No More Learning

"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. RUGHT 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. [22]


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 has sufficient
insight to enable him to dispense with any aid of mine.

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 aequale est, injustum inaequale_.
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 equite, or SOCIAL
PROPORTIONALITY.
[23] Equite does not change justice: but, always taking
equite for the base, it superadds esteem, and thereby forms in man a
third degree of sociability. Equite 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. Equite 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.

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 equite 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, EQUITE--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.

Equite 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; equite
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 equite, 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
equite, 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. [24]

"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 double allowance of brandy to him who
does double work. That is the law of despotism; the right of slavery.

But if Achilles and Ajax are associated, they are equals. What matters
it that Achilles has a strength of four, while that of Ajax is only two?
The latter may always answer that he is free; that if Achilles has a
strength of four, five could kill him; finally, that in doing personal
service he incurs as great a risk as Achilles. The same argument applies
to Thersites. If he is unable to fight, let him be cook, purveyor, or
butler. If he is good for nothing, put him in the hospital. In no case
wrong him, or impose upon him laws.

Man must live in one of two states: either in society, or out of it.
In society, conditions are necessarily equal, except in the degree of
esteem and consideration which each one may receive. Out of society, man
is so much raw material, a capitalized tool, and often an incommodious
and useless piece of furniture.


2. Equite, 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, equite, 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. [25]

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 equite.

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; [26] 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 regime of property?


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 resume 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?



PART SECOND.



% 1. --Of the Causes of our Mistakes. The Origin of Property.


The true form of human society cannot be determined until the following
question has been solved:--

Property not being our natural condition, how did it gain a foothold?
Why has the social instinct, so trustworthy among the animals, erred
in the case of man? Why is man, who was born for society, not yet
associated?

I have said that human society is COMPLEX in its nature. Though this
expression is inaccurate, the fact to which it refers is none the less
true; namely, the classification of talents and capacities. But who
does not see that these talents and capacities, owing to their infinite
variety, give rise to an infinite variety of wills, and that the
character, the inclinations, and--if I may venture to use the
expression--the form of the ego, are necessarily changed; so that in
the order of liberty, as in the order of intelligence, there are as
many types as individuals, as many characters as heads, whose tastes,
fancies, and propensities, being modified by dissimilar ideas,
must necessarily conflict? Man, by his nature and his instinct, is
predestined to society; but his personality, ever varying, is adverse to
it.

In societies of animals, all the members do exactly the same things.
The same genius directs them; the same will animates them. A society of
beasts is a collection of atoms, round, hooked, cubical, or triangular,
but always perfectly identical. These personalities do not vary, and we
might say that a single ego governs them all. The labors which animals
perform, whether alone or in society, are exact reproductions of their
character. Just as the swarm of bees is composed of individual bees,
alike in nature and equal in value, so the honeycomb is formed of
individual cells, constantly and invariably repeated.

But man's intelligence, fitted for his social destiny and his personal
needs, is of a very different composition, and therefore gives rise to
a wonderful variety of human wills. In the bee, the will is constant
and uniform, because the instinct which guides it is invariable, and
constitutes the animal's whole life and nature. In man, talent varies,
and the mind wavers; consequently, his will is multiform and vague. He
seeks society, but dislikes constraint and monotony; he is an imitator,
but fond of his own ideas, and passionately in love with his works.

If, like the bees, every man were born possessed of talent, perfect
knowledge of certain kinds, and, in a word, an innate acquaintance
with the functions he has to perform, but destitute of reflective and
reasoning faculties, society would organize itself. We should see one
man plowing a field, another building houses; this one forging metals,
that one cutting clothes; and still others storing the products, and
superintending their distribution. Each one, without inquiring as to the
object of his labor, and without troubling himself about the extent of
his task, would obey orders, bring his product, receive his salary, and
would then rest for a time; keeping meanwhile no accounts, envious of
nobody, and satisfied with the distributor, who never would be unjust to
any one. Kings would govern, but would not reign; for to reign is to be
a _proprietor a l'engrais_, as Bonaparte said: and having no commands
to give, since all would be at their posts, they would serve rather as
rallying centres than as authorities or counsellors. It would be a state
of ordered communism, but not a society entered into deliberately and
freely.

But man acquires skill only by observation and experiment. He reflects,
then, since to observe and experiment is to reflect; he reasons,
since he cannot help reasoning. In reflecting, he becomes deluded; in
reasoning, he makes mistakes, and, thinking himself right, persists in
them. He is wedded to his opinions; he esteems himself, and despises
others. Consequently, he isolates himself; for he could not submit
to the majority without renouncing his will and his reason,--that is,
without disowning himself, which is impossible. And this isolation, this
intellectual egotism, this individuality of opinion, lasts until the
truth is demonstrated to him by observation and experience. A final
illustration will make these facts still clearer.

If to the blind but convergent and harmonious instincts of a swarm
of bees should be suddenly added reflection and judgment, the little
society could not long exist. In the first place, the bees would not
fail to try some new industrial process; for instance, that of making
their cells round or square. All sorts of systems and inventions would
be tried, until long experience, aided by geometry, should show them
that the hexagonal shape is the best. Then insurrections would occur.
The drones would be told to provide for themselves, and the queens to
labor; jealousy would spread among the laborers; discords would burst
forth; soon each one would want to produce on his own account; and
finally the hive would be abandoned, and the bees would perish. Evil
would be introduced into the honey-producing republic by the power of
reflection,--the very faculty which ought to constitute its glory.

