Sovereigns and Slave Morality: The Nietzschean and Hobbesian Perspective on January 6th, 2021

by Pannaros (Bezt) Suriyamas

History plays a crucial role in shaping individual and collective identities. By examining the course of our history, we are provided with an understanding of how the past has shaped the world we live in today, whether it be in a beneficial or detrimental way. One pivotal chapter in our shared history is colonial domination, a practice which has been extensively studied by historians and scholars for its role in shaping our ideas about race, culture, and identity. Written in 1952, Frantz Fanon’s Black Skin, White Masks investigates the physical and psychological effects of colonialism and confronts the complex manner in which identity, particularly Blackness, is externally influenced and constructed. He draws upon his own experiences as a Black man living in a colonial society to ground his theoretical arguments in lived reality, adding depth and nuance to his compelling analysis. By employing a historical framework to his argument, Fanon questions the value of history in overcoming alienation as he examines how the narratives promoted by colonial history serve to reinforce a perpetual system of racial hierarchy in which the colonized, black individuals, continue to perceive themselves as inferior to the colonizer, white individuals, who maintain a false sense of superiority over the colonized. Yochai Ataria and Shogo Tanaka’s article, “When Body Image Takes over the Body Schema: The Case of Frantz Fanon”, further adds a psychological dimension to explain this experience in terms of social influences on one’s self-image. Furthermore, Fanon explains how, albeit in differing ways, such historical narratives result in the alienation of both black and white individuals who are trapped in their race, proposing that true liberation from social oppression requires the rejection of persisting historical narratives so that one’s own agency and cultural identity can be reclaimed. Moreover, observations made by Tacuma Peters in his article “Black Skin, White Masks and the Paradoxical Politics of Black Historiography” will be utilized and considered to evaluate the credibility of Fanon’s proposed solution.

Fanon examines the nature of colonial racism which labels the black individual as inherently inferior to white individuals, highlighting how such a narrative comes to be problematic as it is internalized by both the colonizer and the colonized and leads to their respective experiences of alienation. In Black Skin, White Masks, Fanon asserts, in part, from his own experiences, how the essence of black identity is a construction imposed on black individuals by the historical and social influences of colonialism: “I did not create a meaning for myself; the meaning was already there, waiting. It is not as the wretched nigger, it is not with my nigger’s teeth, it is not as the hungry nigger that I fashion a torch to set the world alight; the torch was already there, waiting for this historical chance” (Fanon 113). Here, the dehumanizing stereotypes and images that have been historically associated with blackness illustrate how “[w]hite civilization and European culture have imposed an existential deviation on the black man, … [where] what is called the black soul is a construction by white folk” (Fanon xviii). The psychological foundation of this experience, according to researchers Yochai Ataria and Shogo Tanaka, can be understood through the application of Jean-Paul Sartre’s theory on the third ontological dimension of the body, which posits that under social tensions, a part of our body image is composed “through the look of the other, whose gaze transforms us into a pure object” (Ataria and Tanaka 7). By utilizing this lens to analyze the black man’s experience in Black Skin, White Masks, we can understand how the colonized being “reduced to appearance, and only appearance, from the outside” (Ataria and Tanaka 8) by the colonizer leads them to “experience the self (and the world) from white people’s perspective alone; in this situation tension no longer exists between the white and the black, the latter being dismissed by the former” (Ataria and Tanaka 9). Furthermore, this allows us to recognize how as black individuals come to adopt a self-perception that aligns with such dehumanizing narratives and internalize a sense of inferiority imposed the colonizer, such “internalization or rather epidermalization of this inferiority” (Fanon xv) is what leads “[t]he black man [to] want to be white …to prove at all costs to the Whites the wealth of the black man’s intellect and equal intelligence” (Fanon xii-xiv) in order to escape the experience of alienation. This is made evident as Fanon outlines the way in which black Antilleans attempt to assimilate into the colonial culture and become “whiter” through their use of the French language. Most notably, “[t]he black man entering France … will make every effort not only to roll his r’s, but to make them stand out” (Fanon 5) as “[i]n the French Antilles the bourgeoisie does not use Creole, except when speaking to servants” (Fanon 4). As black individuals are made to perceive their own language and culture as inherently inferior to those of the colonizer, the black Antillean’s attempt to conform to the linguistic norms of the colonizer can be seen as a manifestation of their internalized sense of inferiority and unworthiness, reflecting their belief that “the more [they] assimilates the French language, the whiter [they] get … [and] the closer [they] come to becoming a true human being” (Fanon 2). While such a display of European cultural adequacy may allow the black Antillean to alleviate their immediate experience of alienation within France to a certain extent, such assimilation into the dominant colonial culture comes at a cost as they are further alienated from their own cultural identity: “The black man who has lived in France for a certain time returns home radically transformed. Genetically speaking, his phenotype undergoes an absolute, definitive mutation” (Fanon 3). Although this process of assimilation may help black Antilleans better navigate the challenges of living in a colonial society, Fanon suggests that such a process can be detrimental to the individual as their sense of self undergoes a fundamental and irreversible change which further alienates them from their own culture and history. This can be observed through how “[t]he new returnee, as soon as he sets foot on the island, asserts himself; he answers only in French … He can no longer understand Creole … [and] he assumes a critical attitude towards his fellow islanders” (Fanon 7). As black Antilleans internalize the values and norms of the colonizer and adopt their sense of superiority over black individuals, they become alienated and distant from their native language and are critical of their fellow islanders, aligning their identity with that of the colonizer and viewing their people as inferior to themselves. Moreover, we are invited to examine how the historical and social influences of colonialism shapes the black individual’s identity and sense of self, dehumanizing them by perpetuating a system of racial hierarchy in which they are characterized and labeled as inherently inferior to white people. Not only does this lead to their initial experience of alienation as the dominant minority, but also their subsequent experience of alienation from their own culture following an attempt to assimilate into the dominant colonial culture and be seen as worthy and human.

In a similar fashion, the narrative of white supremacy in colonial history also alienates the white individual by perpetuating a false sense of superiority and entitlement which fosters a superficial understanding of the world and limits their ability to empathize with others. Fanon considers how the narrative of colonial history which portrays white people as the civilizing force has aided in the construction and maintenance of a distorted self-perception among white individuals who are “locked        in [their] whiteness … [and] consider themselves superior to Blacks” (Fanon xiii-xiv), believing they are “the predestined master[s] of the world” (Fanon 107). As a result, this historical narrative of white superiority and its prescribed privileges and assumptions are utilized by the colonizers to justify racism and other forms of oppression enacted on the colonized. This can be observed in how “[a] white man talking to a person of color behaves exactly like a grown-up with a kid, simpering, murmuring, fussing, and coddling” (Fanon 14). Here, the paternalistic attitude shown by white people towards people of color in their conversations is reflective of white individuals’ perception and belief of their own superiority over black individuals, which is rooted in history. Furthermore, Fanon explains how the colonizer’s use of language reinforces this persistent, yet false sense of superiority and entitlement over the colonized in everyday interactions:

To speak gobbledygook to a black man is insulting, for it means he is the gook. Yet, we’ll be told, there is no intention to willfully give offense. OK, but it is precisely this absence of will––this offhand manner; this casualness; and the ease with which they classify him, imprison him at an uncivilized and primitive level––that is insulting. (Fanon 15)

The white individual’s use of meaningless or unintelligible language when communicating with a black person is indicative of their belief that the black individual is uncivilized and primitive, and therefore is not capable of understanding or deserving of clear, respectful communication. As such, Fanon invites us to examine how the narrow perspective offered by colonial history can alienate white individuals by perpetuating a superficial and dehumanizing view of others which prevents them from seeing the humanity and complexity of the colonized: “[color prejudice] is nothing more than the unreasoning hatred of … the stronger and richer peoples for those whom they consider inferior to themselves … the light skinned races have come to despise all those of a darker color” (Fanon 97). Furthermore, it can be understood how the narrow lens of colonial history perpetuates a cycle of ignorance and injustice that harms both the oppressor and the oppressed. The pervasiveness of history not only dehumanizes the colonized but also alienates the colonized by perpetuating a Eurocentric view of the world that limits their understanding of diversity and ability to empathize with, and relate to others.

Fanon proposes that one’s liberation from social oppression and the reclamation of one’s own agency and identity can be made possible through the rejection of persisting historical narratives which dehumanize and alienate individuals based on race. According to Fanon, this means that both the colonizer and the colonized “have to move away from the inhuman voices of their respective ancestors so that a genuine communication can be born. Before embarking on a positive voice, freedom needs to make an effort at disalienation” (Fanon 206). This is made evident as despite his feeling prideful of black history and its achievements, proudly asserting that he “belong[s] to a race that had already been working silver and gold 2,000 years ago” (Fanon 109), Fanon recognizes that embracing black culture and history means he is also accepting of “a series of corrosive stereotypes: the Negro’s sui generis smell … the Negro’s sui generis good nature … the Negro’s sui generis naïveté” (Fanon 109), which would limit him in his pursuit of an individual identity that is free from such stereotypes. Furthermore, in seeing “[n]egritude [as] dedicated to its own destruction, it is transition and not result, a means and not the ultimate goal” (Fanon 112), Fanon chooses to reject, rather than reclaim his own culture and history as a means of ending racism, emphasizing that individuals must be aware of the oppressive and dehumanizing narratives of their respective ancestors and remove themselves from such in order for a constructive, positive dialogue that is free from the distortions of the past to be established. For such a process to be successful, Fanon advocates for an agentic approach as he believes individual action and self-determination can allow one to successfully “initiate their freedom” (Fanon 205) from colonial oppression. This is made evident as Fanon posits how one must come to view themselves as “not a prisoner of History, … [to] not look for the meaning of [their] destiny in that direction. … [as] In the world [they are] heading for, [they are] endlessly creating [themselves]” (Fanon 204). As our knowledge of history often ensures that mistakes of the past are not repeated in the future, Fanon is not suggesting that individuals must assert themselves and entirely forget the past in order to initiate their freedom. Rather, he encourages us to reject it, to utilize what we know of the past and present to focus on creating a better future for ourselves: “It is through self-consciousness and renunciation, through a permanent tension of his freedom, that man can create the ideal conditions of existence for a human world. Superiority? Inferiority? Why not simply try to touch each other, feel the other, discover each other?” Moreover, Fanon proposes that so long as individuals are aware of the oppressive narratives and structures that have shaped their world and remain active in challenging the forces that seek to limit their agency and identity, it is possible for mankind to transcend the notions of superiority and inferiority and work towards fostering understanding and empathy in a more just and equitable society. In other words, “[d]isalienation will [only] be for those Whites and Blacks who have refused to let themselves be locked in the substantialized ‘tower of the past’” (Fanon 201).

