A Discourse Upon The Origin And The Foundation Of The Inequality Among¶
Mankind¶
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By J. J. Rousseau¶
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QUESTION PROPOSED BY THE ACADEMY OF DIJON¶
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What is the O o rigin of the I i nequality among M m ankind ; , and whether such¶
Inequality is authorized by the Law of Nature?¶
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A DISCOURSE UPON THE ORIGIN AND THE FOUNDATION OF THE INEQUALITY AMONG¶
MANKIND¶
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'Tis of man I am to speak; and the very question, in answer to which I¶
am to speak of him, sufficiently informs me that I am going to speak ¶
is inequality natural?¶
¶
To answer this question, I must speak of men ¶
to men; for to only those alone, men who are not afraid of honouring truth , it ¶
belong s to propose in discussions of this kind. I shall therefore ¶
maintain with confidence in the cause of mankind before the sages, who¶
invite me to ,¶
I stand up in its defence ; , and I shall think myself be happy , ¶
if I can but behave in a manner not un worthy of my subject and of my¶
judges.¶
¶
I conceive of two speci typ es of inequality among men ; one which . One I call¶
natural , ( or physical ) inequality, because it is established by nature ,¶
and .¶
Natural inequality consists in the of difference of s in age, health, bodily strength, and¶
the qualities of the mind, or of the soul; the other which intelligence. The other inequality may be¶
termed moral , ( or political ) inequality, because it depends on a kind of ¶
convention, and is established, or at least authorized, by the common¶
consent of mankind. This species of Moral inequality consists in the of ¶
different privileges, which some men enjoy, to the prejudice of¶
others, such as that of being richer, more honoured, more powerful,¶
and even that of exacting obedience from o the m rs .¶
¶
It were is absurd to ask, w “W hat is the cause of natural inequality , seeing¶
t ?Ӧ
T he bare definition of natural inequality answers the question : i . I t¶
would be more absurd still to enquire, if there might not be some¶
essential ask, “Might there be some¶
connection between the two species of inequality , as it ?” This ¶
would be asking, in other words, the same as asking if those who command are necessarily ¶
better men than those who obey ; and if strength of body or of mind,¶
wisdom or virtue , or if power or riches are always to be found in individuals , in the same¶
proportion with power, or riches: ¶
in¶
proportion to their strength of body or of mind, or to their wisdom or virtue. This is a question , fit perhaps to be¶
discussed by slaves in the hearing earshot of their masters, but unbecoming¶
of free and reasonable beings men in quest of the truth.¶
¶
What therefore is precisely is the subject of this discourse? It is to¶
point out , in the progress of things, that moment, that moment in history when, right s taking the ¶
place of violence, nature became subject to law ; to display . It is to show that chain¶
of surprising events, in consequence of which the strong submitted to which resulted in the strong ¶
serv e ing the weak , and the people to purchas e ing imaginary ease , at the¶
expense of real happiness.¶
¶
The philosophers , who have examined the foundations of society , have,¶
every one of them, perceived the necessity of tracing it back to a¶
state of nature, but not one of them has ever arrived there. Some of¶
them have not scrupled to attribute d to man in th at e state of nature the ideas of¶
justice and injustice, without troubling their heads to prove , that he man ¶
really must have had such ideas, or even that such ideas were useful¶
to him : o . O thers have spoken of the natural right of every man to keep¶
what belongs to him, without letting us know what they mean t by the¶
word “ belong ; o .” O thers still , without further ceremony ascribing to , have granted the¶
strongest a me n authority over the weakest, and have immediately struck out¶
government, without think removed government from nature,¶
without consider ing of the time requi site red for men to form any¶
notion of understand¶
the things signified by the words “ authority ” and “ government. ” ¶
All of them , in fine, are constantly harping on about wants, cr avi dity ngs ,¶
oppression s , desires , and pride , . They all have transferred to the state of nature¶
ideas picked up in the bosom of society. In speaking of savages , they¶
described citizens. Nay, A few of our own writers seem to have so much¶
as even seem to¶
doubt ed, that a state of nature did once ever actually exist ; ed. They claim that even though it nature ¶
plainly appears by Sacred History, that ev in the Garden of Ed en , the first man , ¶
was immediately furnished as he was by God himself with given both instructions¶
and precepts , by God, and so never lived in th at e state , and that, of nature. They claim that even if we give to the¶
books of Moses that credit which every Christian philosopher ought to¶
give to them , we must deny that, even before the deluge, such a state of nature ¶
ever existed among men , unless they fell into it by some extraordinary¶
event: a paradox very .¶
This is a claim difficult to maintain, and altogether impossible¶
to prove.¶
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Let us begin therefore, by lay by putt ing aside facts, for they do not affect¶
the question. The researches, task in which we may I am engage on this occasion,¶
are not to be taken for historical truths, but merely as hypothetical¶
and conditional reasonings, fitter to illustrate the nature of things,¶
than to show their true origin, like those systems, which our¶
naturalists daily make of the formation of the world. d is not to¶
look for historical truths, but¶
to use reason to illustrate the nature of things.¶
Religion¶
commands us to believe , that men, having been drawn by God himself out¶
of a state of nature, are unequal, because it th is h is pleasure they¶
should be so; b God’s will.¶
B ut religion does not forbid us to stop us from draw ing con jectures clusions based ¶
solely from on the nature of man, considered in itself, and and extrapolating from that t o f ¶
the nature of the beings which surround him , concerning the fate of mankind, had¶
they been left to themselves. .¶
This is then the question I am to¶
answer, the question I propose to examine in the present discours will examine her e. As¶
mankind in general ha ve s an interest in my subject this question , I shall endeavour try ¶
to use a language suitable to all nations ; or rather, forgetting . I will ignore the¶
circumstances of this particular time and place in order to think of nothing but the¶
men I speak to , . I shall suppos imagin e myself in the Lyceum of Athens,¶
repeating the lessons of my masters before with the Platos and the¶
Xenocrates of that famous seat of philosophy as my judges, and in¶
presence of ¶
with the whole of the human species as my audience.¶
¶
O man reader , whatever country you may belong to, whatever your opinions may¶
be, attend to my words ; y . Y ou shall hear your history such as I think I¶
have rea as I¶
have understoo d it, not in from books composed by those like you, for they are¶
liars, but in from the book of nature , which never lies. All that I shall ¶
repeat after her , must be true, without any intermixture of falsehood,¶
but where I may happen, without intending it, to introduce my own¶
conceits. The times lies¶
except where I may unintentionally add them.¶
I am going to speak of a re very remote mote times . How much¶
you ar hav e changed from what you once were! 'Tis in a manner the life of¶
your species that I am going to write, from ¶
I am going to write about the life of the human species, about the qualities which you¶
have received from your species , and which your education and your habits could deprave,¶
but could change¶
but not destroy. There is , I a m s ensible, an age at which every¶
individual of you would choose to stop; and tate of society in which¶
you would choose to stop any further changes. As you read, you will look out for th e¶
age at¶
state, at which, had if you had your wish, y our species would ha d ve stopped. Uneasy at¶
your present condition for reasons which threaten your unhappy¶
posterity with still greater uneasiness, ,¶
you will perhaps wish it were¶
in your power to go back ; and this sentiment . This wish ought to be consider interpret ed , ¶
as the panegyric of your first parents, the a compliment to your ancestors, a condemnation of your¶
contemporaries, and a source of terror to all those who may have the¶
misfortune of succeeding you.¶
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DISCOURSE FIRST PART¶
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However important it may be It might be important , in order to form a proper judgment of the¶
natural state of man, to consider him from his origin, and to examine¶
him , a s it were, in the first embryo t the beginning of the species ; . However, I shall not¶
attempt to trace his organization through its successive trace the evolution of man and his approach es to¶
perfection : . I shall not stop to examine in the animal system examine what he¶
might have been in the beginning , to become at last what he actually¶
is; .¶
I shall not inquire whether, as Aristotle thinks, his neglected¶
nails were no better at first than ¶
nails used to be crooked talons ; , whether his whole¶
body was not, bear-like, thick covered with rough used to be covered with thick, bear-like hair ; , and whether , ¶
he used to walk ing upon all-fours, his eyes , directed to the earth , and confined¶
to a horizon of a few paces extent, did not at once point out the¶
nature and limits of his ideas. .¶
I could only form vague , and almost¶
imaginary , conjectures on this subject. Comparative anatomy has not as¶
yet been sufficiently improved; neither have the observations of¶
natural philosophy been ¶
The study of¶
evolution is not yet sufficiently a scertain dvanc ed , to establish upon¶
such foundations the basis of a solid system. For this reason, without¶
having recourse to the supernatural informations with which we have¶
been favoured on this head, or ¶
form solid foundations for such conjectures. For this reason, without¶
paying any attention to the changes , ¶
that must have happened in the conformation of to the interior and¶
exterior parts of man's body , in proportion as he applied hi s members mself ¶
to new purposes, and took to new aliments, I shall suppose his¶
conformation body to have always been , what we now behold it; it is now. I shall suppose that he¶
always walked on two feet, made the same use of his hands that we do¶
of ours, extended his looks gaze over the whole face of nature, and¶
measured with his eyes the vast extent of the heavens.¶
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If I strip this being, thus constituted, man of all the supernatural gifts¶
which he may have received , and of all the artificial faculties, powers which¶
w h e could not only have acquired but by slow degrees ; if , then I consider him , in¶
a word, such as he must have issued from ¶
as he was created by the hands of nature ; . I see an¶
animal less strong than some, and less active than others, but, upon¶
the whole, the most advantageously organized of any ; . I see him¶
satisfying the calls of hunger under the first oak, and those of¶
thirst at the first rivulet ; . I see him laying himself down to sleep at¶
the foot of the same tree that afforded him his meal; and behold, this¶
done, all his wants are completely supplied.¶
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The earth , left to its own natural fertility and covered with immense¶
woods, that no hatchet ever disfigured, offers at every step food and¶
shelter to every species of animals. Men, dispersed among them,¶
observe and imitate the ir industry, and thus rise to the instinct of¶
beasts; with this advantage, that, w animals’ hard work.¶
W hereas every species of beast animal s is¶
confined to one peculiar instinct, man, who perhaps has no t any instinct that¶
particularly belongs to him, appropriates to himself those of all¶
other animals, and lives equally upon most of the different aliments,¶
which they only divide among themselves; a circumstance which¶
qualifie ¶
which¶
allow s him to find his subsistence , with more ease than any of¶
them.¶
¶
Men , are accustomed from their infancy to the inclemen cy of the t weather , ¶
and to the rigour of the different seasons; inured to fatigue rigorous seasons , and¶
obliged to defend, naked and without arms, their life and their prey¶
against the other wild inhabitants of the forest, or at least to avoid¶
their fury by flight , acquire a robust and almost unalterable habit of¶
body; the children, bringing with them into the world .¶
Children, who are born with the excellent¶
constitution of their parents, and strengthen ing it by the same¶
exercises that first produced it, attain by this means it¶
and attain all the vigour¶
that the human frame is capable of. Nature treats them exactly in the¶
same manner that Sparta treated the children of her citizens ; : those¶
who come well formed into the world she renders strong and robust, and¶
destroys all the rest ; . Nature differ ing s in this respect from our societies,¶
in which the state, by permit ting s children to become burdensome to¶
their parents, and thus effectively murders them all without distinction , even in the wombs¶
of their mothers.¶
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The .¶
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His body being the only instrument th at e savage man is acquainted with has ,¶
he employs it to different uses, of which ours, for want of practice, we ¶
are incapable ; and we may . We can thank our industry for the loss of that¶
strength and agility , which necessity obliges him to acquire. Had he . If he had a¶
hatchet, would his hand so easily snap off from an oak so stout a¶
branch? Had If he had a sling, would it dart a stone to so great a distance?¶
Had he If he had a ladder, would he run so nimbly up a tree? Had If he had a horse,¶
would he with such swiftness shoot along the plain? Give civilized man¶
but time to gather about him all his machines, and there is no doubt he will be¶
an overmatch fo ¶
overpowe r the savage : , but if you have a mind to see a contest¶
still want to see an even more unequal , contest,¶
place them naked and unarmed one opposite to the¶
other; and y ¶
each other. Y ou will soon discover the advantage there is in¶
perpetually of¶
having all our forces at our disposal, in being constantly¶
prepared against all events, and in always carrying ourselves , as i t f ¶
we were , whole and entire about us .¶
¶
Hobbes would have it that man is naturally void of fear claims that man is fearless , and always¶
intent upon attacking and fighting. An illustrious philosopher thinks ¶
on the contrary, otherwise,¶
and Cumberland and Puffendorff likewise affirm it agree ,¶
that nothing is more fearful than man in a state of nature, that he is¶
always in a tremble, alert and ready to fly at the first motion he¶
perceives, see or at the first noise that strikes his ears. This, indeed, may¶
be very true in regard to objects with which he is not acquainted; and¶
I make no doubt of his being he hears. This may¶
be true for unfamiliar objects.¶
I have no doubt man in nature is terrified at every new sight that¶
presents itself, ,¶
as often as he cannot distinguish the physical predict the good¶
and or evil which he may expect from i an unfamiliar objec t, nor compare his forces strength with the¶
unfamiliar dangers he has to encounter ; circumstances that seldom occur in a¶
state of nature, where all things proceed in so uniform a manner, and¶
the face of the earth is not liable to those sudden and continual¶
changes occasioned in it by the passions and inconstancies of¶
collected bodies. But savage man living among other animals without¶
any society or fixed habitation, and finding himself early under a¶
necessity of .¶
But savage man¶
eventually finds himself¶
left with no option but to measur ing e his strength with theirs, soon makes a¶
comparison between both, and finding that he surpasses them more in¶
address, than they surpass him in against other animals,¶
and upon finding that he is more intelligent¶
than they are str e o ng th , he learns not to be a ny¶
longer in dread of them. Turn out a bear or a wolf against a sturdy,¶
active, resolute savage, (and this they all are,) provided fraid.¶
Put a bear or a wolf in front of any¶
savage with stones¶
and a good stick ; , and you will soon find that the danger is at least¶
equal on both sides , and that a . A fter several trials of this kind such fights , wild¶
beasts, who are not fond of attacking each other, will not be very¶
fond of attacking man, who m they have found every whit as wild as¶
themselves. As to animals who have really more strength than man has¶
address, he is, in regard to them, what other weaker species are, who¶
find means to subsist notwithstanding; he has even this great¶
advantage over such weaker species, that being equally fleet with¶
them, is as wild as¶
they are. Even if an animal has much more strength than man,¶
man can survive like other weaker species do.¶
Man¶
is as fast as other weaker species¶
and c an d find i ng o n every tree an almost inviolable asylum , he is¶
always at liberty to take it or leave it, as he likes best, and of¶
course to fight or to fly, whichever is most agreeable to him. .¶
To this¶
we may add that no animal naturally makes war upon man, except in the¶
case of self-defence or extreme hunger ; , nor ever expresses against him¶
any of these violen does any animal ever¶
trea t m an tipathies, which seem to indicate that some¶
particular species a as if he we re intended by nature for th to b e food of othe for predato rs.¶
¶
But there are other more formidable enemies, and against which man is¶
not provided with the same means of defence; I mean natural¶
infirmiti defencel es s , such as¶
infancy, old age, and sickness of every kind, melancholy¶
proofs of our weakness, whereof the two first .¶
The first two are common to all¶
animals, and while the last chiefly attends man living in a state of¶
society. It is even observable in regard applies only to man living in¶
society. With respect to infancy, that the a human mother¶
being able to carry her child about with her , wherever she goes, can¶
perform the duty of a nurse with a great deal less trouble can¶
more easily nurse her child , than the¶
females of many other animal specie s, who are obliged to be constantly going¶
and coming with no small labour and fatigue, one way to cannot¶
look out for¶
their own subsistence , and another to suckle and feed their young¶
ones . True it is that, i at the same time. I f the wo hu man happens to mother perish es , her child is¶
exposed to the greatest danger of perishing with her; but this danger¶
is common to a hundred other species, whose young ones require a great¶
deal of time to be able to provide for themselves; might¶
perish as well, but this danger¶
is common to a hundred other species,¶
and if our infancy¶
is longer than theirs, our life is longer likewise; so that, similarly longer too; in this¶
respect too, all things are in a manner equal; not but that t almost equal. T here are¶
other rules concern ing the duration of the first age of life, and s about infancy, such as the¶
number of the young of man and other animals, but th ey do ose concerns are not b r el ong ated ¶
to my subject. With old men, who stir and perspire but little, the¶
demand for food diminishes with respect to old age, the¶
demand for food decreases in proportion to the ir abilit ies y to provide it; and as¶
a find food.¶
A savage life would exempt s the m old from th diseases lik e gout and the rheumatism , and¶
old age is of all ills that which human assistance is least capable of¶
alleviating .¶
Old age cannot be¶
alleviated, but in a state of nature , the y old would at last go off pass away , without its being perceiv notic ed by¶
others that they ceased to exist , and almost without perceiv notic ing it¶
themselves.¶
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In regard With respect to sickness, I shall not repeat the vain and false¶
declamations made statements healthy men use of to discredit medicine by most men, while they¶
enjoy their health; .¶
I shall only ask if there are any solid ¶
observations from which we may conclude that , in those countries where¶
the healing art is most neglected, the mean duration of man's medicine is not used, the average life span is¶
shorter than in those where it is most cultivated? And how is it¶
possible this should countries where medicine is most used? How could that¶
possibly be the case, if we in society can inflict more diseases upon¶
ourselves than medicine c an supply us with remedies! T ure! Just look at t he extreme¶
inequalities in the manner standard of living of the several classes of¶
mankind, between different classes,¶
the excess of idle ive lazi ness in of some , and of labour in versus the hard work of others, the¶
fac ab ility of irritating and satisfying our sensuality and to deny and satisfy our¶
appetites, the too exquisite a nd out of the way aliments of the rich,¶
which fill them with fiery juices, and bring on indigestions, the¶
unwholesome food of the poor, of which even, bad as it is, they very¶
often fall short, and the want of which ilments of the rich,¶
the¶
unwholesome food of the poor, and¶
the impulses that tempt s the m, every opportunity¶
that offers, to eat greedily and overload their stomachs; watchings, poor¶
to eat greedily and overconsume. Society has ¶
excesses of every kind, immoderate transports of all the passions,¶
fatigues, waste of spirits , in a word, the numberless ; there are infinite pains and¶
anxieties a nnex ttach ed to every condition, and which the mind of man is¶
constantly a prey to; these are the fatal pro ed upon by all of s th at m ese. M ost of our ills¶
are of our own making, and that we might have avoided them all by¶
adhering to the simple, uniform , and solitary way of life prescribed to¶
us by nature. Allowing that n N ature intended that we should always enjoy¶
good health , . I dare almost affirm say that a state of reflection is a¶
state against nature, and that the man who meditates is a depraved¶
animal. We need only call to mind the good constitution Just think of the good health of savages,¶
of those at least whom of those we have not destroyed by our strong liquors; we¶
need only reflect, that t with liquor.¶
T hey are strangers to almost every disease,¶
except those occasion caus ed by wounds and old age , to be in a manner . I am ¶
convinced that the history of human diseases might be easily composed¶
by pursuing that of civil societies. Such at least was the opinion of¶
Plato, who is connected¶
to that of civil societies.¶
Plato agreed, and concluded from certain remedies made use of or approved by¶
Podalyrus and Macaon at the Siege of Troy, that several disorders,¶
which these remedies were found to bring on in his days, used¶
at the Siege of Troy, that several disorders¶
known at his time were not¶
