Interpretation, Vol 13-2

7/28/2019 Interpretation, Vol 13-2

1/164

A JOURNAL OF POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY

May 1985 Volume 13 Number 2143 Ronna Burger151 Peter Emberley177 Robert Webking195 Donald J. Maletz213 Vukan Kuic

215 Yves R. Simon

233 Walter Nicgorski

Book Reviews251 Maureen

Feder-Marcus261 Richard Velkley

268 Will Morrisey

277 Larry Arnhart

Short Notices285 J. E. Parsons, Jr.

287 Will Morrisey

Socratic EironeiaRousseau and th e Management of the PassionsVirtue and Individual Rights in John Adams' DefenceThe Meaning of 'Will' in Hegel's Philosophy ofRightForeword fo r"The Politics of Alain" by Yves R. Simon"The Politics of Alain"translated by John M. DunawayLeo Strauss and Liberal Education

Beyond Nihilism: Nietzsche without Masksby Ofelia SchutteDialogue and Dialectic: Eight Hermeneutical Studieson Plato by Hans-Georg Gadamer, translated andwith an Introduction by P. Christopher SmithBeyond Objectivism and Relativism: Science,Hermeneutics, and Praxis by Richard J. Bernstein;G. W. F . H eg el: an Introduction to th e Science ofWisdom by Stanley RosenThe Artist as Thinker: from Shakespeare to Joyceby George Anastaplo

Eighty Years ofLocke Scholarship: a BibliographicalGuide by Roland Hall & Roger Woolhouse; JohnLocke 's Moral Philosophy by John ColmanRhetoric and American Statesmanship edited by GlenThurow & Jeffrey D. Wallin; Power, State, andFreedom: an Interpretation of Spinoza's PoliticalPhilosophy by Douglas J. Den Uyl; John Stuart Milland the Pursuit of Virtue by Bernard Semmel; Essaxsin Political Philosophy by J. E. Parsons, Jr .


2/164

inter >retationVolume 13 number 2Editor-in-Chief Hilail Gildin

Editors Seth G. Benardete* Charles E. Butterworth HilailGildin* Robert Horwitz Howard B.White (d.1974)

Consulting Editors John Hallowell W ilhelm Hennis Erich HulaArnaldo Momigliano Michael Oakeshott EllisSandoz* Leo Strauss (d.1973) Kenneth WThompson

Associate Editors Fred Baumann Patrick Coby Christopher A.Colmo Derek Cross Edward J. ErlerMaureen Feder-Marcus Joseph E. GoldbergPamela K. Jensen Will Morrisey Charles RubinLeslie Rubin John A. Wettergreen Bradford

Wilson Catherine Zuckert Michael Zuckert

Assistant Editors Marianne C. Grey* Laurette G. Hupman

Design & Production Martyn Hitchcock

Annualsubscription rates individual $13; institutional $16; student (3-year

limit) $7. interpretation appears three t imesa year.

Addressfo r correspondence interpretation, Queens College , Flushing ,

N.Y. 11367, U.S.A.

Authors submitting manuscripts fo r publication ininterpretation are requested to follow th eMLA Style Sheet and to send clear and readablecopies of their work.

Copyright 1985 Interpretation


3/164

If you are interested in the study of politicsand government , you are invited to join

The Southern Political Science AssociationMEMBERSHIP INCLUDES

The Journal of PoliticsThe Journal of Polit ics is a quarterly devoted to enriching and advancing the knowledge of politics. Inside its pages all methods , posit ions, conceptualizations, and techniques are expounded by authors who knowtheir subjects and who back their ideas with careful research and positivescholarship. There is no bias in The Journal of Politics toward theory,American politics, or anything else. It is an open journal. Missing it ismissing an adventure into the character of political variety.

Upon receipt of this form you will begin a one-year membership in The SouthernPolitical Science Association, including a subscription to The Journal of Polit ics.Individual $ 20.00Student or Retired $ 10.00Institution $ 30.00Postage outside USA $ 5.50

NameAddress.

Zip Code

Please make check or money order payable to The Journal of Poli t ics. Send to :The Journal of Polit icsUniversity of FloridaGainesville, FL, USA 32611


4/164


5/164

Socratic elgcoveiaRonna BurgerTulane University

"Oh Heracles! Here is th e customary elgcoveia of Socrates, and this I knew, andpredicted that when it was fo r you to answer you would not wish to , but would beironic and would do anything rather than answer if someone asks you something."

Republic 337a

Readers of the Platonic dialogues are surely familiar with this customary manner of Socrates and the reaction it provokes. But since, indeed, Socrates might bethought unrecognizable apart from his ironic speeches, and particularly his apparently dissembling professions of ignorance, it comes as a surprise to realizeth a t t he re are only five references in th e Platonic corpus to Socratic elgcosia, tw oof these uttered by th e same speaker in th e same context , and one by Socrates,imagining this reproach against himself on th e part of others. Assuming thatPlato puts nothing into the dialogues arbitrarily, we are compelled to ask what itis which brings these cases together, apart from all others, in a class of theirown.1

The references to Socratic elgcoveia are, to begin with, accusat ions; theyexpress hostility against th e deliberate deceit practiced by one who says particularly when he beli ttles himself just the opposite of what he means. Aristotletreats elgcoveia as the defect, contrasted with boastfulness as the excess, in regard to the mean of truthfulness, or sincerity in speech and action (Nicomachean Ethics no8a23). This kind of self-depreciation is justified, Aristotle observes, only on the part of th e great-souled man when compelled to deal with themany whom he despises (ii24b30); it is not , he implies, a weaponof self-protection in the face of one's superior or equal. If th e practice ofelgcoveia is motivated, then, by contempt fo r one's inferior, th e suspicion thatone is a victim of that practice would understandably arouse resentment. Ofcourse , there is a certain pleasure, a sense of superiority presumably , fo r thosewho are spectators rather than victims.It does not seem accidental that the only three individuals in th e Platonic dia

logues who make this accusation against Socrates might well be grouped together on independent grounds: certainly the speeches of Thrasymachus in th eRepublic and Callicles in th e Gorgias have always struck readers as variations ona theme, and th e third, that of Alcibiades in th e Symposium, shares certain fundamental features in common with them. This is reflected not only by th e viewsthese men express, but also by th e structure of the dramatic representations in

1 . These reflections on th e references to Socratic eigcovEia were prompted by an opportunity tocomment on Charles Griswold's paper, "O n th e Interpretation of Socratic and Platonic Irony," delivered at th e meeting of th e American Society fo r Aesthetics in October, 1981.


6/164

144 Interpretationwhich they appear. All three enter the discussion at the end of a succession ofspeakers, and each understands himself to occupy a crowning position. Alcibiades proposes to provide the fitting conclusion, which will illuminate th e entireseries of speeches on egcog, by transforming the topic into a speech aboutSocrates, th e ironic beloved who pretends to be a lover (Sym. 2i4b-d). BothThrasymachus and Callicles, after listening to th e way Socrates has treated th etw o speakers before them, are filled with indignation; they explode furiouslyinto th e discussion or Thrasymachus, Socrates suggests, at least pretendsto prepared to stand up against the unfair manipulations through whichSocrates prevented th e previous speakers from defending th e implications oftheir views (Rep. 336c, Gorg. 482c-e).

Socrates is not only unfair, according to Thrasymachus and Callicles, but heis misguided in th e opinions he is assumed to hold about th e right way of life.Since this is just what he professes to be his primary concern, Thrasymachus andCallicles seem torn between pitying and blaming Socrates fo r his ignorance. Inany case, the speeches they address to him are or are meant to appear soharsh that Socrates is compelled to beg them fo r gentleness if they expect theirpedagogy to be successful. This, of course, they take only as another sign ofSocrates' ironic stance to w ard th em (Rep. 336e-337a, Gorg. 489d-e). In assuming, however, that Socrates is interested only in teaching, not in learningfrom them, they confirm their profoundly contradictory attitude toward him. Onth e one hand they must teach Socrates, because he is a simpleton who practicesjustice out of naivete (Rep. 343a-d, Gorg. 484c-d) ; yet , on th e other hand, theydo not trust him and could not explain that distrust if he were as foolish andsimple as they allege. They suspect there is more to him and resent th e possibleconcealment of an inner core behind a facade of innocence. Now Alcibiadesseems to be a step ahead: he no longer wavers between two views of Socrates,fo r his most intimate experiences, he discloses, have led him to see th e truth ofSocrates'

character and of his speeches, hidden within a deceptive outer shell.It is not only because of the superior insight they wish to communicate , butalso because of their outspokenness in doing so that all three interlocuters consider themselves able to make an important contribution to the discussion.Alcibiades makes a point of excusing his frankness as th e result of his presentcondition in vino Veritas (Sym. 21-je). But Thrasymachus and Callicles areproud of their outspokenness as a confirmation of their teaching: it exemplifiesjust th e kind of courage and freedom from constraint which they praise as th emark of human excellence. They believe themselves capable, therefore, of overcoming the limitations of those who preceded them, who were insufficientlyradical because they were held back by shame , based on merely conventionalgrounds.