Interestingly, Fanon’s proposal to reject history as a means of reclaiming one’s cultural identity has also been analyzed and understood by scholars as a radical response to the paradoxical nature of Black historiography, acting as both a foundational text in the development of modern colonial and decolonial thought as well as a crucial point of reference for academics and activists seeking to understand and challenge the legacies of colonialism. This is highlighted by Tacuma Peters in his article titled “Black Skin, White Masks and the Paradoxical Politics of Black Historiography”, which argues how Black Skin, White Masks “has the paradoxical status of being a text that rejects historiography and History as a primary means of facilitating radical political transformation while also being a key point of departure for histories concerning modern colonial and decolonial thought” (Peters 1). Peters points out how Fanon’s “understanding of universalism and humanism place[s] into doubt projects that can be considered particularist, provincial, and bound by the logics of colonialism” (Peters 3), seeing that they may end up reinforcing the superiority complex of the colonizer and further marginalizing or oppressing the colonized rather than aiding in their departure from such historical narratives. Here, Peters emphasizes how Fanon’s skepticism regarding the value of history in overcoming such barriers is intertwined with his critique of traditional Western universalism and humanism, which he sees as tools historically used to justify colonial domination. This perspective is reflected in his statement: “Every time a man has brought victory to the dignity of the spirit, every time a man has said no to an attempt to enslave his fellow man, I have felt a sense of solidarity with his act” (Fanon 201). By showing recognition to those who are not “sing[ing] the past to the detriment of [their] present and [their] future” (Fanon 1), “Fanon’s idiosyncratic view of history… [serves] … as a model for how others might want to approach past human actions” (Peters 4). His work is crucial as a foundational text in the development of modern colonial and decolonial thought as it advocates for a more inclusive and liberatory approach to universalism and humanism which embraces the diversity and richness of human identities and experiences. While “[t]he challenge of Black Skin, White Masks to earlier historical scholarship including the work of Aimé Césaire, C.L.R. James, and others is noteworthy” (Peters 5), Peters also acknowledges how Fanon’s work has been “challenge[d] [by] recent historiographies on slavery, marronage, and anti-colonial resistance” (Peters 5). Most notably, Peters addresses how works by scholars of Black Studies from the past two decades have revealed that “historiography and History have [always had] a profound connection to anti-racist, anticolonial, and decolonial action aimed at addressing the structures of colonialism (Peters 5), “but [solutions were] not brought to the forefront due to the perspectives of scholars, the limited political/epistemological commitments of thinkers, and the structures of ‘post-colonial’ politics and society” (Peters 6). Furthermore, we are invited to examine and consider how, contrary to Fanon’s perspective, scholars have come to uncover and recognize the powerful influence of historical narratives in constructing efforts to challenge and dismantle colonial structures. Moreover, Peters suggests that Fanon’s arguments must be reevaluated in light of recent works which highlight the importance of historiography in promoting social and political change, in order for us to gain a more holistic understanding of how we can truly enable individuals to reclaim their individual, cultural identity.

To conclude, Fanon’s Black Skin, White Masks is crucial for its exploration of the influence of colonial history on the construction of racial identities, highlighting how historical narratives perpetuate systems of oppression and alienation which continue to impact the colonized as well as the colonizer. His unique experiences and personal observations allow us to gain an insight into the patterns of colonial oppression and racial discrimination, which he proposes be rejected in order for us to reclaim our agency and cultural identity independent of our history. By putting Fanon’s insights into conversation with recent scholarly works, not only are we shown how psychological mechanisms have influenced his experiences, but are also invited to consider how his argument for a radical transformation of society and individual consciousness through a rejection of history may be reductionistic in nature; history may play a bigger role in humanity’s liberation from it than Fanon initially thought.

Works Cited

Ataria, Yochai, and Shogo Tanaka. “When Body Image Takes over the Body Schema: The Case of Frantz Fanon.” Human Studies, vol. 43, no. 4, May 2020, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10746-020-09543-6.

Fanon, Frantz. Black Skin, White Masks. 1952. Translated by Richard Philcox, Grove Press, 2008.

Peters, Tacuma. “Black Skin, White Masks and the Paradoxical Politics of Black Historiography.” Journal of French and Francophone Philosophy, vol. 30, no. 2, Jan. 2023, pp. 120–27, https://doi.org/10.5195/jffp.2022.1029.

by Josephine Ansley

In a world fraught with global inequalities, political instability, and the rise of corrupt populist authoritarian leaders one may wonder whether we have really progressed as a society or if we are closer to devolving into the Hobbesian state of nature. Hobbes’s ultimate dilemma in Leviathan is how to remain out of the state of nature and unite a divided multitude to ensure collective liberty. In the latter half of the 20th century, we have come to regard democracy as the best way to attain freedom and liberty for all, and we view it as the ideal political system to mitigate civil unrest and political instability. In recent years; however, democracy in practice has proven to be ineffective in dealing with complex domestic and international issues. Hobbes would attribute this to the pitfalls of democracy where everyone is afforded equal participation, which can upend society and create civil war. It is precisely Hobbes’s concern with these internal divisions that makes him justify the need for a sovereign to save people from their fellow citizens. Hobbes’s paradoxical view of liberty leads him to envision a social contract that unites the disorganized multitude under a sovereign power. While Hobbes’s conception of a sovereign appears contradictory to liberty, this paper posits that his notion of the sovereign aligns with his desire to secure liberty. For Hobbes, liberty is only attainable with the development of the social contract, the formation of the sovereign, and through centralizing power within a monarchy to overcome the perils that internal divisions and corruption pose for the commonwealth.

Hobbes’s aim in Leviathan is to develop a social contract that helps centralize power to ensure political stability and prevent internal divisions and civil war. In order to understand Hobbes’s justification for a monarchical sovereign over democratic rule, we need to comprehend how the sovereign comes to fruition throughout the development of Hobbes’s social contract. The Finnish Social Science and Philosophy scholar Jakonen Mikko notes that for Hobbes “the question between the multitude and the social contract is a case between absolute power (sovereignty) and the total absence of power (the multitude)” (Jakonen, 2016, p.97-98). Hobbes is aware that in the absence of a social contract where people join to form a sovereign, there is no opportunity for mutual security and prosperity (Jakonen, 2016).

Hobbes advocates that the ultimate way to provide social security and uphold liberty is through the centralized power of a sovereign, which is evident before the text even begins with the frontispiece of Leviathan. The frontispiece visually illustrates “the sovereignty is … an assembly of the people” (Hobbes, p.116). It is in the best interest of the sovereign to support and provide a good life for its subjects, as the power of the sovereign is derived from the power of the people. If the sovereign arbitrarily harms its people, then by extension, it simultaneously harms the institution itself. In analyzing Hobbes’s contradictory stance of a sovereign’s role to procure liberty Jakonen asserts that in the process of forming a social contract, “the anarchic and chaotic multitude is transformed into a political subject, the people” (Jakonen, 2016, p.92). It is the people that “represent the first form of political unity and is the basis of sovereignty” (Jakonen, 2016, p.92). So, while the sovereign is built on democratic ideals of the multitude coming together to form a political entity, Hobbes does not condone democracy as a legitimate form of government in action (Jakonen, 2016). For Hobbes, “the multitude can never be a political subject” as it must always remain “an object of governance” (Jakonen, 2016, p.115). In the covenant between the people and the sovereign, the individual ceases and is now a part of a larger political entity. The “sovereign power represents the power of individuals, which amounts to nothing in the multitude as the individuals are hindered by each other” (Jakonen, 2016, p.101). The sovereign represents the power of the people, not the power of the multitude. Sovereignty is the “omnipotence of the people over the multitude, or in other words, the omnipotence of the political subject over the apolitical mass of individuals” (Jakonen, 2016, p.101).

It is through tacit consent that the apolitical multitude forms the sovereign. The people transfer all rights and civil liberties to the sovereign, except their inalienable right to life. In return the people are assured social security and peace. Through this consent all people have agreed to a covenant with the sovereign. However, the sovereign makes “no covenant with [its] subjects” because as soon as this occurs it decentralizes power and then people are forced to make “several covenant[s] with every man” and divide their loyalties, and when this internal division is present the state is vulnerable to corruption (Hobbes, p.111). Therefore, a citizen must make a covenant “with the whole multitude, as one party” represented by the sovereign (Hobbes, p.111). It is easier to have one covenant with an institution than with many people because people are self-interested, driven by their desires, and more susceptible to breaking covenants. Hobbes justifies the sovereign by condemning human nature as inherently self-interested and aggressive, thus establishing the need for the sovereign as it remains an impartial entity incapable of being corrupted of its rationality.

If the sovereign was accountable to the people by a formal covenant, then everyone would have an equal say in how their state would be governed. For Hobbes, this would decentralize power and destabilize the state. The sovereign is the result of the covenant so there can be “no breach of covenant on the part of the sovereign” (Hobbes, p.111). It is only people that can break “their covenant [to the sovereign and this] is injustice” (Hobbes, p.111). The sovereign acts as a representative of the people as they have transferred all their power and rights to it, so if the subjects oppose decrees made by the sovereign, they break their covenant and are therefore unjust. If an individual refuses to consent to the sovereign and adhere to its laws they will be “left in the condition of war” they were in before the protection of the sovereign (Hobbes, p.112).

In order for the sovereign to procure peace it must yield “the public sword” (Hobbes, p.112). The state must make laws and punishments because “where there is no common power, there is no law, where no law” no justice (Hobbes, p.78). The sovereign assures safety to its subjects through promising that any enemy of the state or individual within the state will be punished. It is through the sovereign’s sword that peace is maintained because what “incline[s] men to peace [is] fear of death (Hobbes, p.78). The public sword is vital because without consequences covenants are easily broken, as covenants are nothing but “words and breath, [they] have no force to oblige, contain, constrain, or protect any man” (Hobbes, p.112). Laws in and of themselves have no inherent power “to protect … without a sword in the hands of a [sovereign] … to cause those laws to be put in execution” (Hobbes, p.138). Hobbes even advocates that civil liberties “depend on the silence of the law” (Hobbes, p.143). The sovereign makes people adhere to peace because of the absolute power it yields to punish.

In the development of Hobbes’s social contract, he continues to advocate that the only way to secure peace and prosperity amongst a divided multitude is to invoke a sovereign, as “the sovereign power is the outcome of a metamorphosis in which the plurality of wills are condensed into a single one” (Jakonen, 2016, p.99). Hobbes asserts that for people to enjoy freedom and civil liberty, a sovereign is essential or else they will descend into the state of nature. Hobbes defines the state of nature as “the time men live without a common power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called war, and such a war as is of every man against every man. For war consisteth not in battle only, … but in the known disposition” (Hobbes, p.76). Hobbes contests that the state of nature is ever present, which is why there must be a sovereign in place to guide society. Scholar Seyla Benhabib, discusses that Hobbes’s authoritarianism coincides with his belief that “as long as the sovereign can guarantee a peaceful and comfortable existence by protecting the subjects’ lives, the pursuit of all higher goods such as a life of ethical virtue and political glory … [and] a life of freedom as equals living under the rule of law … should be abandoned, since they [have] led to conflict” and anarchy (Benhabib, 2022, p.234). On the surface one could argue that Hobbes’s notion of the sovereign infringes on people’s individual rights and freedoms. However, his view is that if people’s rights are not constrained by the sovereign, then they are the ones who infringe on other peoples’ rights, which creates internal conflict and war.

