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Elı́as Palti
1
For a detailed state of the art on the different views of the revolutions of independence
in Latin America from the perspective of conceptual history, see Elı́as Palti, “¿De la tradi-
ción a la modernidad? Revisionismo e historia polı́tico-conceptual de las revoluciones de
Independencia,” in Independencia y revolución: Pasado, presente y futuro, coord. Gus-
tavo Leyva et al. (Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica / Universidad Autónoma
Metropolitana, 2010), 174–90.
Copyright by Journal of the History of Ideas, Volume 79, Number 1 (January 2018)
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JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF IDEAS ✦ JANUARY 2018
2
Charles Hale, “Political and Social Ideas in Latin America, 1879–1930,” in The Cam-
bridge History of Latin America, ed. Leslie Bethell, vol. 4 (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1989), 368.
3
See Roberto Schwarz, Misplaced Ideas: Essays on Brazilian Culture (London: Verso,
1992); and Palti, “The Problem of ‘Misplaced Ideas’ Revisited: Beyond the History of
Ideas,” Journal of the History of Ideas 67, no. 1 (2006) 149–79.
4
Louis Hartz, The Liberal Tradition in America (New York: Harcourt, Brace & Com-
pany, 1955).
126
in the metropolis at the time of the conquest.5 Thus, while North America
inherited from England a modern, bourgeois, liberal pattern of thinking,
Latin America retained the medieval, feudal, organicist tradition that pre-
vailed in fifteenth-century Spain.6
In great measure, the affirmation of that view was conditioned by the
wave of military coups that were spreading in the region in the sixties and
seventies, when these views were elaborated. Besides, that dichotomy fit a
well-established interpretive framework in the field, whose basic expression
was provided by Isaiah Berlin’s opposition between “negative liberty” and
“positive liberty” (itself a reformulation of Benjamin Constant’s distinction
between the “liberty of the moderns” and the “liberty of the ancients”).7
The paradox here is that, at that very moment, the very interpretation of
the ideological origins of the American Revolution, which associated them
with the liberal creed, had already begun to become undermined by the
precursor work of Bernard Bailyn (which would be further elaborated by
Gordon Wood and John Pocock, among others). According to Bailyn, the
discourse of the American revolutionaries was founded upon a much older
ideological tradition that he called “civic humanism,” and subsequently
was redefined by the other authors in terms of “classical republicanism.”8
Meanwhile, in tune with that new perspective, a more recent interpre-
tation of the issue of the ideological origins of Latin American indepen-
dence emerged, uniting its organicist vein with the republican concept,9
which would have deep roots in the Spanish political tradition.10 It could
be traced back to the neo-scholastic thinking of the seventeenth century,
when the concept of a social pact, that revolutionaries supposedly adopted
to justify their separation from Spain, was originally formulated.11
5
Hartz, The Founding of New Societies: Studies in the History of the United States, Latin
America, South Africa, Canada, and Australia (New York: Harvest / HBJ, 1964).
6
Richard Morse was in charge of the piece dedicated to Latin America in the book edited
by Hartz [Morse, “The Heritage of Latin America,” in Hartz, The Founding of New
Societies, 123–77].
7
See Isaiah Berlin, Two Concepts of Liberty: An Inaugural Lecture Delivered before the
University of Oxford on 31 October 1958 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1958); Benjamin
Constant, Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988).
8
Bernard Bailyn, The Ideological Origins of the American Revolution (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1992); Gordon S. Wood, The Radicalism of the American Rev-
olution (New York: Random House, 1993); J. G. A. Pocock, The Machiavellian Moment:
Florentine Political Thought and the Atlantic Republican Tradition (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1975).
9
See, for example, Natalio Botana, La tradición republicana (Buenos Aires: Sudameri-
cana, 1984).
10
For an antecedent of this interpretation, see Guillermo Furlong, Nacimiento y desar-
rollo de la filosofı́a en el Rı́o de la Plata 1536–1810 (Buenos Aires: Kraft, 1962).
11
A different version of this view was provided by Ricardo Levene, who sought the local
127
roots of the independence movements in Spanish juridical tradition [Ricardo Levene, Las
Indias no eran colonias (Madrid: Espasa Calpe, 1973)].
