Part Two

The first man, who, after enclosing a piece of ground, took it into his head to say, "This is mine," and found people simple enough to believe him, was the true founder of civil society. How many crimes, how many wars, how many murders, how many misfortunes and horrors, would that man have saved the human species, who pulling up the stakes or filling up the ditches should have cried to his fellows: Be sure not to listen to this imposter; you are lost, if you forget that the fruits of the earth belong equally to us all, and the earth itself to nobody! But it is highly probable that things were now come to such a pass, that they could not continue much longer in the same way; for as this idea of property depends on several prior ideas which could only spring up gradually one after another, it was not formed all at once in the human mind: men must have made great progress; they must have acquired a great stock of industry and knowledge, and transmitted and increased it from age to age before they could arrive at this last term of the state of nature. Let us therefore take up things a little higher, and collect into one point of view, and in their most natural order, this slow succession of events and mental improvements.

The first man to fence off a piece of land and declare, "This is mine," founded civil society. He found people naive enough to believe him. How many crimes, wars, murders, misfortunes, and horrors could someone have spared humanity by pulling up those stakes or filling those ditches! Such a person could have called out to the others: Do not listen to this impostor. You are lost if you forget that the earth’s fruits belong equally to us all, and the earth itself to nobody! But things had very probably reached a point where they could not continue much longer as they were. The idea of property depends on several earlier ideas that could only develop gradually, one after another. So the idea of property did not form in the human mind all at once. People must have made great progress. They must have developed extensive skills and knowledge, passed them down, and added to them from generation to generation. Only then could they have reached this final stage of the state of nature. Let us therefore go back a little further. Let us bring this slow sequence of events and advances in human thought into a single view, in their most natural order.

The first sentiment of man was that of his existence, his first care that of preserving it. The productions of the earth yielded him all the assistance he required; instinct prompted him to make use of them. Among the various appetites, which made him at different times experience different modes of existence, there was one that excited him to perpetuate his species; and this blind propensity, quite void of anything like pure love or affection, produced nothing but an act that was merely animal. The present heat once allayed, the sexes took no further notice of each other, and even the child ceased to have any tie in his mother, the moment he ceased to want her assistance.

Man’s first feeling was awareness of his own existence. His first concern was to preserve his life. The earth provided all he needed, and instinct led him to use what the earth offered. His various appetites made him experience different ways of being at different times. Among these appetites was one that drove him to reproduce. This blind urge, entirely without pure love or affection, led only to a purely animal act. Once the immediate desire was satisfied, the sexes paid no further attention to each other. Even the child lost all connection with his mother as soon as he no longer needed her help.

Such was the condition of infant man; such was the life of an animal confined at first to pure sensations, and so far from harbouring any thought of forcing her gifts from nature, that he scarcely availed himself of those which she offered to him of her own accord. But difficulties soon arose, and there was a necessity for learning how to surmount them: the height of some trees, which prevented his reaching their fruits; the competition of other animals equally fond of the same fruits; the fierceness of many that even aimed at his life; these were so many circumstances, which obliged him to apply to bodily exercise. There was a necessity for becoming active, swift-footed, and sturdy in battle. The natural arms, which are stones and the branches of trees, soon offered themselves to his assistance. He learned to surmount the obstacles of nature, to contend in case of necessity with other animals, to dispute his subsistence even with other men, or indemnify himself for the loss of whatever he found himself obliged to part with to the strongest.

Such was the condition of early man, the life of an animal limited at first to sensations alone. He was far from thinking of forcing nature to give up her gifts. He scarcely even used the gifts she offered freely. But difficulties soon arose, and he had to learn to overcome them. Some trees were too tall for him to reach their fruit. Other animals competed for the same fruit, enjoying it just as much. Many animals were fierce and even threatened his life. These circumstances forced him to exercise his body. He had to become active, quick on his feet, and strong in a fight. Stones and tree branches soon served him as natural weapons. He learned to overcome natural obstacles and fight other animals when necessary. He also learned to compete even with other men for food. Or he made up for the loss of whatever he had been forced to surrender to the strongest.

In proportion as the human species grew more numerous, and extended itself, its pains likewise multiplied and increased. The difference of soils, climates and seasons, might have forced men to observe some difference in their way of living. Bad harvests, long and severe winters, and scorching summers which parched up all the fruits of the earth, required extraordinary exertions of industry. On the sea shore, and the banks of rivers, they invented the line and the hook, and became fishermen and ichthyophagous. In the forests they made themselves bows and arrows, and became huntsmen and warriors. In the cold countries they covered themselves with the skins of the beasts they had killed; thunder, a volcano, or some happy accident made them acquainted with fire, a new resource against the rigours of winter: they discovered the method of preserving this element, then that of reproducing it, and lastly the way of preparing with it the flesh of animals, which heretofore they devoured raw from the carcass.

As the human population grew and spread, its hardships also multiplied and increased. Differences in soil, climate, and seasons may have forced people to vary their ways of life. Failed harvests, long and harsh winters, and scorching summers that dried up all the earth’s fruits demanded extraordinary effort. Along seashores and riverbanks, people invented fishing lines and hooks, becoming fishermen and fish eaters. In forests, they made bows and arrows and became hunters and warriors. In cold countries, people covered themselves with the skins of animals they had killed. Thunder, a volcano, or some lucky accident introduced them to fire, a new defense against the harshness of winter. They discovered how to keep fire burning, then how to make it themselves. Finally, they learned to cook animal flesh with fire, instead of devouring it raw from the carcass.

This reiterated application of various beings to himself, and to one another, must have naturally engendered in the mind of man the idea of certain relations. These relations, which we express by the words, great, little, strong, weak, swift, slow, fearful, bold, and the like, compared occasionally, and almost without thinking of it, produced in him some kind of reflection, or rather a mechanical prudence, which pointed out to him the precautions most essential to his preservation and safety.

Repeatedly comparing various beings with himself and with one another must naturally have given man an idea of certain relationships. We express these relationships with words like large, small, strong, weak, fast, slow, fearful, bold, and so on. By occasionally comparing these relationships, almost without thinking, he developed some kind of reflection. Or rather, he developed an automatic caution that showed him the precautions most essential to his survival and safety.

The new lights resulting from this development increased his superiority over other animals, by making him sensible of it. He laid himself out to ensnare them; he played them a thousand tricks; and though several surpassed him in strength or in swiftness, he in time became the master of those that could be of any service to him, and a sore enemy to those that could do him any mischief. 'Tis thus, that the first look he gave into himself produced the first emotion of pride in him; 'tis thus that, at a time he scarce knew how to distinguish between the different ranks of existence, by attributing to his species the first rank among animals in general, he prepared himself at a distance to pretend to it as an individual among those of his own species in particular.

The new understanding gained from this development increased his superiority over other animals by making him aware of that superiority. He set out to trap them and played a thousand tricks on them. Although several were stronger or faster than he was, he eventually mastered those that could be useful to him. He also became a formidable enemy to those that could harm him. In this way, his first look inward gave rise to his first feeling of pride. At the time, he barely knew how to distinguish between the different ranks of existence. Yet he placed his own species above all other animals. By doing so, he was preparing himself, in the distant future, to claim the highest rank among his fellow humans.

Though other men were not to him what they are to us, and he had scarce more intercourse with them than with other animals, they were not overlooked in his observations. The conformities, which in time he might discover between them, and between himself and his female, made him judge of those he did not perceive; and seeing that they all behaved as himself would have done in similar circumstances, he concluded that their manner of thinking and willing was quite conformable to his own; and this important truth, when once engraved deeply on his mind, made him follow, by a presentiment as sure as any logic, and withal much quicker, the best rules of conduct, which for the sake of his own safety and advantage it was proper he should observe towards them.

Although other men did not mean to him what they mean to us, he still observed them. He had hardly more contact with them than with other animals. Over time, he might notice similarities among them, and between himself and his female companion. These visible similarities led him to infer others he could not see. He saw that all these people behaved as he would have behaved in similar circumstances. So he concluded that they thought and wanted things in much the same way he did. Once this important truth became firmly fixed in his mind, it guided his behavior toward them. He instinctively followed the best rules of conduct for his own safety and advantage. This instinct was as reliable as any reasoning, and much quicker.

Instructed by experience that the love of happiness is the sole principle of all human actions, he found himself in a condition to distinguish the few cases, in which common interest might authorize him to build upon the assistance of his fellows, and those still fewer, in which a competition of interests might justly render it suspected. In the first case he united with them in the same flock, or at most by some kind of free association which obliged none of its members, and lasted no longer than the transitory necessity that had given birth to it. In the second case every one aimed at his own private advantage, either by open force if he found himself strong enough, or by cunning and address if he thought himself too weak to use violence.

Experience taught him that the desire for happiness is the sole driving force behind all human actions. He could therefore recognize the few cases when shared interests gave him reason to count on others for help. He could also recognize the still fewer cases when competing interests gave him good reason to doubt their help. In the first case, he joined them in a group, or at most in some kind of voluntary association. Such an association placed no obligations on its members and lasted only as long as the temporary need that created it. In the second case, everyone pursued their own advantage. Each used open force if they felt strong enough, or cunning and skill if they felt too weak for violence.

Such was the manner in which men might have insensibly acquired some gross idea of their mutual engagements and the advantage of fulfilling them, but this only as far as their present and sensible interest required; for as to foresight they were utter strangers to it, and far from troubling their heads about a distant futurity, they scarce thought of the day following. Was a deer to be taken? Every one saw that to succeed he must faithfully stand to his post; but suppose a hare to have slipped by within reach of any one of them, it is not to be doubted but he pursued it without scruple, and when he had seized his prey never reproached himself with having made his companions miss theirs.

In this way, men might gradually and unknowingly have gained a rough idea of their commitments to one another. They might also have recognized the advantage of keeping those commitments, but only when their immediate, obvious interests required it. They knew nothing of foresight. Far from worrying about the distant future, they hardly thought about the next day. Were they hunting a deer? Everyone understood that success depended on each hunter faithfully staying at his post. But suppose a hare passed within reach of one of the hunters. There is no doubt that he would chase the hare without hesitation. And once he had caught his prey, he would never blame himself for making his companions lose theirs.

We may easily conceive that such an intercourse scarce required a more refined language than that of crows and monkeys, which flock together almost in the same manner. Inarticulate exclamations, a great many gestures, and some imitative sounds, must have been for a long time the universal language of mankind, and by joining to these in every country some articulate and conventional sounds, of which, as I have already hinted, it is not very easy to explain the institution, there arose particular languages, but rude, imperfect, and such nearly as are to be found at this day among several savage nations. My pen straightened by the rapidity of time, the abundance of things I have to say, and the almost insensible progress of the first improvements, flies like an arrow over numberless ages, for the slower the succession of events, the quicker I may allow myself to be in relating them.

We can easily imagine that such interaction hardly required a language more refined than that of crows and monkeys. These animals gather in much the same way. For a long time, wordless cries, many gestures, and a few imitative sounds must have been humanity’s universal language. In each country, people added some clearly spoken sounds with agreed meanings, giving rise to distinct languages. As I have already suggested, how these sounds became established is not easy to explain. But these languages were crude and imperfect, much like those still found today among several peoples living in a savage state. My pen is pressed by the speed of time and the many things I have to say. The almost imperceptible progress of the earliest improvements also drives my pen onward. It flies like an arrow across countless ages. For the more slowly events follow one another, the faster I can allow myself to recount them.

At length, these first improvements enabled man to improve at a greater rate. Industry grew perfect in proportion as the mind became more enlightened. Men soon ceasing to fall asleep under the first tree, or take shelter in the first cavern, lit upon some hard and sharp kinds of stone resembling spades or hatchets, and employed them to dig the ground, cut down trees, and with the branches build huts, which they afterwards bethought themselves of plastering over with clay or dirt. This was the epoch of a first revolution, which produced the establishment and distinction of families, and which introduced a species of property, and along with it perhaps a thousand quarrels and battles. As the strongest however were probably the first to make themselves cabins, which they knew they were able to defend, we may conclude that the weak found it much shorter and safer to imitate than to attempt to dislodge them: and as to those, who were already provided with cabins, no one could have any great temptation to seize upon that of his neighbour, not so much because it did not belong to him, as because it could be of no service to him; and as besides to make himself master of it, he must expose himself to a very sharp conflict with the present occupiers.

