And yet, it may be asked, have these questions any other meaning than this: Can society dispense9 with written laws, rules, and repressive measures? Is every man to make an unlimited10 use of his faculties11, even when in so doing he strikes at the liberties of [p048] another, or inflicts12 injury on society at large? In a word, must we recognise in the maxim13, laissez faire, laissez passer, the absolute formula of political economy? If that were the question, no one could hesitate about the solution. The economists14 do not say that a man may kill, sack, burn, and that society has only to be quiescent,—laisser faire. They say that even in the absence of all law, society would resist such acts; and that consequently such resistance is a general law of humanity. They say that civil and penal15 laws must regulate, and not counteract16, those general laws the existence of which they presuppose. There is a wide difference between a social organization, founded on the general laws of human nature, and an artificial organization, invented, imagined,—which takes no account of these laws, or repudiates17 and despises them,—such an organization, in short, as many modern schools would impose upon us.
For, if there be general laws which act independently of written laws, and of which the latter can only regulate the action, we must study these general laws. They can be made the object of a science, and Political Economy exists. If, on the other hand, society is a human invention, if men are regarded only as inert18 matter, to which a great genius, like Rousseau, must impart sentiment and will, movement and life, then there is no such science as Political Economy. There are only an indefinite number of possible and contingent19 arrangements, and the fate of nations must depend upon the Founder20 to whom chance shall have committed their destinies.
In order to prove that society is subject to general laws, no elaborate dissertation21 is necessary. All I shall do is to notice certain facts, which, although trite22, are not the less important.
Rousseau has said, Il faut beaucoup de philosophie pour observer les faits qui sont trop près de nous—“Much philosophy is needed to observe accurately23 things which are too near us.” And such are the social phenomena24 in the midst of which we live and move. Habit has so familiarized us with these phenomena that we cease to observe them, unless something striking and exceptional forces them on our attention.
Let us take, by way of illustration, a man in the humble25 walks of life—a village carpenter, for instance,—and observe the various services he renders to society, and receives from it; we shall not fail to be struck with the enormous disproportion which is apparent.
This man employs his day’s labour in planing boards, and making tables and chests of drawers. He complains of his condition; yet in truth what does he receive from society in exchange for his work? [p049]
First of all, on getting up in the morning, he dresses himself; and he has himself personally made none of the numerous articles of which his clothing consists. Now, in order to put at his disposal this clothing, simple as it is, an enormous amount of labour, industry, and locomotion26, and many ingenious inventions, must have been employed. Americans must have produced cotton, Indians indigo27, Frenchmen wool and flax, Brazilians hides; and all these materials must have been transported to various towns where they have been worked up, spun28, woven, dyed, etc.
Then he breakfasts. In order to procure29 him the bread which he eats every morning, land must have been cleared, enclosed, laboured, manured, sown; the fruits of the soil must have been preserved with care from pillage30, and security must have reigned31 among an innumerable multitude of people; the wheat must have been cut down, ground into flour, kneaded, and prepared; iron, steel, wood, stone, must have been converted by industry into instruments of labour; some men must have employed animal force, others water power, etc.; all matters, of which each, taken singly, presupposes a mass of labour, whether we have regard to space or time, of incalculable amount.
In the course of the day this man will have occasion to use sugar, oil, and various other materials and utensils32.
He sends his son to school, there to receive an education, which, although limited, nevertheless implies anterior33 study and research, and an extent of knowledge which startles the imagination.
He goes out. He finds the street paved and lighted.
A neighbour goes to law with him. He finds advocates to plead his cause, judges to maintain his rights, officers of justice to put the sentence in execution; all which implies acquired knowledge, and, consequently, intelligence and means of subsistence.
He goes to church. It is a stupendous monument, and the book which he carries thither34 is a monument perhaps still more stupendous, of human intelligence. He is taught morals, he has his mind enlightened, his soul elevated; and in order to this we must suppose that another man had previously35 frequented schools and libraries, consulted all the sources of human learning, and while so employed had been able to live without occupying himself directly with the wants of the body.
