As soon as I finished the works by Burnham I could get my hands on, I immediately turned to another mid-20th-century political scientist: Bertrand de Jouvenel. His work On Power: The Natural History of its Growth is monumental. Its lofty aims are made grander by its author's flowing prose. de Jouvenel takes Power’s seemingly mechanical layers and transfigures them into a rushing torrent of ideas. To truly understand his work, ’s reader must take its ideas and channel them into one another by his intellect’s force to derive the elegant but profoundly rich conclusions de Jouvenel has to offer. Over the next several days, I will endeavor to deliver some of these ideas for my own sake and to unravel some of Power’s mysteries.
De Jouvenel first sets out to establish Power’s Metaphysics. He begins by asking a simple question: why do people obey Power? His response: it is in people’s nature to submit to Power. I.e.., historical habituation to Power has made people docile (p., 24). For this reason, they are easily coerced by the state’s mechanisms to do its will (pp. 22-23). Either people subordinate themselves to Power or lose their lives (pp. 24-25). Over many generations, people’s tendency to submit propagates and, thus, in some sense, Power domesticates its subjects. Those who resist are culled, while those who subordinate themselves prosper by serving Power.
When De de Jouvenel speaks of Power, he is alluding to its forcefulness, the legitimacy we give it, and its beneficence. Still, he is correct to note that these qualities, rather than existing in Power per se, exist in a people's perception of Power. Men see in Power the goodness they hope it can bring, attribute the strength they lack to its deeds (finding it, thus, in themselves), and legitimize it by recognizing its will’s force, submitting to it for their hope’s sake (p. 27). Because men’s aspirations are found in Power’s abilities and deeds, when they seek to usurp extant Powers, they do it by another name. By this representation of their will, Power reasserts itself, masquerading as the people’s wishes, stronger than before. In turn, the people are subordinated, once more, to Power’s grip, never freer, more equal, or more Powerful themselves (p. 28).
Because Power is indefatigable, De de Jouvenel regards most checks on Power – if not all – as superfluous. These checks serve as vehicles for Power to assert itself, cloaked as either the legislature’s will, the judicial will, the people’s will, or the Church’s will, at least (p. 30). For example, throughout the Middle Ages, the king was constrained by the Catholic Church (pp. 31-33). He was also beholden to a country’s laws. These laws were shaped by the Church via the people's consent and, in this way, he was thought to be beholden to the people through God and the Church; i.e., he was the Church’s, God’s, and the people’s servant. Then, the sovereign used the right of common law to supplant the Church’s Roman authority and make the country's Churches representatives of his will (p. 34). In this act of tergiversation or betrayal, the Church’s and God’s representatives became the people’s representatives. The king’s will, which the Church claimed defined the laws binding the king, then could be seen as the Church’s will, and if it handed authority over to the king, it was actually the people and God who gave him authority. In truth, the sovereign took his new position by equivocating between the people’s will and Divine will (pp. 34-35). The attempt to constrain the king to the people’s, Church’s, and Divine’s will did nothing more than give cause for the king to ascend in Power (pp. 37-39).
Throughout European history, this pattern of authoritative constraint and enlargement appears to repeat. Two Enlightenment political philosophers appear to recognize this, as well: Rousseau and Hobbes. For Rousseau, the sovereign acquired his position through collective, individual action; society is a product of this collective, individual action; thus, the sovereign’s subordination of society to his will is a product of collective, individual action – i.e., a nation’s subordination to a tyrant is a product of a collection of individuals willing to be subordinated (p. 41). For Hobbes, the sovereign preexisted the people. They may form societies – although they are very much already quite social – but these societies are perpetually terrorized by the tiger that stalks the forests, and it is this beast to whom the people turn. They let him feast upon them, and for the people's sacrifice, he protects them, coordinating their wills for his gain. This sovereign is not the product of some collective, individualistic decision tree; rather, he exists naturally, and the people turn to him, recognizing his prowess, beneficence, and legitimacy. They are already beneath and shaped by him, what extra step is it to acknowledge the facts for what they are?
