Zibaldone

by Leopardi, Giacomo

  [902] I wish to go still further, and show that the supposed advantage of having a small number of combatants has existed up until now simply because nations have preserved something from ancient times and continued in some way to be nations, and that, because they have, in fact, ceased to be such, this advantage can no longer exist.

  It’s certainly the case that, since nations are no longer enemies of one another, and armies are like bands of laborers paid to work the master’s field, and the size of one army doesn’t have to be as large as that of the other, wars could be settled with a very small number of combatants, and even with a compromise, whereby just two hired persons would fight to decide the issue. But man’s egoism causes him to employ all the forces he can muster in order to attain his goal.

  A large army, both on its own account and on account of the taxes needed to maintain it, cannot be maintained without inconvenience, harm, and expense for subjects. As long as subjects were not entirely slaves, as long as the multitude counted for something, as long as the voice of the nation made itself heard, as long as human flesh, except that of one alone per nation, was not wholly and entirely at the disposal of that single person who commands, and as with flesh, so with everything else, and the nation in every respect: up to that point, I say, [903] as long as the prince could not use the nation for his own ends, except within certain limits, armies were not so very numerous. The nation, which was still in some way a nation, did not readily tolerate (1) making war simply on the prince’s whim, and solely for his benefit, (2) compulsory, or at any rate excessive, levies, (3) excessive taxes in order to wage war. It did not tolerate all this, I repeat, or else it put the prince in extremely grave dangers and difficulties at home. It was thus in the prince’s interest to spare the nation, or what there still was of it, and to spare it, in other matters and especially where its blood was concerned, and its most precious possessions, its sons, spouses, etc. From the period when liberty was destroyed1 up until the beginning or midway through the seventeenth century, sovereigns, precisely on account of their conflicts with the nation, were never such absolute masters of the people as subsequently, even if they were more tyrannical than they are now, that is, more violent and bloodthirsty. You only have to read the histories and see how frequent, easily kindled, and dangerous popular riots and uprisings, etc., were, and they certainly showed, regardless of their causes, that the nation was still alive and that it existed. And it was not unusual, in those times, as it was later, [904] to see the blood of princes spilled by their subjects. Moreover, power was much more divided, both because of the baronies, seigneuries, and fiefdoms that made up the monarchical system in those days, and because of the specific legislations, privileges, and partly independent governments of the cities and provinces of which the monarchies consisted. So, with the king not finding everything solely at his disposal, and not being able to use the nation for his own purposes without many obstacles, it followed that armies were necessarily small; and it’s plain that when the sovereignty of a nation is divided into many seigneuries, the lord of all can take only a little from each, and infinitely less than he would take if he were the immediate lord, and everything depended wholly upon his will. This is a point borne out by history, and observed by political writers. And this is a further reason that absolute mastery in the hands of just one man, and absolute monarchy, like that of Macedonia in the midst of a Greece whose powers were divided, is considered a paramount advantage in war. (To my mind, however, this holds good only where the nations at war with a despotic power are not dominated by genuine love of country, or are less so, if that is possible, than the nation subjected to despotism. And such was Greece in Macedonian times, when Athens alone had on one occasion resisted the despotic might of Persia, and defeated it. Because anyway it’s certain that just one true soldier of the homeland is worth more than ten soldiers fighting for a despot, as long as there does not exist the same amount, or the same kind, of patriotism in that monarchical nation. And, indeed, at the Battle of Marathon one stood against ten, that is, ten thousand against a hundred thousand, and won.) Also well known are the constitutions of those times, the national charters, the use of Estates General, the Cortes, etc., as in France, in Spain, etc.,1 by means of which the multitude still managed to make its voice heard, or authority certainly remained less independent and unitary, and the monarch more constrained.

  [905] But because the advance of civilization, or corruption, and the other causes I have expounded time and again have utterly extinguished the people and the multitude, caused the nations to disappear, stripped them of any voice, power, or sense of themselves, and, as a result, have concentrated authority wholly and entirely in the monarch, and put all subjects, each and every one of them, and everything that in any way belongs to them, at the prince’s disposal, wars have become more arbitrary and armies have immediately grown in size. And this is quite natural, and not fortuitous but a direct and ineluctable consequence of the nature of things and of man. Because whatever a man can use to his own advantage, he does; and now that the prince can use everything that the nation is and everything that it is capable of to advance any purpose or desire of his own, it follows that he uses it in effect without any limits other than those of the nation itself and its potential. The facts bear this out. Louis XIV, who was either the first or one of the first rulers from the age in which despotism was perfected, showed the world how big armies could be.1 Once the example exists, it has to be followed. Because since today the size of an army is certainly arbitrary, but depends upon, and should correspond as far as possible to, the enemy’s, [906] then if the enemy’s army is big, you must make yours big, too, if you can, even if you don’t want to, or even bigger than the enemy’s, if you can. In the same way, you might make it small, indeed minuscule, for the same reasons, in the opposite case, as I have said, p. 902. Indeed the example of Louis XIV was followed both by princes who were his enemies and by Frederick the Second, the philosopher despot and the author of many further advances in despotism, which he cultivated and promoted successfully.1 And equally he obliged his enemies to do the same. Finally, the policy was taken to excess by Napoleon, precisely because he was the exemplar of what may perhaps be despotism in its last and most perfect state. Not, however, that this excess is the ultimate that this thing will naturally and inevitably attain.

