# The principle of federation and the need to reconstitute the party of revolution. Full 31 chapters version

Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, Lingkai Kong

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Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, Lingkai Kong. The principle of federation and the need to reconstitute the party of revolution. Full 31 chapters version. Open Democracy & Stettbach Press, pp.292, 2025, 978-1739325770. hal-05243823

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Open Democracy
& Stettbach Press
The principle of federation and the need to reconstitute the party of
revolution. Full 31 chapters version.

Author: Pierre-Joseph Proudhon

Translator: Lingkai Kong

Editor: Lingkai Kong

Copyright @ Open Democracy & Stettbach Press 2025

This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to
the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no
reproduction of any part may take place without the permission of Open
Democracy & Stettbach Press.

ISBN: 978-1-7393257-7-0 (paperback)

Type set in Palatino Linotype

Printed in USA/France

Published by Open Democracy & Stettbach Press

219 Kensington High Street, Kensington, London W8 6BD
The principle of federation and the
need to reconstitute the party of
revolution. Full 31 chapters version.

I Du principe fédératif et de la nécessité de
reconstituer le parti de la révolution

Pierre-Joseph Proudhon

Translator & Editor: Lingkai Kong

<figure><img src="image_3.png" /></figure>
[This page intentionally left blank.]
*The principle of federation and the need to reconstitute the party of revolution. Full 31 chapters version.*
[This page intentionally left blank.]
To Assoc. Prof. Dr. Devrim Sezer in Izmir University of
Economics, whose guidance illuminated me the path through
federalist thought.

-Translator: Lingkai Kong
Content

Content ................................................................................................................VIII

Preface by Translator ..................................................................................XII

Preface 1863 ..................................................................................................1

Part 1 ................................................................................................................9

Chapter 1:

Political Dualism—Authority and Liberty:
Opposition and Interconnection of the Two Ideas................10

Chapter 2:

A Priori Conceptions of Political Order: Regime of
Authority, Regime of Liberty ..................................................14

Chapter 3:

Forms of Government ....................................................................19

Chapter 4:

Compromise Between the Principles: Origins of
Political Contradictions ..........................................................26

Chapter 5:

De Facto Governments: Social Dissolution .........................32

Chapter 6:

The Political Problem Posed: The Principle of a
Solution ....................................................................................42

Chapter 7:

Isolation of the Idea of Federation ....................................49

Chapter 8:

A Progressive Constitution ....................................................60

Chapter 9:
<table>
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td>What Has Delayed Federation; Factors Hindering the Idea</td>
      <td>70</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 10:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Political Idealism: Efficacy of Federal Guarantees</td>
      <td>81</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 11:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Economic Sanctions: The Agro-Industrial Federation</td>
      <td>94</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Part 2</td>
      <td>104</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 1:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>The Jacobin Tradition: Federalist Gaul, Monarchical France</td>
      <td>105</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 2:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Democracy Since December 2nd</td>
      <td>112</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 3:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Democratic Monogram. Unity</td>
      <td>119</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 4:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Unitary Maneuver</td>
      <td>123</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 5:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Launching the Campaign: The Federation Suppressed</td>
      <td>127</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 6:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Villafranca: Contradictory Politics</td>
      <td>134</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 7:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>The Papacy and Religious Sects</td>
      <td>139</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 8:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Danger of Political and Commercial Rivalry Between France and Italy Under the Unitary System</td>
      <td>150</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 9:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
<table>
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td>Difficulties of the Situation in 1859</td>
      <td>158</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 10:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Garibaldi's Plan: Italian Unity Fails Due to the Democrats' Fault</td>
      <td>162</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 11:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Hypothesis of a Solution Through the Federative Principle</td>
      <td>169</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Part 3</td>
      <td>177</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 1:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>On the Dignity of Journalists. Influence of Unitarianism on the Reason and Conscience of Writers</td>
      <td>178</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 2:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Le Siècle: Unitary Hallucinations of Mr. Taxile Delort</td>
      <td>187</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 3:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>L'Opinion nationale: Mr. Guéroult's See-Saw Politics</td>
      <td>193</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 4:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>La Presse, La Patrie, Le Pays, Les Débats, L'Écho de la Presse, La Revue nationale</td>
      <td>206</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 5:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Le Temps, L'Indépendant (of Charente-Inférieure), Le Journal des Deux-Sèvres. Mental Servitude of Mr. Nefftzer</td>
      <td>217</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Chapter 6:</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>Le Progrès (of Lyon). Catholic-Jacobin Paralogisms of Mr. Frédéric Morin</td>
      <td>225</td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
<table><tr><td>Chapter 7:<br/>Moral and Political Questions: The Reason of State</td><td>238</td></tr><tr><td>Chapter 8:<br/>On the Political Oath</td><td>246</td></tr><tr><td>Chapter 9:<br/>Slavery and the Proletariat</td><td>257</td></tr><tr><td>Conclusion</td><td>266</td></tr><tr><td>Index</td><td>275</td></tr></table>
Preface by *Translator*

Pierre-Joseph Proudhon's *The Principle of Federation and the Need to Reconstitute the Party of Revolution* (1863) remains one of the most underappreciated works in the history of federal political thought. Though Proudhon is often remembered as a foundational figure in anarchist theory, this particular text— written near the end of his life— has not received the attention it deserves. My hope in translating this work is to make its provocative arguments accessible to a broader English-speaking audience and to spark renewed discussion on federalism.

In fact, an English version of this work already exists—the 1979 translation by distinguished scholar Richard Vernon. However, that edition only covers 12 of the original French version's 31 chapters. Richard Vernon selectively translated what he considered to be the most crucial content of the book. On the other hand, I believe there is value in producing a complete English translation of the entire work. This would not only allow for a more accurate understanding of Proudhon's original meaning, but also help maintain the text's integrity and coherence. Therefore, the contribution of this translation lies in being the first to render all 31 chapters of the complete work into English.

Proudhon wrote *The Principle of Federation* in the aftermath of the failed revolutions of 1848 and amid the rise of centralized nation-states under figures like Napoleon III. Disillusioned with both authoritarian state socialism and liberal capitalism, he sought a third way: a
political system based on voluntary association, mutualism, and decentralized governance. At its heart, the book is a critique of Jacobin centralization and an argument for federalism as the true form of revolutionary politics. Proudhon envisions a society where power flows from local communes upward, rather than being imposed from a distant capital.

Crucially, Proudhon also calls for the "reconstitution of the revolutionary party"— not as a vanguardist elite, but as a decentralized movement committed to dismantling state authority while preventing new forms of domination. His ideas anticipate later debates in libertarian socialism, syndicalism, and even contemporary movements for municipalism and participatory democracy.

In an era of resurgent nationalism, bureaucratic centralization, and disillusionment with traditional leftist strategies, Proudhon's federalist alternative demands reconsideration. His critique of top-down revolution and his insistence on local autonomy resonate with contemporary movements seeking radical democracy beyond the state. This book is not just a historical artifact but a living challenge—to rethink how freedom and order can coexist, how revolution can avoid becoming its own tyranny, and how a truly emancipatory politics might be structured. I hope this translation contributes to that conversation.

Translator: Lingkai Kong
Izmir, Turkey, 2025
Preface 1863

A few months ago, when Belgian newspapers accused me of advocating for the annexation of their country to France— simply because I defended federation over unity in an article about Italy— my surprise was considerable. I couldn't tell whether it was public hallucination or a police trap, and my first response was to ask my accusers if they had actually read my work— and if so, whether they seriously believed such a charge. The absurd quarrel ended predictably for me. After an exile of over four years, I hadn't rushed to return to France despite the amnesty; instead, I abruptly acted.

Yet upon returning home, when the democratic press, on the same pretext, accused me of betraying the Revolution— no longer labeling me an annexationist but an apostate— my astonishment reached its peak. I wondered if I were an Epimenides emerging from a century-long slumber, or if French democracy itself had regressed, following Belgian liberalism's lead. Federation and counter-revolution (or annexation) seemed irreconcilable, yet I recoiled from believing my own party— the one I'd long supported— had collectively abandoned its principles, even betraying the country in its fever for unification. Was I going mad, or had the world begun spinning backward without my notice?

Like La Fontaine's rat,

"Suspecting some hidden trick at play,"
I decided the wisest course was to delay my response and observe the mood a while longer. I sensed I'd soon need to take a firm stand, but first had to orient myself on terrain that, since leaving France, seemed upheaved— where even familiar faces now wore strange masks.

Where does the French people stand today? What stirs in the different classes of society? What idea has taken root in public opinion, and what does the masses dream of? Where is the nation headed? Where lies the future? Whom do we follow, and by what do we swear?

Thus I went, questioning people and events, searching anxiously but gathering only bleak answers. Let me share my observations with the reader— they'll serve as my excuse for a task I admit is beyond my strength.

First, I examined the middle class— once called the *bourgeoisie*, though the name no longer fits. I found it clinging to its traditions, tendencies, and maxims, even as it hurtles toward proletarianization. Should this class regain power and draft a constitution reflecting its ideals, one could predict the outcome with certainty: barring dynastic preferences, it would revert to the systems of 1814 or 1830, perhaps tweaking royal prerogatives as in the post-1830 Charter amendment. In short, constitutional monarchy remains the bourgeois majority's silent faith— the limit of its self-confidence, with no thought or energy for anything beyond. Yet precisely because of this monarchist bent, the middle class— though deeply rooted in the present, and still the nation's most significant
segment by intellect, wealth, and numbers— cannot embody the future. It reveals itself as the party of the *status quo*— the *status quo* incarnate.

Next, I turned my gaze to the government—and to the party it primarily represents. I must say, I found both fundamentally unchanged, clinging to the Napoleonic ideal despite concessions forced upon them: by the spirit of the age on one side, and by the middle class's influence on the other— for no government can survive outside or against that class. Were the Empire freed to fully embrace its tradition, with power matching its will, we'd soon see the splendor of 1804 and 1809 alongside the borders of 1812. We'd witness a third Western Empire with its universal ambitions and unyielding autocracy. Yet precisely because of this adherence to its core idea, the Empire— though it embodies the present— cannot claim to represent the future. By asserting itself as conquering and autocratic, it denies liberty; and by promising to "crown the edifice," it admits to being transitional. "The Empire is peace," declared Napoleon III. Very well—but if the Empire is no longer war, does that not make it the *status quo*?

I observed the Church, and freely grant it this: it is immutable. Loyal to its dogma, morality, and discipline—as to its God—it concedes to modernity only in form, never in spirit. The Church may represent eternity, the purest expression of the *status quo*— but it is not progress. It cannot embody the future.
Like the middle class and dynastic factions, like the
Empire and the Church, Democracy too belongs to the
present— and will until class hierarchies vanish, until
monarchy and aristocratic pretensions perish, until
Church and priesthood dissolve, until political, economic,
and social leveling is complete. Since the French
Revolution, Democracy's motto has been *Liberty, Equality*.
As movement and life by nature, its cry was *Forward!* Thus
Democracy alone could declare itself— and be seen— as
the future's voice, especially after the First Empire's fall
and the middle class's rise. But to fulfill this role requires
principles, rights, science, and policies— foundations the
Revolution seemed to lay. Now, astonishingly, Democracy
betrays itself: severing ties to its origins, turning from its
destiny. Its conduct these three years has been abdication,
suicide. It remains part of the present—but as the party of
the future, it is extinct. The democratic conscience lies
empty— a deflated balloon tossed between cliques and
schemers, with none knowing how to reinflate it. Ideas?
Replaced by romantic whims, myths, idols. 1789 is
discarded; 1848 disgraced. No political sense, no moral
sense, no common sense— ignorance reigns, the old
inspiration lost. Posterity will scarcely believe that among
thousands reading subsidized newspapers, not one in a
thousand grasps—even instinctively—
what *federation* means. True, the Revolution's records offer
little guidance here—but the party of the future cannot
freeze in bygone passions. Democracy's duty is to generate
ideas and update its rallying cry. Federation is the new
name under which Liberty, Equality, and the Revolution's
full consequences appeared to Democracy in 1859. Yet
liberals and democrats saw only a reactionary plot!
Since universal suffrage's introduction, Democracy—believing its reign had come, its governance proven, with only personnel choices left to debate—decided to become a party of the *status quo*. Far from mastering affairs, it hastened to entrench inertia. But what happens when Democracy, the Revolution's heir, succumbs to inertia? It imagined its mission was to redress ancient injustices, resurrect crushed nations—to rewrite history! Hence its new banner: Nationality. Not content with the *status quo*, it turned regressive. And since Nationality—as Democracy interprets it—demands *Unity*, it sealed its apostasy by declaring itself absolute, indivisible, and immutable power.

Nationality and Unity—these are now the faith, the law, and the *raison d'état* of Democracy, its new gods. But for Democracy, "Nationality" is merely a word, representing nothing but phantoms in the minds of its adherents. As for "Unity," we shall see in this work what to make of such a system. For now, regarding Italy and the redrawing of its political map, I can say this: the unity that has so inflamed self-styled friends of progress is, in the eyes of its architects, nothing but a business venture—a major one, half dynastic and half financial, varnished with liberalism, flushed with conspiracy, where well-meaning but misled republicans serve as unwitting cover.

Such Democracy, such journalism. Since the days when I denounced the press's mercenary role in *The Stock Speculator's Handbook* (Manuel du spéculateur à la Bourse), that role has only expanded. What little reason, wit,
criticism, learning, or eloquence it once possessed has
dwindled — with rare exceptions — to two trade
terms: hack jobs and hype. Assigned to promote the Italian
venture like corporate stock, these estimable sheets (like a
claque obeying their ringleader) first branded me
a *mystifier, juggler, Bourbonist, papist, Erostratus, renegade, se
llout* — I spare you the litany. Then, adopting a calmer tone,
they recalled that I was the irreconcilable foe of Empire, all
government, Church, all religion, and even morality — a
materialist, anarchist, atheist, a literary Catiline sacrificing
decency and sense to notoriety, whose "exposed tactic"
was to slyly yoke Emperor and Pope against Democracy,
ruining all parties to erect a monument to my pride on
society's wreckage. Such was the substance of critiques
in *Le Siècle, L'Opinion nationale, La Presse, L'Écho de la
Presse, La Patrie, Le Pays, Les Débats* (I omit others — I
haven't read them all). Some even revived the claim that I
caused the Republic's fall, and a few addled democrats
whispered that such "scandals" wouldn't recur — that
Democracy had outgrown the follies of 1848, and I'd be
first to taste its "conservative bullets."

I don't mean to dignify these absurd attacks, worthy
only of the rags that spawned them. I cite them as proof of
journalism's sway and the public mood. While my
personal pride and civic conscience shrug off such assaults,
my duty as a revolutionary thinker cannot. I've had
enough of decrepit Democracy's slurs and its press's
vilification. After December 10, 1848, seeing the nation and
state aligned against what I deemed the Revolution, I tried
allying with a party that, though ideologically barren, at
least had numbers. That was a mistake — bitterly regretted,
but reversible. To matter, we must be ourselves. Federate
with rivals if needed, but never merge. These three
months have decided me irrevocably. Between a party
sunk in romanticism— one that finds tyranny in legal
philosophy and progress in stock-jobbing, that calls
absolutism republican virtue and liberty rebellion— and a
man seeking the Revolution's true justice, no common
ground exists. The break is necessary, and I make it
without hatred or fear.

In the first Revolution, the Jacobins periodically
"purified" their ranks. Today, I invite what remains of
1789's sincere adherents to a like reckoning. With an elite's
support and the masses' good sense, I for one break with a
faction that stands for nothing. Were we but a hundred
strong, it suffices for my task. Truth has always served its
persecutors; even if I fall to those I now oppose, I'll console
myself that once my voice is silenced, my ideas will find
justice—and my enemies, in time, become my apologists.

But why presume conflict? There will be neither battle
nor execution— public judgment has already vindicated
me. Did not several papers circulate rumors that my
forthcoming reply would be titled *The Iscariots* (Les
Iscariotes)?... No court rivals the tribunal of opinion. Yet
I'd be wrong to use that bloody title (however deserved for
some), for in these two months studying men's souls, I've
found Democracy swarms not just with Judases but with
far more Saint Peters— and I write for the latter at least as
much as the former. I forgo the thrill of vendetta; I'll count
myself blessed if, like the Passion's rooster, I can awaken
so many faltering hearts to conscience and reason.
Since my earlier literary— not didactic— essay was
willfully misread, I must now adopt scholastic methods
and argue systematically. This unavoidably lengthy work
divides thus: First (and most urgent for my estranged
political brethren): establishing foundational principles to
heal their addled reason; Next, applying these to Italy's
crisis and global affairs, exposing unitary politics' folly
and immorality; Lastly, rebutting journalists (friendly or
hostile) who engaged my last work, using their examples
to show how mass reason falters under theories that crush
individuality.

To readers of all views who treated my Italian
observations with respect despite disagreeing, I beg
continued goodwill. Amid our moral chaos— where
parties differ only by ribbon colors like tournament
knights— I strive to consecrate ground where
well-meaning men from all horizons may clasp hands and
speak a common tongue. That ground is Law, Morality,
Liberty, and reverence for Humanity in all forms—
Individual, Family, Association, City— where pure Justice
unites generous souls beyond party, school, creed,
nostalgia, or hope. As for that crumbling faction that
shamed me for earning (its words) "applause" from
legitimist, clerical, and imperial presses, one word suffices:
the shame— if any— is theirs. They should have
applauded; my greatest service is proving it.
# Part 1

## On the Principle of Federation
Chapter 1: Political Dualism—Authority and
Liberty: Opposition and Interconnection of the Two
Ideas

Before defining federation, we must trace the idea's
origins. Though the theory of federalism is novel—indeed,
I believe I'm its first proponent—it's deeply rooted in
governmental theory. More precisely, it's that theory's
inevitable conclusion.

Among countless constitutions proposed by
philosophers and tested by history, only one meets the
essential conditions of justice, order, liberty, and durability
that society and individuals require. Truth, like nature, is
singular— how could humanity's supreme creation,
society, be otherwise? Political thinkers universally
acknowledge this unity of human law (while allowing for
variations across eras, cultures, and national character).
My task is to prove this ideal constitution— humanity's
ultimate rational achievement—is none other than
federalism. Any deviation represents mere provisional
compromise, like a nomad's tent pitched at dusk and
struck at dawn. This demands rigorous analysis. Readers
must grasp one fundamental truth: while political
application varies infinitely, its governing principles form
an exact science— no less demonstrable than geometry or
algebra.

All political systems rest on two opposing principles:
*Authority* (the initiating force); *Liberty* (the determining
force). The first demands obedience; the second, free
reason.

None dispute this dichotomy. Authority and liberty
are as ancient as humanity— born with us, enduring
within us. Yet few notice their paradoxical relationship:
though inseparable, they remain eternally antagonistic.
Authority requires liberty to recognize or reject it; liberty
requires authority to restrain or tolerate it. Remove one,
and the other becomes meaningless. Authority without
resisting liberty is empty; liberty without
counterbalancing authority is chaos.

Authority— familial, patriarchal, magisterial,
monarchic, theocratic— hierarchical and centralizing by
nature, is fatal or divine— choose your term. Though
opposed, its influence may expand or contract, but never
vanish.