If our artizan undertakes a journey, he finds that, in order to save him time and exertion36, other men have removed and levelled the soil, filled up valleys, hewed37 down mountains, united the banks of rivers, diminished friction38, placed wheeled carriages on blocks [p050] of sandstone or bands of iron, and brought the force of animals and the power of steam into subjection to human wants.
It is impossible not to be struck with the measureless disproportion which exists between the enjoyments39 which this man derives41 from society and what he could obtain by his own unassisted exertions42. I venture to say that in a single day he consumes more than he could himself produce in ten centuries.
What renders the phenomenon still more strange is, that all other men are in the same situation. Every individual member of society has absorbed millions of times more than he could himself produce; yet there is no mutual43 robbery. And, if we regard things more nearly, we perceive that the carpenter has paid, in services, for all the services which others have rendered to him. If we bring the matter to a strict reckoning, we shall be convinced that he has received nothing which he has not paid for by means of his modest industry; and that every one who, at whatever interval44 of time or space, has been employed in his service has received, or will receive, his remuneration.
The social mechanism, then, must be very ingenious and very powerful, since it leads to this singular result, that each man, even he whose lot is cast in the humblest condition, has more enjoyment40 in one day than he could himself produce in many ages.
Nor is this all. The mechanism of society will appear still more ingenious, if the reader will be pleased to turn his regards upon himself.
I suppose him a plain student. What is his business in Paris? How does he live? It cannot be disputed that society places at his disposal food, clothing, lodging45, amusements, books, means of instruction, a multitude of things, in short, which would take a long time not only to produce, but even to explain how they were produced. And what services has this student rendered to society in return for all these things which have exacted so much labour, toil46, fatigue47, physical and intellectual effort, so many inventions, transactions, and conveyances48 hither and thither? None at all. He is only preparing to render services. Why, then, have so many millions of men abandoned to him the fruits of their positive, effective, and productive labour? Here is the explanation:—The father of this student, who was a lawyer, perhaps, or a physician, or a merchant, had formerly49 rendered services—it may be to society in China,—and had been remunerated, not by immediate50 services, but by a title to demand services, at the time, in the place and under the form that might be most suitable and convenient to him. [p051] It is of these past and distant services that society is now acquitting51 itself, and (astonishing as it seems) if we follow in thought the infinite range of transactions which must have had place in order to this result being effected, we shall see that every one has been remunerated for his labour and services; and that these titles have passed from hand to hand, sometimes divided into parts, sometimes grouped together, until, in the consumption of this student, the entire account has been squared and balanced. Is not this a very remarkable52 phenomenon?
We should shut our eyes to the light of day, did we fail to perceive that society could not present combinations so complicated, and in which civil and penal laws have so little part, unless it obeyed the laws of a mechanism wonderfully ingenious. The study of that mechanism is the business of Political Economy.
Another thing worthy53 of observation is, that of the incalculable number of transactions to which the student owed his daily subsistence, there was not perhaps a millionth part which contributed to it directly. The things of which he has now the enjoyment, and which are innumerable, were produced by men the greater part of whom have long since disappeared from the earth. And yet they were remunerated as they expected to be, although he who now profits by the fruits of their labours had done nothing for them. They knew him not; they will never know him. He who reads this page, at the very moment he is reading it, has the power, although perhaps he has no consciousness of it, to put in motion men of every country, of all races, I had almost said of all time—white, black, red, tawny—to make bygone generations, and generations still unborn, contribute to his present enjoyments; and he owes this extraordinary power to the services which his father had formerly rendered to other men, who apparently54 had nothing in common with those whose labour is now put in requisition. Yet despite all differences of time and space, so just and equitable55 a balance has been struck, that every one has been remunerated, and has received exactly what he calculated he ought to receive.
But, in truth, could all this have happened, and such phenomena been witnessed, unless society had had a natural and wise organization, which acts, as it were, unknown to us?
