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THE PRACTICAL IDEALIST.
I.—Worship—(converse
with the supreme.)
1. The Idealist gives his worship and contemplation to the Eternal-Essence,
—to the beautiful Power and Law that underlies all phenomena, of which these
are but the sensuous appearances, or garment.
2. On strictly scientific grounds he has the full assurance that neither Evil
nor Chance, but Good is the mainspring of Nature. He is intensely conscious
of the omnipotent omnipresence of the Universal Spirit, and of his own parti
cipation in the vast Unity of Spiritual Life, but he does not dogmatise con
cerning the personality of the Deity.—“ We distinguish the announcements of
the soul, its manifestations of its own nature by the term Revelation. These
are always attended by the emotion of the sublime. For this communication
is an influx of the Divine Mind into our mind. It is an ebb of the individual
rivulet before the flowing surges of the sea of life. Every distinct apprehen
sion of this central commandment agitates men with awe and delight. A
thrill passes through all men at the reception of new truth, or at the perform
ance of a great action which comes out of the heart of nature.— Ths Over
Soul.
Trust your emotion. Tn your metaphysics you have denied personality
to the Deity; yet when the devout motions of the soul come, yield to them heart
and life, though they should clothe God with shape and colour.—Self-reliance.
3. For the Idealist there can be nothing Supernatural in Creed and History
He is as a mountain climber who has the clouds beneath him, and is face to
face with God’s blue of Heaven. Nature and the natural to him are more
miraculous than the most monstrous prodigy, and infinitely more beautiful.
�$3
The Idealist's Code of Tatilt.
•4. The Idealist worships in the Divine Being the Ideal of Truth, Beauty,
arid' Good, and the recognition of His attributes is the central force, and fount
fof power in moral dynamics. Prayer for worldly and material good or success,
;appears to him an arrogant assumption that God will not order things for the
'best, and a selfish intrusion of our own interests that must most frequently be
■at the expense of those of our fellow creatures. But Spiritual prayer, com
prehended in contemplation, and passionate aspiration yearning for communion
■with the Highest, is the natural function of the soul.
II.—Duties.—(Intercourse
with our neighbour.)
The idea of Justice proclaiming that every individual in his pursuit of
enjoyments, and in the development of his life, shall not interfere with the free
exercise of all their faculties by his fellows, inculcates as the duties of all
men,—
1. That they regard all forms of religious and other opinions, that do not
themselves violate the law, in the purest spirit of toleration, and strenuously
resist the monopoly of state protection and other privileges by any one body of
sectarians.
2. That the fullest liberty be acceded to women to exercise their faculties
in any occupation to which those faculties may impel them.
3. That they ever recognise the indefeasible right of all men to the use of
the earth’s surface, and to the opportunity of labouring, and earnestly promote
the achieving of such social organization as shall secure to all men the oppor
tunity of attaining to the most perfect development possible to them.
That
•they pilot their charitable enterprises with discriminating wisdom, and realise
the fact that unthinking well-mindedness is immoral.
4. That they promote the spread of knowledge, and the establishment of a
new system of education that shall render it possible to form the characters of
■children, to more radically influence their lives, and give effect to the special
¿aptitudes with which nature may have endowed them.
The Law of Charity, or Universal Love commands:—
1. That every man have a lively anxiety for the happiness and well-being
•of his fellow men, and abstain from any self-gratification that is injurious to
the general community, or that inflicts pain on another normally constituted
mind.
2. That he vehemently persuade them of the folly of appealing to the
arbitration of the sword; and advocate the establishment of a wise inter
national organisation and code for the settlement of differences.
3. To advocate the principle of friendly association as opposed to selfinterested, aud dis-united isolation, for purposes of social economy, social re
finement, and social happiness.
�jpRNiNA
Pardon.
A PATCHED SOCIETY.
{DigestContinued!)
IO.—Competition.—It would be erroneous to infer that it is proposed to
dispense with the wholesome stimulus of normal and legitimate competition as
•an element of Society. In all that concerns the commerce, or wholesale dealing
■of the country, in contra-distinction to retail distribution, the laws of supply
and demand would continue their unimpeded action. If any are disposed to
attribute inconsistency to such a distinction, they are reminded that whilst
commerce is directly creative of wealth, the unproductive competings of the
retailers are little better than a lawless wrangling for wealth already created,
attended with the consequent waste and destruction to be anticipated from such
chaotic and non-industria] busyness.
The system of allied industries, then, is not Socialism, that would eliminate
competition from human affairs,—that contemplating an ideal conception of
man overlooks his proneness to sloth and to physical and mental inaction; it
would, on the contrary, attempt, for the first time, to free competitive human
works and endeavours, from the clogs and drawbacks that choke its action. It
is precisely because competition is so useful an agency for production that we
would not waste its energies on barren objects.
11-—Associated Industry.—To facilitate the guarantee of employment which
Society is morally bound to provide for all its members, by means of the wisest
regulations tending to this end, the Committees of Public Welfare in order,
afford further security from the variations of the demand in the labour market,
will encourage the establishment of firms of co-operative industry. There
should be at least one estate divided into allotments, and farmed on the best
principles by small tenants, the necessary machinery being supplied by a union
of their capitals ; and the cultivation of a second by labourers who will share
�Ernina Landon.
in the produce in proportion to their contributions of labour and capital, will
be superintended by the Committee, h manufactory, also, of the description
best calculated to succeed under the economical conditions of the locality, will
be established on the same principles.
12. —Administration of Justice, and Arbitration of differences.—The com
munity will obtain, when possible, the nomination of the members of the
Committee as Justices of the Peace, and they, from their knowledge of the
antecedents and character of all the members, be enabled to'treat some of the
‘criminals that may be brought before them in a way that will be calculated to
remove the defects in character, instead of hardening them in offences by de- grading punishments.
Every member of the community will agree to refer any disputes in which
he may become involved, and that at present, are the subjects of actions-atlaw, to the friendly arbitration of one of the members of the Committee ; and
failing a settlement by this means, to submit them to the decision of the Com
mittee as a final court of arbitration.
13. —Education.—How futile are the existing educational systems in influ
encing and forming the characters of the young, the results best show, and it
seems incredibly ludicrous that the mere imparting of the rudiments of know
ledge should be denominated education. In the new organisation, all the
children of the district will pass -the whole of their time in the school-house
and its adjacent gardens and grounds ; which it will be the first effort of the
reformed community to provide on as magnificent a scale as possible. The
masters will be in the proportion of one, to from ten to fifteen children, and
will be fitted by special training on a new system, as well as by natural superi
ority, carefully tested, for the important work of training the young in all
senses. They will, each one attach to himself a manageable number of the
children of poorer parents, to whom they will act stand as parents and educational
guardians, making their characters their constant study and care. The children
instead of wandering wildly in a semi-savage state, as at present, when school
hours are over, will be pleasantly employed in alternately studying and working
in the gardens, or in other light labours with occasional organised recreation,
so that each one, according to the future before him, be instructed to play his
.part in life with intelligence. The industrial-school principle will also be com
bined with the instruction of the girls, who will be similarly provided with
teachers, and the market-garden, laundry, &c., properly superintended, will
render the school partially self-supporting.
14. —The Social Mansion.—The leisure hours of the inhabitants will be
spent in this, the central building, and heart of the town. It will contain besides
reading, conversation, and lecture-rooms—club-rooms, provided with the
different means of amusement, and a concert-room furnished with musical
instruments, and will be situated in an ornamental garden, with pleasure
grounds as extensive as possible. Attached to the Mansion and resident in it,
will be the Lecturer and Public Teacher ; the duty of whose important office
will be to provide for the delight and instruction of the community, by lectures,
�The Practical Idealist.
83
But more especially by directing the tastes and talents of the different members,
and turning them to the advantage and profit of all, and by promoting spon
taneous social assemblies, in which refinement may spread its garlands over all
classes.
We have seen that the town of three thousand inhabitants will effect an
economy of many thousand pounds by adopting the associative principle; this
sum representing the profit obtained by the joint-stock transactions of the
community will be thus- acquired, and school-masters and gardeners will be a
profitable exchange for superfluous and useless shopkeepers.
15. —The Selection of Capacities—The learned professions still be paid by
fixed stipends in the new communities, instead of by a system of fees that
tend to encourage deception, and that make the interest of lawyers and medical
men to consist in the increase of dishonesty and bad faith, and diseases in the
community. It will be at once objected by some, as it has been, that such' a
plan would but universalise the notorious inefficiency of parish doctors. But
it surely must be apparent enough that the young surgeon who accepts the
meagre official pay of the parish doctor, does so only whilst striving to gain
practice of a more remunerative kind, and sharing in the universal game of
money-making, and following, the laws of its code, metes out attention to the
paupers proportionate to the pay, eager to throw up the ungrateful office as soon
as he can afford to. It may be presumed, also, that professional zeal of this
mercenary sort is scarcely of the kind likeliest to advance the interests of
science. On the other hand, when the election of medical men is guided by
the best judgment of the Members of the Committee of Public Welfare, —
subject to the rate of the majority of the community,—who will have also the
power of dismissing those guilty of neglect, a more wholesome stimulus to
conscientious diligence and zeal is provided. It will follow, as a consequence
of this arrangement, that of all social abuses the most prolific in chaotic and
deathful consequences will be extinguished—the placing brainless incapacity
in a profession which is chosen because of a patron’s living, or. a father’s practice.
In the community no mere dictum of parental partiality shall suffice to afflict
society with a misplaced incapable, but the verdict of greatest aptitude from
Teachers and from the Committee of Public Welfare, shall decide on the proper
sphere for a young man.
16. —The New Order af Nobility.—In the commencement of a new society
which involves a higher moral condition of mankind, and turns man’s aspira?tions to the higher still, the noblest will set the example of preferring the
public good and the happiness of all, to selfish considerations, and of substi
tuting for private splendour public magnificence that will help to. lead man
kind along the road of progress.
These noblest,, therefore, will take
upon them a vow of renunciation, binding themselves to satisfy their pri
vate wants with a limited and fixed income, and to devote the surplus of their
incomes and earnings to the promotion of public welfare,-—this with the object
of assuaging the insane rage for wealth and appearances that is driving society
into a whirlwind of well merited disaster; a volcanic upheaval of the downcrushed, under miseries that will no longer be borne.
�87
Emina Landon.
This new and noble Aristocracy will be of three ranks, accord
ing to the surplus of wealth devoted to the service of the community,.
They will receive all the honours that are at present undeservedly paid
to rank, and in order that they may not suffer the loss of the greatest boon
that wealth confers, the community will defray the cost of educating their
children in the best universities. Were this purchasing of honour to become a
fashion even, it would not impair the wholesome desire for wealth that has so
strong an influence in creating it; for the riches that were renounced as far as
private employment of them goes, would be at their disposal for public
purposes, and so be still desirable as conferring power. If it is pretended that
in this nineteenth century the honours and rank of this new nobility would be
had in derision and contempt by an irreverent age, it is replied that if this is so,—
to be contemptible to a people that reverence lying shams, and the ignoble only
is the only true honour, and there is tenfold more need for a fresh fashion of
nobility.
17.—Lastly—because it appears a ludicrous, but melancholy and altogether
intolerable violation of the divine law, that men who chance to be possessed
of wealth should be freed from all compulsory social duties and responsibilities,
producing as we see, a state of things in which such wealth becomes unwhole
some heaps of decomposition, prolific of turf parasites, black-legs, Anonymas,
men in women’s clothes, and similar maggot-births, the Committee of Public
Welfare will assign duties to all such unemployed persons suitable to their
respective capacities.
General Objections Answered.—The sceptic will pertinently enough observe
of this Scheme of a New Society,—‘ it is all very admirable, and would doubtless
work charmingly, if in our community the rather large proportion of Socrates
and infallible wise men were forthcoming for our Committee of Public Welfare,
not to say our regiment of school-masters. As it is the world is suffering pre
cisely from the want of more of these wise men.’ We reply, that the world can
well furnish the brain-power that is requisite for a few experimental communi
ties, and when the fundamental principles have been once laid down and tested, it
will require no supreme amount of initiatory and creative wisdom. The growth
in morality and unselfishness is the grand desideratum, and chief of all the
difference between the two Societies, is the difference between one in which
starving labourers and competing speculators and tradesmen are compelled into
crime, knavery, and bestial low-mindedness by the resistless influence of circum
stances, and one which sets man free for the first time to assert himself human
and heaven’s noblest work.
The first objection that is offered by practical persons, is of this sort,—‘But
you who pretend to be effecting so much good for all men are proposing to
wantonly deprive of their means of livelihood the immense body of tradesmen
who form the great majority of the middle classes,—whilst you yourself admitted
but now, that in wealthy countries the essential point of economical policy is
to distribute the wealth so as to produce comfortable and well-to-do classes,
and it seems that retail trading, if it does nothing more, provides a large body
of persons with the comforts of life, and moreover fills up, as with social
�The Practical Idealist.
99
Buffers, the gap between the otherwise too distinct classes of brain-workers and»
gentry, and the manual labourers.
It is an unfortunate fact, that arguments as exasperatingly irrational as this,
—the desirability of providing for tradesmen even employment that is utterly
useless to the community—are only too abundantly employed by persons who
pride themselves on their common sense. Although it may be that the supply
of mere material wealth that has been accumulated in some old countries, is
almost adequate for the wants of all, can it be necessary to remind anyone that
the essential wealth of all countries is the capacity for work and the labour of
all their inhabitants,—'that the gross sum of this cannot by any ever so multi
plied powers of production be too great,—that this wealth expends itself in com
passing comfortable, happy, intellectual and noble lives for all human beings,
and that to squander any of this work-power is to wantonly cast into the mire
God’s purest gold, to mar His design, and to thwart His purposes.. As for the
services of the tradesman class by way of padding to fill out the gaunt form of
society into a false show of comeliness, and to cover up the hollows of degra
dation and ignorance—the sooner we can tear away this stuffing and reveal the
naked truth, we quicker may hope that the condition of the labouring classes
will have serious consideration. To return to the practical point of the question,
however, it is true that were the new system adopted suddenly in all parts of
the country simultaneously, some confusion and distress would result. But it
is only too certain that the process of transition will be a long and gradual one,
and in the first of the new communities the displaced tradesmen will be pro
vided with such other employment as they will willingly accept, or be compen
sated for any loss sustained. It is equally apparent that in the course of a
gradual transition the condemned class would spontaneously disappoar, and
who will question the fact that a community organised on the proposed system
Could provide useful and productive employment for as many persons in the'Same rank of life as it had discarded, if not the same individuals.
Our opponent would probably continue;—£ supposing your plan of appoint
ing medical men by the Committee already adopted in such a town as you have
been speaking of, do you pretend to hope that we should not see the sons and
relatives of the members of the said Committee filling the posts you are so
anxious to she wisely filled, just as the patronage system in the church gives
us younger sons for our divinely anointed rectors. In any imperfect condition,
of mankind let not a few fallible persons be so heavily laden with responsi
bilities, and depend on it, it is best for everyman to choose his surgeon, and-hisschoolmaster, &c., and be taught wisdom by the consequences, if his choicehappens to be an unwise one.’ It must be replied that this last seems at first
sight very wholesome in theory, but experience shows that a number of persons
are not capable of judging of the merits of a professional adviser, as is abun
dantly proved by the number of successful charlatans; yet, on the other hand,
their faculty of judging will be fostered by their power of expressing discontent
with any such public person, and by nominating the person who shall make the
selection for them. Respecting what might have been the result had the system
been already adopted, we reply that the novel plan is only proposed as a portion of
�1
89
Emina Landon.
an integral system, which by its provisions, requires the improved moral corr*
dition of the whole community, or itself effects it.
Ever foremost in the remembrance of all earnest reformers, should be the
consideration that no perfectest machinery for the distributing and feeding of
men can be of permanent value, if it permit them to remain for the most part
what we see them, a race of ignoble beings. It has been no part of the present
endeavour to create a complicated pattern of theoretical modes of life by
which all the details of human existence and effort are to be regulated. The
genius of any community and of every race will shape their surroundings accord
ing to the degree of nobleness that animates their collective aspirations. The
fundamental principles of Association, therefore, upon which the new institutions
are to be based have been alone indicated. But on the other hand, if the
individualities of the members of the community are all in all, how imperative
is it for this very reason to modify the force of circumstances that irresistably
re-act upon human nature, and give the ineffaceable impress of their good or
evil influence. The characters and lives of men are the produet of the twofactors, natural constitution and circumstance, of which the latter is the greater
and more important. Nine out of ten men if influenced by the best circum
stances-—education, and opportunities for the exercise of their faculties, will
become more or less noble members of society, and the bad propensities of the
other small portion can be pretty well neutralised by such influences, but it
should be needless to repeat that the education alluded to here is no confection
or compound of the three B’s by a National or any other existing school
master.
O many and earnest-hearted brothers, see ye not that these some thousand years
past the wonderful magic of the eternal mind that flows through a hundred
ages, has woven mysterious harmonies into thoughts and sounds of surpassing
delight,—Shakespeares, Angelos, and Mozarts,—helping to make man well
nigh divine; and now, too, that our eyes are opening to the mysteries of the
spheres, and we are glad in the strength of growing science, shall we con
tinue beasts in feeling only, and watch complacently how the sorely afflic ed
labourers who are bound for us, go vilely still on their bellies by reason of
their burdens ? Surely we may open their ears with some scanty visitations of
sweet sounds, and unfold their brains in some sort of life not wholly brutish.
Certainly we may fling off the hot blush that proclaims us conscious oppressors
and monopolisers of the sunshine. Truly we can live honest, and they shall
live men.
Such meaning as this Ernina hastily, greedily tore from the closely printed
volume, and when the early morning light peered into the room, it found its
white robed tenant still pacing up and down with happy unquenchable resolve
in deep, eloquent eyes. “Thank heaven, I am rich, thank heaven for that;”
were the words with which she turned at length to rest.
To be continued.
�Jarge Uhrhe,
m
if c
VERSUS
Cease we then, Loved Ones ;
Cease this hard strainful stress,—
Seeking that mirage—Truth,
Yearning for good unknown,
Seeking to ripen
With our hot painful sighs
Fruitage of world-schemes,
Ere the time destined,—
Seeking to force men’s souls—
Still all beneath the clod—
Swift into golden bloom,
Into large-mindedness,
Open-eyed lovingness,
Into the better life,—
Quenching the acridness
Of their green juices,
Quenching their hatreds,
Their selfish injustice
In love universal
From the unequal war
Cease we and rest we;
And of a larger love
Larglier quaff we.
Then lap me, ye Loved Ones
Enwrapped by your beauties,
Drunk with your beaming eyes,
Awed by your loveliness,
Soothed by your tenderness
My Ideal Maidens.
*
�The Practical Idealist
’Tis not one soul alone
Pouring responses
Back to my thirsting heart,
Prinks from mine perfect love
Knows all love’s fulness.
Maude, my grave Empress love,
Great browed and large eyed,
Thou giv’st me thought for thought
Erom thy imperial soul
Seeking all knowledge.
Swells thy round swelling breast
Echoing lovely
Impulses noble.
Perfect thy perfect form
As large Minerva’s.
Clara, small shrinking fawn
Tenderly clinging
With thy deep hazel eyes
To my down bending face
Feeding upon thee,
Knowledge thou car’st not for,.
Nor Science lov’st greatly
Save for the beautiful
Chance twineth around them.
Thy purest, flawless soul,
Delicate poised
Taste’s pure embodiment
Serves me for magnet,
Testing all things by thee
Testing all thought by thee
For fleck in their beauties.
Helen, sweet Crown of Love
Thou are just beautiful,
Womanly wholly r—
’Tis the soft perfectness
Of thy pure womanhood
Bows my heart down to thee
In willingness unwilled
With the light melody
Of thy bright girlishness
Each resting pause of thought
Fillest thou gracefully
Piecing our four lives
Into a vision bright
Into bright oneness.
�Large Love.
92
So of full largest love
Largliest quaff we,
Four souls inpouring
Brightness convergent
All their quadruple love
All their quadruple life
All their quadruple thought
Into-one Eden..
Turn me mayhap thenBack to the fight again
Teaching with- open eyes
Preaching such largest love
Unto all mortals;—
Quelling the beast in man,
Quelling base self in man
Teaching to quail before
Love’s fearful glances
Unto the higher life
Leading man onwards.
ON PRAYER.
Men take their texts from Bibles, but wheresoever truth is spoken we have a
Bible to hand. Inspiration is in Truth. God himself cannot speak more
than that. To think otherwise is not religion but superstition ; to think that
inspiration is locked up within the covers of one book, and is not the eternal
characteristic of veracity; that it was exhausted some eighteen hundred odd
years ago, and not reserved in an inexhaustible fund to be spent upon the
world, carrying its own sanctity, and founting always
Within the arteries of a man,
that truth can be anything else but inspired, or inspiration anything but truth
is a fetishism only different in quality, not in substance, to that of the idolator
and the savage.
Let us take a text from Emerson; if he does not speak the truth, he speaks
honesty, which is the next thing to it, but that he does speak the truth (and
consequently is equally inspired for us with any Scriptures whatsoever,) I need
not say is the writer’s religion.
�93
The Practical Idealist.
The preamble to the passage runs thus :—
_ “ It is easy to see that a greater self-reliance,—a new respect for thedivinity in man,—must work a revolution in all the offices and relations of
men ; in their religion; in their education; in their pursuits ; their modes of
living; their associations ; in their property; in their speculative views.
In what prayers do men allow themselves ? That which they call a holy»
office is not so much as brave and manly. Prayer looks abroad, and asks for
some foreign addition to come through some foreign virtue, and loses itself in
endless mazes of natural and supernatural, and mediatorial and miraculous.
Prayer that craves a particular commodity—anything less than all good, is
vicious.
Prayer is the contemplation of the facts of life from the highest*
point of view. It is the soliloquy of a beholding and jubilant soul. It is
the Spirit of God pronouncing His works good. But prayer as a means to
effect a private end, is theft and meanness. It supposes dualism and not
unity iD nature and consciousness. As soon as the man is at one with God, he
will not be. He will then see prayer in all action. The prayer of the farmer*
kneeling in his field to weed it, the prayer of the rower kneeling with the stroke
of his oar, are true prayers heard throughout all nature, though for cheap
ends.”
This extract is from the noble essay on “Self-Reliance,” against passages
of which I was impelled to write,—Read me these pages on my death bed.
By a melancholy mistake, truly, is common prayer called holy. Instead of
cultivating manliness, self-help, and fortitude, it feebly whines for subsidy and
indulgence. It forgets the proverb, men in their wiser (if secular) momenta
have invented,—“ God helps those who help themselves.” It is lazy and
luxurious, and essentially immoral. I have for years shrunk from praying for
temporal blessings; I have instinctively and intimately felt that it is so selfish,
or as Emerson says, “mean;” and further that it is, in truth, a piece of
profanity, for it indirectly imputes to God that He will not order things for the
best; it impugns His dispensation.
I have felt that I hardly dared to petition
in this selfish way; that it was a piece of presumption and temerity; that I
was not justified; that I had no standing-point. I, a microscopic creature on
a speck of the Rolling Universe, to lift up my voice to the King without a
a Name to ask him to interfere in my puny affairs for my personal,—nay, my
pecuniary benefit ! Not that anything is too small to be out of God’s Provi
dence; the atom is the focus of stupendous laws; the object of the solar
system ; abstractly, great and little are alike with God; but relatively,—that
God should arrest or modify the progress of the whole to gratify the ephemeral
appetite of an atom is a melancholy superstition, as illogical as it is selfish.
The welfare of the atom, we must learn, is bound up with that of the whole;
we must abandon ourselves to the laws, not pitiably beg that the laws may be
altered.
The theory of materialistic prayer must be either that God will interfere speci
ally to accommodate our lilliputian petitions,—the selfish fancies of a shallow
moment,—morally certain to clash with the true demands of things,—or that
he is pleased with a little lip-service.
�On Prayer.
94
The latter need only be mentioned not to be noticed; the former is almost
■a§ unworthy.
; Is it not seen that prayer is a superfluity as well as an impertinence ; that
God will order all things for the best. It is our duty to accept, and not to
ask; our attitude should be receptivity; it pleases God best that we help ourselves,
—and not ask Him to help us ; He leaves us to answer our own prayers ; forti
tude aud work are what He admires—not petitions; to do and bear, that is
■our duty; not to presume to-ask, which is, indirectly to dictate. God Almighty,
indeed, must look upon such unmanly practices as utterly contemptible, and
one would have thought men would have learnt their futility, if not their
ignobleness, from the systematic way in which they have been disregarded.
The world goes singing the same tune,
And whirls her living and her dead.
God does not put us here to ask Him to help us, but to learn His laws; to
be healthy and clever; and the veteran Premier’s remark to the scandalized
Scotch corporation,—that sanitary measures, and not prayers, were the remedy,
exhausted the truth.
’
To help ourselves appears to be our raison d’etre,—what have we to do with
grayer ?
In the expression—“ Prayer -is the contemplation of the facts of life from
the highest point of view ”—I imagine Emerson meant praise rather than
prayer,—laudatory prayer, not solicitous. Prayer, he says, (in his splendid
eloquence) “is the soliloquy of a beholding and jubilant” soul; the spirit of
God pronouncing his works good.”
Silent .Praise is this; and it is the spirit of God because in its living appre
hension. it becomes one in identity; as Emerson elsewhere asks—“ Jesus’
virtue, is not that mine ? If it cannot be made mine it is not virtue.”
In the same way as this spirit pronouncing God’s works to be good is a
tacit Te Deum; so laborare est orare,—as Carlyle translates it,—work is
woiship.. The way to praise God is to work; every furrow turned over is an
ode; it is testimony to His genius and obedience to His laws.
Appreciation, too, is the deepest form of praise. When I walk into the
fields and feel helpless with delight, that is the sincerest psalm, and more in
tense than the most throbbing hymn. My son, says the Lord, ever,—give me
thine. Heart; not thy Voice, but thy tumultuous, unfathomable Feeling; the
glowing spirit within you.
To conclude; the beauty, the ineffableness, even, of spiritual prayer is not to
be concealed, though it is singular how the idea of even spiritual prayer seems
to shiink before that of work. After all, it seems somewhat of an indulgence,
or a supeifluity. The man who rises at six o’clock with a hard day’s work
before him, seems to have little to do with prayer; he seems to be independent
of .it, and even of that exquisite relation of docility before God, which the
spiritual pray-er knows in all its sweetness.
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The Practical Idealist
The beauty of spiritual prayer consists in the attitude of humility and con«
versation it establishes before God; and if we will only observe the rule—
Pray,—pouring thanks and asking grace.
I own T can conceive little more lovely. Surely it is a sweet preparation for
the day ; from such prayer we seem to come out as from a sanctuary ; invested
as with a radiant atmosphere ; explaining the parable of Moses of old.
The depth and sweetness of true prayer I have not failed to experience;
and yet, alas, such is the meanness of human nature, I must confess their
greatest intensity was in a moment of disappointment and trouble. And yet
it is an intense delight, and an inexprsssible balm to find after the chills and
vanities of the world that we have in our heart-of-hearts the invisible Almighty
God to fall back upon, ever at the bottom and the centre, the Illimitable
Father, the incorporation of all that is Ideal, the Ideal of ail that is loving and
kind, majestic and pure.
A prayer of the spiritual sort, might not, perhaps, improperly, run as
follows :—
O Lord Father, who hast poured upon me so many blessings, and granted
me so many privileges, 1 thank Thee with inexpressible thanks for Thy mercies,
impossible to enumerate. My words can make Thee no return, let my feelings
praise Thee. Make me great, which is making me good; fortify me against
my last day, and reconcile me beyond,—for Thy Fatherhood’s sake, Amen!
Alex. Teetgen.
�By H. L. M.
I must again trespass on the Editor’s courtesy,—already conspicuously dis
played, by disputing the interpretation put upon the argument of my former
■article, as follows :—
“ When the writer speaks of what Christ might have done had He not been
despised and rejected, it is equivalent to saying that He was mistaken and
disappointed in calculations which it seems the insight of modern thinkers
would have been equal to ; and in this case, where the omniscience of God
head ?”—Idealist, p. 66, 67.
I reply, that this omniscience of God-head was “ equal to ” foresee the
result of Israel’s probation, is shown—1st, by the prophecies which speak of
Messiah’s rejection, and 2ndly, by many words of Christ on Earth, proving
that he was by no means “ dissapointed,” however grieved thereat.
I. I alluded in the previous paper to the pathetic 53rd of Isaiah, as sup
plying a strong additional support to the claims of Jesus to the Messiahship.
Eor this is a wondrously fulfilled inspired prophecy ; and one of such a nature
as neither a vain glorious deluding pretender, nor a fondly dreaming, self
deluded enthusiast, would have been particularly desirous to attempt to get
fulfilled in his own person. Let all readers, however well they know the pas
sage, read it once more, from the 13th verse of the 52nd chapter, to the end
of the 53rd, and note its remarkable correspondence with the facts and doctrine
of Christ’s Passion. Then observe how, after the closing notes of this mournful
strain, inwhich the prophet seems to lament his people’s rejection and ill-treatment
of their Messiah—he changes his key, and in the opening of the 54th chapter
salutes with a joyful welcome the new Gentile Church, called in to supply the
place of the unfaithful nation, and promised more numerous children, and a
wider habitation. Similar in spirit are prophecies in chaps, xlviii and xlix.
�The Practical Idealist.
■97
4
i
i
'
Here the Messiah, the “ Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel,” v. 17, seeifts
himself to speak, and thus break forth, (though uic passage had a more
immediate application,) i'nto a lament over his rejection, not for his own
sake, but the nation’s;—“ 0 that thou had’st hearkened to my command-"
ments 1 then had thy peace been as a river, and thy righteousness as
the waves of the sea: thy seed also had been as the sand,” &c.—-surely the
very voice which long afterwards exclaimed in the same accents, “ If thou
had’st known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong
unto thy peace ! but now they are hid from thine eyes 1 ” &c.—Luke xix, 42.
In the 49th chapter, as if turning away in sorrow from Israel, he thus addresses
the Gentiles :—“ Listen 0 isles, unto me, and hearken ye people, from far ; ’*
then after announcing his birth and mission, he sCems to relate a colloquy be
tween himself and his father. “ he said I have laboured in vain, I have spent
my strength for nought, and in vain; yet surely my judgment is with the Lord,
and my work with my God: ” and' the reply is, “ Though Israel be not
gathered,” &c. “ It is a light thing that thou shouldest be my servant to
raise up the tribes of Jacob;—I will also give thee for a light to the Gentiles,
that thou mayest be my salvation unto the end of the earth.”—Lev. i. 12.
Daniel announces that “ Messiah should be cut off, but not for himself; ”
ix. 25 ; and Zechariah has some remarkable prophecies;—of the thirty pieces
of silver, assigned to the potter in the house of the Lord •; “ a goodly price
that I was priced at of them.” He said—xi, 12-13, “Awake O sword,
against my shepherd and against the man that is my fellow saith the Lord of
hosts.”—xiii, 7 ; and “They shall look upon me whom they have pierced.”—
xii, 10.
These predictions were for several centuries “ unfulfilled inspired prophecies; ”
but now for above 18 have stood forth as fulfilled ones; (the last indeed, as far
as regards the piercing, if not yet the looking,) the more remarkably because
they predict the nation’s own shame and blindness, and the preference of others
in its place; a situation which no nation would be likely to “ aspire ” or
“ sigh after,” or seek to fulfill for itself. It is remarkable that that part of
Handel’s Messiah which depicts the rejection and sufferings of Christ, is taken
exclusively from the Old Testament: indeed the whole work affords a curious
illustration, (by no means an exhaustive one,) of the fulness with which his
storv can be related out of that Testament, and those who recognise the fulfil
ment of some of its testimonies concerning him, find no difficulty in believing
that all will be fulfilled in the end. In the Messianic prophecies, the predic
tions relating to the first and to the second advents, appear contiguously
mingled together, as different chains of mountains sometimes do in a distant
view; but as in journeying nearer and through them, these open and separate,
showing how far they lie one beyond another, and what long stretches of plain
land intervene,—so from our present position between the two advents, we now
behold the long centuries which divide them. That this interval was not clearly
visible in prospect is not surprising when we reflect that before Christ’s coming
it was open to Israel to accept him at his first advent, and then all might have
been fulfilled without a break. Doubtless, he could have found means to accom-
�“Despised and Rejected.”
98
plisli his great sacrifice for the redemption of the world without their wicked
hands; and then having thrown off the guise of humiliation which befitted it,
might for anything we know, have stepped on at once to David’s throne. In
like manner, when the Israelites were in Egypt, God’s promise to bring them
out thence, and to bring them into Canaan was given all in one, and but for
their own fault might have been fulfilled all in one; but through their unbelief
when on the border of the promised land, a long interval was interposed of 40
years.
It may be asked why, if the conduct of the Jews in refusing Christ was so
plainly foreseen by God, as to find place in the prophecies, did He nevertheless
put them to the test? But the same question might be asked concerning every
probation to which God has ever subjected man with a like result; for when
was there any of which He did not see the result ? But it is nevertheless,
morally necessary that such probations should take place. And though those
who fail rightly to endure them suffer loss themselves, they will not in the end
defeat the purposes of God.
II. Nor was Christ’s treatment by the Jews any matter of surprise or dis
appointment to Himself? No, surely no. Not only were the circumstances of
His death and resurrection before Him at the beginning of His public career,
the pulling down and raising up again of the temple of His body, and His
lifting up on the cross, like the serpent in the wilderness, John ii, 19-22, iii, 14,
but His rejection by the leaders of the people with its issue, and many atten
dant circumstances, were the subject of frequent prophecy during the last year
of His life on earth, (Mark, viii, 31-33, ix, 33-34), with reference to the
prophets and the scriptures (Luke, xviii, 31, Matt, xxvi, 54). While confi
dently prophesying His second coming into glory, He interposed the prelimi
nary, that “ first must He suffer many things, and be rejected of this genera
tion,” Luke, xvii, 25. When the whole company of the disciples greeted Him
with acclamations on His entry into Jerusalem, thinking that now’ the Son of
David was surely about to take possession of his kingdom, his own thoughts
rested rather on the more proximate events which would postpone that dav,
Jerusalem’s crime and punishment ; over which he wept, not for his own sake,
but for the city’s; seeing in anticipation the Roman armies compassing it
around, and laying it even with the ground, because it knew not the time of
its visitation. When James and John asked to be foremost in sharing the
honours of the kingdom, he told them of a bitter cup to be drunk first, a cold
baptism to be undergone. And it was not without a Divine eagerness that he
looked forward to this, for the sake of the great issues beyond it. “ I have a
baptism to be baptised with,”—a cold plunge into, and rising again from death,
—and how am I straitened till it be accomplished ? ” As the time drew near
the simple-request of certain Greeks to see Ilim, seems to have brought before
His mind the thought of all nations presently drawing near to worship and
afresh stimulated Him to the endurance of the approaching sacrifice which vas
to redeem them. “ Except a corn of wheat” He said ‘ fall into the ground
and die, it abideth alor.e ; but if it die, it bringvlh forth much fruit. And 1,
if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.” Should He then
�99
The Practical Idealist.
pray to be saved from this coming hour of pain and death ? No ; it was for
this cause He had come to this hour; “ to give His life,” as He said at another
time, “a ransom for many.” John xii, 20-33, Matt, xxi, 28. Jesus stood
alone at this time in these thoughts ; without any sympathy or comprehension
from His disciples. Peter rebuked Him when first He began to speak to them
of His future sufferings and death, and afterwards we are told “they under
stood none of these things.”—Matt, xvi, 22, Luke xviii, 34), having so fixed
their eyes on the more numerous prophecies of the Messiah’s kingdom and
glory as to overlook the occasional ones which spoke of his sufferings and
hnmiliation. Not till after His resurrection did they learn to connect them,
when to the disappointed sigh of Cleopas. “ We trusted that it had been He
who should have redeemed Israel,” Jesus himself replied “ 0 fools, and slow of
heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken ! Ought not Christ to have
suffered these things,” (according to these prophets) “ and to enter into His
glory ?” Then first to these two pedestrians, and afterwards to the assembled
apostles, Me expounded in all the scriptures, the law of Moses, and the Psalms,
as well as the Prophets, the things concerning Himself—Luke, xxiv, 25-27,
44-47. A wondrous exposition that must have been ! would that it had been
preserved for us! But the Christian student is at no great loss, in the face of
the great facts and doctrines of the Gospel, to trace the many anticipations in
earlier scripture which foreshadowed and led up to them—far more numerous,
taking the whole body of it into account, than could be touched on here. AU
the scriptures looking forward to Christ, catch on their faces the coming dawn,
as those written after His appearance throw back the full light.
As to the effects of the invention of printing, the greatest work which that
did was to liberate the Bible, which had been hidden in convents, shut up in
dead languages and costly illuminated manuscripts, and send it abroad to pro
duce by its influence the reformation of religion, and the regeneration of society.
During the dark centuries of its seclusion, the name of Christ may have been
indeed over rated, but his spirit and doctrine were behind a cloud, overlaid and
encrusted with mediaeval superstition. But how pregnant is true Christianity
with right law-making principles, if not definite laws, for social government, is
manifest in the improvement of legislation, as well as spiritual life, wherever it
has free scope to operate. And how living are those waters which, the seal
being removed from the fountain, could gush forth again so fresh, revivifying
the face of aU lands through which they flow !
H. L. M.
Any mind not irrevocably given up to foregone conclusions in studying the Book of
Isaiah must surely peroeive that only a vague and brief passage here and there, in the midst
of ten chapters of wholly inapplicable matter, oan be strained into any sort of reference
to Jesus. Compared with the general vagueness of the Hebrew prophecies, the Delphian,
oracles might rationally be styled miraculous, and given such a mass of poetic utter
ance, or so-called prophecies, it may be assumed that the circumstances of the life of any
illustrious Jew, in the course of the latter half of the nation’s history, would have tallied
more closely with them. Taking the much vaunted 53rd chap. Isaiah, whilst the whole
�“Despised and Rejected'
100
that is so rashly deemed conclusive, is only the natural portrait of a future ideal person
age that would naturally occur to the prophetic Poet of a country that’was wont to place
its faith in its prophets, and jet amongst a people who usually rejected and ill-used, like
the
their great men, it contains no single direct and unmistakeable allusion, and
the passages in the 10th and 12th verses are distinctly contradictory of such allusion to
Jesus, unless contorted in a manner by which anything might be made to mean any
thing.
It would be idle to answer arguments founded upon the prophecies recorded along with
miracles in the very narrative whose authenticity is the question at issue. But any dis
passionate mind should have its doubts at once set at rest by the consideration that it is
altogether incredible that the Deity in making a revelation that should save man the
trouble of solving “ the painful riddle of the earth,” would involve it in such mysteries as
to render it the only incredible and inscrutable thing in His Universe to the greater part
Of thoso acknowledged to be the most earnest, reverent and enlightened minds on the
earth.
The following words of Emerson irradiate the subject.—
“ Jesus saw that God incarnates himself in man, and evermore goes forth anew to take
possession of his world- He said, in this jubilee of sublime emotion, ‘I am divine.
Through me, God acts; through me, speaks. Would you see God, see me ; or, see thee,
when thou also thinkest as I now think.’ The understanding caught this high chant from
the poet’s lips, and said, in the next age, ' This was Jehovah come down out of heaven.
I will kill you if you say he was a man.’ The idioms of his language, and the figures of
his rhetoric, have usurped the place of his truth; and churches are not built on his principtes, but on his tropes. Christianity became a mythus, as the poetic teaching of Greece
and of Egypt, before.”—
The Author of “The Christian Hypothesis.”
ONE YEAR IN HIS LIFE (CONCLUDED.)
Had she forgotten how 1 prayed her love ?
1 could not tell; she was so frank and sweet,
Had no embarrassment in talking just
In the old strain. I watched her every hour,
As doth a prisoner watch his jailer’s face
To catch the faintest forecast of his doom;
But 1 could learn nought from her bonnie eyes,
Save kindness, and a somewhat frightened glance,
Were we by chance left separate from the rest,
A pretty plaintive look, that seemed to ask
For yet a little longer, e’er I spoke.
Oh that I could have taken from iny life
Some of these weary hours, and added them
To that short week ; it was so short, oh God !
And life now is so long ! so long, so void.
But now I must not rave 1 my deepest grief
Forbids a questioning, I can only wait
For an hereafter that may teach them all,
Or leave me quiet in a silent grave
Beside my darling ; let it come, oh Lord 1
We talked one night, the night before the end,
�The Practical Idealist.
Just as we used at Holme; the August eve
Lay purple round us, and the great white moon
Shone glorious o’er the hills that slept in shade
All flecked by silver arrows from her bow,
The silence kept us silent, neither spake
Till Mary sang most quietly and sweet
Half to herself, the following little song:—
“ The birds have done their pairing and are wed,
The lovers whisper where the blooms are shed,
Upon their clasped hands, his love-bowed head.
The birds have done their pairing; yet I stay
And weary of the loneliness each day,
That I go quite alone upon my way.
The birds have done their pairing; say oh heart,
Is lonely grief for aye thy bitter part ? ’
Death is a friend 1 Oh may he heal the smart!
“ How sad your song is,” said I, “ but ’tis fit
For August surely, when the hopes of spring
Find their fulfilment or their emptiness.
The autumn’s turning, and the winter wind
Will try us all, unless we’re safely housed,
Most blessed in the warmth and love of home.”
“ Which of us three,” said Lady Mildred then,
Will have the warmest winter ? Mary, you,
And you, Sir Wilfrid will have empty nests,
And I my husband, and a home, yet void
As yours are; could three lonelier souls have met
Than we are ? Oh for comfort, oh for love!
“ Oh Lady Mildred,” said I, “you have love,
All love, love of your husband, of your friends,
And sure Miss Stanton could have love enough
If she had but needed it; I am all alone.”
“ Shall we dispute,” said Mary—“ half in sport.”
Which of us has the largest share of woe?—
Ah no ! life is too short, 1’11 change my note
And sing instead of light and love and flowers,
And quite forget the echo of the song
That caused your talk to take that bitter tone,
To-morrow we go home, to-morrow morn;
I have a fancy to explore your coast
With you, Sir Wilfred, you can teach me much,
And we’ll go early e’er the morn is high,
Aye, even watch the sun rise o’er the sea.”
“Agreed,” I answered, “only just that word,
�One Year in his Life concluded.
My heart leaped high and beat against my breast,
And questions crowded quiekly thro’ my brain,
Can she have learned at last to love my soul,
Or will she in her mercy gently crush
The hopes and longings that the summer nursed?
Or has she quite forgotten how I loved ?
Here do I pause, here shrink in actual pain,
At putting the last touches to the tale
Of this my living, yet oh, heart, be strong,
Tell all thy story and then close the book,
And let the past lay it within its breast,
And glide away into its shadowy home,—
The morning came, not clear and calmly bright,
But wild and glowring: still she kept the tryst,
And we walked towards the coast. I did not speak
Until we reached the shore; th’ uneasy waves
Moaned greyly ’mid the shadows, and the rocks
Loomed blackly o’er our heads, straight, sharp, and steep :
We wandered on, until a tiny cove,
Lit with the coming day, enticed our steps
To stay themselves, and so we rested there,
And watched the fitful wavelets come and go,—
“ Gloriously wild,” I said, half to myself,
“ Yet miserable, for it tells of winter’s hand,
That summer’s passing, all the sweets will go,
And I shall weary of the wiuter time,
And wonder in the gloom why things are so,
And cavil at the God who made them thus.
