"For us, there is no spring. Just the wind that smells fresh before the storm." - Conan
On Monday, the 10th of April, I covered the metaphysics and history of de Jouvenel’s Power. Today, what I will endeavor to cover is Power’s essence or character and the state’s revolutionary dynamics. De Jouvenel paints a monstrous and glorious image of Power, which I hope to consolidate and shed some light on.
When de Jouvenel claims Power has an essence or character, what he is intending to say is that Power, whether in the sovereign’s or state’s guise, does not change. Succinctly stated: Power is not motivated by the general will; the state is not motivated by the general will (pp. 107-108). Power is defined by the ability to command. This ability is rooted in the sovereign’s capacity to lead. The more he leads his troops to victory, the more he can obtain for himself; the more he obtains for himself, the more complex his apparatus, the state, will be; the more complex his state is, the more advanced his state’s machine must be to maintain what is his; i.e., the more complex the society will be. In a society of lesser complexity, the sovereign will depend on the minority’s rule or rule by aristocracy or oligarchy. Thus, he can lessen an aristocracy’s or oligarchy’s power by making society more complex, securing his Power through the general will (pp. 111-112).
This sovereign is a roaming barbarian or savage warlord whose conquests allow him to accrue his subjects’ loyalty. And, when his subjects are more loyal to him than the aristocracy, when he’s acquired more Power than his handlers, he can overthrow them (pp. 112-113). This warlord’s need to expand is done for its own sake; by commanding well, he can command more (pp. 113-114). This warlord demands his subjects serve his interests, i.e., the ability to command further. Because his rule depends on the utility of his subjects, including the state’s utility, if any portion of it, any people, will not serve him or his interests, which are to conquer further, they are historically put to the sword; this is not a historical aberration. Still, Power inevitably overextends itself (pp. 114-115). To revivify itself, it must recruit from those who were conquered, hence its dependence on the people’s utility. In the process of integrating new people into his state, Power can significantly alter his agents and the state’s character.
Within the sovereign’s state, conflict flourishes, as well (pp. 115-117). As the leader acquires more authority for himself from without, he will tend to betray his compatriots by adopting the customs of an alien people, ensuring their loyalty and extending his command. Of the example de Jouvenel gives for this, it is the Ottoman’s use of Christians as janissaries that is most remarkable. In this way, the sovereign is playing out his role as Rex; he is servicing that vital organ of his, which ensures his authority: The State. Still, it’s hard to conceive of his sacrifices as altruistic; he tends to the Tree of Power for the fruit that it provides him, not out of his heart’s goodness (pp. 117-119).
The King or Sovereign can maintain control over his people because they see him as a reflection of themselves (pp. 119-120). In Rome, for example, as the Republic’s borders expanded, more people fell beneath the Roman Aquila, but it was not until a figure like Caesar reared his head that they could finally say they had a place amongst their conquerors; in the Emperor, there was their salvation. For this reason, what people see in Power is its capacity to provide them with indispensable services. What are the homeless to the people when a job, food, healthcare, childcare, and entitlements mean so much more? In this way, Power buys its loyalty by providing the people with what they’re unwilling or unable to acquire for themselves (p. 121). As time progresses, Power unifies the people (pp. 121-122). When this occurs, the people see Power – which was once alien – as one of its own. If it is, why can they not embody Power’s ability to command, they wonder? They mistake their material prosperity – provided for them by Power – for their doing.
De Jouvenel does not seem to think the social, republican form of government can last and that it will be replaced by the monarchy since it is more stable than a representative government (pp. 122-124). The people’s representatives – and de Jouvenel makes this argument further in the book, as well – do not act on behalf of the people, not even in ancient Rome. Rather, they have an agenda they wish to accomplish and they convince or coerce the people into accepting their agenda (p. 124). In some way, the arguments de Jouvenel makes are similar to Burnham’s. In time, the sovereign becomes so dependent on his delegates that he cannot act without their consent; his society becomes so complex that he cannot run it without their aid; thus, the king becomes sovereign in name only, and true Power falls on the managers’ or sovereign’s agents’ shoulders (pp. 124-126). These delegates abide by the people’s desires – who believe themselves equal to the sovereign – which are made manifest in representative politicians. The state, thus, becomes an organ of the people’s competing interests, causing chaos and confusion (pp. 126-127).
