Ethics 2

Excerpts from Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Discourse on the Origin of Inequality (trans. Roger D. and Judith R. Masters). Rousseau’s Preface to the Second Discourse

[91] The most useful and least advanced of all human knowledge seems to be that of man; and I daresay that the inscription of the temple of Delphi alone contained a precept more important and more difficult than all the thick volumes of the moralists. Thus I consider the subject of this discourse one of the most interesting questions that philosophy might propose, and unhappily for us, one of the thorniest that philosophers might resolve: for how van the source of inequality among men be known unless one begins by knowing men themselves? And how will man managed to see himself as nature formed him, through all the changes that the sequence of time and things must have produced in his original constitution, and to separate what he gets from his own stock from what circumstances and progress have added to or changed in his primitive state? Like the statue of Glaucus,1 which time, sea, and storms had so disfigured that it looked like a wild beast, the human soul, altered in the bosom of society by a thousand continually renewed causes, by the acquisition of a mass of knowledge and errors, by changes that occurred in the constitution of bodies, and by the continual impact of the passions, has, so to speak, changed its appearance to the point of being nearly unrecognizable; and, instead of a being acting always by fixed and invariable principles, instead of that heavenly and majestic simplicity with which its author had endowed it, one no longer [92] finds anything except the ugly contrast of passion which presumes to reason and understanding in delirium. What is even crueler is that, as all the progress of the human species continually moves it farther away from its primitive state, the more new knowledge we accumulate, the more we deprive ourselves of the means of acquiring the most important knowledge of all; so that it is, in a sense, by dint of studying man that we have made ourselves incapable of knowing him. 2 It is easy to see that one must seek in these successive changes of the human constitution the first origin of the differences distinguishing men—who, by common avowal, are naturally as equal among themselves as were the animals of each species before various physical causes had introduced into certain species the varieties we notice. In effect, it is not conceivable that these first changes, by whatever means they occurred, altered all at once and in the same way all the individuals of the species; but some, being perfected or deteriorated and having acquired diverse qualities, good or bad, which were not inherent in their nature, the others remained longer in their original state. And such was the first source of inequality among men, which is more easily demonstrated thus in general than assigned its true causes with precision. Let my readers not imagine, therefore, that I dare to flatter myself with having seen what appears to me so difficult to see. I begin some lines of reasoning, I venture some conjectures, less in the hope of resolving the question than with the intention of clarifying it and reducing it to its true state. Others will easily be able to go farther on the same road, though it will not be easy for anyone to reach the end of it; for it is no light undertaking to separate what is original from what is [93] artificial in the present nature of man, and to know correctly a state which no longer exists, which perhaps never existed, which 1 Cf. Plato’s Republic, book X, 611d1. 2 See also Rousseau’s Discourse on the Arts and Sciences for an extensive critique of the Enlightenment project.

