The Classical Foundations of Population Thought

The Classical Foundations of Population Thought
Yves Charbit
The Classical Foundations

of Population Thought
From Plato to Quesnay
123
Prof. Yves Charbit
Université Paris Descartes
CEPED: Centre Population et
Développement (Université Paris
Descartes, INED, IRD)
19 rue Jacob
75006 Paris
France
ISBN 978-90-481-9297-7 e-ISBN 978-90-481-9298-4

DOI 10.1007/978-90-481-9298-4
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Contents
1 Interpreting Ideas on Population . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Population Doctrines and Theories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Some Conceptual and Methodological Preambles . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Contextualisation of Ideas on Population . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
External Coherence and Internal Coherence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Annex: The Old Testament and the Sin of Anachronism . . . . . . . . . 9
2 History and Utopia: The Platonic City . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Plato, a Forerunner of Demography? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
The Demography of the City . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
A Constant Size . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Plato and His Commentators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
Inconsistencies and Contradictions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Religion and Politics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Mathematics and Religion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Stationarity Against Democracy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
Space and Order . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
The Death of Socrates: The City and the Individual . . . . . . . . . 29
Peace in the City: The Distribution of Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Atlantis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Moderation and Excess . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
A Totalitarian System? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
3 There Are No Riches Other Than Men: Jean Bodin
on Sovereignty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Demographic Interpretations of Jean Bodin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
The Theory of Absolute Sovereignty and Population . . . . . . . . . . 45
Immigration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
On Censuses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Against Sorcery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Bodin on Plato and Aristotle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
v
vi Contents
4 The Prince and His Population: From Montchrétien

to Colbert and Fénelon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Mercantilism and Populationism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
About Population . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
The Edicts of February 1556 and November 1666 . . . . . . . . . . 70
Labour and Employment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
Combat Poverty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
Antoine de Montchrétien and Foreigners . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
A National Economic Policy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
The Kingdom’s Self-Sufficiency . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
Raw Materials and Imports . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
Industrialisation and Exports . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
International Trade and the Colonies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
The Great Trading Companies and the Navy . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Against Dutch Imperialism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
Slavery in the West Indies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
Populating Canada . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
The Decline of Mercantilism: Political and Economic Factors . . . . . . 102
Fénelon: Political Absolutism and Population . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
A Controversial Economic System . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
For Want of Political Arithmetic. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
5 The Political Failure of an Economic Theory: Quesnay
and the Physiocracy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
The Physiocratic Movement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
Agriculture and Prosperity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
The Sterility of Industry and Trade . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
The Net Product . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
The English Example . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
On Population . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
Population, a Dependent Variable . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
Decorative Luxury and Subsistence Luxury . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Economic Freedom and Population . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
Taxes and Population . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
The Question of Armies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
A Failure and Its Causes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
An Unconvincing Strategy for Development . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
The Fear of Famine, a Political Trap . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
Economics and Policy: Fundamental Contradictions . . . . . . . . . 138
6 Towards Demography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
Population and Political Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
The Prince, the Father, the Landlord . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145
Reigning over Family and Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
Property and Population . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
Contents vii
The Conflict of Interests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150

The Atomistic Principle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Arbitrating Interests and Educating the People . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
The Emergence of Individualism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
Challenging Absolutism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
Taking Account of the Subject . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158
From Homo Oeconomicus to Homo Demographicus . . . . . . . . . . 160
Political Economy and Population . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
Malthus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Chapter 1
Interpreting Ideas on Population
Population Doctrines and Theories

Whereas the history of demography as a social science has been amply
explored, the construction of the concept of population has been neglected.
Indeed, when specialists in the history of ideas quote, sometimes quite
ritually, the few authors who have contributed to the development of demo-
graphic thought over the centuries, they systematically ignore a noteworthy
paradox: strictly speaking, these great intellectual figures have not put for-
ward demographic theories or doctrines as such, especially before Malthus,
but they have certainly given some thought to population at both levels. Let
us briefly define the three words population, doctrine and theory to be able
to deal better with this paradox.
In its modern sense, a population is an abstract ensemble of individuals
considered from a strictly quantitative angle, a sort of meta-body identi-
fied by its spatial patterns, its structures and its dynamics. Mathematics and
statistics are necessary to quantify and generate models to analyse the struc-
tures and the dynamics of populations while human and social sciences are
necessary to interpret classic demographic behavioural patterns such as mor-
tality, fertility, nuptiality and migration. This is the task of the demographer
who most often relies on the only available paradigm, namely demographic
transition, and when needed, on partial theories pertaining to each of the
demographic variables. A doctrine is a body of normative arguments, based
on value systems, which define the goals to be attained, either general (the
growth or control of population) or specific to major demographic variables
(in the past, it was more often than not fertility, marriage and migration
rather than mortality). In the case of a doctrine, the analysis is often com-
parative. As in other disciplines, a demographic theory consists of a set of
propositions of a more or less general nature organised into a coherent sys-
tem and likely to be formulated into a population law that can be empirically
verified in different contexts.
Y. Charbit, The Classical Foundations of Population Thought, 1

DOI 10.1007/978-90-481-9298-4_1, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2010
2 1 Interpreting Ideas on Population
What does the reader encounter in books and articles on population

doctrines and theories? As for the former, authors from the past are cate-
gorised according to their common points and dissimilarities and this leads
to different doctrinal trends, the main ones being populationism (a doctrine
that favours high population growth) and Malthusianism.1 Where theory
is concerned, specialists adopt a classical approach. They trace the ori-
gins of demography by focusing on the precursors of demography, just
as in the field of economic theory some scholars analyse the relation-
ship between the mercantilists and Keynes, which, as Skinner put it, leads
to the “reification of doctrines”.2 The most frequently quoted “forerun-
ners” of demographic thought are Plato, Bodin (“There are no riches other
than men”), the mercantilist school, Quesnay and the French physiocrats.
If demography progressively acquired a certain degree of autonomy, is it
because knowledge progressed from one “forerunner” to another, “progress”
being understood as an evolution towards the establishment of demography
as a science? This view is basically incorrect, since the specific conception of
scientific progress upon which it rests does not stand serious examination, as
this book will show. However, a refusal to consider scientific progress does
not amount to a denial that the successive authors influenced one another.
Quite the contrary, since population thought has always fed on doctrines or
rudiments of earlier theories, though more often than not this was merely
to reject what was previously accepted. But there is more to it than this.
Strikingly enough, whether assessing their contribution to theory or identi-
fying doctrinal streams, specialists of population thought tend to overlook
almost entirely the wider historical, demographic, social, economic, cultural
and political context in which ideas on population crystallized. In contrast,
the following chapters aim at systematically linking thoughts on population
to past societies.
Some Conceptual and Methodological Preambles

When Karl Manheim laid the foundations of the sociology of knowledge,
his intention was “to observe how and in what form intellectual life in a
particular historical period related to existing political and social forms.”
In the same way, Ronald Meek proposed the concept of the validity of an
economic theory that he assessed in relation to its period. Even though a
theory may be outdated today, it is important to find out if it provided a
suitable answer to the problems of the society in which it was formulated in
1 This is notably the case of Spengler (1936, 1954) and Hutchinson (1967).
2 Skinner (1969: 11–12).
Some Conceptual and Methodological Preambles 3
accordance with the state of knowledge prevalent at that time.3 Population

and, to be more precise, the number of men and their demographic behaviour
(nuptiality, fertility and mortality) actually gave rise to serious and fairly
detailed thinking very early in history.
This immediately poses the problem of method. Is it possible to trace
the beginnings of thinking on population in every document dealing with
men as units of a particular society and the economic and political conse-
quences of their number and behaviour for that society? This generalisation
is evidently inadmissible and the problem is to determine the criteria that
make it possible to recognise the emergence of specific thinking on this
subject. We will therefore talk of thinking on population only if there is a
coherent set of observations or reflections pertaining to the number and divi-
sion (be it social, geographical or economic) of men and their demographic
behaviour (mating patterns, fertility, mortality and migration). Coherence is
an essential criterion because it implies that the author had a comprehensive
view of the problems raised by population and tried to create an original
intellectual construct to explain them. This does not imply that everything
written is necessarily coherent and Quentin Skinner is right to denounce
“the myth of coherence”.4 However, reconciling conflicting or inconsistent
demographic views can be achieved by focusing on other dimensions of
the author’s thought such as political philosophy or economic theory. Only
when no overall or interdisciplinary coherence can be established may it be
concluded that there are serious intellectual pitfalls.
An essential prerequisite is the existence of the concept of population.
This problem arises in the case of all previous intellectual contributions to
demography. For how can one think of population if the concept, as we
understand it today, did not exist? Plato, who quoted the number 5,040,
which he claimed to be a suitable size for the population of the City, is a
perfect example. According to him, those who mattered, and were in fact
the only ones who were counted in the various censuses in Athenian his-
tory, were the citizens of Athens. Like his fellow citizens, Plato was not
in the least interested in slaves and foreigners as entities that needed to be
counted down and he completely neglected them when he conceptualised
the City.5 But at the same time, he did deal with the problem of finding
3 Manheim (1956: 60) (note 10), 62, 81, 100; Meek (1962).
4 1969: 16–22.
5 Let us reject an elementary explanation for the number 5,040. When Plato proposed this
number, he did not refer to the actual population of Athens in the sense it is understood today,
calculated on the basis of archaeological excavations and historical research. Plato chose the
number for its mathematical qualities, 5,040 being divisible by all prime numbers below 12
except 11.
concrete solutions to maintain a constant population of 5,040 that he had

assigned to the City. If the number of citizens was lower, it was necessary to
encourage marriage and increase the birth rate and, if it was higher, reduce
the number through abortion, emigration and colonisation. Is it possible that
Plato foresaw the fundamental demographic equation, namely that popula-
tion increases thanks to births and immigration and decreases due to deaths
and emigration? There is no doubt about it, but if he had restricted himself
to this commonplace observation which is within the understanding of any-
body who can count, his contribution to thinking on population would have
been quite meagre. What is important was his awareness of these mecha-
nisms long before the creation of demography as a discipline, which leads
to the observation that the idea of population was undoubtedly present even
though the concept had not yet been defined. Of course, this affirmation is
based on elementary common sense. If writers in the past had conceptualised
population, demography would go back far beyond the first use of the word
in 1855 by Achille Guillard. To get out of this quasi-tautology, it is necessary
to give up the idea of tracing the conceptualisation of population by concen-
trating on the usual definition of demography as a study of the structure and
movement of human populations. In other words, it is anachronistic to apply
demographic concepts to early population thought.
The chapters of this book, which all deal with the period prior to the
birth of demography, adopt a totally different perspective and start from the
uses of population and the premise that men have always been a source of
wealth and power. Hence, it is not surprising that in the past thinking on
population was often focused on particular sub-group without necessarily
referring to the total population. Under the French Ancien régime, the Third
Estate was counted down because of taxes and labour needs. The criterion
proposed above to identify thinking on population – the existence of a set of
coherent observations pertaining to the number of men, their division into
sub-groups and their demographic behaviour – does not necessarily imply
that at that time detailed data were available. The key word is pertaining
because coherence is extraneous to the population as such and is determined
by the stakes and problems particular to each period. The problem that then
arises is the contextualisation of ideas on population.
Contextualisation of Ideas on Population

It goes without saying that social, economic, cultural and political factors
were as important as demographic factors and that the social or political
importance attached to the latter was as decisive in the development of ideas
Contextualisation of Ideas on Population 5
on population as demographic behaviour itself.6 More generally, systematis-

ing the use of social and cultural factors in the interpretation of ideas, leads
to consider thoughts on population as the product of a particular society. But
what is meant by “society”? Underlying the contextualisation of ideas on
population is the need to take into account the specific temporal and spatial
dimensions that define each society.
Though it may seem natural to focus on a short-term demographic event
such as a subsistence crisis and to examine the reflections it gave rise to as
an immediate response by contemporary observers, one obvious danger is to
misunderstand profoundly the significance of that event for these observers.
Writings by observers in the past on a food crisis and on the resulting high
mortality referred to the way in which they viewed agriculture, which was
the only source of existence for the people. Similarly, according to classi-
cal economics, unemployment due to economic crises was just a temporary
phase in a universal order that was bound to return to a state of equilib-
rium. Therefore, the short, medium and long-term aspects must be taken into
account. The other question is that of referential spaces. Today, demography
invariably associates population, whether explicitly or not, with a geograph-
ical entity (village or town, region, country in most cases, or continent).
What was the situation in the past? Certainly, there could not have been only
one type of space: men’s horizon, their Weltanschauung, has been changing
constantly over the centuries and especially after the great discoveries of the
sixteenth century. As in the case of temporality, the diversity of spatial scales
refers to political and economic stakes which have been changing through
the past centuries. For example, France and England progressively became
secular states on the European chessboard by opposing the Pope’s temporal
powers. The scale changed in mid-nineteenth century when, with the rise of
economic imperialism and its underlying principle of international compe-
tition, one began to take into account the population of colonial empires for
determining the political importance of the great nations. Linking ideas on
population to a particular context means identifying the scales according to
which these ideas developed.
This also applies to the dynamic of these ideas which must be seen inde-
pendently of the underlying factors. In La crise de la conscience européenne,
Paul Hazard pointed to the dynamics of European intellectual space and
the decline of the hegemony of French classicism in the seventeenth cen-
tury. Absolutism was toppled in Holland and in England during the years
6 Needless to say, “decisive” does not imply a fully deterministic process, but simply that
taking into consideration the context greatly helps to understand the rise and development of
ideas.
1690–1710, hence much before the internal squabbles of the eighteenth cen-
tury philosophers, with the Amsterdam printers contributing to the spread of
new ideas (e.g. tolerance) while new philosophical streams, notably empiri-
cism, emerged across the English Channel. What matters is that there was
a circulation of ideas in an intellectual space transcending the borders of
nation-states and the following pages concentrate on how to link the differ-
ent temporal and spatial scales. A well known example is that of Malthus,
who was inspired by his compatriots Wallace and Petty, but also by the
idea, which had been clearly formulated by Botero in Italy in 1635, of an
imbalance between vis nutritiva and vis generativa. Inspired by the French
physiocrats as well as by Ricardo, Marx tried to revolutionise an economic
system that was firmly entrenched in English capitalist society.7
Deciding to what extent the short-term is only a part of the long-term
and the local a mere instance of the national, may often oblige the modern
scholar to arbitrate between contradictory opinions expressed by contem-
poraries of demographic changes. In the seventeenth century for example,
the French kingdom was considered to be underpopulated in some areas
but overpopulated on the whole. Further, the short-term gave rise to com-
plaints about overpopulation whereas the long-term resulted in contrary
claims. These differences in assessment were not necessarily logical contra-
dictions. Let us examine various possibilities. In the first place, reality may
differ according to the “focal distance” chosen by the scholar and unless
supported by facts, this does not imply a logical contradiction.8 Both opin-
ions may be equally valid because they may have corresponded to different
ideologically consistent models. In that case, there is a contradiction at the
factual level but coherence at the ideological level. Secondly, if it is not
possible to explain the situation on the ideological plane, the divergence
in judgement is definitely a logical contradiction unless, of course, we are
dealing with a transitional phase. Hence opinions regarded as erroneous in
view of the current context were in reality a harbinger of a new way of
looking at the population question which was going to be adopted in the
future.
Except when there are errors and glaring inconsistencies, this book pos-
tulates the coherence of ideas. To regain this coherence, it is therefore
7 See Charbit (2009).

8 Later, when the industrial revolution reshaped European societies, contemporaries gave
more and more importance to social scales, namely differences between a particular social
class and the country’s total population. For example the proletariat of the Industrial
Revolution was reproached for being too fertile whereas the average fertility rate in France or
in England was considered “satisfactory”. Data available from the middle of the nineteenth
century confirmed the differences in fertility between the different social classes, which in
turn fully explains the opinions expressed at that time.
External Coherence and Internal Coherence 7
necessary to identify the nearest space-time markers and presume that they
played the role of a trigger, and to hold that the effects of factors historically
or geographically more distant were mitigated by those closer in time and
space. Further, we must define the breaches that demanded new responses
and finally resolve eventual contradictions. But there is no general method-
ological rule for weighting and the significance of the different scales and
relevant contextual factors can only be assessed on a case by case basis.
For secondary sources, this book relies on the different spheres of demo-
graphic, economic, social, political and intellectual history to ensure the
coherence of the ideas under study. However this coherence is of a double
nature.
External Coherence and Internal Coherence

Having identified the most relevant economic, social and political factors
of the past, it is necessary to demonstrate, on the basis of present knowl-
edge, the historical importance of ideas on population at the time that they
were developed. Here one comes across the classical problem of the use of
modern categories faced in all historical research. Clearly, it is not possi-
ble to analyse texts in the light of concepts totally unknown to an author
because there is a real risk of anachronism, which can cause severe distor-
tions and even serious misinterpretations, especially when interpreting the
thinking of precursors. The Old Testament is considered to contain thoughts
on population and the command in the Book of Genesis to “go forth and
multiply” provides a remarkable example of this sin of anachronism that is
discussed briefly in the annex to this chapter. But it is legitimate to affirm that
since ancient European societies were essentially rural, people’s thinking
was bound to bear a strong imprint of this rural character, as the physiocratic
doctrine clearly shows. But instead of presenting a loose historical outline,
is it possible to be more precise and to show that a particular text dealing
with population is coherent not only in respect of population-related facts
but also political, economic and social factors on which the author explicitly
or implicitly based his work?
If discrepancies or contradictions arise, the classic rule that a writer can-
not be reproached for not taking into account facts that he was not aware of
is to be followed. On the contrary, he ought to be credited for his intuition
regarding future developments. In case the author was aware of these facts,
it is necessary to explain how he incorporated them into his thinking and if
he ignored them, why it was so. But then a new methodological difficulty
arises. Since quantitative knowledge about population has progressed very
slowly, the relationship between facts and ideas becomes necessarily more
tenuous moving back into the past.9 But the absence or the relative scarcity
of demographic data does not rule out serious thinking on population. The
physiocrats were very attentive to everything relating to agricultural produc-
tion and thereby discovered the issue of population through problems related
to labour and the marketing of produce.
This study of the external coherence of ideas is completed by an inter-
nal epistemological interpretation, or as Skinner expressed it, the exciting
“possibility of a dialogue between philosophical discussion and historical
evidence” should be addressed.10 In the first place, before identifying pre-
cise historical factors, the intellectual conditions prevalent during any period
under review should not be overlooked. What was the mental structure of
the society in which a particular stream of ideas on population emerged?
For example, were men able, at that time, to conceive and formulate causal
relationships between facts, or were they still believing in religious teleolog-
ical ends? Was the current perception of population dynamic or static?11 In
the writings of Plato the concept of stationarity has nothing to do with the
one used by demographers. It suggests the idea of decadence and implies
that a society should avoid any change that will take it away from the golden
age, whereas in demography, stationary refers to an arithmetical modality
peculiar to the renewal of population. The problem arises when Plato is
claimed to be a precursor of demographic thought. Second, ideas on popula-
tion can also be looked at as means of explaining the world, as an ideology,
defined as a set of values that constitute a system and aim to bring to those
for whom they are meant, usually the ruling class, satisfactory answers to
societal problems related to demographic behaviour. They therefore have an
internal coherence that is to be explained.
The epistemological task is therefore to analyse the doctrine in depth
and highlight its ideological basis. From this point of view, Bodin’s alleged
mercantilist views (“there are no riches than men”) is a cas d’école. The
physiocrats illustrate another possibility. Population theory and doctrine
are perfectly clear and present in their writings and the inconsistencies are
sometimes internal, sometimes external.
9 Even during a relatively short period, there was a marked contrast between the physiocrats,
who wrote in the mid-eighteenth century, and the French liberal economists who, around
1850, had access to the results of censuses and major social surveys.
10 1969: 49.
11 Problems of contextualisation and epistemology are as a matter of fact dealt with quite
differently by scholars. Foucault defines the “history of ideas” in a simplistic and mocking
manner and opposes them to his archaeology of knowledge (1969: 179–183). However, his
suggestions are not useful. Skinner (1969, 2001) is clearer and more effective. Bénichou’s
Morales du grand siècle and Hazard’s La crise de la pensée européenne (1994) remain
models of this type.
Annex: The Old Testament and the Sin of Anachronism 9
The assessment of both the external and internal of coherence of the writ-
ings scrutinised in the following chapters suggests that the widely accepted
distinction between doctrines and theories, albeit intellectually convenient
and adequate, is transcended by a far more important epistemological prob-
lem, i.e. the constant intertwining between population issues and the social,
economic, political and ideological issues of the time. Population thought
of the past thus provides a key for examining our own societies. Following
this introduction devoted to the central epistemological and methodolog-
ical orientation of the book, the next four chapters (on Plato, Bodin, the
French mercantilists, Quesnay and the physiocracy) are devoted to the evo-
lution of ideas on population, each one providing the reader with quotations
drawn from their major works. The final chapter addresses the implicit
philosophical, economic and political issues of population thought.
Annex: The Old Testament and the Sin of Anachronism

The famous command in the Book of Genesis,12 “Go forth and multiply”,
seems to have convinced most modern commentators (Demeny, Hutchinson,
etc.) that the Old Testament was in favour of population growth, because
the high mortality made it necessary to think in terms of the survival
of the group.13 This plausible explanation does not exhaust the subject.
Hutchinson opens his textbook on the development of demographic thought
with the remark that in the Bible, the strength of the kingdom is equated
with the number of men.14 Demeny, taking as his basis the quotation from
the Ecclesiastes, “When goods increase, they are increased that eat them”,
goes further to claim that “these words present a theory of population
growth unmistakably Matlhusian in cast.”15 If as claimed by Hutchinson
and Demeny, the Bible offers not only a doctrine but also a rudimentary the-
ory, there ought to be other indications in support of the claim that the Book
of Genesis favoured high population growth. However, none of the writers
12 Let us make it clear that all that follows concerns only the Old Testament. The New
Testament is based on a completely different logic. As for Catholicism, Prost’s position (1988:
148) is more nuanced than Demeny’s (see below). Though he does not propose any demo-
graphic theory, a comparison between the quotation from the Genesis and the one from St.
Paul’s Epistle to the Corinthians advocating chastity in marriage leads him to conclude that
the Catholic Church adopted a moral position which had demographic implications.
13 For example Weeks (1992: 59).
14 1967: 8.
15 See 1988: 213. The quotation is taken from the Ecclesiastes (5: 11). During the 1930s,
there was a lot of emphasis on the origin of the ideas on contraception. See, for example,
Himes (1963: 69). It should be noted that in the past the Bible gave rise to interpretations of
this kind and that is how Petty calculated the earth’s future population (Rohrbasser, 1999).
mentioned above compiled a systematic list of such indications and they all
adopt the same implicit approach that treats the Bible as a homogeneous text,
a body of writings characterised by a single ideology. This is quite untenable
from an epistemological viewpoint as it involves texts written after a gap of
several centuries, which are therefore liable to follow different methods of
reasoning.
As a matter of fact, the Old Testament is shot through with reflections on
censuses, plague and diseases as well as prescriptions likely to influence
fertility, such as coitus interruptus, divorce, levirate, etc. The hypothesis
that these prescriptions are all of a piece with the command in the Genesis
to multiply does not hold. Some of them support the need for procreation
and are therefore essentially in favour of population growth while others,
on the contrary, are demographically neutral. More generally, to talk of a
populationist bias is too simplistic because today this refers implicitly to
populationism as an alternative to Malthusianism, which is not valid in the
case of societies in the past. If some of the prescriptions of the Old Testament
advocated fertility, it was only to ensure the group’s survival, as Weeks has
pointed out, without there being a conscious strategy in favour of demo-
graphic growth. Even today in West Africa, practices like breast-feeding and
certain postpartum taboos are wrongly interpreted as a means of contracep-
tion. They should be interpreted not as Malthusian measures for spacing
births but as a means of ensuring the group’s survival by protecting the
children who are already there, but are too young to survive without their
mother’s milk.
Of course the Old Testament can be regarded as an ontologically divine
text that does not suffer any deciphering or elucidation, other than internal,
like the cabalistic commentaries that speculate endlessly on the meaning of
the divine word. But just as Baruch Spinoza, as far back as 1670, and Richard
Simon in 1678 applied themselves to a strictly rationalist criticism of the
consistency and plausibility of the Old Testament and just as archaeologists
today question its authenticity as a historical source, we hold that it is quite
legitimate to interpret the biblical prescriptions relating to this particular
human group from a sociological and anthropological viewpoint, especially
because the various books constituting it have laid down very detailed and
specific rules regarding the Hebrew way of life.16 According to a first line of
interpretation, of a sociological nature, the reason behind these prescriptions
was to exercise social control over women in order to maintain and confirm
their status as a dependent minority. This was particularly true of prac-
tices like levirate, divorce (in reality a unilateral repudiation by the man),
16 Spinoza:
Traité théologico-politique, Simon: Histoire critique du Vieux Tetament. Simon
(1638–1712), an Oratorian priest, was deeply influenced by Spinoza and Descartes.
Annex: The Old Testament and the Sin of Anachronism 11
virginity, punishment of adultery and, finally, a woman’s impurity.17 The

second interpretation, that evidently complements the first, was the warning
to Hebrews against lack of respect towards God. Disease and the plague,
in particular were divine punishments, a classic example being David who
was punished for counting his people on being incited by the devil: “Satan
wanted to bring trouble on the people of Israel, so he made David take a cen-
sus.” God was displeased and asked David to choose between three years of
famine or three months of running away from the armies of his enemies
or three days during which the Lord would attack him with his sword and
send an epidemic on his land. David chose the epidemic. “So the Lord sent
an epidemic on the people of Israel and seventy thousand of them died.”18
As for Moses, he addressed his people for the last time before his death
and warned them that only by obeying the Lord’s commands would they
“become a nation of many people”; otherwise they would be destroyed.19
The most convincing example is undoubtedly Onan’s sin, the condemna-
tion of coitus interruptus, often mentioned as an undisputable example of
the Bible’s endorsement of a high birth rate. Let us first recall the text con-
taining Onan’s story, who was the second son of Judah whose firstborn was
Er: “Er’s evil conduct displeased God who put him to death. Judah said to
Onan, ‘Go and sleep with your brother’s widow. Fulfil your obligations to
her as her husband’s brother, so that your brother may have descendants.’
But Onan knew that the children would not belong to him. So whenever
he had intercourse with his brother’s widow, he let the semen spill on the
17 Levirate: “If one of the brothers dies leaving no son, then it is the duty of his brother to
go to the widow and their first son will perpetuate the name of the dead man, so that his
family line will continue in Israel.” Deuteronomy, 5: 5–10. Repudiation: Deutoronomy, 24:
1–4. Virginity, adultery: Deutoronomy, 22: 13–28; Numbers, 5: 11–31. For example, “If there
is no proof that the girl was a virgin, (. . .) the men of her city are to stone her to death
(. . .) because she has done a shameful thing among our people by having intercourse before
she was married, while she was living in her father’s house.” “If a man is caught having
intercourse with another man’s wife, both of them are to be put to death.” Taboos related to a
woman’s impurity (postpartum or during menstruation): Leviticus, 12: 1–8; 15: 19–33. If it is
a boy, 7 days after the birth “until the time of menstruation” then 33 days of “purification of
her blood before touching anything that is holy and entering the sacred Tent.” If it is a girl, it
is 15 and 66 days. Or further, “Whoever touches the bed or any object touched by an impure
woman is impure till the evening.”
18 David’s punishment: Chronicles I, 21: 1–14. Plague and diseases: “If I had raised my hand
to strike you and your people with the plague, you would have been completely destroyed.”
Moses to the people of Israel: “If you obey Him completely by doing what He considers right
and by keeping His commands, I will not punish you with any of the diseases that I brought
on the Egyptians.” Exodus, 9: 15, 15: 26; Numbers, 12: 9–15, 14: 12; Ezekiel, 38: 22.
19 Deuteronomy, 30: 15–20.
ground, so that there would be no children for his brother. What he did dis-
pleased the Lord, and the Lord killed him also.”20 Himes, an authority on
the question, observed that Judaism gives several different interpretations of
Onan’s sin. It was not a condemnation of coitus interruptus as such but a
condemnation of Onan’s refusal to submit to the duty of levirate. Any one
would subscribe to this mere paraphrase. But, added Himes, the question at
stakes was the survival of the group, because “the Mishna enjoins marriage
and procreation under all circumstances.”21 We hold that this is not the prob-
lem. The very formulation of this episode strongly suggests to interpret it as
illustrating the supremacy of divine power. For both deaths imposed by God
cannot be dissociated. The Book of Genesis says that God killed Er because
he had “displeased” him. No more shall we know. As for Onan, the cause
of God’s wrath is far more precise, it is the refusal by Onan to comply with
the social custom of levirate, that is to say a rule imposed to the Hebrews by
the divinity. Far worse, Onan dared defy God out of a pure pride, namely the
fact that the children to come out of the union with the widow would not be
“his own”. The double message to the Chosen People is clear: God ordered
Onan to ensure the group’s survival though he himself had endangered it by
killing Er. Second, he never justifies himself, whereas men have no auton-
omy of decision, even regarding their sexuality. Life and death given and
taken back without any key to understand the All mighty’s acts – Could
there be a more efficient and frightening way of displaying absolute power?
Submitting women to male domination and reasserting the almightiness of
the Creator have nothing to do with a narrow and restricted interpretation in
terms of a populationist demographic doctrine, at variance with what will be
encountered in the writings of the mercantilists several centuries later.
20 Genesis, 38: 8–11.

21 1963: 70–72.
Chapter 2
History and Utopia
The Platonic City
Plato, a Forerunner of Demography?

When searching for the distant origins of population doctrines, after the
inevitable reference to the Bible (“Go forth and multiply”), most books on
the history of demographic thought and a number of textbooks devote a few
lines or at most a few pages to ancient China (Confucius, Lao Tseu) and to
the ancient Greek thinkers.1 In the case of Plato (428–347 B.C.), this quest
for origins is supposedly justified by reflections on the “demography” of the
ideal City. In Laws, his last dialogue, Plato specified the size of the City and
more precisely the number of its citizens: it should be equal to 5,040 and
remain constant. Towards this end, Plato suggested various ways of ensur-
ing stationarity. These indications, especially the number 5040, have been
interpreted as constitutive elements of a Platonic doctrine of population, and
Plato has thus been hailed as one of the “precursors” of demography.2
Yet to appropriate Plato’s work as a forerunner of modern demography
is to overlook the fact that Plato’s thoughts concerning the City were insep-
arable from the political divisions of fifth and fourth century Greece and
the purely philosophical issue of justice in society. Initially these divisions
were internal to Athens, and concerned the fight between democracy and oli-
garchy. But they also affected Greece as a whole as a result of the merciless
war between Sparta and Athens, with both rivals seeking to establish their
hegemony over the Greek world: in several Greek cities, the partisans of oli-
garchy were keen to establish an alliance with Sparta, while the partisans of
democracy called for the support of Athens; and in Athens itself, the parti-
sans of oligarchy appealed to Sparta on a number of occasions to remove all
traces of a democratic regime. The writings of Plato, who belonged to one
1 A notable exception is Kraeger’s article on Aristotle (2008).

2 A shorter version of this chapter was published in Population.

14 2 History and Utopia
of the great Athenian families, contain a largely implicit though fundamen-

tal hostility to democracy and to the imperialistic politics which it imposed
upon Athens.
This complex historical-political situation reflects two conceptions of pol-
itics, and more specifically of the political organization and exercise of
power about which Plato pronounced himself as a philosopher. In devis-
ing the concept of the City and by developing it gradually in the course of
several dialogues, Plato instantly founded political philosophy. His primary
focus was the question of justice in the exercise of power, though he also
denounced the corruption that affected political life and which, by his reck-
oning, was a consequence of the introduction of democracy into Athens and
which the trial and death of Socrates in 399 clearly attested to.
While his immense body of work has had a decisive influence on Western
thought, it is also true to say that, as an intellectual, Plato actively partici-
pated in the fight against democracy. The difficulty therefore is to avoid a
double pitfall: to analyze Platonic thought as a pure philosophical construc-
tion isolated from reality; and to conceive the Platonic dialogues merely as
the writings of a witness who was fiercely opposed to democracy. This issue
is precisely the object of this chapter: to evaluate, in the light of philosophy
and history, the supposed contribution of Plato’s work to demography.
The Demography of the City
A Constant Size
In Laws, a dialogue between some Cretans and an Athenian consulted
on the best way of founding a colony, Plato had a twofold concern. First,
the number of citizens of the City should be such that the various social,
economic and political functions of the City could be carried out in times
of peace as well as in times of war (Laws, 737d, 738a).3 The number
5,040 was justified by the fact that it allows a large number of divisors
(he specified fifty-nine). It is divisible by all the numbers between one and
twelve, eleven excluded, and thus permits multiple combinations. Moreover,
Plato was looking for an acceptable number also and above all in terms of
the available land. Space was therefore a very important variable in Plato’s
mind. For example, the 5,040 plots should consist of two parts: one close
to the centre, the other near the periphery of the City. And in his concern
3 The references to Plato’s dialogues have been included in the main text, and follow the
Estienne system which is conventionally used.
The Demography of the City 15
for equity, Plato described at great length the manner of distribution of plots
located in the intermediary zone.
In suggesting concrete measures for maintaining the number of citizens at
5,040, he was by no means concerned about the negative short- or long-term
effects of population growth on the organisation of the City, but was indi-
cating that the number was merely “suitable” (Laws, 737e. But above all, he
wanted the order of the ideal City to continue indefinitely (Laws, 740b).
What measures did he suggest? Logically, only one child should inherit
the plot. As for the others, “he should marry off the females according to
the law that is to be ordained, and the males he should dispose of to such
of the citizens as have no male issue, by a friendly arrangement if possi-
ble” (Laws, 740c). More generally, “where the fertility is great, there are
methods of inhibition, and contrariwise there are methods of encouraging
and stimulating the birth-rate, by means of honours and dishonours, and by
admonitions [. . .].” Among these “methods of inhibition” were infanticide
and exposure of the newborns.4 “Moreover, as a final step, in case we are in
absolute desperation about the unequal condition of our 5,040 households,
and are faced with a superabundance of citizens, [. . .] there still remains that
ancient device [the sending forth of colonies] which we have often men-
tioned” (Laws, 740d; see also 736a). Marriage should also be regulated. For
women, the marriage age would be between 16 and 20 years, and for men
between 30 and 35 years (Laws, 785b). A man still unmarried at 35 years
would incur a fine (Laws, 744a), for “it is a duty to lay hold on the ever-
living reality by providing servants for God in our own stead” (Laws, 774a).
A spouse had to be chosen “in a manner that is suitable and well-matched”,
in other words, by conforming to a degree of social endogamy (Laws, 773a–
b). Yet, Plato insisted that the legislator would incur ridicule and anger if he
intervened on the latter point (Laws 773c–e).
Even migration was taken into account. The founding of a colony could
take two forms: assembling settlers of diverse origins, Greek or non-Greek;
or bringing in members of the same people, on the condition that they be
united, so that former dissensions were not perpetuated in the new city
(Laws, 708a–d). The pages devoted to the settlement of the City reflect a con-
sistent feeling of ambivalence towards what is foreign. For example, because
a Greek people without internal quarrels could not be found, it was necessary
to recruit individuals of different origins after a selection (Laws, 735a–736c;
the same idea had been expressed in Politicus, 308c–309a), and to make
sure not to be gathering too many slaves originating from the same coun-
try or speaking the same language (Laws, 777c–d). Finally, the City should
4 This is explicitly stated in Republic (450c). On infanticide and exposure, see for instance
Ferguson (1916) and Wilkinson (1978), the latter providing a rather superficial overview on
family planning.
be set up far from the sea in order to avoid too many external influences
(Laws, 704d–705a). In general, Plato distrusted mixing, cross-breeding as
we would say today. Inversely he engaged in lengthy discussions of bor-
rowings from foreign cultures and from foreign forms of social or political
organisation. Trips abroad should be organised to gather examples of legal
codes on which the City could draw (Laws, 950a–952e). Very precise rules
on the treatment of foreigners distinguished between seasonal workers who
ought to be closely controlled, tourists who came for “entertainment for the
eyes [. . .] and for music”, official delegates, and finally, scholars and wise
men who should be well received (Laws, 952d–953e). In any case, Plato
condemned the barbarous practice of “banishing the foreigners”: they were
to benefit from the protection of the law (Laws, 950b). Why this ambiva-
lence towards what was foreign? Not because of a fundamental hostility to
everything that was not Greek, or to the Barbarians, but because the suc-
cessful establishment of the City was at stake, and the modalities of the
settlement had to be carefully thought out as well as the potential advantages
and drawbacks of each practical detail of the migratory settlement.
Thus, Plato seems to be a remarkable precursor of demographic thought.
On the one hand, the object was the population of a well-defined territo-
rial unit: population was clearly identified as a variable with specified links
with the environment. On the other hand, in an apparently very modern
fashion, Plato defined with great precision the magnitude of some key demo-
graphic variables such as the age at marriage or the length of reproductive
life. Finally, he apparently sketched a true demographic policy: measures
to encourage or restrain fertility, recourse to emigration or immigration, all
of that for the purpose of regulating the total size of the population. Let us
begin with the point of view of modern demographers.
Plato and His Commentators

Starting with Malthus, these indications and especially the number 5,040
have inspired the students of demographic thought, who have interpreted
them as components of a Platonic doctrine and even of a theory of popula-
tion. Malthus first quoted the rules decreed by Plato regarding the choice of
a partner, the age at marriage, the duration of the period of reproduction, but
disapproved of Plato’s views on infanticide. He concluded that the specificity
of these measures demonstrated Plato’s intuitive understanding of the prin-
ciple of population: “. . . it is evident that Plato fully saw the tendency of the
population to increase beyond the means of subsistence”.5 Malthus wrongly
5 1958: 142 (Citation from the 1827 edition of the Essay on the Principle of Population).
attributed the concept of population dynamics to Plato. Even if Plato linked

population size explicitly to the expanse of territory, the balance between
population and subsistence – defined in a static manner – was only one con-
straint among others. The City should be limited in numbers in such a way
that its members would be able to recognize one another, but it had to be
large enough to ensure its defence and assist allied cities (Laws, 737d, 738e,
771e).
In 1904, the American historian Stangeland also referred to the rules
concerning the age at marriage, the eugenic measures and the number
5,040. He insisted on the fact that the number of citizens had to remain
equal to 5,040, with the resulting recourse to infanticide, abortion, emigra-
tion or immigration as the circumstances warrant. But Stangeland rejected
Malthus’s argument: “In constructing his ideal State, Plato realised that with
the practical communism involved in that state and the consequent removal
of individual responsibility for offspring, control of population by the state
would be the only adequate means of avoiding the disasters of excessive
numbers”. The influence of nineteenth-century conservative doctrines on
Stangeland is obvious. He fell back on one of the arguments developed in
France and Great Britain against various forms of socialism. At the core of
Stangeland’s thought there is the belief that the citizens of the City would
reproduce themselves much like the nineteenth-century proletariat, while
for Plato they constituted an intellectual, moral and psychological elite, the
very incarnation of the City. Finally, Stangeland rightly underlined the dif-
ference between Republic and Laws. While the first of these two works
described a utopia, Laws substituted “a system more in accordance with the
practical needs of the time and the possibilities of Greek life”. From the
start, Stangeland had pointed out that “a great thinker [. . .] does not escape
the influence of his mental environment.”6 Unfortunately, he provided no
specific element to supports this statement in the three pages devoted to
Plato.
Hutchinson also quoted the number of 5,040 citizens and the means of
maintaining it, and speculated on the reasons behind the choice of this num-
ber. Like Stangeland, he recalled that Plato regarded this number as sufficient
for the defence of the State and not too large for the efficient government
of an area of moderate size. Wondering why Plato wanted this number to
remain constant, he rejected Malthus’ and Stangeland’s interpretations, the
latter being an “over-elaborate interpretation” that went beyond the original
text. According to him “Plato emphasised the equal division of all property
among the citizens and the subsequent preservation of each holding intact,
with the prohibition of either alienation or addition to holdings and with
6 1966: 22–23 and 25.

one son inheriting the entire holding (. . .) In view of this, it is entirely pos-
sible that the purpose of the stationary population in Plato’s planned state
was simply to aid in maintaining the equal division of property. This equal-
ity was a basic principle of Plato’s state, and a decrease or increase in the
number of citizens would have upset the equality.”7 Here again, a narrow
interpretation of Plato’s thought holds sway. First, the statement that Plato
was concerned with “equality” is debatable and at the very least, that should
not be understood in the sense of democratic equality, for Plato was pro-
foundly hostile to that form of government: Sparta and not the Athenian
democracy represented the most accomplished political model. Moreover,
the demographers’ concept of stationarity (in the sense of a population with
unchanging numbers) is a total anachronism. For Plato, who was influenced
by Heraclitus, stationarity meant stopping the long trend towards decadence
from a mythical ancient order. This concept harked back to a philosophi-
cal and political vision of the City-State. Here again, Sparta and not Athens
knew best how to stop this trend towards decadence. In short, Hutchinson
went beyond Plato’s thought when he emphasized the impact of popula-
tion dynamics on the social system. How could demography, a discipline
that did not exist at the time, have shaped Plato’s thought? The same could
be said of Overbeek who devoted twenty-eight lines to Plato and was con-
tent with the statement that “Plato fixed the number of households at the
maximum of 5,040 for political reasons. Unregulated growth of population
would introduce a disturbing variable in his well-ordered and harmonious
city-state”.8
In the first chapter of a more recent textbook, Daugherty and Kammeyer
distinguish two trends in the “history of the study of population”. The first
seeks to construct a science of population dynamics. The second asks how
population affects the well-being or survival of the group and is especially
concerned with demographic growth or decline. According to Daugherty
and Kammeyer, both Plato and Aristotle were little concerned with the
empirical validation of their ideas, but focused on a specific question: how
could the size of a population affect the political functioning of the City?9
Both philosophers would have answered that the ideal size was the one that
ensured the greatest security and well-being of the citizens as well as the
most efficient administration of the City Thus this reading focuses on the
concept of optimum but evades some of its consequences. Assuming that
the concept is relevant for an understanding of Plato, we are no told how he
dealt with eventual conflicts between different definitions of the optimum:
7 1967: 11–13.
8 1974: 24.
9 1995: 12–15.
well-being, power, administrative efficiency. Daugherty and Kammeyer note

correctly that Plato affirmed the necessity of a fixed number of 5,040 citi-
zens while considering the possibility that it could vary as a function of the
available land or the relationship with neighbouring populations. But they
fail to consider the significance of such a contradiction in a thinker whom
they describe as being above all preoccupied with “logical deduction”. At
the very least, they should have concluded that the concept of optimum is
not appropriate, or asked whether the two terms of the contradiction do not
belong to different levels of reasoning.
An article published in 1982 by Vilquin is by far the most thorough study
from a demographic perspective, Vilquin being also alone in taking the other
works of Plato into account. Even if the essential of Plato’s contribution
to demographic thought is found in Republic and Laws, Vilquin rightly
quotes the Symposium, Politicus, and even Timaeus, Gorgias and Critias.
The Symposium is particularly important because it casts some light on cer-
tain discussions of love in Laws or Republic: perfect love is detached from
its carnal dimension, it is spiritual (“Platonic”). From this perspective, fer-
tility may also consist in leaving spiritual heirs. Like Stangeland, Vilquin
starts by stating that “while being utopian in the fullest sense of the word,
Plato’s demographic thought is closely linked to the socio-political condi-
tions and to the currents of thought in his country and time”. What does
that mean? Towards the fifth century B.C., according to him, fertility lost
its strictly religious and familial character: procreation began to be seen as
necessary to provide the State with citizens. Hence the first outlines of inter-
ventionist demographic legal codes, even before Plato. Moreover, the elite
“begins to subject its fertility to a Malthusian calculus where the system of
land ownership plays a big role. The distribution of the City’s limited ter-
ritory and of the products of slave labour to a growing number of families
threatens either to impoverish everyone or to engender economic inequality,
a source of social disorder”. No more than Stangeland does Vilquin, how-
ever, demonstrate how Plato’s thought was embedded in his time. The only
specific element is limited to a few lines: “Nearly all the Greek cities of the
time were weakened by social agitation due to the unequal wealth of fami-
lies; claims for land reform appeared periodically. Plato wanted to nip this
source of disorder in the bud, and therefore he chose to provide for the strict
limitation of private wealth and exchanges as well as for the equal and sta-
ble distribution of land. This last point provides the strongest justification
for a stationary population”. This socio-economic interpretation is plausible
but we propose another one later that seems to echo more central and fun-
damental elements in Platonic thought. Whatever the case may be, Vilquin
then abandons this line of interpretation, and favours personal psycholog-
ical factors instead. For example, Plato “often expressed a deep contempt
of carnal love”. Or again, “Plato was 80 years old when he wrote [about
procreation in the couple]. It is fair to ask whether this is not an instance of

belated return to the traditional religious argument”. Or finally, concerning
the number 5,040 and its numerous divisors, “this mysticism of the number
assumed an obsessive character in the aging Plato”.10
Such are the main analyses elicited by Plato’s “demographic” discussions,
at least from specialists who place themselves in the perspective of the his-
tory of ideas on population. Some propose interpretations that conform to
their own ideology, while others use demographic concepts (stationarity,
optimum) without questioning their relevance and even less their anachro-
nism. Specific arguments have so far been analysed, as if a demographic
reading of Plato was acceptable. A more fundamental challenge must be
issued: Plato cannot be seen as a precursor of demography, because the sug-
gestions contained in Laws and in Republic belong to another logical order.
Let us start with the impossible Platonic demography.
Inconsistencies and Contradictions

Why choose 5,040 rather than 5,000, a round figure that seems simpler
and certainly more pedagogical, and as such better suited to the dialectical
approach of the Socratic protagonist who was at the heart of the dialogues?
More fundamentally, why this fondness for quantifying the number of citi-
zens so precisely, while simultaneously asserting that population size should
be related to the available land area? After all, Plato might well have been
aware of population pressure, and quite logically have advocated emigra-
tion as a solution to excessive demographic growth. Indeed, it has long been
believed that colonisation in Ancient Greece resulted from a long-term trend
of over-population, hence confirming Plato’s views. However the alleged
demographic explosion of the eight century is unlikely to have taken place
and Greek cities were rather highly vulnerable to droughts, a factor which
explains the creation of colonies by various cities.11 Was then the Athenian
Plato aware of this other risk? But again, facts run counter to this hypothe-
sis, as Athens and Attica were far more self-sufficient than other cities and
did not need to export their surplus population. What Plato wrote on emigra-
tion and colonisation had therefore little to do with a thoughtful response to
demographic growth, or to climatic vulnerability.
Nor is there anything to support the claim that the concept of optimum
makes sense in Plato’s thought. If, for example, he had reasoned in terms
of the balance between population and resources, he should have accounted
10 Vilquin (1982: 1, 2–4, 5, 12, 14).

