Jean-Jacques Rousseau · Complete work
Part Two, 4
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Quant à l’autorité paternelle dont plusieurs on fait dériver le gouvernement absolu et toute la société, sans recourir aux preuves contraires de Locke et de Sidney, il suffit de remarquer que rien au monde n’est plus éloigné de l’esprit féroce du despotisme que la douceur de cette autorité qui regarde plus à l’avantage de celui qui obéit qu’à l’utilité de celui qui commande; que par la loi de nature le père n’est le maître de l’enfant qu’aussi longtemps que son secours lui est nécessaire, qu’au-delà de ce terme ils deviennent égaux et qu’alors le fils, parfaitement indépendant du père, ne lui doit que du respect, et non de l’obéissance; car la reconnaissance est bien un devoir qu’il faut rendre, mais non pas un droit qu’on puisse exiger. Au lieu de dire que la société civile dérive du pouvoir paternel, il fallait dire au contraire que c’est d’elle que ce pouvoir tire sa principale force: un individu ne fut reconnu pour le père de plusieurs que quand ils restèrent assemblés autour de lui. Les biens du père, dont il est véritablement le maître, sont les liens qui retiennent ses enfants dans sa dépendance, et il peut ne leur donner part à sa succession qu’à proportion qu’ils auront bien mérité de lui par une continuelle déférence à ses volontés. Or, loin que les sujets aient quelque faveur semblable à attendre de leur despote, comme ils lui appartiennent en propre, eux et tout ce qu’ils possèdent, ou du moins qu’il le prétend ainsi, ils sont réduits à recevoir comme une faveur ce qu’il leur laisse de leur propre bien; il fait justice quand il les dépouille; il fait grâce quand il les laisse vivre.
En continuant d’examiner ainsi les faits par le droit, on ne trouverait pas plus de solidité que de vérité dans l’établissement volontaire de la tyrannie, et il serait difficile de montrer la validité d’un contrat qui n’obligerait qu’une des parties, où l’on mettrait tout d’un côté et rien de l’autre et qui ne tournerait qu’au préjudice de celui qui s’engage. Ce système odieux est bien éloigné d’être même aujourd’hui celui des sages et bons monarques, et surtout des rois de France, comme on peut le voir en divers endroits de leurs édits et en particulier dans le passage suivant d’un écrit célèbre, publié en 1667, au nom et par les ordres de Louis XIV: Qu’on ne dise donc point que le souverain ne soit pas sujet aux lois de son État, puisque la proposition contraire est une vérité du droit des gens que la flatterie a quelquefois attaquée, mais que les bons princes ont toujours défendue comme une divinité tutélaire de leurs États. Combien est-il plus légitime de dire avec le sage Platon que la parfaite félicité d’un royaume est qu’un prince soit obéi de ses sujets, que le prince obéisse à la loi, et que la loi soit droite et toujours dirigée au bien public. Je ne m’arrêterai point à rechercher si, la liberté étant la plus noble des facultés de l’homme, ce n’est pas dégrader sa nature, se mettre au niveau des bêtes esclaves de l’instinct, offenser même l’auteur de son être, que de renoncer sans réserve au plus précieux de tous ses dons, que de se soumettre à commettre tous les crimes qu’il nous défend, pour complaire à un maître féroce ou insensé, et si cet ouvrier sublime doit être plus irrité de voir détruire que déshonorer son plus bel ouvrage. Je demanderai seulement de quel droit ceux qui n’ont pas craint de s’avilir eux-mêmes jusqu’à ce point ont pu soumettre leur postérité à la même ignominie, et renoncer pour elle à des biens qu’elle ne tient point de leur libéralité, et sans lesquels la vie même est onéreuse à tous ceux qui en sont dignes?