Miss Stanton ; all this week I’ve watched your face,
Yearning for sign or word to shew to me
That you are still remembring what I said
Before I left the river in the spring.—
Mary, I pause again ; my very soul
Sickens with aprehensión; nay, my dear,
l)o not be crying; I should hold my peace,
But hope is hard in dying—will not die
Till hell’s own touch makes us abandon it.
Child, I am happy but to see you, feel
Your presence round me, if I try once more
To keep you here regardless of the pain,—
You have in hearing me, forgive me then ?”
She answered not, but gazed away, and I
Cared not to break the silence, so we sat,
An hour or more, until the gathering light
Showed us the day—was here, and showed us more,—
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The Practical I dealist.
Here is the climax ; but I cannot paint
E’en for your eyes our agony, my pain:
A natural pain at losing sight of life
And facing fully all the facts of death,
For as we sat there, round had crept the waves
And hemmed us in, and we had scarce an hour
That we could call our own; God only knows
Why this was done; we climbed the steep black rocks
Until we could not climb another step,
A.nd then she spoke quiet quietly and slow,
“ Sir Wilfred, we are dead ! so I may speak
May tell you now, what never in this life
I fear me I’d have told you, face to face,
I love you 1—do not start and press me close,
Remember death knows neither bliss nor pain,
Nought but oblivion or a higher sphere
Where kisses do not come, or clasping arms,
But, chance, a fuller knowledge; now they creep
About us here, those cruel curling waves,
So soon to crush us in their deadly grasp.”—
“I can’t beliwe we’re dead! is there no hope?
“ Oh God,” I cried, “ is their no hope indeed,
Can we not live now I have won her soul
To love mine own, despite the cursed form
That hangs a burden on my feeble life ?
Oh God be merciful, nor dash the cup
I yearned so long for, from my thirsting lip,
Oh! Mary, if we die, and die we must—
Watch how those cruel waves grow at our feet,—
Meet death within mine arms; perchance, perchance
You’ll feel them round you; I may feel your form
Within them in the silence of the grave.—
These arms! oh God, misshapen as they are
It is impossible to know that swift
They’ll be all nerveless, that our tongues that speak
And call each other by our names to-day
Will never whisper more;—oh Mary, love,
Tell me you love me, once before we die.”
“ I love you,” said she, and she took my hands
And placed them round her, leaning down her head,
And blushing tenderly ; ay, even then ;
God has His purpose, “ let us hope, in this,”
She added slowly, “better thus to die
Than to live on a useless, loveless life,
I would have been loveless, for my soul I fear
Has not the nobleness to love yours quite
As ’twill when unencumbered by the mark
�One Year in his Life concluded.
You bear about you, of mishapenness,
Dear Wilfred, I shall love you when we’re dead,
It will be nought, if death is only sleep,
To sleep within your arms, but death is more,
’Tis painful, oh! 1 shudder, see the waves
Curl now about our feet, oh hold me fast 1
’Tis the unraveller sure of all our doubts,
The soother of our puzzled weary brain,”
She murmured, as she watched the rising tide,
“ How near death is, yet seems it Wondrous far,
Wondrous unreal, that we are standing here,
Quivering with life, yet trembling into death,
And Mildred waits and wonders why we stay.”
I held her to my breast, and clasped her close
And murmured little sentences of love
And death crept nearer, o’er our trembling feet,
Up to our knees it came, I had small strength,
—Due to my cursed shape,—to hold her there,
Yet we clung on, and hoped until the last,
A boat might come and take us from death’s jaws :
“ I’m trying hard,” said Mary, “ to be good,
To say the prayers our lips have ever prayed
But they are not for dying, parting 8ouls,
Our Father hangs in utterance, and my soul
Can but resign itself because it must,
With just a hope that God is over us,
To take us gently now our work is done,
To somewhere, where our living is not just
A groping after shadows, but a guest
For answers to the questions that have pressed
Since childhood wearily upon our hearts.”
“ Let it come quickly,” groaned I. “ Oh, my love,
My little love, kiss me upon the lips
And let your kiss baptise my soul anew;
In mercy kiss me.”—“ Oh good bye my dear,
Good bye but for a moment, whispered she,
Thank God we go together, here is death.”
E’en as she spoke, our lips met in one kiss,
And I remember nothing, save a shock,
A parting of my hold upon the cliff,
Until I came to life here,—save the mark !
To life, nay unto death—the bitterness
Had passed, the wrenching of the mental part
From the more sense of life that is such pain;
The real Death,—felt when I saw Mildred’s face
Looking upon me, turning into pain,
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The Practical Idealist.
When with a gasp, I asked for Mary’s hands
To smoothe my pillow, cool my throbbing brow.
“ Dead ! dead ! ” I whispered as my mera’ry came
Back from that dim mysterious shore, where none
Can trace the footsteps that oblivion made,
Or follow where sleep led at evening’s tide
When one returns one does return for aye
Without one fact traced on the dreaming brain,
Will it be thus I wonder when we’re dead?
Shall we awake as from a troubled dream,
With no remembrance, nothing save a thought,
That somewhere in the darkness we have met
With such a one, or somewhere else, one knew
What ’twas to love?’—God keep my memory clear,
And save me here from madness in the pause
That lies before me me till I meet my love.
I saw her dead, laid in her coffined peace
Smiling with upturned face; I realized
That she was gone, and yet I lived, and live.
(Some boat had come into the little cove
And rescued me, the first wave kdled my love;
She had no pain,—that all is left for me,
I had forgot to tell you how I lived.)
Here is my story, Arthur! read it o’er
Then mark it with a query, nought is solved,
Not one thing answered; here i3 this and that,
Facts upon facts, each laid in due array,
Such suffring, so much death, so little cause,
Yet people who are pious, simply sigh,
When they are asked the reason of this thing,
And think I take the comfort when they say,
With untried faith, “ Sure, God is very good.”
S. Panton.
Correction, In our May No.—Muriel's Story,
Author's copy runs—Up steep Parnassus, &c.
line 11,
page 62, the
NOTICE!
Competition for tiie Lavreatesiiip of tiie Association. 1870-1871.—The Author of
the best poem on the subject—Social Progress, shall be the Laureate for the ensuing year.
The Judges will be the Members of the Council, who will not be debarred from compet
ing, (present Laureates excepted). No limits are imposed as regards the length of the
Poems. They should be sent before the 1st of September, to the Hon. Assist. Secretary,
Augustus Villa, 90, Richmond Road, Hackney, N.
Erratum. Page 92. line 9. For—Turn me—read—turn we.
�
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
Creator
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
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2018
Publisher
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
Pamphlet
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The Practical Idealist
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [s.l.]
Collation: [82] -105 p. ; 23 cm.
Notes: Possibly from the journal of the Social Progress Association. {from KVK]. Contents: The idealist's code of faith -- A patched society (Digest:-continued) / Ernina Landon -- Large lobe, or Eros versus Aphrodite -- On prayer /Alex Teegen -- "Despised and dejected" / H.L.M. -- One year in his life (concluded) S. Panton.
Publisher
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[s.n.]
Date
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[187-?]
Identifier
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G5293
Creator
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[Unknown]
Subject
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Philosophy
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
<img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (The Practical Idealist), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
Format
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
Conway Tracts
Idealism
-
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f827b7b2cc9c0c5a93354e8080c50b96
PDF Text
Text
PROFESSOR TYNDALL’S
INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
[From The Inquirer of September 5, 1874.]
HE Inaugural Address delivered at Belfast, on
August 19, by Professor Tyndall, President of
the British Association, has probably come like a
thunder-clap to thousands who have read it or heard
of it. For here is one of the strongest, one of the
most generally acknowledged, representatives of
science, the chief, indeed, of the highest scientific
society in the world, from the very throne of science
—the presidential chair—speaking what will seem to
multitudes no other, than the most undisguised
Materialism, which to them will also be the blankest
Atheism. For it will seem the burden of the Address,
that matter alone is the mother and cause of all things,
and that beside it there is no other cause. No God,
no human soul.
When so intelligent a journal as the Spectator thus
interprets the Address in the issue immediately after
its delivery, we may be sure that thousands of persons
will thus interpret it also. And this word of Tyndall,
coming from such a source, supported by such pres
tige and such authority, will make the hearts of many
quail and sicken with fear and sadness. They will
feel a great darkness falling on them. The same
doctrine they will no doubt have often heard before,
but not from such a quarter, with such distinctness,
and coming with such terrible weight. They have
T
�2
thought of it hitherto as the craze of individual and
eccentric scientists, but now it comes as the testimony
of the whole spirit of science, past and present,
spoken through the mouthpiece of one of her latest
and greatest sons. And the thought cannot but
whisper itself: “ Is it, then, really true, or, if not
true, is science going to be all-powerful and make it
seem true, and so make it ultimately prevail ? If so,
then hope and faith must fade. Religion will have
no place. Prayer and preaching will cease. All the
various creeds through which we believe and about
which we contend will equally vanish. Religious
societies will be dissolved, and the whole spirit of
our civilisation must be changed, so that it is terribleto think what the future ages may be.”
We cannot wonder that already the tocsin of alarm
has resounded from many a pulpit. We may be sure
that for months, perhaps years to come, there will be
heard from thousands of pulpits protests, arguments,
denunciations, pleadings, intended to lay the terrible
ghosts which this memorable Address has raised.
But what is it that Dr Tyndall has really said to
cause such sensation and such fear ? He has simply
said out boldly what science has been really saying,
though often with timid, hesitating speech, for many a
year, we may say for many an age. It is this : that
matter, as we become more and more acquainted with it,
shows itself to us as capable, by its own inherent laws
and forces, of developing into all the forms and causing
all the phenomena in the universe that we witness or
experience. And so with matter given to begin with,
existing it may be in its crudest form, but still with
all its inherent laws and forces, there is no need of
any other Being, any Creator, any God to mould it,
for it will infallibly mould itself. It is but the same
thought with a wider extension which Laplace
uttered : “ I ask no more than the laws of motion,
heat, and gravitation, and I will write you the
nativity and biography of the solar system.”
�3
Yet do not let us be alarmed through mistaking
the real force and bearing of this apparently most
materialistic affirmation. Observe at the outset the
expression, that matter being given with its inherent
laws and forces, no other creator is necessary to
mould it. Surely not, we, too, say, because the
Creator, the eternal former and sustainer, is in the
laws and forces : they are but the expression of his
action. It is not, then, against the idea of God
Himself that the hostility of science, as represented
by the President of the British Association, is
directed, but against a form of thought in which
men in general have clothed God and presented him
to their minds. They have thought of Him under
the image of a Great Artificer, one who, using matter
as his raw material, worked it up by his power and
skill into the forms which we behold. It is this
thought of an Almighty Artificer, separate from
matter, that science cannot tolerate. But the de
struction of this form of thought, instead of plunging
us into the darkness of Atheism, opens upon us the
light of true Theism. It leaves us free to form
another far grander and worthier thought of God,
that of the In-dwelling, all-forming, and all-sustaining
Spirit of the Universe, which it is clear that Dr Tyndall
recognises under what he calls a Cosmical life—that
is, a life of the Universe.
The truth is, that this conception of God as the
Great Artificer has been inadequate and erroneous
from the beginning. We can now see that it was an
idol, because not the highest conception that we can
form, though perhaps inevitable to the times of
ignorance at which God has winked. And science,
like a young Abraham, has sought from its very
youth to break the idol in pieces. This is why
science has seemed so Atheistic in its tendencies.
The legend of Abraham preserved in the Koran is,
that when he was a young man he went into one of
the temples of his people in their absence and broke
�in pieces all the idols except the biggest there.
Abraham’s hostile feeling towards the idols was
known. He was arrested and brought before the
Assembly. “ Hast thou done this unto our gods,
O Abraham ? ” they inquired. “Nay, that biggest
of them has done the deed : ask them, if they can
speak.” For a time the people were confounded
with his reply, but soon recovered to say to oneanother, “Burn him, and avenge your gods.” The
young Abraham, science, conceived from the first a
hostility to the idol of an artificer God set up in the
temple of man’s mind, and sought to destroy it.
Dr Tyndall’s Address is partly a history of these
endeavours of science to break in pieces the idol.
He tells how in the infancy of Greek science Demo
critus, the laughing philosopher, declared his uncom
promising antagonism to those who deduced the
phenomena of nature from the gods. Empedocles,
who probably met death in his zeal for science in the
burning crater of Etna, and then Epicurus, followed
in the footsteps of Democritus. In the century
before Christ the Roman poet Lucretius boldly
announced the doctrine that Nature was sufficient for
herself. “If,” said he, “you will apprehend and
keep in mind these things, Nature, free at once and
rid of her high lords (the gods and demons), is seen
to do all things spontaneously of herself without the
meddling of the gods.” Whilst science slept, during
the Middle Ages, the voice of protest was not heard;
but when she awoke again, in the era of the Refor
mation, Giordano Bruno, once an Italian monk, again
raised the old witness, and declared that the infinity
of forms under which matter appears were not
imposed upon it by an external artificer. “ By its
own intrinsic force and virtue f he said, “ it brings
these forms forth. Matter is not the mere naked,
empty capacity which philosophers have pictured it,
but the universal mother who brings forth all things
as the fruit of her womb.” And the devotees of the
�5
idol, an artificer god, which he sought to break in
pieces, said, “Burn him, and avenge your god.” And
the Venetian Inquisitors did burn him at the stake.
Taking up Tyndall’s thought, we can now see that
the whole progress of science has seemed to strengthen
the protest and to give more strength to the doctrine
of Lucretius and Bruno, that “ matter, by its own
intrinsic force and virtue, brings these forms (of
nature) forth.”
Newton’s “Principia” went to show that, given,
in matter, the force and law of gravitation and the
laws of motion, there needed no artificer now to
conduct the solar system. The nebular hypothesis
of Kant and Laplace set forth that matter originally
needed no artificer to mould it into worlds, if we
suppose its particles scattered abroad in space
endowed with repulsion and attraction. They would
of themselves form rings, planets, satellites, and sun.
Dalton’s Chemistry showed that if we suppose a few
kinds of primordial atoms of different magnitudes, or
endowed with different forces and possessing certain
laws of attractive affinity, no artificer is necessary to
combine them into the innumerable compounds and
endow them with the qualities with which we are
familiar.
Darwin’s “ Origin of Species ” and
“ Descent of Man ” suggested that, given certain
organic forms of lowly type, no artificer was needed
to construct all the countless forms of organic nature.
For there were in these lowly forms intrinsic force and
virtue, by which they develop into higher forms, and
these into higher, until the ascidian becomes the man.
Herbert Spencer, and now Tyndall, suggest that even
in the inorganic forms of air, water, phosphorus, and
a few other elements, there are intrinsic force and
virtue to make them at some period or other of the
world’s history—Bastian says to make them now—of
themselves combine and form organisms of low type,
which develop, according to Darwin’s idea, even into
higher type ; therefore these inorganic atoms possess
�6
a latent life. Huxley would persuade us not only
that these inorganic atoms come in organic forms to
live, but that in the human brain they think and feel
and will. Thus every line of scientific inquiry seems
to have led to larger and larger belief in Bruno’s
intrinsic force and virtue of matter, making more
and more needless the conception of a Supreme
Artificer.
But we shall be mistaken if we suppose that this
antagonism between matter and God—that is, God
as the Artificer—has been felt only in the world of
science. It has been felt, too, though with less open
confession, in the world of religion. It has been
felt, it may be, where ignorance was bliss. As long
as science was unknown or ignored in the Church,
as during the Middle Ages, religions minds could
hold the belief in an artificer God without misgiving.
But as soon as science began to creep into the Church,
the paralysis of faith began. From that moment was
acted over again the story which the Greek poets
give us of the Theban Sphinx, the beautiful monster,
half-maid, half-lion, who, sitting on a rock, proposed
enigmas to the passers-by, and those who could not
answer them destroyed.
Beautiful but terrible science became the Sphinx.
She was always proposing to those who came near
her the enigma, “How can matter, which seems to
have force and virtue in it sufficient to account for
all things, have any need for an artificer Creator ? ”
And those who could not answer the question were
lost as to their faith in God. This, we believe, is
partly the explanation of the coldness and deadness
that came upon our Churches, especially our Pres
byterian Churches, during the last century. Ministers
and people had become more educated, they had
learnt something of the new science that was rising;
and then they heard the enigma of the Sphinx and
were troubled. Thenceforth it was a struggle with
them to believe. They had lost the child-like faith of
�7
their fathers. The old heartiness of prayer was gone.
Ministers and people began to be shy of strictly reli
gious topics, and to fall back on these ethical common
places of which they were more sure. And if this
same coldness and deadness has lasted on in some of
our churches till our own day, we suspect it has been
because there the old conception of God as the Arti
ficer has been maintained, whilst all the while the
Sphinx has been putting the question which has made
it unbelievable ; and that it is chiefly where the new
conception of the In-dwelling God has been introduced
through the influence of men like Dr Channing,
Martineau, and Theodore Parker, that the devotional
life has been again quickened and deepened.
Truly, then, men like Tyndall and Huxley, Spencer
and Darwin, with the terrible weapons of their
materialism, do but break down an old and much
battered idol which has long been the cause of dread
ful doubts, even to its own devotees, and has set
religion and science at bitter variance. But in
breaking down the idol they are doing us the greatest
service. They are letting in the light; they are
leaving us face to face with a conception of God
before hidden from us by our idol, but which presents
him to us not only in a form which science will allow
—before which, indeed, science and religion become
one—but in a form which is immeasurably grander,
more beautiful, and every way worthier of God than
that which has been broken down. Let us clearly
recognise that, when Tyndall claims for matter that
it is sufficient for everything, he is not thinking of
matter as that dead brute thing which the mass of
men suppose it. To him, as to Herbert Spencer,
matter is but the manifestation of a Great Entity, in
itself unknown and unknowable. It is but the
garment of what Tyndall calls the great cosmical
life—the great life of the cosmos—the Universe.
What is this Great Entity, what is this Great
Cosmical Life, but the Eternal God Himself, of whom,
�8
and through whom, and to whom are all things, who
“besets us behind and before,” and “ in whom we
live and move and have our being ” ? What is this
■conception suggested of the relation of God to the
world but that of the Psalmist—“The heavens shall
wax old as doth a garment, and as a vesture shalt
thou change them ” ? And what is this doctrine of
the unknown and unknowable life but that of Job?
“Lo ! these are parts of his ways, but how little a
portion is heard of him ! but the thunder of his power
who can understand ? ”
T. E. P.
FRITTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTEKEY STREET, HAYMARKET.
�
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
Pamphlet
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Professor Tyndall's inaugural address
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: [London]
Collation: 4 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Signed 'T.E.P.'; possibly Thomas Elford Poynting. The Address was given in Belfast to the British Association for the Advancement of Science on August 19, 1874. Reprinted from 'The Inquirer', September 5, 1874. Printed by C.W. Reynell, Little Pulteney Street, London. "The address before the annual meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science was an occasion to state the aims and concerns of the premiere body of elite men of Victorian science. It was consequently one of the most prestigious places from which to pronounce on what men of science should be doing. John Tyndall famously used his address in 1874 to argue for the superior authority of science over religious or non-rationalist explanations. By the time of this address the Association had largely been taken over by the young guard, men like T.H. Huxley and Tyndall. Nevertheless, Tyndall's bold statement for rationalism and natural law was made in Belfast, a stronghold of religious belief then as now and so it was taken as an aggressive attack on religion. The address was popularly believed to advocate materialism as the true philosophy of science. It remains a powerful call for rationalism, consistency and scepticism." From Victorianweb: http://www.victorianweb.org/science/science_texts/belfast.html [accessed 12/2017].
Publisher
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[Thomas Scott]
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
[1874]
Identifier
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G5529
Creator
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[Unknown]
Subject
The topic of the resource
Philosophy
Rationalism
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Professor Tyndall's inaugural address), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
Format
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
A language of the resource
English
Conway Tracts
Materialism
Natural Law
Philosophy and Science
Rationalism
Science and Religion
-
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376902b582b76faed11d28aedb8f4024
PDF Text
Text
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
Pamphlet
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The origin of man: being a paper read before the Victoria Institute, or Philosophical Society of Great Britain
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bardsley, John W.
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: London
Collation: 28,4, p. ; 22 cm.
Notes: Information on the Society and an application form on numbered pages at the end. John Bardsley was the Archdeacon of Warrington. Tentative date of publication from KVK (OCLC WorldCat).
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
E. Stanford
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
[1884]
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
G5083
Subject
The topic of the resource
Philosophy
Anthropology
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (The origin of man: being a paper read before the Victoria Institute, or Philosophical Society of Great Britain), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
application/pdf
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Language
A language of the resource
English
Man-Origin
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8d1938854582751e8a201fb13f1eff83
PDF Text
Text
ur2-4-
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
RALPH WALDO
EMERSON,
THE EMINENT AMERICAN
PHILOSOPHER AND ESSAYIST.
gesniptxcn anh (^sthnair nf
ms
WRITINGS.
BY
CHARLES
C.
CATTELL,
Author of “The Martyrs of Progressf “A String of Pearls
&=c., &e.
“ That which befits us, embosomed in beauty and wonder as we
are, is cheerfulness and courage, and the endeavour to realise our
aspirations.”
LONDON :
WATTS & Co., 84, FLEET STREET, E.C.
PRICE TWOPENCE.
��RALPH WALDO EMERSON:
ut jng Writings.
Emerson has been • called the Columbus of modern
thought, the successor to Lord Bacon, with whom, as also
Montaigne, there seems some affinity. He began when
American literature was but a name, when writers worked
for nothing and paid their printer. To-day Emerson’s
influence is felt by all speakers and writers. As a philo
sophic writer, I know none so charming. He is the
Plato of modern times. Nature and science in his hand
seem vivid : he animates all he sees; his wit and humour
playfully enliven fossils and granite rocks. He is master
of metaphorand phrases, so that definitions and formulas
become a burden and he dispenses with them. He
describes the order of nature, points out the distance
from the rock to the oyster, and from thence to man,
thinking and writing. This he does with as much distinct
ness as though he had read the experience of explorers,
and had had private interviews with Murchison, Lyell,
and Darwin before the day of publication. In imagina
tion he equals the writers to whom all men bow, and is
one of the chief ornaments of the modern Saxon race.
His philosophy is not only for boiling pots, it is to give
joy and hope, to make society happy men and women.
It is to develop the intellect of the race, and apply it
to the promotion of the public good, the good of al!.
Emerson has, strangely enough, been taken for the ghost
of Carlyle, has been set down as a sort of moon to
Carlyle’s sun. Nothing is more palpably absurd.
Readers who cannot distinguish crystals from pine
forests make poor critics, and should abandon the pro
fession. The parallel to Emerson is unborn, or at least
undeveloped.
�4
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
In the Atlantic Monthly for 1880 there is an account
of a party to Wendell Holmes, the founder, it being his
70th birthday. The chairman remarks that Emerson
is with us, although silent by preference. I note it is
Emerson’s 77th year, he having been born at Boston, May
25th, 1803. As arrangements have been made by my
friend, Mr. David Kirkwood, to circulate in Boston what
I write, a few words on Ralph Waldo Emerson will be
well timed. I feel my indebtedness to Emerson, and
express it in such unadorned style as my ability permits.
He is an inspired man, rich in imagery, in poetry, in
arts; I am but the poor beggar subsisting on the crumbs
that fall from his table. But it is bad policy to let
people know how poor we are. When equals meet there
is no apology, no introduction, no preface. I approach
Emerson : his ability, age, and influence, demand respec
and a certain condescension from me. He is a giant, I
a pigmy. A friend who once met him at breakfast in
New York tells me he was surprised when the name
Emerson was applied to the gentleman near him, who
looked no better and no worse than others, and not
different from other people. It is as Emerson says, you
cannot see the mountain near. I noticed we could not
see the Saxon emblems when on the spot; but twenty
miles away the horse and the man stood out from the
hill in bold relief.
Ralph Waldo Emerson graduated at Harvard College
in 1821. He was schoolmaster for five years; was
ordained minister of the second Unitarian Church,
Boston, 1829, resigning in 1832 ; and in 1832 and 1847he visited Europe. He was married in 1830; but his wife
died five months after, and he married again in 1835.
He speedily gave up his clerical profession, and retired
to the village of Concord. Here he studied his favourite
theme—the nature of man and his relations to the uni
verse. In 1840 he became associated with Margaret
Fuller in editing a magazine of literature, philosophy,
and religion, entitled the Dial, which continued four
years. In 1852, in connection with W. H. Channing, he
published “ Memoirs of Margaret Fuller, Marchesa
d’Ossoli.” His “ Representative Men ” was popular in
England in 1850, in which he portrays, in his own inimit-
�RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
5
.able manner, types of classes of men under the names of
Plato, Swedenborg, Montaigne, Shakespeare, Napoleon,
and Goethe. In 1856 another popular work appeared,
.giving an account of his travels, entitled “ English
Traits.” Between the years 1837 and 1844 he delivered
addresses and wrote essays, which were circulated in a
cheap form in England; and to these I was indebted for
my introduction to this expositor of “ the divine laws.”
Looking in a window full of selected books is one of
.the delights which fade in the presence of the free public
library. I often think what a debt we owe the old
collectors of books, who made it the business of their
lives to gather a variety for the public choice. The
Church library is carefully selected, resembling a flower
garden painted on a tea tray : Emerson never enters
there. His living thoughts, full of fire, would dissolve
any school collection of innocent Sunday serials.
“ I am owner of the sphere,
Of the seven stars and the solar year,
Of Caesar’s hand and Plato’s brain,
Of Lord Christ’s heart and Shakespeare’s strain.”
Thus Emerson places every individual man on a
common level, giving him a share in the whole estate of
the intellect of the race; he thinks as Plato did, and
there is no saint like whom he may not feel. Perse
cutors and slanderers, to such a well-endowed man.
appear as dwarfs acting under the hallucination that they
are giants. The Bible to him is only a portion of the
scriptures of mankind. Jesus is one of the many young
men hanged or gibbetted at Tyburn. Socrates is no
longer a poor benighted heathen, but a noble, heroic man,
.and Jesus only a brother. After reading Emerson our
idea is that the world is fair and beautiful, although there
are sorrow and death. Before, it was on its last legs
—creation a blunder—men and women had neither
beauty nor dignity. It seemed a pity so much sin and
ugliness were born, and only the long-suffering patience
of their creator prevented their extinction. Everything
pointed to an eternal collapse; but Emerson gives con
fidence in the stability, the self-sustaining power of
nature. We are consoled with the assurance that the
sun and moon will last our time, and we leave the good
�6
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
will to posterity, and transfer our anxiety to their holy’
keeping. It is, then, no longer a misfortune to be born,
a misery to live, or a terror to die. We become cheerful,
and revive our courage. We return to the battle of life
—up again, old heart, and at them : we are yet neither
foam nor wreck.
In reading Emerson the mind acquires new habits of
thought. The ideas generated are new and startling,
and still founded on observation a thousand years old.
The chatter of the theologians is as chaff and chips
Emerson is as sweet and refreshing as a summer’s breeze.
The words of the theologian are like a flickering candle
in a widow’s window on a dark and stormy night; Emer
son’s words are as the brilliant sun shining through the
forest. Compared with Emerson, the doctrines, the
parson, and even the Church itself, appear fossils, mere
wrecks of a former world of beauty and of truth.
Emerson speaks from the heart; he has seen nature,,
and he interprets what he has seen ; everything appears
living and full of purpose. The theologian sees nothing
to-day ; he only reports that God and nature were seen
ages back, when the world was young and innocent. He
is a talking machine, he is a canal, not a river. Emer
son is the waterfall, dashing and sparkling; the theolo
gian a stagnant pool, fed by little brooks that flowed
from the hills after the last flood. The theologian
speaks of a God who died long centuries ago, who left
his will, and appointed him executor to his children.
One cannot help pitying the poor orphans ! Emerson
says God is alive to-day; through me, through you,,
through all pure souls, God speaks to-day. But the God
of Emerson cannot be measured, cannot be put into a.
box, nor be eaten. He does not reside in Judea, nor in
Christendom. “ There is a soul in the centre of nature,
and over the will of every man, so that none of us can
wrong the universe.” “There is a power over and
behind us, and we are the channels of its communica
tions.” Again : “ When we have broken our god of
tradition, and ceased from our god of rhetoric, then
may God fire the heart with his presence.” Elsewhere
he says : “ The baffled intellect must still kneel before
..his cause, which refuses to be named.”
�RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
7
Our quaint names, fortune, muse, holy ghost, are too
narrow to cover the unbounded substance. Every fine
genius has tried to represent it by some symbol. Anaxi
menes, by air; Thales, by water; Anaxagoras, by thought;
Zoroaster, by fire; Jesus and the moderns, by love.
Emerson says that in “ our more correct writing we
give to these generalisations the name of Being, and
thereby confess we have arrived as far as we can go.
I do not believe that there is a soul in the centre of all
things, or that a soul in man presides over and directs all
the organs of his brain; still, I fondly cherish the remem
brance of being lifted into the universal being, which
had its centre everywhere, and its circumference no
where. The bewilderments of metaphysics _ and the
cobwebs of theology make the confused brain so hot
that these words act like a gentle shower in sultry
weather:—
“ The rounded world is fair to see,
Nine times folded in mystery ;
Though baffled seer cannot impart
The secret of its labouring heart,
Throb thine with Nature’s throbbing breast,
And all is clear from east to west.
Spirit, that lurks each form within,
Beckons to spirit of its kin ;
Self-kindled every atom glows,
And hints the future that it owes.”
One thing is clear, that, if a man fails to find conso
lation and peace in nature, he will find it nowhere. If
he sees no beauty in a landscape, receives no pleasure
from looking at a rose, a tree, or a simple weed ; if he
sees no grandeur in a storm; if the rolling, tempestuous
sea excites no feeling of admiration or of awe, of wonder
or fear, he may rely upon it, either his mind or his body
is out of health. Emerson says he knew a physician
who believed that the religion a man accepted depended
very much on the state of his liver. If diseased, he
would be a Calvinist; if that organ was sound, a Uni
tarian. No doubt the kind of religion adopted depends
a great deal on the climate and the state of the blood.
The great idea that Emerson teaches is self-reliance ;
every heart vibrates to that iron string. Individualism
�8
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
is encouraged by him in every chapter he writes. He
delights in the man who sets up the strong present tense,
does broad justice now, and makes progress a fact; to
fill the hour, that is happiness, and leaves no room for
repentance or approval.
“ Work of his hand
He nGr commends nor grieves ;
Pleads for itself the fact;
As unrepenting Nature leaves
Her every act.”
Thus men of character become the conscience of
society, and unite with all that is just and true. Emer
son teaches that the world exists for a noble purpose,
the transformation of genius into practical power. The
popular idea is that the world is in a state of liquidation,
that the Grand Master of the Ceremonies is about to
appear to wind up the whole concern, and only believers
will share what may be realised from the estate. Emer
son, on the contrary, encourages men to work on and
hope on, believing that right and justice will ultimately
triumph.
There is one special feature in Emerson that is worthy
the serious attention of students, and readers of who are
not students. In his writings he shows an acquaintance
with the literature of the Old and the New Worlds. He
places within the reach of ordinary readers a mine of
literary wealth. I have read a great variety of books
during the past quarter of a century, but confess that,
with few exceptions, Emerson knew all I ha' e since
learnt. I know of no more economic method of gaining
an insight into the literature of the Old World and the
New than by reading the writings of this remarkable
man. However practical a man may be, he needs some
poetry to make life tolerable, and in Emerson the poetic
side of life has sufficient attention, although mixed with
science and philosophy.
Emerson is called a visionary dreamer; but do not his
words show that he sees life as it is, and has felt the
dark side of life, been under the shadow of existence ?
While he teaches Individualism, he is not mad, forAhe
writes of love and friendship, and says :—
�RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
9
“ All are needed by each one,
Nothing is fair and good alone.”
In his fable of the quarrel between the mountain and
the squirrel, the squirrel says :—
“ Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut.”
In his “ Compensation ” he teaches that “ the world
is dual, so is every one of its parts.” This chapter is
unlike anything written in modern times. He desired,
when a boy, to write this essay, for it seemed to him life
was ahead of theology, and that the people knew more
than the preachers taught.
In politics he says nature is neither democratic nor
Limited-Monarchical, but despotic. Persons having
reason have equal rights—demand a democracy—but
besides persons, the State undertakes to protect pro
perty; and here is inequality—one man owns his clothes,
another a county. He does not urge that the Republic
is “better,” but that it is “fitter.” It suits them. He
holds that the limitation of government, all govern
ments, is the wisdom of men; all men being wise, the
State would disappear. The tendency of the time
favours self-government. The less government we have,
the better. We think we get value for our money every
where, except what we pay for taxes.
In “ The Conduct of Life,” among the many questions
discussed is wealth.
He says: “ As soon as a
stranger is introduced the question is, How does he get
his living ? He should be able to answer. Every man
is a consumer, and should be a producer. He fails to
make his place good in the world who does not add
something to the commonwealth.”
In a chapter on Worship he mentions that some of
the Indians and Pacific Islanders flog their gods when
things take an unfavourable turn. Laomedon threat
ened to cut the ears off Apollo and Neptune in his
anger. King Olaf put a pan of glowing coals on the
belly of Eyvind, which burst asunder, saying, “ Wilt
thou now believe in Christ ?” In the romantic ages of
Christianity, to marry a Pagan husband or wife was to
�IO
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
take a step backwards towards the baboon. To-day he
says, religion is weak and childish; we have the rat-andmouse revelation, thumps in table drawers. To-day, he
says men talk of 11 mere morality,” which is as if one
should say, “ Poor God, with nobody to help him!” He
prophesies that there will be a new Church, founded on
moral science, that will gather science, music, beauty,
picture, and poetry around it.
“ Society and Solitude,” which contains a valuable
chapter on Books, is written in language less angular and
studied than his previous books—more like his
“ English Traits,” which I suppose everybody has read.
The great variety of Emerson’s writings prevents the
notice of any special chapter at any considerable length.
A few allusions sufficiently indicate his wide departure
from the popular theology. The belief in the existence
of God and the immortality of the soul is, with him,
as natural to the soul of man as apples are to apple
trees. Revelation, with him, is the disclosure of
the soul—the popular idea is, that it is telling of fortunes.
He would not believe any man who said the Holy Ghost
told him the last day of Judgment occurred in the
eighteenth century. His teaching seems to indicate
that all opinions, beliefs, conjectures, and anticipations,
to be of use to the individual, must come to him. He
cannot learn from other men; there is nothing second
hand in his divinity. Omniscience flows behind and
through every man ; he is simply a medium. Holding
these transcendental views, still he paints the Sceptic in
his essay on Montaigne with marvellous fidelity. His
description of the position of the believer, the unbeliever,
and the disbeliever is so accurate that one often regrets
the clergy and ministers of the Gospel do not devote
one hour of their long and busy lives to the reading of
this one chapter of Emerson; whatever they might
have to say after might be understood by the persons
holding the opinions they attempt to refute. Emerson
shows that the Sceptic is not a fool; he is the considerer,
the man who weighs evidence, and limits his statement
by the assurance of facts. He does not allow that any
Church or society of men have all the truth. He
knows all knowledge is relative; all conclusions not
�RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
H
based on ascertained facts are open to doubt. Perhaps as
much can be said against as for any speculative opinion.
Who then shall forbid a wise Scepticism ?
In confirmation of my representation of Emerson’s
views, I quote his approval of Spenser. He says:—
“ The soul makes the body, as the wise Spenser teaches;
For of the soul the body form doth take ;
For soul is form, and doth the body make.”
His description of man entering the world among the
lords of life is—
“ Little man, least of all,
Among the legs of his guardians tall,
Walked about with puzzled look.”
He is born in a series of which the extremes are un
known—there are stairs above and below, both beyond
our vision ; no man knows how far they extend in either
direction. “ Life is a string of beads, and as we pass
through them, they prove to be many-coloured lenses,
which paint the world their own hue, and each shows
only what lies in its own focus.”
All martyrdoms look mean when they are suffered;
every ship is a romantic object, except the one we sail in;
our little life looks trivial, and we often wonder how any
thing of use or beauty was produced by us; the land
scape of our neighbour's farm is beautiful to look upon,
but as to our field it only holds the world together.
In 1876 he published “Letters and Social Aims,”
in which we find the last chapter is on Immortality.
Emerson was then in his 73rd year, and might be
expected to tell us something of the life beyond life.
But he knows nothing to impart to another; yet in our
weakness we ask, does Emerson believe it? The mem- bers of the church ask their pastor, is there any resur
rection ? Did Dr. Channing believe we should know
each other ? “ Let any master simply recite to you the
substantial laws of the intellect, and in the presence of
the laws themselves you will never ask such primary
school questions.” He says the Sceptic affirms the
universe to be a nest of boxes with nothing in the last
box.
Montesquieu delighted in believing himself as im
�12
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
mortal as God himself. Young children have a feeling
of terror of a life without end. “What, will it never
stop ? Never, never die ? It makes me feel so tired.”
Penal servitude “ for life ” fills men with terror, but
“for ever” makes them sing and rejoice. The thought
that this poor frail being is never to end is overwhelming.
Herodotus, in his second book, says : “The Egyptians
were the first among mankind who have affirmed the
immortality of the soul.”
As the savage could not detach in his mind the life of
the soul from the body, he took great care of his body.
The great and chief end of man being to be buried well,
the priesthood became a senate of sextons; and masonry
and embalming the most popular of the arts.
Sixty years ago we were all taught that we were born
to die, and theology added all the terrors of savage
nations, to increase the gloom. A wise man in our
generation caused “ Think on Living ” to be inscribed
on his tomb. Emerson says this shows a great change
and describes a progress in opinion. He describes the
soul as master. “A man of thought is willing to die,
willing to live; I suppose because he has seen the thread
on which the beads are strung, and perceived that it
reaches up and down, existing quite independently of the
present illusions.” Matter-of-fact people will pronounce
these sentences nonsense, while they pretend to believe
greater miracles on Sundays and holy days. “And
what are these delights in the vast, permanent, and
strong, but approximations and resemblances of what is
entire and sufficing, creative and self-sustaining life?
Eor the creator keeps his word with us.”
He says, after making our children adepts in arts, we
do not send for the soldiers to shoot them down.
Nature does not, like the Empress Anne of Russia,
employ all the genius of the empire to build a palace of
snow. Emerson thinks the eternal, the vast, the power
ful in nature indicates the permanence of living thought
•—the perpetual promise of the creator. Goethe said :
“ It is to a thinking being impossible to think himself
non-existent; so far every one carries proof of immor
tality.” Van Helmont wishes Atheists “ might taste, if
only for a moment, what it is to intellectually under
�RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
IS
stand; whereby they may feel the immortality of the
mind, as it were, by touching.”
“ The healthy state of mind is the love of life. What
is so good? Let it endure.” This is the language of
the inspired on the mount; but those who live in the
valley inquire, JEzZZ it endure ?
“ I think all sound minds rest on a certain preliminary
conviction—namely, that if it be best that conscious per
sonal life shall continue, it will continue ; if not best, then
it will not.” Whatever it is, “ the future must be up tc>
the style of our faculties—of memory, hope, and reason.”
There is this drawback to all statements—hungry eyes
close disappointed; listeners do not hear what they want.
At last Emerson confesses that you cannot prove your
faith by syllogisms : the reasons all vanish ; it is all flying
ideal; conclusions are always hovering; no written theory
or demonstration is possible : Jesus explained nothing.
Emerson remarks that it is strange that Jesus is esteemed
by mankind the bringer of the doctrine of immortality.
“ He is never once weak or sentimental; he is very
abstemious of explanation ; he never preaches the personal
immortality ; while Plato and Cicero had both allowed
themselves to overstep the stern limits of the spirit, and
gratify the people with that picture.” Emerson compares
the grandeur of the doctrine with frivolous populations :
Will you build magnificently for mice ? Offer empires to
such as cannot keep house ? Here are people on whose
hands an hour hangs heavily—a day ! Will you offer
them rolling ages without end ? At last all drop into
the universal soul; each is as a bottle broken into the
sea. Emerson quotes, “The soul is not born; it does
not die.” This is the Hindoo faith.
Another chapter in the 1876 volume is on “ Quotation
and Originality.” Emerson has been reading and quot
ing and thinking and writing all his long life; hence,
what high value must we set on this chapter ! To the
literary student it is simply invaluable. He is like the
old mountain guide, who never misled a tourist, and never
missed his way. Only those who wander extensively in
new paths can appreciate one to whom all roads are
known. Read Tasso, and you think of Virgil; read
Virgil, and you think of Homer; read Plato, and you
�14
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
find Christian dogma and Evangelical phrases. Rabelais
is the source of many a proverb, story, and jest.
“ Reynard the Fox,” a German poem of the thirteenth
century, yielded to Grimm, who found fragments of
another original a century older.
M. le Grand showed the original tales of Moliere, La
Fontaine, Boccaccio, and Voltaire in the old Fabliaux.
Mythology is no man’s work. Religious literature
psalms, liturgies, the Bible itself, is the growth of ages.
Divines assumed revelations of Christianity, the exact
parallelisms of which are found in the stoics and poets
of Greece and Rome. After the modern researches,
Confucius, the Indian Scriptures, and the history of
Egypt show that “ no monopoly of ethical wisdom could
be thought of.”
Sayings reported of modern statesmen and literary
men can be traced to Greek and Roman sources
Baron Munchausen’s bugle, hung up by the kitchen
fire till the frozen tune thawed out, is found in the time
of Plato.
Only recently England and America have discovered
their nursery tales were old German and Scandinavian
stories ; and now it appears that they came from India,
and were warbled and babbled by nurses and children of
all nations for unknown thousands of years. “Next to
the originator of a good sentence is the first quoter of it.
Many will read a book before one thinks of quoting a
passage.” When Shakespeare is charged with debts,
Landor replies : “ Yet he is more original than his
originals. He breathed upon dead bodies, and brought
them into life.” If De Quincey said to Wordsworth,
“ That is what I told you,” he replied, as his habit was
to reproduce all the good things: “No, that is mine—
mine, and not yours.” Marraontel’s principle was : “ I
pounce on what is mine, wherever Ifind it.” Poets, like
bees, take from every flower that suits them, not con
cerned where it originally grew. “ It is a familiar expe^
dient of brilliant writers and witty talkers, the device of
ascribing their own sentence to some imaginary person
in order to give it weight.”
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�
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Victorian Blogging
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Ralph Waldo Emerson, the eminent American philosopher and essayist : description and estimation of his writings
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Cattell, Charles Cockbill
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 14, [2] p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Not dated. Internal evidence suggests 1880. Other works by Cattell advertised inside and on back cover. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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Watts & Co.
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[1880]
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N124
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Emerson, Ralph Waldo
Philosophy
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Ralph Waldo Emerson
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No. 13.—R. P. A. CHEAP REPRINTS.
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Ol® LIBERTY
BY
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�CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Introductory
9
CHAPTER II.
Of the Liberty of Thought
and
Discussion
19
CHAPTER III.
Of Individuality, as one of the Elements of Well-being
46
CHAPTER IV.
Of
the Limits to the
Individual -
Authority of Society over the
- .
60
CHAPTER V.
Applications
74
A
�ON LIBERTY
BY
JOHN STUART MILL
[issued for
the rationalist press association, limited]
WATTS & CO.,
17, JOHNSON’S COURT, FLEET STREET, LONDON, E.C.
