Book 2 : 
Principles of Society
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Author : William Godwin

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BOOK II



PRINCIPALS OF SOCIETY



CHAPTER I



INTRODUCTION



In the preceding book we have cleared the foundations for the remaining

branches of inquiry, and shown what are the prospects it is reasonable to

entertain as to future political improvement. The effects which are produced

by positive institutions have there been delineated, as well as the extent

of the powers of man, considered in his social capacity. It is time that

we proceed to those disquisitions which are more immediately the object of

the present work.



Political inquiry may be distributed under two heads: first, what are

the regulations which will conduce to the well being of man in society; and,

secondly, what is the authority which is competent to prescribe regulations.



The regulations to which the conduct of men living in society ought to

be conformed may be considered in two ways: first, those moral laws which

are enjoined upon us by the dictates of enlightened reason; and, secondly,

those principles a deviation from which the interest of the community may

be supposed to render it proper to repress by sanctions and punishment.



Morality is that system of conduct which is determined by a consideration

of the greatest general good: he is entitled to the highest moral approbation

whose conduct is, in the greatest number of instances, or in the most momentous

instances, governed by views of benevolence, and made subservient to public

utility. In like manner the only regulations which any political authority

can be justly entitled to enforce are such as are best adapted to public

utility. Consequently, just political regulations are nothing more than a

certain select part of moral law. The supreme power in a state ought not,

in the strictest sense, to require anything of its members that an understanding

sufficiently enlightened would not prescribe without such interference.(1*)



These considerations seem to lead to the detection of a mistake which

has been very generally committed by political writers of our own country.

They have for the most part confined their researches to the question of

What is a just political authority or the most eligible form of government,

consigning to others the delineation of right principles of conduct and equitable

regulations. But there appears to be something preposterous in this mode

of proceeding. A well constituted government is only the means for enforcing

suitable regulations. One form of government is preferable to another in

exact proportion to the security it affords that nothing shall be done in

the name of the community which is not conducive to the welfare of the whole.

The question therefore, What it is which is thus conducive, is upon every

account entitled to the first place in our disquisitions.



One of the ill consequences which have resulted from this distorted view

of the science of politics is a notion very generally entertained, that a

community, or society of men, has a right to lay down whatever rules it may

think proper for its own observance. This will presently be proved to be

an erroneous position.(2*) It may be prudent in an individual to submit in

some cases to the usurpation of a majority; it may be unavoidable in a community

to proceed upon the imperfect and erroneous views they shall chance to entertain:

but this is a misfortune entailed upon us by the nature of government, and

not a matter of right.(3*)



A second ill consequence that has arisen from this proceeding is that,

politics having been thus violently separated from morality, government itself

has no longer been compared with its true criterion. Instead of inquiring

what species of government was most conducive to the public welfare, an unprofitable

disquisition has been instituted respecting the probable origin of government;

and its different forms have been estimated, not by the consequences with

which they were pregnant, but the source from which they sprung. Hence men

have been prompted to look back to the folly of their ancestors, rather than

forward to the benefits derivable from the improvements of human knowledge.

Hence, in investigating their rights, they have recurred less to the great

principles of morality than to the records and charters of a barbarous age.

As if men were not entitled to all the benefits of the social state till

they could prove their inheriting them from some bequest of their distant

progenitors. As if men were not as justifiable and meritorious in planting

liberty in a soil in which it had never existed as in restoring it where

it could be proved only to have suffered a temporary suspension.



The reasons here assigned strongly tend to evince the necessity of establishing

the genuine principles of society, before we enter upon the direct consideration

of government. It may be proper in this place to state the fundamental distinction

which exists between these topics of inquiry. Man associated at first for

the sake of mutual assistance. They did not foresee that any restraint would

be necessary to regulate the conduct of individual members of the society

towards each other, or towards the whole. The necessity of restraint grew

out of the errors and perverseness of a few. An acute writer has expressed

this idea with peculiar felicity "Society and government," says

he, "are different in themselves, and have different origins. Society

is produced by our wants, and government by our wickedness. Society is in

every state a blessing; government even in its best state but a necessary

evil."(4*)



NOTES:



1. Chapter V, of the following Book.



2. Chapter V, of this Book.



3. Chapter V.



4. Paine's Common Sense, p. 1.





CHAPTER II



OF JUSTICE



From what has been said it appears, that the subject of our present inquiry

is strictly speaking a department of the science of morals. Morality is the

source from which its fundamental axioms must be drawn, and they will be

made somewhat clearer in the present instance, if we assume the term justice

as a general appellation for all moral duty.



That this appellation is sufficiently expressive of the subject will appear,

if we examine mercy, gratitude, temperance, or any of those duties which,

in looser speaking, are contradistinguished from justice. Why should I pardon

this criminal, remunerate this favor, or abstain from this indulgence? If

it partake of the nature of morality, it must be either right or wrong, just

or unjust. It must tend to the benefit of the individual, either without

trenching upon, or with actual advantage to the mass of individuals. Either

way it benefits the whole, because individuals are parts of the whole. Therefore

to do it is just, and to forbear it is unjust. -- By justice I understand

that impartial treatment of every man in matters that relate to his happiness,

which is measured solely by a consideration of the properties of the receiver,

and the capacity of him that bestows. Its principle therefore is, according

to a well known phrase, to be "no respecter of persons."



Considerable light will probably be thrown upon our investigation, if,

quitting for the present the political view, we examine justice merely as

it exists among individuals. Justice is a rule of conduct originating in

the connection of one percipient being with another. A comprehensive maxim

which has been laid down upon the subject is "that we should love our

neighbor as ourselves." But this maxim, though possessing considerable

merit as a popular principle, is not modeled with the strictness of philosophical

accuracy.



In a loose and general view I and my neighbor are both of us men; and

of consequence entitled to equal attention. But, in reality, it is probable

that one of us is a being of more worth and importance than the other. A

man is of more worth than a beast; because, being possessed of higher faculties,

he is capable of a more refined and genuine happiness. In the same manner

the illustrious archbishop of Cambray was of more worth than his valet, and

there are few of us that would hesitate to pronounce, if his palace were

in flames, and the life of only one of them could be preserved, which of

the two ought to be preferred.



But there is another ground of preference, beside the private consideration

of one of them being further removed from the state of a mere animal. We

are not connected with one or two percipient beings, but with a society,

a nation, and in some sense with the whole family of mankind. Of consequence

that life ought to be preferred which will be most conducive to the general

good. In saving the life of Fenelon, suppose at the moment he conceived the

project of his immortal Telemachus, should have been promoting the benefit

of thousands, who have been cured by the perusal of that work of some error,

vise and consequent unhappiness. Nay, my benefit would extend further than

this; for every individual, thus cured, has become a better member of society,

and has contributed in his turn to the happiness, information, and improvement

of others.



Suppose I had been myself the valet; I ought to have chosen to die, rather

than Fenelon should have died. The life of Fenelon was really preferable

to that of the valet. But understanding is the faculty that perceives the

truth of this and similar propositions; and justice is the principle that

regulates my conduct accordingly. It would have been just in the valet to

have preferred the archbishop to himself. To have done otherwise would have

been a breach of justice.(1*)



Suppose the valet had been my brother, my father, or my benefactor. This

would not alter the truth of the proposition. The life of Fenelon would still

be more valuable than that of the valet; and justice, pure, unadulterated

justice, would still have preferred that which was most valuable. Justice

would have taught me to save the life of Fenelon at the expense of the other.

What magic is there in the pronoun "my," that should justify us

in overturning the decisions of impartial truth? My brother or my father

may be a fool or a profligate, malicious, lying or dishonest. If they be,

of what consequence is it that they are mine?



"But to my father I am indebted for existence; he supported me in

the helplessness of infancy." When he first subjected himself to the

necessity of these cares, he was probably influenced by no particular motives

of benevolence to his future offspring. Every voluntary benefit however entitles

the bestower to some kindness and retribution. Why? Because a voluntary benefit

is an evidence of benevolent intention, that is, in a certain degree, of

virtue. It is the disposition of the mind, not the external action separately

taken, that entitles to respect. But the merit of this disposition is equal,

whether the benefit were conferred upon me or upon another. I and another

man cannot both be right in preferring our respective benefactors, for my

benefactor cannot be at the same time both better and worse than his neighbor.

