Abstract
Translator’s Introduction to the EEPS Edition
Inevitably, when revisiting a work I translated many years before, I am struck by things I might have done differently. My regrets run the gamut, from nuances of meaning missed or fudged, through omissions I can no longer properly explain, to outright, face-grabbing errors. This is true of all the novels, plays, and short stories I have translated. It is also true of The Power of the Powerless. Because I’m usually my own harshest critic, I’m never dismayed when people, as several of the contributors to this volume have done, point these lapses out. On the contrary they serve, in an odd way, to confirm the basic soundness of the work.
It’s worth reminding ourselves that if the underlying work is good, its essential impact will survive even a flawed translation. Recent scholarship has revealed serious errors in the English translation of Arthur Koestler’s Darkness at Noon, but that did not prevent the work from becoming a modern classic. I could cite many more examples.
Moreover, a well-written work, like a good wine, will mature over time, to reveal nuances of meaning that neither the author nor his translator could have anticipated. Both these factors—the shortcomings and potential new interpretations—might tempt one to consider retranslating it to remove the former and enhance the latter. But in this case, I believe it’s a temptation firmly to be resisted. The Power of the Powerless derives its primal strength from its deep rootedness in its own time and circumstances. Were I, or anyone else, to attempt a new version of it now, I would worry, as one does when transplanting an already established tree, that some of its vitality might be lost.
The editors’ proposal that I provide an annotated version of the translation seemed like a better way of addressing the issues raised both by myself and by some of the contributors. My suggested alterations fall into roughly five categories:
Errors: Instances when I was dead wrong, such as translating césaropapismus as “theocracy” (II).
Omissions: Instances in which words, phrases, or references in the original are missing from the translation. For instance, a reference to the Anglo-French ecologist and philosopher Edward Goldberg was inexplicably dropped from the translation (XXI). This may have happened at the suggestion of the text’s original English-language editors, but it’s important because it indicates one of the sources of Havel’s thinking.
Alternate translations: Instances where I would wish to argue with critics of the translation. The two most important concepts in Havel’s essay are the notion of “living within a lie” (život ve lži) and its antidote, “living in (or within) the truth” (život v pravdě). Such phrases, with some variants, occur frequently in the first half of the essay, and they distill the essence of Havel’s understanding of how the “post-totalitarian” system manipulates its subjects, and how its subjects can liberate themselves. Some commentators have suggested that “life in falsehood” might be a better rendition of život ve lži. I have no quarrel with that, because it doesn’t change Havel’s underlying meaning. I would only say that “lie” has the same raw, emotional force as the Czech lež, whereas “falsehood” seems more abstract than Havel may have intended.
Also in this category are concepts that Havel has clearly borrowed from Heidegger and phenomenology. Havel makes much more extensive use of that vocabulary in his prison letters (Letters to Olga), but here he deploys two main concepts: “Being” (Bytí in Czech, Sein in Heidegger’s German) and “existence” (jsoucno in Czech). Here the problem is compounded because we are, in effect, dealing with double translations of concepts that themselves require an extensive exegesis. So, as I explain in relevant footnotes, I stand by my original choices.
Clarifications: Instances in which I feel I might have translated words more precisely, the better to reveal Havel’s underlying meaning. One example is the word bezradnost, which I translated as “ineptitude.” A better translation might have been “helplessness” or “bewilderment.”
Stylistic devices: Anyone wishing to compare my translation with the original text will notice that the translation contains far fewer words and phrases in quotation marks and far fewer italicized expressions than Havel’s original. This is deliberate. Except in certain clear cases, such as his gingerly use of the words “dissidents” and “dissent,” Havel—and this is true of Czech writing in general—makes too liberal use of such forms of emphasis. I was pleased to see that the Chicago Manual of Style, 15th edition, retroactively supported my decision by pointing out that with overuse, such devices not only lose their force, they also irritate the reader (7.49 and 7.58). Of course there are places where I may have been over-zealous, and in one case, a dropped hyphen changed the meaning of a word. In general, though, I think the text gains in strength by cutting back on some of the quotation marks and italics.
I would like to thank James Krapfl for his careful comparison of my translation with Havel’s original text, and for the fruitful “debates”—in both the Czech and the English senses of that word—we had over some of the divergences.
Like all important works of political philosophy, The Power of the Powerless will continue to merit close analysis. That will inevitably lead to stress-testing its translation as well. Ultimately, this can only lead us to a deeper appreciation of the work.