1903
�The grand, leading principle, towards which every argument
unfolded in these pages directly converges, is the absolute and
essential importance of human development in its richest diversity.
—Wilhelm von Humboldt : Sphere and Duties of Government.
�JOHN STUART MILL
John Stuart Mill, philosopher, politi house of Jeremy Bentham; had contributed
cal economist, and reformer—described by to the Traveller • and had written to the
Mr. Gladstone as “the saint of Rationalism” Morning Chronicle letters of protest against
—was born in London on May 20th, 1806. the savage prosecutions for blasphemy
He died at Avignon on May Sth, 1873. which raged so fiercely round the heroic
The sixty-seven years of his life were filled figure of Richard Carlile during the stormy
with strenuous intellectual labour, and with years of reaction which followed Waterloo.
loyal and devoted service to the causes of Professor Bain tells us that when, in 1822,
goodness, humanity, and truth. If it may Mill visited Cambridge, “his immense con
be truly said that to labour is to worship, versational power ” made a deep impression
these were the shrines at which Mill on the undergraduates, notwithstanding
worshipped with a fervour that could not their familiarity with the copious verbal
be surpassed by the devotee of any super resources of Macaulay and Austin.
Mill soon stepped into the wider literary
natural religion.
Under the stern tuition of his father, and philosophical arena in which he was
James Mill—himself an acute thinker, and destined to render so much valuable
a distinguished ■writer—John Stuart Mill service. In 1824 he became a frequent
began to study Greek when he was three contributor to the new Westminster
years old, passed on to Latin in his eighth Review, and acquired considerable reputa
year, and, at the age of twelve, commenced tion as a powerful advocate of the philo
an elaborate course of study in political sophical Radicalism which was associated
economy, logic, and metaphysics. In 1823 with the names of Bentham and Jameshe entered the India House as junior clerk Mill. But it is worthy of note that he had1
in the Examiner’s office, and it is not sur not been converted by his father’s system
prising to find that, at this period, he was of education into a mere intellectual
described as “ a disquisitive youth ” by the machine, or reduced to an empty echo of
Examiner, Thomas Love Peacock, the his father’s thought. Throughout life he
poet and novelist. His intellectual attain was distinguished by extreme candour and
ments were immense. He had read widely honesty of intellect; he was always anxious
on many subjects in Greek, English, Latin, to accord to others the independence and
and French, and was already a logician, a liberty of thought and speech which hemetaphysician, and a political and social claimed for himself; and there was no
reformer. His practical achievements were thinker more ready to admit and to adopt
also remarkable for his years, and seemed whatever might be sound in the argument
to foreshadow an illustrious career. He of an opponent. It was this openness and
had formed a Utilitarian Society at the freedom of mind which led him to widen
�6
JOHN STUART MILL
the somewhat narrow grooves of Benthamic
thought, and, on certain questions, to take
up an attitude with which the original Utili
tarians could have no sympathy.
In 1826 Mill entered on a period of
mental crisis which lasted for two or three
years. Asking himself whether, supposing
all his objects in life were realised, it would
be a great joy and happiness to him, “ an
irrepressible self-consciousness distinctly
answered, ‘No.’” At this his heart sank
within him; “ the end had ceased to charm,
and how could there ever again be any
interest in the means ? I seemed to have
nothing left to live for.” Mill tells us that at
this time he was “ in a dull state of nerves,”
and we agree with Professor Bain that the
crisis was mainly due to physical causes
and to the overworking of the brain. Mr.
W. L. Courtney, in his Life ofJohn Stuart
Mill, describes this period of melancholy
as “ the shipwreck of Rationalism,” but
that is clearly a misstatement. The feeling
that there is nothing worth living for is not
uncommon among young people of a
thoughtful type; it has no necessary
connection either with Rationalism or with
■Christianity ; and Mill’s depression would
not have been removed if he could have
believed that the end of man was to glorify
God and enjoy him for ever. Time, new
and congenial companionships, and the
poetry of Wordsworth and Shelley, formed
the healing influences under which Mill’s
despair slowly passed away, never to return.
This crisis over, he gradually settled
down to the serious work of his life. He
had made rapid progress in the India
House, his salary rising from £30 per
annum, in 1823, to £600 per annum, in
1828; and in 1856 he was appointed
Examiner, with a salary of £2,000 a year.
This post he held until the end of 1858,
when the East India Company was extin
guished by the British Government, and
Mill was superannuated on a pension of
£1,500 per annum. His official duties left
him ample time for his cherished literary
and philosophical pursuits. His industry
was very great. He remarks that his
writings from 1832 to 1834, even if the
newspaper articles were left out, would
make a large volume. For several years,
from 1834 onward, his intellectual energies
were mainly concentrated on his System of
Logic, which was published in 1843, and
ultimately ran through eight editions. No
student of philosophy can afford to neglect
this masterly work. Acute, lucid, and
profound, it has been used as a text-book
at the Universities, and it would be difficult
to overrate its value as a philosophical
presentation of the principles underlying
modern scientific investigation.
The Logic was followed, in 1848, by
Principles of Political Economy, which is,
perhaps, the most interesting and sugges
tive book in the English language on this
great topic. Taking as its foundation
some of the main propositions of Ricardo
and Malthus, Mill adds the ripe results of
his own varied and extensive reading,
thinking, and observation, and applies the
principles of the science in a practical
manner to existing social conditions.
With his introduction to Mrs. John
Taylor in 1831 there had commenced the
most remarkable and most valued friend
ship of his life. Twenty years afterwards,
on the death of her husband, she became
Mill’s wife, and the perfect happiness of
this ideal union remained unbroken until
her death at Avignon in 1858. No one
doubts that the relations which existed
between Mill and Mrs. Taylor during her
first husband’s lifetime were of a purely
platonic character; and it is equally impos
sible to doubt that, while she exerted great
�JOHN STUART MILL
7
influence over Mill, his extravagant lauda member for Westminster, and, although
tions of her genius rested on a very slender scarcely fitted to shine as an orator, he
basis of fact. She appears to have been achieved considerable success by speeches
a woman of considerable ability and of on Reform, on the Cattle Plague Bill, on
a highly sympathetic temperament, and
Irish questions, and on other subjects.
it is probable that Mill, being powerfully He was defeated at the general election of
attracted by her sympathy, was led to take an 1868 by Mr. W. H. Smith (who afterwards
exaggerated view of her talents. He tells us became Conservative leader of the House
that the article on “The Enfranchisement of Commons), and retired, not unwillingly,
of Women ” which appeared in the West- into private life at Avignon. In 1867 he
minster Review for July, 1851, and is published his Subjection of Women, which
reprinted in his Dissertations and Discus is an amplification of the article on “ The
sions, Vol. II., was mainly her production ; Enfranchisement of Women” referred to
and we are able to gather from this essay above. It is a powerful plea for the
that, although possessed of great talent, equality of the sexes, urging that there
she was not the extraordinary genius so should be “ no power or privilege on the
loudly proclaimed by Mill.
one side nor disability on the other.” The
Meanwhile, through all the joys and Autobiography was completed, and the
vicissitudes of private life—personal illness, third of his posthumous Essays on Religion
marriage, bereavement—the current of was written, between the years 1868 and
Mill’s public work flowed steadily onward.
1873The essay On Liberty, which, he tells us,
Mill was educated by his father as a
was the joint production of himself and Rationalist, and he remained a Rationalist
his wife, was published in 1859, after her to the end of his life. As he himself wrote,
death. Charles Kingsley, who read it he was one who had “ not thrown off
through at a sitting, declared that “it made religious belief, but never had it: I grew
him a clearer-headed, braver-minded man up in a negative state with regard to it.”
on the spot.” Between the years 1858 and On the subject of religion, both the Mills
1865 Mill also published several important held opinions which are now included
political and philosophical works, including under the term Agnosticism. But, though
Representative Government, essays on a Rationalist, John Mill, we read, had a
Utilitarianism, and An Examination of favourite text: “ Work while it is day, for
Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy. All the night cometh when no man can work ”;
these books possess permanent value, and and when, shortly before his death, he was
will repay close and careful study. During told that the end was near, he calmly said,
the American Civil War Mill’s sympathies “ My work is done.” Yes, his work was
and interest were strongly enlisted in favour done, and may we not say with truth of
of the North, and, by articles contributed this “saint of Rationalism” that his “works
in 1862 to Fraser's Magazine and the do follow ” him ? He has joined
Westminster Review, he did something to
“ The choir invisible
stem the tide of feeling which ran so
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence.”
strongly in England on the side of the
Confederate States.
W. B. Columbine.
In 1865 he entered Parliament as
�DEDICATION
To the beloved and deplored memory of her who was the inspirer,
and in part the author, of all that is best in my writings—the friend
and wife whose exalted sense of truth and right was my strongest
incitement, and whose approbation was my chief reward—I dedicate
this volume.
Like all that I have written for many years, it belongs
as much to her as to me; but the work as it stands has had, in a
very insufficient degree, the inestimable advantage of her revision;
some of the most important portions having been reserved for a
more careful re-examination, which they are now never destined to
receive.
Were I but capable of interpreting to the world one half
the great thoughts and noble feelings which are buried in her grave,
I should be the medium of a greater benefit to it than is ever likely
to arise from anything that I can write, unprompted and unassisted
by her all but unrivalled wisdom.
�ON LIBERTY
Chapter I.
INTRODUCTORY
The subject of this Essay is not the socalled Liberty of the Will, so unfortu
nately opposed to the misnamed doctrine
of Philosophical Necessity ; but Civil or
Social Liberty : the nature and limits of
the power which can be legitimately
exercised by society over the individual.
A question seldom stated, and hardly
ever discussed, in general terms, but
which profoundly influences the prac
tical controversies of the age by its latent
presence, and is likely soon to make
itself recognised as the vital question of
the future. It is so far from being new
that, in a certain sense, it has divided
mankind almost from the remotest ages;
but in the stage of progress into which
the more civilised portions of the species
have now entered it presents itself under
new conditions, and requires a different
and more fundamental treatment.
The struggle between Liberty and
Authority is the most conspicuous
feature in the portions of history with
which we are earliest familiar, particu
larly in that of Greece, Rome, and
England. But in old times this contest
was between subjects, or some classes of
subjects, and the Government. By
liberty was meant protection against the
tyranny of the political rulers. The
rulers were conceived (except in some of
the popular Governments of Greece) as
in a necessarily antagonistic position to
the people whom they ruled. They con
sisted of a governing One, or a govern
ing tribe or caste, who derived their
authority from inheritance or conquest,
who, at all events, did not hold it at the
pleasure of the governed, and whose
supremacy men did not venture, perhaps
did not desire, to contest, whatever pre
cautions might be taken against its
oppressive exercise. Their power was
regarded as necessary, but also as highly
dangerous—as a weapon which they
would attempt to use against their sub
jects, no less than against external
enemies. To prevent .the weaker mem
bers of the community from being preyed
upon by innumerable vultures, it was
needful that there should be an animal
of prey stronger than the rest commis
sioned to keep them down. But as the
•king of the vultures •would be no less
bent upon preying on the flock than any
of the minor harpies, it was indispen
sable to be in a perpetual attitude of
defence against his beak and claws. The
aim, therefore, of patriots was to set
limits to the power which the ruler
should be suffered to exercise over the
community; and this limitation was what
they meant by liberty. It was attempted
�IO
ON LIBERTY
in two ways. First, by obtaining a re
cognition of certain immunities, called
political liberties or rights, which it was
to be regarded as a breach of duty in the
ruler to infringe, and which, if he did
infringe, specific resistance, or general
rebellion, was held to be justifiable. A
second, and generally a later, expedient
was the establishment of constitutional
checks, by which the consent of the
community, or of a body of some sort, sup
posed to represent its interests, was made
a necessary condition to some of the more
important acts of the governing power.
To the first of these modes of limitation
the ruling power, in most European
countries, was compelled, more or less, to
submit. It was not so with the second;
and, to attain this—or, when already in
some degree possessed, to attain it more
completely — became everywhere the
principal object of the lovers of liberty.
And so long as mankind were content to
combat one enemy by another, and to
be ruled by a master, on condition of
being guaranteed more or less effica
ciously against his tyranny, they did not
carry their aspirations beyond this point.
A time, however, came, in the progress
of human affairs, when men ceased to
think it a necessity of nature that their
governors should be an independent
power, opposed in interest to themselves.
It appeared to them much better that
the various magistrates of the State should
be their tenants or delegates, revocable
at their pleasure. In that way alone, it
seemed, could they have complete security
that the powers of government would
never be abused to their disadvantage.
By degrees this new demand for elective
and temporary rulers became the promi
nent object of the exertions of the
popular party, wherever any such party
existed; and superseded, to a con
siderable extent, the previous efforts to
limit the power of rulers. As the struggle
proceeded for making the ruling power
emanate from the periodical choice of
the ruled, some persons began to think
that too much importance had been
attached to the limitation of the power
itself.
That (it might seem) was a
resource against rulers whose interests
were habitually opposed to those of the
people. What was now wanted was,
that the rulers should be identified with
the people; that their interest and will
should be the interest and will of the
nation. The nation did not need to be
protected against its own will. There
was no fear of its tyrannising over itself.
Let the rulers be effectually responsible
to it, promptly removable by it, and it
could afford to trust them with power
of which it could itself dictate the use
to be made. The power was but the
nation’s own power, concentrated, and
in a form convenient for exercise. This
mode of thought, or rather perhaps of
feeling, was common among the last
generation of European liberalism, in
the Continental section of which it still
apparently predominates. Those who
admit any limit to what a Government
may do, except in the case of such
Governments as they think ought not to
exist, stand out as brilliant exceptions
among the political thinkers of the Con
tinent. A similar tone of sentiment
might by this time have been prevalent
in our own country if the circumstances
which for a time encouraged it had con
tinued unaltered.
But in political and philosophical
theories, as well as in persons, success
discloses faults and infirmities which
failure might have concealed from obser
vation. The notion, that the people
have no need to limit their power over
�INTRODUCTOR Y
themselves, might seem axiomatic, when
popular government was a thing only
dreamed about, or read of as having
existed at some distant period of the
past. Neither was that notion neces
sarily disturbed by such temporary aber
rations as those of the French Revolu
tion, the worst of which were the work
of an usurping few, and which, in any
case, belonged, not to the permanent
working of popular institutions, but to a
sudden and convulsive outbreak against
monarchical and aristocratic despotism.
In time, however, a democratic republic
came to occupy a large portion of the
earth’s surface, and made itself felt as
one of the most powerful members of
the community of nations; and elective
and responsible government became sub
ject to the observations and criticisms
which wait upon a great existing fact.
It was now’ perceived that such phrases
as “self-government” and “the power
of the people over themselves ” do not
express the true state of the case. The
“ people ” who exercise the pow’er are
not always the same people with those
over whom it is exercised; and the “ selfgovernment ” spoken of is not the
government of each by himself, but of
each by all the rest. The will of the
people, moreover, practically means the
will of the most numerous or the most
active part of the people ; the majority,
or those who succeed in making them
selves accepted as the majority: the
people, consequently, may desire to
oppress a part of their number, and
precautions are as much needed against
this as against any other abuse of power.
The limitation, therefore, of the power of
government over individuals loses none
of its importance w’hen the holders of
pow'er are regularly accountable to the
community—that is, to the strongest party |
ii
therein. This view of things, recom
mending itself equally to the intelligence
of thinkers and to the inclination of
those important classes in European
society to whose real or supposed inte
rests democracy is adverse, has had no
difficulty in establishing itself; and in
political speculations “ the tyranny of the
majority ” is now generally included
among the evils against which society
requires to be on its guard.
Like other tyrannies, the tyranny of
the majority was at first, and is still
vulgarly, held in dread, chiefly as operat
ing through the acts of the public autho
rities. But reflecting persons perceived
that when society is itself the tyrant—society collectively, over the separate
individuals who compose it—its means
of tyrannising are not restricted to the
acts which it may do by the hands of its
political functionaries. Society can and
does execute its own mandates: and if it
issues wrong mandates instead of right,
or any mandates at all in things with
which it ought not to meddle, it practises a
social tyranny more formidable than many
kinds of political oppression, since, though
not usually upheld by such extreme penal
ties, it leaves fewer means of escape,
penetrating much more deeply into the
details of life, and enslaving the soul
itself. Protection, therefore, against the
tyranny of the magistrate is not enough :
there needs protection also against the
tyranny of the prevailing opinion and
feeling; against the tendency of society
to impose, by other means than civil/
penalties, its own ideas and practices as
rules of conduct on those who dissent
from them ; to fetter the development,
and, if possible, prevent the formation,
of any individuality not in harmony with
its ways, and compels all characters to
fashion themselves upon the model of its
�12
ON LIBERTY
own. There is a limit to the legitimate
interference of collective opinion with
individual independence : and to find
that limit, and maintain it against en
croachment, is as indispensable to a
good condition of human affairs as pro
tection against political despotism.
But, though this proposition is not
likely to be contested in general terms,
the practical question, where to place the
limit—how to make the fitting adjust
ment between individual independence
and social control—is a subject on which
nearly everything remains to be done.
All that makes existence valuable to any
one depends on the enforcement of
restraints upon the actions of other
people. Some rules of conduct, there
fore, must be imposed, by law in the
first place, and by opinion on many
things which are not fit subjects for the
operation of law. What these rules
should be is the principal question in
human affairs; but if we except a few of
the most obvious cases, it is one of those
which least progress has been made in
resolving. No two ages, and scarcely
any two countries, have decided it alike;
and the decision of one age or country
is a wonder to another. Yet the people
of any given age and country no more
suspect any difficulty in it than if it were
a subject on which mankind had always
been agreed. The rules which obtain
among themselves appear to them selfevident and self-justifying. This all but
universal illusion is one of the examples
of the magical influence of custom,
which is not only, as the proverb says, a
second nature, but is continually mis
taken for the first. The effect of custom,
in preventing any misgiving respecting
the rules of conduct which mankind
impose on one another, is all the more
complete because the subject is one on
which it is not generally considered
necessary that reasons should be given,
either by one person to others, or by
each to himself. People are accustomed
to believe, and have been encouraged in
the belief by some who aspire to the
character of philosophers, that their
feelings on subjects of this nature are
better than reasons, and render reasons
unnecessary.
The practical principle
which guides them to their opinions on
the regulation of human conduct is the
feeling in each person’s mind that every
body should be required to act as he,
and those with whom he sympathises,
would like them to act. No one, indeed,
acknowledges to himself that his stan
dard of judgment is his own liking; but
an opinion on a point of conduct not
supported by reasons can only count as
one person’s preference; and if the
reasons, when given, are a mere appeal
to a similar preference felt by other
people, it is still only many people’s
liking instead of one. To an ordinary
man, however, his own preference, thus
supported, is not only a perfectly satis
factory reason, but the only one he
generally has for any of his notions of
morality, taste, or propriety which are
not expressly written in his religious
creed; and his chief guide in the inter
pretation even of that. Men’s opinions,
accordingly, on what is laudable or
blameable are affected by all the multi
farious causes which influence their
wishes in regard to the conduct of
others, and which are as numerous as
those which determine their wishes on
any other subject.
Sometimes their
reason—at other times their prejudices
or superstitions : often their social affec
tions, not seldom their anti-social ones,
their envy or jealousy, their arrogance or
contemptuousness: but most commonly,
�INTRODUCTORY
their desires or fears for themselves—
their legitimate or illegitimate self-inte
rest. Wherever there is an ascendant
class, a large portion of the morality of
the country emanates from its class
interests, and its feelings of class supe
riority. The morality between Spartans
and Helots, between planters and
negroes, between princes and subjects,
between nobles and roturiers, between
men and women, has been for the most
part the creation of these class interests
and feelings; and the sentiments thus
generated react in turn upon the moral
feelings of the members of the ascendant
class in their relations among themselves.
Where, on the other hand, a class, for
merly ascendant, has lost its ascendancy,
or where its ascendancy is unpopular, the
prevailing moral sentiments frequently
bear the impress of an impatient dislike
of superiority. Another grand deter
mining principle of the rules of conduct,
both in act and forbearance, which have
been enforced by law or opinion has
been the servility of mankind towards
the supposed preferences or aversions of
their temporal masters or of their gods.
This servility, though essentially selfish,
is not hypocrisy : it gives rise to perfectly
genuine sentiments of abhorrence; it
made men burn magicians and heretics.
Among so many baser influences, the
general and obvious interests of society
have of course had a share, and a large
one, in the direction of the moral senti
ments: less, however, as a matter of
reason, and on their own account, than
as a consequence of the sympathies and
antipathies which grew out of them; and
sympathies and antipathies which had
little or nothing to do with the interests
of society have made themselves felt in
the establishment of moralities with
quite as great force.
13
The likings and dislikings of society,
or of some powerful portion of it, are
thus the main thing which has practi
cally determined the rules laid down for
general observance, under the penalties
of law or opinion. And, in general, those
who have been in advance of society in
thought and feeling have left this con
dition of things unassailed in principle,
however they may have come into con
flict with it in some of its details. They
have occupied themselves rather in inquir
ing what things society ought to like or
dislike than in questioning whether its
likings or dislikings should be a law
to individuals. They preferred endea
vouring to alter the feelings of mankind
on the particular points on which they
were themselves heretical, rather than
make common cause in defence of free
dom, with heretics generally. The only
case in which the higher ground has been
taken on principle and maintained with
consistency, by any but an individual
here and there, is that of religious belief:
a case instructive in many ways, and
not least so as forming a most striking
instance of the fallibility of what is called
the moral sense; for the odium theologicum, in a sincere bigot, is one of the
most unequivocal cases of moral feeling.
Those who first broke the yoke of what
called itself the Universal Church were,
in general, as little willing to permit
difference of religious opinion as that
Church itself. But when the heat of the
conflict was over, without giving a com
plete victory to any party, and each Church
or sect was reduced to limit its hopes
to retaining possession of the ground
it already occupied; minorities, seeing
that they had no chance of becoming
majorities, were under the necessity of
pleading to those whom they could not
convert, for permission to differ. It is
�U
ON LIBERTY
accordingly on this battle field, almost
solely, that the rights of the individual
against society have been asserted on
broad grounds of principle, and the
claim of society to exercise authority
over dissentients openly controverted.
The great writers to whom the world
owes what religious liberty it possesses
have mostly asserted freedom of con
science as an indefeasible right, and
denied absolutely that a human being is
accountable to others for his religious
belief. Yet so natural to mankind is
intolerance in whatever they really care
about that religious freedom has hardly
anywhere been practically realised, except
where religious indifference, which dis
likes to have its peace disturbed by
theological quarrels, has added its weight
to the scale. In the minds of almost all
religious persons, even in the most tole
rant countries, the duty of toleration is
admitted with tacit reserves. One person
will bear with dissent in matters of
Church government, but not of dogma;
another can tolerate everybody, short of
a Papist or an Unitarian ; another, every
one who believes in revealed religion; a
few extend their charity a little further,
but stop at the belief in a God and in a
future state. Wherever the sentiment of
the majority is still genuine and intense,
it is found to have abated little of its
claim to be obeyed.
In England, from the peculiar circum
stances of our political history, though
the yoke of opinion is perhaps heavier,
that of law is lighter, than in most other
countries of Europe; and there is con
siderable jealousy of direct interference,
by the legislative or the executive power,
with private conduct; not so much from
any just regard for the independence of
the individual, as from the still subsisting
habit of looking on the Government as
representing an opposite interest to the
public. The majority have not yet
learnt to feel the power of the Govern
ment their power, or its opinions their
opinions. When they do so, individual
liberty will probably be as much exposed
to invasion from the Government as it
already is from public opinion. But, as
yet, there is a considerable amount of
feeling ready to be called forth against
any attempt of the law to control indi
viduals in things in which they have not
hitherto been accustomed to be con
trolled by it; and this with very little
discrimination as to whether the matter
is, or is not, within the legitimate sphere
of legal control; insomuch that the
feeling, highly salutary on the whole, is
perhaps quite as often misplaced as well
grounded in the particular instances of
its application. There is, in fact, no
recognised principle by which the pro
priety or impropriety of Government inter
ference is customarily tested. People
decide according to their personal pre
ferences. Some, whenever they see any
good to be done, or evil to be remedied,
would willingly instigate the Government
to undertake the business ; while others
prefer to bear almost any amount of
social evil rather than add one to the
departments of human interests amenable
to governmental control. And men
range themselves on one or the other
side in any particular case, according to
this general direction of their sentiments ;
or according to the degree of interest
which they feel in the particular thing
which it is proposed that the Govern
ment should do; or according to the
belief they entertain that the Government
would or would not do it in the manner
they prefer; but very rarely on account
of any opinion to which they consistently
adhere, as to what things are fit to be
�INTRODUCTORY
done by a Government. And it seems
to me that, in consequence of this
absence of rule or principle, one side is
at present as often wrong as the other:
the interference of Government is, with
about equal frequency, improperly in
voked and improperly condemned.
The object of this Essay is to assert
one very simple principle, as entitled to
govern absolutely the dealings of society
with the individual in the way of com
pulsion and control, whether the means
used be physical force in the form of
legal penalties, or the moral coercion of
public opinion. The principle is, that
the sole end for which mankind are
warranted, individually or collectively,
in interfering with the liberty of action
of any of their number is self-protec
tion. That the only purpose for which
power can be rightfully exercised over
any member of a civilised community,
against his will, is to prevent harm to
others. His own good, either physical
or moral, is not a sufficient warrant.
He cannot rightfully be compelled to do
or forbear because it will be better for
him to do so, because it will make him
happier, because, in the opinions of
others, to do so would be wise, or even
right. These are good reasons for
remonstrating with him, or reasoning
with him, or pursuing him, or entreating
him, but not for compelling him, or
visiting him with an evil in case he do
otherwise. To justify that, the conduct
from which it is desired to deter him must
be calculated to produce evil to some one
else. The only part of the conduct of
any one, for which he is amenable to
society, is that which concerns others.
In the part which merely concerns him
self his independence is, of right, abso
lute. Over himself, over his own body
and mind, the individual is sovereign.
15
It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to say
that this doctrine is meant to apply
only to human beings in the maturity of
their faculties. We are not speaking of
children, or of young persons below the
age which the law may fix as that of
manhood or womanhood. Those who
are still in a state to require being taken
care of by others must be protected
against their own actions as well as
against external injury. For the same
reason, we may leave out of considera
tion those backward states of society in
which the race itself may be considered
as in its nonage. The early difficulties
in the way of spontaneous progress are
so great that there is seldom any choice
of means for overcoming them; and a
ruler full of the spirit of improvement is
warranted in the use of any expedients
that will attain an end perhaps other
wise unattainable. Despotism is a legiti
mate mode of government in dealing with
barbarians, provided the end be their
improvement, and the means justified by
actually effecting that end. Liberty, as
a principle, has no application to any
state of things anterior to the time when
mankind have become capable of being
improved by free and equal discussion.
Until then there is nothing for them
but implicit obedience to an Akbar or a
Charlemagne, if they are so fortunate as
to find one. But as soon as mankind
have attained the capacity of being
guided to their own improvement by
conviction or persuasion (a period long
since reached in all nations with whom
we need here concern ourselves), com
pulsion, either in the direct form or in
that of pains and penalties for noncompliance, is no longer admissible as
a means to their own good, and justifi
able only for the security of others.
It is proper to state that I forego any
�i6
ON LIBERTY
advantage which could be derived to my
argument from the idea of abstract right,
as a thing independent of utility. I
regard utility as the ultimate appeal on
all ethical questions; but it must be
utility in the largest sense, grounded on
the permanent interests of a man as a
progressive being. Those interests, I
contend, authorise the subjection of
individual spontaneity to external control
only in respect to those actions of each
which concern the interest of other
people. If any one does an act hurtful
to others, there is a frima facie case for
punishing him, by law, or, where legal
penalities are not safely applicable, by
general disapprobation. There are also
many positive acts for the benefit of
others which he may rightfully be com
pelled to perform—such as to give
evidence in a court of justice; to bear
his fair share in the common defence,
or in any other joint work necessary to
the interest of the society of which he
enjoys the protection; and to perform
certain acts of individual beneficence,
such as saving a fellow-creature’s life, or
interposing to protect the defenceless
against ill-usage—things which, whenever
it is obviously a man’s duty to do, he
may rightfully be made responsible to
society for not doing. A person may
cause evil to others not only by his
actions, but by his inaction; and in either
case he is justly accountable to them for
the injury. The latter case, it is true,
requires a much more cautious exercise
of compulsion than the former.
To
make any one answerable for doing evil
to others is the rule; to make him
answerable for not preventing evil is,
comparatively speaking, the exception.
Yet there are many cases clear enough
and grave enough to justify that excep
tion. In all things which regard the
external relations of the individual he is
jure amenable to those whose inte
rests are concerned, and, if need be, to
society as their protector. There are
often good reasons for not holding him
to the responsibility; but these reasons
must arise from the special expediences
of the case: either because it is a kind
of case in which he is on the whole
likely to act better when left to his own
discretion than when controlled in any
way in which society have it in their
power to control him, or because the
attempt to exercise control would pro
duce other evils greater than those
which it would prevent. When such
reasons as these preclude the enforce
ment of responsibility, the conscience of
the agent himself should step into the
vacant judgment-seat, and protect those
interests of others which have no ex
ternal protection, judging himself all
the more rigidly because the case does
not admit of his being made accountable
to the judgment of his fellow-creatures.
But there is a sphere of action in
which society, as distinguished from the
individual, has, if any, only an indirect
interest—comprehending all that portion
of a person’s life and conduct which
affects only himself, or, if it also affects
others, only with their free, voluntary,
and undeceived consent and participa
tion. When I say only himself, I mean
directly, and in the first instance, for
whatever’ affects himself may affect
others through himself; and the objec
tion which may be grounded on this con
tingency will receive consideration in the
sequel. This, then, is the appropriate
region of human liberty. It comprises,
first, the inward domain of conscious
ness : demanding liberty of conscience,
in the most comprehensive sense ; liberty
of thought and feeling ; absolute freedom
�INTRODUCTORY
of opinion and sentiment on all subjects,
practical or speculative, scientific, moral,
or theological. The liberty of expressing
and publishing opinions may seem to
fall under a different principle, since it
belongs to that part of the conduct of an
individual which concerns other people;
but, being almost of as much importance
as the liberty of thought itself, and resting
in great part on the same reasons, is
practically inseparable from it. Secondly,
the principle requires liberty of tastes
and pursuits; of framing the plan of our
life to suit our own character; of doing
as we like, subject to such consequences
as may follow—without impediment from
our fellow-creatures so long as what we
do does not harm them, even though
they should think our conduct foolish,
perverse, or wrong. Thirdly, from this
liberty of each individual follows the
liberty, within the same limits, of com
bination among individuals ; freedom to
unite, for any purpose not involving harm
to others, the persons combining being
supposed to be of full age, and not forced
or deceived.
No society in which these liberties
are not, on the whole, respected is free,
whatever may be its form of government;
and none is completely free in which
they do not exist absolute and unqualified.
The only freedom which deserves the
name is that of pursuing our own good
in our own way, so long as we do not
attempt to deprive others of theirs, or
impede their efforts to obtain it. Each
is the proper guardian of his own health,
whether bodily or mental and spiritual.
Mankind are greater gainers by suffering
each other to live as seems good to them
selves than by compelling each to live
as seems good to the rest.
Though this doctrine is anything but
new, and, to some persons, may have the
17
air of a truism, there is no doctrine which
stands more directly opposed to the
general tendency of existing opinion and
practice. Society has expended fully as
much effort in the attempt (according to
its lights) to compel people to conform
to its notions of personal as of social
excellence. The ancient commonwealths
thought themselves entitled to practise,
and the ancient philosophers counte
nanced, the regulation of every part of
private conduct by public authority, on
the ground that the State had a deep
interest in the whole bodily and mental
discipline of every one of its citizens—a
mode of thinking which may have been
admissible in small Republics surrounded
by powerful enemies, in constant peril
of being subverted by foreign attack or
internal commotion, and to which even
a short interval of relaxed energy and
self-command might so easily be fatal,
that they could not afford to wait for the
salutary permanent effects of freedom.
In the modern world the greater size of
political communities, and, above all, the
separation between spiritual and temporal
authority (which placed the direction of
men’s consciences in other hands than
those which controlled their worldly
affairs), prevented so great an interference
by law in the details of private life; but
the engines of moral repression have
been wielded more strenuously against
divergence from the reigning opinion in
self-regarding than even in social matters;
religion, the most powerful of the elements
which have entered into the formation of
moral feeling, having almost always been
governed either by the ambition of a
hierarchy, seeking control over every
department of human conduct, or by the
spirit of Puritanism. And some of those
modern reformers who have placed them
selves in strongest opposition to the
c
�i8
ON LIBERTY
religions of the past have been noway
behind either Churches or sects in their
assertion of the right of spiritual domina
tion : M. Comte, in particular, whose
social system, as unfolded in his Systeme
de Politique Positive, aims at establishing
(though by moral more than by legal
appliances) a despotism of society over
the individual surpassing anything con
templated in the political ideal of the
most rigid disciplinarian among the
ancient philosophers.
Apart from the peculiar tenets of in
dividual thinkers, there is also in the
world at large an increasing inclination
to stretch unduly the powers of society
over the individual, both by the force of
opinion and even by that of legislation ;
and as the tendency of all the changes
taking place in the world is to strengthen
society and diminish the power of the
individual, this encroachment is not one
of the evils which tend spontaneously to
disappear, but, on the contrary, to grow
more and more formidable. The dis
position of mankind, whether as rulers
or as fellow-citizens, to impose their own
opinions and inclinations as a rule of
conduct on others, is so energetically
supported by some of the best and by
some of the worst feelings incident to
human nature that it is hardly ever kept
under restraint by anything but want of
power; and as the power is not declin
ing, but growing, unless a strong barrier
of moral conviction can be raised against
the mischief, we must expect, in the
present circumstances of the world, to
see it increase.
It will be convenient for the argument
if, instead of at once entering upon the
general thesis, we confine ouselves, in the
first instance, to a single branch of it, on
which the principle here stated is, if not
fully, yet to a certain point, recognised by
the current opinions. This one branch is
the Liberty of Thought, from which it is
impossible to separate the cognate liberty
of speaking and of writing. Although
these liberties, to some considerable
amount, form part of the political morality
of all countries which profess religious
toleration and free institutions, the
grounds, both philosophical and practical,
on which they rest are perhaps not so
familiar to the general mind, nor so
thoroughly appreciated by many, even of
the leaders of opinion, as might have
been expected. Those grounds, when
rightly understood, are of much wider
application than to only one division of
the subject, and a thorough consideration
of this part of the question will be found
the best introduction to the remainder.
Those to whom nothing which I am about
to say will be new may, therefore, I hope,
excuse me if, on a subject which for now
three centuries has been so often dis
cussed, I venture on one discussion more.
�1
OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
Chapter II.
OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
The time, it is to be hoped, is gone by
when any defence would be necessary of
the “ liberty of the press ” as one of
the securities against corrupt or tyrannical
government. No argument, we may
suppose, can now be needed against
permitting a legislature or an executive,
not identified in interest with the people,
to prescribe opinions to them, and deter
mine what doctrines or what arguments
they shall be allowed to hear. This
aspect of the question, besides, has been
so often and so triumphantly enforced
by preceding writers that it needs not
be especially insisted on in this place.
Though the law of England, on the
subject of the press, is as servile to this
day as it was in the time of the Tudors,
there is little danger of it being actually
put in force against political discussion,
except during some temporary panic,
when fear of insurrection drives ministers
and judges from their propriety / and,
j
1 These words had scarcely been written when,
as if to give them an emphatic contradiction,
occurred the Government Press Prosecutions of
1858. That ill-judged interference with the
liberty of public discussion has not, however,
induced me to alter a single word in the text,
nor has it at all weakened my conviction that,
moments of panic excepted, the era of pains and
penalties for political discussion has, in our own
country, passed away. For, in the first place,
the prosecutions were not persisted in ; and, in
the second, they were never, properly speaking,
political prosecutions. The offence charged was
not that of criticising institutions, or the acts or
persons of rulers, but of circulating what was
deemed an immoral doctrine, the lawfulness of
Tyrannicide.
If the arguments of the present chapter are of
speaking generally, it is not, in constitu
tional countries, to be apprehended that
the Government, whether completely
responsible to the people or not, will
often attempt to control the expression
of opinion, except when in doing so it
makes itself the organ of the general
intolerance of the public.
Let us
suppose, therefore, that the Government
is entirely at one with the people, and
never thinks of exerting any power of
coercion unless in agreement with what
it conceives to be their voice. But
I deny the right of the people to exercise
such coercion, either by themselves or
by their Government. The power itself
any validity, there ought to exist the fullest
liberty of professing and discussing, as a matter
of ethical conviction, any doctrine, however
immoral it may be considered. It would, there
fore, be irrelevant and out of place to examine
here whether the doctrine of Tyrannicide
deserves that title. I shall content myself with
saying that the subject has been at all times one
of the open questions of morals ; that the act
of a private citizen in striking down a criminal
who, by raising himself above the law, has
placed himself beyond the reach of legal punish
ment or control, has been accounted by whole
nations, and by some of the best and wisest of
men, not a crime, but an act of exalted virtue ;
and that, right or wrong, it is not of the nature of
assassination, but of civil war. As such, I hold
that the instigation to it, in a specific case, may
be a proper subject of punishment, but only if
an overt act has followed, and at least a probable
connection can be established between the act
and the instignation. Even then it is not a
foreign Government, but the very Government
assailed, which alone, in the exercise of selfdefence, can legitimately punish attacks directed
against its own existence.
�20
ON LIBERTY
is illegitimate. The best Government has
no more title to it than the worst. It
is as noxious, or more noxious, when
exerted in accordance with public opinion
than when in opposition to it. If all
mankind minus one were of one opinion,
and only one person were of the contrary
opinion, mankind would be no more
justified in silencing that one person
than he, if he had the power, would be
justified in silencing mankind. Were an
opinion a personal possession of no
value except to the owner; if to be
obstructed in the enjoyment of it were
simply a private injury, it would make
some difference whether the injury was
inflicted only on a few persons or on
many. But the peculiar evil of silencing
the expression of an opinion is that it is
robbing the human race ; posterity as
well as the existing generation; those
who dissent from the opinion, still more
than those who hold it. If the opinion
is right, they are deprived of the oppor
tunity of exchanging error for truth; if
wrong, they lose, what is almost as great
a benefit, the clearer perception and
livelier impression of truth, produced by
its collision with error.
It is necessary to consider separately
these two hypotheses, each of which has
a distinct branch of the argument corre
sponding to it. We can never be sure
that the opinion we are endeavouring to
stifle is a false opinion; and if we were
sure, stifling it would be an evil still.
First, the opinion which it is attempted
to suppress by authority may possibly be
true. Those who desire to suppress it
of course deny its truth ; but they are
not infallible. They have no authority
to decide the question for all mankind,
and exclude every other person from the
means of judging. To refuse a hearing
to an opinion because they are sure that
it is false is to assume that their certainty
is the same thing" as absolute certainty.
All silencing of discussion is an assump
tion of infallibility. Its condemnation may
be allowed to rest on this common argu
ment, not the worse for being common.
Unfortunately for the good sense of
mankind, the fact of their fallibility is far
from carrying the weight in their practical
judgment which is always allowed to
it in theory; for, w’hile every one well
knows himself to be fallible, few think it
necessary to take any precautions against
their own fallibility, or admit the suppo
sition that any opinion of which they
feel very certain may be one of the
examples of the error to which they
acknowledge themselves to be liable.
Absolute princes, or others who are
accustomed to unlimited deference,
usually feel this complete confidence in
their own opinions on nearly all subjects.
People more happily situated, who some
times hear their opinions disputed, and
are not wholly unused to be set right
when they are wrong, place the same
unbounded reliance only on such of
their opinions as are shared by all who
surround them, or to whom they habitu
ally defer ; for in proportion to a man’s
want of confidence in his own solitary
judgment does he usually repose, with
implicit trust, on the infallibility of “ the
world ” in general. And the world, to
each individual, means the part of it with
which he comes in contact—his party,
his sect, his church, his class of society :
the man may be called, by comparison,
almost liberal and large-minded to whom
it means anything so comprehensive as
his own country or his own age. Nor is
his faith in this collective authority at all
shaken by his being aware that other
ages, countries, sects, churches, classes,
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
and parties have thought, and even now
think, the exact reverse. He devolves
upon his own world the responsibility of
being in the right against the dissentient
worlds of other people; and it never
troubles him that mere accident has
decided which of these numerous worlds
is the object of his reliance, and that the
same causes which make him a Church
man in London would have made him
a Buddhist or a Confucian in Pekin. Yet
it is as evident in itself as any amount
of argument can make it that ages are
no more infallible than individuals—every
age having held many opinions which
subsequent ages have deemed not only
false but absurd; and it is as certain that
many opinions, now general, will be
rejected by future ages as it is that many,
once general, are rejected by the present.
The objection likely to be made to
this argument would probably take some
such form as the following. There is no
greater asstfmption of infallibility in for
bidding the propagation of error than in
any other thing which is done by public
authority on its own judgment and respon
sibility. Judgment is given to men that
they may use it. Because it may be used
erroneously, are men to be told that they
ought not to use it at all ? To prohibit
what they think pernicious is not claiming
exemption from error, but fulfilling the
duty incumbent on them, although fal
lible, of acting on their conscientious
conviction. If we were never to act on
our opinions because those opinions
may be wrong, we should leave all our
interests uncared for and all our duties
unperformed. An objection which applies
to all conduct can be no valid objection
to any conduct in particular. It is the
duty ot Governments, and of individuals,
to form the truest opinions they can ; to
form them carefully, and never impose
21
them upon others unless they are quite
sure of being right. But when they are
sure (such reasoners may say), it is
not conscientiousness, but cowardice, to
shrink from acting on their opinions, and
allow doctrines which they honestly think
dangerous to the welfare of mankind,
either in this life or in another, to be scat
tered abroad without restraint, because
other people, in less enlightened times,
have persecuted opinions now believed
to be true. Let us take care, it may be
said, not to make the same mistake ; but
Governments and nations have made
mistakes in other things which are not
denied to be fit subjects for the exercise
of authority: they have laid on bad
taxes, made unjust wars. Ought we,
therefore, to lay on no taxes, and, under
whatever provocation, make no wars?
Men and Governments must act to the
best of their ability. There is no such
thing as absolute certainty, but there is
assurance sufficient for the purposes of
human life. We may, and must, assume
our opinion to be true for the guidance
of our own conduct; and it is assuming
no more when we forbid bad men to
pervert society by the propagation of
opinions which we regard as false and
pernicious.
I answer, that it is assuming very much
more. There is the greatest difference
between presuming an opinion to be true,
because, with every opportunity for con
testing it, it has not been refuted, and
assuming its truth for the purpose of
not permitting its refutation. Complete
liberty of contradicting and disproving
our opinion is the very condition which
justifies us in assuming its truth for
purposes of action; and on no other
terms can a being with human faculties
have any rational assurance of beinz
right.