11 As Cawkwell (1993) convincingly argued.
for the number of slaves and foreigners and considered how to control it.
What was the population of Athens anyway? In 451–450 B.C., when at the
urging of Pericles a law was passed making an individual’s citizenship con-
tingent on that of both his parents, Athens numbered 40,000 citizens. In 317,
when Demetrius of Phalerum organised a census of citizens, they added up
to 21,000, and there were probably an equal number of metics (foreigners
residing in Athens). His repeatedly quoted figure of 400,000 slaves is a gross
exaggeration, modern estimates suggesting between 60,000 and 100,000
slaves.12 Slaves were responsible for the largest share of economic activ-
ity, including domestic labour. Plato, however, never referred to the latter
from this angle. He did not even consider the role of slaves in the produc-
tion of food resources for the benefit of the entire City, and their unequal
distribution among the citizens. When he mentioned slaves in Politicus, it
was merely to specify that they were not allowed to participate in the “royal
art” of politics (Politicus, 289d–e). And in Republic, when he distinguished
between war (against barbarians) and internal dissensions (against Greeks
of other cities), he was content to specify that Greeks should not be reduced
to slavery and that their houses should not be burnt or razed (469b–471c).
Plato, in other words, was mostly concerned with the political functioning
of the City. Similarly, when Politicus described in great detail the different
activities which engaged City members (crafts, construction, entertainment,
food production, etc.), the intent was not to analyse the economic func-
tioning of the City, but to highlight the specificity of political activity. The
latter was fundamentally different from the others in that it produced noth-
ing, its function being to regulate and organise them (Politicus, 289e–289a).
Probably no more than 1,200 rich Athenians constituted the upper class and
some 300 families benefited from a heavy concentration of wealth.13 The
rest of the citizens worked hard to survive, with the help of their family
labour force and sometimes with one or two slaves. Only the higher classes
could afford active participation in the political life of the city, as advocated
by Plato. This is why, when he wrote there should be neither rich nor poor in
the City because it would be two and not one (Republic, 422), his perspective
was purely that of political philosophy. It follows that the attempt by Welles
to trace the “economic background” of Plato’s communism is useless.14
With the exception of Stangeland and Vilquin, no one has paid attention
to the fact that there are not one but two Platonic “demographic thoughts”.
12 On the population of Athens, see Gomme (1946, 1959) and Jones (1952, 1995), who relates
figures to the economic and social structure. Cuffel (1966) provides a convenient account of
the Greek concept of slavery, comparing Plato’s views with those of Aristotle, Aeschylus,
Sophocles, Euripides, etc.
13 Jones (1955: 149).
14 Copeland (1924: 236) and Welles (1948).
Besides Laws, Book V of Republic contains very precise discussions. In a

passage from Politicus related to marriages, Plato explained the existence
of conflicting temperaments by endogamic practices (Politicus, 310b–e), but
only in Laws and Republic were “demographic” considerations really elabo-
rated. The steps suggested in Republic are sometimes completely at odds
with those recommended in Laws. For example, the span of fertile life,
which was 10 years in Laws (784b), is 20 years for women (between age
twenty and age forty) in Republic and even longer for men, who should breed
between ages twenty-five and fifty-five (Republic, 461a). Or again, whereas
marriage as an institution was carefully described in Laws, Republic openly
recommended the community of women and children: “That these women
shall all be common to all these men, and that none shall cohabit with any
privately, and that the children shall be common, and that no parent shall
know its own offspring nor any child its parent” (Republic, 457a). Marriage
should be celebrated and mark the beginning of the period of procreation,
but in no way could it be deemed to serve as the founding act of a fam-
ily. In one fell swoop, the principles of descent were reconsidered: “A man
will call all male offspring born in the tenth to the seventh month after he
became a bridegroom his sons, and all female, daughters, and they will call
him father. And similarly, he will call their offspring his grandchildren and
they will call his group grandfathers and grandmothers” (Republic, 461d).
The contradiction with the principles laid down in Laws is complete. How
would it be possible to choose a single heir among all these sons to inherit
the property of a plot? The ideal City described in Republic being a radi-
cal utopia, and the one described in Laws much less perfect,15 the transition
from “the community of women and children” to a more traditional concep-
tion of marriage and the family and the omission of the eugenic measures
advocated in Republic (for example 460a) are understandable.
But why all these quantitative indications, which are unusually precise
for the time? Is Vilquin’s suggestion acceptable, that numbers have assumed
an obsessive dimension in the mind of the aging philosopher? To accept
this would dismiss the problem far too quickly. A true explanation must
simultaneously embrace the two cities and in addition to the two dialogues,
Politicus, Timaeus and Critias also need to be examined, because they
include important discussions about the City during the mythical period
(Critias, Timaeus) or about its implementation (Politicus). For example,
ancient Athens as described in Critias strived to keep “the number of both
sexes already qualified and still qualified to bear arms as nearly as possi-
ble always the same, roughly some twenty thousand” (Critias, 112d). In
Critias, this number is opposed to the far greater population of Atlantis that
15 Laws, 739d–e :“[the real City] took it as a model and tries to resemble it as far as possible”.
Religion and Politics 23
Athens of the mythical period confronted victoriously. What are the connex-
ions between the legendary narrative and the philosophical reflections on the
City? To understand the meaning of these numerical references, particularly
the importance given to the number 5,040, the significance of mathematics
in Platonic must now be clarified.
Religion and Politics
Mathematics and Religion

For Plato, and for several members who were members of the Academy
founded by Plato, mathematics was a precious instrument of knowledge
because their formal beauty proved that they were close to the truth. In this,
he was influenced by the Pythagoreans who had applied their research on
numbers to different fields: astronomy, music, even politics. They influenced
political life particularly in Croton and Tarentum at the end of the sixth
century and as early as the fifth century “political thought had elaborated
a hierarchical model of the City and sought to justify it by considerations
borrowed from astronomy and mathematics”.16 It does not follow logically
that space can be divided perfectly and mathematically and Laws suggested
a concrete plan to divide the territory into twelve parts, the size of which
depended on the quality of the land (Laws, 745c).17
The number 5,040 adopted by Plato presented a special dimension. It
fit into a religious perspective that is clearly articulated in Laws and has
been neglected by the demographers quoted above: “The lawgiver (. . .) must
divide off twelve portions of land, when he has first set apart a sacred glebe
for Hestia, Zeus and Athenes, to which he shall give the name ‘acropolis’ and
circle it round with a ring-wall; starting from this he must divide up both the
city itself and all the country into twelve portions. (. . .) He must mark off
5,040 allotments and each of these he must cut in two and join two pieces to
form each several allotment, so that each contains a near piece and a distant
piece, [. . .] and he must divide the citizens also into twelve parts [. . .]. After
this they must also appoint twelve allotments for the twelve gods, and name
and consecrate the portion allotted to each god, giving it the name of ‘tribe’”
(Laws, 745a–e). Thus, for Plato, the tribe was one twelfth of the population
allotted to each god before constituting a civic division of the City. The reli-
gious dimension of this division is heavily emphasized. The turnover that
should take place in the exercise of the functions of judges and guardians
16 Vernant and Vidal-Naquet (1991: 217–219). On the Pythagoreans’ influence, see Lévêque
and Vidal-Naquet (1984: 91–106).
17 On this point, see Castel-Bouchouchi (2000; particularly 27, 30–31).
occurred by twelfths, on the basis of the twelve religious months (Laws,

758b–d). The size of 5,040 was chosen above all because it was divisible
by twelve, a number with a decisive sacred dimension: “Our whole number
has twelve subdivisions, and the tribal number also has twelve; and each
such portion must be regarded as a sacred gift of God, conformed to the
months and to the revolution of the universe” (Laws, 771b). Each month,
twelve meetings of sections will take place to conciliate the twelve gods of
the Pantheon (Laws, 771d).
The Platonic construct was radically opposed to the reform of Athens
realised by Clisthenes in 507 B.C. He belonged to a great noble family, the
Alcmaeonidae, who were rejected by the rest of the aristocracy for hav-
ing opposed tyranny in the middle of the seventh century, and then having
made an alliance with the democrats.18 The Clisthenian reform of Athens
was a true revolution of space: the heart of the City, the religious symbol of
ere, became a political symbol, the “communal hearth of the City”.19 The
agora thus became a central public space where the Boule or Council of
the Five Hundred assembled, representing the ten tribes. In addition, time
was redefined according to a civil (prytanic) calendar of 360 days (ten pry-
tanies of 36 days). According to Aristotle’s account, Clisthenes’s purpose
in setting the number of tribes at ten was to renounce the number twelve
and thus to sanction the break with the religious symbolism of the time.20
18 On Clisthenes, see Lévêque and Vidal-Naquet (1984). Cylon, a young aristocrat, had tried
to seize the Acropolis in 630 B.C. The archon (supreme judge in Athens) Megacles appealed
to the people to remove Cylon and his accomplices. They were put to death in the sacred
enclosure, however, an event that brought curse and exile upon Megacles and his family the
Alcmaeonidae. This great family then reinforced its alliance with the people of Athens and
the populations of the coastal villages. It also developed a policy of international alliances,
particularly with Delphi. From 560 onwards, Clisthenes’s grandfather opposed the tyrant
Pisistratus, head of the second of the three families that competed for power in fifth cen-
tury Athens. After his death in 528, his two sons proclaimed themselves tyrants in turn. In
510, Clisthenes, the new leader of the Alcmaeonidae, was finally able to return from exile
and seize power with the help of the king of Sparta. Such were the bitterness and temporal
depth of political struggles between aristocratic families.
19 The reference to the goddess Hestia is very significant. Hestia was the goddess of the
domestic hearth, sacred in nature. This was where a welcome stranger was led, where sac-
rifices to the gods were performed. Hestia koiné, the communal hearth, possessed a sacred
character that was symmetrical to that of the domestic household. On Hestia, see the three
studies by Vernant (1991; particularly: 47, 76–83, 199–201, 206–207).
20 Vernant (1991: 209–210) and Lévêque and Vidal-Naquet (1984, passim). Vernant (1991:
209–210) offers a second interpretation: “Perhaps there existed since the beginning of the
sixth century a system of arcophonic numbering – conventionally called herodian – with a
manifest decimal and quintal character. The use of this system may well have corresponded
to a large extent to the diffusion of money and the need for a written system of accounting.
Clisthenes’s preference for five and ten would then be explained quite naturally: the Athenian
statesman uses the numbering system that writing has already imposed in the public sphere
Plato reverted to the Ionian tradition and modelled civic space, in contrast
to Clisthenes, on the basis of religious time. This difference in conceiving
space and time is not simply interesting for the history of the way of conceiv-
ing public space. For Plato’s readers, it had social and political implications
that must not be underestimated: religious and political functions were the
privilege of wealthy citizens and more generally, a very small number of
aristocratic families shared real power, even if they had to compromise with
the people because of direct democracy. Thus, while Solon’s reforms in the
beginning of the sixth century B.C. remained cautious,21 Clisthenes was the
true founder of Athenian democracy because he established what was to be
the very essence of its functioning over a century and a half, the equality
of all before the law and the right of all to speak before the assembly, the
isonomia and the isegoria. This underlines the importance of the return to the
religious conception advocated by Plato: it related back implicitly to a social
hierarchy that was contrary to the democratic egalitarianism of Clisthenes.22
Beyond the matter of historical issue, are there irreducible differences
between Laws and Republic or is there a profound unity between the two
dialogues, Laws and Republic constituting two complementary avenues in
Platonic thought?
Stationarity Against Democracy

Let us revisit stationarity, so poorly understood by the demographic readers.
The reason why the City should not change was that all evolution was deca-
dence: Plato, like Aristotle, was profoundly influenced by the pre-Socratic
philosopher Heraclitus (c.540–c.480 B.C.) to whom he owed the idea of
change.23 The theme of political decadence since the golden age or in rela-
tion to ancient Athens, or again since the Dorian Confederation, runs through
and that is opposed to the duodecimal system by its use in daily life and its secular nature.”
Naturally this does not rule out the decision to break with the past, quite the contrary.
21 Solon had been elected archon in 594 B.C. His reforms had consisted in suppressing the
peasants’ debts and freeing citizens who had been reduced to slavery because of their insol-
vency. But he had not attempted to modify the unequal distribution of land. Tradition also
credits him with organizing the citizens into four property classes and making these the basis
of political rights. On the political and social dimensions of his reform, see French, 1956.
22 On the inequality in socio-religious and political functions, Solon and the impact of
Clisthenes’s reforms, and the functioning of democracy in Athens, see Mossé (1999: 21,
43, 75, 84–85, 114–119; 197: 1–61). Orrieux and Schmitt-Pantel (1995) are precise and well
informed. Finley (1962) offers a stimulating analysis of the Athenian demagogues, especially
with regard to the circumstances they encountered when exercising their political role.
23 Popper (1966: 205, note 2 and 218, note 3). Vidal-Naquet (1990: 1990) notes that Popper
wrongly made Plato a theoretician of decadence.
books VIII and IX of Republic, and is found in Politicus (271d–273a),

Timaeus (20d–26d), and finally Laws (682e–683a, 713c).24 More generally,
all that preserved was good, while evil was defined as “that which destroys
and corrupts” (Republic, 608e). Even in the matter of musical education,
there should be no innovation, for “the modes of music are never disturbed
without unsettling the most fundamental political and social conventions”
(Republic, 424c; Laws, 700a–701a). But Plato went further and suggested
abandoning the Lydian and Ionian melodic forms as too effeminate and “lax”
in favour of the Dorian and Phrygian forms that imitated “the utterances and
the accents of a brave man who is engaged in warfare or in any enforced
business (. . .) of men succeeding the temperate and brave” (Republic, 398e–
399c). The reference to Sparta, where the Dorian order prevailed is essential
here: Sparta, and not Athens, was the City that knew best how to stop the
movement of decadence and that was closest to incarnating Plato’s political
convictions. In Republic (544c) as in Laws (691), the best government was
the timarchy functioning in Sparta and in Crete.25 The second best was oli-
garchy, and democracy came last because it risked degenerating into tyranny
(Republic, 564a). Here the political context of Athens and Plato’s personal
experience are relevant.
Plato belonged to the Athenian nobility and his family claimed descent
on the paternal side from the last king of Attica, Codrus. His own political
destiny cannot be dissociated from the second Peloponnesian war (419–403
B.C.). His maternal uncle, Critias, was the leader of the Thirty Tyrants who
seized power and carried out the second of the two oligarchic revolutions
(405–403, the first having taken place in 411–410). These two brief attempts
to abolish democracy deserve to be mentioned, for they clearly demonstrate
the entangling of internal conflicts and foreign policy objectives. In 415,
on the prompting of Alcibiades, an expedition had been mounted to Sicily,
during which the Athenian fleet was destroyed.26 The opponents of the
democratic party held him responsible and took advantage of the situation
through a constitutional reform to limit the influence of the people and the
pernicious role of orators like Alcibiades who had dragged Athens into the
24 For a discussion of time in Laws as compared to Republic, Timaeus or Critias see Balaudé
(2000).
25 Timarchy is a government in which the duties and rights of everyone (participation in the
courts, in the assembly, religious functions, military service) depend on the taxes he pays
(hence the name of “government of propertied classes”). Plato was opposed to it because it
linked political power too closely to honorary offices.
26 Three cities of Sicily had appealed to Athens to free them from the hegemony of Syracuse.
Alcibiades led the expedition. Most of the 40,000 men who participated perished. Alcibiades
abandoned his command and took refuge in Sparta, in order to avoid appearing before the
judges.
Sicilian adventure. According to the new constitution, only three thousand

people could participate in political life: democracy was abolished. The oli-
garchic revolution, however, did not last: the army and the navy left behind
at Samos threatened to come back to Athens and overturn the government,
and democracy was restored during the summer of 410.
The second act took place in 405. After Sparta’s victory at Aigos
Potamos marked the end of the Peloponnesian war, the walls of Athens were
destroyed, and Spartan troops camped in Athens. In April 404, the assembly
voted to entrust the writing of a new constitution to thirty citizens. These
were the Thirty Tyrants, whose leader was Critias, Plato’s maternal uncle,
with Plato’s second uncle, Charmides, as lieutenant. Terror soon prevailed:
numerous democrats and metics were assassinated or exiled, and their goods
were confiscated. Once again, a movement of citizens gathered in the citadel
of Piraeus to regain power, while dissensions grew within the Thirty. An
amnesty was proclaimed in 403. The oligarchic opposition made no further
attempt to seize power, confined itself to an intellectual opposition, and kept
criticizing the exercise of power by democracy. The Academy founded by
Plato in 387 B.C. that Aristotle frequented for 20 years was the intellectual
centre of the movement. Plato’s political mishaps continued when in 387 he
went to Sicily at the invitation of the tyrant Dionysius. Things went badly,
and Plato had to flee and return to Athens. He went back to Sicily in 367,
this time as counsellor to the young Dionysius, son of the aforementioned,
but he was suspected of plotting and once again had to go back to Athens.
He retired for good from Athenian political life and devoted himself to phi-
losophy. Republic dates from 375 B.C., Laws from 349; the two dialogues
were thus written after most of these political events.
How can they be read without keeping in mind that Plato was a witness of
these events, or even a protagonist? Plato’s suspicion and hostility towards
Athenian democracy developed at several levels. It was addressed first to the
exercise of power by the democrats: “Democracy comes into being when
the poor, winning the victory, put to death some of the other party, drive
out others, and grant the rest of the citizens an equal share in both citi-
zenship and offices” (Republic, 556e–557, see also 562). This sentence can
be read as a parody of the famous speech of Pericles on Athenian democ-
racy: “The name of our government is democracy, because power comes not
from a small number but from the multitude. In individual disagreements,
there is equality of all before the law: as for respect, it is linked to talent in
each sphere and it is not so much rank which determines election to public
posts as personal merit: poverty, or an obscure condition are not obstacles as
long as one can render some service to the state.”27 At any rate, Plato said
27 As quoted by Thucydides, Peloponnesian War, Book II, 38.

nothing about the terror exerted by the Thirty Tyrants. With respect to
slavery, he deplored that the excess of liberty in a democratic regime
where the leaders were demagogues ended in a situation where “the pur-
chased slaves, male and female, are no less free than the owners who
paid for them” (Republic, 562b–563b). As a supporter of oligarchy, Plato,
like Aristotle, was in reality fundamentally hostile to the democratically
inspired movement in favour of the abolition of slavery that had developed
in Athens.28
Republic made two additional suggestions concerning the life of the
guardians that could but be scandalous in the eyes of Athenians: the par-
ticipation of women in military activities, this being the most important
task in the ideal City, and the community of women and children. The first
implied “the recognition of a status that Greek cities refused them, the sec-
ond questions the very basis of Athenian democracy, established on a triple
division of territory between tribes (and their demes), wealth between prop-
ertied classes and the domestic world between households”.29 Even more
fundamentally, Politicus was radically opposed to the principle of Athenian
democracy according to which law dominated because it was the expres-
sion of the sovereignty of the assembly. In this dialogue, Plato maintained
that in the absence of royal government, law was a poor alternative for it
was opposed to what was good for society. To clinch this point, he used
the dual image of the physician and the captain of a ship. If their work was
codified by law, and if this served as a pretext to prohibit all research or if
non-specialists decided to treat people or to steer a ship, the results would
be disastrous. Let us imagine, continued Plato, that we resolved to “gather
together an assembly of all the people, or of the wealthy among them [an
allusion to the franchise]; it shall be lawful for men of no calling or men of
any other calling to advise this assembly”. Moreover, let us suppose that “the
magistrates are to be summoned before this court [chosen by lot] and it is to
28 Popper (1966: 43; 224–225, note 29; 278, note 48; 297, note 18).
29 Redfield (2000: 236–241) and Cambiano (2000: 160–161). On this point see Pradeau
(1997: 29–30). Women’s capacity for being guardians of the City: Republic, 452a, 455c.
More generally, women may exercise the same activities as men (454–457). Community of
women and children: 457c–d, 451a–d. The parallel drawn by Saxonhouse (1976) between
the woman and the philosopher in Plato’s political theory is unpersuasive. She apparently
conflates the female and the philosopher (1976: 202, 206), on the grounds that weaving is a
female duty (208) and that the philosopher is the “royal weaver”, who should be the ruler of
the city, (Politicus, 308e). In her reading of Book 6 she completely misses the purely alle-
gorical dimension conveyed by the image of the “royal weaver”, who unites individuals in a
common social fabric. Her whole argument of an alleged contradiction between Book 5 “The
female de-sexed” and Book 6 “The sexual female” of Republic rests upon her misreading of
Book 6. For a more serious analysis of the position of women in Athenian society, see Mossé
(1999: 28–40).
Space and Order 29
subject them to audit”, then the situation would be “impossible” (Politicus,

298–299). For Plato’s contemporaries, this passage from Politicus obviously
referred to the practices of Athenian democracy: the excesses and abuses
of direct democracy, the demagogic decision-making concerning the con-
duct of war or still worse the defence of Athens, the trial and conviction of
Miltiades and even of a prestigious leader such as Pericles.
History, however, does not fully account for the scope of the Platonic
construction of the City. The development of a utopian model such as the
City of the Republic supposed an effort to use abstract concepts that cannot
be justified by a simple ideological contest. For Plato to have engaged in it,
a major event was required: the trial and the death of Socrates.
Space and Order
The Death of Socrates: The City and the Individual

Two readings of Socrates’s trial are possible, one historical, another philo-
sophical. It is remarkable that one of the few victims of the return of
democracy in 403 had to be this 70 year-old man. He did not even belong
to the oligarchy and had opposed the execution by the Tyrants of Leon of
Salamis, a strategos of the democratic party. As he recalled in his defence,
he had fought courageously at Potidaea, Amphipolis and Delium (Apology
of Socrates, 28b) as a good citizen of the demos; he had even taught
Pythagoras’s theorem to a young slave in order to show that a non-educated
mind was able to understand abstract concepts. Finally, unlike many oth-
ers, he had refused to flee after the sentence that condemned him to death,
thereby indicating that he respected the laws of the City and he was no
enemy of democracy. Thus, although his judges had no desire to make a
martyr out of him, his refusal to flee led inevitably to his death. As a matter
of fact, the charges against him appear vague: corruption of youth, impiety,
introduction of new religious practices in the City. The tanner Anytos, an
upstart in quest of a social position, anxious to conform and respect religion,
played a leading role played among the accusers of Socrates.30 But this pre-
cise detail conceals factors that are more likely to have made a scapegoat
of Socrates. He counted among his followers “the sons of the richest fam-
ilies” (these are his own words in Apology, 23c), Alcibiades, and above all
Critias and Charmides, the leaders of the Thirty Tyrants. Socrates had thus
“trained” men who had counted among the most determined opponents of
democracy. Because the amnesty of 403 prohibited their prosecution, the
30 Mossé (1971: 108) and Finley (1962: 16).

counts of indictment against Socrates took this vague form. He might protest
that he had opposed tyranny, and that Chaerephon, an ardent democrat, was
also his student (Apology, 20d), but the dice were loaded.
This historical interpretation accounts for the logic that led inevitably to
Socrates’ death. But the death had a second meaning for Plato: Socrates
had died because he had searched for the truth and spoken truly. Plato was
confronted with a problem that was at the same time moral and political, and
his commentators agree that the two dimensions cannot be dissociated in his
work.31 The trial had shown that City politics played out at the individual
level, and Socrates had been condemned by unjust men who also detained
power.32 According to Plato the restoration of justice in the City implied a
change of men. In Republic, the parallelism is very explicit: the City will be
“wise, brave, moderate and just” if the citizens are too, because “the same
kinds equal in number are to be found in the state and in the soul of each
one of us (. . .). As and whereby the state was wise, so and thereby is the
individual wise (. . .). Then, is it not necessary that the individual be wise in
the same way and in the same manner as the City (. . .)? We will say, I think,
that justice has the same character in an individual as in the City” (Republic,
441c). In other terms, the just City is the paradigm of the just man.33
The harmonisation of the whole (the City) with the part (the individual)
was a pre-condition in the search for a satisfactory that is to say a just
political system. As a consequence, Plato strived to imagine ideal leaders,
commensurate with the City. He described at length the guardians of the City
and the virtues they had to possess. The principal one was wisdom, or the
triumph of reason over passions, and wisdom would be acquired particularly
by the knowledge of mathematics. But they should also exercise their bodies.
Why philosophy, mathematics and gymnastics? Beyond the training of the
individual, the acquisition of wisdom prepared one for the exercise of polit-
ical responsibilities in the City. As for mathematics, they were close to truth
and therefore to wisdom, which was specific to philosophical knowledge. In
fifth-century Greece, a careful balance was maintained between gymnastics
and music, and from the second half of the century Sophists played a major
role in the teaching of philosophy and of rhetoric. Plato disassociated him-
self from this educational model. Although he insisted on music and exercise
of the body, he proposed that mathematics be studied at length but that phi-
losophy be taught only after the age of 30 years. This is explained by the
31 For example Wahl: “Is the subject of the Republic moral or political? Is it justice or the
ideal State? Such a distinction does not exist for Plato. Ethics and politics are founded at the
same time” (1969: 492).
32 Châtelet (1972: 32–36). For a strictly historical interpretation of Socrates’ trial, see Mossé
(1971: 108–110) and Popper (1966: 193–194).
33 The formula is that of Balaudé.
Space and Order 31
influence of the Pythagoreans and by the fact that one became guardian in
the City only at an advanced age.
As for the methods of acquiring knowledge, the training of memory was
singled out. On this point, as is often the case with Plato, the religious tra-
dition justified the philosophical construction. According to poetic tradition,
one of the three most ancient muses was Melete, Exercise. The training of
memory was a drill that was akin to that of the body and to military prac-
tice.34 Guardians and warriors would have certain privileges but would also
submit to restrictions in the area of fertility. In particular, sexual relations
would be encouraged among young people who distinguished themselves in
the war, so that they have more children. It is possible to talk of eugenics
with respect to Republic, but these measures are applicable only to the elite.
For Plato, the functioning of the City and the quality of the leaders counted
really for more than the qualitative control of the population and adjusting
the quality of men to the needs of the City legitimated the transfer of chil-
dren to the best suited parents irrespective of the interests of the individual
(Republic, 423c–424c). He carefully described the fate of fit children born to
less brave guardians, who were attached to the best warriors, whereas less fit
children were degraded to parents of a lower class, but were not necessarily
exposed. And finally, if a better education implied a qualitative selection of
individuals, why not carry it through? Understandably, in the real and less
perfect City described in Laws these radical measures had disappeared, and
as Laks puts it “If integral communism is to be avoided, it is because it was
conceived for gods, not for men.”35 But then, how to guarantee a satisfactory
functioning of the concrete City?
Peace in the City: The Distribution of Space

Politicus marked a transition between Republic and Laws. Plato had intro-
duced the possibility of a conflict between temperance and courage, two
of the four virtues that characterised the guardians living in the ideal City.
Politicus proposed two means for resolving this potential conflict. Education
was the first; it enabled the ruler, the royal weaver, to unite individuals in a
common social fabric (308e). The system of law was the second means; in
the absence of a perfect government, that is to say one capable of functioning
without law (as the philosopher-kings of Republic), it allowed the resolution
34 As Vernant (1991: 167) put it, “What characterises philosophy is that it substitutes an
appropriate intellectual training, a mental drill that stresses a discipline of memory, as in the
poetical melete, for ritual observance (practiced in the Pythagorean religious sects) and for
military exercise.”
35 Laks (1995: 23). See also Dawson (1992: 89).
of concrete conflicts. But in a democratic system of government such as the

Athenian one “the masses control the wealthy by force” (Politicus, 291e)
and Plato’s criticism was merciless “in no community whatsoever could it
happen that a large number of people received this gift of political wisdom
and the power to govern by pure intelligence which would accompany it”
(Politicus, 297b).
In order that justice reigned both at the individual and the collective level,
he organised it on two planes in Laws. In line with the religious dimension
of the geographical division of the City, and in order to avoid dissensions,
everything should be organised in function of the gods, especially the distri-
bution of land area. In political terms, the sovereignty of the gods ruled over
that of the political body of the City as created by Clisthenes. And the City
should remain unchanged, in their image.36 From there followed the idea of
a constant population number and the shift we noted in Laws when Plato
progressed from the number of citizens to that of plots. Since the principle
of legitimacy is firmly grounded in religion, the daily functioning of the City
should not be endangered by injustice that would jeopardize the unity of the
City and let it sink into decadence under the impact of internal dissensions.
A commentary in Book V of Laws is particularly revealing: “we are fortu-
nate in avoiding fierce and dangerous strife concerning the distribution of
land and money and the cancelling of debts. . .” (Laws, 736c; also 737b).37
This sheds light on the meticulous attention given to the distribution of plots.
Dividing each plot in two parts and giving them out in such a way that no
citizen would be nearer the centre of the City than any other was thought
to prevent serious conflict. Better yet, the city itself should be divided into
twelve sections in the same way as the rest of the territory, and each citi-
zen should have two residences, one urban and central, the other rural and
peripheral. By the same token, the difference between urban and rural was
abolished. Finally and above all, the equality advocated by Plato was not
arithmetical but geometric, according to the Pythagorean logic: geometric
equality gave to each according to his merit, it was more just than arithmeti-
cal equality (Laws, 757b–e). Plato realised, however, that it was politically
impractical: “thus, it is necessary to make use also of the equality of the lot,
on account of the discontent of the masses, and in doing so to pray, calling
upon God and good Luck to guide for them the lot aright towards the highest
justice” (Laws, 757e). This last remark shows the extent to which the aris-
tocratic philosopher was led to adapt his ideal of justice to the constraints
imposed on him by popular passions. It is a measure of the distance between
36 Lévêque and Vidal-Naquet (1984: 146).

37 On debts and the issue of landed property, see Finley (1953).
Space and Order 33
the utopia of Republic and the concrete project of construction of the City in
Laws. Moreover, space as a political objective took on another dimension.
Atlantis
Critias narrates the victorious struggle of archaic Athens against Atlantis.
Both vanished, one in a cataclysm, the other in a flood. Plato began by recall-
ing the social organisation of archaic Athens, which was in fact that of the
ideal City of Republic: no difference between men and women in the exer-
cise of public functions, division in three classes, with one class of warriors
who possessed nothing of their own (Critias, 109d). There is a deliberate
continuity from Republic to Critias and according to us to Timaeus, Politicus
and Laws.38 Critias, like Politicus, diverges from the ideal City of Republic
to introduce precise elements that announce the return to the real world that
is characteristic of Laws. Plato described in great detail the city planning of
the two entities, archaic Athens and Atlantis, the first staunchly land-based,
the other resolutely maritime.
The Athenian City, geographically very restricted, was located in the
higher area occupied by the Acropolis. It had a circular layout, the circle
being a perfect geometric form evoking the spherical concept of the universe,
and had of course sacred Acropolis for its centre.39 Luxury was banished
as in Sparta, and the economy relied exclusively on an agriculture (Critias,
111e) that was prosperous enough to enable the class of producers to nourish
the class of warriors, again as in Sparta.40 The warriors possessed nothing of
their own, this time like the guardians of the ideal City (110d). Athens num-
bered a total of twenty thousand people, men and women, capable of waging
war (112e); this last remark echoes the lengthy discussion in Republic seek-
ing to negate the differences between the sexes. Finally and foremost, as
noted above, ancient and wise Athens, just like the City of Republic, knew
38 See Vidal-Naquet: “The city whose foundations are described in the Republic is the
paradigm which inspired the constitution of primitive Athens; the history of Atlantis, of its
empire and of the final catastrophe in which it disappeared are thus determined in relation to
the fixed point constituted by the City” (1990: 148).
39 On the relationship between the circular form of the City and the cosmological spherical
representation invented by the first Ionian thinkers, Anaximander and Anaximenes, and on
the links with the exercise of politics on the agora, see Vernant (1991: 194). On how archaic
Athens corresponds to our present archeological knowledge, see Brooner (1949).
40 For a brief but penetrating discussion of how self-sufficiency was understood by Aristotle
and Plato, see Wheeler (1955: 416–417). Plato refers at length to the fact that water was
abundant there (111b, 112d), much more than today, he specifies. It is however unlikely that,
as asserted by Pradeau (1997: 83, note 1), the chronic paucity of water from which Athens
suffered had inspired in Plato the idea of restraining the population number to 5,040.
how to keep constant the size of its population. Atlantis on the contrary was
shaped as a rectangle (117c), and was a huge island, “larger than Lybia and
Asia put together” (Timaeus, 25a). It controlled a vast empire and its inhabi-
tants were great builders, as witnessed by its palaces, temples, hippodromes,
barracks, arsenals and water reservoirs. They had also forced an opening to
the sea by building a canal and creating a network of ports (115c–117e).
One is reminded of the Long Walls build from 486 B.C. on at the initiative
of Themistocles to link Athens to Piraeus and guarantee provisioning by
the sea, while transforming the two cities into a formidable bipolar fortress.
Atlantis was very rich and produced a great variety of objects, practised
animal husbandry, possessed rich forests, mineral resources, and a great
variety of fruits and vegetables (114e–115b). In describing this immense
and wealthy kingdom, with its important irrigation works, Plato had cer-
tainly the Persian Empire in mind and was probably inspired by Herodotus’
description of Babylon.41
Paradoxically, this precise description fits into a legendary narrative, that
of the triumphant struggle of archaic Athens against the empire of Atlantis,
despite the great imbalance of forces: Athens counted only twenty thousand
soldiers, the population of Atlantis was “beyond measure”, judging from
its meticulously described military resources. It could call on ten thousand
chariots and twelve hundred ships. It numbered sixty thousand districts and
each district leader had to provide sixteen men. Its army thus enlisted nine
hundred and sixty thousand men. These numbers were obviously the prod-
uct of fantasy. It is estimated for example, that thirty thousand Athenian
soldiers took part in the battle of Salamis. Why this exaggeration in the nar-
rative? Here again the stakes were political, since the full significance of the
dialogue is only disclosed in the light of Plato’s hostility to democracy. In
reality, Athens and Atlantis embodied two conflicting models. Prehistoric
Athens referred to the City of the Republic but also to Sparta; Atlantis with
its excessive size represented Athens at the time of Pericles. The unfinished
dialogue closes with the announcement of a punishment imposed by the
gods on Atlantis, in order to “bring it back to reason”. This sentence pro-
vides the key to Critias. In keeping with the Platonic idea that all movement
was an evolution towards decadence, Atlantis was to be punished for having
expanded constantly. It compounded the triple wrong of being an imperi-
alist, bellicose (witnessed by the size of its army), and lastly a maritime
power, having sought to open up to international trade through the construc-
tion of ports and a canal. Although Plato took care to inform us that the
inhabitants of Atlantis, although they were barbarians, bore Greek names
41 On irrigation works, see Vidal-Naquet (1990: 155): “The oriental king appeared to Greek
eyes as the lord of water.”
Space and Order 35
(113a–b), it is clear that through Atlantis he was denouncing the maritime

and imperialist power that Athens had been in the fifth century B.C. when it
was in the hands of the democratic party. In reading that Atlantis “had rule
over the whole island and several others, and over parts of the continent”
(Timaeus, 25b), one thinks of the League of Delos.42 And when he evokes
international trade – “Their empire brought them a great external revenue”
(Critias, 114d) – the comparison with the proud statement of Pericles is
obvious: “The importance of our city attracts goods from the whole world,
so for us even the use of foreign goods is as common as those of our own
land”.
Critias is an important text for our discussion. Its polemical objective is
part and parcel of the political struggle that opposed oligarchy and democ-
racy. What ports, commercial activity and maritime expansion meant for
the Athenian oligarchy must be kept in mind. As noted above, the sailors
of Samos allowed the re-establishment of democracy in 410 after the first
oligarchic revolution, and democrats sheltering in Piraeus were responsible
for the failure of the second seizure of power by Critias and the Tyrants
in 403. As for the Long Walls, they draw a revealing commentary from
Thucydides, a man not inclined to favour the democrats: in 456 “some
Athenians appealed to the Spartans in private, in the hope that they would put
an end to democracy and to the construction of the Long Walls”.43 Finally,
in 424, Pseudo-Xenophanes’ pamphlet entitled Constitution of Athens, prob-
ably written by Critias himself, developed two ideas: naval imperialism was
inseparable from democracy and no compromise was possible between oli-
garchy and democracy. Oligarchy was fiercely hostile to everything that even
remotely involved the sea, and Plato was no exception. Pradeau reminds us
that “in the years 360–356, a debate continued to oppose the partisans of
a maritime and military development of Athens, despite the defections of
allies and the broken treaties, and the advocates of a peaceful retreat from
Greek conflicts. Plato, who was hostile to the Athenian imperialist dream
whose catastrophic effects he ceaselessly denounced, gave his support to
the second camp”.44 For Plato, understandably, everything that came from
the sea corrupted, was unhealthy, “motley” (Laws, 746). The City of Laws
should therefore be built inland, far from the shore. Sparta was close to
the archaic Athens portrayed in Critias and Timaeus, and truly, everything
opposed the Athenian and Spartan models. Sparta had renounced control of
42 For a discussion of Athenian imperialism and how Athens used the league of Delos for her
own benefit, see for instance Starr (1988).
43 Peloponnesian War, Book VIII, 66, 3.
44 Pradeau (1997: 88, note 1). See Burke (1992) for a valuable account of Athenian imperi-
alism and growing commercial activities legitimizing a revision of Finley’s pure “primitivist
model”.
the sea in favour of a resolutely continental policy. It had chosen an autarki-

cal way of live, based on the exploitation of peasants by a class of warriors,
in a society that was closed to external influences, and went as far as pro-
hibiting citizens from possessing gold and precious metals. The Athenian
oligarchy, on the other hand, had founded its wealth and political strength
on landed resources, trade being mostly a business for foreigners. Because
it had the monopoly of socio-religious functions, it believed in a hierarchi-
cal divine order. Finally, despite its cronyism, it had to compromise with the
sovereign people in the decision-making on the Agora, hence the Athenian
oligarchy’s attempts at treason in favour of Sparta which mark the political
history of Athens. In a word, when Plato dealt with space in Critias, he took
the side of the oligarchy.
Moderation and Excess

Although political history can explain the choice of arguments, it does not
account for Plato’s use of the myth of Atlantis. Vernant’s structural analysis
of Works and Days, Hesiod’s poem devoted to the myth of Prometheus and
Pandora, provides an answer to that question.45 Hesiod describes “a gradual
and continuous decay”, with man belonging successively to the golden, sil-
ver, bronze and iron races. The myth is structured by the opposition between
justice, diké, and violence and excess, hubris, which should not be allowed
to fester. The golden age was felicitous, diké reigned, men possessed nothing
and everything was given to them in plenty. At the end of the iron-age, dis-
order, violence and death dominated and hubris triumphed. The opposition
between gold and silver evokes the struggle between Zeus who incarnated
order, and the Titans who signified disorder and war. As for the iron-age, this
is where Prometheus’s fate was engraved, who had to struggle eternally to
subsist, while Pandora symbolised the dual fertility of woman and the earth
that pushed men to exhaustion. Vernant finds in the poem the functional triad
of war, religion, and labour that Dumézil has identified in Indo-European
thought.
Let us come back to Plato and reconstitute our puzzle. The Critias is
not only important as a polemical text but also because of its mythologi-
cal dimension. Myth provides the key to the deep links that unite Critias,
Laws, and Republic, and reveals the underlying consistency between the
three components of the utopia of the ideal City in Republic, the organi-
sation of space, the stationarity of 5,040 households, and the division of
citizens in three social classes. That hubris and excesses of Atlantis invited
45 “Le mythe hésiodique des races. Essai d’analyse structurale”, in Vernant and Vidal-Naquet
(1991: 13–43; particularly 13–17, 21, 34, 35 and 39).
Moderation and Excess 37
the punishment of the gods is the core of Critias. The stationarity of the
City, strongly emphasized in Laws through the number 5,040, was a means
of avoiding decadence. In the unmoving City, diké could function fully.
Better yet, the religious dimension of the number 5,040, which was divis-
ible by twelve like the twelve gods of the Pantheon, placed the City under
the protection of the gods. Because the distribution of City land into twelve
tribes conformed to the divine order, another cause of hubris at the heart of
the City was eliminated. As for the three social classes of Republic, they
corresponded very precisely to the three traditional functions. In this way,
social organisation was strongly grounded and hubris was avoided since the
guardians and the warriors who exercised temporal and religious powers
belonged to the golden race. As such, they were detached from all material
contingencies. This last point has a strong justification. Because political
divisions undermined the concrete City, Plato wished to make the ideal City
one and homogeneous. And because of the identification of men with the
City, there should not be the least individual difference between warriors and
guardians. This accounts for the process of eugenic selection in Republic
that eliminated all differences between individuals (through the system of
collective descent), and also for the common model of education and the
absence of economic activity that might be a source of discord and social
differentiation. Guardians and warriors could thus dedicate themselves fully
to the exercise of political functions. Finally, beyond the false demographic
inconsistencies, the Platonic system has a cohesion structured by traditional
religious thought, but this cohesion was radically opposed to the inspired
invention of modernity by classical Greece.
The question of space has been dealt at length because it demonstrates
the constant interaction between Plato’s philosophical thought and political
involvement. Specialists in demographic thought who have commented on
Plato were more interested in the temporal than in the spatial dimension,
and committed many anachronisms because time is a central dimension in
demography, which more than any other brings into play the dynamic anal-
ysis. Unfortunately, from the point of view of the City, time is not the most
important dimension, and space is the true issue for Plato. Several philosoph-
ical studies focus on the fault lines between Laws and the other dialogues.
They argue that time takes on another nature in Laws than in the other dia-
logues and becomes genuinely chronological and linear. Laws would thus
have a distinct status as a minor work of less depth, the mere echo of Plato’s
disappointment after the Sicilian misadventures.46 When one concentrates
on space, however, the strong coherence of Plato’s thought appears even if
46 Balaudé (2000: 6–7, 9) and Laks (1995: 14).

he evoked mythical spaces, and Laws fits in better into the corpus of dia-
logues. In the end, how does the utopian City of the Republic differ from the
concrete City of the Laws? Plato did not renounce philosophical utopia, as
Clisthenes did because he wanted to guarantee the democratic functioning
of the City. His aim was to place the City as much as possible “in the hands
of the gods”.47 The recourse to myth and the constant quest for religious
legitimacy on partisan grounds follows from this logic.
A Totalitarian System?
This chapter attempted to propose an interpretation of Platonic thinking
on the demography of the City from an epistemological perspective. The
attention paid by Plato to the quantification of the ideal City as well as the
concrete City can be understood only from the dual viewpoint of philosophy
and history which must be articulated constantly. Are “precursors” like Plato
relevant for today’s demography? Can a utopian model be used as such? In
the negative, can it at least partially sustain a discussion of contemporary
doctrines and policies in the area of population?
Throughout his article, Vilquin argues that Plato’s recourse to eugenic
measures and his concern for a stationary population are essentially totalitar-
ian: “Hierarchical social classes, a rigid educational system and censorship,
the prohibition of individual initiative, of innovation, of fantasy, the disso-
ciation of love and procreation, the absolute social control of the latter, the
stationary population, the elimination (in Republic) or strict regulation (in
Laws) of property and the family”. In the end “eminently generous inten-
tions” end up in an “inhuman system”, “in horror”.48 He finds an obvious
parallel with the totalitarian systems of today. The same objection may well
apply to Vilquin as to Stangeland. The latter criticised Plato on grounds
of his conservative reflexes of the late nineteenth century (What if society
became proletarian?). The former translates, perhaps unconsciously, the anx-
iety of modern democracies confronted with the bloody implementation of
certain modern utopias such as the tragedy lived by Cambodia at the time
when Vilquin wrote. But the stakes go beyond an epistemological debate.
The fundamental issue is that of ends and means and it behoves us to ask
whether the Platonic utopia is really totalitarian.
Popper articulated the most scathing criticism. He saw in Plato the enemy
of the open society, because his thinking was totalitarian in nature and he
adduced the concept of justice as proof. What Plato called justice was not
47 Vernant (1991: 218).

48 Vilquin (1982: 8, 17–18).
A Totalitarian System? 39
equity in the democratic sense but the interest of the City (Republic, 433a,
434b, 441d). The perfect City should not experience change, because evolu-
tion brought about decadence.49 Immovability led to hostility towards social
change because classes were not only hierarchical, they also had to be rigor-
ously separated; indeed such nostalgia for the caste system of archaic Athens
is perhaps to be expected from an aristocrat. The Platonic preference for geo-
metric equality (which rewarded each according to his merits and therefore
was opposed to isonomy, the strict democratic equality) went in the same
direction. It reinforced social inequalities, for example by assigning politi-
cal offices as a function of wealth (Laws, 757a). This led to the accumulation
in the same persons of two kinds of power. Everything concurred towards a
social and political order that was hierarchical and unchanging at the same
time.50 One can object to Popper’s misuse of the word “totalitarian”, since
the above criticism denounces a conservative but not necessarily a totalitar-
ian thought. Skinner is right to denounce in Popper’s use of totalitarianism
the “prolepsis” which consists for a historian in being “more interested (. . .)
in the retrospective significance of a given historical work or action than in
its meaning for the agent himself”.51
The accusation of totalitarianism rested on another characteristic of
Plato’s thought: in no case the individual took precedence over the City.
Plato claimed to legislate for the City and not for the individual who was
inferior to it (Laws, 923b). Since the sovereignty of the City was in con-
formity with the order of cosmos, it was so to speak above the field of
human politics, and it follows that the issue of countervailing powers and
of institutional control of the rulers is void. The nature of a ruler was to be
sovereign and Plato was content to define the profile of rulers arbitrarily.
For Popper, the problem of creating political institutions could not be solved
by merely selecting political personnel. On this point also, Plato deserved
the same challenge. Much of Popper’s critique concerning the leaders of the
City referred to the problem of man’s place in society, and it is particularly
convincing. It involved the community of women and children, military edu-
cation from childhood on, and the training of leaders. Popper gave a literal
reading of the integral communism of the ideal City and refused to adopt the
philosophical perspective that identified the individual with the underlying
City. Finally, Plato wanted to eradicate all that was private and individual.
As for the training in military discipline, not only was it to be practised since
49 This statement is exaggerated. For Plato, change was acceptable when it respected
hierarchies, particularly social ones.
50 Popper (1966). Supreme interest of the City: 89, 106, 138; leadership: 103; social conser-
vatism: 89, 107; theory of sovereignty, construction of politics and education: 125–127, 166;
selection of leaders: 133.
51 1969: 23.
childhood (Republic, 462a; also 424a, 449e; Laws, 793c), it compelled the
individual, man or woman, to obey the leader. Plato having shown that the
guardians of the City, having been shaped to be superior to other individ-
uals, don power as their natural attribute. What was even worse, education
was used to prepare these superior men for the exercise of power. It was
therefore not surprising that the Academy was a nursery of tyrants, such as
Chairon of Pellene, Eurastus and Criscus of Scepsis, Hermias of Atarneus
and Assos, Chlearchus of Heraclea.52
Popper’s critique brings us back full circle to the relations between justice
and politics in the City. It helps focus the discussion on a crucial problem, the
conditions for exercising political power. When confronting the risk of total-
itarianism, the guarantees proposed by Plato seem inadequate to a modern
reader. It is true that the social group of guardians selected and conditioned
in a eugenic manner would exercise power only as an administrative task, not
as an entitlement. One of the foundations of totalitarianism, the conquest and
maintenance of power, was not at stake here. But suppose the guardians were
to develop a taste for power? It is doubtful that Education in Reason, a sense
of Justice, the search for Truth could prevent the degeneration of the utopian
City into a closed totalitarian world. Moreover, the Platonic utopia was total-
itarian by the very nature of its implementation. Plato alone, in Republic, and
as counsellor of the Cretans in Laws, defined a social and political system.
For example, as participants of the dialogue in Republic, Socrates and his
interlocutors were the founders of the City (they “Create this City in words
from its beginning” (Republic, 369a), and it was up to them to select the
future leaders of the City. This passage is the very one that includes the alle-
gory of the cave. The making of leaders was therefore a central concern in
Plato’s thought: “It is the duty of us, the founders, then, said I, to compel
the best natures to attain the knowledge which we pronounced the greatest,
and to win to the vision of the good, to scale that ascent, and when they
have reached the heights and taken an adequate view (. . .) refuse to go down
again among those” (Republic, 519c–d). The City was not built on consen-
sus among the citizens, it was imposed by an individual who assumed the
right to re-think man and society as a philosopher who possessed truth and
reason and wanted to establish them in the City. From this point of view,
the religious adhesion to sacred rites to which Plato was deeply attached,
appears as one of the decisive means of political control over the City.
In our opinion, totalitarianism is present, if at all, because of an essential
difference between classical Greek thought and the Judaeo-Christian tradi-
tion that revolves around the ontological status of the individual. As Châtelet
noted, “What we call the subject today is treated (in Greek thought) not as
52 Cf. Popper (1966: 136, note 25).