known among men at that remote period.¶
¶
Man therefore, in a state of nature , where there are so few sources of ¶
sickness , can es, ha ve s no great occasion for physic, and still less for¶
physicians; neither is the human species more to be pitied i need for medicine, and still less need for¶
doctors. I n this¶
respect, th m an is similar to any other species of animals. Ask those who make hunting¶
hunters¶
whe the i r recreation or business, if in their excursion during their hunt s they meet with¶
many sick or feeble animals. They meet with many carrying the marks of¶
considerabl many¶
formerly wounded animals, whos e wounds , that have been perfectly well healed and closed¶
up; with many, .¶
They meet many animals whose bones were formerly broken , and whose limbs were almost¶
torn off, whose bones and limbs have completely knit and united , ¶
with out any other surgeon¶
but time, any other no medical regimen but their usual way of living , and who .¶
The se ¶
cures were not the less per ef fect ive for their not having been tortured¶
with incisions, poisoned with drugs, or worn out by diet and¶
abstinence. In a word, h H owever useful medicine well administered may¶
be to us who live in a state of society, it is still past doubt, that¶
if, on the one hand, the sick savage, destitute of help, may¶
be to us in society, it is clear that¶
the sick savage, even though he has nothing¶
to hope from nature, on the other, he has nothing to fear but from his any ¶
disease ; a circumstance, which . This often s renders his situation preferable¶
to ours.¶
¶
Let us therefore beware of confounding savage man with the men, whom¶
we daily see and converse with be careful about confusing the savage man with the men¶
we see daily . Nature behaves differently towards all animals¶
left to her care with a predilection, that seems to prove how jealous¶
she is of that prerogative. in her care.¶
The horse, the cat, the bull, nay the ass¶
itself, have and even the donkey,¶
generally have a higher stature, and always a more robust¶
constitution, more vigour, more strength , and more courage in their forests¶
than in our houses ; t . T hey lose half these advantages by becoming¶
domestic animals ; it looks as if all our attention to treat them¶
kindly, and to feed them well, . All our¶
kind treatment has served only to bastardize them. It is¶
thus with man himself. In proportion a A s he becomes sociable and a¶
slave to others, he also becomes weak, fearful, and mean-spirited , and h . H is soft¶
and effeminate way of living at once completes the enerva destruc tion of his¶
strength and of his courage. We may add, that there must be still a¶
wid In addition, there is a¶
larg er difference between man and man in a savage man and a domestic ¶
condition, than between beast and beast; for as men and beasts have¶
been treated alike by nature, all the conveniences with wh man¶
than there is between a savage beast and a domestic beast,¶
because domest ic h men¶
indulge themselves more than they do the beasts tamed by them, are so¶
many particular causes which make them degenerate more sensibly.¶
¶
Nakedness therefore, the want of houses, and of all these¶
unnecessaries, indulge domestic beasts.¶
¶
Clothes and houses,¶
which we consider as so very necessary, are not such¶
mighty evils in respect necessities to these primitive men, and much less still their lack is not ¶
any obstacle to their preservation. Their skins, it is true, are¶
destitute of hair; but then they have no occasion for any such¶
cover survival.¶
Men in nature do not need¶
cloth ing in warm climates ; , and in cold climates they soon learn to¶
apply to that use those of the animals they have conquered; they have¶
but two feet to run with, but they have use the fur of animals they have killed. They have¶
two hands to defend themselves¶
with, and provide for all their wants ; it costs them perhap with. It take s a great¶
deal of time and trouble to make for their children to learn to walk, but the ir mothers¶
can carry them with ease ; an advantage not granted to other species of¶
animals, with whom the mother in the meantime. This is an advantage other species do not have,¶
because the mother in other species , when pursued, is obliged to must either abandon her¶
young o nes, or regulate her steps by theirs. In short, unless we admit¶
those singular and fortuitous concurrences of r slow down with them. We must consider¶
these circumstances, ¶
wh ich I¶
shall speak of hereafter, and which, it is very possible, may never¶
have existed, it is evident, in every state of the question, that the¶
man, who first made himself clothes and built himself a cabin,¶
supplied himself with things which he did not much want, since he had¶
lived without them till then; and why should he not have been able to¶
support in his riper years, the same kind of life, which he had¶
supported from his infancy en asking why¶
the first man made himself clothes and a cabin,¶
when he had¶
lived without them until then ?¶
¶
Alone, idle, and always surrounded with by danger, savage man must be¶
fond of sleep, and ¶
sleep lightly like other animals, who think but ¶
little , and may , in a manner, be said to be a sleep all the time whenever they do are ¶
not think : s ing. S elf-preservation being almost hi is savage man’ s only concern, ¶
and he must ¶
exerci u se those faculties most, which abilities that are most serviceable in attacking¶
and in defending , whether to subdue his prey, or to prevent his¶
becoming that of other animals: those organs, on the contrary, .¶
In contrast, those abilities which only ¶
softness and sensuality can alone improve , must remain in a state of¶
rudeness, utterly incompatible with all manner of delicacy; and as his¶
senses are divided on this point, neglected.¶
His sight, hearing, and smelling¶
are subtle, and his touch and his taste must be¶
extremely co ar s e and blunt; his sight, his hearing, and his smelling¶
equally subtle: s equally¶
coarse.¶
S uch is the animal state in general, and according ly¶
if we may believe ¶
to travellers, it is that of most savage nations. We¶
must not therefore be surprised, that t ¶
T he Hottentots of the Cape of¶
Good Hope , distinguish can see with their naked eyes ships on the ocean, at as¶
great a distance as the Dutch can discern see them with their glasses ; nor¶
that the savag .¶
The nativ es of America should have tracked the Spaniards with¶
their noses, to as great a degree of exactness, as the best dogs could¶
have done ; nor that all these barbarous . All these nations support nakedness¶
without pain, use such large quantities of Piemento peppers to give their food¶
a relish, and drink like water the strongest liquors of Europe .¶
¶
As yet like water.¶
¶
So far I have considered man merely in hi ’ s physical capacity; let us¶
now endeavour to examine him in a metaphysical and moral light.¶
¶
I can discover nothing in any mere Any animal but is an ingenious machine, to¶
which nature has given ¶
with senses to wind itself up , and guard , to a¶
certain degree, ¶
against everything that might destroy or disorder it.¶
I perceive the very same things in t it.¶
T he human machine is similar , with th is e ¶
difference , that nature alone operates in all the operations of the¶
beast, whereas man, as a free agent, has a share in his. One controls the¶
beast, whereas man can control himself to some extent. An animal chooses¶
by instinct ; the other , a man by an act of liberty; for which reason the¶
beast cannot deviate from the rules that have been free will. The¶
animal cannot deviate from prescribed to it rules ,¶
even in cases where such deviation might be useful , and ; man often¶
deviates from the rules laid down for him to his prejudice. Thus a prescribed rules. A ¶
pigeon would starve ne ar a dish of xt to the best flesh- meat, and a cat on a¶
heap of fruit or corn, even though both might very well support could stay a li f v e with by eating ¶
the food which they thus disdain, did they but bethink themselves to¶
make a trial of it: it is in this manner d they reject.¶
D issolute men run into¶
excesses, which bring on lead to fevers and death itself; , because the mind¶
deprav ignor es the senses, and when nature ceases to speak, the will still¶
continues to dictate.¶
¶
All animals must be allowed to have ideas, since all animals have¶
senses; they even combine their ideas to a certain degree, and, in¶
this respect, i degree.¶
I t is only the differenc siz e of such degree , that¶
constitutes the differ ence s between man and beast : s . S ome philosophers¶
have even advanc propos ed , that there is a greater difference between some¶
men and some others ¶
men , than between some men and some beasts ; i . I t is not¶
therefore so much the understanding that constitutes, among animals,¶
the specifical distinction of man, as his quality of the capacity to think¶
that distinguishes man from animal, as his being a free agent.¶
Nature speaks to all animals, and beasts obey her voice. Man feel hear s the¶
same impression, but he at the same tim voice, but h e perceives that he is free to¶
resist or to acquiesce ; and i . I t is in the consciousness of this¶
liberty , that the spirituality of his soul chiefly appears : for¶
natural philosophy explains, in some measure, the mechanism of the¶
senses and the formation of ideas; .¶
Science explains how¶
senses work and ideas form, but in the power of willing , or¶
rather of choosing, ¶
and in the consciousness of this power, nothing¶
can be discovered but acts, that are purely spiritual , a nd cts that cannot be¶
accounted for by the laws of mechanics.¶
¶
But though the difficulties, in which all these questions are¶
involved, should leave re is¶
some room to dispute on this difference between¶
man and beast, there is another very specific quality that¶
distinguishes them , and a quality which will admit of no dispute ; : this¶
is the faculty of improvement ; a . The faculty which, as circumstances¶
offer, successively of improvement¶
unfolds all the other faculties, and resides among¶
us not only in the human species, but in the individuals that compose it ;¶
whereas a .¶
A beast is, at the end of some months, all he ever will be¶
during for the rest of his life; and his species is , at the end of a thousand¶
years, precisely what it was in the first year of that long period. Why¶
is man alone subject to dotage? Is it not , because he thus returns to¶
his primitive condition? And because, while the beast , which has¶
acquired nothing and has likewise nothing to lose, continues always in¶
possession of his instinct, ¶
man, losing by old age , or by accident , ¶
all the acquisition improvement s he had made in consequence of during his per li fe c ti bility,¶
thus me,¶
falls back even lower than beasts themselves? It would be is a¶
melancholy necessity for us to be obliged to allow, admit that this¶
distinctive and almost unlimited faculty is the source of all of man's¶
misfortunes ; that i . I t is this faculty , which , though by slow degrees, slowly ¶
draws them men out of their original condition, in which his days would¶
slide away insensibly in peace and innocence ; that i . I t is this faculty , ¶
which, in a succession of throughout the ages, produces his discoveries and mistakes,¶
his virtues and his vices, and , at long run, renders him both his own¶
and nature's tyrant. It would be shocking to be obliged to commend, as¶
a beneficent being, whoever he was that commend¶
whoever first suggested to the¶
_ Oronoco _ Indians the use of those boards which they bind t o n the¶
temples of their children, and which secure to at least let them the enjoy ment of¶
some part at least ¶
some of their natural imbecility and happiness.¶
¶
Savage man, abandoned by nature to pure instinct, or rather¶
indemnified for that which has perhaps been denied to him by faculties¶
capable of immediately supplying the place of it, and ¶
protected from faculties¶
capable of raising him¶
afterwards a great deal higher, would therefore begin with functions¶
that were merely animal: to see and to feel would be his first¶
condition, which he would enjoy in common with ¶
like other animals. To will¶
and not to will, to wish and to fear, would be the first , and in a¶
manner, ¶
the only operations of his soul, till new circumstances¶
occasioned new developments.¶
¶
Let moralists say what they will, the that human understanding is greatly¶
indebted to the passions, which, on their side, are likewise¶
universally allowed to be greatly indebted to the human understanding.¶
It is by the activity of o ¶
caused by human passions, which in turn are¶
universally understood to be caused by human understanding.¶
O ur passions , that improve our reason improves: s; we¶
covet knowledge merely because we covet enjoyment , and i . I t is¶
impossible to conceive why a man exempt from fears and desires should¶
take the trouble to reason. The passions, in their turn, owe their¶
origin to our wants, and their increase to our progress in science ;¶
for we cannot .¶
To desire or fear anything, but in consequence of the ideas¶
we have of we must know about it , or of the simple impulses of nature; and s ¶
have instincts about it. S avage man,¶
destitute of every species of knowledge, experiences no passions but¶
those of this last kind caused by instincts ; his desires never extend beyond his physical¶
wants ; he knows no goods but such as food, a female, and rest ; , and he fears no¶
evil but pain , and hunger ; . I say pain , and not death ; for because no animal ,¶
merely as such, will ever know what it is to die ¶
will ever know about death , and the knowledge of¶
death , and of its terrors, is one of the first f ac quisitions made by¶
man, in consequence of his deviating from the animal state.¶
¶
I could easily, were it requisite, cite facts in support of this¶
opinion, and ts acquired by¶
man.¶
¶
I could easily, if required to, cite facts to¶
show , that the progress of the mind has everywhere kept¶
pace exactly with the increase in wants , to which nature had left the inhabitants¶
exposed, or to which circumstances had subjected them, and¶
consequently to the men have been¶
exposed, and¶
with the increase in passions , which inclined them to provide for force men to fulfill these¶
wants. I could exhibit in point to Egypt with the arts starting up , and extending¶
themselves with along the inundations of the Nile ; . I could p ursue them in¶
their progress among oint to¶
the Greeks, where the y wants were seen to bud forth,¶
grow, and rise to the heavens, in the midst of the sands and rocks of¶
Attica , without being able to take root on the fertile banks of the¶
Eurotas ; . I would observe that, i n general, the inhabitants of the¶
north are more industrious than those of the south, because they can¶
less do without industry; ¶
as if nature thus meant to make all things¶
equal , by giving to the mind that fertility she has denied to the¶
soil.¶
¶
But e xclusive of ven if I exclude the uncertain testimonies of history, who does not¶
perceive that ¶
everything seems to remove from savage man the¶
temptation and the means of altering his condition? to alter his condition, and the means of doing so. His imagination¶
paints nothing to for him; his heart asks nothing from him. His moderate¶
wants are so easily supplied with what he everywhere finds ready to¶
his hand, and he stands at such a distance from the degree of readily finds,¶
and he is so far from the ¶
knowledge requi site red to covet more , that he can have neither have foresight¶
nor curiosity. T He is indifferent to t he spectacle of nature, b y growing quite familiar to¶
him, becomes at last equally indifferent. ecause it is so familiar.¶
It is constantly the same¶
order, constantly the same revolutions ; he ha . He doe s not sens hav e enough sense to¶
feel surprise at the sight of the greatest wonders ; , and it is not in¶
his mind we must look for that philosophy, which man must have to ¶
his mind does not know¶
how to observe once, what he has seen every day seen . His soul, which¶
nothing disturbs, gives itself up entirely to the consciousness of its¶
actual ¶
existence, without any thought of even the nearest futurity;¶
and h the future.¶
H is projects, equally confined with his views , scarce ly extend to¶
the end of the day. Such is, e E ven at present, this is the degree of foresight of man ¶
in the Caribbean: he sells his cotton bed in the morning, and comes in¶
the evening, with tears in his eyes, to buy s it back, not having¶
foreseen that he sh w ould want it again the next night.¶
¶
The more we meditate on this subject .¶
¶
The more we think about this , the wider does the distance¶
between mere sensation and the most simple knowledge become in our¶
eyes; and i s.¶
I t is impossible to conceive how man, by his own powers ¶
alone, without the assistance of ,¶
without communication, and without the spur of¶
necessity, could have got over bridged so great a n interval gap . How many ages¶
perhaps revolv years¶
pass ed , before men beheld any other fire but that of the¶
heavens? How many different accidents must have concurred to make them¶
acquainted with the most common uses of this element? happened?¶
How often have did ¶
they let it a fire go out, before they knew the art of reproducing it? And¶
how often perhaps has not every one of lighting one?¶
How often have these secrets perished with the¶
discoverer? What shall we say of about agriculture, an art which requires so¶
much labour and foresight ; , which depends upon other arts ; , which , it is¶
very evident, canno ¶
mus t be practi s c ed but in a society, if not a formed¶
one, at least one of some standing, and which does not so much serve¶
to draw aliments from the earth, for the earth would yield them¶
without all that trouble, as to ¶
and which does not¶
draw nutrition¶
but instead oblige her earth to produce th ose things,¶
which we like best, preferably to others? But l ings¶
we like best? L et us suppose that men¶
had multiplied t s o s m uch a degree, that the natural products of that the¶
earth was no longer suffic ed for their support; a supposition which, by¶
the bye, would prove that this kind of life would be very advantageous¶
to the human species; let us suppose that, without forge or anvil, the¶
instruments of husbandry ient to support them.¶
Let us suppose that¶
farm tools had dropped from the heavens sky into the hands¶
of savages , that these men had got the better of that mortal aversion¶
they all have for . Let us suppose that these men overcame their aversion¶
of constant labour ; , that they had learned to fore tell cast ¶
their wants at so great a distance of time; that they had guessed¶
exactly how they were , that they had learned¶
how to break the earth, commit their seed to it, and¶
plant trees ; , that they had found out the art of grinding their learned to grind corn , ¶
and improving by fermentation the juice of their grapes; all¶
operations which we must allow them to have learned from the gods,¶
since we cannot conceive how they should make such discoveries of¶
themselves; after all these fine present ferment grapes.¶
After all thi s, what man would be mad¶
enough to cultivate a field, knowing that he may be robbed by the first comer,¶
man or beast, who takes a fancy to the produce of it. And w fruits of his labor. W ould any¶
man consent to spend his day in labour and fatigue , when the rewards¶
of his labour and fatigue became more and more precarious in¶
proportion to his want of them? In a word, h were so precarious?¶
H ow could this situation¶
engag incentiviz e men to cultivate the earth , as long as i tha t was not parcelled out¶
among them , that is, as long as a state of nature subsisted.¶
¶
Though we should in a state of nature?¶
¶
Even if we suppose savage man w as well versed in the art of¶
thinking, as philosophers make him; though we were, after them, to¶
make him ¶
intelligent and enlightened,¶
or even a philosopher himself , discovering of himself the sublimest¶
truths , forming to himself, by the most abstract arguments, maxims of¶
justice and reason drawn from the love of order in general, or from¶
the known will of his Creator: in a word, though we were to suppose¶
his mind as intelligent and enlightened, as it must, and is, in fact,¶
found to be dull and stupid; and forming maxims of¶
justice and reason,¶
what benefit would the species receive¶
from all these metaphysical discoveries, which could not be¶
communicated , but must perish with the individual who had made to o the m rs ?¶
What progress could mankind make in the forests, scattered up and down¶
among the other animals? And t T o what degree could men mutually improve¶
and enlighten each other, when they had no fixed h abitation, nor any¶
need of each other's assistance; when the same persons scarcely met¶
twice in their whole lives ome or¶
tribe, when they rarely met the same person¶
twice , and up on meeting ne ith v er spoke to, or so¶
much as knew each other?¶
¶
Let us c ?¶
¶
C onsider how many ideas we owe to the use of speech ; . Consider how much¶
grammar exercises , and facilitates the operations of the mind; let us,¶
besides, r the mind.¶
R eflect on the immense pains labor and time th at the first e ¶
invention of languages must have required : Let us add these¶
reflections to the preceding; and then .¶
Now we may judge how many thousand¶
ages must have been requisite needed to develop successively the operations,¶
which the functions¶
the human mind is now capable of p roduc erform ing.¶
¶
I must now beg leave to stop one moment to consider the perplexities¶
attending ¶
the origin of languages. I might here barely cite or do not repeat here ¶
the research es made, in relation to this question, done by the Abbe de¶
Condillac, which all fully confirm s my system thoughts , and perhaps even¶
s uggested to me the first idea of it. But, as the manner, in which the¶
philosopher resolves the difficulties of his own starting, concerning¶
the origin of arbitrary signs, shows that he haped them. That¶
philosopher¶
supposes , what I doubt,¶
namely a kind of society already established among the inventors of¶
languages ; . I think it my duty , at the same time that I refer to his¶
reflections, to give my own, in order to expose the same difficulties¶
in a light suitable to my subject. The first that offers is ¶
to give my own thoughts in addition to his.¶
First, how¶
languages could become necessary ; for as , when there was no correspondence¶
between men, nor the least necessity for any , t ? T here is no c o ha nce iving¶
the necessity of this invention, nor the possibility of it, ¶
that language would have been invented if it was¶
not in dispensable. I might say, with many others, that l L anguages are¶
the fruit of the domestic intercourse between fathers, mothers, and¶
children : , but this , besides its not answering any difficulties, also does not answer the question. Relying on this would¶
be commit ting the same fault with as those , who , reasoning on about the state of¶
nature, transfer to it ideas collected in society , always consider such as ¶
families as living together under one roof, and their members as ¶
observing among themselves an union, equally intimate and permanent ¶
with that which we see union.¶
These families exist in a civil state, where so many common¶
interests conspire to unite them ; , wh ereas ile in th is primitive stat e state of natur e, as¶