Eventually, these early advances enabled humans to make faster progress. Practical skills improved as their minds became more enlightened. People soon stopped sleeping under the first tree they found or sheltering in the first cave. They discovered hard, sharp stones resembling spades or hatchets. They used these stones to dig the ground, cut down trees, and build huts from the branches. Later, they thought of coating their huts with clay or mud. This marked the first revolution, establishing families as distinct groups. It also introduced a form of property, and with it perhaps a thousand quarrels and battles. However, the strongest were probably the first to build cabins, knowing they could defend them. We may therefore conclude that weaker people found imitation quicker and safer than trying to drive the stronger people out. Those who already had cabins would have had little temptation to seize a neighbor’s cabin. This was less because the cabin belonged to someone else than because it would be of no use to them. Besides, taking possession would mean risking a fierce fight with the people already living there.

The first developments of the heart were the effects of a new situation, which united husbands and wives, parents and children, under one roof; the habit of living together gave birth to the sweetest sentiments the human species is acquainted with, conjugal and paternal love. Every family became a little society, so much the more firmly united, as a mutual attachment and liberty were the only bonds of it; and it was now that the sexes, whose way of life had been hitherto the same, began to adopt different manners and customs. The women became more sedentary, and accustomed themselves to stay at home and look after the children, while the men rambled abroad in quest of subsistence for the whole family. The two sexes likewise by living a little more at their ease began to lose somewhat of their usual ferocity and sturdiness; but if on the one hand individuals became less able to engage separately with wild beasts, they on the other were more easily got together to make a common resistance against them.

The first emotional bonds grew from a new way of life, with husbands, wives, parents, and children living under one roof. Living together gave rise to the sweetest feelings known to humanity: love between spouses and between parents and children. Each family became a small society, bound all the more firmly because affection and freedom were its only ties. At this point, men and women began to develop different habits and customs. Until then, both sexes had lived in the same way. Women became less active and grew used to staying home and caring for the children. Meanwhile, men roamed in search of food for the whole family. As both sexes began to live a little more comfortably, they lost some of their usual fierceness and toughness. But if individuals became less able to face wild animals alone, they could also gather more easily to resist them together.

In this new state of things, the simplicity and solitariness of man's life, the limitedness of his wants, and the instruments which he had invented to satisfy them, leaving him a great deal of leisure, he employed it to supply himself with several conveniences unknown to his ancestors; and this was the first yoke he inadvertently imposed upon himself, and the first source of mischief which he prepared for his children; for besides continuing in this manner to soften both body and mind, these conveniences having through use lost almost all their aptness to please, and even degenerated into real wants, the privation of them became far more intolerable than the possession of them had been agreeable; to lose them was a misfortune, to possess them no happiness.

In this new state of affairs, man's simple, solitary life and few needs left him plenty of free time. The tools he had invented to meet those needs also helped give him that leisure. He used his free time to provide himself with several comforts unknown to his ancestors. These comforts were the first burden he unknowingly placed on himself, and the first source of trouble for his children. For these comforts continued to weaken both body and mind. At the same time, familiarity robbed them of almost all their power to please, and they even became real needs. As a result, going without these comforts became far more unbearable than having them had ever been pleasant. Losing them was a misfortune, but having them brought no happiness.

Here we may a little better discover how the use of speech insensibly commences or improves in the bosom of every family, and may likewise from conjectures concerning the manner in which divers particular causes might have propagated language, and accelerated its progress by rendering it every day more and more necessary. Great inundations or earthquakes surrounded inhabited districts with water or precipices, portions of the continent were by revolutions of the globe torn off and split into islands. It is obvious that among men thus collected, and forced to live together, a common idiom must have started up much sooner, than among those who freely wandered through the forests of the main land. Thus it is very possible that the inhabitants of the islands formed in this manner, after their first essays in navigation, brought among us the use of speech; and it is very probable at least that society and languages commenced in islands and even acquired perfection there, before the inhabitants of the continent knew anything of either.

Here we can see a little more clearly how speech gradually begins or develops within each family. We may also speculate about how various causes might have spread language and hastened its development by making it increasingly necessary. Great floods or earthquakes surrounded inhabited areas with water or steep cliffs. Upheavals of the earth tore portions from the mainland and split them into islands. Clearly, a common language must have developed much sooner among people brought together and forced to live alongside one another. By contrast, people on the mainland wandered freely through the forests. So it is quite possible that the inhabitants of these newly formed islands brought speech to us after their first attempts at navigation. At least, it is very likely that society and languages began on islands and even reached full development there. This would have happened before the mainland’s inhabitants knew anything of either.

Everything now begins to wear a new aspect. Those who heretofore wandered through the woods, by taking to a more settled way of life, gradually flock together, coalesce into several separate bodies, and at length form in every country distinct nations, united in character and manners, not by any laws or regulations, but by an uniform manner of life, a sameness of provisions, and the common influence of the climate. A permanent neighborhood must at last infallibly create some connection between different families. The transitory commerce required by nature soon produced, among the youth of both sexes living in contiguous cabins, another kind of commerce, which besides being equally agreeable is rendered more durable by mutual intercourse. Men begin to consider different objects, and to make comparisons; they insensibly acquire ideas of merit and beauty, and these soon produce sentiments of preference. By seeing each other often they contract a habit, which makes it painful not to see each other always. Tender and agreeable sentiments steal into the soul, and are by the smallest opposition wound up into the most impetuous fury: Jealousy kindles with love; discord triumphs; and the gentlest of passions requires sacrifices of human blood to appease it.

Everything now begins to take on a new appearance. People who once wandered through the woods adopt a more settled way of life. They gradually gather together, join into separate groups, and eventually form distinct nations in every country. These nations share a common character and customs, not because of laws or rules. Instead, their unity comes from a shared way of life, the same foods, and the common influence of climate. Living permanently near one another must eventually create some ties between different families. The brief encounters prompted by natural needs soon lead to another kind of relationship among young men and women in neighboring cabins. This new relationship is just as pleasant, but repeated contact makes it more lasting. People begin to notice different individuals and compare them. Without realizing it, they develop ideas of merit and beauty, and these soon lead them to prefer some over others. Seeing one another often becomes a habit, making it painful not to see one another all the time. Tender, pleasant feelings slip into the soul, but the slightest obstacle turns these feelings into uncontrollable fury. Jealousy flares up alongside love, conflict triumphs, and the gentlest of passions demands sacrifices of human blood to appease it.

In proportion as ideas and sentiments succeed each other, and the head and the heart exercise themselves, men continue to shake off their original wildness, and their connections become more intimate and extensive. They now begin to assemble round a great tree: singing and dancing, the genuine offspring of love and leisure, become the amusement or rather the occupation of the men and women, free from care, thus gathered together. Every one begins to survey the rest, and wishes to be surveyed himself; and public esteem acquires a value. He who sings or dances best; the handsomest, the strongest, the most dexterous, the most eloquent, comes to be the most respected: this was the first step towards inequality, and at the same time towards vice. From these first preferences there proceeded on one side vanity and contempt, on the other envy and shame; and the fermentation raised by these new leavens at length produced combinations fatal to happiness and innocence.

As ideas and feelings follow one another, and people exercise their minds and hearts, they shed more of their original wildness. Their relationships become closer and more widespread. They now begin to gather around a great tree. Singing and dancing, born naturally from love and leisure, become the amusement, or rather the occupation, of these carefree men and women. Everyone begins to look at the others and wants to be looked at in return. Public respect begins to matter. Whoever sings or dances best becomes the most respected, as do the best-looking, strongest, most skillful, and most eloquent. This was the first step toward inequality and, at the same time, toward moral corruption. These early preferences gave rise to vanity and contempt on one side, and envy and shame on the other. These new feelings fermented and eventually combined in ways that destroyed happiness and innocence.

Men no sooner began to set a value upon each other, and know what esteem was, than each laid claim to it, and it was no longer safe for any man to refuse it to another. Hence the first duties of civility and politeness, even among savages; and hence every voluntary injury became an affront, as besides the mischief, which resulted from it as an injury, the party offended was sure to find in it a contempt for his person more intolerable than the mischief itself. It was thus that every man, punishing the contempt expressed for him by others in proportion to the value he set upon himself, the effects of revenge became terrible, and men learned to be sanguinary and cruel. Such precisely was the degree attained by most of the savage nations with whom we are acquainted. And it is for want of sufficiently distinguishing ideas, and observing at how great a distance these people were from the first state of nature, that so many authors have hastily concluded that man is naturally cruel, and requires a regular system of police to be reclaimed; whereas nothing can be more gentle than he in his primitive state, when placed by nature at an equal distance from the stupidity of brutes, and the pernicious good sense of civilized man; and equally confined by instinct and reason to the care of providing against the mischief which threatens him, he is withheld by natural compassion from doing any injury to others, so far from being ever so little prone even to return that which he has received. For according to the axiom of the wise Locke, Where there is no property, there can be no injury.

As soon as men began to value one another and understand respect, each man claimed respect for himself. It was no longer safe for anyone to deny another man that respect. From this came the first duties of courtesy and politeness, even among peoples considered savage. Every deliberate injury therefore became an insult as well. Beyond the harm itself, the injured man was sure to see contempt for him, more intolerable than the harm. Each man punished the contempt others showed him according to the value he placed on himself. Revenge therefore became terrible, and men learned to be bloodthirsty and cruel. This was precisely the stage reached by most of the peoples we know as savage. Many writers have failed to distinguish these ideas carefully enough. They have also failed to recognize how far these peoples were from the original state of nature. As a result, they have hastily concluded that man is naturally cruel and needs organized law enforcement to reform him. Yet nothing could be gentler than man in his original state. Nature placed him halfway between the mindlessness of beasts and the harmful good sense of civilized man. Instinct and reason alike limited his concerns to protecting himself from harm. Natural compassion restrained him from harming others, and he was not even slightly inclined to retaliate for harm he suffered. For, as the wise Locke’s principle states, where there is no property, there can be no injury.

But we must take notice, that the society now formed and the relations now established among men required in them qualities different from those, which they derived from their primitive constitution; that as a sense of morality began to insinuate itself into human actions, and every man, before the enacting of laws, was the only judge and avenger of the injuries he had received, that goodness of heart suitable to the pure state of nature by no means suited infant society; that it was necessary punishments should become severer in the same proportion that the opportunities of offending became more frequent, and the dread of vengeance add strength to the too weak curb of the law. Thus, though men were become less patient, and natural compassion had already suffered some alteration, this period of the development of the human faculties, holding a just mean between the indolence of the primitive state, and the petulant activity of self-love, must have been the happiest and most durable epoch. The more we reflect on this state, the more convinced we shall be, that it was the least subject of any to revolutions, the best for man, and that nothing could have drawn him out of it but some fatal accident, which, for the public good, should never have happened. The example of the savages, most of whom have been found in this condition, seems to confirm that mankind was formed ever to remain in it, that this condition is the real youth of the world, and that all ulterior improvements have been so many steps, in appearance towards the perfection of individuals, but in fact towards the decrepitness of the species.

But we must recognize that society and the relationships now established among people required new qualities. These qualities differed from those people had by nature. A sense of morality was beginning to enter human actions. Before laws were enacted, each person alone judged and avenged the wrongs done to him. The kindness suited to the pure state of nature was therefore no longer suited to this young society. Punishments had to grow harsher as opportunities to do wrong became more frequent. Fear of revenge had to strengthen the law’s all-too-weak restraint. Thus, although people had become less patient and their natural compassion had already changed somewhat, this period must have been the happiest and most lasting. Human abilities had reached a balanced middle point between the idleness of the original state and the restless activity of self-love. The more we reflect on this condition, the more convinced we become that it was the least vulnerable to upheaval. It was the best condition for humanity. Nothing but some disastrous accident could have drawn humanity out of it. For the common good, that accident should never have happened. The example of peoples called savages, most of whom have been found living in this condition, seems to confirm this view. Humanity was made to remain in this condition forever, and this condition is the world’s true youth. All later advances have been so many steps that seemed to bring individuals closer to perfection. In reality, those steps have led the species toward decline and decay.

As long as men remained satisfied with their rustic cabins; as long as they confined themselves to the use of clothes made of the skins of other animals, and the use of thorns and fish-bones, in putting these skins together; as long as they continued to consider feathers and shells as sufficient ornaments, and to paint their bodies of different colours, to improve or ornament their bows and arrows, to form and scoop out with sharp-edged stones some little fishing boats, or clumsy instruments of music; in a word, as long as they undertook such works only as a single person could finish, and stuck to such arts as did not require the joint endeavours of several hands, they lived free, healthy, honest and happy, as much as their nature would admit, and continued to enjoy with each other all the pleasures of an independent intercourse; but from the moment one man began to stand in need of another's assistance; from the moment it appeared an advantage for one man to possess the quantity of provisions requisite for two, all equality vanished; property started up; labour became necessary; and boundless forests became smiling fields, which it was found necessary to water with human sweat, and in which slavery and misery were soon seen to sprout out and grow with the fruits of the earth.

