What Is Property?
Pierre-Joseph Proudhon
[1840 / Part 8 of 16]
CHAPTER V
PSYCHOLOGICAL EXPOSITION OF THE IDEA OF JUSTICE, AND A
DETERMINATION OF THE PRINCIPLE OF GOVERNMENT AND OF RIGHT
Property is impossible; equality does not exist. We hate the
former, and yet wish to possess it; the latter rules all our
thoughts, yet we know not how to reach it. Who will explain this
profound antagonism between our conscience and our will? Who will
point out the causes of this pernicious error, which has become the
most sacred principle of justice and society?
I am bold enough to undertake the task, and I hope to succeed.
But before explaining why man has violated justice, it is
necessary to determine what justice is.
Of the Moral Sense in Man and the Animals.
The philosophers have endeavored often to locate the line which
separates man's intelligence from that of the brutes; and, according
to their general custom, they gave utterance to much foolishness
before resolving upon the only course possible for them to take, --
observation. It was reserved for an unpretending savant --
who perhaps did not pride himself on his philosophy -- to put an end
to the interminable controversy by a simple distinction; but one of
those luminous distinctions which are worth more than systems.
Frederic Cuvier separated instinct from intelligence.
But, as yet, no one has proposed this question: --
Is the difference between man's moral sense and that of the
brute a difference in kind or only in degree?
If, hitherto, any one had dared to maintain the latter
alternative, his arguments would have seemed scandalous,
blasphemous, and offensive to morality and religion. The
ecclesiastical and secular tribunals would have condemned him with
one voice. And, mark the style in which they would have branded the
immoral paradox! "Conscience," -- they would have cried,
-- "conscience, man's chief glory, was given to him
exclusively; the notion of justice and injustice, of merit and
demerit, is his noble privilege; to man, alone, -- the lord of
creation, -- belongs the sublime power to resist his worldly
propensities, to choose between good and evil, and to bring himself
more and more into the resemblance of God through liberty and
justice. . . . No; the holy image of virtue was never graven save on
the heart of man." Words full of feeling, but void of sense.
Man is a rational and social animal -- zwon logikon kai politikon
-- said Aristotle. This definition is worth more than all which have
been given since. I do not except even M. de Bonald's celebrated
definition, -- man is an intellect served by organs -- a
definition which has the double fault of explaining the known by the
unknown; that is, the living being by the intellect; and of
neglecting man's essential quality, -- animality.
Man, then, is an animal living in society. Society means the sum
total of relationships; in short, system. Now, all systems exist
only on certain conditions. What, then, are the conditions, the laws,
of human society?
What are the rights of men with respect to each other;
what is justice?
It amounts to nothing to say, -- with the philosophers of various
schools, -- "It is a divine instinct, an immortal and heavenly
voice, a guide given us by Nature, a light revealed unto every man
on coming into the world, a law engraved upon our hearts; it is the
voice of conscience, the dictum of reason, the inspiration
of sentiment, the penchant of feeling; it is the love of
self in others; it is enlightened self-interest; or else it is an
innate idea, the imperative command of applied reason, which has its
source in the concepts of pure reason; it is a passional attraction,"
&c., &c. This may be as true as it seems beautiful; but it
is utterly meaningless. Though we should prolong this litany through
ten pages (it has been filtered through a thousand volumes), we
should be no nearer to the solution of the question.
"Justice is public utility," says Aristotle. That is
true, but it is a tautology. "The principle that the public
welfare ought to be the object of the legislator" -- says M.
Ch. Comte in his "Treatise on Legislation" -- "cannot
be overthrown. But legislation is advanced no farther by its
announcement and demonstration, than is medicine when it is said
that it is the business of physicians to cure the sick."
Let us take another course. Right is the sum total of the
principles which govern society. Justice, in man, is the respect and
observation of those principles. To practise justice is to obey the
social instinct; to do an act of justice is to do a social act. If,
then, we watch the conduct of men towards each other under different
circumstances, it will be easy for us to distinguish between the
presence and absence of society; from the result we may inductively
infer the law.
Let us commence with the simplest and least doubtful cases.
The mother, who protects her son at the peril of her life, and
sacrifices every thing to his support, is in society with him -- she
is a good mother. She, on the contrary, who abandons her child, is
unfaithful to the social instinct, -- maternal love being one of its
many features; she is an unnatural mother.
If I plunge into the water to rescue a drowning man, I am his
brother, his associate; if, instead of aiding him, I sink him, I am
his enemy, his murderer.
Whoever bestows alms treats the poor man as his associate; not
thoroughly, it is true, but only in respect to the amount which he
shares with him. Whoever takes by force or stratagem that which is
not the product of his labor, destroys his social character -- he is
a brigand.