Much has been said in our day of inventing a new organization. Is it quite certain, that any thinker, whatever genius we may attribute to him, whatever power we may suppose him to possess, could imagine and introduce an organization superior to that of which I have just sketched56 some of the results? [p052]
But what would be thought of it if I described its machinery57, its springs, and its motive58 powers?
The machinery consists of men, that is to say, of beings capable of learning, reflecting, reasoning, of being deceived and undeceived, and consequently of contributing to the amelioration or deterioration59 of the mechanism itself. They are capable of pleasure and pain; and it is that which makes them not only the wheels but the springs of the mechanism. They are also the motive power; for it is in them that the active principle resides. More than that, they are themselves the very end and object of the mechanism, since it is into individual pains and enjoyments that the whole definitely resolves itself.
Now it has been remarked, and it is unhappily obvious enough, that in the action, the development, and even the progress (by those who acknowledge progress) of this powerful mechanism, many of the wheels have been inevitably60, fatally injured; and that, as regards a great number of human beings, the sum of unmerited suffering surpasses by much the sum of enjoyment.
This view of the subject has led many candid61 minds, many generous hearts, to suspect the mechanism itself. They have repudiated62 it, they have refused to study it, they have attacked, often with passion, those who have investigated and explained its laws. They have risen against the nature of things, and at length they have proposed to organize society upon a new plan, in which injustice63 and suffering and error shall have no place.
God forbid that I should set myself against intentions manifestly pure and philanthropical! But I should desert my principles, and do violence to the dictates64 of my own conscience, did I not declare that these men are in my opinion upon a wrong path.
In the first place, they are reduced, by the very nature of their propagandism, to the melancholy65 necessity of disowning the good which society develops, of denying its progress, of imputing66 to it all sufferings, of hunting after these with avidity, and exaggerating them beyond measure.
When a man believes that he has discovered a social organization different from that which results from the ordinary tendencies of human nature, it is quite necessary, in order to obtain acceptance for his invention, to paint the organization he wishes to abolish in the most sombre colours. Thus the publicists to whom I am alluding67, after having proclaimed enthusiastically, and perhaps with exaggeration, the perfectibility of man, fall into the strange contradiction of maintaining that society is becoming more [p053] and more deteriorated68. According to them, men are a thousand times more unhappy than they were in ancient times under the feudal69 régime, and the yoke70 of slavery. The world is become a hell. Were it possible to conjure71 up the Paris of the tenth century, I venture to think that such a thesis would be found untenable.
Then they are led to condemn72 the very mainspring of human action—I mean a regard to personal interest, because it has brought about such a state of things. Let us remark that man is so organized as to seek for enjoyment and avoid suffering. From this source I allow that all social evils take their rise—war, slavery, monopoly, privilege; but from the same source springs all that is good, since the satisfaction of wants and repugnance73 to suffering are the motives74 of human action. The business then is to discover whether this incitement75 to action, by its universality—from individual becoming social—is not in itself a principle of progress.
At all events, do the inventors of new organizations not perceive that this principle, inherent in the very nature of man, will follow them into their systems, and that there it will make greater havoc76 than in our natural organization, in which the interest and unjust pretensions77 of one are at least restrained by the resistance of all? These writers always make two inadmissible suppositions—the first is, that society, such as they conceive it, will be directed by infallible men denuded78 of this motive of self-interest; and, secondly79, that the masses will allow themselves to be directed by these men.
Finally, these system-makers appear to give themselves no trouble about the means of execution. How are they to establish their system? How are they to induce all mankind at once to give up the principle upon which they now act—the attraction of enjoyment, and the repugnance to pain? It would be necessary, as Rousseau has said, to change the moral and physical constitution of man.
In order to induce men at once to throw aside, as a worn-out garment, the existing social order in which the human race has lived and been developed from the beginning to our day, to adopt an organization of human invention and become docile80 parts of another mechanism, there are, it seems to me, only two means which can be employed—Force, or Universal Consent.