It is just the openness of which all three interlocutors are so proud, however,which Socrates puts into question when he accuses each of harboring hidden interests. Alcibiades, Socrates judges by the end of his speech, must in fact have


7/164

Socratic Eironeia 14 5been very sober while pretending to be out of control: he almost succeeded in hisattempt to veil th e true object of his speech, namely to maintain Socrates as hisundivided lover and Agathon as th e undivided object of his love (Sym. 222c-d).With this rather light-hearted uncovering of Alcibiades' hidden motive, Socratesdoes not deny, of course, but ignores th e possible truth of Alcibiades' portrait ofhim. He displays the same avoidance when he calls attention to Thrasymachus'self-concealment. It was evident , Socrates observes in his narrativereport , that Thrasymachus only pretended to make a point of getting him toanswer; in fact he was eager to speak in order to do himself credit, since he believed he had a most excellent answer to the question (Rep. 338a) one whichwas meant , among other things, to advertise the usefulness of his own skills.

He was perhaps mistaken, Socrates admits after his long discussion withCallicles, in having assumed that Callicles was able and willing to be as open ashe claimed to be (Gorg. 499c). Now Callicles, unlike Thrasymachus, may nothave pretended to speak frankly and with good will in order intentionally to hidehis true purposes: Callicles, unlike Thrasymachus, has no stake in an art of making things appear to be what they are not (cf. Phaedrus 26ic-d). But th e usefulness of Callicles' candor and friendship depends on a third condit ion, knowledge, and it should not be surprising if his satisfaction of that condition is putinto question. Socrates first confirms his confidence in Callicles' wisdom by acknowledging that he has been sufficiently educated, "as th e majority of Athenians would say"(Gorg. 487b); but what emerges as th e conversation progresses isthe extent to which Callicles maintains th e opinions of an Athenian "gentleman,"and it is this which determines th e limits of his outspokenness with Socrates .

Socrates is appropriately playful in unveiling th e hidden motives of those whoaccuse him of elgcoveia. In doing so , nevertheless, he turns the tables on his accusers; fo r while their claim to a superior insight depends on their f reedom fromconvention, Socrates shows each to be far less liberated than he believes himselfto be. N one of them is able, therefore, to provide an adequate "touchstone" totest Socrates' soul (cf. Gorg. 486d-487a). Alcibiades, at least, seems to beaware of a tension within himself: he admits th at th e shame he fee ls in the presence of Socrates is a strength, while its disappearance as soon as he is away fromSocrates is his greatest weakness (Sym. 2i6a-c). Thrasymachus and Callicles,in contrast , are proud of the radical teachings they expound; but they are unaware , at least at first, of their commitment to opinions inconsistent with thoseteachings, which furnish Socrates with th e weapon he needs to refute them.

The alleged insight which Thrasymachus and Callicles share, despite theircontrary interpretations of it, concerns the dialectical power play of master andslave. Justice, according to Thrasymachus, is nothing but th e rules laid down byth e stronger to further his own advantage (Rep. 338c-339a); it is that which islaid down, according to Callicles, by th e weak who band together in self-defenseagainst the naturally strong (Gorg. 483b-484c). While Thrasymachus betrayshis self-understanding as a little man, resentfully compelled to satisfy th e inter-


8/164

146 Interpretationests of th e powerful, Callicles identifies himself with the naturally superior,resentfully restrained by the combined force of the inferior many. ButThrasymachus gets caught in Socrates' net because of the tension between hisnarrow understanding of self-interest and a standard of perfection in the arts towhich he, as a practioner of the "art of rhetoric,"ecessarily ascribes (Rep.340c-342e). And Callicles gets caught because of th e tension between h is narrow understanding of pleasure and an unacknowledged standard, of nobility orgreatness, which prevents him from defending the claim that all pleasures areequal, hence pleasure as such is the good (Gorg. 499b -c).

The tension which Alcibiades recognizes in himself, th e tension implicit inthe teachings of Thrasymachus and Callicles which Socrates brings to light andexploits, is th e result, not of their l iberation from convent ion , but of that liberation being insufficiently radical. Thrasymachus and Callicles might have overcome that insufficiency had they reflected adequately on the meaning of "thestronger"or "the superior by nature"who are entitled to rule, and what the self-interest is to which their efforts should be directed. Without that reflection, theymay be on the way toward, but have not consistently carried through, th e radicalliberation which Socrates alone seems to have achieved. Yet while the doctrinesof Thrasymachus and Callicles conflict with the conventional opinions whosetrammels they believe they have cast off, the Socratic perspective seems, paradoxically, to support the conventional opinions from which it is more thoroughlyliberated. It is this paradox that lies behind the contradictory attitude towardSocrates that Thrasymachus and Callicles display in their accusations against hisironic treatment of them: while Socrates seems to be an advocate of the convent ions they scorn, his irony is a sign of superiority which could be explained onlyby freedom from the unreflective opinions of th e many.

But while they may have an inkling of the self-sufficiency of Socrates, in theiralienation from it, Thrasymachus and Callicles have no adequate understanding of its source. Having defined justice as th e interest of th e stronger,Thrasymachus tries to escape Socrates' attack by restricting the stronger to theruler in the precise sense, who by definition cannot err (Rep. 340c-34ia) ; by th eend of their discussion, he seems to suspect, but without fully understanding,that Socrates alone may have th e correct interpretation of this precise ruler,who is never mistaken about his true advantage. By the better who should rule,Callicles admits eventually that he means th e wiser (Gorg. 49ia-d); but, thoughhe is unable or unwilling to be persuaded by him, he too suspects that Socratesalone may have th e correct understanding of the wiser who are by naturestronger.

Now Alcibiades seems to have more than an inkling of Socrates' self-sufficiency, but just as little under standing , pe rhaps , of its source. He accusesSocrates of practicing tigcoveia in concealing his true status as beloved behindth e guise of a lover. He claims to have opened up Socrates and discovered withinthe moderation which makes him look down on the beauty, wealth, and honor


9/164

Socratic Eironeia 147admired by th e many ; the images he discovered within Socrates he found so divine and golden, so beautiful and wondrous, that he was willing to do whateverSocrates might command (Sym. 21 6c- 2 17a). And the speeches of Socrates,Alcibiades adds as an afterthought, are themselves clothed with a ridiculous exterior; but when opened up, they show themselves to be more divine than all others, filled with images of virtue most fitting fo r whoever is to be a gentleman(22ie-222a). But if Alcibiades has caught a glimpse of that ironic disdain formen which lies behind Socrates' outermost veil, he has not seen behind the images within Socrates and his speeches: he shows no comprehension of th e natureof that egcog which does move Socrates, and alone accounts fo r his disdain of human egcog.

In order to bring to light th e contradictory attitude of those who accuse him ofelgcoveia , Socrates must disclose its root. What he discovers in all three cases isth e desire to be master of th e dfjuog. It is the need for honor from th e many that isth e source of Alcibiades' weakness , and that is precisely th e uncomfortabletruth about himself which he admits to having learned from Socrates (Sym.2i6a-c). Thrasymachus believes he can shock th e naive Socrates by teachinghim th at th e shepherd, far from being concerned with th e good of th e sheep fo rtheir own sake, cares fo r them only with an eye to th e benefit for himself and hismaster (Rep. 343a-c). But Socrates puts Thrasymachus in his proper placeby identifying him with this shepherd , subordinated to a master and dependentfor his own good on the sheep he attempts to control through his art of speaking.Just as he himself, Socrates explains to Callicles, is moved by a dual loveof Alcibiades and of philosophy so Callicles is moved by a dual love ofDemus, son of Pyrilampes, and of the Athenian dfjuog (Gorg. 481C-482C); yetin the case of Callicles' dual allegiance, unlike that of Socrates, the beneficialeffects of one cannot serve as a corrective fo r th e potentially disastrous effects ofth e other. If he is to achieve that friendship with th e dfjuog fo r which he longs,Socrates reminds Callicles at the end of their discussion, he must make himselflike it, which is just what Callicles wishes to avoid.Having discovered th e force which moves these men , Socrates has a common

goal in his encounters with them: he must demonstrate that the desire fo r masteryover th e dfjuog brings as its consequence enslavement to it . Since Socrates, inth e eyes of his accusers, does not seem to have succeeded in attaining that mastery over the dfjuog which they consider so desirable, they disdain his apparentpowerlessness. But the resentment they express in their accusations against hiselgcoveia betrays just th e opposite: they are half aware that his indifference to th edesire fo r mastery over the dfjuog brings as its consequence freedom from it. Toth e extent that Socrates reveals their enslavement he implies his liberation, andthus turns their disdain into envy of what they suspect is his hidden power.

This unstable condition of envy and disdain is especially well illustrated bythe otherwise puzzling exchange of accusations between Socrates and Callicles.When Socrates playfully warns Callicles that he must be more gentle if he wants


10/164

148 InterpretationSocrates to continue attending his lessons, Callicles understandably charges himwith being ironic. But Socrates forcefully denies th e charge; he swears "ByZethus," the Euripidean character to whom Callicles just appealed when , Socrates now retorts, he spoke so ironically to h im (Gorg . 485c, 489c). But what exactly was Callicles' irony? He alluded to Zethus, the man of the field, and to hismusical brother Amphion to symbolize tw o ways of life, the private-philosophicand the public-poli t ical; and when he argued th at th e former should not be cont inued beyond youth , since real men must be devoted to the latter, he seemedonly to express his genuine convict ion, which he hoped to communicate to Socrates fo r his own good.

