Maistre Quotes

Every country has the government it deserves.

Wherever an altar is found, there civilization exists.

A constitution that is made for all nations is made for none.

Nothing great has great beginnings.

I do not know what the heart of a rascal may be, but I know what is in the heart of an honest man; it is horrible.

Reason speaks in words alone, but love has a song.

Man in general, if reduced to himself, is too wicked to be free.

To know how to wait is the great secret of success.

Now, there is no such thing as ‘man’ in this world. In my life I have seen Frenchmen, Italians, Russians, and so on. I even know, thanks to Montesquieu, that one can be Persian. But as for man, I declare I’ve never encountered him.

False opinions are like false money, struck first of all by guilty men and thereafter circulated by honest people who perpetuate the crime without knowing what they are doing.

In the whole vast dome of living nature there reigns an open violence. A kind of prescriptive fury which arms all the creatures to their common doom: as soon as you leave the inanimate kingdom you find the decree of violent death inscribed on the very frontiers of life. You feel it already in the vegetable kingdom: from the great catalpa to the humblest herb, how many plants die and how many are killed; but, from the moment you enter the animal kingdom, this law is suddenly in the most dreadful evidence. A Power, a violence, at once hidden and palpable. . . has in each species appointed a certain number of animals to devour the others. . . And who [in this general carnage] exterminates him who will exterminate all others? Himself. It is man who is charged with the slaughter of man. . . The whole earth, perpetually steeped in blood, is nothing but a vast altar upon which all that is living must be sacrificed without end, without measure, without pause, until the consummation of things, until evil is extinct, until the death of death.

To hear these defenders of democracy talk, one would think that the people deliberate like a committee of wise men, whereas in truth judicial murders, foolhardy undertakings, wild choices, and above all foolish and disastrous wars are eminently the prerogatives of this form of government." Study on Sovereignty.

Every nation has the government it deserves

[M]an cannot be wicked without being evil, nor evil without being degraded, nor degraded without being punished, nor punished without being guilty. In short … there is nothing so intrinsically plausible as the theory of original sin.

Man is insatiable for power; he is infantile in his desires and, always discontented with what he has, loves only what he has not. People complain of the despotism of princes; they ought to complain of the despotism of man. We are all born despots, from the most absolute monarch in Asia to the infant who smothers a bird with its hand for the pleasure of seeing that there exists in the world a being weaker than itself.

It is one of man's curious idiosyncrasies to create difficulties for the pleasure of resolving them.

War is thus divine in itself, since it is a law of the world. War is divine through its consequences of a supernatural nature which are as much general as particular. War is divine in the mysterious glory that surrounds it and in the no less inexplicable attraction that draws us to it. War is divine by the manner in which it breaks out.

That the French Revolution was essentially a religious phenomenon was only seen with clarity by Joseph de Maistre and Jules Michelet.

Imagination, realm of enchantment!- which the most beneficent of beings bestowed upon man to console him for reality- I must quit you now.

Christianity is preached by the ignorant and believed by the learned. And in this way is like no other thing.

Providence - for whom everything, even an obstacle, is a means.

The whole earth, perpetually steeped in blood, is nothing but a vast altar upon which all that is living must be sacrificed without end, without measure, without pause, until the consummation of things, until evil is extinct, until the death of death.

Blood is the manure of the plant that we call genius.

Marx is only anti-capitalist in so far as capitalism is out of date. Another order must be established which will demand, in the name of history, a new conformity. As for the means, they are the same for Marx as for Maistre: political realism, discipline, force.

Government is a true religion: it has its dogmas, its mysteries, its ministers. To annihilate it or to submit it to the discussion of all individuals, is the same thing.

After all, is there any person so unhappy, so abandoned, that he doesn’t have a little den into which he can withdraw and hide away from everyone? Nothing more elaborate is needed for the journey.

Thus is worked out, from maggots up to man, the universal law of the violent destruction of living beings. The whole earth, continually steeped in blood, is nothing but an immense altar on which every living thing must be sacrificed without end, without restraint, without respite until the consummation of the world,the extinction of evil,the death of death.

An den Verheißungen der Utopie scheint alles bewundernswert und ist alles falsch; an den Feststellungen der Reaktionäre ist alles verabscheuenswert und scheint alles wahr.

Contempt for Locke is the beginning of wisdom.

In the whole vast domain of living nature there reigns an open violence, a kind of prescriptive fury which arms all the creatures to their common doom. As soon as you leave the inanimate kingdom, you find the decree of violent death inscribed on the very frontiers of life. You feel it already in the vegetable kingdom: from the great catalpa to the humblest herb, how many plants die, and how many are killed. But from the moment you enter the animal kingdom, this law is suddenly in the most dreadful evidence. A power of violence at once hidden and palpable … has in each species appointed a certain number of animals to devour the others. Thus there are insects of prey, reptiles of prey, birds of prey, fishes of prey, quadrupeds of prey. There is no instant of time when one creature is not being devoured by another. Over all these numerous races of animals man is placed, and his destructive hand spares nothing that lives. He kills to obtain food and he kills to clothe himself. He kills to adorn himself, he kills in order to attack, and he kills in order to defend himself. He kills to instruct himself and he kills to amuse himself. He kills to kill. Proud and terrible king, he wants everything and nothing resists him. From the lamb he tears its guts and makes his harp resound ... from the wolf his most deadly tooth to polish his pretty works of art; from the elephant his tusks to make a toy for his child - his table is covered with corpses ... And who in all of this will exterminate him who exterminates all others? Himself. It is man who is charged with the slaughter of man ... So it is accomplished ... the first law of the violent destruction of living creatures. The whole earth, perpetually steeped in blood, is nothing but a vast altar upon which all that is living must be sacrificed without end, without measure, without pause, until the consummation of things, until evil is extinct, until the death of death.