My benefactor ought to be esteemed, not because he bestowed a benefit upon

me, but because he bestowed it upon a human being. His desert will be in

exact proportion to the degree in which that human being was worthy of the

distinction conferred.



Thus every view of the subject brings us back to the consideration of

my neighbor's moral worth, and his importance to the general weal, as the

only standard to determine the treatment to which he is entitled. Gratitude

therefore, if by gratitude we understand a sentiment of preference which

I entertain towards another, upon the ground of my having been the subject

of his benefits, is no part either of justice or virtue.(2*)



It may be objected, "that my relation, my companion, or my benefactor,

will of course in many instances obtain an uncommon portion of my regard:

for, not being universally capable of discriminating the comparative worth

of different men, I shall inevitably judge most favorably of him of whose

virtues I have received the most unquestionable proofs; and thus shall be

compelled to prefer the man of moral worth whom I know, to another who may

possess, unknown to me, an essential superiority."



This compulsion however is founded only in the imperfection of human nature.

It may serve as an apology for my error, but can never change error into

truth. It will always remain contrary to the strict and universal decisions

of justice. The difficulty of conceiving this, is owing merely to our confounding

the disposition from which an action is chosen, with the action itself. The

disposition that would prefer virtue to vise, and a greater degree of virtue

to a less, is undoubtedly a subject of approbation; the erroneous exercise

of this disposition, by which a wrong object is selected, if unavoidable,

is to be deplored, but can by no coloring and under no denomination be converted

into right.(3*)



It may in the second place be objected, "that a mutual commerce of

benefits tends to increase the mass of benevolent action, and that to increase

the mass of benevolent action is to contribute to the general good."

Indeed! Is the general good promoted by falsehood, by treating a man of one

degree of worth as if he had ten times that worth? or as if he were in any

degree different from what he really is? Would not the most beneficial consequences

result from a different plan; from my constantly and carefully inquiring

into the deserts of all those with whom I am connected, and from their being

sure, after a certain allowance for the fallibility of human judgment, of

being treated by me exactly as they deserved? Who can describe the benefits

that would result from such a plan of conduct, if universally adopted?



It would perhaps tend to make the truth in this respect more accurately

understood to consider that, whereas the received morality teaches me to

be grateful, whether in affection or in act, for benefits conferred on myself,

the reasonings here delivered, without removing the tie upon me from personal

benefits (except where benefit is conferred from an unworthy motive), multiply

the obligation, and enjoin me to be also grateful for benefits conferred

upon others. My obligation towards my benefactor, supposing his benefit to

be justly conferred, is in no sort dissolved; nor can anything authorize

me to supersede it but the requisition of a superior duty. That which ties

me to my benefactor, upon these principles, is the moral worth he has displayed;

and it will frequently happen that I shall be obliged to yield him the preference,

because, while other competitors may be of greater worth, the evidence I

have of the worth of my benefactor is more complete.



There seems to be more truth in the argument, derived chiefly from the

prevailing modes of social existence, in favor of my providing, in ordinary

cases, for my wife and children, my brothers and relations, before I provide

for strangers, than in those which have just been examined. As long as the

providing for individuals is conducted with its present irregularity and

caprice, it seems as if there must be a certain distribution of the class

needing superintendence and supply, among the class affording it; that each

man may have his claim and resource. But this argument is to be admitted

with great caution. It belongs only to ordinary cases; and cases of a higher

order, or a more urgent necessity, will perpetually occur in competition

with which these will be altogether impotent. We must be severely scrupulous

in measuring the quantity of supply; and, with respect to money in particular,

should remember how little is yet understood of the true mode of employing

it for the public benefit.



Nothing can be less exposed to reasonable exception than these principles.

If there be such a thing as virtue, it must be placed in a conformity to

truth, and not to error. It cannot be virtuous that I should esteem a man,

that is, consider him as possessed of estimable qualities, when in reality

he is destitute of them. It surely cannot conduce to the benefit of mankind

that each man should have a different standard of moral Judgment, and preference,

and that the standard of all should vary from that of reality. Those who

teach this impose the deepest disgrace upon virtue. They assert in other

words that, when men cease to be deceived, when the film is removed from

their eyes, and they see things as they are, they will cease to be either

good or happy. Upon the system opposite to theirs, the soundest criterion

of virtue is to put ourselves in the place of an impartial spectator, of

an angelic nature, suppose, beholding us from an elevated station, and uninfluenced

by our prejudices, conceiving what would be his estimate of the intrinsic

circumstances of our neighbor, and acting accordingly.



Having considered the persons with whom justice is conversant, let us

next inquire into the degree in which we are obliged to consult the good

of others. And here, upon the very same reasons, it will follow that it is

just I should do all the good in my power. Does a person in distress apply

to me for relief? It is my duty to grant it, and I commit a breach of duty

in refusing. If this principle be not of universal application, it is because,

in conferring a benefit upon an individual, I may in some instances inflict

an injury of superior magnitude upon myself or society. Now the same justice

that binds me to any individual of my fellow men binds me to the whole. If,

while I confer a benefit upon one man, it appear, in striking an equitable

balance, that I am injuring the whole, my action ceases to be right, and

becomes absolutely wrong. But how much am I bound to do for the general weal,

that is, for the benefit of the individuals of whom the whole is composed?

Everything in my power. To the neglect of the means of my own existence?

No; for I am myself a part of the whole. Beside, it will rarely happen that

the project of doing for others everything in my power will not demand for

its execution the preservation of my own existence; or in other words, it

will rarely happen that I cannot do more good in twenty years than in one.

If the extraordinary case should occur in which I can promote the general

good by my death more than by my life, justice requires that I should be

content to die. In other cases, it will usually be incumbent on me to maintain

my body and mind in the utmost vigor, and in the best condition for service.(4*)



Suppose, for example, that it is right for one man to possess a greater

portion of property than another, whether as the fruit of his industry, or

the inheritance of his ancestors. Justice obliges him to regard this property

as a trust, and calls upon him maturely to consider in what manner it may

be employed for the increase of liberty, knowledge and virtue. He has no

right to dispose of a shilling of it at the suggestion of his caprice. So

far from being entitled to well earned applause, for having employed some

scanty pittance in the service of philanthropy, he is in the eye of justice

a delinquent if he withhold any portion from that service. Could that portion

have been better or more worthily employed? That it could is implied in the

very terms of the proposition. Then it was just it should have been so employed.

-- In the same manner as my property, I hold my person as a trust in behalf

of mankind. I am bound to employ my talents, my understanding, my strength

and my time, for the production of the greatest quantity of general good.

Such are the declarations of justice, so great is the extent of my duty.



But justice is reciprocal. If it be just that I should confer a benefit,

it is just that another man should receive it, and, if I withhold from him

that to which he is entitled, he may justly complain. My neighbor is in

want of ten pounds that I can spare There is no law of political institution

to reach this case, and transfer the property from me to him. But in a passive

sense, unless it can be shown that the money can be more beneficently employed,

his right is as complete (though actively he have not the same right, or

rather duty, to possess himself of it) as if he had my bond in his possession,

or had supplied me with goods to the amount.(5*)



To this it has sometimes been answered "that there is more than one

person who stands in need of the money I have to spare, and of consequence

I must be at liberty to bestow it as I please." By no means. If only

one person offer himself to my knowledge or search, to me there is but one.

Those others that I cannot find belong to other rich men to assist (every

man is in reality rich who has more than his just occasions demand), and

not to me. If more than one person offer, I am obliged to balance their claims,

and conduct myself accordingly. It is scarcely possible that two men should

have an exactly equal claim, or that I should be equally certain respecting

the claim of the one as of the other.



It is therefore impossible for me to confer upon any man a favor; I can

only do him right. Whatever deviates from the law of justice, though it should

be done in the favor of some individual or some part of the general whole,

is so much subtracted from the general stock, so much of absolute injustice.