Still, Power does not need to be held by a single man, as history makes obvious. Rather, Power can change hands rapidly. The Sword of Damocles hangs over every ruler or ruling class. The more this blade sinks into its victim’s flesh, the greater the range of potential rulers there can be (p. 42). When any Power ascends, whether of the people (democracy), a ruling class of elite distinct from the people generally (aristocracy or oligarchy), or a single ruler (a monarchy), it must act in the name of one of two wills, potentially both: The Divine’s will or People’s will (p. 44). de Jouvenel argues that representative governments, which may be democratic or aristocratic, cloak their sovereignty in the people’s will. Yet, inevitably, the mask is removed and the parliamentary form of government combines with the executive such that the distinctions between the two become withering formalities (pp. 45-46). Of the two wills by which a despot may achieve this unification, he shall prefer the people’s will. The Divine’s will, by definition, must be immutable, and with such a justification, he limits himself and his ability to act on the people’s behalf. With the people’s will, however, which is like constantly shifting desert sands, he may do what he pleases, in the people’s name, on their behalf, and for their good, increasing his wealth all the while (pp. 46-47).
If this despot is wise, he shall want his identity to be known and his Power made evident. Otherwise, he must disguise himself and delegate his authority to agents that will act on his behalf. This Power division will weaken his sovereignty by granting others that right which is his. When this happens, he may be usurped by the very agents he trusted with his sovereign authority. If he doesn’t wish to be usurped, he cannot hide himself behind agents who will, in time, become necessary for his existence and, thus, sovereign over him (p. 47).
However, the rise of the sovereign as despot or king does not explain how the state comes to be seen as the disembodied, spiritual will of the sovereign. First, the nation takes the king’s place as a vehicle to animate and inspirit the masses. A ruler speaks on his nation’s behalf, binding them to their new identity, which differentiates no man of the nation from another. In time, this enables the sovereign to spread his ideology (typically through military ventures), forcing isolated individuals to adopt Nationalism as a binding philosophy to resist the spread of any national sovereign’s authority. Under threats foreign and domestic, the national identity blooms, and for it the sovereign’s Power is enlarged (pp. 53-54). This nationalist philosophy, which de Jouvenel partly attributes to Hegel, is accelerated by the conscious members of the nation, who have an obligation (to preserve their brothers and sisters from harm within and without) to bring each undifferentiated individual into form with the whole. These enlightened leaders provide the members of a community with identities that enable the nation to be made manifest (p. 57).
In part, this argument of national unity had to be reconciled with the complex, hierarchical differentiation observable to any member of any group (pp. 58). The solution to this paradox of unity and multiplicity was provided by sociobiology and the emergence of evolutionary social theories (pp. 59-60). Under this model, the nation as a superorganism had various organs that each served a function for the whole’s existence. The head coordinated the limb’s actions, the circulatory system provided the resources for the limbs’ animation, the epidermis protected the internal viscera from external threats, and the fascia bound the whole together. Yet without the head, the authority from which all other commands were derived, the whole could not function. Thus, the sovereign took up his crown once more as the nation’s head, coordinating the state for his, i.e., the whole’s, will (pp. 61-63).
For some, the dream of liberty seized this metaphor, driving them to argue that each organ of the superorganism could acquire for itself the authority of its parts, differentiated from the whole. But concepts such as these were quickly laid to rest by the likes of Huxley and Durkheim who astutely pointed out that if each whole’s member acted on its own behalf, the whole could not coordinate its actions, and would therefore be immobilized or weakened by its indecisiveness. Each part needed to sublimate its collective will to the whole, and this whole found its authority, not in itself but a representative of itself: the sovereign, the dictator, the executive authority (pp. 64-66).
But from where did Power emerge historically?
In part, Power’s origins can be found in the family (pp. 74-75), according to de Jouvenel. The family as Power’s foundational unit could either be patriarchal or matriarchal (p. 77). The former’s Power is derived from the fathers’ sons while the latter’s authority derives itself from the mothers’ daughters’ number and control of the land and its resources. The patriarchal foundation could either generate a senatorial or monarchical system. On the other hand, the matriarchal foundation could possibly generate a monarchical system or so de Jouvenel seems to suggest. Yet, these foundations vary before they reach either of their potential forms.