12
Daniel T. Rogers, “Republicanism: The Career of a Concept,” Journal of American
History 79, no. 1 (1992): 11–38.
128
understand how those motifs or ideas then became rearranged and re-
signified, giving rise to the peculiar conceptual universe within which the
revolutions took place. It is clear that these motifs and ideas then served
new purposes and were addressed to specific problems and questions that
were absolutely different from those to which they had been addressed in
their origins. At that point, even though the ideas hadn’t changed, the logic
of their articulation had, giving rise to new ideological constellations: “If,
as we have seen, the originality of any thinking does not reside in each of
the ideas that is coordinated in it, seeking the source of each one of them
seems to be the least fruitful (as well as the least sure) method to study the
history of thought.”13
The history of ideas is thus radically incapable of understanding what
changed at this moment, since the kind of conceptual rupture produced by
the emergence of a revolutionary discourse cannot be perceived on the level
of the ideas that it gathered but in the ways in which it articulated them.
Nor can these transformations be defined in terms of variations of models
without smoothing over all the intricacies and problematic edges intrinsic
to these kinds of complex historical–conceptual processes. And it is this
(the fact of missing how ideas became resignfied in the given specific con-
text) that explains why, beyond the differences among its participants, this
entire debate has remained locked within the frameworks of the antinomies
of the tradition of the “history of ideas,” such as individualism and organi-
cism, nationalism and cosmopolitanism, rationalism and irrationalism,
modernity and tradition, etc. These thus appear as kinds of eternal sub-
stances that cross through the whole of Western intellectual history. And
all conceptual formations could be classified according to this binary grid.
Every form of thinking necessarily will fall on one or the other side of the
antinomy (or, eventually, will appear as an inconsistent mixture of the two
terms).
The point is that within the frameworks of this dichotomic grid, the
result of historical research will always be predictable. We will find nothing
that we do not know beforehand, except empirical specifications—how
well or how badly a given reality adjusted to a given model, but this has no
effect on the models themselves. Historical events here appear as merely
factual, external circumstances. They do not play any role in the definition
of the models, which can be perfectly established a priori, independent of
those circumstances. In this fashion, the debate on the topic inevitably
13
Tulio Halperin Donghi, Tradición polı́tica española e ideologı́a revolucionaria de mayo
(Buenos Aires: Centro Editor de América Latina, 1985), 17 (hereafter cited in text).
129
14
Quentin Skinner, “Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas,” History and
Theory 8, no. 1 (1969): 3–53.
130
affirms: “[By looking for the origins of ideas, these interpretations] run the
risk of underlining the affinity between the world of revolutionary ideas
and that existing before revolution, overlooking a fact which is much more
essential than that very affinity: that—as we already have remarked—those
ideas now structured a revolutionary ideology, an ideological tool to deny
and condemn the past” (12).
According to Halperin Donghi, this is precisely the point at stake, that
which a conceptual history of the revolutions of independence should be
aimed at recreating: the series of semantic displacements through which
traditional ideas ended up giving rise to a revolutionary ideology that was
alien to (and indeed contradicted) the conceptual frameworks within which
those ideas were initially conceived. His book thus serves as a model for
approaching the political–conceptual process that led to the revolutions of
independence in Latin America as what we can call, taking an expression
from Hans Blumenberg, a “history of effects” (Wirkungsgeschichte).15
15
See Hans Blumenberg, The Genesis of the Copernican World (Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press, 1987), 123. In that book, Blumenberg describes the series of torsions that Aris-
totle’s physics and its fundamental concepts underwent as a result of the efforts to save
it from the anomalies that it had presented in the centuries immediately preceding the
astronomical revolution initiated by Copernicus.
131
from that of the Enlightenment. Although the idea endured, the language
in which it was articulated had already mutated.
In the first place, in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century thought, it was
impossible to conceive of the community as self-constituting. The idea that
a political community could exist at the margins of any center of power,
around which it could coalesce and in whose terms it could define itself,
was simply absurd. As Francisco Suárez has stated, “a body without a head
is mutilated and monstrous.”16 The constitution of a political community
necessarily entailed relations of authority and obedience.17 Before the insti-
tution of a political power, we have merely a plurality of dispersed individu-
als, not a community, properly speaking. As Halperin Donghi remarks,
“[For Suárez] the multitude can be considered from two different points of
view: as a mere aggregation, with no order or physical and moral union, or
as a political body. Now—and we find here again a postulate derived from
an authoritarian concept of political relationships—, the political body
demands, as one of its essential conditions, the presence of the political
power” (33).