�22
ON LIBERT Y
When we consider either the history so ? Because he has kept his mind open
of opinion or the ordinary conduct of to criticism of his opinions and conduct.
human life, to what is it to be ascribed Because it has been his practice to listen
that the one and the other are no worse to all that could be said against him ;
than they are? Not certainly to the to profit by as much of it as was just,
inherent force of the human under and expound to himself, and upon occa
standing ; for, on any matter not self- sion to others, the fallacy of what was
evident, there are ninety-nine persons fallacious. Because he has felt that the
totally incapable of judging of it for one only way in which a human being can
who is capable; and the capacity of the make some approach to knowing the
hundredth person is only comparative; whole of a subject is by hearing what
for the majority of the eminent men of can be said about it by persons of every
every past generation held many opinions variety of opinion, and studying all modes
now known to be erroneous, and did or in which it can be looked at by every
approved numerous things which no one character of mind. No wise man ever
will now justify. Why is it, then, that acquired his wisdom in any mode but
there is on the whole a preponderance this, nor is it in the nature of human
among mankind of rational opinions and intellect to become wise in any other
rational conduct ? If there really is this manner. The steady habit of correcting
preponderance — which there must be and completing his own opinion by col
unless human affairs are, and have always lating it with those of others, so far from
been, in an almost desperate state—it is causing doubt and hesitation in carrying
owing to a quality of the human mind, it into practice, is the only stable founda
the source of everything respectable in tion for a just reliance on it; for, being
man either as an intellectual or as a cognisant of all that can, at least obviously,
moral being—namely, that his errors are be said against him, and having taken
corrigible. He is capable of rectifying his up his position against all gainsay er s—
knowing that he has sought for objections
mistakes by discussion and experience.
and difficulties, instead of avoiding them,
Not by experience alone. There must
be discussion, to show how experience and has shut out no light which can be
is to be interpreted. Wrong opinions thrown upon the subject from any quarter
and practices gradually yield to fact and —he has a right to think his judgment
argument; but facts and arguments, to better than that of any person, or any
produce any effect on the mind, must be multitude, who have not gone through a
brought before it. Very dew facts are similar process.
It is not too much to require that
able to tell their own story without
comments to bring out their meaning. what the wisest ot mankind, those who
The whole strength and value, then, of are best entitled to trust their own judg
human judgment, depending on the one ment, find necessary to warrant their
property, that it can be set right when it relying on it, should be submitted to by
is wrong, reliance can be placed on it only that miscellaneous collection of a few
when the means of setting it right are kept wise and many foolish individuals, called
constantly at hand. In the case of any the public. The most intolerant of
person whose judgment is really deserv Churches, the Roman Catholic Church,
ing of confidence, how has it become even at the canonisation of a saint, admits,
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
and listens patiently to, a “devil’s advo
cate.” The holiest of men, it appears,
cannot be admitted to posthumous
honours until all that the devil could say
against him is known and weighed. If
even the Newtonian philosophy were not
permitted to be questioned, mankind
could not feel as complete assurance of
its truth as they now do. The beliefs
which we have most warrant for have
no safeguard to rest on, but a standing
invitation to the whole world to prove
them unfounded. If the challenge is
not accepted, or is accepted and the
attempt fails, we are far enough from
certainty still; but we have done the
best that the existing state of human
reason admits of; we have neglected
nothing that could give the truth a
chance of reaching us; if the lists are
kept open, we may hope that, if there be
a better truth, it will be found when the
human mind is capable of receiving it;
and in the meantime we may rely on
having attained such approach to truth
as is possible in our own day. This is
the amount of certainty attainable by a
fallible being, and this the sole way of
attaining it.
Strange it is that men should admit
the validity of the arguments for free
discussion, but object to their being
“pushed to an extreme”; not seeing
that, unless the reasons are good for an
extreme case, they are not good for any
case. Strange that they should imagine
that they are not assuming infallibility
when they acknowledge that there should
be free discussion on all subjects which
can possibly be doubtful, but think that
some particular principle or doctrine
should be forbidden to be questioned
because it is so certain; that is, because
they are certain that it is certain. To
call any proposition certain while there
23
is anyone who would deny its certainty
if permitted, but who is not permitted,
is to assume that we ourselves and those
who agree with us are the judges of
certainty, and judges without hearing the
other side.
In the present age—which has been
described as “ destitute of faith, but
terrified at scepticism ”—in which people
feel sure, not so much that their opinions
are true, as that they should not know
what to do without them—the claims of
an opinion to be protected from public
attack are rested not so much on its
truth as on its importance to society.
There are, it is alleged, certain beliefs,
so useful, not to say indispensable, to
well-being that it is as much the duty of
Governments to uphold those beliefs as
to protect any other of the interests of
society. In a case of such necessity,
and so directly in the line of their duty,
something less than infallibility may, it
is maintained, warrant, and even bind,
Governments to act on their own opinion,
confirmed by the general opinion of man
kind. It is also often argued, and still
oftener thought, that none but bad men
would desire to weaken these salutary
beliefs; and there can be nothing wrong,
it is thought, in restraining bad men, and
prohibiting what only such men would
wish to practise. This mode of thinking
makes the justification of restraints on
discussion not a question of the truth of
doctrines, but of their usefulness, and
flatters itself by that means to escape the
responsibility of claiming to be an infal
lible judge of opinions. But those who
thus satisfy themselves do not perceive
that the assumption of infallibility is
merely shifted from one point to another.
The usefulness of an opinion is itself
matter of opinion : as disputable, as open
to discussion, and requiring discussion as
�24
ON LIBERTY
much as the opinion itself. There is fix down the discussion to a concrete
the same need of an infallible judge of case; and I choose, by preference, the
opinions to decide an opinion to be cases which are least favourable to me—
noxious as to decide it to be false, unless in which the argument against freedom
the opinion condemned has full oppor of opinion, both on the score of truth
tunity of defending itself. And it will and on that of utility, is considered the
not do to say that the heretic may be strongest. Let the opinions impugned
allowed to maintain the utility or harm be the belief in a God and in a future
lessness of his opinion, though forbidden state, or any of the commonly received
to maintain its truth. The truth of an doctrines of morality. To fight the
opinion is part of its utility. If we would battle on such ground gives a great
know whether or not it is desirable that advantage to an unfair antagonist; since
a proposition should be believed, is it he will be sure to say (and many who
possible to exclude the consideration of have no desire to be unfair will say it
whether or not it is true ? In the opinion, internally), Are these the doctrines which
not of bad men, but of the best men, no you do not deem sufficiently certain to be
belief which is contrary to truth can be taken under the protection of law ? Is
really useful; and can you prevent such the belief in a God one of the opinions
men from urging that plea when they to feel sure of which you hold to be
are charged with culpability for denying assuming infallibility? But I must be
some doctrine which they are told is permitted to observe that it is not the
useful, but which they believe to be false? feeling sure of a doctrine (be it what it
Those who are on the side of received may) which I call an assumption of
opinions never fail to take all possible infallibility. It is the undertaking to
advantage of this plea: you do not find decide that question for others, without
them handling the question of utility as allowing them to hear what can be said
if it could be completely abstracted from on the contrary side. And I denounce
that of truth ; on the contrary, it is, above and reprobate this pretension not the
all, because their doctrine is “ the truth ” less if put forth on the side of my most
that the knowledge or the belief of it is solemn convictions. However positive
held to be so indispensable. There can anyone’s persuasion may be, not only of
be no fair discussion of the question of the falsity, but of the pernicious conse
usefulness when an argument so vital quences— not only of the pernicious
may be employed on one side but not consequences, but (to adopt expressions
on the other. And, in point of fact, when which I altogether condemn) the immo
law or public feeling do not permit the rality and impiety of an opinion; yet if,
truth of an opinion to be disputed, they in pursuance of that private judgment,
are just as little tolerant of a denial of its though backed by the public judgment
usefulness. The utmost they allow is an of his country or his cotemporaries, he
extenuation of its absolute necessity, or prevents the opinion from being heard
in its defence, he assumes infallibility.
of the positive guilt of rejecting it.
In order more fully to illustrate the And so far from the assumption being
mischief of denying a hearing to opinions less objectionable or less dangerous
because we, in our own judgment, have because the opinion is called immoral or
condemned them, it will be desirable to I impious, this is the case of all others in
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
which it is most fatal. These are exactly
the occasions on which the men of one
generation commit those dreadful mis
takes which excite the astonishment and
horror of posterity. It is among such
that we find the instances memorable in
history when the arm of the law has
been employed to root out the best men
and the noblest doctrines—with deplor
able success as to the men, though some
of the doctrines have survived to be (as
if in mockery) invoked in defence of.
similar conduct towards those who dissent
from them, or from their 'received inter
pretation.
Mankind can hardly be too often re
minded that there was once a man
named Socrates, between whom and the
legal authorities and public opinion of
his time there took place a memorable
collision. Born in an age and country
abounding in individual greatness, this
man has been handed down to us by
those who best knew both him and the
age as the most virtuous man in it;
while we know him as the head and
prototype of all subsequent teachers of
virtue, the source equally of the lofty
inspiration of Plato and the judicious
utilitarianism of Aristotle, “ i maestri di
color che sanno” the two headsprings of
ethical as of all other philosophy. This
acknowledged master of all the eminent
thinkers who have since lived—whose
fame, still growing after more than two
thousand years, all but outweighs the
whole remainder of the names which
make his native city illustrious—was put
to death by his countrymen, after a
judicial conviction, for impiety and im
morality. Impiety, in denying the gods
recognised by the State; indeed, his
accuser asserted (see the Apologia) that
he believed in no gods at all. Im
morality, in being, by his doctrines and
25
instructions, a “corrupter of youth.”
Of these charges the tribunal, there is
every ground for believing, honestly found
him guilty, and condemned the man who
probably of all then born had deserved
best of mankind to be put to death as a
criminal.
To pass from this to the only other
instance of judicial iniquity, the mention
of which, after the condemnation of
Socrates, would not be an anti-climax—
the event which took place on Calvary
rather more than eighteen hundred years
ago. The man who left on the memory
of those who witnessed his life and con
versation such an impression of his moral
grandeur that eighteen subsequent cen
turies have done homage to him as the
Almighty in person was ignominiously
put to death, as what ? Asa blasphemer.
Men did not merely mistake their bene
factor ; they mistook him for the exact
contrary of what he was, and treated him
as that prodigy of impiety, which they
themselves are now held to be, for their
treatment of him. The feelings with
which mankind now regard these lament
able transactions, especially the later of
the two, render them extremely unjust
in their judgment of the unhappy actors.
These were, to all appearance, not bad
men—not worse than men commonly
are, but rather the contrary; men who
possessed in a full, or somewhat more
than a full, measure the religious, moral,
and patriotic feelings of their time and
people : the very kind of men who, in
all times, our own included, have every
chance of passing through life blameless
and respected. The high-priest who rent
his garments when the words were pro
nounced, which, according to all the
ideas of his country, constituted the
blackest guilt, was in all probability quite
as sincere in his horror and indignation
�26
ON LIBERTY
as the generality of respectable and pious
men now are in the religious and moral
sentiments they profess; and most of
those who now shudder at his conduct,
if they had lived in his time, and been
born Jews, would have acted precisely as
he did. Orthodox Christians who are
tempted to think that those who stoned
to death the first martyrs must have
been worse men than they themselves are
ought to remember that one of those
persecutors was Saint Paul.
Let us add one more example, the
most striking of all, if the impressiveness
of an error is measured by the wisdom
and virtue of him who falls into it. If
ever anyone, possessed of power, had
grounds for thinking himself the best
and most enlightened among his con
temporaries, it was the Emperor Marcus
Aurelius. Absolute monarch of the
whole civilised world, he preserved
through life not only the most un
blemished justice, but, what was less to
be expected from his Stoical breeding,
the tenderest heart. The few failings
which are attributed to him were all on
the side of indulgence; while his writings,
the highest ethical product of the ancient
mind, differ scarcely perceptibly, if they
differ at all, from the most characteristic
teachings of Christ. This man, a better
Christian in all but the dogmatic sense
of the word than almost any of the
ostensibly Christian sovereigns who have
since reigned, persecuted Christianity.
Placed at the summit of all the previous
attainments of humanity, with an open,
unfettered intellect, and a character
which led him of himself to embody in
his moral writings the Christian ideal,
he yet failed to see that Christianity was
to be a good and not an evil to the
world, with his duties to which he was
so deeply penetrated. Existing society
he knew to be in a deplorable state.
But such as it was, he saw, or thought
he saw, that it was held together, and
prevented from being worse, by belief
and reverence of the received divinities.
As a ruler of mankind, he deemed it his
duty not to suffer society to fall in pieces;
and saw not how, if its existing ties were
removed, any others could be formed
which could again knit it together. The
new religion openly aimed at dissolving
these ties: unless, therefore, it was his
duty to adopt that religion, it seemed to
be his duty to put it down. Inasmuch,
then, as the theology of Christianity did
not appear to him true or of divine origin;
inasmuch as this strange history of a cru
cified God was not credible to him, and a
system which purported to rest entirely
upon a foundation to him so wholly
unbelievable could not be foreseen by
him to be that renovating agency which,
after all abatements, it has in fact proved
to be; the gentlest and most amiable of
philosophers and rulers, under a solemn
sense of duty, authorised the persecution
of Christianity. To my mind, this is one
of the most tragical facts in all history.
It is a bitter thought how different a
thing the Christianity of the world might
have been if the Christian faith had been
adopted as the religion of the empire
under the auspices of Marcus Aurelius
instead of those of Constantine. But it
would be equally unjust to him, and false
to truth, to deny that no one plea which
can be urged for punishing anti-Christian
teaching was wanting to Marcus Aurelius
for punishing, as he did, the propaga
tion of Christianity. No Christian more
firmly believes that Atheism is false, and
tends to the dissolution of society, than
Marcus Aurelius believed the same things
of Christianity—he who, of all men then
living, might have been thought the most
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
capable of appreciating it. Unless any
one who approves of punishment for the
promulgation of opinions flatters himself
that he is a wiser and better man than
Marcus Aurelius—more deeply versed in
the wisdom of his time, more elevated
in his intellect above it; more earnest
in his search for truth, or more singleminded in his devotion to it when found—
let him abstain from that assumption of
the joint infallibility of himself and the
multitude which the great Antoninus
made with so unfortunate a result.
Aware of the impossibility of defend
ing the use of punishment for restraining
irreligious opinions, by any argument
which will not justify Marcus Antoninus,
the enemies of religious freedom, w’hen
hard pressed, occasionally accept this
consequence, and say, with Dr. Johnson,
that the persecutors of Christianity were
in the right; that persecution is an
ordeal through which truth ought to pass,
and always passes successfully, legal
penalties being, in the end, powerless
against truth, though sometimes bene
ficially effective against mischievous
errors. This is a form of the argument for
religious intolerance sufficiently remark
able not to be passed without notice.
A theory which maintains that truth
may justifiably be persecuted because
persecution cannot possibly do it any
harm cannot be charged with being
intentionally hostile to the reception of
new truths; but we cannot commend
the generosity of its dealing with the
persons to whom mankind are indebted
for them. To discover to the world
something which deeply concerns it, and
of which it was previously ignorant; to
prove to it that it had been mistaken on
some vital point of temporal or spiritual
interest, is as important a service as a
human being can render to his fellow
27
creatures, and in certain cases, as in
those of the early Christians and of the
Reformers, those who think with Dr.
Johnson believe it to have been the most
precious gift which could be bestowed
on mankind. That the authors of such
splendid benefits should be requited by
martyrdom ; that their reward should be
to be dealt with as the vilest of criminals,
is not, upon this theory, a deplorable
error and misfortune, for which humanity
should mourn in sackcloth and ashes,
but the normal and justifiable state of
things. The propounder of a new truth,
according to this doctrine, should stand,
as stood, in the legislation of the Locrians,
the proposer of a new law, with a halter
round his neck, to be instantly tightened
if the public assembly did not, on hearing
his reasons, then and there adopt his pro
position. People who defend this mode of
treating benefactors cannot be supposed
to set much value on the benefit; and I
believe this view of the subject is mostly
confined to the sort of persons who think
that new truths may have been desirable
once, but that we have had enough of
them now.
But, indeed, the dictum that truth
always triumphs over persecution is one
of those pleasant falsehoods which men
repeat after one another till they pass
into commonplaces, but which all expe
rience refutes. History teems with in
stances of truth put down by persecution.
If not suppressed for ever, it may be
thrown back for centuries. To speak
only of religious opinions : the Refor
mation broke out at least twenty times
before Luther, and was put down.
Arnold of Brescia was put down. Fra
Dolcino was put down. Savonarola was
put down. The Albigeois wrere put
down. The Vaudois w’ere put down.
The Lollards were put down.
The
�28
ON LIBERTY
Hussites were put down. Even after the
era of Luther, wherever persecution was
persisted in it was successful. In Spain,
Italy, Flanders, the Austrian empire,
Protestantism was rooted out; and, most
likely, would have been so in England
had Queen Mary lived, or Queen
Elizabeth died. Persecution has always
succeeded, save where the heretics were
too strong a party to be effectually per
secuted.
No reasonable person can
doubt that Christianity might have
been extirpated in the Roman Empire.
It spread, and became predominant,
because the persecutions were only occa
sional, lasting but a short time, and
separated by long intervals of almost
undisturbed propagandism. It is a piece
of idle sentimentality that truth, merely
as truth, has any inherent power denied
to error, of prevailing against the dungeon
and the stake. Men are not more zealous
for truth than they often are for error,
and a sufficient application of legal or
even of social penalties will generally
succeed in stopping the propagation of
either. The real advantage which truth
has consists in this, that when an opinion
is true it may be extinguished once,
twice, or many times, but in the course
of ages there will generally be found
persons to rediscover it, until some one
of its reappearances falls on a time when
from favourable circumstances it escapes
persecution until it has made such head
as to withstand all subsequent attempts
to suppress it.
It will be said that we do not now
put to death the introducers of new
opinions; we are not like our fathers,
who slew the prophets : we even build
sepulchres to them. It is true we no
longer put heretics to death; and the
amount of penal infliction which modern
feeling would probably tolerate, even
against the most obnoxious opinions, is
not sufficient to extirpate them. But let
us not flatter ourselves that we are yet
free from the stain even of legal persecu
tion. Penalties for opinion, or at least
for its expression, still exist by law; and
their enforcement is not, even in these
times, so unexampled as to make, it at
all incredible that they may some day be
revived in full force. In the year 1857,
at the summer assizes of the county of
Cornwall, an unfortunate man,1 said to
be of unexceptionable conduct in all
relations of life, was sentenced to twentyone months’ imprisonment for uttering
and writing on a gate some offensive
words concerning Christianity. Within
a month of the same time, at the Old
Bailey, two persons, on two separate
occasions,2 were rejected as jurymen,
and one of them grossly insulted by the
judge and by one of the counsel, because
they honestly declared that they had
no theological belief; and a third, a
foreigner,3 for the same reason, was
denied justice against a thief. This
refusal of redress took place in virtue of
the legal doctrine that no person can be
allowed to give evidence in a court of
justice who does not profess belief in a
God (any god is sufficient) and in a
future state; which is equivalent to
declaring such persons to be outlaws,
excluded from the protection of the
tribunals; who may not only be robbed
or assaulted with impunity, if no one but
themselves, or persons of similar opinions,
be present, but anyone else may be
1 Thomas Pooley, Bodmin Assizes, July 31st,
1857. In December following he received a
free pardon from the Crown.
2 George Jacob Holyoake, August 17th, 1857;
Edward Truelove, July, 1857.
3 Baron de Gleichen, Marlborough Street
Police Court, August 4th, 1857.
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
robbed or assaulted with impunity, if the
proof of the fact depends on their evi
dence. The assumption on which this
is grounded is that the oath is worthless
of a person who does not believe in a
future state, a proposition which betokens
much ignorance of history in those who
assent to it (since it is historically true
that a large proportion of infidels in all
ages have been persons of distinguished
integrity and honour), and would be
maintained by no one who had the
smallest conception how many of the
persons in greatest repute with the world,
both for virtues and attainments, are well
known, at least to their intimates, to
be unbelievers. The rule, besides, is
suicidal, and cuts away its own founda
tion. Under pretence that Atheists must
be liars, it admits the testimony of all
Atheists who are willing to lie, and rejects
only those who brave the obloquy of
publicly confessing a detested creed
rather than affirm a falsehood. A rule
thus self-convicted of absurdity, so far as
regards its professed purpose, can be
kept in force only as a badge of hatred,
a relic of persecution—a persecution,
too, having the peculiarity that the
qualification for undergoing it is the
being cleaily proved not to deserve it.
The rule and the theory it implies are
hardly less insulting to believers than to
infidels. For if he who does not believe
in a future state necessarily lies, it
follows that they who do believe are only
prevented from lying, if prevented they
are, by the fear of hell. We will not do
the authors and abettors of the rule the
injury of supposing that the conception
which they have formed of Christian
virtue is drawn from their own conscious
ness.
These, indeed, are but rags and rem
nants of persecution, and may be thought
29
to be not so much an indication of the
wish to persecute as an example of that
very frequent infirmity of English minds
which makes them take a preposterous
pleasure in the assertion of a bad prin
ciple when they are no longer bad enough
to desire to carry it really into practice.
But, unhappily, there is no security in the
state of the public mind that the suspen
sion of worse forms of legal persecution,
which has lasted for about the space of a
generation, will continue. In this age the
quiet surface of routine is as often ruffled
by attempts to resuscitate past evils as
to introduce new benefits. What is
boasted of at the present time as the
revival of religion is always, in narrow
and uncultivated minds, at least as much
the revival of bigotry ; and where there
is the strong permanent leaven of intole
rance in the feelings of a people, which
at all times abides in the middle classes
of this country, it needs but little to
provoke them into actively persecuting
those whom they have never ceased to
think proper objects of persecution.1
1 Ample warning maybe drawn from the large
infusion of the passions of a persecutor, which
mingled with the general display of the worst
parts of our national character on the occasion
of the Sepoy insurrection. The ravings of
fanatics or charlatans from the pulpit may be
unworthy of notice ; but the heads of the
Evangelical party have announced as their
principle for the government of Hindoos and
Mohammedans, that no schools be supported by
public money in which the Bible is not taught,
and, by necessary consequence, that no public
employment be given to any but real or pretended
Christians. An Under-Secretary of State, in a
speech delivered to his constituents on November
12th, 1857, is reported to have said : “Tolera
tion of their faith” (the faith of a hundred
millions of British subjects), “ the superstition
which they called religion, by the British
Government, had had the effect of retarding the
■ ascendancy of the British name, and preventing
�3°
ON LIBERTY
For it is this—it is the opinions men
entertain, and the feelings they cherish,
respecting those who disown the beliefs
they deem important, which makes this
country not a place of mental freedom.
For a long time past, the chief mischief of
the legal penalties is that they strengthen
the social stigma. It is that stigma
which is really effective, and so effective
is it that the profession of opinions
which are under the ban of society is
much less common in England than is,
in many other countries, the avowal of
those which incur risk of judicial punish
ment. In respect to all persons but
those whose pecuniary circumstances
make them independent of the goodwill
of other people, opinion on this subject
is as efficacious as law; men might as
well be imprisoned as excluded from the
means of earning their bread. Those
whose bread is already secured, and who
desire no favours from men in power, or
from bodies of men, or from the public,
have nothing to fear from the open
avowal of any opinions, but to be illthought of and ill-spoken of, and this
it ought not to require a very heroic
mould to enable them to bear. There
the salutary growth of Christianity.......Tolera
tion was the great corner-stone of the religious
liberties of this country ; but do not let them
abuse that precious word ‘toleration.’ As he
understood it, it meant the complete liberty to
all, freedom of worship, among Christians who
worshipped upon the same foundation. It meant
toleration of all sects and denominations of Chris
tians who believed in the one mediation.'1' I
’
desire to call attention to the fact, that a man
who has been deemed fit to fill a high office in
the government of this country under a Liberal
Ministry maintains the doctrine that all who do
not believe in the divinity of Christ are beyond
the pale of toleration. Who, after this imbecile
display, can indulge the illusion that religious
persecution has passed away, never to return ?
is no room for any appeal ad misericordiam in behalf of such persons. But
though we do not now inflict so much
evil on those who think differently from
us as it was formerly our custom to do,
it may be that we do ourselves as much
evil as ever by our treatment of them.
Socrates was put to death, but the
Socratic philosophy rose like the sun in
heaven, and spread its illumination over
the whole intellectual firmament. Chris
tians were cast to the lions, but the
Christian Church grew up a stately and
spreading tree, overtopping the older
and less vigorous growths, and stifling
them by its shade. Our merely social
intolerance kills no one, roots out no
opinions, but induces men to disguise
them, or to abstain from any active effort
for their diffusion. With us heretical
opinions do not perceptibly gain, or
even lose ground in each decade or
generation; they never blaze out far and
wide, but continue to smoulder in the
narrow circles of thinking and studious
persons among whom they originate,
without ever lighting up the general
affairs of mankind with either a true or
deceptive light. And thus is kept up a
state of things very satisfactory to some
minds, because, without the unpleasant
process of fining or imprisoning anybody,
it maintains all prevailing opinions out
wardly undisturbed, while it does not
absolutely interdict the exercise of reason
by dissentients afflicted with the malady
of thought. A convenient plan for
having peace in the intellectual world,
and keeping all things going on therein
very much as they do already. But the
price paid for this sort of intellectual
pacification is the sacrifice of the entire
moral courage of the human mind. A
state of things in which a large portion
of the most active and inquiring intellects
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
find it advisable to keep the general
principles and grounds of their convic
tions within their own breasts, and
attempt, in what they address to the
public, to fit as much as they can of
their own conclusions to premises which
they have internally renounced, cannot
send forth the open, fearless characters,
and logical, consistent intellects, who
once adorned the thinking world. The
sort of men who can be looked for under
it are either mere conformers to common
place or time-servers for truth, whose
arguments on all great subjects are meant
for their hearers, and are not those which
have convinced themselves. Those who
avoid this alternative do so by narrow
ing their thoughts and interest to things
which can be spoken of without venturing
within the region of principles—that is,
to small practical matters, which would
come right of themselves, if but the
minds of mankind were strengthened
and enlarged, and which will never be
made effectually right until then ; while
that which would strengthen and enlarge
men’s minds, free and daring speculation
on the highest subjects, is abandoned.
Those in whose eyes this reticence on
the part of heretics is no evil should
consider, in the first place, that in conse
quence of it there is never any fair and
thorough discussion of heretical opinions;
and that such of them as could not stand
such a discussion, though they may be
prevented from spreading, do not disap
pear. But it is not the minds of heretics
that are deteriorated most by the ban
placed on all inquiry which does not
end in the orthodox conclusions. The
greatest harm done is to those who are
not heretics, and whose whole mental
development is cramped, and their reason
cowed, by the fear of heresy. Who can
compute what the world loses in the
3i
multitude of promising intellects com
bined with timid characters, who dare
not follow out any bold, vigorous, inde
pendent train of thought, lest it should
land them in something which would
admit of being considered irreligious or
immoral? Among them we may occa
sionally see some man of deep conscien
tiousness and subtle and refined under
standing, who spends a life in sophisti
cating with an intellect which he cannot
silence, and exhausts the resources of
ingenuity in attempting to reconcile the
promptings of his conscience and reason
with orthodoxy, which yet he does not
perhaps to the end succeed in doing.
No one can be a great thinker who does
not recognise that as a thinker it is his
first duty to follow his intellect to what
ever conclusions it may lead. Truth
gains more even by the errors of one
who, with due study and preparation,
thinks for himself than by the true
opinions of those who only hold them
because they do not suffer themselves to
think. Not that it is solely or chiefly
to form great thinkers that freedom of
thinking is required. On the contrary, it
is as much and even more indispensable
to enable average human beings to attain
the mental stature which they are capable
of. There have been, and may again be,
great individual thinkers in a general
atmosphere of mental slavery. But there
never has been, nor ever will be, in
that atmosphere an intellectually active
people. Where any people has made a
temporary approach to such a character,
it has been because the dread of hetero
dox speculation was for a time suspended.
Where there is a tacit convention that
principles are not to be disputed; where
the discussion of the greatest questions
which can occupy humanity is considered
to be closed, we cannot hope to find that
�32
ON LIBERTY
generally high scale of mental activity
which has made some periods of history
so remarkable. Never when controversy
avoided the subjects which are large and
important enough to kindle enthusiasm
was the mind of a people stirred up from
its foundations and the impulse given
which raised even persons of the most
ordinary intellect to something of the
dignity of thinking beings. Of such we
have had an example in the condition
of Europe during the times immediately
following the Reformation; another,
though limited to the continent and to
a more cultivated class, in the specula
tive movement of the latter half of the
eighteenth century; and a third, of still
briefer duration, in the intellectual fermen
tation of Germany during the Goethian
and Fichtean period. These periods
differed widely in the particular opinions
which they developed; but were alike
in this, that during all three the yoke of
authority was broken. In each an old
mental despotism had been thrown off,
and no new one had yet taken its place.
The impulse given at these three periods
has made Europe what it now is. Every
single improvement which has taken
place either in the human mind or in
institutions may be traced distinctly to
one or other of them. Appearances have
for some time indicated that all three
impulses are well-nigh spent; and we
can expect no fresh start until we again
assert our mental freedom.
Let us now pass to the second division
of the argument, and, dismissing the
supposition that any of the received
opinions may be false, let us assume
them to be true, and examine into the
worth of the manner in which they are
likely to be held when their truth is not
freely and openly canvassed. However
unwillingly a person who has a strong
opinion may admit the possibility that
his opinion may be false, he ought to be
moved by the consideration that, however
true it may be, if it is not fully, frequently,
and fearlessly discussed, it will be held
as a dead dogma, not a living truth.
There is a class of persons (happily
not quite so numerous as formerly) who
think it enough if a person assents undoubtingly to what they think true,
though he has no knowledge whatever
of the grounds of the opinion, and could
not make a tenable defence of it against
the most superficial objections. Such
persons, if they can once get their creed
taught from authority, naturally think
that no good, and some harm, comes
of its being allowed to be questioned.
Where their influence prevails, they make
it nearly impossible for the received
opinion to be rejected wisely and con
siderately, though it may still be rejected
rashly and ignorantly; for to shut out
discussion entirely is seldom possible,
and, when it once gets in, beliefs not
grounded on conviction are apt to give
way before the slightest semblance of an
argument. Waving, however, this possi
bility—assuming that the true opinion
abides in the mind, but abides as a
prejudice, a belief independent of, and
proof against, argument—this is- not the
way in which truth ought to be held by
a rational being. This is not knowing
the truth. Truth, thus held, is but one
superstition the more, accidentally cling
ing to the words which enunciate a truth.
If the intellect and judgment of man
kind ought to be cultivated, a thing which
Protestants at least do not deny, on what
can these faculties be more appropriately
exercised by anyone than on the things
which concern him so much that it is
considered necessary for him to hold
opinions on them? If the cultivation
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
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of the understanding consists in one
thing more than in another, it is surely
in learning the grounds of one’s own
opinions. Whatever people believe, on
subjects on which it is of the first impor
tance to believe rightly, they ought to
be able to defend against at least the
common objections. But someone may
say: “ Let them be taught the grounds
of their opinions. It does not follow
that opinions must be merely parroted
because they are never heard contro
verted. Persons who learn geometry
do not simply commit the theorems to
memory, but understand and learn like
wise the demonstrations; and it would
be absurd to say that they remain
ignorant of the grounds of geometrical
truths because they never hear anyone
deny and attempt to disprove them.”
Undoubtedly ; and such teaching suffices
on a subject like mathematics, where
there is nothing at all to be said on
the wrong side of the question. The
peculiarity of the evidence of mathe
matical truths is that all the argument
is on one side. There are no objections,
and no answers to objections. But on
every subject on which difference of
opinion is possible the truth depends
on a balance to be struck between two
sets of conflicting reasons. Even in
natural philosophy there is always some
other explanation possible of the same
facts; some geocentric theory instead of
heliocentric, some phlogiston instead of
oxygen; and it has to be shown why
that other theory cannot be the true one;
and until this is shown, and until we
know how it is shown, we do not under
stand the grounds of our opinion. But
when we turn to subjects infinitely more
complicated, to morals, religion, politics,
social relations, and the business of life,
three-fourths of the arguments for every
33
disputed opinion consist in dispelling
the appearances which favour some
opinion different from it. The greatest
orator save one of antiquity has left it
on record that he always studied his
adversary’s case with as great, if not still
greater, intensity than even his own.
What Cicero practised as the means of
forensic success requires to be imitated
by all who study any subject, in order to
arrive at the truth. He who knows only
his own side of the case knows little of
that. His reasons may be good, and no
one may have been able to refute them.
But if he is equally unable to refute the
reasons on the opposite side, if he does
not so much as know what they are, he
has no ground for preferring either
opinion. The rational position for him
would be suspension of judgment; and,
unless he contents himself with that, he
is either led by authority, or adopts, like
the generality of the world, the side to
which he feels most inclination. Nor
is it enough that he should hear the
arguments of adversaries from his own
teachers presented as they state them,
and accompanied by what they offer as
refutations. That is not the way to do
justice to the arguments or bring them
into real contact with his own mind.
He must be able to hear them from
persons who actually believe them, who
defend them in earnest, and do their
very utmost for them. He must know
them in their most plausible and persua
sive form; he must feel the whole force
of the difficulty which the true view of
the subject has to encounter and dispose
of; else he will never really possess him
self of the portion of truth which meets
and removes that difficulty. Ninety-nine
in a hundred of what are called educated
men are in this condition—even of those
who can argue fluently for their opinions.
�34
ON LIBERTY
Their conclusion may be true, but it
might be false for anything they know;
they have never thrown themselves into
the mental position of those who think
differently from them, and considered
what such persons may have to say ; and
consequently they do not, in any proper
sense of the word, know the doctrine
which they themselves profess. They
do not know those parts of it which
explain and justify the remainder; the
considerations which show that a fact
which seemingly conflicts with another
is reconcilable with it, or that, of two
apparently strong reasons, one and not
the other ought to be preferred. All
that part of the truth which turns the
scale, and decides the judgment of a
completely informed mind, they are
strangers to; nor is it ever really known
but to those who have attended equally
and impartially to both sides, and en
deavoured to see the reasons of both in
the strongest light. So essential is this
discipline to a real understanding of
moral and human subjects that, if oppo
nents of all important truths do not exist,
it is indispensable to imagine them, and
supply them with the strongest arguments
which the most skilful devil’s advocate
can conjure up.
To abate the force of these considera
tions, an enemy of free discussion may
be supposed to say that there is no
necessity for mankind in general to know
and understand all that can be said
against or for their opinions by philoso
phers and theologians. That it is not
needful for common men to be able to
expose all the misstatements or fallacies
of an ingenious opponent. That it is
enough if there is always somebody
capable of answering them, so that
nothing likely to mislead uninstructed
persons remains unrefuted. That simple
minds, having been taught the obvious
grounds of the truths inculcated on them,
may trust to authority for the rest, and,
being aware that they have neither know
ledge nor talent to resolve every difficulty
which can be raised, may repose in the
assurance that all those which have been
raised have been or can be answered by
those who are specially trained to the
task.
Conceding to this view of the subject
the utmost that can be claimed for it by
those most easily satisfied with the
amount of understanding of truth which
ought to accompany the belief of it—
even so, the argument for free discussion
is no way weakened. For even this
doctrine acknowledges that mankind
ought to have a rational assurance that
all objections have been satisfactorily
answered; and how are they to be
answered if that which requires to be
answered is not spoken ? or how can the
answer be known to be satisfactory if
the objectors have no opportunity of
showing that it is unsatisfactory ? If not
the public, at least the philosophers and
theologians who are to resolve the diffi
culties, must make themselves familiar
with those difficulties in their most
puzzling form; and this cannot be accom
plished unless they are freely stated, and
placed in the most advantageous light
which they admit of. The Catholic
Church has its own way of dealing with
this embarrassing problem. It makes a
broad separation between those who can
be permitted to receive its doctrines on
conviction and those who must accept
them on trust. Neither, indeed, are
allowed any choice as to what they will
accept; but the clergy, such at least as
can be fully confided in, may admissibly
and meritoriously make themselves ac
quainted with the arguments of opponents,
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
in order to answer them, and may, there
fore, read heretical books—the laity, not
unless by special permission, hard to be
obtained. This discipline recognises a
knowledge of the enemy’s case as bene
ficial to the teachers, but finds means,
consistent with this, of denying it to the
rest of the world; thus giving to the
elite more mental culture, though not
more mental freedom, than it allows to
the mass. By this device it succeeds in
obtaining the kind of mental superiority
which its purposes require ; for, though
culture without freedom never made a
large and liberal mind, it can make a
clever nisi prius advocate of a cause.
But in countries professing Protestantism
this resource is denied; since Protestants
hold, at least in theory, that the respon
sibility for the choice of a religion must
be borne by each for himself, and cannot
be thrown off upon teachers. Besides,
in the present state of the world it is
practically impossible that writings which
are read by the instructed can be kept
from the uninstructed. If the teachers
of mankind are to be cognisant of all
they ought to know, everything must be
free to be written and published without
restraint.
If, however, the mischievous operation
of the absence of free discussion, when
the received opinions are true, were
confined to leaving men ignorant of the
grounds of those opinions, it might be
thought that this, if an intellectual, is no
moral evil, and does not affect the worth
of the opinions regarded in their influence
on the character. The fact, however, is
that not only the grounds of the opinion
are forgotten in the absence of discussion,
but too often the meaning of the opinion
itself. The words which convey it cease
to suggest ideas, or suggest only a small
portion of those they were originally
35
employed to communicate. Instead of
a vivid conception and a living belief,
there remain only a few phrases retained
by rote ; or, if any part, the shell and
husk only of the meaning is retained,
the finer essence being lost. The great,
chapter in human history which this fact
occupies and fills cannot be too earnestly
studied and meditated on.
It is illustrated in the experience of
almost all ethical doctrines and religious
creeds. They are all full of meaning and
vitality to those who originate them, and
to the direct disciples of the originators.
Their meaning continues to be felt in
undiminished strength, and is perhaps
brought out into even fuller conscious
ness, so long as the struggle lasts to give
the doctrine or creed an ascendancy over
other creeds. At last it either prevails
and becomes the general opinion, or its
progress stops : it keeps possession of
the ground it has gained, but ceases to
spread further. When either of these
results has become apparent, controversy
on the subject flags, and gradually dies
away. The doctrine has taken its place,
if not as a received opinion, as one of
the admitted sects or divisions of opinion;
those who hold it have generally inherited
not adopted it; and conversion from one
of these doctrines to another, being now
an exceptional fact, occupies little place
in the thoughts of their professors.
Instead of being, as at first, constantly
on the alert either to defend themselves
against the world or to bring the world
over to them, they have subsided into
acquiescence, and neither listen when they
can help it to arguments against their
creed nor trouble dissentients (if there
be such) with arguments in its favour.
From this time may usually be dated the
decline in the living power of the doctrine.
We often hear the teachers of all creeds
�36
ON LIBERTY
lamenting the difficulty of keeping up in
To what an extent doctrines intrinsi
the minds of believers a lively apprehen cally fitted to make the deepest impres
sion of the truth which they nominally sion upon the mind may remain in it as
recognise, so that it may penetrate the dead beliefs, without being ever realised
feelings and acquire a real mastery over in the imagination, the feeling, or the
the conduct. No such difficulty is com understanding, is exemplified by the
plained of while the creed is still fighting manner in which the majority of believers
for its existence; even the weaker com hold the doctrines of Christianity. By
batants then know and feel what they are Christianity I here mean what is accoun
fighting for, and the difference between it ted such by all Churches and sects—the
and other doctrines; and in that period maxims and precepts contained in the
of every creed’s existence not a few New Testament. These are considered
persons may be found who have realised sacred, and accepted as laws, by all pro
its fundamental principles in all the forms fessing Christians. Yet it is scarcely too
of thought, have weighed and considered much to say that not one Christian in a;
them in all their important bearings, and thousand guides or tests his individual
have experienced the full effect on the conduct by reference to those laws. The
character which belief in that creed standard to which he does refer it is the
ought to produce in a mind thoroughly custom of his nation, his class, or his
imbued with it. But when it has come religious profession. He has thus, on
to be an hereditary creed, and to be the one hand, a collection of ethical
received passively, not actively—when maxims which he believes to have been
the mind is no longer compelled, in the vouchsafed to him by infallible wisdom
same degree as at first, to exercise its as rules for his government; and, on the
vital powers on the questions which its other, a set of every-day judgments and
belief presents to it, there is a progressive practices which go a certain length with
tendency to forget all of the belief except some of those maxims, not so great a
the formularies, or to give it a dull and length with others, stand in direct oppo
torpid assent, as if accepting it on trust sition to some, and are, on the whole, a
dispensed with the necessity of realising compromise between the Christian creed
it in consciousness, or testing it by per and the interests and suggestions of
sonal experience, until it almost ceases worldly life. To the first of these stan
to connect itself at all with the inner life dards he gives his homage; to the other
of the human being. Then are seen the his real allegiance. All Christians believe ’
cases, so frequent in this age of the world that the blessed are the poor and humble
as almost to form the majority, in which and those who are ill-used by the world;
the creed remains, as it were, outside the that it is easier for a camel to pass
mind, incrusting and petrifying it against through the eye of a needle than for a
all other influences addressed to the rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven;
higher parts of our nature; manifesting that they should judge not, lest they be
its power by not suffering any fresh and judged; that they should swear not at
living conviction to get in, but itself doing all; that they should love their neighbour
nothing for the mind or heart, except as themselves; that if one take their cloak,
standing sentinel over them to keep them they should give him their coat also; that
they should take no thought for the
vacant.
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
37
morrow; that, if they would be perfect, owing that Christianity now makes so
they should sell all that they have and little progress in extending its domain,
give it to the poor. They are not insincere and, after eighteen centuries, is still nearly
when they say that they believe these confined to Europeans and the descen
things. They do believe them, as people dants of Europeans. Even with the
believe what they have always heard strictly religious, who are much in earnest
lauded and never discussed. But, in the about their doctrines, and attach a greater
sense of that living belief which regulates amount of meaning to many of them
conduct, they believe these doctrines just than people in general, it commonly
up to the point to which it is usual to happens that the part which is thus
act upon them. The doctrines in their comparatively active in their minds is
integrity are serviceable to pelt adversaries that which was made by Calvin, or Knox,
with ", and it is understood that they are or some such person much nearer in
to be put forward (when possible) as the character to themselves. The sayings
reasons for whatever people do that they of Christ co-exist passively in their minds,
think laudable. But anyone who re producing hardly any effect beyond what
minded them that the maxims require is caused by mere listening to words soan affinity of things which they never amiable and bland. There are many
even think of doing, would gain nothing reasons, doubtless, why doctrines which
but to be classed among those very un- | are the badge of a sect retain more of
popular characters who affect to be better their vitality than those common to all
than other people. The doctrines have recognised sects, and why more pains
no hold on ordinary believers—are not are taken by teachers to keep their
a power in their minds. They have an meaning alive ; but one reason certainly
habitual respect for the sound of them, is that the peculiar doctrines are more
but no feeling which spreads from the questioned, and have to be oftener de
words to the things signified, and forces fended against gainsayers. Both teachers
the mind to take them in, and make and learners go to sleep at their post as
them conform to the formula. Whenever soon as there is no enemy in the field.