The confusion produced by the people’s competing interests (made manifest in their representatives who vie for the managerial or bureaucratic class’s approval and, thus, the control of the state’s mechanics), makes them dependent on Power’s interests – or the sovereign’s interests. The people’s need to make their madness coherent forces them to submit to the sovereign’s rule. The Barbarian never leaves. He creates the complex society that abandons him, and out of its infantile confusion, once it thinks itself above or equal to him, for the succor Power provides it, it reinstates that Lord which it claimed to have no need for (pp. 129-131).
Power is always self-serving, but it is also a social servant. Without this egotistical quality, Man may not call himself powerful. Man’s wish to eliminate his egotistical nature deprives him of the authority he seeks (p. 132). Power’s egotistical quality takes many forms, one of which is the debonair rogue. This ability to be the people’s man, of the land and its customs, draws the people’s adoration to Power. Were Power lacking in this egotistical quality, the people could never see him as one of their own. More importantly, his radiating ego shines on all around him, covering the land in his effigy. And for this reason, he sees the land as himself, the people as himself, every institution an organ of his personhood, each soldier, a physical manifestation of his prowess, each loss, a deep cut into his flesh. Without Power’s egoism, he could never have the capacity to tend to his people as an extension of himself, nor his land, nor could they stir the necessary emotions in him to call him to better means (pp. 133-136). The Ruler’s egoism is thus necessary.
When Power provides his people with tangible services, he is serving them well. Idealistic things can and do blind Power, resulting in catastrophic outcomes for himself and his people (pp. 136-139). Yet Power’s egoism induces him to engorge himself endlessly. Through conquest, Power expands and complexifies the means by which it can exert its will on its surroundings. And for the common good, for an ideal that inflates power’s ego further – with the common good’s aid – can there be an area of Power’s realm he does not will himself to control, even the heavens? In the common good is Power’s obsession with the totalitarian state and – perhaps – its downfall (pp. 139-142). As the pool reflects the Sovereign’s light, he is blinded by its radiance.
Power, as I have noted before, uses strife more effectively than its competitors whose relative weaknesses fear it (pp. 142-143). Men’s wishes, hopes, and dreams –to overcome their social circumstances – are used by power. By these delusional desires – generally born by idealistic philosophers – Man releases Power’s binds, enabling tyranny, for what limits should stand against the ideal dream? With Power’s release from its limits, its forceful application becomes arbitrary, and the central, command authority increases its abilities and lessens its subjects’. The birth of the philosopher’s idealist dream signals its destruction and Power’s ascent (pp. 143-145). Power takes your dreams and makes them his (pp. 145-149).
This barbarian, who feeds on men’s dreams, who conquers all he sees, who sacrifices himself to his people to grow his authority, inspirits contemporary armies and nations to expand endlessly. For in a society infatuated with material possessions, what more could Power ask for but to be told by his slaves that they want endless riches, wealth, and material goods – all of which only feed him and increase his authority further (pp. 151-154)? And in time, when the people have acquired their precious wealth, to whom do they turn to preserve it, to keep themselves and their goods safe and secure? None other than Power, of course! He is happy to extend his tentacles into men’s private affairs, who beckon him to keep them warm (pp. 154-156).
Power is defined by war, and war is defined by the quality of its armaments, therefore, Power is defined by the quality of its armaments (pp. 156-158). Without armaments of any type, Power will be limited or conquered by another Power. Therefore, if Power wishes to protect itself from other Powers, it needs the best armaments and the ability to use them effectively. Throughout European history, conflict or war was used to increase the power of the state. Such is the nature of Power as a barbaric warlord. As a nation expands, it increases the number of its material goods to be used for war. This accretion of wealth spurs logistical innovations in neighboring countries and increases those countries' access to the people’s wealth through taxation and conscription. When wealth isn’t sufficient to raise a military, land satiates the soldiers’ needs. And, when large numbers are required, the people – all – become the state’s property, to be used – if necessary – as fodder for its military (pp. 158-163). All shall serve Power, even unto death. This horror – the need to use men as naught but fodder – is demanded of all countries subordinated to Power’s will (pp. 163-164). It is a game of chicken – he who is willing to put more on the line for Power will acquire it unless rebuffed with equal force. If Power cannot win, no one will.