Pufendorf dit que, tout de même qu’on transfère son bien à autrui par des conventions et des contrats, on peut aussi se dépouiller de sa liberté en faveur de quelqu’un. C’est là, ce me semble, un fort mauvais raisonnement; car premièrement le bien que j’aliène me devient une chose tout à fait étrangère, et dont l’abus m’est indifférent, mais il m’importe qu’on n’abuse point de ma liberté, et je ne puis sans me rendre coupable du mal qu’on me forcera de faire, m’exposer à devenir l’instrument du crime. De plus, le droit de propriété n’étant que de convention et d’institution humaine, tout homme peut à son gré disposer de ce qu’il possède: mais il n’en est pas de même des dons essentiels de la nature, tels que la vie et la liberté, dont il est permis à chacun de jouir et dont il est moins douteux qu’on ait droit de se dépouiller. En s’ôtant l’une on dégrade son être; en s’ôtant l’autre on l’anéantit autant qu’il est en soi; et comme nul bien temporel ne peut dédommager de l’une et de l’autre, ce serait offenser à la fois la nature et la raison que d’y renoncer à quelque prix que ce fût. Mais quand on pourrait aliéner sa liberté comme ses biens, la différence serait très grande pour les enfants qui ne jouissent des biens du père que par transmission de son droit, au lieu que, la liberté étant un don qu’ils tiennent de la nature en qualité d’hommes, leurs parents n’ont eu aucun droit de les en dépouiller; de sorte que comme pour établir l’esclavage, il a fallu faire violence à la nature, il a fallu la changer pour perpétuer ce droit, et les jurisconsultes qui ont gravement prononcé que l’enfant d’une esclave naîtrait esclave ont décidé en d’autres termes qu’un homme ne naîtrait pas homme.
Il me paraît donc certain que non seulement les gouvernements n’ont point commencé par le pouvoir arbitraire, qui n’en est que la corruption, le terme extrême, et qui les ramène enfin à la seule loi du plus fort dont ils furent d’abord le remède, mais encore que, quand même ils auraient ainsi commencé, ce pouvoir, étant par sa nature illégitime, n’a pu servir de fondement aux droits de la société, ni par conséquent à l’inégalité d’institution.
Sans entrer aujourd’hui dans les recherches qui sont encore à faire sur la nature du pacte fondamental de tout gouvernement, je me borne en suivant l’opinion commune à considérer ici l’établissement du corps politique comme un vrai contrat entre le peuple et les chefs qu’il se choisit, contrat par lequel les deux parties s’obligent à l’observation des lois qui y sont stipulées et qui forment les liens de leur union. Le peuple ayant, au sujet des relations sociales, réuni toutes ses volontés en une seule, tous les articles sur lesquels cette volonté s’explique deviennent autant de lois fondamentales qui obligent tous les membres de l’État sans exception, et l’une desquelles règle le choix et le pouvoir des magistrats chargés de veiller à l’exécution des autres. Ce pouvoir s’étend à tout ce qui peut maintenir la constitution, sans aller jusqu’à la changer. On y joint des honneurs qui rendent respectables les lois et leurs ministres, et pour ceux-ci personnellement des prérogatives qui les dédommagent des pénibles travaux que coûte une bonne administration. Le magistrat, de son côté, s’oblige à n’user du pouvoir qui lui est confié que selon l’intention des commettants, à maintenir chacun dans la paisible jouissance de ce qui lui appartient et à préférer en toute occasion l’utilité publique à son propre intérêt. Avant que l’expérience eût montré, ou que la connaissance du cœur humain eût fait prévoir les abus inévitables d’une telle constitution, elle dut paraître d’autant meilleure que ceux qui étaient chargés de veiller à sa conservation y étaient eux-mêmes le plus intéressés; car la magistrature et ses droits n’étant établis que sur les lois fondamentales, aussitôt qu’elles seraient détruites, les magistrats cesseraient d’être légitimes, le peuple ne serait plus tenu de leur obéir, et comme ce n’aurait pas été le magistrat, mais la loi qui aurait constitué l’essence de l’État, chacun rentrerait de droit dans sa liberté naturelle.