A Totalitarian System? 41
an internal entity closed in on itself that has, moreover, a historical-political

destiny, but as a being, individual certainly, yet indissolubly linked to its
status of citizen and of element of the cosmos. It establishes a correspon-
dence between the structure of order (or disorder) of the world and that of
the City and the soul. The latter two must organise themselves according
to the former”.53 The Platonic City was thus not necessarily totalitarian for
Greece in the fifth century B.C. It was certainly not so in the system of
Platonic thought. To the extent that Plato was interested in the City as an
aggregate, the problem was to reduce the differences that could result from
different temperaments (see Politicus) in order to obtain the consensus of cit-
izens on a common political objective, since they were all functional units
who assumed the revolving responsibilities in the City. Some of the advo-
cated measures are clearly unacceptable. Furthermore, the model seems a
monstrosity because the imposed constraints touch upon what we now con-
sider the most private sphere: procreation, family, sexuality, marriage. An
economic utopia would seem less inhuman.
In the end, we must conclude that the interest of this “precursor” is quite
limited. The quantitative dressing (the 5,040 plots) harks back to a logical
system that has very little to do with demography. On the plane of population
doctrine and policy the message is inadmissible because of our fundamen-
tal disagreement about the concept of the individual. On the other hand, the
epistemological interest is obvious, precisely because Plato is so far out of
the mainstream. His system of references is alien to us, and calling his rea-
soning “demographic” seems profoundly artificial. Decoding the writings of
other precursors would probably induce the same scepticism. Demography
as a branch of applied statistics is recent. On the contrary, if such precursors
are analysed from the standpoint of ethics or political philosophy, the light
they cast on modern demographic policies and doctrines can help us in our
appreciation by grounding us in more comprehensive value systems. Finally,
there is another reason why the case of Plato is unique: in Plato’s reflections
on the issue of population, economics is wholly absent, whereas in the work
of all the authors who came later and who will be studied in subsequent
chapters, economics is articulated with politics. Suffice to say that the rela-
tive importance of these two areas of conceptualization tends to vary from
one system to the next, and that economics was limited initially to doctri-
nal considerations (as in the case of the mercantilists), while the theoretical
dimension of political economy was to become increasingly important.
53 Châtelet (197: 72–73). Or in Pradeau’s words: “Plato’s dialogues [. . .] always reveal and
evoke the same exemplar of a perfect arrangement of the body: the heaven”, the word “kosmos
designates order as well as the world, precisely because it is well-ordered” (1997: 79–81).
Chapter 3
There Are No Riches Other Than Men
Jean Bodin on Sovereignty
Demographic Interpretations of Jean Bodin

The famous saying from Jean Bodin’s Six livres de la République (The
Six Bookes of a Commonweale), “There are no riches other than men”, is
endlessly quoted as a perfect illustration of the mercantilists’ populationist
ideology. And since Bodin dealt with censuses, immigration and the family,
criticised Platonic ideas on the organisation of the City and Thomas More’s
admonition to restrict fertility and, finally, observed that freed slaves had
a very high fertility, it is hardly surprising to find him occupying a promi-
nent place in the chapters devoted to mercantilism by several specialists in
the history of demographic thought, especially J. Spengler, Gonnard and
Hutchinson, who all believe that these observations contain the corpus of a
doctrine inspired by populationism. However, this is a serious misinterpreta-
tion as Bodin’s “demographic” arguments can only be understood in terms of
his major theoretical contribution, namely the theory of absolute sovereignty,
where populationism by itself has a very marginal significance. The depth
and consistency of Bodin’s thinking should not be underestimated and in this
respect, the contrast with Machiavelli is worthy of note. The Prince, The
Art of War, Florentine Stories, On Livy’s First Decade, Report on Things
about France – none of Machiavelli’s major writings provides a theoretical
perspective of population issues: observations are few and far between and
are not sufficiently supported by arguments. But beyond these differences,
Machiavelli, no more than Bodin, can be regarded as a populationist.1 Let
us turn to three major commentators, Gonnard, Hutchinson, Spengler.
1 In his view, a large population was never in itself a decisive factor in the tactics for gaining
power. For example, he wrote in The Prince, “However powerful the army at one’s disposal,
it is nonetheless always necessary to have the support of the inhabitants to enter a province.”
Similarly, though population are necessary for the army, money was equally important in
his eyes, since he went on to compare the advantage of employing mercenaries and citizens
in the army, a technical problem that was central to him. Last, the following remark in On

44 3 There Are No Riches Other Than Men
Gonnard began his book on the French doctrines on population (1450–

1650) with the words, “Our great political writer, Jean Bodin. . .” but did
not bother to analyse his writings. Bodin seeked “to justify population from
the economic point of view” and again “The population question is seen by
Bodin only as a matter of economic policy and from an exclusively national
angle.”2 According to Hutchinson, who looked at Bodin purely from the
viewpoint of demographic doctrines, for him “a large population is not in
itself a cause of poverty” because it promoted political stability. The obser-
vation is accurate, but Hutchinson cast it aside immediately to revert to
demography, stating that Bodin supported Roman populationist laws and
that infanticide and abortion were unthinkable for him.3 Spengler’s work
is an extreme case of a strictly demo-economic interpretation in which the
theory of sovereignty is totally absent. Bodin, wrote Spengler, “approved
population growth and urbanization, but did not analyzed their effects nor
inquire into the circumstances whereupon population growth then depended.
Cities, ‘which abound most with citizens’ he said, were most rich and pro-
gressive; furthermore, they tended to be free of factional strife, inasmuch
as the middle and upper classes there tended to be in numerical balance.
Although he ridiculed Thomas More’s proposal to limit family size to 10–
16 children, ‘as if he might command nature’, he believed that population
growth could and should be stimulated. Specifically, he criticized Plato and
Aristotle for recommending abortion and child exposure and commented on
the populationist regulations of Augustus, saying that their abrogation was
partly responsible for Rome’s dearth of citizens at the time of barbarian inva-
sions. He approved divorce under certain circumstances and testamentary
liberty, but did not examine the possible effects of divorce and inheritance
practice upon population growth. He advocated the imposition of heavy
taxes upon vices and luxuries, not as a means of promoting population
growth, but as a means of placing the burden of supporting the state upon
those able to pay and thereby avoiding political instability to which great
economic inequality and unendurable poverty might give rise.
Although Bodin did not discuss laws of returns, he apparently believed
that France could accommodate a large population. In his earlier work,4 he
observed that the soil does not lose its vigour, that France could support her
Livy’s First Decade – “the population there is quite large because there is more freedom
of marriage” – cannot be interpreted as pertaining to populationism. This remark was made
in the course of a comparison between freedom and bondage. See: The Prince, 41, 78, 85,
92–94; The Art of War, 290; On Livy’s First Decade, 222.
2 Gonnard (1923: 102, 103, 106).
3 Hutchinson (1967: 18).
4 The reference is to La Response de Maistre Jean Bodin au paradoxe de monsieur de
Malestroit touchant l’enrichissement de toutes choses et les moyens d’y remédier.
The Theory of Absolute Sovereignty and Population 45
population in bad years so long as supplies were not exported, and that land
remained to be cleared. His discussion of the merits of protectionism sug-
gests that he supposed that it would increase the volume of employment and
the productivity of labour in France. His approval of colonies and his recom-
mendation of a census to determine, among other things, how many people
could be sent to the colonies does not suggest fear of population pressure.
His attitude toward foreign immigrants was conditioned by his supposition
that the presence of too many foreigners sometimes tended to make for polit-
ical instability. Although Bodin had little liking for the ‘common people’ and
opposed granting them political power, he did not give expression to such
disregard for the individual as Colbert later manifested, for he conceived the
power of the sovereign to be unlimited. Furthermore, he advocated improv-
ing the lot of the common man, guarding him against inequitable taxation.
He did not infer, however, as did eighteenth century writers, from his con-
ception of progress in the past and from his belief that ‘education alters’
a people’s customs, that there would be progress in the future, or that the
common man’s lot would improve, or that the development of new methods
of production would always counterbalance population growth.” Spengler
is quoted almost in full because he poses a major problem: did Bodin
really think of population in demographic and economic terms and with a
populationist viewpoint?5
The Theory of Absolute Sovereignty and Population

Unlike Spengler and Hutchinson, specialists in the history of political
thought as well as historians agree that Six livres de la République is one
of the most significant treatises on political science and public law and the
seminal book on the theory of absolute sovereignty.6 The historian Cole for
instance, a specialist of French mercantilism, related Bodin to political phi-
losophy, arguing that he certainly had an intuition about what would later
be called the quantitativist theory of money, but that he did not organise his
ideas into a proper “economic system”, no more indeed than “any important
5 1942: 14–15. Only footnote 24 on page 26 mentions that Six livres de la République aim
to show that the sovereignty vested in the king’s person is “the best solution to the problems
raised by local feudalism, war and the conflict between the Church and the State.” However,
the remark relating to taxes on vices and luxuries introduces an element of doubt: they are
meant to mitigate the political consequences of high economic inequality, but they are cer-
tainly not recommended in a populationist spirit. Similarly, his misgivings about immigration
are evidently of a political nature.
6 For example, Chevallier (1960: 38–39), Franklin (1993), and Skinner (2001). Mairet’s intro-
duction to a French edition of Six Livres and his Principe de souveraineté (1996) raises a
number of problems regarding the book’s political philosophy.
writer” of the sixteenth century.7 Rothbard gave the title “Apex of Absolutist
Thought in France” to a paragraph on Bodin in which he stressed the impor-
tance of Six livres de la République for the sovereignty theory: Bodin was
a forerunner of Robert Michels, Gaetano Mosca and Vilfredo Pareto who
held that power was always exercised by an oligarchy. What was Bodin’s
definition of sovereignty? It was a “force of cohesion, unifying the political
community without which it would disintegrate”.8 This implied a fundamen-
tal distinction between the person in whom sovereignty was vested and those
who are subjected to his authority, which gave rise to an exchange of “com-
mand and obedience”. Sovereignty was “absolute” and “perpetual”, absolute
because the Prince was above law and custom. As one in whom sovereignty
was vested, he was the ultimate judge, he had the right to wage war and make
peace, mint money, levy taxes and, last but not least, the right to pardon. All
these “marks of sovereignty”, these prerogatives, could not be “given”, they
could only be exercised in his name. On the other hand, sovereignty was
perpetual, which meant that in a monarchy it was exercised for life while a
magistrate was appointed or elected only for a specific duration.9
Bodin firmly asserted that he dealt only with temporal sovereignty, over
which the Prince had a monopoly and he rejected the Pope’s claim to author-
ity over the secular world.10 The authority of the Prince was secular even
though he was “the image of God on Earth” and divine law could limit the
exercise of sovereignty, but not its principle. He even went so far as to infer
that religious consecration did not constitute sovereignty. In this sense, he
followed the path shown by Machiavelli and when he discussed the three
political regimes that he defined as fundamental, the two “Republics” –
monarchical and aristocratic – and the people’s state (“Etat populaire”),
there is no doubt that he preferred the first. But he went further, firmly assert-
ing that “the French State is a pure and simple monarchy” and he rejected
the idea that France was a composite and mixed regime. If the monarchy
was personified by the King, the Parliament of Paris could in no way exer-
cise monarchical power and the three estates (nobility, clergy and the third
estate or commoners) were not a form of democracy.11
7 Cole (1939: 1, 19) and Rothbard (1995: 205).

8 We follow the concise and useful summary given by Chevallier (1960: 43). On the position
of the magistrate in the system of sovereignty, see Goyard-Fabre (1996).
9 Six livres. . ., I, 10. The following footnotes refer to the books and chapters of Six livres. . .
The page numbers refer to the 1993 French edition.
10 Six livres. . ., I, 9, 144: “I will talk only of temporal sovereignty (. . .) so that it is understood
who the absolutely sovereign princes are and if others are subjected to the Emperor or the
Pope.” Also see Mairet (1993: 11–15).
11 Six livres. . ., II, 1, 189–191.
The full significance of this particularly firm position can only be truly
appreciated by viewing it within its specific historical context. The theory
of absolute sovereignty was a reaction to two disputes about royal power,
one in the past and the other in Bodin’s time. During the first half of the
sixteenth century, the jurists (Claude de Seyssel et Bernard Du Haillan in
particular), on the basis of their study of Roman law, likened the Parliament
of Paris to the Republican Senate in Rome and attributed to it sovereign
prerogatives equal to those enjoyed by the King. To justify its legitimacy,
the constitutionalists drew attention to the council set up by Charles Martel
to examine laws, which met once a year throughout the kingdom of France
and ended up by establishing itself in Paris. The constitutionalists considered
this original Parliament as the crucible which gave rise to the Parliament of
Paris. The latter wielded a great deal of influence with the King as it was the
only body having the right to record royal edicts and the right to remonstrate.
This automatically led to the conclusion that the King could only govern
with its consent. Francis I and Henri II ceaselessly opposed this doctrine and
its final episode was the famous Séance de flagellation (whipping session)
that occurred on 3 March 1766 during the reign of Louis XV.12
In his first book Methodus ad facilem historiarum cognitionem, which
appeared in 1566, Bodin supported the thesis that sovereignty was not abso-
lute. Six livres. . . represented a radical breakaway: sovereignty had become
absolute and the King could not be restrained by any countervailing power
challenging his authority. To explain this sudden change, it is necessary
to bring in the other argument – the one raised by Protestant theologians.
Though Luther and Calvin ruled out all resistance to established authority
on the part of the subjects, the same principle did not apply to a consti-
tuted body like magistrates opposing a tyrannical ruler. This doctrine, called
the right to resistance, was formulated by the reformed German Princes in
1529–1530 during their struggle against Charles the Fifth. It was revived
in 1554 in Geneva by Calvin’s successor, Théodore de Bèze.13 Finally,
Franco-Gallia, a pamphlet written by François Hotman made its appear-
ance in Geneva in 1573. According to Hotman, the ancient kings of France
“were elected to rule under certain laws and conditions which were limited to
them and not as tyrants with absolute, excessive and infinite power.”14 This
amounted to questioning all the efforts made since Philippe le Bel to revive
the imperium of Roman imperial law – the power of absolute command –
under which the French King was not answerable to anyone. As a result, the
Protestants became a powerful group during the 1560s; they wielded a great
12 Franklin (1993:
14–23) and Skinner (2001: 707–711, 719–728).
13 SeeSkinner (2001), Lutherans (622–637), and Calvin and Théodore de Bèze (641–645,
649–650).
14 Quoted by Chevallier (1960: 39).
deal of power and had a solid and varied social and geographical base. They
had secured military control of several cities, they were well represented
in the Parliaments and had allied themselves with moderate Catholics. On
the other side were the Catholic extremists led by the Guise family, who
became politically powerful after the accession of the weakling Charles IX
to the French throne in 1560. Caught between these two powerful parties,
his mother, Catherine de Medici, tried to protect the interests of the royal
dynasty by advocating a policy of tolerance. But from 1562, she was con-
stantly harassed by religious wars and the vicious circle of violence reached
its peak with the massacre on Saint Bartholomew’s Day on 24 August 1572.
She put her trust in Michel de l’Hôpital, who was the Chancellor since 1560
and the leader of the so-called Parti des Politiques. He was convinced that
the Protestants were a political, religious and social component of the king-
dom, which should henceforth be given due importance, and he tried to find
a political solution: only a strong king, embodying sovereign authority and
rising above religious passions could preserve the unity of France. Bodin too
belonged to this party.15
Looking at these circumstances, it is easy to understand why sovereignty
became absolute. Bodin published his Six livres de la République hardly four
years after the massacre of Saint Bartholomew’s Day while France was still
torn between the Catholics and the Protestants (eight religious wars took
place between 1562 until the Edict of Nantes in 1598). In 1576, during the
meeting of the Estates General in Blois, which he attended as the delegate
of the Third Estate from the Vermandois region, he declared his support
for religious peace.16 The same year he published his monumental work
in the vernacular, i.e. French, so that it could be “better understood”. The
book was later translated into several languages, and in 1580 it was in its
fifth edition when he wrote a Latin adaptation. In truth, he had provided
a theory whose depth and magnitude went far beyond the actual political
problem facing France in the latter part of the sixteenth century. Thus fifty
years later, between 1628 and 1630, the royal authority could in all impunity
accomplish political acts that were earlier unimaginable. Richelieu continu-
ally played the Catholics against the Protestants and ended by crushing both
parties to the advantage of the royal power. And under Louis XIV, absolutism
triumphed once the Fronde Rebellion was suppressed.17
15 On the fluctuating political positions of Bodin, see Rose (1978a, 1978b).

16 On the role of Bodin at Blois, the issue of taxation and the conflicting interests of the
nobility and the Third Estate, see Dur (1945), Ulph (1947), and Holt (1987).
17 Rothkrug is inclined to the opposite view. He believes that the success of Bodin’s book
in the seventeenth century is explained by the centralising policy followed by Louis XIII
and Louis XIV which aimed to bring everything under the State’s active control (1965: 81).
It is interesting to note that in 1993 the rightist historian Mousnier did not define absolute
Since Six livres de la République was the seminal work on the theory
of absolute sovereignty and not a book on demography and economics, it
remains to show how thoughts on population are inseparable from politics
in his writings. Let us begin by placing in its proper context the famous sen-
tence that is supposed to justify Bodin’s populationism: “There is no need
to fear that there are too many subjects, too many citizens, seeing that there
are neither riches nor any strength than men. And what is more, the vast
number of citizens always prevents sedition and factions and (. . .) there is
nothing more dangerous than subjects divided into two parties devoid of
median parties.”18 Clearly enough, his only concern was for the kingdom’s
political stability, as a larger number of subjects would mean more parties
and thus avoid the bi-polarisation of conflicts. His last work, Heptaplomeres
(unpublished at that time), provides a strong argument in support of this line
of interpretation. The fictitious religious, philosophical and in any case non-
political discussion between seven men of different beliefs (a Catholic, a
Lutheran, a Calvinist, a Jew, an Islamic, an adept of the natural religion, an
idolater) represented a courageous plea for tolerance. Written in 1593, three
years before his death, and in an era of raging intolerance, Bodin’s heretic
text could easily have condemned its author to the daggers of the catholic
ligueurs. Apart from an astonishingly audacious scepticism directed at basic
catholic dogmas19 the rationale for not having a country split into two sep-
arate parties was stated even more explicitly than in Six Livres: “There is
nothing more dangerous than seeing the people of a Republic divide into
two factions, whether it be a matter of laws and precedence, or as a result of
religious conflict, but if there are several factions, there need be no fear of
a civil war, since the ones are like voices that appear to intercede with the
others to ensure a state of harmony among the body of citizens”20
Last, the preface addressed to “Monseigneur Du Faur, Seigneur de Pibrac
and a Member of the King’s Private Council” begins with the following
monarchy by its divine origin, but in Bodin’s terms : “There is an absolute monarchy when
the King, embodying the national ideal, possesses the attributes of sovereignty by right and,
in fact, which give him the power to enact laws, dispense justice, levy taxes, maintain a
permanent army, appoint officials, to see that attacks on public property and royal authority
are brought to trial before special courts emanating from his power as the supreme righter of
wrongs” (1993: 111).
18 Six livres. . ., V, 2, 433.
19 Incarnation was impossible; the miracle of resurrection did not prove the divine nature
of Christ “as established by the single testimony of a whore”; the physical impossibility
of Christ’s divinity, of the Eucharist, etc. . . . Several copies were in circulation throughout
Europe. In 1650, Queen Christine of Sweden, intrigued by the aura of scandal, requested a
copy, but the library of Cluny refused to accede to her request. She was eventually able to
have a copy made by her personal secretaries in 1654. See Chauviré (1914: 5).
20 Colloque de Jean Bodin, 1914: 33.
statement: “Because the security of Kingdoms and Empires depends after

God on good Princes and wise Rulers, it is right that each of them should
help to maintain their power or enact their sacred laws or subjugate their sub-
jects through their speeches and writings (. . .).”21 Quite logically, Bodin’s
main “demographic” arguments were centred on the implementation of
sovereignty.
Immigration
There is a reference to immigration in Réponse au paradoxe de
M. de Malestroit where he marshalled arguments to explain, contrary to
Malestroit’s opinion, that the rise in prices was quite real and was not merely
a question of depreciation of the currency due to the reduction of its gold
or silver content by the authorities. The rise in prices was a result of the
imbalance between the demand and supply of goods, hence the overtures to
French craftsmen and workers, reputed for their skills by countries (Spain
and Italy) having unused purchasing power. The emigration of Frenchmen
to Spain, like the export of food products, must therefore be seen from a
mercantilist viewpoint. However this did not lead him to develop a popula-
tionist argument: he briefly took note of the departure of French workers for
Spain and Italy, without any comment on the socio-demographic aspect of
this emigration.
On the contrary, in Six livres. . ., the passages devoted to immigration fit
into a completely different and far more elaborate viewpoint. Bodin com-
mented at length on the fact that in Venice and Athens foreigners were more
numerous than native citizens and that Venice had tried to win them over
with honours and petty offices and by “welcoming the children of foreign-
ers”.22 A careless political scientist would be tempted to interpret this as a
policy of integration in the sense that we understand it today. Besides the
fact that it would amount to writing a retrospective history, such an inter-
pretation is unconvincing. While present-day integration policies are based
on social, economic or cultural reasons, that was not Bodin’s concern. In his
eyes, the main danger was that foreigners would seize political power, that
they would feel the “desire to become masters”. Further, the argument does
not even fit in with thoughts on the functioning of democracy: it was not just
a matter of knowing if the country playing host to foreigners should treat
them on a par with its other citizens, but without full political rights. If that
were indeed Bodin’s idea, it would be remarkably modern; but here again
21 Six livres. . ., 45.

22 Six livres. . ., IV, 1, 336.
this interpretation is anachronistic as the rest of the text shows. The pas-
sage from a popular government to an aristocracy, which according to him
was most suited to the exercise of sovereignty, was “smooth and impercep-
tible” while the opposite gave rise to violence. The progressive assimilation
of foreigners among the aristocracy as was the case in Venice, unlike other
cities, enabled the nobility to retain power: “What is even more dangerous is
when feudal lords allow all foreigners to come and settle in their country and
they gradually grow in number. Having no access to offices, they are over-
worked and ill-treated by the feudal lords so that at the smallest opportunity
they rebel and drive away the native lords as happened in Sienna, Genoa,
Zurich and Cologne where foreigners multiplied and considered them-
selves overworked and ill-treated and without any say in the government,
so that they finally drove away the feudal lords and killed most of them.”
Needless to say, the political history of Venice, for instance, is for more
complex.23
There is no need to verify the historical truth of this statement. What is
important is that his ideas on immigration belong to the realm of political
philosophy, quite far from the commonplace observation that the population
of every state increases more or less rapidly due to fertility, and even more if
immigration contributes to its growth. Bodin mentioned this only as a pass-
ing remark and it is clear that it did not interest him very much.24 This basic
demographic equation, namely that population grows due to the entry of
outsiders and diminishes due to the departure of workers, is pure arithmetic,
and cannot actually lead to any stimulating thought. In short, immigration
had no special significance for Bodin, except for its effect on the exercise
and the safeguard of power by the sovereign and in Réponse au paradoxe
de monsieur de Malestroit, it was not a real subject of thought, but just one
argument among many. The same is true of the question of census.
On Censuses
Bodin devoted the first chapter of the last of the Six livres de la République
to censuses and its title gives a clear indication of the subject: “About census
and whether it is advantageous to raise the number of subjects and whether
they should be forced to declare their possessions”. In other words, the
counting of population should be accompanied by the evaluation of their
possessions. From the mercantilist viewpoint, population being an asset for
23 Six livres. . ., IV, 1, 334–335. On Venice see Lane (1973), especially Chapters 9, 14, 16,
18, and 23.
24 Six livres. . ., IV, 1, 317.
the Prince, especially if its wealth was known, an economic census made it
easier to determine the rate of taxation. But is this really what he said in his
writings?
Like any other humanist, he was moulded by antiquity and did not hesi-
tate to delve into ancient history. He quoted at length examples of censuses
conducted in Greece and Rome and also those mentioned in the Bible. He
then explained the many advantages for the Prince’s benefit of counting the
population, such as future recruitment for the army, populating the colonies
and villein labour due to the landlord (the corvées). The details he pro-
vided regarding the latter merit mention: “to employ feudal serfs for heavy
manual labour such as carrying out repairs of public structures and build-
ing fortifications, to evaluate ordinary provisions and foodstuffs needed for
the inhabitants of each city and especially when having to face an enemy
siege”.25 It follows that the advantage of counting the population was more
politico-military rather than purely economic. Let us come back to the defi-
nition of absolute sovereignty, which consisted of the power to “make laws
without the need to get anyone else’s consent: make war or peace, mint
money and levy taxes”.26 His thinking is evidently consistent and does not
call for any commentary. Bodin then showed special interest in another use
of the census: “one of the biggest and major benefits of the census and the
counting of population is that it is possible to know the position and the
occupation of each person and how he earns his living in order to drive
away from the Republics the wasps that devour the honey made by bees and
banish vagabonds, idlers, thieves, cheats and whoremongers living amidst
decent people.” And further: “There is no other way of driving away this
vermin”.27
How to interpret this surprising extension of the census’s benefits? It is
not clear how a census by itself can help to drive away undesirable subjects.
As a matter of fact, he imperceptibly had moved from counting to policing
the population, which evidently needed very different methods. However,
he was silent about its actual implementation. This function of the census is
comparable to the display of fairness when taxing subjects, the object being
to establish order in the kingdom: “there has hardly ever been a well-ordered
Republic that did not make use of census-takers and census operations.”28
He drew attention to the positive results of the evaluation of property and
income in Provence in 1471 and the edict issued by Francis I in 1534. But
since the surveys carried out in Provence in 1471 could not be used any
25 Six livres. . ., VI, 1, 482–487 (quote from 486).

26 Six livres. . ., I, 10, 160.
27 Six livres. . ., VI, 1, 487, 490. On this point, Montchrétien has shamelessly plagiarised
Bodin’s writings: see Traité. . ., 341–353.
28 Six livres. . ., VI, 1, 484.
more for determining the tithe, it was necessary to conduct a fresh census:
“in this way, revolts, which are common in all Republics due to the disparity
in taxes, would come to end”.29 So, Bodin’s real objective was to permit the
exercise of sovereignty without any dispute: political order should rest on
social order.
The plea for counting individuals and evaluating their possessions was
based on unexpected arguments, such as “withdrawing trials for fraud, for
giving false names and false information about parents, about the status and
position of each person where due to the mistake of the census-takers and
census records, nothing is seen”.30 In other words, what was needed was a
registration system to maintain records of births, deaths, marriages, divorces,
etc. However, Bodin did not refer to the parish registries set up by Francis I
after the Edict of Villers-Cotterêts in 1539, about which he could not have
been ignorant; registers maintained in some bishoprics from as far back as
1504. Should this be seen as a sign of prudence after the horrors of the reli-
gious wars? Yes, to the extent that he devoted several lines to the weakening
of religion and the emergence of a “detestable sect of Atheists”. But it is
also easy to see why the Reformation was never mentioned, since the entire
religious context was present enough in the mind of his readers.
Against Sorcery
Bodin only made a veiled reference to the wars of religion and to the Princes
whose subjects “are divided into sections and factions”: “We must ensure
that something as sacred as this is not despised or cast into doubt through
dispute and disagreement, since the ruin of the Republics rests upon this
very point (. . .) I do not mean to speak here of which religion is better, so
much as because there is just one Religion, one truth, one divine law spoken
by the voice of God.”31 To understand this astonishing silence, let us return
briefly to his biography. On at least two occasions, there is a hint that he
was suspected of heresy: on 7 August 1548 he appeared before the Chambre
ardente – a special judicial commission set up by Henri II – and was sent
to prison; in 1568, the year in which he published Réponse au paradoxe de
M. de Malestroit, he was in the Conciergerie prison where he remained until
23 August 1570. This long imprisonment can probably be explained by the
desire of the Paris Parliament as much to “punish this secretly unorthodox
29 Six livres. . ., VI, 1, 488.

30 Six livres. . ., VI, 1, 486.
31 Six livres. . ., Atheists: VI, 1, 491. Sects and factions: IV, 7, 400. And further: “concerning
seditions and troubles there is nothing more dangerous for the State, religion wise, for the
laws or for the customs, if the subjects are divided into two opinions” (IV, 7, 402).
advocate as to protect him from the witch hunt which had been unleashed at
that time.”32 But considering the prevailing environment, there was another
dimension to this persecution, which was in reality a drive against sorcery. In
this connection, let us turn to another book of his, De la Démonomanie des
sorciers, published in 1578 and dedicated to one of his patrons, Christophe
de Thou.
This book, which aimed at defining the “sphere of demonology as com-
pared to the divine”, is often described as a “monstrosity” and is usually not
taken seriously, as such a sweeping assertion implies.33 However it deserves
better treatment, since Bodin proposed to tighten the rules of evidence to jus-
tify the death penalty for those accused of witchcraft. A brief evocation of
the context is needed here to account for his views.34 His book appeared in
a period of raging witch hunts, not only in France but also in south western
Germany, England and Scotland, Switzerland (Comté de Vaud). In France
witch hunts reached their climax in May 1588, when King Henri III left
Paris and the Catholic Ligue took over the Paris Parliament and imposed a
much more repressive attitude than in the preceding decades. Bodin tried
to limit the evidence which could be admitted by the courts to verifiable
evidence such as a written pact with the devil, voluntary confession, or the
testimony of unimpeachable witnesses to an act of sorcery.35 On the other
hand, self-accusation at the foot of the stake, confession under torture and
later retracted, could not be accepted as proofs but only as presumptions of
guilt.36 He added that a prostitute or other persons normally unacceptable
as witnesses could be heard in favour of the alleged witch, etc.37 And yet,
the Parliament of Paris did not follow Bodin, in spite of its traditional tol-
erant attitude, as opposed to the abuses of local courts. Its policy was rather
to often disavow and sometimes summon local judges to Paris and make
them accountable for their abuses, sentencing them to do public penance.
It went as far as requiring courts “to suspend all decisions concerning sor-
cerers”. It is beyond the scope of this study to investigate the Parliament’s
reasons for not backing him, but his firm plea to limit the range of evi-
dence acceptable by the courts needs to be accounted for. It was probably
deeply rooted “in the lofty self-image of the established ‘high robe’ families
and their pride in traditions of jurisprudence fundamentally inimical to the
32 Couzinet (1996: 237, 239).

33 See Jacques-Chaquin (1996) and Heinsohn and Steiger (1999) for a convenient account of
conflicting opinions concerning the monstruosity of the book.
34 Iowe the following information on the context of witch hunts to Sorman (1978).
35 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 193–195.
36 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 189, 204.
37 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 198.
popular fanaticism of the witch craze”.38 Bodin was a lower magistrate in

Laon in the region of Champagne, known to be swept by anti-witch hysteria.
For instance, on 18 June 1588, during a court session, the King’s solicitor
general said “that there is madness in Champagne: they think that nearly
everyone is a witch”. It was thus foreseeable that he would try to compel the
judges to base charges of witchcraft solely on concrete evidence, whereas
the Paris Parliament did not aim at establishing the reality of witchcraft, but
concerned itself with ensuring that high standards of criminal justice were
respected by local judges when dealing with witchcraft.
Beyond its specific concern with this unique context of witchcraft, De la
démonomanie des sorciers is in many ways closely connected with the main-
stream of his thought. The arguments developed by Heinsohn and Steiger in
1999 to the effect that Bodin condemned sorcery for populationist and mer-
cantilist reasons need to be refuted. First of all, they took for granted that
he was a “prominent proponent” of the “mercantilistic policy” that involved
“wiping out the tools of procreative manipulation”39 . Secondly, they argued
that Démonomanie was inspired by the depopulation of Europe that followed
the Black Death of 1346. The point is well summarized by the ambitious
subtitle of their article, “Bodin’s Population Policy in the Face of European
Population Catastrophe, the Great Witch-hunt, and the Disappearance of
Birth-Control.”40 No less! Thirdly, many of their arguments were based on a
principle of analogy: Bodin knew of Malleus malleficarum, written in 1487
by the Dominicans Sprenger and Kramer and which dealt with the duty of
procreation; he therefore adopted their views.41
A careful examination of Démonomanie does not support this line of
interpretation. First, there is no mention whatsoever of the Great Plague in
Démomanie; nor do Heinsohn and Steiger provide any evidence of Bodin’s
awareness of the demographic consequences of the plague. Secondly, the
allegedly central populationist arguments are limited to one page at the end
of book 5 of Démonomanie. The title of chapter five refers to “Other kinds
of sorcerers”, who were not as “despicable” as those who signed a covenant
with the devil, committed ritual murders, copulated with the devil, or were
zoophiles, and who should therefore be sent to death, etc.42 Less despicable
were those who had committed one of three types of misdeeds: breaking up
38 Sorman (1978: 39).

39 1979: 436.
40 1979: 431.
41 1979: 433–436. “Démonomanie was simply an updated version of Malleus Maleficarum”
(432).
42 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 252. These practices, which were endlessly described by Bodin,
were mentioned by Heinsohn and Steiger in only three lines (1999: 438).
marriages, making men impotent, preventing the procreation of children.43

Clearly this could hardly provide the basis of a full-fledged population pol-
icy; neither does it justify the stunning assertion according to which Bodin
“aimed to weep out economic self-interest in procreation in favour of a state
policy of ‘natural fertility’”, as if procreation in the late sixteenth century
was devoid of any religious dimension.44 Thirdly, when Bodin spoke of fer-
tility, it was almost always agricultural fertility to which he referred. “Satan
wanted to lay his claws on the fertile and abundant crops of the year”, and he
reported that a sorcerer had promised that he would greatly increase crops.45
Talking of “self-interest” in this era only makes sense in reference to the
constant fear of famine among French peasants, since they were not in the
slightest bit concerned with birth-control. Fourthly, one of Bodin’s major
concerns is altogether ignored by Heinsohn and Steiger, namely the cases
of infanticide committed as a satanic act for the purposes of predication.
He repeatedly denounced the “repugnant impiety of taking an innocent per-
son and sacrificing him to the devil in order to gain knowledge of future
things”. Indeed, witches were accused of performing abortion and he con-
demned this serious crime.46 Furthermore, he observed that priests and nuns
were also often sorcerers.47 But of course accusing someone of witchcraft
was an easy way of maintaining law and order within the official churches,
whether catholic or reformed, particularly when proofs were extorted by the
Inquisition. . .
The religious dimension is essential here and it extends beyond the prob-
lem of sorcery. In February 1556 Henri II had taken an Edict against the
concealment of pregnancy and childbirth that resulted in several prose-
cutions. As a magistrate, Bodin was required to judge cases of mothers
undergoing abortions or killing their children. I will argue in Chapter 4
that the Edict was not inspired by an alleged mercantilist policy, but was
taken at a time of raging religious intolerance. Although he had a tolerant
mind, Bodin clearly approved of the death penalty in cases of infanticide
for “women concealing their fruit”. For instance, he mentioned the case of a
43 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 227. Impotence: 226.

44 1999: 442.
45 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 153–154. Bodin reported that he was present at the Etats généraux
of Blois in 1577 and that the request of the sorcerer was ratified by the Privy Council. The
man claimed that he could “graft the seeds of certain oils” and “multiply the number of fruit
by a hundred for one (whereas the most productive lands in France only produce twelve for
one”. An entire chapter (Book II, Chapter 7) is devoted to the following question: “If sorcerers
can remove diseases, sterility, hail, storms and kill man and beast”. In the text, sterility refers
explicitly to farm animals.
46 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 180, 181, 208, 218 for instance.
47 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 2240, 247, 278 for instance.
Bodin on Plato and Aristotle 57
woman in the small village of Muret near Soissons, where he was a judge,
who had buried her child in a “garden”, a major component of the crime,
since, as the Edict stated: “they are thrown in secret and filthy places or
buried in profane soil, deprived thus of the customary Christian burial”.48
Clearly, Bodin was not a direct adviser of the king’s mercantilistic policy,
assuming such a policy was indeed devised and implemented in his time.
There is another reason why he denounced witchcraft: it had potentially
disastrous political consequences. Sorcery was “one of the most dangerous
plagues in Republics”, especially since several princes had already suc-
cumbed to it and taken their subjects with them. For instance, courtesans
unknown as sorcerers were likely to play on the desire of sovereigns to know
the future by way of taking satisfactory political decisions and “achieving
great things”.49 Here again, religion was recalled as a potential means of
controlling the actions of the Prince, since despite his absolute sovereignty,
a Prince was not allowed to go against God’s laws: “they cannot forgive a
crime which the Law of God punishes by death, such as the crimes of the
sorcerers”.50 Repression should intervene before it is too late. “Hence, it is
much healthier for the entire Republic to hunt down sorcerers diligently and
punish them severely; otherwise there is a danger that people may stone to
death both magistrates and sorcerers.” In a word, the surest way to endanger
the State was to reach the Prince.51 With witchcraft as with immigration,
Bodin was thus concerned with sovereignty. In brief, it should not be weak-
ened in any way by any kind of dispute, be it political, financial, social, or
even religious.
Bodin on Plato and Aristotle

As a sixteenth-century humanist brought up on the writings of the Ancients
and thus fully conversant with Plato’s and Aristotle’s ideas, Bodin con-
ducted a careful examination of their contributions to the central issue of
sovereignty. In considering the rival claims of Plato and Aristotle, Bodin’s
preference is unequivocal. On the one hand, the model of the platonic city
was unacceptable for theoretical reasons; on the other hand, Bodin set out
to identify the practical criteria used for the definition of sovereignty in the
writings of the Ancients: “I do not wish to depict a Republic as an Idea
without practical import, such as Plato and Thomas More, Chancellor of
England, might have conceived it, but I will abide by the Political rules as
48 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 225–226. The Edict stated: “Because of this”.

49 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 232.
50 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 237.
51 Démonomanie. . ., 1587: 185. See Jacques-Chacun (1996: 65).
closely as possible”. Aristotle, whose Politics takes the opposing view to

Plato’s on many points, fed on many historical examples of the organization
of political life, and was discussed by Bodin point by point on such issues as
the various types of constitution, sovereignty and, more fundamentally, the
identification of the essence of the Republic.
His hostility to Plato is quite understandable and the conflict revolved
mainly around the concept of the City. It was not the choice of the number
5040 for the City’s plots and Plato’s emphasis on stationarity, which would
be inconsistent with Bodin’s supposedly dynamic understanding of popu-
lation, that was a problem for him. What was not acceptable to the author
of the theory of sovereignty was above all the confusion between the pub-
lic and private spheres of the Ideal City described in the Republic, because
sovereignty based on the principle of indivisibility marked a clear distinc-
tion between the sovereign and his subjects. “But no matter how the land is
divided, the fact remains that all the possessions, including women and chil-
dren, cannot be common, as Plato desired in his first Republic, in order to
banish from the city the two words YOURS and MINE, which in his opin-
ion were the cause of all the evil and ruin that befell the Republics. He did
not realise that if this happened, the only distinctive feature of the Republic
would be lost because there can be no public property if there is nothing
private, and it cannot be imagined that there is nothing common if there is
nothing belonging to an individual. So if all citizens were kings, there would
no longer be a king (. . .) [further,] such a community is inconceivable and
incompatible with the right of families, because if the family and the city,
the individual and the common, the private and the public are not differen-
tiated, there is no Republic and no family”52 It is significant that the moral
argument – having wives in common gave rise to incest, adultery, parricide,
in short disorder – only came later, as if it were much less important than
the issue of political philosophy. The second incompatibility of the Platonic
model with Bodin’s theory was the risk of a harmful confusion: the head of
the family could exercise his authority only on the members of his family
and on them alone. Once again, Bodin refused to accept the lack of distinc-
tion between the public and the private. This argument is valid in the case of
the Ideal City. But what about the Real City, the one described in the Laws?
Bodin again directed his criticism toward the problem of sovereignty: he
rejected the democratic model which vested authority in the people’s assem-
bly. Since sovereignty presupposed a clear distinction between the ruler and
the ruled, how could the people “commit themselves to themselves”?53 The
concept is the exact opposite of Rousseau’s concept because Bodin really
52 Six livres. . ., I, 1, 70. Same argument: VI, 4, 535.

53 Six livres. . ., I, 8, 126.
preferred aristocracy which was dependent on two groups – the feudal lords,
who had a claim to sovereignty, and the people on whom the first group
exercised its authority.
Bodin’s intellectual method is distinctly Aristotelian. In his Politics,
Aristotle had developed a form of practical speculation, a “philosophy of
human things”54 Hence the many passages in the Politics devoted to polit-
ical regimes and the various Greek constitutions, topics also discussed in
great detail by Bodin.55 From Aristotle’s Metaphysics Bodin drew the log-
ical foundations of an argument designed to support his conception of
sovereignty. His starting point was teleological: “God is the first eternal
cause and all things depend upon him (. . .). Similarly Aristotle showed that
there must necessarily be a God, a first cause, upon which all other things
depend”.56 Bodin also referred to Aristotle in arguing that “just as this great
God cannot allow for a God equal to Him, since he is infinite, and there can-
not be two infinite things (. . .) so the Prince whom I defined as the image of
God cannot allow for a subject who is equal to him, [since] his power [would
thereby be] destroyed”.57 The question of the delegation of sovereignty
thus acquired a metaphysical dimension: “After God, since there is noth-
ing greater upon this earth than sovereign Princes and since their authority
derives from God, acting thereby as His lieutenants for the purposes of com-
manding other men, great care needs to be taken in paying homage to their
quality, in order to fully respect and revere their majesty, for he who despises
his sovereign Prince also despises God since the Prince is the image of God
on earth”.58 Precisely because Bodin had elaborated a purely secular theory
of sovereignty, the sovereign was required to be just and to align his conduct
with Christian virtues. But the legitimacy of sovereignty itself had nothing
to do with the realm of the divine. As a criterion of excellence of a City,
Aristotle had established that men be able to live there happily.59 How did
Bodin position his theory of the Republic and his theory of sovereignty in
relation to Aristotle?
54 Such as it is defined in Nicomachean Ethics. As Pellegrin writes: “for Aristotle there is (. . .)

a realm of human affairs and more precisely of human action, which needs to be studied as
such, inasmuch as ethical and political realities require no explanations beyond themselves”
(translated from 1993: 23).
55 Politique, Book VI, 2 §5, 454. Bodin, Six livres. . ., II, 1, 181, 191; II, 3, 207; II, 5, 229; II,
6, 233, 235; II, 7, 243–246.
56 Démonomanie des sorciers, 29–30.
57 Six livres. . ., I, 10, 155.
58 Six livres. . ., I, 10, 151.
59 Politique, Book VII, 2, §5, 454.
He examined the criteria used by Aristotle for the purposes of defining

the concept of a Republic. The first criterion was happiness: was the repub-
lic to be defined as “a society of men assembled for the purposes of living
well and happily”?60 In one lengthy passage, Bodin outlined all the nec-
essary attributes of a Republic: a sufficiently large territory, fertile lands,
abundant livestock, “for subjects’ food and clothes”, a gentle and temperate
climate, pure water, building materials for the erection of strongholds, and
offensive weapons in sufficient number.61 He inferred that once all of these
conditions and qualities were assembled, the members of the Republic could
attain contemplation since they were no longer faced with material prob-
lems. Aristotle proposed this supreme value in Politics and Nicomachean
Ethics, and Bodin fully concurred. Achieving the ideal of a contempla-
tive life was true felicity, the sovereign good of the Republic that had to
be possessed simultaneously by “everyone in particular”. Forty years later
Bodin’s lengthy description was plagiarized by Montchrétien in the form of a
servile apology offered to the King of France and which celebrated the self-
sufficiency of the Kingdom, presented as being vastly superior to its rival
powers.62 Montchrétien’s argument is a perfect illustration of the utilitar-
ian conceptions of mercantilism – unlike Bodin’s. For Bodin, in addition to
the spiritual foundation of the realm of politics and to this distinctly ethical
dimension, autarchy was fundamentally a question of political philosophy.
Aristotle had considered a kind of pyramid of different organizational forms
with the city at its summit: the couple formed by a man and a woman, then
the family, the village, and finally the city: “the finished community of sev-
eral villages becomes a city once it has attained complete autarchy”.63 Yet
autarchy had to be achieved in order to attain happiness “with a view to
ensuring the happy life that suited the political community”.64 Bodin agreed
with Aristotle that the autarchy of the city reflected divinity, defined as the
supreme entity requiring nothing beyond itself.65 Once man had attained
comfort and benefited “from everything that was necessary and convenient”
in an autarchic Republic, he then began to seek for “the author of such a
beautiful masterpiece (. . .) Through contemplation, wise and understanding
men have achieved a beautiful demonstration: that there is only one eternal
and infinite God”.66
60 Politique, Book III, 6, §3, 4, 226.

61 Six livres. . ., I, 1, 63.
62 On Montchrétien, see Chapter 4.
63 Politique, Book I, 2, §8, 90.
64 Politique, Book VII, 4, §11, 464.
65 Ethique à Eudème: “Divinity does not govern by giving orders, but it is the end in view of
which wisdom gives orders [. . .] since divinity needs nothing” (VIII, 3).
66 Six livres. . ., I, 1, 64.
As for the excellence of the City, Bodin refuted the idea that the Republic
could be defined by the happiness of its members as “a society of assembled
men, for the Republic may be poor, besieged, and adandoned, even if it is
well governed”.67 To argue that happiness (though not in the contemplative
life, which was of an altogether different order) could in no way be con-
ceived as the foundation of the Republic was to refute the political position
of the constitutionalist school, particularly the right to contest the exercise
of power. At the end of this line of argument, any questioning of absolute
sovereignty was implicitly banned. In particular, a king could not be deemed
to have become a tyrant simply on the grounds that he chose to govern
against the will of his subjects.68 The second criticism leveled at Aristotle
was that his definition lacked “three main points”: “family, sovereignty, and
that which is common in a Republic”. Bodin then defined “that which is
common” as the public domain, the legal and juridical system, and the public
treasury.69 Aristotle had also neglected the family, or rather had considered
it independently of the Republic, though both were governed by the same
principle: “domestic power resembles sovereign power”.70 The authority of
the head of the family was conceived as “the true model of government in
a republic”. As Kreager noted, the inclusion of women, children and slaves
mean that the family is a unity of analysis with indistinct borders. Yet this
vagueness does not entail a challenge to the dyad chief-subordinated family
members.71
Where Bodin diverges from Aristotle is in following Plato in analysing
in the same breath the Republic and the family, two entities that presented
by his account no fundamental differences in terms of their essence, and
sovereignty, whereas Aristotle had diverged from the issue of political phi-
losophy, and in particular the platonic belief in the homothetic similarity of
the City and the family. He had treated the family as an object of study in
itself, and had for instance drawn a careful distinction between the nature of
the authority exerted upon women, children, and slaves, and had also devel-
oped the issue of education at great length. The third unacceptable criterion
according to Bodin was that demographic size could not serve to define a
Republic. The most characteristic example was Rome, which had increased
from three thousand citizens at the time of its foundation to several million,
excluding slaves. The small canton of Schwitz was a Republic just as much
as the Kindgom of Persia.72 The geographical unity sought by Aristotle was
67 Six livres. . ., I, 1, 60.

68 Six livres. . ., II, 3, 207.
69 Six livres. . ., I, 2, 70.
70 Six livres. . ., I, 2, 65, 66.
71 Kreager (2008).
72 Six livres. . ., I, 2, 69, 70.
not a condition either.73 In other words, the number of subjects upon whom
sovereignty was exercised did not confer legitimacy. Politics transcended
demographics just as it transcended the vicissitudes of history.
In short, Bodin, seeking the universal criteria of a Republic, was reluctant
to accept contingent criteria. Nor could he accept Plato’s purely theoretical
construction. Bodin’s approach was to found the Republic and sovereignty
on universal criteria, though rooted in what he perceived as being and having
to be the very essence of society, i.e. the existence of relations of subor-
dination at the family level, clearly based on Roman law, but also at the
level of the so-called intermediary bodies, and finally the administrative and
political apparatus, however undeveloped it may still have been in the late
sixteenth century. Though Bodin called upon the divine legitimacy to rein-
force this construction, he did so in a totally different way to Plato, who
thought in terms of homothety between the realm of men and the realm of
the gods. It was only to moderate the exercise of power by the Prince and
not, as noted above, in order to found legitimacy.74 Mairet rightly speaks
of a mere homology. For Bodin, the sovereign was the image of God on
earth and not his incarnation. Bodin’s France, though a monarchy based on
divine right, was also a real society torn apart by bloody religious conflicts
that endangered the kingdom. Bodin was keen to limit the involvement of
Rome in the affairs of the realm. In spite of Bodin’s reservations, the cen-
tral question of Aristotle’s Politics – how to govern a City and ensure the
happiness of men – was therefore quite close to the question which Bodin
himself had sought to tackle. By contrast his concern was quite remote from
the problem addressed by Plato, justice in the ideal City. Let us conclude by
pointing out this striking asymmetry: what was purely “demographic” was
neither developed nor supported and any thing that concerned sovereignty,
even remotely, was strongly linked with considerations related to its nature
and conditions governing its exercise. To that extent Bodin’s contribution to
the theory of the legitimacy of power opened the way to the populationism of
mercantilism, but it would certainly be wrong to regard him as a forerunner
of mercantilism.
73 Six livres. . ., I, 6, 96.

74 For instance: “Sovereign princes cannot give any orders that are contrary to God’s law”,
but “they are also subject to civil laws” (I, 8, 130). Or: religion is “the chief foundation of the
power of Monarchs and seigniories, of the execution of laws” (IV, 7, 400). Note that Bodin
speaks here of power but not of legitimacy.
Chapter 4
The Prince and His Population
From Montchrétien to Colbert and Fénelon
Mercantilism and Populationism

Mercantilism, which made its appearance at the end of the fifteenth century,
remained, as Heckscher put it, just a set of poorly formulated concepts all
through the sixteenth century. It was only at the end of that century that
it became a true doctrine characterised by a staunch populationism that
held sway all over Europe. This change was concomitant with the emer-
gence of the great European states, which, after gradually freeing themselves
from feudalism, asserted themselves more perceptibly. Mercantilism was
conceived by European states opposed to the Pope’s spiritual power and
the temporal power wielded by the Holy Roman Empire, at a time when
the “heterogeneous empires” or “nebulous empires”1 such as the Ottoman
Empire and the Holy Roman German Empire were on the decline. In
England, for example, Henry VIII abolished the Pope’s authority; he did
away with several ecclesiastic levies and confiscated the Church’s prop-
erties. This provided the Tudors with enough resources to finance their
military and naval campaigns. In France, Bossuet drafted what is known as
the Declaration of the Four Articles in March 1686 to reaffirm the indepen-
dence of the French Church and the monarchy’s rights vis-à-vis the papacy:
“Kings and Sovereigns are not subject to any ecclesiastic power, by the order
of God, in temporal matters.”2
In addition to these developments in the political domain, the intellec-
tual revolution in the seventeenth century is basic to the understanding of
mercantilism. Though all economic activity in the medieval era was centred
1 These expressions were coined respectively by Chaunu (1984) and Mousnier (1993).
2 After a bishop’s death, the king could take over a diocese and its income.