Ultimately, this results in the state’s total militarization for its wars' sake. When this occurs, the nation can no longer be said to be distinct from the state, for they are intended for the same purpose: Power’s insatiable desire for more (pp. 164-167).
How has Power done this, you might ask? Don’t you want to be equal with Power?
Power loves the concept of Equality. As men desire it, Power finds a need to fulfill, and in his position of authority, what wouldn’t he love more but to fulfill an unachievable ideal! To achieve Equality, all must be made one; and for all men to be made one, none must be above the other. Power, then, lowers himself so that he’s amongst the masses. He then looks up at his competition and tears them down in the name of progress until only he remains amidst the chaos, ready to preserve the undifferentiated state he’s brought about… as its ruler (p 174). Overcoming their aristocratic overlords and leveling their superiors, these exploited victims of authority find themselves exploited once again by Power in the state’s or sovereign’s guise.
As de Jouvenel notes, the state, sovereign, or Power is Conservative and Revolutionary. In essence, Power never changes and, thus, it is Conservative, but as it is, amorphously undulating, searching, extending, and consuming, it is Revolutionary. Its existential mode preserves its essence – it, therefore, consumes itself as it preserves itself (pp. 174-176).
Since time immemorial, Power has established itself, destroyed itself, and given birth – in its death – to itself once more. Against families and clans, its first feast and field, he sows division. To achieve this, he develops identities or roles provided by the state, forcing the many different clans to integrate and intermingle, severing their family ties. In the end, they become dependent on the state for a role rather than any individual, Patriarchate’s law (pp. 178-180).
Against free, landed men, known as barons, Power lets them accrue wealth for themselves. Still, jealous and covetous, Power cannot abide this reproach. In turn, it lifts up the baron’s landed people, his servants, giving them new roles. These state or Church-sponsored roles make the barons dependent on Power and – of course – require money for their services. Forced to pay Power’s servants, Power slowly transfers wealth from the barons into his hands by taxing his servants’ acquired wealth. Yet, Power is not naïve: Currency is just a tool it uses to preserve itself. In time, it can devalue its own purse, preventing the aristocracy’s assent, as well. The state devalues its currency, and the feudal lords increase taxes, yet the wealth they acquire becomes worthless. Faced with debt, they have no choice but to sell their lands to recoup their losses. And to whom do they turn to ameliorate their debts? Why, Power! The State, in the king’s name or of its own accord, acting as sovereign, is happy to acquire more property for itself (pp. 180-183).
Against the capitalist aristocracy, Power slowly seizes their property and wealth, transferring it into the state’s hands. The state’s chief way of transferring private capital into government investment was to accumulate wealth through the state and purchase failing businesses that then became governmental arms (p. 186). The publicization of property mainly occurs in Equality’s name, expanding the state’s powers to all sectors of the society, enlarging its authority, and atomizing all individuals until they’re dependent on the state completely (pp. 187-190). Individuality, in its atomistic form, rather than being a deterrent to Power’s accretion, is its end result. Once his people are individuated and undifferentiated, Power can rule them more effectively. Individualism, Human Rights: Power loves these; for they – as the ideals they are – enable him to make everyone dependent on him. Any groups who claim prerogatives that other men lack differentiate themselves from the “We” Power adores so dearly. With the ability to claim he’s preserving the people’s Human rights, he can trample these groups and their interests, leaving only his in their wake.
Power’s totalitarian state produces, in its equality, a state run by managers who are anything but equal. These managers, priests, or statocrats accrue wealth for themselves but, in the process, sap the state’s creative potential. By fraud and corruption – like the foxes they are – they bleed the empire dry, purchasing lands for themselves in the process. The empire, the managerial state, descends into feudalism (pp. 190-191). These feudal barons and patriarchal chieftains are then subjected to power’s games once more.
Out of all these historical scenarios, de Jouvenel was able to derive a common theme. Throughout every epoch, Power has one, essential goal: Labor’s consolidation (p. 192).
The aristocracy constantly finds itself battling against Power’s desires. At the same time, it also is willing to support its enlargement, especially by coordinating the masses into action for Power. The aristocracy often builds administrative agencies to aid in their complex affairs. These agencies and agents are, then, used against them. The Aristocracy's creation is used to subsume them into the state’s and Power’s corpus (pp. 193-195).