The whole earth, perpetually steeped in blood, is nothing but an immense altar on which every living thing must be sacrificed without end, without restraint, without respite until the consummation of the world, the extinction of evil, the death of death.

Nos conceptions politiques nous sont dictées par notre sentiment ou notre vision du temps.

There is a sure rule for judging books just as there is for judging men: it is enough to know by whom they are loved, and by whom they are hated.

I have read millions of witticisms about the ignorance of the ancients who saw spirits everywhere; it seems to me that we who see them nowhere are much more foolish.

We are equally far removed from the hosanna of Joseph de Maistre, who wound up by anointing the executioner, and from the sneer of Voltaire, who even goes so far as to ridicule the cross.

I have come to the conclusion, by way of various observations, that man is composed of a soul and a beast. These two beings are absolutely distinct, but closely fitted together, or one on top of the other, that the soul must have a certain superiority over the beast to be in a position to draw a distinction between them.

The word nature has given rise to a multitude of errors. Let me repeat that the nature of any being is the sum of the qualities attributed to it by the Creator. With immeasurable profundity, Burke said that art is man's nature. This is beyond doubt; man with all his affections, all his knowledge, all his arts is the true natural man, and the weaver's cloth is as natural as the spider's web. Man's natural state is therefore to be what he is today and what he has always been, that is to say, sociable. All human records attest to this truth..

Nothing is more vital to him than prejudices. Let us not take this word in bad part. It does not necessarily signify false ideas, but only, in the strict sense of the word, any opinions adopted without examination. Now, these kinds of opinion are essential to man; they are the real basis of his happiness and the palladium of empires. Without them, there can be neither religion, morality, nor government. There should be a state religion just as there is a state political system; or rather, religion and political dogmas, mingled and merged together, should together form a general or national mind sufficiently strong to repress the aberrations of the individual reason which is, of its nature, the mortal enemy of any association whatever because it gives birth only to divergent opinions.

All sciences have their mysteries and at certain points the apparently most obvious theory will be found in contradiction with experience. Politics, for example, offers several proofs of this truth. In theory, is anything more absurd than hereditary monarchy? We judge it by experience, but if government had never been heard of and we had to choose one, whoever would deliberate between hereditary and elective monarchy would be taken for a fool. Yet we know by experience that the first is, all things considered, the best that can be imagined, while the second is the worst. What arguments could not be amassed to establish that sovereignty comes from the people? However they all amount to nothing. Sovereignty is always taken, never given, and a second more profound theory subsequently discovers why this must be so. Who would not say the best political constitution is that which has been debated and drafted by statesmen perfectly acquainted with the national character, and who have foreseen every circumstance? Nevertheless nothing is more false. The best constituted people is the one that has the fewest written constitutional laws, and every written constitution is WORTHLESS.

In fact, when the scaffold is there, all erected and prepared, it has something about it which produces hallucination. One may feel a certain indifference to the death penalty, one may refrain from pronouncing upon it, from saying yes or no, so long as one has not seen a guillotine with one's own eyes: but if one encounters one of them, the shock is violent; one is forced to decide, and to take part for or against. Some admire it, like de Maistre; others execrate it, like Beccaria. The guillotine is the concretion of the law; it is called vindicte; it is not neutral, and it does not permit you to remain neutral. He who sees it shivers with the most mysterious of shivers. All social problems erect their interrogation point around this chopping-knife. The scaffold is a vision. The scaffold is not a piece of carpentry; the scaffold is not a machine; the scaffold is not an inert bit of mechanism constructed of wood, iron and cords. It

From Hobbes to the slaveholders to the neoconservatives, the right has grown increasingly aware that any successful defense of the old regime must incorporate the lower orders in some capacity other than underlings or starstruck fans. The masses must either be able to locate themselves symbolically in the ruling class or be provided with real opportunities to become faux aristocrats themselves in the family, the factory, and the field. The former path makes for an upside-down populism, in which the lowest of the low see themselves projected in the highest of the high; the latter makes for a democratic feudalism, in which the husband or supervisor plays the part of a lord. The former path was pioneered by Hobbes, Maistre, and various prophets of racism and nationalism, the latter by Southern slaveholders, European imperialists, and Gilded Age apologists. (And neo–Gilded Age apologists: “There is no single elite in America,” writes David Brooks. “Everyone can be an aristocrat within his own Olympus.” 105) Occasionally, as in the writing of Werner Sombart, the two paths converge: ordinary people get to see themselves in the ruling class by virtue of belonging to a great nation among nations, and they also get to govern lesser beings through the exercise of imperial rule.

When I have had enough of tears and love, I turn to some poet, and set out again for a new world.

...[T]he art of the legislator is not to make a people free, but free enough...

The most powerful sovereign has only two arms; his power depends on the instruments he uses and what he is given by public opinion.

Those who are content to corrupt ancient institutions, while at the same time preserving the exterior forms, have done as much evil to the human race.

The nation’s true constitution is not written on paper, it’s written in the hearts and minds of the people.

contredisez sans cesse cet esprit de nouveauté et de changement, jusque dans les petites choses; laissez pendre sur vos murs les tapisseries enfumées de vos aïeux; chargez vos tables de leur pesante argenterie. Vous dites: ‘Mon père est mort dans cette maison, il faut que je la vende !’ Anathème sur ce sophisme de l’insensibilité ! dites au contraire : ‘Il y est mort, je ne puis plus la vendre’.