To describe the unmanly individual who needs a whipping fo r continuingphilosophy beyond the appropriate time, Callicles cites a line from Homer:the philosopher, he charges, is compelled to whisper in a corner with a fewboys, "shunning th e ayoga where men get glory"(Gorg. 483d, cf. Iliad 1.490,ix.441). Callicles seems, in th e first place, to be unaware of the fact that Socratesis seldom fa r from the ayoga; he has, after all, just described the philosopher asa man who knows nothing of the laws of the city, nothing of men's characters, ofhuman pleasures and desires (484c-d, cf. Theaetetus 173c- 175b). Perhaps,however, Callicles' irony is intended, in part, to imply the difference betweenthe ayoga of th e Athenian marketplace and that of the Homeric assembly. Hehas, in any case, made a rather odd choice to illustrate th e limitations of th ephilosophic life by likening Socrates to Achilles; and while the context refers toAchilles sulking by his ship in private, out of wounded pride, he remains thegreat warrior whose absence only proves to his countrymen their utter dependence upon him. The line to which Callicles alludes, moreover , juxtaposes tw osigns of manliness war and debate in the ayoga where men become preeminent; but Callicles omits the former, oddly enough, just when his purpose is presumably to advocate th e strong man's life of action. With this omission, hisambiguous words could be interpreted more as a praise of Socrates than a condemnation; of course, the irony which Socrates recognizes in these words , onecan't help but surmise, may have Callicles as its unwitting victim rather than intentional perpetrator.

That the accusations against Socrates betray more the limitations of the accuser than of the accused is confirmed by the only other reference in the Platoniccorpus to Socratic elgcoveia. Near the end of his trial Socrates surmises that, ifhe were to justify his allegiance to th e philosophic enterprise by appealing to hisobedience to th e god, the jury would think him ironic (Apology 37e); since theyare in fact condemning him of impiety they must consider his entire anoXoyia along exercise in irony. But Socrates is in a bind: although he cannot appeal to th egod, since they believe him impious, they would believe him even less, he adds,if he were to argue that his devotion to philosophy is based on the conviction thatth e unexamined life is not worth living (38a). The jury might resent the irony ofSocrates' claim to piety; yet such irony would be compelled by their inability to


11/164

Socratic Eironeia 149comprehend th e truth, which Socrates has simultaneously revealed, of his commitment to th e self-justifying worth of philosophy.Socrates' elgcoveia is necessitated, Plato shows us here, by th e ignorance ofth e dfjuog; it is equally necessitated, as the other explicit references show, bythose whose desire to enslave th e dfjuog binds them in an essential relation to it.They are prevented by this desire from being persuaded by Socrates even whenthey follow th e implications of his arguments; they are forced to look up toSocrates with a suspicion of his strength, while looking down on him becausethey do not really understand it. Thrasymachus' resentful charge against Socrates'irony in refusing to offer his own answers to the questions he raises isthus paradigmatic: since Thrasymachus does not understand what philosophy is,what th e standard of knowledge is which it presupposes but does not fulfill, hecould not possibly grasp th e truth behind

Socrates'claim to possess only knowl

edge of his own ignorance. The charges against Socrates' self-concealingspeeches and deeds can be ascribed to Plato, then, not as judgments of Socratesbut of the speakers who express them, whose words mean more than they realize;the accusations against Socratic elgcoveia are themselves represented in th e Platonic dialogues ironically.


12/164


13/164

Rousseau and the Management of the PassionsPeter EmberleyCarle to n University, Ottawa

Rousseau has commonly been understood to desire a return to one or anotherof the classical accounts of the nature of man , to accept a Christian, albeit unorthodox, understanding of th e human soul , or to point forward to Kant's accountof the radical sovereignty of reason. Thus, he has been interpreted as seeking either to re-establish Stoic natural law doctrines or Socratic philosophy, to foundth e moral life upon Christian compassion and the promptings of th e conscience,or to articulate a model of autonomous moral law.Basing their assessments on views Rousseau expresses in the Social Contract,

in the First Discourse, or in th e "Profession of Faith of th e Savoyard Vicar"these often elaborate commentaries tend, nonetheless, to give short shrift toRousseau's serious reservations about th e role of reason and the ambiguous statu s of conscience in his teaching general ly, evidence of which we shall examinepresently.1

Commentaries on his moral theory, or accounts of his disagreement with hiscontemp orar ies , have unfortunately dwelled only briefly on Rousseau's psycho-

The Ins ti tu te fo r th e Humanities, University of Calgary, generously provided support fo r thisstudy.

I . The fo rce of Rousseau's critique of modernity ha s produced a great diversity and occasionalconfusion among his interpreters and critics especially in th e desire to see this critique as unqualifiedand unambiguous. However, to praise th e classics is not to counsel their imitation, just as to damn th emoderns is not to deny th e necessesity of taking a leaf from their book. Those who have nonethelessbeen somewhat zealous in assimilating Rousseau to ancient thought are: M. Einaudi, The Early Rousseau (N.Y., 1967), K. F. Roche, Rousseau, Stoic and Romantic (London, 1974), M. Ellis, Rousseau's Socratic Aemilian Myths (N.Y., 1977), and A. Schinz, "La No tion de vertu,"Mercure deFrance, vol. I, no. 12 , 1912, pp. 532-55. Imposing Christian ideas upon Rousseau's thought, by another interpretation, requires overemphasizing th e centrality of th e vicar's "Profession of Faith" and anumber of Rousseau's letters while ignoring th e implications of much that Rousseau writes elsewhereand being insensitive to th e interpretive difficulties (dramatic and theoretical) that arise from takingthese statements of religious belief l iterally. This issue is to o difficult to address here although it ha sbeen raised by C. Orwin, "Humanity and Justice: The Problem of Compassion in th e Thought ofRousseau", Ph.D. Diss., Harvard, 1976; J. Cropsey, "The Human Vision of Rousseau: Reflectionson Emile," in Polit ical Philosophy and the Issues of Politics (Chicago, 1977); and A. Bloom, introduction to the Emile (N.Y., 1979). As examples of interpretations that have taken Rousseau's religious themes as central see R. Grimsley, Rousseau and the Religious Quest (Oxford, 1968); P. M.Masson, La Profession defoi du vicaire Savoyard (Fribourg, 1914); J. F. Thomas, Le PelagianismedeJ.-J. Rousseau (Paris, 1956). R. Masters in The Political Philosophy ofJ. -J. Rousseau (Princeton,1968), despite his careful textual exigesis, accepts th e "profession of faith" to o readily but only by interpreting away th e traditional meaning of conscience, cf. p. 75, n. 79. For overly-rationalist andKantian interpretations see R. Derathe, Le Rationalisme deJ.-J. Rousseau (Paris, 1948); E. Cassirer,The Question ofJ.-J. Rousseau (N.Y., 1954); and A. Levine, The Politics ofAutonomy (Amherst,1967).


14/164

152 Interpretationlogical principles, which he himself nonetheless articulates with singular attent ion. Why this scant appraisal of Rousseau's psychology has occurred is becausehis educational treatise, th e Emile, has often been interpreted as a mere prolegomena or supplement to his more substantial moral teaching elsewhere. It hasbeen understood to be merely th e method by which his moral theory can be implemented. Yet, I would propose that an adequate understanding of Rousseau'smoral teaching cannot be separated from his emphatic concern to elaborate aneffective morality. The particular psychology he employs to make moralityeffective brings about , at the same time, a significant transformation of the meaning of th e "moral life."

The need fo r attention to his psychology arises because of Rousseau's epistemological position. In th e Emile, Rousseau appears to accept modern counsel byabandoning th e idea of an autonomous reason and by reducing internal experiences of the mind to transformations of sense impressions. Moreover, he subjects former theories positing the existence of complex , natural faculties, innateideas, or innate principles of knowledge to critical appraisal. To avoid imputingsuch possibilities to the mind , Rousseau "constructs" th e mind of his studentthrough a judicious manipulation of impressions, much in the spirit of Condillac's construction of his "statue-man."

At the same time, in an interesting departure from Locke's sensationalism, heintroduces the idea of a causal connection between sense impressions and feelings of pleasure and pain. Rousseau's analysis of th e passions thus constitutes anintegral part of his epistemological position. The careful manipulation of sensibility is intended, Rousseau claims, to ensure a sound perception of reality andth e proper cultivation of th e mind's faculties as well as to define the way inwhich those faculties will be exercised.

The psychological inquiry is crucial too because in the absence of a distinctivemoral faculty, innate moral ideas, or an independent reason capable of regulatingth e human soul, Rousseau is compelled to explain or find a new basis and motivefo r th e moral experience. As a moralist and teacher of an effective morali ty , he isconcerned to reveal how th e moral life comes into being and is sustained. Sincethe passions play a crucial role in forming standards of conduct and in motivatinga man to act upon these standards, an understanding of Rousseau's psychology isnecessary if we are to comprehend the novelty of his moral theory.

