Rousseau’s chapter “Of Civil Religion” has perplexed readers ever since the publication of the Social Contract. For the book’s earliest readers, the chapter was a sign of its author’s theological heresy even if contemporary readers are likely to take a more benign view of Rousseau’s intention. The question I pose is why the formula for the laws and institutions set out in the earlier parts of the Social Contract requires additional support in the form of the religious beliefs examined in the penultimate chapter. I want to suggest that this chapter represents a nod in the direction of Rousseau’s political realism in his acknowledgement that civil religion remains an indispensable part of the education of republican citizens.

Reasoned and impassioned controversy have accompanied The Social Contract since its publication in 1762. Once the book entered conversations about the foundations and ends of modern politics, it never left them.

Immanuel Kant’s debt to Rousseau, for example, was deep and multidimensional. He drew many of his own ethical and political arguments from contemplating Rousseau’s philosophy, including the general will and other ideas that extended well beyond the portrait of Rousseau that famously adorned his otherwise sparsely decorated study.

The structure of the Social Contract presents an intriguing puzzle. While the first three books argue for a republic of free and equal citizens, the fourth book seems to praise the Roman Republic, a state based on military expansion, slavery, class division, and an inegalitarian voting system. I argue that this puzzle can be solved if we understand the fourth book to be making an a fortiori argument in which Rousseau counterintuitively uses the flawed example of the Roman Republic to show the possibility of large republics in modern circumstances.

Most interpreters who have taken an interest in Rousseau’s nationalism have looked beyond his Social Contract. This seems fitting, for Rousseau’s Considerations on the Government of Poland, Constitutional Project for Corsica, and Discourse on Political Economy explicitly discuss the role of nationality and the distinctiveness of national identity. By way of contrast, the Social Contract is often cited as a work of ideal theory, less concerned with the empirical, sociological contingencies of actual nations and more focused on normative questions about the best political community. This chapter suggests that this standard interpretation of the Social Contract discounts the significant role played by extant, prepolitical peoples. Rather than a purely abstract contract among previously unaffiliated individuals, as per Thomas Hobbes, a closer reading reveals the ontological and historical primacy of peoples in Rousseau’s political theory.

When Rousseau published the Social Contract in 1762, there was no more illustrious authority on politics than Montesquieu. Rousseau draws on Montesquieu’s discussion of republics, but his departures from his predecessor are even more important. Notably, he criticizes Montesquieu for not seeing that the sovereign authority is the same in all states and that “Every legitimate government is republican.” The chapter begins with Montesquieu’s treatment of republics in the Spirit of the Laws to identify the features of classical republicanism that attracted Rousseau and also to reveal Montesquieu’s ambivalence about these ancient models. It then turns to Rousseau’s endeavor to revive republicanism by putting it on a new basis of the principles of political right.

Rousseau’s Social Contract begins with breathtakingly ambitious declarations about freedom and justice. Yet the project comes to an abrupt end, and the manuscript remains a fragment. Given that Rousseau sees daring arguments to their end elsewhere, why was this particular project – one so close to the core of his thought – abandoned? On the surface, the Social Contract appears beset by contradictions, but it pursues its conclusions toward an intricate and audacious coherence, giving an account of ancient political orders to overcome what Rousseau understands as misapprehensions associated with the Enlightenment. Yet it is not the Enlightenment, but Christianity that inaugurates the break with and confusions of ancient political distinctions. An attempt to confront this origin directly shatters Rousseau’s penultimately profound coherence. In remarkable congruence with patterns of figurative language developed in Descartes, Rousseau seeks to both ground and energize his account of political life by deploying diverse, often distinctly modern aspirations and metaphors in order to escape the Christian interruption of proper political ordering and concludes he cannot do so.

Rousseau has long been understood as a theorist of inequality – though attention to Rousseau has been largely directed to his 1754 Discourse on the Origin of Inequality. While scholars are, naturally, right to address this central work, they would do well to consider what can be learned from other works, including The Social Contract (1762). In this text, readers often neglect a passage that Rousseau himself highlights: that “the end of every system of legislation … comes down to the following two principal objects, freedom and equality” (II.11). This chapter explores Rousseau’s understanding of freedom and equality with special attention to the latter as manifested in the problem of economic inequality. In doing so, further, it details how his thinking about freedom and equality were shaped by the ancient sources of Plato and Plutarch – his two favorite ancient thinkers. In both ancient sources, it turns out that economic equality is essential to achieving either political freedom or civil harmony. This essay, thus, not only details the centrality of economic equality to Rousseau’s political thought but also provides a serious account of how he came to this position.