Hobbes is more concerned with internal divisions as a threat to the commonwealth than he is with corruption. This is precisely why he advocates for monarchical rule over democratic rule. Hobbes regards democracy as inferior as it relies too much on the multitude and the “main reason why the multitude cannot ever be a political subject, a political entity or a commonwealth is that the multitude does not have one will, but instead a plurality of wills” (Jakonen, 2016, p.96). A multitude can never be an effective political body because its interests are divided. Hobbes states that “a kingdom divided in itself cannot stand” because without a centralized power the political body becomes ineffective to govern the people (Hobbes, p.115). In democracies, there is not enough distinction between those who are governed and those who govern. This leads to ineffective politics and as a result the state is susceptible to leaders who can persuade the public to serve their own advantage (Jakonen, 2016). Democracies breed populism which creates political instability (Jakonen, 2016). Hobbes views democracy as more susceptible for rulers to coerce and manipulate people into decisions that go against their best interests, as “in a democracy no one is safe from the cruelty of demagogues and orators” (Jakonen, 2016, p.106). Democracy is more susceptible to corruption because “the democratic mode of government strengthens populist leaders who rhetorically mislead both common and uneducated people to the point where demagogy turns into chaos and the logic of the multitude gets to reign” (Jakonen, 2016, p.92). Once the anarchic multitude is unleashed it contributes to the dissolution of the commonwealth and the sovereign that secures order in society (Jakonen, 2016). Hobbes is concerned that democracy promotes a concentration of power vested in a handful of leaders instead of the general public. Following Hobbes’s negative view of human nature, that we are self-interested, he believes democracy only leads to more corruption as leaders serve to their own advantage at the expense of the greater good. Hobbes advocates that unlike a democracy, in a monarchy “the private interest is the same with the public” (Hobbes, p. 120). In a monarchy there is no distinction between public and private interests as what is good for the people is advantageous for the state, as “no king can be rich, nor glorious, nor secure” if their subjects are poor (Hobbes, p.120).

Since the people form the sovereign, in Hobbes’s view, there is no concern with the concentration of power within a monarchical sovereign because unlike a democracy, the sovereign acts as a united representative of all the people’s interests, so it is less vulnerable to corruption than a democracy where a few powerful leaders hold all the power under the illusion of being in service to the people. Populist leaders can indoctrinate the masses and “corrupt judgement [which] impedes reason and produces faulty conclusions” which is why Hobbes justifies a sovereign to guide the easily corrupted multitude (Blau, 2009, p.603). While Hobbes acknowledges people are capable of reason and rationality, people are corrupted by their desires and emotions which are “strong and permanent” and prevents them from governing themselves (Hobbes, p.13). Democracies offer the ideal conditions for corruption as the most dangerous thing for a state is “the combination of [the] passionate stupidity of the multitude and [the] eloquence of … demagogues” (Jakonen, 2016, p.109).

King’s College professor, Arian Blau outlines different types of corruption and relates it to Hobbes’s political theory. Blau highlights that cognitive corruption is of the utmost concern for Hobbes as it creates distorted judgement which “can lead to political corruption (bribery) or sedition (factional strife), fomenting civic unrest” (Blau, 2009, p.603). It is through leaders indoctrinating the masses that corruption ensues. If rulers can harness the multitude’s desires and prey on their fears, they are going to be able to cognitively corrupt the people. Once a leader controls people’s thoughts, they control their anti-civic actions. An absence of cognitive corruption is crucial to achieve political order. Hobbes’s account of political order is that “citizens will obey the sovereign if they reason clearly without being infected by fractious dispositions; otherwise citizens are corrupt” (Blau, 2009, p. 605). Hobbes views internal strife as the outcome of rebellion as “sedition [is] the state of rebellion occurring after widespread cognitive corruption” (Blau, 2009, p.614). For Hobbes, corruption refers to any anti-civic action. This is precisely why the sovereign cannot become corrupt, as in theory the ideal monarchical sovereign will remain in service to the people and in pursuit of its civic duties of securing the liberty of the state.

Hobbes acknowledges that a “sovereign power may commit iniquity, but [never] injustice” because injustice is breaking covenant which the sovereign is not accountable to. Another reason Hobbes does not foresee the sovereign becoming corrupt is that he believes most sovereign powers will make laws in accordance with the laws of nature. If they are in line with nature, they can never be corrupt for “nature itself cannot err” and if the sovereign is aligned with nature, it too will never err (Hobbes, p.19). For Hobbes if the sovereign errs, it is for God to judge, rather than the people as the sovereign is only accountable to God. Corruption leads to the dissolution of the commonwealth which by default leads to the state of nature and civil war. Since the sovereign’s objective is securing liberty for its subjects, any actions the sovereign makes will be in service to “common peace and defence” (Hobbes, p.115).

In further analysis of Hobbes’s reverence for monarchical rule over democratic rule, Jakonen’s analysis derived from Hobbes’s Elements of Law elucidates Hobbes’s understanding of corruption in democracy stating that due to democracies’ division of political power “there are always new people coming to seek the benefits of power and this easily leads to high costs of bribery and corruption that cannot be done without exploiting the citizens. [However,] in [a] monarchy, corruption takes place within reasonable limits” (Jakonen, 2016, p.110 as cited in Hobbes). Blau explains that Hobbes despises the notion of a mixed government, that combines the sovereign and the multitude and regards it as self-defeating (Blau, 2009). The sovereign’s “great authority [is] indivisible” and its power is derived from being a singular political entity (Hobbes, p.116). For Hobbes, the decentralization of power is the greatest failure of democracy, and according to Jakonen, Hobbes contests “the democratic sovereign has much less power than the … monarchic sovereign, since the power has been dispersed all over the body politic” (Jakonen, 2016, p.115).

The ultimate way to safeguard people from harming one another is through a monarchy. Hobbes deems a monarchical sovereign a more efficient way to govern in terms of centralizing power. Since, there is “a general inclination of all mankind, a perpetual and restless desire of power, that ceaseth only with death,” every person is always looking for more power in life even if it at the expense of another (Hobbes, p.58). This perpetual quest for power creates internal factions and as Jakonen notes “leads to politics where the sole aim is power and the wellbeing of the commonwealth is … forgotten” (Jakonen, 2016, p.113). In defense of an omnipotent sovereign Jakonen notes that Hobbes underscores that the “biggest threat to [one’s] safety and well-being is the unlimited action and motion (absolute liberty) of each and every one” (Jakonen, 2016, p.96). Hobbes invokes the sovereign, thus restricting individual freedom to ensure collective freedom and prosperity. In this sense Hobbes is regarded as a liberal, as the notion of restricting individual freedom for societal freedom is a liberal value. John Stuart Mill, one of the most influential liberal thinkers of the 19th century is known for his principle of liberty that stipulates precisely what Hobbes first proposed in his social contract theory. Mill’s principle of liberty is that everyone should be free to pursue their own means of liberty so long as it does not infringe or harm another’s capacity to achieve freedom (Love, 1998). While Hobbes and Mill would disagree on the extent of our freedom, Mill’s principle of liberty supports Hobbes’s notion of a sovereign to regulate our mutual relations because without an absolute power we would infringe on each other’s liberty and each other’s inalienable right to self-preservation.

Hobbes is critical of the democratic process as it relies on constant public deliberation and elections which suspend state power and create instability. In doing so, the state can no longer protect its citizens resulting in civil war (Jakonen, 2016). Due to constant democratic deliberation democracy fails at protecting our one inalienable right to life, so “even though the birth of the people is the birth of the sovereign power and in this way democracy is the basis of any kind of absolute sovereign government, for Hobbes democracy is the worst kind of government for a commonwealth” (Jakonen, 2016, p.114). In the end, Hobbes always favours a united power over one that seeks approval from a multitude.

To ensure internal harmony and safeguard itself from internal strife the sovereign must have absolute authority to choose all “counsellors, ministers, magistrates, and officers” because otherwise people in government have differing opinions from the institution, which creates internal conflict and destabilizes the state (Hobbes, p.114). In democratic states judicial and political decisions are made by the multitude and are not made by a united political entity, which creates ineffective governing. Since democracies are vulnerable to corruption Hobbes justifies that the soul “judicature of all controversies” should be resolved by the sovereign so that justice is upheld to the institution’s standards (Hobbes, p.115). The sovereign is the ultimate authority establishing the necessary conditions for peace and ensuring collective security with every decree and action. It is for “the sovereignty to be [the] judge of what opinions and doctrines are averse” as a sovereign cannot let its people be corrupted by their emotions and fears because this causes people to become irrational, which leads to war (Hobbes, p.113). Hobbes is aware of the catastrophic effects of false doctrines and its ability to breed civil unrest, so that is why it is up to the “sovereign power to be the judge … of opinions and doctrines, as a thing necessary to peace, thereby to prevent discord and civil unrest” (Hobbes, p.113-114). For Hobbes it is always about maintaining political unity.

Democracy, for Hobbes, is perilous as it is too interconnected to rule by the multitude and mob rule. The only time where Hobbes fears the destabilizing effects of absolute power is in relation to the power of the people — the mob. Hobbes is concerned with the prospect of the people becoming corrupted by their irrational thoughts and emotions resulting in anti-civic actions. Hobbes argues that “rebellion is but war renewed” because it develops into anarchy (Hobbes, p.208). Hobbes takes away citizens’ legal rights to rebel. While this appears contradictory in protecting liberty, this prohibition of rebellion is invoked to ensure state stability. So, while this prohibition infringes individual liberty, ultimately, it ensures security of the state and by default ensures collective freedom. Hobbes justifies this prohibition of rebellion to prevent political instability because if everyone becomes corrupted of reason and indoctrinated with rebellious desires, then society succumbs to the state of nature. Hobbes is aware that it is not merely enough to satisfy people’s basic needs. The sovereign needs to provide people with good lives so that they do not become “weary of” life and rebel at the source of their discontent – the sovereign (Hobbes, p.82). Hobbes is cognizant of the threat the mob poses if unsatisfied, therefore the sovereign must appease the majority’s needs. Hobbes even goes as far to promote the idea that men who are unable to support “themselves by their labour” due to injury are “to be provided for … by the laws of the commonwealth” (Hobbes, p.228). If the sovereign “neglect[s] the impotent” the probability of war and civil unrest increases (Hobbes, p.228). Appeasing public interest is essential to mitigating sedition and political instability. The reason Hobbes is preoccupied with providing a good life for everyone is because if people die at the hands of the sovereign that means the sovereign has impeded the ultimate right to life, and if that occurs the state of nature has prevailed.