Royal authority was thought to belong to the realm of natural right,
the need for it inscribed in nature itself. Political power and the community
were simultaneously constituted—“it is only thanks to the king that the
political body exists” (53)—and the latter could not be detached from the
former. Thus, even though it is certainly true that the revolutionaries took
the idea of the social pact from the neo-scholastics, it would be absurd to
see that postulate as a precursor idea of revolution. We must keep in mind
that neo-scholastic thinking, even though it made reference to the idea of
the legitimacy of tyrannicide, “was a discourse of power” (37), not of revo-
lution.
In addition, there is a second fundamental difference between the neo-
scholastic and the Enlightenment concepts of the social contract. Although
both imposed limitations on power, the limitations that the former postu-
lated were not associated with the idea that the monarch should follow or
obey popular will. Popular will had no normative force in the politics of
the ancien régime (the fact that people want something does not make it
right or just; justice was considered to be a set of objective norms, estab-
lished by God himself and imprinted in the very nature of things). Royal
power was limited only by the nature of the ends it pursued. The social
16
Francisco Suárez, De Legibus (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientı́ficas,
1971), book I, chap. 8, paragraphs 8–9.
17
See Palti, An Archaeology of the Political: Regimes of Power from the Seventeenth
Century to the Present (New York: Columbia University Press, 2017), chap. 1.
132
18
On this topic, see Palti, “El absolutismo monárquico y la génesis de las ‘soberanı́a
nacional,’ ” in Conceitos e linguagens: Construções identitárias, org. Márcia Naxara and
Virginia Camilotti (São Paulo: Intermeios, 2014), 33–50.
133
As we have seen, the break from the universalist ideal of the old empires
did not affect the concept that the limitations the social contract imposed
on political authority were not related to the origins of this authority in the
people, but to the ends to which political power was conferred, which
became increasingly secularized. In Spain this process accompanied, in turn,
a profound impression of the rapid decline of the empire. At this juncture,
there seemed to be an abyss between those ends and actual reality, the roots
of which were then sought in the past. This fact already entailed a funda-
mental change in how society and power were conceived, since it implied
the emergence of the concept of a new entity: the nation, which then
became distinguished from the monarchical state and became an entity unto
itself.
This phenomenon resulted from a historical–conceptual displacement
that then was taking place. In the eighteenth century, Spaniards started to
think of (ministerial) despotism as the fundamental cause of the decline
of the empire. It was held responsible for the abandonment of the king-
dom’s “traditional constitution.” This view accompanied, in turn, the de-
velopment of the school of “historical constitutionalism.” The origin of
this school is usually given as Melchor Gaspar de Jovellanos’s inaugural
discourse at the Spanish Academy of History in 1778. The school’s main
goal was to explore the national past in search of the traditional Spanish
constitution that despotism allegedly had dislocated and this school
intended to recover. This gave rise to a new type of treatise, organized
around a new object of inquiry: the nation and its past, which thus made
itself present on the level of political discourse. Thereby the terms of the
entire debate were rearticulated. As Halperin Donghi remarks, from then
on, “the figure of the King was no longer identified with the entire nation;
the latter was now placed on a higher and broader plane” (97).
134
Edmund Morgan, The Invention of the People: The Right of Popular Sovereignty in
20
135
The second half of the eighteenth century thus witnessed a general trend of
exploring the national past in search of the “traditional constitution” from
which despotism had allegedly departed. Certainly, historical constitution-
alism did not simply recover past institutions; at this moment, the (republi-
can) national tradition was (re)invented. More importantly, this fact
became evident for its agents and speakers as soon as the debate around the
“traditional constitution” exploded. We cross here a further threshold, a
third step in this history of effects.