The Samaritan who relieves the traveller lying by the wayside,
dresses his wounds, comforts him, and supplies him with money,
thereby declares himself his associate -- his neighbor; the priest,
who passes by on the other side, remains unassociated, and is his
enemy.
In all these cases, man is moved by an internal attraction towards
his fellow, by a secret sympathy which causes him to love,
congratulate, and condole; so that, to resist this attraction, his
will must struggle against his nature.
But in these respects there is no decided difference between man
and the animals. With them, as long as the weakness of their young
endears them to their mothers, -- in a word, associates them with
their mothers, -- the latter protect the former, at the peril of
their lives, with a courage which reminds us of our heroes dying for
their country. Certain species unite for hunting purposes, seek each
other, call each other (a poet would say invite each other), to
share their prey; in danger they aid, protect, and warn each other.
The elephant knows how to help his companion out of the ditch into
which the latter has fallen. Cows form a circle, with their horns
outward and their calves in the centre, in order to repel the
attacks of wolves. Horses and pigs, on hearing a cry of distress
from one of their number, rush to the spot whence it comes. What
descriptions I might give of their marriages, the tenderness of the
males towards the females, and the fidelity of their loves! Let us
add, however, -- to be entirely just -- that these touching
demonstrations of society, fraternity, and love of neighbor, do not
prevent the animals from quarrelling, fighting, and outrageously
abusing one another while gaining their livelihood and showing their
gallantry; the resemblance between them and ourselves is perfect.
The social instinct, in man and beast, exists to a greater or less
degree -- its nature is the same. Man has the greater need of
association, and employs it more; the animal seems better able to
endure isolation. In man, social needs are more imperative and
complex; in the beast, they seem less intense, less diversified,
less regretted. Society, in a word, aims, in the case of man, at the
preservation of the race and the individual; with the animals, its
object is more exclusively the preservation of the race.
As yet, we have met with no claim which man can make for himself
alone. The social instinct and the moral sense he shares with the
brutes; and when he thinks to become god-like by a few acts of
charity, justice, and devotion, he does not perceive that in so
acting he simply obeys an instinct wholly animal in its nature. As
we are good, loving, tender, just, so we are passionate, greedy,
lewd, and vindictive; that is, we are like the beasts. Our highest
virtues appear, in the last analysis, as blind, impulsive instincts.
What subjects for canonization and apotheosis!
There is, however, a difference between us two-handed bipeds and
other living creatures -- what is it?
A student of philosophy would hasten to reply: "This
difference lies in the fact that we are conscious of our social
faculty, while the animals are unconscious of theirs -- in the fact
that while we reflect and reason upon the operation of our social
instinct, the animals do nothing of the kind."
I will go farther. It is by our reflective and reasoning powers,
with which we seem to be exclusively endowed, that we know that it
is injurious, first to others and then to ourselves, to resist the
social instinct which governs us, and which we call justice.
It is our reason which teaches us that the selfish man, the robber,
the murderer -- in a word, the traitor to society -- sins against
Nature, and is guilty with respect to others and himself, when he
does wrong wilfully. Finally, it is our social sentiment on the one
hand, and our reason on the other, which cause us to think that
beings such as we should take the responsibility of their acts. Such
is the principle of remorse, revenge, and penal justice.
But this proves only an intellectual diversity between the animals
and man, not at all an affectional one; for, although we reason upon
our relations with our fellows, we likewise reason upon our most
trivial actions, -- such as drinking, eating, choosing a wife, or
selecting a dwelling-place. We reason upon things earthly and things
heavenly; there is nothing to which our reasoning powers are not
applicable. Now, just as the knowledge of external phenomena, which
we acquire, has no influence upon their causes and laws, so
reflection, by illuminating our instinct, enlightens us as to our
sentient nature, but does not alter its character; it tells us what
our morality is, but neither changes nor modifies it. Our
dissatisfaction with ourselves after doing wrong, the indignation
which we feel at the sight of injustice, the idea of deserved
punishment and due remuneration, are effects of reflection, and not
immediate effects of instinct and emotion. Our appreciation (I do
not say exclusive appreciation, for the animals also realize that
they have done wrong, and are indignant when one of their number is
attacked, but), our infinitely superior appreciation of our social
duties, our knowledge of good and evil, does not establish, as
regards morality, any vital difference between man and the beasts.
2. -- Of the first and second degrees of Sociability.
I insist upon the fact, which I have just pointed out, as one of
the most important facts of anthropology.
The sympathetic attraction, which causes us to associate, is, by
reason of its blind, unruly nature, always governed by temporary
impulse, without regard to higher rights, and without distinction of
merit or priority. The bastard dog follows indifferently all who
call it; the suckling child regards every man as its father and
every woman as its nurse; every living creature, when deprived of
the society of animals of its species, seeks companionship in its
solitude. This fundamental characteristic of the social instinct
renders intolerable and even hateful the friendship of frivolous
persons, liable to be infatuated with every new face, accommodating
to all whether good or bad, and ready to sacrifice, for a passing
liaison, the oldest and most honorable affections. The fault
of such beings is not in the heart -- it is in the judgment.
