Rousseaus The Social Contract: A Readers Guide (Readers Guides)

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Overview of Themes-- 3. Reading the Text-- i. Reception and Influence-- 5. Nielsen Book Data Publisher's Summary This is a "Reader's Guide" to one of the most important and influential works of political thought in the history of philosophy. Rousseau's "The Social Contract" is one of the most important works of political thought in the history of philosophy. Since its publication in , it has been profoundly influential in shaping the historical developments of many societies and remains sharply relevant today.

Geared towards the specific requirements of students coming to Rousseau's work for the first time, this "Reader's Guide" offers guidance on philosophical and historical context, key themes, reading the text, reception and influence and advice on further reading. Each book explores the themes, context, criticism and influence of key works, providing a practical introduction to close reading, guiding students towards a thorough understanding of the text.

They provide an essential, up-to-date resource, ideal for undergraduate students. Nielsen Book Data Subject Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, Ideal for undergraduate students, the guides provide an essential resource for anyone who needs to get to grips with a philosophical text. Wraight All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers.

Overview of Themes 3. Since its publication in , it has enthused, enraged, provoked, inspired and frustrated its readers in equal measure. Though relatively short and attractively written, it is not an easy book to come to grips with. His main issue is the proper place of the individual within society, and particularly how political institutions may best be organized so that the citizens of the state can flourish and prosper.

As we shall see, in addressing this question he makes use of a subtle and original thesis of human nature and psychology, without which the political arguments that follow are hard to understand. Though the answers he arrives at have by no means convinced all his readers, the text of The Social Contract is replete with insight into the human condition and the forces which govern it, and is as instructive as it is challenging.

Moreover, the brief or scattered descriptions of such important concepts as the general will and the role of the lawgiver make it difficult vii PREFACE to derive a wholly convincing picture of either. In common with most commentators on Rousseau, I have taken as my starting point the ideas on human nature articulated in two important prior works, the Discourse on the Sciences and Arts and the Discourse on the Origin of Inequality.

With something of an understanding of the argument of these essays, the moves made in The Social Contract make more sense. In considering the text itself, I have only departed from the order of chapters once, where it seemed to me that the discussion of the general will in the first two sections of Book IV properly belonged together with its initial presentation in Book II. Otherwise, each section of this guide corresponds to a chapter or consecutive group of chapters in the original. Other references are cited in the notes at the end of the book. Details of these and other works quoted in this book are to be found in the final chapter on further reading.

In preparing this guide I have used a number of works of secondary literature. Any errors or misinterpretations remaining are, of course, my sole responsibility. I have been lucky enough to receive the support of friends and family during the writing of this book, for which I am very grateful.

I am especially appreciative of the contributions made by Christopher Warne and Dr Iain Law, who were generous enough to comment on drafts of the work. I am also in debt to Tom Crick and Sarah Douglas at Continuum for their patience and guidance during the preparation of the manuscript. He was born in during the final years of Louis XIV, who was the model of an absolute, autocratic monarch. Just over ten years after his death in , the Bastille was stormed by revolutionaries and the days of the French monarchy were drawing to a close. During his lifetime, the foundations of the industrial revolution were laid, the steam engine was invented and European explorers were pushing the boundaries of colonization and commerce further into Asia, North America and the Pacific.

In the arts, the baroque magnificence of Bach and Rameau was gradually replaced by the cool brilliance of Mozart and Haydn, while a radical new form of literature, the novel, was establishing itself through the works of Swift, Fielding and Voltaire. Philosophers and thinkers such as David Hume, Adam Smith, John Locke, Benjamin Franklin and Immanuel Kant were making seminal contributions to questions of metaphysics, religion, economics, morality and political theory.

In his own lifetime, he was as famous or infamous as a novelist, composer and playwright as he was a political thinker. Through his ideas of human nature and the legitimate basis of society, the subjects of The Social Contract, are now his most widely celebrated achievements; he also made notable contributions to the development of literature, music and educational practice.

Rather than simply reflecting the tastes and preoccupations of his age, he helped to challenge and shape them. He is now seen as one of the principal architects of the Age of Enlightenment in Europe and a political philosopher of signal importance. In assessing this legacy, it is helpful to have a very brief overview of some aspects of the environment in which he was writing.

The first of these was the growing prestige and success of the natural sciences. Freed from the destructive religious conflict and lingering feudalism of the previous century, educated men and it was mostly men in a comparatively wealthy and peaceful age were able to bend their efforts towards the creation and refinement of new inventions in a whole range of disciplines. In the great centres of population such as London and Paris, the exchange of ideas had never been greater.

Theoretical advances in physics, chemistry and mathematics achieved in earlier years were used to create practical solutions to problems of agricultural production, transport, architecture and medicine. It seemed to many that the application of critical, enquiring, rational thought was the solution to almost any kind of problem. Exploration of the less-developed wider world outside Europe would have generally reinforced their impression of living in a uniquely technologically advanced, progressive and powerful society.

