“Social contract” is a term that is thrown about pretty widely in our society. People will talk in a casual if sometimes facile manner about the idea that people willingly give up the theoretically total freedom of a state of nature in exchange for the benefits that life in a civilized society provides. But what Jean-Jacques Rousseau means by the term, as expressed in his classic work The Social Contract (1762), is much more complex and much more nuanced.
“Man was born free, and he is everywhere in chains” -- it is on this seemingly paradoxical note that Rousseau begins Du contrat social; ou Principes du droit politique (On the Social Contract; or, Principles of Political Rights). One hundred years before Abraham Lincoln wrote down his first draft of the Emancipation Proclamation, Rousseau reflected on slavery as the ultimate violation of the social contract that should exist between the individual and the government. With strict logic, Rousseau points out the shortcomings in earlier thinkers (Grotius, Hobbes, even Aristotle), stating forthrightly that “Since no man has any natural authority over his fellows, and since force alone bestows no right, all legitimate authority among men must be based on covenants” (p. 53) – or, in other words, contracts.
For his ideas regarding a social contract between an individual and his or her government, Rousseau looks all the way back to the family – what Rousseau calls “The oldest of all societies, and the only natural one”. And what interests Rousseau most regarding the family as a unit is what happens once the children have grown up: “Once the children are freed from the obedience they owe their father, and the father is freed from his responsibilities towards them, both parties equally regain their independence. If they continue to remain united, it is no longer nature, but their own choice, which unites them; and the family as such is kept in being only by agreement” (p. 50).
Rousseau takes great care in differentiating between the executive and legislative functions of government. He tells us that “the legislative power belongs, and can only belong, to the people”, while “executive power cannot belong to the generality of the people as legislative or sovereign, since executive power is exercised only in particular acts which are outside the province of law” (p. 101).
These words of Rousseau make me think of the statue of George Mason on the campus of George Mason University, where I teach. Mason, the “Father of the Bill of Rights,” is shown working on a draft of the Virginia Declaration of Rights (1776); on the desk next to him are books by Hume, Locke – and Rousseau. The great Swiss philosopher’s influence on the writing of the United States Constitution is, of course, a matter of record; and this nation’s founding document from 1787 puts the legislative branch (the Congress) first, in Article I, and puts the executive branch (the President) second, in Article II. The Congress makes the laws; the President executes the laws, a task that is outside the province of lawmaking – just as Rousseau would have had it.
Rousseau distinguishes just as carefully between “the sovereign” and “the government”. His idea of “the sovereign” is a somewhat challenging concept. For Rousseau, it seems, “the sovereign” is the source of ultimate authority in a society, and the sovereign’s duty is to carry out the general, collectively expressed will of the people of a state. “Government,” by contrast, is much more specific in its meaning: “An intermediary body established between the subjects and the sovereign for their mutual communication, a body charged with the execution of the laws and the maintenance of freedom, both civil and political” (p. 102). It gets tricky here, doesn’t it? People are the subjects, but “the people” are the sovereign, and the government is an intermediary between “people” and “the people.” These almost koan-like paradoxes are part of what I enjoy about reading Rousseau.
Perhaps because I was traveling in Lucerne, Switzerland, while reading The Social Contract for the first time, I took particular interest in Rousseau's assertion that small countries were best suited for republican government, as when he writes that democratic government is best suited to “a very small state, where the people may be readily assembled and where each citizen may easily know all the others” (p. 113).
Looking at the beautiful little cities of Switzerland, each one sheltered by a cool clear lake at its front and a protective wall of mountains at its back, I could understand why Rousseau may have thought that such a setting was perfect for successful republican government. It seems worthy of mentioning, in that connection, that Geneva is still officially “the Republic and Canton of Geneva" (emphasis mine). Truly, the Swiss take their independence seriously. Think about that the next time you're in the old section of Zurich, enjoying some cheese fondue and a glass of Chasselas.
How, I found myself wondering, would Rousseau have felt about the United States of America as an experiment in building a large republic? When Rousseau wrote The Social Contract in 1762, the French & Indian War was not yet over, and the idea of American independence from Great Britain was not even on the horizon. By the time Rousseau died in 1778, the Continental Army had won the battle of Saratoga, and independence for the U.S.A. was starting to seem like more of a real possibility. Did Rousseau ever talk about any of that? I don't know.
There were plenty of times when I found myself disagreeing with Rousseau. Among the city-states of classical Greece, he prefers Sparta to Athens, and I could not disagree with him more in that regard. I also thought that he treated the topic of dictatorship much too lightly and casually, as when he assures us that “a dictator could in certain cases defend the public freedom without ever being able to invade it” (p. 172); if he had lived through the 20th century, and had been writing The Social Contract in, say, 1962 rather than 1762, perhaps he would have written about dictatorship quite differently. But I think Rousseau would have liked having readers disagree with him; for him, that was no doubt an integral part of the dialogue regarding the relationship between the individual and society.
And returning to Rousseau now, many years after I first read his work in Switzerland, is even more interesting, thought-provoking, and troubling. For in Book IV, on the indestructibility of the general will, Rousseau offers a troubling picture of what can happen “when the social tie begins to slacken”. Rousseau asks us to imagine a time “when the state, on the brink of ruin, can maintain itself only in an empty and illusory form, when the social bond is broken in every heart, when the meanest interest impudently flaunts the sacred name of the public good”. At such times, Rousseau warns us, “everyone, animated by secret motives, ceases to speak as a citizen any more than as if the state had never existed” (p. 150).
Rousseau is writing in Switzerland, in 1762, but his subject could be the U.S.A. in the decade of the 2020's. In this country, at this time, nothing seems able to bring people together and end bitter political divisions. We live in a time when some people seem to want less to achieve something for their own side, than to defeat and humiliate people on the other side – “own the libs” and all that.
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who favoured robust debate and the open expression of disagreement, would nonetheless, I think, be appalled at the current state of American democracy. It might behoove us all, regardless of the individual political philosophy that any of us might hold, to return to Rousseau’s The Social Contract and think carefully about the way in which each of us as an individual relates to, and participates in, the society that we all must share.