The French aristocracy today, according to Anna Gavalda and Albin de la Simone. Facile satire or signs of an authentic paradigm-shift?

Albin de la Simone, “Mes épaules”

Two popular artists are dealing an interesting curve-ball to the hidebound prestige of the French aristocracy today, although the ultimate meaning of their works remains ambiguous…

1. Anna Gavalda

Q: Where can you find a living, breathing counter-Revolutionary from the Vendée today?
A: In Anna Gavalda’s novel, Ensemble, c’est tout.
His name is Philbert Jehan Louis-Marie Georges Marquet de la Durbellière ; he was born in 1967 in La Roche-sur-Yon, and as a child, he fought off bullies by swinging a satchel armed with a Latin dictionary.

Gavalda must have had a good time inventing his quaint speech patterns for this book! When he finally gets over his stuttering enough to introduce himself to the down-on-her-luck heroine, he explains: “Vous avez devant les yeux un magnifique exemplaire d’Homo Dégénéraris, c’est-à-dire un être totalement inapte à la vie en société, décalé, saugrenu et parfaitement anachronique!” (163). It is thanks to his family’s cavernous apartment on avenue Émile Deschanel (one of the capital’s most prestigious addresses, bordering the Champs de Mars, Paris 7e), that the group of oddballs joins forces in this delightful saga of three misfits who find each other and, against all the odds, form a lasting, loving, “recomposed family.”

Philibert is a caricature of hilariously outmoded habits. When the trio writes up a list of rules for the household, he pulls out a signet and stick of wax, and seals the document with his family’s arms. He is hopelessly incapable of battling it out in the rough-and-tumble capitalism of the twenty-first century, and makes a paltry living by selling postcards of Paris monuments on the street. The history lessons he conducts on their road trips are peppered with deadpan asides on his family’s ties to the French throne (Marguerite de Valois being one of his mom’s cousins). The rest of the Marquet de la Durbellière clan is equally ridiculous; the dead fauna hanging on their walls brings images of The Adams Family to mind, but it is a cold, dusty kind of Gothic here without a touch of humor or gore. Their outdated speech habits (le vouvoiement oblige) and austere home life underline the aristocracy’s inability to evolve, as does their soul-less Catholicism. (The Easter blessing of “Bénissez-nous Seigneur… et bla bla bla” being symptomatic! 545) The author stresses their impervious blindness to economic realities at a boorish banquet at which the marquis and his wife lord it over their son’s friends while serving tasteless canned peas on dishes of priceless china, accompanied by elegant crystal glasses of cheap wine. Baffled by the presence of these lowbrow strangers, the marquise trills, “Comme c’est pittoresque” (541), as if her son was indulging in a bit of Belle époque encanaillement (hobnobbing with the rabble).

The weekend would have been ruined, if Franck (the foul-mouthed, talented cook who is Philou’s best friend from Paris) hadn’t taken charge of the kitchen and whipped up a fabulous Easter dinner, inciting the marquis to share some exquisite bottles of his uncle’s wine, and to get a little drunk and tell funny old stories of his hunting days. On the return trip to Paris, Philou suddenly recalls the reason why he had wanted to visit home: his engagement to a girl from the working-class neighborhood of Belleville, and which he forgot to mention. Significantly, they do not turn the car around. Nor do any members of the Marquet de la Durbellière tribe attend the sweet nuptials, celebrated in the Town Hall of the 20th arrondissement.

2. Albin de la Simone
A similar melancholy about the emptiness of the aristocracy haunts a song that is popular among French youth today, by Albin de la Simone, “Mes épaules.” Ostensibly a love ballad by a young father to his wife and baby, where anxiety over the role of breadwinner is symbolized by his skinny shoulders (“pas bien baraquées,” he swoons), the song also belies the singer’s unease with his particule-laden family name. “Le poids de mon nom ridicule / De ce fantôme à particule / Qui avance quand je recule,” the song goes. Typifying a particularly French strain of wimpy male singers whose penchant for self-pity surprises American audiences (remember Alain Souchon’s hit “Allô Papa Maman”?!), Albin de la Simone is nevertheless a favorite among young Frenchmen today, according to reliable sources in Paris. What is interesting is how he combines his worries over fatherhood with his sense of embarrassment over his aristocratic name.