Alongside scientific progress, great changes in social and moral thinking were also occurring. The enquiring mentality which produced the impressive technologies of the age was also apt to question long-established political and religious conventions. In particular, the grip of the established churches over the dissemination and inculcation of moral teaching was eroded by a small but influential number of critical commentators, increasingly unafraid of either spiritual or temporal punishment.

In Paris, a loose collection of intellectuals known as the philosophes epitomized this spirit of irreverent enquiry. One of the foremost members of the movement, Denis Diderot, was the driving force behind the great manifesto of the Enlightenment, the Encyclopaedia. Though there was considerable resistance to many of these ideas, and Diderot himself faced chronic harassment and persecution from the ecclesiastical authorities in France, the fact that such a compendium could be published at all was indicative of how far the power of the Church to stifle criticism had waned since the era of the religious wars.

Of course, it was a matter of considerable debate, as it has been ever since, whether or not this freedom to criticize was a good thing. Sympathetic rulers, such as Frederick II of Prussia, enacted reforms enabling greater freedom of thought and expression; others, like Louis XV of France, were more cautious in tolerating dissent.

And although there were a number of itinerant writers like Diderot agitating for more social and intellectual freedoms, there was also a powerful body of thought arguing for authoritarian, conservative rule. The political theorist Hugo Grotius, who was considered an authority on the rights of princes and is often quoted by Rousseau, argued that citizens of a state gave up their own rights to a ruler in exchange for the protection of their lives and property, and that there was no justification in rising up against repressive or tyrannical regimes.

In many respects, it was the period when the foundations of a recognizably modern Europe were beginning to be laid.

A Reader's Guide

His intense, sometimes baffling preoccupations and opinions caught the imagination of many of his contemporaries, while being equally capable of rousing violent opposition. Rousseau was a profoundly divisive figure, both for the revolutionary ideas expressed in his various writings, and for the erratic conduct of his personal affairs and relations.

Indeed, the relationship between his constantly evolving thought and his turbulent private life is always close, making it more than usually useful to have at least a cursory understanding of the latter before attempting to engage with the former. There are also a number of works written at the end of his life, some shrill and self-justificatory, others reflective and insightful. Together, they reveal a man endlessly preoccupied with the thorniest questions of human relations: What is the fundamental nature of people?

How best may their social affairs be organized? What prevents them from fulfilling their proper potential? While his autobiographical writings are often harsh on the failings of others to conform to his exacting answers to those questions, he is no less judgemental about his own shortcomings. At his worst, Rousseau can come across as paranoid and self-obsessed; at his best, he is capable of commenting with a rare clarity and perceptiveness on human frailty and its capacity for improvement.

These are the themes which animate his most important books, not least The Social Contract, written fairly late in his life in , and which is principally responsible for his reputation as a political philosopher. An interest in political questions seems to have been with him from a very early age. Rousseau was born in Geneva in , then an independent city state run along republican lines originally set down by the Protestant theologian John Calvin.

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In contrast to the hereditary monarchies which then ruled over most of Europe, Geneva was governed by a group of legislative councils drawn from the citizens of the city. In The Confessions, the young Rousseau recalls the discussions he had with his father, based on readings of Plutarch and other classical authors, and attributes his lifelong political sympathies and interests to them: It was this enthralling reading, and the discussions it gave rise to between my father and myself, that created in me that proud and intractable spirit, that impatience with the yoke of servitude, which has afflicted me throughout my life [.

Continuously preoccupied with Rome and Athens, living as one might say with their great men, myself born the citizen of a republic and the son of a father whose patriotism was his strongest passion, I took fire by his example and pictured myself as a Greek or Roman. His mother had died shortly after bearing him, and in her absence the fortunes of the family declined. When Rousseau was ten, his father fled Geneva following a dispute, leaving him in the care of an uncle. Thenceforth, his life would never again be truly settled.

In , after a somewhat piecemeal continuance of his education and a difficult period of apprenticeship, the occasion of being locked outside the gates of the city one evening prompted him to take the bold step of running away and seeking his fortunes elsewhere. She introduced him to Catholicism, to which he converted, and also formal musical training. He gradually assumed more responsibility within her idiosyncratic household, and when he was twenty-one became her sexual partner, though on a rather unequal basis.

When relations eventually cooled in and he was forced to move on once more, it was the cause of a period of illness, depression and uncertainty. The trigger for an upturn in his fortunes was his move to Paris in with the intention of making his name as a composer and playwright. After ten years of struggle, a performance of his opera, Le Devin du Village was given before the King at Fontainebleau, and was an enormous success.