Sociability, in this degree, is a sort of magnetism awakened in us
by the contemplation of a being similar to ourselves, but which
never goes beyond the person who feels it; it may be reciprocated,
but not communicated. Love, benevolence, pity, sympathy, call it
what you will, there is nothing in it which deserves esteem, --
nothing which lifts man above the beast.
The second degree of sociability is justice, which may be defined
as the recognition of the equality between another's personality
and our own. The sentiment of justice we share with the animals;
we alone can form an exact idea of it; but our idea, as has been
said already, does not change its nature. We shall soon see how man
rises to a third degree of sociability which the animals are
incapable of reaching. But I must first prove by metaphysics that
society, justice, and equality, are three equivalent
terms, -- three expressions meaning the same thing, -- whose mutual
conversion is always allowable.
If, amid the confusion of a shipwreck, having escaped in a boat
with some provisions, I see a man struggling with the waves, am I
bound to go to his assistance? Yes, I am bound under penalty of
being adjudged guilty of murder and treason against society.
But am I also bound to share with him my provisions?
To settle this question, we must change the phraseology. If
society is binding on the boat, is it also binding on the
provisions? Undoubtedly. The duty of an associate is absolute. Man's
occupancy succeeds his social nature, and is subordinate to it;
possession can become exclusive only when permission to occupy is
granted to all alike. That which in this instance obscures our duty
is our power of foresight, which, causing us to fear an eventual
danger, impels us to usurpation, and makes us robbers and murderers.
Animals do not calculate the duty of instinct any more than the
disadvantages resulting to those who exercise it; it would be
strange if the intellect of man -- the most sociable of animals --
should lead him to disobey the law. He betrays society who attempts
to use it only for his own advantage; better that God should deprive
us of prudence, if it is to serve as the tool of our selfishness.
"What!" you will say, "must I share my bread, the
bread which I have earned and which belongs to me, with the stranger
whom I do not know; whom I may never see again, and who, perhaps,
will reward me with ingratitude? If we had earned this bread
together, if this man had done something to obtain it, he might
demand his share, since his co-operation would entitle him to it;
but as it is, what claim has he on me? We have not produced together
-- we shall not eat together."
The fallacy in this argument lies in the false supposition, that
each producer is not necessarily associated with every other
producer.
When two or more individuals have regularly organized a society,
-- when the contracts have been agreed upon, drafted, and signed, --
there is no difficulty about the future. Everybody knows that when
two men associate -- for instance -- in order to fish, if one of
them catches no fish, he is none the less entitled to those caught
by his associate. If two merchants form a partnership, while the
partnership lasts, the profits and losses are divided between them;
since each produces, not for himself, but for the society: when the
time of distribution arrives, it is not the producer who is
considered, but the associate. That is why the slave, to whom the
planter gives straw and rice; and the civilized laborer, to whom the
capitalist pays a salary which is always too small, -- not being
associated with their employers, although producing with them, --
are disregarded when the product is divided. Thus, the horse who
draws our coaches, and the ox who draws our carts produce with us,
but are not associated with us; we take their product, but do not
share it with them. The animals and laborers whom we employ hold the
same relation to us. Whatever we do for them, we do, not from a
sense of justice, but out of pure benevolence.[*]
[*] To perform an act of benevolence towards
one's neighbor is called, in Hebrew, to do justice; in
Greek, to take compassion or pity ( elehmosunh,from
which is derived the French aumone); in Latin, to
perform an act of love or charity; in French, give
alms.
We can trace the degradation of this principle through these
various expressions: the first signifies duty; the second only
sympathy; the third, affection, a matter of choice, not an
obligation; the fourth, caprice, has sufficient insight to enable
him to dispense with any aid of mine.
But is it possible that we are not all associated? Let us call to
mind what was said in the last two chapters, That even though we do
not want to be associated, the force of things, the necessity of
consumption, the laws of production, and the mathematical principle
of exchange combine to associate us. There is but a single exception
to this rule, -- that of the proprietor, who, producing by his right
of increase, is not associated with any one, and consequently is not
obliged to share his product with any one; just as no one else is
bound to share with him. With the exception of the proprietor, we
labor for each other; we can do nothing by ourselves unaided by
others, and we continually exchange products and services with each
other. If these are not social acts, what are they?
Now, neither a commercial, nor an industrial, nor an agricultural
association can be conceived of in the absence of equality; equality
is its sine qua non. So that, in all matters which concern
this association, to violate society is to violate justice and
equality. Apply this principle to humanity at large. After what has
been said, I assume that the reader
By this principle, the man who takes possession of a field, and
says, "This field is mine," will not be unjust so long as
every one else has an equal right of possession; nor will he be
unjust, if, wishing to change his location, he exchanges this field
for an equivalent. But if, putting another in his place, he says to
him, "Work for me while I rest," he then becomes unjust,
unassociated, unequal. He is a proprietor.