64 4 The Prince and His Population
around religion, people had for long viewed it as an end in itself and engaged
in productive activities to enrich themselves without bothering about ethical
or religious justifications.3 Following Gutenberg’s invention of the movable
type, it became easier to spread new knowledge and reduce illiteracy. As
a result, the Church lost its age-old monopoly over the dissemination of
knowledge. This change was further supported by the advance of science
due to the contributions of Galileo (1638), Descartes (1637), Kepler (1609,
1618 and 1619) and Harvey (1628) which undermined the medieval inter-
pretation of the world based on the Aristotelian system and the homocentric
and teleological principles.4
The great discoveries at the end of the fifteenth and sixteenth century
were the last decisive factor that contributed to the rise of modern European
states. The Portuguese established themselves in India in 1503 and started
trading in precious metals and spices, which brought them enormous prof-
its. In 1530, they set up a permanent trading post in Macao. The Spanish
landed in Haiti in 1492. Cortez conquered Mexico between 1519 and 1522
and Peru between 1532 and 1536. Gold brought back from the New World
passed through the ports of Cadiz and Seville before it was distributed all
over Europe. The major consequence of these discoveries was the influx of
gold from 1503 and of silver from 1545. Between 1493 and 1520, Europe
produced about 5,800 kg of gold and 47,000 kg of silver, but between 1545
and 1560 these figures rose to 8,510 and 311,600 respectively, mainly due to
the discovery of Peru’s Potosi mines in 1545. Within a period of 60 years
(1503–1560), Spanish imports of precious metals increased seven times
thereby increasing purchasing power and leading to an inflation of the same
magnitude due to the absence of a corresponding increase in the supply of
goods.5
In accordance with the “bullionist” doctrine, the possession of precious
metals, especially gold, became one of the main objectives of European
countries. The reasons behind it were not purely economic, but also polit-
ical. The stock of precious metals served as a “war treasure”, not so much
in the sense of plunder from conquered lands, but an indispensable reserve
for financing wars: weapons and military gear for soldiers, naval supplies,
defensive earthworks, etc. But in addition to war booty and plunder from
3 As stated by the most representative of the French mercantilists, Antoine de Montchrétien,

in his Traité d’économie politique, “. . .meditative life comes first and takes one closer to
God; but without action it is imperfect and more harmful than useful for the Republic.” He
also wrote, “. . .man’s happiness (. . .) consists mainly in wealth and the abundance of work.”
Traité. . ., 21, 99.
4 The dates refer to the main works.
5 Figures given by Soetbeer and Hamilton quoted by Mousnier (1993: 91). Also see Braudel
(1993: 150–230).
Mercantilism and Populationism 65
Amerindian empires during the Spanish conquista, economic exchanges had

to be favourable to the kingdom in order to increase the stock of gold. In
France, the emergence of bullionism as a doctrine and a policy hostile to
the export of precious metals can be traced back to 1462 when royal letters
increased the privileges of the fairs in Lyon to allow them to compete with
the fairs in Geneva where the kingdom’s gold and silver were spent every
year. The doctrine was continually reaffirmed, so much so that in the middle
of the sixteenth century “the possession of a large stock of precious metals
had become axiomatic in France.”6 Even before Richelieu and Colbert, the
doctrine was well established. As for mercantilism, it consisted of devel-
oping the demand for industrial goods so that they could be traded against
precious metals. In France, the economic policy was pushed to its extreme
under Colbert and all industries were put under state control. Mercantilism
thus became an extension of bullionism but, at the same time, it was a nega-
tion of its principles. Since raw materials had to be obtained from abroad to
produce goods, it was necessary to accept a minimum outflow of precious
metals. The balance of trade theory, which is more sophisticated than strict
bullionism, allowed a comparison of comparative advantages. It could be
useful to export precious metals if it helped in the development of activities
suited to the country’s capabilities or if these exports created more jobs and
reduce poverty.7
These diverse elements, mentioned here in brief, are crucial for under-
standing population-related writings. The main point is that the subjects
must first and foremost contributed to enhancing the Prince’s power and
greatness. Hence, the mercantilists were populationists for two major rea-
sons – one economic and the other political. A large population was needed
to provide the labour force for agricultural and industrial productions, to
pay taxes and to strengthen the country’s military power. Thus popula-
tion, economics and politics formed a triangle at the centre of which was
populationism. But what does the latter refer to?
Even today populationism is diametrically opposed to Malthusianism
in the sense that it essentially amounts to advocating a large population.8
6 This was constantly reasserted. For instance by an edict in 1471 for the development of the
mining industry; in the cahier of the 1484 Estates General (a consultative assembly repre-
senting the nobility, the clergy and the commoners) criticising Louis XI (who in the pursuit
of his policy of building alliances won the support various powers by paying them in gold;
by an ordinance issued by Francis I in 1540, etc. See Cole (1931: 10).
7 Heckscher (1935: 125, 296). On the limits of theorisation among mercantilists, especially
the balance of trade, see Blaug (1986: 11–20).
8 This term is understood in its current sense. Malthus himself was in favour of population
growth while those who have oversimplified his ideas are Malthusians in the present sense of
the term. See Charbit (2009).
Strictly speaking, population is measured in a purely static manner: a large

population is desirable per se for any country. But the populationist argu-
ment is developed further. The population figure is instinctively related to the
land area and a higher density is preferred to a thinly distributed population.
Equally spontaneously, a large population is assumed to be youthful, and
this naturally leads to the dynamic view that a population pyramid having a
very wide base holds the promise of a higher reproductive rate. And since
the future is somehow assured by a high fertility, populationism favours early
marriage as well as a high rate of marriage. If all women get married and that
too at a young age, their fertility will be maximized. But to ensure the future,
it is equally necessary to avoid high mortality, especially among infants who
are the most delicate, because the country’s future really depends on them.
As a last resort, population can be increased by encouraging immigration.
Finally, the populationist doctrine takes into account major demographic
variables such as fertility, marriage rate, mortality and immigration as well
as classic structures like family and division into groups based on sex and
age in relation to an implicit political entity, namely the state and the entire
land area over which its sovereignty extends including its colonies.
Of course, any consideration of demographic structures and variables is
dependent upon the particular state of affairs in a particular period and espe-
cially on the ability to conceptualise population and population dynamics,
whether at a theoretical or a doctrinal level. Since it looked at population
only from the Prince’s viewpoint, the populationist doctrine of the six-
teenth and seventeenth century naturally stressed “the higher interest” of
the state and took it for granted that individual behaviour should necessar-
ily conform to it. This political dimension of populationism gave rise to
two corollary observations. Firstly, since the state’s interest could be either
political, military, economic, social or cultural, the effective measures varied
according to the priority given to a particular domain. Secondly, individ-
ual responsibility with regard to procreation, which was the central point
of the Malthusian doctrine – at least as it is understood today – was not
at all important in this case since the Prince’s subjects were not treated
as individuals but as a community constituting one of the assets of his
power. Can populationism be regarded as an issue of political philosophy?
Bodin had provided the theory of sovereignty and the connection is clear
enough.
The central hypothesis of this chapter is that even though there was
no well-focused and structured theory in this respect, the populationism
of the mercantilists, when considered as a doctrine, is a real topic for
research that must be explored with due regard to the economic and politi-
cal contexts, which are inseparable. Mercantilism represented the economic
counterpart of political étatisme, it was a “general strategy of power” where
Mercantilism and Populationism 67
economics was complementary to diplomacy and war.9 And last but not
least, Heckscher’ invaluable history of European mercantilism defined it as
“a phase in the history of economic policy”. He then went on to demonstrate
that it was a quadruple system designed to benefit the central authority –
a unifying system, a system of protection, a monetary system, a system
of power.10 Mercantilism claimed to be a “unifying” factor since its aim
was to strengthen the state to the detriment of the lower rungs, espe-
cially the towns which had their own economic policies during the Middle
Ages. After 1666, Colbert laid down a proper state industrial policy char-
acterised by very precise regulations for manufacturing processes that fully
justifies the use of the term Colbertisme to refer to excessive interference
by the state in industrial production.11 Faced with such an elaborate sys-
tem, the question arises whether there was any independent thinking on
population or whether it simply gave rise to a set of complementary and
purely marginal arguments embodying a different type of thinking, gen-
erally of an economic or political nature. Indeed, passages dealing with
population are often sketchy and express few ideas, so much so that one
wonders if population provided any food for reflection and whether special-
ists in the history of demographic thought, notably Gonnard, Spengler and
Hutchinson, anachronistically overstressed the existence of a specifically
mercantilist demographic thought.
This study is limited to France for several reasons. Since there were
French, English, German, Swedish, Spanish and Italian mercantilists, it was
impossible to analyse the totality of this vast European stream. Hutchinson
and Heckscher provide very valuable information about Swedish and
English mercantilists and reference to their works is made whenever they
cast a helpful light on the situation in France. Heckscher, who devoted rel-
atively little space to the treatment of population by the mercantilists and
9 As repeatedly in economic textbooks. See for instance Martina 1991: 12. Also see Cole
(1939: I, 25).
10 Published in Swedish in 1931, Mercantilism has not been translated into French. We have
used the 1935 English edition. Quotation: I, 19.
11 As a unifying system, mercantilist policy in England and France tried to do away with
the toll charged by the state for the use of roads and waterways, but without much success.
Colbert, however, succeeded (1664 edict) in standardising customs duties within the “five
big farms”. Weights and measures and currency were two other spheres in which the State
tried to bring in standardisation. Similarly, the 1673 edict in France specified the structure of
professional bodies which had come down from the medieval guilds. In England the insti-
tution of Justice of the Peace was created. But since these judges were not paid, they were
corrupt and hardly enforced the rules and regulations except for the Paupers Act. They were
usually recruited from among local landowners and tended to look after their own interests.
Heckscher (1935: 1, 22, 45–106, 216).
barely one and a half pages to France, observed that very little was writ-
ten on economics in France in the seventeenth century, whereas “in actual
practice France surpassed all other countries in its efforts to stimulate the
increase in population by all conceivable means.”12
The French case is particularly interesting precisely because mercan-
tilism was widely implemented by the political authorities. It also seems
reasonable to adopt Joseph Schumpeter’s typology which acknowledged the
contribution of “consultants and administrators”, who wielded a great deal of
influence in the royal court (Barthélémy de Laffémas, Richelieu and, last but
not least, Colbert), and the “pamphleteers” (Antoine de Montchrétien and
others who were not so well known).13 In his reference work on Colbert,
Cole remarked that though the latter was not original either in his ideas
or in his actions and though he had undoubtedly read neither Barthélémy
de Laffémas nor Antoine de Montchrétien nor Jean Eon nor Jean Bodin,
he occupied a unique place in France. “Mercantilist thinking had been bur-
geoning there for half-dozen generations before it bore its fruit in Colbert,
not because he was a thinker who saw more deeply into its problems or rea-
soned better from its premises, but because he was a man of action, vested
with power, who accepted the mercantilists’ concepts as the only natural and
logical way of attaining the end he sought – a powerful and wealthy France
united under a glorious monarch.”14 Above all, Cole tried to analyse the real
efficacy of the measures that were taken which gives rise to the big ques-
tion about the limits of absolutism. The Cahiers de doléances of the Estates
General,15 Colbert’s Lettres and Instructions et Mémoires, edicts issued by
successive kings and isolated documents like Richelieu’s Testament poli-
tique, are also indispensable for the study of mercantilism in general and
12 Heckscher (1935: II, 44–46, 17–163; quotation: 160).

13 Schumpeter (1994: 143–154). Laffemas (1545–1611), who was born in a poor Protestant
family in the Dauphiné region, was Henri de Navarre’s barber and personal manservant. When
the former was crowned Henri IV, in 1602 Laffemas was appointed Controller General of
Trade and President of the Trade Council which was established on his suggestion. He was
responsible for framing France’s first industrial policy. Antoine de Montchrétien (1576–1621)
first published several tragedies, lyrical poems and sonnets. He lived in England around 1605
where he discovered the realities of the economic world. On his return to France, he married a
rich widow and set up a steel mill and a tool factory in Normandy. Though he was a Catholic,
he organised the Huguenot rebellion in Normandy and ended up being killed on 8 October
1621.
14 Cole (1939: I, 355; quotation). Goubert (1993: 351) is right to point out that this work is
unappreciated.
15 Before 1789, the Estates General had last met in 1614–1615. Richelieu became the “master
of France” (Chaunu, 1984) in 1630 and remained in power until his death in 1642. Colbert
exercised personal power for 22 years, from 1661 until his death in 1683.
About Population 69
for thinking on population in particular. Thus, in addition to providing spe-

cific incentives to promote fertility and marriage, Colbert also devoted his
attention to industrial employment, measures to alleviate poverty, agricul-
tural resources and the populating of colonies. In short, mercantilism can be
discerned as much in the actions constituting the kingdom’s economic policy
as in the writings of the most representative of mercantilist ideologues, the
most important of whom is Antoine de Montchrétien. The role of these ide-
ologues as the heralds of unlimited royal authority is much more important
than their somewhat independent contribution to the progress of ideas.
First, population is analysed here as tool used by mercantilists to deal
with problems relating to labour and employment, anti-poverty measures
and those concerning foreigners. Then two aspects of the national economic
policy advocated by mercantilism, namely the kingdom’s self-sufficiency
and foreign trade are dealt with. International trade and the populating of
colonies are taken up separately because they are based on a different logic,
namely imperialist rivalry. Finally, the economic and political factors that
contributed to the decline of mercantilism indicate that it contained the seeds
of its own destruction.
About Population
Economically speaking, the argument that the population is at the Prince’s
disposal is evidently based on the availability of an abundant reserve of man-
power. But though this seems to be a sensible assumption, it raises other
questions that demand an answer. Was the problem of renewing human
reserves raised consciously, that is to say, did the mercantilists actually think
of renewing the labour force, or was it simply a matter of intuition? And
if this was indeed the case, what were the doctrinal recommendations that
should be deduced? Should the Prince be concerned with such problems and,
if so, what measures should be taken? As the English mercantilist William
Davenant put it in his Essay on the Probable Methods of Making People
Gainers in the Balance of Trade (1699), “The People being the first matter
of power and wealth, by whose labour and industry a nation must be Gainers
in the balance, their increase and decrease must be carefully observed by any
government that designs to thrive.” What should be done if the number of
the people was not sufficient? Should an employment and labour policy be
set up? But since the King’s legitimacy was sanctioned by religion, and he
was the acknowledged head of the Gallican Church in a seventeenth-century
France that was profoundly imbued with Catholic values, he was expected
to relieve his subjects of their hardships. Mercantilism was thus confronted
with the problem of poverty alleviation. Finally, what about those who were
not the Prince’s subjects, but foreigners living or working in the Kingdom?
In most cases, mercantilists were favourable to population growth and rarely

referred to the status of men, except when they were trying to attract skilled
foreign labour to develop a line of production that the Kingdom lacked.
The Edicts of February 1556 and November 1666

The edict of November 1666 is the best example of a measure inspired
by populationism. It aimed at encouraging early marriage and large fam-
ilies by offering fiscal incentives. After referring to the preoccupations of
ancient Rome, the preamble posed the problem in political and moral terms:
“Although marriages are a source of fertility from which states derive their
strength and greatness, and as sacred and secular laws have also vied to hon-
our fertility, (. . .) we have found that due to the licentiousness of the times,
these privileges were squashed and the dignity of marriage diminished.”16
This edict is often mentioned by commentators, but it should be compared
with three other texts that focused on the relationship between marriages
and other demographic variables, particularly the edict issued by Henri II in
February 1556 against the concealment of pregnancy and childbirth, which
deserves to be quoted at length: “And being duly warned of a very enormous
and execrable crime that occurs frequently in our kingdom, namely that sev-
eral women having conceived children by dishonest means (. . .) disguise,
deny or conceal their pregnancy (. . .). And when the time comes for them to
be delivered of their fruit, they give birth in secret, then they suffocate [the
infants], kill them or get rid of them by other means without submitting them
to the holy sacrament of baptism. Because of this they are thrown in secret
and filthy places or buried in profane soil, deprived thus of the customary
Christian burial. When warned and accused of this crime before our judges,
without any feeling of shame for their sin, they declare that their children
were dead when they came out of their wombs without any appearance or
hope of life (. . .). Women are known to have killed their children. To atone
for their sin they will be punished with death and public execution.”17
This edict, which was repealed by Article I, Part II of the Penal Code,
examined with a quasi-sociological perspicacity the causes of illegitimacy,
abortion and infanticide. But more than anything else, it severely condemned
practices that went against the teachings of Christianity and, in a more gen-
eral manner, Judaeo-Christian morality, and which were therefore dangerous
for social discipline. Every three months, during the sermon in the parish
church, the congregation was reminded of its duty to report pregnancy.
16 Isambert, XVIII: 90.

17 Isambert, XIII: 471–473.
About Population 71
But this practice fell into disuse after it was repealed by a decree of the
Parliament of Paris on 19 March 1698. Ten years later, the Edict of 25
February 1708, “in view of the licentiousness and looseness of morals” reaf-
firmed the need to respect this “just and beneficial law” which “tends to
ensure not only the life but also the eternal salvation of many children con-
ceived in sin”.18 The fact that abortion and infanticide were repudiated as a
consequence of illegitimacy and that, by contrast, the sanctity of marriage
was reaffirmed, also demonstrates the helplessness of the two powers – tem-
poral and religious – before a social practice. But what was the truth? It
is believed that between 1690 and 1719, the only period for which infor-
mation is available, illegitimate births accounted for about 1% of the total
births and premarital conception hardly 3–4%. These figures are quite low
as compared to later developments – on the eve of the French Revolution
the number of illegitimate births rose to about 8–12% in France and 30% in
Paris, if one takes into account the children who were abandoned or sent to
the countryside, whereas premarital conception rose to 15–20% after 1750.
Van de Walle, who quotes the 1556 Edict, does not provide any figures, but
he believes that abortion was more common than infanticide.19
The only explanation for the somewhat dramatic tone of the 1556
Edict seems to be the personality and ideas of Henri II. Meyer makes an
understatement when he writes that “there is no doubt about his religious
convictions” because the unbridled intolerance visible in the edict’s text is
comparable to the repressive policies of this king with a “slow and mediocre
mind”, so different from his father Francis I. “From the beginning, excessive
repression prevailed,” wrote Buisson in the chapter on reforms in France in
Lavisse’s classical textbook. On the day of his coronation in July 1547, Henri
II promised the Archbishop of Reims that he would “exterminate from his
kingdom all those who were denounced by the Church” and almost imme-
diately (8 October 1547) the Chambre ardente was set up in Parliament to
hasten the trials for heresy. Before its repeal on 10 January 1550, dozens
of people had been sentenced to death. It was immediately replaced by the
Edict of Chateaubriand (27 July 1551), “a truly persecutory code” in 26 arti-
cles. The repression was further aggravated by the Edict of Compiègne of
24 July 1557 whose sole clause stipulated that the only punishment possi-
ble was death for “persons belonging to heretic Christian sects (. . .) who
spread their dogma in public as well as in small secret assemblies”, a repres-
sion that was altogether not very different from the Spanish Inquisition.
Such then was the context in which illegitimacy, abortion and infanticide
were repressed, that the death penalty, for instance, was far more sentenced
18 Isambert, XX: 527–528.

19 Lebrun and Fauve-Chamoux (1988: 313–314); Van de Walle (1998: 283).
than for witchcraft.20 The first war of religion broke out in 1562, two years
after the advent of the weakling Charles IX and Henri II was quite busy
with Protestant aristocratic families laying claim to the throne. Finally, in
1556, in the same year as the edict against the concealment of pregnancy,
another edict was issued in Blois to intensify the implementation of the 1539
Ordinance of Villers-Cotterêts. Illegitimate births could not thus be toler-
ated at a time when the necessity of marriage and the need to register all
marriages were being reaffirmed, but it is also possible that Henri II looked
upon them as an additional element of confusion at a time when the tension
between Catholics and Protestants was on the rise.
As compared to the Edict of 1556, the concrete steps taken by the Edict of
1666 indicate a profound change in the rulers’ concerns. Though moral con-
siderations were present, it was clearly utilitarian in nature. It exempted from
“all tailles, levies and other public charges” persons who married before
the age of 20 until they reached the age of 25. The heads of noble fam-
ilies having ten living children were to be given an annual pension of a
thousand pounds and of two thousand pounds if they had produced twelve
children, whether living or dead. As for those bourgeois who were exempted
from the taille paid to the royal treasury, they would receive half of what
was given to the nobles. However, children who had entered the religious
orders would not be taken into account whereas those who died on the bat-
tlefield would be considered as living when calculating the pension. This
restriction regarding children who had entered the religious orders can be
explained by Colbert’s constant worry about the growth of active popula-
tion in the productive sectors, namely agriculture and trade. In a report dated
22 October 1664 addressed to the King, Colbert felt obliged to add a com-
pletely unexpected sector, namely “war on land and sea”: “If Your Majesty
could successfully reduce all the subjects to these four professions, it is cer-
tain that you will become the master of the world”. Colbert had no choice
indeed: the glory of the King was as important as his riches. So he advised
that judicial and financial services should be cut down because they reduced
the active population “without adding to your glory”.21 Driven by his obses-
sion to maximise the active population, he promulgated several edicts to
reduce the members of religious orders and the clergy. In September 1665,
he tried to make it difficult for young men to take their vows, decreeing that
they could do so only after the age of 25. He also reduced the amount of
20 Meyer (1993: 197) and Buisson, s.d.: 526–531. Sorman (1978) provides comparative data
on death sentences for infanticide for the years 1614–1621, which shows that the Edict was
still being enforced long after it was repealed.
21 Isambert, XVIII: 91. Also see Edict of July 1667 (Isambert, XVIII: 190). Report of 1664:
Lettres. . ., VI, 3.
About Population 73
dowry so that less affluent parents would find it easier to marry their daugh-
ters and to discourage the latter from joining religious orders. In December
1666, an edict forbade the creation of new religious communities without the
King’s permission and ordered the dissolution of those founded without let-
tres patentes during the preceding thirty years. This measure had a twofold
objective: reducing the size of the population and also the area of land that
did not come under the tax net. Finally, in 1666, he was able to reduce the
number of public holidays bringing them down from 41 to 24.22
Labour and Employment

Since mercantilists believed that population was one of the factors of pro-
duction, it follows that the larger it was, the lower the wages and more
competitive the exports. There are, however, two weaknesses in this argu-
ment. Although the mercantilists were unanimous in wanting as large a
population as possible, they were not concerned about the factors that con-
tributed to it, neither by the means of subsistence, nor by employment,
which were conceptualised later by classical economists. Secondly, there
is a blatant contradiction in the idea, mentioned earlier, that the Prince’s
wealth depended on the wealth of his subjects. On the other hand, the demo-
graphic argument raised a problem right away: population was only potential
wealth; it could become a resource for the kingdom only if it was devel-
oped economically and politically. For example, the Third Estate’s Cahier
de doléances, presented to the Estates General of Blois in 1576, pointed out
that the best way to feed the people was to employ them in the Kingdom’s
factories instead of exporting raw materials to other countries where their
transformation into finished products provided work to their inhabitants.23
So it was not enough to have a large population, it also had to be as indus-
trious as possible. Idleness was unanimously condemned and charity was
regarded with hostility as it was suspected of encouraging idleness. In the
same way, it was believed that low wages drove people to work more.
Increasing the size of the active population also meant having recourse to
the employment of very young children. Richelieu was particularly cynical
about using population as a tool. In his Testament Politique, he displayed
undisguised utilitarianism. “All policies agree that if the people were too
well-to-do, it would be impossible to constrain them to follow the rules
of their duty.” The subjects were compared to “mules which, being used
22 For Colbert’s letters in which he expressed his thoughts on the religious orders and the
clergy, see Cole (1939: I, 465–467). Also see the Edict of December 1966 regarding the
establishment of convents and other religious communities, Isambert, XVIII: 94–99.
23 Cole (1939: 8–9, 21).
to burdens, are spoilt by long rest rather than by work.” The only hint of
compassion was visible in his statement that there should be a balance
“between the load and the strength of those supporting it”.24 That is all
Richelieu had to say on this subject.
Though the royal authority made practically no reference to the reproduc-
tion of the work force, it tried throughout the sixteenth century to control the
guilds and corporations torn by conflicts between employers and workers.
For example, an edict issued by Francis I in 1539 forbade, though without
much success, “journeymen and servants in all trades and occupations to
form communities or assemblies, whatever the reason or occasion”. Colbert
succeeded in fulfilling this objective a century later through the Edict of
1673, supported by several letters to Intendants, the creation of new cor-
porations being a source of revenue for the government at a time when it
was in need of money to finance the costly Dutch War (1672–1678). The
edict made sure that these corporations were fully under government con-
trol by laying down their statutes and rules and overseeing their elections.
Government inspectors took part in their meetings and workers were totally
at their masters’ mercy. In the big factories, there was severe regimentation
and repression of workers. The regulations governing the factory of Saint-
Maur manufacturing gold cloth are the only ones to have come down to us.
They forbade the employees to divulge manufacturing secrets and fixed the
duration of breaks, the fines levied in case of absence and punishments for
theft, for removing tools, products, scraps of cloth, etc. from the factory.25
The measures taken by Colbert constantly tried to link the management of
labour to the strengthening of the French economy. He was very careful to
prevent emigration, especially of skilled craftsmen or sailors and the Edict
of August 1669 ordered punishment by death for any Frenchman accept-
ing a job or settling in a foreign country. In 1697, he saw to it that some
thirty workers from the silk industry hired by the Spanish Ambassador were
arrested shortly before they left for Spain.26 Rightly judging that the pop-
ulation of a region could increase if jobs were created on the spot, in a
letter dated 21 November, he advised the Intendant of Orleans to create
24 Testament. . ., 180–181.
25 Quotation: Levasseur (1859: II, 112, also see 89–103). The 1597 edict was more effec-
tive (Levasseur, 1859: II, 129–130, 136). Heckscher (1935: I, 145–152) and Cole (1939: II,
441–457) are more informative about the Edicts of 1581, 1597 and 1673. The regulations
governing the gold cloth factory of Saint-Maur can be found in Levasseur (1859: II, 137 and
item D also reproduced in Cole, 1939: II, 452–455) on the regulation of the Saint-Maur fac-
tory producing gold cloth. Regarding the mobility and control of workers, see Cole (1939: II,
447–455).
26 Cole (1939: I, 463); Clément, Introduction, vol. II(1): CXXXIV, CXL.
About Population 75
such jobs.27 On the other hand, he tried to get skilled workers to come to
France and he clearly succeeded in developing the tin industry, manufacture
of lace, embroidery and mirrors as well as tapestries, competing with Venice
and Flanders in the case of the last item.28 Colbert’s introduction of tar pro-
duction in Provence and in the Medoc, until then a monopoly of Holland
and Sweden, shows the close connection between politics and economics in
his strategy and in a more general way in mercantilism. “There is nothing
so important for our navy as to make ourselves capable of doing without
foreign manufactured goods.”29 The same blend of economic and political
objectives was also true of his method of dealing with poverty.
Combat Poverty
When faced with the problem of poverty, mercantilists took three types
of measures which were far from contradictory: charitable (alleviating
poverty), political (maintaining public order in the kingdom) and economic
(putting the idle population to work). From the sixteenth century several
Edicts, often inspired by opinions expressed by the Estates General, con-
demned criminality related to vagrancy and idleness and recommended that
“sturdy beggars” should be put to work under threat of being expelled from
the Kingdom or sent to the galleys.30 In the seventeenth century, a clear pol-
icy was formulated to this effect.31 Assistance was provided, especially in
the years when the harvest was bad or when the country was threatened by
famine. Following the example of Lyon, which played a leading role, Paris
set up a general hospital in 1656, followed by other cities (Le Mans in 1658,
Moulins in 1660 and so on). The destitute were confined to these hospitals
with the aim of reducing vagrancy and concealing immorality while per-
forming the duty of charity. But another clearly acknowledged objective was
to employ able-bodied beggars in factories. Though there is an abundance of
examples, two will suffice for our purpose. In Lyon, they were employed in
the production of ribbons and the preparation of silk. In Paris, an ordinance
issued by the Civil Lieutenant in 1635 required all vagrants and prostitutes
to “take up service within twenty-four hours, or else leave the city of Paris
27 Clément, Lettres. . ., II(2): 584.

28 Clément, Introduction, vol. II(1): CXXXIII.
29 Letter dated 20 May 1671 quoted by Clément, Introduction, vol. III(1): VII.
30 In 1545, 1560, 1576, 1583 and 1588. See Cole (1931: 27–30).
31 Cole provides substantial information on these points (1939: I, 264–276; II, 473–502).
Unless mentioned otherwise, we have borrowed from him most of the information that
follows.
and its suburbs on pain of being sent to the galley, in the case of men, and
whipping and permanent exile, in the case of women”.
The end of the seventeenth century witnessed the publication of the
first macro-economic analyses which abounded in the writings of the phys-
iocrats. For example, the preamble to an edict issued in 1700 acknowledged
that poverty forced indigent people from the country to flock to the cities
after the famine of 1693, but the flow should have reversed after a good
harvest in the years that followed. The beggars should have returned to
the countryside because the shortage of labour had a twofold consequence:
the land remained uncultivated and wages became excessive.32 An edict
issued by Charles IX in April 1561 regarding the administration of hos-
pitals and the upkeep of the poor bears the imprint of compassion.33 But
as soon as Richelieu came to power, he formulated a scheme in 1625 for
the Regulation of all Business in the Kingdom, a programme typical of the
government in which one paragraph titled “Confining the Poor” carefully
separated the “vagrants and idlers” from the “needy and disabled poor” who
were “deprived of food” by the former. The latter should be “confined and
fed” and the “able-bodied employed in public works”. The next paragraph
provided for an annual meeting of the representatives of the traders, clergy,
officers, mayors and deputy mayors of towns to share the expenses incurred
for their upkeep. In case of any disagreement, the matter would be referred
to Richelieu for arbitration.34
Under Colbert, the treatment of the poor assumed two interconnected
aspects, which were summarised in the preamble to the edict of August
1661. Firstly, it was a matter of “forcing idle beggars to work when they were
found to be able-bodied”.35 On the one hand, he constantly tried through var-
ious edicts, supplemented by letters to Intendants, to rid France of beggars
and vagrants. In 1680, towards the end of his life, when he realised that ear-
lier decrees had not put an end to the disorder, he introduced new repressive
measures such as at least fifteen days imprisonment for every sturdy beg-
gar arrested in Paris with minimum food and as strenuous a job as possible.
Repeated offenders were sentenced to three months, then 1 year and finally
life imprisonment. Every adult male over the age of twenty, who refused to
perform the tasks demanded of him, was sent to the galleys for life with-
out any possibility of appeal.36 According to Cole, the Intendants took their
orders seriously as witnessed by the letters addressed to Colbert by some
32 Isambert, XX: 366–367.

33 Isambert, XIV: 165–167.
34 Papiers de Richelieu, I: 266. Also see articles 41 and 42 of the Michau Code (Isambert,
XVI: 235). On imprisonment, see d’Avenel (1890: IV, 358–360).
35 Isambert, XVIII: 5.
36 For example, the declaration of 11 July 1682 on Gypsies or Egyptians forbade gentle-
men to provide them shelter and sentenced men to the galleys and women and children to
About Population 77
of them. However, the repression failed: the royal declarations of 1686 and
1700, issued after Colbert’s death, talk of vagrants and beggars in the same
terms as the earlier edicts. Colbert was concerned about controlling pilgrim-
ages for similar reasons: due to vagrancy, disease or death, the number of
active subjects was reduced as many vagrants claimed to be pilgrims. Each
pilgrim was obliged to produce written permission from his bishop and a
certificate stating his occupation, matrimonial status, etc. without which he
was put under arrest and in the case of a second offence, he was punished
for vagrancy.37
The second part of the measures against poverty included the develop-
ment of the General Hospital in Paris in which Colbert took a great deal
of interest all through his career. In the beginning, the General Hospital
took care of the poor while the Hôtel-Dieu looked after the sick.38 But
by 1680, centralisation had succeeded: while private religious institutions
continued to play their benevolent role, nine establishments were brought
under the General Hospital. And in the climate of the growing persecution
of Protestants, which climaxed with the repeal of the Edict of Nantes in
1685, an edict issued on 15 January 1683 confiscated the bequests made
to Synods by those practising the “Supposedly Reformed Religion” and
diverted them to the hospitals.39 The task of police surveillance was made
easier by this edict and though some hospitals became penal institutions in
the eighteenth century, new rules provided for the imprisonment of rebel-
lious children or those perverted by licentiousness, girls being sent to La
Salpêtrière and boys to Bicêtre, on their parents’ demand. They were made
to pray and received religious instruction but, above all, “they will be made
to work for a long time and do the hardest jobs that their strength and their
place of confinement will permit”.40 Insubordination and flight were pun-
ished by giving them more work, less food and various other punishments
including being sent to the galleys permanently. At the same time, prosti-
tutes were imprisoned in a section of La Salpêtrière and the same rules were
applied to them.41 Finally, the General Hospital of Paris was supposed not
only to take care of the poor, the old, the epileptics and the sick incapable of
imprisonment (Isambert, XIX: 393–394). After Colbert’s death: the edicts of 12 October
1686 and 25 July 1700 (Isambert, XX: 21, 366–367).
37 On pilgrimages see the Règlement of 25 July 1665 and the edict of August 1671 (Isambert,
XVIII: 5–9, 436–438).
38 For example, on 1st April 1673, 6,478 poor persons were taken into the General Hospital
and 1,421 children into the home for children: Cole (1939: II, 478).
39 Isambert, XIX: 413–414. Also see Declaration of 21 August 1684 (Isambert, XIX: 455–
457).
40 Ordinance of 20 April 1684 (Isambert, XIX: 441–445). This ordinance repeats almost word
for word the wording of the Rules of 23 March 1680 (Isambert, XX: 234).
41 Ordinance of 20 April 1684 (Isambert, XX: 444–445).
looking after themselves, but also control beggars and vagrants.42 To avoid
overburdening the hospital, an effort was made to set up similar institutions
in the provinces with the same mix of charity, police surveillance of poverty
and vagrancy and mobilisation of idle manpower. An edict issued in June
1662 outlined the motives for setting up a General Hospital in every city:
the King was happy that Paris was rid of beggars and that children were fed
through charity and taught a trade, because Paris could not look after all the
poor people in France. Colbert spared no effort to see through to the end
the establishment of general hospitals in the provinces (at Auxerre, Rouen,
Mende, Grenoble, Angers, Poitiers, Laval, etc.), even though he sometimes
had to face opposition from the provincial Parliaments. For example, the
Parliament of Burgundy was against the establishment of a hospital in Dijon.
As a matter of fact, the government played a crucial role in acquiring land,
dissolving existing charitable institutions, raising taxes and financing future
institutions. On the whole, the hospital workshops probably provided work
to at least 20,000 persons (4,000 in Paris during the 1660s, 2,000 in Poitiers,
2,400 in Orleans, etc.). This work force was engaged in a variety of activ-
ities: making vinegar, laundering clothes, watch making, tapestry-making,
shoemaking, manufacturing pins, lace making, making turbans, spinning
and weaving, manufacturing cutlery, soap making, etc. Either the hospital
managed the entire production activity as an enterprise or it hired out work-
ers to private entrepreneurs while providing them food, lodging and medical
care.43
Antoine de Montchrétien and Foreigners

The relationship between politics and economics assumed a different dimen-
sion regarding the last constituent of the work force, namely the immigrant
population. Foreigners were sometimes regarded as a threat and in the
writings of the mercantilists and the relations between the Kingdom and
foreigners were often tinged with a distrust that reached its climax in
Montchrétien’s writings.
Let us rapidly recall the opinions about foreigners in Montchrétien’s time.
During the meeting of the Estates General in 1560, the Third Estate asked
that foreigners should be banned from banking activities to avoid the con-
tinuous outflow of money from the kingdom. An ordinance issued in 1563
repeated this demand and fixed an amount of 50,000 crowns as a security
42 General Rules for the Administrations of the Paris Hospital dated 23 March 1680
(Isambert, XX: 232–235).
43 Cole (1939: II, 501–502); also see II: 219–224 regarding the conditions of work as seen by
the directors of the Paris General Hospital.
About Population 79
deposit, which can be regarded as an old-fashioned method of exchange

control. The same complaints in 1576 were followed by an ordinance in
1579 which required every foreigner wanting to engage in banking activi-
ties to deposit an amount of 15,000 crowns.44 Finally, in 1614, the Third
Estate demanded that no foreigner should be permitted to levy farm taxes.
Undoubtedly, under the influence of Laffemas, the Trade Council, of which
he was president between 1602 and 1604, proposed that foreigners produc-
ing manufactured goods should be allowed to become French naturalised
citizens and that it should be made compulsory for all foreign manufacturers
to employ French apprentices so that the latter could learn their manufac-
turing secrets.45 These measures bring to mind a macro-economic view of
international trade according to which the import of manufactured goods
gives rise to competition that can prove fatal for domestic manufacturers.
This was a sensible opinion given the prevailing circumstances because,
even though nineteenth-century liberalism advocated the opening of borders
to revive sectors that had become stagnant due to systematic protectionism
in the form of high import duties, no such theory had been developed in
the sixteenth century which would have permitted the analysis of protec-
tionism in these terms. Almost forty years before Montchrétien, Bodin had
raised only one single question regarding foreigners: how could the countries
where they had settled down in large numbers ensure that power remained
in the hands of the native patrician families? All through Six livres de la
république, there was no overt rejection of foreigners as individuals or as a
group. And although Montchrétien constantly plagiarised Bodin’s ideas,46
he did not follow Six livres. . . on the issue of foreigners.
The virulence of his Traité d’économie politique is in sharp contrast to
the writings of his contemporaries. Foreigners, entire occupations and pro-
fessions as well as denominational groups were vehemently accused, France
was always shown as the victim of forgery and unfair competition, and
the corruption of traditional values was constantly deplored.47 Foreign mer-
chants were “leeches”, “famished lice” who “amass all the gold and silver in
France so that it can be taken away by some to Seville, by some to Lisbon,
by some to London, by some to Amsterdam, by some to Middelburg”, who
“block all avenues of profit” and young French people were reduced to idle-
ness. “Public places resound with barbaric accents, swarm with unknown
44 Levasseur (1859: 38–39).

45 See Cole (1931: 31–33, 79–80, 91, 98, 101).
46 For example, regarding censorship: Traité. . ., 341–353.
47 According to Cole (1931: 58), the only comparable argument was the one presented by
Nicolas de Montand (actually a pseudonym). However Wells (1999) convincingly argues that
the word leecheswas often used to reinforce the xenophobic rhetoric.
faces, bustle with newcomers.” It was not even possible to talk of hotel-
keepers’ profits because foreigners were self-sufficient, they lived with their
compatriots and brought their own furniture and to crown everything, they
occupied the most beautiful houses. And the Jews? Montchrétien’s vigilance
could not be faulted: they “slipped into France a few years ago and they do
business for their compatriots or for themselves (. . .). There are very strong
rumours about them. They do not knock off work on Sundays, they do not
eat pork fat, (. . .) not to speak of their secret meetings, which already scan-
dalise many decent people. In truth, they smack of circumcised men. It is
said that these people put on a grand display, but at home they are very dirty
and mean in their personal lives”. He also wanted magistrates to intervene
wherever necessary and advocated that Jews should generally be kept under
watch in the name of religion. In conformity with the old Catholic tradition
of anti-semitism, “The magistrate must see to it and take measures whenever
necessary. Honour and especially piety oblige us to do it. Let us remember
that we have been baptised.”48
This most classic attack against foreign countries and their policies
rounded off the one against individuals. Montchrétien was opposed to the
principle of equality of treatment in the case of natives and foreigners, unless
it was necessary to attract foreigners for reasons of state, for the develop-
ment of new industries. At the same time, he wanted the King to protect
his subjects from the tyranny of foreigners who deprived them of their only
source of income.49 He did not stop denouncing the imitation and faking of
French products: in London, merchants claimed with pride that they were
selling French goods so that they could sell them better, while in France
people bought Flanders lace because they believed that it was superior, even
though it was actually made in France, exported to Flanders and then reim-
ported.50 Or again, paper was exported from France although printing could
be a flourishing industry, not to mention the fact that national publishers,
being controlled, would not spread subversive ideas about morality and pol-
itics.51 The fact was that France did not protect itself properly, as proved
by the extreme imbalance in the trade between France and England. There
was free entry of English goods into France, but severe restrictions on goods
coming from France which were subject to confiscation. French nationals
entering England were victims of vexatious measures and subject to heavy
48 Traité. . ., 161–162, 165–166, 168 (merchants like leeches, economic activity, self-
sufficiency); 166–167 (languages); 192–193 (Jews and surveillance). The word used for
circumcised is recutit.
49 Traité. . ., 35–36, 153, 73.
50 Traité. . ., 53, 62, 69, 80–81, 83, 95.
51 Traité. . ., 88–95; “this has provided a means of corrupting many of our men and tempting
them away from legitimate obedience” (p. 92).
A National Economic Policy 81
tolls whereas there was no check on the English in France. As for Spain, hon-
est Frenchmen who wanted to trade in its colonies risked being sentenced to
death. The Dutch were praised as “allies and good friends”, but it will be
seen that the situation changed under Colbert, when France waged a war on
Holland to drive it away from international trade. In short, “everything for-
eign corrupts us”.52 One cannot but compare Montchrétien’s virulence with
Colbert’s pragmatism, Colbert being an embodiment of the strong author-
ity that Montchrétien wanted to use in order to keep a check on foreigners,
but unfortunately for Montchrétien, Colbert was in power fifty years later.
Undoubtedly, at the time Traité was published, the Italians, Mazarin and
Marie de Medici, were hated. But since he dedicated his treatise to Louis
XIII and the Queen Mother, who was none other than Marie de Medici, and
since he had to obtain the King’s permission for printing his Traité he had
no choice but to turn his hate towards other foreigners. In contrast Laffemas,
for example, did not believe that it was impossible to ban the entry of Italian
goods on the grounds that the Queen Marie was a Medici. According to him,
the Queen’s behaviour proved just the opposite.
Having said this, is the concept of xenophobia useful to interpret
Montchrétien’s treatment of the foreigners’ issue? Ethnologists know how
dangerous it is to extrapolate the concepts of one society to another. It is
equally dangerous to move from the present to the past. Since it is very
unlikely that being a foreigner in France in the sixteenth century meant the
same thing as in the nineteenth or the twentieth century, is it legitimate to
talk of xenophobia with reference to Montchrétien’s Traité? To be fair, there
ought to be a norm for evaluating what amounted to a xenophobic opinion in
the context of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries – a search that would
take us too far out of our way. Let us simply conclude that as regards the
“current” or “average” opinion about foreigners in his time, Montchrétien
was quite different from his contemporaries in the sense that his attitude was
exceptionally virulent. This hostility had not been nourished by the rejection
of earlier writings that could have inspired him, for neither Plato nor Bodin,
two authors whom he quoted or plagiarised often, had provided him with
these arguments. In one word, the tone of his writings is comparable to what
we would consider today as xenophobia.
A National Economic Policy

The question of population was not just considered by itself, taking into
account measures for increasing the birth rate, labour requirements or the
economic role of foreigners. Indirectly though, the economic policy of
52 Traité. . ., 194–207 (England), 208–220 (Spain), 207–208 (Holland), 241 (corruption).

mercantilism was not without consequences as regards the contribution

of the King’s subjects to the greatness of France. In 1615, Antoine de
Montchrétien summed up quite clearly the three principal methods of ensur-
ing the “glory” of the King of France and “the growth of his people’s
riches”, namely developing industries, reorganising “navigation” and restor-
ing trade, which would in effect also be Colbert’s economic programme.53
The Prince’s wealth depended on that of his subjects, mainly because the
tax revenues were higher if the subjects were rich. Such was the analysis
proposed by Richelieu’s Testament politique: “The Prince’s wealth would
be his poverty because his subjects would not be left with sufficient funds
to maintain their trading activities or to pay taxes that are legitimately due
to their sovereign.”54 The balance of trade theory, which was more sophisti-
cated than strict bullionism, compared the relative advantages. For example,
it might be profitable to export precious metals if it permitted the develop-
ment of activities suited to the country’s capabilities or if these exports could
create more jobs within the country and thus reduce poverty.55 Three impor-
tant points in the writings of “administrators and consultants” as well as
those of the “pamphleteers” had implications for the country’s population:
self-sufficiency, raw materials and imports, industrialisation and exports.
Whether they are dealt with from the political or the economic angle, politics
and economics always overlap.
The Kingdom’s Self-Sufficiency

Any effort to attain the prime objective of the economic policy of mercan-
tilism, namely to slow down the export of gold and silver, was supposed
to enable the country to import raw materials not only to plan its industrial
strategy but also, from a more political viewpoint, to avoid economic depen-
dence on other countries so as not to risk the shortage of raw materials and
essential goods in the event of war. For example, the production of saltpetre,
indispensable for the manufacture of gunpowder, was carefully protected
and its export banned. The issue was that of France’s self-sufficiency. For
instance in 1484, 1557, 1572 and 1583 (when the Assembly of Notables was
convened by the King), France’s diversity and wealth, which were regarded
as quite evident, made the country independent of its neighbours. Richelieu’s
53 Traité. . ., 19.
54 Testament. . .,
350. As usual, Montchrétien was not very precise. He wrote that the great
princes “always tried to imagine and formulate rules that would suit their subjects and enrich
them knowing full well that such wealth was the real and inexhaustible source of their
expenditure and liberality” (Traité. . ., 98).
55 Heckscher (1935: II, 125, 296).
Testament politique or the expectations of various royal edicts were in almost

the same tone as the observations made in 1597 by Barthélémy de Laffemas
or in the Cahiers of the Three Orders.56
The best known exposition on this topic, namely Antoine de
Montchrétien’s Traité d’économie politique (1615) deserves to be quoted:
“Your Majesty possesses a vast well-located country, abounding in wealth,
teeming with people, powerful because of its forts and excellent towns,
invincible in arms, triumphant in glory. Its territory is sufficient for the infi-
nite number of its inhabitants, its fertility for their food, its multitude of
livestock for their clothing (. . .). For their defence and housing the materials
there are suitable and convenient for building houses and fortifying cities
(. . .). France can do without the neighbouring countries, but the neighbour-
ing lands cannot without her (. . .). She has infinite riches that are already
known and yet to be discovered. The smallest of her provinces provides
Your Majesties with its grains, wines, salt, cloth, wool, iron, oil, blue dye
(. . .). But of all these great riches the greatest is the inexhaustible abun-
dance of men: because they are gentle spirits, active and full of intelligence
(. . .) capable of inventing and doing.”57 What a wonderful land was France,
whose kind-hearted people had of course no responsibility whatsoever in the
murderous intolerance and the harshness of the eight religious wars which
had repeatedly torn the Kingdom between 1562 and 1598! Whether one
appreciates or not the charms of this idyllic portrayal of France, one thing
was certain: the country’s diversity made it logically possible to restrict its
imports and promote the export of its manufactured goods. The reference to
the innovative talents of its people, though much more interesting, has rarely
been mentioned by specialists in mercantilism, although it is precisely this
trait that made it possible to frame the industrial development strategy so
characteristic of mercantilism. Besides, Colbert did not stop banning the
emigration of people and the export of their technical know-how, but with
unequal results, notably because of the contradiction between the economic
and political objectives. The repeal of the Edict of Nantes, as is known, had
serious and irrevocable economic consequences.
Montchrétien then referred to all the industrial sectors in which France
excelled, paying particular attention to metallurgy. He observed that more
than 500,000 blacksmiths produced goods of better quality than England
and yet metallurgy was languishing and there was widespread unemploy-
ment. The remedy was to promote its development because of a threefold
56 Saltpetre: Heckscher (1935: II, 33–34); Laffemas, Royal Edicts and Cahiers prepared
by the Three Orders for the Estates General: see Cole (1931: 20–22, 66–67). Richelieu’s
Testament also made a similar assessment: Testament. . ., 335–342.
57 Traité. . ., 23–24. Richelieu emphasised the same idea that France could do without the
goods produced by its neighbours. Testament. . ., 335–342.
gain: employment for the King’s subjects, revenue from national production
and the influx of foreigners in France because they would no longer find a
market for their products and could not remain in their own countries. All
this could be accomplished precisely because France was self-sufficient: she
had “place” (“forests and rivers”), “materials” (“steel and iron”), men and
specifically “good craftsmen”, an early mention of what we call human cap-
ital. The political argument followed soon after: “Give yourself the pleasure
(. . .) of seeing iron transformed into gold in the hands of your men instead
of French gold being changed into iron through the artifice of foreigners.
Give yourself the glory of having in your country what you need for defend-
ing yourself and for attacking.”58 The problem was therefore seen from
all angles: the bullionist imperative (produce in order to get gold) and the
twofold benefit for the King (economic and political). The reason behind this
lengthy passage on metallurgy and forges was certainly the strategic nature
of arms manufacture, the very reason why Colbert, as we shall see later, set
up the tar industry. It was indispensable for caulking the hulls of the royal
navy. But this insistence was also a pro domo complaint: Montchrétien had
set up a steel plant and a tool factory in Normandy to manufacture “knives,
lancets and scythes of which French craftsmen did not have enough”. Its
existence can be ascertained as far back as 1612, three years before the
publication of Traité, and it prospered so much that Montchrétien, who had
opened a store in Paris, also acquired a ship in 1617.59
Raw Materials and Imports

To prevent the loss of gold, strict protectionism discouraged the import
of manufactured goods by imposing heavy taxes on them. As a matter of
fact, imports had one major disadvantage: they provided jobs in foreign
countries and inflicted unemployment on French workers – an argument
that was repeated over and over again. In 1615, Montchrétien developed
this argument endlessly for most of the industries he reviewed, particularly
metallurgy. “I represent to Your Majesties that all the hardware, in the man-
ufacture of which not only towns but entire provinces are engaged both
within the Kingdom and outside it, can be made in large quantities and at
very reasonable prices in your Lordship’s countries, that admitting and wel-
coming foreigners here means depriving thousands of your subjects of their
livelihood, for whom (. . .) this work is the source of income; it means dimin-
ishing your own riches, which depend on the riches of your people and grow
58 Traité. . ., 43, 53, 56, 57–58.

59 T. Funck-Brentano, in Traité: XII, XV.
because of it.”60 In 1634 Richelieu asked the Marquis de la Gomberdière to

draft a letter to the King to bring to his attention “the significant means that
we have in France of drawing gold and silver from foreign countries and
preventing them from taking ours”, a classic mercantilist objective which
echoes Montchrétien’s plea. There followed a list of towns and the products
that could be exported; the letter concluded that, “For some years due to
much negligence on the part of the French, workers have been laid off and
foreigners are now using them for the manufacture of woollen cloth (. . .) in
such large quantities that they are taking away most of your subjects’ gold
and silver and these commodities and manufactured goods were being made
in your Kingdom, which kept your people in money and provided food and
employment to the poor.”61
To restrict imports, mercantilists also tried to influence consumption pat-
terns62 and limit, in particular, expenditure on luxury garments, which led to
the wastage of a portion of the Kingdom’s gold reserves. The denunciation
of luxury assumed a moral dimension and in Montchrétien’s words, it was
a “factor of corruption of our ancient discipline”.63 The argument went so
far as to recommend the restriction of gold and silver embroidery on gar-
ments because it used up a part of these metals that could be used for other
purposes. Fabrics woven with gold and silver threads, jewellery and silks
were to be reserved for the nobility or only for the royal family.64 In spite of
60 Traité. . ., 51; also see 124.

61 Quoted by Hauser (1944: 121–142). Also see Testament politique. . ., 335–336. In 1625,
his magnum opus Règlement pour les affaires du royaume foresaw the enactment of “laws
restricting expenditure on luxury items”, Papiers de Richelieu, I: 268.
62 Among the numerous examples, a Declaration issued on 25 September 1694 forbade tailors
to replace silk buttons with woollen buttons according to “the custom introduced recently”
due to the loss of numerous jobs in the silk industry (Isambert, XX: 227–228). In England, the
colourful Political Lent restricted the consumption of meat to certain days of the week. These
measures, which were in force during a whole century, had lost all religious significance
and their objective was overtly economic and covertly political. It was economic because
by reducing the consumption of meat, the consumption of fish increased and provided work
to English fishermen. It was political because the Navigation Acts explicitly associated the
politics of Lent with the need to strengthen England’s maritime defences. Lent politics was
only one aspect of a persistent trend in English politics: since the first Navigation Act of 1381,
the decline of the English navy was denounced and subsequent Acts (1531, 1580, 1603, 1651,
1660 and 1705) reaffirmed that the navy was essential for the Kingdom’s defence and safety.
There are quotations from these Acts in Heckscher, II: 36–37. For example in 1531, the navy
“had been not only a great defence and surety to this realm of England in time of war, but
also a high commodity to all the Subjects”.
63 Traité. . ., 60.
64 This argument is repeated in the Edicts of 1485, 1532, 1543, 1549, 1554 and also in the
Cahiers of the Estates General of 1560, 1576 and 1558. See Cole (1931: 12–19 and 83) on
Barthélémy de Laffemas.
the progress in the understanding of economic mechanisms, bullionist logic,

in the strict sense of the term, can still be identified in the Edicts issued at
the beginning of the eighteenth century. An ordinance dated 29 March 1700
denounced luxury entailing “excessive expenditure and consumption of pre-
cious materials like gold and silver that are obtained with so much difficulty
and expense from the most distant lands”.65
Industrialisation and Exports

Royal edicts as well as the cahiers of the Estates General (for instance in
1572 and 1576) condemned the export of raw materials since they could be
used in France itself to develop its manufacturing industry and create jobs. In
1615, Montchrétien, with reference to industries making silk, taffeta, velvet,
satin, woollen cloth and paper, saw it as a means of preventing the outflow of
gold, “What is the use of all the gold and silver from Peru and Mexico flow-
ing into France if this pump uses it all up and sends it elsewhere?” and when
he mentioned the white cloth “that are our mines” he obviously referred
to the silver mines of Potosi in Peru.66 But real thinking on industrialisa-
tion began with Barthélémy de Laffemas. He was convinced, on the one
hand, that France owed her wealth to her diversity and, one the other, that
strict bullionism was not effective since it was too rigid. He believed that
the restoration of industries ruined by the wars of religion would reduce
poverty and enrich the King and his subjects. Taking into account the influx
of English goods in the fairs, he recommended a ban on the entry of foreign
goods into France. But more than anything else, he was responsible for the
first steps to develop sericulture.67
A long Instruction dated 15 May 1679 from Colbert to the Marquis de
Villars, French ambassador in Madrid, is a far-reaching lesson on interna-
tional trade that was both cynical and pragmatic in that it explained very
lucidly not only the relation between bullionism and mercantilism, but also
the concrete reality of migration and international trade induced by the influx
of precious metals in Spain. “The Marquis knows quite well that trade tak-
ing place in Spain between all nations involves almost no exchange of goods,
but of the silver that comes to Spain from Peru in its fleet and galleons sent
there from time to time. This trade is even more important because through it
65 Isambert, XX: 355.