The reasonings here alleged, are sufficient clearly to establish the competence

of justice as a principle of deduction in all cases of moral inquiry. They

are themselves rather of the nature of illustration and example, and, if

error be imputable to them in particulars, this will not invalidate the general

conclusion, the propriety of applying moral justice as a criterion in the

investigation of political truth.



Society is nothing more than an aggregation of individuals. Its claims

and duties must be the aggregate of their claims and duties, the one no more

precarious and arbitrary than the other. What has the society a right to

require from me? The question is already answered: everything that it is

my duty to do. Anything more? Certainly not. Can it change eternal truth,

or subvert the nature of men and their actions? Can it make my duty consist

in committing intemperance, in maltreating or assassinating my neighbor?

-- Again, what is it that the society is bound to do for its members? Everything

that is requisite for their welfare. But the nature of their welfare is defined

by the nature of mind. That will most contribute to it which expands the

understanding, supplies incitements to virtue, fills us with a generous consciousness

of our independence, and carefully removes whatever can impede our exertions.



Should it be affirmed, "that it is not in the power of political

system to secure to us these advantages," the conclusion will not be

less incontrovertible. It is bound to contribute everything it is able to

these purposes. Suppose its influence in the utmost degree limited; there

must be one method approaching nearer than any other to the desired object,

and that method ought to be universally adopted. There is one thing that

political institutions can assuredly do, they can avoid positively counteracting

the true interests of their subjects. But all capricious rules and arbitrary

distinctions do positively counteract them. There is scarcely any modification

of society but has in it some degree of moral tendency. So far as it produces

neither mischief nor benefit, it is good for nothing. So far as it tends

to the improvement of the community, it ought to be universally adopted.



NOTES



1. The question how far impartial justice is a motive capable of operating

upon the mind will be found examined at length, Book IV, Chapter X.



2. This argument is stated with great clearness in an Essay on the Nature

of True Virtue, by Jonathan Edwards, author of a celebrated work on the Freedom

of the Will.



3. Chapter IV.



4. Appendix. No. 1. Of Suicide.



5. Chapter V.



Appendix I.



OF SUICIDE



This reasoning will throw some light upon the long disputed case of suicide.

"Have I a right to destroy myself in order to escape from pain or distress?"

Circumstances that should justify such an action, can rarely occur. There

are few situations that can exclude the possibility of future life, vigor,

and usefulness. It will frequently happen that the man, who once saw nothing

before him but despair, shall afterwards enjoy a long period of happiness

and honor. In the meantime the power of terminating our own lives, is one

of the faculties with which we are endowed; and therefore, like every other

faculty, is a subject of moral discipline. In common with every branch of

morality, it is a topic of calculation, as to the balance of good and evil

to result from its employment in any individual instance. We should however

be scrupulously upon our guard against the deceptions that melancholy and

impatience are so well calculated to impose. We should consider that, though

the pain to be suffered by ourselves is by no means to be overlooked, we

are but one, and the persons nearly or remotely interested in our possible

usefulness innumerable. Each man is but the part of a great system, and all

that he has is so much wealth to be put to the account of the general stock.



There is another case of suicide of more difficult estimation. What shall

we think of the reasoning of Lycurgus, who, when he determined upon a voluntary

death, remarked "that all the faculties a rational being possessed were

capable of being benevolently employed, and that, after having spent his

life in the service of his country, a man ought, if possible, to render his

death a source of additional benefit?" This was the motive of the suicide

of Codrus, Leonidas and Decius. If the same motive prevailed in the much

admired suicide of Cato, and he were instigated by reasons purely benevolent,

it is impossible not to applaud his intention, even if he were mistaken in

the application. The difficulty is to decide whether in any instance the

recourse to a voluntary death can overbalance the usefulness to be displayed,

in twenty years of additional life.



Additional importance will be reflected upon this disquisition if we remember

that martyrs (martures) are suicides by the very signification of the term.

They die for a testimony (martution). But that would be impossible if their

death were not to a certain degree a voluntary action. We must assume that

it was possible for them to avoid this fate, before we can draw any conclusion

from it in favor of the cause they espoused. They were determined to die,

rather than reflect dishonor on that cause.





Appendix II



OF DUELING



It may be proper in this place to bestow a moment's consideration upon

the trite but very important case of dueling. A short reflection will suffice

to set it in its true light.



This despicable practice was originally invented by barbarians for the

gratification of revenge. It was probably at that time thought a very happy

project, for reconciling the odiousness of malignity with the gallantry of

courage.



But in this light it is now generally given up. Men of the best understanding

who lend it their sanction are unwillingly induced to do so, and engage in

single combat merely that their reputation may sustain no slander.



In examining this subject we must proceed upon one of two suppositions.

Either the lives of both the persons to be hazarded are worthless, or they

are not. In the latter case, the question answers itself, and cannot stand

in need of discussion. Useful lives are not to be hazarded, from a view to

the partial and contemptible obloquy that may be annexed to the refusal of

such a duel, that is, to an act of virtue.



When the duelist tells me that he and the person that has offended him

are of no possible worth to the community, I may reasonably conclude that

he talks the language of spleen. But, if I take him at his word, is it to

be admitted, though he cannot benefit the community, that he should injure

it? What would be the consequence if we allowed ourselves to assail everyone

that we thought worthless in the world? In reality, when he talks this language,

he deserts the ground of vindicating his injured honor, and shows that his

conduct is that of a vindictive and brutalized savage.



"But the refusing a duel is an ambiguous action. Cowards may pretend

principle to shelter themselves from a danger they dare not meet."



This is partly true and partly false. There are few actions indeed that

are not ambiguous, or that with the same general outline may not proceed

from different motives. But the manner of doing them will sufficiently show

the principle from which they spring.



He, that would break through a received custom because he believes it

to be wrong, must no doubt arm himself with fortitude. The point in which

we principally fail, is in not accurately understanding our own intentions,

and taking care beforehand to purify ourselves from every alloy of weakness

and error. He, who comes forward with no other idea but that of rectitude,

and who expresses, with the simplicity and firmness which conviction never

fails to inspire, the views with which he is penetrated, is in no danger

of being mistaken for a coward. If he hesitate, it is because he has not

an idea perfectly clear of the sentiment he intends to convey. If he be in

any degree embarrassed, it is because he has not a feeling sufficiently generous

and intrepid of the demerit of the action in which he is urged to engage.



If courage have any intelligible nature, one of its principal fruits must

be the daring to speak truth at all times, to all persons, and in every possible

situation in which a well informed sense of duty may prescribe it. What is

it but the want of courage that should prevent me from saying, "Sir,

I will not accept your challenge. Have I injured you? I will readily and

without compulsion repair my injustice to the uttermost mite. Have you misconstrued

me? State to me the particulars, and doubt not that what is true I will make

appear to be true. I should be a notorious criminal were I to attempt your

life, or assist you in an attempt upon mine. What compensation will the opinion

of the world make for the recollection of so vile and brutal a proceeding?

There is no true applause but where the heart of him that receives it beats

in unison. There is no censure terrible while the heart repels it with conscious

integrity. I am not the coward to do a deed that my soul detests because

I cannot endure the scoffs of the mistaken. Loss of reputation is a serious

evil. But I will act so that no man shall suspect me of irresolution and

pusillanimity." He that should firmly hold this language, and act accordingly,

would soon be acquitted of every dishonorable imputation.





CHAPTER III



OF THE EQUALITY OF MANKIND



The principles of justice, as explained in the preceding chapter, proceed

upon the assumption of the equality of mankind. This equality is either physical

or moral. Physical equality may be considered either as it relates to the

strength of the body or the faculties of the mind.



This part of the subject has been exposed to cavil and objection. It has

been said "that the reverse of this equality is the result of our experience.

Among the individuals of our species, we actually find that there are not

two alike. One man is strong, and another weak. One man is wise, and another

foolish. All that exists in the world of the inequality of conditions is

to be traced to this as their source. The strong man possesses power to subdue,

and the weak stands in need of an ally to protect. The consequence is inevitable:

the equality of conditions is a chimerical assumption, neither possible to

be reduced into practice, nor desirable if it could be so reduced."