Pour peu qu’on y réfléchît attentivement, ceci se confirmerait par de nouvelles raisons et par la nature du contrat on verrait qu’il ne saurait être irrévocable: car s’il n’y avait point de pouvoir supérieur qui pût être garant de la fidélité des contractants, ni les forcer à remplir leurs engagements réciproques, les parties demeureraient seules juges dans leur propre cause et chacune d’elles aurait toujours le droit de renoncer au contrat, sitôt qu’elle trouverait que l’autre en enfreint les conditions ou qu’elles cesseraient de lui convenir. C’est sur ce principe qu’il semble que le droit d’abdiquer peut être fondé. Or, à ne considérer, comme nous faisons, que l’institution humaine, si le magistrat qui a tout le pouvoir en main et qui s’approprie tous les avantages du contrat, avait pourtant le droit de renoncer à l’autorité; à plus forte raison le peuple, qui paye toutes les fautes des chefs, devrait avoir le droit de renoncer à la dépendance. Mais les dissensions affreuses, les désordres infinis qu’entraînerait nécessairement ce dangereux pouvoir, montrent plus que toute autre chose combien les gouvernements humains avaient besoin d’une base plus solide que la seule raison et combien il était nécessaire au repos public que la volonté divine intervînt pour donner à l’autorité souveraine un caractère sacré et inviolable qui ôtât aux sujets le funeste droit d’en disposer. Quand la religion n’aurait fait que ce bien aux hommes, c’en serait assez pour qu’ils dussent tous la chérir et l’adopter, même avec ses abus, puisqu’elle épargne encore plus de sang que le fanatisme n’en fait couler: mais suivons le fil de notre hypothèse. Les diverses formes des gouvernements tirent leur origine des différences plus ou moins grandes qui se trouvèrent entre les particuliers au moment de l’institution. Un homme était-il éminent en pouvoir, en vertu, en richesses ou en crédit? il fut seul élu magistrat, et l’État devint monarchique; si plusieurs à peu près égaux entre eux l’emportaient sur tous les autres, ils furent élus conjointement, et l’on eut une aristocratie. Ceux dont la fortune ou les talents étaient moins disproportionnés et qui s’étaient le moins éloignés de l’état de nature gardèrent en commun l’administration suprême et formèrent une démocratie. Le temps vérifia laquelle de ces formes était la plus avantageuse aux hommes. Les uns restèrent uniquement soumis aux lois, les autres obéirent bientôt à des maîtres. Les citoyens voulurent garder leur liberté, les sujets ne songèrent qu’à l’ôter à leurs voisins, ne pouvant souffrir que d’autres jouissent d’un bien dont ils ne jouissaient plus eux-mêmes. En un mot, d’un côté furent les richesses et les conquêtes, et de l’autre le bonheur et la vertu.
Dans ces divers gouvernements, toutes les magistratures furent d’abord électives, et quand la richesse ne l’emportait pas, la préférence était accordée au mérite qui donne un ascendant naturel et à l’âge qui donne l’expérience dans les affaires et le sang-froid dans les délibérations. Les anciens des Hébreux, les Gérontes de Sparte, le Sénat de Rome, et l’étymologie même de notre mot Seigneur montrent combien autrefois la vieillesse était respectée. Plus les élections tombaient sur des hommes avancés en âge, plus elles devenaient fréquentes, et plus leurs embarras se faisaient sentir; les brigues s’introduisirent, les factions se formèrent, les partis s’aigrirent, les guerres civiles s’allumèrent, enfin le sang des citoyens fut sacrifié au prétendu bonheur de l’État, et l’on fut à la veille de retomber dans l’anarchie des temps antérieurs. L’ambition des principaux profita de ces circonstances pour perpétuer leurs charges dans leurs familles: le peuple déjà accoutumé à la dépendance, au repos et aux commodités de la vie, et déjà hors d’état de briser ses fers, consentit à laisser augmenter sa servitude pour affermir sa tranquillité et c’est ainsi que les chefs devenus héréditaires s’accoutumèrent à regarder leur magistrature comme un bien de famille, à se regarder eux-mêmes comme les propriétaires de l’État dont ils n’étaient d’abord que les officiers, à appeler leurs concitoyens leurs esclaves, à les compter comme du bétail au nombre des choses qui leur appartenaient et à s’appeler eux-mêmes égaux aux dieux et rois des rois.