66 Traité. . ., 66,
75, 78–80, 93–94.
67 Laffemas and earlier writings, we have followed Cole (1931: 38–44, 64–91). See Levasseur
on the role of Sully and Olivier de Serres (1859: II, 138–141).
silver spreads all through the states of Europe and the more each state trades
with the Spanish, the more silver it gains. That is why it is necessary, and His
Majesty desires that the Lord Marquis de Villars should take special pains
to maintain and increase this trade through all means that the merchants can
suggest to him and that he should always use the name and the authority of
His Majesty to give them all the protection they need.” Once these objec-
tives were stated, Colbert reminded the ambassador of the three principal
methods by which the Kingdom could benefit from the trade with Spain and
for which he should provide his active support.
The concerns expressed by Colbert sound extremely modern. First,
money transfers by seasonal workers: French workers and craftsmen “from
the border areas (of Spain) and from the provinces of Limousin, Auvergne
and others, who go abroad every year and return to France after working
there for some time, bring back to their provinces what they have earned”.
The marquis was asked to find out the number of such seasonal workers
and the difficulties they encountered in transferring their earnings and help
them to do it “with adroitness and in secret”, because it was not desirable
that the Spanish should know how many of them were working in their terri-
tory. Second, a great number of “all kinds of manufactured goods (. . .) come
into Spain and are used for consumption in this country”. The ambassador
should make himself available to merchants and their agents in Madrid and
in other cities and “give them all the assistance and protection they need”
and “inform himself about what can be done either to give them more free-
dom to trade or to increase trade and to further promote the manufacturing
industry in France”. Colbert went further and wanted a list of seasonal work-
ers, statistics which no French embassy or that of any other country is able
to provide even today. The ambassador should therefore play the role played
today by the economic adviser in Embassies and by the French consulates
abroad, who keep a record of French nationals working in the country.
The third method referred to bullionism. The Spanish, Colbert observed,
had been obliged by their colonial monopoly to enact laws, under which
all commodities shipped from the West Indies had to be registered and the
export from Spain of “silver converted into bars” was strictly forbidden. It
was clear to him that these laws were not enforceable: “Through these two
laws the Spanish have tried to keep within their country the immense riches
obtained from their new world. But since they do not produce any of the
commodities and manufactured goods needed for the maintenance of this
great country, the absolute necessity of obtaining them from foreign coun-
tries” had rendered these laws “vain and needless” and led to widespread
corruption which benefited the captains of galleons, judges and officers in
charge of ports. Better still, the Spanish relied on the strictness of their laws
to “treat other nations well or badly”. In other words, they simply confis-
cated goods loaded on foreign ships or inflicted heavy fines in exchange for
clemency, the so-called indulte. Everything was completely arbitrary.68 But

since the English and the towns of the Hanseatic League, which had obtained
an exemption for their ships visiting Spanish ports, “could trade freely”,
Colbert asked the ambassador to seek the same advantages for France and
to explain to the Spanish that His Majesty had resolved to “obtain satisfac-
tion” through the use of force if “justice, equity and the implementation of
treaties” did not suffice.69 It would not be possible to analyse more lucidly
the counter-productive effects of bullionism nor illustrate more clearly the
overlapping of politics and economics simultaneously within the country
and in international relations. We are far from Montchrétien’s empty gen-
eralities (“industry should be developed, the navy should be reorganised,
trade restored”). But the economics of mercantilism did not restrict itself
to the kingdom’s borders: trade rivalry had important implications for the
population of colonies.
International Trade and the Colonies

The colonies received special attention as a means of ensuring the
Kingdom’s self-sufficiency and this gave rise to the Colonial Pact under
which raw materials produced by colonies were reserved for the national
industry, while the colonies themselves became a captive market for the
Kingdom’s manufactured goods. They thus formed a part of the national
economic system in the sense that they contributed through trade to the
Kingdom’s wealth. The Edict of August 1664 regarding the Etablissement
d’une Compagnie pour le commerce avec les Indes orientales stated that
“the happiness of the people lies in restoring our kingdom’s trade, which
is the only way of attracting wealth and (. . .) spreading it among the gen-
eral population through manufactured goods, the consumption of exotic
produce and the employment of an infinite number of persons of all ages
and sexes that trade generates”. Clearly enough, the classical theory of the
demand for labour is anticipated here: economic growth generates demo-
graphic increase. The happiness promoted by long-distance trade, was, of
course, “entirely in accordance with the genius and glory of our nation”.70
68 Similarly, when in our days a government is incapable of enforcing its customs policy, he
leaves the door wide open for smuggling and corruption.
69 Clément, Lettres. . ., II(2): 699–704. He went so far as to describe the transfer by night
in Spanish galleons, in the Cadiz harbour itself and with the connivance of Spanish captains
and the blessings of officers, of merchandise that had been transported in French ships. And
when the galleons did not arrive, the (city merchants), agents or associates of the French, and
the officers provided facilities for cheating the customs by passing the merchandise over the
walls or through secret places” (Ibid.: 703).
70 Isambert, XVIII: 38–39.
International Trade and the Colonies 89
Unfortunately, what was true of France was also true of its rivals, for eco-
nomic exchanges with colonies meant controlling the trade of goods, that
is to say international shipping, and the promotion of international trade
necessarily led to imperialistic conflicts between the European states.
The use of the term “imperialism” must be justified. Lenin described it
as the “supreme stage of capitalism”. Consequently, imperialism is usually
associated with the rise of industrial capitalism in Britain from the 1820s
and in France during the latter part of the Second Empire, i.e. after the
1860s. This is a rather narrow view for several reasons. First, imperialism
is not necessarily linked to a state of monopolistic capitalism, contrary to
the Marxist-Leninist dogma.71 Second, imperialism has a double dimension,
economic (stressed by Lenin) and political (which he neglected), and the lat-
ter can be traced back to the Roman Imperium. We therefore propose to stick
to the basic definition according to which imperialism is the forcible domi-
nation by a state of one or more states, nations, peoples or territories in order
to exploit their riches. In other words, there cannot be a single definition of
imperialism. However, controlling the natural resources of other lands and
the conquest of new territories in order to exert both political and economic
influence corresponded exactly to the actual functioning of imperialism
in the past. In Europe, bullionism and mercantilism gave rise to rivalries
between the major states since the French, English and Dutch mercantilist
policies had identical objectives. Each of these powers tried to increase the
supply of industrial goods so as to gain maximum control over the purchas-
ing power created by the import of gold and silver plundered by Spain in the
New World. To achieve this end, it was crucial to control international trade,
benefiting from a powerful navy and rich and abundantly populated colonies.
It follows that long before imperialism reached its zenith in the nineteenth
century, populating the colonies was the prime purpose of European eigh-
teenth century imperialistic policies in which economics and politics were
intertwined. Let us recall the progress of French colonisation in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries to show to what extent European imperialism
depended on a strong navy and a prosperous international maritime trade,
before taking up the problem of colonial population.
The Great Trading Companies and the Navy

The Portuguese were the first to organise colonial trade as a monopoly on
behalf of the King and the merchandise was carried in his ships, even though,
in actual practice, private traders engaged in it for their own profit. In 1526,
71 As is known Lenin argued that when capitalism reached full maturity it desperately needed
new outlets and that led to colonial conquests.
Spain forbade its vessels to sail singly and organised a “Silver Fleet” to
protect its galleons laden with precious metals. In the early sixteenth century,
Spain certainly had enough gold and silver to make Cadiz a rich port, but
from 1588 onwards, after the defeat of its Invincible Armada, it stopped
ruling the seas. As for Portugal, which was annexed by Philip II in 1580,
and the Hanseatic League, their declines were irrevocable and only Holland
and England dominated the seas.
The great trading companies were the preferred tool for this domination.
In England, they assumed two forms: there were “regulated companies” or
simple joint ventures of a totally provisional nature.72 In 1531, England
passed a series of Navigation Acts, which allowed traders to use only English
ships for transporting their merchandise, while a lot of new maritime trad-
ing companies were being set up.73 With the advance of colonisation, these
companies were forced to play a political role, invest in the building of for-
tifications and acquire armed ships to protect their merchant fleet for which
they needed capital. “It almost goes without saying,” Heckscher observed
“that it would have been impossible to establish such a stupendous polit-
ical structure, the British Empire, in India or anywhere else, if trade had
been organized in regulated companies dependent on the activity of indi-
vidual merchants.” However, neither the King nor the Parliament tried to
consolidate international trade, but London as an economic centre played a
key role and became the hub for a growing number of trading companies.
On the other hand, the companies were given a wide range of prerogatives
in the territories they covered, or had acquired, pertaining to administra-
tion of justice, defence, concluding treaties and political alliances, and even
repression, when their interests were under threat. For example, they had
the right to arrest and deport any person engaged in trade in their territory.
The Dutch East India and West India Companies founded respectively in
1614 and 1627, managed to do exactly what the state mercantile system had
been trying to; yet they were a unique example of organisations that were
at once efficient and flexible without the benefit of any political support.
Sir Joshua Child, governor of the rival English East India Company and
an ardent admirer of the Dutch, attributed their success in the Baltic to the
absence of a rigid organisation.
The royal power, especially Elizabeth I, had direct financial interests in
international trade and was closely associated with the great adventurers
72 Thus the Moscow Company was founded in 1553, the Levant Company in 1581 and the
East India Company in 1599. Entry to these companies was strictly controlled. Even in 1638,
Charles I failed to get one of his protégés admitted although he was willing to “pay the
maximum”. Heckscher (1935: I, 387, 389, 399).
73 Many acts were passed after 1381 (1485, 1580–1581, 1603–1604, etc.). See Heckscher
(1935: II, 35–37).
and merchants like Raleigh, Drake and Hawkins. This was not however
an English peculiarity. In 1626, for example, the contract of association
of the Compagnie de Saint-Christophe, which became the Compagnie des
Iles d’Amérique in 1635, stated that its capital of 45,000 pounds would be
raised by another 10,000 pounds by Richelieu. Further, the Superintendent
of Finances, two members of the Council of State, two future Presidents of
the Chamber of Accounts and other officials close to Richelieu were among
the thirteen members. However, it is likely that in France, the government’s
involvement in these activities did not assume the same proportions as in
England.74 In France too the great monopolistic Company was the favoured
tool of maritime politics. Richelieu, who was appointed “Grand Master and
Superintendent General of Trade and Navigation”75 by Louis XIII in 1626,
asserted that, “There is no kingdom as well placed and as rich as France and
possessing all the means necessary to become the master of the seas. To suc-
ceed, it is necessary to see how our neighbours rule, set up great companies,
oblige merchants to join them and give them privileges as foreigners do.”76
That same year, he established the Assembly of Notables to get his maritime
expansion policy passed. Accordingly, the Michau Code, which reflected
Richelieu’s thinking, encouraged (articles 429 and 430) the King’s subjects
to form companies and granted them special favours, especially the mainte-
nance of a fleet of 50 warships to escort trading ships. But the word oblige is
significant: unlike England and Holland, the companies were never success-
ful from a capitalist viewpoint in the sense that there were not enough private
entrepreneurs interested in such activities and they incurred more losses than
gains for the state treasury. In reality, the companies set up under Henri IV
and Richelieu stagnated or were almost on the point of death.
The aim was to use these great companies to develop the navy, a cru-
cial element of the imperialist policy. Richelieu incessantly drew the King’s
attention to this issue. In an urgent note addressed to the King for the good
of his business (Avis au Roi pour le bien de ses affaires) dated 13 January
1629, he insisted that after the storming of La Rochelle, “the first thing that
should be done is to become powerful on the seas, which will give (us) entry
74 Heckscher (1935: I, 351, 354–355 (on Joshua Child), 405–406, 409 (quotations), 418–436,
438–439, 451). Compagnie de Saint-Christophe: Papiers de Richelieu, I, 510.
75 The edict is reproduced in full in Papiers de Richelieu, I, 511–515. The preamble reaf-
firmed that maritime trade contributed “to the honour and greatness of our state, profit and
growth of public resources and our subjects’ welfare and wealth” (512). According to Hauser,
this Edict was issued in response to a request by Richelieu (Hauser, 1944: 41).
76 Quoted by Levasseur (1891: 281) and d’Avenel (1887: III, 210–211). Among the propos-
als, article 15 recommended that “a fleet should be maintained forever in the future”. See
Papiers de Richelieu, I, 591.
into all the states of the world”.77 No less that twenty articles of the Michau
Code were devoted in the utmost detail to the organisation of the navy, ports,
training of naval staff, maritime trade and even piracy. Richelieu also rebuilt
the ports severely damaged by the wars of religion and reconstituted the
fleet that was almost reduced to nothing.78 The preambles of Colbert’s great
ordinances on trade (1673) and on the navy (1681) drew attention to the
need for France to acquire the means to protect its trade: making the trade
“flourish has committed us to build and arm a large number of ships to pro-
mote navigation and use the strength of our arms on land and sea to maintain
safety”.79 As Richelieu’s policy, Colbert’s was inspired by France’s rivalry
with Holland and England, but it was much more assertive and voluntaristic.
It was implemented in the West Indies, Canada, Asia and Africa (Compagnie
des Indes occidentales, du Cap-Vert et du Sénégal, de la Nouvelle France,
des Indes orientales).80 In the West Indies, for example, the objective was
clear: the Dutch had to be driven away from the Caribbean trade. Colbert
based his policy on an edifying observation: the King owned fourteen islands
there, the most important of which were Saint-Christophe, Guadeloupe and
Martinique, but it was the Dutch who benefited by them. Thus they sent
to France every year about 3 million pounds worth of products from the
West Indies like sugar, cotton, tobacco and especially indigo. They imported
slaves from Guinea into these islands, salted meat from Moscow and Ireland,
Dutch goods that they exchanged for products from India and French wines;
to this they added meat from Moscow while sending jute and timber to the
Dutch domestic market. This fruitful trade enabled them to employ 6,000
men on 200 ships, jobs that could and should be held by French subjects.81
77 Papiers de Richelieu, IV, 26. In early 1627 a memorandum addressed to the Assembly
of Notables reaffirmed that without a navy, neighbouring countries would stop all trade and
wage war at all points, obliging France to adopt a defensive strategy. Papiers de Richelieu,
III, 391–392. On 15 August the same year, he asked the King to quickly oppose the maritime
power of the English and the Spanish and, given the urgent danger, allow him to personally
oversee the building of sixty ships. Papiers de Richelieu, III, 718–719.
78 On the results of Richelieu’s efforts, see d’Avenel (1887: II, 156–171 (reconstitution of the
fleet), 168 (naval dockyards), 192–207 (ports, trade and competition with rivals), 172–184
(training of staff)).
79 Isambert, XIX: 92–93. Also see the preamble to the ordinance on the navy, Isambert,
XIX: 283.
80 Policy under Henri IV and Richelieu: see Cole (1939: I, 31, 68–75, 173–174, 185–191,
342–345, 438–439). For Colbert’s policy: Cole (1939: II, 1–131). On Richelieu, also see
Hauser (1944: 121–142). On the Companies: see Levasseur (1891: 278–289).
81 Colbert also wrote on 16 March to Colbert de Terron, Intendant of Rochefort, that it was
necessary to remedy the fact that “all the sugar from the islands was going to Holland to be
refined and that we can only get refined sugar through Holland, England and Portugal”. He
retaliated by levying a heavy import duty on the cinq grandes fermes in order to encourage
the establishment of sugar mills in the islands. Clément, Lettres. . ., II(I), 476–477. On jobs
At the end of his life, Colbert also had the satisfaction of noting the success
of his policy: trade with the islands was finally in French hands.82
Against Dutch Imperialism

But why was it necessary to oust the Dutch? Because “The Netherlands were
the most hated and yet the most admired and envied commercial nation in the
seventeenth century.”83 These mixed feelings ended in a war between France
and Holland (1672–1678), sparked off by a conflict over customs duties.84
After the first Anglo-Dutch war (1652–1654), England had obliged Holland
to accept the 1651 Navigation Act (as per the Treaty of Westminster signed
in 1654) which reduced its share of the maritime trade in the East Indies.
The second war from 1664 to 1666 drove out the Dutch once and for all
from the West Indies and New Amsterdam, which became New York (under
the Treaty of Breda signed in 1667).
Holland, a poor rural country which had been ruled by the Hapsburgs,
had gradually become a part of European economic exchanges. The Dutch
loaded merchandise in Seville, Lisbon and Cadiz and redistributed it directly
in various European ports and sometimes after storing it temporarily in ware-
houses in Amsterdam. After a long struggle (1559–1609), they were finally
able to free themselves of Spanish control (Truce of 1609) and spread out
all over Europe and also the rest of the world. The Bank of Amsterdam,
founded in 1609, provided the necessary financial facilities the same year
that Grotius published Mare Liberium justifying the freedom to trade on the
seas. The Dutch East India Company established in 1602 was granted the
privilege of trading to the east of the Cape of Good Hope. Between 1606 and
1632, its annual dividend varied from 20 to 75%. At the end of the sixteenth
century, Holland employed 70,000 sailors, had at its disposal about a thou-
sand ships of 200–700 t and built as many new ships every year as the whole
of Europe put together. The outrageous success of a country that was a great
deal smaller than France did not fail to rankle Richelieu: “The opulence of
the Dutch, who, strictly speaking, are but a handful of people confined to a
small corner of the earth having nothing but water and meadows, is an exam-
ple and a proof of the usefulness of trade.” In 1616, he called for an inquiry
in the navy that could be brought back to France, see articles 439–441 of the Michau Code
(Isambert, XVI: 332–333).
82 Cole (1939: II, 341).
83 Heckscher (1935: I, 351).
84 The royal declaration of 18 April 1667 doubled and even tripled the taxes on goods entering
the country. Thereupon, the English and the Dutch responded by raising their taxes on French
goods.
on the ways and means of improving the navy. In response, the Provost and
the Deputy Mayors of Paris addressed a memorandum to the King in which
they referred to the Spanish and the Dutch: “We see how much the neigh-
bouring states have grown due to long-distance navigation (. . .) but while
they strengthen their power and authority, that of France seems weakened
and diminished.”85
In a directive dated 16 March 1669 to the Marquis de Saint-Romain,
ambassador to Lisbon, Colbert deplored in no uncertain terms the fact that
the Dutch had ousted the Portuguese from the East Indies and instructed his
ambassador to propose an alliance with the Portuguese to “avoid their total
ruin”. It was “not only a matter of containing the Dutch” but also of “taking
over a part of the trade and the places they have usurped by force”. He then
went on to estimate their military power: the Dutch East India Company
had 150 ships and 10,000–12,000 men in the Indies and it was with these
resources “that it had waged a sustained war against the Portuguese (. . .)
always having the upper hand”.86 This letter actually repeated in brief a few
ideas from a very profound political work written at exactly the same time
titled Dissertation: quelle des deux alliances de France ou de Hollande peut
être avantageuse pour l’Angleterre.87 There is no need to go into the details
of the argument and Colbert’s prognosis about the alliance that was finally
concluded by England, but the analysis of Dutch imperialism is remarkable.
This state which, in Colbert’s words, “made trade its main business”, devel-
oped a merciless strategy: “They wanted to take the merchandise from its
source and for this purpose they ruined the Portuguese in the East Indies,
prevented or troubled by just means or otherwise the posts the English had
set up there and used, as they do at present, all their means and all their
industry to seize in their hands the trade of the whole world and deprive
other nations of it. On this they base their government’s principal maxim,
knowing full well that as long as they are masters of trade, their forces on
land and sea will grow forever and make them so powerful that they can
become the arbiters of peace and war in Europe and set whatever limits that
please them on justice and on the intentions of kings”. Colbert quoted several
85 Testament. . .,333. Inquiry of 1616: quoted by Levasseur (1891: 252–253). A year earlier,
Monchrétien had pointed out at length to the King the advantage of developing colonies: they
would provide employment for idle men “responsible for large families”, develop preferential
trade on both sides of the Atlantic (he gave a long list of all the materials that the New World
could provide France). Especially silk from the colonies would make it possible to “avoid in
this way the flow of excessive sums of money” that Turkey and Italy “extract every year from
France”, Traité. . ., 315–328.
86 Clément, Lettres. . ., II(2), 456–459.
87 Dissertation: Which of the Two Alliances, with France or with Holland, can be
Advantageous for England. Clément, Lettres. . ., VI, 260–270.
times, as though he hammered the denounciation of an unacceptable reality,

his estimate of the division of the 20,000 ships that shared world maritime
trade: the Dutch controlled about 15,000–16,000 of these ships, England
3,000–4,000 and France barely 400–600. And the total was indisputable:
“The fleets that come every year to Holland bring merchandise worth 10–12
million pounds that they distribute later in all the kingdoms of Europe and
earn money from it that gives them their power”88 – a diagnosis as accurate
as the one concerning the West Indies.
Since mercantilism had led to the rise of deeply antagonistic imperial
maritime powers, their supremacy depended on the existence of well-
established and well-populated colonies. At the end of the sixteenth century,
France lagged behind England. While the English landed in Jamaica in 1655
and colonised Virginia in 1607 followed by Maryland, and established them-
selves in Madras (1640), Bombay (1662) and Calcutta (1690), the French led
by Jacques Cartier explored Canada from 1534 to 1541, but after Jacques
Cartier was called back and the failure in Brazil and Florida, France had
no colony at the end of the sixteenth century. In 1608, Champlain set him-
self up in “Quélibec” at the point where the St. Lawrence narrows down
and it was the first permanent French settlement in the New World. In 1620,
a Huguenot, Levasseur, and then Belin d’Esnambuc settled down in Saint-
Christophe and in 1635 in Guadeloupe and Martinique. In Mazarin’s time,
it was estimated that there were 7,000 Frenchmen in the West Indies against
3,215 in Canada in 1665. The climate and the cultivation of tobacco and cot-
ton and later sugar-cane explain why it was easy to populate these colonies
while in Guiana all efforts (1626, 1634 and 1652) failed. Colbert believed
that populating the colonies was very important and the King’s representa-
tives as well as those of the great companies were expressly instructed to
contribute to the effort. For example, the Edict of 26 May 1664 on the estab-
lishment of the Compagnie des Indes occidentales stated in its preamble that
the King’s intention regarding these islands was “to succeed in populating
them and to do trade over there that is now being done by foreigners”.89
Populating the colonies in the West Indies and Canada were Colbert’s two
major undertakings. They show certain similarities, but also two major dif-
ferences: in the islands there was the problem of slavery and in Canada the
problem of the settlers’ safety.
88 Clément, Lettres. . ., II(2), 457. Richelieu had put forth the same arguments: Testament. . .,
333–334.
89 Isambert, XVIII: 36. Also the Edict of December 1674 regarding the establishment of the
Compagnie du Sénégal: the King was happy that thanks to the action taken by the Compagnie
des Indes occidentales “more than 45,000 persons” lived in the colonies under its control.
Isambert, XIX: 153.
Slavery in the West Indies

Colbert wrote on 6 September 1668 to de Baas, Governor and Lieutenant
General of the French Islands in America, that he would judge him according
to his ability to attract settlers to the islands. He reminded him of the abso-
lute necessity to populate the islands on 31st July 1669, 9 April 1670 and 5
September 1673 and he stressed in several other letters the need to encourage
early marriages in the West Indies: at the age of 18 for boys and 14–15 for
girls.90 The same message was conveyed to the Directors of the Compagnie
des Indes occidentales, emphasising that it was also in their interest to do
so. “The Company’s great advantage and profit lie only increasing consider-
ably the number of inhabitants in these islands, especially since this increase
would bring about a rise in the consumption of merchandise from ancient
France, which in its turn would lead to an increase in the consumption of
foodstuffs produced by her; and these two would bring wealth and profit
to the company.”91 One of the articles in the charter of the Compagnie des
Indes d’Amérique clearly stated the incentive for populating these islands:
the children born in the colonies and the converted slaves were to be treated
as French subjects by birth.92 On 15 September 1669, much before the perse-
cution of Protestants became severe, Colbert wrote to de Baas, “His Majesty
often asks me about the state of religion in the Islands (. . .) and even wants
you to give him your opinion on the appointment of a Bishop.”93
As for the position of slaves, the Code noir touchant la police des îles
de l’Amérique (known as the Black Code) formulated by Colbert in March
1685 but promulgated after his death, stands out due to the juxtaposition of
articles that are perfectly contradictory – at least in appearance.94 On the
one hand, articles 44 and 46 laid down that slaves were the property of their
master and like all movable goods they could be seized, sold and shared.
Since they were not persons, they could not be party to judicial proceedings
(article 33) which ruled out the possibility of any appeal against the owner.
In brief, it was so important to encourage the population of the islands that
the masters were guaranteed absolute control over their labour. However, a
series of articles bearing a deep imprint of Christian morality enjoined them
90 Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2), 408–409, 457–458, 479–480, 565.

91 Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2), 457–458, 472–476. Letter dated 31 July 1669, Memorandum
dated 26 February 1670. Quotation: 473–477.
92 The letters patent establishing the Compagnie de Guinée provided (article 16) for a bonus
of 13 pounds to be paid by the King for every Black person transported to the islands.
Isambert, XIX: 488.
93 Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2): 461. The demand was repeated on 9 April 1670, ibid.: 489.
94 Isambert, XIX: 494–504. On the astonishing legal inconsistency of the Code see Molins-
Sala (2003: 24).
to respect their slaves as human beings, make provisions for their baptism
(article 2) and facilitate the observance of religious practices (article 6).95 In
more general terms, the owner was asked to be “a good father” to his slaves
(article 54) and it was he, and not the father, who was required to give his
consent for the slave’s marriage (article 10). However, the master could not
marry his slaves against their wishes (article 11). Finally, the husband, wife
and prepubescent children could not be sold separately (article 47).
In reality, these contradictions are easy to explain once the Black Code
is viewed in the context of the early 1680s, because several articles acquire
their full meaning in relation to a major political issue, namely the relentless
war against the Religion Prétendue Réformée.96 Thus the preamble affirmed
the desire to maintain the discipline of the “Apostolic and Roman Catholic
Church”. And as if this were not enough, article 3 forbade the practice of
other religions, which would be punished as a “rebellious and seditious
activity”. Article 4 forbade Protestants to own slaves or occupy the post of
commander; article 5 affirmed that the so-called reformed religion “would
not bring any trouble to our subjects”; article 6, mentioned earlier, about
religious practices, referred explicitly to Sundays and Catholic feasts; arti-
cle 8 forbade marriage to non-Catholic subjects (but not to slaves) in the
Islands, which automatically made the children illegitimate.97 A Council
Decree dated 12 September 1684 was an early sign of the repression to
come. It forbade the Company’s shareholders to send to the French Islands
and colonies in Africa and America persons other than those of the Catholic
faith. Mistrust towards protestant was constant, the Companies being meant
to bring in catholic priests, but only to insure the salvation of the King’s
subjects, little attention being paid to the slaves.
This mistrust can be traced back to Richelieu, who in 1627 did not want
the Huguenots to settle in Nouvelle France because in the recent past they
had called for the help of the enemies of France, namely Holland, England
and even the catholic Spain.98 In the early 1680s, when intolerance reigned,
the aim of populating the colonies had to make way for religious concerns.
The case of Jews is quite revealing. In 1670, Colbert ignored demands that
95 However, the efforts to convert these slaves to Christianity were hampered by the owners’
unwillingness. On this point see Gautier (1985). Molin-Sala (2003: 11, 94–95, 112).
96 For a very useful account of the growing religious, social, economic and political persecu-
tions of the protestants from the beginning of the reign of Louis XIV (1661), see Labrouse
(1985). On 15 September 1669, Colbert wrote to de Baas, “His Majesty often asks me about
the state of religion in the Islands (. . .) and even wants you to give him your opinion on the
appointment of a Bishop.” Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2): 461. The demand was repeated on 9
April 1670, ibid.: 489.
97 Isambert, XIX: 461. Also see article 7 of Lettres patentes sur l’établissement de la
Compagnie de la Guinée, Isambert, XIX: 486.
98 Molins-Sala (2003: 63, note 13). On Richelieu, see Trudel (1979: 13).
the Jews should be expelled from the Islands, for he looked upon them as a
group likely to contribute to population growth. The only thing needed was
to regulate their usurious activities. So in 1671, he got Louis XIV to sign
a Royal Decree which required Governor de Baas to grant them the same
privileges as other inhabitants since they had invested in the colonies and
contributed to their development.99 But a radical change was introduced by
an ordinance issued on 30 September 1683, which ordered the Jews to “leave
the colonies” and according to the provisions of article 1 of the Black Code
of 1685, the King’s officers were asked to “drive away from the indicated
Islands all the Jews who have settled down there, whom we command as
declared enemies of Christians to leave within 3 months (. . .) subject to the
seizure of their persons and possessions.”100
The second problem created by the population of the Islands was that
of safety. Articles 15, 16 and 17 of the Black Code forbade slaves to carry
arms and gather together; articles 33–38, relating to violence against own-
ers, provided for severe punishment for any lapse in conduct. To ensure the
control of the already large slave population, an ordinance issued in 1686
demanded that “the number of white volunteers (the so-called engagés)
should be the same as the number of blacks” or else the remaining slaves
would be confiscated. This rule was incessantly flouted. In 1716 there was
one white voluntary soldier for ten slaves, one for twenty in 1766 and one
for forty in 1768, which just shows the helplessness of the royal author-
ity before the big landowners, who needed a large amount of labour and
therefore supported slavery.101 Besides, craftsmen who had worked in the
Islands for 10 years would, on their return to France, have the right to the
status of master craftsmen in all French cities. To encourage population of
the colonies, Colbert ordered the Company to look after the safety of the
men and their possessions so that their economic activity could prosper. The
obsession with population was so great that during the Dutch War, Colbert
forbade the recruitment of soldiers and sailors from the Islands to man ships
(Ordinance issued on 11 April 1676). Another source of population was the
dispatch of young women from the General Hospitals. But in spite of all his
efforts from 1661 to 1683, there was no appreciable increase in the popula-
tion of the Islands, except for Santo Domingo where slavery was responsible
for its growth. In 1687, four years after Colbert’s death, the total population
of the Islands was estimated to be 50,000.102
99 Letterdated 23 May 1671 to de Baas, in Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2), 522–523.

100 Isambert, XIX: 435 (Ordinance of 1683) and 44 (Black Code).
101 See Gisler (1981).
102 Santo Domingo: Cole (1939: II, 43–44). Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2): 474. (Memorandum
of 26 February 1670). On 27 November 1697, a new ordinance exempted from taxes sol-
diers who had settled down in Saint-Christophe and Santo Domingo. Isambert, XX: 302. On
Canada’s population see Charbonneau et al. (1987: 6–13).
Populating Canada
Under Richelieu, the Compagnie de la Nouvelle France was charged with
bringing in 4,000 settlers over a period of 15 years (between 1627 and 1643)
in Canada on pain of having to pay back to the government the cost of the
ships put at its disposal by the King. In March 1683, Louis XIV cancelled the
privileges granted to the Seigneurie des Cent-Associés on Nouvelle France
on account of an insufficient population.103 Colbert followed the same pop-
ulation policy as in the West Indies, to which he gave top priority. And, as
in the case of the West Indies, he carefully analysed the results of the pop-
ulation counts he had ordered. In 1674, he contested the number 6,705 and
wrote that it was lower than the one reported 10 years earlier. In 1676, 7,832
seemed “impossible” to him. In 1677, the number 8,515 seemed right, but
too low. The reason why Colbert was surprised in 1674 was that until its
dissolution in 1674, the Compagnie des Indes occidentales had purposely
inflated population figures.104 But specific steps were needed on account of
the danger presented by the Iroquois Indians. In 1665, a first regiment of
1,000 men was sent to Canada to protect the settlers from the Indians. In
1669, he again sent six companies (500 men and 30 officers) who were
encouraged to settle in Canada by offering them financial incentives. To
accelerate population growth, he also made things easy for the new set-
tlers. For example, he instructed Talon, who was getting ready in 1665 to
take up office as the Intendant of Canada, to get houses built every year
for newcomers, get plots of land ready so that they could start cultivating
them immediately and he advised him to avoid dispersing the settlements
to prevent the settlers from being massacred by the Iroquois.105 In 1672, he
made the same recommendations to his successor, Frontenac, insisting that
his most important mission was, like his predecessors’, to “increase and mul-
tiply the population”. He had to do everything possible to dissuade settlers
from returning to France by governing the colony justly.106
To encourage marriages and make up for the surplus of men, in 1669
Colbert looked for marriageable girls among the idle stock of spinsters
locked up in the General Hospital to send to Canada, but he observed during
103 Trudel (1979: 363–366).

104 Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2), 577, 606, 615. West Indies: letter dated 4 November 1671 to
the Company Director (527).
105 On that threat, see Trudel (1979: 196–204, 255–269).
106 All this information can be found in Instruction au Sieur Talon s’en allant Intendant dans
la Nouvelle France dated 27 March 1665 and in Instruction à M. de Bouteroue, s’en allant
Intendant de la justice, police et finances en Canada dated 5 April 1668 and in a Mémoire
au comte de Frontenac gouverneur et lieutenant général du Canada dated 7 April 1672. See
Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2), 389–397, 402–405, 533–538 and various other letters: 15 May
1669 to Courcelles (449–451), 4 June 1672 to Talon (539–543), 13 June 1673, 17 May 1674
and 22 April 1675 to Frontenac (557–561 and 574–579, 585–589).
the following year that they were not “robust enough to resist the climate or
the hardships of cultivating the soil”.107 He then turned to the Archbishop
of Rouen (under whom Quebec was placed) asking him to urge the parish
priests under his authority to find young villages girls to be sent to Canada:
one or two per parish would be enough, declared a not too greedy Colbert.
And carried away by his own momentum, he made sure that these girls
were married immediately after arrival and congratulated Talon for having
taken away from unmarried men the right to hunt.108 Finally, he encouraged
early marriages: the ordinance issued on 5 April 1669 granted three hundred
pounds per year to persons having ten to eleven living children and four hun-
dred pounds to those with twelve children excluding those who had joined
the orders. A “royal gift” of twenty pounds was given to each boy who mar-
ried before the age of twenty (before sixteen in the case of girls). At the same
time, Colbert was in favour of marriages with Indian women. For example,
on 5 April 1668 he wrote to Bouteroue, who succeeded Talon as Intendant
of Canada, that the Jesuits were wrong to discourage these unions in the
name of the purity of religion: “as much for religion as for the state (. . .)
all temporal power should be used to attract the savages to join the French,
which can be done through marriage and by educating their children.”109
His efforts to populate Canada met with success. The colony’s popula-
tion rose from 250 in 1661 to 9,400 in 1679 and had crossed 10,000 at
the time of Colbert’s death in 1683. This success was due mainly to the
population’s high fertility, in spite of returns estimated to have amount to
two-thirds of the entries all through the century.110 The population policy
was conceived as an element of a wider policy: apart from education and
allotment of land, mentioned earlier, Colbert encouraged the colony’s eco-
nomic development, contrary to the very principles of mercantilism. In 1665,
he encouraged Talon to introduce the cultivation of hemp and flax, develop
animal husbandry, spinning and weaving of wool, leatherwork and fishing
and make Canada a shipbuilding centre because of its immense forests.111
107 In a letter dated 4 September 1682, he told Begon, Intendant of the American Islands that
he was sending “50 girls from the General Hospital” who would have to be fed and that he
should “act promptly (. . .) to get them married”. Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2): 649.
108 Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2). Archbishop of Rouen: letter dated 27 February 1670: 476.
Talon, letter dated 11 February 1671: 513–514.
109 Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2): 404. The same insistent recommendations were made to
Bishop Laval on 15 May 1669 and 10 March 1671 to de Quélus, priest of Quebec (ibid.,
452).
110 Available estimates are consistent according to Charbonneau et al. (1987: 13, note 31).
Trudel for instance asserts that in June 1663 3,035 persons, out of whom two-thirds of men,
had settled along the Saint-Laurent (1973: 149).
111 Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2), 394–395 (Instruction dated 27 March 1675) and 599 (Letter
dated 30 May 1675 to Duchesneau, Talon’s replacement from 1675 to 1682).
Even better, in 1669, he withdrew the trade monopoly of the Compagnie des
Indes occidentales to promote freedom of trade and hence prosperity. What
is important from our point of view is that he connected this development
with population growth. This freedom contributed “a great deal to encourage
(settlers) to trade, which attracted to the country, and because of its riches, a
multiplicity of peoples”.112 After Colbert’s death, the government continued
to strengthen the population by turning soldiers into settlers: an edict issued
in April 1684 tried to prevent emigration from Canada.113
In their book Histoire de la démographie, Jacques and Michel Dupâquier
take note of the large number (67 in all) of censuses carried out in the
colonies in the seventeenth century as compared to their total absence in
the Kingdom.114 However, after Bodin, some writers pointed out their use-
fulness for the Kingdom among whom figured Marshal Vauban in his Note
sur le recensement des peuples, and Fénelon. How can this glaring imbal-
ance be explained? The Dupâquiers give an indication, but they do not
follow it up. The aristocracy was definitely hostile to this indirect method
of questioning its fiscal privileges. The counting of houses would cer-
tainly have been accompanied by the evaluation of property, as was the
case in 1710 towards the end of Louis XV’s reign when there was a pro-
posal to tax one tenth of the income. Tongue-in cheek, they quote the
Duke of Saint-Simon describing with his usual biting irony “the despair at
being forced to lay bare to themselves their family secrets”. Actually, in
his book La dîme royale (1707), Vauban wanted to rethink the whole fis-
cal system from scratch and only a census could reveal the true wealth of
the subjects. However, “everything depends on what people say because
it can even be advantageous for them to tell lies; from which it follows
that taxes levied on the basis of these reports are always questionable and
lead to endless errors and overburdening of people, and when they affect
the poor, as is usually the case, it is not surprising that they bring trouble
to families already weighed down under them.”115 All through his years
in power, Colbert tried to collect the maximum taxes, an action that met
with reluctance and opposition. Faced with the risk of opposition from the
Parliament of Paris, which would almost certainly have the support of both
the nobility and the clergy, he prudently abstained from carrying out a
demographic census, as it would be suspected of having fiscal designs.
Further, it was a common belief that France was highly populated, much
more than its neighbouring countries, an argument that was incessantly
112 Clément, Lettres. . ., III(2): 452 (Letter dated 15 May 1669 to the Bishop of Canada).
113 Cole (1939: I, 177–178 and 475–532 (East Indies); II, 41–59 (West Indies); II, 71–74
(Canada)). After Colbert’s death see Cole (1931: 63, 81).
114 1985: 78. Also see Dupâquier and Vilquin (1977: 92–101).
115 Quoted by Dupâquier (1985: 78).
repeated in the seventeenth century. In the face this evidence, what was
the point of knowing the exact numbers? But though this explanation only
partly justified the disinclination to take a census in the kingdom, it did not
apply to the colonies. A different line of reasoning has to be applied to the
latter. The colonies were fragile because their population was low and the
necessity of populating them was justified since they provided a base for the
Kingdom’s trade. This was a part of the coherent strategy formulated to fight
against Dutch and English imperialism in order to enrich France by obtain-
ing Spanish gold in exchange of colonial products. So conducting a census
in the colonies had economic implications while the internal situation in the
Kingdom had nothing to do with these international stakes.
The Decline of Mercantilism: Political and Economic

Factors
Considering that French mercantilism was inseparable from absolute monar-
chy, it was logical that it should begin to weaken when protests against abso-
lutism grew towards the end of the Grand Siècle. A turning point occurred
during the years 1680–1715, a period described by Paul Hazard’s classic
book as the “European crisis of conscience”, long before the great protest
movement against absolutism by the philosophers of the Enlightenment.
Whereas it is not possible to analyse here all the reasons for the decline
of mercantilism, some political and economic factors carried the seeds of
what would later become population thought. In France, where monarchy
was more firmly entrenched than in England, opposition to absolutism much
more moderate and limited, the major critics being Fénelon, Vauban and
Boiguillebert. However, this criticism was supported by a vast European
movement, ranging from Grotius to Locke and including Pufendorf and
Spinoza, who attacked the very core of absolutism, its religious foundation
and paved the way for the unavoidable conflicts between the free exercise
of reason and submission to the sovereign.116 At the same time, the actual
functioning of the industrial and commercial mercantilist system brought to
the fore the limits and contradictions of this type of policy.
Fénelon: Political Absolutism and Population

The political philosophy of absolutism rested on the proclamation of its
divine origin. According to its major theoretician, Jacques Bénigne Bossuet,
116 The European dimension of that contestation is dealt with in the last chapter.
The Decline of Mercantilism: Political and Economic Factors 103
whose Politique tirée de l’Ecriture Sainte was conceived over a period of

23 years, but was still incomplete when Bossuet died in 1704, the King
was the “father of his people”, and there was no need to describe society
as a contract of association between individuals, or as a pact of submission
as maintained by Grotius or Hobbes. Since the time of Saint Paul, it was
accepted that God transmitted to the King his power over men because “all
power comes from God” and consequently “he who rebels against author-
ity rebels against the order willed by God”.117 Bossuet’s words, “whoever
resists the order created by God” followed directly from the above injunc-
tion. On this foundation, Bossuet “would build a theology of power, or even
a theocracy in the strict sense of the term” by firmly insisting on the reli-
gious origin of power. God “thus rules over all the people and gives them
all their kings (. . .) the king’s person is sacred and any attempt on his life is
a sacrilege (. . .) Majesty is (a reflection of) God’s image in the prince.”118
Gallicanism strengthened this belief and translated it into concrete terms so
that the King’s power over the Church was directly derived from God: “The
King, protector of the Church and guardian of its temporal authority, has
complete power over the discipline and the temporal domain of the Church
of France. The Pope could neither excommunicate his subjects nor release
from the sacrament of fidelity, nor rule on the discipline and the temporal
aspects of the French Clergy.”119 The droit de régale, the royal preroga-
tive that permitted the King to receive the income from ecclesiastical profits
in vacant bishoprics, was thus reaffirmed in 1682. Gallicanism was a tool
in the hands of Louis XIV and the last years of his reign were marked by
the dominance of the devout party driven by the Saint-Sacrement Society
which strove to strengthen the royal power at the religious level against the
Jansenists and Protestants. Jansenism, with its doctrine of predestination,
put the chosen one beyond the king’s temporal powers but did not ques-
tion absolutism in the political sphere. The chosen one was guided only
by the dictates of his conscience that were meant for him alone.120 This
religious and moral standpoint was unbearable to absolutism. In 1679, the
inmates of Port-Royal were expelled and in 1711 the abbey was razed to the
ground. Jansenism could not or would not set itself up as a party inspired
by a political ideology even though “the demolition of the hero”121 reducing
the aristocratic ideal and the holders of power to mere puppets blinded by a
false passion for their greatness and self-esteem.
117 Épître auxRomains, 13, 1–3. The well-known Latin wording is Omnis potetas a deo.
118 Bossuet’s quotations are taken from Morel (2003: 4).
119 Mousnier (1993: 284).
120 An analysis of the relationship between Jansenism and absolutism can be found in Van
Kely (2002: 98–122).
121 Bénichou (1988).
Once protests by the Jansenists and Huguenots had been suppressed and
the nobility muzzled by the royal court, the only possible opposition that
could arise was from the Parliaments, where the Jansenist influence was
still significant, and from a few isolated individuals. Among them were
Fénelon, who published Les Aventures de Télémaque in 1699, and Vauban
whose Dîme Royale came out in 1707. However, their writings did not go so
far as to oppose absolutism in principle, but even then, they were imme-
diately censored. France had to wait for two kings, who were of a less
authoritarian temperament, to allow opposition to absolutism to become
as widespread as in England. Fénelon deserves special attention since the
convergence between political and economic arguments is particularly evi-
dent. Joseph Spengler however deliberately ignored the political aspect of
Fénelon’s writings: “an optimist with an instinctive belief in evolution and
progress, Fénelon did not fear overpopulation (. . .). In general he supposed
that if men work hard and diligently, the earth will be inexhaustible.” The
quotation on which Spengler based his comment can be effectively inter-
preted as the outline of an economic analysis: the soil increases “its fertility
in proportion to the number of people who take care to cultivate it.”122
In other words, per capita productivity does not go down when the input
increases, which means that there are no diminishing returns. Hutchinson
adopted the same viewpoint as Spengler regarding Fénelon’s optimism and,
like him, he observed that Fénelon foresaw the creation of colonies should
there be a shortage of land.123 Though this reading sticks to the letter of
the text, it misses out its sum and substance. Fénelon’s thinking stands at
the confluence of a reactionary aristocratic criticism of absolutism and an
archaic and nostalgic view of ancient agrarian societies based on his reading
of Virgil. Let us begin with the political angle.
As far back as in 1695, Fénelon faced disgrace at the end of his con-
flict with Bossuet on the issue of quiétisme: his stand was condemned by
the Pope and Fénelon was exiled to his archbishopric in Cambrai.124 His
book Aventures de Télémaque (1699) is in the nature of a utopian journey.
While portraying an imaginary and ideal society belonging to the distant
122 Télémaque, XIV: 254. Also, the soil “is never unproductive, it always feeds those who
cultivate it carefully with its fruit.” (Télémaque, X: 167).
123 Spengler (1954: 41) and Hutchinson (1967: 29–30). See Télémaque, X, 164–165 (fertility
of soil) and 167 (colonies).
124 According to this doctrine of spiritual passivity, it was enough for the human soul to just
surrender itself to God to attain perfect peace. As a result, there was no question of sin; “the
quietists considered all thoughts that came to them as inspiration from God and believed that
they were allowed to do whatever came to their mind (. . .) without any reflection or thought”,
Mousnier (1993: 355). Under the influence of a mystic named Mme Guyon, Fénelon defended
quietism, especially in 1697 in his Explications des maximes des saints sur la vie intérieure.
Also see Rothkrug (1965: 286–298).
past, he was in fact criticising the situation in France at the end of Louis
XIV’s reign. But Aventures de Télémaque is the only part that has become
famous. His Examen de conscience sur les devoirs de la royauté and Plans
de gouvernement concertés avec le Duc de Chevreuse pour être proposés au
Duc de Bourgogne, also known as Tables de Chaulnes were no less aimed
at reforming the monarchy. In fact Tables de Chaulnes was described by
Saint-Simon as the “Cabale Bourgogne” (Burgundy Conspiracy).125 There
would be nothing so wrong as to qualify Fénelon as a progressive and it
would be even worse to call him a democrat, for Tables de Chaulnes claimed
that France should henceforth be governed by its nobility which should con-
trol the Estates General as well as the judiciary and the administration. The
Estates General would limit the King’s powers, decide taxes and exercise
total control over politics. They would also curb speculation, usury, priv-
ileges and corruption in the administration.126 And since every province
would have its own Estates General, France would become a federal king-
dom under the pious rule of a very Christian King, Fénelon being convinced
that, in keeping with the Christian and self-sacrificing tenets of the monar-
chy, the King would sacrifice himself and offer his person for the well-being
of his people. Far from being an absolute ruler, he was subject to the divine
law and was totally bound by his responsibilities. “He is only the protector
of the laws and must ensure their supremacy (. . .), putting himself above the
law is a false glory that deserves nothing but horror and contempt.” Finally,
“He is a king only to take care of his people, just as a shepherd looks after
his flock or a father after his family.”127 Bossuet’s ideas can be found in
Fénelon’s writings, but they are directed against absolutism.
As for the economy about which the “Burgundy Conspiracy” dreamed,
it was essentially based on agriculture. The Estates General would encour-
age the proper cultivation of fertile lands under the direction of the landed
aristocracy and a system of primogeniture would be introduced to avoid the
division of aristocratic property. A prosperous agricultural economy would
produce enough to feed the people and export the surplus grains. The lack
of sufficient manpower to cultivate all the land would be compensated by
allotting vacant plots to superfluous craftsmen from the cities and foreign
125 These sketchy notes were written in 1711 when the Duke of Burgundy became the heir
apparent after his father’s death, supported by a handful of aristocrats in charge of his educa-
tion. Mousnier refers to it as “the dreams of embittered noblemen who draw inspiration from
a kind of society that would have been possible three hundred years earlier” (1993: 365).
126 Luxury: Télémaque, X: 160, 50; Examen de conscience. . ., 980–981; Tables de Chaulnes:
1105 (proposal to introduce laws to restrain extravagance which ruins aristocrats and enriches
merchants).
127 Tables de Chaulnes, 1089–1091, 1102, 1104. Quotation: Télémaque, XVIII: 317.
immigrants.128 To make the people happy, they should be given the freedom
to trade – an implicit criticism of mercantilism which did not allow trade to
benefit the people of France.129 Fénelon’s populationism was undoubtedly
directed against absolutism or rather, it brought its misuse into the open.
Absolute power created a situation that was detrimental to the growth of
population, especially if the King gave priority to politics and military gains:
“You must understand that you are the king only as long as you have sub-
jects to rule, and that your power should be measured not according to the
area of the land you occupy, but the number of men living on these lands”.
By the same token, the link with the agricultural model was affirmed: “Let
your people breathe in peace. Apply yourself to make them prosperous, to
facilitate marriages.”130 Also, the King should have his population counted,
especially to know the number of “ploughmen or farmers” who, at that time,
exemplified the happy man “living on the fruits of his land and his flock.”131
Fénelon reached a new stage with his discourse Sur la situation déplorable
de la France en 1710. The country had no money to pay its soldiers and the
King should give up warfare. This was followed by a lesson on the limits of
power: the King should sacrifice everything (read glory derived from war)
to “save the kingdom that God has put under his care. He does not have the
right to imperil it because he has received it from God, not to expose it to
invasion by enemies, like a thing with which he can do what he pleases, but
to rule it like a father and transmit it as a precious trust to posterity.” The
only path was that of peace: “You will become strong afterwards, in spite of
the most disadvantageous peace, (. . .) provided that you work hard to restore
the kingdom and you facilitate during peacetime the growth of families, the
cultivation of land and trade.”132 Finally, Fénelon’s ideas on the politics and
economics of a monarchy that explain his populationism and his thoughts
128 Tables de Chaulnes, 1091 (cultivation of land), 1101 (indivisibility of property attached
to a title which can be inherited only by the eldest son). Télémaque, 158 (exports), 164 (urban
and foreign labour): “But there are not enough people to till the land. Let us therefore take
superfluous craftsmen from the cities (. . .) and make them cultivate these plains and hills.
The vacant lands should be divided among them and help taken from neighbouring people
who can do the heavy work under their direction.”
129 Tables de Chaulnes, 1104–1105; Télémaque, X: 158. Freedom to trade: Télémaque, III:
38–39, X: 159; Examen de Conscience. . ., 987.
130 Télémaque, X: 150. Also: “it is the number of people and the abundance of food that
constitute the true strength and wealth of a kingdom” (Télémaque, XVII: 289).
131 Censuses: Télémaque, X: 158. Examen de conscience. . .. 977. Tables de Chaulnes: 1091.
Farmers: Fleury, Pensées politiques, Opuscules: III, 25; quoted by Le Brun (note 5, 1392 of
La Pléiade edition of Fénelon’s Oeuvres).
132 Sur la situation déplorable de la France en 1710: 1034, 1038, 1043; Examen de
conscience. . ., 991–992, 1009.
on population were by no means original. In his own way, but also like other
writers belonging to the age of Louis XIV, Fénelon too used population only
as a tool.
A Controversial Economic System

It is not surprising that bullionism, which banned the export of metals, met
with failure. The obvious proof of the ineffectiveness of these measures
was that export, which was banned as early as in 1478, had to be renewed
in vain in 1506, 1540, 1548 and 1574. Further, when the complexity of
the economic circuit was understood, the contradiction became evident: it
was necessary to import raw materials to manufacture goods for export.
The deleterious effect of the regulation of manufacturing methods cannot
be overemphasised. During the period 1666–1730, these regulations filled
four quarto-sized volumes consisting of 2,200 pages without counting the
three supplementary volumes.133 For instance, the general guidelines dated
18 March 1671 regulating the dying of wool consists of 12 parts and 317
articles; the Edict issued in August 1669, which became the “industrial char-
ter”, laid down the exact length, width and quality of cloth in 59 articles.134
Heckscher, like Clément and Levasseur, emphasised the ineffectiveness of
the industrial regulations: illiterate masters and workers were incapable of
writing their names on the goods they manufactured, judges and manufac-
turers were ignorant of the rules, inspectors neglected their duty, those who
invented new manufacturing processes not mentioned in the rules came into
conflict with the guilds and there were numerous court cases. Also, it was not
a good sign that a series of ordinances had to be issued to draw attention, but
to no avail, to the need to enforce the rules.135 Continued hostility to these
rules and regulations is witnessed by the fact that Colbert constantly berated
his Intendants to ensure that they were respected.136 In England, by the way,
“the regulation of industry collapsed from within.” After several attempts
by the Stuarts, no other regime was able to enforce these regulations.137 In
brief, all that constituted the economic underpinning of the doctrine relat-
ing to the population’s contribution to production was once again called into
question.
133 Heckscher (1935: I, 160).

