Rousseau's "Social Contract" (Contrat Social) is the most
influential treatise on politics written in modern times. As its
title implies, the work is an endeavour to place all government on
the consent, direct or implied, of the governed; how, through the
rearrangement of society, man may, in a sense, return to the law of
nature. "Man is born free, and yet is everywhere in chains."
Logically, the "Social Contract" is full of gaping flaws. Like its
author's other books (see vol. vii, p. 176), it is an outpouring of
the heart very imperfectly regulated by a brilliant but eccentric
brain. As a political essay it is a tissue of fantastic arguments,
based on unreal hypotheses. But it set men's minds on fire; it was
the literary inspiration of one of the most tremendous events in
history, and those who would comprehend the French Revolution can
unravel many of its perplexities by studying the "Social Contract."
After its publication Rousseau had to fly to England, where he
showed marked symptoms of insanity.
_The Terms of the Contract_
My object is to discover whether, in civil polity, there is any
legitimate and definite canon of government, taking men as they are, and
laws as they might be. In this enquiry I shall uniformly try to
reconcile that which is permitted by right with that which is prescribed
by interest so as to avoid the clash of justice with utility.
Man is born free, and yet is everywhere in fetters. He is governed,
obliged to obey laws. What is it that legitimises the subjection of men
to government? I think I can solve the problem.
It is not merely a matter of force; force is only the power of the
strongest, and must yield when a greater strength arises; there is here
no question of right, but simply of might. But social order is a sacred
right that serves as a base for all others. This right, however, does
not arise from nature; it is founded, therefore, upon conventions. It is
necessary, then, to know what these conventions are.
The explanation of social order is not to be found in the family tie,
since, when a child grows up it escapes from tutelage; the parents'
right to exercise authority is only temporary. Nor can government be
based on servitude. An individual man may sell his liberty to another
for sustenance; but a nation cannot sell its liberty--it does not
receive sustenance from its ruler, but on the contrary sustains him. A
bargain in which one party gains everything and the other loses
everything is plainly no bargain at all, and no claim of right can be
founded on it. But even supposing that a people could thus give up its
liberty to a ruler, it must be a people before it does so. The gift is a
civil act, which pre-supposes a public deliberation. Before, then, we
examine the act by which a people chooses a king, it would be well to
examine the act by which a people becomes a people; for this act, which
necessarily precedes the other, must be the true foundation of society.
Let it be assumed that the obstacles which prejudice the conservation of
man in a state of nature have prevailed by their resistance over the
forces which each individual is able to employ to keep himself in that
state. The primitive condition can then no longer exist; mankind must
change it or perish.
The problem with which men are confronted under these circumstances may
be stated as follows--"To find a form of association that defends and
protects with all the common force the person and property of each
partner, and by which each partner, uniting himself with all the rest,
nevertheless obeys only himself, and remains as free as heretofore."
This is the fundamental problem to which the Social Contract affords a
solution.
The clauses of this contract are determined by the nature of the act in
such a manner that the least modification renders them of no effect; so
that, even when they have not been formally stated, they are everywhere
the same, everywhere tacitly acknowledged; and if the compact is
violated, everyone returns forthwith to his natural liberty.
The essence of the pact is the total and unreserved alienation by each
partner of all his rights to the community as a whole. No individual can
retain any rights that are not possessed equally by all other
individuals without the contract being thereby violated. Again, each
partner, by yielding his rights to the community, yields them to no
individual, and thus in his relations with individuals he regains all
the rights he has sacrificed.
The compact, therefore, may be reduced to the following terms--"each of
us places in common his person and all his power under the supreme
direction of the general will; and we receive each member as an
indivisible part of the whole."
By this act is created a moral and collective body, composed of as many
members as the society has voices, receiving from this same act its
unity, its common "I," its life, and its will. This body is the
Republic, called by its members the state, the state when passive, the
sovereign when active, a power in its relations with similar bodies. The
partners are collectively called the people; they are citizens, as
participants in the sovereign authority, and subjects as under
obligation to the laws of the state.
The sovereign, then, is the general will; and each individual finds
himself engaged in a double relationship--as a member of the sovereign.
To the general will each partner must, by the terms of the contract,
submit himself, without respect to his private inclinations. If he
refuses to submit, the sovereign will compel him to do so; which is as
much as to say, that it will force him to be free; for in the supremacy
of the general will lies the only guarantee to each citizen of freedom
from personal dependence.
By passing, through the compact, from the state of nature to the civil
state, man substitutes justice for instinct in his conduct, and gives to
his actions a morality of which they were formerly devoid. What man
loses by the contract is his natural liberty, and an illimitable right
to all that tempts him and that he can obtain; what he gains is civil
liberty, and a right of secure property in all that he possesses.