It is frightening to see distinguished intellectuals fall under Robespierre’s ax. From a humane standpoint they can never be too much mourned, but divine justice is no respecter of mathematicians or scientists.

«De Maistre si Edgar Poe m-au invatat sa gandesc.» Aceasta marturisire a lui Baudelaire m-a indemnat sa citesc Serile de la Sankt-Petersburg si celelalte lucrari ale celui mai patimas si mai intolerant dintre ganditori. Adevarurile lui si, mai mult inca, nebuniile lui au un farmec de netagaduit. Un monstru fascinant. La antipod, Valery seduce prin retinere. Nici o dogma, nici un exces nu sunt legate de numele sau. N-a pacatuit decat prin eleganta. Am formulat, in ce-l priveste, o serie de judecati nedrepte, izvorate dintr-o exasperare impura pe care imi fac datoria de a o denunta aici. Textele care urmeaza, fie despre Michaux, Saint-John Perse, Fondane, Beckett, Eliade, Maria Zambrano, fie despre Borges, Weininger, Fitzgerald, sunt vrand-nevrand capricioase, ca tot ce deriva din admiratie, din prietenie sau din entuziasm necontrolat.

This world is a military expedition, an eternal combat. No doubt all chose who fought courageously in a battle are worthy of praise, but also there is no doubt that the greatest glory goes to the one who returns wounded.

They drove back to Paris on the assumption that they would be far less obvious among the crowds of the city than in an isolated country inn. A blond-haired man wearing tortoise-shell glasses, and a striking but stern-faced woman, devoid of makeup, and with her hair pulled back like an intense graduate student at the Sorbonne, were not out of place in Montmartre. They took a room at the Terrasse on the rue de Maistre, registering as a married couple from Brussels. In the room, they stood for a moment, no words necessary for what each was seeing and feeling. They came together, touching, holding, closing out the abusive world that refused them peace, that kept them balancing on taut wires next to one another, high above a dark abyss; if either fell, it was the end for both. Bourne could not change his color for the immediate moment. It would be false, and there was no room for artifice. “We need some rest,” he said. “We’ve got to get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day.” They made love. Gently, completely, each with the other in the warm, rhythmic comfort of the bed. And there was a moment, a foolish moment, when adjustment of an angle was breathlessly necessary and they laughed. It was a quiet laugh, at first even an embarrassed laugh, but the observation was there, the appraisal of foolishness intrinsic to something very deep between them. They held each other more fiercely when the moment passed, more and more intent on sweeping away the awful sounds and the terrible sights of a dark world that kept them spinning in its winds. They were suddenly breaking out of that world, plunging into a much better one where sunlight and blue water replaced the darkness. They raced toward it feverishly, furiously, and then they burst through and found it. Spent, they fell asleep, their fingers entwined.

An inexorable law strikes and directs societies and civilizations. When, for lack of vitality, the past collapses, clinging to it serves no purpose - and yet it is this attachment to antiquated forms of life, to lost or bad causes, that makes so touching the anathemas of a de Maistre or a Bonald. Everything seems admirable and everything is false in the Utopian vision; everything is execrable and everything seems true in the observations of the reactionaries.

Human reason reduced to its own resources is perfectly worthless, not only for creating but also for preserving any political or religious association, because it only produces disputes, and, to conduct himself well, man needs not problems but beliefs. His cradle should be surrounded by dogmas, and when his reason is awakened, it should find all his opinions ready-made, at least all those relating to his conduct. Nothing is so important to him as prejudices, Let us not take this word in a bad sense. It does not necessarily mean false ideas, but only, in the strict sense of the word, opinions adopted before any examination. Now these sorts of opinions are man’s greatest need, the true elements of his happiness, and the Palladium of empires. Without them, there can be neither worship, nor morality, nor government. There must be a state religion just as there is a state policy; or, rather, religious and political dogmas must be merged and mingled together to form a complete common or national reason strong enough to repress the aberrations of individual reason, which of its nature is the mortal enemy of any association whatever because it produces only divergent opinions. All known nations have been happy and powerful to the extent that they have more faithfully obeyed this national reason, which is nothing other than the annihilation of individual dogmas and the absolute and general reign of national dogmas, that is to say, of useful prejudices. Let each man call upon his individual reason in the matter of religion, and immediately you will see the birth of an anarchy of belief or the annihilation of religious sovereignty. Likewise, if each man makes himself judge of the principles of government, you will at once see the birth of civil anarchy or the annihilation of political sovereignty. Government is a true religion: it has its dogmas, its mysteries, and its ministers. To annihilate it or submit it to the discussion of each individual is the same thing; it lives only through national reason, that is to say through political faith, which is a creed. Man’s first need is that his nascent reason be curbed under this double yoke, that it be abased and lose itself in the national reason, so that it changes its individual existence into another common existence, just as a river that flows into the ocean always continues to exist in the mass of water, but without a name and without a distinct reality.

A religion that executes its obsolete sovereign must now establish the power of its new sovereign; it closes the churches, and this leads to an endeavor to build a temple. The blood of the gods, which for a second bespatters the confessor of Louis XVI, announces a new baptism. Joseph de Maistre qualified the Revolution as satanic. We can see why and in what sense. Michelet, however, was closer to the truth when he called it a purgatory. An era blindly embarks down this tunnel on an attempt to discover a new illumination, a new happiness, and the face of the real God. But what will this new god be?