In the development of Hobbes’s social contract, he concludes that the sovereign is the ultimate way to centralize power and is an integral part of procuring peace. Hobbes advocates that the sovereign is imperative as “the end of this institution is [the end of] peace” (Hobbes, p.113). Hobbes deems monarchical sovereigns the way to unite a multitude to submit to its authority. He regards democracies as cesspools for corruption and internal divisions. It is democracies’ vulnerability to corruption that results in mob rule, ineffective governing, and the erosion of the commonwealth. Democracy further exacerbates the susceptibility of civil war. While Hobbes is concerned about corruption, he is more concerned about internal factions which lead to the state of nature. Hobbes does not believe that absolute power corrupts absolutely and argues it is crucial to maintain social order. While at first, Hobbes’s claims of the sovereign’s absolute power appear at odds with his conceptions of liberty, in further analysis they are aligned as they are both in service to the procurement of security and peace. Ultimately it is through absolutism that the “generation of [the] great Leviathan” is born (Hobbes, p.109).

Works Cited

Benhabib, S. (2022). Thomas Hobbes on My Mind: Leviathan, Thomas Hobbes. Social Research: An International Quarterly, 89(2), 233–247. https://doi.org/10.1353/sor.2022.0015

Blau, A. (2009). HOBBES ON CORRUPTION. History of Political Thought, 30(4), 596–616. https://www.ingentaconnect.com/content/imp/hpt/2009/00000030/00000004/art00002

Hobbes, T. (1994). Leviathan: with selected variants from the Latin edition of 1688 (E. Curley, Ed.). Hackett Pub. Co. (Original work published 1668)

Jakonen, M. (2016). Needed but Unwanted. Thomas Hobbes’s Warnings on the Dangers of Multitude, Populism and Democracy. Las Torres de Lucca : Revista Internacional de Filosofía Política, 5(9). https://jyx.jyu.fi/handle/123456789/52790

Love, N. S. (1998). Dogmas and Dreams: A Reader in Modern Political Ideologies. In Google Books. Chatham House Publishers. https://books.google.ca/books/about/Dogmas_and_Dreams.html?id=lqIUAQAAIAAJ&redir_esc=y

by Emily Mah

“What do you really want?” is a question that readers should ask the characters of Mary Wollstonecraft’s Mary, A Fiction and Ibn Tufayl’s Hayy Ibn Yaqzan. These characters exhibit varying levels of awareness about the societies in which they belong, often taking widely accepted truths for granted. The acceptance of these truths leads the characters to make shallow and sometimes bizarre decisions, prompting readers to question: what does traditional education actually teach? This question is a central theme in Wollstonecraft’s fiction, creating tension between self-educated Mary and wider European society. The story of Absal in Hayy Ibn Yaqzan unifies both forms of education, revealing the role of this tension in creating a harmonized conception of one’s world. In both books, the prominence of self education demonstrates that one must gain the ability to make one’s own choices through the formation of authentic ideas to become truly autonomous. The journey from conformity to autonomy exemplifies how Mary and Absal become aware of and challenge regimes of truth in their societies, demonstrating its limitations on the self-authority of both subjugators and the subjugated. Ultimately, when seen through the lens of Michel Foucault’s “Truth and Power” and John Mill’s On Liberty, these texts reveal that individual autonomy and societal “truths” are intertwined. In doing so, they imply that both individual and societal conditions must be met to achieve the greatest level of autonomy.

OVERVIEW OF THEORIES AND THEIR IMPLICATIONS

To understand their significance in relation to self education, connections must first be drawn between Mill and Foucault’s theories. Foucault’s “Truth and Power” posits that power dynamics such as those between “class positions” shape prevailing notions of “truth.”[1] These truths determine the behaviours and objects that people perceive as desirable or undesirable. While one can choose between desirable and undesirable things, such notions are often predetermined by institutions such as schools which teach social norms. Foucault argues that these social norms eventually lead to a “regime of truth” in which one’s conception of the world is shaped by dominant groups in a society.[2] On this point, it is important to note that “truths” as Foucault describes them are not limited to power dynamics, but rather “diffuse” into one’s personal life, in which authority figures may be absent.[3] Mill also alludes to the influence of power dynamics on institutions like schools.[4] In On Liberty, Mill suggests that one should question customs and whether or not they serve one’s interests. Here, he argues that one ought to ask “what would suit my character and disposition? Or what would […] enable [me] to grow and thrive.”[5] Contrary to Mill, Foucault does not directly propose a notion of autonomous personhood and both authors imply that one must critique social truths to become autonomous. With that, one can evaluate if these truths conflict with one’s own interests, and subsequently, whether one would like to participate in, or challenge social norms.

A regime of truth can obscure one’s idea of one’s own interests. Social “truths” reflect the prevailing norm about the objects or activities that one should find desirable (I will be referring to regimes of truth that are influenced by power dynamics as “Reflections”). For example, Eliza from Mary, A Fiction initially sought to marry “an officer [whom she danced with].”[6] However, Eliza’s father told her that “distinguished men” were more desirable to marry, leading her to marry a distinguished man instead.[7] Her father’s influence in her marriage demonstrates how Eliza’s conception of her own interests was influenced by a regime of truth taught by a dominant male figure. In this case, education not only molds her conception of desirable things, but also the means used to attain it. An example of these means is Eliza’s achievements, “interwoven in [Eliza’s] mind are achievements that she did not care for.”[8] Instead of being meaningful experiences, achievements were performed for the sole purpose of attracting a “desirable” husband.[9] In short, Wollstonecraft’s portrayal of Eliza points to the ways in which traditional education is problematic while also demonstrating that women in European society were “nothing but a shadow of a sound”; in other words, echoes of social teachings.[10]

The next two forms of echoes that Wollstonecraft aims to critique are found in education. The first form of echoes are words. In the same way that echoes reflect sounds, words reflect the objects or actions associated with an idea. While words can help convey complex ideas, they can only associate such ideas with tangible things. Therefore, when one learns from words, one only learns about objects and actions. For instance, Eliza, who symbolizes a traditionally educated woman, associates the abstract concept of “sophistication” with the action of “utter[ing] french expressions.”[11] As a result, Eliza is bound to the actions which society associates with sophistication, believing that she will become sophisticated if she performs such actions. On the other hand, Mary focuses on the authentic feeling of abstract concepts, like happiness. Instead of reasoning using words, she seeks to experience what happiness feels like.[12] In doing so, Mary understands the authentic idea of happiness which forms through her own lived experience. From this, she learns that actions do not mean happiness itself, but rather, are expressions of happiness. On a societal level, the contrast between Mary and Eliza’s approach to abstract ideas demonstrates the limitations of using words to teach others. Concerning an individual, however, it demonstrates that authentic ideas are necessary to understand the meaning behind one’s performative actions.

Situating the limitations presented by words in the regimes of truth proposed by Foucault helps us understand the extent of their problematic nature. Foucault posits that the actions and objects associated with concepts are determined by existing power dynamics. The European society that Wollstonecraft describes points to a patriarchal dynamic where gender roles are determined by men. In this society, women like Eliza are expected to show “maternal tenderness” and “love.”[13] Given her internalized ideas about the role of women, Eliza must “lisp out the prettiest of French expressions” while simultaneously demonstrating “maternal tenderness” to be seen as a sophisticated woman.[14] While Eliza is unaware of the process by which her desires are manipulated, readers are once again given a glimpse. Her conception of gender roles combined with the actions associated with sophistication lead Eliza to interpret her desires in a certain way. Instead of seeking to understand the idea of sophistication, Eliza instead seeks opportunities to carry out the actions associated with it. To put it simply, the role of words in regimes of truth determine the actions which Eliza associates with the abstract notion of sophistication and how it ought to be expressed. As a result, they shape her interpretations of actions which are desirable, actively seeking to perform them for validation from others.[15]

The second form of echo is imitation. Although it does not involve direct communication using words, it also obscures one’s interpretation of the world around them. Isolated on an island, Hayy learns not from words but by imitating the animals’ behaviour.[16] While Hayy can form authentic ideas and desires through his experiences, the avenues that he can use to pursue these ideas are limited to what he can observe. Although Mary also uses imitation, she goes a step further and incorporates authentic ideas into her actions. For example, while learning to write, Mary imitates Ann, and is initially limited by Ann’s method of writing.[17] However when she imparts her own ideas, the letter becomes a product of her “genius,” distinct from imitations of Ann.[18] Rather than adherence to the material taught to her, Mary decides what to write based on her authentic ideas. This enables her to choose between imitations of others or expressions of her own ideas, effectively giving Mary self authority. Mary’s transition from an imitator of Ann to an author of her own actions demonstrates that imitation of social norms limits the options that one can use to pursue one’s desires. In other words Representations of abstract notions through words determine the “truths” which inform one’s decisions. As a result, imitation limits the avenues through which one can actualize these choices. To summarize, the interplay between imitation and words demonstrates that Reflections manipulate both one’s desires and the methods used to achieve them.

CONDITIONS NECESSARY FOR SELF AUTHORITY

Given the limits presented by these Reflections, it becomes clear that two conditions are required for self authority and informed decision making. The first is the development of authentic ideas which enables one to adopt a perspective different from those presented by Reflections, and with that understanding the meaning behind actions. The second is an alternative perspective which presents options beyond those predetermined by society. It is these perspectives that allow one to choose between options and evaluate which option suits their best interests. When both conditions are satisfied, one gains self authority, which I will broadly define as: “the ability to make choices informed by one’s own understanding of one’s best interests and the means available to attain it.” Because of the limits inherent to traditional education, it becomes clear that a necessary step to fulfilling these conditions is self education.

Self education enables one to form authentic ideas from one’s experiences rather than adopting socially accepted forms of truth. Wollstonecraft implicitly points to this when discussing Eliza’s “soul.”[19] She states that Eliza has an “animal soul” which was formed by her desires to enter “polite circles.”[20] On the other hand, Mary’s soul appears to be rational.[21] The contrast between Mary and Eliza’s “souls” points to how self education fundamentally changes the ways in which Mary interprets the world. As a result, she positions herself as an outside observer of women who have “animal souls.”[22] According to Mill, the ability to observe and understand the impacts of social norms is key to gaining autonomy because it allows one to compare “modes of existence.”[23] In this argument, Mill refers to the idea that different “modes of existence” are suited for different people because they serve different interests. As such, gaining a broader view of different modes helps one determine which social norms help or hinder one’s goals. Contextualized by Mill, the comparison between Eliza and Mary’s souls reveal that the ability to evaluate social norms is rooted in the adoption of an outside perspective.

