how some of the most important of these choices have been made. For the word liberté, which presents the translator with the alternatives of “liberty” and “freedom,” I have generally chosen freedom, on the grounds that liberty has an increasingly archaic or historical ring to readers today. The French terms lumières, pouvoir,

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      and autorité have been translated into the appropriate English words—words plural, rather than singular, because the meanings Constant wished to convey by those terms varies and depends on context. Thus while Constant most often used pouvoir and autorité as synonyms for “government,” he sometimes used them in a more abstract sense. In those cases they have been translated accordingly, as “power” or “authority.” Lumières has been translated as “education,” “knowledge,” and more rarely “enlightenment,” depending on context. To those who argue that a word has only one meaning for a given author, I can only reply that this sort of consistency, if it is ever to be found in any writer, is not present in Constant’s writings.

      Whether the result of these choices has succeeded in producing an English-language text that is faithful to Constant as well as to both the French and English languages is a decision that must be made by the reader. In making my choices I have been greatly aided by my editor at Liberty Fund, Christine Henderson, and by the reader for the project, Jeremy Jennings. To both of them go my thanks for their help. All remaining inaccuracies and needless infelicities of style are the responsibility of the translator alone.

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       COMMENTARY ON FILANGIERI’S WORK

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       Part One

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       CHAPTER ONE Plan of This Commentary

      When I decided to add a commentary to the work of Filangieri, I was moved by two considerations. First, I took pleasure in rendering homage to the memory of a writer who deserved well of his country and his century. Second, his work’s flaws gave me the opportunity to correct his ideas when they were wrong, to develop them when they were lacking in clarity and breadth, and finally to combat them when they were not fully in accord with the principles of political and, above all, of individual freedom, which I consider the sole purpose of human association, and which we are destined to establish either through progressive improvement or by terrible but inevitable convulsions. Filangieri never intended to contradict these principles, but the time when his book was published, and his personal character, noble and completely disinterested though he was, sometimes prevented him from marching with a sufficiently firm step along the direct path to truth.

      One cannot say of Filangieri, as one can of Montesquieu—that ingenious and profound observer of what exists—that he was often the subtle apologist for what he observed. The immortal author of the Spirit of the Laws was frequently a zealous supporter of inequalities and privileges. He looked at these things, which had been consecrated by time immemorial, as constituent parts of the social order. A historian more than a reformer of institutions, Montesquieu asked no more than to preserve those institutions while describing them. However, his genius, and the bitterness inherent to genius, sometimes dictated language to Montesquieu that thundered against the very abuses for which his habits and social position inspired him with partiality and indulgence. Filangieri, on the other hand, was more distant from aristocratic prejudice than Montesquieu, and he did not disdain to declare himself a reformer.

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      He did not conclude that because something existed it ought to be respected, and if his will alone had been enough to destroy them, all abuses would have disappeared. But Filangieri did not have Montesquieu’s genius. A sort of gentleness or reserve in his character led him to make concessions contrary to his principles, whereas the vehemence inseparable from a powerful mind forced Montesquieu, despite his moderation, to pronounce decrees which were incompatible with his concessions in favor of established systems. The result is that Filangieri, after having taken up the pen with a more hostile intent than Montesquieu, in reality fought abuses much more feebly. His attacks became compromises. He tried to mitigate evil rather than eliminate it. In his work there is a humble and painful resignation which often bows before the power it does not hope to disarm. Before the formidable revolution which shook and still threatens the world, perhaps this resignation was not imprudent. If men had been able to obtain redress for their grievances by reason mixed with prayers, rather than conquering it with blows which harmed the victors as well as the vanquished, perhaps things would have been much better. But today the price has been paid, the sacrifices consummated on both sides, and the language of free peoples, addressing themselves to their proxy-holders, cannot be that of subjects having recourse to their masters’ pity.

      One will thus find me frequently opposed to Filangieri, not as to the end, but as to the means. To make my idea clearer, I will give an example: Filangieri shows on every page that he is convinced that hereditary privileges are oppressive and harmful. However, he proposes the sacrifice of their prerogatives to the nobles themselves. By enlightening them with arguments, touching them with pleas, and СКАЧАТЬ