Upon this statement two observations are to be made. First, this inequality

was in its origin infinitely less than it is at present. In the uncultivated

state of man, diseases, effeminacy and luxury were little known; and, of

consequence, the strength of everyone much more nearly approached to the

strength of his neighbor. In the uncultivated state of man, the understandings

of all were limited, their wants, their ideas and their views nearly upon

a level. It was to be expected that, in their first departure from this state,

great irregularities would introduce themselves; and it is the object of

subsequent wisdom and improvement to mitigate these irregularities.



Secondly, Notwithstanding the encroachments that have been made upon

the equality of mankind, a great and substantial equality remains. There

is no such disparity among the human race as to enable one man to hold several

other men in subjection, except so far as they are willing to be subject.

All government is founded in opinion. Men at present live under any particular

form because they conceive it their interest to do so. One part indeed of

a community or empire may be held in subjection by force; but this cannot

be the personal force of their despot; it must be the force of another part

of the community, who are of opinion that it is their interest to support

his authority. Destroy this opinion, and the fabric which is built upon it

falls to the ground. It follows therefore that all men are essentially independent.

-- So much for the physical equality.



The moral equality is still less open to reasonable exception. By moral

equality I understand, the propriety of applying one unalterable rule of

justice to every case that may arise. This cannot be questioned, but upon

arguments that would subvert the very nature of virtue. "Equality,"

it has been affirmed, "will always be an unintelligible fiction, so

long as the capacities of men shall be unequal, and their pretended claims

have neither guarantee nor sanction by which they can be enforced."(1*)

But surely justice is sufficiently intelligible in its own nature, abstractedly

from the consideration whether it be or be not reduced into practice. Justice

has relation to beings endowed with perception, and capable of pleasure and

pain. Now it immediately results from the nature of such beings, independently

of any arbitrary constitution, that pleasure is agreeable and pain odious,

pleasure to be desired and pain to be disapproved. It is therefore just and

reasonable that such beings should contribute, so far as it lies in their

power, to the pleasure and benefit of each other. Among pleasures, some are

more exquisite, more unalloyed and less precarious than others. It is just

that these should be preferred.



From these simple principles we may deduce the moral equality of mankind.

We are partakers of a common nature, and the same causes that contribute

to the benefit of one will contribute to the benefit of another. Our senses

and faculties are of the same denomination. Our pleasures and pains will

therefore be alike. We are all of us endowed with reason, able to compare,

to judge and to infer. The improvement therefore which is to be desired for

one is to be desired for another. We shall be provident for ourselves, and

useful to each other in proportion as we rise above the sphere of prejudice.

The same independence, the same freedom from any such restraint, as should

prevent us from giving the reins to our own understanding, or from uttering,

upon all occasions, whatever we think to be true, will conduce to the improvement

of all. There are certain opportunities and a certain situation most advantageous

to every human being, and it is just that these should be communicated to

all, as nearly as the general economy will permit.



There is indeed one species of moral inequality, parallel to the physical

inequality that has been already described. The treatment to which men are

entitled is to be measured by their merits and their virtues. That country

would not be the seat of wisdom and reason where the benefactor of his species

was regarded with no greater degree of complacence than their enemy. But

in reality this distinction, so far from being adverse to equality in any

tenable sense, is friendly to it, and is accordingly known by the appellation

of equity, a term derived from the same origin. Though in some sense all

exception, it tends to the same purpose to which the principle itself is

indebted for its value. It is calculated lo infuse into every bosom an emulation

of excellence. The thing really lo be desired is the removing as much as

possible arbitrary distinctions, and leaving to talents and virtue the field

of exertion unimpaired. We should endeavor to afford to all the same opportunities

and the same encouragement, and to render justice the common interest and

choice.



It should be observed that the object of this chapter is barely to present

a general outline of the principle of equality. The practical inferences

that flow from it must remain to be detailed under subsequent heads of inquiry.



NOTES:



1. "On a dit-que nous avions tous les mêmes droits. J'ignore

ce que c'est rue les mêmes droits, où il y a inégalité

de talens ou de force, et nulle garantie, nulle sanction." Raynal, Revolution

d'Amérique, p. 34.





CHAPTER IV



OF PERSONAL VIRTUE AND DUTY



There are two subjects, of the utmost importance to a just delineation

of the principles of society, which are, on that account, entitled to a separate

examination: the duties incumbent on men living in society, and the rights

accruing to them. These are merely different modes of expressing the principle

of justice, as it shall happen to be considered in its relation to the agent

or the patient. Duty is the treatment I am bound to bestow upon others; right

is the treatment I am entitled to expect from them. This will more fully

appear in the sequel.



First, of personal virtue and duty.



Virtue, like every other term of general science, may be understood either

absolutely, or as the qualification and attribute of a particular being:

in other words, it is one thing to inquire whether an action is virtuous,

and another to inquire whether a man is virtuous. The former of these questions

is considerably simple; the latter is more complex, and will require an examination

of several circumstances before it can be satisfactorily determined.



In the first sense I would define virtue to be any action or actions of

an intelligent being proceeding from kind and benevolent intention, and having

a tendency to contribute to general happiness. Thus defined, it distributes

itself under two heads; and, in whatever instance either the tendency or

the intention is wanting, the virtue is incomplete. An action, however pure

may be the intention of the agent, the tendency of which is mischievous,

or which shall merely be nugatory and useless in its character, is not a

virtuous action. Were it otherwise, we should be obliged to concede the appellation

of virtue to the most nefarious deeds of bigots, persecutors and religious

assassins, and to the weakest observances of a deluded superstition. Still

less does an action, the consequences of which shall be supposed to be in

the highest degree beneficial, but which proceeds from a mean, corrupt and

degrading motive, deserve the appellation of virtue. A virtuous action is

that, of which both the motive and the tendency concur to excite our approbation.



Let us proceed from the consideration of the action to that of the agent.

Before we can decide upon the degree in which any man is entitled to be denominated

virtuous, we must compare his performance with his means. It is not enough,

that his conduct is attended with an overbalance of good intention and beneficial

results. If it appear that he has scarcely produced the tenth part of that

benefit, either in magnitude or extent. which he was capable of producing,

it is only ill a very limited sense that he can be considered as a virtuous

man.



What is it therefore, we are led to inquire, that constitutes the capacity

of any man? Capacity is an idea produced in the mind by a contemplation of

the assemblage of properties in any substance, and the uses to which a substance

so circumstanced may be applied. Thus a given portion of metal, may be formed,

at the pleasure of the manufacturer, into various implements, a knife, a

razor, a sword, a dozen of coat-buttons, etc. This is one stage of capacity.

A second is, when it has already received the form of a knife, and, being

dismissed by the manufacturer, falls into the hands of the person who intends

it for his private use. By this person it may be devoted to purposes, beneficial,

pernicious or idle. -- To apply these considerations to the nature of a human

being.



We are not here inquiring respecting the capacity of man absolutely speaking,

but of an individual; the performer of a given action, or the person who

has engaged in a certain series of conduct. In the same manner there fore

as the knife may be applied to various purposes at the pleasure of its possessor,

so an individual endowed with certain qualifications, may engage in various

pursuits, according to the views that are presented to him, and the motives

that actuate his mind.



Human capacity however, is a subject attended with greater ambiguity than

the capacity of inanimate substances. Capacity assumes something as fixed,

and inquires into the temporary application of these permanent qualities.

But it is easier to define, with tolerable precision, the permanent qualities

of an individual knife, for example, than of an individual man. Everything

in man may be said to be in a state of flux; he is a Proteus whom we know

not how to detain. That of which I am capable, for instance, as to my conduct

today falls extremely short of that of which I am capable as to my conduct

in the two or three next ensuing years. For what I shall do today I am dependent

upon my ignorance in some things, my want of practice in others, and the

erroneous habits I may in any respect have contracted. But many of these

disadvantages may be superseded, when the question is respecting what I shall

produce in the two or three next years of my life. Nor is this all. Even

my capacity of today is in a great degree determinable by the motives that

shall excite me. When a man is placed in circumstances of a very strong and

impressive nature, he is frequently found to possess or instantaneously to

acquire capacities which neither he nor his neighbors previously suspected.

