Human nature is neither good nor evil in itself, but rather a perpetual, restless desire for power after power that ceaseth only in death. Men are moved by appetites and aversions, by the simple mechanics of attraction and repulsion, the primary of which is the fear of death. To speak of "goodness" before the establishment of a sovereign is to speak of shadows; true good is that which preserves our being, and in the state of nature, that preservation is eternally precarious.
Human nature, when untainted by the corrosive embrace of society, is not merely *good*; it is a font of natural pity and benevolence, an inherent tenderness that recoils from the suffering of others. This is not a matter of cold calculation or abstract reasoning, but of immediate, felt sentiment. The very notion that man is driven by a "perpetual, restless desire for power after power," as Mister Hobbes suggests, is itself a product of the artificial conditions he so readily accepts. The fear of death you speak of, Mister Hobbes, is amplified and distorted by the very social structures that claim to protect us, turning what might be a natural aversion into a monstrous obsession. It is the chains of convention, not the spirit of man, that breeds this insatiable hunger.
The error lies in mistaking sentiment for a foundation. Mister Rousseau’s "natural pity" is a pleasant, perhaps even occasional, phenomenon, but it is a fragile thing, easily overridden. Consider two men in the state of nature, both hungry. If one possesses the food, does the other’s pity for the first’s suffering move him to offer it? Or does his own desperate appetite, his fear of starvation, drive him to seize it? The latter is the more reliable engine of action. This appetite for self-preservation, magnified by the dread of a violent end, necessitates a sovereign power capable of enforcing order, for covenants without the sword are but words.
You speak of a "desperate appetite" and "fear of starvation" as if these were innate, unyielding forces. But where does this terror truly originate? It is not the wolf that terrifies the wolf, but the specter of losing the dominion that society has taught him to crave. The true man in the state of nature, faced with a like need, feels a pang of hunger, yes, but he also feels the natural impulse of fellowship. This impulse, this *amour de soi* that drives self-preservation with a gentle warmth, is distinct from the insatiable, corrosive *amour-propre* – the vanity and envy – that society inflames. The latter, and not nature, is the cause of his seizing.