The founder of the new system must have at his disposal a force capable of overcoming all resistance, so that humanity shall be in his hands only as so much melting wax to be moulded and [p054] fashioned at his pleasure—or he must obtain by persuasion81 an assent82 so complete, so exclusive, so blind even, as to render unnecessary the employment of force.
I defy any one to point out to me a third means of establishing or introducing into human practice a Phalanstère,16 or any other artificial social organization.
Now, if there be only two assumed means, and if we have demonstrated that the one is as impracticable as the other, we have proved that these system-makers are losing both their time and their trouble.
As regards the disposal of a material force which should subject to them all the kings and peoples of the earth, this is what these dotards, senile as they are, have never dreamt of. King Alphonsus had presumption83 and folly84 enough to exclaim, that “If he had been taken into God’s counsels, the planetary system should have been better arranged.” But although he set his wisdom above that of the Creator, he was not mad enough to wish to struggle with the power of Omnipotence85, and history does not tell us that he ever actually tried to make the stars turn according to the laws of his invention. Descartes likewise contented86 himself with constructing a tiny world with dice87 and strings88, knowing well that he was not strong enough to remove the universe. We know no one but Xerxes who, in the intoxication89 of his power, dared to say to the waves, “Thus far shall ye come, and no farther.” The billows did not recede90 before Xerxes, but Xerxes retreated before the billows; and without this humiliating but wise precaution he would certainly have been drowned.
Force, then, is wanting to the organizers who would subject humanity to their experiments. When they shall have gained over to their cause the Russian autocrat91, the shah of Persia, the khan of Tartary, and all the other tyrants92 of the world, they will find that they still want the power to distribute mankind into groups and classes, and to annihilate93 the general laws of property, exchange, inheritance, and family; for even in Russia, in Persia, and in Tartary, it is necessary to a certain extent to consult the feelings, habits, and prejudices of the people. Were the emperor of Russia to take it into his head to set about altering the moral and physical constitution of his subjects, it is probable that he would soon have a successor, and that his successor would be better advised than to pursue the experiment.
But since force is a means quite beyond the reach of our [p055] numerous system-makers, no other resource remains94 to them but to obtain universal consent.
Persuasion! but have we ever found two minds in perfect accord upon all the points of a single science? How then are we to expect men of various tongues, races, and manners, spread over the surface of the globe, most of them unable to read, and destined96 to die without having even heard the name of the reformer, to accept with unanimity97 the universal science? What is it that you aim at? At changing the whole system of labour, exchanges, and social relations, domestic, civil, and religious; in a word, at altering the whole physical and moral constitution of man; and you hope to rally mankind, and bring them all under this new order of things, by conviction!
Verily you undertake no light or easy duty.
When a man has got the length of saying to his fellows:
“For the last five thousand years there has been a misunderstanding between God and man;
“From the days of Adam to our time, the human race have been upon a wrong course—and, if only a little confidence is placed in me. I shall soon bring them back to the right way;
“God desired mankind to pursue a different road altogether, but they have taken their own way, and hence evil has been introduced into the world. Let them turn round at my call, and take an opposite direction, and universal happiness will then prevail.”
When a man sets out in this style it is much if he is believed by five or six adepts98; but between that and being believed by one thousand millions of men the distance is great indeed.
And then, remember that the number of social inventions is as vast as the domain99 of the imagination itself; that there is not a publicist or writer on social economy who, after shutting himself up for a few hours in his library, does not come forth100 with a ready-made plan of artificial organization in his hand; that the inventions of Fourier, Saint Simon, Owen, Cabet, Blanc, etc., have no resemblance whatever to each other; that every day brings to light a new scheme; and that people are entitled to have some little time given them for reflection before they are called upon to reject the social organization which God has vouchsafed101 them, and to make a definite and irrevocable choice among so many newly invented systems. For what would happen if, after having selected one of these plans, a better should present itself! Can the institutions [p056] of property, family, labour, exchange, be placed every day upon a new basis? Are we to be forced to change the organization of society every morning?
