Jean-Jacques Rousseau · Complete work
Book III, Chapter 6
Book III, Chapter 6 of 49. Read it here for reference, or continue through the entire work without leaving the reader.
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De la Monarchie.
Jusqu’ici nous avons considéré le Prince comme une personne morale & collective, unie par la force des loix, & dépositaire dans l’Etat de la puissance exécutive. Nous avons maintenant à considérer cette puissance réunie entre les mains d’une personne naturelle, d’un homme réel, qui seul ait droit d’en disposer selon les loix. C’est ce qu’on appelle un Monarque ou un Roi.
Tout au contraire des autres administrations, où un être collectif représente un individu, dans celle-ci un individu représente un être collectif; en sorte que l’unité morale qui constitue le Prince est en même tems une unité physique, dans laquelle toutes les facultés que la loi réunit dans l’autre avec tant d’effort se trouvent naturellement réunies.
Ainsi la volonté du peuple, & la volonté du Prince, & la force publique de l’État, & la force particuliere du Gouvernement, tout répond au même mobile, tous les ressorts de la machine sont dans la même main, tout marche au même but, il n’y a point de mouvemens opposés qui s’entredétruisent, & l’on ne peut imaginer aucune sorte de constitution dans laquelle un moindre effort produise une action plus considérable. Archimede assis tranquilement sur le rivage & tirant sans peine à flot un grand Vaisseau, me représente un monarque habile gouvernant de son cabinet ses vastes États, & faisant tout mouvoir en paroissant immobile.
Mais s’il n’y a point de Gouvernement qui ait plus de vigueur, il n’y en a point où la volonté particuliere ait plus d’empire & domine plus aisément les autres; tout marche au même but, il est vrai; mais ce but n’est point celui de la félicité publique, & la force même de l’Administration tourne sans cesse au préjudice de l’Etat.
Les Rois veulent être absolus, & de loin on leur crie que le meilleur moyen de l’être est de se faire aimer de leurs peuples. Cette maxime est très belle, & même très vraye à certains égards. Malheureusement on s’en moquera toujours dans les Cours. La puissance qui vient de l’amour des peuples est sans doute la plus grande; mais elle est précaire & conditionnelle, jamais les Princes ne s’en contenteront. Les meilleurs Rois veulent pouvoir être méchans s’il leur plait, sans cesser d’être les maitres: Un sermoneur politique aura beau leur dire que la force du peuple étant la leur, leur plus grand intérêt est que le peuple soit florissant, nombreux, redoutable: ils savent très bien que cela n’est pas vrai. Leur intérêt personnel est premierement que le Peuple soit foible, misérable, & qu’il ne puisse jamais leur résister. J’avoue que, supposant les sujets toujours parfaitement soumis, l’intérêt du Prince seroit alors que le peuple fut puissant, afin que cette puissance étant sienne le rendit rédoutable à ses voisins; mais comme cet intérêt n’est que secondaire & subordonné, & que les deux suppositions sont incompatibles, il est naturel que les Princes donnent toujours la préférence à la maxime qui leur est le plus immédiatement utile. C’est ce que Samuël représentoit fortement aux Hébreux; c’est ce que Machiavel a fait voir avec évidence. En feignant de donner des leçons aux Rois il en a donné de grandes aux peuples. Le Prince de Machiavel est le livre des républicains.
Nous avons trouvé, par les rapports généraux que la monarchie n’est convenable qu’aux grands États, & nous le trouvons encore en l’examinant en elle-même. Plus l’administration publique est nombreuse, plus le rapport du Prince aux sujets diminue & s’approche de l’égalité, en sorte que ce rapport est un ou l’égalité-même dans la Démocratie. Ce même rapport augmente à mésure que le Gouvernement se resserre, & il est dans son maximum quand le Gouvernement est dans les mains d’un seul. Alors il se trouve une trop grande distance entre le Prince & le Peuple, & l’État manque de liaison. Pour la former il faut donc des ordres intermédiaires: Il faut des Princes, des Grands, de la noblesse pour les remplir. Or rien de tout cela ne convient à un petit État, que ruinent tous ces degrés.
Mais s’il est difficile qu’un grand État soit bien gouverné, il l’est beaucoup plus qu’il soit bien gouverné par un seul homme, & chacun sait ce qu’il arrive quand le Roi se donne des substituts.