there were neither houses nor cabins , nor any kind of property, every¶
one took up his lodging at random, and seldom continued above more than one¶
night in the same place ; males and females united , had sex without any¶
premeditated design, as chance, occasion, or desire brought them¶
together, nor had they any great occasion for language to make known¶
their thoughts to each other. They parted with the same ease. The¶
mother suckled her children, when just born, ¶
and did not need language to make known¶
their thoughts to each other. In the state of nature, the¶
mother suckled her newborn children for her own sake ; but¶
afterward ¶
her infant s out of love and affection to them, when habit and custom¶
had ¶
made them dear to her ; , but they no sooner gained strength enough¶
to run about in quest of food than as soon as they gained enough strength¶
to find food, they separated even from her of¶
their own accord ; and as they scarce had any other . As they had no method of not¶
losing each other, ¶
th an that of remaining constantly in each other's¶
sight, they soon came to such a pass of forgetfulness, ey soon forgot each other so deeply as not even to¶
know remember each other , when they happened to meet again. I must further¶
observe that ¶
Furthermore, in nature, the child ¶
ha ving all his d more wants to explain , and¶
consequently more things to say to his mother, than the his mother can¶
have had anything¶
to say to him , i . I t is t he that must be at the chief expense of¶
invention, and the language he makes use of must be in a great measure¶
his own work; child that needs the¶
invention of language, and it is the child who creates the language;¶
this makes the number of languages equal to th at of the¶
individuals who are t e number of¶
children wh o speak them ; , and th is multiplicity e number of languages¶
is further increased by their roving and vagabond kind of life , which¶
allows no idiom time enough to acquire any consistency ; for t . T o say¶
that the mother would have dictated to teach the child the words he must¶
employ to ask her this thing and that, may well enough explain in what¶
manner languages, use may explain how¶
already formed , languages are taught, but it does not show us¶
in what manner how they are first formed.¶
¶
Let us suppose this first difficulty conquered: Let us for a moment¶
consider ourselves at this side of the immense space, which must have¶
separated the pure state of nature from that in which languages became¶
necessary, and let us, after allowing such necessity, we have solved the problem of the origin of language,¶
and let us examine how¶
languages could begin to be established. A new difficulty this, still This is a new, ¶
more stubborn , problem than the pre ceding; for if men stood in need of vious one. If men needed speech¶
to learn to think, they must have stood in still greater need of the¶
art of thinking to invent that of speaking; and though we could¶
conceiv needed¶
thought more to invent speech. We can¶
imagin e how the sounds of the voice came to be taken for the¶
conventional interpreter became¶
symbol s of our ideas , but we sh w ould still not be the any nearer to ¶
knowing who could have been the interp c re a te rs of this convention for¶
such ideas, as, in consequence of their not having any sensible¶
objects, could not be made manifest by gesture or voice; so that w d the correspondence between sounds and¶
ideas.¶
W e¶
can scarce ly form any t olerable conjectures concerning heories about the birth of th is e ¶
art of communicating our thoughts, and establishing a correspondence¶
between minds: a sublime art which, though so remote from its origin,¶
philosophers still behold at such ¶
a sublime art which¶
philosophers think is still at a prodigious distance from its ¶
perfection , that I never met with one of them bold enough to affirm it¶
would ever arrive there, though the revolutions necessarily produced¶
by time were suspended in its favour; though prejudice could be¶
banished from, or would be at least content to sit silent in the¶
presence of our academies, and though these s it¶
might never arrive there.¶
S ocieties should ¶
consecrate themselves, entirely and during whole ages for long periods of time , to the study of¶
this intricate objec ar t.¶
¶
The first language of man, the most universal and most energetic of¶
all languages, in short, the only language he had occasion for, before¶
there was a before¶
anyone found it necess ity of ary to persuad ing e assembled multitude group s, was the cry¶
of nature. As t T his cry was never extorted but by a kind of instinct in¶
the most urgent case always the result of instinct in¶
urgent situation s, to implore assistance in great danger , or¶
relief in great sufferings , i . I t was of little use in the more common¶
occurrences of life, where more moderate sentiments generally prevail.¶
When the ideas of men began to extend and multiply, and a closer¶
communication began to take place among them, they laboured to devise¶
more numerous signs, and multiply,¶
they worked to create¶
a more extensive language : ; they multiplied¶
the inflections of the voice , and added to them gestures, which are,¶
in their own nature, more expressive, and expressive gestures¶
whose meaning d epends less id not depend ¶
on any prior determination. They t assignment of acts to ideas. T herefore , they expressed visible and¶
movable objects by gestures and those which strike the ear, sounds by¶
imitative sounds : b . B ut as gestures s ca rcely indicate anything except n only express ¶
objects that are actually present or can be easily described, and¶
visible actions ; as they are not of . They cannot be used general use ly , since darkness or the¶
interposition of an opaque medium renders them useless ; and as b . B esides , ¶
they require attention rather than excite it : men at length bethought¶
themselves of substituting for them the articulations of voice, which,¶
without having the same . Thus, men thought about¶
substituting gestures with speech, which¶
is not directly relat ion ed to any determinate object , a re, in¶
quality of instituted signs, fitter to represent all our ideas; a¶
substitution, which could only have been made by common consent, and¶
in a manner pretty nd is thus¶
fitter to represent all our ideas.¶
At first, speech must have been difficult to practise , b y men, whose rude organs¶
were unimpro ecause men’s speech organs¶
had recei ved by no exercise ; a . This¶
substitution , which is in itself more¶
difficult to be conceived, since the motives to this could only have been made by common consent.¶
The substitution is difficult to imagine, since the unanimous¶
agreement must have been somehow or another expressed, and speech¶
therefore appears to have been exceedingly be a pre requisite to establish the¶
use of speech.¶
¶
We must allow that the words, first made use of by men, had in their¶
minds a much more extensive signification, than those employed in¶
languages of some standing, and that, considering how ignorant they¶
were of The first words¶
signified a more extensive set of ideas than those used in¶
modern languages. Savage men were ignorant about¶
the division of speech into its constituent parts ; they a . A t¶
first , they gave every word the meaning of an entire proposition. When¶
a ¶
A fterwards , they began to perceive the difference between the subject¶
and attribute , and between verb and noun , a . These distinction which s required¶
no mean effort of genius, the substantives for a tim effort, to move forward from the first languag e w h ere only so¶
many ¶
many words were proper names, the infinitive was the only tense, and as to ¶
adjectives , great were difficult ies must have attended the development of¶
the idea that represents them, to develop¶
since every adjective is an abstract¶
word , and abstraction is an unnatural and very painful operation.¶
¶
At first they gave every object a peculiar name, without any regard to¶
its g enus or species, things which these first institutors of language roup which they ¶
were in no condition to distinguish; and every individual presented¶
itself solitary to their minds, ¶
stood alone as it stands in the table of nature.¶
If they called one oak “ A, ” they called another oak B: “B,” so that their¶
dictionary must have been more extensive in proportion as became large even though their¶
knowledge of things was more confined. It could not but be a very must have been a ¶
difficult task to get rid of s o uch a diffuse and embarrassing a ¶
nomenclature ; as in order to marshal the several beings under common¶
and ¶
generic denominations , i . I t was necessary to be first acquainted¶
with know¶
their properties , and their differences ; , to be stocked with know ¶
observations and definitions, that is to say, and to understand natural¶
history and metaphysics, all advantages which the men of these times coul di d¶
not have enjoy ed .¶
¶
Besides, g G eneral ideas cannot be conveyed to the mind without the¶
assistance of ¶
words, nor can the the mind understand ing seize them without the¶
assistance of ¶
propositions. This is one of the reasons , why mere¶
animals cannot form such ideas , nor ever acquire the perfectibility¶
which depends on such an operation. .¶
When a monkey leaves without the¶
least hesitation ¶
one nut for another, are should we to think he has any¶
general idea of that kind of fruit , and that he compares these two¶
individual bodies with his archetype notion of them? No , certainly;¶
but :¶
the sight of one of these nuts calls back to his memory the¶
sensations which he has he received from the an other ; and his eyes ,¶
modified after some certain manner, give notice to his palate of the¶
modification it is in its turn ¶
warn his palate of the¶
taste it is going to receive. Every general idea is¶
purely intellectual; let the imagination tamper with¶
it ever so little with¶
it, , and it immediately becomes a particular idea. Endeavour to represent¶
to yourself the image of ¶
Try to imagine a tree in general , and you never will be able to¶
do it; in spite of all your efforts it will appear big or little, thin¶
or tufted, of a bright or a deep colour ; and were you master to see¶
nothing in it, but what can be seen in every tree, . If you tried to see¶
nothing in it that is not general, then such a picture¶
would no longer resemble any tree. Beings p P erfectly abstract are¶
perceivable in the same manner, or beings are¶
similarly not perceivable, and are only conceivable by with the¶
assistance of speech. The definition of a triangle can alone give s you¶
a just general idea of that figure : ; the moment you form a triangle in your¶
mind, it is this or that particular triangle and no other, and you¶
cannot avoid giving breadth to its lines and colour to its area. We¶
must therefore make use of propositions ; , and we must therefore speak to¶
have general ideas ; for t . T he moment the imagination stops, the mind¶
must stop too, if not assisted by speech. If therefore the first¶
inventors could give no names to any ideas but those only to ideas they had already ,¶
it follows that had,¶
then the first substantives could never have been anything¶
more than proper names.¶
¶
But when by means, which I cannot conceive, must have been¶
proper names.¶
¶
But when our new grammarians began¶
to extend their ideas , and generalize their words, the ir ignorance of¶
the inventors ¶
must have confined th is method to very narrow bounds;¶
and as they had at first too much multiplied the names of individuals¶
for want of being acquainted with em to narrow bounds.¶
Just as, first, they had used too many proper names¶
because they did not know the distinctions called of genus and¶
species, they afterwards made too few genera and species for want of¶
having considered beings in now, they made too few distinctions of genus and species¶
when considering all the ir differences ; to push the¶
divis between beings. To push the¶
classificat ion s far enough, they must have had more knowledge and experience¶
than we can allow them suspect , and have mad don e more researches and taken more¶
pains, than we can suppose them willing to submit to. Now if, even at¶
this present time, we every day discover new species, which had before¶
escaped all our observations work¶
than we thought they would be willing to do. If even¶
today we discover new species, previously¶
unobserved , how many species must have escaped the¶
notice of savage men , who judged of things merely from their only paid attention to first¶
appearances ! ? As to the primitive classes and the most general notions,¶
it were superfluous to add that these they must have likewise been ¶
overlooked : h . H ow, for example, could they have thought of or understood¶
the following words , : matter, spirit, substance, mode, figure, and motion , since e ? E ven¶
our philosophers, who for so long a time have been constantly¶
employ us ing these terms, can themselves scarcely understand them , and¶
since the ideas annex .¶
The ideas represent ed to by these words being are purely metaphysical, and no¶
models of them could be found in nature ? . ¶
¶
I stop at these first advances, and beseech my judges to suspend their¶
lecture a little, in order now and ask my judges to pause¶
to consider , what a great way language has¶
still to go, in regard to the even in invention of physical substantives¶
alone, (though which are the easiest part of language to invent ,) . Language can still improve to be able to¶
express all the of man’s sentiments of man , to assume an invariable form, to¶
bear being spoken in public , and to influence society : . I earnestly¶
entreat them my judges to consider how much time and knowledge must have been¶
requisite to find out needed to discover numbers, abstract words, the aorists , and all¶
the other tenses of verbs, the particles, and the syntax, and the method of¶
connecting propositions and arguments , of to form ing all the logic of¶
discourse. For my own part, I am so scared th at the difficulties that ¶
multiply at every step, and so convinced of that the almost demonstrated¶
impossibility of languages owing the ir birth and establishment to¶
means that were merely human, that I must leave to whoever may please¶
to take it up, the task of discussing spread of languages could not have resulted from¶
merely human means. I leave to anyone interested¶
this difficult problem . : " W w hich¶
was the most necessary , : society already formed to invent languages, or¶
languages already invented to form society?"¶
¶
But be the case of these origins ever so mysterious, we may at least We may ¶
infer from the little care which nature has taken to spent in bring ing men¶
together by mutual wants, and mak e ing the use of speech easy to them , how¶
little she has done towards making them socia ble, l and how little she¶
has contributed to anything which they themselves have done to become¶
so. In fact, it is impossible to conceive, why , in this primitive¶
state, one man should have more occasion for the assistance ¶
man in nature should need the help of¶
another , more than one a monkey , or one a wolf for that needing the help of another animal of¶
the same species ; or supposing that he had, what motive could induce¶
another to assist him; or even, in this last case, how he, who wanted¶
assistance, . Even if man did need help, why would¶
another to assist him, and how could the assistee¶
and t he from whom it was wanted, could assister agree among¶
themselves upon the conditions . Authors, I know, of providing help? Authors are continually¶
telling us , that in this state man would have been a most miserable¶
creature ; and i . I f it is true, as I fancy believe I have proved it , that he must¶
have ¶
continued many ages without either the desire or the opportunity¶
t o f emerg ing e from such a this state, this their assertion could only serve s ¶
to justify a charge against nature, and not any against the being¶
which nature had thus constituted; but, if I thoroughly understand¶
this term man¶
nature created. But,¶
“ miserable , it ” is a word , that either has no meaning, or¶
signifies nothing, but a privation attended with means¶
a deprivation causing pain , and a suffering ¶
state of body or soul; now I would fain know w .¶
W hat kind of misery can¶
be that of felt by a free being, whose heart enjoys perfect peace, and body¶
perfect health? And which is aptest likelier to become insupportable to those¶
who enjoy it, a civil or a natural life? In civil life , we can scarcely¶
meet a single pers ¶
meet no on e who does not complain of his existence; many even¶
throw away as much of it as they can, and the united force of divine¶
and human laws united can hardly put bounds to control this disorder. Was ever any¶
free savage known to have been so much as tempted to complain of life ,¶
and ¶
or lay violent hands on himself? Let us therefore judge with less¶
pride on which side real misery is to be placed. Nothing, on the¶
contrary, must have been so existence causes real misery. Nothing¶
could be more unhappy as than the savage man, dazzled by flashes¶
of when he was dazzled by¶
knowledge, racked by passions, and reasoning on about a state different¶
from that in which he saw himself placed. It was in consequence of lived. It was a¶
very wise Providence , that the faculties, which he potentially¶
enjoyed, were not to develop themselves but in proportion as there¶
offered ensured man’s ability to think¶
would only develop itself in proportion to¶
the occasions to exercise i t hem , lest the y should ability be superfluous or¶
troublesome to him when he did not want them need it , or tardy and useless¶
when he did. He had in his instinct alone everything requisite needed to live¶
in a state of nature; in his cultivated reason he has barely what is¶
necessary to live in a state of society.¶
¶
It appears at first sight that, as there w as no kind of ere no moral¶
relations between men in this state, nor any known duties nature , they could¶
not be n either good n or bad , . Savage m an d had neither vices nor virtues, unless¶
we take these words in a physical sense, and call vices, in the¶
individual, the qualities which may prove define vices¶
as acts detrimental to his own¶
¶
self- preservation , and virtues those acts which may contribute to it; in which self-preservation. (In that ¶
case we sh w ould be obliged have to consider him as most virtuous , the man who m h ad e ¶
least resistance against the simpl to th e impulses of nature. ) But without¶
deviating from the usual meaning of these terms, it is proper to words, we should ¶
suspend the our judg e ment we might form of such a situation, and be upon¶
our guard against prejudice, till, the balance in hand, ¶
and prejudice until we have¶
examined whether there are more virtues or vices among civilized men ; , ¶
or whether the improvement of in their understanding is sufficient to reasoning ¶
compensate s for the damage which they mutually do to each other, in¶
proportion as they become better informed of the services which they¶
ought to do; or whether, upon the whole, they would not be much¶
happier in a condition, where they had they do to each other,¶
or whether civilized man would be¶
happier in nature with nothing to fear or to hope from¶
each other, than in that anyone than in civilization where t he y ha d s submitted to a n universal¶
subserviency, and ha ve s obliged the hi msel ves f to depend for everything¶
upon the good will of those , who do not think themselves obliged to¶
give anything in return .¶
¶
But above all things , let us be w c are conclud ful of agree ing with Hobbes , that man,¶
as having no idea of goodness, must be naturally bad ; , that he is¶
vicious because he does not know what virtue is; , that he always ¶
refuses to do any service to help those of his own species , because he¶
believes that none is due to them ; that, in virtue of that right which¶
he justly , that¶
he claims to everything he wants , he and foolishly looks upon¶
himself as proprietor of the whole universe. Hobbes very plainly saw¶
the flaws in all the modern definition s of natural right : , but the¶
con sequences, which he draws from his own definition, show that it is,¶
in the sense he understands it, equally exceptionable. This author, to¶
argue from his own principles, should say that the state of nature,¶
being that where the care of our own clusions he draws are¶
equally flawed. I¶
argue that the state of nature,¶
where self- preservation interfere s d least¶
with the preservation of others, was of course the most favourable to¶
peace , and most suitable to mankind ; whereas he advances the very¶
reverse in consequence of his having injudiciously admitted, as¶
objects of that care which savage man should take of his preservation, . Hobbes argues the¶
opposite because he claims¶
the savage man cares about ¶
the satisfaction of numberless passions , which are the work of really caused by society , ¶
and have rendered laws necessary. A bad man, he says he , is a robust¶
child. But this i doe s not prov ing e that savage man is a robust child ; , and¶
though we were to even if we grant that he was, what could this philosopher infer¶
from such a concession? That if this one infer¶
from that? Even if savage man, when robust, depended on¶
others as much as he did when feeble, there is no excess that he would not be¶
guilty of . He would make nothing of striking his mother when she¶
delayed ever so little to give him the breast any excess. He would not hesitate to hit his mother when she¶
delayed feeding him slightly ; he would claw , and¶
bite , and strangle without remorse the first of his younger brother s,¶
that ever so accidentally if¶
his brother jostled or otherwise disturbed him. But¶
t hese o be¶
robust and dependent are two contradictory suppositions in the state of nature , to be¶
robust and dependent . Man is weak when dependent, and his own master¶
before he grows when robust. Hobbes did not consider that the same cause, barrier ¶
which hinder stop s savages from mak us ing use of their reason, as our¶
jurisconsults pretend, hinders them at the same time from making an¶
ill use of their faculties, as he himself pretends; so that we may ¶
stops them from¶
using their reason for evil, so we can say¶
that savages are not bad , precisely because they don't know what it is¶
to be good ; for i . I t is neither the development of the understand ir reason ing , ¶
nor the curb restraints of the law, but the ir calmness of their passions and their¶
ignorance of vice that hinder stop s them from do be ing ev il l : _ tantus plus in¶
illis proficit vitiorum ignorantia, quam in his cognito virtutis _ .¶
There is besides another principle that has escaped Hobbes , and which,¶
having been given to man to moderate, on certain occasions, :¶
the blind¶
and imp etuous sallie ulsive act s of self-love , or and the desire of self-preservation¶
previous to the appearance of that passion, allays the ardour, with¶
which he naturally pursues his private welfare, by an innate¶
abhorrence to see beings suffer that resemble him. I shall not surely¶
be are allayed¶
by an innate¶
abhorrence to see other men suffer. No one shall¶
contradict ed, me in granting to man the only natural virtue, which the¶
most passionate detractor of human virtues could not deny him, I mean¶
that of pity, a disposition suitable to creatures weak as we are, and¶