“Thus, then,” says Rousseau, “the legislator being able to employ effectively neither force nor persuasion, he is under the necessity of having recourse to an authority of another kind, which carries us along without violence, and persuades without convincing us.”
What is that authority? Imposture. Rousseau dares not give utterance102 to the word, but, according to his invariable practice in such a case, he places it behind the transparent103 veil of an eloquent104 tirade105.
“This is the reason,” says he, “which in all ages has forced the Fathers of nations to have recourse to the intervention106 of heaven, and to give the credit of their own wisdom to the gods, in order that the people, submitting to the laws of the state as to those of nature, and acknowledging the same power in the formation of man and of the commonwealth107, should obey freely and bear willingly the yoke of the public felicity. This sublime108 reason, which is above the reach of vulgar souls, is that whose decisions the legislator puts into the mouth of the immortals109, in order to carry along by divine authority those who cannot be moved by considerations of human prudence110. But it is not for every man to make the gods speak,” etc.
And in order that there may be no mistake, he cites Machiavel, and allows him to complete the idea: “Mai non fu alcuno ordinatore de leggi STRAORDINARIE in un popolo che non ricorresse a Dio.”
But why does Machiavel counsel us to have recourse to God, and Rousseau to the gods, to the immortals? The reader can answer that question for himself.
I do not indeed accuse the modern Fathers of nations of making use of these unworthy deceptions112. But when we place ourselves in their point of view, we see that they readily allow themselves to be hurried along by the desire of success. When an earnest and philanthropical man is deeply convinced that he possesses a social secret by means of which all his fellow-men may enjoy in this world unlimited happiness,—when he sees clearly that he can practically establish that idea neither by force nor by reasoning, and that deception111 is his only resource, he is laid under a very strong temptation. We know that the ministers of religion themselves, who profess113 the greatest horror of untruth, have not rejected pious114 frauds; and we see by the example of Rousseau [p057] (that austere115 writer, who has inscribed116 at the head of all his works the motto, Vitam impendere vero), that even a proud philosophy can allow itself to be seduced117 by the attraction of a very different maxim, namely, The end justifies118 the means. Why then should we be surprised that modern organisateurs should think also “to place their own wisdom to the credit of the gods, to put their decisions in the mouths of the immortals, hurrying us along without violence and persuading without convincing us!”
We know that, after the example of Moses, Fourier has preceded his Deuteronomy by a Genesis. Saint Simon and his disciples119 had gone still farther in their apostolic senilities. Others, more discreet120, attached themselves to a latitudinarian faith, modified to suit their views, under the name of néochristianisme; and every one must be struck with the tone of mystic affectation which nearly all our modern reformers have introduced into their sermons.
Efforts of this kind have served only to prove one thing, and it is not unimportant—namely, that in our days the man is not always a prophet who wishes to be one. In vain he proclaims himself a god; he is believed by no one; neither by the public, nor by his compeers, nor by himself.
Since I have spoken of Rousseau, I may be permitted to make here some observations on that manufacturer of systems, inasmuch as they will serve to point out the distinctions between artificial and natural organization. This digression, besides, is not out of place, as the Contrat Social has again for some time been held forth as the oracle121 of the future.
Rousseau was convinced that isolation122 was man’s natural state, and, consequently, that society was a human invention. “The social order,” he says in the outset, “comes not from nature, and is therefore founded on convention.”
This philosopher, although a passionate123 lover of liberty, had a very low opinion of men. He believed them to be quite incapable124 of forming for themselves good institutions. The intervention of a founder, a legislator, a father of nations, was therefore indispensable.
“A people subjected to laws,” says he, “should be the authors of them. It belongs alone to those who associate to adjust the conditions of their association; but how are they to regulate them? By common consent, or by sudden inspiration? How should a blind multitude, who frequently know not what they want, because they rarely know what is good for them, accomplish of themselves an enterprise so great and so difficult as the formation of a system [p058] of laws? . . . Individuals perceive what is good, and reject it—the public wishes for what is good, but cannot discover it:—all are equally in want of guides. . . . Hence the necessity of a legislator.”