Liberty— personal, individualistic, critical— divides,
chooses, and compromises. As the Mind's principle, it
transcends nature and fate. Though its scope may vary,
like authority, it can neither exhaust itself through
expansion nor be crushed by constraint.

This leads to an inescapable conclusion: every society,
no matter how authoritarian, must allow some liberty;
conversely, even the freest society reserves space for
authority. This condition is absolute— no political system
can escape it. Despite reason's constant effort to unify
diversity, these two principles remain locked in opposition.
All political movement stems from their inevitable tension
and mutual reaction.
Admittedly, this may seem obvious. Many readers
might ask if this elementary observation is all I offer. No
one denies Nature or Mind, however obscure their
workings; no theorist rejects Authority or Liberty outright,
though reconciling, separating, or eliminating them
appears equally impossible. Why then belabor such
truisms?

Here's why: Every political constitution (federation included) reduces to one formula: *the balancing of Authority by Liberty, and vice versa*. Aristotle's categories (*monarchy, aristocracy, democracy, etc.*)— excepting federation— are merely hypothetical, empirical constructs where reason and justice find only partial satisfaction. These systems, built on the same flawed premises and differing only in interests, prejudices, or routine, fundamentally resemble and equal one another. Were it not for the discontent bred by these false systems—with aggrieved passions, suffering interests, and wounded vanities all blaming each other—we'd nearly agree on essentials. All party divisions, ideological clashes, and wealth disparities that seem irreconcilable will soon find their resolution in federalist theory.

"So much weight," you might say, "on a grammatical
opposition: *Authority-Liberty!*" Precisely. I've observed that
ordinary minds (even children) grasp truth more readily
when distilled to abstract formulas than buried in volumes
of analysis. My aim is twofold: to shorten this study for
those with little time to read, and to make it more decisive
by working with simple concepts. *Authority* vs. *Liberty*—
two ideas opposed yet bound to struggle or perish
together— is hardly complex. Patient reader, if you've
understood this brief chapter, you'll soon judge for
yourself whether I'm right.
Chapter 2: *A Priori* Conceptions of Political Order:
Regime of Authority, Regime of Liberty

We have established the two fundamental and
opposing principles of all government: Authority and
Liberty.

Given humanity's tendency to reduce ideas to a single
principle— eliminating those that seem incompatible—
two distinct systems emerge *a priori* from these concepts,
depending on which principle is favored: *The Authoritarian
System*; *The Libertarian System*.

Furthermore, since society consists of individuals, and
the relationship between individual and group can be
politically conceived in four ways, we derive four
governmental forms— two for each system:

I. *Authoritarian System*

A) Government of all by one— Monarchy or Patriarchy;

a) Government of all by all — *Panarchy* or *Communism*.

Key trait: Indivisibility of power

II. *Libertarian System*

B) Government of all by each — Democracy;

b) Government of each by each— *Anarchy* or *Self-rule*.

Key trait: Division of power
That's it— no more, no less. This classification, derived *a priori* from the nature of things and logical deduction, is mathematically precise. If politics is, as ancient legislators assumed, a syllogistic construction, it cannot logically fall short of or exceed these categories. The simplicity is striking: from the beginning, rulers of every system have tried to derive their constitutions from a single principle. Logic and good faith are paramount in politics— yet therein lies the trap.

Observations:

I. We know how monarchical government is established, the primitive expression of the principle of authority. M. de Bonald has told us: it is through paternal authority. The family is the embryo of monarchy. The earliest states were generally families or tribes governed by their natural leader— husband, father, patriarch, ultimately king.

Under this regime, the development of the state occurs in two ways: 1. through generation or natural multiplication of the family, tribe or race; 2. through adoption, that is, through the voluntary or forced incorporation of neighboring families and tribes, but in such a way that the united tribes form with the mother tribe but a single family, a common domesticity. This development of the monarchical state can reach immense proportions, extending to hundreds of millions of men, spread over hundreds of thousands of square leagues.

Panarchy, pantocracy or community arises naturally
through the death of the monarch or family head, and the
declaration by subjects, brothers, children or associates to
remain undivided, without electing a new leader. This
political form is rare, if indeed examples exist, authority
being heavier and individuality more oppressed there
than under any other. It has scarcely been adopted except
by religious associations, which in all countries and under
all creeds have tended toward the annihilation of liberty.
But the idea is nonetheless given a priori, like the
monarchical idea; it will find its application in de facto
governments, and we had to mention it at least for the
record.

Thus monarchy, founded in nature, consequently
justified in its idea, has its legitimacy and morality: and
the same holds for communism. But we shall soon see that
these two varieties of the same regime cannot, despite
their concrete basis and rational deduction, maintain
themselves in the rigor of their principle and the purity of
their essence, that they are consequently condemned to
remain forever in a hypothetical state. Indeed, despite
their patriarchal origin, their mild temperament, their
affectation of absolutism and divine right, monarchy and
community, preserving in their development the sincerity
of their type, are found nowhere.

II. How, then, does democratic government— the
spontaneous expression of liberty— emerge? Jean-Jacques
Rousseau and the Revolution taught us: through social
contract. Here, physiology plays no role. The state arises
not from organic nature (flesh) but from intelligible nature
(mind).
Under this system, the state expands through voluntary accession. Just as all citizens are presumed to have signed the initial contract, newcomers must likewise adhere to it— this is the price of citizenship. If the state wages war and conquers, its principles demand that it grant the conquered the same rights as its native citizens (*isonomy*). The Romans exemplified this with their extension of citizenship. Even children, upon reaching majority, are symbolically sworn into the pact. Unlike monarchy (where subjects' children inherit subjecthood) or Spartan/Platonic communes (where children belong to the state), democracy requires conscious choice of its liberal system, regardless of birthright.

The same applies to families, cities, or provinces joining the state: liberty alone motivates and legitimizes their inclusion.

Thus, the expansion of liberal, contractual democracy contrasts starkly with patriarchal, authoritarian monarchy or communism. And just as monarchy's growth knows no natural bounds (inspiring dreams of universal monarchy or messianic rule), democracy's expansion also defies limits— hence the vision of a universal republic.

As a subset of the liberal regime, I've noted anarchy— *self-government* where each rules oneself. The term "anarchic government" seems contradictory, even absurd. Yet the flaw lies only in language: *anarchism* is as rational a political concept as any. It reduces political functions to industrial ones, letting social order emerge solely from
transactions and exchanges. Each individual becomes autocrat of themselves—the polar opposite of monarchic absolutism.

Like monarchy and communism (legitimate yet unrealizable in pure form), democracy and anarchy—grounded in liberty and law—pursue ideals aligned with their principles. Yet we'll see that despite their juridical and rationalist origins, they too cannot sustain their purity as they grow in population and territory. They remain perpetual desiderata. For all liberty's allure, neither democracy nor anarchy has ever existed in full, unblemished form.
Chapter 3: Forms of Government

Yet it is with these fundamental concepts that all
governments since the beginning of time have been
established, and it is through them that we shall unravel
the enigma of politics—if only we are willing to make the
effort. Forgive me then for insisting on these points, as one
does when teaching children the basics of grammar.

In all that precedes, you will not find a single word
that is not perfectly exact. This is how we reason in pure
mathematics. The source of our errors lies not in using
these concepts, but in the exclusions we permit ourselves
to make under the pretext of logic when applying them.

a) *Authority* and *Liberty*— these are indeed the two poles of politics. Their antithetical, diametrical, contradictory opposition guarantees that no third term exists between them. Between yes and no, as between being and non-being, logic admits no middle ground<fnref n="1" />.

b) The interconnectedness of these concepts, their irreducibility, and their dynamic tension are equally demonstrable. They cannot exist without each other; we

<footnote n="1">¹ Becoming is not— despite what certain more mystical than profound philosophers have claimed— a middle term between being and non-being; becoming is the movement of being, it is being in its life and manifestations.</footnote>
can neither eliminate one nor the other, nor resolve them
into a common expression. As for their movement, simply
bringing them into contact sets them in motion— each
striving to absorb the other and expand at its expense.

c) From these two concepts emerge two distinct
systems for society: the *authoritarian system* and the
*libertarian system*, each capable of taking two different
forms— no more, no less. Authority achieves its full
grandeur only in social collectivity, and thus can only be
expressed and exercised either by the collectivity itself or
by a subject that personifies it. Similarly, liberty is perfect
only when guaranteed to all— whether through universal
participation in government or through its delegation to
none. There is no escaping these alternatives: *rule of all by
all* or *rule of all by one* for the authoritarian system; *shared
governance by each* or *self-governance by each* for the
libertarian system. These alternatives are as inevitable as
unity and plurality, hot and cold, light and darkness.
"But," one might object, "have we not seen governments
controlled by some portion of the nation to the exclusion
of others— *aristocracy*, rule by the upper classes; *ochlocracy*,
rule by the mob; *oligarchy*, rule by a faction?" The
observation is correct— such governments have existed.
But these are *de facto* governments, products of usurpation,
violence, reaction, transition, and empiricism, where all
principles are simultaneously adopted yet equally violated,
misunderstood and confused. Here we are concerned with
*a priori* governments conceived according to logic and
based on a single principle.

Let me reiterate: there is nothing arbitrary in rational
politics, which must ultimately align with practical politics. Arbitrariness stems neither from nature nor from reason; it is born neither from necessity nor from infallible dialectic. Arbitrariness, do you know whose child it is? Its name tells you: free will, liberty itself. How remarkable! Liberty's true enemy is not ultimately Authority, which all men worship as if it were Justice, but Liberty itself—the liberty of princes, of elites, of multitudes, disguised under the mask of Authority.

Having defined the *a priori* types of government, let us now examine their forms.

By forms of government we mean the manner in which Power is distributed and exercised. Naturally and logically, these forms correspond to the principle, formation, and law of each system.

Just as the father in the primitive family, the patriarch in the tribe, is simultaneously master of the household, the chariot or the tent—owner, lord, proprietor of the land, the herds and their increase, farmer, industrialist, manager, merchant, sacrificer, warrior—so too in monarchy, the Prince is at once legislator, administrator, judge, general, and high priest. He holds eminent domain over land and rent; he is head of arts and crafts, commerce, agriculture, navy, public education, invested with all rights and authority. In short, the king is society's representative, its incarnation—the State is him. The *concentration* or *indivision of powers* characterizes royalty. To the principle of authority distinguishing both family father and monarch comes as corollary the principle of universal competence.
A war chief like Joshua; a judge like Samuel; a priest like Aaron; a king like David; a lawgiver like Moses, Solon, Lycurgus, Numa—all these titles united in one person: such is the spirit of monarchy, such are its forms.

Soon, through the state's expansion, authority's exercise exceeds one man's strength. The prince then appoints counselors, officers or ministers— chosen by himself—who act in his stead as his representatives and proxies before the people. Like the prince they represent, these envoys— satraps, proconsuls or prefects— combine in their mandate all attributes of authority. But they must account for their administration to the monarch their master, in whose interest and name they govern, from whom they receive direction, and who has them watched to ensure he retains supreme possession of authority, the honor of command, the state's benefits, while guarding against usurpation and sedition. As for the nation, it has no right to demand accounts, and the prince's agents owe none to it. In this system, subjects' sole guarantee lies in the sovereign's interest, who recognizes no law but his own good pleasure.

Under communist rule, government forms remain identical— power is exercised indivisibly by the social collectivity as previously by the king alone. Thus in Germanic May fields, the entire people deliberated and judged without age or sex distinction; thus Cimbri and Teutons fought alongside their wives against Marius— what need had they for generals, knowing nothing of strategy or tactics? Athenian criminal judgments by mass citizen juries preserved this communist remnant; similarly,
the 1848 Republic appointed nine hundred legislators, regretting it couldn't assemble all ten million voters in one chamber, contenting itself with summoning them to the ballot. Modern proposals for *direct legislation* by *yes/no* voting derive from this.

Liberal or democratic state forms equally correspond to this state's formative principle and developmental law, thus differing radically from monarchy's. They consist in power being distributed among citizens rather than collectively and indivisibly exercised as in primitive community—achieved two ways. For services materially divisible like road-building, fleet command, city policing, or youth education, work is divided into sections—fleets into squadrons or single ships, cities into districts, teaching into classes—each under an entrepreneur, commissioner, admiral, captain or master. Athenians customarily appointed ten or twelve generals in wartime, each commanding alternately by day—a practice now seeming strange, but Athenian democracy tolerated nothing more. For indivisible functions, either multiple officeholders are named despite Homer's warning against plural command (as when ancients sent delegations where we send one ambassador), or single officials gradually professionalize each function—introducing a distinct citizen class: public functionaries. Here democracy endangers itself: the State separates from the nation; its personnel nearly reverts to monarchy's, more devoted to prince than nation and state. Yet a great idea emerges—among science's greatest—the *Division* or *Separation of Powers*. Through it, society assumes decisive organic form; revolutions may follow like seasons, but something now
endures: that noble constitution of public power by
categories— Justice, Administration, War, Finance,
Worship, Public Education, Commerce, etc.

The organization of liberal or democratic government
is more complex, more sophisticated, and more laborious
in practice than monarchical government— consequently
less popular. Almost always, the forms of free government
have been denounced as aristocratic by the masses, who
preferred monarchical absolutism. Hence the vicious circle
in which progressives have been and will long remain
trapped. Naturally, republicans demand freedoms and
guarantees to improve the masses' condition; they must
therefore seek popular support. Yet it is invariably the
people themselves who, through distrust or indifference
toward democratic forms, obstruct liberty<fnref n="2" />.

<footnote n="2">² What must be firmly grasped is that governments are distinguished by their essence, not by the title given to the magistrate. Thus the essence of monarchy lies in governmental and administrative *indivision*, in the *absolutism* of the prince (whether individual or collective), and in its *irresponsibility*. The essence of democracy, conversely, lies in the *separation* of powers, in the *distribution* of offices, *control* and *responsibility*. The crown and heredity itself are but symbolic accessories here. True, it's through the father-king, through heredity and coronation that monarchy makes itself visible - leading the vulgar to believe that without these signs, the thing itself ceases to exist. The founders of democracy in '93 thought they'd worked wonders by beheading the king while decreeing centralization. But this is an error that should deceive no one. The Council of Ten in Venice was a true tyrant, and the republic a frightful despotism. Conversely, give a prince with the title of king to a republic like Switzerland: if the constitution remains unchanged, it would be like placing a felt hat on the statue of Henry IV.</footnote>
The forms of anarchy are left to each individual's discretion within their rights, adopting indifferently those of monarchy or democracy.

These then are the four elementary governments in their principles and forms, given a priori in human understanding as materials for all future political constructions. But I repeat: these four types, though suggested by nature and by our sense of liberty and right, are not themselves destined for realization in their pure form. They are ideal conceptions, abstract formulas guiding the empirical and intuitive formation of actual governments, yet incapable of becoming facts themselves. Reality is inherently complex; the simple never emerges from the ideal into concrete existence. In these antithetical formulas we possess the elements of humanity's future regular constitution; but centuries must pass, a series of revolutions unfold, before the definitive formula emerges from the mind destined to conceive it—the mind of humanity.
Chapter 4: Compromise Between the Principles:
Origins of Political Contradictions

Since the two principles underlying all social order—
Authority and Liberty—are inherently opposed and
perpetually in conflict, yet cannot exclude or absorb each
other, some compromise between them becomes inevitable.
Regardless of the preferred system—monarchical or
democratic, communist or anarchic—any institution will
endure only insofar as it incorporates elements from its
antagonist.

For instance, it would be a grave mistake to assume
that authoritarian regimes, with their paternal character,
familial customs, and absolute initiative, can sustain
themselves through sheer willpower. As the state expands,
this venerable paternalism rapidly degenerates into
impotence, confusion, irrationality, and tyranny. The
prince cannot oversee everything; he must rely on agents
who deceive him, steal from him, discredit him,
undermine his reputation, supplant him, and ultimately
dethrone him. This inherent disorder of absolute power—
with its consequent demoralization and perpetual risk of
catastrophe—becomes the plague of societies and states.
We may therefore establish this rule: monarchical
governments prove more benign, moral, just, tolerable,
and consequently durable (setting aside external relations)
when their scale remains modest and family-like.
Conversely, they grow increasingly inadequate,
oppressive, odious to subjects, and unstable as the state
expands. History records, and modern times have
witnessed, those terrifying monarchies— amorphous monsters, true political mastodons—that superior civilization must gradually eliminate. In such states, absolutism correlates directly with mass; it survives through prestige alone. Whereas in small states, tyranny cannot endure without mercenary troops— scrutinized closely, it vanishes.

To counter this inherent flaw, monarchical governments have adopted—to varying degrees—liberal structures, particularly the separation of powers or division of sovereignty.

The rationale for this adaptation is straightforward. If one man struggles to manage a hundred-hectare estate, a factory employing hundreds, or a town of five thousand, how could he bear an empire of forty million? Here monarchy must bow to two economic principles: Maximum productivity and value emerge when workers operate freely as independent proprietors; Quality improves when producers specialize exclusively. Another reason for monarchy's democratic borrowing: social wealth increases proportionally with industrial specialization and integration—meaning politically that governments function better and endanger rulers less when responsibilities are clearly divided and balanced—an impossibility under absolutism. Thus princes have effectively "republicanized" themselves to avoid collapse—as recent years in Piedmont, Austria, and Russia demonstrate. Amid the wreckage Czar Nicholas left, his son Alexander's separation of governmental
powers stands among Russia's most significant reforms<fnref n="3" />.

Parallel but inverse phenomena appear in democratic governance.

However meticulously citizens' rights, officials' duties, and contingencies are defined, unpredictability outpaces statesmen's foresight— more laws breed more disputes. This demands administrators exercise initiative and arbitration, requiring authority's sanction to command obedience. Strip democracy's principle— strip Liberty— of this ultimate sanction (Authority), and the state perishes instantly. Yet clearly, we've then departed from free contract— unless claiming citizens preemptively agreed to abide by designated magistrates' rulings, which itself abandons democracy for monarchy.

However many legal safeguards, controls, and procedures democracy institutes— however frequently it summons citizens to elect, debate, and vote— its officials remain authority figures (the term speaks for itself). And if among these public functionaries some direct overall affairs, this executive (individual or collective) becomes what Rousseau himself termed "prince"— a hair's breadth from kingship.

<footnote n="3">³ It was the necessity of separating powers and distributing authority that partly gave rise to feudalism after Charlemagne. Hence, too, its spurious appearance of federalism, to the misfortune of the peoples and the Empire. Germany, held back by the *status quo* of an absurd constitution, still suffers from these long-standing rifts. The Empire has crumbled, and nationality has been compromised.</footnote>
Similar observations apply to communism and anarchy. No perfect community has ever existed, nor— however civilized, moral, or wise humanity becomes— will governmental traces likely vanish entirely. Yet while communism remains most socialists' dream, anarchy constitutes the economic school's ideal— openly seeking to eliminate all government and organize society solely on free labor and property.

I shall not multiply examples further. What I have just said is sufficient to demonstrate the truth of my proposition, namely: that Monarchy and Democracy, Community and Anarchy, being unable to be realized in the purity of their ideals, are reduced to complementing each other through mutual borrowings.