One cannot begin to appreciate Rousseau's psychology without the recognition of th e fundamental alteration he introduced into accounts of human nature.This was his argument that man's nature is modified in time by external circumstances. Therefore, he claims, it is not simply possible to examine social men orto engage in introspective inquiry to determine the nature of man. Although various passions and sentiments appear as natural characteristics of men, Rousseaudenies that most are part of man's original endowment. The predominant passions observable in contemporary men developed historically; to understand their


15/164

Rousseau and the Management of the Passions 153origin it is necessary to examine th e attribute of man responsible fo r his changingnature. In the Second Discourse, Rousseau attributes man's malleability to thefaculty of "perfectibility" and claims that it is the characteristic distinguishingmen from beasts. Previous accounts of human nature were defective, Rousseauclaims, because each identified contingent characteristics as fundamental, orfailed to comprehend th e simple origin and derivation of complex passions, thusaccording too great a complexity to th e human soul. One of th e results of thiswas to enforce obligations, justify inegalitarian human relations, and demandcertain political, moral, and religious restraints not natural or advantageous toth e human soul. Rousseau's science of th e passions is intended to display aneconomy of explanation and simplicity of derivation that dissolves what he believed were th e layers of deceit and confusion covering the question of the realcharacter of human nature from which false inferences had been made.The interpretive problem of what Rousseau means by perfectibility and th e

"natural" is however a difficult one. Is perfectibility simply m alleabi l ity, is it im itation, is it th e capacity to learn, or is it a latent form of reasoning? Is th e naturalonly what constitutes the original endowment , does it include later accretions,and what standard would distinguish "natural" from "artificial" additions to th ehuman repertoire? Commentators have been puzzled by Rousseau's ambiguousdiscussion.2

The context of his discussion is an argument proving man's exemption frommechanical necessity. Is man simply an ingenious machine , whose sentimentsare reducible to material causes, or does his behavior offer evidence to merit th epositing of a spiritual substance? Although "perfectibility" appears to replace, orto offer a less controversial explanation fo r the effects of what had been explainedas the metaphysical "freedom of th e will,"it is not unambiguously evident fromRousseau's discussion whether "perfectibility" conclusively proves that man hasa spiritual substance or explains man's distinctive nature.

As other commentators have pointed out , Rousseau at no point explicitlydenies that perfectibility can be explained mechanistically nor does the remainder of his discourse rely upon the metaphysical notion of "freedom of th e will."3Indeed, no more references are made to "purely spiritual acts"nor to man's supposed exemption from mechanical necessity. What is "perfectibility," and doesRousseau propose to explain the genesis of man's nature on the basis of mechanistic causes? Perfectibility is meant to be an observable phenomenon subject toempirical proof and scientific explanation. Can it nonetheless cover those "spiri-

2. Voltaire's stinging retort to Rousseau's second discourse that he himself preferred not to return to all fours is a good example. Also, H. Benda, "Rousseau's Early Discourses: Man, Society,and State," Journal of Political Science, vol. 5, 1953, pp. 13-20, and vol. 6, 1954, pp. 17-28, andM. Jack, "One State of Nature; Mandeville and Rousseau," Journal of th e History of Ideas, vol. 39,no. 1, 1978, p. 119, misconstrue Rousseau's teaching. Exceptions to this misinterpretation includeM. Plattner, Rousseau's Sta te ofNature (Dekalb, 1979), and W. Galston, Kant and the Problem ofHistory (Chicago, 1975).

3. Cf. Marc Plattner, Rousseau's State ofNature, 1979, pp. 46-51.


16/164

154 Interpretationtual acts"while remaining tru e to empiricism? Could perfectibility be understoodmechanistically while being the cause of faculties which are not?

Rousseau turns to the origin of man's distinctive endowment to provide answers to these questions. He claims that perfectibility is a faculty that arose fortuitously and that it need not have developed at all were it not fo r various externalcircumstances . It cannot be said therefore that the development of perfectibilityis Ideologically ordered by nature , nor indeed are the other faculties whichRousseau admits also emerged due to "countless accidents."Rousseau even suggests that there are primitive men in whom perfectibility may never have developed and who are thus still in th e state of nature.4 It appears from this hesitantbeginning of man's history that he is not directed by God's will, nor by any immanent, natural tendency toward some determinate end. Nor is perfectibility"self-perfection" for Rousseau makes quite clear that it h as also been "the sourceof all man's misfortunes."5 Thus it appears from Rousseau's description thatperfectibility is merely malleability, or more precisely, adaptability to circumstances.

This explanation of th e concept is supported by considering what Rousseautakes to be the relation between reason and perfectibility. Continuing to distinguish men from animals, he writes: "... animals can neither formulate suchideas nor even acquire the perfectibility which depends on them."6 Perfectibilityappears thus to be dependent upon ideas for its development. Now, Rousseaualso claims that reason is acquired by, and the growth of ideas is a response to ,th e necessity of satisfying different needs. Needs alter according to changing circumstances and the mind develops to accommodate the change in needs. Theprogress of the mind is thus a reaction to changing circumstances. Because perfectibility is considered by Rousseau to depend upon this process, it appears thatopenness to change stimulated by external, physical causes characterizes humannature.

Nonetheless, this obscures rather than clarifies th e distinction between menand animals. For it is not th e case, Rousseau advances, that animals are not altered by circumstance. He writes that animals were at some point in t ime verysimilar to each other until "various physical causes . . . introduced into certainspecies th e varieties we notice."7 Moreover, this alteration is not predetermined;the diverse characteristics these animals developed were "not inherent in theirnature."8 It cannot therefore be simply malleability with respect to varying physical causes that characterizes man's distinctiveness. Can perfectibility be nothingmore than infinite malleability? Rousseau states that perfectibility is "almost un-

4. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, OZuvres Completes, 4 vols. (Paris: Bibliotheque de la Pleiade, Gallimard) , III. 208.

5. Ill, 142.6. Ill, 149.7. Ill, 123.8. Ibid.


17/164

Rousseau and the Management of the Passions 15 5limited .'"' It is therefore not unlimited. Moreover, the faculties as Rousseau describes them generally appear to have bounds; the mind is depicted as having "alimit of the perfection of which it is susceptible."10 Thus man is not wholly indeterminate . But what is it in human nature that limits his malleability? Is it simplyphysical structure or are there also behavioral limits?

Another possibility of what Rousseau means by perfectibility is man's capacity to imitate th e activities of others. Man's distinctiveness consists of his greateradaptability and learning capacity. This is confirmed by Rousseau's claim thatanimals are limited by instinct but man, who is not governed by instinct, is ableto learn from t hem: "... men , dispersed among th e animals, observe and imitatetheir industry and thereby develop in themselves the instinct of the animals."11This passage suggests that perfectibility is a type of imitation. However, againthis interpretation cannot be the right one because Rousseau gives an example ofa monkey's capacity fo r imitation, and monkeys obviously lack th e faculty ofperfectibility.12 Rousseau implies that imitation is a purely mechanical act andthus we may infer that it cannot be the distinctive characteristic of man. Rousseau actually explicitly distinguishes mere imitation from th e faculty of perfectibility.13 Nonetheless, each of th e examples by which he illustrates th e majortransitions of man's evolution due to perfectibility is constituted by an imitationof either beasts, nature, or other men.14

Perhaps there is a specifically human form of imitation. Animal 's instinct performs the functions of deliberation and choice; men , lacking instinct, can nonetheless choose to adopt th e instinct of animals. Yet, Rousseau has not providedan unqualified argument fo r this freedom of choice. The reformulation requiredto clear up this ambiguity of man's distinctiveness would be that man contributesconsciously to his alterations whereas animals are simply passively modified.This however is not evidently the solution since Rousseau denies that men havethat self-consciousness. From all Rousseau wishes to claim on behalf of perfectibility, it would be more coherent perhaps, on his part , to suggest th at th e realground of th e distinction is man's learning capacity, his ability to judge onechoice over another, or quite precisely his rationality. Yet Rousseau doesnot take this s tep, much as his argument appears to require it. Rousseau wishes tounderstand human nature with reference to "the first and simplest operations ofth e human soul,"which are "anterior to reason,"ut his notion of perfectibilityappears to require precisely this fact of rationality which he denies.15 We shallreturn to Rousseau's understanding of rationality in th e second part of this paper.

Another ambiguous element of Rousseau's account has to do with what per-9. Ill, 142.10 . Ill, 174.11. III. 135.12 . Ill, 21113. Ibid.14. Ill, 135, 148, 165, 167, 171-73-15. Ill, 125-26.


18/164

156 Interpretation

fectibility is meant to achieve. If perfectibility is to take man out of the realm ofmechanical necessi ty, it must free man from the mere capitulation to his desires.Perfectibility is then th e absence or restraint of certain desires, or particular sortsof desires. However, Rousseau claims that this regulation or restraint of desireoccurs in animals as well. In fact, what had distinguished men and animals in hisinitial formulation was that the latter had a natural limit set upon their desires,whereas man had no such limit. Animals' behavior is regulated by instinct soth at th eir self-preservation remains intact, whereas men were given to sensualexcesses that endanger their self-preservation. If man's exemption from mechanical necessity requires a limitation of desire, paradoxically it has its model in animal instinct. Perfectibility appears to be in part the capacity to regain a naturalinstinct with which man was not endowed. However, it must be distinguishedfrom mere instinct by the fact that man chooses this regulation, or in otherwords, that he actively participates in his own nature. This, however, againappears to require support by reason and self-consciousness, which Rousseaudenies to be natural.