That legislator, as we have already seen, “not being able to employ force or reason, is under the necessity of having recourse to an authority of another kind;” that is to say, in plain terms, to deception.
It is impossible to give an idea of the immense height at which Rousseau places his legislator above other men:
“Gods would be necessary in order to give laws to men. . . . He who dares to found a nation must feel himself in a condition to change human nature, so to speak, . . . to alter the constitution of man in order to strengthen it. . . . He must take from man his own force, in order to give him that which is foreign to him. . . . The lawgiver is in all respects an extraordinary man in the state, . . . his employment is a peculiar125 and superior function which has nothing in common with ordinary government. . . . If it be true that a great prince is a rare character, what must a great lawgiver be? The first has only to follow the model which the other is to propose to him. The one is the mechanician who invents the machine—the other merely puts it together and sets it in motion.”
And what is the part assigned to human nature in all this? It is but the base material of which the machine is composed.
In sober reality, is this anything else than pride elevated to madness? Men are the materials of a machine, which the prince, the ruling power, sets in motion. The lawgiver proposes the model. The philosopher governs the lawgiver, placing himself thus at an immeasurable distance above the vulgar herd126, above the ruler, above the lawgiver himself. He soars far above the human race, actuates it, transforms it, moulds it, or rather he teaches the Fathers of nations how they are to do all this.
But the founder of a nation must propose to himself a design. He has his human material to set in motion, and he must direct its movements to a definite result. As the people are deprived of the initiative, and all depends upon the legislator, he must decide whether the nation is to be commercial or agricultural, or a barbarous race of hunters and fishers; but it is desirable at the same time that the legislator should not himself be mistaken, and so do too much violence to the nature of things.
Men in agreeing to enter into an association, or rather in associating under the fiat127 of a lawgiver, have a precise and definite design. “Thus,” says Rousseau, “the Hebrews, and, more recently, the Arabs, had for their principal object religion; the [p059] Athenians, letters; Carthage and Tyre, commerce; Rhodes, navigation; Sparta, war; and Rome, virtue128.”
What object is to determine us Frenchmen to leave the state of isolation and of nature, in order to form a society? Or rather—as we are only so much inert matter—the materials of a machine,—towards what object shall our great founder direct us?
Following the ideas of Rousseau, there could be but little room for learning, commerce, or navigation. War is a nobler object, and virtue still more so. But there is another, the noblest of all: “The end of every system of legislation is liberty and equality.”
But we must first of all discover what Rousseau understands by liberty. To enjoy liberty, according to him, is not to be free, but to exercise the suffrage129, when we are “borne along without violence, and persuaded without being convinced;” for then “we obey with freedom, and bear willingly the yoke of the public felicity.”
“Among the Greeks,” he says, “all that the people had to do they did for themselves, they were constantly assembled in the market-place; they inhabited a genial130 climate; they were not avaricious131; slaves did all their work; their grand concern was their liberty.”
“The English people,” he remarks in another place, “believe themselves free,—they are much mistaken. They are so only during the election of their members of parliament; the moment the election is over, they are slaves—they are nothing.”
The people, if they will be free, must, then, themselves perform all duties in connexion with the public service, for it is in that that liberty consists. They must be always voting and electing, always in the market-place. Woe132 to him who takes it into his head to work for his living! the moment a citizen begins to mind his own affairs, that instant (to use Rousseau’s favourite phrase) tout133 est perdu—all is over with him.
And yet the difficulty is by no means trifling134. How are we to manage? for, after all, before we can either practise virtue, or exercise liberty, we must have the means of living.
We have already remarked the rhetorical veil under which Rousseau conceals135 the word Imposture. We shall now see how, by another dash of eloquence136, he evades the conclusion of his whole work, which is Slavery.
“Your ungenial climate entails137 upon you additional wants. For six months of the year you cannot frequent the market-place, your hoarse138 voices cannot make themselves audible in the open air, and you fear poverty more than slavery.”