The same thing holds true, generally
conduct is concerned, they look round
for Mr. A and B to direct them how far speaking, of all traditional doctrines—
those of prudence and knowledge of life
to go in obeying Christ
Now, we may be well assured that the as well as of morals or religion. All lan
case was not thus, but far otherwise, with guages and literatures are full of general
the early Christians. Had it been thus, observations on life, both as to what it is;
Christianity never would have expanded and how to conduct oneself in it—obser
from an obscure sect of the despised vations which everybody knows, which
Hebrews into the religion of the Roman everybody repeats, or hears with acquies
Empire. When their enemies said, “ See cence, which are received as truisms,
how these Christians love one another ” yet of which most people first truly learn
(a remark not likely to be made by any the meaning when experience, generally
body now), they assuredly had a much of a painful kind, has made it a reality
livelier feeling of the meaning of their to them. How often, when smarting
creed than they have ever had since. under some unforeseen misfortune or
And to this cause, probably, it is chiefly disappointment, does a person call to
�38
CA' LIBERTY
mind some proverb or common saying,
familiar to him all his life, the meaning
of which, if he had ever before felt it as
he does now, would have saved him from
the calamity. There are, indeed, reasons
for this other than the absence of discus
sion : there are many truths of which the
full meaning cannot be realised until
personal experience has brought it home.
But much more of the meaning even of
these would have been understood, and
what was understood would have been
far more deeply impressed on the mind,
if the man had been accustomed to hear
it argued pro and con. by people who did
understand it. The fatal tendency of
mankind to leave off thinking about a
thing when it is no longer doubtful is
the cause of half their errors. A co
temporary author has well spoken of “the
deep slumber of a decided opinion.”
But what! (it may be asked) Is the
absence of unanimity an indispensable
condition of true knowledge ? Is it
necessary that some part of mankind
should persist in error to enable any to
realise the truth? Does a belief cease to
be real and vital as soon as it is generally
received — and is a proposition never
thoroughly understood and felt unless
some doubt of it remains ? As soon as
mankind have unanimously accepted a
truth, does the truth perish within them?
The highest aim and best result of im
proved intelligence, it has hitherto been
thought, is to unite mankind more and
more in the acknowledgment of all im
portant truths; and does the intelligence
only last as long as it has not achieved
Its object? Do the fruits of conquest
perish by the very completeness of the
victory ?
I affirm no such thing. As mankind
improve the number of doctrines which
are no longer disputed or doubted will
be constantly on the increase; and the
well-being of mankind may almost be
measured by the number and gravity of
the truths which have reached the point
of being uncontested. The cessation,
on one question after another, of serious
controversy is one of the necessary inci
dents of the consolidation of opinion—-a
consolidation as salutary in the case of
true opinions as it is dangerous and
noxious when the opinions are erroneous.
But though this gradual narrowing of the
bounds of diversity of opinion is neces
sary in both senses of the term, being at
once inevitable and indispensable, we are
not therefore obliged to conclude that
all its consequences must be beneficial.
The loss of so important an aid to the
intelligent and living apprehension of a
truth as is afforded by the necessity of
explaining it to, or defending it against,
opponents, though not sufficient to out
weigh, is no trifling drawback from, the
benefitofits universal recognition. Where
this advantage can no longer be had, I
confess I should like to see the teachers
of mankind endeavouring to provide a
substitute for it—some contrivance for
making the difficulties of the question as
present to the learner’s consciousness as
if they were pressed upon him by a dis
sentient champion, eager for his conver
sion.
But, instead of seeking contrivances
for this purpose, they have lost those
they formerly had. The Socratic dia
lectics, so magnificently exemplified in
the dialogues of Plato, were a contrivance
of this description. They were essentially
a negative discussion of the great ques
tions of philosophy and life, directed with
consummate skill to the purpose of con
vincing anyone who had merely adopted
the commonplaces of received opinion,
that he did not understand the subject
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
—that he as yet attached no definite I
meaning to the doctrines he professed;
in order that, becoming aware of his igno
rance, he might be put in the way to
obtain a stable belief, resting on a clear
apprehension both of the meaning of
doctrines and of their evidence. The
school disputations of the Middle Ages
had a somewhat similar object. They
were intended to make sure that the pupil
understood his own opinion, and (by
necessary correlation) the opinion opposed
to it, and could enforce the grounds of
the one and confute those of the other.
These last-mentioned contests had indeed
the incurable defect that the premises
appealed to were taken from authority,
not from reason; and, as a discipline to
the mind, they were in every respect
inferior to the powerful dialectics which
formed the intellects of the “ Socratici
viri”; but the modern mind owes far
more to both than it is generally willing
to admit, and the present modes of
education contain nothing which in the
smallest degree supplies the place either
of the one or of the other. A person who
derives all his instruction from teachers
or books, even if he escape the besetting
temptation of contenting himself with
cram, is under no compulsion to hear
both sides; accordingly, it is far from a
frequent accomplishment, even among
thinkers, to know both sides; and the
weakest part of what everybody says in
defence of his opinion is what he intends
as a reply to antagonists. It is the fashion
of the present time to disparage negative
logic—that which points out weaknesses
in theory or errors in practice, without
establishing positive truths. Such nega
tive criticism would, indeed, be poor
enough as an ultimate result; but, as a
means to attaining any positive know
ledge or conviction worthy the name, it
39
cannot be valued too highly; and until
people are again systematically trained
to it there will be few great thinkers,
and a low general average of intellect, in
any but the mathematical and physical
departments of speculation. On any
other subject no one’s opinions deserve
the name of knowledge, except so far as
he has either had forced upon him by
others, or gone through of himself, the
same mental process which would have
been required of him in carrying on an
active controversy with opponents. That,
therefore, which, when absent, it is so
indispensable, but so difficult, to create,
how worse than absurd it is to forego
when spontaneously offering itself! If
there are any persons who contest a
received opinion, or who will do so if law
or opinion will let them, let us thank
them for it, open our minds to listen to
them, and rejoice that there is someone
to do for us what we otherwise ought, if
we have any regard for either the certainty
or the vitality of our convictions, to do
with much greater labour for ourselves.
It still remains to speak of one of the
principal causes which make diversity of
opinion advantageous, and will continue
to do so until mankind shall have entered
a stage of intellectual advancement which
at present seems at an incalculable dis
tance. We have hitherto considered
only two possibilities: that the received
opinion may be false, and some other
opinion, consequently, true; or that, the
received opinion being true, a conflict
with the opposite error is essential to a
clear apprehension and deep feeling of
its truth. But there is a commoner case
than either of these : when the conflicting
doctrines, instead of being one true and
the other false, share the truth between
them, and the nonconforming opinion
�4o
ON LIBERTY
is needed to supply the remainder of the
truth, of which the received doctrine
embodies only a part. Popular opinions,
on subjects not palpable to sense, are
often true, but seldom or never the whole
truth. They are a part of the truth—
sometimes a greater, sometimes a smaller
part, but exaggerated, distorted, and dis
joined from the truths by which they
ought to be accompanied and limited.
Heretical opinions, on the other hand,
are generally some of these suppressed
and neglected truths, bursting the bonds
which kept them down, and either seek
ing reconciliation with the truth contained
in the common opinion, or fronting it as
enemies, and setting themselves up, with
similar exclusiveness, as the whole truth.
The latter case is hitherto the most
frequent, as, in the human mind, one
sidedness has always been the rule and
many-sidedness the exception. Hence,
even in revolutions of opinion, one part
of the truth usually sets while the other
rises. Even progress, ’ which ought to
superadd, for the most part only substi
tutes, one partial and incomplete truth
for another; improvement consisting
chiefly in this, that the new fragment of
truth is more wanted, more adapted to
the needs of the time, than that which
it displaces. Such being the partial
character of prevailing opinions, even
when resting on a true foundation, every
opinion which embodies somewhat of
the portion of truth which the common
opinion omits ought to be considered
precious, with whatever amount of error
and confusion that truth may be blended.
No sober judge of human affairs will feel
bound to be indignant because those who
force on our notice truths which we should
otherwise have overlooked, overlook some
of those which we see. Rather, he will
think that, so long as popular truth is
one-sided, it is more desirable than
otherwise that unpopular truth should
have one-sided assertors too; such
being usually the most energetic and
the most likely to compel reluctant
attention to the fragment of wisdom
which they proclaim as if it were the
whole.
Thus in the eighteenth century, when
nearly all the instructed, and all those of
the uninstructed who were led by them,
were lost in admiration of what is called
civilisation, and of the marvels of modern
science, literature, and philosophy, and,
while greatly overrating the amount of
unlikeness between the men of modern
and those of ancient times, indulged the
belief that the whole of the difference was
in their own favour—with what a salutary
shock did the paradoxes of Rousseau
explode like bombshells in the midst,
dislocating the compact mass of one
sided opinion, and forcing its elements
to recombine in a better form and
with additional ingredients. Not that the
current opinions were on the whole farther
from the truth than Rousseau’s were; on
the contrary, they were nearer to it: they
contained more of positive truth, and
very much less of error. Nevertheless,
there lay in Rousseau’s doctrine, and has
floated down the stream of opinion along
with it, a considerable amount of exactly
those truths which the popular opinion
wanted; and these are the deposit which
was left behind when the flood subsided.
The superior worth of simplicity of life,
the enervating and demoralising effect of
the trammels and hypocrisies of artificial
society, are ideas which have never been
entirely absent from cultivated minds
since Rousseau wrote; and they will in
time produce their due effect, though at
present needing to be asserted as much
as ever, and to be asserted by deeds,
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
for words on this subject have nearly
exhausted their power.
In politics, again, it is almost a com
monplace, that a party of order or stability,
and a party of progress or reform, are both
necessary elements of a healthy state of
political life ; until the one or the other
shall have so enlarged its mental grasp
as to be a party equally of order and of
progress, knowing and distinguishing what
is fit to be preserved from what ought to
be swept away. Each of these modes
of thinking derives its utility from the
deficiencies of the other; but it is in a
great measure the opposition of the other
that keeps each within the limits of reason
and sanity. Unless opinions favourable
to democracy and to aristocracy, to
property and to equality, to co-operation
and to competition, to luxury and to
abstinence, to sociality and individuality,
to liberty and discipline, and all the other
standing antagonisms of practical life, are
expressed with equal freedom, and en
forced and defended with equal talent
and energy, there is no chance of both
elements obtaining their due : one scale
is sure to go up and the other down.
Truth, in the great practical concerns of
life, is so much a question of the recon
ciling and combining of opposites that
very few have minds sufficiently capacious
and impartial to make the adjustment
with an approach to correctness, and it
has to be made by the rough process of
a struggle between combatants fighting
under hostile banners. On any of the
great open questions just enumerated, if
either of the two opinions has a better
claim than the other, not merely to be
tolerated, but to be encouraged and
countenanced, it is the one which happens
at the particular time and place to be in a
minority. That is the opinion which, for
the time being, represents the neglected
41
interests, the side of human well-being
which is in danger of obtaining less than
its share. I am aware that there is not,
in this country, any intolerance of differ
ences of opinion on most of these topics.
They are adduced to show, by admitted
and multiplied examples, the universality
of the fact that only through diversity
of opinion is there, in the existing state
of human intellect, a chance of fair play
to all sides of the truth. When there are
persons to be found who form an excep
tion to the apparent unanimity of the
world on any subject, even if the world
is in the right, it is always probable that
dissentients have something worth hear
ing to say for themselves, and that truth
would lose something by their silence.
It may be objected, “ But some received
principles, especially on the highest and
most vital subjects, are more than half
truths. The Christian morality, for
instance, is the whole truth on that
subject, and if anyone teaches a morality
which varies from it, he is wholly in error.”
As this is of all cases the most important
in practice, none can be fitter to test the
general maxim. But before pronouncing
what Christian morality is or is not, it
would be desirable to decide what is
meant by Christian morality. If it means
the morality of the New Testament, I
wonder that anyone who derives his
knowledge of this from the book itself
can suppose that it was announced, or
intended, as a complete doctrine of
morals. The Gospel always refers to a
pre-existing morality, and confines its
precepts to the particulars in which that
morality was to be corrected, or super
seded by a wider and higher; expressing
itself, moreover, in terms most general,
often impossible to be interpreted literally,
and possessing rather the impressiveness
of poetry or eloquence than the precision
�42
ON LIBERTY
of legislation. To extract from it a body
of ethical doctrine has never been possible
without eking it out from the Old Testa
ment—that is, from a system elaborate
indeed, but in many respects barbarous,
and intended only for a barbarous people.
St. Paul, a declared enemy to this Judaical
mode of interpreting the doctrine and
filling up the scheme of his Master,
equally assumes a pre-existing morality—
namely, that of the Greeks and Romans;
and his advice to Christians is in a great
measure a system of accommodation to
that; even to the extent of giving an
apparent sanction to slavery. What is
called Christian, but should rather be
termed theological, morality was not the
work of Christ or the Apostles, but is of
much later origin, having been gradually
built up by the Catholic Church of the
first five centuries, and, though not
implicitly adopted by moderns and Pro
testants, has been much less modified
by them than might have been expected.
For the most part, indeed, they have
contented themselves with cutting off the
additions which had been made to it in
the Middle Ages, each sect supplying
the place by fresh additions, adapted to
its own character and tendencies. That
mankind owe a great debt to this morality,
and to its early teachers,, I should be the
last person to deny; but I do not scruple
to say of it that it is, in many important
points, incomplete and one-sided, and
that unless ideas and feelings, not
sanctioned by it, had contributed to the
formation of European life and character,
human affairs would have been in a
worse condition than they now are.
Christian morality (so called) has all the
characters of a reaction; it is, in great
part, a protest against Paganism. Its
ideal is negative rather than positive ;
passive rather than active; Innocence
----------------- :------ r ;
rather than Nobleness ; Abstinence trom
Evil rather than energetic Pursuit of
Good; in its precepts (as has been well
said) “thou shalt not” predominates
over “ thou shalt.” In its horror
of sensuality, it made an idol of asceticism, which has been gradually compro
mised away into one of legality. It
holds out the hope of heaven and the
threat of hell, as the appointed and ap
propriate motives to a virtuous life; in
this falling far below the best of the
ancients, and doing what lies in it to give
to human morality an essentially selfish
character, by disconnecting each man’s
feelings of duty from the interests of his
fellow-creatures, except so far as a selfinterested inducement is offered to him
for consulting them. It is essentially a
doctrine of passive obedience; it incul
cates submission to all authorities found
established; who indeed are not to be
actively obeyed when they command
what religion forbids, but who are not to
be resisted, far less rebelled against, for
any amount of wrong to ourselves. And
while, in the morality of the best Pagan
nations, duty to the State holds even a
disproportionate place, infringing on the
just liberty of the individual, in purely
Christian ethics that ground department
of duty is scarcely noticed or acknow
ledged. It is in the Koran, not the New
Testament, that we read the maxim—•
“ A ruler who appoints any man to an
office when there is in his dominions
another man better qualified for it, sins
against God and against the State.”
What little recognition the idea of obli
gation to the public obtains in modern
morality is derived from Greek and
Roman sources, not from Christian; as
even in the morality of private life what
ever exists of magnanimity, highmindedness, personal dignity, even the sense of
!
■
j
1
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
honour, is derived from the purely human,
not the religious, part of our education,
and never could have grown out of a
standard of ethics in which the only
worth, professedly recognised, is that of
obedience.
I am as far as anyone from pretending
that these defects are necessarily inherent
in the Christian ethics, in every manner
in which it can be conceived, or that the
many requisites of a complete moral
doctrine which it does not contain do
not admit of being reconciled with it.
Far less would I insinuate this of the
doctrines and precepts of Christ himself.
I believe that the sayings of Christ are
all that I can see any evidence of their
having been intended to be; that they
are irreconcilable with nothing which a
comprehensive morality requires; that
everything which is excellent in ethics
may be brought within them with no
greater violence to their language than
has been done to it by all who have
attempted to deduce from them any
practical system of conduct whatever.
But it is quite consistent with this to
believe that they contain, and were
meant to contain, only a part of the
truth; that many essential elements of the
highest morality are among the things
which are not provided for, nor intended
to be provided for, in the recorded
deliverances of the Founder of Chris
tianity, and which have been entirely
thrown aside in the system of ethics
erected on the basis of those deliverances
by the Christian Church.
And this
being so, I think it a great error to
persist in attempting to find in the Chris
tian doctrine that complete rule for our
guidance which its author intended it to
sanction and enforce, but only partially
to provide. I believe, too, that this
narrow theory is becoming a grave prac
43
tical evil, detracting greatly from the
moral training and instruction which so
many well-meaning persons are now at
length exerting themselves to promote.
I much fear that by attempting to form
the mind and feelings on an exclusively
religious type, and discarding those secu
lar standards (as for want of a better
name they may be called) which hereto
fore co-existed with and supplemented
the Christian ethics, receiving some of
its spirit, and infusing into it some of
theirs, there will result, and is even now
resulting, a low, abject, servile type of
character, which, submit itself as it may
to what it deems the Supreme Will, is
incapable of rising to or sympathising in>
the conception of Supreme Goodness.
I believe that other ethics than any
which can be evolved from exclusively
Christian sources must exist side by
side with Christian ethics to produce the
moral regeneration of mankind; and that
the Christian system is no exception to
the rule, that in an imperfect state of
the human mind the interests of truth
require a diversity of opinions. It is not
necessary that, in ceasing to ignore the
moral truths not contained in Chris
tianity, men should ignore any of those
which it does contain. Such prejudice,
or oversight, when it occurs, is altogether
an evil; but it it is one from which we
cannot hope to be always exempt, and
must be regarded as the price paid for
an inestimable good. The exclusive pre
tension made by a part of the truth to be
the whole must and ought to be pro
tested against; and if a reactionary im
pulse should make the protesters unjust
in their turn, this one-sidedness, like the
other, may be lamented, but must be
tolerated. If Christians would teach
infidels to be just to Christianity, they
should themselves be just to infidelity.
�44
ON LIBERTY
It can do truth no service to blink the
fact, known to all who have the most
ordinary acquaintance with literary history,
that a large portion of the noblest and
most valuable moral teaching has been
the work, not only of men who did not
know, but of men who knew and rejected,
the Christian faith.
I do not pretend that the most un
limited use of the freedom of enunciating
all possible opinions would put an end
to the evils of religious or philosophical
sectarianism. Every truth which men of
narrow capacity are in earnest about is
•sure to be asserted, inculcated, and in
many ways even acted on, as if no other
truth existed in the world, or at all
events none that could limit or qualify
the first. I acknowledge that the ten
dency of all opinions to become sectarian
?is not cured by the freest discussion,
but is often heightened and exacerbated
thereby; the truth which ought to have
been, but was not, seen being rejected
all the more violently because proclaimed
by persons regarded as opponents. But
it is not on the impassioned partisan, it
is on the calmer and more disinterested
bystander, that this collision of opinions
works its salutary effect. Not the violent
conflict between parts of the truth, but
the quiet suppression of half of it, is the
formidable evil; there is always hope
when people are forced to listen to both
sides; it is when they attend only to one
that errors harden into prejudices, and
truth itself ceases to have the effect of
truth by being exaggerated into false
hood. And since there are few mental
attributes more rare than that judicial
faculty which can sit in intelligent judg
ment between two sides of a question, of
which only one is represented by an
advocate before it, truth has no chance
but in proportion as every side of it,
every opinion which embodies any frac
tion of the truth, not only finds advo
cates, but is so advocated as to be
listened to.
We have now recognised the necessity
to the mental well-being of mankind (on
which all their other well-being depends)
of freedom of opinion, and freedom of
the expression of opinion, on four distinct
grounds, which we will now briefly re
capitulate.
First, if any opinion is compelled to
silence, that opinion may, for aught we
can certainly know, be true. To deny
this is to assume our own infallibility.
Secondly, though the silenced opinion
be an error, it may, and very commonly
does, contain a portion of truth ; and
since the general or prevailing opinion
on any subject is rarely or never the
whole truth, it is only by the collision of
adverse opinions that the remainder of
the truth has any chance of being
supplied.
Thirdly, even if the received opinion
be not only true, but the whole truth,
unless it is suffered to be, and actually
is, vigorously and earnestly contested, it
will, by most of those who receive it, be
held in the manner of a prejudice, with
little comprehension or feeling of its
rational grounds. And not only this,
but, fourthly, the meaning of the doctrine
itself, will be in danger of being lost, or
enfeebled, and deprived of its vital effect
on the character and conduct: the
dogma becoming a mere formal pro
fession, inefficacious for good, but
cumbering the ground, and preventing
the growth of any real and heartfelt
conviction, from reason or personal
experience.
Before quitting the subject of freedom
of opinion, it is fit to take some notice
of those who say that the free expression
�OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION
cf all opinions should be permitted, on
condition that the manner be temperate,
and do not pass the bounds of fair dis
cussion. Much might be said on the
impossibility of fixing where these sup
posed bounds are to be placed; for if
the test be offence to those whose
opinions are attacked, I think experience
testifies that this offence is given when
ever the attack is telling and powerful,
and that every opponent who pushes
them hard, and whom they find it difficult
to answer, appears to them, if he shows
any strong feeling on the subject, an
intemperate opponent. But this, though
an important consideration in a practical
point of view, merges in a more funda
mental objection.
Undoubtedly the
manner of asserting an opinion, even
though it be a true one, may be very
objectionable, and may justly incur
severe censure.
But the principal
offences of the kind are such as it is
mostly impossible, unless by accidental
self-betrayal, to bring home to con
viction. The gravest of them is, to
argue sophistically, to suppress facts or
arguments, to misstate the elements
of the case, or misrepresent the oppo
site opinion.
But all this, even to
the most aggravated degree, is so con
tinually done in perfect good faith by
persons who are not considered, and in
many other respects may not deserve
to be considered, ignorant or incom
petent, that it is rarely possible, on
adequate grounds, conscientiously to
stamp the misrepresentation as morally
culpable ; and still less could law pre-;
sume to interfere with this kind of con
troversial misconduct. With regard to
what is commonly meant by intemperate
discussion—namely, invective, sarcasm,
personality, and the like—the denuncia
tion of these weapons would deserve
45
more sympathy if it were ever proposed
to interdict them equally to both sides ;
but it is only desired to restrain the
employment of them against the pre
vailing opinion; against the unprevailing
they may not only be used without
general disapproval, but will be likely to
obtain for him who uses them the praise
of honest zeal and righteous indignation.
Yet whatever mischief arises from their
use is greatest when they are employed
against the comparatively defenceless;
and whatever unfair advantage can be
derived by any opinion from this mode
of asserting it accrues almost exclu
sively to received opinions. The worst
offence of this kind which can be com
mitted by a polemic is to stigmatise
those who hold the contrary opinion as
bad and immoral men. To calumny of
this sort those who hold any unpopular
opinion are peculiarly exposed, because
they are in general few and uninfluential,
and nobody but themselves feels much
interested in seeing justice done them ;
but this weapon is, from the nature of
the case, denied to those who attack a
prevailing opinion; they can neither use
it with safety to themselves, nor, if they
could, would it do anything but recoil on
their own cause. In general, opinions
contrary to those commonly received
can only obtain a hearing by studied
moderation of language, and the most
cautious avoidance of unnecessary
offence, from which they hardly ever
deviate even in a slight degree without
losing ground; while unmeasured vitu
peration employed on the side of the
prevailing opinion really does deter
people from professing contrary opinions,
and from listening to those who profess
them. For the interest, therefore, of
truth and justice, it is far more imporI tant to restrain this employment of
�46
ON LIBERTY
vituperative language than the other;
and, for example, if it were necessary to
choose, there would be much more need
to discourage offensive attacks on infi
delity than on religion. It is, however,
obvious that law and authority have no
business with restraining either, while
opinion ought, in every instance, to de
termine its verdict by the circumstances
of the individual case; condemning
every one, on which ever side of the argu
ment he places himself, in whose mode
of advocacy either want of candour, or
malignity, bigotry, or intolerance of feel
ing, manifest themselves ; but not infer
ring these vices from the side which a
person takes, though it be the contrary
side of the question to our own: and
giving merited honour to every one,
whatever opinion he may hold, who has
calmness to see and honesty to state
what his opponents and their opinions
really are, exaggerating nothing to their
discredit, keeping nothing back which
tells, or can be supposed to tell, in their
favour. This is the real morality of
public discussion : and if often violated,
I am happy to think that there are
many controversialists who to a great
extent observe it, and a still greater
number who conscientiously strive to
wards it.
Chapter III.
OF INDIVIDUALITY, AS ONE OF THE ELEMENTS
OF WELL-BEING
Such being the reasons which make it
imperative that human beings should be
free to form opinions, and to express
their opinions without reserve; and such
the baneful consequences to the intel
lectual, and through that to the moral,
nature of man, unless this liberty is either
conceded, or asserted in spite of prohibi
tion; let us next examine whether the
same reasons do not require that men
should be free to act upon their opinions
—to carry these out in their lives, with
out hindrance, either physical or moral,
from their fellow men, so long as it is at
their own risk and peril. This last pro
viso is, of course, indispensable. No one
pretends that actions should be as free
as opinions. On the contrary, even
opinions lose their immunity when the
circumstances in which they are ex
pressed are such as to constitute their
expression a positive instigation to some
mischievous act. An opinion that corn
dealers are starvers of the poor, or that
private property is robbery, ought to
be unmolested when simply circulated
through the press, but may justly incur
punishment when delivered orally to an
excited mob assembled before the house
of a corn-dealer, or when handed about
among the same mob in the form of a pla
card. Acts, of whatever kind, which, with
out justifiable cause, do harm to others,
may be, and in the more important cases
absolutely require to be, controlled by
the unfavourable sentiments, and, when
�OF INDIVIDUALITY, AS ONE OF THE ELEMENTS OF WELL-BEING 47
needful, by the active interference of the indifference of persons in general to
mankind. The liberty of the individual the end itself. If it were felt that the
must be thus far limited; he must not free development of individuality is one of
make himself a nuisance to other people. the leading essentials of well-being; that
But if he refrains from molesting others it is not only a co-ordinate element with
in what concerns them, and merely acts all that is designated by the terms civili
according to his own inclination and judg sation, instruction, education, culture,
ment in things which concern himself, the but is itself a necessary part and con
same reasons which show that opinion dition of all those things; there would
should be free prove also that he should be no danger that liberty should be
be allowed, without molestation, to carry undervalued, and the adjustment of the
his opinions into practice at his own boundaries between it and social control
cost. That mankind are not infallible; would present no extraordinary difficulty.
But the evil is that individual spontaneity
that their truths, for the most part,
are only half-truths; that unity of is hardly recognised by the common
opinion, unless resulting from the modes of thinking, as having any intrinsic
fullest and freest comparison of op worth, or deserving any regard on its
posite opinions, is not desirable, and own account. The majority, being satis
fied with the ways of mankind as they
diversity not an evil, but a good
until mankind are much more capable now are (for it is they who make them
than at present of recognising all sides what they are), cannot comprehend why
of the truth, are principles applicable to those ways should not be good enough
men’s modes of action, not less than to for everybody: and what is more, spon
their opinions. As it is useful that while taneity forms no part of the ideal of the
mankind are imperfect there should be majority of moral and social reformers,
different opinions, so it is that there but is rather looked on with jealousy,
should be different experiments of living ; as a troublesome and perhaps rebellious
that free scope should be given to varieties obstruction to the general acceptance
of character, short of injury to others; of what these reformers, in their own
and that the worth of different modes of judgment, think would be best for man
life should be proved practically, when kind. Few persons, out of Germany,
anyone thinks fit to try them. It is even comprehend the meaning of the
desirable, in short, that in things which doctrine which Wilhelm von Humboldt,
do not primarily concern others, indi so eminent both as a savant and as a
politician, made the text of a treatise—
viduality should assert itself. Where,
that “ the end of man, or that which is
not the person’s own character, but the
traditions or customs of other people, prescribed by the eternal or immutable
are the rule of conduct, there is wanting dictates of reason, and not suggested by
one of the principal ingredients of human vague and transient desires, is the highest
happiness, and quite the chief ingredient and most harmonious development of
his powers to a complete and consistent
of individual and social progress.
that, therefore, the object
In maintaining this principle, the whole
greatest difficulty to be encountered “ towards which every human being
does not lie in the appreciation of means must ceaselessly direct his efforts, and on
towards an acknowledged end, but in which especially those who design to
�48
ON LIBERTY
influence their fellow-men must ever
keep their eyes, is the individuality of
power and development”; that for this
there are two requisites, “freedom, and
variety of situations”; and that from the
union of these arise “ individual vigour
and manifold diversity,” which combine
themselves in “ originality.”1
Little, however, as people are accus
tomed to a doctrine like that of Von
Humboldt, and surprising as it may
be to them to find so high a value
attached to individuality, the question,
one must nevertheless think, can only
be one of degree. No one’s idea of
excellence in conduct is that people
should do absolutely nothing but copy
one another. No one would assert that
people ought not to put into their mode
of life, and into the conduct of their
concerns, any impress whatever of their
own judgment, or of their own individual
character. On the other hand, it would
be absurd to pretend that people ought
to live as if nothing whatever had been
known in the world before they came
into it; as if experience had as yet
done nothing towards showing that
one mode of existence, or of conduct,
is preferable to another.
Nobody
denies that people should be so
taught and trained in youth as to
know and benefit by the ascertained
results of human experience. But it
is the privilege and proper condition of
a human being, arrived at the maturity
of his faculties, to use and interpret
experience in his own way. It is for
him to find out what part of recorded
experience is properly applicable to his
own circumstances and character. The
traditions and customs of other people
1 The Sphere and Duties of Government, from
the German of Baron Wilhelm von Humboldt,
np. II-13.
are, to a certain extent, evidence of what
their experience has taught them; pre
sumptive evidence, and as such, have
a claim to his deference: but, in the
first place, their experience may be too
narrow; or they may not have inter
preted it rightly. Secondly, their inter
pretation of experience may be correct,
but unsuitable to him. Customs are
made for customary circumstances and
customary characters ; and his circum
stances or his character may be un
customary. Thirdly, though the customs
be both good as customs, and suitable
to him, yet to conform to custom merely
as custom does not educate or develop
in him any of the qualities which are the
distinctive endowment of a human being.
The human faculties of perception,
judgment, discriminative feeling, mental
activity, and even moral preference, are
exercised only in making a choice. He
who does anything because it is the
custom makes no choice. He gains no
practice either in discerning or in desir
ing what is best. The mental and moral,
like the muscular powers, are improved
only by being used. The faculties are
called into no exercise by doing a thing
merely because others do it, no more
than by believing a thing only because
others believe it. If the grounds of an
opinion are not conclusive to the person’s
own reason, his reason cannot be
strengthened, but is likely to be
weakened, by his adopting it; and if the
inducements to an act are not such as
are consentaneous to his own feelings
and character (where affection, or the
rights of others, are not concerned), it is
so much done towards rendering his
feelings and character inert and torpid,
instead of active and energetic.
He who lets the world, or his own
portion of it, choose his plan of life for
�OF INDIVIDUALITY, AS ONE OF THE ELEMENTS OF WELL-BEING 49
him has no need of any other faculty
than the ape-like one of imitation. He
who chooses his plan for himself employs
all his faculties. He must use observa
tion to see, reasoning and judgment to
foresee, activity to gather materials for
decision, discrimination to decide, and,
when he has decided, firmness and self
control to hold to his deliberate decision.
And these qualities he requires and
exercises exactly in proportion as the
part of his conduct which he determines
according to his own judgment and
feelings is a large one. It is possible
that he might be guided in some good
path, and kept out of harm’s way, without
any of these things. But what will be
his comparative worth as a human being ?
It really is of importance, not only what
men do, but also what manner of men
they are that do it. Among the works
of man which human life is rightly
employed in perfecting and beautifying,
the first in importance surely is man
himself. Supposing it were possible to
get houses built, corn grown, battles
fought, causes tried, and even churches
erected and prayers said, by machinery
—by automatons in human form—it
would be a considerable loss to exchange
for these automatons even the men and
women who at present inhabit the more
civilised parts of the world, and who
assuredly are but starved specimens of
what nature can and will produce.
Human nature is not a machine to be
built after a model, and set to do exactly
the work prescribed for it, but a tree,
which requires to grow and develop itself
on all sides, according to the tendency
of the inward forces which make it a
living thing.
It will probably be conceded that it is
desirable people should exercise their
understandings, and that an intelligent
following of custom, or even occasionally
an intelligent deviation from custom, is
better than a blind and simply mechanical
adhesion to it. To a certain extent it is
admitted that our understanding should
be our own; but there is not the same
willingness to admit that our desires and
impulses should be our own likewise ; or
that to possess impulses of our own, and
of any strength, is anything but a peril
and a snare. Yet desires and impulses
are as much a part of a perfect human
being as beliefs and restraints; and
strong impulses are only perilous when
not properly balanced ; when one set of
aims and inclinations is developed into
strength, while others, which ought to
co-exist with them, remain weak and
inactive. It is not because men’s desires
are strong that they act ill; it is because
their consciences are weak. There is
no natural connection between strong
impulse and a weak conscience. The
natural connection is the other way. To
say that one person’s desires and feelings
are stronger and more various than those
of another is merely to say that he has
more of the raw material of human
nature, and is therefore capable, perhaps
of more evil, but certainly of more good.
Strong impulses are but another name
for energy. Energy may be turned to
bad uses ; but more good may always
be made of an energetic nature than of
an indolent and impassive one. Those
who have most natural feeling are always
those whose cultivated feelings may be
made the strongest. The same strong
susceptibilities which make the personal
impulses vivid and powerful are also the
source from whence are generated the
most passionate love of virtue and the
sternest self-control. It is through the
cultivation of these that society both
does its duty and protects its interests:
E
�5°
ON LIBERTY
not by rejecting the stuff of which heroes
are made, because it knows not how to
make them. A person whose desires
and impulses are his own—are the
expressions of his own nature, as it has
been developed and modified by his
own culture—is said to have a character.
One whose desires and impulses are not
his own has no character, no more than
a steam-engine has a character. If, in
addition to being his own, his impulses
are strong, and are under the government
of a strong will, he has an energetic char
acter. Whoever thinks that individu
ality of desires and impulses should not
be encouraged to unfold itself must
maintain that society has no need of
strong natures—is not the better for
containing many persons who have much
character—and that a high general
average of energy is not desirable.
In some early states of society these
forces might be, and were, too much
ahead of the power which society then
possessed of disciplining and controlling
them. There has been a time when the
element of spontaneity and individuality
was in excess, and the social principle
had a hard struggle with it. The diffi
culty then was, to induce men of strong
bodies or minds to pay obedience to any
rules which required them to control
their impulses. To overcome this diffi
culty, law and discipline, like the Popes
struggling against the Emperors, asserted
a power over the whole man, claiming to
control all his life in order to control his
character—which society had not found
any other sufficient means of binding.
But society has now fairly got the better
of individuality; and the danger which
threatens human nature is not the ex
cess, but the deficiency, of personal
impulses and preferences. Things are
vastly changed, since the passions of
those who were strong by station or by
personal endowment were in a state of
habitual rebellion against laws and ordi
nances, and required to be rigorously
chained up to enable the persons within
their reach to enjoy any particle of secu
rity. In our times, from the highest
class of society down to the lowest,
every one lives as under the eye of a
hostile and dreaded censorship. Not only
in what concerns others, but in what con
cerns only themselves, the individual or
the family do not ask themselves—What
do I prefer ? or, What would suit my
character and disposition? or, What would
allow the best and highest in me to have
fair play, and enable it to grow and
thrive ? They ask themselves—What is
suitable to my position ? What is usually
done by persons of my station and
pecuniary circumstances? or (worse still),
What is usually done by persons of a
station and circumstances superior to
mine ? I do not mean that they choose
what is customary in preference to what
suits their own inclination. It does not
occur to them to have any inclination,
except for what is customary. Thus the
mind itself is bowed to the yoke; even
in what people do for pleasure confor
mity is the first thing thought of; they
like in crowds; they exercise choice
only among things commonly done;
peculiarity of taste, eccentricity of con
duct, are shunned equally with crimes;
until, by dint of not following their own
nature, they have no nature to follow ;
their human capacities are withered and
starved; they become incapable of any
strong wishes or native pleasures, and are
generally without either opinions or
feelings of home growth, or properly
their own. Now, is this, or is it
not, the desirable condition of human
nature?
�OF INDIVIDUALITY, AS ONE OF THE ELEMENTS OF WELL-BEING 51
It is so, on the Calvinistic theory. consistent with that faith to believe that
According to that, the one great offence this Being gave all human faculties that
of man is self-will. All the good of they might be cultivated and unfolded,
not rooted out and consumed, and that
which humanity is capable is comprised
in obedience. You have no choice; he takes delight in every nearer approach
thus you must do, and no otherwise; made by his creatures to the ideal con
“ whatever is not a duty is a sin.” ception embodied in them, every increase
in any of their capabilities of comprehen
Human nature being radically corrupt,
there is no redemption for any one until sion, of action, or of enjoyment. There
human nature is killed within him. To is a different type of human excellence
one holding this theory of life, crushing from the Calvinistic : a conception of
out any of the human faculties, capaci humanity as having its nature bestowed
on it for other purposes than merely to
ties, and susceptibilities is no evil; man
needs no capacity but that of surrender be abnegated. “Pagan self-assertion”
ing himself to the will of God ; and if is one of the elements of human worth,
he uses any of his faculties for any other as well as “Christian self-denial.”1 There
purpose but to do that supposed will is a Greek ideal of self-development,
more effectually, he is better without which the Platonic and Christian ideal
them. This is the theory of Calvinism; of self-government blends with, but does
and it is held, in a mitigated form, by not supersede. It may be better to be a
many who do not consider themselves John Knox than an Alcibiades, but it is
Calvinists; the mitigation consisting in better to be a Pericles than either; nor
giving a less ascetic interpretation to the would a Pericles, if we had one in these
alleged will of God; asserting it to be days, be without anything good which
his will that mankind should gratify belonged to John Knox.
It is not by wearing down into uni
some of their inclinations; of course, not
in the manner they themselves prefer, formity all that is individual in them
but in the way of obedience—that is, in selves, but by cultivating it, and calling
a way prescribed to them by authority; it forth, within the limits imposed by the
and, therefore, by the necessary condition rights and interests of others, that human
beings become a noble and beautiful
of the case, the same for all.
In some such insidious form there is object of contemplation; and as the
at present a strong tendency to this works partake the character of those
narrow theory of life, and to the who do them, by the same process human
pinched and hidebound type of human life also becomes rich, diversified, and
character which it patronises. Many animating, furnishing more abundant
persons, no doubt, sincerely think that aliment to high thoughts and elevating
human beings thus cramped and dwarfed feelings, and strengthening the tie which
are as their Maker designed them to be; binds every individual to the race, by
just as many have thought that trees are making the race infinitely better worth
a much finer thing when clipped into belonging to. In proportion to the
pollards, or cut out into figures of animals, development of his individuality, each
than as nature made them. But if it be person becomes more valuable to
any part of religion to believe that man
was made by a good Being, it is more
1 Sterling’s Essays.
�52
ON LIBERTY
himself, and is therefore capable of it is only the cultivation of individ
being more valuable to others. There uality which produces, or can produce,
is a greater fulness of life about his own well-developed human beings, I might
existence, and when there is more life in here close the argument: for what more
the units there is more in the mass which or better can be said of any condition of
is composed of them. As much com human affairs than that it brings human
pression as is necessary to prevent the beings themselves nearer to the best
stronger specimens of human nature thing they can be ? Or what worse can
from encroaching on the rights of others be said of any obstruction to good than
cannot be dispensed with; but for this that it prevents this ? Doubtless, how
there is ample compensation even in the ever, these considerations will not suffice
point of view of human development. to convince those who most need con
The means of development which the vincing; and it is necessary further to
individual loses by being prevented show that these developed human beings
from gratifying his inclinations to the are of some use to the undeveloped—
injury of others are chiefly obtained at to point out to those who do not desire
the expense of the development of other liberty, and would not avail themselves
people. And even to himself there is a of it, that they may be in some intelli
full equivalent in the better development gible manner rewarded for allowing other
of the social part of his nature, rendered people to make use of it without
possible by the restraint put upon the hindrance.
selfish part. To be held to rigid rules
In the first place, then, I would
of justice for the sake of others developes ■suggest that they might possibly learn
the feelings and capacities which have something from them. It will not be
the good of others for their object. But denied by anybody that originality is
to be restrained in things not affecting a valuable element in human affairs.
their good, by their mere displeasure, There is always need of persons not
developes nothing valuable, except such only to discover new truths, and point
force of character as may unfold itself in out when what were once truths are
resisting the restraint. If acquiesced in, true no longer, but also to commence
it dulls and blunts the whole nature. new practices, and set the example of
To give any fair play to the nature of more enlightened conduct, and better
each, it is essential that different persons taste and sense in human life. This
should be allowed to lead different lives. cannot well be gainsaid by anybody
In proportion as this latitude has been who does not believe that the world has
exercised in any age, has that age been already attained perfection in all its
noteworthy to posterity. Even despotism ways and practices. It is true that this
does not produce its worst effects, so long benefit is not capable of being rendered
as individuality exists under it; and by everybody alike: there are but few
whatever crushes individuality is despot persons, in comparison with the whole
ism, by whatever name it may be called, of mankind, whose experiments, if
and whether it professes to be enforcing adopted by others, would be likely to
the will of God or the injunctions of men. be any improvement on established
Having said that individuality is the practice. But these few are the salt of
same thing with development, and that the earth; without them human life
�OF INDIVIDUALITY, AS ONE OF THE ELEMENTS OF WELL-BEING 53
would become a stagnant pool. Not
only is it they who introduce good things
which did not before exist; it is they who
keep the life in those which already exist.
If there were nothing new to be done,
would human intellect cease to be
necessary ? Would it be a reason why
those wrho do the old things should
forget wrhy they are done, and do them
like cattle, not like human beings?
There is only too great a tendency in
the best beliefs and practices to
degenerate into the mechanical; and
unless there were a succession of persons
whose ever-recurring originality prevents
the grounds of those beliefs and prac
tices from becoming merely traditional,
such dead matter would not resist the
smallest shock from anything really alive,
and there wrould be no reason why
civilisation should not die out, as in the
Byzantine Empire. Persons of genius,
it is true, are, and are always likely to
be, a small minority; but, in order to
have them, it is necessary to preserve
the soil in which they grow. Genius
can only breathe freely in an atmosphere
of freedom. Persons of genius are, ex
vi termini, more individual than any
other people—less capable, consequently,
of fitting themselves, without hurtful
compression, into any of the small
number of moulds which society pro
vides in order to save its members the
trouble of forming their own character.
If from timidity they consent to be
forced into one of these moulds, and to
let all that part of themselves which
cannot expand under the pressure remain
unexpanded, society will be little the
better for their genius. If they are of
a strong character, and break their
fetters, they become a mark for the
society which has not succeeded in
reducing them to commonplace, to point
out with solemn warning as “wild,”
“erratic,” and the like; much as if one
should complain of the Niagara river
for not flowing smoothly between its
banks like a Dutch canal.
I insist thus emphatically on the
importance of genius, and the necessity
of allowing it to unfold itself freely both
in thought and in practice, being well
aware that no one will deny the position
in theory, but knowing also that almost
everyone, in reality, is totally indifferent
to it. People think genius a fine thing
if it enables a man to write an exciting
poem, or paint a picture. But, in its
true sense, that of originality in thought
and action, though no one says that it is
not a thing to be admired, nearly all, at
heart, think that they can do very well
without it. Unhappily this is too natural
to be wrondered at. Originality is the
one thing which unoriginal minds cannot
feel the use of. They cannot see what
it is to do for them : how should they ?