liable to so many evils; a virtue so much the more universal, and¶
withal and universal virtue¶
of pity.¶
Pity is a virtue useful to man, as it takes re place s in him of all manner of¶
reflection ; , and a virtue so natural, that the beasts themselves sometimes give¶
evident signs of it. Not to speak of the All mothers feel tenderness of mothers for¶
their young ; , and of th fac e dangers they face to screen them from danger ;¶
with what reluctance are horses known .¶
Horses are reluctant to trample upon living bodies;¶
one animal never passes unmoved by the dead carcass of another animal ¶
of the same species : there are even some who bestow a kind of¶
sepulture upon their dead fellows; and the mournful lowings of cattle,¶
on their entering the slaughter-house, publish the impression made¶
upon them by the horrible spectacle they are there struck with. It is¶
with pleasure we see unmoved; some animals even¶
bury their dead fellows; cattle low mournfully upon¶
entering the slaughter-house.¶
Bernard Mandeville, the author of t T he f F able of t T he b B ees, forced to ¶
acknowledge d man is a compassionate and sensible being ; and lay aside, in¶
the example he offers to confirm it, his cold and subtle style, to¶
place before us the pathetic picture of a man, who, .¶
Mandeville confirms this with an example in his cold and subtle style,¶
about a man with his hands¶
tied up, who is obliged to behold a beast of prey watch a predator tear a child from the¶
arms of his mother, and then with his teeth grind the tender limbs ,¶
and with his claws teeth,¶
and rend the throbbing entrails of the innocent victim with his claws .¶
What horrible emotions must not such a spectator must experience at the¶
sight of an ,¶
even though the event which does not personally concern him? What anguish¶
must he not suffer at his not being able to assist the fainting mother¶
or the expiring infant?¶
¶
Such is the pure motion of nature, anterior to all manner of¶
reflection; such is the force of natural pity force of natural pity, which appears before any¶
reflection , which the most¶
dissolute manners have as yet found it so difficult to extinguish , ¶
since we see every day see, in our theatrical representation, those men men in theatres who ¶
sympathize with the unfortunate and weep at their sufferings, who, if¶
in the tyrant's place, would aggravate the even though these men, if¶
given a chance, would torment s of their enemies.¶
Mandeville was very sensible that men, in spite of all their morality, understood that men ¶
would never have been better than monsters, if nature had not given¶
them pity to assist along with reason : , but he did not perceive understand that from this¶
quality alone flow all the social virtues , which he would he dispute s ¶
mankind the possess ion of. In fact, w es. W hat is generosity, what clemency,¶
what or humanity, but pity applied to the weak, to the guilty, or to the¶
human species in general at large ? Even benevolence and friendship , if we judge¶
right, will appe ¶
ar e the effec resul ts of a constant pity , fixed upon a¶
particular object : for . What is it to wish that a person may not suffer, what is¶
it ¶
but to wish that he may be happy? Though it were is true that¶
commiseration is no more than a an obscure sentiment , which puts us in the place¶
of h im e who suffers, a sentiment obscure but active in the savage,¶
developed but dormant in civilized man, how could ¶
this notion affect¶
¶
makes the truth of what I advance , but to make it more evident. In fact,¶
commiseration must be so much the more energetic , the more intimately¶
the animal, that beholds any kind of distress, identifies himself with¶
the animal that labours under it. Now i when¶
an animal identifies himself with¶
another that suffers distress. I t is evident that this¶
identification must have been infinitely more perfect in the state of¶
nature than in the state of reason. It is reason that engenders¶
self-love, and reflection that strengthens it; it is reason that makes¶
man shrink into himself; it is reason that ma ke ep s him keep aloof from¶
everything that can trouble or afflict him : ; it is philosophy that¶
destroys his connections with other men; it is in consequence of her¶
dictates that he philosophy¶
that makes him mutter s to himself at the sight of another in¶
distress, “ You may perish for a ught ll I care, nothing can hurt me. ” ¶
Nothing less than those evils , which threaten the whole species , can¶
disturb the calm sleep of the philosopher , and force him from his bed.¶
One man may with impunity murder another under his windows ; he has¶
with impunity; he will¶
do nothing to do but clap his hands to his ears, argue a little with¶
himself to hinder nature, that startles within him, and stop himself from identifying¶
him with the unhappy sufferer. Savage man wants this admirable talent;¶
and for want of wisdom and reason, the savage man is always ready to foolishly to obey¶
the first whispers of humanity. In riots and street-brawls , the¶
populace flock together, while the prudent man sneaks off. The y prudent ones are the¶
dregs of the people society , the poor basket and barrow-women, that se par t ate the¶
combatants , and hinder gentle folks from cutting one another's¶
throats.¶
¶
It is therefore certain that pity is a natural sentiment , which, by¶
moderating in every individual the activity of self-love, contributes¶
to the mutual preservation of the whole species. It is this pity¶
which hurries us without reflection to the assistance of those we see¶
in distress; it is this pity which, in a state of nature, stands for¶
laws, for manners, for and virtue, with th is e advantage , that no one is¶
tempted to disobey her sweet and gentle voice : ; it is this pity which¶
will always hinder stops a robust savage from plundering a feeble child , or¶
infirm old man, of the subsistence they have acquired with pain and¶
difficulty, if he has but the least ¶
if he has any prospect of providing for himself¶
by any other means : ; it is this pity which, instead of that sublime¶
maxim of argumentative justice, “ Do to others as you would have others¶
do to you, ” inspires all men with that other maxim of natural goodness¶
a great deal less perfect , but perhaps more useful , Consult maxim of natural goodness,¶
“Find your own¶
happiness with as little prejudice harm as you can do to that of others. ” It is¶
in a word, in this natural sentiment pity , rather than in fine-spun¶
arguments, that we must look for the cause of th at e reluctance which¶
every man would experience to do evil, even independently of the¶
maxims of education. ¶
to do evil.¶
Though it may be th giv e peculiar happiness t o f ¶
Socrates and other geniuses of his stamp , to reason themselves into¶
virtue, the human species would long ago have ceased to exist , long ago had it¶
depended entirely for its preservation on the reasonings of the¶
individuals that compose it.¶
¶
With passions so tame, and so salutary a c individuals’ reason.¶
¶
Men in nat ur b e , men, wild rather wild than¶
wicked, and more attentive to guard against mischief than to do any to¶
other animals, ¶
were not exposed to any dangerous dissensions : As t . T hey¶
kept up no manner of correspondence with each other , and were of¶
course ¶
strangers to vanity, to respect, to esteem, to and contempt ; as¶
t .¶
T hey had no notion of what we call Meum and et Tuum, nor any true idea of¶
justice ; , as they considered any violence they were liable to, as an¶
evil that could be easily thought violence is as an¶
evil to be repaired, and not as an injury that deserv ed ing ¶
punishment ; and as they never so much as . They never dreamed of revenge, unless¶
perhaps mechan automat ically and unpremeditatedly, as like a dog who bites the¶
stone that has been thrown at him ; t . T heir disputes could were seldom be¶
attended with ¶
accompanied by bloodshed, and were they never occasioned by a more¶
considerable caused by a bigger¶
stake than that of subsistence : b . B ut there is a more¶
dangerous subject of contention , which I must not leave unnoticed .¶
¶
Among the passions which ruffle the man’s heart of man , there is one of a¶
hot and impetuous nature, one which renders the sexes necessary to each¶
other ; . This is a terrible passion which despises all dangers, bears down against all¶
obstacles, and to which in its transports it seems considers it proper to destroy¶
the human species which it is destined to preserve. What must become¶
of men abandoned to this lawless and brutal rage passion , without modesty ,¶
without shame, and every day disputing the objects of their passion at¶
the expense of their blood?¶
¶
We must in the first place allow ¶
or shame?¶
¶
We must first acknowledge that the more violent the passions,¶
the more necessary are laws to restrain them : but besides that the¶
. But¶
these passions give rise to disorders and the crimes , to which these passions daily give rise¶
among us, sufficiently grove the insufficiency of laws for that¶
purpose, w in society,¶
so our laws to control them are insufficient as well.¶
W e would do well to look back a little further and examine , ¶
if these evils did are not spring up with the result of the laws themselves ; for at this¶
rate, , because¶
though the laws we a re capable of repressing these evils, ¶
it is ¶
the least that might be expected from them, seeing it is no more than to be expected that laws could ¶
stop ping the progress of a mischief which they themselves have ¶
produced.¶
¶
Let us begin by distinguishing between what is moral and what is¶
physical in the passion called love. The physical part of it is that¶
general desire which prompts the sexes to unite with each other; the ¶
moral part is that which determin creat es that desire , and fixes it upon a¶
particular object , almost to the exclusion of all others , or at least gives it¶
a greater degree of energy for this preferred object. Now i . The physical part is the¶
general desire which prompts the sexes to unite with each other.¶
I t is easy¶
to perceive that the moral part of love is a factitious sentiment ,¶
engender ¶
creat ed by society , and c popula ri z ed up by the women with great care and¶
address by women¶
in order to establish their empire , and secure command to that¶
sex which ought to obey. increase their power.¶
This sentiment, being founded on certain ¶
notions of beauty and merit which a savage is not capable of having , ¶
and upon comparisons which he is not capable of making, can scarcely¶
exist in him : for as h . H is mind was never in a condition to form¶
abstract ideas of regularity and proportion, neither is his heart¶
susceptible of sentiments of admiration and love, which, even without¶
our perceiving it, and similarly his heart is not in a condition to feel¶
admiration and love, which¶
are produced by our application of these ideas; he abstract ideas. Savage man ¶
listens solely to the disposition instinct s implanted in him by nature, and not¶
to taste which s he never was in a way of acquiring; and acquired, so every woman¶
answers his purpose.¶
¶
Confined entirely to what is the physical in aspects of love , and happy enough not to¶
know these preferences which sharpen the appetite for it , a t the same¶
time that they nd¶
increase the difficulty of satisfying such this appetite,¶
men , in a state of nature , must be subject to fewer and less violent¶
fits of that passion , and o . O f course , there must be fewer and less¶
violent disputes among them in consequence of i as a resul t. The imagination¶
which causes so many ravages among us , never speaks to the heart of¶
savages, who peace ab ful ly wait for the impulses of nature, and yield to the se¶
impulses without choice and with more pleasure than fury; and whose¶
desires never outlive their necessity for the thing desired.¶
¶
Nothing therefore can be more evident, than that it is society alone,¶
which of nature.¶
¶
It is evident that society¶
has added even to love itself as well as to and all the other¶
passions , that an impetuous ardour , which so often renders i t hese passions fatal to¶
mankind ; and it is so much the more . It is ridiculous to represent savages as ¶
constantly murdering each other to glut their brutality , as this¶
opinion is diametrically opposite to experience , and . For example, the Caribbeans,¶
the people in the world who have as yet deviated l east ittle from the state¶
of nature, are t o all intents and purposes the most peaceable in their¶
amours, and the least subject to jealousy, he most peaceable and least jealous in their¶
amours, even though they live in a¶
burning climate which seems always to add considerably to add to the activity¶
of these passions.¶
¶
As to the inductions which may be drawn, in respect to several species¶
of animals, from the battles of the males, who in all seasons Comparisons may be drawn to several other species¶
who cover¶
our poultry yards with blood, and in spring particularly , cause our¶
forests to ring again with the noise they make in disputing their¶
females , w . W e must begin by excluding all those species , where nature¶
has evident clear ly established , in the relative power of the sexes, ¶
relations different from those which exist among us : thus from the¶
battle of cocks we can form no induction . Thus,¶
we can deduce nothing from cockfights that will affect the human¶
species. In o the r species, where the proportion is better observed,¶
these battles must be owing ¶
battles may arise entirely due to the fewness of the females¶
compared with the males, or , which is all one, to the exclusive¶
to¶
time intervals , during which the females constantly refuse the addresses of¶
the males; for if the female admits the male but two months in the¶
year, it is all the same as if the number of females were five-sixths¶
less than what it is: now ¶
neither of these cases is applicable to the¶
human species, where the number of females generally surpasses that of¶
males, and where it has never been observed that , even among savages,¶
the females ha d, like those of other animals, stat ve never had fix ed times of passion¶
and indifference , . Besides, among several of these animals , the whole¶
species takes fire is in heat all at once, and for some days nothing is , to be ¶
seen among them done¶
but confusion, tumult, disorder and bloodshed; this is a state¶
unknown to the human species where love is never periodic al . We can¶
not therefore conclude from the battles of certain other animals for the¶
possession of their females , that the same man would be act the case of man same way in¶
a state of nature ; and though we might, as . We might conclude, that because these contests do not¶
destroy the other species, there is at least equal room to think they¶
would not be fatal to ours ; nay i even if they existed. I t is very probable that the y se contests would¶
cause fewer ravages in nature than they do in society, especially in those¶
countries where , morality being as yet held in some esteem, the leads to ¶
jealous y of lovers , and the venge ance of husbands every day nt lovers, who produce¶
duels, murders and even worse crimes ; , where the duty of an eternal ¶
fidelity serves only to propagate s adultery ; , and t w he very laws of re ¶
continence and honour necessarily contribute to increase¶
dissoluteness , and multiply abortions.¶
¶
Let us In conclu de that sion, savage man , was wandering about in the forests,¶
without industry, without speech, without and any fixed residence, an¶
equal stranger to war and every social connection, without standing in¶
any shape in need of his fellows, as well as without any desire of¶
hurting them, and perhaps even without ever distinguishing them¶
individually one from the other, ¶
any need of his fellows or any desire of¶
hurting them,¶
subject to few passions, and finding¶
in himself all he wants , l . L et us , I say, conclude that savage man thus¶
circumstanced ¶
had no knowledge or sentiment but such as are that was not proper to¶
that his condition, that he was alone sensibl was awar e of his real necessities, and ¶
took notice o f nothing but nly of what it was in his interest to see , and that¶
h .¶
H is understanding made as little progress as his vanity. If he¶
happened to mak mad e any discovery, he could the less not communicate it as he¶
did not even know his children. The art perished with the inventor ;¶
t .¶
T here was neither education nor improvement ; g . G enerations succeeded¶
generations to no purpose ; and as all constantly set out from the same¶
point, w .¶
W hole centuries rolled on in experienced the rudeness and barbarity of the¶
first age ; t . T he species was grown old, while the individual still¶
remained in a state of childhood.¶
¶
If I have enlarg talk ed so much upon the supposi about my concep tion of this primitive¶
condition, it is because I thought it my duty, considering what¶
my duty to¶
extirpate ancient errors and inveterate prejudices . I have to extirpate, to dig¶
to the very roots, t is my duty to dig¶
deep and show in a true picture of the state of nature,¶
how much where even natural inequality falls short in this state of that¶
reality and does not have the¶
influence which our writers ascribe to it.¶
¶
In fact, we may easily perceiv se e that , among the so-called natural differences , which¶
distinguish men, several pass for natural, which are merely the work¶
result of ¶
habit and the different kinds of life adopted by men living in a¶
soci al wa et y. Thus , a robust or delicate constitution, and the strength¶
and weakness which depend on it, are oftener produced by the ¶
are produced more often by¶
a man’s hardy or ¶
effeminate manner in which a man has been brought up upbringing , than by the his ¶
primitive constitution of his body. It is the same thus in regard to¶
the forces of the mind; and . Thus,¶
education not only produces a difference¶
between those minds which are cultivated and those which are not, but¶
even increases th at which is found among the first in proportion to¶
their culture; for let e differences between cultivated minds, because¶
when a giant and a dwarf set out i o n the same path,¶
the giant at every step will acquire s a new advantage over the dwarf .¶
Now, i at every step.¶
I f we compare the prodigious variety in the education and manner¶
of living of the different orders of men in a civil state, men with the¶
simplicity and uniformity that prevails in the animal and savage life,¶
where all the individuals make use of the same aliments, live in the¶
same manner, and do exactly the same things, we shall easily conceiv se e¶
how much the difference between m an and ma e n in the state of nature¶
must be less than the difference between men in the state of society , and how much e . E very¶
i u nequal ity of societal institution must increase s the natural inequalities of¶
the human species.¶
¶
But t T hough nature in the could distribut ion of e all her gifts should really¶
affect all the preferences that are ascribed to her, unequally,¶
what advantage¶
could the most favoured derive from her partiality , to the prejudice¶
of others, ¶
in a state of things , which scarce ly admit ted s any kind of ¶
relation s between h er pupils? Of what service can umans? What is the use of beauty be, where¶
there is no love? What will wit avail peopl use is wit to thos e who don ' ’ t speak , o ? O r craft¶
to those who have no affairs to transact ions ? Authors are constantly crying¶
out , that the strongest would oppress the weakest ; but l . L et them¶
explain what they mean by the word “ oppression. O ” In society, o ne man will can rule with¶
violence , while another will groan s under a constant subjection to all his¶
caprices: this is indeed precisely what I observe among us, but I¶
don't see how it can be said of savage men, into whose heads it would¶
be a harder matter to drive even the meaning of .¶
But I¶
don't see how oppression can be applied to savage men,¶
who don’t even understand the words “ domination ” ¶
and “ servitude. ” One savage man might , indeed, seize on the fruits which¶
another had gathered, on the game which another had killed, on the¶
cavern which another had occupied for shelter; but how is it possible¶
he should steal the fruits,¶
game, or¶
shelter of another, but how could¶
he ever g e xac t obedience from him, and w another? W hat chains of dependence¶
can there be among men who possess nothing? If I am savage man is driven from one¶
tree, I have nothing to do but look out for another; if one place is¶
made uneasy to me, what can hinder me from taking up my quarters¶
elsewhere? But suppose I should meet a man so much superior to me he just has to find another.¶
Suppose a savage man meets another who i n s ¶
str e o ng th, er and wi thal so wicked, so lazy and so barbarous as to oblige¶
me cked, who obliges¶
the man to provide for his subsistence while he remains idle ; he must¶
resolve not to . The wicked man must¶
not take his eyes from me his servant a single moment , to bind me fast¶
before he can take the least nap, lest I should kill him or give him¶
the slip during his sleep: that is to say, he must expose himself¶
voluntarily to much greater troubles than what he seeks to avoid, than¶
any he gives me. And after all, and must bind his servant¶
before taking a nap, or his servant will kill him or¶
slip away; let him abat becom e eve r so n a little of hi les s¶
vigilan ce; let him at some sudden noise but turn his head another way;¶
I am t, and the servant is¶
already buried hidden in the forest, my fetters are broke, and he never¶
sees me again.¶
¶
But without insisting any longer upon t never¶
to be seen again. That is to say, the wicked man must¶
take greater troubles than what he se details, e eks to avoid.¶
¶
E very one must¶
see that, as the bonds of servitude are formed merely by the mutual¶
dependence of men one upon another and the reciprocal necessities¶
which unite them, i interdependence.¶
I t is impossible for one man to enslave another , ¶
without having first reduc ed him ing the other to a condition in which he can not¶
live without t he enslaver's assistance; a condition which, as it lp. This condition does¶
not exist in a state of nature, must leav wher e every man is his own master,¶
and rend wh er e the law of the strongest is altogether vain and useless.¶
¶
Having prove d n that the inequality , which may subsist between man and between ¶
m a e n in a state of nature , is almost imperceivable , and that it has¶
very has¶
little influence, I must now proceed to show its origin , and¶
trace its progress , in the successive developments of the human mind.¶
After h .¶
H aving show ed, n that perfectibility, the social virtue s, and the¶
other faculties, which natural man had received _in potentia_, could¶
never be developed of themselves, that for that purpose there was a¶
necessity for the fortuitous concurrence of several foreign causes,¶
which might never happen, and without which he must have eternally¶
remained in his primitive condition; I must proceed to consider and¶
bring together the different ¶
reasoning, could¶
never be developed without¶
the fortuitous concurrence of several foreign causes,¶
I now proceed to consider¶
the accidents which may have perfected the ¶
human understanding by debasing the species, render a being , rendering man wicked by¶
rendering him sociable, and from so remote a term at last¶
