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CHAPTER II
THAT SOVEREIGNTY IS INDIVISIBLE
Sovereignty, for the same reason as makes it inalienable, is
indivisible; for will either is, or is not, general; it is the
will either of the body of the people, or only of a part of it. In
the first case, the will, when declared, is an act of Sovereignty and
constitutes law: in the second, it is merely a particular will, or act
of magistracy--at the most a decree.
But our political theorists, unable to divide Sovereignty in
principle, divide it according to its object: into force and will;
into legislative power and executive power; into rights of taxation,
justice and war; into internal administration and power of foreign
treaty. Sometimes they confuse all these sections, and sometimes they
distinguish them; they turn the Sovereign into a fantastic being
composed of several connected pieces: it is as if they were making man
of several bodies, one with eyes, one with arms, another with feet,
and each with nothing besides. We are told that the jugglers of Japan
dismember a child before the eyes of the spectators; then they throw
all the members into the air one after another, and the child falls
down alive and whole. The conjuring tricks of our political theorists
are very like that; they first dismember the body politic by an
illusion worthy of a fair, and then join it together again we know not
how.
This error is due to a lack of exact notions concerning the Sovereign
authority, and to taking for parts of it what are only emanations from
it. Thus, for example, the acts of declaring war and making peace have
been regarded as acts of Sovereignty; but this is not the case, as
these acts do not constitute law, but merely the application of a law,
a particular act which decides how the law applies, as we shall see
clearly when the idea attached to the word law has been defined.
If we examined the other divisions in the same manner, we should find
that, whenever Sovereignty seems to be divided, there is an illusion:
the rights which are taken as being part of Sovereignty are really all
subordinate, and always imply supreme wills of which they only sanction
the execution.
It would be impossible to estimate the obscurity this lack of exactness
has thrown over the decisions of writers who have dealt with political
right, when they have used the principles laid down by them to pass
judgment on the respective rights of kings and peoples. Every one can
see, in Chapters III and IV of the First Book of Grotius, how the
learned man and his translator, Barbeyrac, entangle and tie themselves
up in their own sophistries, for fear of saying too little or too
much of what they think, and so offending the interests they have to
conciliate. Grotius, a refugee in France, ill-content with his own
country, and desirous of paying his court to Louis XIII, to whom his
book is dedicated, spares no pains to rob the peoples of all their
rights and invest kings with them by every conceivable artifice. This
would also have been much to the taste of Barbeyrac, who dedicated his
translation to George I of England. But unfortunately the expulsion
of James II, which he called his "abdication," compelled him to use
all reserve, to shuffle and to tergiversate, in order to avoid making
William out a usurper. If these two writers had adopted the true
principles, all difficulties would have been removed, and they would
have been always consistent; but it would have been a sad truth for
them to tell, and would have paid court for them to no-one save the
people. Moreover, truth is no road to fortune, and the people dispenses
neither ambassadorships, nor professorships, nor pensions.
To be general, a will need not always be unanimous; but every
vote--must be counted: any exclusion is a breach of generality.