The framers also held that, though the Constitution's barriers against the abuse of power are indispensable, they were only "parchment barriers" and therefore could never be more than part of the answer. And in some ways they were the secondary part at that. The U.S. Constitution was never meant to be the sole bulwark of freedom, let alone a self-perpetuating machine that would go by itself. The American founders were not, in Joseph de Maistre's words, "poor men who imagine that nations can be constituted with ink."" Without strong ethics to support them, the best laws and the strongest institutions would only be ropes of sand. Jefferson

Man's destructive hand spares nothing that lives; he kills to feed himself, he kills to clothe himself, he kills to adorn himself, he kills to attack, he kills to defend himself, he kills to instruct himself, he kills to amuse himself, he kills for the sake of killing. Proud and terrible king, he needs everything and nothing resists him ... from the lamb he tears its guts and makes his harp resound ... from the wolf his most deadly tooth to polish his pretty works of art; from the elephant his tusks to make a toy for his child - his table is covered with corpses ... And who in all of this will exterminate him who exterminates all others? Himself. It is man who is charged with the slaughter of man ... So it is accomplished ... the first law of the violent destruction of living creatures. The whole earth, perpetually steeped in blood, is nothing but a vast altar upon which all that is living must be sacrificed without end, without measure, without pause, until the consummation of things, until evil is extinct, until the death of death.

In realtà il patibolo, quando è lì, drizzato, ha alcunché d'allucinante. Si può avere una certa indifferenza a proposito della pena di morte, non pronunciarsi, dire di sì e no, fino a quando non si è visto coi propri occhi una ghigliottina; ma se avviene d'incontrarne una, la scossa è violenta e bisogna decidersi a prendere partito pro o contro di essa. Taluni, come il De Maistre, ammirano; altri, come il Beccaria, esecrano. La ghigliottina concreta la legge: si chiama vendetta, ma non è neutra e non vi permette di restar neutro. Chi la scorge freme del più misterioso dei fremiti. Tutte le questioni sociali drizzano intorno alla mannaia il loro punto interrogativo. Il patibolo è una visione; ma non è una costruzione, ma non è una macchina, ma non è un inerte meccanismo fatto di legno, di ferro e di corde. Sembra ch'esso sia una specie d'essere con non so qual cupa iniziativa; si direbbe che quella costruzione veda, che quella macchina senta, che quel meccanismo capisca, che quel legno, quel ferro e quelle corde vogliano. Nella spaventosa fantasticheria in cui la sua presenza getta l'anima, il patibolo appare terribile e sembra partecipe di quello che fa. È il complice del carnefice: divora, mangia la carne, beve il sangue. Il patibolo è una specie di mostro fabbricato dal giudice e dal falegname, uno spettro che sembra vivere d'una specie di vita spaventevole, fatta di tutta la morte che ha dato.

Nous avons pénétré dans cette communauté toute pleine de ces vieilles pratiques qui semblent si nouvelles aujourd'hui. C'est le jardin fermé. Hortus conclusus. Nous avons parlé de ce lieu singulier avec détail, mais avec respect, autant du moins que le respect et le détail sont conciliables. Nous ne comprenons pas tout, mais nous n'insultons rien. Nous sommes à égale distance de l'hosanna de Joseph de Maistre qui aboutit à sacrer le bourreau et du ricanement de Voltaire qui va jusqu'à railler le crucifix. Illogisme de Voltaire, soit dit en passant; car Voltaire eût défendu Jésus comme il défendait Calas; et, pour ceux-là mêmes qui nient les incarnations surhumaines, que représente le crucifix? Le sage assassiné.

Mais, concluent, je dys et mantiens qu'il n'y a tel torchecul que d'un oyzon bien duveté, pourveu qu'on luy tienne la teste entre les jambes. Et m'en croyez sus mon honneur. Car vous sentez au trou du cul une volupté mirificque, tant par la doulceur d'icelluy dumet que par la chaleur temperée de l'oizon laquelle facilement est communicquée au boyau culier et aultres intestines, jusques à venir à la region du cueur et du cerveau. Et ne pensez que la beatitude des heroes et semi dieux, qui sont par les Champs Elysiens, soit en leur asphodele, ou ambrosie, ou nectar, comme disent ces vieilles ycy. Elle est (scelon mon opinion) en ce qu'ilz se torchent le cul d'un oyzon, et telle est l'opinion de Maistre Jehan d'Escosse. " Gargantua, 1534

It is written, By me kings reign. This is not a phrase of the church, a metaphor of the preacher; it is a literal truth, simple and palpable. It is a law of the political world. God makes kings in the literal sense. He prepares royal races; maturing them under a cloud which conceals their origin. They appear at length crowned with glory and honour; they take their places; and this is the most certain sign of their legitimacy.

Of course it was not only the Bourbons’ mistakes which helped decide Napoleon to risk everything to try to regain his throne. Emperor Francis’s refusal to allow his wife and son to rejoin him was another, and the fact that his expenses were running at two and a half times his income. There was also sheer ennui; he complained to Campbell of being ‘shut up in this cell of a house, separated from the world, with no interesting occupation, no savants with me, nor any variety in my society’.88† Another consideration was paragraphs in the newspapers and rumours from the Congress of Vienna that the Allies were planning forcibly to remove him from Elba. Joseph de Maistre, the French ambassador to St Petersburg, had nerve-wrackingly suggested the Australian penal colony of Botany Bay as a possible destination. The exceptionally remote British island of St Helena in the mid-Atlantic had also been mentioned.