Un defaut essenciel & inévitable, qui mettra toujours le gouvernement monarchique au dessous du républicain, est que dans celui-ci la voix publique n’éleve presque jamais aux premieres places que des hommes éclairés & capables, qui les remplissent avec honneur: au lieu que ceux qui parviennent dans les monarchies ne sont le plus souvent que de petits brouillons, de petits fripons, de petits intrigans, à qui les petits talens qui font dans les Cours parvenir aux grandes places, ne servent qu’à montrer au public leur ineptie aussi-tôt qu’ils y sont parvenus. Le peuple se trompe bien moins sur ce choix que le Prince, & un homme d’un vrai mérite est presque aussi rare dans le ministere, qu’un sot à la tête d’un gouvernement républicain. Aussi, quand par quelque heureux hazard un de ces hommes nés pour gouverner prend le timon des affaires dans une Monarchie presque abimée par ces tas de jolis régisseurs, on est tout surpris des ressources qu’il trouve, & cela fait époque dans un pays.
Pour qu’un État monarchique put être bien gouverné, il faudroit que sa grandeur ou son étendue fut mésurée aux facultés de celui qui gouverne. Il est plus aisé de conquérir que de régir. Avec un levier suffisant, d’un doigt on peut ébranler le monde, mais pour le soutenir il faut les épaules d’Hercule. Pour peu qu’un État soit grand, le Prince est presque toujours trop petit. Quand, au contraire il arrive que l’État est trop petit pour son chef, ce qui est très rare, il est encore mal gouverné, parce que le chef, suivant toujours la grandeur de ses vues, oublie les intérêts des peuples, & ne les rend pas moins malheureux par l’abus des talens qu’il a de trop, qu’un chef borné par le défaut de ceux qui lui manquent. Il faudroit, pour ainsi dire, qu’un royaume s’étendit ou se resserrât à chaque regne selon la portée du Prince; au lieu que les talens d’un Sénat ayant des mésures plus fixes, l’État peut avoir des bornes constantes & l’administration n’aller pas moins bien.
Le plus sensible inconvénient du Gouvernement d’un seul est le défaut de cette succession continuelle qui forme dans les deux autres une liaison non interrompue. Un Roi mort, il en faut un autre; les élections laissent des intervalles dangereux, elles sont orageuses, & à moins que les Citoyens ne soient d’un désintéressement, d’une intégrité que ce Gouvernement ne comporte gueres, la brigue & la corruption s’en mêlent. Il est difficile que celui à qui l’Etat s’est vendu ne le vende pas à son tour, & ne se dédommage pas sur les foibles de l’argent que les puissans lui ont extorqué. Tôt ou tard tout devient venal sous une pareille administration, & la paix dont on jouit alors sous les rois, est pire que le désordre des interregnes.
Qu’a-t-on fait pour prévenir ces maux? On a rendu les Couronnes héréditaires dans certaines familles, & l’on a établi un ordre de Succession qui prévient toute dispute à la mort des Rois: C’est-à-dire que, substituant l’inconvénient des régences à celui des élections, on a préféré une apparente tranquillité à une administration sage, & qu’on a mieux aimé risquer d’avoir pour chefs des enfans, des monstres, des imbéciles, que d’avoir à disputer sur le choix des bons Rois; on n’a pas considéré qu’en s’exposant ainsi aux risques de l’alternative on met presque toutes les chances contre soi. C’étoit un mot très-sensé que celui du jeune Denis, à qui son pere en lui reprochant une action honteuse, disoit, t’en ai-je donné l’exemple? Ah, répondit le fils, votre pere n’étoit pas roi!
Tout concourt à priver de justice & de raison un homme élevé pour commander aux autres. On prend beaucoup de peine, à ce qu’on dit, pour enseigner aux jeunes Princes l’art de regner; il ne paroit pas que cette éducation leur profite. On feroit mieux de commencer par leur enseigner l’art d’obéir. Les plus grands rois qu’ait célébrés l’histoire n’ont point été élevés pour regner; c’est une science qu’on ne possede jamais moins qu’après l’avoir trop apprise, & qu’on acquiert mieux en obéissant qu’en commandant. Nam utilissimus idem ac brevissimus bonarum malarumque rerum delectus, cogitare quid aut nolueris sub alio Principe aut volueris.