134 Clément, Lettres. . ., II(1): CL. Levasseur (1859: II, 179–194).
135 Heckscher (1935: II, 166–178). Levasseur (1859: II, 280–283).
136 For instance, in Tours, Lyon, Amiens and Mortagne. Letters to Intendants: 1670, 1671,
1675, 1681. Clément, Lettres. . ., II, CLII–CLIV. Also see Heckscher (1935: 105–106).
137 Heckscher (1935: I, 294, 324).
On the other hand, it would be an exaggeration to reduce mercantilism to

simple industrialism, because in France, which was a predominantly rural
country in the seventeenth century, the contemporaries of Louis XIII and
Louis XIV, and among them Montchrétien, knew full well that wealth con-
sisted mainly, if not entirely, of land: “farmers are the state’s feet because
they support and carry the entire weight of the body (. . .). It is because
of them that you can pay your armies, equip your garrisons, supply your
strongholds and increase your savings. It is because of them that the aris-
tocracy can live and the cities are fed.”138 One would have expected the
kingdom’s economic policy to take into account this major structural fac-
tor. In this sense, the physiocrats, who towards 1750 pleaded for a radical
restructuring of the fiscal system and who strongly criticised the mercan-
tilists, were influenced by the same socio-economic environment. But Louis
XIV was also hindered by other factors as illustrated by Colbert’s grain pol-
icy. Colbert, who is generally compared with Sully in negative terms, was
more favourable to free trade in grains than it is usually believed because,
in his eyes, famines posed a challenge to law and order and his concern for
the nation’s unity often made him overlook barriers to the grain trade.139
The physiocrats’ criticism of Colbert on this point was quite unjust. He was
very concerned about the condition of the harvest and kept himself reg-
ularly informed about the latest developments.140 Clément calculated that
over a period of 14 years (1669–1683) the ban on exports was valid for only
56 months and there were twenty-one decrees permitting exports and eight
allowing total exemption from export duty. Although Colbert is remembered
as not being very concerned about the kingdom’s rural base, he was very
worried about the possibility of famine, certainly due to the sudden deterio-
ration of climatic conditions (the catastrophe of 1661–1662 was still fresh in
everyone’s mind). But political reasons should not be ruled out. Almost all
the edicts were in fact motivated by the need to “maintain a plentiful supply
in the Kingdom and feed the troops with ease during the winter months.”141
Because of continuous warfare under Louis XIV, especially towards the end
of his rule, it was necessary to maintain a permanent army and feed it as
cheaply as possible and thus the entire population doctrine viewed from the
consumption angle was questioned when the king was too weak to impose
his views. So the “freedom to trade in grain” became an important politi-
cal issue during the reigns of Louis XV and Louis XVI. As for obstacles to
138 Traité. . ., 43. On the general trend of opinion: Rothkrrug (1965: 87–89).
139 Cole (1939: II, 511–512, 520–521).
140 Letters dated 25 September 1663, 15 July 1663, 20 December 1669, 15 July 1663 in
Letters. . ., IV, 216, 220, etc. P. Clément’s calculations: see Introduction, in Letters. . ., IV,
XLI–LI. Risks of food shortage: 3 September 1677, 7 June 1679.
141 Quoted by Clément, ibid.: XLVI.
domestic trade, the Cahiers de doléances of 1789 denounced the system’s

complexity and confusion. As a result, in 1790, the Constituent Assembly
withdrew all taxes that hindered the free circulation of goods within France.
Economic mercantilism also failed because absolutism did not have ade-
quate means at its disposal and had to face muted opposition, to such a
degree that the most important Colbert specialist, Cole, could assert that
“Mercantilism always remained theoretical. Colbert at the height of his
power was never able to put into effect and force upon local officials a tithe
of his policies.”142 Royal authority could not possibly control a kingdom
with a population of 22 million with just 80,000 officials and poor com-
munications. Meyer draws attention to the recommendation of an ageing
Louis XIV to his successor to go in only for moderate reforms for fear of
meeting with failure.143 Besides, corruption was very deeply entrenched,
especially among customs officials.144 The failure of the November 1666
edict on population is very revealing. As early as 1681, Colbert wrote to one
of his Intendants that because it was supposed to compensate for the finan-
cial burden of a large family, the pension (1,000–2,000 pounds according to
the size of the family) should not be given to families after the death of their
children, unless they had been killed on the battlefield. But since there was
no system for keeping a check, like our administrative system of registration
of deaths, to establish a contrario that the child was still alive, the edict gave
rise to so many cases of abuse that it was repealed on 13 January 1683.145
Finally, the best example of the contradiction between economics and
politics was the repeal of the Edict of Nantes (by the Edict of Fontainebleau
dated 18 October 1685). As a result, 1% of the French population, but
25% of its trade potential were lost forever to England, Switzerland and
Holland.146 The mill for manufacturing Dutch style cloth set up in Abbeville
by the Dutch Protestant Van Robais is an interesting example of the man-
agement of political risk, as we would call it today, by an administrator
concerned about filling the state’s coffers that Louvois seemed to be in
a hurry to empty through his aggressive foreign policy. Colbert continu-
ously protected Van Robais. On 16 October 1671, he wrote to the Bishop
of Amiens that he should temper the zeal of an over-enthusiastic monk out
to convert Protestants. Or again, on 17 September 1682, he wrote to the
142 Cole (1931: XII).

143 Historians are agreed on this point: Mousnier (1993: 117, 120), Meyer (1993: 68),
Cornette (1993: 61), and Goubert (2002: 126–127).
144 Heckscher (1935: I, 105–106) and Pillorget (1987: 216–217).
145 Isambert, XIX: 413. Also see Cole (1939: II, 465). The attempts to reduce the number of
judicial officers failed in spite of Colbert’s best efforts.
146 Chaunu (1984: 117–118). Emigration figures for each region and the increase in the
number of persecutions: Levasseur (1859: 285–287).
Intendant of Amiens that he saw no solution other than Van Robais’ con-
version to settle matters. But after Colbert’s death, when workers employed
by Van Robais threatened to leave the country en masse in 1684, Louis XIV
was obliged to send a personal emissary to assure them that they would not
come to any harm.147 So it was through emigration and immigration that the
demographic doctrine was at the centre of the contradiction between politics
and economics.
For Want of Political Arithmetic. . .

Clearly enough, the mercantilist population doctrine was closely linked with
the economic and political stakes and doctrines of the times. Heckscher
pointed out the paradox that Colbert defended the pre-eminence of poli-
tics as a basis of economic power (which led to the war with Holland)
while Richelieu stressed the paramount importance of economics.148 This
point gave rise to a controversy. For Blaug, Bog and Coleman, politics was
more important than economics and Bog claimed that “absolutism devours
mercantilism”. Viner (1969), who denounced the ideology of the German
historical school, especially the work of Schmoller, refused to accept any
primacy. For Wolfe, the tax system revealed a great deal: throughout the
Middle Ages and right up to the wars of religion, the Estates General tried to
curb royal taxes. This changed when Francis I came to power. Wolfe argued
that the tax system formed the core of mercantilism as it was a means of
increasing the king’s revenue, which, according to him, explained the insis-
tence on the development of the national industry and the efforts to bring
down unemployment, because economic activity within the kingdom was a
potential source of revenue.149
Does this mean that it is necessary to decide which of the two – politics or
economics – should take precedence? Certainly not, because this tricky and
quite misleading question refers to preconceived notions, such as economic
determinism and the omnipotence of politics. If it is accepted that the King
needed both wealth and power, which, as we have seen, were always syner-
getic, though sometimes negatively, the mercantilist doctrine ascribed only
one single role to population, namely serving an end that surpassed it – the
Prince’s greatness. When Laffémas wrote to Henri IV in 1601 that “a king
is never rich if his subjects are poor”, it was not concern for the subjects’
147 Clément, Lettres. . ., II(2): 739. Also see Introduction. . ., ibid., CLVIII–CLIX.
148 Colbert:Cole (1939: II, 17–19) and Richelieu, ibid., II: 28.
149 Blaug (1986: 15–16), Bog (1969), Coleman (1969), Viner (1969), and Wolfe (1969: 94,
201, 204).
For Want of Political Arithmetic. . . 111
well-being, but for the country’s taxation base.150 And looking at France as
a modern European state, the bases of this argument were directly related to
historical conditions in the latter part of the sixteenth and in the seventeenth
century.
In spite of these two sets of economic and political causes, would the
population doctrine have been able to stand up against the decline of mer-
cantilism? Although it was dependent on the first attempts at descriptive
statistics, manifested as we have seen in Colbert’s efforts to collect informa-
tion about the population in the colonies, the conceptualisation of population
dynamics was still at an embryonic stage when mercantilism was at its
zenith. But at the same time there was no theoretical demo-economic sys-
tem similar to that built by the physiocrats. For example, nothing was said
about the labour market, although population was a source of manpower.
Similarly, since Colbert and the French mercantilists conceived the world
economic system as static, the kingdom could gain wealth only by impov-
erishing others. Mercantilism produced some strands of theory, especially
about trade balance, but it was not linked to population.151
Finally, the total absence of a link with political arithmetic, which was
just emerging at the time, deprived the population doctrine of mercantil-
ism the ability to survive – on a purely methodological basis – the changes
taking place in the political and economic environment. Till the end of the
period dealt with here, the population doctrine in France had nothing to
do with political arithmetic as defined by William Davenant, the “art of
arguing on matters concerning the government” in his Discourses on the
Public Revenues. The French school of political arithmetic made remark-
able progress only after the 1740s following the publication of Deparcieux’s
Essai sur les probabilités de la vie humaine in 1746 and, later, the writings of
Buffon, Expilly and Messance, that is half a century after the publication in
England of two seminal works, namely John Graunt’s Natural and Political
Observations made upon the bills of mortality in 1662, and Observations
upon the bills of mortality by William Petty in 1683.152 Political arithmetic
was born in an institutional context almost diametrically opposed to that
prevailing in France, with a weak King and a powerful Parliament hostile
to all taxation. The 1689 Declaration of Rights mentioned earlier laid down
in article IV “that collecting money for the crown’s use on the pretext of
the (royal) prerogative is illegal.” The argument could immediately be used
against census-taking, on the ground that it would be too costly. All efforts
150 Quoted by Heckscher, II: 20.

151 On these points, see Heckscher (1935: I, 27; II, 23–25). On the balance of trade see for
example Montchrétien, Traité. . ., II, 38.
152 About France, a collective work edited by Martin (2003) is useful. On England, see
Dupâquier (1985: 172–188), Pearson (1978), and Le Bras (2000).
were therefore concentrated on exploiting available resources to obtain the

tools needed to manage the country’s affairs in a very pragmatic manner. It
is also necessary to mention the “passion for measuring” that inspired intel-
lectuals when the Royal Society was established in 1660.153 As Davenant,
recognising Petty as a precursor, put it “The art by itself is undoubtedly very
old, but its application to objectives related to revenue and trade must be
attributed to Sir William Petty.” In this sense, English political arithmetic,
or this “shopkeepers’ arithmetic” which resulted from the private initiative
of traders, bankers and craftsmen made no pretence to conceptualisation nor
to orderly and systematic comparison unlike the German statisticians who
created nomenclatures for the Prince and whose figures, like in France, were
guarded with the utmost secrecy.
It is evident that the mercantilists’ population doctrine could not be
expanded into a theory without the support of a methodological tool suffi-
ciently independent to survive absolutism, permit the analysis of subsequent
data and finally provide the quantitative base for theoretical progress.
Moreover, the emerging political economy as it developed with the phys-
iocrats was interested above all in understanding the overall economic
system, an intellectual attitude incompatible with the narrow view of those
“working diligently in their offices maintaining records of birth and death,
and doing arbitrary multiplications to count the number of men.”154 The
“arbitrary multiplications” alluded to here were the attempts to estimate
the total number of subjects, using the “universal multiplier” proposed by
Leibnitz in 1700 in a report to the Elector of Brandenburg, Frederic II, and
put into practice from 1740 onwards in some provinces. When Dupont de
Nemours described in these terms the divorce between political arithmetic
and economic theory in 1766, the gulf between them was unbridgeable.
The sectarianism practised by the physiocrats cannot be used as a pretext
to reject criticism for in that very same year, Adam Smith declared that he
had “hardly any faith in political arithmetic.”155
To sum up, even though the opposition to the politics and economics of
mercantilism appears moderate today, it was strong enough to sweep away
153 “To the administrative viewpoint, which required information for proper management
in a world considered to be static, would be added the rational viewpoint that aimed to
define effective methods of action in a world that was growing constantly. This viewpoint
was private; it was initially held by merchants, bankers and craftsmen who discovered the
process while managing their business,” wrote Volle, quoted by Dupâquier and Dupâquier,
who observe that “substitute” would have been more apt than “added”. (1985, 130–131).
154 Quoted by Desrosières (2000: 42). Deparcieux wrote for example, “The ministers need (a
lifelong income) to know what they ought to give to life annuitants in every period when the
state needs money.” Quoted by Behar and Ducal in Martin (2003: 154).
155 Wealth of Nations, Book IV, Chapter 5.
For Want of Political Arithmetic. . . 113
the population doctrine when mercantilism held sway. But by 1750, the
physiocrats in France and the classical school in Scotland and England had
already proposed paths that were radically different from those followed
by mercantilism during the preceding seventy-five years, if we take as its
starting point the year 1675 when Bodin’s Six livres de la République was
published.
Chapter 5
The Political Failure of an Economic Theory
Quesnay and the Physiocracy
The Physiocratic Movement

One overwhelming fact was obvious to all contemporary observers at the
end of the Ancien régime: in this large and fundamentally rural kingdom of
France, the economic weight of agriculture could not be ignored. “All the
authors of the period, Utopists, exiled Huguenots, Economists (. . .) valued
the cultivation of land” and, for Vauban and Boisguibert especially, “agri-
cultural activity has a primacy that is both historical (in the development
of humanity) and logical (in the causal explanation of the productive pro-
cess)”, notes Perrot.1 A third reason can be added: land’s symbolic value,
since the acquisition of land was the key to gaining titles of nobility for
the bourgeoisie of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It is therefore
appropriate to relate ideas on population to the thinking about agriculture
and physiocracy – the “rule of nature” – presents a twofold originality in
relation to the other intellectual currents of the period. It held agriculture to
be the exclusive source of wealth, and on this conviction it based the first
theoretical account of the relations between the rural economy and popu-
lation. Following Adam Smith, who believed that no one had come closer
to the truth in the field of political economy than the physiocrats, they are
generally acknowledged as the first to have developed a coherent economic
theory. They achieved a major theoretical advance by creating a model of
demo-economic growth based on the income of landed capital – they called
it “the net product” – which inspired Marx to develop the concept of surplus
value.2 For the physiocrats, agricultural production regulated population;
1 Perrot (1988: 509, 520).

2A large literature exists on the place of the physiocrats in economic thought, which is
beyond the scope of this study. Schumpeter (1997) claimed that Quesnay was superior to
Adam Smith on several points and evaluated his contribution to economic analysis very
positively. For a more complete discussion of certain concepts and possible affinities with
other currents, see Meek (1962), especially the second half of his book (concerning, for

116 5 The Political Failure of an Economic Theory
more specifically, the number of men, their geographical distribution, and

their living conditions, were determined by the land rent. Classical political
economy (in the work of Smith and later of Malthus and Ricardo) took up
this idea, but extended it to all sectors of economic activity. The level of pro-
duction regulated the size of the population, and the adjustment takes place
in the labour market through the wage rate.
The “physiocratic movement” developed under its leader, François
Quesnay (1694–1774).3 He had few disciples. Marquis Victor Riqueti de
Mirabeau (1715–1789), father of the famous revolutionary, published L’Ami
des hommes ou Traité de la population, which was widely distributed
and read, in 1756. Less well known are Pierre Mercier de La Rivière
(1720–1793), Guillaume-François Le Trosne (1728–1780), the Abbé
Nicolas Baudeau (1730–1792) and Pierre-Samuel Dupont de Nemours
(1739–1817). Their loyalty to the master’s thought, or rather their rigid
orthodoxy, means that the essence of physiocratic thought is in fact con-
tained in the writings of Quesnay, particularly the articles published in the
Encyclopédie.4 For the diffusion of their doctrines, the physiocrats relied
on several periodicals, and in particular the Ephémérides du citoyen pub-
lished between 1765 and 1772. They made followers among rulers in Europe
and beyond, such as the Grand Duke of Tuscany, the Margrave of Baden,
Catherine II of Russia (who invited Mercier de La Rivière), Joseph II, and
Jefferson with whom Dupont de Nemours corresponded regularly.5 Their
example, the theory of profit, the general Walrasian equilibrium, hoarding and the multi-
plier in Keynes, the theoreticians of under-consumption, and more generally the convergences
and divergences with classical English political economy). For the influence of Quesnay on
Adam Smith, see Ross (1984). On the doctrine of sterile classes and the resulting contradic-
tions for the analysis in terms of flow, see Herlitz (1961). On the theory of fundamental price,
which paved the way for Adam Smith, and on the analysis of the role of different classes
in production, cf. Vaggi (1987: 58–93, 169–173). On the physiocratic origins of Say’s law
of markets, see Spengler (1945a, b). On the reformulation of the Tableau économique as a
Léontief matrix, see Phillips (1955). On Marx, see Malle (1976).
3 Weulersse (1910, vol. I and vol. II). On Quesnay himself, one may consult the richly detailed
biography drawn up by Hecht (1958). Théré and Charles (2007) convincingly refute the idea
that Quesnay was mainly inspired by his rural origins and that he was “a rural Socrates”.
His social uprising is to be attributed to two factors: the influence drawn from his position as
personal physician of Madame de Pompadour, the mistress of Louis XV, and to his “cunning
use of the system of patronage”.
4 Some of their contemporaries accused them of being a sect. Given the numerous repetitions
from one author to another, the references to the writings of the different physiocrats are
regrouped in a note at the end of each paragraph. However, Théré and Charles (2008) bring
well documented updated information on the inner dynamics of the group, especially the
relationships between Quesnay and his followers. For Quesnay’s works, all references are to
the 1958 INED edition.
5 Delmas, Delmas and Steiner (1995), give an accurate summary of this aspect.
The Physiocratic Movement 117
theories were put into practice at a political level. Free trade in grain, within
France and even internationally, was instituted between 1763 and 1770
by the reforms of comptroller general of finance Bertin and his successor
L’Averdy, and then under the ministry of Turgot (edict of 13 September
1774). The physiocrats thus witnessed the triumph of their ideas. But this
success proved short-lived: 7 years of free trade between 1763 and 1770,
and 2 years under Turgot between 1774 and 1776. With Turgot’s fall in 1776,
France returned to the old protectionist legislation.
The fact is that the physiocrats’ social base was extremely narrow.
According to Ware, “The physiocratic theory, then, arose out of the special
needs of a new landowning class under a bankrupt monarchy and a fiscal
system inherited from the past. The problem of these new landowners was
to rid themselves of the innumerable taxes of the Ancien régime which fell
of necessity upon the land and made profitable farming impossible. Thus the
single fixed tax on the net product of the land and freedom of trade in grain
were their basic economic reforms. Out of these and the class interest of the
physiocrats came the reinterpretation of wealth, money and value, and, as an
extreme form of this class interest, the doctrine of the sterility of trade and
industry”.6 Talking of “class” is inaccurate here. Within a largely static and
stagnant agricultural sector, physiocratic ideas won over a number of pro-
ducers, noblemen or wealthy farmers, who were keen on efficiency, open to
technical innovations and equipped with a capitalist mentality for managing
their land. This simplified representation of French society of the period also
fails to allow for the power of corporatist interests. These were so strong that
the demand of merchants and manufacturers for free trade was transformed
into outright hostility as soon as their own activities needed protection.7 The
detailed survey of groups favourable or hostile to the physiocrats drawn up
by Weulersse (1910) appears closer to reality. They were supported by some
Agricultural Societies of which they were also members (Paris, Orléans,
Soissons, Rennes and Limoges), by Academies (especially Caen), by five of
the Parlements (Toulouse, Aix, Grenoble, Rouen, Rennes) though only the
first three remained loyal to free trade in grain when its implementation pro-
duced increasing opposition. Some newspapers were well disposed toward
them, and the physiocrats recruited a number of supporters among young
noblemen in certain salons. Relations with the Encyclopedists were initially
good though they deteriorated progressively through the years. Their oppo-
nents were the corporate bodies protected by various monopolies, and the
traders, merchants and manufacturers who did not understand that industry
should be sacrificed to agriculture. Predictably, they met with the suspicion
6 Ware (1931: 618).

7 Léon (1993b: 647–648).
or open hostility of all who benefited from the numerous duties and taxes and
of those who, in the name of the King, were responsible for collecting them
(farmers-general and fiscal agents in general). The Intendants généraux8 and
the police authorities were also opposed, because they feared the disorders
that measures relating to a product like bread could cause, as was indeed the
case.9
Two apparently separate questions need to be answered. At the theoretical
level, why was population a variable dependent on agricultural production?
And why was the physiocratic movement a political and doctrinal failure?
Our view is that these two questions are in fact inextricably linked and
must be answered together, precisely because physiocratic doctrine, whether
political or economic, was based on a theoretical construct of which the
demographic component was merely an expression. In other words, the anal-
ysis must constantly take place upstream from the ideas on population. The
importance given to agriculture, which for the physiocrats was the sole gen-
erator of wealth, is the key to understanding their theory of population. The
historical causes of their failure were economic and political in nature: they
too must be analysed in terms of both theory and doctrine.
Agriculture and Prosperity
The Sterility of Industry and Trade

For the physiocrats – and this was a central tenet of their theory of produc-
tion – neither industry nor commerce generated wealth. How can this be
explained? According to Spengler, this conception was a distant legacy of
the Middle Ages when work and land were the only sources of wealth.10
The merits of that argument are hard to evaluate at such a general level.
A more plausible explanation is that the physiocrats developed their the-
ory in the light of the actual situation of the French economy, about which
they were well informed thanks to the Agricultural Societies and a well-
developed network of correspondents.11 Some features of that situation are
worth recalling. Agriculture employed the great majority of the popula-
tion and contributed four-fifths of the country’s wealth, not counting the
8 They were the representatives of the King at the head of a généralité, the main administra-
tive subdivision of the country.
9 For example, comptroller general Terray sent a circular to the province Intendants on 1
October 1770, asking their opinion on the freedom to export. Only three out of twenty five
Intendants were favourable (Charles, 1999: 57).
10 Spengler (1958: 55–74).
11 Perrot (1992: 220–236).
Agriculture and Prosperity 119
significant share of so-called industrial production of consumer goods and

equipment (textiles, small metallurgy for example) that was in fact carried on
in cottage industry conditions as an activity complementary to agricultural
work. The land-owning class as understood by the physiocrats (the king, the
receivers of tithe, and the landed proprietors, all of them non-manual and
non-peasant), represented 6–8% of the kingdom’s population, owned 50%
of the landed capital, and received the totality of rents from tenanted and
sharecropped holdings, and of taxes.12 The mass of the peasant population,
organized in small family farms, practised a subsistence agriculture that pro-
duced the essential minimum, with virtually all income being absorbed by
food requirements. Finally, exports as a source of revenue concerned princi-
pally foodstuffs or processed commodities such as wine. In these conditions,
the physiocrats found it hard to conceive that industrial production, which
was still of marginal economic importance, could generate wealth in France.
A second explanation, not incompatible with the first, refers back to
the quotation from Ware. They elaborated their doctrine in almost natural
opposition to the mercantilists. But as they observed the industrial and com-
mercial wealth of England and Holland, they had to recognize that two other
models of economic development were possible: international trade and
industrialization. Quesnay, who argued for an efficient and highly productive
agriculture, therefore had to prove that the two other sectors did not con-
stitute satisfactory alternatives for ensuring the prosperity of the kingdom.
At several points, he mentioned the example of trading nations. Commerce
had indeed been a source of prosperity for Holland, Hamburg, Genoa, but
it was important to ensure that the nation exported essential goods first and
foremost (Quesnay was in fact thinking of grain). The political argument
recurred again and again: that the nation could do this proved that its inde-
pendence was guaranteed. Similarly, when despotism ruined agriculture,
only trade was possible, because wealth could be concealed or transported.
Such was the fate of the Barbary Coast and of Turkey. In any case, com-
merce was an inadequate basis for the prosperity of a great nation.13 As for
industry, Quesnay contrasted two alternative models to prove that it was a
less beneficial source of prosperity for the nation than agriculture. If labour
was employed in industry, it was at the expense of agricultural production,
and because industry was “sterile” national income would be much lower.
If on the contrary agriculture was prosperous, the country cumulated several
sources of wealth. In addition to exporting its agricultural surplus, it could
12 Labrousse (1993c); for the beginnings of industrialization see Léon (1993).

13 François Quesnay et la physiocratie, 1958, “Hommes”: 544, 557, 568; “Grains”: 502;
“Impôts”: 587–588; “Lettre de M. N. aux auteurs, etc.”: 825–830 (this is a letter published
in June 1766 in the Journal de l’Agriculture); Mercier de La Rivière (1767, II: 323–324) and
Le Trosne (1846: 965–968, 979–981 (1st edition 1777)).
even benefit from an immigration of manufacturers and craftsmen, which

would stimulate demand for agricultural products on the national market and
allow it to increase the export of manufactured products. In fact, Quesnay
put forward a macro-economic model of development based on agriculture
and strengthened his case by using political arguments, as illustrated by his
insistent refutation of international trade. By taking labour away from agri-
culture, international trade harmed the country’s population and wealth and
hence its political strength. This was the exact opposite of the mercantilist
standpoint.14
The Net Product

Agriculture alone could generate wealth. This idea was formalized in the
Tableau économique of 1758, with its central concept of produit net. Society
was divided into three classes: the productive class (farmers and those work-
ing in the sectors categorized with agriculture: fishing and mining); the
proprietary class (the king, the tithe holders, and the other landed pro-
prietors); and finally the sterile class, composed of craftsmen, industrial
workers and “bribed workers” (this is the tertiary sector: merchants, func-
tionaries and domestic servants). The latter class was defined as sterile
because it did not contribute to the creation of agricultural wealth; it only
transformed it into consumer goods other than food or capital goods. Each
year, agricultural production gave rise to a circulation of produce and con-
sequently to monetary flows. For example, farmers bought tools and goods
from artisans of the sterile class while paying a rent to the landlords, etc.
From these monetary exchanges, the proprietors derived a revenue, the net
product, which allowed them, at the start of the next year, to buy agricultural
produce from farmers and objects from the sterile classes. The functioning
of the system was therefore based on the profit generated in agriculture,
because the other classes, it will be remembered, lived from the net product
and were “sterile”. The only way to increase the nation’s prosperity was
to maximize the net product by making agriculture as efficient as possi-
ble.15 This was precisely the purpose of the discussions devoted to English
agriculture, which Quesnay admired as did all his contemporaries.
14 François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Grains”: 497–498.

15 Fox-Genovese rightly emphasizes the originality of Mirabeau, “the eldest son of the doc-
trine”, too often considered as a not very original disciple of Quesnay. His semi-feudal ideas
made him hostile to an overly capitalist agriculture, which would destroy the social system
(Fox-Genovese, 1976: 135–166 and particularly: 144; 150–153, 161). On Mirabeau’s and
Quesnay’s different conceptions of agriculture, see Longhitano (1999).
Agriculture and Prosperity 121
The English Example

Agriculture could be a source of prosperity for the kingdom, provided it
was organized rationally. The technical and economic superiority of the
English model was a recurring theme and the argument was based on a
concrete analysis of the modes of production. In France it was desirable
to substitute horses for oxen as a source of animal traction, extend artificial
pastures in order to keep more livestock, especially sheep, improve the soil,
develop agricultural implements and more generally, carry out investments.
Quesnay, who was well aware of the importance of investments in industry,
was convinced that it was even more vital in agriculture. The central prob-
lem was the achievement of growth in a fundamentally rural economy where
land was not rare, but yields were low for lack of capital investment.16 At
the micro-economic level, the verdict was unambiguous: he contrasted the
poor cultivator with the rich farmer, a genuine entrepreneur who invested
“to increase profits”. The argument continued at the macro-economic level.
Regarding the balance between production and population, the superiority of
large-scale agriculture was incontrovertible. It was the most productive and
even in a densely populated kingdom small-scale agriculture was undesir-
able. The chief justification for the latter – the possibility of using abundant
labour – was, he claimed, fallacious: men were inefficient producers, and
they constituted a mass of consumers to feed. Large-scale agriculture, by
contrast, which generated a marketable surplus, was able to meet the demand
for food.17 An important reasoning follows from the analysis of the condi-
tions of production. Quesnay insisted that it was not labour that was in short
supply, as “city dwellers naively believe”, but capital, an opinion widely
shared by his contemporaries. Mirabeau, for his part, suggested “pouring
back” foundlings into the countryside to increase labour and improve the
network of roads. Of course, competition between the labour needs of the
countryside and of the cities increased in the nineteenth century, with a con-
stantly growing rural exodus against a background of a declining birth rate.
But this was not the context in which Quesnay was writing. He was pri-
marily concerned with making agriculture the motor of economic growth.
His entire argument centred on two players, the wealthy farmer and the pro-
prietor, who incarnated economic rationality. Their individual activity had
positive consequences at the macro-economic level, as is logical in a system
where collective interest is the sum of individual interests. But it also had
political advantages which, as is often the case with Quesnay, were insep-
arable. By creating rural employment, farmers helped to sustain the rural
16 Meek (1962: 305) and Eltis (1975b).

17 On investments: François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Fermiers”: 428–436, 439, 451, 454;
“Grains”: 482. On the macro-economic analysis: “Grains”: 483.
population and, in the final analysis, the power of the state: “It is their wealth
which fertilizes the land and multiplies the livestock, which attracts and set-
tles the inhabitants of the countryside, and which makes for the strength and
prosperity of the nation”.18
Let us conclude for the time being with three epistemological obser-
vations concerning Quesnay’s main theoretical contribution, the Tableau
économique and the concept of net product. The idea of circulation and
flow can be linked first to the state of knowledge in the eighteenth cen-
tury. Just as the natural social order echoed the Newtonian physical order,
so Harvey’s discovery of the circulation of blood, which revolutionized the
understanding of the human body in the previous century, undoubtedly gave
Quesnay, a trained surgeon, the idea for the circulation of wealth depicted
in the Tableau économique. But it would be wrong to see this as evidence of
a close relationship between curative medicine and political economy. What
is significant is not the notion of healing, but the interpretation in terms
of organic functioning.19 Schumpeter suggested a different analysis of the
flow symbolism. According to him, Quesnay saw the notion of the circuit
as a demonstration of the complementarity and even solidarity between the
social classes, whereas Adam Smith, far more realistic, believed rather in
the profound rifts that divided them, his sympathy being with the poor day
labourers.20
Longhitano argues that in less than 10 years, between the first editions
of the Tableau économique in 1756–1757 and the first articles (“Fermiers”,
“Grains”) published in the Encyclopédie, and those on the Natural Order
of 1765–1766 and the work by Mercier de La Rivière, the physiocrats
moved from political economy to the “construction of a social philosophy”.
The three classes of expenditure became the social classes (proprietor, pro-
ductive, sterile). Mercier’s theoretical contribution is decisive because he
showed that this new element participated in the order of nature and he
bridged the gap between economic themes and natural order: “The exis-
tence of these three classes arose from the basic natural order that governs
the formation of political societies. The zigzags of the Tableau must now be
considered as the key to this order”. And accordingly, “the science which
we believe we have discovered within the economic sphere will become the
science of politics in general”.21
18 François Quesnay. . ., “Fermiers”: 437–454; “Hommes”: 568; “Extrait des économies

royales de M. de Sully”: 671. Contemporaries who believed in the lack of capital included
Morellet, Boisguillebert, some Parlements and Intendants. See Weulersse (1910, I: 322–338).
The last quotation is from “Fermiers”: 454.
19 Foley (1973) and Fox-Genovese (1976: 79).
20 Schumpeter (1997: 186, 234).
21 Longhitano (1992: VIII–IX) (facsimile re-edition). For a similar point of view, see
Cartelier (1991: 12).
On Population 123
Finally, quantitative information had a twofold nature for Quesnay. On the

one hand, in keeping with his contemporaries’ enthusiasm for agriculture,
and like the thinkers of the agronomic school, he based his analysis on solid
empirical evidence supplied by a network of correspondents. On the other
hand, the diagram of the Tableau économique contains purely theoretical
numbers, which purport to illustrate the annual flows of exchanges between
social groups. This is why Molinier analysed the Tableau économique as
a tentative exercise in national accounting.22 If Quesnay did not use the
real numbers which were available, it was because his main concern was
to demonstrate dynamics rather than to portray reality. Steiner is therefore
correct to see a contrast between medicine and the new science of political
economy that Quesnay wanted to establish. But he is wrong to write that
if for the former clinical experience is indispensable, for the latter “objec-
tive data” have to be integrated in a theoretical operation which alone gives
them meaning, for arbitrary numbers cannot provide the basis for inductive
reasoning. One point, however, is common to both disciplines: for Quesnay,
knowledge originated in the senses, but by the exercise of reason it was
possible to avoid the traps of sensualism.23
On Population
His ideas on population lead to a similar conclusion: they referred to an
analysis in terms of classes and social behaviour (for example, luxury). The
political implications of economic choices were ever present (taxation, the
army); finally and above all, even if Quesnay was aware, for example, of
the concrete problems of labour in agriculture, the effort to think in terms
of theory is undeniable. The principal consequence of the belief in a nat-
ural order was a shift away from doctrinal positions like those developed
by the mercantilists, and towards a theoretical analysis of the relationship
between agriculture and population presented as conforming to a univer-
sal scientific truth. In no sense does this preclude using the question of
population for ideological purposes. Rousseau, Montesquieu, Herbert and
many others (in England the controversy opposed Wallace and Hume) saw
depopulation as the sign of bad government. Quesnay was convinced that the
population of France has declined, and for Mirabeau who shared this opin-
ion, the cause was not to be found in clerical celibacy, wars, overly large
armies, or emigration, but in the decay of agriculture and in luxury. Nor
did he believe, contrary to Hume, that cities were “an enormous abyss for
22 Molinier (1958).
23 Steiner (1998: 29–35). Also see François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Evidence”: 410, 425.
the population”: on the contrary, they benefited from foreign immigration.24

More generally, the physiocrats had been influenced by some authors and in
turn influenced others, notably Cantillon and Lavoisier. For instance, before
his conversion to physiocracy, Mirabeau used a formula typical of popular-
ized Malthusianism and directly modelled on Cantillon: “men multiply like
rats in a barn if they have the means to subsist”.25 Some of these influences
will be evoked in the following pages. The case of Mirabeau is special. In the
first three parts of L’Ami des hommes, Mirabeau drew heavily on Cantillon.
These pages were written before Quesnay “converted” him to physiocracy
after a stormy and memorable discussion. In contrast, the next three parts,
published later, were read over and corrected by Quesnay. They are a faithful
statement of physiocratic orthodoxy.
Population, a Dependent Variable

Since the agricultural sector alone was productive, the growth of popula-
tion depended on an increase in the net product of landed property. Industry
could not induce demographic growth; it could even “be injurious to popu-
lation” if it deprived agriculture of labour and thereby lead to a reduction
in the net product. In any case, and this is a key point, the number of
people was a dependent variable. On this subject, the position of Charles
Stangeland in his exploration of the origins of Malthus’ thought is simplistic
when he asserted that the physiocrats “had stated with considerable clearness
the dependence of population on subsistence”.26 In fact, what is involved is
not at all a straightforward relationship between population and subsistence.
What mattered for the physiocrats was the occurrence of a prior growth in
agricultural output. As Mirabeau put it, “the measure of subsistence is that of
the population”. For example, the transition from a pastoral or hunting econ-
omy to agriculture made the growth of population possible. For Dupont de
Nemours, if population had been observed to double in the north-American
colonies every 25 years, this was “because cultivation is constantly making
new progress there”.27
24 François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Hommes”: 513–514. See Mirabeau (1758, Book I, Chapter
2: 16–19 on the depopulation of France; 22–29 on religious communities; 142 on towns and
cities. The first edition of Mirabeau’s work dates from 1756; Cantillon’s book was published
in 1755, but Mirabeau was aware of the manuscript well before.
25 For the decisive influence of Cantillon on Quesnay, see Meek (1962: 268–269). Mirabeau
(1758, Book I, Chapter 2: 15). Cantillon had written: “mice in a barn”.
26 Stangeland (1966: 255).
27 François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Grains”: 496–497. On this point, see Landry (1958: 18–
19). The same opinion is found in Mercier de La Rivière (1767, II: 169). Mirabeau: quote
On Population 125
Indeed, the main features of the future Malthusian demo-economic anal-

ysis and of classical analysis in general were sketched out. The demand for
labour (agricultural production for the physiocrats) regulated supply (which
for them, as for the classical economists, was population). When economic
conditions were favourable, employers seeked to employ more labour in
order to satisfy the demand for produce. Because the demand for labour (pro-
duction) faced a population whose size was fixed in the short term, the law
of supply and demand on the labour market caused wages to rise. Workers
were encouraged to marry earlier, and if they were married, to increase their
fertility in order to benefit from the extra wages their children could earn.
This was held to be true for the rural world but also for industry, since in
the early stages of capitalism – the theories of Smith, Malthus and Ricardo
were based on their firsthand observation – children were put to work very
early. Population thus increased in response to production. Conversely, if the
economic situation deteriorated, the demand for labour decreased and pop-
ulation growth was checked (thanks to a rise in age at marriage and resort to
contraception within marriage). Mortality could even strike the social groups
that were at the margin of subsistence.
Quesnay’s theoretical contribution was even less sophisticated than this
sketchy summary of the classical economics of demographic growth, but
the essential features were present. Population growth, he wrote, “depends
entirely on the increase of wealth, on the employment of men and the
use of wealth. . .” The same applied to one of the modes of demo-
graphic growth, immigration (or emigration), which depended on the
course of economic activity and on the degree of “religious tolerance”
of the state. Like many of his contemporaries and in particular Voltaire,
he had in mind the exodus of the Protestants. On the other hand, he
did not develop as precise an analysis as Cantillon, for whom nuptial-
ity and fertility were responding to the increase of wealth initiated by the
“proprietors of land”.28 But if Quesnay, like the classical economists, con-
sidered from a dynamic point of view that production governed population
through the demand for labour, the empirical evidence about the working
from 1758: 19 and Book III, Chapter 5: 106–107 on the pastoral economy. The argument is
reiterated in the summary of the work: Book III, Chapter 8: 208–210. Dupont de Nemours,
quoted by Schelle (1888: 121) (the article concerned appeared in 1771 in Ephémérides du
citoyen); also see Dupont de Nemours (1846b: 370–371).
28 The first quotation, often referred to, is in François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Hommes”: 537.
Mercier de La Rivière (1767, I: 66) wrote: “The wealth of annual harvests is a measure of the
population”. On the question of intolerance: François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Hommes”: 517,
525. On the relation between this problem and liberalism, see Laski (1962: 87, 92 (with
reference to Bayle), 101, 114). The disastrous economic consequences of the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes were obvious to Quesnay’s contemporaries. For Cantillon’s analysis, cf.
Cantillon (1952: 37–43).
of French agriculture led him to a concern, at a purely static level, for the
outlets of production. According to him, the population was large enough in
relation to the size and fertility of the territory, lest internal demand be insuf-
ficient to absorb agricultural production.29 Considerations of this kind have
fostered uncertainty about his ideas on population and given the impression
that he was at times populationist.
The cultivation of vineyards provided an opportunity to develop an orig-
inal analysis of intersectorial relations (between agriculture and trade in
this case) and an approach to the optimum allocation, this time within
agriculture, of two of the three factors of production, labour and land.
He saw vineyards as especially worthy of attention because they allowed
the maximization of population and net product; today we would refer to
the demographic growth induced by employment and the distribution of
income. It required an abundant labour force and consequently, “popula-
tion will increase in proportion to the increase in annual wealth resulting
from the increase in the cultivation of vineyards”. In addition, “the most
wealthy branch of cultivation in the French kingdom” offered the advan-
tage of earning revenue through exports. Pursuing the theme of the optimum
use of land as a factor of production, Quesnay extended his reflection to the
entire agricultural sector and advocated the use of less fertile land for other
uses (pasture, mulberry trees, minor cereals, etc.), which would strengthen
livestock farming, improve human diet, and thus increase the population.30
The theory of the wage also followed from that of the net product. When
the net product was high, landed proprietors could distribute higher nom-
inal wages provided they did not hoard but reinvested their profits, which
Quesnay believed they would because their behaviour was rational. Thus
both wages and the net product moved in the same direction.31 It should be
noted that if the net product were not reinvested it would turn into a sterile
“nest egg” which would slow down economic growth. In this Quesnay antic-
ipated the analysis of effective demand made by Malthus in his Principles
of Political Economy and more especially, as Schumpeter noted, that by
Keynes.32 Let us assume that the net product is indeed reintroduced into the
circuit. Then, even if the price of wheat increases, real wages will increase
anyway, because the consumption of food products does not absorb the
29 François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Grains”: 506–507.