According to Halperin Donghi, a further displacement within tradi-
tional thinking would occur as a result of the royal vacancy after the Abdi-
cations of Bayonne (which were forced by Napoleon, who then designated
his own brother the governor of Spain, triggering the so-called Guerra de
Independencia, a general uprising by the local population). At that juncture,
it was convoked to the Cortes at Cádiz (the Cortes had not been convoked
since the sixteenth century), whose first measure was to assume the sover-
eignty left vacant after the abdications. This meant the institution of a com-
pletely new figure: a constituent power. This new power no longer had
anything to do with the traditional Cortes, other than sharing its name.
The congressmen now assumed the representation of the nation, on
behalf of which they spoke and from which their prerogatives were sup-
posed to emanate. The mission of the Cortes was to restore the traditional
constitution of the nation. Yet it soon became clear that there was no agree-
ment on what that traditional constitution was. Every party had a very
different view. In any case, there was no doubt on one point: whether they
had to create a new constitution or restore the traditional one, or, in the
latter case, determine what that traditional constitution was, it was the
Cortes that would have to decide. Only they were entitled to do so. And
this represented a fundamental political–conceptual innovation.
The very formation of the Cortes at Cádiz meant a break with the
premises on which the ancien régime was based. The constituent power was
136
instituted in the name of past traditions but was heterogeneous with the
traditional order. As François-Xavier Guerra remarked, quoting Tocque-
ville (who, in turn, took on an expression by Loménie de Brienne, in refer-
ence to the Estates General): from the very moment the constitution of the
nation became a matter of controversy, the ancien régime had crumbled.21
We find here a fundamental paradox: Spaniards looked back to the national
past only to find in it the power to cancel that past (that is, the Cortes,
which was entitled to create a new constitution, should it so wish). Yet here
we also meet the limit point of the so-called Spanish first liberalism.
The constituent power that emerged at Cadiz actually had a limited goal.
The mission of the Cortes was to provide a constitution in order to institute
a new political regime. In fact, it did not eliminate the monarchical system,
but transformed it into a constitutional monarchy. However, the final limit
of the first liberalism did not lie there (a constitution is not necessarily dem-
ocratic), but in another point. The constitution of the state, whatever its
form, indeed required the existence of a subject who could institute it. In
effect, even though there was no agreement regarding the nature of the
traditional constitution of the nation, the revolutionary process initiated in
Spain after the royal abdications already presupposed the presence of that
nation. The spontaneous uprising against the foreign occupier seemed to
prove its existence. The entire discourse of the Spanish first liberalism was
premised on that assumption. Only in the colonies would this assumption
become challenged. Thereby emerged a new problem, which was not per-
ceived as such in the Spanish peninsula: how to constitute the nation itself.
In the colonies, the invocation of a constituent power then assumed a
sense of radical foundation that was absent from the peninsula. Beyond the
character of the ideas themselves, the actual situation imposed there a
Jacobin logic on the revolutionary process. As Halperin Donghi remarks,
the revolutionary ideal would become much more than an ideology in the
colonies; it would turn into the founding myth of the new nations, one
21
See François-Xavier Guerra, “La polı́tica moderna en el mundo hispánico: Apuntes
para unos años cruciales (1808–1809),” in Las formas y las polı́ticas del dominio agrario:
Homenaje a François Chevalier, coord. Ricardo Ávila Palafox, Carlos Martı́nez Assad,
and Jean Meyer (Guadalajara: Universidad de Guadalajara, 1992), 178.
137
which would be now located in the place of the past with which the revolu-
tion intended so brutally to break.
Revolutionaries in the colonies thus faced a much more radical chal-
lenge than their Spanish counterparts. Initially, the former, like the latter,
claimed that after the fall of the monarchy, sovereignty returned to the
nation. But they would not take long to discover that, in Spain’s American
possessions, there were no nations that pre-existed the monarchy and could
assume sovereignty. According to the porteño revolutionary leader Mari-
ano Moreno, at the origin of colonial societies lay not a social contract but
an act of sheer violence. As a consequence, there were no pre-existing
nations here which could be invoked. And the process of territorial disinte-
gration that followed independence threw this problem to the forefront of
political debate. At this juncture, there was no way to determine what con-
stituted the nation, what its boundaries were, which collective subjects were
entitled to claim sovereign rights, which could claim possession of an
autonomous will. (The inhabitants of the viceroyalties? Of the Intenden-
cias? Of each city? Or, the population of the kingdom as a whole?)