It is useful at this point to remind ourselves what Rousseau is trying to proveand then to determine if his arguments are sufficient. The task Rousseau sets himself is "to separate what is original from what is artificial, in the present nature ofman . . " and his teaching depends decisively upon this distinction.16 If man'snature was no more than his history this task would be impossible to perform andth e original "natural" would be meaningless as a standard of natural right. If perfectibility was all that was inherent in man's nature, then Rousseau's discussionof the development of unnatural faculties would collapse. The purpose of Rousseau's genetic analysis is precisely to determine some elementary and fundamenta l features of human nature and then to judiciously manipulate man's adaptability so that the various faculties created are consistent with some original feature of primitive life. Thus, perfectibility appears to be a faculty that supplements other inherent faculties and ensures that human behavior can besufficiently adapted to guarantee an optimal replication of the original condition.However, it also appears to produce or be instrumental in producing both artificial and natural modifications of the original endowment.

The origin of the "artificial" in man is however somewhat ambiguous. Although the artificial cannot simply be formed by nature, it must still have anoriginating cause. If man is the cause of the artificial, his capacity to fabricate itmust either be natural or artificial. W ithout an infinite regress, there must beat some point in man's development an occurrence that somehow forms the artificial. The implication is that man responds to some circumstance that producesan active force that either supplements or opposes and impedes the preoccupat ions of his primitive condition. What is that force and does it give a decisive direction to the indeterminate character of perfectibility? When perfectibility be-

16. Ill, 123.


19/164

Rousseau and the Management of the Passions 157comes directed in such a way as to cause distortions in man's character, uponwhat criterion does the distinction between artificial and natural modificationsrest? Perfectibility alone does not appear to satisfy th e task it is meant to perform, namely of explaining man's distinctive nature. It supplies only th e necessary condition fo r the phenomenon of alteration that Rousseau describes. It isnecessary to look elsewhere to discover the cause of man's nature and it may require a redefinition of the "natural" to solve some of th e questions with which wehave been confronted. We must look to Rousseau's analysis of th e human soul toresolve our dilemmas.

Rousseau's analysis begins with a substantial repudiation of the classical andmodern rationalist's claims giving primacy to reason in the growth of ideas andth e regulation of th e passions. Rousseau's opinion with respect to the impotenceof reason in these matters applies to both the functioning of th e mind and th e restraint of appetites. For th e classical rationalists, reason was autonomous andcreative, decisive in th e accumulation of knowledge, the growth of understanding, and th e consciousness of identity. Moreover, in its highest activity, reasonreflected on its own states; thought, thinking itself, or phi losophy, was seen asman's highest achievement. The classical rationalists understood the mind to becapable of apprehending a reality beyond the appearance of natural phenomena ,to discern final causes , and to come to comprehend the summum bonum of human aspiration. As well , this autonomous faculty of reason could restrain men'sdesires, legislate precepts to man's "baser" nature, and draw the mind beyond itsparticular existence to a transcendent, universal order.

These metaphysical assumptions were rigorously criticized by modern rationalists, although they themselves retained the notion of an autonomous reasoningcapacity and natural facultie s. Even Locke, whose attack on innate ideas andwhose seminal sensationalist epistemology oriented speculation toward the origin of ideas and sensory perceptions, nonetheless retained th e assumptions of th eirreducibility of th e mind's operations, the autonomy of the constitution of th emind from that of th e body, and the regulatory ability of reason over the passions. Rousseau followed many of his contemporaries in voicing reservationsabout Locke's epistemology. Disputing Locke's rationalism and his pedagogicalproposals to employ reason with chi ldren, Rousseau countered with " . . youemploy a metaphysic he is not in a condition to understand by thus transportinghim all of a sudden from sensible objects to intellectual objects."17 Rousseau notonly recommends an experiential and affective education, and a strict empiricalscience of observation fo r his student, but also expresses reservations about th epower of reason as such. The aim of his method, Rousseau claims, is to preventthe mind from inferring mysterious qualities either to the world or to itself. Hiscritique of earlier philosophers is that each had imported artificial or historically

17. IV , 256.


20/164

158 Interpretationcontingent faculties to their explanation of the human mind, and granted to reason far too great an ability. Natural functions of the mind and natural processesof the world that should have been explained by the laws of physics, mechanics,and chemistry, had instead been attributed with mysterious conceptions like"substance," "soul," "instinct," "final cause,"and "conscience." The inferenceof mysterious causes had produced faulty educational proposals , oppressive religious and moral practices, and even political despotism.

Rousseau's epistemological account questions granting an innate capacity tothe mind for complex operations. The economy of explanation, he provides, ismeant to forestall making any metaphysical assumptions. Thus, he indicates thatthe mind cannot gain knowledge beyond efficient causes and that its power is ra-tiocinative; that the mind cannot grasp what man's nature is intended to be; thatth e senses must be trained to act on their proper objects; that there is no naturalmechanism that coordinates th e various sensations together; th at th e faculties become determinate capacities only through trial and error, repetition, and habituation; that sound reasoning can only be guaranteed by relying on th e indubitabilityof the fact of impenetrability given by touch; that an appeal to logical relations isnot sufficient to dispel illusions of percept ion; that coming to self-consciousnessis not self-initiated or achieved by in trospection but instead requires consciousness of the "not-self" (the resistance of external bodies); and that th e mind isonly focused by attention to needs .

There are tw o features of this account crucial fo r our purposes. The firstof these is Rousseau's reduction of reason to calculation or separating it fromknowledge of th e moral good fo r it leads him to insist that reason is no longersufficient fo r guaranteeing morality. Rousseau suggests that reason usually willbe employed to serve vicious ends. Reason supports mere self-interest and, inopposition to Hobbes's informed judgment to the contrary, selfish calculationcannot be relied upon fo r moral conduct. Since men calculate from their ownnarrow interests, there will often be no basis fo r fulfilling obligations when theseconflict with self-interest. Calculating reason provides no guarantee that a manwill not break his obligations if he can appear to be keeping them, or ignore hisobligations, hoping all others will sustain the practice. "The human race wouldhave perished long ago,"Rousseau claims, "if its preservation had dependedonly on th e reasoning of its members."18 Thus, reason cannot provide an adequate incentive fo r moral conduct, and instead he turns to passion to provide motives fo r morality. His student will be shown th e need fo r morality by th e laws ofpleasure and pain: "In vain does tranquil reason make us approve or crit icize; it isonly passion which makes us act."19 Whereas th e classical rationalists had assumed that knowledge was sufficient to ensure action, Rousseau suggests that th eancients had not been adequately aware of reason's dependence on the passions.

This extension of the sensationalist epistemology to incorporate the functions18. IV, 334.19. IV, 453.


21/164

Rousseau and the Management of the Passions 15 9of the body with respect to feelings of pleasure and pain constitutes the secondmajor point important fo r our purposes. By including the operations of th e body,Rousseau opposed th e view that the mind was a substance possessing an independent existence and sharply distinguished his own theory from Locke's . Lockehad insisted that men do not have an experience of the causal connection betweentheir sense impressions and feelings of pleasure and pain. Pleasure and paincould arise from sensation or reflection but do not need to accompany them.Rousseau's acceptance of Condillac's theory of attention directs the epistemological inquiry towards an analysis of the passions. "Reason alone is notactivRousseau insists, in denying th e independence of reason, "It sometimes restrains, it arouses rarely, and it has never done anything great."20 Interest basedon need motivates th e mind to acquire knowledge. "Present interest, that is th egreater mover , the only one which leads surely and far."-1 For Rousseau, th efundamental activity of the mind resides not in itself but in psychological forces.Desire and aversion provide the motions required to activate the mind. The lawsgoverning pleasure and pain direct the mechanism of understanding:

... it is by their activity that our reason is perfected; we seek to know only because wedesire to have pleasure; and it is impossible to conceive why one who had neither desires nor fears would go to th e tr oub le of reasoning.22

Reason is relegated in Rousseau's thought to th e role of servant, administering tomen's desires. Its role in men's affairs is one of calculation and counsel as to themeans of fulfilling the ends proposed by th e passions rather than imperativecommand and sovereignty. Reason cannot correct passions because it naturallyserves them. Rousseau writes, "it is only passions which make us act."23 The rationalists had not realized the extent to which the mind depended on the passions.When Rousseau speaks of an "activemind"he means one animated by passion,rather than one that is spontaneous and creative.This view constitutes a clear rejection of th e classical rationalist's view that

reason is man's essential attribute and that reflection upon its own states is th emark of the fulfillment of man's nature. This active part of th e soul was , fo r Platoand Aristotle, capable of regulating man , determining his proper end, and beinga sufficient motive fo r action. Rousseau, by contrast, denies that reason completes th e individual or determines the form of his happiness. Reason is but th escout and spy of th e passions. Man's happiness is not explicable from th e perspective of the philosopher but, as we shall see, from that of the lover: "... theestimation of happiness is less the concern of reason than of sentiment."24Without the cooperation of the passions, sensibility, and imagination, reason is feeble. This epistemological account makes necessary a search fo r th e causes of th e

20. iv , 64521. IV , 35822. IV , 48123. IV , 45324. iv , 503


22/164

160 Interpretationmind's activities. The connection between his epistemology and theory of virtueis found in his psychological analysis. The regulation of a man's mind by a management of his passions gives rise to order in a man's moral world. The passionswill be adequately regulated not by their education through reason but by relyingon a method that capitalizes on their conflict.

