Systems and Debates

by Alain de Benoist

  Owing to the establishment of the patriarchal family and the fact that war was part of human existence, military valour became a social distinction factor in Europe: ‘Essentially, the state is born from the success of a “band of brigands” that rises above specific small societies; the band in question, organised into a society of its own, targets the vanquished subjects with an attitude of pure power, regardless of how fraternal and just its inner organisation may be’.

  Once it has been turned into an aristocracy by its own leader, this warring society proceeds to subjectively establish the right to freedom, a right that it then guarantees. For liberty is, in fact, not a general right, nor a gift that power indiscriminately dispenses upon all men in the conviction that they all share an equal dignity that is to be respected. Freedom is a fact that is actively imposed when certain men, who are conscious of their own dignity, strive to have the latter respected. Mr de Jouvenel writes that ‘this subjective right belongs to those who enjoy the necessary means to defend it, meaning to the members of those vigorous families that have, in one manner or another, federated to form a society’. Such were the gene in Greece, as well as the gentes in Rome. And this is precisely why ‘we encounter freedom in the most ancient formations of Indo-European peoples known to us’.

  Aristocracy grants itself a king. He is the highest among his peers, who have proceeded to elect him (initially, royalty was not hereditary among Indo-Europeans). It is the king who epitomises power in the shape of a separate organ within the social body.

  From the very beginning, the monarchic institution of Europe was characterised by an almost sacerdotal and sovereign aspect, in addition to a warring one (both of which it conserved during this historical period). The king acted as ‘the symbol of the community, its mystical nucleus, cohesive force and maintaining virtue. However, he also represented self-ambition, social exploitation, will to power, and the use of national resources for the purpose of prestige and adventure’. In tripartite society, his role was divided between the first and the second function, depending on the period and country in question.

  Popular Instinct

  Power has its own logic — that of expansion. History has always eliminated all amiable and affable rulers. ‘There has not been a single reigning king that has resembled the one of Yvetot.48 People had thus better cease to seek in those who command values that are not part of the latter’s nature’. As Luther used to say: ‘It is not with a fox’s tail that God has endowed governments, but with a sword’.

  The lusts of the powerful are not those of commoners. They are driven by the need to experience, ‘in the immense circulation of people and things, a pulsing blood flow that increases their own’. The nation that they govern is ultimately a mere extension of their own Self. And yet they too are, inversely, one with their people, whose ideals they incarnate in symbolic form. This is where de Jouvenel quotes Spengler: ‘To elevate, by history’s authority, the inner form of one’s own person to that of entire peoples and thus lead one’s own people or family, as well as their ends, to the forefront of the events: such is the historical and barely conscious impulse that animates every individual with a historical vocation’ (in The Decline of the West).

  These characteristics are eternal. Power may change aspects, but its nature remains unaltered. In this respect, revolutions are deceptive. One is inclined to believe that they reverse the course of events, when, in actual fact, they merely accelerate the process: they ‘eradicate the weak and give birth to the strong’. The Revolution that took place in 1789 was no exception. Far from serving as a guarantee against power excesses, it even managed to foster such outbursts.

  ‘By opening the perspective of power to all ambitions, democracy contributes greatly to facilitating its extension. Under the Old Regime, the minds that had the ability to exercise influence were well aware of the fact that they could never partake in power and were thus always quick to denounce its slightest infringement. Now that everyone has become a contender, it is in no one’s interest to diminish a position that they hope to claim some day or to paralyse a machine which they believe themselves destined to operate at one point or another. (…) The plebiscite would not have bestowed upon the tyrant any legitimacy if the general will had not been proclaimed to be a sufficient source of authority. The consolidation instrument embodied by the party stems from the competition for power. A virtually complete monopole over the educational system has paved the way for a mental conformity that begins during childhood. The preparatory steps towards the state’s appropriation of all available production means takes place in the public opinion domain. Even the power of the police, which constitutes the most unbearable attribute of tyranny, has grown in the very shadow of democracy. Such a development was virtually unknown under the Old Regime. Democracy, practiced in the centralising, regulating and absolutist form that we have been implementing, thus comes across as tyranny’s incubation period’.

  It is easier for popular instinct to grasp the simple notion of power than to comprehend the complex concept of a ‘social contract’, which is why the democratic principle, ‘initially conceived as the Sovereignty of Law, only triumphed when understood as the People’s Sovereignty’. However, ‘when no restrictions are imposed upon representative authority, the people’s representatives are no longer the protectors of freedom, but candidates for tyranny’ (Benjamin Constant, Cours de politique constitutionnelle,49 1836). The members of a society are only citizens on election days but remain mere subjects the rest of the time.

  In his Treatise on General Sociology (Florence, 1923), Vildredo Pareto50 also demonstrated that there had never previously been a sovereign so absolute as to remain sheltered from rising opposition on the part of the nobles or the clergy; nowadays, by contrast, none are able or willing to castigate the abuse suffered by the demos.

