As its title states, John Locke’s “Two Treatises on Government” are two separate treatments on the basis of just and legitimate government; the first of which is structured as a rebuttal to the notion, as articulated in Robert Filmer’s “Patriarcha, or The Natural Power of Kings”, of monarchical power authorized by “divine right” whereas the second is a positive articulation of concepts and principles locating the source of authority for any legitimate government within the consent of the governed.
The essential argument that Locke rebutted in the first treatise was that of a king’s right to rule his subjects derived from divine authority – the divine right of kings. In “Patriarcha” Filmer asserted that the right of a king to rule over subjects was absolute, bestowed by God to Adam, the original patriarch, and has been passed down to successive rulers ever since by the dominion, Filmer asserts, God gave to all fathers over their own children. Locke sets down an almost line for line refutation of Filmer’s assertions, arguing, essentially, that God bestowed no such right to Adam and even if he had, that right certainly did not pass to successive generations by virtue of any divine grant of patriarchal authority. Not having read Filmer, there was a great temptation to skip over Locke’s first treatise; however, through various sly and interesting means throughout his refutation of Filmer, Locke lays the groundwork for his second treatise, namely, that whatever right a ruler has to rule comes exclusively from the consent of the governed. Although this, in itself, is enough to warrant the first treatise a full read, as a bonus, Locke provides a wonderful example of a trained rhetorician’s rebuttal of the absurd through logic and reason that makes the read worthwhile. Moreover, in expressing his argument, Locke’s capacity for urbane, condescending humor leaches out through every line as he takes obvious delight in ridiculing the absurdities of Filmer’s arguments.
The crux of Locke’s second treatise is fascinating in that although it was written over 300 years ago, it will resonate with anyone familiar with traditional American notions of “political common sense.” Locke argues that by nature, all men are born equal and subject to no obligation of obedience to anyone. However, notwithstanding this, living this equality carries the risk that those with greater strength can, through force, compel a free man to do whatever the strong man wants, including surrendering his property. To forestall this risk, Lock argues, mankind has assented to surrendering a portion of his individual liberty to the extent that he is prepared to adhere to mutually agreed upon laws of the community in exchange for the protections afforded by common government whose laws and rules serve to protect him and his possessions. Government, therefore, derives its power and authority not from any ancient grant bestowed by God upon Adam, but only by the consent of the governed.
While none of this is particularly revolutionary to a contemporary reader, it is nonetheless fascinating to read ideas that today we all take for granted structured as propositions that, in Locke’s time, had to be persuasively argued. Moreover, Locke’s ideas are not necessarily a one to one match to those of contemporary democratic philosophy. In particular, the centrality of property in Locke’s thesis is striking relative to the way we think of government today. The purpose of any government, Locke assures us, is to protect the sanctity of individual property from unjust appropriation by others. What’s interesting is the way he takes for granted either that everyone has property to be defended, or, what is more likely, the only people whose rights matter are those with property to protect.
His assumption, of course, is that there is a level playing field and that the only path to wealth accumulation is through dint of hard work. Imagine, he argues, that there is a common forest full of acorn trees. A man, seeing an acorn on the ground, picks it up. The acorns are the common property of the community, but in the moment the man expends his labor to pick it up, the right to that acorn reverts to him who expended the labor to harvest it. It is, he continues, a crime to pick up more acorns than he can consume as the excess will go to rot; however, if he is able to trade his excess for the excess of some other entrepreneur the fact that he’s harvested more than he personally needs goes from being a public evil brought about by waste to a public good brought about by plenty accessible to a greater number of community members. What he ignores, of course, is that when the acorn guy grabs up all the acorns such that he and he alone has all the food there is to be had in the commons, people, faced with starvation, will do anything (including bartering away their own freedom) to get a share of the man’s horded wealth. Throughout his discourse, Locke is silent about how property is accumulated – if you have property, regardless of the means by which you’ve acquired it, you deserve the protection of the law, including, presumably, protection from the masses of starving people who will, in their desperation, attempt to rob from you in order that they might eat. Locke’s cannon is “life, liberty and property,” – it took a different hand and a hundred years for this to become the famous, “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” so dear to Americans.
It was not, as one can probably imagine, a light read – especially the first treatise. Yet it is interesting to go back and read about the ideas that changed the world that were written at a time then those ideas were fresh, new and highly controversial.