Si nous suivons le progrès de l’inégalité dans ces différentes révolutions, nous trouverons que l’établissement de la loi et du droit de propriété fut son premier terme; l’institution de la magistrature le second, que le troisième et dernier fut le changement du pouvoir légitime en pouvoir arbitraire; en sorte que l’état de riche et de pauvre fut autorisé par la première époque, celui de puissant et de faible par la seconde, et par la troisième celui de maître et d’esclave, qui est le dernier degré de l’inégalité, et le terme auquel aboutissent enfin tous les autres, jusqu’à ce que de nouvelles révolutions dissolvent tout à fait le gouvernement, ou le rapprochent de l’institution légitime.
Pour comprendre la nécessité de ce progrès il faut moins considérer les motifs de l’établissement du corps politique que la forme qu’il prend dans son exécution et les inconvénients qu’il entraîne après lui: car les vices qui rendent nécessaires les institutions sociales sont les mêmes qui en rendent l’abus inévitable; et comme, excepté la seule Sparte, où la loi veillait principalement à l’éducation des enfants et où Lycurgue établit des mœurs qui le dispensaient presque d’y ajouter des lois, les lois en général moins fortes que les passions contiennent les hommes sans les changer; il serait aisé de prouver que tout gouvernement qui, sans se corrompre ni s’altérer, marcherait toujours exactement selon la fin de son institution, aurait été institué sans nécessité, et qu’un pays où personne n’éluderait les lois et n’abuserait de la magistrature, n’aurait besoin ni de magistrats ni de lois.
Musean translation
Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the complete French text (dedicatory epistle, preface, both parts and the notes) for fidelity, the author’s force and cadence, and modern clarity.
As for paternal authority, from which several writers have derived absolute government and all society, there is no need to invoke the contrary proofs of Locke and Sidney. It is enough to observe that nothing in the world is further from the ferocious spirit of despotism than the gentleness of that authority, which attends more to the advantage of the one who obeys than to the benefit of the one who commands; that by the law of nature a father is master of his child only so long as the child needs his help; that beyond this point they become equals, and the son, now wholly independent of his father, owes him respect alone, not obedience. Gratitude is indeed a duty to be rendered, but not a right that can be demanded. Instead of saying that civil society derives from paternal power, one ought, on the contrary, to say that paternal power draws its chief strength from civil society: a man was recognized as father of several children only when they remained gathered around him. The father’s goods, of which he truly is master, are the bonds that hold his children in dependence on him; he can give them a share in his estate only in proportion to their having earned it by continual deference to his wishes. Subjects, far from expecting any such favor from their despot, belong to him outright, themselves and all they possess—or so, at least, he claims. They are reduced to accepting as a favor whatever he leaves them of their own goods; he does them justice when he strips them of their property, and grants them mercy when he lets them live.
If we go on examining the facts in this way by the measure of right, we shall find no more validity than truth in the voluntary establishment of tyranny. It would be hard to demonstrate the validity of a contract binding only one party, placing everything on one side and nothing on the other, and working solely to the detriment of the one who undertakes it. This odious system is far from being, even today, the system of wise and good monarchs, above all the kings of France, as can be seen in several passages of their edicts and particularly in the following passage from a celebrated work published in 1667 in the name of and by order of Louis XIV: “Let no one say, then, that the sovereign is not subject to the laws of his State, since the contrary proposition is a truth of the law of nations which flattery has sometimes attacked, but which good princes have always defended as a tutelary divinity of their States. How much more rightful it is to say, with the wise Plato, that the perfect happiness of a kingdom lies in a prince being obeyed by his subjects, the prince obeying the law, and the law being just and always directed toward the public good.” I will not stop to ask whether, since liberty is man’s noblest faculty, to renounce without reserve this most precious of all his gifts, to submit to committing every crime its author forbids us so as to please a savage or senseless master, is not to degrade one’s nature, descend to the level of beasts enslaved by instinct, and even offend the author of one’s being; or whether that sublime craftsman should be more angered to see his finest work destroyed than dishonored. I will ask only by what right those who did not fear to debase themselves to this point could subject their descendants to the same disgrace and renounce on their behalf goods that do not come from their generosity, and without which life itself is a burden to all who are worthy of it.
