One would suppose that this last proposal could be carried out without any special difficulty. It is true that it would involve some measure of renunciation, but one would gain, perhaps, more than one lost, and a great danger would be avoided. But people have a horror of it, as if civilization would thereby be exposed to an even greater danger. When Saint Boniface felled the tree which was venerated as sacred by the Saxons, those who stood round expected some fearful event to follow the outrage. It did not happen, and the Saxons were baptized. It is manifestly in the interest of man’s communal existence, which would not otherwise be practicable, that civilization has laid down the commandment that one shall not kill the neighbour whom one hates, who is in one’s way, or whose property one covets. For the murderer would draw on to himself the vengeance of the murdered man’s kinsmen and the secret envy of the others who feel as much inward inclination as he did to such an act of violence. Thus he would not enjoy his revenge or his spoil for long, but would have every prospect of being killed soon himself. Even if he could defend himself against single foes by his extraordinary strength and caution, he would be bound to succumb to a combination of these weaker foes. If a combination of this sort did not take place, then murder would continue ceaselessly, and the end of it would be that men would exterminate one another. It would be the same state of affairs among individuals that still prevails in Corsica among families, but otherwise survives only among nations. Insecurity of life, an equal danger for all, now unites men into one society, which forbids the individual to kill and reserves to itself the right to kill in the name of society the man who violates this prohibition. This, then, is justice and punishment.