Rousseau's analysis of the passions begins with an investigation of fundamental passions, which in turn generate all the others. If the nature of man can bescientifically determined and its underlying causes controlled, man can selfconsciously manage his life . Rousseau's genetic analysis is meant to expose th esupposed natural faculties and sentiments as artificial and products of society:

But would it be reasoning well to conclude from th e fact that it is in man's nature tohave passions, that all th e passions that we feel in ourselves and see in others are natural? Their source is natural; it is tme. But countless alien streams have swollen it . It is agreat river which constantly grows and in which one could hardly find a few drops ofits first waters.25

Nonetheless, th e source can be discovered and it is necessary to do so if aman's nature is to be consciously formed and the confusions of previous demands on human nature are to be avoided. The behavioral expression of that firstpoint is th e same passion as it was for Hobbes: "The first law of nature is th e careof preserving oneself . "26 Amour de soi, self-love, governs all human conduct:

Our first duties are to ourselves, our primary sentiments are centered on ourselves,all our natural movements relate in th e first instance to our preservation and ourwell-being.27

The interplay of the mind and th e body for th e well-being of th e individual isexemplified in the emergence of self-love. Amour de soi emerges from a morefundamental cause: th e capacity for sensation. A man prefers some sensationsover others because they are accompanied by pleasure or absence of pain. Desirefo r a specific object that provides pleasure t ransforms gradually into the sentiment of love, and aversion to other objects issues eventually in th e sentiment ofhatred. Love of pleasure and hatred of pain produce the sensibility that governsth e passion of self-love: "The source of all th e passions is sensibility; imagination determines their bent."28

Rousseau finds what is essential to human nature in th e basic motives and concerns of most men , based on the fundamental principle of self-love. It is a passion that supports th e premise of th e equality of all men , and thus renders political hierarchy and inequality invalid. Amour de soi is a passion that preserves aman and adapts according to his changing needs and desires. The decisive fea-

25. IV, 491.26. IV, 467.27. IV, 329.28. IV, 492, 501.


23/164

Rousseau and the Management of the Passions 161ture of this passion is that it is absolute, focusing a man's attention solely on hisown concerns , needs, and powers. This passion of self-love is healthy, Rousseauadvances , because it generates self-care, self-esteem, and also many of the"gentle and affectionate passions."2'' Rousseau calls it an "absolute sentimenbecause it is not motivated by other's opinions, nor standards drawn from others,nor does it feed at th e expense of others. This passion keeps man within naturefo r it is not harmful to him nor would it cause him to act against his first passion of self-preservation. It is only with th e advent of "alien causes"thatmodifications are introduced into man's nature which bring about a conditionwhere "man finds himself outside of nature and sets himself in contradiction withhimself."30 Thus, amour de soi is the passion closest to nature and ensures amildness of human existence which men would never know again.

Rousseau's rhetoric concerning its gentleness needs to be somewhat t emperedby his subsequent observation that primitive men simply have no grounds toharm one another. The creature, to o stupid to judge others or relate himself tothem, is also incapable of revenge or hatred. His desires limited to what he needsto preserve himself, and his imagination largely inactive, he is gentle notso much from good will as through indifference to others. Moreover, Rousseaumakes clear that when this man's natural gentleness comes in conflict with hisneed fo r self-preservation, he will use force or violence. Nonetheless, thesewould be acts without lingering resentment , or concern fo r such imaginary goodsas honor, glory, or recognition. They would be simple spontaneous acts of self-preservation.

The gentleness of which Rousseau speaks is more precisely th e absence ofmalicious violence. Rousseau's account of th e ideal character of this primitiveage is thus dramatic rather than precise since a creature oblivious to the presenceof others would also lack most of th e distinctive human characteristics . Moreover, it is ambiguous in Rousseau's account just how long the moment actuallylasted in which men acted only upon amour de soi. The presence of anotherwhere that presence involved a recognition of the other as an "other" meant anend to a man's primitive preoccupation with himself.

At this point in man's development a second passion emerges that generatesnearly all of the others. This passion is another form of self-love, but once activated, plays the decisive role of determining the direction of the original passion.Rhetorically, Rousseau describes this second form of self-love as the relativepassion responsible fo r all the misery that is present in social life:

Amour-propre and amour de soi, two passions very different in their nature and theireffects, must not be confused. Amour de soi is a natural sentiment which inclines everyanimal to watch over its own preservation and which , directed in many by reason andmodified by pity, produces humanity and virtue. Amour-propre is only a relative senti-

29. IV, 493.30. IV, 491.


24/164

162 Interpretationment, artificial and born in society, which inclines every individual to have a greateresteem fo r himself than fo r anyone else, inspires in men all the harm they do to one another and is th e true source of honor.31

Rousseau goes on to add that amour-propre could not have existed in the state ofnature fo r it is based on comparisons that natural, savage man was incapable ofmaking.

Most commentators have taken this initial account as Rousseau's final wordregarding the passion of amour-propre. Thus Rousseau has been taken to meanthat amour de soi is healthy and can under certain conditions lead to praiseworthy conduct , while amour-propre is disruptive and is responsible for th e disorderof men's lives. Amour de soi is seen as natural, therefore good, while amour-propre is seen as unnatural and therefore bad. This simple account can not, however, withstand a careful examination of the texts nor does it solve th e problemwe examined above. How can th e original state of nature or the original endowment to man provide a standard fo r evaluating contemporary life if man is an historical animal and his earlier stages are irrecoverable? If what is good were onlythe natural, and if the natural was historically contingent and irrecoverable, thenmen could at best resign themselves or be nostalgic. However, Rousseau's socialteaching is intended to go beyond traditional pess imism; in the spirit of Enlightenment opt imism, he has a method to impart for managing the passion of amour-propre. Throughout the Emile Rousseau judiciously trains and manipulates thispassion, seeing in it a more constructive possibility. Moreover, as I shall argue,he does not conceive of amour-propre as unnatural, although it may not havebeen part of th e original endowment.

Although amour-propre may not have been operative originally in primitiveman , it appears from Rousseau's account that it emerged quite suddenly and naturally from unified self-love and thus was a natural modification of human nature. There are tw o major indications that Rousseau includes amour-propre inhis account of the natural.

First, after his initia l account of the tw o passions and a lengthy description ofth e pathology of amour-propre , Rousseau qualifies his original statement byclaiming that amour-propre is responsible fo r "what is best and worst amongmen , our virtues and our vices, our sciences and our errors, our conquerors andour philosophers."32 Thus, amour-propre cannot simply be the cause of th e deterioration of men's lives. Rousseau recognizes that this passion unleashes andmultiplies many of th e worst passions, but is also creates others which , whenproperly control led, constitute th e most distinctive human sentiments.

Second, the fact that men became involved in a social context means that theynecessarily are relative creatures. The mere observation of another as an "other"gave rise to comparison. If there was a t ime when amour-propre was not natural,

31. IV, 219.32. Ill, 189.


25/164

Rousseau and the Management of the Passions 163it must have been a very brief duration. Indeed, Rousseau acknowledges atthe end of his discourse that man's original nature has become naturally transformed. He now lists the faculties of th e soul as reason, imagination, memory ,and adds amour-propre. He makes no claim th at th es e are somehow unnatural ,even though as a comparison with the beginning of his account shows , these faculties were not part of man's original endowment.

In th e Emile, the natural character of amour-propre is more adequately demonstrated. Indeed, as I propose to demonstrate, in this pedagogical treatise he enlists amour-propre in the service of refining his student, employing that passionto create the distinctly human attributes. There are numerous explicit passagesthat can be marshalled forth to support this reading. First, at th e end of Book III,Rousseau writes quite unequivocally that amour-propre is natural: " amour-propre, the first and most natural of all th e passions."33 This perhaps surprisingstatement can be explained by another claim made elsewhere in th e Emile, reminding the reader again that man's nature is historical: "One must not confoundwhat is natural in th e savage state with what is natural in th e civil state."34 Nonetheless, although amour-propre may be natural, and it remains to be seen whatRousseau now means by th e "natural," this does not mean that it is necessarilyunqualifiedly good. Indeed, Rousseau makes perfectly clear that amour-propreis the passion responsible fo r the harmful passions with which men have beeninflicted. How can amour-propre be both good and harmful?

Although amour-propre issues in many of the irascible sentiments that arisewhen men compare themselves to others , Rousseau's analysis suggests that itonly generates them. Thus, the passion is not characteristically vani ty, envy,rancour, spite, or viciousness but is, instead, the generating cause of them. In th eSecond Discourse Rousseau blurs th e process of 's developmentand appears to suggest that it is simply any of these corrupt passions. In th eEmile, however, his judicious manipulation of amour-propre suggests that it canbe molded by imagination and channelled for good purposes. Thus, it appears tobe malleable and subject to education.