Some of the men of this age seem to me to raise themselves at moments to a hatred for Divinity, but this frightful act is not needed to make useless to most strenuous creative efforts: the neglect of, let alone scorn for, the great Being brings an irrevocable curse on the human works stained by it. Every conceivable institution either rests on a religious idea or is ephemeral. Institutions are strong and durable to the degree that they partake of the Divinity. Not only is human reason, or what is ignorantly called philosophy, unable to replace those foundations ignorantly called superstitions, but philosophy is, on the contrary, an essentially destructive force.

In fact, when the scaffold is there, all erected and prepared, it has something about it which produces hallucination. One may feel a certain indifference to the death penalty, one may refrain from pronouncing upon it, from saying yes or no, so long as one has not seen a guillotine with one's own eyes: but if one encounters one of them, the shock is violent; one is forced to decide, and to take part for or against. Some admire it, like de Maistre; others execrate it, like Beccaria. The guillotine is the concretion of the law; it is called vindicte; it is not neutral, and it does not permit you to remain neutral. He who sees it shivers with the most mysterious of shivers. All social problems erect their interrogation point around this chopping-knife. The scaffold is a vision. The scaffold is not a piece of carpentry; the scaffold is not a machine; the scaffold is not an inert bit of mechanism constructed of wood, iron and cords. It seems as though it were a being, possessed of I know not what sombre initiative; one would say that this piece of carpenter's work saw, that this machine heard, that this mechanism understood, that this wood, this iron, and these cords were possessed of will. In the frightful meditation into which its presence casts the soul the scaffold appears in terrible guise, and as though taking part in what is going on. The scaffold is the accomplice of

Para el obispo, la vista de la guillotina fue un golpe terrible del cual tardó mucho tiempo en reponerse. En efecto: el patíbulo, cuando está ante nuestros ojos levantado, derecho, tiene algo que alucina. Se puede sentir cierta indiferencia hacia la pena de muerte, no pronunciarse ni en pro ni en contra, no decir ni sí ni que no mientras no se ha visto una guillotina; pero si se llega a ver una, la sacudida es violenta; es menester decidirse y tomar partido en pro o en contra de ella. Los unos admiran, como De Maistre; los otros execran, como Beccaria. La guillotina es la concreción de la ley: se llama 'vindicta'; no es indiferente ni os permite que lo seáis tampoco. Quien llega a verla se estremece con el más misterioso de los estremecimientos. Todas las cuestiones sociales alzan sus interrogantes en torno de aquella cuchilla. El cadalso es una visión: no es un tablado ni una máquina, ni un mecanismo frío de madera, de hierro y de cuerdas. Parece que es una especie de ser que tiene no sé qué sombría iniciativa. Se diría que aquellos andamios ven, que aquella madera, aquel hierro y aquellas cuerdas tienen voluntad. En la horrible meditación en que aquella vista sume al alma, el patíbulo aparece terrible y como teniendo conciencia de lo que hace. El patíbulo es el cómplice del verdugo; devora, come carne, bebe sangre. Es una especie de monstruo fabricado por el juez y por el carpintero; un espectro que parece vivir una especie de vida espantosa, hecha con todas las muertes que ha dado.

But just let the masters of the world -- princes, kings, emperors, powerful majesties, invincible conquerors -- let them only try to make the people dance on a certain day each year in a set place. This is not much to ask, but I dare swear that they will not succeed, whereas, if the humblest missionary comes to such a spot, he will make himself obeyed two thousand years after his death. Every year the people meet together around a rustic church in the name of St. John, St. Martin, St. Benedict, and so on; they come filled with boisterous yet innocent cheerfulness; religion sanctifies this joy and the joy embellishes religion: they forget their sorrows; at night, they think of the pleasure to come on the same day next year, and this date is stamped on their memory. By the side of this picture put that of the French leaders who have been vested with every power by a shameful Revolution and yet cannot organize a simple fete.

A scaffold, when it is erected and prepared, has indeed a profoundly disturbing effect. We may remain more or less open-minded on the subject of the death penalty, indisposed to commit ourselves, so long as we have not seen a guillotine with our own eyes. But to do so is to be so shaken that we are obliged to take our stand for or against. Joseph de Maistre approved of the death penalty, Cesar de Beccaria abominated it. The guillotine is the ultimate expression of Law, and its name is vengeance; it is not neutral, nor does it allow us to remain neutral. He who sees it shudders in the most confounding dismay. All social questions achieve their finality around that blade. The scaffold is an image. It is not merely a framework, a machine, a lifeless mechanism of wood, iron and rope. It is as though it were a being having its own dark purpose, as though the framework saw, the machine listened, the mechanism understood; as though that arrangement of wood and iron and rope expressed a will. In the most hideous picture which its presence evokes it seems to be most terribly a part of what it does. It is the executioner's accomplice; it consumes, devouring flesh and drinking blood. It is a special kind of monster created by the judge and the craftsman; a spectre seeming to live an awful life born of the death it deals. This was the effect it had on the bishop, and on the day following the execution, and for many days after, he seemed to be overwhelmed. The almost violent serenity of the fateful moment vanished: he was haunted by the ghost of social justice. Whereas ordinarily he returned from the performance of his duties with a glow of satisfaction, he seemed now to be assailed with a sense of guilt. There were times when he talked to himself, muttering gloomy monologues under his breath. This is a fragment that his sister overheard: 'I did not know that it was so monstrous. It is wrong to become so absorbed in Divine Law that one is no longer aware of human law. Death belongs only to God. What right have men to lay hands on a thing so unknown?