This gave rise to a process of territorial disintegration that soon seemed
unstoppable. Every province, and indeed every city, claimed to possess sov-
ereign rights to constitute itself as an autonomous national entity. This
meant the dissolution of the subject of sovereign imputation; the subject
had become indiscernible, turning into the center of a properly political
dispute (in Carl Schmitt’s sense of the term). And the social contract dis-
course had no answer to this. It presupposed a criterion of demarcation
(how to delimit who could freely contract with each other and legitimately
constitute a nation of their own), but was radically unable to establish one,
given the abstract and generic nature of the subject.
Lastly, the issue that emerged then was how the constituent power
itself should be constituted. This was a paradox implicit in every constit-
uent congress: it must invoke the existence of the very entity which it sup-
posedly came to constitute; that is, the nation that had invested it and from
which its privileges emanated. But only in the colonies did this paradox
become evident as such. The revolution should invent, along with a new
political power, the very subject that should constitute that power. Here we
get the fourth and last torsion in the traditional conceptual universe, the
point at which revolutionary discourse took its final form, and, paradoxi-
cally, the point at which it began to dissolve, eventually paving the way for
a new reconfiguration of political language. Finding an answer to this para-
dox was the main concern of the nineteenth century, of what Foucault
138
22
Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archeology of Human Sciences (New York:
Vintage, 1970).
23
Reinhart Koselleck, Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time (Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press, 1985).
24
We find here operating the kind of dialectic described by Koselleck in his 1954 doctoral
dissertation (published in 1959). As he stated in it, “Absolutism necessitated the genesis
of the Enlightenment, and the Enlightenment conditioned the genesis of Revolution.”
Koselleck, Critique and Crisis: Enlightenment and the Pathogenesis of Modern Society
(Oxford: Berg, 1988), 8.
139
“ideas” of subjects. For example, the detachment of the nation from the
body of the king was not something that someone thought, something that
a given thinker proposed or devised. These torsions involved the reconfigu-
ration of the horizons within which ideas deployed; they embodied an alter-
ation in the conditions for the public articulation of ideas, even though the
ideas of subjects themselves remained unchanged.
To go back to Tocqueville’s expression, quoted by Guerra in connec-
tion to the Cortes at Cádiz, when he stated that from the very moment the
constitution of the nation became a matter of controversy the ancien régime
had ended. Guerra interprets this as affirming that the best expression of
this change was the victory of the liberal party, led by Manuel Quintana, in
the election of the deputies to the Cortes. However, this is not what Tocque-
ville meant, but rather the opposite: even the victory of the absolutist party
would not have altered the fact that from the very moment the constitution
of the nation became a matter of controversy, the ancien régime had ended.
In effect, as Halperin Donghi has shown, the very emergence of a constit-
uent power implied the collapse of the logic that articulated that discourse.
Ideas had not necessarily changed, but the logic that articulated them had.
This distinction is fundamental. It reveals the fact that changes in political
language do not refer to the ideas of the subjects, but to the kind of prob-
lems subjects find themselves confronting at any given moment. Changes in
the soil of problems, rather than in ideas, are what eventually reconfigure
the discursive field. In fact, the ideas of subjects in 1810 probably were not
very different from their ideas in 1800; however, the issues at stake had
mutated, and this altered the entire political discourse. The constitution of
the nation was a problem that could not be conceivable within the frame-
work of the political languages of the ancien régime.
We observe here the fundamental aspect that separates the kind of con-
ceptual history of independence practiced by Halperin Donghi from the
traditional approaches of the history of ideas: the conceptual processes he
analyzes are objective phenomena, independent of the will and even the
consciousness of agents. They refer to a symbolic dimension that is embed-
ded in social and political practices. As a matter of fact, every social, eco-
nomic, or political practice works on the basis of a set of assumptions and
presupposes a symbolic dimension that constitutes it. We set this dimension
in motion in the very performance of this practice, whether or not we are
conscious of how it actually works. To wit, today we are all agents in a
globalized economy; we actively participate in it, but we do not really know
how it works. And these transformations entail a conceptual dimension
that has to do with the set of implicit assumptions here at work. The same
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141