It was the pinnacle of his career as a composer. Had he wished it, he could perhaps have worked further on his operatic plans, but by then he was already preoccupied with a campaign against him, real or imagined, among many of the dominant figures in Parisian musical life. In any case, opera was far from the only interest he had cultivated in Paris. During the long period of relative difficulty in establishing himself as a composer and playwright, he had become friendly with several leading members of the Paris intelligentsia. Most important among these was Diderot, who was then engaged on the production of the Encyclopaedia.

Rousseau was contracted to write articles on music for the project, the contents of which contributed to the further deterioration of his already poisonous relationship with Jean-Philippe Rameau, then the leading composer in France. Yet his writing was destined to move beyond articles on musical theory, and turn back to the topics which had fascinated him as a child. In his own account, the epiphany came on the road to Vincennes, where he was due to visit Diderot. In , his entry, later published as the Discourse on the Sciences and Arts, won the prize. This was followed by a second essay, Discourse on the Origin of Inequality, which also achieved success.

We will look at some of the themes of these early works in due course, but the most important feature to note here was the distinct lack of enthusiasm in them for the much-lauded technological and social achievements of the age. Swimming thus heavily against the prevailing tide, it is perhaps no surprise that his early essays became the source of some fame and much controversy. She was to stick by him for the rest of his life despite his seemingly casual disregard for her interests: Bolstered by the success of the two Discourses and the support of members of the intelligentsia in Paris, between and Rousseau produced his most influential works.

During the same period, he also produced much writing on contemporary politics and social organization. Several projects from this time were never completed, but he did finish his two great books on the individual and society: Unfortunately for him, the ideas contained in both proved too controversial for his audience, especially the sections on organized religion.

He stayed there for some time under the protection of Frederick II of Prussia, and was briefly able to develop some of his political ideas further, but the enmity he had generated among even some of his erstwhile supporters in France pursued him, and his house was stoned.

A bizarre period followed in which Rousseau became increasingly embittered and paranoid about the origins of his persecution. From this time onwards, his mental state, never a model of perfect stability, was subject to a marked deterioration. After being given permission by the authorities, Rousseau returned to France in , where he was to remain for the rest of his life. He continued to write on politics and music, as well as producing a number of autobiographical works.

His stock as a composer was still relatively high, as was his reputation with the more radical elements of the Parisian intellectual scene. His position was never entirely secure, however: In a typically eccentric final twist, it took a collision with a large dog in which he was badly injured to restore some sense of calm to his disordered mind. The final few years of his life were spent in relative serenity, and he died in in Ermenonville, near Paris. Though much discouraged by what he saw as the series of conspiracies and injustices which had brought him low, he had retained a good deal of his celebrity cachet throughout his turbulent later life.

His works were read as avidly after his death as they had been in life, and posthumously his reputation rose considerably. Though his personal foibles and vices are still open to view through the candid account of The Confessions, they have long since ceased to be of as much interest as his philosophical and political legacy, which is the reason he continues to be studied and argued over in the modern age.

As we have seen, he was seldom able to conduct his own affairs for long with any degree of tranquillity. He leapt at enthusiasms with a fervour which only rarely lasted long enough for him to gain true proficiency. While he was quick to form fast friendships with the many individuals he came across during his travels, he was equally adept at turning them into bitter enemies.

In many ways, he was a fundamentally contradictory character. He ardently wished for success and to be recognized as a man of substance, but despised glory-seeking and was capable of utterly idolizing simple-minded, benign characters like Mme de Warens. He pursued the bright lights of Paris, and under their illumination was inspired to write his most enduring works, yet forever yearned for the simplicity of the countryside where he would be free to walk in solitude with his notebook and pencil.

Essentially, he was a man ill at ease with the world, especially the salons of the intellectual classes which he patronized for many years, tongue-tied and ever ready to commit some fresh indiscretion or faux pas.

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With such an uncomfortable relationship with his environment, it is perhaps not surprising that his mature writing is permeated with a deep mistrust of the civilized, urbane form of society exemplified by the Paris of the eighteenth century. Especially in the mostly unhappy final half of his life, Rousseau was liable to compare its vices with an idealized rustic Swiss bliss, part-imagined from his own childhood.

Against the fast-talking philosophes, who thrived on the cut and thrust of intellectual debate and its accompanying social delights, Rousseau was to develop a philosophy repudiating much of what they stood for. Only by organizing social affairs in such a way as to counteract the worst follies of civilization could the essentially decent nature of men and women be properly realized.

Naturally enough, thoughts on how bad societies are constructed leads to thoughts on what might be done to repair the damage, and restore something of the virtue of a pre-civilized state. As he writes in The Confessions, referring to the origins of The Social Contract, I had seen that everything is rooted in politics and that, whatever might be attempted, no people would ever be other than the nature of their government made them. So the great question of the best possible government seemed to me to reduce itself to this: Without some understanding of what Rousseau takes the goal of human development to be, or indeed what kinds of human qualities are admirable and worthy of promotion, we will be unable properly to assess his ideas on political and social organization, nor to see why he makes the moves he does 10 OVERVIEW OF THEMES in the arguments to come.