If they could see what it would do for
them, it would not be originality. The
first service which originality has to
render them is that of opening their
eyes ; which, being once fully done, they
would have a chance of being themselves
original. Meanwhile, recollecting that
nothing wras ever yet done which some
one was not the first to do, and that all
good things which exist are the fruits of
originality, let them be modest enough
to believe that there is something still
left for it to accomplish, and assure
themselves that they are more in need
of originality the less they are conscious
of the want.
In sober truth, whatever homage may
be professed, or even paid, to real or
supposed mental superiority, the general
tendency of things throughout the world
is to render mediocrity the ascendant
�54
ON LIBERTY
power among mankind. In ancient
history, in the Middle Ages, and in a
diminishing degree through the long
transition from feudality to the present
time, the individual was a power in him
self; and if he had either great talents
or a high social position, he was a con
siderable power. At present individuals
are lost in the crowd. In politics it is
almost a triviality to say that public
opinion now rules the world. The only
power deserving the name is that of
masses, and of governments while they
make themselves the organ of the
tendencies and instincts of masses. This
is as true in the moral and social rela
tions of private life as in public tran
sactions. Those whose opinions go by
the name of public opinion are not
always the same sort of public; in
America they are the whole white
population; in England, chiefly the
middle class. But they are always a
mass—that is to say, collective medi
ocrity. And, what is a still greater
novelty, the mass do not now take their
opinions from dignitaries in Church or
State, from ostensible leaders, or from
books. Their thinking is done for
them by men much like themselves,
addressing them or speaking in their
name, on the spur of the moment,
through the newspapers. I am not com
plaining of all this. I do not assert
that anything better is compatible, as
a general rule, with the present low
state of the human mind. But that
does not hinder the government of
mediocrity from being mediocre govern
ment. No government by a democracy
or a numerous aristocracy, either in
its political acts or in the opinions,
qualities, and tone of mind which it
fosters, ever did or could rise above
mediocrity, except in so far as the
sovereign Many have let themselves be
guided (which, in their best times, they
always have done) by the counsels and
influence of a more highly gifted and
instructed One or Few. The initiation
of all wise or noble things comes, and
must come, from individuals; generally
at first from some one individual.
The honour and glory of the average
man is that he is capable of following
that initiative; that he can respond
internally to wise and noble things, and
be led to them with his eyes open.
I am not countenancing the sort of
“ hero-worship ” which applauds the
strong man of genius for forcibly seizing
on the government of the world and
making it do his bidding in spite of
itself. All he can claim is freedom to
point out the way. The power of com
pelling others into it is not only incon
sistent with the freedom and develop
ment of all the rest, but corrupting to
the strong man himself. It does seem,
however, that when the opinions of
masses of merely average men are
everywhere become or becoming the
dominant power, the counterpoise and
corrective to that tendency would be
the more and more pronounced indi
viduality of those who stand on the
higher eminences of thought. It is in
these circumstances most especially that
exceptional individuals, instead of being
deterred, should be encouraged in
acting differently from the mass. In
other times there was no advantage in
their doing so, unless they acted not
only differently, but better. In this
age the mere example of non-con
formity, the mere refusal to bend the
knee to custom, is itself a service.
Precisely because a tyranny of opinion
is such as to make eccentricity a
reproach, it is desirable, in order
�OF INDIVIDUALITY, AS ONE OF THE ELEMENTS OF WELL-BEING 55
to break through that tyranny, that one model. But different persons also
people should be eccentric. Eccentricity require different conditions for their
has always abounded when and where spiritual development, and can no more
strength of character has abounded ; and exist healthily in the same moral than
the amount of eccentricity in a society all the variety of plants can in the same
has generally been proportional to the physical, atmosphere and climate. The
amount of genius, mental vigour, and same things which are helps to one
moral courage it contained. That so person towards the cultivation of his
few now dare to be eccentric marks the higher nature are hindrances to another.
The same mode of life is a healthy
chief danger of the time.
I have said that it is important to give excitement to one, keeping all his faculties
the freest scope possible to uncustomary of action and enjoyment in their best
things, in order that it may in time order, while to another it is a distracting
appear which of these are fit to be con burthen, which suspends or crushes all
verted into customs. But independence internal life. Such are the differences
of action and disregard of custom are among human beings in their sources of
not solely deserving of encouragement pleasure, their susceptibilities of pain,
for the chance they afford that better and the operation on them of different
modes of action, and customs more physical and moral agencies, that, unless
worthy of general adoption, may be there is a corresponding diversity in their
struck out; nor is it only persons of modes of life, they neither obtain their
decided mental superiority who have a fair share of happiness nor grow up to
just claim to carry on their lives in their the mental, moral, and aesthetic stature
own way. There is no reason that all of which their nature is capable. Why,
human existence should be constructed then, should tolerance, as far as the
on some one or some small number of public sentiment is concerned, extend
patterns. If a person possesses any only to tastes and modes of life which
tolerable amount of common sense and extort acquiescence by the multitude of
experience, his own mode of laying out their adherents ? Nowhere (except in
his existence is the best, not because it some monastic institutions) is diversity
is the best in itself, but because it is of taste entirely unrecognised; a person
his own mode. Human beings are not may, without blame, either like or dislike
like sheep; and even sheep are not rowing, or smoking, or music, or athletic
undistinguishably alike. A man cannot exercises, or chess, or cards, or study,
get a coat or a pair of boots to fit him because both those who like each of these
unless they are either made to his things and those who dislike them are
measure or he has a whole warehouseful too numerous to be put down. But the
to choose from; and is it easier to fit man, and still more the woman, who can
him with a life than with a coat, or are be accused either of doing “ what nobody
human beings more like one another in does,” or of not doing “ what everybody
their whole physical and spiritual con does,” is the subject of as much depre
formation than in the shape of their feet? ciatory remark as if he or she had com
If it were only that people have diver mitted some grave moral delinquency.
sities of taste, that is reason enough for Persons require to possess a title, or
not attempting to shape them all after some other badge of rank, or of the
�56
ON LIBERTY
consideration of people of rank, to be able
to indulge somewhat in the luxury of
doing as they like without detriment to
their estimation. To indulge somewhat,
I repeat; for whoever allow themselves
much of that indulgence incur the risk
of something worse than disparaging
speeches—they are in peril of a com
mission de lunatico, and of having their
property taken from them and given to
their relations.1
There is one characteristic of the
present direction of public opinion,
1 There is something both contemptible and
frightful in the sort of evidence on which, of late
years, any person can be judicially declared unfit
for the management of his affairs ; and after his
death his disposal of his property can be set
aside, if there is enough of it to pay the expenses
of litigation—which are charged on the property
itself. All the minute details of his daily life
are pried into, and whatever is found which,
seen through the medium of the perceiving and
describing faculties of the lowest of the low,
bears an appearance unlike absolute common
place, is laid before the jury as evidence of
insanity, and often with success; the jurors
being little, if at all, less vulgar and ignorant
than the witnesses; while the judges, with that
extraordinary want of knowledge of human
nature and life which continually astonishes us
in English lawyers, often help to mislead them.
These trials speak volumes as to the state of
feeling and opinion among the vulgar with regard
to human liberty. So far from setting any value
on individuality—so far from respecting the right
of each individual to act, in things indifferent, as
seems good to his own judgment and inclinations,
judges and juries cannot even conceive that a
person in a state of sanity can desire such
freedom. In former days, when it was proposed
to burn atheists, charitable people used to suggest
putting them in a madhouse instead : it would
be nothing surprising nowadays were we to see
this done, and the doers applauding themselves,
because, instead of persecuting for religion, they
had adopted so humane and Christian a mode
of treating these unfortunates, not without a
silent satisfaction at their having thereby obtained
their deserts.
peculiarly calculated to make it intole
rant of any marked demonstration of
individuality. The general average of
mankind are not only moderate in in
tellect, but also moderate in inclina
tions : they have no tastes or wishes
strong enough to incline them to do
anything unusual, and they consequently
do not understand those who have,
and class all such with the wild and
intemperate whom they are accustomed
to look down upon. Now, in addition
to this fact, which is general, we have
only to suppose that a strong move
ment has set in towards the improve
ment of morals, and it is evident what
we have to expect. In these days such
a movement has set in; much has
actually been effected in the way of
increased regularity of conduct, and
discouragement of excesses; and there
is a philanthropic spirit abroad, for
the exercise of wrhich there is no
more inviting field than the moral and
prudential improvement of our fellow
creatures.
These tendencies of the
times cause the public to be more dis
posed than at most former periods to
prescribe general rules of conduct, and
endeavour to make every one conform
to the approved standard. And that
standard, express or tacit, is to desire
nothing strongly. Its ideal of character
is to be without any marked character ;
to maim by compression, like a Chinese
lady’s foot, every part of human nature
which stands out prominently, and tends
to make the person markedly dissimilar
in outline to commonplace humanity.
As is usually the case with ideals
which exclude one-half of what is de
sirable, the present standard of appro
bation produces only an inferior imita
tion of the other half. Instead of great
energies guided by vigorous reason, and
�of Individuality, as one of the elements of well-being y
strong feelings strongly controlled by a
conscientious will, its result is weak feel
ings and weak energies, which therefore
can be kept in outward conformity to
rule without any strength either of will
or of reason. Already energetic char
acters on any large scale are becoming
merely traditional. There is now scarcely
any outlet for energy in this country
except business. The energy expended
in this may still be regarded as consider
able. What little is left from that
employment is expended on some hobby ;
which may be a useful, even a philan
thropic hobby, but is always some one
thing, and generally a thing of small
dimensions. The greatness of England
is now all collective : individually small,
we only appear capable of anything
great by our habit of combining; and
with this our moral and religious philan
thropists are perfectly contented. But
it was men of another stamp than this
that made England what it has been;
and men of another stamp will be needed
to prevent its decline.
The despotism of custom is every
where the standing hindrance to human
advancement, being in unceasing an
tagonism to that disposition to aim at
something better than customary, which
is called, according to circumstances,
the spirit of liberty, or that of progress
or improvement. The spirit of improve
ment is not always a spirit of liberty,
for it may aim at forcing improvements
on an unwilling people; and the spirit of
liberty, insofar as it resists such attempts,
may ally itself locally and temporarily
with the opponents of improvement;
but the only unfailing and permanent
source of improvement is liberty, since
by it there are as many possible indepen
dent centres of improvement as there are
individuals. The progressive principle,
however, in either shape, whether as the
love of liberty or of improvement, is
antagonistic to the sway of Custom,
involving at least emancipation from
that yoke; and the contest between the
two constitutes the chief interest of the
history of mankind. The greater part of
the world has, properly speaking, no
history, because the despotism of Custom
is complete. This is the case over the
whole East. Custom is there, in all
things, the final appeal; justice and right
mean conformity to custom; the argu
ment of custom no one, unless some
tyrant intoxicated with power, thinks of
resisting. And we see the result. Those
nations must once have had originality ;
they did not start out of the ground
populous, lettered, and versed in many of
the arts of life; they made themselves
all this, and were then the greatest and
most powerful nations of the world.
What are they now ? The subjects or
dependents of tribes whose forefathers
wandered in the forests when theirs had
magnificent palacesand gorgeous temples,
but over whom custom exercised only a
divided rule with liberty and progress.
A people, it appears, may be progressive
for a certain length of time, and then
stop: when does it stop? When it
ceases to possess individuality. If a
similar change should befall the nations
of Europe, it will not be in exactly the
same shape: the despotism of custom
with which these nations are threatened
is not precisely stationariness. It pro
scribes singularity, but it does not
preclude change, provided all change
together. We have discarded the fixed
costumes of our forefathers: everyone
must still dress like other people, but the
fashion may change once or twice a year.
We thus take care that, when there is a
change, it shall be for change’s sake, and
�58
ON LIBERTY
not from any idea of beauty or con
venience; for the same idea of beauty
or convenience would not strike all the
world at the same moment, and be
simultaneously thrown aside by all at
another moment. But we are progressive
as well as changeable : we continually
make new inventions in mechanical
things, and keep them until they are
again superseded by better; we are eager
for improvement in politics, in education,
even in morals, though in this last our
idea of improvement chiefly consists in
persuading or forcing other people to be
as good as ourselves. It is not progress
that we object to ; on the contrary, we
flatter ourselves that we are the most
progressive people who ever lived. It
is individuality that we war against:
we should think we had done wonders
if we had made ourselves all alike;
forgetting that the unlikeness of one
person to another is generally the first
thing which draws the attention of
either to the imperfection of his own
type, and the superiority of another, or
the possibility, by combining the ad
vantages of both, of producing some
thing better than either. We have a
warning example in China—a nation
of much talent, and, in some respects,
even wisdom, owing to the rare good
fortune of having been provided at an
early period with a particularly good
set of customs, the work, in some
measure, of men to whom even the most
enlightened European must accord,
under certain limitations, the title of sages
and philosophers. They are remark
able, too, in the excellence of their
apparatus for impressing, as far as pos
sible, the best wisdom they possess
upon every mind in the community,
and securing that those who have ap
propriated most of it shall occupy the
posts of honour and power. Surely the
people who did this have discovered
the secret of human progressiveness,
and must have kept themselves steadily
at the head of the movement of the
world. On the contrary, they have
become stationary—have remained so
for thousands of years ; and if they are
ever to be farther improved, it must be
by foreigners. They have succeeded
beyond all hope in what English philan
thropists are so industriously working at
—in making a people all alike, all
governing their thoughts and conduct by
the same maxims and rules; and these
are the fruits. The modern regime of
public opinion is, in an unorganised
form, what the Chinese educational and
political systems are in an organised; and
unless individuality shall be able success
fully to assert itself against this yoke,
Europe, notwithstanding its noble ante
cedents and its professed Christianity,
will tend to become another China.
What is it that has hitherto preserved
Europe from this lot ? What has made
the European family of nations an im
proving, instead of a stationary, portion
of mankind ? Not any superior excellence
in them, which, when it exists, exists as
the effect, not as the cause; but their
remarkable diversity of character and
culture. Individuals, classes, nations,
have been extremely unlike one another;
they have struck out a great variety of
paths, each leading to something valu
able ; and although at every period
those who travelled in different paths
have been intolerant of one another,
and each would have thought it an ex
cellent thing if all the rest could have
been compelled to travel his road, their
attempts to thwart each other’s develop
ment have rarely had any permanent
success, and each has in time endured
�OF INDIVIDUALITY, AS ONE OF THE ELEMENTS OF WELL-BEING 59
to receive the good which the others
have offered. Europe is, in my judg
ment, wholly indebted to this plurality
of paths for its progressive and manysided 'development.
But it already
begins to possess this benefit in a con
siderably less degree. It is decidedly
advancing towards the Chinese ideal of
making all people alike. M. de Toc
queville, in his last important work,
remarks how much more the French
men of the present day resemble one
another than did those even of the last
generation. The same remark might be
made of Englishmen in a far greater
degree. In a passage already quoted from
Wilhelm von Humboldt, he points out
two things as necessary conditions of
human development, because necessary
to render people unlike one another;
namely, freedom, and variety of situa
tions. The second of these two con
ditions is in this country every day
diminishing. The circumstances which
surround different classes and indivi
duals, and shape their characters, are
daily becoming more assimilated. For
merly, different ranks, different neigh
bourhoods, different trades and pro
fessions, lived in what might be called
different worlds; at present, to a great
degree in the same. Comparatively
speaking, they now read the same
things, listen to the same things, see
the same things, go to the same places,
have their hopes and fears directed
to the same objects, have the same
rights and liberties, and the same means
of asserting them. Great as are the
differences of position which remain,
they are nothing to those which have
ceased. And the assimilation is still
proceeding. All the political changes
of the age promote it, since they all
tend to raise the low and to lower
the high. Every extension of educa
tion promotes it, because education
brings people under common influences,
and gives them access to the general
stock of facts and sentiments. Improve
ment in the means of communication
promotes it, by bringing the inhabitants
of distant places into personal contact,
and keeping up a rapid flow of changes
of residence between one place and
another. The increase of commerce and
manufactures promotes it, by diffusing
more widely the advantages of easy
circumstances, and opening all objects
of ambition, even the highest, to general
competition, whereby the desire of rising
becomes no longer the character of a
particular class, but of all classes. A
more powerful agency than even all these,
in bringing about a general similarity
among mankind, is the complete estab
lishment, in this and other free coun
tries, of the ascendancy of public opinion
in the State. As the various social
eminences which enabled persons en
trenched on them to disregard the
opinion of the multitude gradually be
come levelled; as the very idea of
resisting the will of the public, when it
is positively known that they have a will,
disappears more and more from the
minds of practical politicians; there
ceases to be any social support for non
conformity—any substantive power in
society, which, itself opposed to the ascen
dancy of numbers, is interested in taking
under its protection opinions and tenden
cies at variance with those of the public.
The combination of all these causes
forms so great a mass of influences
hostile to individuality that it is not
easy to see how it can stand its ground.
It will do so with increasing difficulty,
unless the intelligent part of the public
can be made to feel its value—to see
�6o
ON LIBERTY
that it is good there should be differences,
even though not for the better; even
though, as it may appear to them, some
should be for the worse. If the claims
of individuality are ever to be asserted,
the time is now, while much is still
wanting to complete the enforced assimi
lation. It is only in the earlier stages
that any stand can be successfully made
against the encroachment. The demand
that all other people shall resemble our
selves grows by what it feeds on. If
resistance waits till life is reduced nearly
to one uniform type, all deviations from
that type will come to be considered
impious, immoral, even monstrous and
contrary to nature. Mankind speedily
become unable to conceive diversity,
when they have been for some time
unaccustomed to see it.
Chapter IV.
OF THE LIMITS TO THE AUTHORITY OF SOCIETY
OVER THE INDIVIDUAL
What, then, is the rightful limit to the
sovereignty of the individual over him
self? Where does the authority of
society begin ? How much of human
life should be assigned to individuality,
and how much to society ?
Each will receive its proper shape, if
each has that which more particularly
concerns it. To individuality should
belong the part of life in which it is
chiefly the individual that is interested;
to society, the part which chiefly interests
society.
Though society is not founded on a
contract, and though no good purpose is
answered by inventing a contract in order
to deduce social obligations from it, every
one who receives the protection of society
owes a return for the benefit, and the
fact of living in society renders it
indispensable that each should be bound
to observe a certain line of conduct towards
the rest. This conduct consists, first, in I
not injuring the interests of one another;
or rather certain interests, which, either
by express legal provision or by tacit
understanding, ought to be considered
as rights; and secondly, in each person’s
bearing his share (to be fixed on some
equitable principle) of the labours and
sacrifices incurred for defending the
society or its members from injury and
molestation. These conditions society
is justified in enforcing, at all costs to
those who endeavour to withhold fulfil
ment. Nor is this all that society may
do. The acts of an individual may be
hurtful to others, or wanting in due con
sideration for their welfare, without going
to the length of violating any of their
constituted rights. The offender may
then be justly punished by opinion,
though not by law. As soon as any part
of a person’s conduct affects prejudicially
the interests of others, society has jurisdiction over it, and the question whether
�OF LIMITS TO AUTHORITY OF SOCIETY OVER THE INDIVIDUAL 61
the general welfare will or will not be
promoted by interfering with it becomes
open to discussion. But there is no
room for entertaining any such question
when a person’s conduct affects the
interests of no persons besides himself,
or needs not affect them unless they like
(all the persons concerned being of full
age and the ordinary amount of under
standing). In all such cases there should
be perfect freedom, legal and social, to
do the action and stand the conse
quences.
It would be a great misunderstanding
of this doctrine to suppose that it is one
of selfish indifference, which pretends
that human beings have no business
with each other’s conduct in life, and
that they should not concern themselves
about the well-doing or well-being of one
another, unless their own interest is
involved. Instead of any diminution,
there is need of a great increase of
disinterested exertion to promote the
good of others. But disinterested bene
volence can find other instruments to
persuade people to their good than
whips and scourges, either of the literal
or the metaphorical sort. I am the last
person to undervalue the self-regarding
virtues; they are only second in impor
tance, if even second, to the social. It
is equally the business of education to
cultivate both. But even education
works by conviction and persuasion as
well as by compulsion, and it is by the
former only that, when the period of
education is passed, the self-regarding
virtues should be inculcated. Human
beings owe to each other help to dis
tinguish the better from the worse, and
encouragement to choose the former
and avoid the latter. They should be for
ever stimulating each other to increased
exercise of their higher faculties, and
increased direction of their feelings and
aims towards wise instead of foolish,
elevating instead of degrading, objects
and contemplations. But neither one
person, nor any number of persons, is
warranted in saying to another human
creature of ripe years that he shall not
do with his life for his own benefit what
he chooses to do with it. He is the
person most interested in his own well
being : the interest which any other
person, except in cases of strong personal
attachment, can have in it, is trifling,
compared with that which he himself
has; the interest which society has in
him individually (except as to his conduct
to others) is fractional, and altogether
indirect: while with respect to his own
feelings and circumstances, the most
ordinary man or woman has means of
knowledge immeasurably surpassing those
that can be possessed by anyone else.
The interference of society to overrule
his judgment and purposes in what only
regards himself must be grounded on
general presumptions; which may be
altogether wrong, and, even if right, are
as likely as not to be misapplied to indi
vidual cases, by persons no better
acquainted with the circumstances of
such cases than those are who look at
them merely from without. In this
department, therefore, of human affairs
individuality has its proper field of
action. In the conduct of human
beings towards one another it is neces
sary that general rules should for the
most part be observed, in order that
people may know what they have to
expect; but in each person’s own con
cerns his individual spontaneity is
entitled to free exercise. Considera
tions to aid his judgment, exhortations
to strengthen his will, may be offered to
him, even obtruded on him, by others;
�62
ON LIBERTY
but he himself is the final judge. All
errors which he is likely to commit
against advice and warning are far
outweighed by the evil of allowing
others to constrain him to what they
deem his good.
I do not mean that the feelings with
which a person is regarded by others
ought not to be in any way affected
by his self-regarding qualities or defi
ciencies. This is neither possible nor
desirable. If he is eminent in any of
the qualities which conduce to his own
good, he is, so far, a proper object of
admiration. He is so much the nearer
to the ideal perfection of human nature.
If he is grossly deficient in those qualities,
a sentiment the opposite of admiration
will follow. There is a degree of folly,
and a degree of what may be called
(though the phrase is not unobjection
able) lowness or depravation of taste,
which, though it cannot justify doing
harm to the person who manifests it,
renders him necessarily and properly a
subject of distaste, or, in extreme cases,
even of contempt: a person could not
have the opposite qualities in due
strength without entertaining these
feelings. Though doing no wrong to
anyone, a person may so act as to
compel us to judge him, and feel to him,
as a fool, or as a being of an inferior
order: and since this judgment and
feeling are a fact which he would prefer
to avoid, it is doing him a service to
warn him of it beforehand, as of any
other disagreeable consequence to which
he exposes himself. It would be well,
indeed, if this good office were much
more freely rendered than the common
notions of politeness at present permit,
and if one person could honestly point
out to another that he thinks him in fault,
without being considered unmannerly
or presuming. We have a right also, in
various ways, to act upon our unfavour
able opinion of anyone, not to the
oppression of his individuality, but in
the exercise of ours. We are not bound,
for example, to seek his society: we have
a right to avoid it (though not to parade
the avoidance), for we have a right to
choose the society most acceptable to us.
We have a right, and it may be our duty,
to caution others against him, if we think
his example or conversation likely to
have a pernicious effect on those with
whom he associates. We may give others
a preference over him in optional good
offices, except those which tend to his
improvement. In these various modes
a person may suffer very severe penalties
at the hands of others, for faults which
directly concern only himself; but he
suffers these penalties only insofar as they
are the natural, and, as it were, the
spontaneous, consequences of the faults
themselves, not because they are
purposely inflicted on him for the sake
of punishment. A person who shows
rashness, obstinacy, self-conceit—who
cannot live within moderate means—
who cannot, restrain himself from hurtful
indulgences — who pursues animal
pleasures at the expense of those of
feeling and intellect—must expect to be
lowered in the opinion of others, and to
have a less share of their favourable
sentiments; but of this he has no right
to complain, unless he has merited their
favour by special excellence in his social
relations, and has thus established a title
to their good offices, which is not
affected by his demerits towards himself.
What I contend for is that the incon
veniences which are strictly inseparable
from the unfavourable judgment of others
are the only ones to which a person
should ever be subjected for that portion
�OF LIMITS TO AUTHORITY OF SOCIETY OVER THE INDIVIDUAL 63
of his conduct and character which
concerns his own good, but which does
not affect the interests of others in their
relations with him. Acts injurious to
others require a totally different treat
ment. Encroachment on their rights;
infliction on them of any loss or damage
not justified by his own rights; falsehood
or duplicity in dealing with them; unfair
or ungenerous use of advantages over
them: even selfish abstinence from
defending them against injury—these
are fit objects of moral reprobation,
and, in grave cases, of moral retribution
and punishment. And not only these
acts, but the dispositions which lead to
them, are properly immoral, and fit
subjects of disapprobation, which may
rise to abhorrence. Cruelty of dis
position ; malice and ill-nature; that
most anti-social and odious of all
passions, envy; dissimulation and in
sincerity; irascibility on insufficient cause,
and resentment disproportioned to the
provocation; the love of domineering
over others; the desire to engross more
than one’s share of advantages (the
TrXeove^ta of the Greeks); the pride
which derives gratification from the
abasement of others; the egotism which
thinks self and its concerns more impor
tant than everything else, and decides all
doubtful questions in its own favour—
these are moral vices, and constitute a
bad and odious moral character : unlike
the self-regarding faults previously men
tioned, which are not properly immorali
ties, and, to whatever pitch they may be
carried, do not constitute wickedness.
They may be proofs of any amount of
folly, or want of personal dignity and
self-respect; but they are only a subject
of moral reprobation when they involve
a breach of duty to others, for whose
sake the individual is bound to have care
for himself. What are called duties to
ourselves are not socially obligatory,
unless circumstances render them at
the same time duties to others. The
term duty to oneself, when it means
anything more than prudence, means
self-respect or self-development; and
for none of these is anyone accountable
to his fellow-creatures, because for none
of them is it for the good of mankind
that he be held accountable to them.
The distinction between the loss of
consideration which a person may
rightly incur by defect of prudence or
of personal dignity, and the reproba
tion which is due to him for an offence
against the rights of others, is not a
merely nominal distinction. It makes
a vast difference both in our feelings
and in our conduct towards him, whether
he displeases us in things in which we
think we have a right to control him or
in things in which we know that we have
not. If he displeases us, we may express
our distaste, and we may stand aloof
from a person as well as from a thing
that displeases us; but we shall not,
therefore, feel called on to make his life
uncomfortable. We shall reflect that he
already bears, or will bear, the whole
penalty of his error; if he spoils his life
by mismanagement, we shall not, for
that reason, desire to spoil it still further :
instead of wishing to punish him, we
shall rather endeavour to alleviate his
punishment, by showing him how he
may avoid or cure the evils his conduct
tends to bring upon him. He may be
to us an object of pity, perhaps of
dislike, but not of anger or resentment;
we shall not treat him like an enemy of
society: the worst we shall think our
selves justified in doing is leaving him to
himself, if we do not interfere benevo
lently by showing interest or concern for
a
�64
ON LIBERTY
him. It is far otherwise if he has in
fringed the rules necessary for the
protection of his fellow-creatures, in
dividually or collectively.
The evil
consequences of his acts do not then fall
on himself, but on others; and society,
as the protector of all its members, must
retaliate on him; must inflict pain on
him for the express purpose of punish
ment, and must take care that it be
sufficiently severe. In the one case, he
is an offender at our bar, and we are
called on not only to sit in judgment on
him, but, in one shape or another, to
execute our own sentence; in the other
case, it is not our part to inflict any
suffering on him, except what may inci
dentally follow from our using the same
liberty in the regulation of our own
affairs which we allow to him in his.
The distinction here pointed out
between the part of a person’s life which
concerns only himself and that which
concerns others many persons will
refuse to admit. How (it may be asked)
can any part of the conduct of a member
of society be a matter of indifference to
the other members? No person is an
entirely isolated being; it is impossible
for a person to do anything seriously
or permanently hurtful to himself, with
out mischief reaching at least to his near
connections, and often far beyond them.
If he injures his property, he does harm
to those who directly or indirectly
derived support from it, and usually
diminishes, by a greater or less amount,
the general resources of the community.
If he deteriorates his bodily or mental
faculties, he not only brings evil upon all
who depended on him for any portion
of their happiness, but disqualifies him
self for rendering the services which he
owes to his fellow-creatures generally;
perhaps becomes a burthen on their
affection or benevolence; and, if such Iddff
conduct were very frequent, hardly any Lrir
offence that is committed would detract'fiori
more from the general sum of good. |.b’w
Finally, if by his vices or follies a person Lhcra
does no direct harm to others, he is,
nevertheless (it may be said), injurious ;>ire
by his example—and ought to be com ■■mi
pelled to control himself, for the sake of . to'■:Lthose whom the sight or knowledge of ‘Id?
his conduct might corrupt or mislead.
And even (it will be added) if the
consequences of misconduct could be
confined to the vicious or thoughtless
individual, ought society to abandon to
their own guidance those who are mani
festly unfit for it ? If protection against
themselves is confessedly due to children
and persons under age, is not society
equally bound to afford it to persons of
mature years who are equally incapable
of self-government? If gambling, or
drunkenness, or incontinence, or idle
ness, or uncleanliness, are as injurious
to happiness, and as great a hindrance
to improvement, as many or most of the
acts prohibited by law, why (it may be
asked) should not law, so far as is con
sistent with practicability and social
convenience, endeavour to repress these
also? And as a supplement to the
unavoidable imperfections of law, ought
b
not opinion at least to organise a
powerful police against these vices, and
visit rigidly with social penalties those
who are known to practise them ? There
is no question here (it may be said) about
restricting individuality, or impeding the
trial of new and original experiments in
living. The only things it is sought to
prevent are things which have been tried
and condemned from the beginning of
the world until now; things which experi
ence has shown not to be useful or
suitable to any person’s individuality.
�OF LIMITS TO AUTHORITY OF SOCIETY OVER THE INDIVIDUAL 65
There must be some length of time and
amount of experience after which a
moral or prudential truth may be
regarded as established; and it is merely
desired to prevent generation after
generation from falling over the same
precipice which has been fatal to their
predecessors.
I fully admit that the mischief which
a person does to himself may seriously
affect, both through their sympathies
and their interests, those nearly con
nected with him, and, in a minor degree,
society at large. When, by conduct of
this sort, a person is led to violate a
distinct and assignable obligation to
any other person or persons, the case
is taken out of the self-regarding class,
and becomes amenable to moral disap
probation in the proper sense of the
term. If, for example, a man, through
intemperance or extravagance, becomes
unable to pay his debts, or, having
undertaken the moral responsibility of a
family, becomes from the same cause
incapable of supporting or educating
them, he is deservedly reprobated, and
might be justly punished; but it is for
the breach of duty to his family or
creditors, not for the extravagance. If
the resources which ought to have been
devoted to them had been diverted
from them for the most prudent invest
ment, the moral culpability would have
been the same. George Barnwell
murdered his uncle to get money for
his mistress; but if he had done it to
set himself up in business, he would
equally have been hanged. Again, in
the frequent case of a man who causes
grief to his family by addiction to bad
habits, he deserves reproach for his
unkindness or ingratitude; but so he
may for cultivating habits not in them
selves vicious, if they are painful to
those with whom he passes his life, or
who from personal ties are dependent
on him for their comfort. Whoever fails
in the consideration generally due to the
interests and feelings of others, not
being compelled by some more impera
tive duty, or justified by allowable self
preference, is a subject of moral disap
probation for that failure, but not for the
cause of it, nor for the errors, merely
personal to himself, which may have
remotely led to it. In like manner,
when a person disables himself, by
conduct purely self-regarding, from the
performance of some definite duty
incumbent on him to the public, he is
guilty of a social offence. No person
ought to be punished simply for being
drunk; but a soldier or a policeman
should be punished for being drunk on
duty. Whenever, in short, there is a
definite damage, or a definite risk of
damage, either to an individual or to
the public, the case is taken out of the
province of liberty, and placed in that
of morality or law.
But with regard to the merely con
tingent, or, as it may be called, con
structive injury which a person causes
to society, by conduct which neither
violates any specific duty to the public
nor occasions perceptible hurt to any
assignable individual except himself,
the inconvenience is one which society
can afford to bear, for the sake of the
greater good of human freedom. If
grown persons are to be punished for
not taking proper care of themselves, I
would rather it were for their own sake,
than under pretence of preventing them
from impairing their capacity of render
ing to society benefits which society does
not pretend it has a right to exact. But
I cannot consent to argue the point as if
society had no means of bringing its
F
�66
ON LIBERTY
weaker members up to its ordinary
standard of rational conduct, except
waiting till they do something irrational,
and then punishing them, legally or
morally, for it. Society has had absolute
power over them during all the early
portion of their existence: it has had the
whole period of childhood and nonage
in which to try whether it could make
them capable of rational conduct in life.
The existing generation is master both of
the training and the entire circumstances
of the generation to come; it cannot
indeed make them perfectly wise and
good, because it is itself so lamentably
deficient in goodness and wisdom; and
its best efforts are not always, in individual
cases, its most successful ones; but it is
perfectly well able to make the rising
generation, as a whole, as good as, and a
little better than, itself. If society lets
any considerable number of its members
grow up mere children, incapable of
being acted on by rational consideration
of distant motives, society has itself to
blame for the consequences. Armed
not only with all the powers of education,
but with the ascendancy which the
authority of a received opinion always
exercises over the minds who are least
fitted to judge for themselves; and aided
by the natural penalties which cannot be
prevented from falling on those who incur
the distaste or the contempt of those who
know them ; let not society pretend that
it needs, besides all this, the power to
issue commands and enforce obedience
in the personal concerns of individuals,
in which, on all principles of justice and
policy, the decision Qught to rest with
those who are to abide the consequences.
Nor is there anything which tends more
to discredit and frustrate the better means
of influencing conduct than a resort to
the worse. If there be among those
whom it is attempted to coerce into
prudence or temperance any of the
material of which vigorous and inde
pendent characters are made, they will
infallibly rebel against the yoke. No
such person will ever feel that others
have a right to control him in his con
cerns, such as they have to prevent him
from injuring them in theirs; and it
easily comes to be considered a mark
of spirit and courage to fly in the face
of such usurped authority, and do with
ostentation the exact opposite of what it
enjoins; as in the fashion of grossness
which succeeded, in the time of Charles
II., to the fanatical moral intolerance of
the Puritans. With respect to what is
said of the necessity of protecting society
from the bad example set to others by
the vicious or the self-indulgent, it is
true that bad example may have a perni
cious effect, especially the example of
doing wrong to others with impunity to
the wrong-doer. But we are now speak
ing of conduct which, while it does no
wrong to others, is supposed to do great
harm to the agent himself; and I do
not see how those who believe this can
think otherwise than that the example,
on the whole, must be more salutary
than hurtful, since, if it displays the mis
conduct, it displays also the painful or
degrading consequences which, if the
conduct is justly censured, must be sup
posed to be in all or most cases attendant
on it.
But the strongest of all the arguments
against the interference of the public
with purely personal conduct is that,
when it does interfere, the odds are that
it interferes wrongly, and in the wrong
place. On questions of social morality, of
duty to others, the opinion of the public
—that is, of an overruling majority—•
though often wrong, is likely to be still
�OF LIMITS TO AUTHORITY OF SOCIETY OVER THE INDIVIDUAL
oftener right; because on such questions
they are only required to judge of their
own interests ; of the manner in which
some mode of conduct, if allowed to be
practised, would affect themselves. But
the opinion of a similar majority, imposed
as a law on the minority, on questions of
self-regarding conduct, is quite as likely
to be wrong as right; for in these cases
public opinion means, at the best, some
people’s opinion of what is good or bad
for other people ; while very often it does
not even mean that; the public, with the
most perfect indifference, passing over
the pleasure or convenience of those
whose conduct they censure, and con
sidering only their own preference.
There are many who consider as an
injury to themselves any conduct which
they have a distaste for, and resent it as
an outrage to their feelings; as a religious
bigot, when charged with disregarding
the religious feelings of others, has been
known to retort that they disregard his
feelings, by persisting in their abominable
worship or creed. But there is no parity
between the feeling of a person for his
own opinion and the feeling of another
who is offended at his holding it; no
more than between the desire of a thief
to take a purse and the desire of the
right owner to keep it. And a person’s
taste is as much his own peculiar concern
as his opinion or his purse. It is easy
for anyone to imagine an ideal public,
which leaves the freedom and choice of
individuals in all uncertain matters
undisturbed, and only requires them to
abstain from modes of conduct which
universal experience has condemned.
But where has there been seen a public
which set any such limit to its censorship?
or when does the public trouble itself
about universal experience ? In its inter
ferences with personal conduct it is
67
seldom thinking of anything but the
enormity of acting or feeling differently
from itself; and this standard of judg
ment, thinly disguised, is held up to
mankind as the dictate of religion and
philosophy by nine-tenths of all moralists
and speculative writers. These teach
that things are right because they are
right; because we feel them to be so.
They tell us to search in our own minds
and hearts for laws of conduct binding
on ourselves and on all others. What
can the poor public do but apply these
instructions, and make their own personal
feelings of good and evil, if they are
tolerably unanimous in them, obligatory
on all the world ?
The evil here pointed out is not one
which exists only in theory; and it may,
perhaps, be expected that I should
specify the instances in which the public
of this age and country improperly
invests its own preferences with the
character of moral laws. I am not
writing an essay on the aberrations of
existing moral feeling. That is too
weighty a subject to be discussed paren
thetically, and by way of illustration.
Yet examples are necessary, to show that
the principle I maintain is of serious and
practical moment, and that I am not
endeavouring to erect a barrier against
imaginary evils. And it is not difficult
to show, by abundant instances, that to
extend the bounds of what may be called
moral police, until it encroaches on the
most unquestionably legitimate liberty
of the individual, is one of the most
universal of all human propensities.
As a first instance, consider the anti
pathies which men cherish on no better
grounds than that persons whose religious
opinions are different from theirs do not
practise their religious observances,
especially their religious abstinences. To
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ON LIBERTY
cite a rather trivial example, nothing in the
creed or practice of Christians does more
to envenom the hatred of Mohamme
dans against them than the fact of their
eating pork. There are few acts which
Christians and Europeans regard with
more unaffected disgust than Mussulmans
regard this particular mode of satisfying
hunger. It is, in the first place, an
offence against their religion; but this
circumstance by no means explains
either the degree or the kind of their
repugnance; for wine also is forbidden
by their religion, and to partake of it
is by all Mussulmans accounted wrong,
but not disgusting. Their aversion to
the flesh of the “ unclean beast ” is, on
the contrary, of that peculiar character
resembling an instinctive antipathy which
the idea of uncleanness, when once it
thoroughly sinks into the feelings, seems
always to excite even in those whose
personal habits are anything but scrupu
lously cleanly, and of which the senti
ment of religious impurity, so intense in
the Hindoos, is a remarkable example.
Suppose, now, that in a people of whom
the majority were Mussulmans, that
majority should insist upon not per
mitting pork to be eaten within the
limits of the country. This would be
nothing new in Mohammedan countries.1
Would it be a legitimate exercise of the
moral authority of public opinion? and
if not, why not ? The practice is really
1 The case of the Bombay Parsees is a curious
instance in point. When this industrious and
enterprising tribe, the descendants of the Persian
fire-worshippers, flying from their native country
before the Caliphs, arrived in Western India,
they were admitted to toleration by the Hindoo
sovereigns, on condition of not eating beef.
When those regions afterwards fell under the
dominion of Mohammedan conquerors, the Parsees
obtained from them a continuance of indulgence,
on condition of refraining from pork. What was
revolting to such a public. They also
sincerely think that it is forbidden and
abhorred by the Deity. Neither could
the prohibition be censured as religious
persecution. It might be religious in its
origin ; but it would not be persecution
for religion, since nobody’s religion makes
it a duty to eat pork. The only tenable
ground of condemnation would be that
with the personal tastes and self-regarding
concerns of individuals the public has
no business to interfere.
To come somewhat nearer home : the
majority of Spaniards consider it a gross
impiety, offensive in the highest degree
to the Supreme Being, to worship him
in any other manner than the Roman
Catholic; and no other public worship
is lawful on Spanish soil. The people of
all Southern Europe look upon a married
clergy as not only irreligious, but un
chaste, indecent, gross, disgusting. What
do Protestants think of these perfectly
sincere feelings, and of the attempt to
enforce them against non-Catholics ?
Yet, if mankind are justified in inter
fering with each other’s liberty in things
which do not concern the interests of
others, on what principle is it possible
consistently to exclude these cases? or
who can blame people for desiring to
suppress what they regard as a scandal
in the sight of God and man? No
stronger case can be shown for prohibit
ing anything which is regarded as a
personal immorality than is made out
for suppressing these practices in the
eyes of those who regard them as im
pieties ; and unless we are willing to
at first obedience to authority became a second
nature, and the Parsees to this day abstain both
from beef and pork. Though not required by
their religion, the double abstinence has had
time to grow into a custom of their tribe—and
custom in the East is a religion.
�OF LIMITS TO AUTHORITY OF SOCIETY OVER THE INDIVIDUAL Gg
adopt the logic of persecutors, and to say
that we may persecute others because we
are right, and that they must not persecute
us because they are wrong, we must
beware of admitting a principle of which
we should resent as a gross injustice the
application to ourselves.
The preceding instances may be ob
jected to, although unreasonably, as
drawn from contingencies impossible
among us : opinion, in this country, not
being likely to enforce abstinence from
meats, or to interfere with people for
worshipping, and for either marrying or
not marrying, according to their creed or
inclination. The next example, however,
shall be taken from an interference with
liberty which we have by no means
passed all danger of. Wherever the
Puritans have been sufficiently powerful,
as in New England, and in Great Britain
at the time of the Commonwealth, they
have endeavoured, with considerable
success, to put down all public, and
nearly all private, amusements: especially
music, dancing, public games, or other
assemblages for purposes of diversion,
and the theatre. There are still in this
country large bodies of persons by whose
notions of morality and religion these
recreations are condemned; and those
persons belonging chiefly to the middle
class, who are the ascendant power in
the present social and political condition
of the kingdom, it is by no means im
possible that persons of these sentiments
may at some time or other command a
majority in Parliament. How will the
remaining portion of the community like
to have the amusements that shall be
permitted to them regulated by the reli
gious and moral sentiments of the stricter
Calvinists and Methodists? Would they
not, with considerable peremptoriness,
desire these intrusively pious members of
society to mind their own business ?
This is precisely what should be said to
every Government and every public who
have the pretension that no person shall
enjoy any pleasure which they think
wrong. But if the principle of the pre
tension be admitted, no one can reason
ably object to its being acted on in the
sense of the majority, or other prepon
derating power in the country; and all
persons must be ready to conform to the
idea of a Christian commonwealth, as
understood by the early settlers in New
England, if a religious profession similar
to theirs should ever succeed in regaining
its lost ground, as religions supposed to be
declining have so often been known to do.