Could it be that France is finally breaking free from the class-bound system of the past? Is Bourdieu’s paradigm in Distinction really due for a tune-up?

Or are these recent phenomena merely a pose, like the long tradition of rueful yet self-congratulatory writers who make up the French canon?

L’affaire Depardieu / The Depardieu affair, by Sonja Stojanovic

The actor Gérard Depardieu has given back his French passport and is moving to Belgium to avoid paying taxes. This is a gross simplification of what has sparked a polemical debate in French cultural and political circles.

Philippe Torreton, another French actor, in a virulent column published on December 17, 2012 in the French newspaper Libération calls out Depardieu on his fiscal exile.

The column addresses Depardieu using the informal you “tu” instead of the polite and more formal “vous” and attacks him using lines from Depardieu’s famous film, the adaptation of Edmond Rostand’s play Cyrano de Bergerac; he accuses him of leaving his country in the midst of a crisis.

This column sparked a response from French actress Catherine Deneuve who took to writing a column published on December 20, 2012 also in Libération, entitled “Monsieur Torreton”. According to her, she not so much defends Depardieu as scolds Torreton for his pettiness and debasing words. Then, she finishes her short piece with a dramatic “What would you have done in 1789, [to think of it] my body is still trembling” and the oft quoted statement about tolerance taken from Voltaire.

Also jumping on the bandwagon is Laurence Parisot, the president of the MEDEF, France’s largest employers’ union. She remarks that the current politics are reminiscent of a climate of “civil war” and aligns herself with Deneuve. “I say like Catherine Deneuve said this morning in Libération, we have the feeling today that one is looking to recreate something that is relating to 1789, one needs to realize how insufferable this is for many talented people and this is why they are pushed to leaving, let’s not invert the order of things”.

Why bring up 1789? Who is exactly this (new) nobility and why is their (fiscal) exile something to accept / defend / deplore? Since when is the super rich paying taxes viewed as something negative – revolutionarily speaking? And why would Deneuve tremble at the thought of 1789? Both she and Depardieu would have been part of the Third Estate back then. Are the French starting to regret the legacies of the French Revolution?

What do you think?

Breaking News in Revolutionary Art: Johann Rousselot’s “Freedom Fighter” series

The most exciting art from the revolutionary scene this fall comes to us from Johann Rousselot, the Paris-based photographer who is already known to readers of A Revolution in Fiction thanks to his fabulous work on India in the DIGNITY exhibit (Amnesty International) which opened this spring in the USA (see “Teach This!” posting no. 10). We at Notre Dame were proud to welcome him to campus in February, and to feature his work in the DIGNITY exhibit, soon to launch its tour of the USA.

Now showing in Perpignan, Rousselot’s new work called “Freedom Fighters” draws on photographs he took on site in Egypt, Morocco, Syria, Libya, and Tunisia, and which mix formal portraits with a variety of text (graffiti, Facebook), and montage techniques. They are all gripping, gorgeous, and powerfully wrought; check out his site!

To appreciate the continuity with the art of the 1790s, consider Rousselot’s portrait of Mouad Belghouat (alias L7A9D; El Haked – The Outraged) alongside the “Mysterious Urn” (ca. 179-99) (featured in our posting of May 13, 2009).
Rousselot’s caption explains that Mr. Belghouat, an engaged rap singer, was imprisoned for political reasons from September 09th, 2011 to January 12th, 2012. He quickly became an icon of the protests nationwide organized by the M20 – Movement of the 20th of February (2011). Seen among the royals on this wall, his portrait forms an ironic riff on celebrity-mongering or act of lèse-majesté. But if one day the caption disappears, his portrait may confound viewers seeking a straightforward political message. They may well wonder which side it supports, just like the enigmatic mixture of monarchical and republican iconography in the “Urn.”