Une suite de ce défaut de cohérence est l’inconstance du gouvernement royal qui, se réglant tantôt sur un plan & tantôt sur un autre selon le caractere du Prince qui regne ou des gens qui regnent pour lui, ne peut avoir longtems un objet fixe ni une conduite conséquente: variation qui rend toujours l’Etat flottant de maxime en maxime, de projet en projet, & qui n’a pas lieu dans les autres Gouvernemens où le Prince est toujours le même. Aussi voit-on qu’en général, s’il y a plus de ruse dans une Cour, il y a plus de sagesse dans un Sénat, & que les Républiques vont à leurs fins par des vues plus constantes & mieux suivies, au lieu que chaque révolution dans le Ministere en produit une dans l’Etat; la maxime commune à tous les Ministres, & presque à tous les Rois, étant de prendre en toute chose le contrepied de leur prédécesseur.
De cette même incohérence se tire encore la solution d’un sophisme très familier aux politiques royaux; c’est, non seulement de comparer le Gouvernement civil au Gouvernement domestique & le prince au pere de famille, erreur déjà réfutée, mais encore de donner libéralement à ce magistrat toutes les vertus dont il auroit besoin, & de supposer toujours que le Prince est ce qu’il devroit être: supposition à l’aide de laquelle le Gouvernement royal est évidemment préférable à tout autre, parce qu’il est incontestablement le plus fort, & que pour être aussi le meilleur il ne lui manque qu’une volonté du corps plus conforme à la volonté générale.
Mais si selon Platon le roi par nature est un personnage si rare, combien de fois la nature & la fortune concourront-elles à le couronner, & si l’éducation royale corrompt nécessairement ceux qui la reçoivent, que doit-on espérer d’une suite d’hommes élevés pour regner? C’est donc bien vouloir s’abuser que de confondre le Gouvernement royal avec celui d’un bon Roi. Pour voir ce qu’est ce Gouvernement en lui-même, il faut le considérer sous des Princes bornés ou méchans; car ils arriveront tels au Trône, ou le Trône les rendra tels.
Ces difficultés n’ont pas échappé à nos Auteurs, mais ils n’en sont point embarrassés. Le remede est, disent-ils, d’obéir sans murmure. Dieu donne les mauvais Rois dans sa colére, & il les faut supporter comme des châtimens du Ciel. Ce discours est édifiant, sans doute; mais je ne sais s’il ne conviendroit pas mieux en chaire que dans un livre de politique. Que dire d’un Medecin qui promet des miracles, & dont tout l’art est d’exhorter son malade à la patience? On sait bien qu’il faut souffrir un mauvais Gouvernement quand on l’a; la question seroit d’en trouver un bon.
Musean translation
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the complete French text of the 1762 edition, all four books and the appendix for fidelity, the author’s force and cadence, and modern clarity.
On Monarchy
Until now we have considered the prince as a corporate and collective person, united by the force of the laws and holding the executive power of the state in trust. We must now consider this power gathered into the hands of a natural person, a real man who alone has the right to exercise it according to the laws. This is what we call a monarch or king.
Quite contrary to other administrations, where a collective being represents an individual, here an individual represents a collective being. Thus the moral unity that constitutes the prince is at the same time a physical unity, in which all the faculties that the law brings together elsewhere with so much effort are united by nature.
So the will of the people, the will of the prince, the public force of the state, and the particular force of the government all answer to the same impulse; all the springs of the machine are in the same hand; everything moves toward the same end; there are no opposing movements to cancel each other out; and one cannot imagine any constitution in which less effort produces greater action. Archimedes seated quietly on the shore and effortlessly drawing a great ship afloat brings to my mind a skillful monarch governing vast states from his study, setting everything in motion while seeming himself motionless.
But if no government has greater vigor, neither does any give the particular will greater sway or allow it more easily to dominate the rest. Everything moves toward the same end, it is true; but that end is not the public good, and the very force of the administration turns continually against the state.
Kings want absolute power, and people call out to them from afar that the surest way to gain it is to make their peoples love them. This maxim is very fine, and in some respects very true. Unfortunately it will always be laughed at in courts. Power that comes from the people's love is no doubt the greatest; but it is precarious and conditional, and princes will never be content with it. The best kings want to be free to do wrong if they please, without ceasing to be masters. A political preacher may tell them in vain that, since the strength of the people is their own, their greatest interest lies in a flourishing, populous, formidable people: they know perfectly well that this is not true. Their personal interest is, first of all, that the people should be weak and wretched and never able to resist them. I admit that, assuming the subjects always remain perfectly submissive, it would then be in the prince's interest for the people to be powerful, so that their power, being his, would make him formidable to his neighbors. But since this interest is secondary and subordinate, and the two assumptions are incompatible, it is natural for princes always to prefer the maxim that serves them most immediately. This is what Samuel impressed upon the Hebrews; this is what Machiavelli made plain. By pretending to give lessons to kings, he gave great lessons to peoples. Machiavelli's The Prince is the book of republicans.