bring ing man at last¶
and the world to the point society in which we now see them.¶
¶
I must own that , as the events I am about to describe might have¶
happened many different ways , my choice of these and I s ha ll assign can be¶
grounded on nothing but mere conjecture; but besides these conjectures¶
becoming reasons, when they are not only the most probable that can be¶
drawn from the nature of things, but ve guessed what really occurred.¶
These conjectures are the most probable of all events that could have occurred,¶
and they are the only means we can have of¶
discovering truth . Besides , the consequences I mean to deduce from mine discuss will¶
not be merely conjectural, since , on the principles I have just¶
established, ¶
it is impossible to form any other system , that would not¶
supply me with the same results, and from which I might not draw the¶
same conclusions.¶
¶
This will authorize me to be the more concise in my reflections on the¶
manner, in which the lapse of time makes amends for the little¶
verisimilitude of events; on the surprising power of very trivial¶
causes, when they act without intermission; on the impossibility there¶
is on the one hand of destroying certain Hypotheses, if on the other¶
we can not give them the degree of certainty which facts must be¶
allowed to possess; on its being the business of history, when two¶
facts are proposed, as real, to b give me the same conclusions.¶
¶
It is the business of history, when faced with two¶
facts that ar e connected by a chain of¶
unknown intermediate facts which are ei , to¶
furnish the r unknown or consid int er m ed as such, to¶
furnish such facts as may actually connect them; and iate facts. It is the business of¶
philosophy, when history is silent, to point out similar facts which¶
may answer fulfill the same purpose ; in fine on the privilege of similitude,¶
in regard to events, to reduce facts to a much smaller number of¶
different classes than is generally imagined. It suffices .¶
It is sufficient for me to offer¶
these obje my fa cts to for the consideration of my judges ; . It i t s suffic es ient for me to¶
have conducted my inquiry in such a manner as to that save s common readers¶
the trouble of considering them unknown intermediate facts .¶
¶
¶
¶
¶
SECOND PART¶
¶
The first man, who , after enclos ing ed a piece of ground, took it into¶
his head to say ¶
said , "This is mine," and found people simple enough to¶
believe him , was the true founder of civil society. How many crimes,¶
how many wars, how many murders, how many wars, murders, misfortunes , and horrors,¶
w c ould that man someone have saved the human species , who pulling up the stakes¶
or filling up the ditches should have cried to his fellows: Be sure ¶
by crying out at that time, “Do ¶
not to listen to this imposter ; y . Y ou are lost , if you forget that the¶
fruits of the earth belong equally to us all, and the earth itself to¶
nobody! ” But it is highly probable that th ings were now come to such a¶
pass, that they could not continue much longer in the same way; for as¶
this e advent of society was unstoppable.¶
The idea of property depends on several prior ideas which could only¶
spring up gradually one after another, it was ¶
not form ed all at once¶
in the human mind : m . M en must have made great progress ; they must have , ¶
acquired a great stock of industry and knowledge, and transmitted and¶
increased it from age to age before they could arrive at this last¶
term of the state of natur stag e. ¶
Let us therefore take up things a little¶
higher, and collect into one point of view, and in their most natural ¶
discuss in ¶
order , this slow succession of events and mental improvements.¶
¶
The first sentimen though t of man was that of about his existence, his first care¶
that of was about preserving it. The productions of t his existence. T he earth yielded gave him all¶
the assistance items he required; instinct prompted him to make use of them.¶
Among the various appetites, which made him at different times¶
experience different modes of existence, ¶
there was one that excited¶
him to perpetuate his species ; ,¶
and this blind propensity, quite produced an animal act¶
de void ¶
of anything like pure love or affection , produced nothing but an act¶
that was merely animal. The present heat once allay . The appetite satisfi ed, the sexes took¶
no further notice of each other, and even the child ceased to have any¶
tie in to his mother , the moment he ceased to want her assistance once he no longer needed her help .¶
¶
Such was the condition of infant man; such was the life of an animal¶
confined at first to pure sensations , and so f . F ar from harbouring any¶
thought of forcing her gifts from nature, that he scarcely availed¶
himself of those which used what¶
she offered to him of her own accord. But¶
soon difficulties soon arose, and there was a necessity for he had to learn ing how to¶
surmount them: the height of some trees , w hich prevented his ere too tall for him to reach ing ¶
their fruits ; the competition of , other animals were equally fond of the¶
same fruits ; the fierceness of many that even aimed at his life; these¶
were so many , and some fierce animals wanted to kill him. These¶
circumstances , which obliged him to apply to bodily¶
exercise. There was a necessity for ¶
becom ing e active, swift-footed, and¶
sturdy in battle. The He used natural arms, whi weapons su ch a re s stones and the branches¶
of trees , soon offered themselves to his assistance . He learned to¶
surmount the obstacles of nature, to contend in case of necessity with¶
other animals, to dispute his subsistence even with other men, or¶
indemnify himself for the loss of whatever he found himself obliged to¶
part with to the compete with¶
other animals, fight other men for subsistence, and¶
gain back whatever he lost to stronge r foe s t .¶
¶
In proportion a A s the human species grew more numerous, and extended¶
itself, its pains likewise multiplied and increased. The d ¶
its pains multiplied. D ifferen ce¶
of t¶
soils, climates , and seasons, might have forced men to observe some¶
difference in their way of living ¶
live differently . Bad harvests, long and severe¶
winters, and scorching summers which parched up all the fruits of the¶
earth, ¶
required extraordinary exertions of industry labor to survive . On the sea shore , ¶
and the banks of rivers, they men invented the line and the hook , and¶
became fishermen and ichthyophagous . In the forests they , men made¶
themselves bows and arrows, and became huntsmen and warriors. In the¶
cold countries they , men covered themselves with the skins of the beasts¶
they had killed ; t . T hunder, a volcano, or some happy accident made them¶
acquainted with gave men¶
fire, a new resource against the rigours of winter : ; ¶
they discovered the method of preserving this element, then that of¶
reproducing it, and lastly the way of preparing with it learned how to create and maintain fires,¶
and how to use fire to cook the flesh of¶
animals, which t he retofore they y used to devour ed raw from the carcass.¶
¶
Th is e re iter pe ated application of various beings to himself, and to one¶
another, must have naturally engender interactions between men and other men or animals,¶
must have creat ed in the mind of man the idea of¶
certain relations. These relations , which we express by the words, ¶
( great, little, strong, weak, swift, slow, fearful, bold, and the like ,¶
compared occasionally, and almost without thinking of it, produced in¶
him some kind of reflection, or rather a mechanical prudence, which¶
pointed out to him the precautions most essential to his preservation¶
and )¶
almost automatically produced in¶
him thoughts about¶
the precautions he should take to remain¶
safe ty .¶
¶
Th e new lights resulting from th is development increased his¶
superiority over other animals, by making him sensibl awar e of it. He laid¶
himself out traps to ensnare them ; , he played them a thousand tricks ; upon them, and¶
though several surpassed him in strength or in swiftness, he in time ¶
became the master of those that could be of any service to serve him , and a n ¶
sore enemy t o f those that could do him any mischief. 'Tis thus, that¶
the first look he gave into himself hurt him. That¶
the first reflection produced the first emotion of¶
pride in him ; 'tis thus that, a . A t a time he scarce ly knew how to¶
distinguish between the different ranks of existence, by he attribut ing ed ¶
to his the human species the first rank among animals in general , h . H e prepared¶
himself at a distance to p c re a te nd to it as r an k in dividual gs among those of¶
his own species in particular .¶
¶
Though other men were not as close to him what as they are to us, and he had¶
scarce more intercourse with them than with other animals, they were¶
few interactions with them, he did not ¶
overlook ed in his observations. The conformities, which in time¶
he might discover them. He discovered similarities between them , and between himself and his female,¶
made him judge of those he did not perceive; and seeing that him;¶
they all¶
behaved as himself would have done in similar circumstances , h . H e¶
concluded that their manner of thinking and willing was quite¶
conformable to his own; and this important truth, when once engraved¶
deeply on his mind, made him follow, by a presentiment as sure as any¶
logic, and withal much quicker, the best rules of conduct, which for¶
the sake of his own safety and advantage it was proper he should¶
observe towards them.¶
¶
Instructed by thoughts were¶
similar to his own.¶
This made him follow¶
rules of conduct with others that increased¶
his own safety and advantage.¶
¶
Man knew from experience that the love of happiness is the sole¶
principle aim of all human actions , h . H e found himself i n a condition to¶
distinguish the few cases, in which common interest might authorize¶
him to build upon the assistance of his fellows, and those still¶
fewer, in which a competition of interests might justly render it¶
suspected. dentifying¶
the few situations in which¶
working with others would increase his happiness, and the even¶
fewer situations in which it would be more appropriate to complete with others.¶
In the first case , he united with joined o the m rs in the same flock , or¶
at most by some kind of free association which obliged none of its¶
members, and in a free association¶
that lasted no longer than the t ransito empora ry necessity that had¶
given birth to it. In the second case , every one aimed at worked for his own¶
private advantage, ei the r by open force if he found himself strong¶
enough, or by cunning and address if he thought himself too weak to¶
use violence.¶
¶
Such was strong using open force and the weak using¶
cunning.¶
¶
In th e is manner in which , men might have insensibly acquired some¶
gross idea of their mutual engagements and the advantage of fulfilling¶
them, but this only as far as their present and sensible interest¶
required; for as to foresight t interests,¶
but only as far as their current necessity¶
required. T hey were utter strangers to it, and far¶
from foresight and¶
did not troubl ing e their heads about a the distant futur ity, they scarce¶
thought of the day following. Was a deer to be taken? e.¶
Suppose they were hunting a deer together. Every one sa kne w¶
that to succeed he , each person must faithfully stand a t o his post ; b . B ut suppose a¶
hare to have slipped by ran within reach of any one of them , it is not to¶
be doubted but he .¶
Without doubt, that man would pursue d it without scruple, and when he had seized¶
his prey never , he would not reproach ed himself with having made for making his companions miss¶
theirs.¶
¶
We may easily conceive that s S uch an inter course actions scarce ly required a more¶
refined language than that of crows and monkeys, which flock together¶
in almost in the same manner. Inarticulate exclamations, a great many¶
gestures, and some imitative sounds , must have been for a long time ¶
the universal language of mankind , and b . B y joining to these in every¶
country ¶
some articulate and conventional sounds, of which, as I have¶
already hinted, it ¶
whose origin is not very easy to explain the institution, there¶
arose particular languages, but rude, imperfect, and such nearly a , there¶
arose rude and imperfect languages. Such language s¶
are to be found at this even to day among several savage nations. My pen¶
straightened by the rapidity of time, the abundance of things I have¶
to say, and the almost insens ¶
The almost impercept ible progress of the se first improvements ,¶
flies like an arrow over ¶
took numberless ages, for but the slower the¶
succession of events, the quicker I a m ay allow myself to be in relating¶
them.¶
¶
At length, t T hese first improvements enabled man to improve at a¶
greater rate. Industry grew perfect in proportion Man worked harder as the mind became¶
more enlightened. Men soon ceas ing ed to fall asleep under the first¶
tree, or take shelter in the first cavern , lit upon some . They found hard and¶
sharp kinds of stone resembling spades or hatchets, and employ us ed them¶
to dig the ground , and cut down trees , and w . W ith the branches , they buil d t huts,¶
which they afterwards bethought themselves of plastering over plastered with¶
clay or dirt. This was the epoch of a first revolution, which produced¶
the establishment and distinction of families , and which introduced a¶
species of . This revolution introduced¶
property, and along with it perhaps a thousand quarrels and¶
battles. As the strongest however were probably the first to make¶
themselves cabins, which they knew they were then able to defend, we may¶
conclude that the weak found it much short quick er and safer to imitate them than¶
to attempt to dislodge them : and as to those, who were already¶
provided with cabins, n .¶
N o one could have any great temptation to seize¶
upon th at e property of his neighbour, not so much because it did not belong to¶
him, as but because it could be of no u se rvice to him ; and as besides to¶
make himself master of it, he : to¶
become the master of another’s property, a man must expose himself to a very sharp¶
conflict with the present occupiers.¶
¶
The first developments of the heart were the effects of a new¶
situation, which united ¶
uniting husbands and wives, parents and children , ¶
under one roof ; t . T he habit of living together gave birth to the¶
sweetest sentiments the human species is acquainted with , : conjugal and¶
paternal love. Every family became a little society, so much the more¶
firmly united, as a mutual attachment and liberty were the only bonds¶
of it; and it was now that t ¶
firmly united.¶
T he sexes, whose way of life had been¶
hitherto the same, began to adopt different manners and customs. The¶
women became more sedentary, and accustomed themselves became used to stay ing at home¶
and look ing after the children, while the men rambled abroad in quest of¶
subsistence for the whole family. The two sexes likewise , by living a¶
little more at their ¶
at ease , began to lose somewhat of their usual¶
ferocity and sturdiness ; but if o . O n the one hand , individuals became¶
less able to engage separate individual ly with wild beasts, they while on the other ¶
were more easily got together to make a common resistance agains hand,¶
they were able to join forces to figh t¶
them.¶
¶
In this new state of things , the simplicity and solitariness of man's¶
life, the limitedness of his wants, and the instruments which he had¶
invented to satisfy them, le aving him ft him with a great deal of leisure , he¶
employed it to supply himself with . He¶
used his leisure to create several conveniences unknown to his¶
ancestors ; and t . T his was the first yoke he inadvertently imposed upon¶
himself, and the first source of mischief which he prepared for his¶
children ; for besides continuing in this manner to soften both body¶
and mind, these conveniences having through use lost almost all their¶
aptness to please, . The conveniences continued to soften both body¶
and mind,¶
and even degenerated into real wants , the privation . The lack ¶
of them became far more intolerable than the possession of them had¶
been agreeable ; t . T o lose them was a misfortune, to possess them no¶
happiness.¶
¶
Here we may a little better discover how t T he use of speech insensibly ¶
commences or improves in the bosom of every family, and may likewise¶
from conjectures concerning the manner in which divers particular¶
causes might have propagated language, and accelerated its progress by ¶
other diverse¶
causes ¶
render ing it every day more and more necessary. Great inundation flood s or¶
earthquakes surrounded inhabited districts with water or precipices , ; ¶
portions of the continent were by revolutions of the globe torn off¶
and split into islands. It is obvious that , among men t hus collected, rapped by these disasters ¶
and forced to live together, a common i di om alect must have started up much been created ¶
sooner , than among those who freely wandered through the forests of ¶
the main land. Thus i I t is very possible that the inhabitants of the¶
islands formed in this manner, after their first essays in navigation,¶
brought among us the use of speech; and it is very probable at least¶
that society and languages commenced in islands and even acquired¶
perfection there, people from the¶
islands, after their first successful voyages,¶
brought speech to the rest of us. It is probable¶
that society and languages began and were perfected in islands,¶
before the inhabitants of the continent knew¶
anything of either.¶
¶
Everything now begins to wear a new aspect seems new . Those who heretofore earlier ¶
wandered through the woods, by taking take to a more settled way of life,¶
gradually flock together, coalesce into several separate bodies, and¶
at length form in every country distinct nations, eventually form distinct nations. These nations were united in character¶
and manners, not by any laws or regulations, but by a n uniform manner¶
of approach¶
to life, a sameness of provision need s, and the common influence of the¶
climate. A permanent neighborhood must at last infallibly create some¶
connection between different families. ¶
The transitory commerce lovemaking ¶
required by nature soon produced, among the youth of both sexes living¶
in contiguous cabins, another kind of commerce, which besides being evolved into¶
another kind, which was ¶
equally agreeable is rendere an d more durable by mutual intercourse . Men¶
begin to co nsider mpare different objects , and to make comparisons; they¶
insensibly acquire . They¶
formed ideas of merit and beauty, and these soon produce d ¶
sentiments of preference s . By seeing each other often they contract a¶
habit, They became habituated to seeing each other often,¶
which ma kes de it painful not to see each other always. Tender and¶
agreeable sentiments steal into the soul blossomed , and are by the smallest¶
opposition wound up , morphed into the most impetuous fury: J j ealousy kindles¶
with love; discord triumphs; and the gentlest of passions requires¶
sacrifices of human blood to appease it.¶
¶
In proportion a .¶
¶
A s ideas and sentiments succeed each other, and the head¶
and the heart exercise themselves, ¶
men continue to shake off their¶
original wildness, and their connections become more intimate and¶
extensive. They now begin to assemble round a great tree: , sing ing , and¶
danc ing, the genuine offspring e. The combination of love and leisure , become the¶
amusement or rather the occupation of the men and women , free from¶
care, thus gathered together. .¶
Every one beg ins an to survey the rest, and¶
wish es to be surveyed himself ; and p . P ublic esteem acquire s d a value. He¶
who sings or dances best ; , the handsomest, the strongest, the most¶
dexterous, or the most eloquent, comes to b becam e the most respected : t . T his was¶
the first step towards inequality, and at the same time towards vice.¶
From these first preferences there proceeded on one side , vanity and¶
contempt, on and the other ir opposites envy and shame ; and the fermentation raised by¶
these new leavens at length produced combination , were born.¶
These new changes produced result s fatal to happiness¶
and innocence.¶
¶
Men no sooner As soon as men began to set a value upon each other , and know what¶
esteem was, th an each laid claim to it, and ey began to want esteem; it was no longer safe for¶
any man to refuse it to another. Hence the first The duties of civility¶
and politeness , even among savages; and hence every voluntary injury¶
became an affront, as besides the mischief, which resulted from it as¶
an injury, the party offended was sure to find in it a contempt for¶
his person more intolerable than the mischief itself. It was thus that¶
e took root. Every voluntary injury¶
became an insult,¶
and the latter was more intolerable.¶
E very man , punish ing ed the contempt expressed for him by others in¶
proportion to the value he set upon he received in¶
proportion to his esteem for himself , t . T he effects of revenge¶
became terrible , and men learned to be sanguinary and cruel. Such¶
precisely was the degree attained by most of the savage nations with¶
whom we are acquainted. And it is for want of sufficiently¶
distinguishing ideas, and observing at how great a distance these¶
people were from the first state of nature, that so many cruel.¶
This is the state of the savage nations¶
we know.¶
Because so many authors cannot see how different these¶
people were from those in nature, authors have¶
hastily concluded that man is naturally cruel , and requires a regular¶
system of police to be reclaimed; whereas n . N othing can be more gentle¶
than he man in his primitive state, when placed by nature at an equal¶
distance from the stupidity of brutes , and the pernicious good sense¶
of civilized man ; and equally . Man in nature is confined by instinct and reason to the¶
care of providing against the mischief which threatens him, he is¶
withheld by natural compassion from doing any injury to others, so far¶
from being ever so little prone even to return that which he has¶
received. For according to the axiom of the wise Locke, Where there is¶
no property, there can be no injury.¶
¶
But we must take notice, that the society now formed and the relations¶
now established among men required in them qualities different from¶
those, which ¶
only protect himself from threats, and he is¶
stopped by natural compassion from doing any injury to others.¶
As wise Locke said, where there is¶
no property, there can be no injury.¶
¶
The society and the relations¶
now established, require different qualities in men than¶
those they derived from their primitive constitution ; that as a . A ¶
sense of morality began to insinuate embed itself into human actions , and¶
every man, . The state of nature,¶
before the enacting of laws, where each man was the only judge and avenger¶
of the his injuries he had received, that goodness of heart suitable to¶
the pure state of nature by no means suited ,¶
did not suit infant society ; that i . I t¶
was necessary punishments should become severer in the same proportion¶
that the increase¶
as opportunities t o f offend in g became more frequent, and the¶
dr creased, and so¶
the f ea d r of vengeance punishment add ed strength to the too weak curb of the law. Thus,¶