probably never will exist, and about which it is nevertheless necessary to have precise notions in order to judge our present state correctly. He who would try to determine exactly what which precautions to take in order to make solid observations on this subject would need even more philosophy than is generally thought; and a good solution of the following problem would not seem to me unworthy of the Aristotles and the Plinys of our century: What experiments would be necessary to achieve knowledge of natural man? And what are the means for making these experiments in the midst of society? Far from undertaking to resolve this problem, I think I have pondered the subject enough to dare answer that the greatest philosophers will not be too good to direct these experiments, nor the most powerful sovereigns to make them: cooperation which it is hardly reasonable to expect, especially with the perseverance or rather the succession of intellect and good will necessary, on one side and the other, to achieve success. These researches, so difficult to conduct and so little thought of until now, are nevertheless the only means we have left to remove a multitude of difficulties that hide us from knowledge of the real foundations of human society. It is this ignorance of the nature of man that throws so much uncertainty and obscurity on the true definition of natural right: for the idea of right, says M. Burlamaqui, and even more that of natural right are manifestly ideas relative to the nature of man. It is therefore from this very nature of man, he continues, from his constitution and his state, that the principles of that science must be deduced. 3 [94] It is not without surprise and scandal that one notes the little agreement which prevails on this important matter among the various authors who have discussed it. Among the most serious writers one can hardly find two who are of the same opinion on this point. Without speaking of the ancient philosophers, who seem to have tried their best to contradict each other on the most fundamental principles, the Roman jurists subject man and all the other animals indifferently to the same natural law, because they consider under this name the law that nature imposes upon itself rather than that which it prescribes; or rather because of the particular sense in which those jurists understand the word law, which on this occasion they seem to have taken only for the expression of the general relations established by nature among all the animate beings for their common preservation. The moderns, recognizing under the name law only a rule prescribed to a moral being, that is to say, intelligent, free, and considered in his relations with other beings, consequently limit the competence of natural law to the sole animal endowed with reason, namely man; but each defining this law in his own fashion, they all establish it upon such metaphysical principles that even among us there are very few people capable of comprehending those principles, far from being able to find them by themselves. So that all the definitions of these wise men, otherwise in perpetual contradiction to one another, agree only in this, that it is impossible to understand the law of nature and consequently to obey it without being a great reasoned and a profound metaphysician: which means precisely that men must have used, for the establishment of society, enlightenment which only develops with great difficulty and in very few people in the midst of society itself. [95] Knowing so little, and agreeing so poorly upon the meaning of the word law, it would be very difficult to agree on a good definition of natural law. Thus all those that are found in books, besides not being uniform, have in addition the fault of being drawn from several kinds of knowledge which men do not naturally have, and from advantages which men can conceive of only after having left the state of nature. Writers begin by seeking the rules on which, for the common utility, it would be appropriate that men agree among themselves; and then they give the name natural law to the collection of these rules,

3 Cf. Burlamaqui, Principles of Natural Right, I.1, §2.

without other proof than the good which they judge would result from their universal application. This is surely a very facile way to explain the nature of things by almost arbitrary conveniences. But so long as we do not know natural man, we would try in vain to determine the law he has received or that which best suits his constitution. All that we can see very clearly concerning this law is that, for it to be law, not only must the will of him who is bound by it be able to submit to it with knowledge; but also, for it to be natural, it must speak directly by nature’s voice. Leaving aside therefore all scientific books which teach us only to see men as they have made themselves, and meditating on the first and simplest operations of the human soul, I believe I perceive in it two principles anterior to reason, of which one interests us ardently in our well-being and our self- preservation, and the other inspires in us a natural repugnance to see any fellow sensitive being perish nor suffer, principally our fellow men. It is from the conjunction and combination that our mind is able to make of these two principles, without the necessity of introducing sociability, [96] that all the rules of natural right appear to me to flow: rules which reason is later forced to re-establish upon other foundations when, by its successive developments, it has succeeded in stifling nature. In this way, one is not forced to make man a philosopher before making him a man; his duties toward others are not dictated to him solely by the belated lessons of wisdom; and as long as he does not resist the inner impulse of commiseration, he will never harm another man or even another sensitive being, except in the legitimate case where, his preservation being concerned, he is obliged to give himself preference. By this means one also ends the ancient disputes about the participation of animals in natural law; for it clear that, being devoid of intellect and freedom, they cannot recognize this law. But as they share something of our nature through the sensitivity with which they are endowed, one will judge that they too ought to participate in natural right, and that man is subject to some sort of duties toward them. It seems, in effect, that if I am obliged to do no harm to my fellow man, it is less because he is a reasonable being than because he is a sensitive being: a quality that, being common to beat and man, ought at least to give the one the right not be uselessly mistreated by the other. This same study of original man, of his true needs, and of the principles underlying his duties, is also the only good means one could use to remove those crowds of difficulties which present themselves concerning the origin of moral inequality, the true foundations of the body politic, the reciprocal rights of its members, and a thousand similar questions as important as they are ill-explained. [97] When human society is considered with calm and disinterested attention, it seems to show at first only the violence of powerful men and the oppression of the weak: the mind revolts against the harshness of the former; one is prompted to deplore the blindness of the latter. And as nothing is less stable among men than those external relationships which chance produces more often than wisdom, and which are called weakness or power, wealth or poverty, human establishments quickly appear at first glance to be founded on piles of quicksand. It is only by examining them closely, it is only after removing the dust and sand that surround the edifice, that one perceives the unshakeable base upon which it is built, and that one learns to respect its foundations. Now without serious study of man, of his natural faculties and their successive developments, one will never succeed in making such distinctions and in separating, in the present constitution of things, what divine will has done from what human art has pretended to do. The political and moral researches occasioned by the important question I examine are therefore useful in all ways; and the hypothetical history of governments is an instructive lesson for man in all respects. By considering what we would have become abandoned to ourselves, we ought to learn to bless him whose beneficent hand, correcting our institutions and giving them an unshakeable base, has prevented the