As long as men were content with their simple cabins, wore animal skins sewn together with thorns and fish bones, considered feathers and shells enough decoration, painted their bodies in different colors, improved or decorated their bows and arrows, and used sharp stones to shape and hollow out small fishing boats or make crude musical instruments, they lived free, healthy, honest, and happy, as far as their nature allowed. In short, this way of life lasted as long as men undertook only work that one person could finish. They practiced only crafts that did not require several people working together. Under these conditions, they continued to enjoy together all the pleasures of social life without depending on one another. But everything changed the moment one man began to need another’s help. It changed when one man saw an advantage in having enough provisions for two. All equality vanished. Property arose. Work became necessary. Vast forests became flourishing fields that had to be watered with human sweat. In those fields, slavery and misery soon sprouted and grew alongside the crops.

Metallurgy and agriculture were the two arts whose invention produced this great revolution. With the poet, it is gold and silver, but with the philosopher it is iron and corn, which have civilized men, and ruined mankind. Accordingly both one and the other were unknown to the savages of America, who for that very reason have always continued savages; nay other nations seem to have continued in a state of barbarism, as long as they continued to exercise one only of these arts without the other; and perhaps one of the best reasons that can be assigned, why Europe has been, if not earlier, at least more constantly and better civilized than the other quarters of the world, is that she both abounds most in iron and is best qualified to produce corn.

Metalworking and farming were the two arts whose invention brought about this great revolution. For the poet, gold and silver civilized humans and ruined humanity. But for the philosopher, iron and grain did so. Neither metalworking nor farming was known to the Indigenous peoples of America. For that very reason, they have always remained in what is called a savage state. Indeed, other nations seem to have remained in a barbaric state while practicing only one of these arts. Perhaps this also offers one of the best explanations for Europe's more consistent and fuller civilization than other regions. Europe may not have become civilized earlier, but it has the most iron and the best conditions for growing grain.

It is a very difficult matter to tell how men came to know anything of iron, and the art of employing it: for we are not to suppose that they should of themselves think of digging it out of the mines, and preparing it for fusion, before they knew what could be the result of such a process. On the other hand, there is the less reason to attribute this discovery to any accidental fire, as mines are formed nowhere but in dry and barren places, and such as are bare of trees and plants, so that it looks as if nature had taken pains to keep from us so mischievous a secret. Nothing therefore remains but the extraordinary circumstance of some volcano, which, belching forth metallic substances ready fused, might have given the spectators a notion of imitating that operation of nature; and after all we must suppose them endued with an extraordinary stock of courage and foresight to undertake so painful a work, and have, at so great a distance, an eye to the advantages they might derive from it; qualities scarcely suitable but to heads more exercised, than those of such discoverers can be supposed to have been.

It is very difficult to explain how people first learned about iron and how to use it. We cannot suppose they thought of digging iron from mines and preparing it for melting without knowing what would result. On the other hand, there is even less reason to credit an accidental fire with the discovery. Mines occur only in dry, barren places, without trees or plants. So it seems as if nature took pains to hide such a harmful secret from us. The only remaining explanation is the extraordinary event of a volcano spewing out metal already melted. Such a sight might have given witnesses the idea of copying nature’s process. Even then, we must suppose these people had extraordinary courage and foresight to undertake such difficult work. They would also have needed to see the benefits they might gain so far in the future. Such qualities hardly seem possible except in minds more practiced than we can suppose these discoverers’ minds were.

As to agriculture, the principles of it were known a long time before the practice of it took place, and it is hardly possible that men, constantly employed in drawing their subsistence from trees and plants, should not have early hit on the means employed by nature for the generation of vegetables; but in all probability it was very late before their industry took a turn that way, either because trees, which with their land and water game supplied them with sufficient food, did not require their attention; or because they did not know the use of corn; or because they had no instruments to cultivate it; or because they were destitute of foresight in regard to future necessities; or in fine, because they wanted means to hinder others from running away with the fruit of their labours. We may believe that on their becoming more industrious they began their agriculture by cultivating with sharp stones and pointed sticks a few pulse or roots about their cabins; and that it was a long time before they knew the method of preparing corn, and were provided with instruments necessary to raise it in large quantities; not to mention the necessity there is, in order to follow this occupation and sow lands, to consent to lose something at present to gain a great deal hereafter; a precaution very foreign to the turn of man's mind in a savage state, in which, as I have already taken notice, he can hardly foresee his wants from morning to night.

The principles of agriculture were known long before people began to farm. People constantly gathered their food from trees and plants. They could hardly have failed to discover early on how nature produces new plants. But they probably turned their efforts toward farming only much later. Perhaps trees, together with animals hunted on land and in water, provided enough food without needing care. Or perhaps people did not know how to use grain, or lacked tools to grow it. Perhaps they did not plan ahead for future needs. Or, finally, perhaps they had no way to stop others from stealing the fruits of their labor. We may suppose that, as people became more industrious, they began farming with sharp stones and pointed sticks. They may have used these tools to grow a few beans, peas, or roots around their huts. We may also suppose that a long time passed before people learned how to prepare grain for food. It also took a long time before they had the tools needed to grow grain in large quantities. Besides, farming and sowing fields require people to accept a present loss for a much greater gain later. Such planning is very foreign to the way people think in a state of nature. As I have already noted, people in that state can hardly anticipate their needs from morning to night.

For this reason the invention of other arts must have been necessary to oblige mankind to apply to that of agriculture. As soon as men were wanted to fuse and forge iron, others were wanted to maintain them. The more hands were employed in manufactures, the fewer hands were left to provide subsistence for all, though the number of mouths to be supplied with food continued the same; and as some required commodities in exchange for their iron, the rest at last found out the method of making iron subservient to the multiplication of commodities. Hence on the one hand husbandry and agriculture, and on the other the art of working metals and of multiplying the uses of them.

For this reason, other crafts must have been invented before people were forced to take up agriculture. As soon as people were needed to smelt and forge iron, others were needed to support them. The more people worked in manufacturing, the fewer were left to provide food for everyone. Yet the number of mouths to feed remained the same. And as some demanded goods in exchange for their iron, the others eventually learned to use iron to produce more goods. From this came farming and agriculture on the one hand, and metalworking and its growing range of uses on the other.

To the tilling of the earth the distribution of it necessarily succeeded, and to property once acknowledged, the first rules of justice: for to secure every man his own, every man must have something. Moreover, as men began to extend their views to futurity, and all found themselves in possession of more or less goods capable of being lost, every one in particular had reason to fear, lest reprisals should be made on him for any injury he might do to others. This origin is so much the more natural, as it is impossible to conceive how property can flow from any other source but industry; for what can a man add but his labour to things which he has not made, in order to acquire a property in them? 'Tis the labour of the hands alone, which giving the husbandman a title to the produce of the land he has tilled gives him a title to the land itself, at least till he has gathered in the fruits of it, and so on from year to year; and this enjoyment forming a continued possession is easily transformed into a property. The ancients, says Grotius, by giving to Ceres the epithet of Legislatrix, and to a festival celebrated in her honour the name of Thesmorphoria, insinuated that the distribution of lands produced a new kind of right; that is, the right of property different from that which results from the law of nature.

Farming the land necessarily led to dividing it up. Once property was recognized, the first rules of justice followed. For everyone to be secure in what he owned, everyone had to own something. Moreover, people began to think about the future. All possessed goods they could lose, though some had more than others. So each person had reason to fear retaliation for any harm he might do to others. This account of property's origin is all the more natural because no source other than labor is conceivable. For what can a man add to things he did not make, except his labor, to make them his own? Only the farmer's own labor gives him a right to the crops grown on the land he has cultivated. That labor also gives him a right to the land itself, at least until he has harvested the crops. The same process continues year after year. This ongoing use becomes continuous possession, which easily turns into ownership. According to Grotius, the ancients gave Ceres the title Legislatrix and named a festival in her honor Thesmorphoria. By doing so, they suggested that dividing up land had created a new kind of right. This was the right of property, distinct from the right arising from the law of nature.

Things thus circumstanced might have remained equal, if men's talents had been equal, and if, for instance, the use of iron, and the consumption of commodities had always held an exact proportion to each other; but as this proportion had no support, it was soon broken. The man that had most strength performed most labour; the most dexterous turned his labour to best account; the most ingenious found out methods of lessening his labour; the husbandman required more iron, or the smith more corn, and while both worked equally, one earned a great deal by his labour, while the other could scarce live by his. It is thus that natural inequality insensibly unfolds itself with that arising from a variety of combinations, and that the difference among men, developed by the difference of their circumstances, becomes more sensible, more permanent in its effects, and begins to influence in the same proportion the condition of private persons.

Under these conditions, things might have remained equal if men's talents had been equal. Equality might also have lasted if, for example, iron use and the consumption of goods had stayed in exact proportion. But nothing maintained this balance, so it soon broke down. The strongest man did the most work. The most skillful made the best use of his labor. The most inventive found ways to reduce his work. The farmer needed more iron, or the blacksmith more grain. Although both worked equally hard, one earned a great deal from his labor, while the other could barely survive. In this way, natural inequality gradually develops alongside inequality arising from various combinations of circumstances. Differences in men's circumstances bring out the differences between them. These differences become more noticeable and more lasting in their effects. They also begin to shape each person's situation to a corresponding degree.

Things once arrived at this period, it is an easy matter to imagine the rest. I shall not stop to describe the successive inventions of other arts, the progress of language, the trial and employments of talents, the inequality of fortunes, the use or abuse of riches, nor all the details which follow these, and which every one may easily supply. I shall just give a glance at mankind placed in this new order of things.

Once things reached this stage, the rest is easy to imagine. I will not stop to describe the inventions in other arts that followed, or the development of language. Nor will I describe how talents were tested and used, how wealth became unequal, or how riches were used or abused. I will also leave out all the details that follow, which anyone can easily fill in. I will simply take a brief look at humanity in this new order of things.

Behold then all our faculties developed; our memory and imagination at work, self-love interested; reason rendered active; and the mind almost arrived at the utmost bounds of that perfection it is capable of. Behold all our natural qualities put in motion; the rank and condition of every man established, not only as to the quantum of property and the power of serving or hurting others, but likewise as to genius, beauty, strength or address, merit or talents; and as these were the only qualities which could command respect, it was found necessary to have or at least to affect them. It was requisite for men to be thought what they really were not. To be and to appear became two very different things, and from this distinction sprang pomp and knavery, and all the vices which form their train. On the other hand, man, heretofore free and independent, was now in consequence of a multitude of new wants brought under subjection, as it were, to all nature, and especially to his fellows, whose slave in some sense he became even by becoming their master; if rich, he stood in need of their services, if poor, of their assistance; even mediocrity itself could not enable him to do without them. He must therefore have been continually at work to interest them in his happiness, and make them, if not really, at least apparently find their advantage in labouring for his: this rendered him sly and artful in his dealings with some, imperious and cruel in his dealings with others, and laid him under the necessity of using ill all those whom he stood in need of, as often as he could not awe them into a compliance with his will, and did not find it his interest to purchase it at the expense of real services. In fine, an insatiable ambition, the rage of raising their relative fortunes, not so much through real necessity, as to over-top others, inspire all men with a wicked inclination to injure each other, and with a secret jealousy so much the more dangerous, as to carry its point with the greater security, it often puts on the face of benevolence. In a word, sometimes nothing was to be seen but a contention of endeavours on the one hand, and an opposition of interests on the other, while a secret desire of thriving at the expense of others constantly prevailed. Such were the first effects of property, and the inseparable attendants of infant inequality.