Pufendorf says that, just as we transfer our property to others through agreements and contracts, we may likewise divest ourselves of liberty in another’s favor. That seems to me a very bad argument. First, the property I alienate becomes something entirely foreign to me, whose misuse is of no concern to me; but it matters to me that my liberty not be abused, and I cannot expose myself to becoming an instrument of crime, and thus guilty of the evil I shall be forced to do. Furthermore, since the right of property exists only by convention and human institution, every man may dispose at will of what he owns; but the same does not hold for nature’s essential gifts, such as life and liberty, which everyone may enjoy, but which it is far less certain anyone has the right to cast away. In taking away one, he degrades his being; in taking away the other, he destroys it insofar as he is able. And since no temporal good can compensate for either, to renounce them at any price would offend nature and reason together. But even if one could alienate liberty as one can property, the difference would be very great for children, who enjoy their father’s goods only through the transfer of his right, whereas their liberty is a gift they receive from nature as human beings, and their parents have no right to deprive them of it. Thus, just as establishing slavery required violence against nature, perpetuating that right required changing nature; the jurists who solemnly pronounced that the child of an enslaved woman would be born a slave decided, in other words, that a human being would not be born human.
It therefore seems certain to me not only that governments did not begin with arbitrary power—which is merely their corruption, their final extreme, and finally returns them to the very law of the strongest that they were originally meant to remedy—but also that, even had they begun in this way, that power, illegitimate by its nature, could not have founded the rights of society, and consequently could not have founded institutional inequality.
Without entering today into the inquiry still to be made into the nature of the fundamental compact of every government, I shall follow common opinion and confine myself to considering the establishment of the political body as a genuine contract between the people and the leaders they choose. By this contract both parties undertake to observe the laws stipulated in it, the bonds of their union. The people, having brought all their wills into one in matters of social relations, make every article in which this will finds expression a fundamental law binding on every member of the State without exception. One of these laws regulates the choice and powers of the magistrates charged with overseeing the execution of the others. That power extends to everything that can maintain the constitution, but not to changing it. Honors are added to make the laws and their ministers respected, and the ministers personally receive prerogatives to compensate them for the arduous work of good administration. The magistrate, on his side, undertakes to use the power entrusted to him only in accordance with the intention of those who entrusted it, to preserve everyone in the peaceful enjoyment of what belongs to him, and always to prefer the public good to his own interest. Before experience had revealed, or knowledge of the human heart had foretold, the inevitable abuses of such a constitution, it must have seemed all the better because those charged with its preservation had themselves the greatest stake in preserving it. Since the magistracy and its rights rested solely on the fundamental laws, the moment those laws were destroyed, the magistrates would cease to be legitimate, the people would no longer be bound to obey them, and, since it was not the magistrate but the law that constituted the essence of the State, everyone would by right regain his natural liberty.