At this time,¶
even though men were become less patient , and natural less compassion had¶
already suffered some alteration, this period of the development of¶
the human faculties, holding a just mean ate,¶
men maintained a balance between the indolence of the¶
primitive state , and the petulant activity of self-love, self-love of society. This must have¶
been the happiest and most durable epoch. The more we reflect on this¶
state, the more convinced we shall be, that i age.¶
I t was the least subject ¶
of any to ¶
revolutions, the best for man, and that nothing could have¶
drawn him out of it bu changed things excep t some fatal accident , ¶
which , for the public¶
good, should never have happened. The example of the s S avages, most of¶
whom have been found in this condition, seems to confirm that mankind¶
was formed ever to remain in it, that ¶
this condition is the real youth¶
of the world, and that all ulterior improvements have been so many¶
steps, in appearance towards the perfection of individuals, but ¶
in¶
fact towards the decrepitness of the species.¶
¶
As long as men remained satisfied with their rustic cabins ; as long as¶
they confined themselves to the use of clothes made of the skins of¶
other animals, and the use of thorns and fish-bones, in putting these¶
skins together; as long as they continued to consider ,¶
clothes made of animal skins,¶
feathers and¶
shells as sufficient ornaments, and to paint their bodies of different¶
colours, to improve or ornament their bows and arrows, to form and ¶
scoop ing out with sharp-edged stones some little fishing boats , or clumsy¶
musical instruments of music; in a , in other word s , as long as they undertook such works¶
only as tasks¶
a single person could finish, and stuck to such arts as did¶
not require the joint endeavours of several hands, ¶
they lived free,¶
healthy, honest , and happy , as much as their nature would admit, and¶
continued to enjoy with each other all the pleasures of an independent¶
intercourse; b lives.¶
B ut from the moment one man began to stand in need of ed ¶
another's assistance ; , from the moment it appeared an advantage for benefited one¶
man to possess the quantity of provisions requisite sufficient for two, all¶
equality vanished ; : property star was crea ted up; and labour became necessary ; and¶
boundless f .¶
F orests became smiling fields, which it was found necessary¶
to needed¶
to be water ed with human sweat, and in which slavery and misery were soon¶
seen to sprout out ed and gr ow with the fruits of the earth ew .¶
¶
Metallurgy and agriculture were the two arts whose invention produced¶
this great inventions that led to¶
this revolution. With t T he poet , it i blame s gold and silver, but with ¶
the philosopher it i blame s iron and corn , which have for civiliz ed ing men , and¶
ruin ed ing mankind. Accordingly both one and the B oth er were unknown to the¶
savages of America, who for that very reason have always continued to be ¶
savages; nay other nations seem to have continued in a state of¶
barbarism , as long as they continued to exercise one only of these¶
arts without the other; and perhaps one of the best reasons that can¶
be assigned, why Europe has been, if not earlier, at least more¶
constantly and better did not practice both these inventions.¶
One of the best reasons that¶
Europe has been more¶
civilized than the other qu p art er s of the world , ¶
is that she both has ab o und s most in ant iron and is best qualified to¶
produce corn.¶
¶
It is a very difficult matter to tell how men came to know anything of¶
iron, and the art of employing it: for we are not to suppos learned about¶
iron. We cannot assum e that they¶
s t hou ld of themselves think ght of digging it out of the mines , and¶
preparing it for fusion , before they knew what could be the result of¶
such a process. the result would be of¶
such a process. After all,¶
those men did not have the courage and¶
foresight required to undertake such painful work and predict¶
the advantages they might derive from it.¶
On the other hand, there is the less little reason to¶
attribute think th is e discovery to any was accidental fire , as mines are fo rmed¶
nowhere but und¶
in dry and barren places, and such as are ba ¶
where the sec re t of trees¶
and plants, so that it looks as if nature had taken pains to keep from¶
us so mischievous a secret. Nothing therefore remains but the¶
extraordinary circumstance of iron would be well-hidden.¶
The only plausible origin of iron could be¶
some volcano , which, belching forth¶
fused metallic substances ready fused, might have given the spectators a ¶
notion of imitating that operation of nature; and after all we must¶
suppose them endued with an extraordinary stock of courage and¶
foresight to undertake so painful a work, and have, at so great a¶
distance, an eye to the advantages they might derive from it;¶
qualities scarcely suitable but to heads more exercised, than those of¶
such discoverers can be supposed to have been.¶
¶
As to agriculture, the principles of it were known a long time before¶
the practice of it took place, and it is hardly possible that men,¶
constantly employed in drawing n¶
idea.¶
¶
The principles of agriculture were known a long time before¶
it became popular,¶
ei the i r subsistence from trees and¶
plants, should not have early hit on the means employed by nature for¶
the generation of vegetables; but in all probability it was very late¶
before their industry took a turn that way, either because trees,¶
which with their land and water game because trees grew abundantly and¶
supplied them with sufficient¶
food , did no withou t requir e their ing attention ; , or because they did not know¶
the how to use of corn ; , or because they had no farming instruments to cultivate it;¶
or because they were destitute of foresight in regard to ,¶
or because they did not have foresight about future¶
necessities ; , or in fine, because they wanted means to hinder others¶
from running did not want others to¶
run away with the fruit of their labours. We may believe that¶
on ¶
Once the ir y bec oming ame more industrious , they began their agriculture by¶
cultivating with using sharp stones and pointed sticks to cultivate a few pulse or roots ¶
about their cabins; and that i .¶
I t was a long time before they knew the¶
method of ¶
how to prepar ing e corn, and were provided wi had th e instruments necessary¶
to raise grow it in large quantities ; n . N ot to mention the necessity there¶
is, in order to follow this occupation ,¶
in order to farm and sow lands, t o ne must consent to¶
lose something at present to gain a great deal hereafter ; . This is a precaution¶
very foreign to the turn of man's mind in a savage state, in which, as¶
I have already taken notice, he savage man, who¶
can hardly foresee his wants from¶
morning to night.¶
¶
For this reason t T he invention of other arts must have been necessary¶
to oblige mankind to apply to that of agriculture before agriculture could flourish . As soon as men¶
were wanted to fuse and forge iron, others were wanted to maintain¶
them support¶
the forgers . The more hands were employed in manufactures, the fewer hands¶
were left to provide subsistence for all, even though the number of mouths¶
to be supplied with food continued the same; and as some required¶
commodities remained constant. As forgers required¶
payment in exchange for their iron, the rest at last of the men found out the¶
method of making iron subservient to the multiplication of¶
commodities. Hence on the one hand husbandry and importance of agriculture.¶
Hence, agriculture , and on¶
the other the art of working metals and of multiplying the uses of¶
them ¶
metallurgy progressed hand in hand .¶
¶
T o t he tilling of the earth the distribution of it necessarily¶
succeeded, and to property once acknowledged, the first rules of¶
justice: for to secure every man his own, every man must have¶
something. Moreover, as men began to extend their views to was naturally followed by the distribution of it;¶
the idea of owning property was naturally followed by the first rules of¶
justice.¶
As men began to look to the futur ity, e ¶
and all found the mselves in possession of more or less y possessed goods capable¶
of being lost, every one in particular man had reason to fear , lest ¶
reprisals should be made on him for any injury he might do to others.¶
This origin is so much the more evolution is natural, as it is impossible to¶
conceive how property can flow from any other have any source but industry ; for¶
w .¶
W hat can a man add do to acquire property but add his labour to things which he has not made , in¶
order to acquire a property in them? 'Tis the labour of the hands ?¶
It is labour ¶
alone , which giv ing es the husbandman farmer a title to the produce of the land¶
he fruits of land,¶
and h a i s tilled continued tilling eventually gives him a title to the land itself, at least till he¶
has gathered in the fruits of it, and so on from year to year; and¶
this enjoyment forming a ¶
his continued possession is easily transform ed ing ¶
into a property. The ancients, says Grotius, by giving to Ceres the¶
epithet of naming Ceres¶
Legislatrix , and to a her festival celebrated in her honour the¶
name of ¶
Thesmorphoria, insinuated that the distribution of lands¶
produced a new kind of right ; that is, the right of property different¶
from that which results from the law of nature.¶
¶
Things thus circumstanced different¶
from that which exists in nature.¶
¶
Things might have remained equal , if men's talents¶
had been equal, and if, for instance, if the use of iron , and the¶
consumption of commodities agriculture had always held an exact been in proportion to each¶
other ; but as this proportion had no support, it was soon broken. The¶
man that had most strength . But the¶
strongest man performed most labour ; , the most dexterous¶
turned his labour to best account; the most ingenious found out¶
methods of lessening his labour; the husbandman selected tasks wisely, and the most ingenious¶
worked efficiently. The farmer required more iron , or¶
the smith more corn, and while even though both worked equally, one earned a great¶
deal more¶
by his labour , while the other could scarce l y surv ive by his. It is¶
thus that natural inequality insensibly unfolds itself with that¶
arising from a variety of combinations, and that t unfolded and¶
arose. T he difference s among¶
men , developed by the difference of their circumstances, beco beca me s more¶
s ensible, alient, had more permanent in its effects, and beg ins an to influence in¶
the same proportion the condition of private persons.¶
¶
Things once arrived at this period ¶
living conditions.¶
¶
Once things arrived here , it is an easy matter to imagine¶
the rest. I shall not stop to describe the successive inventions of¶
other arts, ,¶
the progress of language, the trial and employments use of¶
talents, the inequality of fortunes, the use or abuse of riches, nor¶
all the details which follow these , and which every one may easily¶
supply. .¶
I shall just give a glance at mankind placed in this new order ¶
of things .¶
¶
Behold then all our faculties developed; our developed faculties, our memory and imagination at¶
work, our self-love interest , our awaken ed ; reason rendered active; , and the our mind¶
almost a rrived at the utmost t the bounds of t w hat perfection it is capable¶
of. Behold all our natural qualities put in motion ; , the rank and¶
condition of every man established, not only as to the quantum of with respect to ¶
property and the power of serving or hurting others, but likewise as , but also with respect ¶
to genius, beauty, strength or address , merit , or talents ; and a . A s these¶
were the only qualities which could command respect, it was found ¶
necessary to have or at least to affect them. It was requisite for men¶
to be thought what they really were not. them or pretend to.¶
To be and to appear to be became¶
two very different things, and from this distinction sprang pomp and¶
knavery, and all the ir vices which form their train . On the other hand,¶
man, heretofore so far free and independent, was now in consequence possession of a¶
multitude of new wants brought under subjection, as it were, to all¶
nature, and especially to his fellows, whose slave in some sense he¶
became even by .¶
Man became a slave to his fellows¶
even if he also becom ing e their master ; if rich, he stood in need of¶
their : the rich needed¶
other men's services , if ; the poor, of their assistance ; even mediocrity itself¶
could not enable him to do without them. He must therefore have been¶
continually at work to interest them in his happiness, and .¶
Man must have¶
worked continuously to make o the m,¶
if not really, at least apparently find their advantage in labouring¶
for his: t rs¶
find an advantage in working for¶
for his happiness. T his rendered him sly and artful in his dealings with some, and ¶
imperious and cruel in his dealings with others , and laid him under¶
the necessity of using ill all those whom he stood in need of, as¶
often as . He began to¶
exploit those he needed when¶
he could not awe them into a compliance with his will, and¶
did not find it his interest to purchase it at the expense of real¶
services. In fine .¶
In short , an insatiable ambition, the a rage of raising their¶
relative fortunes, not so much through real necessity, as to over-top fortunes to outdo ¶
others, inspire d all men with a wicked inclination heart to injure each¶
other, and rendered all men with a secret jealousy so much the even more dangerous , as to¶
carry its point with the greater security, it often puts on the face¶
of benevolence. In a word, sometimes nothing was to be seen but a¶
contention of because¶
jealousy often hides by putting on the face¶
of benevolence. Sometimes all that existed was¶
endeavo urs ring on the one hand , and an opposition of¶
interests ¶
on the other , while ; a secret desire t o f thriv ing e at the¶
expense of others constantly prevailed. Such were the first effects of¶
property , and the inseparable attendants of infant inequality.¶
¶
Riches, before the invention of signs to represent them, could scarce¶
consist in anything but abstractions, only existed as¶
lands and cattle, the only real goods which¶
men can possess. But when estates increased so much in number and in¶
extent as to take in whole countries and touch each other, and left no free land behind,¶
it became¶
impossible for one man to aggrandise further himself but at the expense of¶
some other ; and the supernumerary inhabitants, who were . Some men, too weak or¶
too indolent to make such acquisitions in their turn, acquire land, became impoverished¶
without losing anything, because ¶
they remained the same while everything a b r ou t nd them changed ¶
they alone remained ; the sa se me , n were obliged to receive or force their¶
subsistence from the hands of the rich. And hence began to flow ,¶
according to the different characters of each, ¶
domination and slavery,¶
or violence and rapine. The rich on their side scarce began to had scarcely taste d ¶
the pleasure of commanding, when they preferred it to every other; and¶
making use of their old slaves to acquire new ones, they no longer¶
thought of anything but subduing and enslaving their neighbours; like¶
those ravenous wolves, who having once tasted human flesh, despise¶
every other food, and devour nothing but men for the future.¶
¶
It is thus that the most powerful or the most wretched, respectively¶
considering their power and wretchedness as a kind of title to the¶
substance of others, even equivalent to that of property, the e started to prefer that taste to every other.¶
They no longer¶
thought of anything but subduing and enslaving their neighbours, using their old slaves to acquire new ones. They were like¶
those ravenous wolves, who have tasted human flesh and now despise¶
every other food.¶
¶
E quality¶
once broken was followed by the most shocking disorders. It is thus¶
that t ¶
T he usurpations of the rich, the pillagings of the poor, and the¶
unbridled passions of all, by stifling the cries of natural¶
compassion , and the as - yet - feeble voice of justice, rendered man¶
avaricious, wicked , and ambitious. There arose between the title of the ¶
strongest , and that of the first occupier a perpetual conflict, which¶
always ended in battery and bloodshed. Infant society became Society at this stage was a scene¶
of the most horrible warfare : . Mankind thus debased and harassed, and¶
no longer able to retreat, or renounce the unhappy acquisitions it had¶
made; labouring, in short merely to its confusion by the abuse of¶
those faculties, which in themselves do it so much honour, is¶
no longer able to retreat to the forest,¶
and has brought¶
itself to the very brink of ruin and destruction.¶
¶
Attonitus novitate mali, divesque [Midas is dismayed by his wish, he is rich and miser qu abl e,¶
Effugere optat opes; et quoe modo voverat, odit.¶
¶
But it is impossible that men should not sooner or later have made¶
reflections on so he wishes to flee his riches, he hates his wish.]¶
¶
Men must have¶
thought about their wretched a situation , and upon the calamities with¶
which they were overwhelmed. overwhelming calamities.¶
The rich , in particular , must have soon ¶
perceived how much they suffered by a perpetual war, of which they¶
alone supported all the expense, and in which, though all risked life, paid for and in which ¶
they alone risked any substance riches . Besides, whatever colour justifications they might¶
pretend to give to their usurpations, they sufficiently saw that these¶
usurpations were in the main hierarchies, they saw that these¶
were founded upon false and precarious tit l i es,¶
and that what they had acquired by mere force, others could again by¶
mere force ¶
wrest out of their hands , without leaving them the least¶
room to complain of such a proceeding. by force.¶
Even those , who owed all their¶
riches to their own industry, could scarce ground their acquisitions¶
upon a better title. It availed them labor, could hardly justify their wealth better.¶
It meant nothing to say, 'Twas “ I built¶
this wall ; . I acquired own this spot by due to my labour. Who traced it out for¶
you, a Ӧ
A nother might object, and w “W hat right have do you have to expect payment¶
at our expense for doing t w hat we did not oblige you to do ask for ? Don't you¶
know that numbers of your brethren perish, or suffer grievously for¶
want of people are suffering and dying because they do not have¶
what you possess have more than suffices nature, and that you¶
should have had the express and enough of? You¶
should have sought the unanimous consent of mankind to before ¶
appropriat e to yourself of their common, more than was requisite for¶
your private subsistence? Destitute of solid reasons to justify, and¶
sufficient force to defend himself; crushing individuals with ease,¶
but with equal ease crushed by numbers; one against all, and unable,¶
on account of mutual jealousies, to unite with his equals against¶
banditti united by the common hopes of pillage; the rich man, thus¶
pressed by necessity, ing more land than you needed to survive.Ӧ
Destitute of justifications, and without¶
sufficient force to defend himself, the rich man¶
at last conceived the deepest project that ever¶
entered the human mind: t his was to employ o use in his favour the very¶
forces that attacked him, to make allies of his enemies, to inspire¶
them with other maxims, and to make them adopt other institutions ¶
as ¶
favourable to his pretensions, the rich as the law of nature was unfavourable¶
to them.¶
¶
With To this view, after laying before his neighbours all the horrors of¶
a situation, which armed them all one against another, which end, the rich¶
spread fear to arm all his neighbors against each other and to render ed ¶
their possessions as burdensome a s nd their wants were intolerable , and¶
in which no one could expect any safety either in poverty or riches,¶
he easily invented specious arguments to bring them over to his¶
purpose. .¶
He easily invented specious arguments.¶
"Let us unite," he said he , "to secure the weak from¶
oppression, restrain the ambitious, and secur guarante e to every man the¶
possession of what belongs to him: he owns. Let us form rules of justice and¶
peace, to which all m ay be obliged to ust conform, ¶
but which shall not except¶
persons, but may in some sort make amends may allow for the caprice of fortune ,¶
by submitting .¶
Let us oblige alike the powerful and the weak to the observance of¶
mutual duties. In a w sh or d t , instead of turning our forces against¶
ourselves, let us collect them into a sovereign power , which may¶
govern us by wise laws, may protect and defend all the members of the¶
asso ci a ti on, zens,¶
repel common enemies, and maintain a perpetual con c cord¶
and harmony among us."¶
¶
Much Only a few er words of this kind were sufficient to draw in a parcel of¶
rustics, whom it was an easy matter to impose upon, who had besides were needed to convince¶
rustics, who had ¶
too many quarrels among themselves to live without arbiters, and too¶
much avarice and ambition to live long without masters. All offered¶
their necks to the yoke in hopes of securing their liberty ; for t . T hough¶
they had sense enough to perceive d the advantages of a political¶
constitution, they ha di d not experience enough to see beforehand the¶
dangers of it; t have enough experience to see its¶
dangers. T hose among them , who were best qualified to foresee¶
abuses , were precisely those who expected to benefit by them ; e . E ven the¶
soberest judged it requisite wisest thought it necessary to sacrifice one part of their type of liberty to¶
ens sec ure the an other, as just like a man , with dangerous ly wound ed s in any of his limbs , ¶
readily parts with i t he limb to save the rest of his body.¶
¶
Such was, or must have been , had man been left to himself, the origin¶
of society and of the laws, which increased the fetters of the weak , ¶
and the strength of the rich ; , which irretrievably destroyed natural liberty,¶
which fixed for ever the laws of property and inequality ; , which changed an artful¶
usurpation into an irrevocable title ; , and which ( for the benefit of a few¶
ambitious individuals ) subjected the rest of mankind to perpetual¶
labour, servitude, and misery. We may easily conceiv se e how the¶
establishment of a single society rendered th at of all the rest¶
absolutely e rest¶
necessary, and how, to make head agains figh t united forces, it¶
became necessary for the rest of mankind to unite in their turn.¶
Societies once formed in this manner, .¶
Societies soon multiplied or spread to¶
such a degree, as to cover the face of the earth ; and not to leave a¶
corner in the whole universe , where a man could throw off the yoke , or ¶
and withdraw his head from under the often ill-conducted sword which¶
he saw perpetually over hanging over it. sword.¶
The civil law being thus bec o a me¶
the common rule of citizens, and the law of nature no longer obtained but¶
among the different societies, in which, under the name of the law of¶
nations, it was qualified by some tacit conventions to render commerc applied.¶
Under the law of¶
nations, commerce becam e¶
possible , and supply the re place of d natural compassion , which, losing by¶