We are obliged however in the decisions of morality to submit to these uncertainties.

It is only after having formed the most accurate notions we are able respecting

the capacity of a man, and comparing this capacity with his performance,

that we can decide, with any degree of satisfaction, whether he is entitled

to the appellation of virtuous.



There is another difficulty which adheres to this question. Is it the

motive alone that we are entitled to take into consideration, that we decide

upon the merits of the individual, or are we obliged, as in the case of virtue

absolutely taken, to consider both the motives and the tendency of his conduct?

The former of these has been frequently asserted. But the assertion is attended

with serious difficulties.



First, vise as it is commonly understood is, so far as regards the motive,

purely negative. To virtue it is necessary, that it proceed from kind and

benevolent intention; but malevolence, or a disposition to draw a direct

gratification from the sufferings of others, is not necessary to vise. It

is sufficient that the agent regards with neglect those benevolent considerations

which are allied to general good. This mode of applying the terms of morality,

seems to arise from the circumstance, that, in estimating the merits of others,

we reasonably regard the actual benefit or mischief that is produced as the

principal point; and consider the disposition that produces it, merely as

it tends to ensure to us a continuation of benefit or injury.



Secondly, actions in the highest degree injurious to the public, have

often proceeded from motives uncommonly conscientious. The most determined

political assassins, Clement, Ravaillac, Damiens and Gerard, seem to have

bee deeply penetrated with anxiety, for the eternal welfare of mankind. For

these objects they sacrificed their ease, and cheerfully exposed themselves

to tortures and death. Benevolence probably had its part in lighting the

fires of Smithfield, and pointing the daggers of Saint Bartholomew. The authors

of the Gunpowder Treason were, in general, men remarkable for the sanctity

of their lives, and the austerity of their manners.



The nature whether of religious imposture, or of persevering enterprise

in general, seems scarcely to have been sufficiently developed by the professors

of moral inquiry. Nothing is more difficult, than for a man to recommend

with enthusiasm, that which he does not think intrinsically admirable. Nothing

is more difficult than for a man to engage in an arduous undertaking that

he does not persuade himself will in some way be extensively useful. When

archbishop Becket set himself against the whole power of Henry the Second,

and bore every species of contumely with an unalterable spirit, we may easily

discover the haughtiness of the priest, the insatiable ambition that delighted

to set its foot upon the neck of kings, and the immeasurable vanity that

snuffed with transport the incense of an adoring multitude; but we may see

with equal evidence, that he regarded himself as the champion of the cause

of God, and expected the crown of martyrdom in a future state.



Precipitate and superficial judges conclude, that he who imposes upon

others, is in most cases aware of the delusion himself. But this seldom happens.

Self-deception is of all things the most easy. Whoever ardently wishes to

find a proposition true, may be expected insensibly to veer towards the opinion

that suits his inclination. It cannot be wondered at, by him who considers

the subtlety of the human mind,(1*) that belief should scarcely ever rest

upon the mere basis of evidence, and that arguments are always viewed through

a delusive medium, magnifying them into Alps, or diminishing them to nothing.



In the same manner as the grounds of our opinions are complicated, so

are the motives to our actions. It is probable that no wrong action is perpetrated

from motives entirely pure. It is probable that conscientious assassins and

persecutors, have some mixture of ambition or the love of fame, and some

feelings of animosity and ill will. But the deception they put upon themselves

may nevertheless be complete. They stand acquitted at the bar of their own

examination; and their injurious conduct, if considered under the head of

motive only, is probably as pure as much of that conduct which falls with

the best title under the denomination of virtue.



For, thirdly, those actions of men, which tend to increase the general

happiness, and are founded in the purest motives, have some alloy in the

causes from which they proceed. It has been seen, that the motives of each

single action, in a man already arrived at maturity, are innumerable:(2*)

into this mixture it is scarcely to be supposed, that something improper,

mean, and inconsistent with that impartial estimate of things which is the

true foundation of virtue, will not insinuate itself. It seems reasonable

to believe, that such actions as are known most admirably to have contributed

to the benefit of mankind, have sprung from views, of all others the least

adulterated. But it can not be doubted that many actions, considerably useful,

and to a great degree well intended, have had as much alloy in their motive

as other actions which, springing from a benevolent disposition, have been

extensively detrimental.



From all these considerations it appears, that, if we were to adjust the

standard of virtue from intention alone, we should reverse all the received

ideas respecting it, giving the palm to some of the greatest pests of mankind,

at the expense of others who have been no contemptible benefactors. Intention

no doubt is of the essence of virtue. But it will not do alone. In deciding

the merits of others, we are bound, for the most part, to proceed in the

same manner as in deciding the merits of inanimate substances. The turning

point is their utility. Intention is of no further value than as it leads

to utility: it is the means, and not the end. We shall overturn therefore

every principle of just reasoning if we bestow our applause upon the most

mischievous of mankind, merely because the mischief they produce arises from

mistake; or if we regard them in any other light than we would an engine

of destruction and misery that is constructed of very costly materials.



The reasonings of the early part of this chapter upon the subject of virtue,

may equally be applied to elucidate the term duty. Duty is that mode of action

on the part of the individual, which constitutes the best possible application

of his capacity to the general benefit. The only distinction to be made,

between what was there adduced upon the subject of personal virtue, and the

observations which most aptly apply to the consideration of duty, consists

in this: that, though a man should in some instances neglect the best application

of his capacity, he may yet be entitled to the appellation of virtuous; but

duty is uniform, and requires of us that best application in every situation

that presents itself.



This way of considering the subject furnishes us with the solution of

a question which has been supposed to be attended with considerable difficulty.

Is it my duty to comply with the dictates of my erroneous conscience? Was

it the duty of Everard Digby to blow up king James and his parliament with

gunpowder? Certainly not. Duty is the application of capacity to the real,

not imaginary, benefit of mankind. It was his duty to entertain a sincere

and ardent desire for the improvement and happiness of others. With this

duty he probably complied. But it was not his duty to apply that desire to

a purpose dreadful and pregnant with inexhaustible mischief. With the prejudices

he entertained, perhaps it was impossible for him to do otherwise. But it

would be absurd to say that it was his duty to labor under prejudice. Perhaps

it will be found that no man can in any instance act otherwise than he does.(3*)

But this, if true, will not annihilate the meaning of the term duty. It has

already been seen that the idea of capacity and the best application of capacity

is equally intelligible of inanimate substances. Duty is a species under

this generic term, and implies merely the best application of capacity

in an intelligent being, whether that application originate in a self-moving

power, or in the irresistible impulse of motives and considerations presented

to the understanding. To talk of the duty of doing wrong can answer no other

purpose than to take away all precision and meaning from language.



NOTES:



1. Book I, Chapter V.



2. Ibid.



3. Book IV, Chapter VII.





CHAPTER V



OF RIGHTS



The rights of man have, like many other political and moral questions,

furnished a topic of eager and pertinacious dispute more by a confused and

inaccurate statement of the subject of inquiry than by any considerable difficulty

attached to the subject itself.



The real or supposed rights of man are of two kinds, active and passive;

the right in certain cases to do as we list; and the right we possess to

the forbearance or assistance of other men. The first of these a just philosophy

will probably induce us universally to explode.



There is no sphere in which a human being can be supposed to act, where

one mode of proceeding will not, in every given instance, be more reasonable

than any other mode. That mode the being is bound by every principle of justice

to pursue.



Morality is nothing else but that system which teaches us to contribute,

upon all occasions, to the extent our power, to the well-being and happiness

of every intellectual and sensitive existence. But there is no action of

our lives, which does not in some way affect that happiness. Our property,

our time, and our faculties, may all of them be made to contribute to this

end. The periods, which cannot be spent in the active production of happiness,

may be spent in preparation. There is not one of our avocations or amusements,

that does not, by its effects, render us more or less fit to contribute our

quota to the general utility. If then every one of our actions fall within

the province of morals, it follows that we have no rights in relation to

the selecting them. No one will maintain, that we have a right to trespass

upon the dictates of morality.