Now see all our faculties developed: memory and imagination at work, self-love engaged, and reason active. The mind has almost reached the highest level of perfection it can achieve. See all our natural qualities brought into play. Every man’s rank and position are established by his property and his power to help or harm others. They also depend on his intelligence, beauty, strength, skill, merit, or talents. Since these were the only qualities that commanded respect, people had to possess them, or at least pretend to. Men had to seem to be what they were not. Being and appearing became two very different things. From this distinction came showy displays, deceit, and all the vices that follow them. Meanwhile, man, once free and independent, now had so many new needs that he became dependent on almost all nature. Above all, he depended on other people. In a sense, he became their slave even by becoming their master. If rich, he needed their services. If poor, he needed their help. Even a modest income could not make him independent of them. He therefore had to work constantly to give others a stake in his happiness. He had to make serving his interests seem advantageous to them, even when it was not. This made him sly and calculating with some, domineering and cruel with others. He was forced to mistreat everyone he needed whenever he could not frighten them into obeying his will. He did so whenever he also saw no advantage in securing their obedience by actually helping them in return. Finally, an endless ambition took hold, a frenzy to improve one’s standing, less from real need than to surpass others. This ambition inspires all men with a wicked desire to harm one another, along with a secret jealousy. Such jealousy is all the more dangerous because it often disguises itself as kindness to achieve its aims more safely. In short, sometimes all that could be seen was competing efforts on one side and conflicting interests on the other. Meanwhile, a secret desire to prosper at others’ expense constantly prevailed. These were the first effects of property and the inseparable companions of inequality in its earliest stages.

Riches, before the invention of signs to represent them, could scarce consist in anything but lands and cattle, the only real goods which men can possess. But when estates increased so much in number and in extent as to take in whole countries and touch each other, it became impossible for one man to aggrandise himself but at the expense of some other; and the supernumerary inhabitants, who were too weak or too indolent to make such acquisitions in their turn, impoverished without losing anything, because while everything about them changed they alone remained the same, were obliged to receive or force their subsistence from the hands of the rich. And hence began to flow, according to the different characters of each, domination and slavery, or violence and rapine. The rich on their side scarce began to taste the pleasure of commanding, when they preferred it to every other; and making use of their old slaves to acquire new ones, they no longer thought of anything but subduing and enslaving their neighbours; like those ravenous wolves, who having once tasted human flesh, despise every other food, and devour nothing but men for the future.

Before people invented symbols to represent wealth, riches could hardly consist of anything but land and cattle. These were the only real goods people could possess. But estates grew so numerous and so large that they covered whole countries and bordered one another. Then no one could increase his wealth except at someone else’s expense. Those left over were too weak or too idle to acquire property in turn. They became poor without losing anything, because everything around them changed while they alone stayed the same. They had to get their means of survival from the rich, either as handouts or by force. From this came domination and slavery, or violence and plunder, depending on each person’s character. The rich, for their part, had hardly tasted the pleasure of giving orders before they preferred it to every other pleasure. They used the slaves they already had to acquire more. They thought of nothing but conquering and enslaving their neighbors. They were like ravenous wolves that, once they have tasted human flesh, scorn every other food. From then on, those wolves devour only human beings.

It is thus that the most powerful or the most wretched, respectively considering their power and wretchedness as a kind of title to the substance of others, even equivalent to that of property, the equality once broken was followed by the most shocking disorders. It is thus that the usurpations of the rich, the pillagings of the poor, and the unbridled passions of all, by stifling the cries of natural compassion, and the as yet feeble voice of justice, rendered man avaricious, wicked and ambitious. There arose between the title of the strongest, and that of the first occupier a perpetual conflict, which always ended in battery and bloodshed. Infant society became a scene of the most horrible warfare: Mankind thus debased and harassed, and no longer able to retreat, or renounce the unhappy acquisitions it had made; labouring, in short merely to its confusion by the abuse of those faculties, which in themselves do it so much honour, brought itself to the very brink of ruin and destruction.

The most powerful saw their power as a right to other people’s possessions. The most desperate saw their misery in the same way. Both treated these claims as equal to ownership. Once equality was broken, the most shocking disorders followed. The rich seized what belonged to others, the poor plundered, and everyone’s passions ran unchecked. These forces silenced the cries of natural compassion and the still-weak voice of justice, making people greedy, wicked, and ambitious. A constant conflict arose between claims based on strength and claims based on being the first to occupy something. This conflict always ended in violence and bloodshed. Society, still in its infancy, became a scene of the most horrible warfare. Humanity was degraded and tormented, unable to turn back or give up the unfortunate gains it had made. In short, people misused the very abilities that brought them so much honor, working only toward their own undoing. In this way, humanity brought itself to the very brink of ruin and destruction.

But it is impossible that men should not sooner or later have made reflections on so wretched a situation, and upon the calamities with which they were overwhelmed. The rich in particular must have soon perceived how much they suffered by a perpetual war, of which they alone supported all the expense, and in which, though all risked life, they alone risked any substance. Besides, whatever colour they might pretend to give their usurpations, they sufficiently saw that these usurpations were in the main founded upon false and precarious titles, and that what they had acquired by mere force, others could again by mere force wrest out of their hands, without leaving them the least room to complain of such a proceeding. Even those, who owed all their riches to their own industry, could scarce ground their acquisitions upon a better title. It availed them nothing to say, 'Twas I built this wall; I acquired this spot by my labour. Who traced it out for you, another might object, and what right have you to expect payment at our expense for doing that we did not oblige you to do? Don't you know that numbers of your brethren perish, or suffer grievously for want of what you possess more than suffices nature, and that you should have had the express and unanimous consent of mankind to appropriate to yourself of their common, more than was requisite for your private subsistence? Destitute of solid reasons to justify, and sufficient force to defend himself; crushing individuals with ease, but with equal ease crushed by numbers; one against all, and unable, on account of mutual jealousies, to unite with his equals against banditti united by the common hopes of pillage; the rich man, thus pressed by necessity, at last conceived the deepest project that ever entered the human mind: this was to employ in his favour the very forces that attacked him, to make allies of his enemies, to inspire them with other maxims, and make them adopt other institutions as favourable to his pretensions, as the law of nature was unfavourable to them.

But sooner or later, people were bound to reflect on their miserable situation and the disasters that overwhelmed them. The rich, in particular, must soon have realized how much they suffered from constant war. They alone bore all its costs. Although everyone risked their lives, only the rich risked losing property. Besides, whatever justification they claimed for seizing property, they clearly saw that their claims were largely false and insecure. Others could use force to take back what the rich had acquired by force. The rich would then have no grounds at all to complain. Even those who owed all their wealth to their own hard work could hardly claim a better right to it. It was no use saying, "I built this wall. I acquired this piece of land through my labor." Someone else might reply, "Who marked it out for you? What right have you to expect payment at our expense for work we never required you to do? Don't you know that many of your fellow human beings die or suffer terribly for lack of your surplus? You possess more than you need to live. To take more than you needed for your own subsistence from humanity's common resources, you needed everyone's explicit, unanimous consent." The rich man had no sound reasons to justify his claims and lacked the strength to defend himself. He could easily crush individuals, but a crowd could just as easily crush him. He stood alone against everyone. Mutual jealousy prevented him from joining with his equals against bandits united by their shared hopes of plunder. Driven by necessity, the rich man finally devised the most cunning plan ever to enter the human mind. He would turn the very forces attacking him to his own advantage and make allies of his enemies. He would teach them different principles and persuade them to adopt different institutions. These institutions would favor his claims just as much as the law of nature opposed them.

With this view, after laying before his neighbours all the horrors of a situation, which armed them all one against another, which rendered their possessions as burdensome as their wants were intolerable, and in which no one could expect any safety either in poverty or riches, he easily invented specious arguments to bring them over to his purpose. "Let us unite," said he, "to secure the weak from oppression, restrain the ambitious, and secure to every man the possession of what belongs to him: Let us form rules of justice and peace, to which all may be obliged to conform, which shall not except persons, but may in some sort make amends for the caprice of fortune, by submitting alike the powerful and the weak to the observance of mutual duties. In a word, instead of turning our forces against ourselves, let us collect them into a sovereign power, which may govern us by wise laws, may protect and defend all the members of the association, repel common enemies, and maintain a perpetual concord and harmony among us."

With this aim, he first showed his neighbours all the horrors of their situation. It armed them all against one another and made their possessions as burdensome as their needs were unbearable. No one could expect safety, whether poor or rich. He then easily came up with arguments that sounded convincing but were misleading, to win them over to his purpose. "Let us unite," he said, "to protect the weak from oppression, hold back the ambitious, and secure everyone's ownership of what belongs to them. Let us establish rules of justice and peace that everyone must follow, without favouring anyone. These rules may, to some extent, make up for the randomness of fortune. They would require the powerful and the weak alike to fulfil their duties to one another. In short, instead of turning our strength against ourselves, let us combine it into a supreme governing power. This power may govern us through wise laws, protect and defend every member of the association, drive back common enemies, and maintain lasting peace and harmony among us."

Much fewer words of this kind were sufficient to draw in a parcel of rustics, whom it was an easy matter to impose upon, who had besides too many quarrels among themselves to live without arbiters, and too much avarice and ambition to live long without masters. All offered their necks to the yoke in hopes of securing their liberty; for though they had sense enough to perceive the advantages of a political constitution, they had not experience enough to see beforehand the dangers of it; those among them, who were best qualified to foresee abuses, were precisely those who expected to benefit by them; even the soberest judged it requisite to sacrifice one part of their liberty to ensure the other, as a man, dangerously wounded in any of his limbs, readily parts with it to save the rest of his body.

Far fewer words of this kind were enough to win over a group of country people, easily deceived. Besides, they had too many quarrels among themselves to live without arbitrators. They also had too much greed and ambition to live long without masters. All willingly put their necks under the yoke, hoping to secure their freedom. For although they understood the advantages of a political system, they lacked the experience to foresee its dangers. Those best able to foresee abuses were precisely those who expected to benefit from those abuses. Even the most levelheaded thought they had to sacrifice part of their freedom to secure the rest. They were like a man who willingly gives up a badly wounded limb to save the rest of his body.

Such was, or must have been, had man been left to himself, the origin of society and of the laws, which increased the fetters of the weak, and the strength of the rich; irretrievably destroyed natural liberty, fixed for ever the laws of property and inequality; changed an artful usurpation into an irrevocable title; and for the benefit of a few ambitious individuals subjected the rest of mankind to perpetual labour, servitude, and misery. We may easily conceive how the establishment of a single society rendered that of all the rest absolutely necessary, and how, to make head against united forces, it became necessary for the rest of mankind to unite in their turn. Societies once formed in this manner, soon multiplied or spread to such a degree, as to cover the face of the earth; and not to leave a corner in the whole universe, where a man could throw off the yoke, and withdraw his head from under the often ill-conducted sword which he saw perpetually hanging over it. The civil law being thus become the common rule of citizens, the law of nature no longer obtained but among the different societies, in which, under the name of the law of nations, it was qualified by some tacit conventions to render commerce possible, and supply the place of natural compassion, which, losing by degrees all that influence over societies which it originally had over individuals, no longer exists but in some great souls, who consider themselves as citizens of the world, and forcing the imaginary barriers that separate people from people, after the example of the Sovereign Being from whom we all derive our existence, make the whole human race the object of their benevolence.

Such was the origin of society and laws, or must have been if humanity had been left to itself. These laws tightened the chains of the weak and increased the power of the rich. They destroyed natural freedom beyond recovery and established the rules of property and inequality forever. They turned a cunning seizure of property into an irrevocable right. For the benefit of a few ambitious individuals, they condemned the rest of humanity to endless labor, servitude, and misery. We can easily understand how the establishment of one society made the establishment of all the others absolutely necessary. To resist united forces, the rest of humanity had to unite in turn. Once societies formed in this way, they soon multiplied or spread until they covered the earth. Nowhere in the whole universe could anyone throw off the yoke of oppression. No one could escape the sword that hung constantly overhead, often wielded with poor judgment. Civil law thus became the common rule for citizens, while natural law applied only between different societies. There, under the name of the law of nations, natural law was modified by some unspoken agreements. These agreements made trade possible and took the place of natural compassion. That compassion gradually lost all the influence over societies that it had originally held over individuals. It now survives only in some great souls who consider themselves citizens of the world. They break through the imaginary barriers separating one people from another. They follow the example of the Supreme Being, from whom we all receive our existence. Like him, they extend their goodwill to the whole human race.

Political bodies, thus remaining in a state of nature among themselves, soon experienced the inconveniences which had obliged individuals to quit it; and this state became much more fatal to these great bodies, than it had been before to the individuals which now composed them. Hence those national wars, those battles, those murders, those reprisals, which make nature shudder and shock reason; hence all those horrible prejudices, which make it a virtue and an honour to shed human blood. The worthiest men learned to consider the cutting the throats of their fellows as a duty; at length men began to butcher each other by thousands without knowing for what; and more murders were committed in a single action, and more horrible disorders at the taking of a single town, than had been committed in the state of nature during ages together upon the whole face of the earth. Such are the first effects we may conceive to have arisen from the division of mankind into different societies. Let us return to their institution.