For example, the feudal common wealth emerged from the people’s needs; primarily, their need to defend themselves. Weapons and armaments are costly, and only those with sufficient wealth can afford them; therefore, the barons, capable of amassing vast amounts of wealth through their landholdings, became necessary for the kingdom’s security. This made the king, for a time, dependent on the barons, forcing him to seek their aid (pp. 194-197). The king, as a necessary mediator of conflict and representing the Church’s and people’s will, maintained the barons as a military force, but this did not mean they were dependable. Often, they impetuously ran into battle’s heat to their downfall. The kings were not unaware of this unruliness. Using his authority as the Church’s representative, he bound the peasants to his laws, raised men through the men he educated and taxed, and then used his newfound wealth to purchase cavalry forces. This gradually lessened the barons’ hold over the king, enabling them to rival the barons with force and wits (pp. 197-200). Still, why do a dirty job when someone’s happy to do it for you? The king’s educated men held a grudge against the former barons. By enriching these vengeful men, educating them, and turning them to his side, Power could use them to overthrow the barons, whom they viewed as the bourgeoisies’ oppressors. In this way, Power used the lower classes, raised them, and gave them a taste of the potentate’s chalice so that they could know what it was like to be his equal. But if they want more, they must do his will, and so he makes them his servants (pp. 200-202).
From Power’s ability to enrich the masses to his benefit, de Jouvenel provides us with a rule: Because Power exalted the lower classes, it was able to become absolute (p 206). The mere desire for absoluteness does naught for Power, nor does it enable him to enrich the lives of lesser men. He must already be able to enrich their lives to become absolute. By exalting the lower classes, the aristocracy, Power’s greatest rival, is lessened. The aristocracy is inevitably unable to function without the state and, thus, becomes dependent on its aid (pp. 203-206). The nobility is brought low in Equality’s name. The state, sovereign, Power uses the nobility as a scapegoat for the people’s misfortunes. Their blood atones for the people’s plight. In the process, power’s authority is multiplied.
The aristocracy can react to this threat in at least two ways (pp. 206-210). First, it can do as the state does and raise the common people into its ranks. As it does this, it can then capture parliamentary institutions to structure laws that benefit the common people. To boot, the aristocracy can make the state’s military forces dependent on their wealth, establishing them as a fixture of the state. The aristocracy, in other words, can act as Power and serve the masses. Secondly, as in France, the aristocracy can align themselves with the king and purchase their positions from him. Through this method, the aristocracy secures its power and holds the keys to the state. When the nobility holds the keys to every state apparatus, however, they prevent their revivification through new blood. The king may prefer this because it does not require him to spill blood, but he does this at his peril because it weakens him and, by it, is shown to be weak. This creates a discontented populace that can be seized by other Powers, managerial authorities e.g., to oust the aristocratic government (pp. 210-213).
For Power, the people’s folkways are extremely important. De Jouvenel argues that if Power wants to acquire control of a population, it should use its folkways (p. 215). Once embedded within the folk, Power can use its position and authority to dismantle the old folkways from the inside out, like a parasite that takes over its host. Thus, Power should seriously consider the common beliefs of the society he finds himself within and conform himself to them. By conforming to a society’s belief, Power’s actions can be deemed moral, whatever they are (p. 215).
A society’s morality, customs, traditions, taboos, and laws serve to constrain power. If Power violates these customs, traditions, laws, etc., he can be humiliated, ostracized, or killed. Even in extremely primitive societies (which we might imagine are utterly unbridled and free), de Jouvenel notes that custom and habit restrain the most despotic kings and lords imaginable. These customs are preserved by myth and legend and represent the ancestors’ living will, untouched by time (pp. 215-218). By despoiling these customs, a ruler defies his ancestors, and anyone who defies the ancestors, the elders, must be severely punished. Still, this primitive mythos establishes the law in God’s divine punishment and wrath rather than the state’s vengeance. In this way, God is the first judge, arbiter, and Power, determining all men’s lots. Any who deride God’s customs are – in theory – subject to his wrath (pp. 218-220). If Power wants this legal authority, he must make himself like God.
