Nowadays we tend to assume that, while we have many needs, they belong to the same order, the anthropological or psychological one. Take, as one example, Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, which does work with distinct levels, but which only considers the relation of the individual to itself as an individual, even if the higher levels, like love, do necessitate the presence of other human beings. Here, one’s needs go beyond material satisfaction, but they form a linear path to a purely personal self-fulfilment.

However, if we look at Hobbes, his trilogy of the Elementorum Philosophiae consists of De Corpore, De Homine and De Cive — theorizing the body, the man, and the citizen, respectively. Each constitutes a fundamentally different relation of the individual to itself, and considering that Hobbes wrote separate treaties about each, it appears that even though they build on each other, they are strictly distinct. We can see this in as far as each relation responds to different kinds of needs: First of all, the corporeal need to survive that we share with all other living beings, which is treated in De Corpore, then the anthropological needs, which consist in our desire to strive for the pleasant and avoid the unpleasant, which Hobbes treats in De Homine. Both needs require security, a safe environment, which therefore becomes a desideratum on a purely physiological and anthropological level. But as a citizen, a civis, the individual acquires another kind of need that is proper to the political sphere: namely, the need for peace from which liberty can arise. From the first two to the third, there is also a shift in one’s relation to one’s peers. While in the former, they are treated as mere means for one’s personal survival and comfort— either by dominating them or by seeking shelter in someone’s dominion — the latter opens up the possibility for something altogether different. Nevertheless, at the very beginning, as Hobbes emphasises, there is the desire for survival and security:

“Bonorum autem primum est sua cuique conservatio. Natura enim comparatum est, ut cupiant omnes sibi bene esse. Cujus ut capaces esse possint, necesse est cupiant vitam, sanitatem, et untriusque, quantum fieri potest, securitatem futuri temporis. For everyone, the first good is his own survival, for nature has arranged it that way so that everyone wishes for their own welfare. For that, they need to wish for life and health, and, wherever possible, for future security.” (De Homine [DH], ch. 11, §6)

Kenneth Noland — Birth (1961)

The need to secure one’s own survival in regard to the future is anthropological, or at least relatively better developed in humans than in other animals. For that, individuals start accumulating goods and aspiring for wealth, for this prepares them for times of hardship and makes others wish for their friendship, which once again offers security (cf. DH, ch. 11, §7). But accumulated wealth also produces envy in others and can generate within others the incentive to bereave those who have worked to achieve their assets. Hobbes elaborates upon this tension through his radical and unique definition of natural equality: “Those are equals, who can do equal things one against the other” (De Cive [DC], p. 7), which refers to the fact that even the weakest individual will find means to kill or topple the strongest — be it through deceit or by uniting with others for assault. This irreducible equality thus inflicts a perpetual and universal insecurity. On the one hand, it gives both the attackers and the defenders the incentive to unite with others for the sake of protecting their collective interests — i.e. form rudimentary societies. But on the other hand, these assemblies are always unstable, for one fears betrayal or separation once the uniting interest, for whatever reason, loses its binding effect. As soon as two individuals share in their desires, conflict arises again (cf. DC, ch.1, §6); for given that everyone has the need to survive, both have the same claim, the same right, to that thing. Therefore, such rudimentary societies can offer temporary security, but cannot guarantee lasting peace.

For example, individual A is lucky to harvest very fruitful land. This attracts other individuals who intend to profit from that and offer their service in exchange for a portion of the harvest. A is crafty enough to stay in charge. The household generates wealth, which attracts bad apples. A therefore hires some people for protection in exchange for food. The protection that A offers attracts more people that are willing to serve, thereby forming a society under the rule of one. The influx of people creates further needs, so A sends their army to invade neighbouring lands. In time, A is no longer merely the head of a household or village, but becomes the monarchic ruler over a certain territory, securing the survival of their servants. We can imagine such a genealogy for what Hobbes calls the “natural government […], because it is that which is gotten by power and natural force” (DC, p. 108). The servant holds an obligation towards his master “from hence […], that he keeps him not bound or imprisoned” (ibid., p. 110), meaning that the lord trusts his servants not to stab him in the back. But this is not yet a civic society, as A rules by strength over their servants, not by law over citizens. Rulers such as A can offer security as long as they remain on top, but chaos looms as soon as the ruler can no longer guarantee security and protect the interests of their subordinates — or at least as soon as one of the subordinates feels that they’d be better off if they were on top themselves.

In this example, in what way can we say that A’s rule is legitimate? In regard to their ability to remain in charge, to control their subordinates and keep them from becoming the strongest — which essentially means that they lay claim to the right to stay in charge so long as they are able to stay in charge. A holds power because they have an army, but that army will only be loyal as long as it perceives that following A is in its best interest. According to Hobbes, the difference from the strongest to the weakest will always be only relative, and as soon as another party manages to call A’s advantage into question, their claim to power will eventually become as legitimate as A’s, given that power is the only source of legitimacy in natural governments. Our visceral need to survive endows us the right to do everything to secure it, which means that the only thing that can limit us is a stronger force. But due to our natural equality, such a stronger force can never be absolute and will always be in danger of being overcome by an even stronger one, perhaps in the form of a collective. But several parties adhering to the same objective claim to power is perhaps better known as a civil war, which is