En 1794 el escritor saboyano, aunque ruso de adopción, Xavier de Maistre escribió un delicioso relato, Viaje alrededor de mi habitación, en el que se describe de modo autobiográfico la vida de un oficial que, obligado por una convalecencia a permanecer 42 días encerrado en su cuarto, viaja con su imaginación por un territorio riquísimo en referencias y en pensamientos. El protagonista del texto es un verdadero cosmopolita, un ciudadano del mundo en el sentido literal, a pesar de que está recluido entre cuatro paredes. Me acuerdo con frecuencia del libro de Xavier de Maistre cuando escucho los balances que muchos hacen de sus travesías del mapamundi en viajes organizados, y en los que se plantea una situación inversa a la del argumento literario de aquél: recorren vastos espacios pero su imaginación —o su falta de imaginación— los atrapa en un territorio pobrísimo, tanto en referencias como en pensamientos. Consumen grandes cantidades de kilómetros aunque, como viajeros, atesoran una escasa experiencia de sus viajes. Son, por así decirlo, la vanguardia de los provincianos globales y, en ningún caso, al contrario del oficial convaleciente de Xavier de Maistre, son cosmopolitas ni aspiran a serlo. El provinciano global es una figura representativa de una época, la nuestra, que empuja al cosmopolita hacia una suerte de clandestinidad. El cosmopolita, personaje en extinción, o quizá provisionalmente retirado a las catacumbas del espíritu, es alguien que desea habitar la complejidad del mundo. Es un amante de la diferencia, ansioso siempre de explorar lo múltiple y lo desconocido para volver a casa, si es que vuelve, con el bagaje de los sucesivos saberes que ha adquirido. El cosmopolita, al no soportar la excesiva claustrofobia de la identidad propia, busca en el espacio absorto de lo ajeno aquello que pueda enriquecer su origen y sus raíces. El hijo pródigo de la parábola bíblica encarna a la perfección ese anhelo: el conocimiento de los otros es finalmente el conocimiento de uno mismo. El cosmopolita quiere saber. El provinciano global quiere acumular mientras, simultáneamente, elimina o aplana las diferencias. Hay muchos signos en nuestro tiempo que señalan en esa dirección, sin que se adivine cómo el que todavía posee la vieja alma del cosmopolita pueda oponerse. Por su espectacularidad y por su carácter reciente el turismo de masas es, sin duda, uno de esos signos. Cada vez se elevan más voces proclamando el carácter pandémico de un fenómeno que, paradójicamente, en sus inicios se consideró liberador porque el igualitarismo del viaje parecía la continuación lógica de la creencia ilustrada en el igualitarismo de la educación. Sin embargo, cualquiera que se pasee por las antiguas ciudades europeas o, con otra perspectiva, por las zonas aún consideradas exóticas del planeta, puede percibir con facilidad el alcance de una plaga que está solo en sus comienzos. Los centros históricos de las urbes ya son casi todos idénticos, como idénticos son los resorts en los que se albergan los huéspedes de los cinco continentes. La diferencia ha sido aplastada, dando lugar al horizonte por el que se mueve con comodidad el provinciano global.

Que no se objete que el cristianismo ordena a los niños a amar a sus padres, a los padres a amar a sus hijos, a los esposos a feccionarse mutuamente. Sí, les manda eso, pero no les permite amarlo inmediata, naturalmente y por sí mismos, sino sólo en dios y por dios; no admite todas esas relaciones actuales más que a condición de que dios se encuentre como tercero, y ese terrible tercero mata las uniones. El amor divino aniquila el amor humano. El cristianismo ordena, es verdad, amar a nuestro prójimo tanto como a nosotros mismos, pero nos ordena al mismo tiempo amar a dios más que a nosotros mismos y por consiguiente también más que al prójimo, es decir sacrificarle el prójimo por nuestra salvación, porque al fin de cuentas el cristiano no adora a dios más que por la salvación de su alma. Aceptando a dios, todo eso es rigurosamente consecuente: dios es lo infinito, lo absoluto, lo eterno, lo omnipotente; el hombre es lo finito, lo impotente. En comparación con dios, bajo todos los aspectos, no es nada. Sólo lo divino es justo, verdadero, dichoso y bueno, y todo lo que es humano en el hombre debe ser por eso mismo declarado falso, inicuo, detestable y miserable. El contacto de la divinidad con esa pobre humanidad debe devorar, pues, necesariamente, consumir, aniquilar todo lo que queda de humano en los hombres. La intervención divina en los asuntos humanos no ha dejado nunca de producir efectos excesivamente desastrosos. Pervierte todas las relaciones de los hombres entre sí y reemplaza su solidaridad natural por la práctica hipócrita y malsana de las comunidades religiosas, en las que bajo las apariencias de la caridad, cada cual piensa sólo en la salvación de su alma, haciendo así, bajo el pretexto del amor divino, egoísmo humano excesivamente refinado, lleno de ternura para sí y de indiferencia, de malevolencia y hasta de crueldad para el prójimo. Eso explica la alianza íntima que ha existido siempre entre el verdugo y el sacerdote, alianza francamente confesada por el célebre campeón del ultramontanismo, Joseph de Maistre, cuya pluma elocuente, después de haber divinizado al papa, no dejó de rehabilitar al verdugo; uno era en efecto el complemento del otro.

An inexorable law strikes and directs societies and civilisations. When, for lack of vitality, the past collapses, clinging to it serves no purpose — and yet it is this attachment to antiquated forms of life, to lost or bad causes, that makes so touching the anathemas of a de Maistre or a Bonald. Everything seems admirable and everything is false in the utopian vision; everything is execrable and everything seems true in the observations of the reactionaries.