Reciprocally, the sluggard, or the rake, who, without performing
any social task, enjoys like others -- and often more than others --
the products of society, should be proceeded against as a thief and
a parasite. We owe it to ourselves to give him nothing; but, since
he must live, to put him under supervision, and compel him to labor.
Sociability is the attraction felt by sentient beings for each
other. Justice is this same attraction, accompanied by thought and
knowledge. But under what general concept, in what category of the
understanding, is justice placed? In the category of equal
quantities. Hence, the ancient definition of justice -- Justum æquale
est, injustum inæquale. What is it, then, to practise
justice? It is to give equal wealth to each, on condition of equal
labor. It is to act socially. Our selfishness may complain; there is
no escape from evidence and necessity.
What is the right of occupancy? It is a natural method of dividing
the earth, by reducing each laborer's share as fast as new laborers
present themselves. This right disappears if the public interest
requires it; which, being the social interest, is also that of the
occupant.
What is the right of labor? It is the right to obtain one's share
of wealth by fulfilling the required conditions. It is the right of
society, the right of equality.
Justice, which is the product of the combination of an idea and an
instinct, manifests itself in man as soon as he is capable of
feeling, and of forming ideas. Consequently, it has been regarded as
an innate and original sentiment; but this opinion is logically and
chronologically false. But justice, by its composition hybrid -- if
I may use the term, -- justice, born of emotion and intellect
combined, seems to me one of the strongest proofs of the unity and
simplicity of the ego; the organism being no more capable of
producing such a mixture by itself, than are the combined senses of
hearing and sight of forming a binary sense, half auditory and half
visual.
This double nature of justice gives us the definitive basis of all
the demonstrations in Chapters II., III., and IV. On the one hand,
the idea of justice being identical with that of society,
and society necessarily implying equality, equality must underlie
all the sophisms invented in defence of property; for, since
property can be defended only as a just and social institution, and
property being inequality, in order to prove that property is in
harmony with society, it must be shown that injustice is justice,
and that inequality is equality, -- a contradiction in terms. On the
other hand, since the idea of equality -- the second element of
justice -- has its source in the mathematical proportions of things;
and since property, or the unequal distribution of wealth among
laborers, destroys the necessary balance between labor, production,
and consumption, -- property must be impossible.
All men, then, are associated; all are entitled to the same
justice; all are equal. Does it follow that the preferences of love
and friendship are unjust?
This requires explanation. I have already supposed the case of a
man in peril, I being in a position to help him. Now, I suppose
myself appealed to at the same time by two men exposed to danger. Am
I not allowed -- am I not commanded even -- to rush first to the aid
of him who is endeared to me by ties of blood, friendship,
acquaintance, or esteem, at the risk of leaving the other to perish?
Yes. And why? Because within universal society there exist for each
of us as many special societies as there are individuals; and we are
bound, by the principle of sociability itself, to fulfil the
obligations which these impose upon us, according to the intimacy of
our relations with them. Therefore we must give our father, mother,
children, friends, relatives, &c., the preference over all
others. But in what consists this preference?
A judge has a case to decide, in which one of the parties is his
friend, and the other his enemy. Should he, in this instance, prefer
his intimate associate to his distant associate; and
decide the case in favor of his friend, in spite of evidence to the
contrary? No: for, if he should favor his friend's injustice, he
would become his accomplice in his violation of the social compact;
he would form with him a sort of conspiracy against the social body.
Preference should be shown only in personal matters, such as love,
esteem, confidence, or intimacy, when all cannot be considered at
once. Thus, in case of fire, a father would save his own child
before thinking of his neighbor's; but the recognition of a right
not being an optional matter with a judge, he is not at liberty to
favor one person to the detriment of another.
The theory of these special societies -- which are formed
concentrically, so to speak, by each of us inside of the main body
-- gives the key to all the problems which arise from the opposition
and conflict of the different varieties of social duty, -- problems
upon which the ancient tragedies are based.
The justice practised among animals is, in a certain degree,
negative. With the exception of protecting their young, hunting and
plundering in troops, uniting for common defence and sometimes for
individual assistance, it consists more in prevention than in
action. A sick animal who cannot arise from the ground, or an
imprudent one who has fallen over a precipice, receives neither
medicine nor nourishment. If he cannot cure himself, nor relieve
himself of his trouble, his life is in danger: he will neither be
cared for in bed, nor fed in a prison. Their neglect of their
fellows arises as much from the weakness of their intellect as from
their lack of resources. Still, the degrees of intimacy common among
men are not unknown to the animals. They have friendships of habit
and of choice; friendships neighborly, and friendships parental. In
comparison with us, they have feeble memories, sluggish feelings,
and are almost destitute of intelligence; but the identity of these
faculties is preserved to some extent, and our superiority in this
respect arises entirely from our understanding.