Thus, moral evil, or, in this case, disorder in society, is naturally
explained by our power of reflection. The mother of poverty, crime,
insurrection, and war was inequality of conditions; which was the
daughter of property, which was born of selfishness, which was
engendered by private opinion, which descended in a direct line from
the autocracy of reason. Man, in his infancy, is neither criminal
nor barbarous, but ignorant and inexperienced. Endowed with imperious
instincts which are under the control of his reasoning faculty, at first
he reflects but little, and reasons inaccurately; then, benefiting by
his mistakes, he rectifies his ideas, and perfects his reason. In the
first place, it is the savage sacrificing all his possessions for
a trinket, and then repenting and weeping; it is Esau selling his
birthright for a mess of pottage, and afterwards wishing to cancel
the bargain; it is the civilized workman laboring in insecurity, and
continually demanding that his wages be increased, neither he nor his
employer understanding that, in the absence of equality, any salary,
however large, is always insufficient. Then it is Naboth dying to defend
his inheritance; Cato tearing out his entrails that he might not be
enslaved; Socrates drinking the fatal cup in defence of liberty of
thought; it is the third estate of '89 reclaiming its liberty: soon it
will be the people demanding equality of wages and an equal division of
the means of production.

Man is born a social being,--that is, he seeks equality and justice in
all his relations, but he loves independence and praise. The difficulty
of satisfying these various desires at the same time is the primary
cause of the despotism of the will, and the appropriation which results
from it. On the other hand, man always needs a market for his products;
unable to compare values of different kinds, he is satisfied to judge
approximately, according to his passion and caprice; and he engages in
dishonest commerce, which always results in wealth and poverty. Thus,
the greatest evils which man suffers arise from the misuse of his social
nature, of this same justice of which he is so proud, and which he
applies with such deplorable ignorance.

The practice of justice is a science which, when once discovered
and diffused, will sooner or later put an end to social disorder, by
teaching us our rights and duties.

This progressive and painful education of our instinct, this slow
and imperceptible transformation of our spontaneous perceptions into
deliberate knowledge, does not take place among the animals, whose
instincts remain fixed, and never become enlightened.


"According to Frederic Cuvier, who has so clearly distinguished between
instinct and intelligence in animals, 'instinct is a natural and
inherent faculty, like feeling, irritability, or intelligence. The wolf
and the fox who recognize the traps in which they have been caught, and
who avoid them; the dog and the horse, who understand the meaning of
several of our words, and who obey us,--thereby show _intelligence_.
The dog who hides the remains of his dinner, the bee who constructs his
cell, the bird who builds his nest, act only from _instinct_. Even man
has instincts: it is a special instinct which leads the new-born
child to suck. But, in man, almost every thing is accomplished by
intelligence; and intelligence supplements instinct. The opposite is
true of animals: their instinct is given them as a supplement to their
intelligence. '"--Flourens: Analytical Summary of the Observations of F.
Cuvier.

"We can form a clear idea of instinct only by admitting that animals
have in their _sensorium_, images or innate and constant sensations,
which influence their actions in the same manner that ordinary and
accidental sensations commonly do. It is a sort of dream, or vision,
which always follows them and in all which relates to instinct they may
be regarded as somnambulists. "--F. Cuvier: Introduction to the Animal
Kingdom.


Intelligence and instinct being common, then, though in different
degrees, to animals and man, what is the distinguishing characteristic
of the latter? According to F. Cuvier, it is REFLECTION OR THE POWER
OF INTELLECTUALLY CONSIDERING OUR OWN MODIFICATIONS BY A SURVEY OF
OURSELVES. This lacks clearness, and requires an explanation.

If we grant intelligence to animals, we must also grant them, in some
degree, reflection; for, the first cannot exist without the second, as
F. Cuvier himself has proved by numerous examples. But notice that the
learned observer defines the kind of reflection which distinguishes us
from the animals as the POWER OF CONSIDERING OUR OWN MODIFICATIONS. This
I shall endeavour to interpret, by developing to the best of my ability
the laconism of the philosophical naturalist.

The intelligence acquired by animals never modifies the operations which
they perform by instinct: it is given them only as a provision against
unexpected accidents which might disturb these operations. In man, on
the contrary, instinctive action is constantly changing into deliberate
action. Thus, man is social by instinct, and is every day becoming
social by reflection and choice. At first, he formed his words by
instinct;[1] he was a poet by inspiration: to-day, he makes grammar a
science, and poetry an art. His conception of God and a future life is
spontaneous and instinctive, and his expressions of this conception
have been, by turns, monstrous, eccentric, beautiful, comforting, and
terrible. All these different creeds, at which the frivolous irreligion
of the eighteenth century mocked, are modes of expression of the
religious sentiment. Some day, man will explain to himself the character
of the God whom he believes in, and the nature of that other world to
which his soul aspires.

[1] "The problem of the origin of language is solved by the distinction
made by Frederic Cuvier between instinct and intelligence. Language
is not a premeditated, arbitrary, or conventional device; nor is it
communicated or revealed to us by God. Language is an instinctive and
unpremeditated creation of man, as the hive is of the bee. In this
sense, it may be said that language is not the work of man, since it is
not the work of his mind. Further, the mechanism of language seems
more wonderful and ingenious when it is not regarded as the result of
reflection. This fact is one of the most curious and indisputable which
philology has observed. See, among other works, a Latin essay by F.