P — Patrie

A country is a collection of families; and just as people generally support their family out of self-love when no opposing interest stands in the way, so out of that same self-love they support the town or village they call their country.

The larger this country becomes, the less it is loved; for love grows weaker when divided. It is impossible to love tenderly an overlarge family one scarcely knows.

The man burning with ambition to become aedile, tribune, praetor, consul, dictator cries out that he loves his country, and loves only himself. Everyone wants to be sure of sleeping at home without another man claiming the power to send him to sleep elsewhere. Everyone wants security for his property and his life. Since all thus form the same wishes, private interest becomes the general interest: people pray for the republic when they are praying only for themselves.

There cannot be a state on earth that did not begin by governing itself as a republic: that is the natural course of human nature. A few families first band together against bears and wolves; the family that has grain supplies it in exchange to the one that has only wood.

When we discovered America, we found all its peoples divided into republics; there were only two kingdoms in that entire part of the world. Out of a thousand nations, we found only two subjugated.

It was the same in the old world: all Europe was republican before the petty kings of Etruria and Rome. Even today we see republics in Africa. Tripoli, Tunis, and Algiers, toward our north, are republics of brigands. The Hottentots to the south still live as people are said to have lived in the world’s earliest ages: free, equal among themselves, without masters, without subjects, without money, and almost without needs. The flesh of their sheep feeds them; their skins clothe them; huts of wood and earth are their shelters. They are the foulest-smelling of all human beings, but they do not notice it; they live and die more peacefully than we do.

Eight republics without monarchs remain in our Europe: Venice, Holland, Switzerland, Genoa, Lucca, Ragusa, Geneva, and San Marino. Poland, Sweden, and England may be regarded as republics under a king, but Poland alone takes the name.

Now which is better: for your country to be a monarchy or a republic? This question has been debated for four thousand years. Ask the rich for the answer: they all prefer aristocracy. Ask the people: they want democracy. Only kings prefer kingship. How, then, is it possible that almost the whole earth is governed by monarchs? Ask the rats who proposed hanging a bell around the cat’s neck. But in truth the real reason is, as has been said, that human beings are very rarely worthy of governing themselves.

It is sad that to be a good patriot one must often be the enemy of the rest of humanity. The elder Cato, that good citizen, always said when giving his opinion in the Senate: “Such is my view—and let Carthage be destroyed.” To be a good patriot is to wish one’s city enriched by commerce and powerful in arms. It is clear that one country cannot gain without another losing, and cannot conquer without making people miserable.

Such, then, is the human condition: to wish for the greatness of one’s country is to wish harm to one’s neighbors. The man who wished his country never to be larger or smaller, richer or poorer, would be a citizen of the universe.

A homeland is made up of several families. We usually stand by our family out of self-love, unless our interests pull us elsewhere. The same self-love makes us stand by our town or village. We call it our homeland.

The bigger that homeland gets, the less we love it. Love weakens when it’s spread around. You can’t dearly love a family that’s too big for you to know.

A man desperately wants to be an aedile, tribune, praetor, consul, or dictator. He shouts about how much he loves his country. All he really loves is himself. Each of us wants to know we can sleep at home. Nobody should be able to claim the right to make us sleep somewhere else. We each want to know our wealth and lives are safe. Those wishes are the same for all of us. So everyone’s private interest becomes the interest of all. We wish the republic well, but we’re only wishing ourselves well.

Every state on earth must have started by governing itself as a republic. That’s the natural way human beings develop. First, a few families band together against bears and wolves. The family with grain trades some to the family that only has wood.

When we discovered America, we found its peoples divided into republics. There were only two kingdoms in that whole part of the world. Of a thousand nations, we found just two under a ruler’s control.

Things had been no different in the Old World. Before Etruria and Rome had their petty kings, all Europe lived under republics. Africa still has republics today. The republics toward our north—Tripoli, Tunis, and Algiers—are made up of robbers. Southward, the Hottentots still live the way people are said to have lived at the world’s beginning. They have their freedom and are all equals. No one is a master or a subject. They have no money and hardly need anything. Their sheep give them meat to eat and skins to wear. For shelter they use huts made of earth and wood. No other people stink as much, but they don’t notice. Their lives and deaths are more peaceful than ours.

Our Europe has eight republics left that don’t have monarchs: Venice, Holland, Switzerland, Genoa, Lucca, Ragusa, Geneva, and San Marino. Poland, Sweden, and England can count as republics too, though they have kings. But of those three, only Poland calls itself a republic.

Would your homeland be better off with a king or as a republic? That argument has been going on for four thousand years. Rich people will all tell you aristocracy is best. Put the question to ordinary people, and they choose democracy. Kings alone like kingship best. Then why do monarchs rule almost everywhere on earth? The rats who suggested hanging a bell around the cat’s neck could tell you. But the real answer, as people have said, is this: human beings seldom deserve to govern themselves.

Sadly, being a good patriot often makes you everyone else’s enemy. The elder Cato was a good citizen. Whenever he gave his view in the Senate, he said, “That’s my opinion, and Carthage must be destroyed.” Being a good patriot means wanting your city rich through trade and strong through arms. Clearly, one country can’t gain without another losing. It can’t conquer without making people suffer.

That’s our human condition. Wanting your country to grow great means wanting harm for your neighbors. Suppose you wanted your homeland never to grow bigger or smaller, richer or poorer. You’d be a citizen of the universe.