A little attentive reflection would confirm this with fresh reasons, and the nature of the contract would show that it could not be irrevocable. For if there were no superior power to guarantee the fidelity of the contracting parties or compel them to fulfill their reciprocal commitments, the parties would remain sole judges in their own cause, and each would always retain the right to renounce the contract as soon as it found the other violating its terms or found those terms no longer suitable. The right to abdicate seems to rest on this principle. Now, considering, as we are, human institutions alone, if the magistrate, who holds all power in his hands and appropriates all the advantages of the contract, nonetheless had the right to renounce authority, the people, who pay for all their leaders’ faults, should have still greater right to renounce dependence. But the dreadful dissensions and endless disorders such a dangerous power would inevitably bring show, more than anything else, how much human governments needed a foundation more solid than reason alone, and how necessary it was to public peace that the divine will intervene to give sovereign authority a sacred and inviolable character, removing from subjects the disastrous right to dispose of it. Even if religion had done mankind no other good, this would be enough for everyone to cherish and embrace it, abuses and all, since it still spares more blood than fanaticism causes to flow. But let us follow the thread of our hypothesis. The various forms of government originate in the greater or lesser differences found among individuals at the moment of their institution. Was one man preeminent in power, virtue, wealth, or influence? He alone was elected magistrate, and the State became a monarchy. If several men, nearly equal among themselves, surpassed all the others, they were elected together, and there was an aristocracy. Those whose fortunes or talents were less unequal, and who had strayed least far from the state of nature, kept the supreme administration in common and formed a democracy. Time showed which of these forms was most beneficial to mankind. Some remained subject to laws alone; others soon obeyed masters. Citizens wanted to keep their liberty; subjects thought only of taking it from their neighbors, unable to bear that others should enjoy a good they themselves no longer possessed. In a word, on one side stood wealth and conquest, on the other happiness and virtue.
Under these various governments, all magistracies were at first elective, and when wealth did not prevail, preference went to merit, which gives a natural ascendancy, and to age, which brings experience in affairs and composure in deliberation. The elders of the Hebrews, the Gerontes of Sparta, the Senate of Rome, and even the etymology of our word Seigneur show how greatly old age was once respected. The more often men advanced in years were elected, the more frequent elections became and the more their difficulties were felt. Canvassing entered in, factions formed, parties grew bitter, civil wars broke out; at last the blood of citizens was sacrificed to the supposed happiness of the State, and society stood on the verge of falling back into the anarchy of former times. The ambition of leading men exploited these circumstances to perpetuate their offices within their families. The people, already accustomed to dependence, repose, and the comforts of life, and no longer able to break their chains, consented to deepen their servitude in order to secure their peace. In this way the leaders, now hereditary, grew accustomed to regarding their office as family property, themselves as owners of the State of which they had originally been mere officers, their fellow citizens as their slaves, numbering them like cattle among their possessions, and styling themselves the equals of gods and kings of kings.
If we follow the progress of inequality through these different revolutions, we shall find that the establishment of law and the right of property was its first stage; the institution of the magistracy its second; and the third and final stage the conversion of legitimate power into arbitrary power. Thus the condition of rich and poor was sanctioned by the first epoch, that of powerful and weak by the second, and that of master and slave by the third. This is the last degree of inequality, the end toward which all the others finally lead, until new revolutions dissolve the government altogether or bring it closer to its legitimate institution.
To understand why this progression was necessary, we must consider less the motives for establishing the political body than the form it takes in practice and the troubles that follow it. For the vices that make social institutions necessary are the same vices that make their abuse inevitable. With the sole exception of Sparta, where law chiefly oversaw the education of children and Lycurgus established customs that almost spared him the need to add laws, laws in general, being weaker than passions, restrain men without changing them. It would be easy to prove that any government that always proceeded exactly according to the purpose for which it was established, without corruption or alteration, would have been established needlessly; and a country in which no one evaded the laws or abused the magistracy would need neither magistrates nor laws.
Plain English translation
Mouseia’s complete Plain English edition, made independently and directly from the complete French text (dedicatory epistle, preface, both parts and the notes).
Some have claimed that absolute government and all society arose from a father's authority. Without even turning to the contrary arguments of Locke and Sidney, it is enough to observe that nothing could be further from the savage spirit of despotism than this authority's gentle character. It looks more to the welfare of the person obeying than to the benefit of the person commanding. Under the law of nature, a father has authority over his child only as long as the child needs his help. After that they become equals, and the son, entirely independent of his father, owes him respect, not obedience. Gratitude is a duty to be paid, not a right that can be demanded. Instead of saying that civil society comes from paternal power, we should say that paternal power gets its main strength from civil society. One person was recognized as the father of several children only when they remained together around him. The father's possessions, which he really does control, are the ties that keep his children dependent on him. He can give them a share of his estate only in proportion to the respect they have shown by constantly yielding to his wishes. Subjects can expect no such favor from a despot. He claims to own them and all they possess. They are reduced to treating whatever portion of their own property he lets them keep as a favor. He does justice when he strips them of their possessions; he shows mercy when he lets them live.
