One
week from today, June 28, 2012, will be the 300th anniversary of the birth of
one of the 18th century’s most famous and complex figures, Geneva-born Jean-Jacques
Rousseau (1712-1778). A unique and genuinely radical thinker, who bridged
18th-century Rationalism and 19th-century Romanticism, Rousseau was the author
(most famously for students of political theory) of A Discourse on the Origin of Inequality (1754) and The Social Contract (1762), but also of
an idiosyncratic treatise on education Emile
(1762), his autobiographical Confessions
(1769, published posthumously in 1782), and Reveries
of a Solitary Walker (written at the end of his life and also published
posthumously in 1782).
Although in time I took quite a
liking to Rousseau’s Confessions and
enjoyed reading Reveries of a Solitary
Walker (both books that I still own, among the few remaining remnants of my
youthful academic aspirations), it was, of course, Rousseau the political
philosopher whom I first encountered and first seriously engaged with. Rightly
or wrongly, Rousseau was often teamed up with Thomas Hobbes and John Locke, the
17th-century English social contract theorists, to constitute a sort
of trinity of early modern political theory. A more expansive syllabus might
continue with Edmund Burke and 19th-century Restoration-era reactionary theorists, and romantic radicals; but for the most part “modern” political theory meant
the social contract tradition of Hobbes and Locke with at least a nod to
Rousseau. Whereas Locke leads to Liberalism, Rousseau led elsewhere. Thus, when
we studied “Radical Political Thought,” we began with Rousseau. Indeed,
Rousseau’s richness may rest in precisely how he highlights the strengths and
weaknesses of both those directions in modern thought.
In The Communist
Manifesto, Karl Marx wondered “what earlier century had even a presentiment
that such productive forces slumbered in the lap of social labor?” Indeed! A
little less than a century earlier, in The Social Contract, Rousseau had taken it for granted that different climates
would determine different forms of government. Prior to the advent of modern
capitalism and its incredibly immense increase in productive capacity and
output, Rousseau’s assumption of inherent - and ineradicable - limitations on
human freedom and artifice must have seemed more like self-evident common
sense. Unable to anticipate (and evaluate) capitalist modernity’s material
accomplishments, Rousseau still thought he had seen enough of what “progress”
had to offer, however. His most extreme such statement (perhaps also his most
famous one) was his rejection of Aristotle’s view (Politics I, ii) that the first one to have constructed a city was
humanity’s greatest benefactor. Of course, considering the biblical view that
it was the murderer Cain who first founded a city (Genesis 4:17) Rousseau’s
de-mystification of the virtues of civilization in his Discourse on the
Origin of Inequality actually tapped into
other deeply rooted understandings – understandings which modernity (especially
liberal modernity) has usually tried to repress, and which radical theorists of
all sorts have struggled to recover. That Rousseau remains equally famous for
an alternative, totalitarian utopia (The
Social Contract) – in effect, a de-Christianized, re-paganized neo-Geneva,
modeled on republican Rome – just confirms the complexity and depth of his
radicalism, the recognition of the insolubly problematic character of human
nature, once imagined as abandoned to itself without a supernatural end and
destiny.
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