Thus,

Frédéric Dard, Libanius Antiochus, Michael Oakeshott, John Gray, Ammianus Marcellinus, Ibn Battuta, Saadia Gaon, or Joseph de Maistre; he

Poor white trash quoting de Maistre and Carlyle and fancying themselves elite while they scrabbled to survive in a world where they were outstripped economically by the Chinese and intellectually by their own phones.

On peut se maçonner des refuges, bien sûr. Des sortes de niches intérieures qui vous tiennent à l’écart dela marée noire des tristes. On peut se faire des <<îles>, Kafka disait des ou des , qui seront autant de navettes, non spatiales, mais terrestres où on sera unpeu à l’abri. Mais des îles mentales, s’il vous plaît! Des concentrés d’espace et de temps qui seront comme de nouvelles coordonnées intérieures, adaptées à chacun! Des niches, d’accord, maisqu’on puisse emporter en voyage ou qui, au contraire, mais cela revient, là aussi, au même, pourront vous emmener, elles, en voyage! Pas forcément loin, notez bien. Voyager dans sa propre ville peut suffire - voyez le Debord de Panégyrique. Ou même autour de sa chambre - voyez Maistre, l’autre, Xavier de Maistre, qui, seul avec son chien (eh oui!), sut mener, entre ses quatre murs, la plus longue, laplus passionnante, la plus périlleuse des odyssées. Ou d’une identité à l’autre, voire à une multitude d’autres - Gary, Pessoa. Ou même d’un livre au livre suivant, d’un genre à un autre, - Sartre, Camus, tous ces écrivains pourchassés, abominés et qui ont su, en bons guerriers, funambules sur le fil bien tendu d’une oeuvre irisée de tous les éclats possibles de toutes les disciplines disponibles, semer leur poursuivants en parvenant à être, chaque fois, là où la meute ne les attendait pas.

Divine justice is no respecter of mathematicians or scientists.

Refuse to honour the genius who has abused his gifts.

The eighteenth century, which distrusted itself in nothing, as a matter of course, hesitated in nothing.

The productions of the pencil present themselves to our eyes as living things; but if we interrogate them, they maintain a dignified silence. It is the same with writing, which knows not what to say to one man, nor what to conceal from another. If you attack it or insult it without a cause, it cannot defend itself; for its author is never present to sustain it. So that he who imagines himself capable of establishing, clearly, and permanently, one single doctrine, by writing alone, IS A GREAT BLOCKHEAD.

That the French Revolution was essentially a religious phenomenon was only seen with clarity by Joseph de Maistre and Michelet.

In all the acts of the French Revolution, one can hear the voice of divinity saying, ‘I want to show you what you can do without me.

You, masters of the earth – princes, kings, emperors, powerful majesties, invincible conquerors – simply try to make the people go on such-and-such a day each year to a given place to dance. I ask little of you, but I dare give you a solemn challenge to succeed, whereas the humblest missionary will succeed and be obeyed two thousand years after his death. Every year the people gather around some rustic temple in the name of St John, St Martin, St Benedict, etc.; they come, animated by a feverish and yet innocent eagerness; religion sanctifies their joy and the joy embellishes religion; they forget their troubles; on leaving they think of the pleasure that they will have on the same day the following year, and the date is set in their minds. Beside this picture, put that of the masters of France, who have been invested with every power by an unprecedented revolution and who are unable to organize a simple holiday. They pour out money, they call all the arts to their assistance, and the citizens remain at home, taking notice of the call only to laugh at the organizers.

War is divine in its results, over which human reason speculates in vain: for they can be totally different in two nations, although both were equally affected by the war. Some wars debase nations and debase them for centuries; others exalt them, perfect them in every way, and within a short space of time, even repair momentary losses with a visible increase in population, which is very extraordinary. History often presents us with the picture of a population which remains rich and goes on increasing while the most desperate battles are being fought. But some wars are vicious and accursed, which our conscience, rather than our reason, recognises to be so: nations receive their death-blow in these wars, both as regards their power and their character. Thus, even the conqueror seems degraded and impoverished, and although he is crowned with laurels, he is left sad and lamenting, while in the vanquished country there is soon not a workshop or a plough which is not working to capacity.

This government is believed to be strong because it is violent; but strength differs from violence as much as from weakness; and the astonishing way it operates at this time is, by itself, perhaps proof enough that it cannot endure long.

There is no kinship between Joseph de Maistre and those who really did believe in the possibility of some kind of return — neo-medievalists from Wackenroder and Görres and Cobbett to G. K. Chesterton, and Slavophils and Distributists and Pre-Raphaelites and other nostalgic romantics; for he believed, as Tolstoy also did, in the exact opposite: in the "inexorable" power of the present moment: in our inability to do away with the sum of conditions which cumulatively determine our basic categories, an order which we can never fully describe or, otherwise than by some immediate awareness of it, come to know.

l’odieux proverbe paternel I make money, my son, honestly, if you can, but make money. Quelle odeur de magasin ! comme disait J. de Maistre, à propos de Locke.

hen Maistre adopts Bossuet's bold idea that "the heretic is he who has personal ideas"—in other words, ideas that have no reference to either a social or a religious tradition—he provides the formula for the most ancient and the most modern of conformities.

d’avoir plusieurs seigneurs aucun bien je n’y vois / qu’un sans plus soit le maistre et qu’un seul soit le roi

il partageait avec un autre héros de la révolution le pouvoir d'agiter la multitude, sans avoir celui de la dominer, ce qui forme le véritable cachet de la médiocrité dans les troubles politiques.