As Rousselot explains, the M20 – Movement of the 20th of February –set up many protests in the main cities of the kingdom, and called for a boycott of the legislative poll of November 25th, 2011 where the king Mohamed VI attempted to calm down the Moroccan street and avoid any propagation of the Arab spring. “Graphic inspiration for this series came from the ubiquitous presence of the framed picture of King Mohamed VI in virtually every shop, hotel, train station, and administrative buildings of course. I decided to replace his image with those of the militants, like a lese-majesty crime.”

Bravo to Johann Rousselot for this brave and beautiful testimonial to the revolutionary spirit!

Mélenchon’s populism: marketing solidarité

What a wonderful moment for students of the French Revolution! A full-fledged re-enactment of 1789 is unfolding on the streets of Paris, thanks to the populist campaign of Jean-Luc Mélenchon. Today’s article by Raphaëlle Besse Desmoulières in Le Monde provides a excellent summary of Mélenchon’s clever recycling of revolutionary rhetoric. “Take back the power” (“Prenez le pouvoir”), his campaign intones, “Make way for the people” (“place au peuple”). Exploiting the unease (morosité) of the current situation in France, Mélenchon is gambling on the notion of a radical break with business-as-usual. These are fighting words! Is the government of the Fifth Republic really analogous with the absolutist Bourbon monarchy? Or is the Front de Gauche merely exploiting the French sympathy for populist sloganeering, such one might find on an advertisement for an insurance company?

Vik Muniz and Marat, revisited

In my October 26, 2010 posting on Viz Muniz and Jean-Paul Marat, I concluded on an idealistic note that “Ashes to ashes, sewer to junkyard, l’ami du peuple would have been proud.” Returning to the topic now in preparation for next week’s exciting conference on The French Revolution in Global Popular Culture, I am starting to see things a bit differently.
Although Ellie Bronson argued in a 2011 article in Art Critical that Santos was “fittingly styled after David’s ‘The Death of Marat,’ I now wonder: what is “fitting” about Muniz’s reappropriation?
The more that I learn about Sebastião dos Santos (known as Tiaõ) and the more that I study Vik Muniz’s project, the less sense this connection makes.
Unlike Jean-Paul Marat, Tiaõ dos Santos received a minimal education. He began working as a garbage picker (more precisely, as a picker of recyclables) in the Jardim Gramacho landfill at age 11. The stunning successes he has attained as founder and organizer of the ACAMJG, the union that has embraced the needs of the Jardim Gramacho workers, are the result of his formidable intellect and drive to make something of his life. It is interesting that the primary influence he mentions is The Prince, by Machiavelli, which he found in the trash. “I learned so much from that book,” he says.
(Marat, on the contrary, was born into what appears a comfortable family situation in Neuchâtel; both he and his brother were sent to school and his brother eventually attained a prestigious post as professor of the Lycée impérial of Tsarkoïe Selois–now known as Pushkin, a city nearby Saint-Petersburg, Russia. Marat pursued studies in medicine, traveled widely in Britain where he attained a certain success as a writer and scientist, and for a time had a flourishing practice among wealthy Parisians.)
In Wasteland, we learn that Santos is a good father, caring, warm-hearted and tender. We see Santos walking hand-in-hand with his young daughter, and sitting cozily next to her on a couch, where he stokes her dreams of going to school to become a psychologist. He is also a good son: we see him telephoning his mother in tears of joy after the London auction where he portrait was first sold.
(In his later life, Marat was apparently estranged from his family. It is uncertain if he married. He had no children. These facts have long been used against him, and have helped forge the portrait of the cold-hearted terrorist that prevails today.)
The final credits of Wasteland reveal the fundamental disconnect between these two men: the portrait of Santos as Marat is juxtaposed against a text mentioning that “a lot of people now believe in Tiaõ and look to him as a leader; some dream that one day he could become president.”
Although Marat achieved a powerful following among certain groups in Parisian society during the mid-1790s, and was elected deputy to the Convention government in 1792, he was not a gifted statesman, to put it mildly. He was a writer of corrosive prose and a divisive figure. Some claim he mounted one of the bloodiest errors in revolutionary history (the September massacres of 1792). His fame was not due to his humanitarianism, but rather to his inflammatory newspaper and prowess at self-fashioning himself as the truth-speaking “man of the people.” His assassination at the hand of a royalist was almost too good to be true: it launched a hack writer into martyrdom by realizing what he had long been telling readers of L’Ami du peuple.

