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58 pages 1 hour read

Thomas Hobbes

Leviathan

Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 1651

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Themes

The Violence Inherent in a Hobbesian State of Nature

Many individuals who have never read Leviathan or even heard of Thomas Hobbes nevertheless know the adjective “Hobbesian.” Aside from its general definition of pertaining to the work of Hobbes, Hobbesian refers to the state of humankind defined by selfishness and unending violence perpetrated against one another—or in Hobbes’s words, a life that is “solitary, poor, nasty, and short” (76).

Yet despite interpretations of Hobbes as being a writer of supreme pessimism, this condition of “war of every man against every man” (78) exists largely as a hypothetical precept on which Hobbes bases his theory of sovereignty and commonwealths. In short, with no central authority that possesses both the ability to pass laws and the strength to awe subjects into obeying them, there will no checks whatsoever on human liberty. And while liberty—at least in the context of Enlightenment philosophy and the doctrines on which America was founded—is thought to be an unalloyed good, Hobbes considers liberty as the sum of all human urges and passions, including the compulsion to rape, murder, and steal.

Only upon accepting this precept of an inherently violent state of nature can a reader be persuaded to accept Hobbes’s somewhat severe philosophy of governance. Whatever inconveniences or moral injustices that arise from absolute monarchies, these consequences are necessarily preferable to a state of total and constant war between every human on Earth. As such, Hobbes’s state of nature serves as something of a rhetorical bogeyman, a darkest timeline that can be repeatedly held up as an example of how dire conditions may become outside of the framework of Hobbes’s commonwealth.

This isn’t to say that a Hobbesian state of nature is only rhetoric or only indicative of hypothetical conditions. Though hardly an example of “war of every man against every man” (78), the English Civil Wars of Hobbes’s era were a series of enormously bloody and costly conflicts partly incited by a divided authority unable to centralize power under a single monarch or assembly. Moreover, Hobbes points to the “savage people in many places of America” (77) who he believes currently live under conditions not unlike those laid out in his theory of the state of nature. True, this reflects an arguably racist misunderstanding of indigenous people, given the complexity of many of their communities. Nevertheless, it also shows that Hobbes truly believes these states of nature exist or have existed and are therefore not entirely hypothetical.

Finally, in examining Hobbes’s state of nature theory, it is instructive to consider similar theories formulated by John Locke and Jean-Jacques Rousseau in the century that followed Leviathan’s publication. Unlike Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau believe humankind’s state of nature under precivilized conditions is one of peace and harmony. Therefore, the conclusions they reach about the form and purpose of governance diverge dramatically from Hobbes’s view.

The Need for Social Contracts in Civil Governments

Though hardly the first philosopher to propose that social contracts exist between sovereign and subject, Hobbes was perhaps the most influential on modern Western thought. The notion that justice and injustice stem from unspoken agreements between governments and people dates as far back as ancient Greece with the writings of Plato. Yet by the 17th century, most European nation-states operated under the precept that monarchs receive their authority from God and not the consent of the governed. Hobbes’s challenge to this theory of the divine right of kings was thus an important intellectual turning point in the centuries-long shift from spiritually mandated sovereignty to monarchs who govern by unspoken consent and, finally, the spread of democracies across the Western world.

For Hobbes, this need for a social contract follows directly from the precept that, absent a strong central authority figure, humankind exists in a state of natural barbarism. Thus, the only way humanity’s basest urges and liberties can be curtailed is under a sovereign ruler whom people fear more than they fear each other. Under the conditions of this contract—which Hobbes usually refers to as a covenant—the sovereign ruler or assembly protects subjects both from themselves and from outside invaders, and in return subjects pledge absolute obedience. This, Hobbes suggests, is preferable to the system of divine right under which the only contract is the one between God and sovereign. That is because humans, aside from what they read in scripture, are not usually privy to God’s specific commands unless they are prophets.