  I say inevitably, assuming the advance or persistence of despotism, and of the present state of nations, which two things, given the way the times are moving, the prevailing sorts of knowledge, etc., seem unlikely for now to do other than progress further or put down new roots. And in this case, I say inevitably both because of man’s natural egoism, and consequently the egoism of princes, an egoism whose effect is always necessarily in proportion to the power of the egoistic person, and because, given that it is an example and this development has become a custom, the policy becomes necessary even for someone who does not wish it. And to test [907] the truth of the above, note the following. How could one find a remedy for this custom, even if in the last analysis it is arbitrary and dependent upon the will? Through a general agreement between princes, between all those who could ever wage war? I am not unaware that this agreement was attempted, or is supposed to have been attempted or proposed, at the Congress of Vienna.1 And certainly the opportunity was the very best that there could be, and there will never be a better. I know, however, that nothing was achieved. Perhaps they were aware of the impossibility that really faced them. First, what is today the guarantee of treaties, if not force or interest? What force, then, or what interest could compel you not to pursue your own self-interest with all the force you can muster? Second (and this proves more directly that, even if one wished to, the situation cannot be remedied), who places his trust in an earlier treaty in time of war? Who is unaware of what I said above in the first place? and more generally, who is unaware of the universal and immutable nature of man? So if the prince knows all that, he will suspect his enemy; and so, even if unwillingly, he is
obliged to ready himself and to take steps to resist whatever force the enemy wishes to use to attack him, as far as lies in his power. What man able to levy a thousand men levies a hundred, not knowing whether the enemy will attack him [908] with a hundred or a thousand, indeed having greater cause to believe the latter rather than the former? And were a general agreement to be reached, and observed for a long time, the advantage gained by the one who suddenly broke the pact would be all the greater, and therefore sooner or later such a person would emerge. That would give him complete mastery over his enemy, and after just one example of this sort everyone would be mistrustful, no one would risk everything on the basis of uncertainty, and all would revert to the original custom. And that should be taken to apply as much in time of war as in time of peace, the danger that governments pose to one another being a constant. And that is again clear from the facts, and from the vast forces that are now retained in time of peace, so that there is now no time when a country remains disarmed, or indeed not well armed, by contrast both with earlier times and with Christian times earlier than these.

  From all the above it follows that armies not only will no longer shrink but will keep on growing, each naturally striving to outdo the other with all its forces, and with its forces expanding in step with those of the nation. Therefore whole nations, as among the ancients, will engage in mutual slaughter, but they will not do so spontaneously and with all their will, as among the ancients; on the contrary, they will be driven to it by main force. They will not feel mutual hatred but, rather, will be wholly indifferent to one another, and will perhaps even long to be defeated—because, and this, too, is noteworthy, when love of country and domestic independence are lost, a change of prince and of laws, government, etc., is not only not hated or feared but is often desired and preferred—not for their own good but for that of others; not for the common good but for that of a particular person, indeed those particular persons whom they abhor more than anyone else [909] and much more than those against whom they will fight; in short, not according to nature, or as the result of a natural effect, but absolutely against nature. And you can say the same of all the other consequences of despotism, both with regard to war and independently of it. That is to say, peoples, as a consequence of their own and others’ armies, but even leaving that aside, will be crushed, impoverished, bled dry, stripped of their comforts; their agriculture will be disrupted or undermined as their farmers are seized and the produce of their labors stolen; their trade and industry will be shackled and discouraged as its fruits are embezzled and despotism continues to increase, etc. etc. etc. In short, the nations, without hating each other as in antiquity, will still be devastated in the same way they were then, although without tumult, and without extraordinary violence, devastated more from within than from without, but also from without depending on the circumstances, etc. etc. And all that will come about not as a matter of probability, nor with no fixed and necessary cause, but as an unfailing consequence of human nature, which, not because it is different and worse in princes, but simply as human nature, will inevitably bring them to all this; and events already demonstrate it in very many and very important places. And all this without obtaining that enthusiasm and vigor, those virtues, that valor, that courage, that tolerance of ills and exertions, that constancy and strength, that individual and public life, which the ancients derived from these same great calamities. Indeed, the reverse is the case, with modern calamities corresponding to an increase [910] in torpor, coldness, lethargy, cowardice, vices, monotony, tedium, an individual state of death, and a general one among the nations. Here are the benefits of civilization, the philosophical spirit and the spirit of humanity, the invented law of nations, imagined universal love, mutual hatred between the nations destroyed, ancient barbarism abolished.