To imagine another contingency, per
haps more likely to be realised than the
one last mentioned. There is confessedly
a strong tendency in the modern world
towards a democratic constitution of
society, accompanied or not by popular
political institutions. It is affirmed that
in the country where this tendency ismost completely realised—where both
society and the Government are most
democratic—the United States—the feel
ing of the majority, to whom any appear
ance of a more showy or costly style of
living than they can hope to rival is dis
agreeable, operates as a tolerably effectual
sumptuary law, and that in many parts
of the Union it is really difficult for a
person possessing a very large income
to find any mode of spending it which
will not incur popular disapprobation.
Though such statements as these are
doubtless much exaggerated as a repre
sentation of existing facts, the state of
things they describe is not only a con
ceivable and possible, but a probable,
result of democratic feeling, combined
with the notion that the public has a
right to a veto on the manner in which
�7°
ON LIBERTY
individuals shall spend their incomes.
We have only further to suppose a con
siderable diffusion of Socialist opinions,
and it may become infamous in the eyes
of the majority to possess more property
than some very small amount, or any
income not earned by manual labour.
Opinions similar in principle to these
already prevail widely among the artisan
class, and weigh oppressively on those
who are amenable to the opinion chiefly
of that class—namely, its own members.
It is known that the bad workmen, who
form the majority of the operatives in
many branches of industry, are decidedly
of opinion that bad workmen ought to
receive the same wages as good, and that
no one ought to be allowed, through
piecework or otherwise, to earn by supe
rior skill or industry more than others
■ can without it. And they employ a
moral police which occasionally becomes
. a physical one, to deter skilful workmen
from receiving, and employers from
giving, a larger remuneration for a more
useful service. If the public have any
jurisdiction over private concerns, I
cannot see that these people are in fault,
or that any individual’s particular public
can be blamed for asserting the same
authority over his individual conduct
which the general public asserts over
people in general.
But, without dwelling upon suppositi
tious cases, there are, in our own day,
gross usurpations upon the liberty of
private life actually practised, and still
greater ones threatened with some expec
tation of success, and opinions pro
pounded which assert an unlimited right
in the public not only to prohibit by law
everything which it thinks wrong, but, in
order to get at what it thinks wrong, to
prohibit a number of things which it
admits to be innocent.
Under the name of preventing in
temperance, the people of one English
colony, and of nearly half the United
States, have been interdicted by law from
making any use whatever of fermented
drinks, except for medical purposes : for
prohibition of their sale is in fact, as it is
intended to be, prohibition of their use.
And though the impracticability of
executing the law has caused its repeal
in several of the States which had
adopted it, including the one from which
it derives its name, an attempt has not
withstanding been commenced, and is
prosecuted with considerable zeal by
many of the professed philanthropists, to
agitate for a similar law in this country.
The association, or “Alliance” as it
terms itself, which has been formed for
this purpose, has acquired some notoriety
through the publicity given to a corres
pondence between its secretary and one
of the very few English public men who
hold that a politician’s opinions ought to
be founded on principles. Lord Stanley’s
share in this correspondence is cal
culated to strengthen the hopes already
built on him by those who know how
rare such qualities as are manifested in
some of his public appearances un
happily are among those who figure in
political life. The organ of the Alliance,
who would “ deeply deplore the recog
nition of any principle which could be
wrested to justify bigotry and persecu
tion,” undertakes to point out the “broad
and impassable barrier ” which divides
such principles from those of the associa
tion. “All matters relating to thought,
opinion, conscience, appear to me,” he
says, “to be without the sphere of legis
lation ; all pertaining to social act, habit,
relation, subject only to a discretionary
power vested in the State itself, and not
in the individual, to be within it.” No
�OF LIMITS TO AUTHORITY OF SOCIETY OVER THE INDIVIDUAL 71
mention is made of a third class, different
from either of these—viz., acts and habits
which are not social, but individual;
although it is to this class, surely, that
the act of drinking fermented liquors
belongs.
Selling fermented liquors,
however, is trading, and trading is a
social act. But the infringement com
plained of is not on the liberty of the
seller, but on that of the buyer and
consumer; since the State might just
as well forbid him to drink wine as
purposely make it impossible for him
to obtain it. The secretary, however,
says : “ I claim, as a citizen, a right to
legislate whenever my social rights are
invaded by the social act of another.”
And now for the definition of these
“ social rights.” “ If anything invades
my social rights, certainly the traffic
in strong drink does. It destroys my
primary right of security, by constantly
creating and stimulating social disorder.
It invades my right of equality, by
deriving a profit from the creation of a
misery I am taxed to support. It
impedes my right to free moral and
intellectual development, by surrounding
my path with dangers, and by weakening
and demoralising society, from which I
have a right to claim mutual aid and
intercourse.” A theory of ‘‘ social rights ”
the like of which probably never before
found its way into distinct language:
being nothing short of this—that it is
the absolute social right of every indi
vidual that every other individual shall
act in every respect exactly as he ought;
that, whosoever fails thereof in the
smallest particular, violates my social
right, and entitles me to demand from
the legislature the removal of the griev
ance. So monstrous a principle is far
more dangerous than any single inter
ference with liberty; there is no violation
of liberty which it would not justify ;
it acknowledges no right to any freedom
whatever, except perhaps to that of
holding opinions in secret, without ever
disclosing them: for, the moment an
opinion which I consider noxious passes
anyone’s lips, it invades all the “social
rights ” attributed to me by the Alliance.
The doctrine ascribes to all mankind a
vested interest in each other’s moral,
intellectual, and even physical perfection,
to be defined by each claimant according
to his own standard.
Another important example of ille
gitimate interference with the rightful
liberty of the individual, not simply
threatened, but long since carried into
triumphant effect, is Sabbatarian legisla
tion. Without doubt, abstinence on
one day in the week, so far as the
exigencies of life permit, from the usual
daily occupation, though in no respect
religiously binding on any except Jews,
is a highly beneficial custom. And
inasmuch as this custom cannot be ob
served without a general consent to that
effect among the industrious classes,
therefore, in so far as some persons by
working may impose the same neces
sity on others, it may be allowable and
right that the law should guarantee to
each the observance by others of the
custom, by suspending the greater opera
tions of industry on a particular day.
But this justification, grounded on the
direct interest which others have in each
individual’s observance of the practice,
does not apply to the self-chosen occupa
tions in which a person may think fit to
employ his leisure; nor does it hold good
in the smallest degree for legal restric
tions on amusements. It is true that the
amusement of some is the day’s work of
others; but the pleasure, not to say the
useful recreation, of many is worth the
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ON LIBERTY
labour of a few, provided the occupa
tion is freely chosen and can be freely
resigned. The operatives are perfectly
right in thinking that, if all worked on
Sunday, seven days’ work would have to
be given for six days’ wages; but so long
as the great mass of employments are
suspended, the small number who for the
enjoyment of others must still work obtain
a proportional increase of earnings; and
they are not obliged to follow those
occupations if they prefer leisure to
emolument.
If a further remedy is
sought, it might be found in the estab
lishment by custom of a holiday on
some other day of the week for those
particular classes of persons. The only
ground, therefore, on which restrictions
on Sunday amusements can be defended
must be that they are religiously wrong—
a motive of legislation which can never be
too earnestly protested against. Deorum
injuria Diis cura. It remains to be
proved that society or any of its officers
holds a commission from on high to
avenge any supposed offence to Omni
potence which is not also a wrong to
our fellow-creatures. The notion that it
is one man’s duty that another should
be religious was the foundation of all
the religious persecutions ever perpe
trated, and, if admitted, would fully
justify them. Though the feeling which
breaks out in the repeated attempts to
stop railway travelling on Sunday, in the
resistance to the opening of museums,
and the like, has not the cruelty of the
old persecutors, the state of mind indi
cated by it is fundamentally the same.
It is a determination not to tolerate
others in doing what is permitted by
their religion, because it is not permitted
by the persecutor’s religion. It is a
belief that God not only abominates
the act of the misbeliever, but will
not hold us guiltless if we leave him
unmolested.
I cannot refrain from adding to these
examples of the little account commonly
made of human liberty the language of
downright persecution which breaks out
from the press of this country whenever
it feels called on to notice the remarkable
phenomenon of Mormonism. Much
might be said on the unexpected and
instructive fact that an alleged new
revelation, and a religion founded on it,
the product of palpable imposture, not
even supported by the prestige of extra
ordinary qualities in its founder, is be
lieved by hundreds of thousands, and has
been made the foundation of a society,
in the age of newspapers, railways, and
the electric telegraph. What here con
cerns us is that this religion, like other
and better religions, has its martyrs; that
its prophet and founder was for his
teaching put to death by a mob; that
others of its adherents lost their lives by
the same lawless violence; that they
were forcibly expelled in a body from
the country in which they first grew up ;
while, now that they have been chased
into a solitary recess in the midst of a
desert, many in this country openly
declare that it would be right (only that
it is not convenient) to send an expedi
tion against them, and compel them by
force to conform to the opinions of other
people. The article of the Mormonite
doctrine which is the chief provocative
to the antipathy which thus breaks
through the ordinary restraints of reli
gious tolerance is its sanction of poly
gamy; which, though permitted to
Mohammedans, and Hindoos, and
Chinese, seems to excite unquenchable
animosity when practised by persons
who speak English, and profess to be
a kind of Christians. No one has a
�OF LIMITS TO AUTHORITY OF SOCIETY OVER THE INDIVIDUAL 73
deeper disapprobation than I have of
this Mormon institution; both for other
reasons and because, far-from being in
any way countenanced by the principle
of liberty, it is a direct infraction of
that principle, being a mere riveting
of the chains of one half of the com
munity, and an emancipation of the
other from reciprocity of obligation
towards them. Still, it must be
remembered that this relation is as
much voluntary on the part of the
women concerned in it, and who may be
deemed the sufferers by it, as is the
case with any other form of the marriage
institution; and, however surprising this
fact may appear, it has its explanation
in the common ideas and customs of
the world, which, teaching women to
think marriage the one thing needful,
make it intelligible that many a woman
should prefer being one of several wives
to not being a wife at all. Other
countries are not asked to recognise
such unions, or release any portion of
their inhabitants from their own laws
on the score of Mormonite opinions.
But when the dissentients have con
ceded to the hostile sentiments of others
far more than could justly be demanded ;
when they have left the countries to
which their doctrines were unacceptable,
and established themselves in a remote
corner of the earth which they have
been the first to render habitable to
human beings; it is difficult to see on
what principles but those of tyranny
they can be prevented from living
there under what laws they please,
provided they commit no aggression
on other nations, and allow perfect
freedom of departure to those who are
dissatisfied with their ways. A recent
writer, in some respects of considerable
merit, proposes (to use his own words)
not a crusade, but a civilisade, against
this polygamous community, to put an
end to what seems to him a retrograde
step in civilisation. It also appears so
to me, but I am not aware that any
community has a right to force another
to be civilised. So long as the sufferers
by the bad law do not invoke assistance
from other communities, I cannot admit
that persons entirely unconnected with
them ought to step in and require that
a condition of things with which all who
are directly interested appear to be satis
fied should be put an end to because it
is a scandal to persons some thousands
of miles distant, who have no part or
concern in it. Let them send mission
aries, if they please, to preach against it;
and let them, by any fair means (of
which silencing the teachers is not one),
oppose the progress of similar doctrines
among their own people. If civilisation
has got the better of barbarism when
barbarism had the world to itself, it is
too much to profess to be afraid lest
barbarism, after having been fairly got
under, should revive and conquer civili
sation. A civilisation that can thus
succumb to its vanquished enemy must
first have become so degenerate that
neither its appointed priests and teachers
nor anybody else has the capacity, or
will take the trouble, to stand up for it.
If this be so, the sooner such a civilisa
tion receives notice to quit the better.
It can only go on from bad to worse,
until destroyed and regenerated (like
the Western Empire) by energetic bar
barians.
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ON LIBERTY
Chapter V.
APPLICATIONS
The principles asserted in these pages
must be more generally admitted as the
basis for discussion of details, before a
consistent application of them to all the
various departments of government and
morals can be attempted with any pros
pect of advantage. The few observations
I propose to make on questions of detail
are designed to illustrate the principles,
rather than to follow them out to their
consequences. I offer, not so much
applications, as specimens of application;
which may serve to bring into greater
clearness the meaning and limits of the
two maxims which together form the
entire doctrine of this Essay, and to
assist the judgment in holding the
balance between them, in the cases
where it appears doubtful which of them
is applicable to the case.
The maxims are, first, that the indi
vidual is not accountable to society for
his actions, in so far as these concern
the interests of no person but himself.
Advice, instruction, persuasion, and
avoidance by other people, if thought
necessary by them for their own good,
are the only measures by which society
can justifiably express its dislike or dis
approbation of his conduct. Secondly,
that, for such actions as are prejudicial to
the interests of others, the individual is
accountable, and may be subjected either
to social or to legal punishment, if society
is of opinion that the one or the other is
requisite for its protection.
In the first place, it must by no means
be supposed, because damage, or proba
bility of damage, to the interests of others
can alone justify the interference of
society, that therefore it always does
justify such interference. In many cases
an individual, in pursuing a legitimate
object, necessarily, and therefore legiti
mately, causes pain or loss to others, or
intercepts a good which they had a
reasonable hope of obtaining. Such oppo
sitions of interest between individuals
often arise from bad social institutions,
but are unavoidable while those institu
tions last; and some would be unavoid
able under any institutions. Whoever
succeeds in an overcrowded profession,
or in a competitive examination; whoever
is preferred to another in any contest for
an object which both desire, reaps benefit
from the loss of others, from their wasted
exertion and their disappointment. But
it is, by common admission, better for the
general interest of mankind that persons
should pursue their objects undeterred
by this sort of consequences. In other
words, society admits no right, either
legal or moral, in the disappointed com
petitors, to immunity from this kind of
suffering; and feels called on to interfere
only when means of success have been
employed which it is contrary to the
general interest to permit—namely, fraud
or treachery, and force.
Again, trade is a social act. Whoever
undertakes to sell any description of
goods to the public does what affects
the interest of other persons, and of
society in general; and thus his conduct,
in principle, comes within the jurisdiction
�APPLICATIONS
of society : accordingly, it was once held
to be the duty of governments, in all cases
which were considered of importance, to
fix prices and regulate the processes of
manufacture. But it is now recognised,
though not till after a long struggle, that
both the cheapness and the good quality
of commodities are most effectually pro
vided for by leaving the producers and
sellers perfectly free, under the sole check
of equal freedom to the buyers for sup
plying themselves elsewhere. This is the
so-called doctrine of Free Trade, which
rests on grounds different from, though
equally solid with, the principle of indi
vidual liberty asserted in this Essay.
Restrictions on trade, or on production
for purposes of trade, are indeed re
straints ; and all restraint, qua restraint,
is an evil: but the restraints in question
affect only that part of conduct which
society is competent to restrain, and are
wrong solely because they do not really
produce the results which it is desired to,
produce by them. As the principle of
individual liberty is not involved in the
doctrine of Free Trade, so neither is it in
most of the questions which arise respect
ing the limits of that doctrine; as, for
example, what amount of public control
is admissible for the prevention of fraud
by adulteration; how far sanitary pre
cautions, or arrangements to protect
workpeople employed in dangerous occu
pations, should be enforced on employers.
Such questions involve considerations of
liberty, only in so far as leaving people to
themselves is always better, caterisparibus,
than controlling them; but that they
may be legitimately controlled for these
ends is in principle undeniable. On the
other hand, there are questions relating
to interference with trade which are
essentially questions of liberty ; such as
the Maine Law, already touched upon ;
75
the prohibition of the importation of
opium into China; the restriction of the
sale of poisons ; all cases, in short, where
the object of the interference is to make
it impossible or difficult to obtain a
particular commodity. These interfer
ences are objectionable, not as infringe
ments on the liberty of the producer or
seller, but on that of the buyer.
One of these examples, that of the
sale of poisons, opens a new question;
the proper limits of what may be called
the functions of police ; how far liberty
may legitimately be invaded for the
prevention of crime, or of accident. It
is one of the undisputed functions of
government to take precautions against
crime before it has been committed, as
well as to detect and punish it afterwards.
The preventive function of government,.
however, is far more liable to be abused,
to the prejudice of liberty, than the
punitory function; for there is hardly
any part of the legitimate freedom of
action of a human being which would
not admit of being represented, and
fairly too, as increasing the facilities
for some form or other of delinquency.
Nevertheless, if a public authority, or
even a private person, sees anyone
evidently preparing to commit a crime,
they are not bound to look on inactive
until the crime is committed, but may
interfere to prevent it. If poisons were
never bought or used for any purpose
except the commission of murder, it would
be right to prohibit their manufacture and
sale. They may, however, be wanted
not only for innocent but for useful
purposes, and restrictions cannot be
imposed in the one case without operat
ing in the other. Again, it is a proper
office of public authority to guard against
accidents. If either a public officer or
any one else saw a person attempting to
�76
ON LIBERTY
cross a bridge which had been ascertained
to be unsafe, and there were no time to
warn him of his danger, they might seize
him and turn him back, without any real
infringement of his liberty; for liberty
consists in doing what one desires, and
he does not desire to fall into the river.
Nevertheless, when there is not a cer
tainty, but only a danger of mischief, no
one but the person himself can judge of
the sufficiency of the motive which may
prompt him to incur the risk: in this
case, therefore (unless he is a child, or
delirious, or in some state of excitement
or absorption incompatible with the full
use of the reflecting faculty), he ought,
.1 conceive, to be only warned of the
danger, not forcibly prevented from
exposing himself to it. Similar con
siderations, applied to such a question
as the sale of poisons, may enable us to
decide which among the possible modes
of regulation are or are not contrary to
principle. Such a precaution, for ex
ample, as that of labelling the drug with
some word expressive of its dangerous
character may be enforced without
violation of liberty: the buyer cannot
wish not to know that the thing he
possesses has poisonous qualities. But
to require in all cases the certificate of
a medical practitioner would make it
sometimes impossible, always expensive,
to obtain the article for legitimate uses.
The only mode apparent to me, in which
difficulties may be thrown in the way
of crime committed through this means,
without any infringement, worth taking
into account, upon the liberty of those
who desire the poisonous substance for
other purposes, consists in providing
what, in the apt language of Bentham,
is called “preappointed evidence.” This
provision is familiar to every one in
the case of contracts. It is usual and i
right that the law, when a contract is
entered into, should require, as the con
dition of its enforcing performance, that
certain formalities should be observed,
such as signatures, attestation of wit
nesses, and the like, in order that in case
of subsequent dispute there may be evi
dence to prove that the contract was really
entered into, and that there was nothing
in the circumstances to render it legally
invalid : the effect being to throw great
obstacles in the way of fictitious con
tracts, or contracts made in circumstances
which, if known, would destroy their
validity. Precautions of a similar nature
might be enforced in the sale of articles
adapted to be instruments of crime. The
seller, for example, might be required to
enter in a register the exact time of the
transaction, the name and address of the
buyer, the precise quality and quantity
sold; to ask the purpose for which it
was wanted, and record the answer he
received. When there was no medical
prescription, the presence of some third
persoh might be required, to bring home
the fact to the purchaser, in case there
should afterwards be reason to believe
that the article had been applied to
criminal purposes. Such regulations
would in general be no material impedi
ment to obtaining the article, but a very
considerable one to making an improper
use of it without detection.
The right inherent in society, to ward
off crimes against itself by antecedent
precautions, suggests the obvious limita
tions to the maxim, that purely self
regarding misconduct cannot properly
be meddled with in the way of preven
tion or punishment. Drunkenness, for
example, in ordinary cases is not a fit
subject for legislative interference; but I
should deem it perfectly legitimate that
a person who had once been convicted
�APPLICA PIONS
of any act of violence to others under
the influence of drink should be placed
under a special legal restriction, personal
to himself; that, if he were afterwards
found drunk, he should be liable to a
penalty, and that, if when in that state he
committed another offence, the punish
ment to which he would be liable for
that other offence should be increased in
severity. The making himself drunk, in
a person whom drunkenness excites to
do harm to others, is a crime against
others. So, again, idleness, except in a
person receiving support from the public,
or except when it constitutes a breach
of contract, cannot without tyranny be
made a subject of legal punishment; but
if, either from idleness or from any other
avoidable cause, a man fails to perform
his legal duties to others, as, for instance,
to support his children, it is no tyranny
to force him to fulfil that obligation by
compulsory labour if no other means are
available.
Again, there are many acts which,
being directly injurious only to the agents
themselves, ought not to be legally inter
dicted, but which, if done publicly, are a
violation of good manners, and, coming
thus within the category of . offences
against others, may rightly be prohibited.
Of this kind are offences against decency;
on which it is unnecessary to dwell, the
rather as they are only connected
indirectly with our subject, the objection
to publicity being equally strong in the
case of many actions not in themselves
condemnable, nor supposed to be so.
There is another question to which an
answer must be found, consistent with
the principles which have been laid down.
In cases of personal conduct supposed
to be blameable, but which respect for
liberty precludes society from preventing
or punishing, because the evil directly '
77
resulting falls wholly on the agent; what
the agent is free to do, ought other
persons to be equally free to counsel or
instigate ? This question is not free
from difficulty. The case of a person
who solicits another to do an act is not
strictly a case of self-regarding conduct.
To give advice or offer inducements to
anyone is a social act, and may, therefore,
like actions in general which affect others,
be supposed amenable to social control.
But a little reflection corrects the first
impression, by showing that, if the case
is not strictly within the definition of
individual liberty, yet the reasons on
which the principle of individual liberty
is grounded are applicable to it. If
people must be allowed, in whatever
concerns only themselves, to act as
seems best to themselves, at their own
peril, they must equally be free to con
sult with one another about what is fit
to be so done; to exchange opinions,
and give and receive suggestions. What
ever it is permitted to do, it must be
permitted to advise to do. The question
is doubtful only when the instigator
derives a personal benefit from his
advice; when he makes it his occupation,
for subsistence or pecuniary gain, to
promote what society and the State con
sider to be an evil. Then, indeed, a
new element of complication is intro
duced ; namely, the existence of classes
of persons with an interest opposed to
what is considered as the public weal,
and whose mode of living is grounded
on the counteraction of it. Ought this
to be interfered with, or not ? Fornica
tion, for example, must be tolerated, and
so must gambling; but should a person
be free to be a pimp, or to keep a
gambling-house ? The case is one of
those which lie on the exact boundary
line between two principles, and it is not
�78
ON LIBERTY
at once apparent to which of the two it
properly belongs. There are arguments
on both sides. On the side of toleration
it may be said that the fact of following
anything as an occupation, and living or
profiting by the practice of it, cannot
make that criminal which would other
wise be admissible; that the act should
•either be consistently permitted or con
sistently prohibited; that, if the principles
■which we have hitherto defended are
true, society has no business, as society,
to decide anything to be wrong which
concerns only the individual; that it
cannot go beyond dissuasion, and that
one person should be as free to persuade
as another to dissuade. In opposition
to this it may be contended that, although
the public, or the State, are not warranted
in authoritatively deciding, for purposes
of repression or punishment, that such
•or such conduct affecting only the in
terests of the individual is good or bad,
they are fully justified in assuming, if
they regard it as bad, that its being so
or not is at least a disputable question :
That, this being supposed, they cannot
be acting wrongly in endeavouring to
exclude the influence of solicitations
which are not disinterested, of instigators
who cannot possibly be impartial—who
have a direct personal interest on one
side, and that side the one which
the State believes to be wrong, and
who confessedly promote it for personal
objects only. There can surely, it may
be urged, be nothing lost, no sacrifice of
good, by so ordering matters that persons
shall make their election, either wisely
or foolishly, on their own prompting, as
free as possible from the arts of persons
who stimulate their inclinations for inte
rested purposes of their own. Thus (it
may be said), though the statutes respect
ing unlawful games are utterly indefen
sible—though all persons should be free
to gamble in their own or each other’s
houses, or in any place of meeting
established by their own subscriptions,
and open only to the members and their
visitors — yet public gambling-houses
should not be permitted. It is true that
the prohibition is never effectual, and
that, whatever amount of tyrannical
power may be given to the police,
gambling-houses can always be main
tained under other pretences ; but they
may be compelled to conduct their
operations with a certain degree of
secrecy and mystery, so that nobody
knows anything about them but those
who seek them; and more than this
society ought not to aim at. There is
considerable force in these arguments.
I will not venture to decide whether
they are sufficient to justify the moral
anomaly of punishing the accessory,
when the principal is (and must be)
allowed to go free; of fining or imprison
ing the procurer, but not the fornicator
—the gambling-house keeper, but not
the gambler. Still less ought the
common operations of buying and selling
to be interfered with on analogous
grounds. Almost every article which is
bought and sold may be used in excess,
and the sellers have a pecuniary interest
in encouraging that excess ; but no argu
ment can be founded on this, in favour,
for instance, of the Maine Law ; because
the class of dealers in strong drinks,
though interested in their abuse, are
indispensably required for the sake of
their legitimate use. The interest, how
ever, of these dealers in promoting
intemperance is a real evil, and justifies
the State in imposing restrictions and
requiring guarantees which, but for that
justification, would be infringements of
legitimate liberty.
�APPLICA TIONS
A further question is, whether the
State, while it permits, should neverthe
less indirectly discourage conduct which
it deems contrary to the best interests of
the agent; whether, for example, it
should take measures to render the
means of drunkenness more costly, or
add to the difficulty of procuring them
by limiting the number of the places of
sale. On this, as on most other practical
questions, many distinctions require to
be made. To tax stimulants for the sole
purpose of making them more difficult
to be obtained is a measure differing
only in degree from their entire prohi
bition, and would be justifiable only if
that were justifiable. Every increase of
cost is a prohibition to those whose
means do not come up to the augmented
price; and to those who do, it is a
penalty laid on them for gratifying a
particular taste. Their choice of plea
sures, and their mode of expending their
income, after satisfying their legal and
moral obligations to the State and to
individuals, are their own concern, and
must rest with their own judgment.
These considerations may seem at first
sight to condemn the selection of
stimulants as special subjects of taxation
for purposes of revenue. But it must
be remembered that taxation for fiscal
purposes is absolutely inevitable; that
in most countries it is necessary that a
considerable part of. that taxation should
be indirect; that the State, therefore,
cannot help imposing penalties, which
to some persons may be prohibitory, on
the use of some articles of consumption.
It is hence the duty of the State to con
sider, in the imposition of taxes, what
commodities the consumers can best
spare; and, b fortiori, to select in
preference those of which it deems the
use, beyond a very moderate quantity,
79
to be positively injurious. Taxation,
therefore, of stimulants, up to the point
which produces the largest amount of
revenue (supposing that the State needs
all the revenue which it yields), is not
only admissible, but to be approved of.
The question of making the sale of
these commodities a more or less exclusive
privilege must be answered differently
according to the purposes to which the
restriction is intended to be subservient.
All places of public resort require the
restraint of a police, and places of this
kind peculiarly, because offences against
society are especially apt to originate
there. It is, therefore, fit to confine the
power of selling these commodities (at
least, for consumption on the spot) to
persons of known or vouched-for respect
ability of conduct; to make such regula
tions respecting hours of opening and
closing as may be requisite for public
surveillance, and to withdraw the licence
if breaches of the peace repeatedly take
place through the connivance or inca
pacity of the keeper of the house, or if
it becomes a rendezvous for concocting
and preparing offences against the law.
Any further restriction I do not conceive
to be, in principle, justifiable. The
limitation in number, for instance, of
beer and spirit houses, for the express
purpose of rendering them more difficult
of access, and diminishing the occasions
of temptation, not only exposes all to an
inconvenience because there are some
by whom the facility would be abused,
but is suited only to a state of society in
which the labouring classes are avowedly
treated as children or savages, and placed
under an education of restraint, to fit
them for future admission to the privi
leges of freedom. This is not the
principle on which the labouring classes
are professedly governed in any free
�8o
ON LIBERTY
country; and no person who sets due
value on freedom will give his adhesion
to their being so governed, unless after
all efforts have been exhausted to educate
them for freedom and govern them as
freemen, and it has been definitively
proved that they can only be governed
as children. The bare statement of the
alternative shows the absurdity of sup
posing that such efforts have been made
in each case which needs be considered
here. It is only because the institutions
of this country are a mass of inconsis
tencies that things find admittance into
our practice which belong to the system
of despotic, or what is called paternal,
government, while the general freedom
of our institutions precludes the exercise
of the amount of control necessary to
render the restraint of any real efficacy
as a moral education.
It was pointed out in an early part of
this Essay that the liberty of the indi
vidual, in things wherein the individual
is alone concerned, implies a correspond
ing liberty in any number of individuals
to regulate by mutual agreement such
things as regard them jointly, and regard
no persons but themselves. This ques
tion permits no difficulty, so long as the
will of all the persons implicated remains
unaltered; but, since that will may
change, it is often necessary, even in
things in which they alone are concerned,
that they should enter into engagements
with one another; and, when they do, it
is fit, as a general rule, that those engage
ments should be kept. Yet, in the laws,
probably of every country, this general
rule has some exceptions. Not only
persons are not held to engagements
which violate the rights of third parties,
but it is sometimes considered a sufficient
reason for releasing them from an engage
ment that it is injurious to themselves.
In this and most other civilised countries,
for example, an engagement by which a
person should sell himself, or allow him
self to be sold, as a slave, would be null
and void—neither enforced by law nor
by opinion. The ground for thus limit
ing his power of voluntarily disposing of
his own lot in life is apparent, and is
very clearly seen in this extreme case.
The reason for not interfering, unless for
the sake of others, with a person’s volun
tary acts is consideration for his liberty.
His voluntary choice is evidence that
what he so chooses is desirable, or at the
least endurable, to him, and his good is
on the whole best provided for by allow
ing him to take his own means of pur
suing it. But by selling himself for a
slave he abdicates his liberty; he fore
goes any future use of it beyond that
single act. He therefore defeats, in his
own case, the very purpose which is the
justification of allowing him to dispose
of himself. He is no longer free, but is
thenceforth in a position which has no
longer the presumption in its favour
that would be afforded by his voluntarily
remaining in it. The principle of free
dom cannot require that he should be
free not to be free. It is not freedom
to be allowed to alienate his freedom.
These reasons, the force of which is so
conspicuous in this peculiar case, are
evidently of far wider application; yet a
limit is everywhere set to them by the
necessities of life, which continually
require, not indeed that we should resign
our freedom, but that wye should consent
to this and the other limitation of it.
The principle, how’ever, which demands
uncontrolled freedom of action in all
that concerns only the agents themselves,
requires that those who have become
bound to one another, in things which
concern no third party, should be able
�APPLICATIONS
to release one another from the engage
ment ; and even without such voluntary
release there are, perhaps, no contracts
or engagements, except those that relate
to money or money’s worth, of which
one can venture to say that there ought
to be no liberty whatever of retractation.
Baron Wilhelm von Humboldt, in the
excellent essay from which I have already
quoted, states it as his conviction that
engagements which involve personal re
lations or services should never be
legally binding beyond a limited duration
of time; and that the most important of
these engagements, marriage, having the
peculiarity that its objects are frustrated
unless the feelings of both the parties
are in harmony with it, should require
nothing more than the declared will of
either party to dissolve it. This subject
is too important and too complicated to
be discussed in a parenthesis, and I touch
on it only so far as is necessary for pur
poses of illustration. If the conciseness
and generality of Baron Humboldt’s dis
sertation had not obliged him, in this
instance, to content himself with enun
ciating his conclusion without discussing
the premises, he would doubtless have
recognised that the question cannot be
decided on grounds so simple as those
to which he confines himself. When a
person, either by express promise or by
conduct, has encouraged another to rely
upon his continuing to act in a certain way
—to build expectations and calculations,
and stake any part of his plan of life upon
that supposition—a new series of moral
obligations arises on his part towards
that person, which may possibly be over
ruled, but cannot be ignored. And
again, if the relation between two con
tracting parties has been followed by
consequences to others ; if it has placed
third parties in any peculiar position, or,
81
as in the case of marriage, has even
called third parties into existence, obli
gations arise on the part of both the
contracting parties towards those third
persons, the fulfilment of which, or at
all events the mode of fulfilment, must
be greatly affected by the continuance
or disruption of the relation between
the original parties to the contract. It
does not follow, nor can I admit, that
these obligations extend to requiring the
fulfilment of the contract at all costs
to the happiness of the reluctant party;
but they are a necessary element in the
question; and even if, as Von Humboldt
maintains, they ought to make no dif
ference in the legal freedom of the
parties to release themselves from the
engagement (and I also hold that they
ought not to make much difference),
they necessarily make a great difference
in the moral freedom. A person is
bound to take all these circumstances
I into account before resolving on a step
which may affect such important inte
rests of others; and if he does not allow
proper weight to those interests, he is
morally responsible for the wrong. I
have made these obvious remarks for
the better illustration of the general
principle of liberty, and not because
they are at all needed on the particular
question, which, on the contrary, is
usually discussed as if the interest of
children was everything, and that of
grown persons nothing.
I have already observed that, owing to
the absence of any recognised general
principles, liberty is often granted where
it should be withheld, as well as withheld
where it should be granted ; and one of
the cases in which, in the modern Euro
pean world, the sentiment of liberty is
the strongest, is a case where, in my view,
it is altogether misplaced. A person
G
�82
ON LIBERTY
should be free to do as he likes in his
own concerns; but he ought not to be
free to do as he likes in acting for
another, under the pretext that the affairs
of the other are his own affairs. The
State, while it respects the liberty of each
in what specially regards^imself, is bound
to maintain a vigilant control over his
exercise of any power which it allows him
to possess over others. This obligation
is almost entirely disregarded in the case
of the family relations—a case, in its
direct influence on human happiness,
more important than all others taken
together. The almost despotic power of
husbands over wives needs not be
enlarged upon here, because nothing
more is needed for the complete removal
of the evil than that wives should have
the same rights, and should receive the
protection of the law in the same manner,
as all other persons; and because, on this
subject, the defenders of established in
justice do not avail themselves of the
plea of liberty, but stand forth openly as
the champions of power. It is in the
case of children that misapplied notions
of liberty are a real obstacle to the fulfil
ment by the State of its duties. One
would almost think that a man’s children
were supposed to be literally, and not
metaphorically, a part of himself, so
jealous is opinion of the smallest inter
ference of law with his absolute and
exclusive controlover them—morejealous
than of almost any interference with his
own freedom of action : so much less do
the generality of mankind value liberty
than power. Consider, for example, the
case of education. Is it not almost a
self-evident axiom that the State should
require and compel the education, up to
a certain standard, of every human being
who is born its citizen? Yet who is
there that is not afraid to recognise
and assert this truth ? Hardly anyone,
indeed, will deny that it is one of the
most sacred duties of the parents (or, as
law and usage now stand, the father),
after summoning a human being into the
world, to give to that being an education
fitting him to perform his part well in life
towards others and towards himself. But
while this is unanimously declared to be
the father’s duty, scarcely anybody, in
this country, will bear to hear of obliging
him to perform it. Instead of his being
required to make any exertion or sacri
fice for securing education to his child, it
is left to his choice to accept it or not
when it is provided gratis 1 It still
remains unrecognised that to bring a
child into existence without a fair pros
pect of being able, not only to provide
food for its body, but instruction and
training for its mind, is a moral crime,
both against the unfortunate offspring
and against society; and that, if the
parent does not fulfil this obligation, the
State ought to see it fulfilled, at the
charge, as far as possible, of the parent.
Were the duty of enforcing universal
education once admitted, there would be
an end to the difficulties about what the
State should teach, and how it should
teach, which now convert the subject
into a mere battle-field for sects and
parties, causing the time and labour
which should have been spent in educat
ing to be wasted in quarrelling about
education. If the Government would
make up its mind to require for every
child a good education, it might save
itself the trouble of providing one. It
might leave to parents to obtain the
education where and how they pleased,
and content itself with helping to pay
the school fees of the poorer classes of
children, and defraying the entire school
expenses of those who have no one else
�APPLICA TIONS
to pay for them. The objections which
arc urged with reason against State edu
cation do not apply to the enforcement
of education by the State, but to the
State’s taking upon itself to direct that
education: which is a totally different
thing. That the whole or any large part
of the education of the people should be
in State hands I go as far as any one in
deprecating. All that has been said of
the importance of individuality of cha
racter, and diversity in opinions and
modes of conduct, involves, as of the
same unspeakable importance, diversity
of education. A general State education
is a mere contrivance for moulding people
to be exactly like one another; and as
the mould in which it casts them is 'that
which pleases the predominant power
in the Government, whether this be a
monarch, a priesthood, an aristocracy,
or the majority of the existing generation:
in proportion as it is efficient and success
ful, it establishes a despotism over the
mind, leading by natural tendency to
one over the body. An education estab
lished and controlled by the State should
only exist, if it exist at all, as one among
many competing experiments, carried on
for the purpose of example and stimulus,
to keep the others up to a certain
standard of excellence. Unless, indeed,
when society in general is in so backward
a state that it could not or would not
provide for itself any proper institutions
of education, unless the Government
undertook the task: then, indeed, the
Government may, as the less of two great
evils, take upon itself the business of
schools and universities, as it may that
of joint-stock companies, when private
enterprise, in a shape fitted for under
taking great works of industry, does not
exist in the country. But in general, if
the country contains a sufficient number
83
of persons qualified to provide education
under Government auspices, the same
persons would be able and willing to
give an equally good education on the
voluntary principle, under the assurance
of remuneration afforded by a law render
ing education compulsory, combined
with State aid to those unable to defray
the expense.
The instrument for enforcing the law
could be no other than public examina
tions, extending to all children, and begin
ning at an early age. An age might be
fixed at which every child must be exa
mined, to ascertain if he (or she) is able to
read. If a child proves unable, the father,
unless he has some sufficient ground of
excuse, might be subjected to a moderate
fine, to be worked out, if necessary, by
his labour, and the child might be put
to school at his expense. Once in every
year the examination should be renewed,
with a gradually extending range of
subjects, so as to make the universal
acquisition, and, what is more, retention, of
a certain minimum of general knowledge
virtually compulsory. Beyond that mini
mum there should be voluntary examina
tions on all subjects, at which all who
come up to a certain standard of pro
ficiency might claim a certificate. To
prevent the State from exercising, through
these arrangements, animproper influence
over opinion, the knowledge required
for passing an examination (beyond the
merely instrumental parts of knowledge,
such as languages and their use) should,
even in the higher classes of examina
tions, be confined to facts and positive
science exclusively. The examinations
on religion, politics, or other disputed
topics should not turn on the truth or
falsehood of opinions, but on the matter
of fact that such and such an opinion is
held, on such grounds, by such authors,
�84
ON LIBERTY
or schools, or Churches. Under this
system the rising generation would be
no worse off in regard to all disputed
truths than they are at present; they
would be brought up either Churchmen
or Dissenters, as they now are, the State
merely taking care that they should be
instructed Churchmen or instructed.
Dissenters. There would be nothing to
hinder them from being taught religion,
if their parents chose, at the same
schools where they were taught other
things. All attempts by the State to
bias the conclusions of its citizens on
disputed subjects are evil; but it may
very properly offer to ascertain and certify
that a person possesses the knowledge,
requisite to make his conclusions, on
any given subject worth attending to.
A student of philosophy would be the
better for being able to stand an exami
nation both in Locke and in Kant,
whichever of the two he takes up with,
or even if with neither; and there is no
reasonable objection to examining an
Atheist in the evidences of Christianity,
provided he is not required to profess
a belief in them. The examinations,
however, in the higher branches of
knowledge should, I conceive, be entirely
voluntary.
It would be giving too
dangerous a power to Governments were
they allowed to exclude any one from
professions, even from the profession of
teacher, for alleged deficiency of qualifi
cations ; and I think, with Wilhelm von
Humboldt, that degrees, or other public
certificates of scientific or professional
acquirements, should be given to all
who present themselves for examination,
and stand the test; but that such certifi
cates should confer no advantage over
competitors, other than the weight which
may be attached to their testimony by
public opinion.
It is not in the matter of education
only that misplaced notions of liberty
prevent moral obligations on the part of
parents from being recognised, and legal
obligations from being imposed, where
there are the strongest grounds for the
former always, and in many cases for the
latter also. The fact itself, of causing
the existence of a human being, is one
of the most responsible actions in the
range of human life. To undertake this
responsibility—to bestow a life which
may be either a curse or a blessing—
unless the being on whom it is to be
bestowed will have at least the ordinary
chances of a desirable existence, is a
crime against that being. And in a
country either over-peopled, or threatened
with being so, to produce children,
beyond a very small number, with the
effect of reducing the reward of labour
by their competition, is a serious offence
against all who live by the remuneration
of their labour. The laws which, in
many countries on the Continent, forbid
marriage unless the parties can show
that they have the means of support
ing a family do not exceed the legiti
mate powers of the State; and whether
such laws be expedient or not (a ques
tion mainly dependent on local circum
stances and feelings), they are not ob
jectionable as violations of liberty. Such
laws are interferences of the State to
prohibit a mischievous act—an act in
jurious to others, which ought to be
a subject of reprobation and social
stigma, even when it is not deemed expe
dient to superadd legal punishment. Yet
the current ideas of liberty, which bend
so easily to real infringements of the
freedom of the individual in things which
concern only himself, would repel the
attempt to put any restraint upon his
inclinations when the consequence of
�APPLICA TIONS
their indulgence is a life or lives of
wretchedness and depravity to the off
spring, with manifold evils to those suffi
ciently within reach to be in any way
affected by their actions. When we
compare the strange respect of mankind
for liberty with their strange want of
respect for it, we might imagine that a man
had an indispensable right to do harm to
others, and no right at all to please him
self without giving pain to any one.
I have reserved for the last place a
large class of questions respecting the
limits of Government interference, which,
though closely connected with the subject
of this Essay, do not, in strictness, belong
to it. These are cases in which the
reasons against interference do not turn
upon the principle of liberty: the question
is not about restraining the actions of
individuals, but about helping them : it
is asked whether the Government should
do, or cause to be done, something for
their benefit, instead of leaving it to be
done by themselves, individually or in
voluntary combination.
The objections to Government inter
ference, when it is not such as to involve
infringement of liberty, may be of three
kinds.
The first is, when the thing to be done
is likely to be better done by individuals
than by the Government. Speaking
generally, there is no one so fit to conduct
any business, or to determine how or by
whom it shall be conducted, as those
who are personally interested in it. This
principle condemns the interferences,
once so common, of the Legislature, or
the officers of Government, with the
ordinary processes of industry. But this
part of the subject has been sufficiently
enlarged upon by political economists,
and is not particularly related to the
principles of this Essay.
85
The second objection is more nearly
allied to our subject. In many cases,
though individuals may not do the par
ticular thing so well, on the average, as
the officers of Government, it is neverthe
less desirable that it should be done by
them, rather than by the Government, as
a means to their own mental education
—a mode of strengthening their active
faculties, exercising their judgment, and
giving them a familiar knowledge of the
subjects with which they are thus left to
deal. This is a principal, though not the
sole, recommendation of jury trial (in
cases not political); of free and popular
local and municipal institutions ; of the
conduct of industrial and philanthropic
enterprises by voluntary associations.