Now that we have established the importance of authentic ideas to self authority we need to examine its relationship with gaining alternative perspectives. A helpful example is Mary’s interaction with the physician. When both her father and friend became ill, Mary had to question the physician before he revealed the truth about her friend’s health.[24] It was only after Mary knew the truth that she was able to understand the implications of the physician’s words. By understanding all of the options available to her (choosing between her friend and her father) and their potential consequences, Mary is able to make informed decisions which suit her interests. Emerging from this are the social impacts of Mary’s informed decision making: a challenge to the widely accepted notion that women were emotional rather than rational.[25] By engaging in a conversation with the physician, Mary provides him with an alternate perspective, forcing him to choose between adherence to social norms (such as ignoring Mary) or revealing the truth.

After exploring how both of these conditions contribute to self authorization, it is now obvious that self education is crucial. Mill contends that decision making is also the key to being a human and the inability to choose consequently dehumanizes individuals. He reasons that decision making develops the “qualities which are the distinctive endowment of a human being.”[26] Because discourse plays a key role in decision making, internal (comparing authentic ideas to social norms) and external (alternative perspectives from others) forms of discourse are innate human experiences. This concept can be seen in the portrayal of Hayy in Hayy Ibn Yaqzan. In the story, readers only begin to relate to Hayy and understand him as “human” when he compares the idea of the Necessarily Existent to his observations of the animal hierarchy.[27] The internal discourse that Hayy develops throughout the story implies that the difference between man and animal is rooted in the ability to reason and make inferences from one’s environment. Each human subsequently uses such inferences to make informed choices about their own interests. By comparing rational man to animals, Mill demonstrates that one’s choices fundamentally change the self and that an autodidact possesses a distinctly human self. Further, it reinforces the significance of the aforementioned difference between Mary and Eliza’s souls. If we understand rational choice to be humanizing, this contrast symbolizes how the lack of choice deprives women of an inherently human experience. In short, the connection that Mill emphasizes between self authority and the human experience reveals the significance of self education in forming Wollstonecraft’s rational protagonist.

RELIGION: A CASE STUDY

The characters’ engagement with religion in both Hayy Ibn Yaqzan and Mary, A Fiction demonstrates the importance of internal and external discourse to satisfy the two criteria needed for self authorization. Their interactions with religions illuminates how prevailing truths such as the interpretation of religious practice shape one’s conception of the world. On Salaman’s island, education not only emphasizes the importance of religion, but dictates how citizens interpret the practices associated with it. For example, they were taught that religious devotion ought to be expressed through generosity and giving, yet failed to realize the meaning behind such behaviours.[28] This is because it was taught using words which only capture the literal expression of religion. Consequently, the practice of generosity became a Reflection imposed by religious leaders like Salaman. Further, the story’s setting on two isolated islands signifies that there were no alternative perspectives to traditional religious teachings, and as a result, led to conformity in their island society. This suggests the notion that one who conforms to regimes of truth and the customs associated with it will continue to do so if not given an alternative. In other words, examining the role of religion on Salaman’s island condenses our discussion of how regimes of truth impact both one’s desires and one’s means of achieving them. With that, it demonstrates how truths become ingrained in society and are left unchallenged.

Absal’s experience on the islands can be analysed as a symbol of the intersection between self education and traditional education. This intersection reveals how authentic ideas prompt critical evaluation of regimes of truth, ultimately resulting in a clearer interpretation of one’s world. Absal leaves Salaman’s island to deepen his connection to religion, seeking to go beyond the “outward practices” that Salaman performs.[29] His departure allows us to observe the process by which he begins to educate himself outside of traditional religious education. After leaving, he finds himself on Hayy’s island, given an alternative view, he becomes an outside observer of the regimes of truth on his own island. With that, Absal is able to compare his teachings from Salaman to new insights provided by Hayy, along with his authentic experience of religion.[30] By removing himself from traditional education, Absal has gained the two conditions necessary for self authorization. First, he gains an authentic experience of interacting with God. Secondly he gains an alternative perspective on the subject proposed by Hayy. Together, these conditions allow Absal to evaluate both notions of religion, allowing “reason and tradition [to become] one within him [with] all his religious puzzlings […] solved.”[31] Absal’s departure is a literal symbol of one’s escape from traditional education. Moreover, his experiences on Hayy’s Island and subsequent harmony between his two conceptions of religion demonstrate how self education can contextualize traditional learning. However, it also implies that members of dominant groups (such as religious leaders) are constrained by regimes of truth.

The example of religion helps us understand how regimes of truth impact members at all levels of society. However, before we discuss these impacts, we must specify the difference between autonomy and self authority. Considering that dominant groups (such as those represented by Absal) gain self authority by evaluating regimes of truth, it is clear that prevailing truths impact both dominant and marginalized groups. The universal impact of regimes of truth stem from uniformity in societal institutions like education in Mary, A Fiction, and religion in Hayy Ibn Yaqzan, both leaving little space for alternative thought. Accordingly, it neglects one of the criteria for self authorization: alternative perspectives and subsequently, one’s awareness of the options available to them. On the contrary, when alternative views are introduced, they not only impact an individual, but also social institutions. For example, Absal’s return with Hayy marks the introduction of alternative thought on Salaman’s isolated island. Upon arrival, Hayy taught the religious leaders ways to understand, through experience, the true meaning of religion.[32] Initially, readers are led to believe that these leaders rejected Hayy’s ideas and failed to learn. However, let’s say that the reader assumes that they learned from Hayy the same things that Absal did. We can then reason that like Absal, they have gained the two necessary conditions for self authorization. This leads us to the conclusion that although they choose to live under Salaman’s rule, they have gained self authority. In this sense, the religious leaders are able to evaluate whether or not participating in organized religion suits their own interests.

SOCIAL IMPLICATIONS

The characters’ interactions with one another on both islands illustrate that self authority is not an escape from dominant groups. Rather, it is the ability to make informed decisions about one’s participation in such groups. Therefore, autonomy is not only the concern of the subjugated, but also of subjugators. Analysing this definition of autonomy through Mill’s reasoning raises questions about the relationship between individuals and society. Considering that regimes of truth impact all members of society, self authorization achieved by an individual can still be stifled by societal norms and institutions. For example, although Mary possesses both authentic ideas and alternative perspectives to make informed choices, the Ladies’ adherence to social customs hinder Mary’s ability to execute her choice.[33] Mary’s interaction with the Ladies suggest that while one can authorize one’s own actions, social hindrances can prevent these choices from coming into fruition. The widespread impact of regimes of truth prove that the ability to carry out choices autonomously requires wider societal changes.

The connection between actualizing one’s choice and social pressures helps us understand the relationship between Foucault and Mill’s theories in the context of Mary, A Fiction. At the beginning of his text Foucault states “Truth is a thing of this world.”[34] Here, Foucault means that regimes of truth are ingrained in society and therefore, one cannot exist outside of their influence. With this in mind, it is clear why Mary is unable to escape the prevalence of male authority in her life, such as those imposed by the Ladies. Even after gaining self authority and making informed choices, she is unable to fully actualize the choices that she makes. For instance, when writing a letter to her husband about her journey with Ann, Mary is compelled to represent the male physician’s view on the matter rather than her own.[35] Although Mary chose to represent the view of the physician, it may not have reflected the option that she wanted to choose. Instead, it may have been the one best suited to her interests within the constraints of social norms. The limitations imposed by society reveal that rather than a fixed state, autonomy is gained progressively and is exercised at different degrees. To address issues like those that Mary negotiates with, Mill suggests that greater autonomy can be achieved by modifying social institutions.

Mill argues that providing similar conditions to those needed for self authority support the realization of an individual’s full potential as an autonomous human being.[36] As long as choices must be informed to some extent by regimes of truth, a societal component to autonomy must always be present. Therefore, it is best if institutions that determine these regimes of truth consist of people who have gained self authority. By including people who provide authentic ideas and alternative perspectives rather than echoes of existing ones, genuine discourse can occur. Eventually, discourse leads to the critical evaluation of an institution, prompting members to consider whether or not an institution suits their interests. In doing so, they perform collective decision making and mold institutions to best suit the diverse interests by which they are governed. By embracing diversity rather than uniformity, institutions enable more people to actualize their choices and gain greater degrees of autonomy. Ultimately, individual autonomy is inseparable from power dynamics, in fact, the relationship between the two is reciprocal. By alluding to the social aspects of individual autonomy, Wollstonecraft implies that change not only requires one woman, but all members of society to pursue self education.

In essence, individual self authorization creates a domino effect both within the individual and in wider society. An analysis of religion on Salaman and Hayy’s islands demonstrates how the formation of authentic ideas and the subsequent introduction of alternative perspectives impact both individuals and the societies in which they live. In doing so it reveals a reciprocal relationship between individual self authority and collective autonomy. Rooted in self education, authentic ideas challenge regimes of truth, opening discourse both within oneself and with others. Emerging from this challenge is a greater diversity of perspectives which contribute to necessary positive conditions for the manifestation of one’s choices. Overall, Mary, A Fiction reveals that escaping echoes requires both individual self authority and the right societal conditions — it is only after these conditions are satisfied that people can exercise the judgement and choice inherent to human existence. To conclude, we must return to the beginning of Mary, A Fiction. In the advertisement, Wollstonecraft says “These chosen few, wish to speak for themselves, and not be an echo — even of the sweetest sounds […] the paradise they ramble in, must be of their own creat[ion].”[37] When viewed through the lens of Mill and Foucault, it becomes clear the “chosen few” are those like Absal and Mary who seek to understand the meaning behind social norms, destabilizing and questioning regimes of truth. Ultimately, it is the self authorization of these few that catalyses autonomy for all.

Endnotes

[1] Michel Foucault, “Truth and Power,” in Orientalism: A Reader, ed. A.L Macfie (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2000), 42.

[2] Foucault, “Truth and Power,” 42.

[3] Foucault, “Truth and Power,” 42-43.

[4] John Mill, “On Liberty” In On Liberty and Other Essays, ed. John Gray (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 29.

[5] Mill, “On Liberty,” 68.

[6] Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, in Mary, A Fiction and The Wrongs of Women, or Maria, ed. Michelle Faubert (Ontario: Broadview Press, 2012), 77.

[7] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 77.

[8] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 77.

[9] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 77.

[10] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 79.

[11] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 81.

[12] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 79.

[13] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 81.

[14] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 81.

[15] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 81.

[16] Ibn Tufayl, Hayy Ibn Yaqzan: A Philosophical Tale, trans. Lenn Evan Goodman (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 110.

[17] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 87.

[18] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 87.

[19] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 104.

[20] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 77.

[21] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 104.

[22] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 104.

[23] Mill, “On Liberty,” 64.

[24] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 99.

[25] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 99.