By now, Santos has likely learned that Marat was more than just “an intellectual” (the only adjective used by Muniz to describe him in the film). I wonder if he still appreciates the connection? And I wonder if Muniz regrets yoking his friend to this villain of international disrepute?

Robespierre and Jean Ferrat, “Ma France”

A little over a year ago, the world lost a great man: Jean Ferrat, politically-committed singer, songwriter and town councilman of Antraigues-sur-Volane (Ardèche). All of those who have signed or are considering signing the Musée Robespierre petition (see September 10 posting), should take a moment to listen to Jean Ferrat’s song, “Ma France.” Read his obit, too, by Pierre Perrone, and think about the censorship that Ferrat suffered on French TV not so very long ago. As Perrone reminds us, Ferrat did not mince his words: “I don’t sing to pass the time,” Ferrat said and and sang in 1965. He later reflected: “I’ve never been a yes man for anybody. What really pleases me is that I reintroduced the great French poetry of writers like Aragon to the man in the street. I did that by going against the wishes of the music industry. They used to tell me that what I did was beautiful but of no interest to the general public. I proved them wrong but those idiots didn’t learn their lesson. They are still flogging crap to young people.”

What singers have taken up the fight for the ordinary working man and woman today in such lyrical ways?

The lyrics to “Ma France” include a cryptic reference to Robespierre; I’m not sure that I understand exactly what he means… But the rest of the song is a powerful anthem to the French land and French history far and near, in all its beauty and shame.
Ferrat’s words are intelligent, powerful and remain politically useful. May his warm baritone remain a presence in our lives for years to come. Enjoy!

Jean Ferrat, “Ma France”

De plaines en forêts de vallons en collines
Du printemps qui va naître à tes mortes saisons
De ce que j’ai vécu à ce que j’imagine
Je n’en finirai pas d’écrire ta chanson
Ma France

Au grand soleil d’été qui courbe la Provence
Des genêts de Bretagne aux bruyères d’Ardèche
Quelque chose dans l’air a cette transparence
Et ce goût du bonheur qui rend ma lèvre sèche
Ma France

Cet air de liberté au-delà des frontières
Aux peuples étrangers qui donnaient le vertige
Et dont vous usurpez aujourd’hui le prestige
Elle répond toujours du nom de Robespierre
Ma France

Celle du vieil Hugo tonnant de son exil
Des enfants de cinq ans travaillant dans les mines
Celle qui construisit de ses mains vos usines
Celle dont monsieur Thiers a dit qu’on la fusille
Ma France

Picasso tient le monde au bout de sa palette
Des lèvres d’Éluard s’envolent des colombes
Ils n’en finissent pas tes artistes prophètes
De dire qu’il est temps que le malheur succombe
Ma France

Leurs voix se multiplient à n’en plus faire qu’une
Celle qui paie toujours vos crimes vos erreurs
En remplissant l’histoire et ses fosses communes
Que je chante à jamais celle des travailleurs
Ma France

Celle qui ne possède en or que ses nuits blanches
Pour la lutte obstinée de ce temps quotidien
Du journal que l’on vend le matin d’un dimanche
A l’affiche qu’on colle au mur du lendemain
Ma France

Qu’elle monte des mines descende des collines
Celle qui chante en moi la belle la rebelle
Elle tient l’avenir, serré dans ses mains fines
Celle de trente-six à soixante-huit chandelles
Ma France

P.S. Thanks to Robert Fishman for bringing this great man and song to my attention.

Des Lumières à la Révolution, le bonheur en constitution, par Laurent Loty

Laurent Loty, Chargé de Recherche au CNRS, Paris, has contributed the following article which we reprint with great interest, in hopes of extending our longstanding dialogue Outre-Atlantique to other readers of A Revolution in Fiction.