disorders which must otherwise have resulted from them, and has created our happiness from the means that seemed likely to heighten our misery.

Quem te Deus esse Jussit, et humana qua parte locatus es in re,

Disce.4 Rousseau’s Critique of Hobbes from the Second Discourse [127] Nothing… would have been so miserable as savage man dazzled by enlightenment, tormented by passions, and reasoning about a state different from his own. It was by a very wise providence that his potential faculties were to develop only with the opportunities to exercise them, so that they were neither superfluous and burdensome to him beforehand, nor tardy and useless when needed. He had, in instinct alone, everything necessary [128] for him to live in the state of nature: he has, in a cultivated reason, only what is necessary for him to live in society. It seems at first that men in that state, not having among themselves any kind of moral relationship or known duties, could be neither good nor evil, and had neither vices nor virtues; unless, taking these words in a physical sense, one calls vices in the individual the qualities that can harm his own preservation, and virtues those that can contribute to it; in which case, it would be necessary to call the most virtuous the one who least resists the simple impulses of nature. But without departing from the ordinary meaning, it is appropriate to suspend the judgment we could make of such a situation and to beware our prejudices, until one has examined with scale in hand whether there are more virtues than vices among civilized men; or whether their virtues are more advantageous than their vices are deadly; or whether the progress of their knowledge is a sufficient compensation for the harms they do one another as they learn of the good they ought to do; or whether all things considered, they would not be in a happier situation having neither harm nor fear nor good to hope for from anyone, rather than subjecting themselves to a universal dependence and obliging themselves to receive everything from those who do not obligate themselves to give them anything. Above all, let us not conclude with Hobbes that because man has no idea of goodness he is naturally evil; that he is vicious because he does not know virtue; that he always refuses his fellow men services he does not believe he owes them; nor that, by virtue of the right he reasonably claims to things he needs, he foolishly [129] imagines himself to be the sole proprietor of the whole universe. Hobbes saw very clearly the defect of all modern definitions of natural right; but the consequences he draws from his own definition show that he takes it in a sense which is no less false. Reasoning upon the principles he establishes, this author ought to have said that since the state of nature is that in which care of our self- preservation is the least prejudicial to the self-preservation of others, that state was consequently best suited to peace and the most appropriate for the human race. He says precisely the opposite, because of having improperly included in the savage man’s care of self-preservation the need to satisfy a multitude of passions which are the product of society and which have made laws necessary. The evil man, he says, is a robust child. It remains to be seen whether savage man is a robust child. Should we grant this to him, what would he conclude from it? That if, when he is robust, this man were as dependent on others as when he is weak, there is no kind of excess to which he would not be inclined: that he would beat his mother when she would be too slow to in giving him her breast; that he would strangle one of his young

4 “Learn what God has ordered you to be, and in what part of human affairs you have been placed.”