Indeed, there is something here to humble the intolerance of fanatics who cannot bear to hear an opinion contrary to their own without experiencing a kind of shudder. Let them learn, these poor souls, that they themselves are necessarily unfaithful to their own principles, that their political faith is woven from inconsistencies, and may Power, in turn, no longer see in the discussion of different systems of government any seditious thought! Once convinced that these terms— monarchy, democracy, etc.— express only theoretical concepts, far removed from the institutions that seem to translate them, the royalist, upon hearing words like *social contract, popular sovereignty, universal suffrage, etc.*, will remain calm; the democrat, upon hearing of dynasty, absolute power, divine right, will keep his composure
with a smile. There is no true monarchy; there is no true
democracy. Monarchy is the primitive, physiological, and,
so to speak, patronymic form of the State; it lives at the
heart of the masses and is strongly attested before our eyes
by the general tendency toward unity. Democracy, in turn,
is bubbling everywhere; it fascinates generous souls and
seizes the elite of society everywhere. But it is the dignity
of our era to finally abandon these illusions, which all too
often degenerate into lies. Contradiction lies at the heart of
all programs. Popular tribunes swear, without realizing it,
by monarchy; kings, by democracy and anarchy. After the
coronation of Napoleon I, the words *French Republic* were
long inscribed on one side of the coins, which bore on the
other, with Napoleon's effigy, the title *Emperor of the French*.
In 1830, Louis-Philippe was designated by Lafayette as *the
best of republics*; was he not also nicknamed *the king of the
bourgeoisie*? Garibaldi rendered the same service to Victor
Emmanuel as Lafayette did to Louis-Philippe. Later, it is
true, Lafayette and Garibaldi seemed to repent; but their
confession should be accepted all the more, since any
retraction would be illusory. No democrat can claim to be
free from all monarchism; no monarchist can boast of
being free from all republicanism. It remains established
that since democracy does not seem to be averse to the
idea of dynasty or to the idea of unity, the supporters of
the two systems have no right to excommunicate each
other, and that tolerance is incumbent upon them
mutually.

What, then, is Politics, if it is impossible for a society
to constitute itself exclusively on the principle it prefers; if,
whatever the legislator does, the government, considered
here as monarchical, there as democratic, remains forever
a composite without frankness, where opposing elements
mix in arbitrary proportions at the whim of caprice and
interest; where the most precise definitions inevitably lead
to confusion and promiscuity; where, consequently, all
conversions, all defections can be admitted, and versatility
can be considered honorable? What an open field for
charlatanism, intrigue, and treason! What state could
survive under such dissolving conditions? The state is not
constituted before it already carries within the
contradiction of its idea the principle of its death. Strange
creation, where logic remains powerless, while
inconsistency appears to be the only practical and rational
thing<sup>4</sup>!

<footnote n="4">⁴ There would be an interesting work to write on *Political Contradictions*, to complement the *Economic Contradictions*. I have thought of it more than once, but discouraged by the poor reception of critics and distracted by other tasks, I have given it up. The impertinence of reviewers would have been further delighted by the *antinomy*, the *thesis*, and the *antithesis*; the French spirit, sometimes so penetrating and so just, would have appeared, in the person of the journalists, quite fatuous, ridiculous, and foolish; the German penchant for gossip would have claimed a new triumph, and that would have been the end of it. I would have spared my fellow citizens a deception by giving them the solution I always owed them, had I laid out before them all the difficulties of the problem.</footnote>
Chapter 5: *De Facto* Governments: Social Dissolution

Monarchy and democracy, focusing now solely on these two, are thus two idealities provided by theory but unattainable in the strictness of their terms. As I have just said, it has become necessary to resign oneself in practice to all sorts of compromises: from these forced compromises have emerged all the *de facto* governments. These governments, works of empiricism, infinitely variable, are therefore essentially and without exception composite or mixed governments.

Let me observe in this regard that the publicists have been mistaken and have introduced into politics a notion as false as it is dangerous. When they did not distinguish between practice and theory, reality and ideal, they placed on the same level governments of pure conception, unrealizable in their simplicity, such as pure monarchy and pure democracy, and *de facto* or mixed governments. The truth, I repeat, is that there exist and can only exist governments of the first kind in theory: every *de facto* government is necessarily mixed, whether it is called a monarchy or a democracy, no matter what. This observation is important; it alone allows us to reduce to a dialectical error the countless disappointments, corruptions, and revolutions of politics.

All varieties of *de facto* governments, in other words, all the governmental compromises tried or proposed from the earliest times to the present day, can be reduced to two
main species, which I will call by their current designations: *Empire* and *Constitutional Monarchy*. This requires explanation.

Since war and inequality of fortunes have been the condition of peoples from the very beginning, society naturally divides into a certain number of classes: Warriors or Nobles, Priests, Landowners, Merchants, Navigators, Industrialists, Peasants. Where royalty exists, it forms a caste of its own, the first of all: the dynasty.

The class struggle among themselves, the antagonism of their interests, and the way these interests combine determine the political regime, consequently the choice of government, its countless varieties, and its even more countless variations. Gradually, all these classes are reduced to two: a superior one, Aristocracy, Bourgeoisie, or Patriciate; and an inferior one, Plebs or Proletariat, between which royalty floats, the organ of Power, the expression of Authority. If the aristocracy unites with royalty, the resulting government will be a tempered monarchy, currently called constitutional; if it is the people who ally with authority, the government will be an Empire, or autocratic democracy. The theocracy of the Middle Ages was a pact between the priesthood and the emperor; the Caliphate, a religious and military monarchy. At Tyre, Sidon, and Carthage, royalty relied on the merchant caste until the latter seized power. It appears that in Rome, royalty initially kept both patricians and plebeians in check; then, when the two classes united against the crown, royalty was abolished, and the state took the name of republic. However, the preponderance remained with the
patriciate. But this aristocratic constitution was as stormy
as Athenian democracy; the government lived on
makeshifts, and while Athenian democracy succumbed to
the first shock, the Peloponnesian War, the conquest of the
world was the result of the necessity in which the Roman
Senate found itself to occupy the people. With peace given
to the world, civil war raged to excess; to put an end to it,
the plebs gave themselves a leader, destroyed the
patriciate and the republic, and created the empire.

It is surprising that a government founded under the
auspices of a bourgeoisie or a patriciate, in agreement with
a dynasty, is generally more liberal than one founded by
the multitude under the patronage of a dictator or a
tribune. This should indeed seem all the more surprising,
since, fundamentally, the plebs have a greater interest in
and a realer inclination toward liberty than the
bourgeoisie. But this contradiction, the stumbling block of
politics, is explained by the situation of the parties. In the
case of a popular victory, this situation makes the plebs
reason and act as an autocrat, and in the case of a
preponderance of the bourgeoisie, it makes the latter
reason and act as a republican. Let us return to the
fundamental dualism, Authority and Liberty, and we will
understand it.

From the divergence of these two principles,
primarily under the influence of opposing passions and
interests, arise two opposite tendencies, two opposing
currents of opinion: the supporters of authority, aiming to
make the share of liberty, whether individual, corporate,
or local, as small as possible, and to exploit this situation
for their personal benefit and to the detriment of the masses, by wielding the power they escort; the supporters of the liberal regime, on the contrary, tending to restrict authority indefinitely and to overcome the aristocracy by the constant determination of public functions, acts of Power, and its forms. Because of its position and the humility of its fortune, the people seek equality and liberty in government; for a contrary reason, the landowning, capitalist, and entrepreneurial patriciate inclines more toward a monarchy that protects great interests, capable of ensuring order for its benefit, which, consequently, gives more to authority and less to liberty.

All *de facto* governments, whatever their motives or reservations, thus come down to one or the other of these two formulas: *Subordination of Authority to Liberty, or Subordination of Liberty to Authority*.

But the same cause that sets the bourgeoisie and the plebs against each other soon makes them both change their stance. Democracy, in order to ensure its triumph, ignorant of the conditions of power and incapable of exercising it, gives itself an absolute leader, before whose authority all caste privileges disappear; the bourgeoisie, which fears despotism as much as it fears anarchy, prefers to consolidate its position by establishing a constitutional monarchy. Thus, in the end, it is the party that most needs liberty and legal order that creates absolutism, and it is the party of privilege that establishes the liberal government, by giving it the sanction of restricting political rights.

From this, it can be seen that, abstracting from the
economic considerations that hover over the debate, the
bourgeoisie and democracy, imperialism and
constitutionalism, or whatever name you give to these
governments of antagonism, are equivalent. Questions
such as the following: Whether the regime of 1814 was not
better than that of 1804; whether it would not be
advantageous for the country to revert from the
constitution of 1852 to that of 1830; whether the
Republican party will merge with the Orléanist party or
attach itself to the Empire— such questions, I say, from the
standpoint of law and principles, are childish. A
government, given the data we know, is worth only by the
facts that brought it about and the men who represent it,
and all theoretical disputes on this subject are futile and
can only lead to aberrations.

The contradictions of politics, the reversals of parties,
the perpetual interchange of roles, are so frequent in
history, they occupy such a large place in human affairs,
that I cannot help but insist on them. The dualism of
Authority and Liberty provides the key to all these
enigmas: without this fundamental explanation, the
history of states would be the despair of consciences and
the scandal of philosophy.

The English aristocracy produced the Great Charter;
the Puritans produced Cromwell. In France, it was the
bourgeoisie that laid the imperishable foundations of all
our liberal Constitutions. In Rome, the patriciate
organized the republic; the plebs gave birth to the Caesars
and the Praetorians. In the sixteenth century, the
Reformation was at first aristocratic; the masses remained
Catholic or made messiahs in the manner of John of Leiden; it was the opposite of what had been seen four hundred years earlier, when the nobles burned the Albigensians. How many times, this observation is by Ferrari, did the Middle Ages see the Ghibellines become Guelphs, and the Guelphs turn into Ghibellines? In 1813, France fought for despotism, the coalition for liberty, exactly the opposite of what had happened in 1792. Today, the legitimists and the clericals support federalism, while the democrats are unitary. One could not finish citing such examples; this does not prevent ideas, men, and things from always having to be distinguished by their natural tendencies and origins, that *the blues remain the blues, and the whites always the whites*.

The people, by virtue of their inferiority and distress, will always form the army of liberty and progress: labor is republican by nature; the contrary would imply contradiction. However, due to its ignorance, the primitiveness of its instincts, the violence of its needs, and the impatience of its desires, the people incline toward the crude forms of authority. What they seek are not legal guarantees, of which they have no idea and do not conceive the power; nor is it a combination of mechanisms, a weighing of forces, of which they themselves have no use: it is a leader in whose word they trust, whose intentions are known to them, and who devotes himself to their interests. To this leader, they grant unlimited authority, irresistible power. The people, considering as just everything they judge to be useful to them, since they are the people, mock formalities and pay no attention to the conditions imposed on the holders of power. Quick to
suspicion and slander, but incapable of methodical
discussion, they ultimately believe only in human will,
they hope only in the man, they trust only in their
creatures, "in the princes, in the sons of men"; they expect
nothing from principles, which alone can save them; they
do not have the religion of ideas.

Thus, the Roman plebs, after seven hundred years of a
progressively liberal regime and a series of victories won
by them over the patriciate, thought to cut short all
difficulties by annihilating the party of authority, and by
exaggerating the tribunician power, they gave Caesar
perpetual dictatorship, silenced the Senate, closed the
comitia, and, for a bushel of grain, annona, founded the
imperial autocracy. What is curious is that this democracy
was sincerely convinced of its liberalism and boasted of
representing justice, equality, and progress. Caesar's
soldiers, idolaters of their emperor, were full of hatred and
contempt for kings: if the tyrant's murderers were not
immolated on the spot, it was because Caesar had been
seen the day before trying on the royal bandage on his
bald forehead. Thus, the companions of Napoleon I,
emerging from the Jacobin Club, enemies of the nobles,
priests, and kings, found it quite simple to adorn
themselves with the titles of barons, dukes, princes, and to
make their court to the Emperor; they did not forgive him
for having taken a Habsburg princess as his wife.

Left to itself or led by its tribunes, the multitude never
founded anything. It has its face turned backward: no
tradition is formed among it; no spirit of continuity, no
idea that acquires the force of law. Of politics, it
understands only intrigue; of government, only profusion
and force; of justice, only vengeance; of liberty, only the
ability to set up idols that it demolishes the next day. The
advent of democracy opens an era of retrogression that
would lead the nation and the state to death if they did not
escape the fate that threatens them by a revolution in the
opposite direction, which it is now necessary to assess.

The plebs, living hand-to-hand, without property,
without business, and outside public employment, are
safe from the risks of tyranny and care little about it. In
contrast, the bourgeoisie, who own property, trade, and
manufacture, and who are eager for land and salaries, are
interested in preventing catastrophes and ensuring the
devotion of the government. The need for order brings
them back to liberal ideas: hence the constitutions they
impose on their kings. While they surround the
government of their choice with legal forms and subject it
to parliamentary vote, they restrict political rights to a
category of taxpayers and abolish universal suffrage.
However, they avoid touching administrative
centralization, which is the buttress of industrial
feudalism. If the separation of powers is useful to them for
balancing the influence of the crown and thwarting the
personal politics of the prince, electoral privilege also
serves them well against popular aspirations.
Centralization is no less precious to them, first, because of
the jobs it requires, which give the bourgeoisie a share in
power and taxation, and second, because of the facilities it
provides for the peaceful exploitation of the masses.
Under a regime of administrative centralization and
restricted suffrage, where the bourgeoisie, through its
majorities, remains in control of the government, all local
life is stifled, and any agitation is easily suppressed. Under
such a regime, I say, the working class, confined to its
workshops, is naturally doomed to wage labor. Liberty
exists, but within the sphere of bourgeois society, as
cosmopolitan as its capital. As for the masses, they have
resigned, not only politically but also economically.

Would I add that the suppression or maintenance of a
dynasty would change nothing in the system? A unitary
republic and a constitutional monarchy are essentially the
same thing: only a word is changed and one official is
fewer.

But if democratic absolutism is unstable, bourgeois
constitutionalism is no less so. The former was reactionary,
unrestrained, principle-less, contemptuous of law, hostile
to liberty, and destructive of all security and trust. The
constitutional system, with its legal forms, legal spirit,
restrained temperament, and parliamentary solemnities,
ultimately reveals itself as a vast system of exploitation
and intrigue, where politics is akin to speculation, where
taxation is merely the civil list of a caste, and where
monopolized power is the auxiliary of monopoly. The
people have a vague sense of this immense spoliation:
*constitutional guarantees* mean little to them, and as we
have seen, especially in 1815, they preferred their emperor,
despite his infidelities, to their legitimate kings, despite
their liberalism.

The repeated, alternating failures of imperial
democracy and bourgeois constitutionalism result in the
creation of a third party that, flying the flag of skepticism, swears by no principle, is fundamentally and systematically immoral, and tends to reign, as it has been said, by the seesaw—that is to say, by the ruin of all authority and all liberty, in a word, by corruption. This is what has been called the *doctrinaire* system. First met with the hatred and execration of the old parties, this system nevertheless quickly gains ground, supported by growing discouragement and justified in a way by the spectacle of universal contradiction. In a short time, it becomes the secret faith of Power, which decency and propriety will always prevent from publicly professing skepticism; but it is the avowed faith of the bourgeoisie and the people, who, no longer restrained by any consideration, let their indifference explode and take pride in it. Then, with authority and liberty lost in people's souls, justice and reason considered as empty words, society is dissolved, and the nation is degraded. What remains is nothing but matter and brute force; a revolution becomes imminent, under penalty of moral death. What will come of it? History is there to answer; the examples are numbered in thousands. The condemned system will be succeeded, thanks to the movement of forgetful but ever-renewing generations, by a new compromise, which will provide the same career and which, in turn worn out and dishonored by the contradiction of its idea, will meet the same end. And this will continue until general reason has discovered the means to master the two principles and balance society by the very regularization of its antagonisms.
Chapter 6: The Political Problem Posed: The
Principle of a Solution

<figure><img src="image_4.png" /></figure>

If the reader has followed with some diligence the
exposition that precedes, human society must appear to
him as a fantastic creation, full of wonders and mysteries.
Let us briefly recall the different terms:

a) The political order is based on two interconnected,
opposed, and irreducible principles: Authority and
Liberty.

b) From these two principles, two contrary regimes
are derived in parallel: the absolutist or authoritarian
regime, and the libertarian regime.

c) The forms of these two regimes are as different
from each other, incompatible and irreconcilable as their
natures; we have defined them in two words: Indivision
and Separation.

d) Reason indicates that every theory must unfold
according to its principle, every existence occur according
to its law: logic is the condition of life as well as of thought.
But it is precisely the opposite that manifests itself in
politics: neither Authority nor Liberty can constitute
themselves separately, give rise to a system that is
exclusively their own; far from it, they are condemned, in
their respective establishments, to make perpetual and
mutual borrowings.
e) The consequence is that since fidelity to principles exists in politics only in the ideal, and practice must undergo all sorts of compromises, government ultimately reduces, despite the best intentions and all the virtue in the world, to a hybrid creation, an equivocal mixture of regimes that strict logic rejects and before which good faith recoils. No government escapes this contradiction.

f) Conclusion: Since arbitrariness inevitably enters into politics, corruption soon becomes the soul of power, and society is driven, without rest or mercy, down the endless slope of revolutions.

This is where the world stands. It is not the result of satanic malice, nor of a weakness in our nature, nor of a providential condemnation, nor of a caprice of fortune or a decree of destiny: things are simply as they are. It is up to us to make the best of this peculiar situation.

Consider that for more than eight thousand years—history's memory does not go further back—all varieties of government, all political and social combinations have been successively tried, abandoned, resumed, modified, travestied, exhausted, and constant failure has rewarded the zeal of reformers and deceived the hopes of peoples. Always the flag of liberty has served to shelter despotism; always the privileged classes have surrounded themselves, in the very interest of their privileges, with liberal and egalitarian institutions; always the parties have lied to their programs, and always, with indifference succeeding faith, and corruption succeeding civic spirit, the states have perished through the development of the very
notions on which they were founded. The most vigorous
and intelligent races have worn themselves out with this
work: history is full of the narrative of their struggles.
Sometimes a series of triumphs, creating an illusion of the
state's strength, might lead one to believe in the excellence
of a constitution or the wisdom of a government that did
not exist. But when peace came, the vices of the system
burst into view, and the peoples rested from the fatigue of
foreign wars in civil strife. Humanity has thus gone from
revolution to revolution: the most famous nations, those
that have had the longest run, have been sustained only by
this. Among all the governments known and practiced up
to the present day, there is not one that, if condemned to
survive by its own virtue, would live to old age. Strangely
enough, the heads of states and their ministers are the
very people who least believe in the durability of the
system they represent; until science comes, it is the faith of
the masses that supports the governments. The Greeks
and the Romans, who have bequeathed to us their
institutions along with their examples, at the most
interesting moment of their evolution, buried themselves
in despair; and modern society seems in turn to have
arrived at its hour of anguish. Do not trust the words of
these agitators who cry out, "Liberty, Equality, Nationality":
they know nothing; they are the dead pretending to
resurrect the dead. The public listens to them for a
moment, as it does to jesters and quacks; then it passes by,
with an empty mind and a desolate conscience.