  In many respects, the views expressed by Mr Jouvenel are identical to those advocated by Carl Schmitt (with regard to the fact that designating one’s enemy constitutes the archetypal political gesture), as well as those of Italian political scientist Roberto Michels (Political Parties), according to whom all systems, including the most democratic ones, inevitably lead to the formation of a new ruling class.

  He states: ‘In all historical societies, there has always been — and there always will be in all potential societies — group leaders akin to the feudal lords of the past and to today’s company directors. A futile sort of metaphysics may deny their existence and treat them as if they were ordinary citizens: their power and influence will, however, not be abolished, only relieved of the honourable constraints that adapted them to the common good’. A Machiavellian mentality expressed through words worthy of Montesquieu.51

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  On Power, written by Bertrand de Jouvenel, Hachette, 462 pages.

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  Since 1975, the activities of the SEDEIS (The Association for Economic, Industrial and Social Studies) have been incorporated into the ‘Futuribles’ International Association (AIF). Established in 1967 so as to pursue the work of an international Committee created back in 1960, the AIF would grow in size during the 1970–1971 period, following a merger with the CEP / Centre d’études prospectives52 founded by Gaston Berger and the CREE / Centre de recherche sure l’évolution des entreprises.53 His executive board is a private intellectual initiative with a public interest vocation that now comprises thirty-five international figures specialising in a variety of disciplines, including Mr Jean Fourastié, Christopher Freeman, Jérôme Monod, Jacques Riboud, Robert Jungk, Bertrand de Jouvenel, François Bloch-Laîné, Jean Chenevier, and many others. Since 1974, Mr Hugues de Jouvenel has been its general delegate.

  The AIF aims to play the simultaneous roles of a ‘predictive forum’ and that of a ‘watchtower over ideas and facts’. Its essential focus is on the issues that arise in relation to forecasting (the effort to determine ‘beforehand’ what will occur ‘afterwards’) and provision, which, instead of attempting to foresee the fut
ure, strives rather to achieve a better organisation, order and understanding of the decisive elements that define the present state of affairs, using a sort of observatory hypothetically established in the future. These disciplines have little to do with the Hudson Institute’s ‘futurology’ or that of the Rand Corporation, which were described by Mr Jacques Durand, the DATAR task officer, as ‘the hardly concealed expression of a view centred upon the American right to govern the world, an overall naive expression of the fantasies that relate to global American domination’ (Futuribles, summer 1976).

  The Futuribles magazine (10, Cernuschi street, 75017, Paris) is a quarterly that resulted from a fusion between Forecasting and the former SEDEIS organ known as Analysis and Prediction.

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  The Delineation of Political Science

  In his book on Political Sociology (a work that accumulates a large number of hasty judgements, as well as views that lack any originality worth mentioning), Mr Roger-Gérard Schwartzenberg54 declares: ‘Political facts have no particular essence, yet every cultural fact (including art, the position of women, etc.) has a political dimension. Politics is not to be sought in a mausoleum. For it is shoreless’.

  This is an opinion that Mr Julien Freund, professor at the University of Strasbourg and author of The Essence of the Political (Sirey, 1965), disagrees with. In his view, the political is in itself an essence.

  He writes: ‘The political is an essence, and doubly so: for it is, on the one hand, one of the fundamental, constant and ineradicable categories of both human nature and existence. On the other hand, it also represents a reality that remains unaltered despite the variations of power and regimes and the border changes that occur on a planetary scale. In other words, man has neither invented the political nor society itself, and furthermore, the political will always remain unchanged, in the sense that there could never be another science with specific differences to the one we have always known’.

  ‘It is indeed absurd to believe that there could ever be two different essences with regard to science, meaning two sciences having diametrically different and conflicting assumptions; otherwise, science would contradict itself. Similarly, both art and non-art exist, but the former could never have two essences; otherwise, art would no longer be art, but would become something random: it would no longer be even possible to render an aesthetical judgement. The same is true of the essence of the political’.

  In order to clarify the matter, one must also make a clear distinction between politics and the political. Mr Freund explains: ‘Politics is a circumstantial and casual activity that varies in both form and orientation, serving to ensure society’s practical organisation and cohesion. […] The political, by contrast, does not answer to the desires and whims of man, since the latter can neither be nor cease to be anything but what he actually is. Man could never abolish the political, for to do so would be synonymous with abolishing himself, meaning that he would become a different being’.

  Man is capable of transforming society in the manner of a demiurge, but solely within the preconditioned limits of the political, just as he can transform himself, but only within the bounds of his own natural predispositions. ‘The demiurge is the lord of forms, not essences’.

  The Specificity of the Political

  In the eyes of those who advocate ‘natural order’ (an order which the universe, taken as a whole, does not display at all), the political is just a branch of the moral sphere: public order is thus expected to be the most faithful reflection of a truth per se: for the law, taken in its juridical sense, and the Law, as understood from a biblical perspective, are closely related.