If we keep testing the facts against what is right, we will find no more soundness than truth in the idea that tyranny was established voluntarily. It would be hard to show that a contract is valid if it binds only one party, puts everything on one side and nothing on the other, and harms only the person undertaking the obligation. This hateful system is far from being the system even today of wise and good monarchs, especially the kings of France. We can see this in various passages of their edicts, and particularly in the following passage from a famous work published in 1667 in the name and by the orders of Louis XIV: “So let no one say that a sovereign is not subject to the laws of his State. The opposite proposition is a truth of the law of nations that flattery has sometimes attacked, but good princes have always defended it as the guardian spirit of their States. How much more proper it is to say, with the wise Plato, that a kingdom is perfectly happy when the subjects obey the prince, the prince obeys the law, and the law is just and always directed toward the public good.” I will not stop to consider whether freedom is the noblest of human abilities, and whether giving up, without reservation, this most precious of all our gifts degrades our nature, lowers us to the level of animals enslaved by instinct, and even offends the author of our existence. Nor will I ask whether submitting to the commission of every crime he forbids us, just to please a savage or senseless master, would anger this sublime maker more than seeing his finest work destroyed rather than dishonored. I will ask only this: by what right could people unafraid to degrade themselves so far subject their descendants to the same disgrace? How could they surrender on their descendants' behalf gifts those descendants did not receive from their generosity, gifts without which life itself is a burden to anyone worthy of them?
Pufendorf says that, just as we transfer our property to someone else through agreements and contracts, we can also surrender our freedom for someone else's benefit. This seems to me a very poor argument. First, property I give away becomes completely foreign to me, and I have no stake in how it is misused. But I do have a stake in whether my freedom is misused. I cannot expose myself to becoming an instrument of crime without making myself responsible for the evil I will be forced to do. Moreover, the right of property rests only on agreement and human institutions, so each person may dispose of what they own as they please. The same is not true of nature's essential gifts, such as life and freedom. Everyone is entitled to enjoy them, and it is far less certain that anyone has the right to give them up. Giving up freedom degrades one's existence; giving up life ends it, as far as one can. No worldly good can make up for either loss. Giving up either for any price would therefore offend both nature and reason. But even if we could give away our freedom as we do our property, it would be very different for our children. They enjoy their father's property only because his right passes to them. Their freedom, however, is a gift they receive from nature by being human, and their parents have no right to take it away. Establishing slavery required violence against nature; perpetuating this supposed right required changing nature itself. The legal scholars who solemnly declared that the child of an enslaved woman would be born a slave were saying, in other words, that a human being would not be born human.
I therefore think it certain not only that governments did not begin with arbitrary power, which is merely their corruption and final extreme, returning them in the end to the very law of the strongest that they first served to remedy. Even if they had begun that way, such power is illegitimate by its nature. It could not have provided a foundation for the rights of society and therefore could not have justified inequality established by institutions.
I will not now enter into the still unfinished inquiry into the nature of the basic pact behind every government. Following the common view, I will consider the establishment of the political body here as a real contract between the people and the leaders they choose. Both parties undertake to observe the laws set out in that contract, which are the ties that unite them. For the purposes of social relations, the people have joined all their separate wills into one. Every matter on which this collective will expresses itself becomes a fundamental law binding every member of the State without exception. One such law governs the choice and powers of the magistrates responsible for seeing that the others are carried out. Their power covers everything needed to preserve the constitution but not to change it. Honors are added to make the laws and their officers respected; the officers also personally receive privileges that compensate them for the hard work of good administration. The magistrate, for his part, undertakes to use the power entrusted to him only according to the wishes of those who appointed him. He must ensure that everyone enjoys what belongs to them in peace and always put the public interest ahead of his own. Before experience revealed the inevitable abuses of such an arrangement, or an understanding of the human heart made them foreseeable, it must have seemed especially good. The very people charged with preserving it had the greatest interest in doing so. The magistracy and its rights existed only under the fundamental laws. If those laws were destroyed, the magistrates would immediately lose their legitimacy and the people would no longer have to obey them. The State's essential foundation would have been the law, not the magistrate; each person would therefore regain their natural freedom by right.