The remainder of this chapter is an outline of some of these basic concepts, before we consider the text itself later on. As Locke puts it, To understand political power right, and derive it from its original, we must consider what state men are naturally in, and that is, a state of perfect freedom to order their actions, and dispose of their possessions, and persons as they think fit, within the bounds of the law of nature. For some philosophers, the state of nature may be treated as a matter of historical fact — a real phase of historical social development which can be theorized about; for others, it may merely be a useful device to introduce some ideas about the relationship between people as they are and people as they might be.

In both cases, one intention behind introducing the idea of a state of nature is to try and construct a picture of what people are like in themselves; that is, before the meddlesome effects of formal education, law and convention have altered things irretrievably. Rousseau is no exception to this. Indeed, he felt that others who had made recourse to such a device had not gone far enough: These days, even with much greater knowledge of the far past than Rousseau possessed, we might be quite cautious about speculating on the moral character and intentions of those living in pre-civilized times.

It is very difficult to imagine what the inner lives of such people could have been like, especially given the paucity of written evidence. In his Discourse on the Origin of Inequality, he makes two confident claims about the benign character of men and women before they were messed-up by modern society. Unlike the inhabitants of complex modern societies, who are all dependent on an extensive web of others to provide their needs, in a simpler past people were more readily able to meet their requirements without the help of others.

Technology plays a large part in this. They were dependent on an array of others to enable them to work: And once they had spent time employed using such technology, they depended on an extensive system of banking and finance to enable themselves to convert their labour into money. And then specialists were required to produce the goods which they needed to buy in order to live: They were dependent on all of these people to live their life, and vice versa.

According to Rousseau, in the distant past this was very different. People living in a more subsistence-based environment, producing their basic needs themselves, were not beholden to the vast interconnected matrix of give and take which characterizes his and our world. Instead, they were able to provide for themselves in isolation, and had little reason to interact with others unless they wished it.

He paints an intriguing picture of man in a state of nature, wandering up and down the forests, without industry, without speech, and without home, an equal stranger to war and to all ties, neither standing in need of his fellowcreatures nor having any desire to hurt them [. Indeed, he thought it one of the most important ingredients for harmonious relations between people and for a successful social order.

Another is that in an environment free of artificial, forced relationships, resentment and envy have yet to cloud the spontaneous capacity of human beings to feel for and with one another. According to Rousseau, all of us by default have a deep-seated and primordial repugnance at another sentient being suffering distress: This is one of the defining characteristics of what it is to be human. In the state of nature, there is nothing to subvert this fundamental drive. As a result, the mutual exercise of compassion produces a harmonious environment in which self-sufficient individuals are only drawn to interact with each other on the basis of a natural desire to avoid suffering: It is this compassion that hurries us without reflection to the relief of those who are in distress: But how convincing are they?

Is it really likely that humans of the past were independent of each other to the extent suggested by Rousseau? And is the drive for compassion truly of an especially privileged nature compared with other human motivations, such as competition or hostility?

To some extent, in assessing these claims we are as blind as Rousseau. Nonetheless, it is certainly possible to doubt his assumptions. Similarly, while few would deny that compassion is an important facet of our makeup as human beings, it is far from obvious that it would assume a uniquely prominent position in the absence of familiar social institutions. As we shall see, Rousseau himself contrasts this drive with the potentially conflicting instinct for self-preservation.

In very primitive contemporary societies, in which little technology or complex social structure exists, people display the full range of drives and motivations so familiar to us degenerate denizens of the developed world.

Similarly, in the social groupings of animals most closely related to us, like the great apes, there is as much oppression, violence and envy as there is in our own. Moving into the present, it may be true that excessive social interdependence, formalized in relationships of coercion and constraint, is a significant drain on our otherwise natural capacity for happiness and compassion.

And in fact Rousseau goes into some detail to show how this happens using a set of concepts which deserve our attention. For Rousseau, this is the most natural inclination existing in people, and one of the important aspects of his psychology. Self-love may seem a rather odd basis of human behaviour, given what has been said earlier about the essentially benign and compassionate state of pre-civilized society. For that reason, English-speaking commentators on Rousseau often leave the phrase untranslated. Instead, what Rousseau means is that a healthy desire for the preservation of our self is the basis for all our other drives.

In the absence of other corrupting inclinations, this is an entirely healthy and proper thing. After all, if we were not disposed to safeguard our well-being to some degree, life would be a contradictory and capricious thing. This, at its simplest level, is all that amour de soi means: It is a drive which other living things share, of course. Animals, through instinct, seek the same thing. There is not much difference, for Rousseau, between the animal instinct for self-preservation and the human feeling of amour de soi, at least in the beginning. However, human beings have a much greater sense of rationality, as well as an ability to learn and plan into the future.