Political societies thus remained in a state of nature in their relations with one another. They soon faced the same troubles that had forced individuals to leave that state. But the state of nature proved far deadlier for these large societies than for the individuals who now formed them. From this came wars between nations, battles, murders, and reprisals that make nature shudder and offend reason. From this came all those horrible prejudices that make shedding human blood a virtue and an honor. The worthiest men learned to see cutting their fellow human beings’ throats as a duty. Eventually, men began slaughtering one another by the thousands without knowing why. More murders occurred in a single battle, and more horrible acts of violence during the capture of a single town, than had occurred across the whole earth over ages in the state of nature. Such are the first effects we may imagine arising from humanity’s division into separate societies. Let us return to how those societies were established.

I know that several writers have assigned other origins of political society; as for instance, the conquests of the powerful, or the union of the weak; and it is no matter which of these causes we adopt in regard to what I am going to establish; that, however, which I have just laid down, seems to me the most natural, for the following reasons: First, because, in the first case, the right of conquest being in fact no right at all, it could not serve as a foundation for any other right, the conqueror and the conquered ever remaining with respect to each other in a state of war, unless the conquered, restored to the full possession of their liberty, should freely choose their conqueror for their chief. Till then, whatever capitulations might have been made between them, as these capitulations were founded upon violence, and of course de facto null and void, there could not have existed in this hypothesis either a true society, or a political body, or any other law but that of the strongest. Second, because these words strong and weak, are ambiguous in the second case; for during the interval between the establishment of the right of property or prior occupation and that of political government, the meaning of these terms is better expressed by the words poor and rich, as before the establishment of laws men in reality had no other means of reducing their equals, but by invading the property of these equals, or by parting with some of their own property to them. Third, because the poor having nothing but their liberty to lose, it would have been the height of madness in them to give up willingly the only blessing they had left without obtaining some consideration for it: whereas the rich being sensible, if I may say so, in every part of their possessions, it was much easier to do them mischief, and therefore more incumbent upon them to guard against it; and because, in fine, it is but reasonable to suppose, that a thing has been invented by him to whom it could be of service rather than by him to whom it must prove detrimental.

I know that several writers have proposed other origins for political society, such as conquest by the powerful or an alliance of the weak. For the argument I am about to make, it does not matter which explanation we accept. Still, the explanation I have just given seems to me the most natural, for the following reasons. First, the right of conquest is actually no right at all, so it cannot provide a foundation for any other right. Conquerors and conquered remain at war with each other unless the conquered regain their full freedom and freely choose their conqueror as their leader. Until then, any terms agreed between them would rest on violence and would therefore be in fact null and void. On this account, there could be no true society, no political body, and no law except that of the strongest. Second, in the other explanation, the words strong and weak are ambiguous. Consider the period between the establishment of rights based on property or first occupation and the establishment of political government. During that period, poor and rich better express the meaning of those terms. For before laws existed, people could subdue their equals in only two ways. They could seize their equals’ property or give them some of their own. Third, the poor had nothing to lose but their freedom. It would have been utter madness to surrender willingly their only remaining blessing without receiving something in return. The rich, by contrast, were vulnerable, if I may put it this way, in every part of their possessions. The rich were therefore much easier to harm and had more reason to protect themselves. Finally, it is only reasonable to suppose that something was invented by those who could benefit from it, rather than those it would necessarily harm.

Government in its infancy had no regular and permanent form. For want of a sufficient fund of philosophy and experience, men could see no further than the present inconveniences, and never thought of providing remedies for future ones, but in proportion as they arose. In spite of all the labours of the wisest legislators, the political state still continued imperfect, because it was in a manner the work of chance; and, as the foundations of it were ill laid, time, though sufficient to discover its defects and suggest the remedies for them, could never mend its original vices. Men were continually repairing; whereas, to erect a good edifice, they should have begun as Lycurgus did at Sparta, by clearing the area, and removing the old materials. Society at first consisted merely of some general conventions which all the members bound themselves to observe, and for the performance of which the whole body became security to every individual. Experience was necessary to show the great weakness of such a constitution, and how easy it was for those, who infringed it, to escape the conviction or chastisement of faults, of which the public alone was to be both the witness and the judge; the laws could not fail of being eluded a thousand ways; inconveniences and disorders could not but multiply continually, till it was at last found necessary to think of committing to private persons the dangerous trust of public authority, and to magistrates the care of enforcing obedience to the people: for to say that chiefs were elected before confederacies were formed, and that the ministers of the laws existed before the laws themselves, is a supposition too ridiculous to deserve I should seriously refute it.

Government in its early days had no settled, lasting form. Without enough knowledge of philosophy or enough experience, people saw only the problems of the present. They thought of remedies for future problems only as those problems arose. Despite all the efforts of the wisest lawmakers, the political system remained imperfect because chance had largely shaped it. Its foundations had been poorly laid. Although time could reveal its defects and suggest remedies, time could never correct its original flaws. People kept making repairs. But to build a sound structure, they should have begun as Lycurgus did at Sparta, by clearing the ground and removing the old materials. At first, society consisted merely of some general agreements that all its members pledged to follow. The whole community guaranteed each individual's protection under those agreements. Experience was needed to reveal the great weakness of such a system. Experience also showed how easily those who broke the agreements could escape conviction or punishment. The public alone had to serve as both witness and judge of these offenses. The laws were bound to be evaded in a thousand ways. Problems and disorder were bound to keep multiplying. Eventually, people found it necessary to entrust public authority to particular individuals, a dangerous responsibility. They also had to give magistrates the task of making the people obey. To claim that chiefs were elected before political associations formed is too ridiculous a notion to deserve serious refutation. So is the claim that officials responsible for enforcing laws existed before the laws themselves.

It would be equally unreasonable to imagine that men at first threw themselves into the arms of an absolute master, without any conditions or consideration on his side; and that the first means contrived by jealous and unconquered men for their common safety was to run hand over head into slavery. In fact, why did they give themselves superiors, if it was not to be defended by them against oppression, and protected in their lives, liberties, and properties, which are in a manner the constitutional elements of their being? Now in the relations between man and man, the worst that can happen to one man being to see himself at the discretion of another, would it not have been contrary to the dictates of good sense to begin by making over to a chief the only things for the preservation of which they stood in need of his assistance? What equivalent could he have offered them for so fine a privilege? And had he presumed to exact it on pretense of defending them, would he not have immediately received the answer in the apologue? What worse treatment can we expect from an enemy? It is therefore past dispute, and indeed a fundamental maxim of political law, that people gave themselves chiefs to defend their liberty and not be enslaved by them. If we have a prince, said Pliny to Trajan, it is in order that he may keep us from having a master.

It would be equally unreasonable to imagine that men first surrendered to an absolute master who offered no terms or commitments. These men guarded their freedom fiercely and had never been conquered. Could their first plan for their common safety have been to rush headlong into slavery? In fact, why did they choose rulers, if not to defend them against oppression? Why else would they seek protection for their lives, liberties, and property, which are, in a sense, essential to their existence? Now, in dealings between people, the worst thing anyone can suffer is to be at another person’s mercy. Would it not have defied common sense to begin by handing over to a chief what they needed him to protect? What could the chief have offered in exchange for so great a privilege? And suppose he had dared to demand that privilege on the pretext of defending them. Would they not immediately have given him the answer found in the fable? What worse treatment can we expect from an enemy? It is therefore beyond dispute, and indeed a basic principle of political law, that people chose chiefs to defend their freedom. They did not choose chiefs to enslave them. If we have a prince, Pliny said to Trajan, it is so that he may keep us from having a master.

Political writers argue in regard to the love of liberty with the same philosophy that philosophers do in regard to the state of nature; by the things they see they judge of things very different which they have never seen, and they attribute to men a natural inclination to slavery, on account of the patience with which the slaves within their notice carry the yoke; not reflecting that it is with liberty as with innocence and virtue, the value of which is not known but by those who possess them, though the relish for them is lost with the things themselves. I know the charms of your country, said Brasidas to a satrap who was comparing the life of the Spartans with that of the Persepolites; but you can not know the pleasures of mine.

Political writers reason about the love of liberty just as philosophers reason about the state of nature. Both judge things they have never seen by the very different things they see around them. Political writers claim that people naturally lean toward slavery because the slaves they see bear their chains patiently. But these writers fail to consider that liberty is like innocence and virtue. Only those who possess these things know their value, though the taste for them disappears when they are lost. I know the charms of your country, Brasidas told a satrap who was comparing Spartan life with life among the Persepolites. But you cannot know the pleasures of mine.

As an unbroken courser erects his mane, paws the ground, and rages at the bare sight of the bit, while a trained horse patiently suffers both whip and spur, just so the barbarian will never reach his neck to the yoke which civilized man carries without murmuring but prefers the most stormy liberty to a calm subjection. It is not therefore by the servile disposition of enslaved nations that we must judge of the natural dispositions of man for or against slavery, but by the prodigies done by every free people to secure themselves from oppression. I know that the first are constantly crying up that peace and tranquillity they enjoy in their irons, and that miserrimam servitutem pacem appellant: but when I see the others sacrifice pleasures, peace, riches, power, and even life itself to the preservation of that single jewel so much slighted by those who have lost it; when I see free-born animals through a natural abhorrence of captivity dash their brains out against the bars of their prison; when I see multitudes of naked savages despise European pleasures, and brave hunger, fire and sword, and death itself to preserve their independency; I feel that it belongs not to slaves to argue concerning liberty.

An untamed horse raises its mane, paws the ground, and rages at the mere sight of a bit. A trained horse, by contrast, patiently endures both whip and spur. Just so, the barbarian will never bow his neck to the yoke that civilized man carries without complaint. Instead, he prefers the most turbulent freedom to peaceful submission. So we must not judge humanity’s natural inclination toward or against slavery by the submissiveness of enslaved nations. We must judge instead by the extraordinary deeds of every free people seeking to protect themselves from oppression. I know that enslaved peoples constantly praise the peace and quiet they enjoy in their chains. They call the most miserable slavery peace. But I see free peoples sacrifice pleasure, peace, wealth, power, and even life itself to preserve freedom. That single jewel is so little valued by those who have lost it. I see animals born free smash their skulls against their prison bars out of a natural hatred of captivity. I see multitudes of naked savages scorn European pleasures. They brave hunger, fire and sword, and death itself to preserve their independence. When I see all this, I feel that slaves have no standing to argue about liberty.

As to paternal authority, from which several have derived absolute government and every other mode of society, it is sufficient, without having recourse to Locke and Sidney, to observe that nothing in the world differs more from the cruel spirit of despotism that the gentleness of that authority, which looks more to the advantage of him who obeys than to the utility of him who commands; that by the law of nature the father continues master of his child no longer than the child stands in need of his assistance; that after that term they become equal, and that then the son, entirely independent of the father, owes him no obedience, but only respect. Gratitude is indeed a duty which we are bound to pay, but which benefactors can not exact. Instead of saying that civil society is derived from paternal authority, we should rather say that it is to the former that the latter owes its principal force: No one individual was acknowledged as the father of several other individuals, till they settled about him. The father's goods, which he can indeed dispose of as he pleases, are the ties which hold his children to their dependence upon him, and he may divide his substance among them in proportion as they shall have deserved his attention by a continual deference to his commands. Now the subjects of a despotic chief, far from having any such favour to expect from him, as both themselves and all they have are his property, or at least are considered by him as such, are obliged to receive as a favour what he relinquishes to them of their own property. He does them justice when he strips them; he treats them with mercy when he suffers them to live. By continuing in this manner to compare facts with right, we should discover as little solidity as truth in the voluntary establishment of tyranny; and it would be a hard matter to prove the validity of a contract which was binding only on one side, in which one of the parties should stake everything and the other nothing, and which could turn out to the prejudice of him alone who had bound himself.

Some have argued that absolute government and every other form of society grew out of paternal authority. We need not turn to Locke and Sidney to answer them. Nothing could differ more from the cruelty of despotism than the gentleness of a father's authority. That authority serves the interests of the child who obeys more than those of the father who commands. Under natural law, a father remains his child's master only as long as the child needs his help. After that, father and son become equals. The son is then entirely independent and owes his father respect, but no obedience. Gratitude is indeed a duty we must fulfill, but benefactors cannot demand it. Rather than saying that civil society grew out of paternal authority, we should say the reverse. Paternal authority owes its main strength to civil society. No individual was recognized as the father of several others until those others settled around him. A father's possessions, which he can indeed dispose of as he pleases, keep his children dependent on him. He may divide his wealth among them according to how much their constant obedience has earned his consideration. But a despot's subjects can expect no such favor from their ruler. Both the subjects and everything they own are his property, or at least he considers them so. His subjects must therefore accept as a favor whatever he lets them keep of their own property. He does them justice when he strips them of their possessions. He shows them mercy when he lets them live. By continuing to compare facts with rights in this way, we would find the supposed voluntary establishment of tyranny equally unfounded and untrue. It would be hard to prove the validity of a contract that bound only one side. Under such a contract, one party would risk everything and the other nothing. And only the party who had committed himself could suffer any harm from it.