Power will subordinate himself to these circumstances, for he is drawn to them, as they reflect his nature – he is egotistical, after all. From the judge’s position, Man can claim to have an air of wisdom and perfection that other men lack, allowing him to reshape men’s common habits and customs, giving them a more durable and tangible form. Yet, always, deference to God must be made from this position. The Judge must claim his law was inspired by the divine, for if it is to constrain the people, it must have the divine’s retributive force behind it, not man’s. Man’s vengeance is capricious and self-interested; God’s is eternal and objective (pp. 220-222).
From this aristocratic interpretation of the law, two methodologies emerge: The Law of Man and Tradition, which are derived from theoretical foundations. The latter conforms itself to the circumstances it finds itself within while the former limits itself to what the law is explicitly concerned with. The former uses casuistry from its divine texts to justify its claims while the latter uses the legal text itself, as it is explicitly and formulaically written, to make its adjudications. The Law of Man leaves much to be imagined and, thus, room for exploration. The Law of Tradition leaves no corner untouched. Here lies the difference between the Occidental and Oriental legal traditions (pp. 222-224). The law can, thus, come from the divine or men, but the latter is always constrained by the former. St. Thomas, for example, attributes this to Reason: i.e., good laws must be made to accord with reason. However, it is unclear if this must be the case. If laws preserve a society's stability, protecting it against threats from within and without, including God’s wrath, by this condition, do laws need to be “reasonable” or does this make laws reasonable in themselves (pp. 224-227)? Is there a reason to prohibit men from eating non-cloven foot animals, barring pigs, or -- as Leviticus makes clear -- is this a sign of Man's obedience to God?
Regardless, what de Jouvenel argues is that Power must submit itself to legal authority. Power cannot exert its alien, barbaric, and savage influence on a folk's emergent legal variations but, instead, must act within them (pp. 227-229). Power does not appear to be capable of construing the law according to its desires. Rather, he is discovering the people's common law (or so he says) and formalizing what is already there. Through this process of discovery and formalization of the people’s customs and beliefs, Power binds himself to the people’s customs and beliefs, yet he also holds them to their customs and beliefs, using their desire to limit Power to limit them, for only Power can limit itself (pp. 229-231).
In time, as societies complexify, they regard their customs as merely man-made artifacts. They find their customs unnecessary and cumbersome. As it follows, his belief in Relativism leads them to conclude that the laws are merely extensions of themselves, because they are manmade. I.e., man can make what he will of custom, belief, and law. When Power observes this, what more can it do but also say, binding itself to the People’s beliefs and customs, that it can create for itself laws and customs? When this occurs, Power’s legislative authority becomes untethered and all his laws bind the people to his will. With this force, Power shapes all laws to his will, reorganizes whole societies in his image, and makes the people’s customs nothing more than his customs. And if it has the people’s democratic consent, Power’s customs become the people’s customs; the law, an extension of the sovereign’s unquenchable thirst (pp. 231-234).
For now, this covers the middle two books of Jouvenel’s work on Power. What I’ve covered today paints the essence of Power’s character, as well as how he has perennially rediscovered himself. He is, as de Jouvenel makes clear, a barbaric, clever, vicious savage capable of profound cruelty but also elegant brilliance. His eternal dance brings forth the many artistries of man, but in time, when men turn on him, believing that Power emanates from them, Power destroys man and his creations in a jealous rage. He serves to be served, he exalts to be exalted, he destroys to create, creates to destroy, binds himself to bind those below him, and degrades himself to diminish his enemies, bringing forth Man’s dreams for the price of their souls. Power is a Man of the Earth and Heavens, the Sun and Moon, the Lion and Fox, the Dragon and Knight, the Servant and Lord, unified in an oscillating harmony.
When faced with this beast, the question should not be: How do we destroy it? It cannot be destroyed. Rather, it must be circumscribed, made evident, and established as a keystone so that Men do not confuse their wills with his. I will have more to say about men’s failures to limit Power on Friday and what de Jouvenel believes could be a solution to the tyrannies produced by Man’s denial of Power’s ineradicable and monstrous nature.
Bibliography:
De Jouvenel, B. (1945). On Power: The Natural History of its Growth. Liberty Fund.