We found from the general relations that monarchy is suited only to large states, and examining it in itself brings us to the same conclusion. The more numerous the public administration, the smaller the ratio of prince to subjects and the nearer it comes to equality, so that in democracy this ratio is one, or equality itself. The same ratio increases as the government becomes more concentrated, reaching its maximum when government is in the hands of one man. Then the distance between prince and people is too great, and the state lacks cohesion. To create it, intermediate ranks are needed: princes, great lords, and nobles to fill them. But none of this suits a small state, which all these levels would ruin.
Yet if a large state is hard to govern well, it is much harder for one man to govern it well, and everyone knows what happens when the king appoints deputies.
One essential and inevitable defect, which will always set monarchical government below republican government, is that in the latter the public voice almost never raises to the highest offices anyone but enlightened and capable men, who fill them with honor. In monarchies, by contrast, those who rise are most often petty meddlers, petty rogues, petty schemers, whose petty talents may win them high office at court but only expose their ineptitude to the public once they get there. The people make far fewer mistakes in their choice than the prince, and a man of true merit is almost as rare in a ministry as a fool at the head of a republican government. Thus, when by some happy chance one of these men born to govern takes the helm in a monarchy nearly ruined by hordes of polished managers, everyone is amazed at the resources he discovers, and his arrival marks an epoch in that country.
For a monarchical state to be well governed, its size or extent would have to be measured against the abilities of the man who governs it. It is easier to conquer than to rule. With a long enough lever one can move the world with a finger; but to support it takes the shoulders of Hercules. The least enlargement of a state almost always makes its prince too small. If, conversely, the state happens to be too small for its chief, which is very rare, it is still ill governed, because the chief, always pursuing the grandeur of his designs, forgets the interests of the peoples and makes them no less unhappy by misusing his surplus talents than a limited chief does for want of the talents he lacks. A kingdom would have, so to speak, to expand or contract with every reign according to the prince's capacities; whereas the talents of a senate, being more stable in measure, allow the state to keep fixed boundaries without any loss in the quality of its administration.
The most conspicuous drawback of rule by one is the lack of that continuous succession which forms an unbroken connection in the other two forms. When one king dies, another is needed; elections leave dangerous intervals and are turbulent. Unless the citizens possess a disinterestedness and integrity scarcely compatible with this government, canvassing and corruption intervene. It is hard for a man to whom the state has sold itself not to sell it in his turn, and not to recoup from the weak the money the powerful have extorted from him. Sooner or later everything becomes saleable under such an administration, and the peace enjoyed under kings is worse than the turmoil of interregnums.
What has been done to prevent these evils? Crowns have been made hereditary within certain families, and a line of succession established to prevent any dispute at the death of kings. That is, the drawbacks of regencies have been substituted for those of elections; an apparent calm has been preferred to wise administration; people have chosen to risk children, monsters, and imbeciles as their chiefs rather than dispute the choice of good kings. They have failed to consider that by exposing themselves to the risks of this alternative they place almost every chance against themselves. There was great sense in the young Dionysius's reply when his father reproached him for a shameful action and said, “Did I set you that example?” “Ah,” answered the son, “your father was not a king!”
Everything conspires to rob a man raised to command others of justice and reason. Great pains, we are told, are taken to teach young princes the art of reigning; this education does not seem to profit them. It would be better to begin by teaching them the art of obeying. The greatest kings celebrated by history were not raised to reign. No science is possessed less securely than after one has studied it too much; and this one is learned better through obedience than command. “For the most useful and shortest way to discern good from evil is to ask yourself what you would or would not have wished under another prince.”
One consequence of this lack of continuity is the inconstancy of royal government. Following one plan and then another according to the character of the reigning prince or of those who reign for him, it cannot long keep a fixed object or a consistent course. This variation leaves the state forever drifting from maxim to maxim, from project to project; it does not occur in other governments, where the prince remains always the same. Thus we see that, in general, while there is more cunning in a court, there is more wisdom in a senate; republics pursue their ends with more constant and sustained designs, whereas every change in the ministry brings a change in the state, since the maxim common to all ministers and almost all kings is to do in every matter the opposite of their predecessor.