Todas las ciencias tienen misterios, y que presentan ciertos puntos donde la teoría mas evidente en apariencia, se encuentra en contradicción con la experiencia. La política, por ejemplo, ofrece muchas pruebas de esta verdad. ¿Qué otra cosa hay más extravagante en teoría que la monarquía hereditaria? Nosotros juzgamos por experiencia; pero si jamás se hubiese oído hablar de gobierno y fuese necesario elegir, uno, creo se tendría por loco a aquel que prefiriese la monarquía hereditaria a la electiva. Sin embargo, sabemos por experiencia que el primero en todos conceptos es el mejor, y el segundo el peor. ¡Qué de argumentos podrán acumularse para probar que la soberanía viene del pueblo! Sin embargo, no hay nada de eso. La soberanía siempre se toma; jamás se da; Y una segunda teoría mas profunda, manifiesta en seguido que esta debe ser así. ¿Quién no dirá que la mejor constitución política es aquella que ha sido deliberada y escrita por hombres de estado, perfectamente enterados del carácter de la nación y sus necesidades, y que por lo mismo han previsto todos los casos? Sin embargo, nada hay más falso. El pueblo mejor constituido, es aquel que tiene escritas menos leyes constitucionales, y toda constitución escrita es nula.

Bir yatakta doğar, bir yatakta ölürüz. İnsan soyunun ilginç dramları, gülünç komedileri ve korkunç trajedileri oynadığı gerçek sahnedir burası. Çiçeklerle süslü bir beşiktir; Aşk Tanrıçası'nın tahtıdır; mezardır.

Vous vous êtes répondu à vous-même, M. le chevalier, en prononçant ces mots "hors du monde matériel". Je n'ai point dit que chaque découverte doive sortir immédiatement d'un dogme comme le poulet sort de l'œuf : j'ai dit qu'il n'y a point de causes dans la matière et que par conséquent elles ne doivent point être cherchées dans la matière. Or, mon cher ami, il n'y a que les hommes religieux qui puissent et qui veuillent en sortir. Les autres ne croient qu'à la matière, et se courroucent même lorsqu'on leur parle d'un autre ordre de choses. Il faut à notre siècle une astronomie mécanique, une chimie mécanique, une pesanteur mécanique, une morale mécanique, une parole mécanique, des remèdes mécaniques pour guérir des maladies mécaniques : que sais-je enfin; tout n'est-il pas mécanique ? Or, il n'y a que l'esprit religieux qui puisse guérir cette maladie.

J’ai lu des millions de plaisanteries sur l’ignorance des anciens qui voyaient des esprits partout : il me semble que nous sommes beaucoup plus sots, nous qui n’en voyons nulle part.

Quando estiverdes a ler um livro, e uma ideia agradável vos vier de súbito à imaginação, a vossa alma agarra-se-lhe de imediato e esquece o livro, ao passo que os vossos olhos seguem maquinalmente as palavras e as linhas; terminais a página sem compreender nem recordar o que haveis lido. - Isso acontece porque a alma, tendo ordenado ao companheiro que realizasse a leitura, não o advertiu da pequena ausência que iria fazer; deste modo, o outro continuava a leitura que a vossa alma já não escutava.

Dice M. de Maistre:- «hay una regla segura para juzgar tanto a los libros como a los hombres, aun sin conocerlos: basta saber por quién son amados, y por quién aborrecidos. Esta regla jamás engaña.»-      Aplicando

Toward the end of the [Nineteenth] century, at the height of the liberal illusion, it was possible to indulge in the luxury of calling [De Maistre] the “prophet of the past,” of regarding him as a relic or an aberrant phenomenon. But we — in a somewhat more disabused epoch — know he is one of us precisely to the degree that he was a “monster”; it is in fact by the odious aspect of his “doctrines” that he lives for us, that he is our contemporary.

[. . .] The philosophy of Plato, which is the human preface of the Gospel [. . .]

However, Christianity has come to present us a new idea, all the more powerful in that it rests on a universal idea as old as the world, and that we needed to be rectified and sanctioned by revelation. So when the guilty ask us it is why the innocent suffer in his world, we are not lacking in responses, as you have seen, but we can choose one that is more direct and perhaps more convincing than all the others. We can reply: Innocence suffers for you, if you wish it.

Een bed ziet ons geboren worden en ziet ons doodgaan; het is een wisselend toneel waar het mensdom beurtelings boeiende drama's, lachwekkende kluchten en afschuwelijke treurspelen opvoer. - Het is een met bloemen versierde wieg; - het is de troon der liefde; - het is een graf.

Every inventor, every man of originality has been religious and even fanatically so. Perverted by irreligious skepticism, the human mind is like waste land that produces nothing or is covered with weeds useless to man. At such a time even its natural fertility is an evil, for these weeds harden the soil by tangling and intertwining their roots and moreover create a barrier between the sky and the earth. Break up these accursed clods; destroy these fatally hardy weeds; call on every human aid; drive in the plow; dig deep to bring into contact the powers of the earth and the powers of the sky. Here, gentlemen, is the natural analogy to human intelligence opened or closed to divine knowledge. The natural sciences themselves are subject to the general law. Genius does not rely much on the slow crawl of logic. Its gait is free, its manner derives from inspiration; one can see its success, but no one has seen its progress....

¿cómo llegó Michael Foucault a convertirse en el referente de la izquierda woke? Su estilo era desde luego radical, pero su mensaje era tan reaccionario como cualquiera de los escritos de Edmund Burke o Joseph de Maistre. De hecho, la visión de Foucault era aún más pesimista que la de estos.

They show the profound imbecility (it is certainly permissible to speak like Plato, who never loses his temper,) the profound imbecility, I say, of those poor men who imagine that lawgivers are men, that laws are a piece of paper, and that nations may be constituted with ink.