It has been observed by natural philosophers, that a single grain of land

more or less in the structure of the earth, would have produced an infinite

variation in its history. If this be true in inanimate nature, it is much

more so in morals. The encounter of two persons of opposite sexes, so as

to lead to the relation of marriage, in many cases obviously depends upon

the most trivial circumstances, anyone of which, being changed, the relation

would not have taken place. Let the instance be the father and mother of

Shakespeare. If they had not been connected, Shakespeare would never have

been born. If any accident had happened to the wife during her pregnancy,

if she had on any day set her foot half an inch too far, and fallen down

a flight of stairs, if she had turned down one street instead of another,

through which, it may be, some hideous object was passing, Shakespeare might

never have come alive into the world. The determination of mind, in consequence

of which the child contracts some of his earliest propensities, which call

out his curiosity, industry and ambition, or on the other hand leave him

unobserving, indolent and phlegmatic, is produced by circumstances so minute

and subtle as in few instances to have been made the subject of history.

The events which after wards produce his choice of a profession or pursuit,

are not less precarious. Every one of these incidents, when it occurred,

grew out of a series of incidents that had previously taken place. Everything

is connected in the universe. If any man asserted that, if Alexander had

not bathed in the river Cydnus, Shakespeare would never have written, it

would be impossible to prove that his assertion was untrue.



To the inference we are deducing from this statement of facts, it may

be objected "that it is true that all events in the universe are connected,

and that the most memorable revolutions may depend for their existence upon

trivial causes; but it is impossible for us to discern the remote bearings

and subtle influences of our own actions; and by what we cannot discern it

can never be required of us to regulate our conduct." This is no doubt

true, but its force in the nature of an objection will be taken away if we

consider, first, that, though our ignorance will justify us in neglecting

that which, had we been better informed, we should have seen to be most beneficial,

it can scarcely be considered as conferring on us an absolute right to incur

that neglect. Secondly, even under the limited powers of our discernment,

it will seldom happen to a man eminently conscientious and benevolent, to

see no appearance of superiority, near or remote, direct or indirect, in

favor of one side of any alternative proposed to his choice, rather than

the other. We are bound to regulate ourselves by the best judgment we can

exert. Thirdly, if anything remain to the active rights of man after this

deduction, and if he be at liberty to regulate his conduct in any instance,

independently of the dictates of morality, it will be, first, an imperfect,

not an absolute right, the offspring of ignorance and imbecility; and, secondly,

it will relate only to such insignificant matters, if such there be, as,

after the best exercise of human judgment, can not be discerned to have

the remotest relation to the happiness of mankind.



Few things have contributed more to undermine the energy and virtue of

the human species, than the supposition that we have a right, as it has been

phrased, to do what we will with our own. It is thus that the miser, who

accumulates to no end that which diffused would have conduced to the welfare

of thousands, that the luxurious man, who wallows in indulgence and sees

numerous families around him pining in beggary, never fail to tell us of

their rights, and to silence animadversion and quiet the censure of their

own minds, by observing "that they came fairly into possession of their

wealth, that they owe no debts, and that of consequence no man has authority

to inquire into their private manner of disposing of that which appertains

to them." We have in reality nothing that is strictly speaking our own.

We have nothing that has not a destination prescribed to it by the immutable

voice of reason and justice; and respecting which, if we supersede that destination,

we do not entail upon our selves a certain portion of guilt.



As we have a duty obliging us to a certain conduct respecting our faculties

and our possessions, so our neighbor has a duty respecting his admonitions

and advice. He is guilty of an omission in this point, if he fail to employ

every means in his power for the amendment of our errors, and to have recourse

for that purpose, as he may see occasion, to the most unreserved animadversion

upon our propensities and conduct. It is absurd to suppose that certain points

are especially within my province, and therefore he may not afford me, invited

or uninvited. his assistance in arriving at a right decision. He is bound

to form the best judgment he is able respecting every circumstance that

falls under his observation; what he thinks, he is bound to declare to others;

and, if to others, certainly not less to the party immediately concerned.

The worst consequences, through every rank and department of life, have arisen

from men's supposing their personal affairs in any case to be so sacred,

that every one, except themselves, was bound to be blind and dumb in relation

to them.



The ground of this error has been a propensity, to which we are frequently

subject, of concluding from the excess to the thing itself. Undoubtedly our

neighbor is to be directed in his animadversions, not by a spirit of levity

and impertinence, but by a calculation of the eventual utility. Undoubtedly

there is one person who must, in almost all instances, be the real actor,

and other persons may not, but with caution and sober reflection occupy his

time with their suggestions as to the conduct he ought to pursue. There is

scarcely any tyranny more gross than that of the man who should perpetually

intrude upon us his crude and half-witted advices, or who, not observing

when, in point of strength and clearness, he had done Justice to his own

conception, should imagine it to be his duty to repeat and press it upon

us without end. Advice perhaps requires above all things that it should be

ad ministered with simplicity, disinterestedness, kindness and moderation.

-- To return.



It has been affirmed by the zealous advocates of liberty, "that princes

and magistrates have no rights;" and no position can be more incontrovertible.

There is no situation of their lives that has not its correspondent duties.

There is no power entrusted to them, that they are not bound to exercise

exclusively for the public good. It is strange that persons adopting this

principle, did not go a step further, and perceive that the same restrictions

were applicable to subjects and citizens.



It is scarcely necessary to add, that, if individuals have no rights,

neither has society, which possesses nothing but what individuals have brought

into a common stock. The absurdity of the common opinion, as applied to this

subject, is still more glaring, if possible, than in the view in which we

have already considered it. According to the usual sentiment, every club

assembling for any civil purpose, every congregation of religionists assembling

for the worship of God, has a right to establish any provisions or ceremonies,

no matter how ridiculous or detestable, provided they do not interfere with

the freedom of others. Reason lies prostrate at their feet; they have a right

to trample upon and insult her as they please. It is in the same spirit we

have been told, that every nation has a right to choose its form of government.

An acute and original author was probably misled by the vulgar phraseology

on this subject, when he asserted, that, "at a time when neither the

people of France nor the national assembly were troubling themselves about

the affairs of England or the English parliament, Mr. Burke's conduct was

unpardonable in commencing an unprovoked attack upon them."(1*)



It is, no doubt, the inevitable result of human imperfection that men

and societies of men should model their conduct by the best judgment they

are able to form, whether that judgment be sound or erroneous. But, as it

has been before shown that it cannot be their duty to do anything detrimental

to the general happiness,(2*) so it appears with equal evidence that they

cannot have a right to do so. There cannot be a more absurd proposition,

than that which affirms the right of doing wrong. A mistake of this sort,

has been attended with the most pernicious consequences in public and political

affairs. It cannot be too strongly inculcated, that societies and communities

of men are in no case empowered to establish absurdity and injustice; that

the voice of the people is not, as has sometimes been ridiculously asserted,

"the voice of truth and of God;" and that universal consent cannot

convert wrong into right. The most insignificant individual ought to hold

himself free to animadvert upon the decisions of the most august assembly;

and other men are bound in justice to listen to him, in proportion to the

soundness of his reasons, and the strength of his remarks, and not for any

accessory advantages he may derive from rank or exterior importance. The

most crowded forum, or the most venerable senate, cannot make one proposition

to be a rule of justice, that was not substantially so previously to their

decision. They can only interpret and announce that law, which derives its

real validity from a higher and less mutable authority. If we submit to their

decisions in cases where we are not convinced of their rectitude, this submission

is an affair of prudence only; a reasonable man will lament the emergence,

while he yields to the necessity. If a congregation of men agree universally

to cut off their right hand, to shut their ears upon free inquiry, or to

affirm two and two upon a particular occasion to be sixteen, in all these

cases they are wrong, and ought unequivocally to be censured for usurping

an authority that does not belong to them. They ought to be told, "Gentlemen,

you are not, as in the intoxication of power you have been led to imagine,

omnipotent; there is an authority greater than yours, to which you are bound

assiduously to conform yourselves." No man, if he were alone in the

world, would have a right to make himself impotent or miserable.