This odious system is even, at this day, far from being that of wise and good monarchs, and especially of the kings of France, as may be seen by divers passages in their edicts, and particularly by that of a celebrated piece published in 1667 in the name and by the orders of Louis XIV. "Let it therefore not be said that the sovereign is not subject to the laws of his realm, since, that he is, is a maxim of the law of nations which flattery has sometimes attacked, but which good princes have always defended as the tutelary divinity of their realms. How much more reasonable is it to say with the sage Plato, that the perfect happiness of a state consists in the subjects obeying their prince, the prince obeying the laws, and the laws being equitable and always directed to the good of the public?" I shall not stop to consider, if, liberty being the most noble faculty of man, it is not degrading one's nature, reducing one's self to the level of brutes, who are the slaves of instinct, and even offending the author of one's being, to renounce without reserve the most precious of his gifts, and submit to the commission of all the crimes he has forbid us, merely to gratify a mad or a cruel master; and if this sublime artist ought to be more irritated at seeing his work destroyed than at seeing it dishonoured. I shall only ask what right those, who were not afraid thus to degrade themselves, could have to subject their dependants to the same ignominy, and renounce, in the name of their posterity, blessings for which it is not indebted to their liberality, and without which life itself must appear a burthen to all those who are worthy to live.

Even today, this hateful system is far from the principles of wise and good monarchs, especially the kings of France. Various passages in their edicts show this. One appears in a celebrated work published in 1667 in the name and by the orders of Louis XIV. "Let no one say, then, that the sovereign is not bound by the laws of his kingdom. The sovereign’s duty to obey those laws is a principle of the law of nations. Flatterers have sometimes attacked this principle. But good princes have always defended it as the guardian deity of their kingdoms. How much more reasonable it is to say, with the wise Plato, that a state’s perfect happiness depends on three things. Subjects must obey their prince, the prince must obey the laws, and the laws must be fair and always serve the public good." I will not stop to consider whether, since freedom is humanity’s noblest faculty, surrendering it completely degrades our nature. Does such surrender reduce us to the level of beasts, who are slaves to instinct? Does it even offend our creator by giving up, without reservation, the most precious of his gifts? Does it offend him by agreeing to commit every crime he has forbidden, merely to please a mad or cruel master? Nor will I consider whether this supreme artist should be more angered by his work’s destruction than by its dishonor. I will ask only what right those unafraid to degrade themselves in this way had to impose the same shame on their dependents. What right had they to surrender blessings on behalf of their descendants, who do not owe those blessings to their ancestors’ generosity? Without those blessings, life itself must seem a burden to all who are worthy to live.

Puffendorf says that, as we can transfer our property from one to another by contracts and conventions, we may likewise divest ourselves of our liberty in favour of other men. This, in my opinion, is a very poor way of arguing; for, in the first place, the property I cede to another becomes by such cession a thing quite foreign to me, and the abuse of which can no way affect me; but it concerns me greatly that my liberty is not abused, and I can not, without incurring the guilt of the crimes I may be forced to commit, expose myself to become the instrument of any. Besides, the right of property being of mere human convention and institution, every man may dispose as he pleases of what he possesses: But the case is otherwise with regard to the essential gifts of nature, such as life and liberty, which every man is permitted to enjoy, and of which it is doubtful at least whether any man has a right to divest himself: By giving up the one, we degrade our being; by giving up the other we annihilate it as much as it is our power to do so; and as no temporal enjoyments can indemnify us for the loss of either, it would be at once offending both nature and reason to renounce them for any consideration. But though we could transfer our liberty as we do our substance, the difference would be very great with regard to our children, who enjoy our substance but by a cession of our right; whereas liberty being a blessing, which as men they hold from nature, their parents have no right to strip them of it; so that as to establish slavery it was necessary to do violence to nature, so it was necessary to alter nature to perpetuate such a right; and the jurisconsults, who have gravely pronounced that the child of a slave comes a slave into the world, have in other words decided, that a man does not come a man into the world.

Puffendorf says that, just as we can transfer property through contracts and agreements, we can surrender our liberty to others. In my opinion, this is very poor reasoning. First, property I give to someone else becomes entirely separate from me. Any misuse of that property cannot affect me. But it matters greatly to me that my liberty is not abused. I cannot risk becoming an instrument of crime without sharing the guilt for crimes I may be forced to commit. Besides, property rights exist only through human agreements and institutions. Everyone may therefore dispose of their possessions as they please. But the same is not true of nature’s essential gifts, such as life and liberty. Everyone is entitled to enjoy these gifts. It is at least doubtful whether anyone has the right to give them up. By giving up liberty, we degrade our existence. By giving up life, we destroy our existence as far as we have the power to do so. No worldly pleasures can compensate us for losing either life or liberty. So giving up either for anything in return would offend both nature and reason. But even if we could transfer our liberty as we transfer our property, our children’s position would be very different. Our children receive our property only because we transfer our rights to them. But they receive liberty from nature as human beings, and their parents have no right to take that blessing away. So, just as establishing slavery required violence against nature, perpetuating a right to slavery required changing nature itself. Legal scholars have solemnly declared that a slave’s child is born a slave. In other words, they have decided that a human being is not born a human being.

It therefore appears to me incontestably true, that not only governments did not begin by arbitrary power, which is but the corruption and extreme term of government, and at length brings it back to the law of the strongest, against which governments were at first the remedy, but even that, allowing they had commenced in this manner, such power being illegal in itself could never have served as a foundation to the rights of society, nor of course to the inequality of institution.

It therefore seems to me undeniably true that governments did not begin with arbitrary power. Such power is merely government’s corruption and its most extreme form. It eventually brings government back to the rule of the strongest, which governments were originally created to counter. But even if governments had begun with arbitrary power, such power is inherently unlawful. It could never have provided a basis for society’s rights, nor, therefore, for inequality created by social institutions.

I shall not now enter upon the inquiries which still remain to be made into the nature of the fundamental pacts of every kind of government, but, following the common opinion, confine myself in this place to the establishment of the political body as a real contract between the multitude and the chiefs elected by it. A contract by which both parties oblige themselves to the observance of the laws that are therein stipulated, and form the bands of their union. The multitude having, on occasion of the social relations between them, concentered all their wills in one person, all the articles, in regard to which this will explains itself, become so many fundamental laws, which oblige without exception all the members of the state, and one of which laws regulates the choice and the power of the magistrates appointed to look to the execution of the rest. This power extends to everything that can maintain the constitution, but extends to nothing that can alter it. To this power are added honours, that may render the laws and the ministers of them respectable; and the persons of the ministers are distinguished by certain prerogatives, which may make them amends for the great fatigues inseparable from a good administration. The magistrate, on his side, obliges himself not to use the power with which he is intrusted but conformably to the intention of his constituents, to maintain every one of them in the peaceable possession of his property, and upon all occasions prefer the good of the public to his own private interest.

I will not now explore the questions still to be answered about the basic agreements underlying every kind of government. Instead, following the common view, I will consider only the founding of the political community as an actual contract. This contract is between the people and the leaders they elect. Both parties commit themselves to obeying the laws laid down in the contract, which bind them together. Through their social relations, the people have united all their wills in one person. Every article expressing this united will becomes a fundamental law, binding every member of the state without exception. One of these laws governs the selection and powers of the magistrates appointed to enforce the others. Their power covers everything that can preserve the constitution, but nothing that can change it. Honors are added to this power so that the laws and their officials may command respect. The officials also receive certain special privileges. These privileges may compensate them for the great effort that good administration inevitably requires. The magistrate, for his part, pledges to use his entrusted power only according to the intentions of those who elected him. He also pledges to protect each person's peaceful possession of his property. On every occasion, he must put the public good before his own private interests.

Before experience had demonstrated, or a thorough knowledge of the human heart had pointed out, the abuses inseparable from such a constitution, it must have appeared so much the more perfect, as those appointed to look to its preservation were themselves most concerned therein; for magistracy and its rights being built solely on the fundamental laws, as soon as these ceased to exist, the magistrates would cease to be lawful, the people would no longer be bound to obey them, and, as the essence of the state did not consist in the magistrates but in the laws, the members of it would immediately become entitled to their primitive and natural liberty.

Before experience revealed the abuses inherent in such a constitution, or deep knowledge of human nature exposed them, the arrangement must have seemed all the more perfect. This was because those appointed to preserve the constitution had the greatest stake in preserving it. For the magistrates’ authority and rights rested entirely on the fundamental laws. As soon as those laws ceased to exist, the magistrates would lose their lawful authority. The people would no longer be bound to obey them. And because the state’s essence lay in its laws, not its magistrates, its members would immediately regain the right to their original, natural freedom.

A little reflection would afford us new arguments in confirmation of this truth, and the nature of the contract might alone convince us that it can not be irrevocable: for if there was no superior power capable of guaranteeing the fidelity of the contracting parties and of obliging them to fulfil their mutual engagements, they would remain sole judges in their own cause, and each of them would always have a right to renounce the contract, as soon as he discovered that the other had broke the conditions of it, or that these conditions ceased to suit his private convenience. Upon this principle, the right of abdication may probably be founded. Now, to consider as we do nothing but what is human in this institution, if the magistrate, who has all the power in his own hands, and who appropriates to himself all the advantages of the contract, has notwithstanding a right to divest himself of his authority; how much a better right must the people, who pay for all the faults of its chief, have to renounce their dependence upon him. But the shocking dissensions and disorders without number, which would be the necessary consequence of so dangerous a privilege, show more than anything else how much human governments stood in need of a more solid basis than that of mere reason, and how necessary it was for the public tranquillity, that the will of the Almighty should interpose to give to sovereign authority, a sacred and inviolable character, which should deprive subjects of the mischievous right to dispose of it to whom they pleased. If mankind had received no other advantages from religion, this alone would be sufficient to make them adopt and cherish it, since it is the means of saving more blood than fanaticism has been the cause of spilling. But to resume the thread of our hypothesis.

A little thought would give us further arguments supporting this truth. The nature of the contract alone might convince us that it cannot be irrevocable. Suppose no higher power could guarantee that the parties would keep their promises or force them to fulfill their commitments. Then the parties would remain the sole judges of their own disputes. Each would always have the right to withdraw upon discovering that the other had broken the contract’s terms. The same right would apply if the terms stopped serving that party’s private interests. The right to abdicate may probably rest on this principle. Now, we are considering only the human side of this institution. The magistrate holds all the power and takes all the benefits of the contract for himself. If he nevertheless has the right to give up his authority, how much stronger must the people’s right be? They pay for all their ruler’s faults, so how much greater their right to end their dependence on him. But such a dangerous privilege would necessarily lead to terrible conflicts and countless disorders. More than anything else, these consequences show how badly human governments needed a firmer foundation than reason alone. They also show how necessary divine intervention was for public peace. The will of the Almighty had to give sovereign authority a sacred and inviolable character. This would deny subjects the harmful right to hand that authority over to anyone they pleased. If humanity had gained no other benefit from religion, this alone would be enough to make people adopt and cherish it. For religion saves more bloodshed than fanaticism has caused. But let us return to our hypothesis.

The various forms of government owe their origin to the various degrees of inequality between the members, at the time they first coalesced into a political body. Where a man happened to be eminent for power, for virtue, for riches, or for credit, he became sole magistrate, and the state assumed a monarchical form; if many of pretty equal eminence out-topped all the rest, they were jointly elected, and this election produced an aristocracy; those, between whose fortune or talents there happened to be no such disproportion, and who had deviated less from the state of nature, retained in common the supreme administration, and formed a democracy. Time demonstrated which of these forms suited mankind best. Some remained altogether subject to the laws; others soon bowed their necks to masters. The former laboured to preserve their liberty; the latter thought of nothing but invading that of their neighbours, jealous at seeing others enjoy a blessing which themselves had lost. In a word, riches and conquest fell to the share of the one, and virtue and happiness to that of the other.