It is our strength of memory and penetration of judgment which
enable us to multiply and combine the acts which our social instinct
impels us to perform, and which teaches us how to render them more
effective, and how to distribute them justly. The beasts who live in
society practise justice, but are ignorant of its nature, and do not
reason upon it; they obey their instinct without thought or
philosophy. They know not how to unite the social sentiment with the
idea of equality, which they do not possess; this idea being an
abstract one. We, on the contrary, starting with the principle that
society implies equality, can, by our reasoning faculty, understand
and agree with each other in settling our rights; we have even used
our judgment to a great extent. But in all this our conscience plays
a small part, as is proved by the fact that the idea of right
-- of which we catch a glimpse in certain animals who approach
nearer than any others to our standard of intelligence -- seems to
grow, from the low level at which it stands in savages, to the lofty
height which it reaches in a Plato or a Franklin. If we trace the
development of the moral sense in individuals, and the progress of
laws in nations, we shall be convinced that the ideas of justice and
legislative perfection are always proportional to intelligence. The
notion of justice -- which has been regarded by some philosophers as
simple -- is then, in reality, complex. It springs from the social
instinct on the one hand, and the idea of equality on the other;
just as the notion of guilt arises from the feeling that justice has
been violated, and from the idea of free-will.
In conclusion, instinct is not modified by acquaintance with its
nature; and the facts of society, which we have thus far observed,
occur among beasts as well as men. We know the meaning of justice;
in other words, of sociability viewed from the standpoint of
equality. We have met with nothing which separates us from the
animals.
3. -- Of the third degree of Sociability.
The reader, perhaps, has not forgotten what was said in the third
chapter concerning the division of labor and the speciality of
talents. The sum total of the talents and capacities of the race is
always the same, and their nature is always similar. We are all born
poets, mathematicians, philosophers, artists, artisans, or farmers,
but we are not born equally endowed; and between one man and another
in society, or between one faculty and another in the same
individual, there is an infinite difference. This difference of
degree in the same faculties, this predominance of talent in certain
directions, is, we have said, the very foundation of our society.
Intelligence and natural genius have been distributed by Nature so
economically, and yet so liberally, that in society there is no
danger of either a surplus or a scarcity of special talents; and
that each laborer, by devoting himself to his function, may always
attain to the degree of proficiency necessary to enable him to
benefit by the labors and discoveries of his fellows. Owing to this
simple and wise precaution of Nature, the laborer is not isolated by
his task. He communicates with his fellows through the mind, before
he is united with them in heart; so that with him love is born of
intelligence.
It is not so with societies of animals. In every species, the
aptitudes of all the individuals -- though very limited -- are equal
in number and (when they are not the result of instinct) in
intensity. Each one does as well as all the others what all the
others do; provides his food, avoids the enemy, burrows in the
earth, builds a nest, &c. No animal, when free and healthy,
expects or requires the aid of his neighbor; who, in his turn, is
equally independent.
Associated animals live side by side without any intellectual
intercourse or intimate communication, -- all doing the same things,
having nothing to learn or to remember; they see, feel, and come in
contact with each other, but never penetrate each other. Man
continually exchanges with man ideas and feelings, products and
services. Every discovery and act in society is necessary to him.
But of this immense quantity of products and ideas, that which each
one has to produce and acquire for himself is but an atom in the
sun. Man would not be man were it not for society, and society is
supported by the balance and harmony of the powers which compose it.
Society, among the animals, is simple; with man it is complex.
Man is associated with man by the same instinct which associates
animal with animal; but man is associated differently from the
animal, and it is this difference in association which constitutes
the difference in morality.
I have proved, -- at too great length, perhaps, -- both by the
spirit of the laws which regard property as the basis of society,
and by political economy, that inequality of conditions is justified
neither by priority of occupation nor superiority of talent,
service, industry, and capacity. But, although equality of
conditions is a necessary consequence of natural right, of liberty,
of the laws of production, of the capacity of physical nature, and
of the principle of society itself, -- it does not prevent the
social sentiment from stepping over the boundaries of debt
and credit. The fields of benevolence and love extend far
beyond; and when economy has adjusted its balance, the mind begins
to benefit by its own justice, and the heart expands in the
boundlessness of its affection.
The social sentiment then takes on a new character, which varies
with different persons. In the strong, it becomes the pleasure of
generosity; among equals, frank and cordial friendship; in the weak,
the pleasure of admiration and gratitude.
The man who is superior in strength, skill, or courage, knows that
he owes all that he is to society, without which he could not exist.