So whereas the instinct for self-preservation in an animal is limited to an immediate drive to avoid harm and seek things known to be beneficial, in people it can be transformed into a more sophisticated motivation. On reflection, it may appear to us that certain long-term goals are more conducive to happiness and fulfilment than short-term satisfaction of the appetites.

In such a case, amour de soi may become a motivation to work towards more lofty ambitions, to shape a form of life best suited to the high value we place on our existence. The belief that our lives are worth preserving and looking after soon extends into the idea that our lives are intrinsically significant, and that things ought to be organized in order to maximize our potential for growth and development.

In the state of nature, where human associations are imagined as being loose and non-coercive, amour de soi is not in competition with our tendency for compassion: However, the natural goodness of amour de soi is highly susceptible to corruption. In the Discourse on the Origin of Inequality, Rousseau writes, amour-propre is only a relative sentiment, factitious, and born in society, which inclines every individual to set greater store by himself than by anyone else, inspires men with all the evils they do one another, and is the genuine source of honour. Some commentators have argued that the basic motivations behind amour-propre are harmless and perfectly appropriate.

However, it is very easy for this drive to degrade, especially if we come to see our significance as being challenged by others. The admirable self-worth which we are led towards by our feelings of amour de soi is replaced by an inflated sense of our own significance, which leads to strife and competition. In the absence of a social order based on hierarchy and inequality, there may be insufficient catalyst to transform our worthy natural urges into the base metal of malign amour-propre.

However, when we come into regular association with one another, at least in poorly constituted societies, the competition for resources and prestige accelerates and reinforces an innate tendency to lapse into self-importance and one-upmanship. According to his analysis, his own civilized age and, we may imagine, ours too is distorted by an overweening desire by all to establish themselves at the expense of everyone else. First, political inequalities and injustices develop and become entrenched, as the powerful usurp privileges and advantages from the weak.

In such a social order, the possibility of true happiness and fulfilment is always far away: The losers in such a struggle are made unhappy by the denial of status and the frustration of their amour-propre. Even those who succeed in achieving their goals are not truly happy, since they have only satisfied a perverse and empty objective, rather than the satisfying and natural amour de soi. It is not entirely clear what Rousseau thought the best solution to this sorry state of affairs might be. According to some commentators, he believed that only a return to something like a pre-civilized state could possibly enable human beings to realize their true potential for morality and happiness.

But though he is often gloomy about the effects of political systems on the natural human capacity for goodness, it seems unlikely that he consistently thought all forms of society were doomed to fail, since he goes to great lengths to develop his own, positive theories of political organization. So, to sum up the ideas which drive the development of The Social Contract, we might bring these thoughts together as follows. People are endowed with the capacity for goodness and compassion. It is possible to imagine a pre-social state of affairs in which these capacities are allowed to flourish to their full potential.

Such a state may have even existed. In any case, there is also a form of social interaction, characterized by unequal relations of dependence, in which these healthy drives are subverted into a more grasping, self-centred set of motives. If humanity is to escape this situation, then the whole basis on which social relations are conducted will need to be altered. Even if it is impossible to revert back to the state of nature, it may be that there is a way to reconcile the competing demands of people in such a way as to maximize their happiness and fulfilment.

This positive ideal is the project which Rousseau undertakes in The Social Contract, to which we now turn. However, Rousseau abandoned his intentions for this more ambitious scheme, and The Social Contract remains his most complete work on politics and political philosophy. It is also his most famous and widely read book, the one on which his reputation as a thinker and writer is chiefly based.

Despite this, it is relatively short and compact, and much of the important content is compressed into the first two books of the four-book whole. On the surface it is deceptively easy to read, and major ideas are expressed in a concise manner which is refreshingly different from some other more ponderous works of political philosophy.

However, this very concision can hide real difficulties in interpretation. As we shall see, it can occasionally be difficult to see what Rousseau means by some of the core terms he advances, even when he himself seems to think their significance must be readily apparent.

As a result, there is by no means complete agreement among Rousseau scholars on the best interpretation of such sometimes elliptical ideas. Nonetheless, within the comparatively brief text, there is a wealth of original and provocative thought, much of which continues to exercise political theorists in our own time. In what follows, the intention is to give a comprehensive overview of the important themes and ideas of The Social Contract, as well as an introduction to some of the controversies and difficulties they throw up.

In The Social Contract, he organizes these thoughts into four books: The fundamentals of a just society and the basic principles of its organization; The legislative framework of the just society; Detail on the various functions and powers of government; Other aspects of social organization, including the place of religion. Each part is further subdivided in short chapters. By and large, this guide will follow these chapters in sequence, since there is generally a clear chain of reasoning used by Rousseau in developing his arguments.

Each sub-heading in this text will be followed by the corresponding chapter numbers in parentheses, which will make it simple to refer to the relevant parts of the text. While it was France, a hierarchical monarchy, which provided him with the environment in which he wrote most of his books, republican Geneva was the greater catalyst for his own ideas. These two elements — contemporary republican Geneva and the legacy of an enlightened classical civilization — are the wellsprings of inspiration Rousseau draws on throughout the book.