  We all know of the conversation between Socrates and Callicles, as reported by Plato. It is a genuine dialogue of the deaf. To Callicles’ statements, which emphasise the political connection between authority and obedience (in an antagonism opposing logical arguments to imperative ones) Socrates responds with moral considerations. While Callicles states facts, Socrates makes value judgements. The former attempts to demonstrate what actually is, whereas the latter strives to justify what should be. Mr Julien Freund makes the following observation: ‘The tactic used by Socrates is rooted in the confusion of genres or essences; science and morals thus somehow become one and the same’. From the very outset, in fact, Socrates specifies something that will end up distorting the entire discussion, when he declares that “what is crucial does not lie so much in knowing the truth, but in defining what is to be done, for genuine science relates to what must be” (487–488); this is equivalent to assessing the value of things not in accordance with their reality, but in relation to their desirability, based on certain postulates that are abusively considered “obvious”’.

  However, the description of social facts (including, for instance, the fact that leadership does not rest in the hands of large numbers) lies beyond the moral and legal fields per se: ‘Such is Callicles’ conception of things, as his sole concern is to describe the political phenomenon in its harsh reality; indeed, at no time does he act as the advocate of a specific political regime’.

  Mr Julien Freund responds to the theory that subordinates the political to the moral by contrasting it with the contention of political specificity. Adopting Carl Schmitt’s analyses, he highlights the fact that the dialectical relationship between one’s friend and foe is none other than struggle itself. He writes: ‘It can be said that the very nature of politics is a conflictual one, for there can no politics in the absence of an enemy. […] Politics is struggle. […] An idea for which none ever struggle is but a dead idea’ (The word ‘struggle’ must, incidentally, be understood in a more general way compared to the word ‘battle’, for the rules of battle are imposed upon it from the outside, whereas a struggle only acknowledges those limits which it chooses to set upon itself).

  Conflictual in its very nature, politics is thus a power phenomenon whose specific means lies in the use of force (or rather forces): ‘Indeed, one cannot speak of a singular force; for one can suppose further forces that each one has to contend with, forces that resist it, fight it and annul it. Every force acts as an obstacle to another, meaning that another one is required to counter the first. This is equally true in the realm of politics, as already seen with regard to the relation between leadership and obedience, as well as the connection between friendship, enmity and struggle (all of which involve an interaction between opposing forces), in addition to order, which is defined as a balance between diverse forces that respect each other as a result of the greater force embodied by the state’s power’.

  Unlike what Machiavelli believed, it is force, and not cunning, which is but one of its modalities, that truly represents the specific means of the political. This was already the view espoused by Proudhon55 (in La guerre et la paix,56 1927, III, 4 and 6), who was convinced that the political world was founded upon power relations and considered this fact to be perfectly natural: ‘Whether one likes it or not, the nation abides by the religion of force’.

  Not only is politics not a branch of the moral spectrum, but a strictly moral interpretation of history would lead to the end of the political: if a revelation were made and there consequently were an ultimate end whose maturity and nature constitute a necessity (regardless of whether one dubs it a classless society or the Day of Judgement, since they both imply history’s end), the political would have to deny its own essence and become morals or religion. On the other hand, if there is no necessary ultimate end, there is equally no reason for one to ‘exit’ history and ‘every vision that is based upon politics leads us to the notion of an eternal return’; which is why, as Mr Julien Freund writes, ‘politics has, alongside science, been the battling ram that caused the downfall of the metaphysical fortress’.

  Theories and Doctrines

  Indeed, one thus reaches a general definition of politics which, according to Mr Freund, is ‘the social activity whose purpose is to ensure the external security and inner harmony of a given political unit through t
he use of force, one that is generally founded upon legality. This is achieved by guaranteeing order in the midst of the struggles that stem from the diversity and divergence of opinions and interests’.

  And it is to the study of this very activity that the specialists in political science have dedicated themselves.

  Some have stated that it is André Siegfried, with his Tableau des forces politiques de la France de l’Ouest,57 who is responsible for the establishment of our French political science (Tocqueville and Boutmy having acted as its precursors). Unfortunately, however, his creation has not brought about the results one had hoped for. Except for Mr Julien Freund, Bertrand de Jouvenel and Raymond Aron,58 to whom one can add the authors of various manuals (including Mr Burdeau, Vedel, Hauriou, and others), high-calibre political scientists in France are few and far between. The majority of the great ones are, in fact, Italian, Anglo-Saxon and German.

  There is a certain lack of political rigour which lies, at least in part, at the source of this state of affairs. Mr Georges Vedel59 made the following remark back in 1957: ‘To everyone’s dismay, our current political reasoning still comprises more doctrine than theory’.

  An explanation is necessary at this stage. Mr Marcel Prélot60 writes (in La science politique,61 PUF): ‘Theory is the result of observation. It takes place in the field of positive knowledge, although it is not solely restricted to a statement of facts. Indeed, it oversteps the facts to conduct their arrangement. Subsequently, venturing further still, it undertakes to explain them. In order to do so, it makes use of what is referred to in scientific logic as hypotheses, which, once verified, are transformed into laws’.

  Through theory, one thus remains in the scientific domain. By contrast, when considering various phenomena, doctrine ‘assesses them, before either accepting them or rejecting them in accordance with an ideal that is either immanent to the state or transcends the latter’ (ibid.). Whether voluntarily or not, doctrine only examines facts through value judgements which, more often than not, are preconceived.