  My observations here have a quite different sense from that of the Essai, etc., loc. cit. by me p. 888,1 which derives the great number of modern armies from national spirit and hatred and the egoism of nations, whereas I (I believe with much more justification) derive it from the total and final extinction of that spirit, and hence of that hatred and egoism.

  (6) Not only public virtues, as I have demonstrated, but also private ones, and the morality and customs of nations, are destroyed by their present circumstances. Where true and ardent love of the homeland has existed, and especially where it has existed the most, namely, in free peoples, customs have always been both proud and serious, unwavering, noble, virtuous, honest, and full of integrity. This is a natural consequence of love of country, of the sense that nations and therefore individuals have of themselves, of liberty, of valor, of the might of nations, of their rivalry with foreign nations, and of the great, consistent, and persuasive illusions that arise from all this, and that conversely produce it; and it is plain enough that virtue has no foundation save in illusions and that, where illusions are lacking, virtue is lacking and vice rules, in the same way as ineptitude and cowardice. These things are clear enough in the histories and are noted by all philosophers and political writers. And it is true indeed that private virtues are always in proportion to love of country and to the might and magnanimity of a nation, and the weakening of these [911] things to the corruption of customs; and the loss of morality is always accompanied in history by the loss of patriotism, independence, nations, domestic liberty, and all ancient and modern republics. There is a supreme and wholly reciprocal influence of morality and the illusions that produce it on love of country, and of the latter on illusions and morality. It is common knowledge just how corrupted customs were in the France of Louis XIV, whose age, as I have said, was the first true epoch in the perfection of despotism and in the extinction and nothingness of nations and the multitude up until the revolution. And everyone has noted how the revolution contributed to France’s lost morality, insofar as this was possible (i) in a century that was so enlightened, and armed against illusions, and therefore against virtues; (ii) given the extent and depth and duration of the depravity to which France had become accustomed; (iii) specifically in a nation that is the center of civilization, and thus of vice; (iv) by means of a revolution brought about in large part by philosophy that, like it or not, is in the last analysis the mortal enemy of virtue, because it is the friend of, indeed almost the same thing as, reason, and reason is the enemy of nature, the sole source of virtue. (30 March–4 April 1821.)

  There is an analogy between the previous thought and the following. [912] Philosophers and publicists have observed that the true and perfect liberty of a people cannot be maintained, cannot indeed subsist, without the use of domestic slavery. (Thus Linguet, and I believe Rousseau also, Du contrat social, book 3, ch. 15 and others. You can also see the Essai sur l’indifférence en matière de religion, ch. 10, where he cites this passage from Rousseau in a note together with a couple of other lines from the same author.)1 From which they deduce that the abolition of liberty originates in the abolition of slavery and that, if there are no longer any free peoples, this is because there are no longer any slaves. An argument that is strictly speaking false, because liberty was lost for quite other reasons, which everyone knows, and which I have touched upon in a hundred different places. It would be far truer to say that the abolition of slavery arose out of the abolition of liberty; or, as I would put it, that both arose from the same causes, yet in such a way that the latter preceded the former, both logically and in actual fact.

  The inference, I repeat, is false: but the principle, namely, the need for slavery among free peoples, is very true. The foundation and substance of this proposition may be summarized as follows.

  Man is born free and equal to others, and he is such by nature and in the primitive state. Not so in the [913] state of society.1 Because in the state of nature each provides for all his own needs and performs for himself those services he requires, but in the case of society, which is created for the common good, either the society exists in name only, and the fact of being together serves no purpose at all, or it suits
people to tender reciprocal services and provide mutually for their respective needs. But each person cannot provide for all the needs of others: I mean it would be ridiculous and pointless for me, for example, to think wholly about you, or you wholly about me, when we are able by the same token to live separately and to act just for ourselves. The need then arises for the various professions and occupations. Some of these are absolutely necessary for life, in other words are such as the individual would also have practiced in the natural state. Others are not necessary but grew little by little from society and are conducive to the comforts and benefits that are enjoyed (or it is claimed are enjoyed) in social life, and I also mean those very first comforts, which are now taken for necessities. And others, finally, have in effect been made necessary by society itself, as with those occupations that provide things that have become indispensable to us through habit, the occupation of those who teach, of those especially who see to public business and watch over the well-being and orderly functioning of society, those who defend the good from the bad (since once [914] society arises, the weak are at risk from the strong) and society itself from other societies, etc. etc. etc. In short, either society does not exist absolutely or there necessarily exists within it the differentiation of occupations and ranks.