So much for the active rights of man, which, if there be any cogency in

the preceding arguments, are all of them superseded and rendered null by

the superior claims of justice. His passive rights, when freed from the ambiguity

that has arisen from the improper mixture and confounding of these two heads,

will probably be found liable to little controversy.



In the first place, he is said to have a right to life and personal liberty.

This proposition, if admitted, must be admitted with great limitation. He

has no right to his life, when his duty calls him to resign it. Other men

are bound (it would be improper in strictness of speech, upon the ground

of the preceding explanations, to say they have a right) to deprive him of

life or liberty, if that should appear in any case to be indispensably necessary

to prevent a greater evil. The passive rights of man will be best understood

from the following elucidation.



Every man has a certain sphere of discretion, which he has a right to

expect shall not be infringed by his neighbors. This right flows from the

very nature of man. First, all men are fallible: no man can be justified

in setting up his judgment as a standard for others. We have no infallible

judge of controversies; each man in his own apprehension is right in his

decisions; and we can find no satisfactory mode of adjusting their jarring

pretensions. If everyone be desirous of imposing his sense upon others, it

will at last come to be a controversy, not of reason, but of force. Secondly,

even if we had an in fallible criterion, nothing would be gained, unless

it were by all men recognized as such. If I were secured against the possibility

of mistake, mischief and not good would accrue, from imposing my infallible

truths upon my neighbor, and requiring his submission independently of any

conviction I could produce in his understanding. Man is a being who can never

be an object of just approbation, any further than he is independent. He

must consult his own reason, draw his own conclusions and conscientiously

conform himself to his ideas of propriety. Without this, he will be neither

active, nor considerate, nor resolute, nor generous.



For these two reasons it is necessary that every man should stand by himself,

and rest upon his own understanding. For that purpose each must have his

sphere of discretion. No man must encroach upon my province, nor I upon his.

He may advise me, moderately and with out pertinaciousness, but he must not

expect to dictate to me. He may censure me freely and without reserve; but

he should remember that I am to act by my deliberation and not his. He may

exercise a republican boldness in judging, but he must not be peremptory

and imperious in prescribing. Force may never be resorted to but, in the

most extraordinary and imperious emergency. I ought to exercise my talents

for the benefit of others; but that exercise must be the fruit of my own

conviction; no man must attempt to press me into the service. I ought to

appropriate such part of the fruits of the earth as by an accident comes

into my possession, and is not necessary to my benefit, to the use of others;

but they must obtain it from me by argument and expostulation, not by violence.

It is in this principle that what is commonly called the right of property

is founded. Whatever then comes into my possession, without violence to any

other man, or to the institutions of society, is my property. This property,

it appears by the principles already laid down, I have no right to dispose

of at my caprice; every shilling of it is appropriated by the laws of morality;

but no man can be justified, in ordinary cases at least, in forcibly extorting

it from me. When the laws of morality shall be clearly understood, their

excellence universally apprehended, and themselves seen to be coincident

with each man's private advantage, the idea of property in this sense will

remain, but no man will have the least desire, for purposes of ostentation

or luxury, to possess more than his neighbors.



A second branch of the passive rights of man consists in the right each

man possesses to the assistance of his neighbor. This will be fully elucidated

hereafter.



NOTES:



1. Rights of Man, p. 1.



2. Chapter IV.



3. Volume II, Book VIII.



CHAPTER VI



OF THE RIGHT OF PRIVATE JUDGMENT



It has appeared, that the most essential of those rights which constitute

the peculiar sphere appropriate to each individual, and the right upon which

every other depends as its basis, is the right of private judgment. It will

therefore be of use to say something distinctly on this head.



To a rational being there can be but one rule of conduct, justice; and

one mode of ascertaining that rule, the exercise of his understanding.



If in any instance I am made the mechanical instrument of absolute violence,

in that instance I fall under a pure state of external slavery. If on the

other hand, not being under the influence of absolute compulsion, I am wholly

prompted by something that is frequently called by that name, and act from

the hope of reward or the fear of punishment, the subjection I suffer is

doubtless less aggravated, but the effect upon my moral habits may be in

a still higher degree injurious.



In the meantime, with respect to the conduct I should observe upon such

occasions, a distinction is to be made. Justice, as it was defined in a preceding

chapter, is coincident with utility. I am myself a part of the great whole,

and my happiness is a part of that complex view of things by which justice

is regulated. The hope of reward therefore, and the fear of punishment, however

wrong in themselves, and inimical to the improvement of the mind, are motives

which, so long as they are resorted to in society, must and ought to have

some influence with my mind.



There are two descriptions of tendency that may belong to any action,

the tendency which it possesses by the necessary and unalterable laws of

existence, and the tendency which results from the arbitrary interference

of some intelligent being. The nature of happiness and misery, pleasure and

pain, is independent of positive institution. It is immutably true, that

whatever tends to procure a balance of the former is to be desired, and whatever

tends to procure a balance of the latter is to be rejected. In like manner

there are certain features and principles inseparable from such a being as

man; there are causes which, in their operation upon him, are in their own

nature generative of pleasure, and some of a pleasure more excellent than

others. Every action has a result which may be said to be peculiarly its

own, and which will always follow upon it, unless so far as it may happen

to be superseded by the operation of other and extrinsical causes.



The tendency of positive institution is of two sorts, to furnish an additional

motive to the practice of virtue or right; and to inform the understanding,

as to what actions are right and what actions are wrong. Much cannot be said

in commendation of either of these tendencies.



First, positive institution may furnish an additional motive to the practice

of virtue. I have an opportunity of essentially contributing to the advantage

of twenty individuals; they will be benefited, and no other persons will

sustain a material injury. I ought to embrace this opportunity. Here let

us suppose positive institution to interfere, and to annex some great personal

reward to the discharge of my duty. This immediately changes the nature of

the action. Before, I preferred it for its intrinsic excellence. Now, so

far as the positive institution operates, I prefer it because some person

has arbitrarily annexed to it a great weight of self-interest. But virtue,

considered as the quality of an intelligent being, depends upon the disposition

with which the action is accompanied. Under a positive institution then,

this very action, which is intrinsically virtuous, may, so far as relates

to the agent, become vicious. The vicious man would before have neglected

the advantage of these twenty individuals, because he would not bring a certain

inconvenience or trouble upon himself. The same man, with the same disposition,

will now promote their advantage, because his own welfare is concerned in

it. Twenty, other things equal, is twenty times better than one. He that

is not governed by the moral arithmetic of the case, or who acts from a disposition

directly at war with that arithmetic, is unjust.(1*) In other words, moral

improvement will be forwarded, in proportion as we are exposed to no other

influence, than that of the tendency which belongs to an action by the necessary

and unalterable laws of existence. This is probably the meaning of the otherwise

vague and obscure principle, "that we should do good, regardless of

the consequences", and by that other, "that we may not do evil,

from the prospect of good to result from it". The case would have been

tendered still more glaring, if, instead of the welfare of twenty, we had

supposed the welfare of millions to have been concerned. In reality, whether

the disparity be great or small, the inference must be the same.



Secondly, positive institution may inform the understanding, as to what

actions are right, and what actions are wrong. Here it may be of advantage

to us to reflect upon the terms understanding and information. Understanding,

particularly as it is concerned with moral subjects, is the percipient of

truth. This is its proper sphere. Information, so far as it is genuine, is

a portion detached from the great body of truth. You inform me "that

Euclid asserts the three angles of a plane triangle to be equal to two right

angles". Still I am unacquainted with the truth of this proposition.

"But Euclid has, demonstrated it. His demonstration has existed for

two thousand years, and, during that term, has proved satisfactory to every

man by whom it has been understood." I am nevertheless uninformed. The

knowledge of truth lies in the perceived agreement or disagreement of the

terms of a proposition. So long as I am unacquainted with the middle term

by means of which they may be compared, so long as they are incommensurate

to my understanding, you may have furnished me with a principle from which

I may reason truly to further consequences; but, as to the principle itself,

I may strictly be said to know nothing.