« TOUS LES HOMMES SONT CREES EGAUX ; ILS SONT DOUES PAR LE CREATEUR DE CERTAINS DROITS INALIENABLES ; PARMI CES DROITS SE TROUVENT LA VIE, LA LIBERTE ET LA RECHERCHE DU BONHEUR. LES GOUVERNEMENTS SONT ETABLIS PARMI LES HOMMES POUR GARANTIR CES DROITS […]. TOUTES LES FOIS QU’UNE FORME DE GOUVERNEMENT DEVIENT DESTRUCTIVE DE CE BUT, LE PEUPLE A LE DROIT DE LA CHANGER OU DE L’ABOLIR ET D’ETABLIR UN NOUVEAU GOUVERNEMENT, EN LE FONDANT SUR LES PRINCIPES ET EN L’ORGANISANT EN LA FORME QUI LUI PARAITRONT LES PLUS PROPRES A LUI DONNER LA SURETE ET LE BONHEUR. »

DECLARATION UNANIME DES TREIZE ÉTATS UNIS D’AMERIQUE REUNIS EN CONGRES LE 4 JUILLET 1776, DITE DECLARATION D’INDEPENDANCE, TRADUCTION DE THOMAS JEFFERSON.

En quoi les Lumières et la Révolution française nous éclairent-elles sur le bonheur ? La Déclaration d’indépendance de 1776 puis la Déclaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen de 1789 jugent l’association politique à l’aune du bonheur ou du malheur qu’elle favorise. Les citoyens ne sont plus soumis à l’État, mais associés dans la recherche du bonheur. Ces préambules constitutionnels révèlent que la question si privée du bonheur est inséparable d’une dimension collective.

Ces textes nous indiquent aussi que l’on peut concevoir le bonheur autrement que ce mot le laisse penser aujourd’hui. La distinction entre Bonheur absolu et plaisirs de la vie n’est peut-être pas l’essentiel. Le caractère privé du bonheur est discutable. Et le bonheur ne se trouve pas au petit bonheur la chance. Petits ou grands, les bonheurs sont d’abord pluriels parce que les conditions du bonheur de chacun sont l’affaire de tous. À l’opposé d’une étymologie qui en faisait une bonne fortune, contre une idéologie religieuse qui en affirmait l’impossibilité, et par delà une croyance moderne qui en ferait un nouvel absolu qui tombe du ciel ou qui ne dépend que de soi, le bonheur est d’abord une affaire de solidarité, et de lutte collective contre la fatalité.

LE DROIT AU BONHEUR PAR LES PLAISIRS
Dans les Lettres philosophiques (1734), Voltaire magnifie la culture, l’économie et la politique anglaises contre l’intolérance et l’absolutisme français. Il s’oppose à Pascal, dont les Pensées (1670) justifient la souffrance par le péché et affirment que « Tous les hommes recherchent d’être heureux » et que « jamais personne, sans la foi, n’est arrivé à ce point ». Pascal estime qu’il y a plus à gagner en pariant sur l’existence de Dieu (la vie éternelle), qu’il y a à perdre (les plaisirs terrestres) : « Notre proposition est dans une force infinie, quand il y a le fini à hasarder, à un jeu où il y a pareils hasards de gain et de perte, et l’infini à gagner ». Or le mathématicien pipe les dés. Car si la vie éternelle n’existe pas, les plaisirs de l’existence sont notre seul bien, et leur perte un désastre absolu. Voltaire veut croire en un Dieu favorable au bonheur, et valorise amour de soi, désir de s’enrichir, jouissance des spectacles. Ces bonheurs relatifs sont désormais l’essentiel.

Les textes du 18e siècle se passionnent pour le bonheur: correspondances, traités (parfois intimes comme le Discours sur le bonheur d’Émilie du Châtelet), poèmes philosophiques, fictions. Des romanciers hésitent entre l’obsession du péché et la quête du bonheur (Prévost), mais la tendance est à célébrer l’amour ou la séduction (Crébillon fils). Et les chrétiens se laissent convaincre de la légitimité d’un bonheur terrestre.