Against existence’s vicissitudes, men will cower in fear and seek explanations for their misfortunes. In their dependence, they turn to those with the acquired wisdom to lead them: The Elders. These learned men provide men with rituals, customs, procedures, and laws to alleviate the misfortunes. From these men and their rituals, we have the makings of a priestly, managerial, and even parliamentary society (pp. 79-82). Some of these priests will enact rituals that serve to preserve the people’s good fortunes. If they fail, or if the people’s lot is dire, their blood – a magical blood sacrifice – can serve to atone for the people’s ills (pp. 80-82). The kingly priests, these eldritch men, are magical because the people perceive them as magical. It is for Man’s tendency to think magically that he is lead down the elder’s path; that he is subordinated to the elder’s will. These magical priests come with the knowledge and wisdom of the gods or God and, for that reason, serve as God’s or the gods’ totem. By worshiping and sacrificing to the priests or old fathers, with such wealth, these fathers of old can improve the people’s lot. Here we see the early form of a priestly authority whose force, legitimacy, and beneficence are the product of their wisdom, which they use to resolve the problems besetting their children (pp. 82-84).
In these priestly societies, occult knowledge, specialized knowledge intended to provide aid to the people, defines authority. Only individuals capable of acquiring and using this knowledge effectively can acquire status, wealth, and Power over their people (p. 84). Once some wealth or position is acquired by these individuals, they consolidate their position by securing their contributions’ continuation, their followers’ support, and lastly, they deprive “any potential opposition… the means wherewith to form itself” (p. 85). If this priestly regime derived from the fathers’ or elders’ wisdom is defined in any way and that defiance goes unpunished, then the priestly authority is bound to fall (p. 87). Thus, the priestly cast must severely punish defiance to ensure its continuation, exacerbating the yoke of its authority.
Of these priestly and magical societies is birthed the warrior’s society. The elders’ sons, dissatisfied with their lot, may venture forth from their homes in search of wealth, riches, and women to marry. These societies, de Jouvenel argues, could not be produced by a matriarchal society whose authority is tied to the Power of its daughters. Rather, it must have emerged from a patriarchal society, for in the sons’ Power, there is the patriarchate’s strength (p. 89). Because the sons could acquire more lands, subjects, and women to sire their sons for them, patriarchal societies could complexify more rapidly than matriarchal societies. Tied to the land as matriarchal societies were, they could never develop the complex societies of the Patriarchate.
Still, of these sons and their wars, political revolution is born; specifically, the elders’ overthrow. The youthful warrior’s spirit meets the elders and finds them wanting. For all of the magical rituals they have to offer, when tested by the metal of battle, what good do incantations, rituals, amulets, customs, and laws do? The warrior endowed with the best of these, against the warrior made of firmer stuff, doesn't return from his youthful adventures. Under this light, the elders’ priestly rule is revealed to be fraudulent. The warrior, having birthed this earthly wisdom from his mind’s perception of reality, then sets forth to take from the world what he knows to be his. By force, he becomes wealthier and, by his strength’s right, more Powerful (pp. 90-92). In his conquering path, he produced complex senatorial or kingly societies.
The warrior’s appearance, tested by battle’s heat, signifies a hierarchy’s establishment. Through wealth’s accrual, the need for servants to oversee such riches as more cattle, women, and lands, multiplies. This produces social stratification as various peoples are mixed to preserve the consolidated domain of the warrior caste. The warrior, realizing that his lands need tending, finds it to be imprudent to slaughter all he conquers. As such, the ancient warrior recognized the utility of slavery and subordinated his subjects to his will by the chain’s yoke, ensuring an even more complex and stratified social structure, according to de Jouvenel. Out of this social complexity emerges the ancients’ pyramidal hierarchy, which itself differentiated into various religious cults, organs if you will, to be coordinated by the warrior for his and his posterity’s preservation (pp. 93-95).
This complex society will take the favored form of a confederation. In de Jouvenel’s words “the senate and the chiefs of clans” shall come together under a common representative: The King. The King mediates the clan’s decisions, whom they will war against next, who shall receive what from their foray, and what to do about any dissent (pp. 95-96). In this role, the King may receive apanage from his subjects for his skill in war, which is his nature. Yet, he also – in the King’s role – embodies the father he usurped and must take on the duties of . In this semi-priestly role, he engages in precatory and expiatory rituals for his people, in time, coming to be a representative of God’s will on earth (pp. 96-97).