Different forms of government arose from different degrees of inequality among people when they first joined together as a political community. Where one man stood out for his power, virtue, wealth, or influence, he became the sole ruler. The state then became a monarchy. If several men of roughly equal standing rose above all the rest, they were elected together. This election created an aristocracy. People with no such great differences in wealth or talents had moved less far from the state of nature. They kept supreme power in common and formed a democracy. Time showed which of these forms suited humanity best. Some peoples remained subject only to the laws. Others soon bowed their heads to masters. The first worked to preserve their freedom. The second thought only of taking away their neighbors’ freedom. They were jealous of seeing others enjoy a blessing they themselves had lost. In short, those under masters gained wealth and conquest, while those subject only to laws gained virtue and happiness.

In these various modes of government the offices at first were all elective; and when riches did not preponderate, the preference was given to merit, which gives a natural ascendant, and to age, which is the parent of deliberateness in council, and experience in execution. The ancients among the Hebrews, the Geronts of Sparta, the Senate of Rome, nay, the very etymology of our word seigneur, show how much gray hairs were formerly respected. The oftener the choice fell upon old men, the oftener it became necessary to repeat it, and the more the trouble of such repetitions became sensible; electioneering took place; factions arose; the parties contracted ill blood; civil wars blazed forth; the lives of the citizens were sacrificed to the pretended happiness of the state; and things at last came to such a pass, as to be ready to relapse into their primitive confusion. The ambition of the principal men induced them to take advantage of these circumstances to perpetuate the hitherto temporary charges in their families; the people already inured to dependence, accustomed to ease and the conveniences of life, and too much enervated to break their fetters, consented to the increase of their slavery for the sake of securing their tranquillity; and it is thus that chiefs, become hereditary, contracted the habit of considering magistracies as a family estate, and themselves as proprietors of those communities, of which at first they were but mere officers; to call their fellow-citizens their slaves; to look upon them, like so many cows or sheep, as a part of their substance; and to style themselves the peers of Gods, and Kings of Kings.

In these different forms of government, all offices were initially filled by election. When wealth did not outweigh other qualities, preference went to merit and age. Merit naturally gives people authority, while age brings careful judgment in council and experience in carrying out decisions. The elders among the Hebrews, the Geronts of Sparta, and the Senate of Rome show how deeply gray hair was once respected. Even the origin of our word seigneur shows this respect. The more often old men were chosen, the more often elections had to be held again. And the more often elections were repeated, the more burdensome they became. Campaigning began, factions arose, and hostility grew between the parties. Civil wars broke out. Citizens’ lives were sacrificed for the supposed happiness of the state. Eventually, matters reached the point where everything threatened to fall back into its original confusion. Ambition drove the leading men to exploit these circumstances and make previously temporary offices permanent possessions of their families. The people were already used to dependence and accustomed to comfort and the conveniences of life. Too weakened to break their chains, the people accepted greater slavery to secure their peace. Thus, once their positions became hereditary, rulers grew accustomed to treating public offices as family property. They considered themselves owners of the communities they had originally served as mere officials. They began calling their fellow citizens slaves and treating them as property, like so many cows or sheep. And they gave themselves titles such as equals of the Gods and Kings of Kings.

By pursuing the progress of inequality in these different revolutions, we shall discover that the establishment of laws and of the right of property was the first term of it; the institution of magistrates the second; and the third and last the changing of legal into arbitrary power; so that the different states of rich and poor were authorized by the first epoch; those of powerful and weak by the second; and by the third those of master and slave, which formed the last degree of inequality, and the term in which all the rest at last end, till new revolutions entirely dissolve the government, or bring it back nearer to its legal constitution.

By tracing the growth of inequality through these different revolutions, we will discover three stages. The first was the establishment of laws and property rights. The second was the appointment of magistrates. The third and last was the change from lawful power to arbitrary power. Thus, the first stage legitimized the division between rich and poor. The second legitimized the division between powerful and weak. The third legitimized the division between master and slave, the final degree of inequality. All other forms of inequality ultimately lead to this final stage. It lasts until new revolutions either dissolve the government entirely or bring it closer to its lawful constitution.

To conceive the necessity of this progress, we are not so much to consider the motives for the establishment of political bodies, as the forms these bodies assume in their administration; and the inconveniences with which they are essentially attended; for those vices, which render social institutions necessary, are the same which render the abuse of such institutions unavoidable; and as (Sparta alone excepted, whose laws chiefly regarded the education of children, and where Lycurgus established such manners and customs, as in a great measure made laws needless,) the laws, in general less strong than the passions, restrain men without changing them; it would be no hard matter to prove that every government, which carefully guarding against all alteration and corruption should scrupulously comply with the ends of its institution, was unnecessarily instituted; and that a country, where no one either eluded the laws, or made an ill use of magistracy, required neither laws nor magistrates.

To understand why this progress is necessary, we should focus less on the reasons for establishing political bodies. We should focus more on how they are governed and the problems that necessarily come with them. For the same vices that make social institutions necessary also make their abuse unavoidable. Laws are generally weaker than human passions, so they restrain people without changing them. Sparta alone was an exception. Its laws chiefly concerned children’s education, and Lycurgus established habits and customs that largely made laws unnecessary. Given this, it would be easy to prove that any government meeting the following conditions was unnecessary to begin with. Such a government would carefully guard against all change and corruption, faithfully fulfilling the purposes for which it was established. And a country where no one evaded the laws or abused public office would need neither laws nor magistrates.

Political distinctions are necessarily attended with civil distinctions. The inequality between the people and the chiefs increase so fast as to be soon felt by the private members, and appears among them in a thousand shapes according to their passions, their talents, and the circumstances of affairs. The magistrate can not usurp any illegal power without making himself creatures, with whom he must divide it. Besides, the citizens of a free state suffer themselves to be oppressed merely in proportion as, hurried on by a blind ambition, and looking rather below than above them, they come to love authority more than independence. When they submit to fetters, 'tis only to be the better able to fetter others in their turn. It is no easy matter to make him obey, who does not wish to command; and the most refined policy would find it impossible to subdue those men, who only desire to be independent; but inequality easily gains ground among base and ambitious souls, ever ready to run the risks of fortune, and almost indifferent whether they command or obey, as she proves either favourable or adverse to them. Thus then there must have been a time, when the eyes of the people were bewitched to such a degree, that their rulers needed only to have said to the most pitiful wretch, "Be great you and all your posterity," to make him immediately appear great in the eyes of every one as well as in his own; and his descendants took still more upon them, in proportion to their removes from him: the more distant and uncertain the cause, the greater the effect; the longer line of drones a family produced, the more illustrious it was reckoned.

Differences in political rank necessarily bring differences in social standing. Inequality between the people and their leaders grows so quickly that ordinary individuals soon feel its effects. Among these individuals, inequality takes a thousand forms, depending on their passions, talents, and circumstances. A magistrate cannot seize illegal power without creating followers with whom he must share that power. Besides, citizens of a free state allow themselves to be oppressed only as their blind ambition drives them onward. They look more at those below them than those above, and come to love authority more than independence. When they accept chains, they do so only to become better able to chain others in turn. Making someone obey is no easy task if he has no wish to command. Even the most skillful political maneuvering could not subdue people who want only to be independent. But inequality easily spreads among people who are servile and ambitious. Such people are always ready to gamble on fortune. They hardly care whether they command or obey, depending on whether fortune favors them or turns against them. So there must have been a time when the people's judgment was utterly bewitched. Their rulers needed only to tell the most wretched person, "Be great, you and all your descendants." He would immediately appear great to everyone, including himself. His descendants grew still more arrogant the further removed they were from him. The more distant and uncertain the cause, the greater the effect. The longer the line of idlers a family produced, the more distinguished that family was considered.

Were this a proper place to enter into details, I could easily explain in what manner inequalities in point of credit and authority become unavoidable among private persons the moment that, united into one body, they are obliged to compare themselves one with another, and to note the differences which they find in the continual use every man must make of his neighbour. These differences are of several kinds; but riches, nobility or rank, power and personal merit, being in general the principal distinctions, by which men in society measure each other, I could prove that the harmony or conflict between these different forces is the surest indication of the good or bad original constitution of any state: I could make it appear that, as among these four kinds of inequality, personal qualities are the source of all the rest, riches is that in which they ultimately terminate, because, being the most immediately useful to the prosperity of individuals, and the most easy to communicate, they are made use of to purchase every other distinction. By this observation we are enabled to judge with tolerable exactness, how much any people has deviated from its primitive institution, and what steps it has still to make to the extreme term of corruption. I could show how much this universal desire of reputation, of honours, of preference, with which we are all devoured, exercises and compares our talents and our forces: how much it excites and multiplies our passions; and, by creating an universal competition, rivalship, or rather enmity among men, how many disappointments, successes, and catastrophes of every kind it daily causes among the innumerable pretenders whom it engages in the same career. I could show that it is to this itch of being spoken of, to this fury of distinguishing ourselves which seldom or never gives us a moment's respite, that we owe both the best and the worst things among us, our virtues and our vices, our sciences and our errors, our conquerors and our philosophers; that is to say, a great many bad things to a very few good ones. I could prove, in short, that if we behold a handful of rich and powerful men seated on the pinnacle of fortune and greatness, while the crowd grovel in obscurity and want, it is merely because the first prize what they enjoy but in the same degree that others want it, and that, without changing their condition, they would cease to be happy the minute the people ceased to be miserable.

If this were the place for details, I could easily explain how inequalities of influence and authority become unavoidable. They arise among individuals as soon as people unite into a single body. People must then compare themselves with one another and notice their differences as they constantly rely on their neighbors. These differences take several forms. But wealth, noble birth or rank, power, and personal merit are generally the main standards people use to judge one another. I could prove that harmony or conflict among these forces most reliably reveals whether a state's original constitution was good or bad. I could show that personal qualities are the source of all four kinds of inequality. Yet all these inequalities ultimately lead to wealth. Wealth contributes most directly to individual prosperity and is the easiest advantage to transfer to others. People therefore use wealth to buy every other distinction. This observation lets us judge fairly accurately how far a people has strayed from its original institutions. It also reveals how many steps remain before that people reaches the furthest point of corruption. I could show how deeply the universal craving for reputation, honors, and preference consumes us all. I could show how much this craving puts our talents and strengths to work and sets them against one another. I could show how much it stirs and multiplies our passions. It creates universal competition and rivalry, or rather hostility, among people. I could show how many disappointments, successes, and disasters of every kind this competition causes each day. Countless contenders are drawn into the same race. I could show what we owe to this itch to be talked about, this furious drive to distinguish ourselves. This drive seldom or never gives us a moment's rest. We owe it both the best and the worst things among us: our virtues and vices, our sciences and errors. We owe it our conquerors and our philosophers. In other words, we owe it a great many bad things and very few good ones. In short, I could prove why we see a handful of rich and powerful men at the height of fortune and greatness. Meanwhile, the crowd grovels in obscurity and poverty. This happens only because the privileged value what they enjoy only to the extent that others lack it. Their circumstances could remain unchanged, yet they would stop being happy the moment the people stopped being miserable.

But these details would alone furnish sufficient matter for a more considerable work, in which might be weighed the advantages and disadvantages of every species of government, relatively to the rights of man in a state of nature, and might likewise be unveiled all the different faces under which inequality has appeared to this day, and may hereafter appear to the end of time, according to the nature of these several governments, and the revolutions time must unavoidably occasion in them. We should then see the multitude oppressed by domestic tyrants in consequence of those very precautions taken by them to guard against foreign masters. We should see oppression increase continually without its being ever possible for the oppressed to know where it would stop, nor what lawful means they had left to check its progress. We should see the rights of citizens, and the liberties of nations extinguished by slow degrees, and the groans, and protestations and appeals of the weak treated as seditious murmurings. We should see policy confine to a mercenary portion of the people the honour of defending the common cause. We should see imposts made necessary by such measures, the disheartened husbandman desert his field even in time of peace, and quit the plough to take up the sword. We should see fatal and whimsical rules laid down concerning the point of honour. We should see the champions of their country sooner or later become her enemies, and perpetually holding their poniards to the breasts of their fellow citizens. Nay, the time would come when they might be heard to say to the oppressor of their country:

But these details alone would provide enough material for a much larger work. Such a work could weigh the advantages and disadvantages of every form of government against human rights in nature. It could also reveal all the forms inequality has taken to this day, and may take until time ends. These forms depend on the different governments and the upheavals that time must inevitably bring to them. We would then see the masses oppressed by tyrants at home because of their own precautions against foreign rulers. We would see oppression grow continually. The oppressed could never know where oppression would stop, or what lawful means remained to resist its spread. We would see citizens’ rights and nations’ freedoms gradually extinguished. The cries, protests, and appeals of the weak would be treated as rebellious grumbling. We would see government policy reserve the honor of defending the common cause for a paid section of the population. We would see taxes made necessary by such measures. We would see discouraged farmers abandon their fields even in peacetime, leaving the plow to take up the sword. We would see deadly and arbitrary rules established over matters of honor. We would see the defenders of their country sooner or later become its enemies. These defenders would constantly hold their daggers against their fellow citizens’ chests. Indeed, the time would come when these defenders might be heard saying to their country’s oppressor:

From the vast inequality of conditions and fortunes, from the great variety of passions and of talents, of useless arts, of pernicious arts, of frivolous sciences, would issue clouds of prejudices equally contrary to reason, to happiness, to virtue. We should see the chiefs foment everything that tends to weaken men formed into societies by dividing them; everything that, while it gives society an air of apparent harmony, sows in it the seeds of real division; everything that can inspire the different orders with mutual distrust and hatred by an opposition of their rights and interest, and of course strengthen that power which contains them all.