The problem of amour-propre comes about because, unlike other passions, ithas no particular object to which it is naturally directed:

The sole passion natural to man is amour de soi, or amour-propre taken in an extendedsense. This amour-propre in itself or relative to us is good and useful; and since it hasno necessary relation to others, it is in this respect naturally neutral. I t becomes goodor bad only by th e application made of it and th e relations given to it.35

When applied to the right objects, amour-propre need not issue in those relationsthat bring misery to the human soul.

What precisely is amour-proprel The careful dissection in th e Emile reveals33. IV, 488.34. IV, 764.35. IV , 322.


26/164

164 Interpretationthat it is composed of four stages: (a) comparison, (b) introduction of a standardof merit, (c) calculation of relative status, and (d) th e consequent perception offreedom or dependence. The decisive characteristic of the passion which distinguishes it from a mo u r de so i is that whereas th e latter w as a simple an d absolutesentiment of self-preoccupation, amour-propre involves an affirmation of the selfand is an expression of the desire fo r approbation. It is a psychological processintroducing to the m ind an idea of relative worth. It is a relative passion becauseit makes ma n an object o f study, either in the eyes of others or, as we shall discover shortly, in a man's recognition of his ow n identity. Amour-propre is thefirst passion th a t ta k es a ma n outside of himself an d in this, it creates all th e huma n passions and sentiments w h ic h a ri se from the plurality of men.

Rousseau dwells predominantly on the ills fostered by amour-propre . Theseills arise because amour-propre is responsible fo r making social me n dependupon one another fo r their o wn e st ee m and they are t ransform ed from absolute tor e la ti v e c re a tu r es . Their passions are corrupted by th e comparisons they makewith others. Men beg in to esteem themselves not so m uch fo r their o wn actu ala bi li ti es a nd accomplishments but fo r what these represent in relation to other'ssituations. The standard by which they determine their ow n merit is drawn fromoutside of themselves. Moreover, from their initial attempt to elicit recognitionfrom o th er s a nd even to tyrannize others, evolves a dependency and enslavementto the whims , opinions, an d will of others. Men are then no longer self-sufficientor self-motivating, and their real powers atrophy fo r they are intent solely on embellishing the imaginary, displayed self. Opinion begins to rule me n ' s hearts andme n become subjected to needs beyond their simple and natural preservation andare governed by imaginary p ain s an d pleasures. It is a subjection more disablingthan political servitude because it is an enslavement of th e human soul. Superfluous wants produce factitious ills, and the ma n subject to them finds that he haslost c on tr ol o ve r his life.

This pathology of amour-propre occupies much of Rousseau's writings. Atthe point of its development, amour-propre has become the divisive passion thataccounts fo r all men's misery. When me n compare themselves to others, they return to themselves either satisfied or unhappy. They wish to be es teemed, andthey believe that their happiness is very much the product of how they stand inrelation to others. Appearance then becomes th e primary purpose of human striving as m en seek glory, honour, and precedence over others. Here amour-propreanimates ambi t ion , greed, revenge, pride, hatred, malice and distrust; life becomes a race whose only garland is being foremost. Men relentlessly seek to obtain a worth in the eyes of others. They will allow no more superiority over themselves. This is combined with a constant apprehension that others might strive toattain it. From this emerges a desire to gain superiority over others by any means.Now me n are exactly as Hobbes had described them: predatory competitorswh o assert their wills and want others to value their superiority at the same rateas they set upon it themselves. Moreover, spying out the motives of others, a


27/164

Rousseau and the Management of the Passions 165man sees others acting with the same intentions. Hatred and misery are producedwhen a man observer amour-propre in others because it opposes and limits hisown. This is particularly th e case when a man sees another enjoying pleasures,achieving honor or glory, or gaining any position of superiority. Amour-proprein this form is a factor separating men; the desire to be foremost makes rivals ofartists, statesmen, heroes, and philosophers. Nothing is more pleasing to a manthan himself and since he values only what pleases him, he constantly makes unjust comparisons, partial to only his own particular case.

Amour-propre is also responsible fo r the political hierarchies formerly ju stified by the classical accounts of the soul. The ethic of honor is exposed inRousseau's account to be a corrupt form of amour-propre. Glory and honor, hewrites , are "illusions of th e passions."36 The magnanimity expressed by th e virtuous man in classical thought is, as it was fo r Hobbes, only a disguise of vanity;courage is simply an expression of self-love and does not represent a more noble ,or elevated, condition of mankind. Men's pride is misplaced, fo r it depends onth e imaginary existence of a natural, hierarchical order and the privileged position of man in that order. The morality of honor, pride, and magnanimity are corruptions that have caused discord, enmity, and oppression.

Rousseau's solution to human ills is not to devise social institutions to alleviate these distortions of th e human soul. Rousseau's account is innovative because he employs the notion of man's perfectibility to solve the problem ofamour-propre. Rousseau denies that th e corruption of amour-propre need be itsnatural development. Whereas Hobbes had seen the vicious passions as irreducible and natural forms of self-love, Rousseau suggests that they are derivativeand secondary transformations of the underlying source, amour-propre .

The picture of the social development of amour-propre that Rousseau paintsends with certain qualifications:

Extend these ideas and you will see where our amour-propre gets the form we believenatural to it and how amour de soi, ceasing to be an absolute sentiment, becomes pridein great souls, vanity in small ones, and feeds itself constantly in all at th e expense oftheir neighbors.37

This passage suggests that amour-propre does not naturally feed at the expenseof others nor does it naturally assume the forms it has taken on in social life. Thecorrupt forms of amour-propre can instead, Rousseau appears to propose, beforestalled by a proper nurture of that dominant passion.Subsequently he reveals that it can be used for good ends. "Amour-propre is a

useful but dangerousinstrument."38

The passion is morally indifferent, becoming advantageous or disruptive on the basis of the object toward which it is directed. It need not produce an acceptance of another's opinions and th e conse-

36. IV, 534-37. IV, 494.38. IV, 536.


28/164

166 Interpretationquent dependency. ludiciously used, th e comparisons it makes can be used forother, more advantageous tasks.39 Rousseau reveals that the sorts of comparisons made determine whether th e modifications of amour-propre are natural ornot:

. . as soon as amour-propre has developed, th e relative / is constantly in play and th eyoung man never observes others without returning to himself and comparing himselfwith them. The issue, then, is to know in what rank among his fellows he will put himself after having examined them.40

The issue thus is not whether Emile will exercise his amour-propre but whetherhe will be free or dependent on the basis of these comparisons and whether hewill judge on his own standards or another's once he has made th e comparison.

W e now can suggest a more satisfactory account of Rousseau's revised criterion fo r distinguishing th e natural from the artificial. Amour-propre generatescomparisons of which th e majority lead to a man's enslavement. Here his absolute sentiment of preoccupation is eroded and his happiness becomes more intangible or even lost because it depends on others. Enslaved to others he can nolonger assure himself of his own contentedness. If he were to make judgmentsthat did not have this effect while at the same t ime developing a more intense andlasting happiness, this would indicate a positive development in his character.The judgments and resulting passions that produce freedom thus conform to nature because they recapture in part his original state and make him happy andself-sufficient; those which issue in dependency are factitious.

It is up to the tutor to determine whether amour-propre will provide th e soulwith generous or irascible passions. Rousseau makes clear that it should be usedto construct healthy sentiments and this will depend decisively upon th e sorts ofjudgments made:

. th e first sentiment aroused in him by this comparison is th e desire to be in th e firstposition. This is th e point where amour de soi turns into amour-propre and where begin to arise all th e passions which depend on this one . But to decide whether amongthese passions th e dominant ones in his character will be humane or gentle or cruel andmalignant , whether they will be passions of beneficence and commiseration or of envyand covetousness, we must know what position he will feel he ha s among men . . 41

The comparisons Emile makes are crucial in determining th e state of health of hispassions. It is imperative that Emile judge prudently and surely. Employing th e

39. Locke had, on th e one hand, recognized th e passion amour-propre as "the principal springand direction from which th e actions of men take their rise" and attributes to it all th e significanceRousseau does. Yet, he argues fo r reasoning with children fo r "they love to be treated as rationalcreatures"nd reason " shou ld be th e greatest instrument to turn them by" (Section 81, SomeThoughts Concerning Education). Rousseau is decidedly more consistent, recognizing that sinceamour-propre is th e most powerful passion, it is th e passion by which th e lessons of reason must bedeveloped.

40. IV , 534.41. IV , 523.


29/164

Rousseau an d the Management of the Passions 167theory of countervailing passions , and in the absence of an a uto no mo us a nd c reative reason to guarantee prudence, Rousseau enlists another passion to achieveth e moderation of amour-propre. This passion is to ensure th e soundness ofEmile's judgment with respect to th e comparisons he makes , and create a socialvirtue.

Whereas it is amour-propre which causes me n to stray from sound deliberation, it is fear which ensures that men engage and develop their prudence.Amour-propre is th e passion that disguises from m en the reality of their existence, obscuring the real limitations of life. From th e imaginary world of power ,precedence, and vain hopes, m en must be awakened by th e brute resistance ofth e real world. Just as Hobbes had conceived his political project as awakeningme n from their complacency, Rousseau seeks to remind forgetful me n of justhow much they have to fear. Fea r counsels well , and Rousseau follows a tradition of modern thinkers wh o recognized that fear is a s ta ble a nd certain passionon which to ground an effective morality.