“You see clearly that you cannot be free.” [p060]
“What! liberty maintain itself only by the aid of servitude? Very likely!”
Had Rousseau stopt short at this dreadful word, the reader would have been shocked. It was necessary therefore to have recourse to imposing139 declamation140, and Rousseau never fails in that.
“All things that are unnatural141 (it is society he is speaking of) are inconvenient142, and civil society more so than all the rest. There are unfortunate situations in which one man cannot maintain his liberty but at the expense of another, and where the citizen cannot be entirely143 free unless the rigours of slavery are extreme. As for you, modern people, you have no slavery, but you are yourselves slaves. You purchase other men’s liberty with your own. In vain you boast of this advantage. I see in it rather cowardice144 than humanity.”
I ask, does not this mean: Modern people, you would do infinitely145 better not to be slaves, but to possess slaves?
I trust the reader will have the goodness to pardon this long digression, which is by no means useless or inopportune. Rousseau and his disciples of the Convention have been held up to us of late as the apostles of human fraternity. Men for materials, a ruler for mechanician, a father of nations for inventor, a philosopher above them all—imposture for means, slavery for result,—is this the fraternity which is promised us?
This work of Rousseau to which I have referred—the Contrat Social—appears to me well fitted to exhibit the characteristics of these artificial social organizations. The inventors of such systems set out with the idea that society is a state contrary to nature, and they seek to subject humanity to different combinations. They forget that its motive power, its spring of action, is in itself. They regard men as base materials, and aspire146 to impart to them movement and will, sentiment and life; placing themselves at an immeasurable height above the whole human race. These are features common to all the inventors of social organizations. The inventions are different—the inventors are alike.
Among the new arrangements which feeble mortals are invited to make trial of, there is one which is presented to us in terms worthy of attention. Its formula is: Association voluntary and progressive.
But Political Economy is founded exactly on the datum147, that society is nothing else than association (such as the above three words describe it)—association, very imperfect at first, because man is imperfect; but improving as man improves, that is to say, progressive. [p061]
Is your object to effect a more intimate association between labour, capital, and talent, insuring thereby148 to the members of the human family a greater amount of material enjoyment—enjoyment more equally distributed? If such associations are voluntary; if force and constraint149 do not intervene; if the cost is defrayed by those who enter these associations, without drawing upon those who refuse to enter them, in what respect are they repugnant to Political Economy? Is it not the business of Political Economy, as a science, to examine the various forms in which men may unite their powers, and divide their employments, with a view to greater and more widely diffused150 prosperity? Does trade not frequently afford us examples of two, three, or four persons uniting to form such associations? Is Métayage17 not a sort of informal association of capital and labour? Have we not in recent times seen joint151 stock companies formed which afford to the smallest capitals the opportunity of taking part in the most extensive enterprizes? Have we not certain manufactures in which it is sought to give the labourers an interest in the profits? Does Political Economy condemn those efforts of men to make their industry more productive and profitable? Does she affirm anywhere that human nature has reached perfection? Quite the contrary. I believe that there is no science which demonstrates more clearly that society is still in its infancy152.
But whatever hopes we may entertain as to the future, whatever ideas we may conceive as to the measures that men may adopt for the improvement of their mutual relations, and the diffusion153 of happiness, knowledge, and morality, we must never forget that society is an organization which has for its element a moral and intelligent agent, endued154 with free will, and susceptible155 of improvement. If you take away Liberty from man, he becomes nothing else than a rude and wretched machine.