brothers when he would be inconvenienced by him; that he would bite another’s leg when he was hit or annoyed by it. But to be robust and to be dependent are two contradictory suppositions in the state of nature. Man is weak when he is dependent, and he is emancipated before he is robust. Hobbes did not see that the same cause that prevents savages from using their reason, as our jurists claim, prevents them at the same time from abusing their faculties, as he himself claims. Thus one could say that savages are not evil [130] precisely because they do not know what it is to be good; for it is neither their growth of enlightenment nor the restraint of law, but the calm of the passions and the ignorance of vice which prevents them from doing evil: Tanto plus in illis proficit vitiorum ignoratio, quam in his cognition virtutis.5 There is, besides, another principle which Hobbes did not notice, and which—having been given to man in order to soften under certain circumstances, the ferocity of his vanity or the desire for self- preservation before the birth of vanity—tempers the ardor he has for his own well-being by an innate repugnance to see his fellowman suffer. I do not believe I have any contradiction to fear in granting man the sole natural virtue that the most excessive detractor of human virtues was forced to recognize. I speak of pity, a disposition that is appropriate to beings as weak and subject to ills as we are; a virtue all the more universal and useful to man because it precedes in him the use of all reflection; and so natural that even beasts sometimes give perceptible signs of it. Without speaking of the tenderness of mothers for their young and of the perils they brave to guard them, one observes daily the repugnance of horses to trample a living body underfoot. An animal does not pass near a dead animal of its species without uneasiness. There are even some animals that give them a kind of sepulcher; and the sad lowing of cattle entering a slaughterhouse announces the impression they receive from the horrible sight that strikes them. One sees with pleasure the author of the Fable of the Bees,6 forced to recognize man as a compassionate and sensitive being, departing from his cold and subtle style in the example he gives in order to offer us the pathetic [131] image of an imprisoned man who sees outside a wild beast tearing a child from his mother’s breast, breaking his weak limbs in its murderous teeth, and ripping apart with its claws the palpitating entrails of this child. What horrible agitation must be felt by this witness of an event in which he takes no personal interest! What anguish he must suffer at this sight, unable to bring help to the fainting mother or the dying child. Such is the pure movement of nature prior to all reflection. Such is the force of natural pity, which the most depraved morals have difficulty destroying, since daily in our theaters one sees, moved and crying for the troubles of an unfortunate person, a man who, if he were in the tyrant’s place, would aggravate his enemy’s torments even more—like bloodthirsty Sulla,7 so sensitive to ills he had not caused, or like Alexander of Pherae, who did not dare attend the performance of any tragedy lest he be seen moaning with Andromache and Priam, whereas he listened without emotion to the cries of so many citizens murdered daily on his orders.8

5 “To such an extent has ignorance of vices been more profitable to them [the Scythians] than the understanding of virtue to these [the Greeks].” Justin’s Histories, II, ii. The point is that Scythian ignorance about moral vice was of more use to the Scythians than Greek knowledge of virtue was to the Greeks. 6 Written by Bernard Mandeville, the full title is The Fable of the Bees: or, Private Vices, Public Benefits. The book consists of two parts: a poem titled “The Grumbling Hive: or, Knaves Turn’d Honest” and a discussion of the poem. The poem was published in 1705; the book in 1714. Mandeville’s book was offensive at the time, because it argued that self-interest can lead to public benefit. 7 Roman general, politician, and eventually dictator, Lucius Cornelius Sulla. 8 Alexander was tyrant of Pherae in Thessaly from 369-358 BCE; his wife and cousin, Thebe, orchestrated his murder at the hands of her brothers. The historian Plutarch suggests she was motivated by both fear of Alexander himself and hatred of his cruelty. Priam was the king and ruler of Troy during the Trojan war, who witnessed the