Clearly, despite his pessimism about the corrupting effects of civilization, he thought there were some models worthy of emulation. The imperfect examples provided by Geneva and his readings of classical authors are the basis for much of what he says later. The next few paragraphs, including the very short first chapter, set out what Rousseau takes to be his task: Rousseau does not merely wish to establish which of any mechanisms are capable of creating governments; he is interested in which principles create fair and just governments, ones in which the natural goodness of people is not subverted into a destructive form of amour-propre or where despotism is possible.

Despite this, he is anxious to avoid pipedreams. His vision for society will be a realistic one at least in intention. He takes as his starting-point people as they exist — not idealistic versions of them — and then considers what laws and principles may justly govern their lives.

With typically refreshing honesty, he claims no unique insight into this issue by virtue of his rank or position as he remarks, he is neither a prince nor a legislator , but offers up the suggestion that, as a member of a free state with a right to vote, he has a duty to think carefully about the society of which he is a constituent part.

As a writer, he has a certain obligation to make a considered contribution to the contest of ideas concerning politics. If he were a prince or a legislator, he would be better off putting his ideas into practice rather than spend time theorizing. The idea, casually expressed here, that a right to have a stake in society in this case, voting on the make-up of the legislative assembly carries a concomitant obligation to make the best use of it is a simple one, which nonetheless we will see developed in later chapters.

With the preamble out of the way, Rousseau makes one of his most famous and memorable claims: This is a characteristically pithy statement of the human predicament we discussed in the previous section. As we know, Rousseau believes that people are by nature benign creatures, free to pursue their natural tendencies for self-preservation and enrichment if left unfettered by external forces. However, poorly formed society tends to corrupt these impulses by encouraging an unhealthy degree of dependence between individuals.

Once these relationships of dependence become crystallized and endemic, then the drive of amour de soi is replaced by a malign form of amour-propre. The freedoms originally and potentially enjoyed by individuals are stifled by a culture in which it is impossible to get by without resorting to destructive and damaging modes of behaviour. As we have seen, he was a somewhat brittle character, much given to idealism and flights of imagination, but capable of peevish resentment if he felt his path had been blocked.

In time, he came to fall out with almost all of these backers, and saw plots against him multiply from every quarter. In this situation, it must have been easy for Rousseau to see all such relationships of dependence as intrinsically wicked, and to look back on his wandering pre-fame existence as a much more authentic way of living. The freedom of the isolated scholar perhaps contrasted poorly with the pride, vanity and deception he witnessed in Parisian high society.

To be forced to exist in such a milieu in order to pursue his goals as a composer and writer seems to have repeatedly struck him as unbearably odious, and as a source of considerable mental disquiet. Those sitting at the apex of the pyramid will be preoccupied with a desire to see their exalted state recognized by those below.

Indeed, the very essence of such a state is that it lasts only as long as it is continually and publicly recognized by others, so such people are actually more dependent on those beneath them, and are as much prisoners within the system as the unfortunates who have achieved less worldly success. In addition to the psychological chains imposed in poorly constructed societies, there are also more literal varieties: In an environment where the prevailing drive is malign amour-propre, the drive for recognition leads quickly to a state of political inequality.

Those who have garnered a greater share of material wealth for themselves will pass laws to protect their gains, while those below will either suffer under the yoke of oppression or somehow fight their way up to a position of power themselves. The weak, who stand to lose most from a situation where all are at odds with each other, may indeed welcome the provision of regulations, and give up much of their freedom of action in return for the security they think such laws will give them.

However, as these laws are principally imposed by those in control, their security is illusory, and the bargain they have secured is a poor one. As Rousseau writes in The Discourse on the Origin of Inequality, All ran headlong to their chains, in hopes of securing their liberty; for they had just wit enough to perceive the advantages of political institutions, without experience enough to enable them to foresee the dangers.

Having sketched such a grim scenario, however, he then confidently claims that he has the solution: Before moving on to this, though, he spends a few chapters considering the nature of some of the social orders he thought exhibited such destructive features clearly. By exposing their weaknesses, he hopes to bolster the case for his own, reformed political system, the outline of which has yet to be revealed.

Born to rule 2 Rousseau considers three kinds of unsatisfactory bases for society: To the modern reader, none of these might appear especially promising starting-points for a just political order, and may therefore look like a strange place to start. Slavery was legal in Europe, and would remain so until the following century. The idea that some groups of people whether from a particular race, or sex, or even simply from a nation which had established control over others through conquest were more fitted to rule than others was more intuitively plausible than it may seem today. As we shall see later, his own plan for society places great store in the freedom and equality of all its members, so rival accounts based on inherent differences in worth or liberty among individuals or groups are pulling in exactly the opposite direction.