This chapter focuses on Rousseau’s underappreciated treatment of voting and electoral laws. It argues that these are a worthy and essential part of the Social Contract – a matter of political life and death. First, Rousseau sees universal suffrage as necessary for establishing a political community, for selecting its form of government, and for discerning the general will. Second, electoral reforms are the primary mechanism for reducing the speed of political decline and “death.” The chapter brings together Rousseau’s remarks on the design of electoral districts, the manner of voting (i.e. timing, place, secret vs. open, order of casting ballots, thresholds), and the aggregation of votes, drawing primarily on his examples of flawed but enduring republics such as Rome, Sparta, Venice, and Geneva. Instead of reconstructing Rousseau’s blueprint for the perfectly just republic, the chapter shows how frequent and appropriate electoral reforms allowed these republics to outlive even their less corrupt contemporaries.

The success of Rousseau’s political vision depends on citizens placing the common interest above their private interest whenever the two conflict. Rousseau says very little about how citizens could be motivated to do so in the Social Contract, however, which gives rise to questions about how the text relates to his other works. This chapter challenges liberal-egalitarian interpretations of Rousseau that draw on Emile to extract a model of modern citizenship for the Social Contract and instead argues that the Discourse on Political Economy is the most informative text for understanding the theory of republican citizenship required to make the Social Contract project viable. In doing so, it elucidates the moral psychology underpinning Rousseau’s proposals for cultivating political virtue, before responding to the objection that this cannot have been what he had in mind for his native Geneva, which he claimed to have taken as the model for the Social Contract.

Although equality lies at the heart of his political theory, Rousseau also argues that physical and natural inequalities are inescapable and significant. How can people who are naturally unequal become political equals? This chapter considers three possible mechanisms by which political equality could “substitute” for inequality – through education, by convention, and via deliberate opacity – and supports the third. Drawing on the account of a range property made famous by John Rawls, the opacity mechanism enables political equality among those with sufficient judgment to serve as citizens (relegating others to the status of subjects) but does not peer closely into disparities among them. However, unlike other social-contract accounts, the justification for opacity in Rousseau’s thought rests on his distinctive concern for the destructive potential of amour-propre.

Nobody knows the identity or background of the Roman author Q. Curtius Rufus, or when he wrote his History of Alexander the Great. This text along with Arrian’s Anabasis, Plutarch’s Life of Alexander, Diodorus Siculus Book 17 and Justin’s Epitome of Trogus Books 11–12 and the Metz Epitome is one of the main ancient sources on the reign and campaigns of the Macedonian conqueror. This chapter surveys current thinking on Curtius’ history, including issues like the historian’s probable sources, his literary structure, intertexuality and his characterization of Alexander. In particular the chapter explores the historian’s excursuses – in which he appears to be speaking in propria persona on Alexander’s personality as well as his portrayal of Alexander’s relationships with women, including the Athenian courtesan, Thais ,and the Amazon queen, Thalestris, and especially, the Persian queen, Sisygambis, the mother of Darius III.

As the principal sources of Arrian, Ptolemy and Aristobulus occupy a privileged position in the historiographical tradition on Alexander, although their histories survive only in fragments. Both wrote eyewitness accounts of Alexander’s expedition, and offer valuable insight as to how Alexander spun some of the more controversial aspects to his contemporaries. Ptolemy was a high-ranking officer, and so his history focused on the military events, in which he exaggerated his own contributions in order to portray himself as a worthy successor to Alexander. He also emphasized his close association with Alexander (reconfigured as a Ptolemaic predecessor) in order to legitimate the foundation of his future dynasty in Egypt. Aristobulus’ role on the expedition, on the other hand, appears not to have been a military one. His generally eulogistic treatment of Alexander focuses upon his clemency, although occasionally overt criticisms of his ruthless imperialism and increasing megalomania can be discerned. Because Aristobulus is largely unknown apart from the authorship of his history, it is difficult to ascertain in whose interest he manipulated the figure of Alexander, whose memory had become hotly contested in the turbulent years after his premature death.

The chapter considers the motivation for Alexander the Great’s expedition to India, which took him beyond the limits of the Persian Empire he had set out to conquer. Ambition (pothos) is seen as more probable than either strategic necessity or scientific curiosity. The course of the campaign from November 326 to July 325 BC is outlined, and the reasons for the savagery of the fighting during the journey down the Indus are considered. The chapter also reviews the impact of Alexander’s encounter with the ‘naked philosophers’ of Taxila. One of them, Calanus, travelled with Alexander until his death, and it is suggested that his conversation made an impression on another of Alexander’s companions, the philosopher Pyrrho, who became known as the founder of scepticism. The paper also reviews the legacy of Alexander in India. Foremost is the detailed account of India written by Megasthenes, a former member of Alexander’s army and ambassador from Seleucus to Candragupta. Indo-Greek dynasties persisted in north-west India for two centuries after Alexander’s death, but to narrate this history would go beyond the subject. The chapter looks briefly at the evidence for other Greeks who left records of their residence in India.