[26] Mill, “On Liberty,” 65.

[27] Tufayl, Hayy Ibn Yaqzan, 111.

[28] Tufayl, Hayy Ibn Yaqzan, 161.

[29] Tufayl, Hayy Ibn Yaqzan, 161.

[30] Tufayl, Hayy Ibn Yaqzan, 160-161.

[31] Tufayl, Hayy Ibn Yaqzan, 160.

[32] Tufayl, Hayy Ibn Yaqzan, 162-163.

[33] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 107.

[34] Foucault, “Truth and Power,” 42.

[35] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 100.

[36] Mill, “On Liberty,” 68.

[37] Wollstonecraft, Mary, A Fiction, 75.

Bibliography

Foucault, Michel. “Truth and Power” In Orientalism: A Reader, edited by A.L Macfie, 41-44. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2000. https://doi.org/10.1515/9781474470476-010

Mill, John. “On Liberty.” In On Liberty and Other Essays, edited by John Gray 6-128. New York: Oxford University Press, 1991.

Tufayl, Ibn. Hayy Ibn Yaqzan: A Philosophical Tale. Translated by Lenn Evan Goodman. Illinois: University of Chicago Press, 2008.

Wollstonecraft, Mary. “Mary, A Fiction.” In Mary, A Fiction and The Wrongs of Woman, or Maria, edited by Michelle Faubert, 77-148. Ontario: Broadview Press, 2012.

by Paris Herzog

Throughout Herman Melville’s Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life, the protagonist, Tommo, finds himself in a state of captivity from which he endeavours to escape. His forms of confinement throughout the novel have very discreet bounds: he is at first physically confined to the ship at sea, held captive by a tyrannical captain; he is then physically confined by the valley and held captive by the Typee. Tommo’s captivity and lack of control over his circumstances often serve a narrative purpose, heightening the plot’s tension. The novel’s format—represented as fictional, but rooted in Melville’s own experience living among Polynesian natives after jumping ship—makes it difficult to decipher what elements are true and what elements are exaggerated for the sake of storytelling. Tommo’s confinement aboard the vessel and in the valley are almost antithetical to one another: the circumstances that make his confinement aboard the vessel unbearable are completely gone in the valley, while the circumstances that conspire to make his confinement in the valley unbearable are such that drive his return to a ship. Tommo’s reflections on the two situations interrogate the nature of freedom both in a physical and mental sense, as well as its connection with one’s environment and circumstances.

Two fundamental aspects shape Tommo’s physical captivity on the ship: isolation from the rest of the world, and a lack of control over his future. The novel begins with the narrator highlighting the isolating experience of being at sea with “the sky above, the sea around, and nothing else!” (Melville 3). Tommo further highlights this state of desolation and estrangement from the rest of the world by describing the state of their provisions: their enterprise has “exhausted” their produce, and their other provisions have “disappeared”. In these opening descriptions, Tommo laments, “Oh! For a refreshing glimpse of one blade of grass…. [I]s there no green thing to be seen? Yes, the inside of our bulwarks is painted green: but what a vile and sickly hue it is, as if nothing bearing even the semblance of verdue could flourish this weary way from land” (Melville 3). A sort of confinement occurs on the ship that detaches and removes man from nature: while a man can survive removed from nature, Tommo’s reflections point to it being unnatural and conducive to melancholy. These descriptions serve a narrative purpose, highlighting the need for the character to leave their present circumstances, which drives the plot and justifies the character Tommo’s decisions. They also emphasize that confinement aboard the ship represents an estrangement from the natural world, and thus implicitly that freedom would involve reconnecting with the natural world.

The second aspect of Tommo’s captivity on the ship is the tyrannical control that the captain exercises over the ship. He lists the conditions of the ship and the captain’s abuse as evidence of his contract being violated; however, Tommo believes that all the abuses from the ship’s captain “could have been endured awhile, had we entertained the hope of being speedily delivered from them by the due completion of servitude” (Melville 21). Tommo is beholden to a contract that he signed upon boarding the vessel for several reasons: his physical inability to leave the vessel; the threat of punishment by the captain; and the captain’s ceaseless determination to continue the enterprise. Aboard the ship, therefore, Tommo is physically confined and captive to the captain’s wishes. Tommo punctuates the horror of this condition by delving into the tale of the Perseverance, a ship that, by the greed of her captain, stayed at sea interminably. He describes her old crew “composed of some twenty venerable Greenwhich-pensioner-looking old salts, who just managed to hobble about deck,” and the functioning of the ship: “not a yard was braced or sail set without the assistance of machinery” (Melville 22). This description seems allegorical of what Melville might forecast to be the future of the modern industry: machines responsible for most of the labour, with a crew decrepit, destitute, and completely cut off from the natural world. This is the fate Tommo implicitly fears. The immediate source of Tommo’s captivity on the ship is the captain who, with near complete control over Tommo’s destiny, is driven by an obsession with squeezing as much profit as possible from the ship in its entirety, overworking the crew and exhausting the provisions in the process. The captain is a representation of the interests of modern industry: profit at all costs. On the ship, therefore, Tommo is ultimately held captive to the interests of modern industry.

Melville likely emphasizes the horrors of mariner life to an extent, making it very compelling for the character to want to leave. This justifies Tommo’s choice to abandon the vessel and run the risk of surviving in an unfamiliar land and encountering the cannibalistic Typee. Although the narrator claims that his feelings towards the cannibal tendencies of the Typee were of a “most unqualified repugnance,” he also shows sympathy towards them, even questioning whether their violence towards foreigners is perhaps justified (Melville 25): “Who can wonder at the deadly hatred of the Typees to all foreigners after such unprovoked atrocities” (Melville 26). At the novel’s beginning, Melville provides many instances that show the cruelty of Europeans:

Europeans have discovered heathen and barbarians, whom by horrible cruelties they have exasperated into savages. It may be asserted without fear of contradiction, that in all the cases of outrages committed by Polynesians, Europeans have at some time or other been aggressors, and that the cruel bloodthirsty disposition of some of the islanders is mainly to be ascribed to the influence of such examples. (Melville 27)

This statement implies that the Polynesians, originally innocent and non-violent, were corrupted by Europeans in some way. The combination of emphasizing the barbarity of life aboard the ship, a representation of the evils of Western civilization, and a quite sympathetic attitude towards the Typee (despite the fact they are renowned cannibals) lays the groundwork for his interaction with the Typee, and to interrogate whether their way of life does indeed pose a better alternative.

Theoretically, Tommo’s discontent aboard the ship could be resolved by living an antithetical way of life, one like that of the Typee. Although the narrative seems to present the circumstances for this question to be answered, the story never answers whether the Typee way of life would make Tommo, or indeed any Westerner, happier. This is because of the overarching similarity between the two circumstances, in which Tommo is fundamentally not in control of his destiny: in both situations, he experiences profound melancholy attributable partly to his lack of control over his situation. Apart from this similarity, Tommo’s life in the valley and life aboard the ship have drastically different characters. Among the Typee, he is not required to do taxing physical work in difficult conditions; all physical needs and wants can be met without rigorous work. This is partially due to the Typee catering to him in his injured state, but Tommo observes that the natives themselves do not have to engage in laborious tasks to survive; their environment supplies everything necessary for their existence. The narration compares the Typee’s circumstances to that of the Fuegians, who live in a much harsher climate and seem more miserable:

But the voluptuous Indian [Typee], with every desire supplied, whom Providence has bountifully provided with all the sources of pure and natural enjoyment, and from whom are removed so many of the ills and pains of life—what has he to desire at the hands of Civilization? She may “cultivate his mind”—may “elevate his thoughts”—these I believe are the established phrases—but will he be the happier? (Melville 124)

In this passage, the Typee are painted as divinely selected: due to “Providence,” all their needs are met. This religious imagery is highlighted by Tommo’s first interaction with the Typee: he comes across a young man and woman embracing, evoking the image of Adam and Eve.
Depicting the Typee and their way of life in this way seems to confront the notion that Western “Civilization,” where one can “cultivate his mind” and “elevate his thoughts,” is superior to one that leads to more happiness. However, the text attributes the differences between the societies to their environments, thwarting any practical comparison between the two ways of life. Tommo interprets the Typee’s contented way of life as a product of their environment: all the “ills and pains of life” that are familiar to Western “Civilization” but absent from Typee society are due to a scarcity in the environment that the Typee themselves lack—they enjoy a scarcity of scarcity itself.

Although Tommo asserts that the Typee Valley and its resulting way of life leads to greater happiness, Tommo himself nevertheless experiences melancholy from this lifestyle. This melancholy is unrelated to the anxiety he feels being held captive and the potential threat of being a victim of cannibalism. Tommo’s dissatisfaction with the Typee way of life adds a tragic element to his story; he escapes the barbarity of his old life but cannot enjoy the luxuries of this new world. Quite symbolically, Tommo describes how observing the beautiful and vibrant birds who always make happy cries fills him with melancholy:

I know not why it was, but the sight of these birds, generally the ministers of gladness, always oppressed me with melancholy. As in their dumb beauty they hovered by me whilst I was walking, or looked down upon me with steady curious eyes from out the foliage. I was almost inclined to fancy that they knew they were gazing upon a stranger, and that they commiserated his fate. (Melville 216)

While observing these birds, Tommo feels his alienness in the valley more acutely. Elements of the bird’s description—their “gladness” and “beauty”—are reminiscent of the Typee, also native to the valley; however, the birds’ simultaneous belonging and freedom to leave directly contrast Tommo, an alien who is being held captive. Tommo is prevented from the “gladness” and “happiness” of the natives of the valley because he is a “stranger” to that land. In Tommo’s framework, not only are societies a product of their physical environments but also the individuals who constitute them. Tommo’s identity is inextricably tied to the society from which he originated; he is not a product of the valley and, therefore, cannot fully participate in Typee society.

A sense of captivity to one’s origins underlies Tommo’s melancholy throughout the novel. At the novel’s beginning, Tommo’s sense of melancholy derived from his state of captivity differentiates him from the other sailors, save for Toby. Tommo describes how Toby, like himself, “was one of that class of rovers you sometimes meet at sea, who never real their origin, never allude to home, and go rambling over the world as if pursued by some mysterious fate they cannot possibly elude” (Melville 32). This romantic description casts the two characters as typical heroes of adventure novels to appeal to readers. Although it serves a literary purpose, this description also highlights Tommo’s sense of captivity to his circumstances from his desire to escape an “origin,” “home,” or “fate.” Throughout the novel, a sense of fateful captivity to one’s origins or identity frames all of Tommo’s experiences and indeed his very future.