A sure sign that our dissolution is near and that a new
era is about to open is that the confusion of language and
ideas has reached such a point that anyone can call himself
at will a republican, monarchist, democrat, bourgeois,
conservative, liberal, and all these things at once, without
fear that anyone will convince him of lying or error. The
princes and barons of the First Empire had proven
themselves to be sans-culottes. The bourgeoisie of 1814,
gorged with national property, the only thing they had
understood of the institutions of 1789, were liberal, even
revolutionary; 1830 made them conservative again; 1848
turned them reactionary, Catholic, and more than ever
monarchist. Currently, it is the February Republicans who
are serving the royalty of Victor Emmanuel, while the June
Socialists declare themselves unitary. Former friends of
Ledru-Rollin rally to the Empire as the true *revolutionary*
expression and the most *paternal* form of government;
others, it is true, call them traitors, but they rage furiously
against federalism. It is the systematic mess, the organized
confusion, the perpetual apostasy, the universal betrayal.

The question is whether society can achieve
something regular, fair, and stable, which satisfies reason
and conscience, or whether we are condemned for eternity
to this Ixion's wheel. Is the problem insoluble?... A little
more patience, reader; and if I do not soon help you
emerge from this entanglement, you will have the right to
say that logic is false, progress is an illusion, and liberty is
a utopia. Would you just reason with me for a few more
minutes, even though in such matters reasoning is to risk
deceiving oneself and wasting one's effort and reason?

1. You will first notice that the two principles,
Authority and Liberty, which are the source of all the
trouble, appear in history in logical and chronological
succession. Authority, like the family, like the father, the *genitor*, appears first: it takes the initiative, it is the affirmation. Reasonable Liberty comes after: it is the critique, the protest, the determination. This fact of succession results from the very definition of the ideas and the nature of things, and all of history bears witness to it. There, no inversion is possible, not the slightest trace of arbitrariness.

2. Another equally important observation is that the authoritarian, paternal, and monarchical regime deviates all the more from its ideal as the family, tribe, or city becomes larger and the state grows in population and territory: so that the more authority extends, the more it becomes intolerable. Hence the concessions it is obliged to make to liberty.— Conversely, the regime of liberty approaches all the more its ideal and multiplies its chances of success as the state increases in population and extent, as relations multiply, and as science gains ground. First it is a *constitution* that is demanded everywhere; later it will be decentralization. Wait a little longer, and you will see the idea of federation emerge. So that one can say of Liberty and Authority what John the Baptist said of himself and Jesus: "He *must* increase, *but I must decrease*."

This double movement, one of retrogression and the other of progress, which resolves into a single phenomenon, also results from the definition of the principles, their relative position, and their roles: here again no ambiguity is possible, no room for arbitrariness. The fact is of objective evidence and mathematical certainty; it is what we will call a *law*.
3. The consequence of this law, which can be said to be *necessary*, is itself necessary: it is that the principle of authority, appearing first and serving as the material or subject of elaboration for Liberty, reason, and right, is gradually subordinated by the legal, rationalist, and liberal principle; the head of state, first inviolable, irresponsible, absolute, like the father in the family, becomes subject to reason, the first subject of the law, and finally a mere agent, instrument, or servant of Liberty itself.

This third proposition is as certain as the first two, free from any ambiguity and contradiction, and highly attested by history. In the eternal struggle of the two principles, the French Revolution, like the Reformation, appears as a critical era. It marks the moment when, in the political order, Liberty officially took precedence over Authority, just as the Reformation had marked the moment when, in the religious order, free examination took precedence over faith. Since Luther, belief has become everywhere reasonable; orthodoxy as well as heresy has claimed to lead man to faith through reason; the precept of Saint Paul, "*Let your obedience be reasonable*", has been widely commented on and put into practice; Rome has begun to discuss like Geneva; religion has tended to become a science; submission to the Church has been surrounded by so many conditions and reservations that, except for the difference in articles of faith, there has been no difference between the Christian and the unbeliever. They do not hold the same opinion, that is all; otherwise, thought, reason, and conscience behave the
same in both. Similarly, since the French Revolution,
respect for authority has weakened; deference to the prince's
orders has become conditional; reciprocity and guarantees
have been demanded of the sovereign; the political
temperament has changed; the most fervent royalists, like
the barons of John Lackland, have wanted charters, and
Messrs. Berryer, de Falloux, de Montalembert, etc., can call
themselves as liberal as our democrats. Chateaubriand, the
bard of the Restoration, boasted of being a philosopher
and a republican; it was by a pure act of his free will that
he constituted himself the defender of the altar and the
throne. We know what became of Lamennais's violent
Catholicism.

Thus, while authority wanes, becoming more
precarious day by day, the law becomes more precise, and
liberty, always suspect, becomes nonetheless more real
and stronger. Absolutism resists as best it can, but it is on
its way out; it seems that the *Republic*, always fought,
hated, betrayed, banned, is approaching every day. What
advantage are we going to take of this crucial fact for the
constitution of government?
Chapter 7: Isolation of the Idea of Federation

Since, in theory and in history, Authority and Liberty
succeed each other as if by a kind of polarization;

Since the former gradually diminishes and recedes,
while the latter grows and makes its appearance;

Since this dual movement results in a sort of
subordination whereby Authority increasingly submits to
the rights of Liberty;

Since, in other words, the liberal or contractual regime
gains ground day by day over the authoritarian regime, it
is to the idea of contract that we must cling as the
dominant idea in politics.

What is meant first of all by contract?

The contract, says the Civil Code, Article 1101, is an
agreement whereby one or more persons obligate
themselves, toward one or more others, to do or not to do
something.

Article 1102. It is *synallagmatic* or *bilateral* when the contracting parties obligate themselves reciprocally to each other.

Article 1103. It is *unilateral* when one or more persons
are obligated toward one or more others, without any
commitment on the part of the latter.
Article 1104. It is *commutative* when each of the parties undertakes to give or to do something that is considered the equivalent of what is given to or done for them.— When the equivalent consists in the chance of gain or loss for each of the parties, depending on an uncertain event, the contract is *aleatory*.

Article 1105. The contract of *benevolence* is one in which one of the parties provides the other with a purely gratuitous benefit.

Article 1106. The contract *for consideration* is one that subjects each of the parties to give or to do something.

Article 1371. *Quasi-contracts* are called the voluntary acts of a person that result in some obligation toward a third party, and sometimes a reciprocal obligation between the two parties.

To these distinctions and definitions of the Code, relating to the form and conditions of contracts, I will add a final one concerning their object:

According to the nature of the things dealt with or the purpose pursued, contracts are *domestic, civil, commercial, or political*.

It is this last type of contract, the political contract, that we are going to deal with.

The notion of contract is not entirely alien to the
monarchical system, no more than it is to fatherhood and
the family. But, considering what we have said about the
principles of authority and liberty and their role in the
formation of governments, it is clear that these principles
do not intervene in the same way in the formation of the
political contract. Thus, the obligation that binds the
monarch to his subjects, an obligation that is spontaneous,
unwritten, and resulting from the spirit of family and the
quality of the persons involved, is a unilateral obligation,
since, according to the principle of obedience, the subject
is more obligated to the prince than the prince is to the
subject. The theory of divine right explicitly states that the
monarch is accountable only to God. It may even happen
that the contract from prince to subject degenerates into a
contract of pure benevolence, when, by the ineptitude or
idolatry of the citizens, the prince is solicited to seize
authority and to take charge of his subjects, who are
incapable of governing and defending themselves, like a
shepherd of his flock. The situation is even worse where
the principle of heredity is accepted. A conspirator like the
Duke of Orléans, later Louis XII, a parricide like Louis XI,
an adulteress like Mary Stuart, retain their potential right
to the crown despite their crimes. Made inviolable by birth,
it can be said that there exists between them and the
faithful subjects of the prince whom they are to succeed, a
quasi-contract. In short, precisely because authority is
predominant in the monarchical system, the contract is not
equal.

The political contract acquires its full dignity and
morality only on the condition that it is 1) *synallagmatic*
and *commutative*; 2) confined, in terms of its object, within
certain limits: two conditions that are supposed to exist
under the democratic regime, but which, once again, are
most often a fiction. Can it be said that in a representative
and centralizing democracy, in a constitutional and
censitary monarchy, and even more so in a communist
republic, à la Plato, the political contract that binds the
citizen to the state is equal and reciprocal? Can it be said
that this contract, which deprives citizens of half or
two-thirds of their sovereignty and a quarter of their
product, is confined within just bounds? It would be more
accurate to say, as experience too often confirms, that the
contract, in all these systems, is excessive, *onerous*, since it
is, for a more or less considerable part, without
compensation; and *aleatory*, since the promised benefit,
already insufficient, is not even assured.

For the political contract to fulfill the synallagmatic
and commutative conditions suggested by the idea of
democracy; for it to remain advantageous and convenient
for all by confining itself within reasonable limits, it is
necessary that when the citizen enters into the association,
1) he receives as much from the state as he sacrifices to it; 2)
he retains all his liberty, sovereignty, and initiative, except
for what pertains to the specific object for which the
contract is formed and for which the state's guarantee is
sought. Thus regulated and understood, the political
contract is what I call a *federation*.

*Federation*, from the Latin *fœdus*, genitive *fœderis*,
meaning pact, contract, treaty, convention, alliance, etc., is
an agreement by which one or more heads of families, one
or more municipalities, or one or more groups of
municipalities or states, mutually and equally obligate themselves to each other for one or more specific objects, the burden of which is then specially and exclusively entrusted to the delegates of the federation<fnref n="5" />.

Let us return to this definition.

What constitutes the essence and character of the federative contract, and what I wish to draw the reader's attention to, is that in this system the contracting parties—heads of families, municipalities, cantons, provinces, or states—not only obligate themselves synallagmatically and commutatively to each other, but they also reserve for themselves, individually, more rights, liberty, authority, and property than they relinquish when forming the pact.

This is not the case, for example, in the universal society of goods and profits authorized by the Civil Code, otherwise known as the community, a miniature image of

<footnote n="5">⁵ In the theory of J.-J. Rousseau, which is that of Robespierre and the Jacobins, the Social Contract is a *legal fiction*, imagined to account for the formation of the state and the relations between government and individuals, other than by divine right, paternal authority, or social necessity. This theory, borrowed from the Calvinists, was progressive in 1764 since it aimed to bring under the dominion of reason what had hitherto been considered a matter of natural and religious law. In the federative system, the social contract is more than a fiction; it is a positive, effective pact that has been actually proposed, discussed, voted on, adopted, and regularly modified at the will of the contracting parties. Between the federative contract and that of Rousseau and 93, there is all the difference between reality and hypothesis.</footnote>
all absolute states. One who enters into an association of
this kind, especially if it is perpetual, is surrounded by
more constraints and subjected to more burdens than he
retains in initiative. But this is also what makes this
contract rare and what has, at all times, rendered monastic
life unbearable. Any commitment, even synallagmatic and
commutative, that demands the totality of the associates'
efforts, leaving nothing to their independence and
devoting them entirely to the association, is an excessive
engagement, equally repugnant to the citizen and to the
individual.

According to these principles, the contract of
federation, whose object, in general terms, is to guarantee
the confederated states their sovereignty, territory, and the
liberty of their citizens; to regulate their disputes; and to
provide, through general measures, for everything that
concerns common security and prosperity—this contract,
I say, despite the magnitude of the interests involved, is
essentially restricted. The authority charged with its
execution can never prevail over its constituents; that is to
say, federal attributions can never exceed in number and
reality those of the communal or provincial authorities,
just as the latter can never exceed the rights and
prerogatives of the individual and the citizen. If it were
otherwise, the commune would be a community; the
federation would revert to a monarchical centralization;
the federal authority, instead of being a mere mandatory
and a subordinate function as it should be, would be
regarded as predominant; instead of being limited to a
special service, it would tend to embrace all activity and
initiative; the confederated states would be converted into
prefectures, intendancies, branches, or administrations.
The political body, thus transformed, might be called a
republic, a democracy, or whatever you please: it would
no longer be a state constituted in the fullness of its
autonomies; it would no longer be a confederation. The
same would be true, even more so, if, for a false reason of
economy, out of deference, or for any other cause, the
communes, cantons, or confederated states entrusted one
of them with the administration and government of the
others. The federative republic would become unitary; it
would be on the path to despotism<fnref n="6" />.

<footnote n="6">⁶ The Swiss Confederation consists of twenty-five sovereign states (nineteen cantons and six half-cantons), with a population of two million four hundred thousand inhabitants. It is thus governed by twenty-five constitutions, analogous to our charters or constitutions of 1791, 1793, 1795, 1799, 1814, 1830, 1848, 1852, plus a federal constitution, of which, naturally, we do not possess an equivalent in France. The spirit of this constitution, in conformity with the principles set forth above, is derived from the following articles:</footnote>

<footnote>"Art. 2. The purpose of the Confederation is to ensure the independence of the homeland against foreigners, to maintain peace and order within, to protect the liberty and rights of the confederates, and to increase their common prosperity.</footnote>

<footnote>"Art. 3. The cantons are sovereign insofar as their sovereignty is not limited by federal sovereignty, and as such, they exercise all rights that are not delegated to the federal power.</footnote>

<footnote>"Art. 5. The Confederation guarantees to the cantons their territory, their sovereignty within the limits set by Art. 3, their constitutions, the liberty and rights of the people, the constitutional rights of citizens, as well as the rights and prerogatives that the people have conferred upon the authorities."</footnote>
In summary, the federative system is the opposite of the administrative and governmental hierarchy or centralization that distinguishes, *ex æquo*, imperial democracies, constitutional monarchies, and unitary republics. Its fundamental, characteristic law is this: In the federation, the attributes of central authority specialize and narrow, diminishing in number, immediacy, and, if I may say so, intensity, as the Confederation expands through the accession of new states. In centralized governments, on the contrary, the attributes of supreme power multiply, extend, and become more immediate, drawing into the prince's competence the affairs of provinces, municipalities, corporations, and individuals,

Thus, a confederation is not precisely a state: it is a group of sovereign and independent states, united by a pact of mutual guarantee. A federal constitution is also not what is meant in France by a charter or constitution, which is a summary of the public law of the country; it is the pact that contains the conditions of the league, that is, the reciprocal rights and obligations of the states. Finally, what is called the Federal Authority is not a government either; it is an agency created by the states for the joint execution of certain services that each state relinquishes and which thus become federal prerogatives.

In Switzerland, the Federal Authority consists of a deliberative assembly, elected by the people of the twenty-two cantons, and an executive council composed of seven members appointed by the assembly. The members of the assembly and the federal council are appointed for three years; since the federal constitution can be revised at any time, their prerogatives, like their persons, are revocable. Thus, the Federal Power is, in the full sense of the word, a mandatory placed under the control of his principals, and whose power varies at their discretion.
in direct proportion to the territorial area and population figure. Hence the crushing burden under which all liberty disappears, not only communal and provincial but even individual and national.

A consequence of this fact, with which I will conclude this chapter, is that, the unitary system being the inverse of the federative system, a confederation between large monarchies, let alone between imperial democracies, is impossible. States such as France, Austria, England, Russia, and Prussia may make treaties of alliance or commerce among themselves; it is repugnant that they should federate, first, because their principle is *contrary* to it, that it would set them in opposition to the federal pact; that, consequently, they would have to relinquish some of their sovereignty and recognize, at least for certain cases, an arbiter above them. Their nature is to command, not to negotiate or obey. The princes who, in 1813, supported by the insurrection of the masses, fought for the liberties of Europe against Napoleon, and who later formed the Holy Alliance, were not confederates; absolutism of their power forbade them to take the title. They were, as in 92, *coalitionists*; history will give them no other name. This is not the case with the German Confederation, currently undergoing reform, and whose character of liberty and nationality threatens one day to make the dynasties that oppose it disappear<fnref n="7" />.

<footnote n="7">⁷ Federal public law raises several difficult questions. For example, can a slave state be part of a confederation? It seems not, no more than an absolutist state: the enslavement of part of the nation being the very negation of the federative principle. In this regard, the</footnote>
Southern United States would be all the more justified in demanding separation, as it is not the intention of the North to grant, at least not immediately, the enjoyment of political rights to the emancipated Blacks. However, we see that Washington, Madison, and the other founders of the Union did not hold this view; they admitted slave states into the federal pact. It is true that we also see this unnatural pact tearing apart at the moment, with the Southern states, to preserve their exploitation, tending toward a unitary constitution, while the Northern states, to maintain the union, decree the deportation of slaves.

The Swiss federal constitution, reformed in 1848, decided the question in favor of equality; its Article 4 states: "All Swiss are equal before the law. There are no subjects, or privileges of place, birth, persons, or families in Switzerland." From the promulgation of this article, which purged Switzerland of all aristocratic elements, dates the true Swiss federal constitution.

In case of opposition between interests, can the confederated majority oppose the separatist minority with the indissolubility of the pact? The negative was supported in 1846 by the *Sonderbund* against the Swiss majority; it is today supported by the Southern Confederates of the American Union against the Northern Federals. For my part, I believe that separation is a full right if it concerns a cantonal sovereignty left outside the federal pact. Thus, it is not demonstrated to me that the Swiss majority drew its right against the *Sonderbund* from the pact: the proof is that in 1848 the federal constitution was reformed, precisely in view of the dispute that had led to the formation of the *Sonderbund*. But it may happen, by considerations of convenience and inconvenience, that the claims of the minority are incompatible with the needs of the majority, and that, moreover, the split would compromise the freedom of the states; in this case, the question is resolved by the right of war, which means that the most considerable part, whose ruin would cause the greatest damage, must prevail over the weaker. This is what happened in Switzerland and could also be practiced in the United States, if, as in Switzerland, it were only a matter of
interpreting or applying the principles of the pact better, such as
gradually raising the condition of Blacks to the level of that of
Whites. Unfortunately, Mr. Lincoln's message leaves no doubt on
this subject. The North, no more than the South, speaks of real
emancipation, which makes the difficulty insoluble, even by war,
and threatens to destroy the confederation.

In a monarchy, all justice emanates from the king; in a confederation,
it emanates, for each state, exclusively from its citizens. The
establishment of a federal supreme court would therefore, in
principle, be a derogation from the pact. The same would be true of
a Court of Cassation, since each state being sovereign and legislator,
the legislations are not uniform. However, as there are federal
interests and federal affairs; as there may be crimes and offenses
committed against the confederation, there are, for these particular
cases, federal courts and federal justice.
Chapter 8: A Progressive Constitution

History and analysis, theory and empiricism, have led us, through the agitations of Liberty and Power, to the idea of a political contract.

Applying this idea at once and seeking to account for it, we have recognized that the social contract par excellence is a contract of federation, which we defined in these terms: *A synallagmatic and commutative contract, for one or more specific objects, but whose essential condition is that the contracting parties always reserve for themselves a greater share of sovereignty and action than that which they relinquish.*

This is the exact opposite of what occurs in the old systems, whether monarchic, democratic, or constitutional, where, by the force of circumstances and the logic of principles, individuals and groups are supposed to abdicate their entire sovereignty into the hands of an imposed or elected authority, and receive fewer rights, retain fewer guarantees and initiatives than the duties and obligations they are burdened with.