degrees all that influence over societies which it originally had over¶
individuals, . Natural compassion has lost its influence and now¶
no longer exists but in some great souls, who consider¶
themselves as citizens of the world , ¶
and fo rcing the imaginary¶
barriers that separate people from people, after the example of the¶
Sovereign Being from whom we all derive our existence, llow the example of¶
God to make the whole¶
human race the object of their benevolence.¶
¶
Political bodies, thus remain ing ed in a state of nature among¶
themselves, and soon experienced the inconveniences which had obliged¶
individuals to quit it; and this state became that forced¶
men to leave that state. The state of nature was much more fatal to these¶
great bod ¶
countr ies , than it had been before to the individuals which now¶
composed them. Hence those men.¶
Hence, the existence of national wars, those battles, those ¶
murders , those and reprisals, which make nature shudder and shock reason;¶
hence all those ¶
and horrible prejudices , which make it a virtue and an¶
honour ¶
to shed human blood. The worthiest men learned to consider the ¶
cutting the throats of their fellows as a duty ; at length m . M en began to¶
butcher each other by thousands without knowing for what; and m why. M ore¶
murders were committed in a single action, and more horrible disorders¶
at battle or during¶
the taking of a single town, than had been committed in the state¶
of nature during ages together all the years men spent in the state¶
of nature upon the whole face of the earth. Such¶
These are ¶
the first effects we may conceive to have arisen from of the division¶
of mankind into different societies. Let us return to their¶
institution. ¶
¶
I know that several writers have assigned o given other reasons for the r origin s of political¶
society ; as , for instance, the conquests of the powerful, or the union¶
of the weak ; and it is no matter which of these causes we adopt in¶
regard to . Which theory is true does not matter for¶
what I am go say ing to establish; that, however, which I have¶
just laid down, about inequality. However, my theory¶
seems to me the most natural , for the following¶
reasons : . First, because , in the first case, the right of conquest¶
being in fact is no right at all, it could not serve as a foundation for¶
any other right , the conqueror and the conquered ever remaining with¶
respect to each other in a state of war, unless .¶
Until the conquered,¶
restored to wi th e full possession of their liberty, should freely cho o se¶
their conqueror for their chief . Till then , whatever capitulations¶
might have been made between them, as these capitulations the conquered made were founded¶
upon violence , and of course _ de facto _ null and void , there could not¶
have existed in this hypothesis either a .¶
When the right of conquest is given primacy, there is no true society, or a political¶
body, or any other law but that of the strongest. Second, because ¶
the se words “ strong ” and “ weak, ” are ambiguous in the second case; for¶
during .¶
In the interval between the establishment of the right of property¶
or prior occupation and tha and the establishmen t of political government, the meaning of¶
th e o se term word s is better expressed by the words poor and rich, as b “rich” and “poor.” B efore¶
the establishment of laws , men in reality had no other means of¶
reduc hurt ing their equals, but by invading the property of these equals ,¶
or by parting with some of their own property to them. .¶
Third, because¶
the poor hav ing e nothing to lose but their liberty to lose , it would have been¶
the height of madness in for them to give up willingly the only blessing¶
they had left without obtaining some consideration for it: whereas the¶
rich being sensible, if I may say so, in every part of their¶
possessions, it was much easier to do them mischief, and therefore¶
more incumbent upon them to guard against it; and because, in fine, i give up their liberty¶
without obtaining something in return. At the same time,¶
it was much easier to harm the rich by harming their possessions, and therefore¶
the rich needed to guard against harm. I t¶
is but reasonable to suppose , that a thing has been political society was invented by him to¶
whom it could be of service , rather than by him to whom it must prove¶
detrimental.¶
¶
Government in its infancy had no regular and permanent form. For want ¶
of a sufficient fund of philosophy and of¶
experience, men could see no¶
further than the present inconveniences, and never thought of¶
providing remedies for future ones , but in proportion as they arose .¶
In spite of all the labours of the wisest legislators, the political¶
state still continued was imperfect, because it was in a manner the work the result ¶
of chance ; and , as the its foundations of it were ill laid , time, though . Time was ¶
sufficient to discover its defects and suggest the remedies for them,¶
,¶
but could n ever ot mend its original vices. Men were continually repairing ;¶
whereas, to erect a good edifice, they should have begun as Lycurgus¶
did at Sparta, by clearing the area, ,¶
but they should have¶
started from scratch and remov ing ed the old materials.¶
Society at first consisted merely of some general conventions which¶
all the members bound themselves to observe, and for the performance¶
of which the whole body became security to every individual.¶
Experience was necessary to .¶
Experience show ed the great weakness of such a¶
constitution , and how easy it w : it was e as y for those, who infringed it, law breakers to¶
escape the conviction or chastisement of faults, of which the public¶
alone was to be both the witness and the judge; t .¶
T he laws could not¶
fail of help being eluded in a thousand ways ; inconveniences and disorders¶
could not but multiply continually, till it was at last found¶
necessary to think of committing to .¶
At last, it was found¶
necessary to give private persons the dangerous¶
trust of public authority, and to magistrates the care duty of enforcing¶
obedience to the people: for t . T o say that chiefs were elected before¶
confederacies were formed, and that the ministers of the laws existed¶
before the laws themselves, is a supposition too ridiculous to deserve¶
I should serious ly refut e it ation .¶
¶
It would be equally unreasonable to imagine that men at first unconditionally threw¶
themselves into the arms of an absolute master , without any conditions¶
or consideration on his side; and ¶
or that the first means contrived by¶
jealous and unconquered men for their common safety was to run hand¶
over head into slavery. In fact, why Why else did they give themselves¶
superiors, if it was not to be defended by them against oppression,¶
and protected in their lives, liberties, and properties , which are in¶
a manner the constitutional elements of their being? Now i ?¶
I n the¶
relations between man and man, the worst that can happen to one man¶
being is to see himself at the discretion mercy of another , w . W ould it not have¶
been contrary to the dictates of good sense to begin by making o nonsensical for men to gi ve r to¶
a chief the only things for the preservation of which they stood in¶
need of his assistanc rights they needed his help to preserv e? ¶
What equivalent could he have offered them ¶
for so fine a privilege? And had he presumed to in return¶
for such a privilege? And if the chief had ex tr act it on ed men’s rights using the pretense¶
of defending them, would he not have been immediately re cei mo ved the answer¶
in the apologue? What worse treatment can we expect from an enemy? It¶
is therefor from his position¶
after the pretens e p w as t dis pute, and indeed covered? It¶
is a fundamental maxim of political¶
law , that people gave themselves chiefs to defend their liberty , and¶
not be enslaved by them. “ If we have a prince, ” said Pliny to Trajan, “ it¶
is in order that he may keep us from having a master. ” ¶
¶
Political writers argue in regard to the love of about liberty with the same ¶
philosophy that philosophers do in regard to way¶
philosophers argue about the state of nature ; by : using ¶
the things they see , they judge of things very different w t hi ch ngs they¶
have never seen , and t . T hey attribute to men a natural inclination to¶
slavery, on account because of the patience with which the slaves within their¶
notice they know¶
carry the yoke ; . They do not reflect ing that it is with liberty a i s with like ¶
innocence and virtue , the : its value of which is not known but by those who¶
do not possess them, though it, and the relish for i t hem is lost with the things¶
themselves. once it is possessed.¶
“ I know the charms of your country, ” said Brasidas to a¶
satrap who was comparing the life of the Spartans with that of the¶
Persepolites ; , “ but you can not know the pleasures of mine. ” ¶
¶
A s a n unbroken cou ho rse r erects his mane, paws the ground, and rages at¶
the bare sight of the bit, while a trained horse patiently suffers¶
both whip and spur , just so . Similarly, the barbarian will never reach his neck to tolerate ¶
the yoke which civilized man carries without murmuring but prefers the¶
most stormy liberty to a calm subjection. It is not therefore .¶
Therefore, it is not by the¶
servile disposition of enslaved nations that we must should judge of the¶
natural disposition s of man for or against slavery, but by the¶
prodigies done by ever measures taken b y free people to secure themselves from¶
oppression. I know that the first slaves are constantly crying up talking about th at e peace¶
and tranquillity they enjoy in their irons, and that _miserrimam¶
servitutem pacem appellant_: ¶
but when I see the others free people sacrifice¶
pleasures, peace, riches, power, and even life itself to the¶
preserv ation of that single jewel so much slighted by those who have¶
lost it; when I see free-born animals through a natural abhorrence of¶
captivity dash their brains out against the bars of their prison; when¶
I see multitudes of naked savages despise European pleasures, and e their liberty,¶
and I see naked savages ¶
brave hunger, fire and sword, and death itself to preserve their¶
independency ; , I feel that it belongs not to slaves to argue concerning slaves should not argue about ¶
liberty.¶
¶
As to paternal authority, from which several have derived absolute¶
government and every other mode of society, it is sufficient, without¶
having recourse to Locke and Sidney, , it is sufficient¶
to observe that nothing in the¶
world differs more from the cruel spirit of despotism that the¶
gentleness of that fatherly authority , which looks more to . Fathers care more about the advantage of h im e ¶
who obeys than to the utility of him who commands; that by the law of¶
nature he who commands;¶
the father continues is the master of his child no longer than the¶
child stands in need of s his assistance ; that , and after that term they¶
become equal , and so that the n the son, entirely independent of the¶
father, owes him son¶
owes his father respect but no t obedience , but only respect . Gratitude is indeed ¶
a duty which we are bound to pay, but which benefactors can not exact ask for .¶
Instead of saying that civil society is derived from paternal¶
authority, we should rather say that it is to the former that the¶
latter owes its principal force: No one individual was acknowledged as¶
the father of several other individuals, till they settled about him.¶
The father's goods, which he can indeed dispose of as he pleases, are¶
the ties which hold his children to their dependence upon paternal authority¶
owes civil society its force.¶
The father's inheritance¶
ties his children to him, and he¶
may divide his substance s it among them in proportion as they shall have¶
deserved his attention by a to¶
their continu al ed deference to his commands. Now In contrast, ¶
the subjects of a despotic chief, far from hav expect ing any such favour to¶
expect from him, as both themselves and all they have are his¶
property, or at least are considered by him as such, gift¶
from him,¶
are obliged to¶
receive as a favour what he relinquishes to them o f rom their own¶
property. He does them justice when he strips takes from them; he treats them¶
with mercy when he suffer allow s them to live. By continuing in this manner¶
to compare facts with right, we should discover as little solidity as¶
truth in the voluntary establishment of tyranny; and it would be a¶
hard matter Thus,¶
it is¶
hard to prove the validity of a contract which was binding only¶
on one side, in which one of the parties should stake everything and¶
the other nothing , and which could turn out to the prejudice of him¶
alone who had bound himself.¶
¶
This odious system is even, at this day, far from being .¶
¶
This odious system is even today not that of wise¶
and good monarchs, and especially of such as the kings of France , a . Thi s may be¶
seen by divers passages in from their edicts, and particularly by that of a such as this ¶
celebrated piece published in 1667 in the name and by the orders of¶
Louis XIV . : "Let it therefore not be said that the sovereign is not¶
subject to the laws of his realm, since, that he is, is a maxim of the¶
law of nations which flattery has sometimes attacked, but which good¶
princes have always defended as the tutelary divinity of their realms.¶
How much more reasonable is it to say with the sage Plato, that the¶
perfect happiness of a state consists in the subjects obeying their¶
prince, the prince obeying the laws, and the laws being equitable and¶
always directed to the good of the public?" I shall not stop to¶
consider , if , liberty being the most noble faculty of man, it is not it is ¶
degrading o ne's ur nature , reducing one's self to the level of brutes,¶
who are the slaves of instinct, and even offending the author of one's¶
being, to renounce without reserve the most precious of his gifts, and¶
submit to the commission of all the crimes he has forbid us, merely to¶
gratify a mad or a cruel master; and if this sublime artist ought to¶
be more irritated at seeing his work destroyed than at seeing it¶
dishonoured. I shall only ask what right those, who were not afraid¶
thus to degrade themselves, ¶
and offending our creator¶
to renounce without reserve precious liberty¶
merely to¶
gratify a mad or a cruel master.¶
I shall only ask what right rulers¶
could have to subject their dependants to¶
the same ignominy , and of renounc e, in the name of their posterity,¶
blessings for which it is not indebted to their liberality, and ing liberty, ¶
without which life itself must appear a bur th d en to all those who are¶
worthy t o f li v f e.¶
¶
Puffendorf says that, as we can just like we transfer our property from one to¶
another by contracts and conventions, we may likewise using¶
contracts, we may divest ourselves¶
of our liberty in favour of other men . This, in my opinion, is a very¶
poor way of arguing; for, in the first place argument. First , the property I cede to¶
another becomes by such cession a thing quite foreign to me, and the¶
abuse of which can no way affect me ; b . B ut it concern affect s me greatly that whether ¶
my liberty is not abused , and . For example, I can not , without incurring the guilt¶
of the crimes I may ¶
allow myself to be f or c der ed to commit , expose myself to become the¶
instrument of any. crimes without incurring guilt.¶
Besides, the right of property being of is a mere human¶
co i nvention and institution, every man may dispose of it as he pleases of¶
what he possesses: But the case is otherwise .¶
However, with regard to the¶
essential gifts of nature, such as life and liberty, which every man¶
is permitted to enjoy, and of which ¶
it is doubtful at least whether¶
any man has a right to divest himself: these. By giving up the one liberty , we¶
degrade our being ; , and by giving up the other life we annihilate it as much as¶
it is our power to do so; and as n .¶
N o temporal enjoyments can indemnify¶
us for the loss of either , ; it would be at once offend ing both nature¶
and reason to renounce them for any consideration. But though Even if we could¶
transfer our liberty as we do our substance property , the difference would be¶
very great with regard to our children , who . Children enjoy our substance but by¶
a cession of our right; property when we¶
cease to own it, whereas liberty being is a blessing , which as men¶
they hol all men¶
receive d from nature, their so parents have no right to strip them of¶
it; so that as t children of¶
it. T o establish slavery it was necessary to do violence to¶
nature, so it was necessary to alter nature to perpetuate allow such a¶
right ; and the jurisconsults, who have gravely pronounced that the¶
child of a slave comes a slave into the world, have in other words¶
decided, , so that now the rule makers say that¶
child of a slave is born a slave,¶
that a man does not come a man into the world.¶
¶
It t T herefore appears to me , it is incontestably true , that , not only did ¶
governments did not begin by with arbitrary power, which is but the¶
corruption and extreme term of government, and at length brings it¶
back to the law of the strongest, against which governments were at¶
first the remedy, but even that, allowing they had commenced in this¶
manner, such power being illegal in itself could never have served as¶
a foundation to the rights of society, nor of course to the inequality¶
of institution.¶
¶
I shall not now enter upon the inquiries which still remain to be made¶
into the nature of ¶
but that even if such arbitrary power existed,¶
it would be illegal and could never have served as¶
a foundation for society or inequality.¶
¶
I shall not discuss the remaining questions about¶
the fundamental pacts of every kind of government,¶
but , following the common opinion, confine myself in this place to limit myself to discussing the¶
establishment of the political body as a real contract between the¶
multitude and the chiefs elected by it. A This is a contract by which both¶
parties oblige themselves to the observance of the laws that are¶
therein stipulated, and form the bands of their union. The multitude¶
having, on occasion of the social relations between them, con follow laws¶
and form a union. The multitude¶
center ed s ¶
all their wills in one person, and all the articles , in regard to which¶
this will explains itself, become so many fundamental laws, which¶
oblige which¶
explain the wills become fundamental laws. These laws apply¶
without exception to all the members of the state citizens , and one of¶
which the laws regulates the choice and the power of the magistrate chief s¶
appointed to look to the execution of the rest. This power extends to¶
everything that can execute the rest. This power allows the chiefs to¶
maintain the constitution, but extends to nothing¶
that can not¶
alter it. To this power are added honours , that may render¶
the laws and the ministers of them respectable ; and the persons of t . T he¶
ministers are distinguished by certain prerogatives, which ma y make¶
them ke¶
amends for the great fatigue s inseparable from a caused by good¶
administration. The magistrate , on his side, obliges himself not to¶
to¶
only use the his power with which he is intrusted but conformably to the¶
intention of his constituents, to maintain every one of them in the to¶
help his constituents, to help them maintain ¶
peace able ful possession of his their property, and upon all occasions to prefer¶
the good of the public to his own private interest.¶
¶
Before experience had demonstrated, or a thorough knowledge of the ¶
human heart had pointed out, the abuses inseparable from demonstrated¶
the abuses that could be caused by such a¶
constitution, it must have appeared so much the more perfect, as those¶
appointed to look to its preservation were themselves preserve the constitution were most concerned¶
therein; for m with it. M agistracy and its rights being built solely on flowed from the¶
fundamental laws, as soon as so if these ceased to exist, the magistrates¶
would cease to be lawful , and the people would no longer be bound to obey¶
them , and, a . A s the essence of the state did was not consist in the ¶
magistrates but in the laws, the members of it laws, without laws citizens would immediately¶
become entitled revert to their primitive and natural liberty.¶
¶
A little reflection would afford us new arguments in confirmation of¶
this truth, and the nature of the contract might alone convince us¶
that it can confirms¶
this truth that the contract is¶
not be irrevocable : for i . I f there was no superior power¶
capable of guaranteeing the fidelity of the contracting parties and of ¶
obliging them to fulfil l their mutual engagements, they would remain¶
sole judges in their own cause, and duties,¶
each of them w c ould always have a¶
right to ¶
renounce the contract , as soon as if he discovered that the¶
other had broke the condition not fulfilled his dutie s o f r i t, or that these condition f his own dutie s ceased ¶
to suit his private be¶
convenien ce t . Upon this principle , rests the right of¶
abdication may probably be founded. Now, to consider as we do nothing¶
but what is human in this institution, if the magistrate, who has all¶
the power in his own hands, and who appropriates to himself .¶
Now, if the magistrate, who has all¶
the power and all the¶
advantages of the contract, has notwithstanding nevertheless has a right to divest¶
himself of his authority ; , how much a better a right must the people , who¶
pay for all the faults of its chief, ¶
have to renounce their dependence¶
upon him . ? But the shocking dissensions and disorders without number,¶
which would be the necessary consequence countless shocking revolutions¶
which would result of so dangerous a privilege , ¶
show more than anything else how much human governments stood in need¶
of needed¶
a more solid basis than that of mere reason , and how . It was necessary it¶
was for the ¶
for public tranquillity, that the will of the Almighty should¶
inter pos ven e to give to sovereign authority , a sacred and inviolable¶
character, which should deprive d subjects of the mischiev danger ous right to¶
dispose of give sovereign author it y to whom they pleased. If mankind had received no other¶
advantages from religion, this advantage alone would be sufficient to make them¶
adopt and cherish it religion , since it is the means of saving more blood than¶
fanaticism has been the cause of spilling. But to resume the thread of¶
our hypothesi saves more blood than¶
it spill s.¶
¶
The various forms of government owe their origin to the various ¶
degree s of inequality between the members, at the time they first¶
coalesced into a political body. Where a man happened to be ir citizens when they first¶
formed. Where a man was eminent¶
for power, for virtue, for riches, or for credit, he became sole¶
magistrate, and the state assumed a monarchical form ; if . Where many of¶
pretty equal eminence out -topped shone all the rest, they were jointly¶
elected, and this election produced an aristocracy ; those, betwe . Where there were no m en¶
whose fortune or talents th w ere happened to be no such disproportion,¶
and who had deviated less from the state of nature, disproportionately large,¶
men retained in common¶
the supreme administration , and formed a democracy. Time demonstrated¶