The sense of melancholy that Tommo experiences throughout the novel results from being a captive of his circumstances. Other individuals literally hold him captive aboard the ship and in the valley, but underpinning these characters’ actions and motivations are their societal contexts. His captor on the ship is driven by greed that results from modern industry; the Typee hold Tommo in captivity, partly because he is an alien to them. In both cases, Tommo is incarcerated by his origins and the society he was born into. The resonating sense of captivity Tommo experiences comes from the helplessness of being beholden to one’s society and to one’s circumstances.

Works Cited

Melville, Herman. Typee: A peep at Polynesian life during a four months’ residence in a valley of the Marquesas. New York: Penguin Books, 1996.

by Nolan Sprokay

One may live one’s entire life, and in hypothesis the span of many lives beyond it, and still never come to terms with the simple fact that existence is narrated retrospectively. As much as one might long to have one’s life story imprinted on the eyes of an absolute, the atheistic perspective demands that an autobiography can only come from the mouth or pen of a subjective being, and this subjective being can only organize experience into narratives while looking back upon it from the future. For the subject, the present experience of each passing moment is characterized by barrages of internal and external sensations, and any narrative of the self is only composed after the subject relates itself to these sensations. The addition of chronological narration to existence is what the human subject comes to understand as temporality: the temporal, or, time, is absent without being, for without being there is nothing to categorize existence with using time. Considering the human subject is perpetually relating to the world through the lens of time, and the subjective place in time is intrinsically at constant change, it must be assumed that conflicts are likely to arise regarding how the human subject identifies with time, and how it identifies with itself in time.

Take the case of nostalgia; when one reminisces on the simple pleasures of their childhood, its security and lack of emotional complexity, it must be assumed that they are actually applying an ideal emphasis, a narration interwoven with the bias of the present, to their pasts. Although the mind of the child will generally tend to lack a strong understanding of abstract concepts, it is unreasonable to assume that the experience of the child is any less complex than that of the adult. Is the child not continuously forced to rationalize and re-rationalize their realities as they come into contact with more and more of the world? Has psychology not proven that the child experiences just as many emotional complexes as the adult?[1] The adult yearning to return to childhood clearly does so from a point of idealization, and when they allow themself to assume a melancholic position for living past these primordial ages, they are needlessly tormenting themself. This arising melancholy, however, is often an inevitable response to the recollection of past experience – how could it not be when this person is fervently rifling through memories which they have idealized to such a great extent, while simultaneously finding themself in a position where they can never relive the experiences tied to these memories? Watching time float these past experiences away, these memories of such profound reverence in the head of this nostalgic person, is nothing less than a horrifying sequence! At one time, the subject had an intimate connection to these experiences and could even feel itself within their presence, yet now the statues of these experiences, memories, are falling into obscurity, and the self of the present is in a state of loss. The nostalgic person finds themself trapped in the wake of a divine funeral, a celebration of worshiped selfhoods that are forever lost in time.

This daunting concept spreads across all kinds of speculation upon how the subject recognizes its own self. The subject reaches a crossroads in its identity when it reminisces in that it is confronted with the fact that it must live in the present, but desires to live in the past. Extending a critical eye into significant historical texts regarding human nature discovers this concept under a variety of different philosophical ideologies. One must particularly consider Jean-Jacques Rousseau, a French Enlightenment philosopher who discussed the dynamics of civilization, especially in reference to property. Rousseau’s work serves as sufficient philosophical representation for the subjective process of rejecting present time, in that he takes an East-of-Eden approach to human society: Rousseau asserts that there was once a utopian period of civilization, but due to the inevitable progression of civilizational development, this utopian era was lost forever. If his vision of utopia is an idealized past, then the impossible Rousseauian desire for civilizational regression is intellectually equivalent to a collective melancholy over idealized pasts. Beyond theories of the collective, however, in order to ground the macro Rousseauian approach in a micro theory of the individual, one must turn to psychoanalysis. The field of psychoanalysis, invented in the late nineteenth century by Sigmund Freud, offers insight into the structural development of human desires and drives, presenting explanations of the psychical incitement of melancholy through the subjective inaccessibility of past experience. By inspecting and comparing elements of both Freud and Rousseau’s philosophies, it becomes clear that their ideas presuppose the notion that melancholy is an intrinsic fixture of human nature, and that a core desire of the human subject is to return the self to a pre-melancholic ideal state.

Freud’s conception of a supposed pathological “oceanic feeling” is the first example the subject will ever face of melancholy in relation to this notion. In chapter one of Civilization and its Discontents, Freud refutes criticism of his atheistic text, The Future of an Illusion, in which his critic mentions an emotional state found within himself of deep connection to the world around him, and claims that it must be an attribute of divine presence. Freud speculates the opposite, that this emotional state is simply a pathology resulting from the unconscious remembrance of an early psychical state. This is the state of infantile narcissism, the very first manner in which the subject understands the world, where the subject is not yet able to distinguish object from subject. “An infant at the breast does not as yet distinguish his ego from the external world as the source of the sensations flowing upon him.”[2] As the subject is still too young to proficiently organize its sensations, it fails to recognize its surroundings as beings outside of the self. Because of this, any sensation it achieves from interaction with its objective environment is falsely conceived as a subjective conjuration. “He must be very strongly impressed by the fact that some sources of excitation, which he will later recognize as his own bodily organs, can provide him with sensations at any moment, whereas other sources evade him from time to time – among them what he desires most of all, his mother’s breast – and only reappear as a result of his screaming for help.”[3] At this point in time, the subject essentially perceives itself as a god – an absolute power over reality, not recognizing reality as an external being, nor frankly the concept of the word external. As time goes on, however, and the subject interacts with more of the objective world, it eventually learns to form the notion of object by the function of acting in certain ways and receiving certain sensations. “In this way, there is for the first time set over against the ego an ‘object,’ in the form of something which exists ‘outside’ and which is only forced to appear by a special action.”[4] Alongside this loss of infantile narcissism, the subject learns that it is a being-in-the-world, and is both protected and endangered by objective forces outside of the self, an individual in a world of infinity. Far later into the life of the subject, whenever it draws upon an “oceanic feeling” of spiritual connection to its environment, one must consider this as essentially the same energy as that of nostalgic reminiscing, for the subject loses itself in a desire to reconnect with a state of the past. In this sense, the subject’s interaction with the oceanic feeling is its very first divine funeral, an expression of mourning over an idealized earlier place in its life, and in this occasion, it almost literally mourns divinity, in that it is mourning its own position of absolutism.

Although this particular moment in the development of the psyche is a sufficient practical connection between the mourning of an idealized past and Freudian psychology, further examination is required to observe its centrality within psychoanalysis. For this, one must move further with Freudian thought and draw upon the psychoanalytic works of Julia Kristeva, a feminist psychoanalyst who proposes in her text Black Sun: Melancholia an innate confrontation that must be taken by the subject with melancholy, and how it may manifest as a pathology. Classical Freudian theory is largely centered on psychical relations to the father, Civilization and its Discontents in particular showing how the superego develops out of patricidal urges and remorse over these extensions of aggression exercised upon the paternal object, which is infused with the love of the subject. “After their hatred had been satisfied by their act of aggression, their love came to the fore in their remorse for the deed. It set up the superego by identification with the father; it gave that agency the father’s power, as though as a punishment for the deed of aggression they had carried out against him, and it created the restrictions which were intended to prevent a repetition of the deed.”[5] Kristeva, however, following the thought of object-relational psychoanalysts like Melanie Klein, suggests that the subject also has a very intense psychical struggle over its own drive toward symbolic matricide. As the maternal object is that which the subject first internalizes, long before the subject identifies with the paternal object as a resolution to the Oedipus Complex, the subject’s internalization of its mother is that which is most primeval and most powerful, and consequently the most heart-wrenching for the subject to lose. Kristeva, however, theorizes that in order for the subject to truly achieve autonomy in its life, it must reach a point in its childhood at which it eliminates its intense internalization of the maternal object, severing its psychical umbilical cord and experiencing the world as a free agent. “For man and for woman the loss of the mother is a biological and psychic necessity, the first step on the way to becoming autonomous. Matricide is our vital necessity, the sine-qua-non condition of our individuation, provided that it takes place under optimal circumstances and can be eroticized […].”[6]

According to Kristeva, this is the most integral period for people who, in adulthood, suffer from the depressive state Freud called “Melancholia,” which is the pathological state in which the subject is afflicted by a severe mourning, the cause of which it cannot consciously produce. This experience of melancholy over matricide, however, in Kristeva’s eyes, is impossible to avoid in the development of a child.[7] “The lesser or greater violence of matricidal drive, depending on individuals and the milieu’s tolerance, entails, when it is hindered, its inversion on the self; the maternal object having been introjected, the depressive or melancholic putting to death of the self is what follows, instead of matricide.”[8] Of course, this pre-matricidal union with the mother that is envisioned by the subject is entirely misinterpreted outside of the ideal, for in reality mother and child can only ever remain two separate beings, despite the vast love both may have for the other. When the subject undergoes melancholic depression, once again, it is mourning an ideal of its own construction. Melancholy, an inevitable experience of the human subject that may be fostered and morphed into the pathology of melancholia, represents a tear in the mind of the subject between the present and the past, as the subject is compelled away from the world and time it must inhabit toward a fantastical time forever sealed away from its grasp, that of its internalization of the maternal object.

Transferring out of the individual and onto civilization, Rousseau’s interaction with societal melancholy and collective desire for regression through time is best seen in his Discourse on Inequality. This is the fundamental text for understanding Rousseau’s arguments about human civilization, how it came to be, and the consequences of its presence. Rousseau describes a pure state of humanity before civilization in which the human subject operated purely on biological urges based around self-sustaining necessity; the drives to fight, flee, and fornicate. “Being subject to so few passions, and sufficient unto himself, he had only such feelings and such knowledge as suited his condition; he felt only his true needs, saw only what he believed it was necessary to see, and his intelligence made no more progress than his vanity.”[9] In this pure state of pre-civilization, mothers only raised their children until they were ready to walk, and then they tossed them headfirst into the wilds.[10] Every human individually foraged and hunted in the woods for food, and then frantically searched around in bouts of thirst for bodies of water to drink. Humans only interacted with each other when their bodies pulled them toward sex, each person moving on from the other only moments after the action was completed. Humans were motivated only by sensation, and as such, did not have the capacity to interact with (and mourn) the abstract.[11] For Rousseau, this is the second best period of humanity, in part due to the notion that humans lacked any reason or ability to experience depression, but also because they lacked social emphasis on personal property that leads to competition and aggression. “For since his mind cannot form abstract ideas of regularity and proportion, his heart is not capable of feeling those sentiments of love and admiration which – even unconsciously – arise from the application of these ideas: he responds only to the temperament which nature has implanted in him, and not to taste (or distaste), which he has not been able to acquire: for him every woman is good.”[12] There was no social dissonance during this period, no struggle for love and property, only survival. Here, the first etchings of Rousseau’s proposed collective melancholy can be found. The natural state of humanity was not built for the dynamics and labors of modern society- it was built for competition with the wilderness, for clashes with the elements! Under Rousseauian thought, the body and psyche of the modern human subject bears weights it was never intended to bear, and in this must at all times experience an unconscious depression, which theoretically could only be relieved by a regression to the natural human state, or some form of civilization that may sustain the pleasures of this state.

