Second Treatise of Government — Reading Companion

The State of Nature as a Moral Condition

Locke's depiction of the state of nature is not a historical claim but a conceptual tool. He describes it as a condition of 'perfect freedom' and equality, governed by a 'law of nature' that obliges each person to preserve themselves and others. The language is careful: this state is not a war of all against all, as Hobbes had argued, but a moral order where reason teaches 'that being all equal and independent, no one ought to harm another in his life, health, liberty, or possessions.' Yet Locke acknowledges its inconveniences—the 'irregular and uncertain exercise' of each person's power to punish transgressions. This tension drives his argument for civil government. The prose here is measured, almost judicial, as Locke lays out the rights and duties inherent in natural law, emphasizing that even without political authority, individuals are bound by moral obligations.

Property and the Limits of Acquisition

Locke's theory of property is rooted in labor: 'Whatsoever then he removes out of the state that nature hath provided, and left it in, he hath mixed his labour with, and joined to it something that is his own, and thereby makes it his property.' This famous passage grounds ownership in individual effort, but Locke immediately imposes limits. One may appropriate only as much as one can use before it spoils, and must leave 'enough and as good' for others. The introduction of money, however, allows for larger accumulations without spoilage, leading to inequality. Locke's argument is subtle: he does not condemn property but insists it originates in a natural right that precedes government. His diction—'labour,' 'common,' 'appropriation'—reveals a concern with justice in acquisition, not mere accumulation. The reasoning is tightly woven, each step building on the last.

Consent as the Foundation of Legitimate Rule

For Locke, political authority arises only through consent. He distinguishes between express consent—given by joining a commonwealth—and tacit consent, shown by enjoying the benefits of its laws. This distinction is crucial: tacit consent obliges obedience but does not make one a full member. Locke's phrasing is precise: 'The difficulty is, what ought to be looked upon as tacit consent, and how far it binds, i.e. how far any one shall be looked on to have consented, and thereby submitted to any government, where he has made no expressions of it at all.' He answers that mere presence or property ownership within a state implies consent to obey its laws, but not to be a permanent subject. This nuanced argument allows Locke to justify resistance against tyranny while maintaining social order. His prose here is analytical, parsing the implications of agreement with care.

The Legislative as the Supreme but Limited Power

Locke devotes considerable attention to the legislative power, which he calls the 'supreme power' of the commonwealth. Yet this supremacy is not absolute. The legislative is bound by 'established standing laws, promulgated and known to the people,' and cannot rule by 'extemporary decrees.' It must govern for the 'common good' and cannot take property without consent. Locke's insistence on publicity and regularity in law reflects his distrust of arbitrary power. He also separates legislative from executive functions, though the executive remains subordinate. The language is firm: 'The legislative cannot transfer the power of making laws to any other hands, for it being but a delegated power from the people, they who have it cannot pass it over to others.' This principle of non-delegation anticipates later constitutional thought. Locke's argument is built on the idea that all political power is fiduciary, held in trust for the people.

Readers approaching the Second Treatise should attend to Locke's method: he proceeds by defining terms, drawing distinctions, and testing principles against hypothetical cases. His prose rewards slow reading, as each clause often carries logical weight. The work is not a narrative but a sustained argument, and its power lies in the cumulative force of its reasoning. Whether one agrees with Locke's conclusions or not, the clarity and rigor of his exposition make this a foundational text for understanding modern political thought.

Some evenings I think of Locke’s careful hand, tracing how consent shapes a commonwealth. That same patient, legal reasoning breathes in William Jay and the Constitutional Movement for the Abolition of Slavery — Inside the Classic, where a later mind turns principle toward freedom. Both sit quietly together on my shelf, arguing across centuries.