Rousseau adopts part of Hobbes's analysis of fear as the basis of his own.There are tw o features in particular which are important fo r our purpose. First,Hobbes identifies fear as the enduring basis of sound reasoning about the relat ions among men. Stressing and intensifying the fear of th e consequences of th estate of n ature and w hat m en would experience at th e hands of other self-seekingmen , in the absence of sovereign power , Hobbes magnifies the concern for security an d derives from it th e motive fo r abiding by th e law. Prudent calculatingme n wh o fear m uch and who can reck on the means of avoiding death discoverth e meaning of justice. For Hobbes, fear is to be used fo r a specific political task,namely to guarantee obedience to the law. His state of nature doctrine reveals th einsubstantiality of imaginary aspirations (self-sufficiency and unenlightened self-interest, love of honor an d vanity, and r el ig io us o bl ig at io ns n ot commanded byth e sovereign) that raise hopes of avoiding th e fundamental a nd p er m an en t vu lnerability of men. Death is a natural and p o w er fu l s an c ti on for injustice and isthus used by Hobbes to restore me n to right reasoning. Fear of violent death dissolves th e appearance of the pleasures to be obtained from th e imaginary goodsm en pursue an d makes them acutely aware of the pains they can avoid. Thussound reasoning about obligation emerges not from consideration of th e greatand noble ends me n may achieve, fo r these are a product of vanity, but fromwhat is most powerful and real in me n ' s lives. Fearfulness of death rather thanagreeableness of life keeps me n on the straight and n ar ro w ro ad to justice. Feardispels vanity an d enlightens me n to th e true precariousness of their condition.

The second feature of Hobbes 's account has to do with th e precise descriptionof the fundamental fear. He describes it as no t simply fear of death but fear of violent death. For Hobbes, m en are relative creatures; their happiness is notable felicity, their satisfaction is recognized superiority, and their fear is that of dishonor. Their appetites or aversions are no t merely sensual but compounded with


30/164

16 8 Interpretationth e praise or blame of others. Fear is the perception of not being capable of maintaining precedence. For Hobbes, fear is not simply that of being denied the nextpleasure but of losing superiority: " . . continually to be out-gone is misery,continually to out-go the next before is felicity. And to forsake the course is todie."42 Whereas animals fear anything that produces displeasure, men's feararises from a consideration of others in the race.

The worry of being denied felicity or notable success prefigures the ultimatefear death. The fear is of violent death because the emphasis is on losing stature at th e hands of and in th e eyes of others . Aversion from shameful death is th emain part of fear. The man who desires honor more than he fears dishonor is notacting prudently. The vanity associated with imagining future pleasures feeds atth e expense of others. Only fear can purge this excess of expectation and therebymake men prudent. In the absence of a regulating reason, th e passion of fear ofviolent death must generate a moderation of desire and dispel the vanity associated with pleasures.

For Rousseau too, as we have seen, vanity or amour-propre is the passion tobe combatted. As fo r Hobbes, fear is the tool he uses; not a lofty virtue or an independent reason but a solid passion serves to moderate or mute th e vicious passions of amour-propre and ensure that a man acts prudently. However, Rousseau's notion of fear is more comprehensive than that of Hobbes. Emile is madeprudent not merely by th e fear of violent death. In fact, Rousseau applies hisgeneral critique of Hobbes particularly to his analysis of fear. Hobbes had imported th e passions of social men into his understanding of natural men. His viewof the fear of violent death was artificially contrived for it made necessary th etransition to civil life. Rousseau accuses Hobbes of so restricting the fear ofdeath that an autocratic society becomes a logical necessity as a solution to whatwould otherwise be terror. Hobbes was contradictory, Rousseau claims, fo r although he described man as naturally apolitical, individualistic, and independent, he also described the natural condition as one where th e passions displayedin it could only be understood by reference to social conditions.

Thus Emile's fear is not as narrowly focussed. His fears are not meant to behistorically or socially contingent but rather to relate to th e natural facts of life.His is a more comprehensive and consistent fear that intrudes to every facet ofhis life, even in th e absence of spectators. Thus Rousseau's concern is not mereallegiance to a sovereign and a guarantee that a citizen would keep his obligations, but a more sustaining bond between men. Hobbes had suggested that feargives rise to th e narrow calculation of self-interest. Rousseau takes this one stepfurther: Emile's fearfulness will be channelled to provide fo r a social virtue thatis a more reliable and socially binding force in men's coexistence. Fear becomesan even more creative and positive passion in Rousseau's account, for he willcombine it with amour-propre to create a virtue. Out of fearfulness fo r himself,

42. Thomas Hobbes, Elements of the Law. i.ix.21.


31/164

Rousseau and the Management of the Passions 16 9and exposed to the common lo t of men , Emile will extend his care for himselfto others, at the same t ime satisfying his relative regard for h imself. WhereasHobbes's fear drives men into th e private calculation of their interests, Rousseau's fear extends men into the commonality of their social existence. Beforewe turn to th is manipulation of the passions, le t us step back and observe howEmile's fear is fabricated.

Throughout his education Emile regularly is reminded of his vulnerability, th eprecariousness of human life, and his susceptibility to pain and suffering: "themore he gets used to suffering ... th e more th e sting of strangeness is taken fromhim."41 He is to be made conscious of th e variability and flux of life, made vulnerable to the countless accidents which prevail in men's lives, and accustomedto an increasing severity in feeling th e harshness of man's lot. A fearfulness connected to man's corporal condition is to be a major part of Emile's perception ofexistence. The frontispiece to this stage of his education depicts Achilles beingdipped into th e river Styx. Emile too is to be made invulnerable and this is to beachieved by impressing his precariousness upon him. However, rather than intending to produce courage as th e virtue, Emile is to be brought to a sense of fearand the ability to be adaptable: "one must show him the sad lives of man's love,one must make him fear it."44

The training of this virtue is initially wholly somatic. The hardy constitutionof th e body prepares a mind that will not be overwhelmed by alteration. Rousseau claims that at an early age a "primitive vigor"must be inculcated so as toprevent that "importunate sensitivity"that cannot withstand the shock of change.The child's "fibres" are still soft and flexible and so can be prepared for later. Afuture state of mind appears as an effect of the interaction between external stimulus and the constitution of the body. What begins as a "salutary precaution fo rmaking th e texture of th e fibres more flexible and able to adapt becomes amodel fo r future mental and moral flexibility.45 Becoming accustomed to increasing burdens of physical severity prepares Emile's sensibility for futuremoral severity.

There are tw o prominent examples of the tutor contriving Emile's lessons soas to harden his soul by fear. A t one point th e tutor reveals that vices are reallysomatic diseases. Emile thus learns to fear to o excessive and felicitous an exuberance by th e aversion he has to being bedridden and treated as ill. He moderates himself through fear of suffering. Much later, but continuing this samepsychological principle, Rousseau deadens th e rampant excursions of Emile'simagination by exposing him to hunting and to death. Emile's nascent sexualpassion is suppressed by a "ferociouspassion"nd he is "accustomed to blood,to cruelty"o as to prevent a premature softening of th e soul. Rousseau writes,"it is enough fo r me that it serves to suspend a more dangerouspassion de-

43- IV , 378.44. IV , 507.45. IV , 278.


32/164

170 Interpretationfense of such sanguinary preoccupations.46 Inclination is curbed through exposure to the mortal condition of all animate life; the "drunkenness ofpassismuted by th e fear of death and th e sense of suffering. Thus not reason but fear isthe instrument used to ensure moderation. Fearfulness brings him to reasonableness fo r consciousness of th e precariousness of human life particularly mutes theeffects of vanity and imaginary hopes.

That it is fo r this purpose of forestalling an imaginary sense of superiority that Rousseau awakens Emile's fearfulness is made clear somewhat later:"Let his haughty head at an early age feel th e harsh yoke that nature imposes onman , th e heavy yoke of necessity under which every finite being must bend."47Rousseau thus indicates his intention to prevent perceptions of reality which areproducts of amour-propre . The capriciousness and irregularity of most men's experiences lead to distortions of their understanding. M en exaggerate their ownpowers or claim too high a station fo r themselves . Fear returns men to their mortal condi t ion; as a reliable counselor, it prevents men from such errors that arisefrom overestimating their own powers.

This limited, and hence sound, self-consciousness is th e basis of man's perception of his place in the world. His is not th e proud bearing of the magnanimous man who knows his privileged place, nor th e bold confidence of th e manwho stands above nature , creating meaning sole ly for himself and determininghis own des tiny. The stance in def iance of nature leads to the domineering hubrisof the man who sees himself th e master of th e universe. Rousseau s fearing manlives neither in respect and awe of nature's beneficence and thus led naturally tocontemplate on eternity, nor do es he dominate over nature and thus reflect on hisfreedom. Rousseau's man does not transcend his particular, miserable existence,nor withdraw in abject self-pity. Rather, he extends his sentiments to othersuffer ing, fearing men and thus forms a social bond with them.

Fearfulness and his perception of precariousness ensure that Emile is conscious of his real nature as a suffering being. He is t

Documents

Interpretation, Vol 13-2