The natural human subject under Rousseau’s model, however, no matter how primordial and natural, was forever lost in the relative blink of an eye, thus marking the dawn of civilization; humans decided they wanted not only to survive, but to live! They began to build tools for themselves in order to foster convenience, to build consistent shelters, and most importantly, to observe other humans as objects of reliance.

Soon, ceasing to doze under the first tree, or to withdraw into caves, men discovered that various sorts of hard sharp stones could serve as hatchets to cut wood, dig the soil, and make huts out of branches, which they learned to cover with clay and mud. This was the epoch of a first revolution, which established and differentiated families, and which introduced property of a sort from which perhaps even then many quarrels and fights were born.[13]

This is what Rousseau called nascent society. By the logic of Rousseau, nascent society was the perfect utopian era of civilization. During this era, the human subject operated on what was truly most beneficial for the self, motivated toward self-sustaining biological necessities while still experiencing the delights of the abstract, like love for others. Humans entered a form of contract in which they used each other to benefit the self as best they could, and thus had access to the securities of civilization without any of its attributed oppressions.[14] Already, Rousseauian philosophy demonstrates a great amount of idealization regarding the past. In Civilization and its Discontents, Freud refutes utopian visions of nascent society, suggesting that subjective sensibilities between contemporary cultures are likely to have vast differences, and subsequently there is a possibility that the subject of nascent society will experience issues with its culture that the modern subject would not upon immersion into this culture.

It seems certain that we do not feel comfortable in our present-day civilization, but it is very difficult to form an opinion whether and in what degree men of an earlier age felt happier and what part their cultural conditions played in the matter. We shall always tend to consider people’s distress objectively – that is, to place ourselves, with our own wants and sensibilities, in their conditions, and then to examine what occasions we should find in them for experiencing happiness or unhappiness.[15]

For example, in a state of undeveloped technology like that of nascent society, one would lack access to clean drinking water, sufficient homes and shelters, medicine, and all forms of basic necessities that, while dynamically limited due to class differences in modern civilization, are also nonexistent without modern civilization. This suggests that Rousseau’s adoring vision of nascent society is largely biased due to a separate factor, which will demonstrably prove to be a desire to abandon the present rather than one to assume the past.

Nascent society, allegedly idyllic in disposition, is plagued with a morbid underlining in Rousseau’s eyes. The minute that this contract was formed and the natural state of humanity was abandoned, humans began to emphasize progression. “Those first slow developments finally enabled men to make more rapid ones. The more the mind became enlightened, the more industry improved.”[16] This is the characteristic of civilization most abhorred by Rousseau – its inherent inclination toward progression alongside the passage of time. As humans wanted more convenience, more technology, more enlightenment, they started to develop strategies like agriculture, which demanded division of labor and the claiming of property, officially bringing humanity into the third, final, and worst stage of civilization. The further labor and property relations came into fruition, the more barriers were set between humans. The human subject began to experience emotions like jealousy, for they now had to compete over properties, and the oppressions of slavery as workers were forced into labor by those who had more resources than them in order to receive those resources of self-sustaining necessity.

From another point of view, behold man, who was formerly free and independent, diminished as a consequence of a multitude of new wants into subjection, one might say, to the whole of nature and especially to his fellow men, men of whom he has become the slave, in a sense, even in becoming their master; for if he is rich he needs their services; if he is poor he needs their aid; and even a middling condition does not enable him to do without them.[17]

In Rousseau’s eyes, the instant agriculture was invented, society became post-apocalyptic, the aftermath of a previous state of civilization that no longer exists and cannot be reattained. As has been established, however, there is evidence to support that Rousseau’s conception of pre-apocalyptic society is idealized. Due to labor relations, the human subject most certainly bears weight it did not have to in its natural state, but it also bore weight in the past that it would never have to in the present. Any unconscious melancholic desire for the past in the Rousseauian collective must be a product of idealization, and the real issue the collective faces is once again not a lack of previous conditions, but the existence of current ones.

Mark J. Temmer, a scholar of French and comparative literature from the mid-late 20th century, discusses Rousseau’s biases regarding the temporal in his text Time in Rousseau and Kant: An Essay on Pre-Romanticism. In this essay, Temmer analyzes Rousseau’s attitudes towards different states in time, differentiating Rouseauian perspectives toward the conceptual past, present, and future, specifically relating to Rousseau’s autobiographical texts. Temmer establishes in his introduction that many of these autobiographies are Rousseau’s attempts to categorize human existence under the structure of time. “Similarly, autobiographic works like the Confessions, the Rêveries du promeneur solitaire and Rousseau, juge de Jean-Jacques represent an original effort to comprehend and justify his existence within the framework of human time, responsibility, and salvation.”[18] Temmer elaborates on the notion that Rousseau consistently idealizes the past, and reunification with lost aspects of the past in the future, by suggesting that it is because he wishes to immortalize his own desires. “Desirous of immortalizing desire, he had to have recourse to imaginary possession and to poetic fulfillment… Since possession can only occur in the present, Rousseau was constrained to thrust himself into the future and the past… The here and now is abandoned in favor of hopes and remembrances.”[19] In other words, Rousseau rejects the present because it is the realm of the tangible. Human desire can only be realized by the faculties of the subject experiencing it in the present, and thus to maintain its relation to objects that are only accessible in the future and the past is to render that particular desire eternal in the mind of the subject, as it will forever lack achievement and subjective satisfaction. In Rousseau’s desire to immortalize past objects, one will find an evident comparison to Kristeva’s melancholia, in which the desire for union with the maternal, which is impossible and must inevitably come to an end, is immortalized through introjection of the matricidal drive onto the self. The primary suggestion to be taken out of Rousseauian philosophy regarding temporal effects on subjective existence is that its most authentic motivation exists only in the past, and desires of the present lack the same profound authenticity. From a psychological standpoint, Rousseau and his described societal collective idealize their pasts, and thus the subject fruitlessly desires to realize them, allowing itself to be haunted by unfulfillment.

Nostalgia is both a euphoric and poisonous emotion for the human subject. It is the meth of the sentimental, the crack of the yearning, and the heroin of the wistful. Idealizations of the past suggest notions of happiness to the subject, but they also leave it sick and riddled with melancholy, torturing itself over the passage of time. In this way, desire is immortalized through this idealization, but gratification is forever shunted aside. Worshiping one’s past, as wonderful as experienced instances may seem from the future, casts one’s selfhood away from an innate characteristic belonging to it, its presence of presents.[20] If one’s self, as psychoanalysis suggests, is developed and influenced by its interaction with its environment, and the transience of its environment is constant throughout time, then one’s selfhood is reliant on its place in time. Consequently, the self of the past cannot be considered the same self as that of its future. Thus, when the subject wishes to rebel against temporality and return to “simple” times long passed, it is longing to assume an idealized selfhood undergoing experience contemporary to its particular time, a selfhood that does not truly belong to the subject itself. The subject idealizes a different selfhood that it perceives to be its own, with different sensations, excitations, and experiences, losing its grasp on its true self in the process. This is what the previously proposed term divine funeral references. The melancholic subject, through nostalgic recollection, is mournfully celebrating these different selfhoods, yet also through idealization allowing them to climb psychical pedestals to that of perfection and godliness, images of what the subject should be but has lost, like God’s garden to Adam and Eve. When, as happens in funerals, the subject is confronted with the fact that the mourned object is, in fact, forever lost, the subject senses a great emptiness within its own real, present self. The human subject with the most consonant sense of self, however, surely addresses this somber desire to realize a fantasized past, and must actively choose not to indulge in its seductions. The self that is the most authentic is that which lives not for the impossibility of the past. This self invents no deities, and this self mourns no deities. This is the self that laughs at its good memories, but desires no immersion in them. This is the self that recognizes, yet rejects its history, choosing to live for the tangibility of its present and the creation of its future!

Endnotes

[1] Consider the Oedipus Complex, an extremely significant process in psychoanalytic theory under which the child subject competes with its paternal object over the maternal object, and ultimately identifies with its father in the end so that it may commence reconciliation over its extensions of aggression toward him. This final step in the complex results in the Superego, which is the psychical function that imposes guilt upon the subject.

[2] Freud, Civilization and its Discontents, trans. James Strachey (New York: Norton & Company, 1961), 27.

[3] Ibid

[4] Freud, Civilization and its Discontents, 28.

[5] Freud, Civilization and its Discontents, 127.

[6] Kristeva, Black Sun: Depression and Melancholia, trans. Leon Roudiez (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989), 27.

[7] The Oedipus Complex, for example, is an extremely important step in the matricidal process, as the subject is seriously faced with the possibility of losing its internalized union with the maternal object to another object for the first time, invoking a degree of separation.

[8] Kristeva, Black Sun, 28.

[9] Rousseau, A Discourse on Inequality, trans. Maurice Cranston (London: Penguin, 1984), 104.

[10] Rousseau’s opinion is assumedly that mothers raised children up until the walking stage due to a biological maternalistic drive. Rousseau, not being a resolutely feminist thinker, does not elaborate much on the experience of the natural mother.

[11] A proper comparison with Freud’s infantile narcissism should bring one to remark on the similarities between the primeval stages of both thinkers’ subjective models, in that the narcissistic infant and the natural man both operate completely based on their sensations, and in the relation of these sensations to the betterment of the absolutist self. Could it be possible that any nostalgia Rousseau feels for his proposed natural state in particular is an unconscious reflection of the oceanic feeling?

[12] Rousseau, A Discourse on Inequality, 103.

[13] Rousseau, A Discourse on Inequality, 112.

[14] Through this contract, human subjects were able to take pleasure in the other, which is what ultimately led to desires and appreciations of love.

[15] Freud, Civilization and its Discontents, 61.

[16] Rousseau, A Discourse on Inequality, 112.

[17] Rousseau, A Discourse on Inequality, 119.

[18] Temmer, Time in Rousseau and Kant: An Essay on Pre-Romanticism (Geneva: Droz Bookstore, 1958), 11.

[19] Temmer, Time in Rousseau and Kant, 14.

[20] 😉

Bibliography

Freud. Civilization and its Discontents. Translated by James Strachey. New York: Norton & Company, 1961.

Kristeva. Black Sun: Depression and Melancholia. Translated by Leon Roudiez. New York: Columbia University Press, 1989.

Rousseau. A Discourse on Inequality. Translated by Maurice Cranston. London: Penguin, 1984.

Temmer. Time in Rousseau and Kant: An Essay on Pre-Romanticism. Geneva: Droz Bookstore, 1958.