LE DROIT DE S’OPPOSER AUX MALHEURS PUBLICS
Dans les Lettres persanes, Montesquieu critique le despotisme, métaphorisé par le sérail oriental. Roxane remplace la vertu religieuse par la vertu politique. Contre la soumission des femmes, violées par leur mari, elle défend son droit à aimer librement et se suicide en héroïne, tandis que Montesquieu interprète les suicides comme l’échec d’une société.

Le lien entre bonheur et liberté politique est aux fondements de la Déclaration d’indépendance, comme de la Déclaration de 1789 : « Les représentants du peuple français […] considérant que l’ignorance, l’oubli ou le mépris des droits de l’homme sont les seules causes des malheurs publics et de la corruption des gouvernements, ont résolu d’exposer, dans une déclaration solennelle, les droits naturels, inaliénables et sacrés de l’homme, […] afin que les réclamations des citoyens […] tournent toujours au maintien de la Constitution et au bonheur de tous . »

Ces textes incitent à réinterpréter le discours que Saint-Just prononce le 3 mars 1794 : « Que l’Europe apprenne que vous ne voulez plus un malheureux ni un oppresseur sur le territoire français ; que cet exemple fructifie sur la terre ; qu’il y propage l’amour des vertus et le bonheur ! Le bonheur est une idée neuve en Europe . » Ce propos découle d’une sensibilité religieuse, mais la sentence finale témoigne aussi du changement en cours : chacun a désormais le droit et le devoir de s’opposer à la fatalité et de propager le bonheur.

BONHEUR ET LAÏCITÉ DU MARIAGE
Dans Les Liaisons dangereuses (1782) de Laclos, la libertine estime que la dévote a remplacé la Religion par l’Amour. Cette réflexion est riche pour une histoire des mentalités. Mais la Révolution procède autrement que la dévote : la veille de la proclamation de la République est votée une loi autorisant le divorce. Ici, nul bonheur, grand ou petit. Mais la loi du 20 septembre 1792 libère l’institution du mariage, soulage des souffrances, rend l’avenir possible. Cette grande loi laïque s’inscrit dans l’immense révolution des relations entre les sexes. Elle dit ce que les Lumières peuvent apporter au bonheur. Qu’est-ce que les Lumières ? (1784) de Kant s’inscrivait dans un débat sur le mariage civil. Plus radical, Diderot avait rédigé sa conception des Lumières en forme de contes sur le malheur amoureux (Ceci n’est pas un conte et Madame de la Carlière), suivis d’un Supplément au Voyage de Bougainville (1774) qui prônait l’union libre et repensait les valeurs fondatrices des lois et des mœurs.

BONHEUR COMMUN ET BONHEURS DE CHACUN
Une nouvelle Déclaration introduit la Constitution de 1793 et affirme: « Article premier. Le but de la société est le bonheur commun », ce qui peut désigner l’harmonie du Tout, ou le bonheur de chacun en interaction avec les autres. La première conception, anti-humaniste, érige le groupe en transcendance. Elle réunit l’ultralibéralisme et l’ultracommunisme, frères ennemis depuis le 18e siècle.

L’ultralibéralisme est propagé à travers l’idée que Dieu a conçu le meilleur des mondes possibles, optimum qui néglige les individus. C’est l’« optimisme », doctrine religieuse et économique diffusée par Mandeville, réputé précurseur du libéralisme, ou par Voltaire qui, sauf dans Candide, est le plus grand propagateur de cette philosophie qui recommande à chacun d’accepter son sort . L’idée ultracommuniste du bonheur est diffusée dans certaines fictions utopiques qui se focalisent sur l’absence de propriété privée et en oublient les autres dimensions de la société. Aline et Valcour (1795) de Sade présente à la fois une utopie libérale où règne le bonheur des plus forts, et une utopie communiste censée faire le bonheur de tous. Mais Sade ne peut concevoir une association entre citoyens libres et éclairés, solidaires dans la recherche du bonheur de chacun.