This definition of the federative contract is an immense step forward, which will give us the long-sought solution.

The political problem, we said in Chapter 1, reduced to its simplest expression, consists in finding the balance between two opposing elements, Authority and Liberty. Any false balance is immediately translated into disorder
and ruin for the state, and oppression and misery for the citizens. In other words, the anomalies or disturbances of social order result from the antagonism of its principles; they will disappear when the principles are coordinated in such a way that they can no longer harm each other.

To balance two forces is to subject them to a law that, keeping them in check with one another, brings them into agreement. Who will provide us with this new element, superior to Authority and Liberty, and rendered by their mutual consent the dominant feature of the system?— The contract, whose content becomes law, and is equally imposed on the two rival powers<fnref n="8" />.

The law is the *command* given to man in the name of God by a competent authority: this is the definition of theology and divine law.

The law is the *expression of the relationship* of things: this is the definition of the philosopher, given by Montesquieu.

The law is the *arbitrary statute* of human will (From Justice in the Revolution and in the Church, 8th Study): this is the theory of contract and federation.

Since truth is one, though of variable aspect, these three definitions overlap and should ultimately be regarded as identical. But the social system they generate is not the same: by the first, man declares himself a subject of the law and its author or representative; by the second, he recognizes himself as an integral part of a vast organism; by the third, he makes the law his own and frees himself from all authority, fatality, and domination. The first formula is that

<footnote n="8">⁸ There are three ways of conceiving the law, depending on the standpoint of the moral being and the quality he assumes himself, as a *believer*, as a *philosopher*, and as a *citizen*.</footnote>
But in a concrete and living nature, such as society,
the Law cannot be reduced to a purely abstract notion, an
indefinite aspiration of the conscience, which would throw
us back into fictions and myths. To found society, we must
establish not merely an idea but a legal act, form a genuine
contract. The men of 1789 felt this when they set out to
give France a Constitution, and all the powers that
succeeded them felt the same. Unfortunately, if the will
was good, the enlightenment was insufficient; so far, the
notary has been lacking to draft the contract. We know
what its spirit should be: let us now try to outline its
content.

All the articles of a constitution can be reduced to a
single article, the one concerning the role and competence
of that great official called the State. Our national
assemblies have busied themselves with the distinction
and separation of powers, that is, the faculties of action of
the State; as for the competence of the State itself, its extent,
its object, it does not appear that anyone has been much
concerned about it. There was thought of the *division*, as
naively said a minister of 1848; as for the thing to be
divided, it generally seemed that the more there was of it,
the more splendid the feast would be. And yet the
delimitation of the role of the State is a question of life or
death for liberty, both collective and individual.

The federative contract, whose essence is to always

<footnote>of the religious man; the second that of the pantheist; the third that
of the republican. Only the latter is compatible with liberty.</footnote>
reserve more for the citizens than for the State, for
municipal and provincial authorities than for the central
authority, alone could set us on the path to truth.

In a free society, the role of the State or Government is,
par excellence, one of legislation, institution, creation,
inauguration, installation; it is, as little as possible, a role
of execution. In this regard, the term *executive power*, by
which one designates one aspect of sovereign power, has
singularly contributed to distorting ideas. The State is not
an entrepreneur of public services, which would
assimilate it to industrialists who undertake on a
lump-sum basis the works of the city. Whether legislating,
acting, or overseeing, the State is the generator and
supreme director of movement; if sometimes it lends a
hand to the operation, it is as a first manifestation, to give
the impulse and set an example. Once the creation is
accomplished, the installation or inauguration made, the
State withdraws, leaving the execution of the new service
to local authorities and citizens.

It is the State that fixes weights and measures, that
provides the model, the value, and the divisions of
currencies. Once the types are furnished and the first issue
is completed, the minting of gold, silver, and copper coins
ceases to be a public function, a state employment, a
ministerial attribution; it is an industry left to the cities,
and nothing would prevent, if needed, the same liberty for
the manufacture of balances, scales, barrels, and bottles.
The best market is the only law here. What is required in
France for gold and silver currency to be considered of
legal alloy? One-tenth alloy and nine-tenths fine. That
there be an inspector to follow and oversee the
manufacturing, I agree: the role of the State goes no
further.

What I say about currencies, I repeat for a multitude
of services, improperly left in the hands of the
government—roads, canals, tobacco, post offices,
telegraphs, railways, etc. I understand, I admit, and if
necessary, I call for the intervention of the state in all these
great creations of public utility; I do not see the need to
leave them under its control once they have been
delivered to the public. In my view, such concentration
constitutes a real excess of attributions. In 1848, I called for
the intervention of the state in the establishment of
national banks, credit institutions, mutual aid societies,
and insurance companies, just as for railways: it never
entered my mind that the state, having accomplished its
work of creation, should remain forever a banker, insurer,
transporter, etc. Certainly, I do not believe it is possible to
organize the education of the people without a great effort
from the central authority, but I remain an advocate of the
liberty of teaching, as of all liberty<fnref n="9" />. I want the school to be
as radically separated from the state as the Church itself.
There can be a Court of Accounts, as well as a statistical
office, established to gather, verify, and generalize all
information, all transactions, all financial operations across

<footnote n="9">⁹ According to the Swiss federal constitution of 1848, the Confederation has the right to create a Swiss University. This idea was vigorously combated as an infringement on the sovereignty of the cantons, and in my view, it was good policy. I do not know whether the project was followed up.</footnote>
the Republic— very well. But why should all expenditures
and revenues pass through the hands of a single treasurer,
receiver, or payer, a state minister, when the state, by the
nature of its function, should have little or no service to
perform, hence little or no expenditures<fnref n="10" />? Is it really
necessary that the courts be dependent on the central
authority? To administer justice has always been the
highest prerogative of the prince, I know: but this
prerogative is a remnant of divine right; it cannot be
claimed by a constitutional king, let alone by the head of
an empire established by universal suffrage. Therefore, as
soon as the idea of Law, becoming human again, gains
predominance in the political system, the independence of
the judiciary will be a necessary consequence. It is
repugnant that justice should be considered an attribute of
the central or federal authority; it can only be a delegation
made by the citizens to the municipal authority, at most to
the provincial one. Justice is the attribute of the individual,
which no state reason should strip him of.— I do not even
make an exception for the military service— militias,
arsenals, fortresses only pass into the hands of federal
authorities in cases of war and for the specific purpose of
war; outside of that, soldiers and arms remain under the
control of local authorities<fnref n="11" />.

<footnote n="10">¹⁰ In Switzerland, there exists a federal budget, administered by the Federal Council, but it concerns only the affairs of the Confederation and has nothing in common with the budgets of the cantons and cities.</footnote>

<footnote n="11">¹¹ Swiss Federal Constitution, Article 13.— "The Confederation does not have the right to maintain permanent armies." I give this article</footnote>
In a regularly organized society, everything must be
in continuous growth— science, industry, labor, wealth,
public health; liberty and morality must keep pace. There,
movement, life, never stops for a moment. The main organ
of this movement, the state is always in action, for it
constantly has new needs to satisfy, new questions to
resolve. If its function as the prime mover and high
director is incessant, its works, on the other hand, are not
repetitive. It is the highest expression of progress. Now,
what happens when, as we almost everywhere see, as has
almost always been seen, it lingers in the services it has
itself created and gives in to the temptation of
monopolization? From a founder, it becomes a mere
operator; it is no longer the genius of the community,
which fertilizes, directs, and enriches it without imposing
any inconvenience: it is a vast joint-stock company, with
six hundred thousand employees and six hundred
thousand soldiers, organized to do everything, and which,
instead of aiding the nation, instead of serving the citizens
and communes, dispossesses and plunders them. Soon
corruption, embezzlement, and slackness enter into this
system, which is entirely occupied with supporting itself,
increasing its prerogatives, multiplying its services, and
swelling its budget; power loses sight of its true role, falls
into autocracy and immobility; the social body suffers, and
the nation, contrary to its historical law, begins to decline.

Did we not observe in Chapter 6 that in the evolution
of states, Authority and Liberty are in logical and

for our unitary republicans to ponder.
chronological succession; that, moreover, the former is in
continuous decline, the latter in ascent; that the
Government, the expression of Authority, is gradually
subordinated by the representatives or organs of Liberty,
namely: the central power by the deputies of the
departments or provinces; provincial authority by the
delegates of the communes, and municipal authority by
the inhabitants; that thus liberty aspires to become
predominant, authority to become the servant of liberty,
and the contractual principle to replace everywhere, in
public affairs, the authoritarian principle?

If these facts are true, the consequence cannot be
doubtful: it is that, according to the nature of things and
the play of principles, Authority being in retreat and
Liberty advancing upon it, but in such a way that the two
follow each other without ever colliding, the constitution
of society is essentially progressive, which means
increasingly liberal, and that this destiny can only be
fulfilled in a system where the governmental hierarchy,
instead of being placed at its summit, is squarely
established at its base, I mean in the federative system.

All constitutional science is there: I summarize it in
three propositions:

1. Form medium-sized groups, each sovereign, and unite them by a federal pact;

2. Organize in each federated state the government according to the law of separation of organs;— I mean: separate in power everything that can be separated, define
everything that can be defined, distribute between different organs or officials everything that has been separated and defined; leave nothing in common; surround public administration with all conditions of publicity and control;

3. Instead of absorbing the federated states or provincial and municipal authorities into a central authority, reduce the attributions of the latter to a mere role of general initiative, mutual guarantee, and surveillance, whose decrees are only executed upon the approval of the confederated governments and by agents under their orders, just as in a constitutional monarchy, any order emanating from the king must, to be executed, be countersigned by a minister.

Certainly, the separation of powers, as practiced under the Charter of 1830, is a fine institution and of great significance, but how childish to restrict it to the members of a cabinet. It is not only among seven or eight elected officials, emerging from a parliamentary majority and criticized by an opposing minority, that the government of a country should be shared, but among the provinces and communes: failing which, political life abandons the periphery for the center, and stagnation seizes the nation, now hydrocephalic.

The federal system is applicable to all nations and all epochs, since humanity is progressive in all its generations and all its races, and since the policy of federation, which is par excellence the policy of progress, consists in treating each population, at whatever moment one indicates,
according to a regime of decreasing authority and centralization, corresponding to the state of minds and customs.
Chapter 9: What Has Delayed Federation; Factors Hindering the Idea

The idea of Federation appears as ancient in history as those of Monarchy and Democracy, as ancient as Authority and Liberty themselves. How could it be otherwise? Everything that successively emerges in society through the law of Progress has its roots in nature itself. Civilization moves wrapped in its principles, preceded and followed by its retinue of ideas, which constantly revolve around it. Founded on the contract, the solemn expression of Liberty, Federation cannot fail to answer the call. More than twelve centuries before Christ, it appeared among the Hebrew tribes, separated from one another in their valleys but united, like the Ishmaelite tribes, by a kind of pact based on kinship. Almost immediately, it manifested itself in the Greek Amphictyony, which, it is true, was powerless to stifle discord and prevent conquest, or, which amounts to the same thing, unitary absorption, but which was a living testimony to the future law of nations and universal Liberty. We must not forget the glorious leagues of the Slavic and Germanic peoples, continued to this day in the federal constitutions of Switzerland, Germany, and even in that empire of Austria composed of so many heterogeneous nations, but, whatever is done, inseparable. It is this federal contract, gradually constituting itself into a regular government, that must everywhere put an end to the contradictions of empiricism, eliminate arbitrariness, and found Justice and Peace on an indestructible balance.
For long centuries, the idea of Federation seemed veiled and held in reserve: the reason for this postponement lies in the original incapacity of nations and in the necessity of forming them through strong discipline. This is the role that, by a kind of sovereign decree, seems to have been assigned to the unitary system.

It was necessary to tame, to fix the wandering, undisciplined, and coarse multitudes; to group together isolated and hostile cities: to gradually found, by authority, a common law, and to lay down, in the form of imperial decrees, the general laws of humanity. One cannot imagine any other meaning for these great political creations of antiquity, which were succeeded in turn by the empires of the Greeks, the Romans, and the Franks, the Christian Church, Luther's revolt, and finally the French Revolution.

Federation could not fulfill this educational mission, first, because it is Liberty; because it excludes the idea of constraint, rests on the notion of the synallagmatic, commutative, and limited contract; and because its purpose is to guarantee sovereignty and autonomy to the peoples it unites, those very ones who, in the beginning, had to be kept under the yoke until they were capable of governing themselves by reason. Civilization, in a word, being progressive, it would have been contradictory for the federal government to be established at the outset.

Another reason for the temporary exclusion of the federal principle lies in the limited expansion of states grouped under federal constitutions.
*Natural limits of federal states.*— We said in Chapter 2 that monarchy, by its very nature and principle, knows no limits to its development, and that the same is true of democracy. This capacity for expansion has passed from simple or *a priori* governments to mixed or *de facto* governments, democracies and aristocracies, democratic empires and constitutional monarchies, all of which have faithfully obeyed their ideal in this regard. Hence have come the messianic dreams and all attempts at universal monarchy or republic.

In these systems, there is no end to the process of incorporation; it is here that one can say that the idea of a "natural frontier" is a fiction, or rather a political deception; it is here that rivers, mountains, and seas are no longer seen as territorial boundaries, but as obstacles that it is the prerogative of the sovereign and the nation to overcome. And the principle demands it: the capacity to possess, accumulate, command, and exploit is unlimited, with the universe as its only boundary. The most famous example of this territorial and population acquisition, despite mountains, rivers, forests, seas, and deserts, was that of the Roman Empire, which had its center and capital on a peninsula, surrounded by a vast sea, with its provinces extending as far as the armies and tax collectors could reach.

Every state is, by its nature, annexationist. Nothing stops its invasive march, except the encounter with another state, equally invasive and capable of defending itself. The most ardent advocates of nationality do not
hesitate to contradict themselves when it comes to the
interest, let alone the security of their country: who, in
French democracy, would have dared to protest against
the annexation of Savoy and Nice? It is not even rare to see
annexations favored by those being annexed themselves,
trading away their independence and autonomy.

It is different in the federal system. Capable of
defending itself if attacked, as the Swiss have shown on
more than one occasion, a confederation remains
powerless for conquest. Except in the very rare case where
a neighboring state might request to be admitted into the
pact, it can be said that, by the very fact of its existence, it
forbids itself any expansion. By virtue of the principle that,
by limiting the federal pact to mutual defense and a few
objects of common utility, *guarantees* to each state its
territory, its sovereignty, its constitution, the liberty of its
citizens, and for the rest reserves for it more authority,
initiative, and power than it relinquishes, the
confederation restricts itself all the more surely as the
localities admitted into the alliance are more distant from
one another; so that one soon reaches a point where the
pact has no object. Suppose that one of the confederated
states forms projects of particular conquest, that it desires
to annex a neighboring city, a province contiguous to its
territory; that it wants to meddle in the affairs of another
state. Not only will it not be able to count on the support
of the confederation, which will reply that the pact was
formed exclusively for the purpose of mutual defense, not
for particular expansion; it will even be prevented in its
enterprise by federal solidarity, which does not want all to
be exposed to war for the ambition of one. So that a
confederation is at once a guarantee for its own members
and for its non-confederated neighbors.

Thus, contrary to what happens in other governments,
the idea of a universal confederation is contradictory. In
this is manifested once again the moral superiority of the
federal system over the unitary system, subject to all the
disadvantages and vices of the indefinite, the unlimited,
the absolute, the ideal. Europe would still be too large for
a single confederation: it could only form a confederation
of confederations. It was according to this idea that I
indicated, in my last publication, as the first step to be
taken in the reform of European public law, the
re-establishment of the Italian, Greek, Batavian,
Scandinavian, and Danubian confederations, prelude to
the decentralization of the great states, and consequently,
to general disarmament. Then every nationality would
return to liberty; then the idea of a European balance of
power, foreseen by all publicists and statesmen, but
impossible to achieve with great powers having unitary
 constitutions, would be realized<sup>12</sup>.

<footnote n="12">¹² An European confederation has often been spoken of among the democrats of France, in other words, the *United States of Europe*. Under this designation, nothing seems to have been understood other than an alliance of all the states, great and small, currently existing in Europe, under the permanent presidency of a Congress. It is implied that each state would retain the form of government that best suited it. However, since each state would have a number of votes in the Congress proportional to its population and territory, the smaller states would soon find themselves, in this so-called confederation, subordinated to the larger ones; even more so, if it were possible for this new Holy Alliance to be animated by a</footnote>
Thus condemned to a peaceful and modest existence, playing the most inconspicuous role on the political stage, it is not surprising that the idea of Federation has remained to this day as lost in the splendor of the great states. Until now, prejudices and all sorts of abuses have swarmed and raged in the federal states with the same intensity as in feudal or unitary monarchies, nobility prejudices, bourgeois privileges, church authority, resulting in the oppression of the people and the servitude of the mind, liberty remained as swaddled in a straitjacket, and civilization buried in an invincible *status quo*. The federalist idea was sustained, unnoticed, incomprehensible, impenetrable, sometimes by a sacramental tradition, as in Germany, where the Confederation, synonymous with Empire, was a coalition of absolute princes, some secular, some ecclesiastical, under the sanction of the Church of Rome; sometimes by the force of circumstances, as in Switzerland, where the confederation was composed of a few valleys, separated from one another and protected against the foreigner by insurmountable chains, the conquest of which would certainly not have been worth resuming Hannibal's enterprise for them. Political vegetation arrested in its growth, where the philosopher's thought had nothing to grasp, the statesman had no principle to gather, the masses had nothing to hope for, and which, far from

principle of collective evolution, one would see it quickly degenerate, after an internal conflagration, into a single power, or a great European monarchy. Such a federation would therefore be either a trap or meaningless.
offering the slightest aid to the Revolution, awaited from it
movement and life.

It is an established fact in history that the French
Revolution laid its hand on all existing federal
constitutions, *that it amended them*, inspired them with its
breath, provided them with what they have of best, in a
word, put them in a state of evolution, without having
received anything from them to this day.

The Americans had been defeated in twenty
encounters, and their cause seemed lost, when the arrival
of the French changed the face of affairs and forced the
English general Cornwallis to capitulate, October 19, 1781.
It was following this event that England consented to
recognize the independence of the colonies, which could
then occupy themselves with their constitution. Well, what
were the ideas of the Americans at that time in political
matters? What were the principles of their government? A
real mess of privileges; a monument of intolerance,
exclusion, and arbitrariness, where shone, like a baleful
star, the spirit of aristocracy, regulation, sect, and caste;
which aroused the reprobation of French publicists and
drew from them the most humiliating observations about
the Americans. The little true liberalism that penetrated
America at that time can be said to be the work of the
French Revolution, which seemed to prelude on this
distant shore to the renovation of the old world. Liberty in
America has been, up to now, rather an effect of
Anglo-Saxon individualism, launched into immense
solitudes, than of its institutions and customs, the current
war only demonstrates this all too well¹³.