30 See, respectively: François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Grains”: 483; the first quotation is from
“Hommes”: 543; “Maximes générales du gouvernement économique d’un royaume agri-
cole”: 966 (it is a “Note sur la maxime XIII”); “Fermiers”: 452. Mirabeau was more skeptical
about the markets for wine; at least he wished to see the vineyards reduced in favour of fields
sown with cereals, a source of greater wealth (1758, Book III, Chapter 2: 22–24).
31 Spengler (1942: 205, note 175).
32 Schumpeter (1997: 287).
On Population 127
entire wage.33 The very concrete nature of the argument in favour of agri-
culture thus made a theoretical advance possible thanks to a more detailed
analysis of the demand for labour: the nature of the demand for labour and
its sectorial distribution were as important as its total volume.
Decorative Luxury and Subsistence Luxury

The question of the uses of wealth – in modern terms, the structure of con-
sumption – underpins Quesnay’s position on a theme that runs through the
literature on population in the eighteenth century, luxury.34 In all the pas-
sages where Quesnay discussed luxury, the direct demographic implications
of luxury, as a factor of depopulation, are rare. In Questions intéressantes sur
la population, l’agriculture et le commerce, etc., he denounced “the domi-
nant luxury” produced by “luxury manufactures”. They were responsible
for spreading consumption habits which were almost “obligatory”, so that
to satisfy them the individual was induced “to save on propagation or to
avoid marriage”.35 Another ground for the criticism of luxury was hostility
to the lifestyle imposed by the Court. Louis XIV had been deeply marked by
the Fronde, and his political objectives are known to have included forcing
the aristocracy to dissipate itself through lavish spending of its revenue at
the Court. Quesnay’s criticism was barely concealed: “Does not this domi-
nant decorative luxury, which forces men into expenditures on clothes and
decoration out of proportion to their resources, and prevent the proprietor
from repairing and improving his possessions (. . .)? Do not the decorative
expenses, which lead to other ostentatious expenditures, constitute a kind
of intemperate and destructive luxury? (. . .) Does it not inspire vain men
to all manner of intrigues and irregular expedients to meet the expenses of
display?” But this severe and moralizing description should not mislead.
Quesnay was less concerned about the political stakes than about the eco-
nomic implications of luxury. A few lines later the argument focused on the
problem of wealth creation and he deplored the “concentration of men in the
manufactories of luxury to the detriment of agriculture”.36
Thus we are brought back to agriculture and to the indirect demo-
graphic implications of luxury, through an analysis of the distribution of the
33 François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Maximes générales. . .”: 973. Condillac in 1776 had also
observed that “wages are always proportional to the permanent price of grain”, when
commerce of grain was free (quoted by Spengler, 1942: 140–141).
34 On this point, Spengler (1954) is well documented.
35 François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Questions intéressantes sur la population, l’agriculture et le
commerce, etc.”: 664.
36 Ibid.: 664.
work force. Men were wrongly directed into sterile sectors that were often
hostile to free trade and protectionist in the tradition of Colbert, and this led
to a shortage of arms in agriculture and, as a consequence, to the impov-
erishment of the kingdom. And as the demand for labour was insufficient,
demographic growth was depressed: “The manufactories and trade fostered
by the disorder of luxury accumulate men and wealth in the cities, prevent
the improvement of property, devastate the countryside, engender contempt
for agriculture, increase personal expenditures excessively, undermine fam-
ily support, thwart human propagation and weaken the state”. From this
demo-economic perspective, it is understandable that Quesnay’s hostility to
luxury turned to approval when luxe de subsistance (luxury of subsistence)
was involved, that is, a qualitative improvement in food consumption. In
contrast to the luxe de decoration (decorative luxury), the latter raised the
net product of agriculture. On this point, Quesnay differed from Cantillon
who was more favourable to the products of luxury manufactories because
he was not defending the same interests.37
Economic Freedom and Population

For the physiocrats, a failure to respect natural laws meant that the wealth of
the state was not maximized. In the economic field, the state should there-
fore restrict its intervention to protecting private property and free trade,
which implied a rejection of mercantilism. In this sense, the physiocrats
were at one with the bourgeois opposition which criticized the inefficiency
of the regulations inspired by mercantilism. In their view one of the natu-
ral laws most decisive for the kingdom’s prosperity was free trade in grain
within France, which, it must be remembered, did not exist between the
provinces in the eighteenth century. For example, although Languedoc was
richer than Brittany, Maine or Poitou, what today would be termed its com-
parative advantage was nullified because it was prevented from selling its
wheat.38 Since free trade in grain guaranteed them a “good price”, propri-
etors were willing to increase production by reducing fallows, renewing
tenancies, making larger advances, noted Dupont de Nemours about the
progress of agriculture in Provence, Brittany, and the Orléans region, which
37 François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Impôts”: 585, note 6; “Hommes”: 559; “Extrait des
économies royales de M. Sully”: 671; “Maximes générales. . .”: 954–955. The quotation is
from “Fermiers”: 454. Cantillon (1952: 42–43). On the radical difference between Cantillon
and Quesnay regarding luxury, see Landry (1958: 46–47), and Spengler (1954: 128, 364).
38 François Quesnay, 1958, “Grains”: 446, 495. Dupont de Nemours (1770: 25–31), regard-
ing the obstacles and abuses which aggravated the bad harvests of the years 1766–1769.
Mirabeau (1758, Book III, Chapter 2: 24–25).
On Population 129
had been achieved, according to him, since the establishment of free trade
in grain in 1763. The increase in net product thus enabled proprietors to pay
higher wages to the “lower orders”. Mercier de La Rivière even saw this
as the only justification for foreign trade: “The interest of trade is therefore
[for an agricultural nation] the interest of cultivation (. . .) it is the only and
true objective that it should set for its foreign trade if it wants it to con-
tribute to the growth of wealth and population”.39 The good price had two
mutually reinforcing advantages. Higher wages obviously produced a rise
in living standards for the wage earners because the additional revenue was
not absorbed by the increase in the price of subsistence. Today we would
say that inflation cancels out the increase in nominal wages. At the macro-
economic level, the revenues that were paid out reinforced consumption,
in turn inducing an increase in production and, at the end of the process,
economic growth for the nation. The model was forcefully summarized in
1767: “One should not believe that cheapness of produce is profitable to the
lower classes. For the low price of produce causes a fall in the wages of
ordinary people, reduces their well-being, makes less work or remunerative
occupations available to them, and wipes out the nation’s revenue”. On the
conflict between the two doctrines, that of the good price and that of cheap
grain, developed by Adam Smith, Schumpeter rightly points to the affinities
between Quesnay and Keynes.40
Nor was there any reason to fear the export of grain. It was justified theo-
retically by two separate but converging arguments. It earned revenues that
stimulated consumption, and the resulting demand for labour induced demo-
graphic growth. In addition, since manufactured goods incorporated only
labour and not wealth, it was better to export grain. The net product thus
provided the decisive theoretical argument in favour of free trade in grain.
It remained to justify the export policy. Quesnay, who knew that France has
an exportable surplus, hammered out four arguments: exports did not create
a risk of famine; they could always be balanced by imports; the production
of grain in America was not to be feared given the higher quality of grain
produced in France; and, above all, foreign sales “support the price of food-
stuffs”, for they prevented a fall in market prices and consequently allowed
the net product to be maximized. The export of grain had another dimension
for the physiocrats. A capacity to export was proof of true political inde-
pendence because exports implied self-sufficiency in food, as we would say
today. Clearly advocated here was a commercial policy radically opposed
to that of mercantilism, which consisted in protecting national industries
39 Dupont de Nemours (1770: 36–37, 59–63), Mercier de La Rivière (1767, II: 326–332 (the
quotation is on p. 324)), and Le Trosne (1846: 986–989).
40 François Quesnay. . ., 1958. “Maximes générales. . .”: 954. Schumpeter (1997: 235,
note 5).
against imports. This can be seen in a text of 1766, Remarques sur l’opinion
de l’auteur de l’Esprit des lois concernant les colonies, where Quesnay
opposed Montesquieu’s assertion contained in Chapter XVII of Book XXI
of L’Esprit des lois, that the home country would have the exclusive right to
negotiate with a colony if the latter was founded uniquely for the purposes
of increasing trade: granting such a monopoly to various trading compa-
nies was to ill serve the interests of the state. Quesnay’s target here was the
colonial compact.41
Taxes and Population

Under the Ancien régime, taxation was inefficient, for it was not directly
based on the real producers of wealth and it was a source of scandalous
profits. But Louis XV’s attempts at reform, notably in 1749, ran up against
strong opposition from the clergy and the nobility. For Quesnay, well aware
of the true situation, taxation was one of the obstacles to the growth of
the population. For example, the taille, a tax levied on the Tiers Etat
only, often vexatious and arbitrary in its application, drove the children of
husbandmen to the cities, with harmful consequences for agricultural pro-
duction. As for the villein labour (corvées), they reduced the peasants to
misery by preventing them from using their labour to ensure the survival
of their farm; in the long run this led to an impoverishment of the coun-
try and indirectly set an obstacle to population growth because the number
of men depended on the production of wealth. The theoretical coherence
between the micro-economic analysis and the macro-economic level is clear.
Quesnay condemned all taxes that impeded trade, including international
trade: trade should be “straightforward and secure”. The note in which the
second of these adjectives was explained combined a plea for the natural
order with a criticism of fiscal predators and of mercantilism: “[secure] from
all fiscal, manorial, etc. impositions, from monopolies, emoluments, inspec-
tors and other needless officers. Trade like agriculture must have no other
government than the natural order (. . .). Monopoly in trade and in agricul-
ture has all too often found defenders (. . .) and the natural order has been
perverted by particular interests that were always concealed and always peti-
tioning behind the mask of the general good”. Demographic considerations
41 On exports: François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Fermiers”: 448; “Grains”: 472, 492–495, 502;
“Remarques sur l’opinion de l’auteur de l’Esprit des lois”: 781–790. Dupont de Nemours
(1770: 40–43). Le Trosne (1846: 987–989 and 1011–1022) on the colonial compact. For
an analysis of the twofold advantage of free trade (for producers and for consumers), see
Steiner (1998: 54–56). On the function of free trade, see Vaggi (1987: 109–116). On the
entire question of foreign trade, see Bloomfeld (1938: 716–735).
On Population 131
were clearly not important in themselves; they were inseparable from a cru-
cial issue linked to efficient taxation, the wealth and hence the power of the
kingdom.
The wealth of the kingdom? If Quesnay and Mercier de La Rivière wanted
a single tax on the rent of proprietors, it was firstly for reasons of efficiency.
All other forms of taxes were “redundant” and in the end fell on the pro-
prietors. The argument was addressed to the king in his role as a great
proprietor of land; it was clearly in his own interest that tax be collected
on the land rent. One might add: so much the better if the kingdom’s popu-
lation lived better as a result.42 The power of the kingdom? As often with the
physiocrats, economic theory was in fact inseparable from political philos-
ophy, and the link is particularly strong with respect to taxation. In a text of
1767, Despotisme de la Chine, Quesnay developed a political model, legal
despotism, which Mercier de La Rivière systematized in L’ordre naturel et
essentiel des sociétés politiques, published the same year. This model was
organized around two fundamental points.43 The first derived from their
economic theory: because wealth was generated by land alone, tax should
be levied on agriculture. The second was part of their political philosophy:
because property was the foundation of the social order, the government’s
duty was to defend and protect it so that society could function. The demon-
stration of the necessity of legal despotism involved a reflection on the nature
and role of taxation. In a large kingdom, the domain lands of the sovereign
were insufficient to provide adequate resources for the maintenance of order,
so the king had to levy taxes. Thus these benefited from a kind of funda-
mental legitimacy, because they ensured the “security” of property. Since
tax was necessarily collected on the revenue of property it could in fact be
analysed, to use Weulersee’s expression, as a “kind of indispensable joint
use by the state of the revenue from its domain”. Taking up the legal theory
of the eminent domain developed over the previous two hundreds years, the
physiocrats held that since the king was historically the original owner of the
soil, he legitimately subjected the proprietors of the land to a tax based on its
revenue. As Mercier de La Rivière wrote: “in his capacity as sovereign, he
is the joint owner of the net product of the land over which he reigns”.44
42 François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Grains”: 485, 491 note 21; “Second problème économique”:
985; the quotation is from “Analyse de la formule arithmétique du Tableau économique”:
806, note 7; “Impôts”: 605. Mercier de La Rivière (1767, II: 91–219). Mirabeau: most taxes
“are the enemies, open or covert, of property”, 1758, Book IV, introduction: 55–59.
43 See Weulersse (1910, II: 36–76).
44 Legitimacy of taxes: François Quesnay. . ., “Despotisme de la Chine”: 928; “Maximes
générales. . .”: 949. According to Dupont de Nemours (1846a: 357): “this net product would
not exist without tax: it is only the security that tax confers on property that has sustained
and favoured the industry and activities by which cultivation has managed to generate a net
product of any importance”. The king, eminent proprietor: Mercier de La Rivière (1767,
This was why, with respect to taxes, the question of wealth was insepa-
rable from that of the kingdom’s power. But the latter also had a military
dimension.
The Question of Armies

The contrast with the mercantilists for whom the power of the kingdom was
measured by the number of its subjects, needs to be stressed from the outset:
“Those who see the advantages of a large population only in maintaining
large armies misjudge the force of a state (. . .). Large armies exhaust it”.
If the population did not exist to provide soldiers for the Prince, how could
the defence of the kingdom be assured? The argument reflected the condi-
tions of the period and was perfectly consistent with the economic theory
of the physiocrats. In the eighteenth century, armies were almost entirely
composed of mercenaries and artillery units, even if in France the militia
system also provided men. To have large numbers of soldiers, money mat-
tered far more than men. So the issue was one of financial resources required
to recruit and arm the troops, as Quesnay clearly saw: “Large armies are
not enough to provide a powerful defence. The soldier must be well paid
if he is to be well disciplined, well trained, energetic, happy, and fear-
less. War on land and sea employs other resources besides men’s strength,
and demands other expenditure much greater than that necessary for the
soldiers’ subsistence. Thus it is much less men than wealth which sustains
a war”.45
Mention must be made here of a specific historical factor. Publication of
the Tableau économique in 1758 was directly linked to the disastrous Seven
Years War (1756–1763) which proved a financial catastrophe due to the mil-
itary operations in the colonies and the decisive role played by a costly navy.
Aware of the seriousness of the financial crisis, Quesnay judged the time
right to present the principles of a system intended to restore the kingdom’s
strength and published the Tableau économique on which he had been work-
ing for a year.46 This context gives added significance to the fact that the
king appears in the Tableau économique in the second class, that of propri-
etors. As a proprietor he had little interest in losing on the battlefield the
I: 67); see also I: 267, and II: 30, 32, 34: “this income is the product of joint ownership
associated with sovereignty”. Dupont de Nemours (1846a: 358).
45 Quotation: François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Grains”: 485. On the militia: “Hommes”:
520–521; “Grains”: 490, note 21. Financing the armies: “Maximes générales. . .”: 975 (it
is a “Note sur la maxime XXVI”). Also see “Questions intéressantes. . .”: 662.
46 Weulersse (1910, vol. II: 62–63).
A Failure and Its Causes 133
only population that ensured the production of his wealth.47 The question
remains, however, of where to find the men who were to ensure the defence
of the kingdom? The answer followed logically from the theory of produc-
tion: in the sterile classes. If this was the case, wealth and military power
were perfectly compatible because the king could pay his troops with the
net product: “So as not to lack good soldiers and good sailors, it is enough
to pay them well, and to procure an abundance of resources for this expendi-
ture through a rich cultivation, and through a foreign trade which increases
the revenue of the landed property of the kingdom”. In the article “Impôts”,
Quesnay explicitly linked political and economic arguments. In the end, the
number of men was not at all decisive for the power of the state. The break
from mercantilism is complete: the number of subjects was not in itself a
factor of power for the Prince and this was the underlying logic of a sen-
tence often quoted: “a kingdom with smaller revenues and more inhabitants
would be less powerful and less affluent than another kingdom which had
fewer inhabitants and larger revenues”.48
A Failure and Its Causes

Physiocracy produced a theory of population and an economic doctrine for
agriculture, but no doctrine or policy of population, the fundamental reason
for this lying with the treatment of population as a dependent variable. Hence
it is not surprising that at the level of doctrine, the physiocrats were con-
cerned primarily with economic measures for agriculture and that in respect
to population they were neither populationists nor anti-populationists. For
example, they favoured a high price of grain because it translated into an
increase of the net product. The latter was the motor of economic growth
and indirectly of demographic growth through the demand for labour. But
why did the physiocrats, who elaborated a coherent and empirically-based
theoretical construct from which a clear economic doctrine followed, only
manage to obtain a short-lived implementation of their ideas as policy
(between 1763 and 1770 and then from 1774 to 1776), whereas mercantilist
doctrines and policies dominated the European scene for over 150 years?
The reason for their failure is to be sought at the economic and political
levels.
47 A similar idea is found in Cantillon: the prince and the landowners are grouped together,
as the only independent economic actors (1952: 31, 40–43).
48 Quotation from François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Hommes”: 524; “Impôts”: 613. (“Questions
intéressantes. . .”: 663).
An Unconvincing Strategy for Development

In terms of a strategy for development, the physiocrats were right to think
that an efficient agriculture was a precondition for general economic growth
in France. The problem was to modernize agriculture in an economy that
was underdeveloped and subject to the constraints of the Ancien regime.49
For example, their idea of a single tax on the rent of land was a sensible
measure in the light of what we now know today about the economic history
of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Agricultural prices experienced
a long upward movement over the period 1716–1789, albeit marked by
strong short-term fluctuations, and the land rent rose much more quickly
between 1730 and 1789 than prices and taxes.50 Of this the physiocrats
were fully aware. Hence it was logical to concentrate the fiscal burden on
this single revenue, which would have yielded far more than the multiple
taxes of the Ancien régime.51 Unfortunately for them, French agriculture,
unlike that of England, was only exceptionally organized along the lines
of their principles. Duhamel du Monceau’s Traité sur la culture des terres,
which founded the French agronomic movement, was published in 1750, but
although the agronomists were read, and English agriculture admired, the
physiocrats lacked empirical evidence from within France that would have
given a resounding demonstration of the validity of their doctrine. In other
words, while their analysis of the English model allowed them to achieve
a theoretical advance, it was inapplicable at the level of doctrine, because
these intellectuals were too remote from the reality of French agriculture.
Probably more damaging to their chances of exercising greater influence
were the industrialization and flourishing commercial activity of England
which was an ever-present demonstration of the accuracy of the analyses
of the Wealth of Nations and the classical school. The income from foreign
trade, much larger in England than in France, oriented classical political
economy towards a non-physiocratic model, because of the actual form of
the surplus value.52 Contemporaries could see clearly that industry was not
at all sterile and that it did create value; and it was obvious that trade gen-
erated the capital necessary for England’s industrialization, thus weakening
the physiocratic arguments on two fronts. It is worth pausing to consider
the English context in the middle of the eighteenth century and evoke the
state of mind of contemporaries. Between 1700 and 1780, foreign trade had
49 See the acute analysis by Meek (1962: 367–370, 379–384, 388).

50 Labrousse (1993a: 383–415, 1993b: 450–463).
51 See Jacquart (1975: 213, 217 for the period 1560–1660) and Le Roy-Ladurie (1975:
382–383, 583).
52 On this point see Meek (1962: 348–350); also Eltis (1988: 269–288).
doubled and the colonies overtook Europe in mercantile exchanges, in par-

ticular thanks to the slave trade.53 Daniel Defoe, author of Robinson Crusoe,
could thus write in 1726 that “trade in England neither is or ought to be lev-
elled with what it is in other countries; or the tradesmen depreciated as they
are abroad”; as for the Duke of Newcastle, he affirmed that he had been
“bred up in to think that the trade of this nation is the sole support of it”
and that he had always attempted “to contribute all that was in my power
to the encouragement and extension of the trade and commerce of these
kingdoms”.54 In France itself, the prosperity of Nantes, Bordeaux and Saint-
Malo was striking. Between 1716 and 1788, imports from the American
Islands rose from 16.7 to 185 million livres and exports from 9 to 78 million.
And in the kingdom as a whole, while European trade quadrupled, colo-
nial trade grew tenfold.55 Much larger profits could therefore be made from
the colonies and from international trade, a point that was well understood
by neo-mercantilists like Melon and Véron de Forbonnais, but also by the
monarchy and its agents, and among them men like Graslin, general collec-
tor of taxes in Nantes. It is understandable that Quesnay should attempt to
refute the argument. While he was completely lucid about England’s pros-
perity (“the slave trade, which is the principal object of this nation’s trade”),
he could merely affirm but not actually prove that the revenue derived from
this sector was appreciably lower than that from livestock and from the grain
trade. On the other hand, Chapter 7 of Philosophie rurale, published in 1763
from the hand of Quesnay, contains a mass of quantitative information about
England’s agriculture and about the circulation of wealth, on the lines of the
Tableau économique. But no comparison was made with profits from colo-
nial trade. Quesnay applied a similar reasoning to France: “The profit from
the trade of our colonies is estimated at 15 million; it is a profitable mat-
ter for the traders, but a small resource for a great kingdom that is losing
thousands of millions through the deterioration of its agriculture”.56
The Fear of Famine, a Political Trap

The failure of physiocracy also had a political explanation. Mercier de
La Rivière began the introductory statement of L’ordre naturel with these
words: “We recognize in Kings three principal subjects of ambition: great
53 Cole and Deane (1966: 8).

54 Quoted by Hill (1992: 226–227).
55 Figures quoted by Imbert (1965: 395) and by Léon (1993a: 503).
56 François Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Fermiers”: 440. See also a text of 1776 published in
the Journal de l’agriculture in June 1766, “Du Commerce”: 826. Quotation: “Questions
intéressantes . . .”, note 12: 656.
wealth, great power, great authority: I write therefore in the interest of kings;
because I deal with the means by which their wealth, power, authority can
raise it to the highest possible degree”. And yet, the relationship of the phys-
iocrats with political power was, to say the least, complex. Quesnay, who
as physician to Madame de Pompadour had the favour of the court, did not
publish the article “Hommes” at the time when the question of censorship
was raised about the Grande Encyclopédie. And using the same technique
as Montesquieu in the Lettres persanes, he used China as a stand-in for
France. According to Fox-Genovese, this accounts for the identification with
Confucius and the reference to le sage. But although social and political
positions were veiled, the economic criticism was fierce and specific: the
articles Grains and Hommes drew a sharp contrast between Colbert and
Sully. The first was openly criticized, the second praised at length.57 The
theory of the net product led logically to an economic policy: modernize
agriculture to make the state stronger, by favouring the liberalization of inter-
nal and international trade in what would be described today as a politically
sensitive product, namely grain.
The political context supplies the key to understanding why it was impos-
sible to achieve free trade in grain in the last three decades of the Ancien
régime.58 Between 1760 and 1775, the question was inseparable from many
other crucial issues, including political arbitrariness, fiscal inequality, the
financial crisis and the debts of the monarchy. A confusion of issues was
to be expected. Hostility to this form of commercial liberalism was based
on fear of hunger, and famine was in fact only one dysfunction among
others. Although the opposition was deeply divided and as yet had no coher-
ent political agenda, this gave it a political weapon with which to weaken
the monarchy. The physiocrats under-estimated their opponents, being too
concerned with establishing a new orthodoxy against a Colbertian mercan-
tilism that remained influential, and even more absorbed by demonstrating
the sterility of all non-agricultural activities. They were in fact hostages to
the conflict, sometimes hidden, sometimes open, of the Parlements against
the crown, although they had originally had the support of five of them. Let
us recall the stages of implementation of the free trade in grain.59
57 Mercier de La Rivière (1767, I, vii). For a summary of the question (China as a politi-
cal model, admiration for Chinese agriculture, the influence on the physiocrats, but also on
other contemporary authors), see Maverick (1938: 54–67). On Colbert and Sully: François
Quesnay. . ., 1958, “Grains”: 473, 481.
58 Whereas in the nineteenth century it appeared as an obvious reform: the last jacqueries
(peasants’ revolts) took place during the crisis of 1846; under the Second Empire, the fear of
food shortages became a thing of the past thanks to economic progress. See Charbit (1981).
59 This reminder of the facts draws heavily on the very clear account by Cornette (1993) and
the indispensable work of Weulersse (1910). Also see Charles (1999).
Act one. Under the influence of Gournay, who died in 1759, and of
Quesnay, comptroller general of finance Henri Bertin authorized on 27 May
1763 the free circulation of “grain, flour, and vegetables throughout the king-
dom”, while buying and selling operations were rendered practically free.60
A royal edict of 19 July 1764 removed all obstacles to the trade in grain
and flour except in Paris and its hinterland. Exports and imports were also
partially authorized. The preamble to the edict, written partly by Dupont de
Nemours who at that time was working with Turgot, is a pure declaration
of physiocratic principles.61 In May 1763 the Parlement of Paris reluctantly
registered the royal proclamation: “if experience proves the disadvantages
of this new legislation, we will return to the former laws”. This pointed to
the general state of opinion. Since consumers no longer felt protected by
price controls on bread, they saw it as a factor of price increase.62 There
was even talk of a “famine pact”, of speculations in which the king himself
was believed to be involved. The Parlements blocked the application of the
measures freeing trade and attacked their architects, the physiocrats, and par-
ticularly Baudeau. In 1767, a bad harvest intensified the attacks against the
physiocrats, who were accused of wanting to starve the people, and Véron de
Forbonnais published a rebuttal of Quesnay’s Tableau économique. Between
1765 and 1768, three of the physiocrats, Le Trosne, Mercier de La Rivière
and Baudeau, published works defending the group’s views, for the hos-
tility of the Parlements was strong. The Parlement of Paris accused the
physiocrats of wanting to deprive the people of bread; that of Rouen re-
established controls on the trade in grain on 15 April 1769, and Paris and
Dijon followed suit in the summer of 1770. The account by Dupont de
Nemours gave a measure of the situation. He deplored the growing oppo-
sition to the law. Besides the Parlements of Dijon, Paris, and Rouen, “the
judges and officers of police of Orleans, Chartres, Pithiviers, Montargis,
Châtillon sur Loing, Tours, Saumur, Buzançais, Châteauroux, Fontenay le
Comte, Crécy en Brie and many others have issued ordinances opposed to
60 On the reassessment of Gournay’s positions and on what distinguished him from the
physiocrats, see Charles (1999: 108–223 and 273–282).
61 These measures were taken with the aim of “encouraging and extending the cultivation
of land whose output is the surest source of wealth for a state, maintaining abundance by
means of stocks and the entry of foreign wheat, preventing grain from being at a price
which would discourage the cultivator, removing monopoly by the permanent abolition of
all special exemptions, and by free and full competition in this trade; finally, maintaining
between nations this reciprocal exchange of the superfluous against the necessary, so true
to the order established by Divine Providence and to the views of humanity which should
animate sovereigns” (quoted by Cornette, 1993: 131–132).
62 On the opposition to free trade because it removed all control over the price of bread,
and on the protective function of the “fair price”, inherited from the medieval economy, see
Charles (1999: 24–26, 66–106).
the laws they should have been upholding. On their own private author-
ity they have ordered the implementation of laws that had been formally
abolished; they have taxed and controlled trade as they pleased; they have
appropriated wheat they found under their control; they have arrested and
fined merchants for having dutifully obeyed the laws of 1763 and 1764”. He
also analysed political unrest in Limousin, Alsace and Lorraine.63 L’Averdy,
who succeeded Bertin as comptroller general and who was responsible for
the edict of 19 July 1764, was dismissed at the end of 1768. After bad
harvests in 1769 and 1770, the price of wheat remained high. The regula-
tion of 1764 was finally abolished on 23 December 1770. Only Turgot, the
Intendant of Limousin, maintained freedom of grain in his province.
Act two. Right after coming to power on 24 August 1774, Turgot initi-
ated a programme of reforms, and prepared others of astonishing boldness:
reduction of Court expenditure and ministerial salaries, suppression of some
aristocratic privileges and unnecessary offices, abolition of the corvées, and
naturally, re-establishment of free trade in grain. Over a period of two short
years (he was dismissed on 13 May 1776) he again ran up against a coali-
tion of interests. The edict of 13 September 1774, complemented by other
measures in the same year, guaranteed complete free trade in grain. But bad
harvests in 1774 and 1775 triggered a “guerre des farines” (“flour war”).
Rumours again began to circulate that hoarders were withholding grain to
force up prices; riots broke out during April in Reims and Dijon, and also in
Picardie, Brie, and Beauce. On 2 May 1775, some people assembled in front
of the gates of the Versailles palace; on the next day, demonstrators took to
the streets in Paris, and two days later the Parlement of Paris requested the
king to take the necessary steps to bring down the price of bread. The crown
employed a mixture of repression and pardon, and the crisis subsided. But
in early 1776 it had to face opposition from the corporations, hostile to any
form of competition, and from the Parlement which in March remonstrated
the king on the question of the suppression of the corvée and of various priv-
ileges, denouncing, in the name of the social order on which the monarchy
was based, the dangers of equality in the face of taxation. Finally, Turgot was
dismissed on 13 May 1776. Such were the turmoils in which the physiocrats
were caught.
Economics and Policy: Fundamental Contradictions

At least three fundamental contradictions account for the political failure of
the physiocrats. First of all, they called insistently for a minimal policing
63 Dupont de Nemours (1770: 114–115, 118–126).

role for the state in the grain trade – and in this connection they invented the
famous formula “laissez-faire” – yet they also wanted the political power to
curtail and closely oversee the exercise of property rights. About the bold-
ness of Turgot’s fiscal reforms and the economic policies of the physiocrats,
Samuels is correct to speak of “an utilitarian understanding of the social
function of private property (. . .) necessarily involving the state in the con-
tinuing reconstitution of private rights”.64 This far from liberal conception
was the logical outcome of what was an authentic programme of economic
development based on the modernization of agriculture, which, as shown
above, was the fundamental condition for restoring the kingdom’s power. In
other words, the physiocrats sought “the substitution of their own program
of agriculturalism for that of Colbertism”.65 Adam Smith, while acknowl-
edging their contribution to the development of the science of economics,
did not fail to point out that physiocracy was an economic system, just as
mercantilism had been one.
Furthermore, Fox-Genovese is correct to stress that advocating free trade
in grain to a government that traditionally held stocks, was tantamount to
forgetting that the King, father of the nation, had an obligation to be con-
cerned about his subjects’ subsistence needs and that behind this moral
duty lay a political calculation: hunger was a cause of social instability.66
The physiocrats were limited in their support to a minority of innovative
agriculturists, since outside of certain circles most of French agriculture in
the eighteenth century remained largely static.67 With such a narrow social
base they depended on the good will of the monarch for getting their ideas
accepted, while he was torn between opposing interest groups. But because
they also criticized the taxes and the privileges granted by the crown, they
could not count on its unconditional support. In fact, in the name of a truth
based on the economic science they had discovered, they wanted nothing
less than to force the King, despite his own stakes as a great landowner, to
abandon any room to manoeuvre and adopt the physiocratic solution. It was
a denial of politics in the name of technocratic knowledge.
Let us return briefly to their political model, legal despotism, and to its
political implications. It was based on an analysis of property: property and
sovereignty were inseparable in the person of the King who was – and this
was a crucial point for their model – the largest landowner in the kingdom.
Hence his legitimacy was no longer solely by divine right; it had an eco-
nomic or rather a landed origin. The King was therefore a despot in the
64 Samuels (1961: 96).

65 Samuels (1962: 149).
66 Fox-Genovese (1976: 59).
67 Laski (1962: 122–125) gives an acute analysis of the gap between the ideal agriculture
they wanted for France and the reality.
literal sense of the term, that is to say, he was “master and owner by patri-
monial entitlement” of the soil. But he was a legal despot who above all had
to respect the law. He was thus radically different from the “personal” or
“arbitrary” despot who used force to oppress. His role was to defend prop-
erty and natural laws, and through these the natural order, against anything
that threatened them: the selfishness of monopoly holders, the insubordi-
nation of the lower administration, the riots provoked by the high price of
grain. In the face of these dangers, the tutelary authority was “unique and
impartial”.68 Hence their natural preference for hereditary monarchy, which
combined economic and political legitimacy. They believed it was much
more effective than the separation of powers advocated by Montesquieu,
which rested upon too delicate a balance, or than aristocratic government,
which could “by confederation form a power above the law”69 . As for
democracy, where legislative power laid with the nation, it had two draw-
backs. Its very principle, the political representation of the nation, was at
odds with the necessary economic inequality of property. The voting of laws
intended to protect this inequality could not be entrusted to an assembly
elected according to the principle of equality between citizens. Most seri-
ous, however, “the ignorance and prejudice that predominate in the lower
orders, and the uncontrolled passions and moments of fury they fall prey to,
expose the state to disorder, revolt and appalling disasters”.70
The consequences of such a position in the closing stages of the
Ancien régime are not hard to imagine. The physiocrats were close to the
Encyclopedists in requesting a minimum role for the state at the economic
level – limited to guaranteeing freedom of grain – but they differed from
them by wanting to do this under a régime of legal despotism. Advocating
an authoritarian intervention of the political power to ensure economic lib-
erty was, to say the least, contradictory. Thus, the model of legal despotism
could only raise the hackles of the Encyclopedists, and it earned the phys-
iocrats the hostility of Galiani, Diderot, Rousseau, Mably and Grimm. It
contributed to their isolation and hastened their failure.71
68 “Despotisme de la Chine”: 919.

69 Ibid.: 918.
70 Ibid.: 919.
71 On the distinction between the two despotisms, see Mercier de La Rivière (1767, I: 109–
110 and 278–317). Regarding the limits to the exercise of tutelary authority: “It is essential
that the tutelary and protective power of the laws should never become destructive of the
laws” (Ibid., I: 81). The expression “unique and impartial” is Quesnay’s (“Despotisme de
la Chine”: 919). On the criticism of aristocratic government and of democracy: Mercier de
La Rivière (1767, I: 202 and 234), Dupont de Nemours (1846a: 359–361), and Baudeau
(1846c: 786–787). On the isolation of the physiocrats, see Schelle (1888: 146–153). It must be
noted that Dupont de Nemours later renounced legal despotism and defended representative
parliamentary government.
Overall, it is indeed the interaction between politics and economics that

explains their failure. Although their theory was based on good quality
empirical observations, the model they developed had little chance of con-
vincing their contemporaries at the doctrinal level, and especially not in
the political context of the late Ancien régime. We agree with Cartelier’s
opinion: “On the one hand, the demonstration of Quesnay’s contribution
to political economy would imply excluding from consideration everything
that attaches him to a particular period that is gone forever (. . .). On the
other hand, it is not possible to divest Quesnay’s thought of all that makes
it a specific historical reality, irreducible to any generalization”.72 This has
important methodological implications for the study of ideas on population.
That these ideas were a marginal concern to the physiocrats, for whom the
essential issue was free trade in grain and the development of agriculture,
matters little. In the very century when demography acquired a theoretical
formulation, they cannot be analysed independently of the political reality,
as we have argued. But physiocracy’s fundamental theoretical contribu-
tion – that population was economically determined – was to have a lasting
success.
72 1991: 11.
Chapter 6
Towards Demography
Population and Political Power

Having come to the end of the book, there is no choice but to accept the
extreme heterogeneity between what Plato, Bodin, the mercantilists and
Quesnay had to say about population. There are two reasons for this hetero-
geneity: firstly, these thinkers belonged to very different historical contexts
which influenced their thinking on population; secondly, because of their
strong internal coherence each of these systems of thought is a very seduc-
tive intellectual construction. Some may be more convincing than others
and some may lend themselves to criticism, but they are totally incapable
of being organised along hierarchical lines. Hence, neither theories, nor, a
fortiori, doctrines, can be construed as the stages of a continual progress.
So do these writers really not have anything in common? If we start with
the hackneyed cliché that every society is faced with the triple constraint
of reproducing itself, ensuring its economic survival and devising a system
of political organisation, population thought, going beyond the distinction
between theories and doctrines and independently of conflicts between the-
oretical and doctrinal systems, can be interpreted as the search for the best
solution to the problem of the relationship between population, politics and
economics. It can thus be analysed in the light of the two great disciplines,
namely political and moral philosophy, three if one adds political economy.
Yet population thought cannot be reduced to a mere theme within these
fields. The mercantilists, who were forever telling the Prince that his inter-
ests lied in the sheer number of men at his disposal, were the most distinct
representatives of a markedly uncritical discourse hindering the develop-
ment of an autonomous reflection on population issues. But while all the
thinkers analysed here performed a political role and their commitment
informed their reflections on population issues, establishing the formal proof
of such links, which often remained underground, was not always possible.
Indeed, if such evidence were immediate, explicit and apparent, ideas about

144 6 Towards Demography
population would then merely amount to variants of political discourse.

The relations between the political realm and population were explicitly
developed over the course of many centuries. There is frequent reference
to the size and the growth of population when it is a question of strengthen-
ing or disputing power and, leaving aside the purely philosophical ideas of
Plato for whom the demographic dimension had no meaning, political power
was always based on population – political power being in any case invari-
ably founded on population while economic power was all the stronger since
production and consumption went hand in hand. This argument was not lim-
ited to national borders. Anything that contributed to power and wealth was
good no matter where: views on colonisation, emigration and imperialism
followed from this argument. This question, so to speak, pre-existed the mer-
cantilists discourse on population, because it was precisely the exploitation
of the riches in the New World that led to the emergence of their economic
and demographic doctrine; it was systematised with the doctrine and policy
of the colonial pact and the plea for putting the colonies under the king’s
authority.
If power depended on population growth, the latter in return was a sign
of good government. The depopulation of Europe as compared to Antiquity
was a veiled criticism of absolute monarchy, particularly in Montesquieu’s
Lettres Persannes and De l’Esprit des Lois.1 The argument had a wider reach
and was not confined to the situation prevalent in the eighteenth century:
when exercising its power, any bad government could be blamed for reduc-
ing the strength and happiness of the nation. This plea had many variations,
but the crux of the argument justifying the legitimacy of power was the
same, namely the size and the prosperity of the population. For the phys-
iocrats, the population engaged in agriculture contributed to the kingdom’s
wealth and any rule that did not maximise agricultural wealth was the cause
of impoverishment and therefore depopulation. Le Mercier de la Rivière,
the greatest theoretician among the physiocrats, opposed legal despotism
to arbitrary despotism, a regime under which “the produce of the land is
reduced to almost nothing (. . .) and the despot’s income decreases accord-
ingly as also the population and everything that contributes to his political
strength.”2 Politics and economics overlapped.
We need to go beyond this factual statement of the instrumentalization
of men by the Prince. Similarly, the happiness and well-being of subjects
was evidence of the efficiency of the governing authority, what is referred to
1 For example, Montesquieu’s criticism of the way Catholic Spain treated its colonies is
a veiled reference to absolutist and Catholic France. At the same time, he is against the
praise of political liberalism in Holland and Switzerland. Regarding Montesquieu, Hume
and Rousseau, see Tomaselli (1988: 9–15).
2 L’Ordre naturel, I: 297.
The Prince, the Father, the Landlord 145
today as demographic indicators of human development. The conditions for

their survival, their reproduction and their mobility, which we now analyse
as the demographic concepts of mortality, fertility and migration, were con-
crete stakes of political philosophy and were accepted as such in the writings
of most authors studied in the preceding chapters and are also recognised
today as, for example, in the debate on the right to intervene on humanitarian
grounds.
But to attribute the birth of demography to the convergence of political
philosophy, moral philosophy and later of political economy gives rise to a
problem as it amounts to admitting implicitly that the concept of popula-
tion was forged, a most disputable postulate. To clarify that matter, one must
address fundamental and largely intertwined issues that led to the emergence
of the concept of population: sovereignty and power, the conflict of interests,
the rise of individualism. Since demography was invented in Europe, though
population thought can be traced in other contexts,3 the following pages pro-
vide archaeology of the concept of population as a preamble to the genesis
of demography, exclusively based on the analytical and conceptual frame-
works of Western thought. There can be no better justification for this than
the comparison of demography with a far more fundamental discipline –
mathematics, whose clear geographical roots (Arab world, China) do not
limit the universality of the subject. In illustrating the current filiations of
this remote conceptualization of demography with concrete examples, I will
not limit the discussion to Europe but will instead widen the perspective of
my argument to include the demographic issues of developing countries as
well. Yet this is merely a surface paradox: the Western-centrism of demog-
raphy is such that it is perfectly legitimate to include these countries. As
is known, in the decades after World War II, with the Malthusian fear of
world overpopulation, the demographic imperialism of the West became
hegemonic throughout Latin America, Africa and Asia, both intellectually
and institutionally.
The Prince, the Father, the Landlord

Students and scholars familiar with writings on demography are well aware
that demographic works generally deal with a given level of observation
and analysis, that of the individual, because almost all demographic sources,
vital statistics, censuses and the majority of demographic surveys take the
individual as the unit of reference. Research is less frequently focused on
the family or the community to which a person belongs (middle level), or on
3 Especially in ancient China (Lao-Tseu) and in the Arabic civilisation (Ibn-Khaldoun).

the country and its institutional system, particularly its population policies
(macro level). They are mainly used as explanatory factors and the theo-
retical models used for analysing mortality and fertility are, for example,
explicitly built on these types of factors. Were these levels taken into con-
sideration before the emergence of demography as a proper discipline and
if so, how were they thought of and reflected upon? Ancient Greece had a
homothetic approach according to which the individual, the city and the cos-
mos were in agreement with one another; but within the Judaeo-Christian
system of values, the divine and the earthly worlds are essentially differ-
ent. Similarly, the ontological status of the individual is different from that
of political units, whether it is a city or a kingdom. We hold that the prob-
lems of sovereignty and the legitimacy of power needed complete rethinking
and that power was at the heart of the relationship between the state, the
family and the individual, a problem to which political philosophy provided
answers that were at times contradictory.
Reigning over Family and Society

In 1680, Robert Filmer, the English royalist supporter of Charles I, had
defended in Patriarcha the idea that Adam, as the first man and the father of
humanity, received from God the absolute power of domination and that
this power was transmitted from generation to generation to the present
sovereigns.4 In 1690, in his First Treatise on Government, Locke began by
demolishing Filmer’s arguments one by one; later, in the Second Treatise, he
refuted Filmer’s thesis by claiming that men were perfectly free and equal in
their natural state while paternal authority “cannot be called absolute domi-
nation, or royal authority”, it was “more of a duty than a power.”5 Pufendorf
too rejected Filmer’s “false principle” as the latter had made the mistake of
calling the “State” a family. Pufendorf based his arguments on a quasi func-
tionalistic, or at least finalistic, logic according to which it was not possible
to assimilate the two powers because “the goal of uniting families and the
goal of establishing civil societies are totally different, whence it follows
that several parts of Sovereignty do not belong to heads of families.”6 He
repeated many of Locke’s arguments in a long note, but unlike the latter, his
4 See in particular: Chapters I.1, II.10, and III.4.

5 Deuxième Traité. . ., see in particular § 53, 69, 182.
6 Pufendorf (1740: Book VI, Chapter II, §10). This explanation figures in the French edition
of 1740, translated by Barbeyrac, which we have used. But De jure naturae et gentium(The
Law of Nature and of Nations) came out in 1572, that is before Filmer’s son published his
father’s book. For a clear and precise presentation of Filmer’s work see Goyard-Fabre (1984:
43–54).
careful distinction led to a plea in favour of absolutism because sovereignty

was never exercised better than in monarchic regimes. Finally, only Plato
abolished this distinction, but in a Utopia reserved for the elite. From the
eighteenth century, another solution based on the principle of representation
flourished as political democracy progressed, but needless to say the dis-
tinction between the holders of power and their subjects was not abolished,
quite the reverse. In 1521, Grotius, in his juridical analysis of the relation-
ship between parents and children, chose to follow the Aristotelian tradition:
because of their “imperfect deliberative faculty” children are placed under
their parents’ authority because they do not have “discretional abilities”
(meaning the ability to judge).7 But this authority cannot be justified once
the child leaves his family and has “complete power over himself”, from
which Grotius deduced that the actions of Kings cannot be declared invalid
on the grounds that they have a father and a mother. On the other hand, at the
end of another argument he concluded that “a society in which several heads
of families join together to form a people or a state gives this entire body
a full and absolute right over its parts.”8 Political power was therefore not
only different from a father’s authority, it was also superior to it. But what
about sovereignty?
We need to go even further back into the past since Bodin’s contribution is
of particular interest. In 1576, the first of Bodin’s Six livres de la République
opened with the sentence that has become famous: “The Republic is a just
government of several households and of what is common to them, endowed
with sovereign power.” The first of the “households” envisaged by Bodin
was the family, which he placed before seigniorial power, the Senate, the
Magistracy, the corporations and communities. It was the “true model of
government for the Republic” because “domestic power resembles sovereign
power.” To give a more solid base to the concept of sovereignty, he applied
it to different types of association: the family, the community, the magis-
tracy and, finally, the state. Thus this seminal work on the theory of absolute
sovereignty asserted that in essence sovereignty, which was the basic prin-
ciple of politics, was not different in the private and public spheres. If for
twenty-first century readers it goes without saying that a state, no matter how
weak, is sovereign in international law, the argument advanced by Bodin to
support his thesis of the absolute nature of sovereignty is quite unexpected.
It was centred on the non measurable nature of sovereignty, which did not
depend on size but resided in each unit that was counted: “. . .and as during
the counting of houses a small household is also counted as a hearth like the
biggest and richest house in the city, similarly a small King is as sovereign as
7 Grotius: Book II, Chapter V, II.1. Aritotle: see Politics, Book I, 12, §1 and Book I, 13, §7.
8 Book II, Chapter VI. Quotation: Book II, Chapters V and XXIIII.
the greatest Monarch on earth.”9 Thus political sovereignty drew its legiti-
macy from within itself and at the same time it did not differ in essence from
the private sovereignty exercised within the family. Precisely because it was
crucial to identify the units vested with sovereignty, it must be concluded
that Bodin did not consider population independently of politics.
Could sovereignty not then be embodied in the family? We might con-
ceivably imagine a political regime in which patrician families decide to
govern without any appeal to the sovereign. Bodin, who perceived the danger
entailed by this deadly germ for absolute sovereignty, provided a clear artic-
ulation of the principle of the separation of the private and public spheres,
illustrated by his vigorous critique of the Platonic city and in particular the
communism of women. In short, the exercise of sovereignty is impossible
if there is a confusion of the public and private spheres, but the need to
subject every unit – from the family to the State – to the authority of a
single person remains a fundamental principle. Demography will also pos-
tulate this dyad of western societies as an implicit model and extend it to
under-developed countries. It does not really matter that contemporary fam-
ily forms, residential arrangements and economic organizations are very
different in a nuclear family, a stem family or a large compound. Nor do
the variations of the concrete functioning of the family – according to the
type of the union (monogamic or polygamic) that was at the origin of the
family, matter. However, there is always a chief who controls the upper pole
of the relationship of subordination. Considering that Bodin looked for the
essence of sovereignty, irrespective of its size, form or the person in whom it
was vested, he helped to prepare the way for demography in a much deeper
sense than by his alleged mercantilistic populationism.
Property and Population

Property, as one of the core concept of political philosophy, encouraged the
emergence of the concept of population on more than one account. Thought
on the spatial organization of society was inseparable from property, as
if space and property were two functionally equivalent concepts. This is
because it was crucial for the smooth running of societies to root individuals
within a clearly delimited and identified space – i.e. within their property.
Since then, the logic has not undergone any fundamental changes.
In present-day Europe a household is defined first and foremost as a
restricted number of persons, whether united or not by family ties, shar-
ing the same lodging, although it has been found necessary, especially in
9 Six livres. . . The quotations are on pp. 66 and 68.

developing countries, to extend the definition of the term household and

consider it also as a production unit. But whether one aspect or another is
stressed, thinking in terms of households amounts to conceptualising popu-
lation on the basis of its living space in relation to its day-to-day existence
and especially its ties to land. What are the theoretical foundations of the
concept of property? Plato paid the greatest attention to the spatial organisa-
tion of the City so as to avoid the resurgence of civil wars that undermined
Athens and due to which the poor citizens lost their property and became
prey to slavery, a process that strengthened the oligarchic clan but exasper-
ated the democrats. In his two Cities, he gradually passed from citizens to
plots, as though the two concepts were functional equivalents; but by the
same token he firmly grounded the citizen in a properly demarcated and
identified space which was his property.
From the Middle Ages, even if the distinction between potestas (power
over men) and dominium (power over things) was clear, scholastics believed
in the common divine origin of this dual power over men and things.
Subsequently there was a progressive shift against Rome and in favour of
the sovereign who cumulated both powers and exercised them in the name
of God. It was in these circumstances that Grotius, and later Pufendorf elab-
orated the theory of the eminent domain, according to which the Prince’s
right to all the properties in his Kingdom preceded that of his citizens and,
as the trustee of the divine will, it was his duty to ensure that their ownership
rights were respected. The physiocrats, who adhered to this intellectual tradi-
tion, built on its basis the most sophisticated theory under which the relation
between population, economics and politics was the closest to the point of
becoming an organic link. Since property was the foundation on which soci-
ety was built, it was up to the authority to defend it. According to Le Mercier,
“The tutelary authority is the administration of a social and physical force
vested in society and by society to ensure the sanctity of property and free-
dom for men in accordance with society’s natural and essential laws.” Since
the King was also the biggest landowner and enjoyed a large income from his
landed properties, the physiocrats were interested in maximising his wealth
and their entire theory of taxing the net product flows from it: increasing
the yield of the taxation system made the royal power stronger. In even more
explicit terms, it was argued that since property was the foundation on which
society was built, its legitimacy depended on the number of men and their
survival due to an adequate supply of food: “Once the increase in the num-
ber of men obliges them to use their industry to increase their means of
subsistence, the need to cultivate the soil forces them to create the institu-
tion of land-ownership which becomes a necessity and a matter of absolute
justice.”10
10 L’Ordre naturel. Quotations: I: 32, (also see I: 40–41), 258 (also see I: 167)
With the French revolution of 1789 and the assertion of the right to
own property independently of any form of religious legitimacy, the con-
tribution of the theory of property to the conceptualization of population
tended to accelerate, to such an extent that in the nineteenth century property
accounted not only for population but also for the behaviours exhibited by
individuals and families, in particular in terms of mobility and fertility. By
contrast, in the eyes of the contemporaries of Malthus, the instability of the
apprentices and companions before they became masters, in the same way
as the unstable proletariat increased as a result of rural exodus, itself driven
by the Bills of Enclosure and the industrial revolution, attested a contrario
to the stabilizing role of property. Likewise, as early as the 1840s the French
liberal ideologues argued that the Code Civil tended to favour a decrease of
rural fertility: since property at every succession was shared equally, peas-
ants sought to reduce the number of descendants to avoid breaking up their
property into too many parts.11
The Conflict of Interests

Once sovereignty had been established in theoretical terms and founded on
property, the exercise of power aimed at avoiding that it could be contested
by individual or group interests who did not identify with the definition of
the common good given or imposed by the Prince. How did political phi-
losophy respond to the issue of potentially conflicting interests? How might
the coherence of individual actions and collective life be ensured? And to
what extent were the proposed solutions decisive for the conceptualization
of population?
The Atomistic Principle

Plato’s solution was based on the negation of the private sphere through
the homothetic transformation of the individual and the City, but that meant
assuming that it was possible to change man and eradicate the tendency to
do evil and commit violence. This philosophical stand being impracticable,
it was necessary to find another basis for the political structure of society.
One line of thinking that can be traced to Saint Paul referred to the divine
origin of power, whereby political organisation was the result of the delega-
tion of potestas, or power over men, to a sovereign. The other, which came
much later, postulated with Grotius that the principle of natural law was to
conform to reason, while the restriction of freedom was consistent with a
11 See Charbit (1981).

The Conflict of Interests 151
freely accepted contract. Such a principle, which implied an atomistic con-

ception of society, had profound consequences because attributing the same
political weight to each person meant dividing society into distinct units and
this opened the way for demography.
To construe a population as an amorphous aggregate of individuals
unstructured into social or economic groups with their own specific dynam-
ics raises a serious issue, since this intellectual construction is at odds with
reality. In Medieval Europe, and subsequently in City-States such as Sienna,
Venice and Florence, and finally in the great emerging European states,
political power was constantly confronted by loosely organized or firmly
instituted socioeconomic groups that were determined to defend their inter-
ests. Guilds, corporations, the francs-bourgeois, leagues and parliaments
were in permanent (implicit or open) conflict over the fiscal and economic
demands of the political authorities – Etienne Marcel, the Provost of the
Merchants of Paris, was for instance a powerful figure. Therefore the Prince
either had to compose with these partisan interests or to use his sovereignty
to subjugate them by force.
Two possible conceptualizations of population resulted from this. One
was in line with the logic of the primacy of politics, while the other was
rooted in the reality of specific socioeconomic interest groups. The notion
of an amorphous mass subjected to the Prince, which is characteristic of
mercantilism, is clearly indicative of the path that was eventually taken.
Three factors may be called upon. First of all, the individual is a deeply
anachronistic concept both in terms of its nineteenth century sense and in
terms of the current use of the word. The German Princes governed states
and the King of France was the father of his people, yet we should not be
misled by these expressions. The era of the nation, in Renan’s sense of the
term, i.e. collections of individuals sharing a common past and common
values and rooted in a specific land, had not yet come. Cujus regio, ejus
religio – the religious beliefs had to be the beliefs held by the Prince. If the
Prince converted to a different faith or if they became dependent upon the
authority of another Prince, individuals had no other choice but to submit to
the religion of their prince or else risk being persecuted, just as the German
peasants were persecuted at the time of Luther, or subsequently the French
protestants, after some happy years under a tolerant Henri IV, by Louis XIII
and Louis XIV. In societies dominated by the hold of religion over the soul
and the mind, individuals therefore enjoyed no autonomy in the realm of
individual conscience. The second factor is that the sovereignty of the Prince
had been successful in ousting any other form of legitimacy over the territory
which he controlled. This is illustrated by the rarity of extra-territorial lands
and the small number of autonomous towns. The Hanseatic League and the
Dutch provinces are among the rare examples of a dearly won independence,
while the towns of the francs-bourgeois, liberated from their feudal lords,
were once again subjugated to royal domination.12 The third factor was that
the implementation of census methods, with the institution of parish records
as well as households counts, ensured the triumph of the “political” con-
ceptualization of populations, a conceptualization postulating individuals
subordinated to a dominant political authority and which therefore excluded
almost all form of economic reality. The primacy of the political over the
economic realm was admittedly subject to constant assaults, as illustrated
by the revolution of 1688 in England and the permanent insubordination
of French Parliaments. Yet in the case of populations everything appears
to be ossified. Except for English political arithmetic – this “science of
shopkeepers” – the German Statistik and French population censuses were
used for the purposes of exercising power and aimed at counting individuals
as such, without adding anything to the very conceptualization of popula-
tion by considering the socioeconomic characteristics of individuals. Even
Bodin, in pleading for the use of a census, merely did so in order to limit
pernicious niggling and the risk of disorder in the exercise of sovereignty.
In the great tradition of mercantilism, it was important to know how many
feux (households) had to be subject to tax and how many men needed to be
enlisted into the armies. The aristocracy was a notable exception. Precisely
because it had inherited scraps of sovereign power from the feudal era (jus-
tice, certain taxes and privileges), it was not included in the process of
census-taking.13 Yet ultimately, what mattered for the power of the king-
dom was simply the effective size of the population. The potential conflict
between the collective interest and partisan interests resulted in the triumph
of politics and in an atomistic conceptualization of population. The effects
of this are still apparent today.
For instance, in the field of population policies, the interests of indi-
viduals and collective interests, far from converging – as liberal ideology
claimed they did – are in fact opposed. In industrialized countries, the con-
flict is subjacent to the issue of generation replacement: for governments,
the fertility of couples should not drop below two children, for otherwise,
since population renewal is not guaranteed, there emerges the spectre of
12 The Hanseatic League, for instance, originated in 1241 when Lübeck formed an alliance
with Hamburg. Towards the end of the fourteenth century, it gathered nearly one hundred
cities allover northern and eastern Europe. The Hanseatic cities had achieved political auton-
omy, solidly grounded on a powerful trading economy. The power of the League reached a
peak towards the end of the fourteenth century when it won a war against Denmark. But from
then, Western and Eastern territorial states progressively weakened the League, which was
dissolved in 1669.
13 Significantly enough, the major undertaking was the Enquiry into noble status (Enquête
de noblesse) by Colbert in 1667, the aim of which was to prove that the status of noble was
proven and therefore that the taille had not to be paid.
The Conflict of Interests 153
the bankruptcy of the pension system. Yet for couples nothing justifies this
economic calculation. If couples have three children instead of two, their
expenses increase without any real compensation in terms of resources, since
family allowances only partially compensate for the extra expenses entailed
by a third child. In developing countries – and still in the name of the gen-
eral interest – national population policies, which are often driven by the
pressure exerted by wealthy countries using the financial weapon of multilat-
eral or bilateral aid, encourage poor people to limit fertility. In order for the
gross domestic product per capita to increase, is the simplest solution not for
the denominator to decrease so that individual wealth may increase, as sug-
gested by the Malthusian allegory of the banquet in 1803? Once again, this
logic, which emphasizes a macroeconomic rationale, concealed another –
the logic of individuals and families, which nonetheless weighs heavily on
fertility decisions. A couple of illiterate peasants with six children know that
their security depends on this, since family solidarity is required to protect
them in their old age in the absence of any institutional system of health,
accident or disability protection. In other words, none of the three words in
the phrase “national economic growth” conveys any form of rationality for
a couple faced with this situation. Yet national population policies tend to
privilege the higher interest of the country, either coercively (as is the case
in China) or through persuasion (as tends to be the case elsewhere).
Arbitrating Interests and Educating the People

Once the superiority of the interests embodied by the Prince and today by
the State was established, another issue remained to be solved – the perma-
nent conflicts between partisan interests. How might a kingdom in which
conflicting partisan interests tend to abound be governed? In principle, the
answer was simple. The sovereign must remain detached, and if necessary
he would act as court of arbitration. The proposed solutions are well-known:
Bodin designed the theory of absolute sovereignty, largely for the purposes
of putting an end to the bloody conflicts between Catholics and Protestants;
the physiocrats invented legal despotism to promote an economic model
founded on agriculture. But since the Prince’s subjects were inclined to
protest, the Prince could either impose his rule or opt to negotiate. The first
course – the assertion of sovereign authority – is illustrated by the case of
French absolutism and entered its final days with the “Flagellation Session”
of the Paris Parliament by Louis XV on 3 March 1766.
The second course consisted in attempting to limit any claims by turning
their own weapons upon protesters and primarily their own use of Reason
to justify their actions. As it became the object of an increasingly power-
ful cult from the second half of the seventeenth century onwards, Reason
served to legitimate economic behaviours (as well as social and demographic

behaviours) under the banner of utilitarian philosophy before it eventually
triumphed in the nineteenth century with the secular rationalism of posi-
tivism. Yet reason implies education, and the crucial role of the relation
between reason, education and progress in the genesis of modern demo-
graphic thought should not be underestimated. The physiocrats were very
careful to use education to rally the representatives of enlightened opinion
keen to contest the rule of absolute monarchy. According to Lemercier de
la Rivière, the essential thing was to make sure that people were aware of
the natural order of things. Since “simple opinions cannot suffice for the
establishment of the natural order and the essential quality of societies”,
attention had to be paid to three points: developing “evident knowledge”,
ensuring “publicity” without which government was impossible and “edu-
cating the public” by distributing doctrinal literature for this purpose so that
it was possible to avoid “foolish actions” such as “making men believe that
they can do without subsistence (. . .) that changing the place means multi-
plying.”14 At the close of the eighteenth century, it was a matter of winning
over enlightened opinion to oppose the absolutist monarchy but the principle
itself is surprisingly modern.
The issue at stake later became the social contract, while discourses on
the necessary education of the people as a condition and proof of social and
political progress tended to flourish under the rule of the enlightened (and
later, constitutional) monarchies, and even more so in republics. When it
came to power, the bourgeoisie instrumentalized education during the indus-
trial revolution to combat the demands of the proletariat. If the latter had
been made more aware of its own interests, it would have seen that destroy-
ing machines, going on strike and having too many children was hardly
reasonable. Progress occurred in Europe but also in the colonies, where the
burden of the civilizing mission weighed so heavily upon the white race.
Under the Second Empire and especially after 1858, just as the colonial
empire was beginning to take shape in Algeria, Africa and Cochinchina,
liberal ideologues such as Paul Leroy-Beaulieu and Frédéric Passy pleaded
for the diffusion of the great values embodied by France, while privileging
modalities of colonization that did nothing to hamper the booming com-
merce: it was by means of ideas and values, those of the Philosophes, rather
than by means of the canon, that markets for the products of French industry
had to be sought.
As an example of a still more remote avatar, current demographic theories
of fertility agree unanimously in conceiving education as a decisive factor
of reproductive behaviour. Unlike illiterate women, educated women are not
14 L’Ordre naturel. The quotations are in I: 82–93.