Liberty would seem not to be wanted in our days. In France, the privileged land of fashion, freedom appears to be no longer in repute. For myself, I say that he who rejects liberty has no faith in human nature. Of late the distressing156 discovery seems to have been made that liberty leads inevitably to monopoly.18 This monstrous157 union, this unnatural conjunction, does not exist; it is the imaginary fruit of an error which the light of Political Economy speedily [p062] dissipates. Freedom engender158 monopoly! Oppression the offspring of liberty! To affirm this is to affirm that the tendencies of human nature are radically159 bad—bad in themselves, in their nature, in their essence. It is to affirm that the natural bent160 of man is to deterioration; that the human mind is irresistibly161 attracted towards error. To what end, then, our schools, our studies, our inquiries162, our discussions, unless to accelerate our progress towards that fatal descent; since to teach men to judge, to distinguish, to select, is only to teach them to commit suicide? And if the tendencies of human nature are essentially163 perverse164, where are the organizers of new social systems to place the fulcrum165 of that lever by which they hope to effect their changes? It must be somewhere beyond the limits of the present domain of humanity. Do they search for it in themselves—in their own minds and hearts? They are not gods yet; they are men, and tending, consequently, along with the whole human race, towards the fatal abyss. Shall they invoke166 the intervention of the state? The state also is composed of men. They must therefore prove that they form a distinct class, for whom the general laws of society are not intended, since it is their province to make these laws. Unless this be proved the difficulty is not removed, it is not even diminished.
Let us not thus condemn human nature before studying its laws, its forces, its energies, its tendencies. Newton, after he discovered attraction, never pronounced the name of God without uncovering his head. Yet the celestial167 mechanism is subject to laws of which it has no consciousness; and the social world is as much superior to that which called forth the admiration168 of Newton as mind is superior to matter. How much more reason, then, have we to bow before Omniscience169 when we behold170 the social mechanism, which universal intelligence no less pervades171 (mens agitat molem); and which presents, moreover, this extraordinary phenomenon, that every atom of which it is composed is an animated172 thinking being, endued with marvellous energy, and with that principle of all morality, all dignity, all progress, the exclusive attribute of man—Liberty.
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1
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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harmoniously
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| 和谐地，调和地 | |
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juxtaposition
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| n.毗邻，并置，并列 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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inflicts
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的第三人称单数 ) | |
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maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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economists
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| n.经济学家，经济专家( economist的名词复数 ) | |
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penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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repudiates
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的第三人称单数 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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dissertation
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| n.（博士学位）论文，学术演讲，专题论文 | |
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trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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locomotion
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| n.运动，移动 | |
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indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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pillage
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| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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anterior
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| adj.较早的；在前的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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hewed
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的过去式和过去分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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41
derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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conveyances
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| n.传送( conveyance的名词复数 )；运送；表达；运输工具 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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acquitting
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的现在分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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equitable
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| adj.公平的；公正的 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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58
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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deterioration
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| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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imputing
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的现在分词 ) | |
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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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deteriorated
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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incitement
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| 激励； 刺激； 煽动； 激励物 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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denuded
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| adj.[医]变光的，裸露的v.使赤裸( denude的过去式和过去分词 )；剥光覆盖物 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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omnipotence
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| n.全能，万能，无限威力 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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unanimity
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| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
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adepts
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| n.专家，能手( adept的名词复数 ) | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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immortals
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| 不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 )； 永生不朽者 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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deceptions
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| 欺骗( deception的名词复数 )； 骗术，诡计 | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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118
justifies
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| 证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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119
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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120
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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122
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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124
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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125
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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126
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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127
fiat
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| n.命令，法令，批准；vt.批准，颁布 | |
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128
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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129
suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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131
avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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132
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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135
conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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136
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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137
entails
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| 使…成为必要( entail的第三人称单数 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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138
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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139
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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140
declamation
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| n. 雄辩，高调 | |
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141
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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142
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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143
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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144
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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145
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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146
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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147
datum
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| n.资料；数据；已知数 | |
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148
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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149
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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150
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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151
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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152
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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153
diffusion
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| n.流布；普及；散漫 | |
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154
endued
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| v.授予，赋予（特性、才能等）( endue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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157
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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158
engender
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| v.产生，引起 | |
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159
radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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161
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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163
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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164
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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165
fulcrum
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| n.杠杆支点 | |
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166
invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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167
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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168
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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169
omniscience
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| n.全知，全知者，上帝 | |
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170
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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171
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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172
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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