which of these forms suited mankind best. Some remained altogether ¶
subject to the laws ; , others soon bowed their necks to masters. The¶
former laboured to preserve their liberty; the latter thought o f¶
nothing but nly of¶
invading that of their neighbours , jealous at seeing¶
others enjoy a blessing which themselves had lost. In a word .¶
Virtue and happiness came to the former , riches¶
and conquest fell to the share of the one, and virtue and happiness to¶
that of the oth latt er.¶
¶
In these various mode form s of government , the offices were at first were all¶
elective; and when riches did not preponderate, the preference was¶
given to merit, which gives a natural ascendant, and to age, which is¶
the parent of deliberateness in council ¶
elective. When wealth did not overshadow all, the elected were selected based on¶
merit, age , and experience in execution .¶
The ancients among the Hebrews, the Geronts of Sparta, the Senate of¶
Rome, nay, and the very etymology of our word “ seigneur, ” all show how much gray¶
hairs were formerly respected. The oftener the choice fell upon old¶
m more often old¶
men were chos en, the more often er it became necessary to repeat it, and the more the¶
trouble of such repetitions became sensible; e select other old men to replace them.¶
E lectioneering took¶
place ; , factions arose ; , the parties c ontrac rea ted ill bad blood ; , civil wars¶
blazed forth ; , the lives of the citizens were sacrificed to the¶
pretended happiness of the state ; , and things at last came to such a¶
pass, as to be eventually the nation seemed¶
ready to relapse into their primitive confusion. The¶
ambition of the principal men induced them to take advantage of these¶
circumstances to perpetuate the hitherto temporary charges in their¶
families; the people already inur ¶
Ambitious men took advantage of these¶
circumstances to set in stone the temporary power that had been granted to them.¶
People us ed to dependence, accustomed to ease , ¶
and the conveniences of life, and too much enervated to break their¶
fetters, consented to the increase of their slavery for the sake of to ¶
secur ing e their tranquillity ; and it is thus that . Thus chiefs , bec o a me¶
hereditary, contracted the habit of began to consider ing magistracies a s a ¶
family estate, and themselves as proprietors of those communities, of¶
which at first they were but mere officers; to call their¶
fellow-citizens their slaves; to look upon them, like so many cows or¶
sheep, as a part of their substance; and to ¶
started to call their¶
fellow-citizens their slaves and consider them property like cows or¶
sheep, and style d themselves the peers¶
of Gods, and Kings of Kings.¶
¶
By pursuing looking closely at the progress of inequality in these different revolutions,¶
we shall discover that ,¶
we discover that the first stage was the establishment of laws and of the right of¶
property was , the first term of it; second stage was the institution of magistrates the¶
second; ,¶
and the third and last the changing stage was the transformation of legal power into arbitrary¶
power ; so that the . The first epoch authorized different states of rich and poor were authorized¶
by the first ,¶
the second epoch ; those of powerful and weak by the second; , and by ¶
the third epoch those of master and slave , which formed the last degree of¶
inequality, and the term in which all the rest at last end, .¶
In that state societies rested un til l new¶
revolutions entirely dissolve the government, or bring it back nearer¶
to its legal constitution.¶
¶
To conceive the necessity of this progress, we are not so much to¶
consider the motives for the establishment of political bodies, as the¶
forms these bodies assume in their administration; and the¶
inconveniences with which they are essentially attended; for t dissolved or reformed the government.¶
¶
To understand this progress, we must¶
consider the¶
forms political bodies assume, and the¶
inconveniences these forms cause. T hose¶
vices , which render social institutions necessary, are the same vices which¶
render the abuse of such institutions unavoidable ; and as (Sparta¶
alone excepted, whose laws chiefly regarded the education of children,¶
and where Lycurgu .¶
Laws are les s e st ablished such manners and customs, as in a great¶
measure made laws needless,) the laws, in general less strong th rong than¶
passions, an d the ¶
passions, y restrain men without changing them ; it would be no hard¶
matter to prove that e .¶
E very government , which carefully guard ing s ¶
against all alteration and corruption should scrupulously corruption while comply ing with¶
the ends of its i co nstitution , wa i s unnecessar ily instituted; and that y; a¶
country , where no one e ither eluded the ludes laws , or made an ill use of exploits ¶
magistracy , require d s neither laws nor magistrates.¶
¶
Political distinctions are necessarily attended with related to civil¶
distinctions. The inequality between the people and the chiefs¶
increase s so fast as to be soon felt by the private members, and that it ¶
appears among them citizens in a thousand shapes according to their passions,¶
their talents, and the circumstances of affairs . The magistrate can¶
not usurp any illegal power without making himself creatures, with¶
whom he must divide it. Besides, sharing it with o the r citizens of a free state suffer¶
themselves to be oppressed merely in proportion a .¶
Meanwhile, citizen s, ¶
hurried on by a¶
blind ambition , and looking below rather below than above them, they come to¶
love authority more than independence. When they submit to fetters,¶
't it is only to be the better able to fetter others in their turn. It is¶
no t easy matter to make him obey, who does not wish to command; and the¶
most refined policy would find it impossible to subdue those men , who¶
only desire to be independent ; b . B ut inequality easily g ains ground rows ¶
among base and ambitious souls, ever who are ready to run th tak e risks of¶
fortune, and ,¶
and are almost indifferent about whether they command or obey , as she¶
proves either favourable or adverse to them. Thus then .¶
Thus, there must have¶
been a time , when the eyes of the people were so bewitched to such a¶
degree, ¶
that their rulers only needed only to have said to say to the most pitiful¶
wretch, "Be great you and all your posterity," to make him the wretch and his heirs immediately¶
appear great in the eyes of every one as well as in his own ; and his¶
descendants took still more upon them, in proportion to their removes¶
from him: t .¶
T he more distant and uncertain the cause , the of great ness, the larg er the¶
effect; the longer line of dr more generati on e s a family produced, the more¶
illustrious it was reckoned.¶
¶
Were this a proper place to enter into details, I could easily explain¶
in what manner inequalities in point of credit and authority become¶
unavoidable among private persons the moment that, united into one¶
body, they are obliged to I could easily explain¶
how inequalities become¶
unavoidable the moment that people¶
compare themselves one with another , and to¶
note the differences which they find in the continual use every man¶
must make of his neighbour. ¶
take note of differences.¶
These differences are of several kinds ; , ¶
but riches, nobility or rank , power , and personal merit, being in¶
general the principal distinctions, by which men in society measure¶
each other, merit, are¶
the most important ones.¶
I could prove that the harmony or conflict between these¶
different forces is the surest indication of the good or bad original ness of the ¶
constitution of any state : . I could make it appear that, as among these¶
four kinds of inequality, personal qualities are the source of all the¶
rest, riches is that in which show that¶
merit is the ultimate source of all the¶
inequalities and riches are the y ultimate ly term dest inat e, ion because ,¶
being the most riches are¶
immediately useful to the prosperity of individuals,¶
and ,¶
the most easy to communicate, they are mad and can b e use of d to purchase¶
every other distinction. By this observation we are enabled to judge¶
with tolerable exactness, measuring riches we can judge¶
exactly how much a ny peopl stat e has deviated from its¶
primitive institution , and what steps it has still to make to the how far away it is from ¶
extreme term of corruption. I could show how much th is e universal¶
desire o f or reputation , of honours, of preference, with which we are all¶
devoured, exercises and compares our talents and our forces: how much¶
it excites and multipli ¶
exercises our talents,¶
excit es our passions ; , and , by creating an universal¶
competition, rivalship, or rather enmity among men, how many¶
¶
eventually¶
causes disappointments , successes, and catastrophes of every kind it daily¶
causes among the innumerable pretenders whom it engages in the same¶
career. I could show that it is to this itch of being spoken of, to .¶
I could show that ¶
this fury of distinguishing ourselves which seldom or never gives us a¶
moment's respite , that w . W e owe both the best and the worst things among¶
us, our virtues and our vices, our sciences and our errors, our¶
conquerors and our philosophers; that is to say, a great many bad¶
things to a very few good ones. philosophers and our conquerors, to this fury.¶
In short, I could prove , in short, that if we¶
behold a handful of the rich and powerful m en seated on the pinnacle of¶
fortune and greatness, while the crowd grovel in obscurity and want,¶
it is merely because the first prize what they enjoy but in the same¶
degree that others want it, and that, without changing their¶
condition, they joy their fortune and greatness¶
only in proportion to how many¶
others want to be them. Even if nothing else changed,¶
the rich and powerful would cease to be happy the minute the people ceased¶
to be miserable.¶
¶
But these details would alone furnish sufficient have enough mat t er ial to for m a more¶
considerable wor different boo k, ¶
in which might be I could weigh ed the advantages and¶
disadvantages of every specie different kind s of government, relatively to the rights¶
of man in a state of nature, and might likewise be unveiled all the¶
different faces under which inequality has appeared to this day, and¶
may hereafter appear to the end of time, according to the nature of¶
these several governments, and the revolutions time must unavoidably¶
occasion in them. ¶
and all the¶
different types of inequalities that exist.¶
We should then see the multitude oppressed by¶
domestic tyrants in consequence of those very light of the precautions taken by ¶
the m multitude¶
to guard against foreign masters. We should see oppression¶
increase continually without its being ever possible for without the oppressed¶
to know ing where it w ould ill stop, nor what lawful means they ha d ve left to¶
check its progress. We should see the rights of citizens , and the¶
liberties of nations extinguished by slow degrees, and while the groans, and ¶
protestations , and appeals of the weak are treated as seditious murmurings.¶
We should see policy confine to bestow upon a mercenary portion of the people army the¶
honour of defending the common cause. We should see imposts made¶
necessary by such measures, ¶
the disheartened husbandman desert his¶
field even in time of peace, and quit the plough to take up the sword.¶
We should see fatal and whimsical rules laid down concerning the point¶
of honour. We should see the champions of their country sooner or¶
later become her enemies, and perpetually created about¶
honour. We should see the heros¶
become villains holding their ponia swo rds to¶
the breasts of their fellow citizens. Nay, the time w ould ill come when¶
they might be heard to say to the oppressor of their country:¶
¶
Pectore si fratris gladium juguloque citizens will say to their rulers:¶
¶
If you order me to plunge my sword into my brother’s chest,¶
my father’s throat, or the belly of my p a re ntis¶
Condere me jubeas, gravidoeque in viscera partu¶
Conjugis, in vita peragam tamen omnia dextra.¶
¶
From the vast inequality of conditions and fortunes, from the great¶
variety of passions and of talents, of useless arts, of pernicious¶
arts, of frivolous sciences, would issue clouds of prejudices equally¶
contrary to gnant wife,¶
I will do so even though my hand is unwilling.¶
¶
The vast inequality of conditions and fortunes¶
would prejudice¶
reason, to happiness, to and virtue. We should see the chiefs¶
foment everything that tends to weaken men formed into societies by¶
dividing them; everything that, The chiefs¶
will weaken men by¶
dividing them. They w h il e it l give s society an air of¶
apparent harmony , sows in it while sowing the seeds of real division ; everything¶
that can . They will¶
inspire the different order faction s with mutual distrust and hatred ¶
by an opposition of their rights and interest, and of course ,¶
and thus ¶
strengthen th at eir own power which to contain s them all.¶
¶
'Tis from the bosom of this disorder and these revolutions, that¶
despotism gradually rearing up her hideous crest, and devouring in¶
every part of the state The despotism will gradually devour¶
all that still remained sound and untainted,¶
would and will at last issue to trample upon the laws and the people , and to ¶
establish herself upon the ruins of the republic. The times¶
immediately preceding this last alteration would be times of calamity¶
and trouble : but , and at last everything would be swallowed up by the¶
monster ; and t . T he people w ould ill no longer have chiefs or laws, but only¶
tyrants. A t this fatal period all regard to ll virtue and manners w ould¶
likewise ill¶
disappear ; , for despotism , _cui ex honesto nulla est spes_, ¶
tolerates no other master , wherever it reigns ; the moment it speaks,¶
probity and duty lose all their influence, and the blind est obedience¶
is the only virtue the miserable slaves have left them to practise.¶
¶
This is the last term stage of inequality, the extreme point which closes¶
the circle and meets that from which we set out. 'Tis here that brings us back to the beginning. Here all¶
private men return to their primitive equality , because they are no¶
longer of any account; and that, t .¶
T he subjects hav ing e no longer any law¶
but that of their master, nor the master any other law but his¶
passions , a . A ll notions of good and principles of justice again ¶
disappear. 'Tis here that e E verything returns to the sole law of the¶
strongest , and of course to . This is a new state of nature different from that¶
with which we began, in as much as ;¶
the first was the state of nature¶
in it wa s pur ity e , and the last the consequence of excessiv will b e corrupt ion.¶
T .¶
Ot her e w is e , in other respects, so there is little difference between these two¶
states , and t of nature. T he contract of government is so much dissolved by¶
despotism, so that the despot is no longer master than he continue only master for as long a s t he is ¶
strongest , and that, a . A s soon as his slaves can expel him, they may do¶
it without his having the least right to complain of their using him¶
ill. .¶
The insurrection , which ends in the death o r despotism of a¶
sult f a¶
tyr an , t is as juridical an act as any by which the day before he¶
disposed of the lives and fortunes of his subjects. Force alone upheld¶
him, force alone overturns him. Thus all things take place and succeed¶
in their natural order; and w the tyrant undertook.¶
Force alone upheld¶
him, force alone overturns him.¶
W hatever may be the upsho resul t of these hasty¶
and frequent revolutions, no one man has reason to complain of about ¶
another's injustice, but only of about his own indiscretion weakness or bad fortune.¶
¶
By thus Thus, by discovering and following the lost and forgotten tracks , by¶
which man from the natural must have arrived at the civil state; by¶
restoring, with the intermediate positions which I have been just¶
indicating, those which want of leisure obliges me to suppress, or¶
which my imagination has not suggested, must have arrived from the natural state at the civil state and by¶
studying the intermediate stages,¶
every attentive reader must¶
unavoidably be struck at notice the immense spa distan ce which separates these two¶
states. 'Tis i I n this slow succ progr ession of things he may meet with , you may find the¶
solution t o f an infinite number of problems in morality and politics ,¶
which philosophers are puzzled to solve. He will perceive that, the¶
mankind of one age not being the mankind of another, .¶
You will find¶
the reason why¶
Diogenes could not find a man was, that he sought : he was looking among his¶
co n temporaries the for a man of an earlier period : Cato, he will then see, . You will see that Cato ¶
fell with Rome and with liberty , because he did not suit the age in¶
which he lived; and the greatest of men served only to astonish that¶
world, which the¶
world would have cheerfully obeyed him , had he come into it¶
five hundred years earlier. In a word, he will find himself in a¶
condition You will be able¶
to understand how the soul and the passions of men by¶
insensible alterations change as it were their nature; how it comes to¶
pass, that at the long run our wants and our pleasures change objects;¶
that, ¶
slowly change their nature;¶
original man has vanish ing ed by degrees, and society no longer offers to¶
our inspection but an assemblage of w only contains¶
artificial men and factitious¶
passions , which are the work of all these new relations, civil society and have no¶
foundation in nature. Reflection teaches us nothing on that head, but¶
what experience perfectly confirms. ¶
Savage man and civili s z ed man¶
differ so much at bottom in point of in inclinations and passions, that¶
what constitute i s the supreme happiness of the one would reduce the¶
other to despair. The first sighs for wants nothing but repose and liberty;¶
he desires only to live, and to be exempt from labour ; nay, t . T he¶
ataraxy of the most confirmed Stoic falls short of his consummate¶
indifference for every other object. On the contrary, the citizen¶
always in motion, is perpetually sweating and toiling , and racking his¶
brains to find out occupations still more laborious: perform more and more work. He continues a this ¶
drudge to his last minute; nay, he he even courts death to be able to live, or¶
renounces life to acquire immortality. He cringes sucks up to men in power whom¶
he hates, and to rich men whom he despises ; h . H e sticks at nothing to¶
have the honour of serving them ; h . H e is not ashamed to value himself on know ¶
his own weakness and know he needs the ir protection they afford him; and . He is proud of his¶
chains , he and speaks with disdain of those who have not the honour of¶
being the partner of his bondage. What a spectacle must the painful¶
and envied labours of a n European minister of state form in must be for the eyes¶
of a Caribbean! How many cruel deaths would not this indolent savage¶
prefer to such a horrid life, which very often is not even sweetened¶
by the pleasure of doing good? But to see the drift of so many cares,¶
his mind should first have affixed some meaning to these words To understand the European,¶
his mind should know the meaning of power¶
and reputation ; he ,¶
should be apprised that there are men who consider¶
as something the looks of the rest of mankind, who know how to be¶
happy and satisfied with themselves on the testimony of others sooner¶
than up know that some men prefer to be¶
praised by others rather¶
than satisfied on their own. In fact, the real source of all th o e se¶
differences , is that the savage lives within himself, whereas the¶
citizen , is constantly beside himself , and knows only how to live in the¶
opinion of others ; insomuch that it is, if I may say so, . It is merely from¶
the ir judgment of others that t he citizen derives the consciousness of his own existence.¶
It is foreign to my subject to show how this disposition engenders so¶
much outside the scope of this work to show how this attitude creates¶
indifference for towards good and evil, notwithstanding so many and such¶
fine discourses of morality; how everything, being and¶
how honor, friendship, and virtue are reduced to¶
appearances , to become s mere art and mummery ; honour, friendship, virtue,¶
and often vice itself, which we at last learn the secret to boast of;¶
how, in short, ever inquiring of others what we are, and never daring¶
to question ourselves on so delicate a point, in the midst of so much¶
philosophy, humanity, and politeness, and so many sublime maxims, .¶
By always relying on others to define ourselves and never daring¶
to question ourselves,¶
we¶
have nothing to show for ourselves but a deceitful and frivolous¶
exterior, honour without virtue, reason without wisdom, and pleasure¶
without happiness. It is sufficient that I have proved that this is¶
not the original condition of man , and that ; it is merely the spirit of¶
society , and the inequality which society engenders, that thus change¶
and transform all our natural inclination it create s.¶
¶
I have endeavoured to exhibit the origin and progress of inequality , through ¶
the institution and abuse of political societies , as far as these¶
things are capable of being deduced from the nature of man by the mere¶
light of reason, and independently of those .¶
I have used mere light of reason to deduce truths from the nature of man,¶
without relying on sacred maxims which give¶
to the sovereign authority the sanction of divine right. I t follows¶
from this picture, have shown that as ¶
there is scarce ly any inequality among men in¶
a state of nature, a ll nd th at which e inequality we now behold owes its force and its¶
growth to the development of our faculties and the improvement of our¶
understanding, and at last becomes permanent and lawful by the¶
establishment of property and of laws. I t likewise foll have sh ow s n that moral¶
inequality , authorised by any right that is merely positive, clashes¶
with natural right, as often as it does not combine in the same¶
proportion with physical inequality: a distinction which sufficiently¶
determines, what we are able to think in that respect of that kind of¶
inequality which obtains in all civilised nations, since it is¶
evidently clashes¶
with natural right:¶
the¶
inequality present in all civilised nations is¶
against the law of nature that because infancy should command s old¶
age, folly conduct s wisdom, and a handful of men should b ar e ready to¶
choke with superfluities, while the famished multitude want the¶
commonest necessaries of life.¶
¶
¶
¶
¶
[Transcriber's Note: Some words which appear to be potential typos are¶
printed as such in the original book: These possible words include¶
cotemporaries and oftens. The paragraph starting with the words "This¶
odius system is even" contains unmatched quotes, which have been¶
reproduced as they appeared in the orginal. This work was transcribed¶
from a anthology (Harvard Classics Volume 34) published in 1910. The¶
editor of the entire series was Charles W. Eliot. The name of the¶
translator was not given, nor was the name of the author of the¶
introduction. Indented lines indicate embedded verse that should not¶
be re-wrapped.] basic necessities of life. ¶