He knows that, in treating him precisely as it does the lowest of
its members, society discharges its whole duty towards him. But he
does not underrate his faculties; he is no less conscious of his
power and greatness; and it is this voluntary reverence which he
pays to humanity, this avowal that he is but an instrument of
Nature, -- who is alone worthy of glory and worship, -- it is, I
say, this simultaneous confession of the heart and the mind, this
genuine adoration of the Great Being, that distinguishes and
elevates man, and lifts him to a degree of social morality to which
the beast is powerless to attain. Hercules destroying the monsters
and punishing brigands for the safety of Greece, Orpheus teaching
the rough and wild Pelasgians, -- neither of them putting a price
upon their services, -- there we see the noblest creations of
poetry, the loftiest expression of justice and virtue.
The joys of self-sacrifice are ineffable.
If I were to compare human society to the old Greek tragedies, I
should say that the phalanx of noble minds and lofty souls dances
the strophe, and the humble multitude the antistrophe.
Burdened with painful and disagreeable tasks, but rendered
omnipotent by their number and the harmonic arrangement of their
functions, the latter execute what the others plan. Guided by them,
they owe them nothing; they honor them, however, and lavish upon
them praise and approbation.
Gratitude fills people with adoration and enthusiasm.
But equality delights my heart. Benevolence degenerates into
tyranny, and admiration into servility. Friendship is the daughter
of equality. O my friends! may I live in your midst without
emulation, and without glory; let equality bring us together, and
fate assign us our places. May I die without knowing to whom among
you I owe the most esteem!
Friendship is precious to the hearts of the children of men.
Generosity, gratitude (I mean here only that gratitude which is
born of admiration of a superior power), and friendship are three
distinct shades of a single sentiment which I will call équité,
or social proportionality.[*] Equité does not
change justice: but, always taking équité for
the base, it superadds esteem, and thereby forms in man a third
degree of sociability. Equité makes it at once our
duty and our pleasure to aid the weak who have need of us, and to
make them our equals; to pay to the strong a just tribute of
gratitude and honor, without enslaving ourselves to them; to cherish
our neighbors, friends, and equals, for that which we receive from
them, even by right of exchange. Equité is
sociability raised to its ideal by reason and justice; its commonest
manifestation is urbanity or politeness, which,
among certain nations, sums up in a single word nearly all the
social duties.
[*] I mean here by équité
what the Latins called humanitas, -- that is, the kind of
sociability which is peculiar to man. Humanity, gentle and courteous
to all, knows how to distinguish ranks, virtues, and capacities
without injury to any. It is the just distribution of social
sympathy and universal love.
Now, this feeling is unknown among the beasts, who love and cling
to each other, and show their preferences, but who cannot conceive
of esteem, and who are incapable of generosity, admiration, or
politeness.
This feeling does not spring from intelligence, which calculates,
computes, and balances, but does not love; which sees, but does not
feel. As justice is the product of social instinct and reflection
combined, so équité is a product of justice
and taste combined -- that is, of our powers of judging and of
idealizing.
This product -- the third and last degree of human sociability --
is determined by our complex mode of association; in which
inequality, or rather the divergence of faculties, and the
speciality of functions -- tending of themselves to isolate laborers
-- demand a more active sociability.
That is why the force which oppresses while protecting is
execrable; why the silly ignorance which views with the same eye the
marvels of art, and the products of the rudest industry, excites
unutterable contempt; why proud mediocrity, which glories in saying,
"I have paid you -- I owe you nothing," is especially
odious.
Sociability, justice, équité -- such, in its
triplicity, is the exact definition of the instinctive faculty which
leads us into communication with our fellows, and whose physical
manifestation is expressed by the formula: Equality in natural
wealth, and the products of labor.
These three degrees of sociability support and imply each other.
Equité cannot exist without justice; society without
justice is a solecism. If, in order to reward talent, I take from
one to give to another, in unjustly stripping the first, I do not
esteem his talent as I ought; if, in society, I award more to myself
than to my associate, we are not really associated. Justice is
sociability as manifested in the division of material things,
susceptible of weight and measure; équité is
justice accompanied by admiration and esteem, -- things which cannot
be measured.
From this several inferences may be drawn.
1. Though we are free to grant our esteem to one more than to
another, and in all possible degrees, yet we should give no one more
than his proportion of the common wealth; because the duty of
justice, being imposed upon us before that of équité,
must always take precedence of it. The woman honored by the
ancients, who, when forced by a tyrant to choose between the death
of her brother and that of her husband, sacrificed the latter on the
ground that she could find another husband but not another brother,
-- that woman, I say, in obeying her sense of équité,
failed in point of justice, and did a bad deed, because conjugal
association is a closer relation than fraternal association, and
because the life of our neighbor is not our property.
By the same principle, inequality of wages cannot be admitted by
law on the ground of inequality of talents; because the just
distribution of wealth is the function of economy, -- not of
enthusiasm.