I shall conclude this chapter with a remark which should serve as a
basis for the whole social system; it is that in place of destroying
natural liberty, the fundamental pact substitutes a moral and legitimate
equality for the natural physical inequality between men, and that,
while men may be unequal in strength and talent, they are all made equal
by convention and right.
_The Sovereign and the Laws_
The first and most important consequence of the principles above
established is that only the general will can direct the forces of the
state towards the aim of its institutions, which is the common good; for
if the antagonism of particular interests has rendered necessary the
establishment of political societies, it is the accord of these
interests that has rendered such societies possible.
I maintain, then, that sovereignty, being the exercise of the general
will, cannot be alienated, and that the sovereign, which is simply a
collective being, cannot be represented save by itself; it may transfer
its power, but not its will.
For the same reason that sovereignty is inalienable, it is indivisible.
For the will is either general or it is not. If it is general, it is,
when declared, an act of the people, and becomes law; if it is not
general, it is, when declared, merely an act of a particular person or
persons, not of the sovereign.
The general will is infallible; but the deliberations of the people are
not necessarily so. The people may be, and often are, deceived.
Particular interests may gain an advantage over general interests, and
in that case the rival particular interests should be allowed to destroy
each other, so that the true general interest may prevail. In order to
secure the clear expression of the general will, there should be no
parties or groups within the state; if such groups exist, they should be
multiplied in number, so that no one party should get the upper hand.
While, under the contract, each person alienates his power, his goods,
and his liberty, he only alienates so much of these as are of concern to
the community; but it belongs to the sovereign to determine what is of
concern to the community and what is not.
Whatsoever services a citizen owes to the state, he owes them directly
the sovereign demands them; but the sovereign, on its part, must not
charge its citizens with any obligations useless to the community; for,
under the law of reason, nothing is done without cause, any more than
under the law of nature. The general will, let it be repeated, tends
always to public utility, and is intrinsically incapable of demanding
services not useful to the public.
A law is an expression of a general will, and must be general in its
terms and import. The sovereign cannot legislate for part of the
individuals composing the state, for if it did so the general will would
enter into a particular relation with particular people, and that is
contrary to its nature. The law may thus confer privileges, but must not
name the persons to whom the privileges are to belong. It may establish
a royal government, but must not nominate a king. Any function relating
to an individual object does not appertain to the legislative power. As
a popular assembly is not always enlightened, though the general will
when properly ascertained, must be right--the service of a wise
legislator is necessary to draw up laws with the sovereign's approval.
The legislator, if he be truly wise, will not begin by writing down
laws very good in the abstract, but will first look about to see whether
the people for whom he intends them is capable of upholding them. He
must bear in mind many considerations--the situation of the country--the
nature of the soil--the density of the population--the national history,
occupations, and aptitudes.
Among these considerations one of the most important is the area of the
state. As nature has given limits to the stature of a normal man, beyond
she makes only giants or dwarfs, there are also limits beyond which a
state is, in the one direction, too large to be well-governed, and, in
the other, too small to maintain itself. There is in every body politic
a maximum of force which cannot be exceeded, and from which the state
often falls away by the process of enlarging itself. The further the
social bond is extended, the slacker it becomes; and, in general, a
small state is proportionately stronger than a large one.
It is true that a state must have a certain breadth of base for the sake
of solidity, and in order to resist violent shocks from without. But, on
the other hand, administration becomes more troublesome with distance.
It increases in burdensomeness, moreover, with the multiplication of
degrees. Each town, district, and province, has its administration, for
which the people must pay. Finally, overwhelming everything, is the
remote central administration. Again the government in a large state has
less vigour and swiftness than in a smaller one; the people have less
affection for their chiefs, their country, and for each other--since
they are, for the most part, strangers to each other. Uniform laws are
not suitable for diverse provinces. Yet diverse laws among people
belonging to the same state, breed weakness and confusion, for a healthy
and well-knit constitution, in brief, it is wiser to count upon the
vigour that is born of good government than upon the resources supplied
by greatness of territory.
The greatest good of all, which should be the aim of every system of
legislation, may, on investigation, be reduced to two main objects,
_liberty_ and _equality_: liberty, because all dependence of individuals
on other individuals is so much force taken away from the body of the
state; equality, because without it liberty cannot exist.
But these general objects of every good institution should be regulated
in every country in accord with its situation and the character of its
inhabitants. Nations with rich territories, for example, should be led
to devote themselves to agriculture; manufacturing industry should be
left to sterile lands. That which renders the constitution of the state
genuinely solid and endurable is the judicious adaptation of laws to
natural conditions. A conflict between the two tends to destruction; but
when the laws are in sympathy with the natural conditions, when they
keep in touch with them, and improve them, the state should prosper.