“perpetual in its own nature; because in regard of the equality of those that strive, it cannot be ended by victory. For in this state the conqueror is subject to so much danger, as it were to be accounted a miracle, if any, even the most strong, should close up his life with many years and old age.” (DC, p. 12)

Ruling classes are aware of this perpetual instability and quickly create narratives of natural nobility, which claim that certain individuals are naturally meant to serve and others are to dominate. Such depoliticizing justifications have historically presented themselves as claims that only certain individuals are objectively meant to rule, be it because of their genealogical origins from ancient or biblical kings, or because of certain natural traits. Such a conception is, for example, explicitly formulated by Aristotle, for whom those with higher mental capacities are meant to rule over those that primarily work with their bodies (cf. Politics, b.1, ch.5). The argument for natural nobility proclaims that the chosen class was distinct from its subordinates right away (evolutionarily, genealogically), thus translating into an objective claim to rule. This also implies that as long as you assume the existence of natural nobility, you cannot have a true civil war, because there will always be an objectively legitimate side, the one that is ‘supposed’ to win in the end. If the ruling class is torn by internal difference, it is, strictly speaking, not civil war; for the overall hierarchy remains unquestioned. The existence of a natural nobility implies the existence of objective categories that distinguish the ruler and the ruled.

But are not such categories only proven post factum, after all the fighting is over and done, by those that are still standing? Is that not a return to the law of the strongest, which is not only tautological, but also relative? After all, when can we really say that the fighting is over, and not just on pause? This is where Hobbes is truly revolutionary: He reflects true civil war in political thinking, meaning the reality that all claims to rule are purely relative and will not be able to permanently create peace. The negation of natural nobility, that the ruler and the ruled are not naturally distinguished, essentially means that from the anthropological point of view nobody is the property of anyone else. This makes Hobbes the first individualist thinker, for true individualism means that nobody belongs to anyone, and as long as they don’t belong to anyone, there is no class of people that is naturally meant to rule over them.

The historical record is on Hobbes’ side: true civil war is a real possibility (and a real experience that Hobbes went through), for the different parties can simply reject the categories on which the opponents found their seemingly objective claim. In the end, what remains is (a) our natural need to survive (b) our right to use any means possible for that aim, which means that everyone has an equally legitimate claim to power to secure their survival. In the end, even the alleged monarch is but a fighting party among parties, which is essentially what civil war entails. But how can you prevent civil war if everyone has an equal claim to power?

From what follows above, we all possess unlimited means to use for our one primary end, including a claim to rule, because it is easier to survive in wealth and protection than in poverty. But because everyone aims for the same thing, conflict arises even for the most rudimentary goods, and the security that we can hope for does not reach very far. Put differently, even though we have a right to everything, what we’re getting in the end is very limited. In short, there is an inconsistency: We have the ‘task’ to secure our survival, and for that, we can use any means necessary and we need to use any means necessary, because we rationally mistrust our peers, as we know that they desire the very same things. But as long as we use any means necessary, we necessarily fail in attaining said task, so we all have the same claim to those things.

Conflict arises automatically — what Hobbes refers to as perpetual war. Given that this ever-present social hostility renders our surroundings even more menacing than before — and nature is dangerous enough without our help — the rational thing to do is to resolve it. It is here that Hobbes recognises the first and fundamental law of nature: to seek peace wherever possible. It is a law that each individual will perceive once it has rationally understood what the universal right to everything will ultimately lead to. But by itself, this can only be a guideline, because everyone still has all means necessary at their disposal, which also includes pretending to seek peace to gain someone’s trust and stab them in the back. This is therefore insufficient for a fundamental resolution to the problem at hand. Considering that it is our right to everything that is the main cause for trouble, Hobbes derives the second law of nature to strengthen the first, namely that our natural right to everything “ought to be transferred or relinquished” (DC, p. 17). In short, everyone cedes their claim to everything and hands over their natural sovereignty that gave them the claim to rule in the first place. Under the rule of the strongest, the servant also relinquishes his rights — after all, he surrenders — but he does so in exchange for the protection of his ‘superior’, and this tenuous agreement only lasts as far as his ‘superior’ is capable of providing said protection.

This is where the difference between the apolitical state of nature and the truly political civic state emerges. In the former, everyone keeps their right to everything and reaches relative and periodic security. But in the latter, the individual gives up on their right to everything, because this is the only way to definitely dissolve the cause of conflict. In short, each individual rationally understands that only a self-limitation of rights can perpetually end perpetual war. These rights are thus transferred to an artificial institution that is thereafter the only one with an artificial claim to rule that arose from the will and rational decision of each citizen. We are therefore dealing not with a relative claim to power by everyone, as in the law of the strongest, but with an absolute difference between those that have given up on all their claim to power (the citizens) and those that still retain all their natural rights (the sovereign, be it an individual or an assembly) — considering that the difference between having a right and not having a right is binary. It is the switch from a relative to an absolute difference in the claim to power that is Hobbes’ key to overcome the problems sketched out above. Civil war can definitely be excluded, because we no longer have different parties with equal claim to power. The definite exclusion of civil war, though, is true peace. In short, the servant seeks shelter, but the citizen seeks peace; seeking shelter is instinctive, striving for peace is rational; security under the law of the strongest is temporary, peace in civil society is eternal. An individual therefore becomes a citizen through an act of self-limitation, a willing commitment to unfreedom by refraining from their right to everything.