Finally, as regards donations, wills, and inheritance, society,
careful both of the personal affections and its own rights, must
never permit love and partiality to destroy justice. And, though it
is pleasant to think that the son, who has been long associated with
his father in business, is more capable than any one else of
carrying it on; and that the citizen, who is surprised in the midst
of his task by death, is best fitted, in consequence of his natural
taste for his occupation, to designate his successor; and though the
heir should be allowed the right of choice in case of more than one
inheritance, -- nevertheless, society can tolerate no concentration
of capital and industry for the benefit of a single man, no monopoly
of labor, no encroachment.[*]
[*] Justice and équité
never have been understood.
"Suppose that some spoils, taken from the enemy, and equal to
twelve, are to be divided between Achilles and Ajax. If the two
persons were equal, their respective shares would be arithmetically
equal: Achilles would have six, Ajax six. And if we should carry out
this arithmetical equality, Thersites would be entitled to as much
as Achilles, which would be unjust in the extreme. To avoid this
injustice, the worth of the persons should be estimated, and the
spoils divided accordingly. Suppose that the worth of Achilles is
double that of Ajax: the former's share is eight, the latter four.
There is no arithmetical equality, but a proportional equality. It
is this comparison of merits, rationum, that Aristotle calls
distributive justice. It is a geometrical proportion." --
Toullier: French Law according to the Code.
Are Achilles and Ajax associated, or are they not? Settle that,
and you settle the whole question. If Achilles and Ajax, instead of
being associated, are themselves in the service of Agamemnon who
pays them, there is no objection to Aristotle's method. The
slave-owner, who controls his slaves, may give a ...
2. Equité, justice, and society, can exist only
between individuals of the same species. They form no part of the
relations of different races to each other, -- for instance, of the
wolf to the goat, of the goat to man, of man to God, much less of
God to man. The attribution of justice, equity, and love to the
Supreme Being is pure anthropomorphism; and the adjectives just,
merciful, pitiful, and the like, should be stricken from our
litanies. God can be regarded as just, equitable, and good, only to
another God. Now, God has no associate; consequently, he cannot
experience social affections, -- such as goodness, équité,
and justice. Is the shepherd said to be just to his sheep and his
dogs? No: and if he saw fit to shear as much wool from a lamb six
months old, as from a ram of two years; or, if he required as much
work from a young dog as from an old one, -- they would say, not
that he was unjust, but that he was foolish. Between man and beast
there is no society, though there may be affection. Man loves the
animals as things, -- as sentient things, if you
will, -- but not as persons. Philosophy, after having
eliminated from the idea of God the passions ascribed to him by
superstition, will then be obliged to eliminate also the virtues
which our liberal piety awards to him.[*]
[*] Between woman and man there may exist love,
passion, ties of custom, and the like; but there is no real society.
Man and woman are not companions. The difference of the sexes places
a barrier between them, like that placed between animals by a
difference of race. Consequently, far from advocating what is now
called the emancipation of woman, I should incline, rather, if there
were no other alternative, to exclude her from society.
The rights of woman and her relations with man are yet to be
determined Matrimonial legislation, like civil legislation, is a
matter for the future to settle.
If God should come down to earth, and dwell among us, we could not
love him unless he became like us; nor give him any thing unless he
produced something; nor listen to him unless he proved us mistaken;
nor worship him unless he manifested his power. All the laws of our
nature, affectional, economical, and intellectual, would prevent us
from treating him as we treat our fellow-men, -- that is, according
to reason, justice, and équité. I infer from
this that, if God should wish ever to put himself into immediate
communication with man, he would have to become a man.
Now, if kings are images of God, and executors of his will, they
cannot receive love, wealth, obedience, and glory from us, unless
they consent to labor and associate with us -- produce as much as
they consume, reason with their subjects, and do wonderful things.
Still more; if, as some pretend, kings are public functionaries, the
love which is due them is measured by their personal amiability; our
obligation to obey them, by the wisdom of their commands; and their
civil list, by the total social production divided by the number of
citizens.
Thus, jurisprudence, political economy, and psychology agree in
admitting the law of equality. Right and duty – the due reward
of talent and labor -- the outbursts of love and enthusiasm, -- all
are regulated in advance by an invariable standard; all depend upon
number and balance. Equality of conditions is the law of society,
and universal solidarity is the ratification of this law.
Equality of conditions has never been realized, thanks to our
passions and our ignorance; but our opposition to this law has made
it all the more a necessity. To that fact history bears perpetual
testimony, and the course of events reveals it to us. Society
advances from equation to equation. To the eyes of the economist,
the revolutions of empires seem now like the reduction of
algebraical quantities, which are inter-deducible; now like the
discovery of unknown quantities, induced by the inevitable influence
of time. Figures are the providence of history. Undoubtedly there
are other elements in human progress; but in the multitude of hidden
causes which agitate nations, there is none more powerful or
constant, none less obscure, than the periodical explosions of the
proletariat against property. Property, acting by exclusion and
encroachment, while population was increasing, has been the
life-principle and definitive cause of all revolutions. Religious
wars, and wars of conquest, when they have stopped short of the
extermination of races, have been only accidental disturbances, soon
repaired by the mathematical progression of the life of nations. The
downfall and death of societies are due to the power of accumulation
possessed by property.