Une autre voie existe, que je laisse aux lecteurs le soin de nommer. Elle s’exprime dans la Déclaration de 1789 et surtout de 1793 (inspirée par Condorcet et que le comité de Salut public écarte parce que la guerre exigerait la Terreur). L’association politique doit lutter contre les malheurs et pour le bonheur de chacun. D’où l’importance des impôts, de l’emploi, d’une sécurité sociale , et des articles sur les « secours publics » aux « citoyens malheureux » (« en procurant du travail »), sur les « progrès de la raison publique » (en mettant « l’instruction à la portée de tous les citoyens »), sur « la garantie sociale » qui « consiste dans l’action de tous, pour assurer à chacun la jouissance et la conservation de ses droits ; cette garantie repose sur la souveraineté nationale ».

UNE IDÉE NEUVE EN EUROPE
À l’exception des intégrismes religieux, nul ne niera aujourd’hui la légitimité de la recherche des petits bonheurs ou d’un grand Bonheur (Amour, Création, Savoir, Contribution au bonheur d’autrui…) Mais à l’heure où l’on croit que le bonheur n’est qu’affaire privée, l’entrée du « bonheur » dans la Constitution d’une Nation peut nous éclairer sur l’idée même de bonheur. D’autant que notre Constitution a récemment été modifée contre la volonté populaire exprimée lors du référendum de mai 2005 sur le Traité Constitutionnel Européen. On peut débattre des buts assignés à l’Europe par le TCE, mais chacun peut juger ce que signifie modifier une Constitution contre l’avis du peuple souverain. Les politiques économiques menées par les gouvernements des Trente Piteuses, accentuées par une conception non démocratique de l’Europe contredisent l’entrée du bonheur en Constitution. Espérons que nous trouverons les moyens démocratiques pour que le bonheur soit bientôt une idée neuve en Europe.

UNE PHRASE MAJEURE DU TEXTE
« LE BONHEUR EST D’ABORD UNE AFFAIRE DE SOLIDARITE, ET DE LUTTE COLLECTIVE CONTRE LA FATALITE »

LE SAVIEZ-VOUS ?
Selon la Constitution, le but de la société est de permettre la recherche du bonheur, qui dépend de l’entraide par l’impôt, l’offre d’emploi, l’instruction…

L’ESSENTIEL
Avec les révolutions américaine et française, le bonheur entre dans la Constitution. C’est le triomphe des Lumières, qui valorisent les plaisirs de la vie contre l’idée de péché. Mais c’est aussi une déclaration politique : un gouvernement n’est légitime que s’il permet la recherche du bonheur.

Cette idée invite à repenser l’idée même de bonheur. Le bonheur semble n’être qu’une affaire privée et ne tenir qu’au hasard, alors qu’il dépend de la solidarité et d’une lutte collective contre la fatalité.

La recherche du « bonheur commun » peut être anti-humaniste lorsqu’elle vise la Totalité sociale en négligeant les individus. Elle peut aussi être un appel à la lutte de tous pour le bonheur de chacun: ce bonheur dépend de l’association politique de tous les citoyens (grâce à l’impôt, l’instruction, la laïcité, la sécurité sociale, des politiques économiques, etc.).

Article paru dans Les Cahiers de l’Observatoire du bonheur, n° 2, « Bonheur et petits bonheurs », sous la direction de Michèle Gally, 2011, p. 12-15.

BIOGRAPHIE de Laurent LOTY
1982-1995 : enseigne les Lettres, participe à des réalisations artistiques et poursuit sa formation en histoire de la littérature et des sciences mathématiques, naturelles et humaines

1995 : achève une thèse sur La genèse de l’optimisme et du pessimisme et devient enseignant-chercheur à l’Université Rennes 2

1999-2002 : préside la Société Française pour l’Histoire des Sciences de l’Homme et publie le mot «indisciplinarité»

2002-2006 : crée le séminaire «Textes et Savoirs, Transdisciplinarité et Politique» et des programmes d’histoire des mots ou de rédaction de fictions utopiques, intègre le programme «Indicateurs Sociétaux de Bien-Être Territorialisés» de l’ONG PEKEA

2007-2009 : codirige Littérature et engagement pendant la Révolution française et Individus et communautés (revue Dix-huitième siècle)

2010 : entre au CNRS et prépare des livres sur des philosophies néfastes ou bénéfiques au bien-être de chacun et de tous.