Recognizing the necessity of his position, the king may seek to usurp the chieftains. Usually, this usurpation is done by appealing to the Divine’s will or by appealing to the chieftains’ subjects; i.e., by democratic means (pp. 97-98). Because the king represents a diverse people, he can use the stranger to overthrow the old chieftains, overthrowing their rule. By recruiting from the ranks of the diverse, conquered peoples, he can lessen their yoke, and make the chieftains look all the worse. By acting on the Divine’s behalf, he stands as a god or a representative of the Divine, making himself an object of worship. The hecatombs of the masses then become the booty with which he overthrows the kings, acquiring the masses’ approval (for they see him as the legitimate authority), and solidifying their support in the coming wars of consolidation (pp. 98-99). In time, the state takes this kingly figure’s role, and its people sacrifice to it, the organ of their continuation, for their and their posterity’s sake.
When there is no kingly figure, but an aristocracy has ascended, as was the case in Ancient Rome and Sparta, the aristocracy suffers from what de Jouvenel calls a “split mind” (p. 100). They think of themselves as equals, yet also conform to a hierarchical system, wherein each strives to be better than the next. In truth, they are patriarchs vying for the king’s role, only kept in check by the liberty of each man beside him, which is thus by force’s threat. de Jouvenel argues that these societies were held together by their folkways, and in Montesquieu’s work, The Spirit of Laws, we can find a similar argument (Montesquieu, pp. 57-66). Still, based on my previous reading of Burnham’s central works, I am skeptical of this claim. The educational institutions, if they do shape the people’s minds, must have their curriculum established by some authority; i.e., a matriarchal or patriarchal figure or elder. These men can establish the mode of thought that ensures future success within society. How is it the case that an oligarchy of some excellent teachers of the folk’s ways didn’t define the folk’s character? Without these members of the folk, the people’s character would be undefined. I.e., the community must have had such select members from its ranks to form the necessary foundations of its culture since it did have a defining character. Without these members, there could be no community. Still, perhaps I am projecting contemporary circumstances onto the past, despite the literature on game theory that implies just such a caste.
Regardless, it suffices to recognize that, in patriarchal societies, Power is established through the warrior’s ascent and the founding of either a kingdom or republic. From these kingdoms and republics, we contemporarily acquire the notion of “We the people.” We see in the ancient kingdoms and republics the individual’s product: The State. These republics and kingdoms were the ground soil for the organ of Power that contemporarily subjects all individuals under its scepter to its amorphous will (de Jouvenel, p. 103).
What I think we should take away from the first two books of de Jouvenel’s work are several points. Primarily: Power doesn’t change except in appearance. Its many variations are produced by Power’s circumstances, resources, and people. Yet, in essence, it is always recognized by its strength, ability to benefit its subjects, and the legitimacy given to it by its subjects for its strength and beneficence. Secondly, though many have tried, Power is not constrainable except by Power which only serves to engorge Power further. The United States, for example, was not lessened by its victory over Japan and Germany. Rather, its administrative authority was strengthened, and its global dominance lasted for almost eighty more years. What does this mean for those who seek its diminution? Lastly, war defines Power’s character, and it is through perpetual conflict that Power’s authority is reaffirmed.
Power’s omnipresence is, I think, the most important lesson to learn thus far. Americans, specifically of the Libertarian variety, may seek to put the genie back in the bottle. However, to achieve such a task requires Power of equal or greater strength than the currently standing Power. Therefore, Power is only served by the libertarians' calls for liberation. Who knows what shall manifest in the stead of the Global American Empire, but will we be better off for it? By no means does this mean the United States has not overextended itself, a recurring historical phenomenon of Power, ensuring its eventual overthrow by some other Power, probably at its fringes. But should we invite such a beast into our presence? Who knows what horrors, technological and manmade await us when a new state apparatus is inevitably unleashed upon the masses who mindlessly enslave themselves to its will. Why would we be so quick to implement such an existential state?
I do not think it’s correct to provide definitive resolutions to this conundrum. I have previously argued that dismantling the extant institutions is wise, and I still feel this way, but something new must be there, ready to take its place once it is dismantled. A void cannot be the answer to Power, for Power shall fill that void as soon as it appears, and with its ascent, chthonic horrors shall surely come.
Bibliography
De Jouvenel, B. (1945). On Power: The Natural History of its Growth. Liberty Fund.
De Montesquieu, C. (1728). The Spirit of Laws. Digireads.