_The Government_
Every free action has two causes which concur to produce it: one of them
the will that determines upon the act, the other the power that performs
it. In the political body, one must distinguish between these two--the
legislative power and the executive power. The executive power cannot
belong to the sovereign, inasmuch as executive acts are particular acts,
aimed at individuals, and therefore, as already explained, outside the
sovereign's sphere. Public force, then, requires an agent to apply it,
according to the direction of the general will. This is the government,
erroneously confounded with the sovereign, of which it is only the
minister. It is an intermediary body, established between subject and
sovereign for their mutual correspondence, charged with the execution of
the laws and the maintenance of civil and political liberty.
The magistrates who form the government may be numerous, or may be few;
and, generally speaking, the fewer the magistrates the stronger the
government. A magistrate has three wills: his personal will, his will as
one of the governors, and his will as a member of the sovereign. The
last named is the weakest, the first named the most powerful. If there
is only one governor, the two stronger wills are concentrated in one
man; with a few governors, they are concentrated in few men; when the
government is in the hands of all the citizens, the second will is
obliterated, and the first widely distributed, and the government is
consequently weak. On the other hand, where there are many governors,
the government will be more readily kept in correspondence with the
general will. The duty of the legislator is to hit the happy medium at
which the government, while not failing in strength, is yet properly
submissive to the sovereign.
The sovereign may, in the first place, entrust the government to the
whole people, or the greater part of them; this form is called
democracy. Or it may be placed in the hands of a minority, in which case
it is called the aristocracy. Or it may be concentrated in the hands of
a single magistrate, from whom all the others derive their power; this
is called monarchy.
It may be urged, on behalf of democracy, that those who make the laws
know better than anybody how they should be interpreted and
administered. But it is not right that the makers of the laws should
execute them, nor that the main body of the people should turn its
attention from general views to particular objects. Nothing is more
dangerous than the influence of private interests on public affairs. A
true democracy, in the rigorous sense of the term, never has existed and
never will. A people composed of gods would govern itself
democratically. A government so perfect is unsuited to men.
There are three forms of aristocracy: natural, elective, and hereditary.
The first is only adapted to simple people; the third is the worst of
all governments; the second is the best of all. By the elective method,
probity, sagacity, experience, and all other sources of preference and
public esteem afford guarantees that the community will be wisely
governed.
The first defect of monarchy is that it is to the interests of the
monarch to keep the people in a state of misery and weakness, so that
they may be unable to resist his power. Another is that under a monarchy
the posts of honour are occupied by bunglers and rascals who win their
promotion by petty court intrigue. Again, an elective monarchy is a
cause of disorder whenever a king dies; and a hereditary monarchy leaves
the character of the king to chance, which, as everything tends to
deprive of justice and reason a man trained to supreme rule, generally
goes astray.
The question as to whether there is any sign by which we can tell
whether a people is well or ill governed readily admits of a solution.
What is the surest token of the preservation and prosperity of a
political community? It is to be found in the population. Other things
being equal, the government under which, without extrinsic devices,
without naturalisation, without colonies, the citizens increase and
multiply, is infallibly the best. Calculators, it is therefore your
affair; count, measure, compare.
As particular wills strive unceasingly against the general will, so the
government makes a continual attack upon the sovereign. If the
government is able, by its efforts, to usurp the sovereignty, then the
social contract is broken; the citizens, who have by right been thereby
restored to their natural liberty, may be forced to obey the usurper,
but are under no other obligation to do so.
Since the sovereign has no power except its legislative authority, it
only acts by laws; and since the laws are simply the authentic acts of
the general will, the sovereign cannot act save when the people are
assembled. It is essential that there should be definitely fixed
periodic assemblies of the people that cannot be abolished or delayed,
so that on the appointed day the people would be legitimately convoked
by the law, without need of any formal summons.
I may be asked, how are the citizens of a large state, composed of many
communities, to hold frequent meetings? I reply that it is useless to
quote the disadvantages of large states to one who considers that all
states ought to be small. But how are small states to defend themselves
against large ones? By confederation, after the manner of the Greek and
ancient times, and the Dutch and Swiss in times more modern.