Mollissima corda Humano generi dare se natura fatetur,

Quæ lacrimas dedit.9 Mandeville sensed very well that even with all their ethics men would never have been anything

but monsters if nature had not given them pity in support of reason; but he did not see that from this quality alone flows all the social virtues he wants to question in men. In fact, what are generosity, clemency, humanity, if not pity applied to the weak, to the guilty, or the human species in general? Benevolence and even friendship are, rightly understood, the products [132] of a constant pity fixed on a particular object: for is desiring that someone not suffer anything but desiring that he be happy? Even should it be true that commiseration is only a sentiment that puts us in the position of him who suffers—a sentiment that is obscure and strong in savage man, developed but weak in civilized man—what would this idea matter to the truth of what I say, except to give it more force? In fact, commiseration will be all the more energetic as the observing animal identifies himself more intimately with the suffering animal. Now it is evident that this identification must have been infinitely closer in the state of nature than in the state of reasoning. Reason engenders vanity and reflection fortifies it; reason turns man back upon himself, it separates him from all that bothers and afflicts him. Philosophy isolates him; because of it he says in secret, at the sight of a suffering man: Perish if you will, I am safe. No longer can anything except dangers to the entire society trouble the tranquil sleep of the philosopher and tear him from his bed. His fellow-man can be murdered with impunity right under his window; he has only to put his hands over his ears and argue with himself a bit to prevent nature, which revolts within him, from identifying him with the man who is being assassinated. Savage man does not have this admirable talent, and for want of wisdom and reason, he is always seen heedlessly yielding to the first sentiment of humanity. In riots or street fights, the populace assembles, the prudent man moves away; it is the rabble, the marketwomen, who separate the combatants and prevent honest people from murdering each other.

It is very certain, therefore, that pity is a natural [133] sentiment which, moderating in each individual the activity of love of oneself, contributes to the mutual preservation of the entire species. It

death and subsequent mutilation of his son Hector at the hands of the Greek hero Achilles ; he had to personally beg Achilles to return the body for burial. These events are detailed in Homer’s Iliad. Andromache was Hector’s wife. 9 From Juvenal, Satires, XV.131-33; composed in the late 1st and early 2nd century: “Nature, who gave men tears, confesses she gives the human race most tender hearts.” Satires XV discusses the role that compassion plays in the preservation of civilization. The context of the line quoted by Rousseau is the extreme circumstances that lead human beings to do extreme things, yet even the most savage refrain from cannibalism. The poet presents compassion as the distinctively human feature, continuing:

it’s the finest element of our sensibility. / And so she causes us to weep for the ward, who with long / Childish hair, hiding a face wet with tears, rendering its / Sex indeterminate, has summoned a defrauder to court./ Nature demands we sigh, when we meet the funeral cortege / Of a girl fated never to marry, or attend an infant’s burial, / One too young for the pyre. Who that is good, and worthy / Of the mysteries, and wishes to live like a priest of Ceres, / Can treat others’ ills as alien to themselves? This is what / Separates us from the dumb herd, and thus we alone are / Granted abilities worthy to be revered, fit for the gods; /And equipped for artistic practice and creation; we alone / Exhibit a sensibility inspired by the high heavens above, / And lacking in those with faces bowed towards the earth (133-145).

carries us without reflection to the aid of those whom we see suffer; in the state of nature, it takes the place of laws, morals, and virtue, with the advantage that no one is tempted to disobey its gentle voice; it will dissuade every robust savage from robbing a weak child or an infirm old man of his hard-won subsistence if he himself hopes to be able to find his own elsewhere. Instead of that sublime maxim of reasoned justice, Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, it inspires all men with this other maxim of natural goodness, much less perfect but perhaps more useful than the preceding one: Do what is good for you with the least harm to others. In a word, it is in this natural sentiment, rather than in subtle arguments, that we must seek the cause of the repugnance every man would feel in doing evil, even independently of the maxims of education. Although it may behoove Socrates and minds of his stamp to acquire virtue through reason, the human race would have perished long ago if its preservation had depended only on the reasonings of its members.