François Laruelle’s Clandestine Theology

In the years 2018 and 2019, I translated François Laruelle’s Clandestine Theology. The editors have been kind enough to allow free access to my “Translator’s Note” to this difficult book. Unlike some translator’s notes, I have foregone any huff and puff about the difficulty of translating, which is always the case, or a long list of translation quandaries and decisions, which is, perhaps, for another occasion; instead, I have offered my own response to Laruelle’s deeply personal and theoretically rich text in the small hope that this will help readers find their own way through, perhaps, even formulating their own confessions. Rarely has translating another’s work been so affecting.

The “Translator’s Note” can be found be here:

 https://www.researchgate.net/publication/359012949_Translator's_Note_to_Laruelle's_Clandestine_Theology

More information about the book can be found here:

https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/clandestine-theology-9781350104242/

This translation is dedicated to the memory of my Jewish father-in-law, Michael, who sadly passed away in the final weeks of this translation. His memory is, indeed, a blessing.

A Short Summary of Laruelle’s Clandestine Theology

Here is a short summary and evaluation of Clandestine Theology for those seeking to understand the democratic and the real collaborative spirit that underpins Laruelle’s thought by an excellent scholar, Prof Katarina Kolozova:

“Laruelle’s project of non-philosophy or non-standard philosophy is important for those philosophers that seek to integrate some of the sciences in their philosophical work or surpass the problem of philosophy’s self-sufficiency and inability to collaborate with the sciences in a more “democratic way,” to paraphrase Laruelle. Democracy of thought relates to the abandonment of the hierarchy between philosophy and the sciences, whereby philosophy assigns to itself a position of superiority. […] His latest book takes this stance to an unexpected beyond – it is a science, relying on “philosophical material,” of the phenomenon of faith. Laruelle’s method of superposition he borrows from quantum theory combined with his critique of the principle of philosophical sufficiency amounts to the “clandestine” or non-philosophical (in Laruelleian sense) theology. The “Man-of-Faith” is closer to the man of science than to the philosopher, argues Laruelle: “the call of the Man (of) faith, that is, the force that is employed to impose a new life upon beliefs, is very far from the appeal of the philosophers, and, as if through a parry or counter-blow, much closer to the scientific effort, without, importantly, being in sensu stricto positive science.” (Clandestine Theology, p. 36) In short, Laruelle’s impact on philosophy (and its relation to the sciences) is momentous and his latest book is a critical addition to the edifice of the Laruellian philosophy. Andrew Sackin-Poll’s translation is precise, elegant, conveying Laruelle’s complex though with great ease and clarity.”

Katarina Kolozova

Two Lessons on Translation

On translation generally, here are two wise remarks on translations from Lydia Davis. The first seeks to define the criteria for a good translation, the second describes its failure. 

“The quality and nature of a translation [from French] depend on at least three things: the translator’s knowledge of the French language, history, and culture; his or her conception of the task of translator; and his or her ability to write well in English. […] All three factors are vital, or at least important, but in many instances, if one has to rank them, the third – how well the translator writes expressive English – may be the most important qualification, followed closely or equalled by the second – how he or she approaches the task of translating, especially how narrowly or how liberally; it is the first that must be given last place, since minor lapses in knowledge of the language, history, and culture are, in an expertly written, generally faithful version, fairly easily corrected […] whereas a misconception of the task of the translator and, worse, an inability to write well, will doom the entire book through its every sentence.”

(Lydia Davis, Essays Two, p. 496)

“A badly written translation, we could imagine, has been abandoned in a state of transition. What is written is not natural English, it does not sound right, yet it now exists, and its very existence seems to justify it. It is certainly a translation of sorts, because it is no longer French – it is English. But it is not English as any gifted native English writer would write it.

            It could be considered an early stage of a finished good translation. It needs some rewriting, some different vocabulary choices. But often it is left at that stage, and published.”

(Lydia Davis, Essays Two, p. 489)

Kate Briggs’ This Little Art

Finally, the book that had the most significant impact on my understanding of translation was Kate Briggs’ This Little Art (Fitzcarraldo Editions, 2017). To paraphrase but one point:

as a translator, one is always a beginner and an amateur. A beginner insofar as the challenges and problems of translation are entirely unknown at the start, only revealing themselves in the act of translating. An amateur insofar as a translator is always learning, always practicing, and does so for the repeated pleasure of it (amator, ‘one who loves and loves again’, as Roland Barthes writes); like a writer or poet, then, one is never quite sure when translation becomes an ‘occupation’ or ‘profession’.

I cannot recommend this book highly enough!