Similar to his state of nature theory, Hobbes’s view on social contracts would be challenged by later philosophers, particularly Rousseau. In his 1762 treatise The Social Contract, Rousseau argues that it is the sovereign who should fear the subjects, not the other way around. Unlike Hobbes, who believes that under no circumstances may a subject break the social contract through rebellion, Rousseau believes that at any time the general will may divest the sovereign ruler of his power, should the subjects conclude that the sovereign no longer serves the public good. Moreover, Rousseau rejects Hobbes’s contention that a contract between sovereign and subject is reached implicitly by virtue of the latter accepting the former’s protection. On the contrary, Rousseau argues that citizens must explicitly select their sovereign ruler by combining their individual wills through, for example, a national election.

All modern democracies exist on the basis of a social contract, one that is periodically renewed through national elections. So while the United States, for example, is a far cry from the dictatorial commonwealths envisioned by Hobbes, it can be argued that modern democracies are shaped at least in part by his philosophy.

The Primacy of Temporal Authority Over Spiritual Authority

In Hobbes’s time, a debate raged across Europe over the relationship between temporal or secular authority and spiritual authority. The debate usually fell along the lines of two camps, both of which concluded from a reasonable interpretation of scripture that temporal authority—meaning a king of a queen—lords over civil matters of earthly law and governance while spiritual authority—meaning the pope, vicars, and bishops—lords over religious matters, filed under the dominion of the kingdom of heaven. Where the two camps differ is that the Gelasian camp—generally Catholics—argued that temporal authority is subordinate to temporal authority, while others—generally Protestants—argued that the two forms of authority should be kept separate. This conflict came to a head in 1534, when Henry VIII, angry that the pope would not agree to his annulment from Catherine of Aragorn, formally broke ties with the Catholic Church.

Given Hobbes’s view that a human cannot serve two masters, separating temporal authority and spiritual authority is not enough and will necessarily lead to conflict and even civil war. Therefore, he takes the Protestant view even further and argues that spiritual authority is subordinate to civil authority. Or, put another way, there is no spiritual authority except that which is granted by the sovereign to a clergy member, up to and including the pope. Even in the 17th century, as the Protestant Reformation swept over Europe, this was a controversial notion. Despite Hobbes’s seemingly sincere religious beliefs, he was repeatedly accused of atheism after Leviathan’s publication, mostly by Catholics but also by Protestants.

It can be difficult for readers to reconcile Hobbes’s belief in God and Jesus as the savior of the humankind with his subordination of spiritual authority to temporal authority. The author anticipates these arguments by citing dozens of lines from scripture that he believes support his position. Whether he succeeds in reconciling these two seemingly opposing ideas is up to the reader, though many scholars today and in Hobbes’s time find his attempts inadequate or poorly reasoned.

The Universe as Made Up Entirely of Matter Without Any Incorporeal Objects

Early on, Hobbes expends significant energy in putting forth his thesis that the universe is made up of nothing but matter and motion. Within the confines of science and natural philosophy, this is a perfectly reasonable position for him to take, albeit one that may not seem entirely germane to his broader arguments about authority and obedience in a commonwealth.

Yet as Hobbes becomes more explicit in his criticism of the Catholic Church, the purpose of his materialistic arguments becomes more clear. For Hobbes, a great deal of Catholic dogma is the result of a belief in incorporeal substances, a term the author considers an oxymoron. Depending on one’s interpretation of the Bible and its frequent references to spirits, this is entirely expected. Yet through his antipathy toward notions of the incorporeal, Hobbes attempts to thread an argument that frames the Catholic Church as the inheritor of heathen notions regarding the soul taken from the works of Aristotle. He even goes so far as to characterize the kingdom of heaven, hell, and God as corporeal objects in a dual effort to denigrate the Catholic Church and justify the supremacy of the temporal over the spiritual. Never mind that Protestants and plenty of non-Aristotelian philosophers like Descartes also believe in incorporeal objects of concepts. While this may seem like little more than a semantic obsession for Hobbes, the argument over the corporeal and the incorporeal plays a key role in some of his broader theses about power and authority.

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