Even though it may be difficult to generate much sympathy for the positions he attacks, it is still instructive to follow his reasoning in rejecting them, not least to shed some light on the kinds of criteria Rousseau thought were important when appraising different political systems. His first target is natural authority. This initially takes the form of an argument by analogy. When we are casting around for a just basis for society, it is natural to look for models in nature.

One obvious one is the family.

Children do not come into the world as equals with adults. As a matter of survival, they are dependent on the protection of their parents. As such an argument runs, the citizens of the state are like children, the rulers like the father. The rulers derive their right to govern from the same source that the father does in claiming authority over his offspring. Certainly, it is easy to imagine circumstances where the parallels between familial and state authority are quite close.

And the resonance between familial and social relationships is present even in the modern world: As a result of these intuitive similarities, writers such as Robert Filmer had during the seventeenth century extended the analogy fairly systematically, tracing the paternal right of temporal authority 24 READING THE TEXT back to Adam, and the patriarchal model of politics was well-known and influential.

After all, there are dissimilarities too. When a child grows up, he or she no longer requires the support of a father, and the natural bond of authority is dissolved. There may still be some lingering relationship of respect and deference, but that is a matter for the individuals involved: In addition, a father benefits in a family relationship from the strong feelings of love he feels towards his children. It would be inappropriate, according to Rousseau, for a ruler to feel the same way towards a ruled populace. A good ruler remains impartial towards his subjects; if he did not, his decisions would no doubt lapse into corruption and short-sightedness.

As a result of these differences, the family is a poor model for a political system. These are fairly weak arguments, on both sides. It may be that Rousseau thought the model of the family was a self-evidently poor basis for the state, as his dismissal of it is fairly cursory. However, the appeal of the analogy should it have any is really based on the more fundamental idea that there are two separate types of people in the world: This notion he considers in slightly more detail, and cites three philosophers — Aristotle, Hobbes and Grotius — as being proponents of views of this kind.

We have already touched briefly on Grotius, to whom Rousseau frequently refers as an intellectual adversary. Grotius was a strong advocate of the rights of rulers over their subjects, and used historical and legal precedent to defend even apparently repressive regimes. Thomas Hobbes, by contrast, argued in favour of strong, authoritarian governments on more practical grounds. Some are born for slavery, others to be masters. In a manner reminiscent of the familial analogy, Aristotle argues that some elements of society are simply incapable of making sensible use of complete freedom, and must therefore be guided by those more fitted to the task.

To characterize things in such a way is, for him, similar to describing the ruled as cattle and the rulers as shepherds. It is true that, as a result of custom and tradition, it may seem as if some social groups are destined for one fate or another. However, this is to get things the wrong way round. If slaves are held in slavery for long enough, then even they will come to see that as their natural state. Indeed, some may end up thinking it justified, and perhaps take some degree of satisfaction from their lowly station.

It may seem as if he has given hardly any attention to it. However, it is worth bearing in mind here our earlier discussion of human nature and psychology. The point of making his suppositions about the state of nature is partly to make this notion clear. And if that account is at all persuasive, then it is consistent of him to reject the notion that certain groups within society ought, from the very beginning, to be accorded more rights than others. For him, the apparent suitability of some for slavery and others for finery is a symptom of an unjust society, not a reason for its establishment.

After all, in the imagined pre-civilized state there are no rulers: In other words, it is nurture, not nature, which determines who become rulers and who becomes ruled.

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There have of course been many theories aiming to show that certain groups are more or less suited to positions of authority or freedom than others. At various points in history it has seemed quite acceptable to argue that a certain social class, race or sex is naturally superior to another, and by virtue of such superiority ought to have more freedom or power than another. There are few today who would make such an argument. It is a matter of some debate, of course, whether different sexes or races have sufficient genetic distinctiveness of a relevant kind to enable some conclusions to be drawn about their prospects or abilities.

But the terrible consequences of making pseudo-scientific judgements about race during the twentieth century, combined with the long process of granting civil rights to women and ethnic minorities in the Western world have generally, and surely rightly, led to the rejection of social theories based on certain groups having an inherent right and duty to rule.

So, even if his arguments against such a position are somewhat hasty, Rousseau is certainly advocating a position which the modern reader is likely to accept. Might is right 3 Having rejected a social order based on natural authority, Rousseau turns to a simpler form of unsuitable government: Here the position might be something like this: If there are no pre-existing groups which obviously have the necessary attributes to govern, then the leader with sufficient might to dominate his or her counterparts is the best candidate.

And such a state of affairs is not something to be resisted, but a perfectly natural and proper way of organizing things. Rousseau gives this idea even shorter shrift. He starts off by observing that no-one, not even the mightiest ruler, could rule by force all the time. If a ruler is to have time to do anything other than put down rebellions, then they need to have at least some degree of acquiescence from their subjects.