Every proposition has an intrinsic evidence of its own. Every consequence

has premises from which it flows; and upon them, and not upon anything else,

its validity depends. If you could work a miracle to prove "that the

three angles of a triangle were equal to two right angles", I should

still know that the proposition had been either true or false previously

to the exhibition of the miracle; and that there was no necessary connection

between any one of its terms and the miracle exhibited. The miracle would

take off my attention from the true question to a question altogether different,

that of authority. By the authority adduced I might be prevailed on to yield

an irregular assent to the proposition; but I could not properly be said

to perceive its truth.



But this is not all. If it were, it might perhaps be regarded as a refinement

foreign to the concerns of human life. Positive institutions do not content

themselves with requiring my assent to certain propositions, in consideration

of the testimony by which they are enforced. This would amount to no more

than advice flowing from a respectable quarter, which, after all, I might

reject if it did not accord with the mature judgment of my own understanding.

But in the very nature of these institutions there is included a sanction,

a motive either of punishment or reward, to induce me to obedience.



It is commonly said "that positive institutions ought to leave me

free in matters of conscience, but may properly interfere with my conduct

in civil concerns." But this distinction seems to have been very lightly

taken up. What sort of moralist must he be, whose conscience is silent as

to what passes in his intercourse with other men? Such a distinction proceeds

upon the supposition "that it is of great consequence whether I bow

to the east or the west; whether I call the object of my worship Jehovah

or Allah; whether I pay a priest in a surplice or a black coat. These are

points in which an honest man ought to be rigid and inflexible. But as to

those other, whether he shall be a tyrant, a slave or a free citizen; whether

he shall bind himself with multiplied oaths impossible to be performed, or

be a rigid observer of truth; whether he shall swear allegiance to a king

de jure, or a king de facto, to the best or the worst of all possible governments:

respecting these points he may safely commit his conscience to the keeping

of the civil magistrate." In reality, by as many instances as I act

contrary to the unbiased dictate of my own judgment, by so much I abdicate

the most valuable part of the character of man.



I am satisfied at present that a certain conduct, suppose it be a rigid

attention to the confidence of private conversation, is incumbent on me.

You tell me "there are certain cases of such peculiar emergency as to

supersede this rule." Perhaps I think there are not. If I admit your

proposition, a wide field of inquiry is opened respecting what cases do or

do not deserve to be considered as exceptions. It is little likely that we

should agree respecting all these cases. How then does the law treat me for

my conscientious discharge of what I conceive to be my duty? Because I will

not turn informer (which, it may be, I think an infamous character) against

my most valued friend, the law accuses me of misprision of treason, felony

or murder, and perhaps hangs me. I believe a certain individual to be a confirmed

villain and a most dangerous member of society, and feel it to be my duty

to warn others, perhaps the public, against the effect of his vises. Because

I publish what I know to be true, the law convicts me of libel, scandalum

magnatum, and crimes of I know not what complicated denomination.



If the evil stopped here, it would be well. If I only suffered a certain

calamity, suppose death, I could endure it. Death has hitherto been the common

lot of men, and I expect, at some time or other, to submit to it. Human society

must, sooner or later, be deprived of its individual members, whether they

be valuable, or whether they be inconsiderable. But the punishment acts,

not only retrospectively upon me, but prospectively upon my contemporaries

and countrymen. My neighbor entertains the same opinion respecting the conduct

he ought to hold, as I did. The executioner of public justice however interposes

with a powerful argument, to convince him that he has mistaken the path of

abstract rectitude.



What sort of converts will be produced by this unfeeling logic? "'I

have deeply reflected," suppose, "upon the nature of virtue, and

am convinced that a certain proceeding is incumbent on me. But the hangman,

supported by an act of parliament, assures me I am mistaken." If I yield

my opinion to his dictum, my action becomes modified, and my character also.

An influence like this is inconsistent with all generous magnanimity of spirit,

all ardent impartiality in the discovery of truth, and all inflexible perseverance

in its assertion. Countries, exposed to the perpetual interference of decrees,

instead of arguments, exhibit within their boundaries the mere phantoms of

men. We can never judge from an observation of their inhabitants what men

would be if they knew of no appeal from the tribunal of conscience, and if,

whatever they thought, they dared to speak, and dared to act.



At present there will perhaps occur to the majority of readers, but few

instances of laws which may be supposed to interfere with the conscientious

discharge of duty. A considerable number will occur in the course of the

present inquiry. More would readily offer themselves to a patient research.

Men are so successfully reduced to a common standard by the operation of

positive law, that, in most countries, they are capable of little more than,

like parrots, repeating what others have said. This uniformity is capable

of being produced in two ways, by energy of mind and indefatigableness of

inquiry, enabling a considerable number to penetrate with equal success into

the recesses of truth; and by pusillanimity of temper, and a frigid indifference

to right and wrong, produced by the penalties which are suspended over such

as shall disinterestedly inquire, and communicate and act upon the result

of their inquiries. It is easy to perceive which of these is the cause of

the uniformity that prevails in the present instance.



One thing more in enforcement of this important consideration. "I

have done something," suppose, "which, though wrong in itself,

I believe to be right; or I have done something which I usually admit to

be wrong; but my conviction upon the subject is not so clear and forcible

as to prevent my yielding to a powerful temptation." There can be no

doubt that the proper way of conveying to my understanding a truth of which

I am ignorant, or of impressing upon me a firmer persuasion of a truth with

which I am acquainted, is by an appeal to my reason. Even an angry expostulation

with me upon my conduct will but excite similar passions in me, and cloud,

instead of illuminate, my understanding. There is certainly a way of expressing

truth with such benevolence as to command attention, and such evidence as

to enforce conviction in all cases whatever.



Punishment inevitably excites in the sufferer, and ought to excite, a

sense of injustice. Let its purpose be, to convince me of the truth of a

position which I at present believe to be false. It is not, abstractedly

considered, of the nature of an argument, and therefore it cannot begin with

producing conviction. Punishment is a comparatively specious name; but is

in reality nothing more than force put upon one being by another who happens

to be stronger. But strength apparently does not constitute justice. The

case of punishment, in the view in which we now consider it, is the case

of you and me differing in opinion, and your telling me that you must be

right, since you have a more brawny arm, or have applied your mind more to

the acquiring skill in your weapons than I have.



But let us suppose "that I am convinced of my error, but that my

conviction is superficial and fluctuating, and the object you propose is

to render it durable and profound." Ought it to be thus durable and

profound? There are no doubt arguments and reasons calculated to render it

so. Is the subject in reality problematical, and do you wish by the weight

of your blows to make up for the deficiency of your logic? This can never

be defended. An appeal to force must appear to both parties, in proportion

to the soundness of their understanding, to be a confession of imbecility.

He that has recourse to it would have no occasion for this expedient if he

were sufficiently acquainted with the powers of that truth it is his office

to communicate. If there be any man who, in suffering punishment, is not

conscious of injury, he must have had his mind previously debased by slavery,

and his sense of moral right and wrong blunted by a series of oppressions.



If there be any truth more unquestionable than the rest, it is that every

man is bound to the exertion of his faculties in the discovery of right,

and to the carrying into effect all the right with which he is acquainted.

It may be granted that an infallible standard, if it could be discovered,

would be considerably beneficial. But this infallible standard itself would

be of little use in human affairs, unless it had the property of reasoning

as well as deciding, of enlightening the mind as well as constraining the

body. If a man be in some cases obliged to prefer his own judgment, he is

in all cases obliged to consult that judgment, before he can determine whether

the matter in question be of the sort provided for or no. So that from this

reasoning it ultimately appears that the conviction of a man's individual

understanding is the only legitimate principle imposing on him the duty of

adopting any species of conduct.



Such are the genuine principles of human society. Such would be the unconstrained

condition of its members in a state where every individual within the society

and every neighbor without was capable of listening with sobriety to the

dictates of reason. We shall not fail to be impressed with considerable regret

if, when we descend to the present mixed characters of mankind, we find ourselves

obliged in any degree to depart from so simple and grand a principle. The

universal exercise of private judgment is a doctrine so unspeakably beautiful

that the true politician will certainly feel infinite reluctance in admitting

the idea of interfering with it. A principal object in the subsequent stages

of inquiry will be to discuss the emergency of the cases that may be thought

to demand this interference.



NOTES:



1. Book IV, Chapter X.


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