A little careful thought would confirm this with further reasons. The nature of the contract shows that it cannot be irrevocable. If there is no higher power to guarantee that the parties keep faith and compel them to fulfill their mutual commitments, each party remains the sole judge of its own case. Each would always have the right to abandon the contract as soon as it judged the other to have broken its terms, or as soon as those terms no longer suited it. This seems to be the principle on which a right to abdicate can rest. Now, considering only the human institution as we are doing, suppose the magistrate, who holds all the power and claims all the advantages of the contract, nevertheless has the right to resign his authority. All the more should the people, who pay for all their leaders' mistakes, have the right to end their dependence. But the dreadful conflicts and endless disorder that would necessarily follow from this dangerous power show more clearly than anything else how badly human governments needed a stronger foundation than reason alone. Public peace required divine will to intervene and give sovereign authority a sacred, inviolable character, removing from subjects the disastrous right to dispose of it. Even if religion had done only this for humanity, it would be enough to make everyone cherish and adopt it, despite its abuses. It still prevents more bloodshed than fanaticism causes. But let us continue with our hypothesis. Different forms of government arose from the greater or lesser differences among individuals at the moment governments were established. Was one person outstanding in power, virtue, wealth, or influence? He alone was elected magistrate, and the State became a monarchy. If several people, roughly equal to each other, stood above all the rest, they were elected together, and there was an aristocracy. Where fortunes and talents were less unequal and people had strayed least from the state of nature, they kept supreme administration in common and formed a democracy. Time showed which of these forms benefited people most. Some remained subject only to laws; others soon obeyed masters. Citizens wanted to keep their freedom. Subjects thought only of taking freedom away from their neighbors, unable to bear the thought that others enjoyed a good they themselves had lost. In short, one side had wealth and conquest; the other, happiness and virtue.
In these various governments, all magistrates were elected at first. When wealth did not decide the outcome, preference went to merit, which gives a person natural influence, and to age, which brings experience in public affairs and calm judgment in deliberation. The elders of the Hebrews, the Gerontes of Sparta, the Senate of Rome, and even the origin of our word Seigneur show how much old age was once respected. The more often elections went to older men, the more often elections had to be held and the more obvious their difficulties became. Canvassing crept in, factions formed, parties grew bitter, civil wars broke out. At last citizens' blood was sacrificed to what was called the good of the State, and society came close to falling back into the anarchy of earlier times. Leading men used these circumstances to keep their offices in their families. The people were already used to dependence, comfort, and the conveniences of life, and could no longer break their chains. They agreed to increase their servitude to strengthen their peace. That is how leaders whose positions had become hereditary got used to treating their office as family property, and themselves as owners of a State of which they had at first been merely officers. They called their fellow citizens their slaves, counted them as livestock among their possessions, and called themselves equals of the gods and kings of kings.
If we follow the development of inequality through these different changes, we find that the establishment of law and property rights was its first stage; the establishment of magistrates was its second; and the third and final stage was the change from legitimate to arbitrary power. The first stage sanctioned the condition of rich and poor; the second, powerful and weak; and the third, master and slave. This is the last degree of inequality and the endpoint toward which all the others eventually lead, until new upheavals dissolve the government completely or bring it nearer to its legitimate foundation.
To understand why this development was necessary, we should focus less on the reasons for establishing the political body than on the form it takes in practice and the problems it brings. The vices that make social institutions necessary also make their abuse inevitable. Sparta alone was an exception: there the law was chiefly concerned with children's education, and Lycurgus established customs that made further laws almost unnecessary. Laws in general are weaker than passions and restrain people without changing them. It would thus be easy to prove that a government which always pursued its founding purpose exactly, without corruption or change, would never have needed to be founded. A country where no one evaded the laws or abused public office would need neither magistrates nor laws.