And this means getting some of them to accept, at least some of the time, that the rule of force is not only a fact of life, but somehow justified as well. What does this right consist in? The very idea of rule by the strongest is inimical to the idea of rights. Suppose a ruler at some point loses the ability to control his subjects, and they successfully depose him. He cannot appeal to the right of the strongest, since he is no longer capable of imposing his will by strength. It has no explanatory or moral force: An individual may be compelled by necessity to accept the rule of someone stronger than they are, but they are never forced by reason to do so.

As Rousseau remarks, if an armed robber holds him up he may have to give up his belongings to stay alive, but if he can somehow keep them hidden then he has every justification to try. This point is important, because Rousseau is only interested in establishing what kind of social order is legitimate.

Rousseau's 'The Social Contract'

He does not primarily concern himself with other criteria of success, such as material or technological advancement. If he did, then perhaps the rule of the strongest may have some appeal. It is possible to imagine a situation where an iron fist may be required to achieve some important social goal, and where questions of legitimacy may seem at least temporarily more important. In recent history, one might argue that only a monstrous dictator such as Stalin could have successfully defended his country from invasion in World War II and dragged such a vast and disparate nation into the industrial age.

So, arguably, there are at least some occasions where rule by the strongest is justifiable, and where citizens may be rational to acquiesce to that rule. But, for Rousseau, this is to miss the point. There may always be some benefits in rule by the strongest over, say, rule by no-one at all.

Rousseau's the social contract : a reader's guide / Christopher D. Wraight - Details - Trove

But, as we have seen already, the development of technology, arts, sciences or material prosperity is of secondary importance to Rousseau — he is primarily looking for a social means to safeguard human equality and freedom. So even if rule by the strongest may, arguably, bring some practical benefits, it cannot ground the kind of legitimate society which is the target of his enquiry. Slavery 4 Having dismissed the ideas of natural authority and the rule of the strongest, Rousseau concludes that the only basis for a just society is one founded on a covenant: In what comes later, he will outline the exact form of covenant which he feels generates the optimal political order.

Before that, however, he feels compelled to dismiss an alternative version. In other words, the covenant may take the form of a populace deciding to give up their freedom to an individual who will then rule over them. Rousseau considers perhaps the most extreme example of this, which is slavery. He begins the chapter by considering whether a covenant of this sort provides a more satisfactory basis for society than those already discussed. He also discusses a slightly different case: Unsurprisingly, both questions are answered in the negative.

Some of the reasons he gives, however, develop a little further the psychological background we have already covered. Suppose an individual lost all their possessions in some disaster. They may be able to sell the only thing they have left — themselves — to another in order to secure food and shelter. Or it may be the case, more generally, that there are advantages to be had in swapping freedom for protection and ownership. Rousseau is not having any of this. His principal objection is with the notion of what is being given away.

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A person cannot give up their very essence — freedom — without in some sense ceasing to exist as a proper moral entity. In such a case, they have alienated themselves from the human qualities which underpin the covenant itself. It ceases to be an agreement between two people, properly understood, and becomes a relationship of pure force. Understood thus, it is no different from the right of the strongest, even if the origin of the arrangement may have been voluntary.

As with the rule of the strongest, slavery may in some cases bring certain material benefits, but it fails the test of being truly based on a covenant — for that to be the case, both parties must come together in some sense as individuals of a comparable moral level.

The fact that the slave-owner possesses the other participant in the deal renders the deal void. In addition to this argument based on a conception of human nature, Rousseau also has more practical objections to slavery. For Rousseau, it is just as likely that the despotism which emerges as a result of this exchange would be as bad as the insecure state which the slave originally wished to avoid.

Indeed, the lesson of history shows that conditions are likely to be fairly miserable. In addition, the idea of an entire people giving itself up to slavery poses its own problems. What happens when the children of those slaves mature into adults? Will they have to renegotiate the covenant? If so, then the idea of a ruler gaining absolute rights over his subjects is undermined, since the ruled will constantly be demanding fresh covenants. If the ruler insists that the children of slaves fall under the terms of the original covenant, then this removes any pretence that it is a genuine, voluntary agreement.

In sum, it is not possible to generate a social order based on slavery which genuinely derives from a covenant. Rousseau also discusses the idea that a victorious army may be justified in enslaving a conquered populace. The length of time he spends considering this is slightly puzzling, given how much more intuitively unacceptable it seems even than the previous account of slavery. However, at the time of his writing, the idea that there was legitimacy in sparing the lives of enemy combatants in order to enslave them was partly thanks to our friend Grotius certainly not as outlandish as it may strike us today.

Rousseau therefore takes some care to establish that wars are properly the purview of states, rather than affairs between individuals, and that the rules of war, as applied to states, are in force. These dictate that enemy combatants who have laid down their arms may not be killed. So there can be no legitimate bargain in which liberty is exchanged for life, since the victor has no right to force such terms on the vanquished.

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