Vast inequalities in social standing and wealth would give rise to clouds of prejudice. So would the great variety of passions and talents, useless arts, harmful arts, and frivolous sciences. These prejudices would be equally opposed to reason, happiness, and virtue. We would see rulers encourage everything that weakens people living in societies by dividing them. They would encourage everything that gives society an appearance of harmony while sowing the seeds of real division. They would encourage everything that sets the rights and interests of different social classes against one another, inspiring mutual distrust and hatred. All this would, of course, strengthen the power that keeps all those classes under control.

'Tis from the bosom of this disorder and these revolutions, that despotism gradually rearing up her hideous crest, and devouring in every part of the state all that still remained sound and untainted, would at last issue to trample upon the laws and the people, and establish herself upon the ruins of the republic. The times immediately preceding this last alteration would be times of calamity and trouble: but at last everything would be swallowed up by the monster; and the people would no longer have chiefs or laws, but only tyrants. At this fatal period all regard to virtue and manners would likewise disappear; for despotism, cui ex honesto nulla est spes, tolerates no other master, wherever it reigns; the moment it speaks, probity and duty lose all their influence, and the blindest obedience is the only virtue the miserable slaves have left them to practise.

Out of this disorder and these upheavals, despotism would gradually raise her hideous head. She would devour everything still healthy and uncorrupted in every part of the state. At last, she would emerge to trample the laws and the people, establishing herself on the republic’s ruins. The times just before this final change would be full of suffering and turmoil. But in the end, the monster would swallow everything. The people would no longer have leaders or laws, only tyrants. At this disastrous point, all respect for virtue and moral conduct would also disappear. For despotism has nothing to hope for from honesty and tolerates no other master wherever she rules. The moment despotism speaks, honesty and duty lose all their influence. The blindest obedience is the only virtue left for the miserable slaves to practice.

This is the last term of inequality, the extreme point which closes the circle and meets that from which we set out. 'Tis here that all private men return to their primitive equality, because they are no longer of any account; and that, the subjects having no longer any law but that of their master, nor the master any other law but his passions, all notions of good and principles of justice again disappear. 'Tis here that everything returns to the sole law of the strongest, and of course to a new state of nature different from that with which we began, in as much as the first was the state of nature in its purity, and the last the consequence of excessive corruption. There is, in other respects, so little difference between these two states, and the contract of government is so much dissolved by despotism, that the despot is no longer master than he continues the strongest, and that, as soon as his slaves can expel him, they may do it without his having the least right to complain of their using him ill. The insurrection, which ends in the death or despotism of a sultan, is as juridical an act as any by which the day before he disposed of the lives and fortunes of his subjects. Force alone upheld him, force alone overturns him. Thus all things take place and succeed in their natural order; and whatever may be the upshot of these hasty and frequent revolutions, no one man has reason to complain of another's injustice, but only of his own indiscretion or bad fortune.

This is the final stage of inequality, the extreme point that closes the circle and returns to where we began. Here, all private individuals return to their original equality because they no longer count for anything. Subjects have no law but their master's will, and the master has no law but his passions. So all notions of goodness and principles of justice disappear again. Everything returns to the sole law of the strongest, and therefore to a new state of nature. But this state differs from the one we began with. The first was nature in its pure form, while the last results from excessive corruption. In other respects, these two states differ so little, and despotism so thoroughly dissolves the contract of government. As a result, the despot remains master only as long as he remains the strongest. As soon as his slaves can drive him out, they may do so. He has no right at all to complain that they have mistreated him. An uprising that ends in a sultan's death or despotism is just as lawful as his actions the day before. By those actions, he decided the fate of his subjects' lives and fortunes. Force alone sustained him, and force alone overthrows him. Thus everything happens and follows in its natural order. Whatever the outcome of these sudden and frequent revolutions, no one has reason to complain of another's injustice. Each can complain only of his own poor judgment or bad luck.

By thus discovering and following the lost and forgotten tracks, by which man from the natural must have arrived at the civil state; by restoring, with the intermediate positions which I have been just indicating, those which want of leisure obliges me to suppress, or which my imagination has not suggested, every attentive reader must unavoidably be struck at the immense space which separates these two states. 'Tis in this slow succession of things he may meet with the solution of an infinite number of problems in morality and politics, which philosophers are puzzled to solve. He will perceive that, the mankind of one age not being the mankind of another, the reason why Diogenes could not find a man was, that he sought among his cotemporaries the man of an earlier period: Cato, he will then see, fell with Rome and with liberty, because he did not suit the age in which he lived; and the greatest of men served only to astonish that world, which would have cheerfully obeyed him, had he come into it five hundred years earlier. In a word, he will find himself in a condition to understand how the soul and the passions of men by insensible alterations change as it were their nature; how it comes to pass, that at the long run our wants and our pleasures change objects; that, original man vanishing by degrees, society no longer offers to our inspection but an assemblage of artificial men and factitious passions, which are the work of all these new relations, and have no foundation in nature. Reflection teaches us nothing on that head, but what experience perfectly confirms. Savage man and civilised man differ so much at bottom in point of inclinations and passions, that what constitutes the supreme happiness of the one would reduce the other to despair. The first sighs for nothing but repose and liberty; he desires only to live, and to be exempt from labour; nay, the ataraxy of the most confirmed Stoic falls short of his consummate indifference for every other object. On the contrary, the citizen always in motion, is perpetually sweating and toiling, and racking his brains to find out occupations still more laborious: He continues a drudge to his last minute; nay, he courts death to be able to live, or renounces life to acquire immortality. He cringes to men in power whom he hates, and to rich men whom he despises; he sticks at nothing to have the honour of serving them; he is not ashamed to value himself on his own weakness and the protection they afford him; and proud of his chains, he speaks with disdain of those who have not the honour of being the partner of his bondage. What a spectacle must the painful and envied labours of an European minister of state form in the eyes of a Caribbean! How many cruel deaths would not this indolent savage prefer to such a horrid life, which very often is not even sweetened by the pleasure of doing good? But to see the drift of so many cares, his mind should first have affixed some meaning to these words power and reputation; he should be apprised that there are men who consider as something the looks of the rest of mankind, who know how to be happy and satisfied with themselves on the testimony of others sooner than upon their own. In fact, the real source of all those differences, is that the savage lives within himself, whereas the citizen, constantly beside himself, knows only how to live in the opinion of others; insomuch that it is, if I may say so, merely from their judgment that he derives the consciousness of his own existence. It is foreign to my subject to show how this disposition engenders so much indifference for good and evil, notwithstanding so many and such fine discourses of morality; how everything, being reduced to appearances, becomes mere art and mummery; honour, friendship, virtue, and often vice itself, which we at last learn the secret to boast of; how, in short, ever inquiring of others what we are, and never daring to question ourselves on so delicate a point, in the midst of so much philosophy, humanity, and politeness, and so many sublime maxims, we have nothing to show for ourselves but a deceitful and frivolous exterior, honour without virtue, reason without wisdom, and pleasure without happiness. It is sufficient that I have proved that this is not the original condition of man, and that it is merely the spirit of society, and the inequality which society engenders, that thus change and transform all our natural inclinations.

We can trace the lost and forgotten paths that must have led humanity from its natural state into civil society. I have just outlined some of the stages along those paths. Readers must fill in others that lack of time forces me to leave out, or that my imagination has missed. Any attentive reader who follows these paths must be struck by the immense distance between the two states. In this slow progression, the reader may find answers to countless moral and political problems that puzzle philosophers. The reader will see that humanity in one age is not the same as humanity in another. Diogenes could not find a man because he sought a man of an earlier age among his contemporaries. The reader will also see why Cato fell with Rome and with liberty: he did not belong to his age. This greatest of men could only astonish the world around him. That world would gladly have obeyed him if he had been born five hundred years earlier. In short, the reader will be able to understand how people's souls and passions gradually seem to change their nature. The changes are too slight to notice as they happen. Over time, our needs and pleasures come to focus on different things. As original humanity gradually disappears, society presents us with nothing but a collection of artificial people and manufactured passions. These people and passions are products of all these new relationships and have no foundation in nature. Reflection teaches us nothing on this subject that experience does not fully confirm. Natural man and civilized man differ profoundly in their inclinations and passions. What brings the greatest happiness to one would drive the other to despair. The first longs only for rest and freedom. He wants only to live and to be free from work. Indeed, even the most committed Stoic's calm falls short of his complete indifference to everything else. The citizen, by contrast, is always on the move. He constantly sweats and toils, straining his mind to find even more exhausting occupations. He remains a drudge until his final moment. Indeed, he courts death so that he can live, or gives up life to gain immortality. He grovels before powerful men he hates and rich men he despises. He stops at nothing for the honor of serving them. He feels no shame in taking pride in his own weakness and the protection they give him. Proud of his chains, he scorns those who lack the honor of sharing his bondage. What a spectacle a European minister of state's painful and envied labors must present to a Caribbean! How many cruel deaths would this idle savage prefer to such a dreadful life? Very often, even the pleasure of doing good does not soften that life. But to understand the purpose of so many worries, he would first need some sense of power and reputation. He would need to know that some men attach importance to how the rest of humanity sees them. Such men find happiness and satisfaction in themselves through others' approval more readily than through their own. In fact, the true source of all these differences is that the savage lives within himself. The citizen, by contrast, constantly lives outside himself and knows how to live only through others' opinions. He draws his awareness of his own existence, so to speak, solely from their judgment. It is beyond my subject to show how this outlook breeds such indifference to good and evil. Yet that indifference exists despite so many fine speeches about morality. Nor will I show how everything becomes mere artifice and playacting when everything is reduced to appearances. Honor, friendship, virtue, and often even vice become performances, and we finally learn how to boast of vice itself. In short, we constantly ask others what we are, never daring to ask ourselves so delicate a question. Amid so much philosophy, humanity, and politeness, and so many lofty principles, we have only a deceptive, shallow appearance. We have honor without virtue, reason without wisdom, and pleasure without happiness. It is enough that I have proved that this is not humanity's original condition. Only the spirit of society, and the inequality society produces, change and transform all our natural inclinations in this way.

I have endeavoured to exhibit the origin and progress of inequality, the institution and abuse of political societies, as far as these things are capable of being deduced from the nature of man by the mere light of reason, and independently of those sacred maxims which give to the sovereign authority the sanction of divine right. It follows from this picture, that as there is scarce any inequality among men in a state of nature, all that which we now behold owes its force and its growth to the development of our faculties and the improvement of our understanding, and at last becomes permanent and lawful by the establishment of property and of laws. It likewise follows that moral inequality, authorised by any right that is merely positive, clashes with natural right, as often as it does not combine in the same proportion with physical inequality: a distinction which sufficiently determines, what we are able to think in that respect of that kind of inequality which obtains in all civilised nations, since it is evidently against the law of nature that infancy should command old age, folly conduct wisdom, and a handful of men should be ready to choke with superfluities, while the famished multitude want the commonest necessaries of life.

I have tried to show how inequality began and grew, and how political societies were established and abused. I have gone only as far as human nature allows us to explain these developments through reason alone. I have set aside the sacred principles that give sovereign authority the backing of divine right. This account shows that there is hardly any inequality among people in the state of nature. All the inequality we now see gains its strength and growth from the development of our abilities and understanding. Finally, the establishment of property and laws makes inequality permanent and lawful. It also follows that moral inequality, authorized merely by human-made law, conflicts with natural right whenever it is not proportionate to physical inequality. This distinction is enough to determine what we can think of the inequality found in all civilized nations. For it clearly violates the law of nature for children to command the old, or fools to guide the wise. It equally violates nature’s law for a handful of people to be almost choking on excess while the starving multitude lacks life’s most basic necessities.