In the middle ages, take Florence, -- a republic of merchants and
brokers, always rent by its well-known factions, the Guelphs and
Ghibellines, who were, after all, only the people and the
proprietors fighting against each other, -- Florence, ruled by
bankers, and borne down at last by the weight of her debts;[*] in
ancient times, take Rome, preyed upon from its birth by usury,
flourishing, nevertheless, as long as the known world furnished its
terrible proletaires with labor, stained with blood by civil
war at every interval of rest, and dying of exhaustion when the
people lost, together with their former energy, their last spark of
moral sense; Carthage, a commercial and financial city, continually
divided by internal competition; Tyre, Sidon, Jerusalem, Nineveh,
Babylon, ruined, in turn, by commercial rivalry and, as we now
express it, by panics in the market, -- do not these famous examples
show clearly enough the fate which awaits modern nations, unless the
people, unless France, with a sudden burst of her powerful voice,
proclaims in thunder-tones the abolition of the régime
of property?
[*] "The strong-box of Cosmo de Medici was
the grave of Florentine liberty," said M. Michelet to the
College of France.
Here my task should end. I have proved the right of the poor; I
have shown the usurpation of the rich. I demand justice; it is not
my business to execute the sentence. If it should be argued -- in
order to prolong for a few years an illegitimate privilege -- that
it is not enough to demonstrate equality, that it is necessary also
to organize it, and above all to establish it peacefully, I might
reply: The welfare of the oppressed is of more importance than
official composure. Equality of conditions is a natural law upon
which public economy and jurisprudence are based. The right to
labor, and the principle of equal distribution of wealth, cannot
give way to the anxieties of power. It is not for the proletaire to
reconcile the contradictions of the codes, still less to suffer for
the errors of the government. On the contrary, it is the duty of the
civil and administrative power to reconstruct itself on the basis of
political equality. An evil, when known, should be condemned and
destroyed. The legislator cannot plead ignorance as an excuse for
upholding a glaring iniquity. Restitution should not be delayed.
Justice, justice! recognition of right! reinstatement of the
proletaire! -- when these results are accomplished, then, judges and
consuls, you may attend to your police, and provide a government for
the Republic!
For the rest, I do not think that a single one of my readers
accuses me of knowing how to destroy, but of not knowing how to
construct. In demonstrating the principle of equality, I have laid
the foundation of the social structure I have done more. I have
given an example of the true method of solving political and
legislative problems. Of the science itself, I confess that I know
nothing more than its principle; and I know of no one at present who
can boast of having penetrated deeper. Many people cry, "Come
to me, and I will teach you the truth!" These people mistake
for the truth their cherished opinion and ardent conviction, which
is usually any thing but the truth. The science of society -- like
all human sciences -- will be for ever incomplete. The depth and
variety of the questions which it embraces are infinite. We hardly
know the A B C of this science, as is proved by the fact that we
have not yet emerged from the period of systems, and have not ceased
to put the authority of the majority in the place of facts. A
certain philological society decided linguistic questions by a
plurality of votes. Our parliamentary debates -- were their results
less pernicious -- would be even more ridiculous. The task of the
true publicist, in the age in which we live, is to close the mouths
of quacks and charlatans, and to teach the public to demand
demonstrations, instead of being contented with symbols and
programmes. Before talking of the science itself, it is necessary to
ascertain its object, and discover its method and principle. The
ground must be cleared of the prejudices which encumber it. Such is
the mission of the nineteenth century.
For my part, I have sworn fidelity to my work of demolition, and I
will not cease to pursue the truth through the ruins and rubbish. I
hate to see a thing half done; and it will be believed without any
assurance of mine, that, having dared to raise my hand against the
Holy Ark, I shall not rest contented with the removal of the cover.
The mysteries of the sanctuary of iniquity must be unveiled, the
tables of the old alliance broken, and all the objects of the
ancient faith thrown in a heap to the swine. A charter has been
given to us, -- a résumé of political science,
the monument of twenty legislatures. A code has been written, -- the
pride of a conqueror, and the summary of ancient wisdom. Well! of
this charter and this code not one article shall be left standing
upon another! The time has come for the wise to choose their course,
and prepare for reconstruction.
But, since a destroyed error necessarily implies a counter-truth,
I will not finish this treatise without solving the first problem of
political science, -- that which receives the attention of all
minds.
When property is abolished, what will be the form of society!
Will it be communism?