But between the sovereign authority and arbitrary government there is
sometimes introduced a middle power of which I ought to speak. As soon
as the public service ceases to be the main interest of the citizens, as
soon as they prefer to serve their purses rather than themselves, the
state is nearing its ruin. The weakening of patriotism, the activity of
private interests, the immensity of states, conquests, and the abuse of
government, have led to the device of deputies or representatives of the
people in the national assemblies. But sovereignty cannot be
represented, even as it cannot be alienated; it consists essentially in
the general will, and the will is not ascertainable by representation;
it is either itself, or something else; there is no middle course. A law
not ratified by the people in person is no law at all. The English
people believes itself free, but it greatly deceives itself; it is not
so, except during the election of members of parliament. As soon as they
are elected, it is enslaved, it is nothing.
How are we to conceive the act by which the government is instituted?
The first process is the determination of the sovereign, that the
government shall assume such and such a form; this is the establishment
of a law. The second process is the nomination by the people of those to
whom the government is to be entrusted; this is not a law, but a
particular act, a function of government.
How, then, can we have an act of government before the government
exists? How can the people, who are only sovereigns or subjects, become
magistrates under certain circumstances? Here we discover one of those
astonishing properties of the body politic, by which it reconciles
operations apparently contradictory; for the process is accomplished by
a sudden conversion from sovereignty to democracy, so that, with no
sensible change, and simply by a new relation of all to all, the
citizens become magistrates, pass from general to partiacts, and from
the law to its execution. In this manner the English House of Commons
resolves itself into committee, and thus becomes a simple commission of
the sovereign court which it was a moment before; afterwards reporting
to itself, as House of Commons, as to its proceedings in the form of a
committee.
It is a logical sequence of the Social Contract that in the assemblies
of the people the voice of the majority prevails. The only law requiring
unanimity is the contract itself. But how can a man be free and at the
same time compelled to submit to laws to which he has not consented? I
reply that when a law is proposed in the popular assembly, the question
put is not precisely whether the citizens approve or disapprove of it,
but whether it conforms or not to the general will. The minority, then,
simply have it proved to them that they estimated the general will
wrongly. Once it is declared, they are as citizens participants in it,
and as subjects they must obey it.
_Civil Religion_
Religion, in its relation to society, can be divided into two kinds--the
religion of the man, and that of the citizen. The first, without
temples, without altars, without rites, limited to the inner and private
worship of the Supreme God, and to the eternal duties of morality, is
the pure and simple religion of the Evangel, the true theism. The other,
established in one country only, gives that country its own gods, its
own tutelary patrons; it has its own dogmas and ritual, and all
foreigners are deemed to be infidels. Such were all the religions of the
primitive peoples.
There is a third and more eccentric kind of religion, which, giving men
two legislations, two chiefs, two countries, imposes upon them
contradictory duties, and forbids them from being at the same time
devotees and patriots. Such is the religion of the Llamas; such is the
religion of the Japanese; such is Roman Christianity.
Politically considered, all these kinds have their defects. The third is
so manifestly bad that one need waste no time upon it. That which breaks
social unity is worthless. The second is good, in that it inculcates
patriotism, makes it a religious duty to serve the state. But it is
founded on error and falsehood, and renders its adherents superstitious,
intolerant, and cruel. The first, the religion of man, or Christianity,
is a sublime and true religion by which men, children of one god,
acknowledge each other as brethren, and the society that unites them
does not dissolve even with death. But Christianity of itself is not
calculated to strengthen a nation; it teaches submissiveness, and
discourages patriotic pride.
Now it is of prime importance to the state that each citizen should have
a religion which teaches him to love his duty; but the state is only
concerned with religion so far as it teaches morality and the duty of
man towards his neighbour. Beyond that, the sovereign has nothing to do
with a man's religious opinions.
There should, therefore, be a purely civil profession of faith, the
articles of which are to be fixed by the sovereign, not precisely as
religious dogmas, but as sentiments of sociability, without which it is
impossible for a man to be a good citizen or a faithful subject. Without
being able to compel anybody to believe the articles, the sovereign
could banish from the state anybody who did not believe them; it can
banish him, not as impious, but as unsociable, as incapable of sincerely
loving laws and justice. If anyone, having publicly accepted these
dogmas, should act as if he did not believe them, he should be punished
with death; he would have committed the greatest of crimes, that of
lying against the laws.
The dogmas of the civil religion should be simple, few, precise, without
explanations or commentaries. The existence of a powerful, wise,
benevolent, provident, and bountiful Deity, the life to come, the
happiness of the just, the punishment of the wicked, the sanctity of the
social contract, and the laws; these are the positive dogmas. As for
negative dogmas, I limit them to one; I would have every good citizen
forswear intolerance in religion.
After having laid down the true principles of political rights, and
sought to place the state upon its proper basis, it should remain to
support it by its external relations--international law, commerce, and
so on. But this forms a new aim too vast for my limited view; I have had
to fix my eyes on objects nearer at hand.