The same inconsistency also resolves a fallacy very familiar to advocates of monarchy. They not only compare civil government to domestic government and the prince to the head of a household—an error already refuted—but also freely endow that magistrate with all the virtues he would need and always assume that the prince is what he ought to be. With this assumption royal government is plainly preferable to every other: it is unquestionably the strongest, and to be the best it lacks only a corporate will more closely aligned with the general will.
But if, according to Plato, a king by nature is such a rare character, how often will nature and fortune join to crown him? And if a royal education necessarily corrupts its recipients, what can we expect from a succession of men raised to reign? It is willful self-deception to confuse royal government with the government of a good king. To see what this government is in itself, we must consider it under limited or wicked princes, for they will either come to the throne that way or be made so by it.
These difficulties have not escaped our authors, but they are untroubled by them. The remedy, they say, is to obey without a murmur. God sends bad kings in his wrath, and they must be borne as punishments from Heaven. Such words are edifying, no doubt; but I wonder whether they would not be more fitting in a pulpit than in a book on politics. What should we say of a doctor who promises miracles but whose whole art consists of exhorting his patient to patience? We know well enough that a bad government must be endured once we have it; the question is how to find a good one.
Plain English translation
Mouseia’s complete Plain English edition, made independently and directly from the complete French text of the 1762 edition, all four books and the appendix.
On monarchy.
So far we have considered the prince as a collective person, united by the force of the laws and entrusted with executive power in the state. Now we must consider that power placed in the hands of a natural person: a real man who alone has the right to use it according to the laws. He is called a monarch or a king.
In the other forms of administration, a collective being represents an individual. In this one, an individual represents a collective being. The collective unity that makes up the prince is therefore also a physical unity. All the abilities that the law works so hard to bring together in the other form are brought together naturally in this one.
Thus the will of the people, the will of the prince, the state's public force, and the government's particular force all respond to the same impulse. All the parts of the machine are in the same hand, and everything moves toward the same goal. No opposing movements cancel each other out. We cannot imagine another kind of constitution where less effort produces more action. Archimedes sitting calmly on the shore and pulling a great ship afloat with ease reminds me of a skilled monarch who governs his vast states from his office. He sets everything in motion while appearing not to move.
But while no government has more energy, none lets the particular will hold more power or dominate the others more easily. Everything moves toward the same goal, it is true. But that goal is not public happiness. The strength of the administration itself constantly works against the state.
Kings want absolute power. People call out to them from a distance that the best way to get it is to earn their peoples' love. This is a fine rule, and even true in some respects. Unfortunately it will always be laughed at in royal courts. The power that comes from the people's love is surely the greatest, but it is uncertain and conditional. Princes will never be content with it. Even the best kings want to be able to act badly if they please and still remain masters. A political preacher may tell them over and over that the people's strength is their own, and that their greatest interest is to have a thriving, numerous, formidable people. They know very well that this is not true. Their first personal interest is to keep the people weak, miserable, and unable ever to resist them. I admit that if subjects always remained perfectly obedient, a prince would then benefit from having a powerful people, since their power would be his and would make him formidable to his neighbors. But that interest is only secondary and subordinate, and the two assumptions cannot both hold. So princes naturally always choose the rule that serves them most directly. This is what Samuel explained forcefully to the Hebrews, and what Machiavelli clearly showed. By pretending to teach kings, he gave great lessons to peoples. Machiavelli's The Prince is the book of republicans.
We found from the general relationships that monarchy suits only large states. Looking at it directly leads us to the same conclusion. The more members the public administration has, the smaller the ratio of the prince to the subjects becomes and the closer it comes to equality. In democracy this ratio is one, or equality itself. The ratio rises as the government is concentrated, reaching its highest point when the government is in one person's hands. Then the distance between the prince and the people is too great, and the state lacks a link between them. Intermediate ranks are needed to create one: princes, great lords, and nobles must fill those ranks. But none of these suits a small state; all those levels would ruin it.
Yet if governing a large state well is difficult, governing it well through one man is much more difficult. Everyone knows what happens when a king appoints substitutes.
