Category: Notes

Proudhon’s Revolt

Another from Proudhon:

L’autorité ne fut pas plutôt inaugurée dans le monde qu’elle devint l’objet de la compétition universelle. Autorité, Gouvernement, Pouvoir, Etat — ces mots désignent tous la même chose —, chacun y vit le moyen d’opprimer et d’exploiter ses semblables. Absolutistes, doctrinaires, démagogues et socialistes tournèrent incessamment leurs regards vers l’autorité, comme vers leur pôle unique.

Proudhon’s revolt, the vehemence and ardor that leap like sparks from his lines is quite understandable: it is very easy to imagine a society that does not consist of oppressors and oppressed; yet it is astonishing to see that oppression, in whatever guise it is presented, does nothing but consolidate by molding itself to the prevailing propensities. And to see that, even though the obvious is blatantly exposed, the majority does not see it, taking an active part in the perpetuation of that which goes directly against not only their interests, but their own dignity.

To Be Governed

From Proudhon:

Être GOUVERNÉ, c’est être gardé à vue, inspecté, espionné, dirigé, légiféré, réglementé, parqué, endoctriné, prêché, contrôlé, estimé, apprécié, censuré, commandé, par des êtres qui n’ont ni le titre, ni la science, ni la vertu… Être GOUVERNÉ, c’est être, à chaque opération, à chaque transaction, à chaque mouvement, noté, enregistré, recensé, tarifé, timbré, toisé, coté, cotisé, patenté, licencié, autorisé, apostillé, admonesté, empêché, réformé, redressé, corrigé. C’est, sous prétexte d’utilité publique, et au nom de l’intérêt général, être mis à contribution, exercé, rançonné, exploité, monopolisé, concussionné, pressuré, mystifié, volé ; puis, à la moindre résistance, au premier mot de plainte, réprimé, amendé, vilipendé, vexé, traqué, houspillé, assommé, désarmé, garrotté, emprisonné, fusillé, mitraillé, jugé, condamné, déporté, sacrifié, vendu, trahi et, pour comble, joué, berné, outragé, déshonoré. Voilà le gouvernement, voilà sa justice, voilà sa morale !

Proudhon’s eloquence is one of those that convince a monk to buy a rifle. The meticulousness in stating the obvious can only admit laughter as a response. What to say? How to refute it? Proudhon, who was no ordinary man, had eyes to see the tyrannical exploitation that became social normality, had eyes to see the vexatious state of submission in which the ordinary citizen was allowed to live. And then? Persists the myth, now set in stone, that it is imperative that everyone agrees to be sheep and that a few be wolves. This is the only way “society” can function. One millimeter outside of this is chaos and disorder: everyone loses and, therefore, the best thing is to silently accept the need for some to command and others to obey.

The True and the Artificial

Says Guyau, in the preface to his Vers d’un philosophe:

Il y a deux écoles en poésie : l’une recherche la vérité de la pensée, la sincérité de l’émotion, le naturel et la fidélité parfaite de l’expression, qui font qu’au lieu d’un auteur ” on trouve un homme ” : pour cette école, pas de poésie possible sans une idée et un sentiment qui soient vraiment pensés et sentis. Pour d’autres, au contraire, la vérité du fond et la valeur des idées sont chose accessoire dans la poésie : le tissu brillant de ses fictions n’a rien de commun ni avec la philosophie ni avec la science ; c’est un jeu d’imagination et de style, un ravissant mensonge dont personne ne doit être dupe, surtout le poète.

This division, which seems more precise than the traditional literary schools, and which can be easily extended to the other arts, summarizes artists in two groups: the true and the artificial. The only possible caveat consists in saying that, in many cases, the imagined emotion can be a felt emotion, that is, the imagination, as strong as it is, is worth as experience. For the rest, it is to admit that there are those who make art out of expressive necessity, those for whom a life without art is absolutely unjustified, absolutely impossible; and there are those for whom art is an entertainment and an exhibition. That is enough.

Artistic Innovations

Here I am thinking: the day has come when rhythm, after being used for so long in poetry, is no longer beautiful; and beautiful is to make poetry without rhythm. Curiously, I am assaulted by a very funny memory. Once, I went to the border with Paraguay and was there to watch the most renowned “cultural spectacle” in the region. This spectacle was nothing more than an attempt to showcase the musical traditions of the neighboring countries. It was a presentation, although very expensive, roundly ridiculous; but there was one moment that, by its unthinkable grotesqueness, made the ticket price worthwhile. On stage, a guy in Paraguayan-themed robes came up carrying a harp. A harp: the most imposing of musical instruments. There was a silence, or rather, the silence of the very imposing instrument froze the audience. Obviously, they were expecting the man to play the harp. However, after hitting exactly two notes, the man, at the sound of a playback, takes the harp as a lady and begins to dance: he twirls, swings it from side to side, and dares to throw it up in the air. At this moment, the audience was already clapping their hands in excitement. It is true that I could not control my laughter, which was lost between the clapping and the playback. But there was the harp, huge, with its something divine, beautiful as if it were made of gold, whirling in the hands of a clown to the applause of a few dozen imbeciles.