13 "The principles of the American Constitution, according to the opinion of penetrating men, announced a premature decay. Turgot, a zealous friend of the American cause, complained:

"1. That the customs of the English were imitated without any useful purpose;

"2. That the clergy, being excluded from the right of eligibility, had become a foreign body in the state, although in this case it could not make a dangerous exception;

"3. That Pennsylvania required a religious oath from members of the legislative body;

"4. That New Jersey required belief in the divinity of Jesus Christ;

"5. That the Puritanism of New England was intolerant, and that the Quakers of Pennsylvania considered the profession of arms as illegal;

"6. That in the southern colonies there was a great inequality of fortunes, and that the Blacks, although free, formed with the Whites two distinct bodies within the same state;

"7. That the state of society in Connecticut was a mean between savage and civilized nations, and that in Massachusetts and New Jersey, the slightest cabal excluded candidates from the number of representatives;

"8. That several inconveniences resulted from the emancipation of the Negroes;

"9. That no title of nobility should be conferred;

"10. That the right of primogeniture should be abolished, and free trade established;

"11. That the extent of jurisdiction should be calculated according to
the distance from the place of residence;

"12. That a sufficient distinction had not been established between landowners and those who were not;

"13. That the right to regulate trade was assumed in the constitution of all the states, and even the right of prohibition;

"14. That there was no principle adopted for taxation, and consequently each state had the right to create taxes at its own discretion;

"15. That America could do without a connection with Europe, and that a wise people should not let slip from its hands its means of defense.

"The famous Mirabeau found in the Society of Cincinnati, composed of the officers of the Revolutionary Army, the principle of hereditary distinctions. Other objections were made by Price, Mably, and other foreign writers. The American legislators knew how to take advantage of them, by modifying a few accessories, but by preserving all the materials of the republican edifice, which, instead of degrading as had been prophesied, improved with time and promises a long duration." (Description of the United States, by Warden, translated from the English. Paris, 1820, volume V, p. 255.)

The following passage from the same author is no less revealing: "Jefferson, and those who acted in concert with him, were convinced that attempts made for the happiness of mankind, regardless of opinions and prejudices, rarely achieved a happy result, and that the most palpable improvements should not be forced into society. Therefore, no new measure was proposed unless public opinion was ripe enough to appreciate it."

This policy of Jefferson and his friends is certainly worthy of all our praise. It is the glory of man and citizen that he must make truth and justice his own before submitting to their laws. We are all kings, said the citizen of Athens. And has not the Bible also told us that we
It was the Revolution that tore Switzerland away from its old prejudices of aristocracy and bourgeoisie and refounded its confederation. In 1801, the constitution of the Helvetic Republic was revised for the first time; the following year, the mediation of the First Consul put an end to the disturbances. It would have put an end to the nationality itself if the union of Switzerland with the Empire had been in Napoleon's plans. But no: "I do not want you," he told them. From 1814 to 1848, Switzerland was constantly worked upon by its retrogressive elements, so much was the federal idea there confused with the idea of aristocracy and privilege. It was not until 1848, in the Constitution of September 12, that the true principles of the federal system were finally clearly laid down. Even so, these principles were so little understood that a unitary tendency immediately manifested itself, which had its representatives even within the federal assembly.

As for the German Confederation, everyone knows that the old structure was abolished by the mediation of the same Emperor, who was not as successful in his plan of restoration. At this moment, the system of the German

are gods? As kings and as gods, we owe obedience only to ourselves. But it still follows from Jefferson's opinion that, during his presidency, from 1801 to 1805, the American people were perhaps the least liberal in the world, and that, without this negative liberty given by the sparsity of population on a territory of unparalleled fertility, it would have been better to live under the despotism of Louis XV or Napoleon than in the republic of the United States.
Confederation is once again under study in the minds of the people: may Germany finally emerge, free and strong, from this agitation as from a salutary crisis.

In 1789, the test of federalism had therefore not yet been made; the idea had not been acquired: the revolutionary legislator had no conclusion to draw from it. It was necessary that the confederations, such as they were, which were throbbing in a few corners of the Old and New Worlds, animated by the new spirit, should first learn to walk and define themselves, that their fertilized principle should develop and show the richness of its organism; it was also necessary that, under the new regime of equality, a last experiment should be made of the unitary system. Only under these conditions could Philosophy argue, the Revolution conclude, and, the idea generalizing, the Republic of peoples finally emerge from its mysticism in the concrete form of a federation of federations.

Facts seem today to give wings to ideas; and we can, it seems, without presumption or pride, on the one hand tear the masses away from their fatal symbols, on the other hand give politicians the secret of their disappointments.
Chapter 10: Political Idealism: Efficacy of Federal
Guarantees

A general observation to be made about moral and
political sciences is that the difficulty of their problems
mainly stems from the figurative manner in which the
original reason conceived their elements. In the popular
imagination, politics, like morality, is a mythology. Here
everything becomes fiction, symbol, mystery, idol. And it
is this idealism, which is adopted with confidence by
philosophers as an expression of reality, that subsequently
creates so many embarrassments for them.

In the vagueness of its thought, the people
contemplates itself as a gigantic and mysterious existence,
and everything in its language seems designed to maintain
the notion of its indivisible unity. It calls itself the People,
the Nation, that is to say, the Multitude, the Mass; it is the
true Sovereign, the Legislator, the Power, the Domination,
the Fatherland, the State; it has its Convocations, its
Scrutinies, its Assizes, its Manifestations, its
Pronouncements, its Plebiscites, its Direct Legislation,
sometimes its Judgments and Executions, its Oracles, its
Voice, like thunder, the great voice of God. The more it
feels itself innumerable, irresistible, immense, the more it
abhors divisions, schisms, minorities. Its ideal, its most
delightful dream, is unity, identity, uniformity,
concentration; it curses, as an affront to its Majesty,
anything that might divide its will, cut its mass, create in it
diversity, plurality, divergence.
Every mythology implies idols, and the People never lacks them. Like Israel in the desert, it improvises gods when none are provided for it; it has its incarnations, its messiahs, its God-given ones. It is the war chief raised on the shield; it is the glorious, conquering, and magnificent king, like the sun, or else the revolutionary tribune: Clovis, Charlemagne, Louis XIV, Lafayette, Mirabeau, Danton, Marat, Robespierre, Napoleon, Victor Emmanuel, Garibaldi. How many, waiting to ascend the pedestal, need only a change of opinion, a stroke of fortune! Of these idols, most as empty of ideas, as devoid of conscience as itself, the people are zealous and jealous; it will not tolerate their being discussed, contradicted, especially it will not bargain with them for power. Do not touch its anointed ones, or you will be treated by it as a sacrilegious person.

Full of its myths, and considering itself as an essentially indivisible collectivity, how could the people grasp the relationship of the citizen to society all at once? How, under its inspiration, could the statesmen who represent it give the true formula of government? Where universal suffrage reigns in its naivety, it can be affirmed in advance that everything will be done in the direction of indivisibility. The people being the collectivity that contains all authority and all rights, universal suffrage, to be sincere in its expression, must be as indivisible as possible, that is to say, elections must be held by list ballots: there were even unitarians in 1848 who demanded that there should be only one list for the eighty-six departments. From this indivisible ballot emerges an indivisible assembly, deliberating and legislating as if it
were a single man. In case of a division of the vote, it is the
majority that represents, without any diminution, the
national unity. From this majority will emerge in turn an
indivisible Government, which, holding its powers from
the indivisible Nation, is called upon to govern and
administer collectively and indivisibly, without any spirit
of locality or interest of parish. Thus the system of
centralization, imperialism, communism, absolutism, all
these words are synonyms, flows from popular idealism;
thus in the social contract, conceived in the manner of
Rousseau and the Jacobins, the citizen relinquishes his
sovereignty, and the commune, above the commune the
department and the province, absorbed into the central
authority, are no longer anything but agencies under the
immediate direction of the ministry.

The consequences are not long in making themselves
felt: the citizen and the commune stripped of all dignity,
the encroachments of the State multiply, and the burdens
of the taxpayer increase in proportion. It is no longer the
government that is made for the people, it is the people
who are made for the government. Power invades
everything, seizes everything, arrogates everything, in
perpetuity, forever, always: War and Navy, Administration,
Justice, Police, Public Instruction, public creations and
repairs; Banks, Stock Exchanges, Credit, Insurance, Relief,
Savings, Charity; Forests, Canals, Rivers; Cults, Finances,
Customs, Commerce, Agriculture, Industry, Transport. On
top of all this, a formidable Tax, which takes from the
nation a quarter of its gross product! The citizen has
nothing left to do but to accomplish in his small corner his
small task, receiving his small salary, raising his small
family, and leaving the rest to the providence of the
government.

Faced with this state of mind, amidst powers hostile
to the Revolution, what could have been the thought of the
founders of 1789, sincere friends of liberty? Not daring to
break the bundle of the state, they had to be particularly
concerned with two things: 1) to contain Power, always
ready to usurp; 2) to contain the People, always ready to
be led astray by its tribunes and to replace the customs of
legality with those of omnipotence.

Indeed, until now, the authors of constitutions—
Sieyès, Mirabeau, the Senate of 1814, the Chamber of 1830,
the Assembly of 1848— have believed, not without reason,
that the *crucial point* of the political system was to contain
the central Power, while still allowing it the greatest
liberty of action and the greatest strength. To achieve this
goal, what was done? First, as has been said, Power was
divided into categories of ministries; then legislative
authority was distributed between the monarchy and the
Chambers, with the majority of the Chambers also
subordinating the prince's choice of ministers. Finally,
taxes were voted on annually by the Chambers, which
used this opportunity to review the acts of the
government.

However, while organizing the parliamentary debate
of the Chambers against the ministers, while balancing the
royal prerogative with the initiative of the representatives,
the authority of the crown with the sovereignty of the
nation; while opposing words to words, fictions to fictions,
the government was granted, without any reservation,
without any counterweight other than a vain faculty of
criticism, the prerogative of an immense administration;
all the forces of the country were placed in its hands; local
liberties were suppressed for greater security; the spirit of
parochialism was annihilated with frenzied zeal; finally, a
formidable, crushing power was created, to which one
then took pleasure in waging a war of epigrams, as if
reality were sensitive to personalities. What happened?
The opposition eventually had the upper hand over
individuals: ministries fell one after another; a dynasty
was overthrown, then another; empire was placed over
republic, and the centralizing despotism, anonymous,
continued to grow, while liberty decreased. Such has been
our *progress* since the victory of the Jacobins over the
Girondins. An inevitable result of an artificial system,
where on one side was placed metaphysical sovereignty
and the right of criticism, and on the other all the realities
of the national domain, all the powers of action of a great
people.

In the federal system, such apprehensions cannot
exist. The central authority, more initiatory than executive,
possesses only a rather limited share of public
administration, that which concerns federal services; it is
under the control of the states, absolute masters of
themselves, and enjoying, for everything that concerns
them respectively, the most complete authority, legislative,
executive, and judicial. The central Power is all the better
subordinated because it is entrusted to an Assembly
composed of delegates from the states, members
themselves, often enough, of their respective governments,
and who, for this reason, exercise over the acts of the federal Assembly a surveillance all the more jealous and severe.

To contain the masses, the embarrassment of publicists was no less great; the means employed by them equally illusory, and the result equally unfortunate.

The people is also one of the powers of the state, the one whose explosions are the most terrible. This power needs a counterweight: democracy itself is forced to admit it, since it is the absence of this counterweight that, leaving the people to the most dangerous excitations, exposing the state to the most formidable insurrections, has twice overthrown the republic in France.

The counterweight to the action of the masses was believed to be found in two institutions, one very costly to the country and full of dangers, the other no less dangerous, especially painful to public conscience— 1) the permanent army, 2) the restriction of the right to vote. Since 1848, universal suffrage has become the law of the state: but as the danger of democratic agitation has increased proportionally, it has been necessary to increase the army, to give more strength to military action. So that, to guard against popular insurrection, one is obliged, in the system of the founders of 1789, to increase the power of the government at the very moment when precautions are taken against it on the other hand. So that the day when Power and people will join hands, this whole scaffolding will collapse. Strange system, where the People cannot exercise sovereignty without risking breaking the
government, nor the government use its prerogative
without marching towards absolutism!

The federal system cuts short the effervescence of the
masses, all the ambitions and excitations of demagogy: it
is the end of the regime of the public square, the triumphs
of tribunes, as well as the absorption of the capitals. Let
Paris make revolutions within its walls: what does it
matter if Lyon, Marseille, Toulouse, Bordeaux, Nantes,
Rouen, Lille, Strasbourg, Dijon, etc., if the departments,
masters of themselves, do not follow? Paris will be left to
its own expenses. Thus, the federation becomes the
salvation of the people, for it saves them, by dividing them,
from the tyranny of their leaders and their own folly.

The Constitution of 1848, on the one hand by
removing command of the armies from the President of
the Republic, and on the other by declaring itself
reformable and progressive, had tried to avert the double
danger of usurpation of central Power and insurrection of
the people. But the Constitution of 1848 did not specify
what progress consisted of, or under what conditions it
could be achieved. In the system it had established, the
distinction between classes, bourgeoisie and people, still
existed: this had been seen during the discussion on the
right to work and the law of May 31, which restricted
universal suffrage. The unitary prejudice was stronger
than ever; with Paris setting the tone, providing the idea
and the will to the departments, it was easy to see that in
the event of a conflict between the President and the
Assembly, the people would follow their elected
representative rather than their representatives. Events
have confirmed these predictions. The day of December 2
showed the worth of purely legal guarantees against a
Power that, with popular favor, combines the strength of
administration and also has its rights. But if, for example,
along with the Republican Constitution of 1848, municipal
and departmental organization had been established and
put into effect; if the provinces had learned to live their
own life; if they had had their large share of executive
power, if the inert masses of December 2 had been
something in the State outside of the ballot, certainly the
coup d'état would have been impossible. With the
battlefield limited between the Elysée and the
Palais-Bourbon, the raising of shields by the executive
power would have at most involved only the garrison of
Paris and the personnel of the ministries<fnref n="14" />.

<footnote n="14">¹⁴ Some have imagined that without the vote of November 24, 1851, which gave reason to the Presidency against the right and ensured the success of the coup d'état, the republic would have been saved. There has been much declamation on this occasion against the members of the mountain who had spoken out against the right. But it is evident, according to the law of political contradictions (see above Chapters VI and VII) and according to the facts, that if the Presidency had been defeated, with the people abstaining, the bourgeois principle would have prevailed, the unitary republic would have been transformed without the slightest difficulty into a constitutional monarchy, and the country would have returned, not to the *status quo* of 1848, but to a regime perhaps stricter than that of December 2, since with at least equal strength in the government, it would have combined, through the decisive predominance of the middle class and the already half-made restriction of the right to vote, the deserved downfall of the masses.</footnote>
I will not conclude this paragraph without citing the words of a writer whose spirit of moderation and depth the public has sometimes appreciated in *Le Courrier du Dimanche*, Mr. Gustave Chaudey, a lawyer at the Paris Court. They will serve to show that what is in question here is not a vain utopia, but a system currently in practice, and whose living idea develops daily:

> The ideal of a confederation would be the alliance pact of which it could be said that it brings to the particular sovereignties of the federated states only restrictions that become, in the hands of the federal authority, extensions of guarantee for the liberty of the citizens, increases in protection for their individual or collective activity.

By this alone one understands the enormous difference that exists between a federal authority and a unitary government, in other words, a government representing only a single sovereignty.

Mr. Chaudey's definition is of the utmost accuracy; and what he calls the *ideal* is nothing other than the formula given by the most rigorous theory. In a federation, centralization is limited to certain special objects detached from cantonal sovereignties and which are supposed to return to them; it is *partial*. In a unitary government, on the contrary, centralization extends to everything and never gives anything back; it is *universal*. The consequence is easy to foresee:

> Centralization, continues Mr. Chaudey, in a unitary
government, is an immense force at the disposal of the
power, and whose use, in one direction or another,
depends solely on the various personal wills that express
the power. Change the conditions of this power, and you
change the conditions of centralization. Liberal today with
a liberal government, it will become tomorrow a
formidable instrument of usurpation for a usurping power,
and after usurpation, a formidable instrument of
despotism; not to mention that by this very fact it is a
perpetual temptation for the power, a perpetual threat to
the liberties of citizens. Under the blow of such a force,
there are no individual or collective rights that are sure of
tomorrow. Under these conditions, centralization could be
called the disarmament of a nation in favor of its
government, and liberty is condemned to an incessant
struggle against force.

The opposite happens with federal centralization.
Instead of arming the power with the force of the *whole*
against the *part*, it is the *part* that it arms with the force of
the *whole* against the abuses of its *own power*. A Swiss
canton whose liberties are threatened by its government,
instead of relying on its own strength, can oppose it with
the strength of the twenty-two cantons: is this not worth
the sacrifice of the right to revolution that the cantons
made with the new Constitution of 1848?

The law of progress, essential to federal constitutions,
impossible to apply under a unitary constitution, is no less
well recognized by the writer I am citing:

The Federal Constitution of 1848 recognizes the right
of cantonal constitutions to revise and modify themselves;
but it sets a double condition: it requires that changes be
made in accordance with the rules laid down by the
respective cantonal constitutions, and that these changes
express progress, not retrogression. It wants a people to
modify its constitution to advance, not to retreat. It says to
the Swiss people: If it is not to increase your liberties that
you want to change your institutions, it is that you are
barely worthy of what you have: stick to it. But if it is to
increase your liberties, it is that you are worthy of moving
forward: march under the protection of all Switzerland.

The idea of guaranteeing and ensuring a political
constitution, much like insuring a house against fire or a
field against hail, is indeed the central and certainly the
most original idea of the system. Our legislators of 1791,
1793, 1795, 1799, 1814, 1830, and 1848, could invoke only
the patriotism of the citizens and the devotion of the
national guards in favor of their constitutions; the
constitution of 1793 even went so far as to call for arms
and the right of insurrection. Experience has proven how
illusory such guarantees are. The Constitution of 1852,
*virtually* the same as that of the Consulate and the First
Empire, is guaranteed by nothing, and it is not I who will
reproach it for that. What other collateral could it invoke
outside of the federal contract? The whole mystery,
however, lies in dividing the nation into independent
provinces, sovereign, or at least self-governing, with
sufficient force, initiative, and influence, and in having
them guarantee one another<fnref n="15" />.

<footnote n="15">15 Swiss Federal Constitution of 1848, Article 6: "The guarantee of</footnote>
An excellent application of these principles is found
in the constitution of the Swiss army:

*Protection is increased everywhere, says Mr. Chaudey;*
*the danger of oppression is nowhere. In joining the federal flag,*
*the cantonal contingents do not forget the native soil: far*
*from it, it is because the homeland commands them to*
*serve the confederation that they obey it. How could the*
*cantons fear that their soldiers would become instruments*
*of a unitary conspiracy against them? The same is not true*
*for the other states of Europe, where the soldier is taken*
*from the people only to be separated from them and*
*become body and soul the man of the government<fnref n="16" />.*

The same spirit dominates the American Constitution,
which can, however, be criticized for having excessively
multiplied the attributions of federal authority. The
powers granted to the American president are almost as
extensive as those given to Louis-Napoleon by the
Constitution of 1848: this excess of attributions was not
unrelated to the unitary absorption idea that first

<footnote>the confederation is granted to the cantonal constitutions, provided
a) that these constitutions contain nothing contrary to the provisions
of the federal constitution; b) that they ensure the exercise of
political rights according to republican, representative, or
democratic forms; c) that they have been accepted by the people and
can be revised when an absolute majority of citizens demand it."</footnote>

<footnote n="16">¹⁶ Le Républicain Neuchâtelois, August 19 and 31 - September 1, 1852.</footnote>
manifested itself in the Southern states and now, in turn, is
leading those of the North astray.