One basic and unavoidable defect will always put monarchy below republican government. In a republic, public opinion almost never raises anyone to the highest offices except capable, knowledgeable people who fill those offices honorably. In monarchies, those who rise are usually petty meddlers, petty crooks, and petty schemers. The small talents that bring them high offices at court only show the public how incompetent they are once they get there. The people make far fewer mistakes in choosing than the prince does. A truly capable man is almost as rare in a monarchy's ministry as a fool at the head of a republican government. So when, by some lucky chance, one of these men born to govern takes charge in a monarchy nearly ruined by swarms of clever little managers, everyone is astonished by the resources he finds. It marks an era in the country.
For a monarchical state to be well governed, its size or extent would have to match the abilities of its ruler. Conquest is easier than governing. With a lever long enough, one finger could shake the world, but it takes the shoulders of Hercules to hold it up. If a state is at all large, the prince is almost always too small for it. When, on the other hand, the state is too small for its ruler, which is very rare, it is still badly governed. The ruler follows his grand ambitions and forgets the people's interests. His excess talents, misused, make them no less miserable than a limited ruler makes them through the talents he lacks. A kingdom would have to grow or shrink, so to speak, with every reign according to the prince's abilities. A senate's abilities are more stable. A state can therefore have fixed borders and still be governed just as well.
The most obvious drawback of one-person government is the lack of continuous succession that provides an unbroken link in the other two forms. When a king dies, another is needed. Elections leave dangerous gaps and bring turmoil. Unless the citizens have a selflessness and integrity rarely found under this government, campaigning and corruption enter the process. A man to whom the state has sold itself is likely to sell it in turn, and to recover from the weak the money that the powerful have extorted from him. Sooner or later everything is for sale under such an administration. The peace then enjoyed under kings is worse than the disorder between reigns.
What has been done to prevent these evils? Crowns have been made hereditary in certain families, and an order of succession has been set up to prevent disputes when kings die. In other words, regencies have replaced the trouble of elections. An appearance of calm has been preferred to wise administration. People have preferred the risk of child rulers, monsters, and fools to arguing over the choice of good kings. They have not considered that by taking the risks of this alternative, they have stacked almost all the odds against themselves. The young Denis made a very sensible reply when his father reproached him for a shameful act and asked, "Did I set you that example?" The son answered, "Ah, your father was not a king!"
Everything conspires to rob a man raised to command others of justice and reason. We are told that much effort goes into teaching young princes how to reign. This education does not seem to do them any good. It would be better to begin by teaching them how to obey. The greatest kings celebrated by history were not raised to reign. Ruling is a skill that excessive study makes one less able to practice, and one learns it better by obeying than by commanding. For the most useful and shortest way to tell good things from bad is to consider what you would have wanted, or not wanted, under another prince.
One consequence of this lack of continuity is the inconsistency of royal government. It follows one plan and then another, according to the character of the reigning prince or of those who rule for him. It cannot keep one fixed goal or follow a consistent policy for long. This variation sends the state drifting from principle to principle and project to project. It does not happen in other governments, where the prince always remains the same. We see, in general, that though a court has more cunning, a senate has more wisdom. Republics pursue their goals with steadier plans and follow them more consistently. But every change in a monarchy's ministers brings a change in the state. Almost all ministers and kings share the rule of doing the opposite of their predecessor in everything.
This same inconsistency also exposes a favorite false argument of defenders of kings. They compare civil government with household government and the prince with the head of a family—an error already refuted. They also freely give the ruler every virtue he would need, always assuming the prince is what he ought to be. On this assumption royal government is plainly preferable to every other kind, because it is undeniably the strongest. To be the best as well, it needs only a will of the governing body more in line with the general will.
But if, as Plato says, a natural-born king is so rare, how often will nature and fortune join forces to crown one? And if a royal upbringing necessarily corrupts those who receive it, what can we hope from a series of men raised to reign? It is plainly self-deception to confuse royal government with the government of a good king. To see what this government is in itself, we must consider it under limited or wicked princes. Either they will come to the throne that way, or the throne will make them that way.
Our authors have not missed these difficulties, but they are not troubled by them. The remedy, they say, is to obey without complaint. God gives us bad kings in his anger, and we must bear them as punishments from heaven. This is edifying talk, no doubt. But I wonder if it belongs in a sermon rather than a book about politics. What would we say of a doctor who promises miracles but whose entire skill consists of urging his patient to be patient? Of course we know that we must bear a bad government when we have one. The question is how to find a good one.