Image: Rafael Canoga, Eduardo Chillida, Antoni Clavé, Jose Guerrero, Julio Le Parc, Matta, Robert Motherwell, Antonio Saura, Rufino Tamayo, Antoni Tàpies, Déclaration Universelle des droits de l’homme, article 3: «Tout individu a droit à la vie, à la liberté et à la sûreté de sa personne », 1984, estampe, eau-forte, 0,5m x 0,347 (© Musée National d’Art Moderne, Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris).

Watch Your Tongue, Dr. West

Cornel West, a professor of religion and African-American Studies at Princeton University, is the latest in a long line of demagogues who have, over the past three centuries, bandied about the term revolution without realizing the gravity of the word. West winds up his 8/26 article with a sweeping gesture: “King’s response to our crisis can be put in one word: revolution,” and concludes by declaring: “Like King, we need to put on our cemetery clothes and be coffin-ready for the next great democratic battle.” (“Dr. King Weeps from His Grave,” New York Times [8/26/11], A23).
Excuse me, Dr. West, but perhaps you have forgotten what revolution looks like. Allow me to remind you. See the two images below, from the August 2011 revolution in Tripoli, Libya, and the July 1789 revolution in Paris, France. See the blood, the hurt, the intractable anger and the destruction.

A wounded Libyan fighter. Photo by Tyler Hicks, NYT

Death by hanging (three times) of Foulon, age 74

These facts form as much a part of our revolutionary legacy as the more palatable notion suggested in West’s article, that is, a “King-worthy narrative to reinvigorate the poor and working people.”

West makes some good points. The USA is in need of a reinvigorated public life that incites ordinary citizens to get involved in local affairs, support reasonable politicians, and contribute to public debate.

But please, people, watch your language. The problems we are facing are grave, but they are negotiable through deliberative democracy—another great American tradition. The resort to “life and death confrontations” should be the last resort. May these images remind us that battles have casualties. Dr. King did not preach gratuitous violence. And neither should Dr. West.

Q & A: When is a revolution not a revolution?

Q: When is a revolution not a revolution?
A: When it is a makeup remover.

The latest riff on revolution in popular culture comes from the Japanese company DHC. I’ve been mulling over this one for the last few days. Makeup, maquillage, constitutes a metaphor for illegitimate rule, and the action implied in the gerund démaquillant unveils its fraud. The “naturally active agents” which make this product work (riche en actifs naturels), may be a stand-in for the people. But the promise of instantaneous, trouble-free results reveals the emptiness behind DHC’s signifier. “En un clin d’œil, et sans effort, exit fards gras, maquillages tenaces, même waterproof et autres impuretés! ” A one-minute, peaceful revolution? Mon œil.

Marat returns to the the people via Vik Muniz

The work of Brazilian-born artist Vik Muniz brings the career of revolutionary rabble-rouser Jean-Paul Marat to his rightful end.
According to an article by Carol Kino in the New York Times, Mr. Muniz’s art builds on his early experience in the tenements of Rio to give back to the people. As he explains in the documentary, “Waste Land,” Muniz aims to ennoble the catadores (garbage pickers) of Rio slums by creating classical portraits in their image. He models the portraits in his studio with their help, using garbage they have scavenged from a junkyard, and he pays them for their time and the materials. In the portrait featured here, we see Mr. Tião Santos, president of a workers’ cooperative (Association of Collectors of the Metropolitan Landfill of Jardim Gramacho), sitting in a bathtub like David’s “Death of Marat” (1793) awash in a sea of filthy clothes, plastic bottles and abandoned toilet seats. The $50,000 proceeds from this modern remake of David were donated by Mr. Muniz to the worker’s cooperative. What a perfect example of an artwork that meets–and gives new meaning–to life. Ashes to ashes, sewer to junkyard… L’ami du peuple would have been proud.