The idea of Federation is certainly the highest to
which political genius has risen to date. It far surpasses the
French constitutions promulgated over the past seventy
years despite the Revolution, whose short duration does
little credit to our country. It resolves all the difficulties
raised by the agreement of Liberty and Authority. With it,
we no longer need to fear being mired in governmental
antinomies; seeing the plebs *emancipate* themselves by
proclaiming a perpetual dictatorship, the bourgeoisie
manifest its *liberalism* by pushing centralization to the
extreme, the public spirit corrupting itself in this
debauchery of license coupling with despotism, power
constantly returning to the hands of the *intriguers*, as
Robespierre called them, and the Revolution, in Danton's
words, *always remaining with the most scoundrels*. Eternal
reason is finally justified, skepticism is defeated. No
longer will the failures of humanity be blamed on the
inadequacies of Nature, the irony of Providence, or the
contradictions of the Spirit; the opposition of principles
finally appears as the condition of universal equilibrium.
Chapter 11: Economic Sanctions: The
Agro-Industrial Federation

However, not everything has been said. No matter
how impeccable the federal constitution may be in its logic,
and no matter how many guarantees it offers in practice, it
will only sustain itself as long as it does not encounter
incessant causes of dissolution in the public economy. In
other words, political law needs the support of economic
law. If the production and distribution of wealth are left to
chance; if the federal order only serves to protect capitalist
and mercantile anarchy; if, as a result of this false anarchy,
society finds itself divided into two classes, one of
property-owning capitalists and entrepreneurs, and the
other of wage-earning proletarians; one rich, the other
poor; the political edifice will always be unstable. The
working class, the most numerous and the poorest, will
eventually see nothing but disappointment in it; workers
will band together against the bourgeoisie, who in turn
will band together against the workers; and one will see
the confederation degenerate, if the people are the
strongest, into a unitary democracy, and if the bourgeoisie
triumphs, into a constitutional monarchy.

It is in anticipation of this possibility of a social war
that strong governments have been established, as was
said in the previous chapter, the object of admiration of
publicists, in whose eyes confederations seem like shacks
incapable of supporting Power against the aggression of
the masses, which means, the enterprises of the
government against the rights of the nation. For once
again, let us not be mistaken, every power is established,
every citadel built, every army organized as much against
the inside as against the outside. If the mission of the state
is to become the absolute master of society, and the destiny
of the people is to serve as an instrument for its enterprises,
then it must be recognized that the federal system does
not stand up to comparison with the unitary system. There,
neither the central power by its dependence, nor the
multitude by its division, can either of them stand up to
public liberty. The Swiss, after their victories over Charles
the Bold, were for a long time the foremost military power
in Europe. But because they formed a confederation,
capable of defending themselves against foreigners, which
they proved, but inept at conquest and coups d'état, they
remained a peaceful republic, the most inoffensive and
least enterprising of states. The German Confederation
also had its centuries of glory under the name of Empire,
but because the imperial power lacked stability and center,
the Confederation was torn apart, dismembered, and the
nationality compromised. The Confederation of the
Netherlands likewise vanished upon contact with
centralized powers: there is no need to mention the Italian
Confederation. Yes, indeed, if civilization, if the economy
of societies, were to remain in the *status quo* of old, it
would be better for the peoples to have imperial unity
than federation.

But everything indicates that times have changed, and
that after the revolution of ideas must come, as its
legitimate consequence, the revolution of interests. The
twentieth century will usher in the era of federations<sup>17</sup>, or
humanity will begin another purgatory of a thousand
years. The real problem to be solved is not actually the
political problem, but the economic problem. It was
through this latter solution that in 1848, my friends and I
proposed to carry on the revolutionary work of February.
Democracy was in power; the Provisional Government
only needed to act to succeed; with the revolution made in
the sphere of labor and wealth, there should have been no
concern at all about the one to be carried out later in
government. Centralization, which would have had to be

<footnote n="17">17 I have written somewhere (On Justice in the Revolution and in the Church, 4th study, Belgian edition, note) that the year 1814 opened the era of constitutions in Europe. The mania for contradiction has made this proposition hissed at by people who, mixing up history and politics, affairs and intrigue in their daily ramblings, do not even know the chronology of their century. But that is not what interests me at the moment. The era of constitutions, very real and well named, has its analogue in the Actian era, indicated by Augustus after his victory over Antony at Actium, and which coincides with the year 30 BC. These two eras, the *Actian era* and the *era of constitutions*, have this in common: they both indicated a general renewal in politics, political economy, public law, liberty, and general sociability. Both inaugurated a period of peace, and both testify to the awareness that contemporaries had of the general revolution taking place and the willingness of national leaders to contribute to it. However, the Actian era, dishonored by the imperial orgy, fell into oblivion; it was completely effaced by the Christian era, which marked, in a far more grandiose, moral, and popular way, the same renewal. The same will happen to the so-called constitutional era: it will disappear in turn before the federal and social era, whose profound and popular idea must abrogate the bourgeois and *moderatist* idea of 1814.</footnote>
broken later, would have been a powerful temporary aid.
Moreover, at that time, no one except perhaps the writer of
these lines, who had declared himself an *anarchist* as early
as 1840, thought of attacking unity and demanding
federation.

Democratic prejudice decided otherwise. The
politicians of the old school maintained and still maintain
today that the true course to follow in terms of social
revolution is to start with the government, and then, at
leisure, deal with labor and property. After having
supplanted the bourgeoisie and driven out the prince,
democracy disqualified itself, and what had to happen
happened. The empire came to silence these speakers
without a plan; the economic revolution took place in the
opposite direction of the aspirations of 1848, and liberty
was compromised.

One can guess that I am not going to present, in the
context of federation, a picture of economic science, and
show in detail everything that needs to be done in this
order of ideas. I simply say that the federal government,
after having reformed the political order, has as a
necessary complement a series of reforms to be carried out
in the economic order: here in a few words is what these
reforms consist of.

Just as, from a political standpoint, two or more
independent states can confederate to guarantee each
other the integrity of their territories or to protect their
liberties; similarly, from an economic standpoint, one can
confederate for the mutual protection of trade and
industry, what is called a *customs union*; one can
confederate for the construction and maintenance of
communication routes, roads, canals, railways, for the
organization of credit and insurance, etc. The aim of these
particular federations is to free the citizens of the
contracting states from capitalist and bankocratic
exploitation both internally and externally; together, they
form, in opposition to the dominant financial feudalism of
today, what I will call the *agro-industrial federation*.

I shall not go into any detail on this subject. The
public, which for the past fifteen years has more or less
followed my work, knows well enough what I mean.
Financial and industrial feudalism aims to consecrate,
through the monopolization of public services, the
privilege of education, the fragmentation of labor, the
interest on capital, the inequality of taxes, etc., the political
downfall of the masses, economic servitude or wage labor,
in a word, inequality of conditions and fortunes. On the
contrary, the agro-industrial federation tends to
approximate equality more and more through the
organization, at the lowest cost and in other hands than
those of the state, of all public services; through the
mutualization of credit and insurance, the equalization of
taxes, the guarantee of work and education, and a
combination of tasks that allows each worker to become
not just an industrial laborer and artist, but a
wage-earning master.

Such a revolution could obviously not be the work of
a bourgeois monarchy or a unitary democracy; it is the act
of a federation. It does not pertain to the *unilateral* contract
or *benevolence*, nor to the institutions of *charity*; it is the prerogative of the synallagmatic and commutative contract<fnref n="18" />.

<footnote n="18">¹⁸ A simple calculation will make this clear. The average education to be provided to both sexes in a free state cannot cover a period of less than ten to twelve years, which includes roughly one-fifth of the total population, that is, in France, seven and a half million individuals, boys and girls, out of thirty-eight million inhabitants. In countries where marriages produce many children, as in America, this proportion is even more considerable. So, it is *seven and a half million* individuals of both sexes to whom it is necessary to provide, in a decent measure, but which would certainly have nothing aristocratic about it, literary, scientific, moral, and professional education. Now, what is the number of individuals in France who attend secondary and higher schools? One hundred and twenty-seven thousand four hundred and seventy-four, according to Mr. Guillard's statistics. All the others, numbering *seven million three hundred and seventy thousand five hundred and twenty-five*, are condemned never to go beyond primary school. But not all of them even go there: recruitment committees note an increasing number of illiterates each year. Where would our rulers be, I ask, if they had to solve the problem of providing average education to *seven million three hundred and seventy thousand five hundred and twenty-five* individuals, in addition to the *one hundred and twenty-seven thousand four hundred and seventy-four* who occupy the schools? What can be done here by the unilateral pact of a bourgeois monarchy, the benevolence contract of a paternal empire, the charitable foundations of the Church, the precautionary councils of Malthus, and the hopes of free trade? All the committees of public safety themselves, with their revolutionary vigor, would fail. Such a goal can only be achieved through a combination of apprenticeship and schooling that makes every student a producer: which implies a universal federation. I know of no fact more overwhelming for old politics than this one.</footnote>
Considered in itself, the idea of an industrial federation serving as a complement and sanction to the political federation receives the most brilliant confirmation from the principles of economics. It is the application on the highest scale of the principles of mutual aid, division of labor, and economic solidarity, which the will of the people would transform into laws of the state.

Let labor remain free; let power, more deadly to labor than the community itself, refrain from interfering: very well. But industries are sisters; they are interdependent; one cannot suffer without the others being affected. Let them federate, not to absorb and merge, but to mutually guarantee the conditions of prosperity that are common to them and that none can monopolize. By forming such a pact, they will not infringe upon their liberty; they will only give it greater certainty and strength. It will be with them as it is with the powers in the state, and with the organs in an animal, whose separation precisely constitutes their strength and harmony.

Thus, in an admirable way, zoology, political economy, and politics agree here to tell us: the first, that the most perfect animal, the one best served by its organs, consequently the most active, intelligent, and best constituted for domination, is the one whose faculties and members are best specialized, coordinated, and harmonized; the second, that the most productive, richest, and best protected against hypertrophy and pauperism is the one where labor is best divided, competition is most complete, exchange is most loyal, circulation is most
regular, wages are most just, property is most equal, and all industries are best guaranteed by one another; the third, finally, that the freest and most moral government is the one where powers are best divided, administration is best distributed, the independence of groups is most respected, and provincial, cantonal, and municipal authorities are best served by the central authority; in a word, it is the federal government.

Thus, just as the monarchical or authoritarian principle has, as its first corollary, the assimilation or incorporation of the groups it annexes, in other words, administrative centralization, which one might also call the household community of the political household; as its second corollary, the indivisibility of power, in other words, absolutism; and as its third corollary, territorial and industrial feudalism;— similarly, the federal principle, the epitome of liberalism, has as its first corollary the administrative independence of the localities that rally to it; as its second corollary, the separation of powers in each sovereign state; and as its third corollary, the agro-industrial federation.

In a republic constituted on such foundations, one can say that liberty is raised to its third power, while authority is reduced to its cube root. The former, indeed, grows with the state, in other words, multiplies with federations; the latter, subordinated step by step, is only whole within the family, where it is tempered by the dual loves of marriage and parenthood.

No doubt, the knowledge of these great laws could
only be acquired through long and painful experience;
perhaps also, before reaching liberty, our species needed
to pass through the pangs of servitude. To each age its
idea, to each epoch its institutions.

Now the times have come. All of Europe is crying out
loudly for peace and disarmament. And as if the glory of
such a great boon were reserved for us, it is towards
France that hopes are directed, it is from our nation that
the signal for universal happiness is awaited.

Princes and kings, taken literally, are of the old style:
we have already constitutionalized them; the day is
approaching when they will be nothing more than federal
presidents. Then it will be the end of aristocracies,
democracies, and all the -cracies, gangrenes of nations,
scarecrows of liberty. Does this democracy, which fancies
itself liberal and knows only how to anathematize
federalism and socialism, as its fathers did in 93, even
have the idea of liberty?... But the trial must come to an
end. Here we begin to reason about the federal pact; it is
not too presumptuous, I suppose, of the stupor of the
present generation, to assign the return of justice to the
cataclysm that will carry it away.

As for me, whose voice a certain press has sought to
stifle, sometimes through calculated silence, sometimes
through distortion and insult, I can throw down this
challenge to my adversaries:

All my economic ideas, elaborated over the past
twenty-five years, can be summed up in these three words:
*Agro-Industrial Federation;*

All my political views can be reduced to a similar
formula: *Political Federation* or *Decentralization*;

And since I do not use my ideas as a party instrument
or a means of personal ambition, all my hopes for the
present and the future are expressed by this third term,
corollary of the other two: *Progressive Federation*.

I challenge anyone to make a clearer profession of
faith, one of higher reach and at the same time greater
moderation; I go further, I challenge any friend of liberty
and justice to reject this one.
Part 2

Unitary Politics— *By Their Fruits You*
*Shall Know Them (A Fructibus corum*
*cognoscetis eos)*
Chapter 1: The Jacobin Tradition: Federalist Gaul,
Monarchical France

Gaul, inhabited by four different races— the Gauls,
the Cimbri, the Vascons, and the Ligurians— subdivided
into more than forty peoples, formed, like its neighboring
Germany, a confederation. Nature had given it its first
constitution, the constitution of free peoples; unity came to
it through conquest, and it was the work of the Caesars.

The generally assigned boundaries of Gaul are, to the
north, the North Sea and the English Channel; to the west,
the Atlantic Ocean; to the south, the Pyrenees and the
Mediterranean Sea; to the east, the Alps and the Jura
Mountains; and to the northeast, the Rhine. I do not wish
to dispute this so-called natural demarcation here,
although the basins of the Rhine, the Moselle, the Meuse,
and the Scheldt belong more to Germany than to Gaul.
What I merely wish to point out is that the territory
enclosed within this vast pentagon, which, as the Romans
and the Franks successively proved, is easily aggregated,
is no less well disposed for a confederation. It can be
compared to a truncated pyramid, whose slopes, united
by their ridges and draining their waters into different
seas, thus ensure the independence of the populations that
inhabit them. Roman policy, which had already, against
nature, unified and centralized Italy, did the same with
Gaul, so that our unfortunate country, having to endure in
succession Latin conquest, imperial unity, and soon after,
conversion to Christianity, lost forever its language, its
worship, its liberty, and its originality.
After the fall of the Western Empire, Gaul, conquered by the Franks, took on under Germanic influence an appearance of federation that, quickly degenerating, became the feudal system. The establishment of communes might have revived the federalist spirit, especially if they had been inspired by the Flemish commune rather than the Roman municipality: they were absorbed by the monarchy.

However, the federal idea, indigenous to old Gaul, lived on as a memory in the hearts of the provinces when the Revolution broke out. Federation, it can be said, was the first thought of 1789. With absolutist monarchy and feudal rights abolished, and provincial boundaries respected, everyone felt that France was about to reconstitute itself as a confederation, under the hereditary presidency of a king. The battalions sent to Paris from all the provinces of the kingdom were called *federates*. The cahiers provided by the *Estates* that were eager to regain their sovereignty contained the elements of the new pact.

Unfortunately, in 1789, as always, despite our revolutionary fervor, we were rather an imitative people than an initiating one. No example of a federation, however remarkable, was available to us. Neither the German Confederation, established on the *Holy Roman Empire*, nor the Swiss Confederation, imbued with aristocracy, were models to follow. The American Confederation had just been signed on March 3, 1789, the day before the opening of the Estates-General; and we have seen in the first part how defective this draft was.
Since we had given up on developing our old principle, it
was not an exaggeration to expect from a constitutional
monarchy, based on the Declaration of Rights, more liberty,
especially more order, than from the United States
Constitution.

The National Assembly, usurping all powers and
declaring itself Constituent, gave the signal for the reaction
against federalism. From the Tennis Court Oath onward, it
was no longer a meeting of quasi-federal deputies
contracting on behalf of their respective states; it was the
representatives of an indivisible collectivity, who set about
overhauling French society from top to bottom, to which
they condescended, for the first time, to grant a charter. To
make the metamorphosis irrevocable, the provinces were
carved up and made unrecognizable, every vestige of
provincial independence annihilated under a new
geographical division, the departments. Sieyès, who
proposed it and later provided the model for all the
invariably unitary constitutions that have governed the
country for the past seventy-two years, Sieyès, nurtured in
the spirit of the Church and the Empire, was the true
author of the current unity; it was he who stifled in its
infancy the national confederation, ready to be reborn if
only a man capable of defining it had been found. The
necessities of the moment, the salvation of the Revolution,
were Sieyès' excuses. Mirabeau, who seconded him with
all his efforts in this departmental creation, embraced
Sieyès' idea all the more eagerly because he feared the rise
of provincial franchises leading to a counter-revolution,
and just as the division of the territory into departments
seemed to him fortunate for establishing the new
monarchy, so he found it excellent as a tactic against the old regime.

After the catastrophe of August 10th, the abolition of the monarchy once again turned minds toward federalist ideas. There was widespread dissatisfaction with the 1791 Constitution, which had become unworkable. People complained about the dictatorship of the last two Assemblies and the domination of the departments by the capital. A new gathering of the nation's representatives was convened, receiving the significant name of *Convention*— an official rejection of Sieyès' unitary ideals, but one that would provoke fierce debates and bloody purges. Just as it had been defeated at Versailles after the opening of the Estates-General, federalism was crushed for the second time in Paris on May 31, 1793. From that fateful date onward, every trace of federalism vanished from French public law; the very idea became suspect, synonymous with counter-revolution—I might almost say treason. The concept faded from people's minds: in France, no one even remembers what the word *federation* means, as if it were borrowed from Sanskrit.

Did the Girondins err in invoking their convention mandate to appeal to the departments of the "one and indivisible" republic against the Jacobins? Even if they were theoretically right, was their political strategy wise? Undoubtedly, the omnipotence of the new assembly— elected in an expressly anti-unitary spirit— the dictatorship of the Committee of Public Safety, the triumvirate of Robespierre, Saint-Just, and Couthon, the tribunician power of Marat and Hébert, and the judiciary
of the Revolutionary Tribunal were all intolerable, fully
justifying the revolt of seventy-two departments against
the Paris Commune. But were the Girondins not guilty of
reckless provocation and grave imprudence, given their
inability to define their own ideas, propose an alternative
system, shoulder the burden of public affairs, or confront
the very dangers they had so vehemently denounced? ...
On the other hand, while the Jacobins, once in sole control,
could boast to some extent of having saved the Revolution
and defeated the coalition at Fleurus, could they not also
be justly accused of having partly created the danger they
later claimed to avert? Of having, through their fanaticism,
fourteen months of Terror, and the backlash it provoked,
exhausted the nation, shattered public conscience, and
discredited liberty?

Impartial history will judge this great trial based on
sounder principles, contemporary testimonies, and the
facts themselves.