The Emergence of Individualism 155
confined to a reproductive role. They discover the possibility of other kinds

of individual fulfilment; they are able to enjoy a degree of economic auton-
omy through the access to qualified (or at the very least salaried) jobs, and
their work is thus no longer drowned in the mass of family income; finally,
they are better informed about their own physiology and can use contra-
ception efficiently, which their intellectual and economic autonomy enables
them to impose upon their partner and their own family, especially in Sub-
Saharan Africa. As for educated couples, they no longer consider children as
a gift from God, but decide for or against conceiving a child only once they
have weighed the economic benefits and costs, including future expenses in
terms of education, as the economic theories of fertility claim.
Let us return to the absence of any socioeconomic dimension in the initial
conceptualization of population, since it still largely characterizes demogra-
phy today.15 In practice, the process merely involves collecting individual
data which are then aggregated. Adding up individuals answers is deemed
to be sufficient as an objective measure of collective behaviours, whereas
it largely bypasses the claims of reality. Public opinion surveys, includ-
ing surveys relating to demographic issues (such as questions concerning
desired fertility or contraception) are the best examples. To say that for a
representative sample of French men and women two is the ideal number of
children tells us very little about the driving factors of fertility within society,
because of the absence of any serious reflection on the social processes of the
construction of opinions on desired fertility. Likewise, the concept of poten-
tial demand for contraception, which is used for programmatic purposes
in developing countries, is entirely cut off from the economic, social, cul-
tural and even political mechanisms that subtend the behaviour of men and
women in terms of reproduction. Evaluators complain about the poor results
of family planning policies, which are nonetheless supported by consider-
able financial means. There is in fact confusion between object and method,
an issue denounced by Mills in 1959 in The Sociological Imagination.
The Emergence of Individualism
Challenging Absolutism
The lengthy undermining process of absolutism in seventeenth- and
eighteenth-century Europe first needs to be evoked, since it is a decisive
though remote factor in the emergence of modern demographic thought. A
new political doctrine attacked in Europe the basic principle of absolutism
15 In spite of recent evolutions in research on networks.

and the very source of the legitimacy of power. In 1625, Grotius set a limit
on sovereignty for the first time in De jure belli ac pacis, his “treatise on the
right to war and peace” which affirmed with Bodin that once the people’s
consent to sovereignty was obtained, it put the sovereign outside their influ-
ence.16 The right to resist claimed by the French Huguenots was excluded
ipso facto, but, claimed Grotius, sovereignty could not be exercised tyran-
nically. Once the pact was concluded, even though it led to absolutism, it
was under God’s protection, but it was completely different from the abso-
lutism that proceeded from the Divine.17 In 1651, Hobbes theorised the
pacts of association and submission in the Leviathan. Every man desisted
from ruling himself and if others did the same and left it to a sovereign
who exercised power: “the multitude so united in one person, is called a
COMMONWEALTH, in Latin civitas. This is the generation of that great
LEVIATHAN or rather, to speak more reverently, of that mortal god to
which we owe under the immortal God, our peace and defence.”18 This con-
tract of association had no spiritual foundation, it was strictly materialistic
while political organisation was an artifice that excluded violence, or rather
reserved it for the sovereign. In 1672, Samuel Pufendorf in his De jure nat-
urae et gentium, made a distinction between the pact of association and the
pact of submission. Since the first, which was at the basis of civil society,
preceded the second, society pre-existed government and survived it even
if the government fell.19 But, as Grotius also believed, only the sovereign
could break the pact of submission, which finally amounted to absolutism.
The argument developed by Spinoza in 1670 in his Tractatus theologico-
politicus has a totally different significance. He began by refuting traditional
beliefs such as prophecies (Chapters 1 and 2), miracles (Chapter 4) and the
existence of a chosen people (Chapter 3). According to Spinoza, religion
should be seen from the historical viewpoint and the closely argued expla-
nation in Chapters 7 and 10 brought out the essence of religion, faith and
its revelation. The aim of the Tractatus was to make a careful distinction
between the essence of philosophy, namely the use of reasoning faculties and
what lied in the domain of theology, the teaching “of piety and obedience”.
Spinoza refused to be accused of being an atheist for religion and philoso-
phy were two different domains and freedom of thought did not in any way
16 1685: Book I, Chapter III, VIII.1, and IX.1.

17 See in particular Book I, Chapters IV and XVI (right to depose a tyrant or a usurper) and
Book I, Chapter IV, 1.3 (right to disobey if an order goes against God’s commandments).
Grotius thus established a clear distinction between “the acts performed by a King as a King
and the acts that a King may commit as an individual”. Because the King was bound by the
contracts that he had signed, which were not laws (Book II, Chapters XIV, 1.2 and IX).
18 Hobbes, s.d.: 112.
19 Pufendorf (1740: Book VII, Chapters I and II).
rule out faith.20 What needed to be opposed was the pretentiousness of the-
ologians who passed off as the divine word what historical analysis clearly
showed was only a piece of human writing aimed at ensuring that people
obeyed authority. The transition to political freedom follows because “faith
gives every man the sovereign liberty to philosophise, so that without com-
mitting a crime he can think what he wants of anything and everything”.21
Spinoza, who lived in Amsterdam, realised the importance of the freedom of
thought at a time when absolutism prevented the diffusion of values such as
tolerance associated with political liberty in Europe. He supported democ-
racy unambiguously because he believed that it offered the best guarantee of
freedom of thought.22 Luther and Calvin developed the theory of the right
to resist, but they did not question the legitimacy of power. Spinoza pro-
posed an analysis that was infinitely more dangerous for the latter, because
by emphasising man’s ability to think, he destroyed the authority of reli-
gion. He challenged the monarchy for using the Church as an institution to
establish its divine rights and in his Tractatus theologico-politicus numerous
examples laid bare the methods that religion used to obtain the people’s total
obedience. Although he published it as an anonymous work and it did not
carry the name of the actual publisher, Spinoza was identified immediately
and aroused a lot of violent hostility. In Amsterdam itself, his protector, Jan
de Witt, was accused in 1672 of assisting the publication of “this work pro-
duced in hell by the renegade Jew in collaboration with the devil.”23 The
Tractatus exerted a strong influence on rationalistic thought, and especially
on the Freethinkers, even though Spinoza declared that he could not prevent
the ignorant from making use of his book.24 It was a revolutionary book
because, by weakening the religious foundations of absolutism, he ques-
tioned all forms of abusive power through the exercise of man’s thinking
powers.
The decisive step was taken by John Locke in 1690 in his Two Treatises
on Government. Locke established, on a purely rational basis and indepen-
dently of all metaphysical thought, the civil contract that was the foundation
20 Traité théologico-politique, 246, 251; quotation: 254.

21 Submission to authority: 107–108, 230, etc.; quotation: 246.
22 “I think I have shown enough of the fundamentals of the democratic state of which I have
spoken in preference to others because it seemed the most natural thing and the one that
is least distant from the freedom that Nature confers of each person” (268). And “The less
men are allowed the freedom to judge, the further one moves from the most natural state
and the more violence there is in government. So that it may now be seen how this freedom
has no disadvantages that can be avoided only by the sovereign’s authority and how only by
this authority men professing different opinions can be easily prevented from harming one
another [. . .]. May the city of Amsterdam be an example for us. . .” (334).
23 Quoted by Appuhn (1965: 8). Also see Hazard (1994: 134–141).
24 Traité. . .: 218.
of any political society. He began by demolishing Filmer’s arguments one

by one, especially his above quoted contention that Adam, as the first man
and the father of humanity, received from God the absolute power of dom-
ination that has been passed down from one generation to another. To the
contrary, Locke held that “all men are naturally in a state of perfect freedom
to order their actions” (§4, 95) and that the first part of “paternal power, or
rather duty”, which was to provide education to his children, was limited in
time (§69). Paternal power should not be assimilated to political power nor
“without any great harshness bear the name of absolute dominion and regal
authority” (§53). Should men “by the consent of every individual” decide to
form a community “for their comfortable, safe and peaceful living”, it would
have the power to act – even if unanimity was not reached – on the basis of
the majority of its members. Thus, every one was bound by that consent con-
cluded by the majority (§96). Further, whoever exercised the “legislative or
supreme power” was obliged to govern according to the existing laws, not
by arbitrary decrees (§131). Needless to say, Locke was strongly opposed
to absolutism: “And hence, it is evident that absolute monarchy, which by
some men is counted for the only government in the world, is indeed incon-
sistent with civil society, and so can be no form of civil government at all.”25
Locke’s work was perfectly suited to the bourgeoisie who had gained the
upper hand after the 1688 revolution. The Treatises certainly do not expound
any theory on revolution because they were developed much earlier and
Locke was familiar with the writings of Grotius, Pufendorf and Spinoza.
But he opened the way for political liberalism in England at a time when
constitutional monarchy was firmly established by the 1689 Declaration of
Rights, which deemed illegal all forms of encroachment by the royal author-
ity on the prerogatives of Parliament (legislative activities, setting up law
courts, levying taxes, etc.).
Taking Account of the Subject

As noted above, in order for modern demographic thought to emerge, abso-
lutism first had to be contested. Though largely ignored, two implications
of absolutism are relevant here. On the one hand, the fact that the legiti-
macy of the monarch was based on a sacred anointment meant that any form
of significant disobedience entailed heavy consequences. The 1566 edict
concerning the concealment of pregnancy (analyzed in Chapter 4) is a per-
fect illustration of this, focusing on the religious dimension of the crime of
infanticide. Likewise the management of sorcery in roughly 1570 failed to
25 Second Treatise. . ., see in particular §4, 53, 69, 95, 96, 131, 182. Last quotation on
absolutism: §90.
go to the bottom of things. It is significant that Bodin was ignored when

he suggested searching for rational proof to instruct witchery trials. The
Paris Parliament merely sanctioned the excesses of provincial judges without
seeking to establish whether their judgements had actually proven the acts
of sorcery. We might admittedly see here the desire to bring judges into line,
but was it not more fundamentally a refusal to debate witchery in the light of
reason? In other words, the Paris Parliament carefully remained within the
only acceptable religious vision of society, namely that of the Holy Catholic
Apostolic Church, which provided the basis of the authority of the monarch.
Throughout the nineteenth century and even in the twentieth century, reli-
gion was instrumentalized for the purposes of controlling the behaviour of
men and above all women. This can be seen in the debates over contraception
(and subsequently abortion) in France in the 1960s and 1970s, when the con-
servative parties and pressure groups applied the “right to life” to foetuses
which were forcefully claimed to be babies, i.e. persons to be. Contraception
and abortion were therefore described as crimes. The instrumentalization
of religion also took place at the time of the International conference on
population and development held in Cairo in 1994, where a common front
against abortion was established between the Vatican, Islamic conserva-
tives, certain North American evangelical protestants and some extremist
rabbis.
On the other hand, as noted above, absolutism tended to conceive a popu-
lation as a shapeless mass subjected to the sole interests of the Prince through
its three functions: taxation, labour and military use. The king – as the father
of his people – was required to protect the people and some measures were
indeed taken in the name of Christian charity. In France, they were for the
most part implemented by the Church, which, through its countless orders,
provided aid in cases of famine, misery or plague outbreaks. Yet neither the
Sun King nor any other European monarch or prince could have conceived
that men and women who survived as best they could, and rather worse
than better, in rural areas, villages and right up to the gates of castles, could
possibly exhibit behaviours worthy of the slightest interest. When Richelieu
spoke of donkeys that need not be too heavily charged, he feared break-
ing their spine, but not that they would have the strange idea to buck. Even
the physiocrats, who conceptualized the economic behaviour of producers
(especially farmers), merely construed them as contributors to the macroeco-
nomic running of the Tableau Economique, but hardly as autonomous actors,
except the farmers.
Today, judging entire social groups in the light of their demographic
behaviours appears to go without saying. We are accustomed to conceiv-
ing societies in terms of social morphology, thus attributing demographic,
economic, cultural and other characteristics to different social groups. Yet
on closer inspection, this reading of the social realm appears to be a recent
development. The intellectual revolution which truly accounts for the emer-
gence of demographic categories is the invention by the bourgeoisie of the
universality of its values: by proclaiming itself the class and model of ref-
erence on the basis of its behaviour allegedly based on reason (a source
of individual happiness and collective progress), the bourgeoisie gradually
imposed its criteria on the other social classes. All other groups were hence-
forth judged on their demographic behaviours: fertility and nuptiality thus
became major elements of proof in the eminently bourgeois analyses of
social mobility in France under the Second Empire, for instance as penned
by Emile Levasseur and Paul Leroy-Beaulieu, and in many later works in
demography and quantitative sociology.
In short, what the questioning of absolutism ultimately enabled was the
emergence of individualism, and more specifically the notion that every-
thing cannot be analyzed solely and necessarily in relation to the Prince.
When the Philosophes fully developed the idea of tolerance, it was precisely
the recognition of subjects as such facing the Prince that was at stake, and
any serious archaeology of demographic thought must begin by examining
precisely this.
From Homo Oeconomicus to Homo Demographicus

As Burckhardt put it, before the Renaissance man, who until then “had
merely conceived himself as a race, a people, a party, a corporation, a
family [. . .] became a spiritual individual who has an awareness of this
new state of being”. A spiritual being no doubt, though not a social, polit-
ical or economic being. In the seventeenth century, modern individualism
had already stepped into the breach opened up by political philosophy and,
as noted above, institutionalized interest groups gradually asserted them-
selves economically: Assemblies of Notables, agricultural societies, great
trading Companies, general hospitals, merchant guilds, trade corporations,
and above all Parliaments, which served as organs of counter-power, the
extreme case being the English Parliament borne of the 1688 revolution,
which radically limited royal prerogatives, especially finance wise. The
rising bourgeoisie thus set out to organize itself to ensure the political con-
ditions of its own prosperity, once the rules of the political game had been
modified to serve its own interests.
Political Economy and Population

Still, the era of demography had not yet come. For this a major theoreti-
cal step had to be taken – political and economic individualism had to be
From Homo Oeconomicus to Homo Demographicus 161
built on incontestable foundations. Such was the decisive contribution of

the Scottish school, of utilitarianism and of Malthus. Whereas political phi-
losophy had constantly subtended demographic thought since fifth-century
Classical Antiquity, its role was profoundly redefined in the eighteenth cen-
tury, when classical political economy in England integrated population
into an entirely different conceptual framework and with entirely novel
analytical tools. By defining an actor – homo oeconomicus – by his dual
behaviour as producer and consumer, political economy extracted popula-
tion from the field of political philosophy while preserving its roots in moral
philosophy. Homo oeconomicus is a being endowed with reason and gov-
erned by the sole pursuit of his own economic interests, which enables
him to attain a greater degree of well-being. More generally, insofar as
moral philosophy since Bentham postulated the convergence of interests,
society as a whole would become wealthier if every actor therein acted ratio-
nally. Furthermore, by conceptualizing three factors of production, i.e. land,
capital and labour, and by defining markets in which each factor sees its
offer and demand balance out around a given price (that of the rent, the
profit rate, the wage), Adam Smith’s political economy was able to theo-
rize population dynamics. Population grows if the demand for labour (i.e.
production) increases, and therefore the wages paid to the workers, the
adjustment occurring through nuptiality and fertility. Employment oppor-
tunities encourage workers to marry earlier and to have more children; and
since rural and industrial workers constitute the great mass of the population,
their behaviour generates global demographic growth. Once this adjustment
mechanism is defined, deviant demographic behaviours are necessarily sanc-
tioned: an excessively high fertility rate results in a decrease of the wage rate
because of competition on the labour market.
Malthus
Adam Smith’s contribution remained limited since it did not allow for a tran-
sition from homo oeconomicus to homo demographicus. As I have shown
elsewhere, it is Malthus who needs to be credited with having centred
thought about demographic actors in the modern sense of the term in 1798
by explicitly integrating the great demographic variables into his concep-
tualization of population dynamics: mortality, nuptiality, fertility and to a
lesser extent mobility.26 In fact Malthus went much further than this, by
identifying in particular the two major adjustment mechanisms of fertility,
26 Charbit (2009).
contraception and age at marriage as well as the great causes of mortal-

ity: epidemics, famine and wars. But he did not limit his argument to the
considerable progress constituted by what we might refer to today as the
systematic “deconstruction” of these variables. His analyses gave rise to
both doctrinal and theoretical perspectives. Mortality – a major obstacle
to population growth – was by his account the most reliable indicator of
the happiness or unhappiness of men, at a time when entire social classes
were swept away by the turmoil of the industrial revolution. As for fer-
tility, and contrary to the commonly accepted understanding of Malthus’s
work, it had imperatively to be maximized and yet without plunging fami-
lies into poverty. Finally, Malthus analysed international emigration as the
safety valve in cases of overpopulation. Malthus was also one of the first to
speak of interactions between variables, one of the major aspects of modern
demographic analysis. For example, the voids caused by mortality in towns
were compensated by the arrival of the excess of births in rural areas; or
international emigration stimulated fertility in the countries of origin. But
Malthus also inherited the legacy of previous centuries, and his theorization
of demographic behaviours cannot be understood if we overlook the three
disciplines that provided the foundations of modern demography. Malthus’s
political philosophy was that of the Whigs, and it inspired his apology for
the necessity of education and his nuanced positions concerning the reform
of the Poor Laws. His moral philosophy was clearly utilitarian, but it was
also informed by a form of religious ethics which he never tired of promot-
ing – the Goodness of the Creator. His economic theory (also utilitarian)
consisted primarily in a profoundly original reflection on the conditions of
a continuous growth of wealth – unlike the Ricardian concept of balance.
Malthus thus paved the definitive way for modern demography, but also for
an entirely novel trend in social and economic thought.
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Index
A Bank, 93
Abortion, 4, 17, 44, 56, 70–71, 159 Baptism, 70, 97
Absolute, 12, 15, 38, 43, 45–57, 61, 87, Barbarian, 16, 21, 34, 44
96, 102, 105–106, 144, 146–149, Baudeau, 116, 137, 140
153–154, 158 Beggar, 75–78
Absolutism, 5, 48, 68, 102–107, 109–110, Bèze, 47
112, 147, 153, 155–160 Bible, 9, 11, 13, 52
Adultery, 11, 58 Black code, 96–98
Africa, 10, 92, 97, 145, 154–155 Bodin, 2, 8–9, 43–62, 66, 68, 79, 81, 101,
Agriculture, 5, 33, 72, 105, 115, 117–124, 113, 143, 147–148, 152–153, 156,
126–128, 130–131, 133–136, 139, 159
141, 144, 153 Boiguillebert, 102
America, 17, 96, 97, 100, 124, 129, 135, Bossuet, 63, 102–105
145, 159 Botero, 6
Anachronism, 7, 9–12, 18, 20, 37 Bourgeois, 72, 115, 128, 151, 154,
Ancien régime, 4, 115, 117, 130, 134, 136, 158, 160
140–141 Bouteroue, 99–100
Aristocracy, 24, 51, 59, 101, 105, 108, 127, Bread, 118, 137–138
152 Bullionism, 65, 82, 86–89, 107
Aristocrat, 24, 39 Burgundy, 78, 105
Aristocratic, 24–25, 32, 46, 72, 103–105,
138, 140
C
Aristotle, 13, 18, 21, 24–25, 27–28, 33, 44,
57–62 Cadiz, 64, 88, 90, 93
Armies, 11, 108, 123, 132–133, 152 Cahiers de doléances, 68, 109
Army, 27, 34, 43, 49, 52, 108, 123 Calvin, 47, 49, 157
Assembly, 25–28, 58, 65, 82, 91–92, 109, Canada, 92, 95, 98–102
140 Cantillon, 124–125, 128, 133
Atheist, 53, 156 Capital, 84, 90–91, 115, 119–120, 121–122,
134, 161
Athens, 3, 13–14, 18, 20–29, 33–36, 39, 50,
149 Capitalism, 89, 125
Atlantis, 22, 33–36 Capitalist, 6, 91, 117, 120
Cartier, 95
Censorship, 38, 79, 136
B Census, 3, 8, 10–11, 21, 43, 45, 51–53,
Baas, 96–98 101–102, 106, 111, 145, 152
Balance of trade, 65, 69, 82, 111 Champlain, 95
173
174 Index
Chaulnes, 105–106 Corporations, 74, 138, 147, 151, 160

Child, 10–12, 15, 22, 28, 31, 39–40, 44, 50, Corruption, 14, 29, 79, 81, 85, 87–88, 105,
56–58, 61, 70–73, 76–78, 90–91, 109
96–97, 100, 109, 125, 130, 147, Cortez, 64
152–155, 158, 161 Cotton, 92, 95
Church, 9, 45, 56, 63–64, 69–71, 97, 103, Craftsmen, 50, 74, 84, 87, 98, 105–106, 112,
157, 159 120
Citizen, 3–4, 13–15, 17–21, 23, 25, 27, Crisis, 5, 102, 132, 136, 138
29–30, 32, 36, 40–41, 43–44, 49–50, Customs, 12, 45–46, 53, 67, 70, 85, 88, 93,
58, 61, 79, 140, 149 109
City, 3–4, 11, 13–41, 43, 52, 57–62, 75, 78,
88, 121, 146–151, 157 D
City ideal, 13, 15, 22, 28, 31, 33, 36–39, 58, Davenant, 69, 111–112
62 Decadence, 8, 18, 25, 26, 32, 34, 37, 39
Civil society, 156, 158 Demand for labour, 88, 125, 127–129, 133,
Class, 6, 8, 21, 31, 33, 36, 117, 119–120, 161
132, 160 Democracy, 13–14, 18, 25–29, 34–35, 46,
Clément, 74–75, 88, 92, 94–101, 107–108, 50, 140, 147, 157
110 Demo-economic, 44, 111, 115, 125, 128
Clergy, 46, 65, 72–73, 76, 101, 103, 130 Demographic
Clisthenes, 24–25, 32, 38 doctrine, 12, 44, 110, 144
Cloth, 60, 74, 78, 83, 85–86, 107, growth, 10, 18, 20, 124–126, 128–129,
109, 127 133, 161
Code, 16, 19, 70, 76, 91–93, 96–98, 150 theory, 1, 9
Coherence, 3–4, 6–9, 37, 130, 143, 150 thought, 1–2, 8–9, 13, 16, 19, 21, 37, 43,
Colbert, 45, 63–113, 128, 136, 139, 67, 154–155, 158, 160–161
152 variable, 1, 16, 66, 70, 161
Colonial Pact, 88, 144 Demography, 1–5, 8, 13–23, 37–38, 41, 44,
Colonisation, 4, 20, 89–90, 144 49, 141, 143–162
Colony, 14–15, 95, 99–100, 130 Descartes, 10, 64
Communism, 17, 21, 31, 39, 148 Despotism, 119, 131, 139–140, 144,
Community, 22, 28, 32, 39, 46, 58, 60, 66, 153
145, 147, 158 Development, 1, 4, 5, 7, 9, 29, 35, 45, 63,
Companies, 89–93, 95, 97, 99, 130, 160 65, 71, 77, 80, 82, 83, 98, 100–101,
Company, 90–91, 93–94, 96, 98–99 108, 110, 115, 119–120, 134–135,
Competition, 5, 79, 92, 121, 137–138, 161 139, 141, 143, 145, 159–160
Concept, 1–4, 8, 14, 17–21, 33, 38, 41, 58, Diderot, 140
60, 81, 115, 120, 122, 145, 147–149, Disease, 10, 11, 56, 77
151, 155, 162 Divine law, 46, 53, 105
Confucius, 13, 136 Divorce, 10, 44, 53, 112
Consumer, 119–120, 121, 130, 137, 161 Doctrine, 1–2, 7–9, 12–13, 16–17, 38,
Consumption, 85–88, 96, 108, 116, 41, 43–44, 47, 63–66, 103–104,
126–129, 144 107–108, 110–113, 116–120, 129,
Context, 2, 5–6, 26, 47, 49, 53–55, 71, 81, 133–134, 143–144, 155
97, 111, 121, 132, 134, 136, 141 Dupont de Nemours, 112, 116, 124–125,
Contradiction, 6, 19, 22, 28, 73, 83, 107, 128–132, 137–138, 140
109–110 Dutch, 74, 81, 89–90, 92–95, 98, 102, 109,
Control, 1, 10, 17, 21, 31–32, 35, 38–40, 48, 151
55–56, 65, 74, 78–79, 89, 93, 95–96, Dynamic, 1, 5, 8, 17–18, 37, 58, 66, 111,
98, 105, 109, 137 116, 123, 125, 151, 161
Index 175
E Farm, 56, 79, 130

Economic Farmer, 121
doctrine, 133 Fénelon, 63–113
growth, 88, 115, 121, 126, 129, 133–134, Fertility, 1, 3, 6, 10, 15–16, 19, 31, 36, 43,
153 51, 56, 66, 69–70, 83, 100, 104,
policy, 44, 65, 67, 69, 81–88, 108, 125–126, 145–146, 150, 152–155,
136 160–162
power, 110, 144 Feudal, 51–52, 59, 120, 151–152
theory, 2, 3, 112, 115–141, 162 Filmer, 146, 158
Economics, 5, 41, 49, 65, 67–68, 75, 78, Fiscal, 70, 101, 108, 117–118, 130, 134,
82, 88–89, 106, 109–110, 112, 125, 136, 139, 151
138–141, 143–144, 149 Flanders, 75, 80
Economists, 8, 73, 115, 125 Fontainebleau, 109
Edict, 48, 52–53, 56–57, 65, 67, 70–74, Food, 5, 21, 50, 60, 67, 76–78, 83, 85,
76–78, 83, 88, 91, 95, 101, 107, 109, 106, 108, 119–121, 126, 128–129,
117, 125, 137–138, 158 136, 149
Education, 26, 31, 37, 39–40, 45, 61, 100, Forbonnais, 135, 137
105, 154–155, 158, 162 Foreign, 15–16, 26, 35, 45, 69, 70, 74–75,
Elite, 17, 19, 31, 147 79–81, 84–87, 105–106, 109, 124,
Emigration, 4, 16–17, 20, 50, 74, 83, 101, 129–130, 133–134, 137
109, 123, 125, 144, 162 Foreigners, 3, 16, 21, 36, 45, 50–51, 69,
Empire, 33–35, 63, 89, 90, 136, 154, 78–81, 84–85, 91, 95
160 Forerunner, 2, 13–14, 46, 62
Empirical, 18, 123, 125, 134, 141 France, 5, 6, 17, 43–44, 45–48, 54, 56, 60,
Employment, 5, 45, 69, 73–75, 83–85, 88, 62–63, 65, 67–69, 71, 75–76, 78–89,
94, 110, 121, 125–126, 161 91–99, 101–106, 108–109, 111–113,
Encyclopedist, 117, 140 115, 117, 119, 121, 123–124,
England, 5–6, 54, 57, 63, 67–68, 80–81, 83, 128–129, 132, 134–136, 139, 144,
85, 90–95, 97, 102, 104, 107, 109, 151, 154, 159–160
111, 113, 119, 123, 134–135, 152, Francis, 47, 52–53, 65, 71, 74, 110
158, 161 Frederic, 112
Epidemic, 11, 162 Free trade, 108, 117, 128–130, 136,
Epistemological, 8–9, 10, 38, 41, 122 137–139, 141
Equilibrium, 5, 116
Europe, 49, 55, 63–64, 87, 89, 93–95,
G
116, 135, 144–145, 148, 151–152,
Gallicanism, 103
154–155, 157
Generation, 68, 146, 152, 156, 158
Exodus, 11, 121, 125, 150
Exploitation, 36, 144 Genesis, 7, 9–10, 12, 145, 154
Exports, 20, 45, 50, 65, 73, 80, 82–83, God, 11–12, 15, 23–24, 32, 46, 50, 53, 57,
85–87, 105–108, 118–120, 126, 59–60, 62–64, 103–104, 106, 146,
129–130, 135, 137 149, 155–156, 158
Gold, 36, 50, 64–65, 74, 79, 82, 84–86, 89,
F 90, 102
Fair, 20, 81, 137 Gournay, 137
Family, 11, 15, 21–22, 24, 26, 38, 41, Grains, 83, 105, 108, 117, 119–122, 124,
43–44, 48, 58, 60–62, 66, 68, 85, 126–133, 135, 136–141
101, 105, 109, 119, 128, 145–148, Graunt, 111
153, 155, 160 Greece, 13, 20, 30, 37, 41, 52, 146
Famine, 11, 56, 75–76, 108, 129, 135–138, Grotius, 93, 102–103, 147, 149–150,
159, 162 156, 158
176 Index
H K
Happiness, 60–62, 64, 88, 144, 160, 162 Kingdom, 6, 9, 34, 47–50, 52, 60, 62,
Henry, 63 65, 69–71, 73, 75–76, 78, 82–85,
Hestia, 23–24 87–88, 91, 95, 101–102, 105–106,
Hobbes, 103, 156 108–111, 115, 119, 121, 126, 128,
Holland, 5, 75, 81, 90–95, 97, 109–110, 119, 131–133, 135, 137, 139, 144, 146,
144 149, 152–153
Homo œconomicus, 160–162
Hospital, 75–78, 98–100, 160 L
House, 11, 147 Labour, 4, 8, 19, 21, 36, 45, 52, 65, 69, 70,
Household, 24, 147–149 73–76, 81, 88, 96, 98, 106, 111, 116,
Huguenot, 68, 95 119–130, 133, 159, 161
Hume, 123, 144 Laffémas, 68, 79, 81, 83, 85–86, 110
Laissez-faire, 139
I Land, 11, 14, 19–20, 23, 25, 32–33, 35, 37,
Ideas, 1–12, 18, 20, 35, 43, 45, 51, 57, 65, 45, 58, 66, 72–73, 76, 78, 83, 92,
67–69, 71, 79–80, 94, 105–106, 115, 94, 99–100, 104–106, 108, 115–119,
117–118, 120, 123, 126, 133, 139, 121–122, 125–126, 131–132, 134,
141, 143–144, 154 137, 144, 149, 151, 161
Ideology, 8, 10, 20, 43, 103, 110, 152 Law, 1, 15–16, 21, 25, 27–28, 31, 45–47, 53,
Illegitimacy, 70–71 56–57, 62, 71, 105, 108, 116, 125,
Immigration, 4, 16–17, 43, 45, 50–51, 57, 137, 140, 146–147, 150, 158
66, 110, 120, 124–125 League, 35, 88, 90, 151–152
Imperialism, 5, 35, 89, 93–95, 102, 144–145 Legislation, 117, 137
Imperialist, 14, 34–35, 69, 89, 91 Legitimacy, 32, 38, 47, 59, 62, 69, 131,
Imports, 64, 82–86, 129–130, 135, 137 139–140, 144, 146, 148–151,
India, 64, 90, 92–94 156–158
Industrialisation, 82, 86–88 Leibnitz, 112
Industry, 65, 69, 74–75, 80, 84–88, 94, 107, Leroy-Beaulieu, 154, 160
110, 117–121, 124–125, 131, 134, Le Trosne, 116, 119, 129–130, 137
149, 154 Levasseur, 74, 79, 86, 91–92, 94–95, 107,
Infanticide, 15–17, 44, 56, 70–72, 158 109, 160
Intendant, 74, 76, 99–100, 107, 109–110, Leviathan, 156
118, 122, 138 Levirate, 10–12
Interest, 39, 41, 51–52, 56, 66, 77, 96, 117, Liberalism, 79, 125, 136, 144, 158
121, 129, 131–132, 136, 139, 147, Liberty, 28, 44, 140, 157
151–153, 159–160 Locke, 102, 146, 157–158
International trade, 34–35, 69, 79, 81, 86, Louis, 47–48, 65, 81, 91, 97–99, 101, 103,
88–102, 119–120, 130, 135–136 105, 107–110, 116, 127, 130, 151,
Intolerance, 49, 56, 71, 83, 97, 125 153
Investment, 121 Luther, 47, 49, 151, 157
Iroquois, 99 Luxury, 33, 85–86, 105, 123, 127–128
Italy, 6, 50, 94
M
J Machiavelli, 43, 46
Jansenism, 103 Malestroit, 44, 50, 53
Jesuits, 100 Malthus, 1, 6, 10, 16–17, 19, 65–66, 116,
Jew, 49, 80, 85, 97–98, 157 124–126, 145, 150, 153, 161–162
Justice, 13–14, 30, 32, 36, 38, 40, 49, 55, Manufacture, 75, 79, 82–85, 87–88, 107,
62, 67, 88, 90, 94, 99, 149, 152 117, 120, 127, 129
Index 177
Market, 8, 84, 88, 92, 111, 116, 120–121, O

125–126, 129, 154, 161 Oligarchy, 13, 26, 28–29, 35–36, 46
Marriage, 1, 4, 9, 12, 15–17, 22, 41, 44, 53, Onan, 11–12
56, 66, 69–72, 96–97, 99–100, 106, Ordinance, 65, 72, 75, 77–79, 86, 92, 98,
125, 127, 162 100, 107, 137
Medici, 48, 81, 122–123 Overpopulation, 6, 104, 145, 162
Melon, 135
Mercantilism, 43, 45, 60, 62–69, 75, P
82–83, 86, 88–89, 95, 100, 102– Paris, 46–47, 53–55, 71, 75–78, 84, 94, 101,
113, 128–130, 133, 136, 139, 137–138, 151, 153, 159
151–152 Parliament, 46–47, 53–55, 71, 78, 90, 101,
Mercantilist, 2, 8–9, 12, 41, 43, 50–51, 111, 153, 158–160
55–57, 64–70, 73, 75, 78, 85, 89, People, 5, 11–12, 15, 24–28, 31–33, 36,
102, 108, 110–112, 119–120, 123, 45, 49, 52, 57–59, 64, 67, 69, 71,
132–133, 135, 143–144, 148 73, 76, 78–80, 83–85, 88, 93, 101,
Mercier de la Riviere, 116, 119, 122, 103–106, 124, 129, 137–138, 147,
124–125, 129, 131, 135–137, 140, 151, 153–157, 159–160
144, 154 Pericles, 21, 27, 29, 34–35
Metallurgy, 83–84, 119 Petty, 6, 9, 50, 111–112
Michau, 76, 91–93 Philosophy, 3, 14, 21, 27, 30–31, 41,
45, 51, 58–61, 66, 102, 122, 131,
Middle Ages, 67, 110, 118, 149
143, 145–146, 148, 150, 154, 156,
Migration, 1, 3–4, 15–17, 20, 43, 45, 50–51,
160–162
57, 66, 74, 83, 86, 101, 109, 120,
Philosophy moral, 145
123–125, 144–145, 162
Physiocracy, 9, 115–141
Military, 26, 28, 31, 34–35, 39, 48, 52,
Physiocrat, 2, 6–8, 76, 108, 111–113,
63–66, 94, 106, 132–133, 159
115–119, 122, 125, 128–129,
Mirabeau, 116, 120–121, 123–124, 126,
131–141, 144, 149, 153–154, 159
128, 131
Plague, 10–11, 55, 57, 159
Misery, 130, 159
Plato, 2–4, 8–9, 13–41, 44, 57–62, 81,
Mobility, 74, 145, 150, 160–161
143–144, 147, 149
Monopoly, 36, 46, 64, 75, 87, 89, 101, 130,
Police, 77–78, 96, 99, 118, 137
137, 140
Political
Montchrétien, 52, 60, 63–113
arithmetic, 110–113, 152
Montesquieu, 123, 130, 136, 140, 144
economy, 41, 112, 115–116, 122–123,
Mortality, 1, 3, 5, 9, 66, 111, 125, 145–146,
126, 134, 141, 143, 145, 160–161
161–162
philosophy, 3, 14, 21, 41, 45, 51, 58,
Moses, 11 60–61, 66, 102, 131, 145–146, 148,
150, 160–162
N power, 26, 40, 45, 50, 136, 139–140,
Natural law, 128, 140, 150 143–145, 147, 151, 158
Natural order, 122–123, 130, 140, 154 Poor, 21, 27–28, 61, 68, 76–78, 85, 93, 101,
Navigation, 82, 85, 90–94 109–110, 121–122, 149, 153, 155,
Navy, 27, 75, 84–85, 88–94, 132 162
Net product, 115–117, 120, 122, 124, 126, Population
128–129, 131, 133, 136, 149 doctrine, 1, 41, 108, 110–113
New World, 64, 87, 94–95, 144 growth, 2, 9–10, 15, 44–45, 65, 70,
Nobility, 26, 46, 48, 51, 65, 85, 101, 98–99, 101, 125, 130, 144, 162
104–105, 115, 130 law, 1
Nouvelle France, 92, 97, 99 principle of, 16
Nuptiality, 1, 3, 125, 160–161 theory, 8
178 Index
Portugal, 90, 92 Rent, 116, 120, 131, 134, 161

Poverty, 27, 44, 65, 69, 75–78, 82, 86, 162 Reproduction, 16, 74, 145, 155
Pregnancy, 56, 70, 72, 158 Republic, 15, 17, 19–22, 25–34, 36–40, 49,
Prince, 43–44, 46–47, 50, 52–53, 57, 52, 57–62, 64, 147
59, 62–113, 132–133, 143–153, Responsibility, 17, 66, 83
159–160 Ricardo, 6, 116, 125
Privilege, 25, 31, 65, 70, 91, 93, 98–99, 101, Richelieu, 48, 65, 68, 73–74, 76, 83, 85,
105, 138–139, 152–153 91–93, 95, 97, 99, 110, 159
Procreation, 10, 12, 19–20, 22, 38, 41, Riches, 2, 8, 43–62, 72, 82–84, 87, 89, 101,
55–56, 66 144
Producer, 33, 117, 130, 151, 159, 161 Right of resistance, 47
Production, 8, 16, 21, 45, 65, 67, 70, 73–75, Rousseau, 58, 123, 140, 144
78, 82, 84, 107, 115–116, 118–121, Rules, 10, 16–17, 54, 57, 67, 73–74, 77–78,
125–126, 128–130, 133, 144–145, 82, 103, 107, 160
149, 155, 161
Productivity, 45, 104 S
Profit, 79, 89, 91, 96, 116, 120, 135, 161 Saint Paul, 103, 150
Progress, 2, 45, 69, 86, 89, 104, 111–112, Saint-Simon, 101, 105
124, 128, 136, 143, 154, 160, 162 Salpêtrière, 77
Proletariat, 6, 17, 150, 154 Scale, 5–7, 40, 121
Property, 17–18, 22, 25, 32, 38, 49, 52, 58, Scale spatial, 5–6
96, 101, 105–106, 124, 128, 131,
Scale temporal, 6
133, 139–140, 148–150
Selection, 15, 31, 37, 39
Prosperity, 101, 118–123, 128, 134, 145,
Self-sufficiency, 33, 69, 82–84, 88, 129
160
Seville, 64, 79, 93
Prostitution, 54, 75, 77
Silver, 36, 50, 64–65, 79, 82, 85–87, 89–90
Protection, 16, 37, 67, 87, 117, 153, 156
Slave, 19, 29, 98, 135
Protectionism, 45, 79, 84
Slavery, 21, 25, 28, 95–98, 149
Protectionist, 117, 128
Social order, 53, 122, 131, 138
Province, 43, 105, 118, 138
Socrates, 14, 29–31, 40, 116
Pufendorf, 102, 146, 149, 156, 158
Soldier, 98, 132
Purchasing power, 50, 64, 89
Solon, 25
Pythagore, 23, 29, 31–32
Sovereign, 36, 39, 45–48, 51, 58–62,
Q 82, 102, 131, 147–149, 152–153,
Quietism, 104 156–157
Sovereignty, 28, 32, 39, 43–62, 66, 132,
R 139, 145–148, 150–153, 156
Radical, 22, 24, 28, 31, 37, 47, 98, 108, 113, Sparta, 13, 18, 24, 26, 33–36
128–129, 140, 160 Spinoza, 10, 102, 156–158
Raleigh, 91 Stangeland, 17, 19, 21, 38, 124
Rational, 10, 49, 112, 121, 126, 153–154, State, 3–5, 17–19, 27, 30, 44–46, 49, 51,
157, 159, 161 53, 56–57, 65–67, 80, 87, 89–91, 94,
Rationality, 121, 153 96–97, 100, 111–112, 122, 125, 128,
Raw materials, 65, 73, 82, 84–86, 88, 107 130–137, 139–140, 146–148, 153,
Recruitment, 52, 98 157–158, 160
Reform, 19, 24–26, 130, 136, 162 Static, 8, 17, 66, 111–112, 117, 126, 139
Religion, 23–29, 32, 36, 49, 53, 57, 62, 64, Stationarity, 8, 13, 18, 20, 25–29, 36–37, 58
69, 72, 77, 80, 86, 92, 96–97, 100, Statistics, 1, 41, 87, 111, 145
110, 151, 156–157, 159 Sully, 86, 108, 122, 128, 136
Religion war, 36, 49, 53, 86, 92, 110 Survival, 9–10, 12, 18, 130, 143, 145, 149
Index 179
T Variable, 1, 14, 16, 18, 66, 70, 118, 124–127,

Tableau économique, 116, 120, 122–123, 133, 161–162
131–132, 135, 137, 159 Vauban, 101–102, 104, 115
Talon, 99–100
Tax, 73, 82, 101, 110, 117, 130–131, 134, W
152 Wage, 46, 73, 76, 81, 92, 94, 125–127, 129,
Term 161
long, 5–6, 15, 20 Wallace, 6, 123
short, 5–6, 125, 134 War, 13–14, 21, 26–27, 29, 31, 33, 35–36,
Testament, 7, 9–12, 68, 73–74, 82–83, 85, 43–46, 49, 52, 64, 67, 72, 74, 81–82,
94–95 85, 92–94, 97–98, 106, 110, 132,
Thucydides, 27, 35 138, 145, 152, 156
Tiers Etat, 130 Welfare, 91
Weltanschauung, 5
Totalitarian, 38–41
West Indies, 87, 92–93, 95–99, 101
Trade, 34–36, 65, 68–69, 72, 78–82,
Witchcraft, 54–57, 72
86–95, 102, 106, 108–109, 111–112,
Wool, 83, 85–86, 100, 107
117–120, 126, 128–130, 134–139,
Work, 7, 13–14, 28, 30, 37, 39, 41, 44,
141, 160
48–49, 64, 68, 73–78, 80, 84–85, 94,
Turgot, 117, 137–138
104, 106, 110–111, 116, 118–119,
Tyrant, 24, 26–29, 35, 40, 47, 61, 156
122, 124–125, 128–129, 136,
146–147, 155, 157–158, 162
U
Unemployment, 5, 83–84, 110 X
Utilitarian, 60, 72, 139, 154, 162 Xenophobia, 81
Utopia, 13–41, 104, 115, 147
Y
Young, 10, 24, 27, 29, 31, 66, 72–73, 79, 98,
V 100, 117
Validity, 2, 134
Value, 1, 8, 41, 60, 69, 79, 115, 117, 134, Z
146, 151, 154, 157, 160 Zeus, 23, 36

The Classical Foundations of Population Thought

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The Classical Foundations of Population Thought

The Classical Foundations

From Plato to Quesnay

ISBN 978-90-481-9297-7 e-ISBN 978-90-481-9298-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010932509

© Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2010

Printed on acid-free paper

Springer is part of Springer Science+Business Media (www.springer.com)

1 Interpreting Ideas on Population . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

4 The Prince and His Population: From Montchrétien

The Conflict of Interests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150

Population Doctrines and Theories

Y. Charbit, The Classical Foundations of Population Thought, 1

What does the reader encounter in books and articles on population

Some Conceptual and Methodological Preambles

accordance with the state of knowledge prevalent at that time.3 Population

concrete solutions to maintain a constant population of 5,040 that he had

Contextualisation of Ideas on Population

on population as demographic behaviour itself.6 More generally, systematis-

7 See Charbit (2009).

External Coherence and Internal Coherence

Annex: The Old Testament and the Sin of Anachronism

virginity, punishment of adultery and, finally, a woman’s impurity.17 The

20 Genesis, 38: 8–11.

Plato, a Forerunner of Demography?

1 A notable exception is Kraeger’s article on Aristotle (2008).

Y. Charbit, The Classical Foundations of Population Thought, 13

of the great Athenian families, contain a largely implicit though fundamen-

The Demography of the City

Plato and His Commentators

attributed the concept of population dynamics to Plato. Even if Plato linked

6 1966: 22–23 and 25.

well-being, power, administrative efficiency. Daugherty and Kammeyer note

procreation in the couple]. It is fair to ask whether this is not an instance of

Inconsistencies and Contradictions

10 Vilquin (1982: 1, 2–4, 5, 12, 14).

Besides Laws, Book V of Republic contains very precise discussions. In a

Religion and Politics

Mathematics and Religion

occurred by twelfths, on the basis of the twelve religious months (Laws,

Stationarity Against Democracy

books VIII and IX of Republic, and is found in Politicus (271d–273a),

Sicilian adventure. According to the new constitution, only three thousand

27 As quoted by Thucydides, Peloponnesian War, Book II, 38.

subject them to audit”, then the situation would be “impossible” (Politicus,

Space and Order

The Death of Socrates: The City and the Individual

30 Mossé (1971: 108) and Finley (1962: 16).

Peace in the City: The Distribution of Space

of concrete conflicts. But in a democratic system of government such as the

36 Lévêque and Vidal-Naquet (1984: 146).

(113a–b), it is clear that through Atlantis he was denouncing the maritime

the sea in favour of a resolutely continental policy. It had chosen an autarki-

Moderation and Excess

46 Balaudé (2000: 6–7, 9) and Laks (1995: 14).

47 Vernant (1991: 218).

52 Cf. Popper (1966: 136, note 25).

an internal entity closed in on itself that has, moreover, a historical-political

Demographic Interpretations of Jean Bodin

Y. Charbit, The Classical Foundations of Population Thought, 43

Gonnard began his book on the French doctrines on population (1450–

The Theory of Absolute Sovereignty and Population

7 Cole (1939: 1, 19) and Rothbard (1995: 205).

15 On the fluctuating political positions of Bodin, see Rose (1978a, 1978b).