As for me— if I may venture a personal opinion while
awaiting history's final verdict (and what are historical
judgments if not the sum of individual opinions?)— I will
say frankly that France, having been a divinely ordained
monarchy for fourteen centuries, could not transform
overnight into any kind of republic; that the Girondins,
accused of federalism, represented the spirit of the
Revolution better than the Jacobins, but were deluded if
they believed in the possibility of sudden conversion; that
prudence— what we would now call the law of
progress— demanded gradual change, and that the
Girondins' tragedy lay in compromising their own
principles by opposing both Sieyès and Mirabeau's
monarchy and the now-allied democracy of the
Sans-Culottes. As for the Jacobins, I will add with equal
frankness that in seizing power and wielding it with all
the authority of monarchy, they proved, in that moment,
more astute than the Girondin statesmen—but that by
reinstating, with even greater absolutism, the royal system
under the name of a "one and indivisible republic," after
consecrating it with the blood of the last king, they
betrayed the very principle of the Revolution and
displayed a Machiavellianism of the darkest kind. A
temporary dictatorship might have been excusable; but a
dogma that sanctified the encroachments of power and
nullified national sovereignty was nothing short of an
outrage. The Jacobins' "one and indivisible republic" did
more than destroy the old provincial federalism, perhaps
unwisely invoked by the Girondins—it made liberty
impossible in France and rendered the Revolution an
illusion. In 1830, some might still have doubted the dire
consequences of the Jacobins' victory; today, no such
doubt remains.

The debate between federation and unity has recently
resurfaced regarding Italy, under circumstances not unlike
those of 1793. Back then, the federalist idea—mistaken by
some for democracy and accused by others of royalism—
faced the misfortunes of the times, the fury of factions, and
the nation's forgetfulness and incapacity. In 1859, its
adversaries were the schemes of a minister, the whims of a
sect, and the cleverly stirred distrust of the people. The
question now is whether the prejudice that, since 1789, has
persistently driven us from the paths of Revolution into
those of absolutism can long endure in the face of truth—
finally demonstrated— and the facts themselves.

In the first part of this work, I sought to present the
philosophical and historical reasoning behind the
federative principle and to highlight the superiority of this
concept—which we may call a product of our century—
over all preceding ones. I have just explained the chain of
events and circumstances that allowed the opposing
theory to take hold of minds. I will now show how, in
recent years, Democracy has conducted itself under this
lamentable influence. By reducing itself to absurdity, the
politics of unity exposes its own exhaustion— and makes
way for federation.
Chapter 2: Democracy Since December 2nd

The French democracy—at least as represented by certain newspapers which the Imperial government has seen fit to grant or retain publishing privileges—has reigned unchallenged over public opinion for the past decade. It alone has had the power to address the masses, telling them whatever it pleased, guiding them according to its own views and interests. What have been its ideas and actions? It is worth recalling them now.

By its judgment of the coup d'état, democracy gave it its approval. If the President of the Republic's undertaking was good, democracy may claim its share of the credit; if it was evil, then it must also bear its share of responsibility. What was the pretext for the coup, and against whom was it primarily directed? The arguments that justified it in public opinion and ensured its success three years in advance were: the danger posed to society by new theories and the threat of social war they brought to the country. Now, who has denounced socialism more fiercely than democracy? Who has hunted it down more ruthlessly? Who, even today, pursues it with greater relentlessness? Had it not been for Louis-Napoleon or the Prince of Joinville—the designated presidential candidate for the 1852 elections—the coup against socialist democracy would have been carried out by non-socialist democracy, in other words, by the unitary republic, which, as we have shown, is nothing but a disguised constitutional monarchy. The newspapers of this so-called republic have maneuvered so skillfully over the past decade that many
workers, who in 1848 participated in all socialist
demonstrations, now echo their employers in saying:
"Without socialism, we would have kept the republic!"...
And what kind of republic would that have been, you
fools, you ingrates? A republic of exploiters! Truly, you
deserve no better, and you are fit only to serve as its
lackeys.

Democracy first refused to swear allegiance to the
Emperor— why? Then it did swear, even branding those
who refused as bad citizens— why again? How did what
was a disgrace in 1852 become a duty, an act of public
salvation, by 1857?

Democracy aligned itself with the industrial
movement that followed the coup d'état, a movement that
ran counter to economic reform. With the most edifying
zeal, it threw itself into this financial feudalism, whose rise
socialism had predicted twenty years earlier. Not a word
was uttered against the mergers of railway companies—
that would have been an attack on the unity of the
republic! It secured its share of subsidies, speculated in its
portion of stocks; when stock exchange scandals were
exposed by socialism— which, according to Mr. Oscar de
Vallée, was the first to raise the flag of public morality in
this matter— democracy declared that these enemies of
speculation were enemies of progress. Who took it upon
themselves to defend, out of hatred for socialism, the
Malthusian morality proclaimed in full Academy? Who
patronized effeminate literature, romantic debauchery,
and all the literary bohemians? None other than this
retrograde democracy, scorned by the coup d'état itself.
Democracy applauded the Crimean expedition— naturally. I do not intend here to put imperial policy on trial, as it lies beyond the reach of my criticism. The Emperor's government did, in 1854 and 1855, what it deemed best regarding the Ottoman Empire: it would be too risky for me to question its motives. Our soldiers behaved gloriously— I do not hesitate to add my laurel leaf to their crowns. But I may say that there was a moment when the policy of accommodation, represented by Mr. Drouyn de Lhuys, then as now Minister of Foreign Affairs, nearly prevailed, and had the powerful voice of democracy supported this statesman, France might have saved 1,500 million francs and 120,000 soldiers (I do not know the exact figures) spent propping up Turkish nationality. A democracy animated by a true republican spirit, more concerned with the country's liberties than with exalting central power, and above all frugal with the people's blood, would have eagerly seized every chance for peace. The unitary zeal of our publicist citizens decided otherwise. Their warlike patriotism tipped the scales in favor of... England. "War against Russia," they said, "is the Revolution!" They never stop invoking the Revolution—that is all they know of it. Even in 1854, they failed to grasp this simple fact: that the day after December 2, Louis-Napoleon had, by the force of his position and the inevitable meaning of the coup, become the leader of European conservatism. As such, he was hailed by emperors, kings—and dare I say?— even by republics themselves. Oh, let no one today accuse the French nation of frivolity. The Empire is the work of all Europe. Our democrats should have realized this when
the allied powers decreed that the war would remain political, localized, and that the assistance of brave men flocking from all corners of Europe would therefore be refused.

Democracy cheered the Lombardy expedition— war against Austria, it claimed, was again the Revolution. We shall examine this shortly. But I can say in advance that without democracy, which effectively endorsed Orsini's plea, Napoleon III would most likely have refrained from embarking on this venture, in whose service we have spent 500 million francs and forty thousand men—for the sake of Mr. de Cavour's spectacles.

After initially condemning the government's intervention in Mexican affairs, democracy ultimately demanded the current expedition—one the imperial government might have abandoned, following Jules Favre's motion, had it seen this orator strongly supported by the press. But no: the democratic press insisted that even after recognizing its misjudgment of Mexican public sentiment, the government could only negotiate "with honor" in Mexico City following a military setback. Was it the Revolution calling us to Mexico? Hardly. Mexicans seek to establish a federal republic; they want no foreign prince, whether German or Spanish; and their current president Juarez happens to be the most capable, honest, and popular leader they've had. True republicans would understand that for a government as powerful as ours, real dignity lies in admitting mistakes—even after defeat—and would have insisted on withdrawal. But our democrats' version of republicanism abhors federalism
while being hypersensitive about honor.

Indeed, democracy is fundamentally militaristic—without it, praetorian politics would collapse. Its speakers and writers resemble the old Imperial Guard: constantly criticizing the emperor's campaigns while remaining utterly devoted, ever ready to defend him with arms, words, and hearts. Pointless to argue that standing armies now only oppress and distrust citizens; futile to demonstrate with facts and figures that conquests never enrich nations and that annexations cost more than they yield; wasted breath to prove that the true logic of war—the right of force— would lead to ending wars and repurposing military strength. They won't hear it: "Napoleon I," they say, "was the Revolution's sword." Well, that sword still has revolutionary duties to fulfill!

Democracy embraced free trade—a policy whose abrupt implementation, if fully accounted for, equals one of the First Empire's costly campaigns that inevitably demanded fresh troops and taxes. Thus, for all our bravado, we remain England's follower—whether in war against Russia, free trade, or Italian unification. Could our patriots do less for Cobden's theory, Bastiat's dream, Mr. Jean Dollfus' whim, or Mr. Chevalier's pet cause (he who so skillfully rode the gold question)? After all, isn't free trade—this war against monopolists—also the Revolution?... These profound thinkers will never grasp that a nation's monopolists are its people, and that waging war against them always risks grave peril, if not outright
injustice<fnref n="19" />.

What did democracy seek by taking sides in the American Civil War as it did? To parade its philanthropy, yes— but chiefly to indulge its unity obsession. "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity!" it cried: war on slavery, war on secession—that's the whole Revolution! So it goaded the North against the South, inflamed passions, deepened hatreds, and made the war ten times more brutal. A share of the bloodshed and the European suffering caused by this fraternal conflict must weigh on democracy's conscience—history will hold it accountable<fnref n="20" />.

<footnote n="19">¹⁹ Recently a textile manufacturer, hearing the American war lamented as harming French interests, declared it would actually benefit our commerce and industry. How so? Because England, equally starved for raw materials, will hoard its goods, allowing French manufacturers time to compete. What praise for free trade!</footnote>

<footnote n="20">²⁰ Economic systems and racial mixtures had created two incompatible societies within the American union. Either disunion or emancipation became inevitable. Emancipation could have been simple: propose gradual compensated liberation; if refused, legally declare slaves citizens; blockade slave states and welcome fugitives. No resistance could withstand such moral and material pressure. But such charity exceeded American virtue, North and South. We mustn't demand what races cannot give: Blacks philosophically and aesthetically rank below Whites, though surpassing Anglo-Saxons in heart and docility. Don't blame human will for natural repugnance— this won't create brotherhood. Anglo-Saxon antipathy stems from Germanic character— Northern races' familial modesty recoils from racial mixing as promiscuity. Biblical prohibitions against mixing pure and impure also influence them. Europe now knows the North's true aim isn't making slaves into citizen-brothers,</footnote>
Ah! I hear these grand politicians objecting: "Yes, we supported the Crimean and Lombardy expeditions because they were inherently useful and revolutionary. But we protested their execution— can we be held responsible for policies not our own? Yes, we backed the Mexican expedition, though directed against a republican nation, because France's prestige as revolution's standard-bearer must be maintained. Yes, we championed free trade to uphold principle, and to prove France fears England neither in markets nor battlefields. Yes, we insist the Revolution remain armed, the Republic one and indivisible—for without armies revolution cannot enforce justice among nations, and without unity the Republic becomes a lifeless mob. But we want a citizen army where each individual retains liberty within unity." Miserable sophists! If Eastern and Italian policies weren't yours, why endorse them? Why meddle at all? You speak of national honor— what has this to do with the intrigues behind Mexican intervention? Where did you learn governmental responsibility? You embrace free trade as principle— very well, but don't sacrifice industrial solidarity, equally principled. You demand an armed Revolution—but who threatens revolution except yourselves?

but deporting them (Lincoln's word), replacing them with white laborers—or relegating willing remainers to pariah status. This noble work— official racial degradation worse than slavery— has liberal presses, unitary democrats, academics and Malthusians competing to endorse it. Instead of challenging American prejudice and racial incompatibility, they've fanned discord and applauded hypocrisy. Isn't this "labor freedom" the perfect counterpart to free trade? One generalizes proletariat, the other globalizes monopoly.
Chapter 3: Democratic Monogram. Unity

Democracy presents itself as liberal, republican, even
socialist— "in the true and proper sense of the word," as
Lamartine would say.

But democracy deceives itself. It has never truly
understood the revolutionary triad— *Liberty*, *Equality*, *Fraternity*— though its lips overflowed with these words
in 1848 as in 1793, turning them into grand slogans. Its real
motto, firmly adopted, boils down to a single term: Unity.

To comprehend *Liberty*, much less *Equality*, to feel
*Fraternity* as free men do, requires philosophy,
jurisprudence, a science of man and society, of economies
and their workings. How many submit to such study?
Whereas *Unity*— a physical, mathematical concept, visible,
tangible, quantifiable— is instantly grasped. In difficult
cases, it even spares one the trouble of reasoning. With
Unity, politics reduces to simple machinery: just turn the
flywheel. Woe to those caught in the gears—they weren't
true statesmen, just interlopers punished for their
ambitious vanity.

In public law, *Liberty* means guarantees: inviolability
of person and home; municipal, corporate, industrial
freedoms; legal safeguards for innocence and fair defense.
How reconcile these with governmental majesty— so dear
to democracy—or with Unity? It was democracy, its
leaders and organs, that in 1848 instituted military
tribunals, authorized house searches, filled prisons,
imposed martial law, and deported white laborers without
trial— just as Lincoln now decrees for black laborers.
Democracy holds individual liberty and rule of law cheap,
incapable of governing except through Unity, which is
simply despotism by another name.

*Republic* or political *Equality* implies administrative
independence for the groups composing the state— above
all, separation of powers. Yet democracy is centralizing
and unitary; it loathes federalism; under Louis-Philippe, it
relentlessly persecuted "parochialism"; it sees undivided
power as government's mainspring and anchor— its ideal
being dictatorship paired with inquisition. In 1848, with
riots in the streets, it hastily concentrated all powers in
General Cavaignac's hands. "Why alter the machinery?" it
reasoned. "What absolute monarchy wielded against us,
we'll wield against it and its adherents— no need for new
artillery; just turn the enemy's own guns against him."
That's all revolution means to it.

*Socialism*— in the true sense— means free commerce
and industry, mutual insurance, reciprocal credit,
equitable taxation, balanced fortunes, workers sharing in
enterprise risks, inviolable family inheritance. But
democracy leans hard toward communism— Unity's
economic formula— the only equality it grasps. It wants
price ceilings, forced loans, progressive and luxury taxes,
paired with philanthropic institutions: hospices, asylums,
nurseries, pensions, national workshops, savings banks—
the whole apparatus of pauperism, the livery of misery. It
dislikes piecework, scoffs at free credit, and would tremble
before "a nation of learned workers" equally adept at
thinking, writing, wielding pick or plane, with women needing no servants. It smiles at inheritance taxes that dismantle families and transfer property to the state. In short:

> Liberty means federation — or it means nothing.

> Republic means federation — or it means nothing.

> Socialism means federation — or it still means nothing.

But democracy as manifested these four years wants none of what federation produces, what the Social Contract implies, what Justice and Liberty demand. Democracy's principle is Unity; its end is Unity; its means, Unity; its law, ever Unity. Unity is its *alpha* and *omega*, its supreme formula, its final cause. In word and deed, it is all Unity and nothing but Unity — which is to say, it never escapes the absolute, the indefinite, the void.

> This is why Democracy — aware of its emptiness and frightened by its weakness, mistaking a revolutionary accident for the Revolution's true idea, and elevating a temporary dictatorship into dogma — this old Democracy of 1830, revived from '93, is above all for strong power. It opposes all autonomy and envies the Empire, which it accuses of stealing its policies but from which it promises to replay the tune — as Thiers said of Guizot — "with variations and no false notes."

> No principles, no organization, no guarantees — only
unity and arbitrariness, all decorated with the names of
*Revolution* and *Public Safety*: such is the creed of today's
Democracy. Since 1848, I have repeatedly challenged it to
produce its program and received nothing in reply. A
program? Too risky, too uncertain. With what face— this
idea-starved Democracy that, the day after fortune placed
it in power, would turn conservative like all its
predecessors— with what face, I ask, could it now
disclaim responsibility for ventures in which, I admit, it
took no direct part, but which it would have executed in
the same manner and has covered with its approval?
Chapter 4: Unitary Maneuver

We have just seen how unity in democratic thought equates to emptiness. Now, hollow souls that sense their own void are irresistibly drawn to suspicion, violence, and bad faith. Forced to feign principles they lack, they become hypocrites; attacked by stronger ideas, their only defense is to destroy opponents through slander; when called to govern, they replace reason with authority—that is, with ruthless tyranny. In essence: adopting chaos as their *creed*, thriving on confusion, seeking underhanded tactics and fishing in troubled waters, slandering those they cannot intimidate or seduce—such has always been the democrats' politics. It's time the nation learned to judge this sect that for thirty years has brandished the people's torch while merely pretending to represent them—caring nothing for the people except to *throw them onto battlefields* (as I heard said so often in 1848) or, failing that, into Lambessa's penal colonies. The public should know what lies beneath these pasteboard skulls that seem terrifying only because no Diogenes has yet held his lantern to their faces. The history of Italian unification provides ample material for our observations.

Democracy pushed with all its might for war against Austria, then— after victory— for Italy's unification. That's why it protested the Villafranca treaty; that's why it brands as friends of Austria and the Pope anyone who now dares to remind poor Italy of its natural law: federation.
There's a semblance of system here that fools the naive.

First note: these democrats— champions par excellence of unitary government, whom you, dear reader, might mistake for political talents— whisper to willing ears that the Kingdom of Italy was merely their *tactical ploy*. Their true aim, they claim, was to wrest Italy from Austria, the Pope, the King of Naples, and the Dukes of Tuscany, Modena, and Parma through national effort; that rallying Italians under Victor Emmanuel's royal banner was essential; but once foreigners were expelled, independence secured, and unity achieved, they'd swiftly ditch the gallant king and proclaim the republic. So say my adversaries— my crime being that I spoiled this splendid plan by untimely shouting "Federation!"

Let's be clear: they resent not my federalism so much as my inconvenient criticism. They remain democrats first, republicans always— God forbid they blaspheme that sacred name! God forbid they seriously embraced kings' causes! But this republic had to be unitary; they were certain unity alone could achieve it; they deny it was possible otherwise. And I, by joining reactionary voices, made the republic impossible!

But if such is their claim, the question of good faith expands: it applies not just to federalism but first and foremost to unitarism. Is this party that clamored for Italy's unification truly republican—or is it monarchist in disguise? I've the right to ask, for nothing resembles monarchy more than a unitary republic. Why reject
federation—which at least avoided ambiguity—when proposed? They plead public safety. Yet federation guaranteed France's lasting protection, allowing Italy to organize at leisure and centralize later if desired. To republicans, common sense dictated that federation made the republic half-complete already, whereas starting with unity—with flesh-and-blood monarchy—risked burying it forever.

See, reader, how reflection changes perspectives? Political schemers, embarrassed by my questions, try to ruin my reputation by painting me as Austria's secret agent, the Church's ally—who knows? Perhaps even King Bomba's last will executor. Such has been their strongest argument against federation.

In short, I force my adversaries onto the defensive—for I declare that neither Mazzini's reputation as a conspirator, nor Garibaldi's chivalrous temper, nor the notoriety of their French friends can reassure me. When I see men disavow their republican faith—at least with their lips—hoist the monarchist flag, shout "Long live the king!" at the top of their lungs, while winking that it's all a farce with the acclaimed king as its dupe; when above all I know how flimsy their republic truly is, I confess I have doubts about the sincerity of their betrayal. Ah! You unitarians—what you're doing is certainly no act of republican virtue: With what intent do you commit this sin? Whom are you betraying?

You speak of *untimeliness!* Yet you had three years to establish your unity. During those three years, you