These are not questions of liberty, and
are connected with that subject only by
remote tendencies ; but they are ques
tions of development. It belongs to a
different occasion from the present to
dwell on these things as parts of national
education; as being, in truth, the peculiar
training of a citizen, the practical part
of the political education of a free
people, taking them out of the narrow
circle of personal and family selfishness,
and accustoming them to the compre
hension of joint interests, the manage
ment of joint concerns—habituating
them to act from public or semi-public
motives, and guide their conduct by aims
which unite instead of isolating them
from one another. Without these habits
and powers, a free constitution can
neither be worked nor preserved ; as is
exemplified by the too often transitory
nature of political freedom in countries
where it does not rest upon a sufficient
basis of local liberties. The manage
ment of purely local business by the
localities, and of the great enterprises of
industry by the union of those who
�86
ON LIBERTY
voluntarily supply the pecuniary means,
is further recommended by all the advan
tages which have been set forth in this
Essay as belonging to individuality of
development and diversity of modes of
action. Government operations tend to
be everywhere alike. With individuals
and voluntary associations, on the con
trary, there are varied experiments, and
endless diversity of experience. What
the State can usefully do is to make itself
a central depository, and active circulator
and diffuser, of the experience resulting
from many trials. Its business is to
enable each experimentalist to benefit
by the experiments of others, instead of
tolerating no experiments but its own.
The third and most cogent reason for
restricting the interference of Govern
ment is the great evil of adding unneces
sarily to its power. Every function super
added to those already exercised by the
Government causes its influence over
hopes and fears to be more widely
diffused, and converts, more and more,
the active and ambitious part of the
public into hangers-on of the Govern
ment, or of some party which aims at
becoming the Government. If the roads,
the railways, the banks, the insurance
offices, the great joint-stock companies,
the universities, and the public charities,
wrere all of them branches of the Govern
ment ; if, in addition, the municipal
corporations and local boards, with all
that now devolves on them, became
departments of the central administra
tion; if the employes of all these different
enterprises were appointed and paid by
the Government, and looked to the
Government for every rise in life; not
all the freedom of the press and popular
constitution of the Legislature would
make this or any other country free other
wise than in name. And the evil would
be greater the more efficiently and scien
tifically the administrative machinery
was constructed—the more skilful the
arrangements for obtaining the best
qualified hands and heads with which to
work it. In England it has of late been
proposed that all the members of the
civil service of government should be
selected by competitive examination, to
obtain for those employments the most
intelligent and instructed persons pro
curable ; and much has been said and
written for and against this proposal.
One of the arguments most insisted on
by its opponents is that the occupation
of a permanent official servant of the
State does not hold out sufficient pros
pects of emolument and importance to
attract the highest talents, which will
always be able to find a more inviting
career in the professions, or in the service
of companies and other public bodies.
One would not have been surprised if
this argument had been used by the
friends of the proposition, as an answer
to its principal difficulty. Coming from
the opponents, it is strange enough. What
is urged as an objection is the safetyvalve of the proposed system. If, indeed,
all the high talent of the country could
be drawn into the service of the Govern
ment, a proposal tending to bring about
that result might well inspire uneasiness.
If every part of the business of society
which required organised concert, or
large and comprehensive views, were in
the hands of the Government, and if
Government offices were universally filled
by the ablest men, all the enlarged
culture and practised intelligence in the
country, except the purely speculative,
would be concentrated in a numerous
bureaucracy, to whom alone the rest of
the community would look for all things :
the multitude for direction and dictation
�APPLICA TIONS
in all they had to do; the able and aspir
ing for personal advancement. To be
admitted into the ranks of this bureau
cracy, and, when admitted, to rise therein,
would be the sole objects of ambition.
Under this regime, not only is the outside
public ill-qualified, for want of practical
experience, to criticise or check the mode
of operation of the bureaucracy, but even
if the accidents of despotic or the natural
working of popular institutions occasion
ally raise to the summit a ruler or rulers
of reforming inclinations, no reform can
be effected which is contrary to the
interest of the bureaucracy. Such is
the melancholy condition of the Russian
Empire, as shown in the accounts of those
who have had sufficient opportunity of
observation. The Czar himself is power
less against the bureaucratic body; he
can send any one of them to Siberia,
but he cannot govern without them, or
against their will. On every decree of
his they have a tacit veto, by merely
refraining from carrying it into effect.
In countries of more advanced civilisa
tion and of a more insurrectionary spirit,
the public, accustomed to expect every
thing to be done for them by the State,
or at least to do nothing for themselves
without asking from the State not only
leave to do it, but even how it is to be
done, naturally hold the State respon
sible for all evil which befalls them, and
when the evil exceeds their amount of
patience, they rise against the Govern
ment, and make what is called a revolu
tion ; whereupon somebody else, with or
without legitimate authority from the
nation, vaults into the seat, issues his
orders to the bureaucracy, and every
thing goes on much as it did before, the
bureaucracy being unchanged, and no
body else being capable of taking their
place.
87
A very different spectacle is exhibited
among a people accustomed to transact
their own business. In France, a large
part of the people having been engaged
in military service, many of whom have
held at least the rank of non-commis
sioned officers, there are in every popular
insurrection several persons competent
to take the lead, and improvise some
tolerable plan of action. What the
French are in military affairs, the
Americans are in every kind of civil
business : let them be left without a
Government, every body of Americans
is able to improvise one, and to carry on
that or any other public business with a
sufficient amount of intelligence, order,
and decision. This is what every free
people ought to be ; and a people capable
of this is certain to be free ; it will never
let itself be enslaved by any man or body
of men because these are able to seize
and pull the reins of the central adminis
tration. No bureaucracy can hope to
make such a people as this do or undergo
anything that they do not like. But
where everything is done through the
bureaucracy, nothing to which the bureau
cracy is really adverse can be done at all.
The constitution of such countries is
an organisation of the experience and
practical ability of the nation into a
disciplined body for the purpose of
governing the rest; and the more perfect
that organisation is in itself, the more
successful in drawing to itself and
educating for itself the persons of greatest
capacity from all ranks of the community,
the more complete is the bondage of all,
the members of the bureaucracy included.
For the governors areas much the slaves
of their organisation and discipline as
the governed are of the governors. A
Chinese mandarin is as much the tool
and creature of a despotism as the
�ON LIBERTY
humblest cultivator.
An individual
Jesuit is to the utmost degree of abase
ment the slave of his order, though the
order itself exists for the collective power
and importance of its members.
It is not, also, to be forgotten that
the absorption of all the principal ability
of the country into the governing body
is fatal, sooner or later, to the mental
activity and progressiveness of the body
itself. Banded together as they are—
working a system which, like all systems,
necessarily proceeds in a great measure
by fixed rules—the official body are
under the constant temptation of sinking
into indolent routine, or, if they now and
then desert the mill-horse round, of
rushing into some half-examined crudity
which has struck the fancy of some lead
ing member of the corps : and the sole
check to these closely-allied, though
seemingly opposite, tendencies, the only
stimulus which can keep the ability of
the body itself up to a high standard, is
liability to the watchful criticism of equal
ability outside the body. It is indis
pensable, therefore, that the means should
exist, independently of the Government,
of forming such ability, and furnishing
it with the opportunities and experience
necessary for a correct judgment of great
practical affairs. If we would possess
permanently a skilful and efficient body
of functionaries—above all, a body able
to originate and willing to adopt im
provements ; if we would not have our
bureaucracy degenerate into a pedantocracy, this body must not engross all
the occupation’s which form and cultivate
the faculties required for the government
of mankind.
To determine the point at which evils,
so formidable to human freedom and
advancement, begin, or rather at which
they begin to predominate over the
benefits attending the collective applica
tion of the force of society, under its
recognised chiefs, for the removal of the
obstacles which stand in the way of its
well-being; to secure as much of the
advantages of centralised power and
intelligence as can be had without turn
ing into governmental channels too great
a proportion of the general activity—is
one of the most difficult and complicated
questions in the art of government. It
is, in a great measure, a question of
detail, in which many and various con
siderations must be kept in view, and no
absolute rule can be laid down. But I
believe that the practical principle in
which safety resides, the ideal to be kept
in view, the standard by which to test
all arrangements intended for overcoming
the difficulty, may be conveyed in these
words: the greatest dissemination of
power consistent with efficiency; but
the greatest possible centralisation of
information, and diffusion of it from the
centre. Thus, in municipal administra
tion, there would be, as in the New
England States, a very minute division
among separate officers, chosen by the
localities, of all business which is not
better left to the persons directly inte
rested ; but, besides this, there would be,
in each department of local affairs, a
central superintendence, forming a
branch of the general government. The
organ of this superintendence would
concentrate, as in a focus, the variety ot
information and experience derived from
the conduct of that branch of public
business in all the localities, from every
thing analogous which is done in foreign
countries, and from the general principles
of political science. This central organ
should have a right to know all that is
done, and its special duty should be
that of making the knowledge acquired
�APPLICA TIONS
in one place available for others.
Emancipated from the petty prejudices
and narrow views of a locality by its
elevated position and comprehensive
sphere of observation, its advice would
naturally carry much authority; but its
actual power, as a permanent institution,
should, I conceive, be limited to com
pelling the local officers to obey the laws
laid down for their guidance. In all
things not provided for by general rules
those officers should be left to their own
judgment, under responsibility to their
constituents. For the violation of rules
they should be responsible to law, and
the rules themselves should be laid down
by the Legislature; the central admin
istrative authority only watching over
their execution, and, if they were not
properly carried into effect, appealing,
according to the nature of the case, to
the tribunals to enforce the law, or to
the constituencies to dismiss the func
tionaries who had not executed it
according to its spirit. Such, in its
general conception, is the central super
intendence which the Poor Law Board
is intended to exercise over the admin
istrators of the Poor Rate throughout
the country. Whatever powers the
Board exercises beyond this limit were
right and necessary in that peculiar
case, for the cure of rooted habits of
maladministration in matters deeply
affecting not the localities merely, but
the whole community; since no locality
has a moral right to make itself, by
mismanagement, a nest of pauperism,
necessarily overflowing into other loca
lities, and impairing the moral and
physical condition of the whole labour
ing community. The powers of ad
89
ministrative coercion and subordinate
legislation possessed by the Poor Law
Board (but which, owing to the state of
opinion on the subject, are very scantily
exercised by them), though perfectly
justifiable in a case of first-rate national
interest, would be wholly out of place in
the superintendence of interests purely
local. But a central organ of informa
tion and instruction for all the localities
would be equally valuable in all depart
ments of administration. A Government
cannot have too much of the kind of
activity which does not impede, but aids
and stimulates, individual exertion and
development. The mischief begins when,
instead of calling forth the activity and
powers of individuals and bodies, it
substitutes its own activity for theirs;
when, instead of informing, advising, and,
upon occasion, denouncing, it makes
them work in fetters, or bids them stand
aside and does their work instead of them.
The worth of a State, in the long run, is
the worth of the individuals composing
it; and a State which postpones the
interests of their mental expansion and
elevation, to a little more of administrative
skill, or of that semblance of it which
practice gives, in the details of business ;
a State which dwarfs its men, in order
that they may be more docile instru
ments in its hands even for beneficial
purposes—will find that with small men
no great thing can reallybe accomplished ;
and that the perfection of machinery to
which it has sacrificed everything will in
the end avail it nothing, for want of the
vital power which, in order that the
machine might work more smoothly, it
has preferred to banish.
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It is often assumed that those who
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Rationalism may be defined as the whenever this appears to be the case,
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and independent ofall arbitrary assump retribution, and ignored the powerful
tions or authority.
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It is to be observed that most Pro social nature and needs; (2) on the
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towards contemporary or recent instances ciently earnest in their search for truth
of alleged miracle and inspiration. They to make a serious study of the natural
are rationalists in their attitude towards and human grounds of moral law. The
the sacred literatures of Buddhists, Brah mental realisation of these grounds must
mans, Parsees, and Mohammedans, and tend towards the practical realisation of
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Church of Rome. As regards the narra of character cannot be suddenly trans
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Rationalism and Morality.
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Mill, John Stuart [1806-1873]
Columbine, William Brailsford
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 89. [7] p. : ill. (front. port.) ; 22 cm.
Series title: R.P.A. Cheap Reprints
Series number: No. 18
Notes: Includes bibliographical references. Includes biographical sketch of Mill. Printed in double columns. Issued for the Rationalist Press Association, Limited. Publisher's advertisements on unnumbered pages at the end, and continued inside and on back cover. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
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Text
LOVE-LIFE OF AUGUSTE COMTE.
BY JENNIE JUNE CKOLY.
T is said that no man is a hero to his wife or his valet de chambre;
and so inseparable, indeed, is some touch of weakness from poor
human nature, that we are rather apt to expect from the excep
tionally great in some respects, corresponding feebleness in
others, and charitably excuse, or else hold them up to the light, as the
excuse for our own shortcomings.
The private, or emotional life of Auguste Comte is but little known
in this country, and the impressions concerning it, derived mainly from
John ^tuart Mill, is , not’of a character to encourage strict investiga
tion. Even his disciples seem to consider his domestic relations as a
subject to be avoided, and the second part of his great life-work, the
“Politique Positive,” as more the result of the weakness of his heart
than the strength of his head.
* The aim of this brief and necessarily very imperfect sketch is sim
ply to state, facts, to show what justification existed for departure from
conventional standards, and who and what the remarkable woman was
whose brief acquaintance exercised so singular an influence upon the
mind of Comte, and inspired him with those ideas which form the
basis of his ultimate system.
Whatever the weakness or strength of its founder, there is little
doubt that the “ Religion of Humanity ” will live and continue to
attract, as heretofore, the respectful attention of the wisest and best
among us, and with its growth will spring up an interest in that epi
sode of the life of August Comte which unites his. name with that of
Clotilde de Vaux, and accepting her . as the representative of the noblest
attributes of humanity, will place her, toward its religion and its be
lievers, as Laura to Petrarch, as Beatrice to Dante,-as Heloise to Abe
lard, if not, with all reverence be it spoken, as the Virgin Mary to the
Christian Church.
“To-day,” Emerson says, “is king,” but we rarely recognize its
royalty. Laura and Beatrice may have been very ordinary persons to
their intimates, and it is possible that even Joseph saw nothing more
in his wife than many a man believes of the woman he loves. Yet who
would wish to lose the spiritual significance of the Virgin-Mother by
confronting it with the common-place fact of her daily life. Clotilde
T
�186
THE
LOVE-LIFE
OF AUGUSTE
COMTE.
de Vaux may have realized to no other person the remarkable qualities
with which Comte’s imagination invested her, but the evidence she has
left of high intellectual ability, united with singular purity and devo
tion, lifts her above the common-place, while, apart from any idealiza
tion by Comte, her personal history is clothed with a strange, sad, and
most romantic interest.
Born of a respectable but obscure family, beautiful, delicate, and
surrounded always by an air of touching sadness, which seemed a
prophecy of her future destiny, Madame de Vaux became early the wife
of a man who was subsequently convicted of a capital crime, impris
oned, and finally sent to the galleys, yet, by the laws of France, still
maintained his right and authority as her husband.
It was in this position that Comte met her.
Comte himself was born, as Robinet, his biographer, informs us, of
an admirable mother, Mme. Rosalie Boyer, a strict Catholic however,
who shared the monarchical tendencies of her husband. She is de
scribed as a woman of great heart, great character, and Comte ascribes
to her all his higher qualities. He admits also that it was through
Clotilde de Vaux that he learned to fully know and appreciate his
mother. His family were in moderate circumstances—his father being
cashier in the department of the Receiver-General. He was born in a
modest house, facing the church of Saint Eulalie, Montpellier; was
sent to school at the age of nine years, and was so precocious that at
ten he criticised with severity and judgment his teachers and their
methods of instruction.
In 1825, twenty years before he met Mme. de Vaux, he contracted a
marriage of convenience, which proved, as he afterwards declared, the
one “ serious ” fault of his life. His wife was a bookseller, an active,
capable woman of business, intelligent, but worldly, as most Parisian
women of the middle classes are, and utterly without sympathy in any
new systems of philosophy or their results. She was proud in her own
way of her husband’s ability, but wished it to be acknowledged by the
world, and she could not forgive in him the unconscious egotisms of a
powerful genius, or the loss of his material opportunities, by his obsti
nate adherence to unpopular opinions and principles.
For seventeen years they lived a life which must have been almost
unendurable to both, for Comte, released as he considered himself by
the greatness of his work from ordinary duties and obligations, was
probably one of the most exigent, exacting, and intolerable of hus
bands to a busy, ambitious, and practical wife, while she became to
him every day more an object of indifference, and even of dread.
Mahomet was happy in having for his first disciple his wife:
Madame Comte realized nothing but the obstinacy which deprived her
husband of honorable positions and material resources. She was quite
willing to assist in building up an honorable home, quite capable of
forming a sound, and even wise judgment on any of the ordinary affairs
�THE
LOVE-LIFE
OF AUGUSTE
COMTE.
187
of every day; she had literary taste and talent of her own, but believed
thoroughly in putting them to practical use, in employing them to
achieve a recognized name, honor, position, money, and the good-will
of mankind, and she considered Comte’s splendid generalizations as the
chimeras of a distraught brain.
It was unfortunate for both that no children resulted from this illstarred union. The existence of these ties, and the knowledge, through
them, which they would have gained of each other, would undoubtedly
have softened their feelings, and contributed to a better mutual under
standing. But it was not to be. Day by day they drifted more and
more widely apart, until, upon April 5,1842, seventeen years after their
marriage, Mme. Comte left her husband never to return. 1
Although M. Comte had not at that time developed fully his social
theory, his natural instincts, heightened by the respect and veneration
with which his mother had always inspired him, would have compelled
him to endure to the end his self-imposed yoke, and forbidden any
sympathy with the anarchical ideas that were then becoming common
in France. The defection of his wife he accepted with the dignity
with which he had borne his matrimonial infelicity, and considered his
condition of domestic isolation as complete and final. His noble
nature, however, his truthful instincts, his affectionate disposition,
. made this severance of home ties very painful; he realized all the pos
sibilities of true marriage, all the difficulties resulting from a mistake
in this most important act of human life, and his pain was augmented
by the knowledge of the detrimental effect which his matrimonial
blunder would be likely to exert upon his public career. Believing
profoundly in the indissolubility of marriage, insisting with the whole
strength of his powerful intellect on the perfectness and perpetuity of
the marriage relation as the golden band which purifies and holds
society together, his own experience at once justified and illustrated
his theory in his own eyes, yet furnished to carping critics a choice
morsel of gossip, which they were undoubtedly willing to make the
most of.
“Behold the teacher!” “Who lives in glass houses should not
throw stones.” All this, and much more, must have made Comte feel
that a mistaken marriage was the most serious mistake of a man’s life,
and that the evils resulting from it must be borne by the individual,
not thrust upon society. Of course his situation, isolated and stigma
tized without direct act or fault of his own, enabled him more readily
to appreciate the peculiarity of the woman’s position whose name was
afterwards to be associated with his own—Madame Clotilde de Vaux.
His first meeting with this still young and gifted lady took place in
1845, three years after his wife had left him. It is admitted by all that
she possessed graces of person combined with remarkable purity, ten.derness, and dignity of character. The singular coincidence of their
position attracted them all the more powerfully toward each other,
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and the admirable delicacy and consistency which had distinguished
her conduct in her peculiarly trying and unfortunate position, estab
lished at once a claim upon Auguste Comte’s sympathies.
Moreover, Madame de Vaux, notwithstanding that she possessed a
mind of the finest order, was as little, understood by her family circle
as Comte by the rest of the world—a fact which, united with Madame
de Vaux’s convictions in regard to the moral nature and duties of
women, so different from those of her best-known contemporaries, but
•in exact accordance with Comte’s predilections, created a new bond be
tween them. Under th^se circumstances, it is not surprising that,
Clotilde de Vaux became to Comte a revelation of the power, purity,
genius, and suffering of woman, or that, having worked out his theory
of Divine Humanity, he should recognize its highest development in
her noble, self-sacrificing life.
It is a fact worthy of particular remark that, notwithstanding the
exceptional nature of their mutual positions, no breath of suspicion,
even in France, ever attached to their relationship. Slander itself was
dumb before the purity of her character, the modesty, and dignity of
her life. Her intercourse with Comte was wholly that of master and
pupil; and although he fully acknowledges that to her he was indebted
for his entire knowledge and education of the heart, yet this was un
conscious on her part, and she hardly realized that the chivalrous and
reverential nature of his sentiments toward her, and all women, owed
their development and expression mainly to herself.
But with the real claims of Madame de Vaux to the moral and in
tellectual height to which Comte elevated her, we have little to do. To
Comte she gave the key to one half, and the diviner half, of the human
race, and became at once the motive and the inspiration to that part of
his work which had been left incomplete. His discovery of sociology,
of a new philosophy of life based upon the laws of exact science, placed
him upon a level with Aristotle and Bacon; his realization of the per
fectness of moral quality, through Clotilde de Vaux, of its high uses,
unfolded to him a new religion, a religion of Man, or Humanity, which
can only be expressed by the homage paid to the moral qualities as em
bodied in their acknowledged representative, Woman. What individ
uals, Laura, Clotilde, or Beatrice, were in themselves, matters, we re
peat it, very little. It is enough that they stand as the types of Woman,
as the ideals of Mother, Daughter, Wife, Sister, Friend, or all of these
—as the embodiment of the sentiments and qualities which men most
venerate and admire, and which act upon them as the strongest incen
tive to worthy deeds.
In the preface to his Positive Catechism, which consists bf a series
of imaginary questions and answers between himself and adopted
daughter, which relation he had intended to legalize with Madame de
Vaux, if she had lived. Comte says, in reference to her—
“Through her I have at length become for Humanity, in the strict
I
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IS 9
est sense, a twofold organ, as may any one who has reaped the full
advantages of woman’s influence. My career had been that of Aris
totle, I should have wanted energy for that of St. Paul, but for her. I
had extracted sound philosophy from real science ;»I was enabled by
her to found on the basis of that philosophy the universal religion.”
If Clotilde de Vaux had left no other evidence than Comte’s com
memoration of her worthiness, she would still stand in the niche of the
Temple of Humanity as its first high-priestess—as the eternal mother
of that ideal Woman whose image is enshrined in all good men’s
hearts, and is dimly realized in the goodness, purity, and self-sacrific
ing love of some every-day sister, wife, or mother.
But young as Madame de Vaux was at the time of her death, un
fortunately suppressed as the most important work of her life was by
the interference of relatives, she still left enough behind to show that
she was a woman true to all a woman’s best instincts, to all a man’s
' noblest ideals of Womanhood. Like Comte, her nature remained unwarped by the sad issue of her own conjugal relations. Her little
work, “ Lucie,” written altogether from her own inspiration, and before
her acquaintance with Comte, reveals at once a charming tenderness,
allied with real strength. Individual unhappiness did not lead her, as
it would a weaker nature, to denounce marriage, or seek in license the
remedy for social ills. On the contrary, in this work she idealizes mar
riage, accepts motherhood as the natural function of the mass of
women, anticipates Comte’s theory of protection for women, and de
mands governmental institutions for the aid and guardianship of un
protected women. Moreover, her advocacy of a true home-life for
women had more force in France than in this country, because there
the doctrine of individualism in marriage had been to a certain extent
conceded, and the relationship already assumed a business aspect
almost unknown here. The women of the middle classes, it is well
known, nearly control the retail trade of Paris, and their mercantile
activity and preoccupation undoubtedly prevents the realization of the
comfort and domesticity which belongs to the English acceptation of
the word home ; and while it has developed shrewdness and business
tact, certainly detracts somewhat from the reserve and delicacy which
naturally belongs to women.
In Comte’s theory of marriage, individual rights are not allowed a
place. The institution he considered necessary to the happiness of in
dividuals and the well-being of society, but the former he subordinates
to the latter, and he exacts from all men and women who take upon
themselves the obligations of marriage, a stern fulfilment of its re
quirements. He quotes with great approval the remarks of Madame
de Vaux, that “great natures will not involve others in their own sor
rows and difficulties,” and insists that the mistake of an individual
should be confined as much as possible to him or herself, and not hung
as a load upon the back of society.
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COMTE.
It is for its singular truth, purity, and integrity, that Madame
Clotilde de Vaux’s contribution to the literature of her day deserves
preservation, and for this reason we reproduce it here. Her clear mind
was alike uninfluenced by custom or the sophistical ideas of anarchists
and so-called reformers. She did not give to woman all the scope that
she must claim for herself while she possesses ability, but she fully
recognized the fact that the home is the woman’s rightful domain, that
the employment of her strength, talent and energies in other directions,
and especially as a means of livelihood, should be exceptional; that
the woman cannot be the mother and also the provider, and that no
woman ever tries to fill the two positions without feeling that she is
constantly sacrificing the greater to the less.
A presentation of a theory of marriage which recognizes its full
value, its sacredness, and its indissolubility, seems particularly desir
able just now, and in this country, where individualism is making it
self strongly felt, and social evils are seeking a remedy in the easy dis
ruption of the marriage bond. The position which Comte assigns to
Woman is clearly stated in the following extract from the general View
of Positivism :
“ The social mission of Woman, in the Positive system, follows as a
natural consequence from the qualities peculiar to her nature. In
the most essential attribute of the human race, the tendency to place
social above personal feeling, she is undoubtedly superior to man.
Morally, therefore, and apart from all material considerations, she
merits always our loving veneration, as the purest and simplest im
personation of Humanity who can never be adequately represented in
any masculine form. But these qualities do not involve the possession
of political power, which is sometimes claimed for women, with or
without their own consent. In that which is the great object of life
they are superior to men, but in the various means of obtaining that
object they are undoubtedly inferior. In all kinds of force, whether
physical, intellectual, or practical, it is certain than Man surpasses
Woman in accordance with a general law which prevails throughout
the animal kingdom. Now, practical life is necessarily governed by
force rather than by affection, because it requires unremitting and
laborious activity. If there were nothing else to do but to love, as in
the Christian Utopia of a future life in which there are no material
wants, Woman would be supreme. But life is surrounded with diffi
culties, which it needs all our thoughts and energies to avoid; therefore
Man takes the command notwithstanding his inferiority in goodness.
Success in all great efforts depends more upon energy and talent than
upon moral excellence, although this condition reacts strongly upon the
others. Thus the three elements of our moral constitution do not act
in perfect harmony. Force is naturally supreme, and all that women
can do is to modify it by affection. Justly conscious of their superior
ity in strength of feeling, they endeavor to assert their influence in a
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191
way which is often attributed by superficial observers to the mere love
of power. But experience always teaches them that in a world where
the simplest necessaries of life are scarce and difficult to procure, power
must belong to the strongest, though the latter may deserve it best.
With all their efforts, they never can do more than modify the harsh
ness with which men exercise their authority. And' men submit more
readily to this modifying influence from feeling that in the highest at
tributes of humanity women are their superiors. They see that their
own supremacy is due principally to the material necessities of life,
provision for which calls into play the self-regarding rather than the
social instincts; hence we find it the case in every phase of human so
ciety, that women’s life is essentially domestic, public life being prin
cipally confined to men. Civilization, so far from effacing this natural
distinction, tends, as I shall afterwards show, to develop it, while rem
edying its abuses.”
The following “ Complement of the Dedication ” to Mad. Clotilde
de Vaux is from the pen of Auguste Comte, and will be found in his
last great work. It is followed by her novelette of “ Lucie ” and her
poem, “ Thoughts of the Flowers,” which Comte repeated every morn
ing for the nine years preceding his death.
COMPLEMENT OF THE DEDICATION.
Paris, 12th Dante, 62.
Saturday, July 27th, 1850.
In order to complete this exceptional dedication, I think I should add to it the
only composition published by my sacred colleague. This touching novel, of which
the principal situation essentially characterizes the conjugal destiny of the unhappy
Clotilde, was inserted in the columns of the “National ” on the 20th and 21st of
June, 1845. In reproducing it here, I hope to furnish competent judges with a
direct proof of the exalted nature, intellectual and moral, of the unknown angel
who presides over my second life.
Following this characteristic production, I publish my unedited letter on the
social commemoration, which would have appeared with “ Lucie,” but for the ma
levolence of a well-known journalist, who has proved himself unworthy of confi
dence. This little composition offers a certain historical interest to all those who
understand the Religion of Humanity. They -will see in it the first direct and dis
tinct germs of an immense moral and social synthesis, spontaneously arrived at
through a pure, private effusion. My normal reaction of the heart, on the mind,
was thus manifested several years before I had constructed its definitive theory.
I end this natural complement of my dedication with an unedited canzone, that
Madame de Vaux wished to place in her “ Willelmine,” although she had composed
it in 1843. These graceful strophes, of which Petrarch could have perhaps envied
the sweetness, can indicate the facility and the versatility of a talent worthy of the
highest commendation. The poetical tendency of this exalted soul showed itself
involuntarily, in her most trifling inspirations. IKwould be, for example, suffi
ciently characterized by this melancholy inscription, secretly written at the age of
twenty-two, in an old “ Journal of a Christian,” which I preserve religiously.
“ Precious souvenir of my youth, companion and guide of the holy hours which
have lived for me, and which always recall to my heart the ceremonies, grand and
sweet, of the convent chapel.”
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’‘LUCIE.”
A Novelette, by Clotilde De Vaux.
A few years since, the little town of----- was stupefied by the commission of a
crime complicated with extraordinary circumstances.
A young man, belonging to a distinguished family, had disappeared under a
terrible suspicion. He was accused of having assassinated a banker, his partner,
and stolen from him a considerable amount of valuables. This double crime was
attributed to the fatal passion for gaming. The culprit abandoned, after a few
months of marriage, a young wife endowed with great beauty and the most emi
nent qualities. An orphan, she remained, at twenty years of age, condemned to
isolation, misery, and a position without hope.
The laws granted her spontaneously the separation of person and wealth ; that
is to say, of all that which she had already lost. Her husband’s family lent her a
shelter and a pair of shoes. Rich men who admired her, added to her anguish of
heart insulting offers of protection as disgraceful as they were humiliating.
She was, happily, one of those noble women who accept misfortune more easily
than disgrace. Her clear mind fully unveiled to her the position she was in ; she
comprehended that she owed to her beauty the interest she excited in men ; she
foresaw the dangers that professions of sympathy hide, and wished to draw from
herself alone all mitigation of her fate. This courageous resolution having been
taken, the young wife thought only of executing it. Possessing a remarkable talent,
she proceeded to Paris to make use of it. After several trials, she was admitted as
a teacher into the house of the Abbaye-awe-Bois, where she found an honorable
asylum.
During this time, justice took its course ; active steps sought everywhere for
traces of the fugitive. Already the irritated creditors had divided the property of
the unhappy wife, whose clothing and jewels, even to the little treasures of her
girlhood, had been sold at auction. The interest she inspired was so great, that
strangers voluntarily redeemed these pledges and returned them to her.
One young girl purchased a medallion which contained her portrait, and wore
it like that of her patron saint, and the priest of the place bought her weddingdress to decorate the altar of the Virgin.
These details sensibly affected the unfortunate one. A noble pride became
joined in her heart to a profound sensibility: she felt herself sustained by these
proofs of interest that reached her from so many sources. Filled with terror at the
remembrance of her first love, she considered her chain as a barrier that she had
voluntarily placed between herself and men. The horror and peril of her position
thus escaped her mind, and she accepted without a complaint the unjust decree of
the laws.
An indestructible sentiment, a sweet and holy friendship of childhood, at first
saved this noble heart from the bitter griefs of solitude. Philosophy, so pitiful and
so arid in egotistical souls, developed its magnificent proportions in that of the
young woman. Poor, she found the means of doing good : if she rarely went into
the churches, where frivolity sits side by side with sanctity, she was often met in
the garrets of the poor, where, misfortune hides itself like shame.
Two years slipped by without any event transpiring to change this strange and
unhappy position. Time, which can only increase great sorrows, had impaired,
little by little, the admirable organization of the orphan. To her heroic courage,
to her persevering efforts to tread'the rough path marked out for her, there suc
ceeded a profound dejection. Thirteen letters which have fallen into my hands
paint better than I can the griefs of the weary heart. I ask permission to reproduce
them, and thus finish this history.
�TSE
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193
FIRST LETTER.
LUCIE TO MADAM M.
I write to thee from Malzéville, where I intend to pass several months, my
beloved. My lungs had need of country air, and country milk ; and our worthy
friends have seized this pretext to invite me to share their pleasant solitude. How
much I love these excellent people ! May I not resemble them, or at least allow
my heart to share in the peace which reigns in the depths of theirs ? Meanwhile I
feel better here : nothing is so healthy as the sight of beautiful nature, and of this
laborious and uniform life which forces the mind to rule itself.
The General awaits the near arrival of his neighbor, who is reputed the bene
factor of all this little region. He is a young man of twenty-six, the possessor of a
handsome fortune, and a sincere disciple of liberal ideas. He has with him his
mother, whom he adores, and of whom they tell a great deal of good.
Thou dost advise me to cultivate flowers so as to wean me from music and
reading. Alas 1 my beloved, are not these the only pleasures that remain to me ?
When I have paid my feeble tribute to friendship, when I have read to the General
some passages in his memoirs, when we have together evoked great and sacred
recollections, or when I have shared with my friend her little domestic cares, I
resign myself to tins absorbing faculty of thinking and feeling, which has become
the resource of my existence ; and yet, no woman loves a peaceful and simple life
more than I. What brilliant pleasures would I not have sacrificed with joy to the
duties and happiness of the family circle ! What successes would not have appeared
silly compared with the caresses of my children ! 0. my friend, maternity, that is
the sentiment whose phantom rises so strong and so impetuous in my heart. This
love, which survives all others, is it not given to woman to purify and mitigate her
her sorrows ?
SECOND LETTER.
MAURICE TO
BOGER.
Roger, I have at last seen this woman, so grand, and so unhappy, of whom thou
didst speak to me with pride. Do not say that “ the die is cast,” if I avow to thee
the deep impression that I have felt at the sight of this young and beautiful martyr
to social injustice. The touching virtues of Lucie, her mind, her unconscious atti
tudes, everything about her bears forever the imprint of a profound grief. One
feels, in seeing her, that she will have need of generosity in order to love. How
ever, is she not free in all honor and reason ? By what astonishing lack of .fore
sight in the laws, may the pure and respected woman find herself chained by
society to the branded being whom it casts from its bosom ?
What do we call civil death ? Is it a phantom ? To what end does society
bind a wife to a man who can no longer give birth but to outcasts ? By what right
does it impose isolation and celibacy on one of its members ? From what motive
does it force a living death, or irregularities which it condemns ?
But I speak as if before judges. Roger, my blood is ready to boil when I see
how the apathy of men produces and seems to sanction misfortune and oppression.
I have just had a belvedere built in sight of Malzéville ; from there, with a tele
scope, I see the whole of thé General’s pretty house. Yesterday, I perceived Lucie,
who was seated on the edge of a small stream of water; her attitude was dejected.
Shall I say it to thee, her looks seemed to me to be often directed toward the south.
Alas ! in seeing her so graceful and so broken, I asked myself with disgust the
secret of certain influences over our hearts. Why do we see vulgar women fasci
nate superior intellects and become the objects of a true worship? How does it
happen that the generosity and nobleness of certain women are seen so often in the
�194
THE
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OF AUGUSTE
COMTE.
power Ol selfishness and grossness? We must give up the explanation of this
enigma.
As thou dost wish a new description of Oneil, I shall tell you, my dear Roger,
that, I have made of it one of the prettiest places in the department. They described
to me lately a recent dispute on my account between the inhabitants of the neigh
boring corporation and an old, decayed gentleman. They excited themselves with
nothing less than a discussion as to whether they owed the title of Chateau to Oneil,
and the first piece of consecrated bread to its proprietor. I have settled the ques
tion by not going to mass, and by calling the whole country my valley.
THIRD LETTER.
MAURICE TO
ROGER.
Never, Roger, never will another woman excite in me the powerful and elevated
sentiments with which the mere sight of Lucie inspires me. Friend, thou hast
spoken truth ; it is in vain that the laws, opinion, and the world raise their triple
barrier between us ; love will reunite us, I feel it. Who knows better than thou
the needs of my heart and its insurmountable repugnance to vulgar joys ? Alas !
before meeting Lucie, I have often felt that it is dangerous to refine its sensations.
A little while ago my mother made her visit to Malzeville. I was curious, I
avow it to thee, to know the impression Lucie would produce upon her. On arriving
before the grating of the little park, we saw her grafting a rose-tree. She was
dressed in white ; a large garden-hat carelessly covered her head, a simple green
ribbon defined her small and elegant waist. One would say, on seeing her, the
sweetest ideal of Galatia.
I was surprised to perceive no emotion on my mother’s face, she. ordinarily so
kind, and who finds so much pleasure in admiring ; she was dignified and cold during
our visit; the words duty and honor found a place in all her phrases. For the first
time I had a glimpse of what is bitter and implacable in feminine rivalries. Guided
by the delicate tact, that the habit of suffering gives, Lucie withdrew before we did,
under some slight pretext. Would that I had dared to follow her, and throw my
self at her feet to protest against my mother’s words.
Roger, this moment settles my fate forever ! I comprehend that it is my duty
to snatch this sweet victim from misfortune. Perish the chimeras that rise up
between us ! I feel myself strong against the false faith of opinion and the blame
of the envious ; may I also be so against the self-abnegation and grandeur of Lucie 1
FOURTH LETTER.
MAURICE
TO ROGER
One could willingly curse civilization and enlightenment, when one sees the
small number of just minds and upright hearts that there are in the world. I could
not tell thee how many pitiful and odious insinuations I have to submit to every
day on Lucie’s account. But, what is not the least shocking, all the honor rests
with these corrupters of morality who stand proudly on their small proprieties as
on a rock of impregnable virtue. It seems, in truth, that success only accompanies
hypocrisy and deceit.
I have just had a painful conversation with my mother, which has only more
strongly confirmed my loyalty and devotion. The latter is a magnificent virtue : it
lives, however, much more willingly on enjoyments than on sacrifices. I have
lately met in the world the young Countess of -------- , whose husband is in the
galleys. She was twenty-four years of age when this fatality overtook her; she
was remarkably pretty and amiable. The worthy L-------- fell in love with her,
and they are united. Well! she told me that what she has had to suffer from her
�TH£
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195
own family is incalculable. When I expressed to her my astonishment, seeing
their advanced ideas in everything, she answered me, “ Are you still in your cate
chism in regard to men ? They authorize me to be an atheist, but not to do with
out the sacraments.”
So it is, my worthy Roger, that this admirable humanity is not yet well rid of
its debt toward the monkeys, from whom several doctors insist that it is directly
descended.
FIFTH LETTER.
MAURICE TO LUCIE.
What have you done, Lucie ? What fatal thought have you obeyed in remov
ing yourself from me ? Alas! it is in vain that I seek to justify your silence; it
weighs on my heart like an icy burden. And meanwhile, only yesterday you made
me cherish my life. Your soul seemed to open itself to hope. When a trifling
danger menaced me on the border of the lake, you came to my assistance without
appearing to fear the presence of those around us. How beautiful you were at that
instant, and how womanly in your devotion ! Have you not read in every glance
the enthusiasm of which you were the object? 0 Lucie, when it was only neces
sary, perhaps, for you to show yourself as you are to soften my mother’s heart, by
what inconceivable misfortune do we find ourselves separated ? But perhaps you
are not the angelic woman that I thought I had discovered; perhaps a generous
love is beyond your powers ? Perhaps !—But of what use are these doubts ? You
alone can restore the peace that you have taken away ; I await a line from you, a
word that may teach me what are your future plans. Think of it! I will not
answer for myself if you continue to overwhelm me with your silence. Manuel is
going post-haste to Paris : in ten hours I may have your reply.
SIXTH LETTER.
MAURICE TO ROGER.
Must it then be so ? Roger, to have been acquainted with her, to know that
which contains this exalted heart, this delicate mind, and perhaps, in a few hours,
to have to deplore her loss! May my misery fall again on those who caused it!
Alas! when 1 accused her with what I have suffered, she was struck down with the
violence of her struggles and her love. I wander like a fool around the General’s
house, interrogating his people unceasingly, and receiving from them only vague
and unsatisfactory answers. Happily, the physician is ignorant of who I am, and
three times a day he forces the truth on my heart. I have this moment quitted
him ; he looked so sad, he seemed so overwhelmed that I conjured him not to hide
the worst from me. He assured me that she still exists ; but he expects a terrible
and inevitable crisis.
P.S.-jShe is saved! One should love as I love to comprehend the magic of
such news. I threw myself at the feet of the physician ; I asked him for his
friendship. In vain he preserved a serious manner; I felt ready to perform any
folly in his presence. He is a distinguished man ; he spoke of Lucie with an enthu
siasm almost equal to my own. But, one thing struck me: he observed me often
with thoughtfulness, and seemed ready to confide a secret to me. I have vainly
endeavored several times to make him speak his mind. He always ends our con
versations about Lucie with this phrase : Society is very culpable.
I have often remarked that prudence is the vice of men in this profession, whose
profound knowledge renders so capable of assisting the social movement. What
important modifications could be produced in the laws by the sole authority of cer
tain scientific facts which remain eternally hidden from the vulgar ! I wish that a
great physician would publish his memoirs ; it would be, in my opinion, a very
useful book to humanity.
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COMTE
SEVENTH LETTER.
MAURICE TO ROGER.
x
Friend, I have seen her again ! Alas ! one dares not think that she still belongs
to earth, so much is her beauty invested with an ideal and celestial character. She
has consented to take her first walk leaning on my arm, and I was astonished at.
the simplicity with which she described to me her sufferings. If I do not deceive
myself, a gleam of hope has crept into her heart; but I have not been able to
explain to myself the meaning of several of her words. As we rested in the shade,
of a little ruined chapel, a villager’s wedding party passed before us. There was
so much happiness and freedom from care on their open countenances, that I could
not suppress a bitter reflection in comparing our destinies. Lucie trembled as she
heard me.
“ 0, my friend I” she exclaimed, “ they are happy ; but it is because their good
fortune neither afflicts nor offends any one.”
I looked at her with surprise ; her face was slightly flushed; she placed my
hand on her heart; then she resumed in a voice serious and moved : “ Maurice, it
is in vain that our misfortune forees us to set ourselves against society ; its institu
tions are great and venerable as the work of ages ; it is unworthy of great natures
to inflict upon others the sorrows that they feel.”
I would have answered her, but she made me a sign with her hand to indicate
that she felt very feeble. It began to grow late. The worthy doctor, who was
already anxious at not seeing Lucie return, came to meet us, and he assisted me in
supporting her as far as the entrance to the park of Malzeville, where it was neces
sary for us to separate.
Roger, all the obstacles that surround me frighten me less than Lucie’s natural
greatness. It is not to false prejudices, I feel it, that such a woman has been able
thus far to immolate the sweetest desires of her heart
EIGHTH LETTER.
LUCIE TO MADAM M.
My Cherished Friend:—Hope has overtaken me on my return to health; Maurice
consents to raise his powerful voice in a protest against the terrible abuse that
separates us. His mother has pressed me to her heart; I shall never forget the
delicious sensations that were mingled at that moment with the bitterness of my
recollections.
O my beloved 1 the love of a pure and good man is a sentiment full of power.
How much do I need courage and strength to resist it! But Maurice’s interests
and honor are dearer to me than my own happiness can be ; and I am also sustained
by the pride of seeing him attempt a noble enterprise ; for it seems to me, that in
it I also shall have accomplished something for humanity.
It was only yesterday that our fate was decided. We had spent the evening
with the worthy physician, whose sentiments are at the same time so gentle and
so elevated. Hardly had we left him, when Maurice impetuously seized my hand ;
and, pressing it to his heart, he swore to protect me in spite of the world, and no
longer permit me to forsake him. I collected my strength to struggle against
these sweet yet terrible emotions. I represented to him that duty commanded him
to endeavor to free me from my bonds, in claiming a wise and just law. I employed
to affect him the arguments which have the most influence on his great heart. I
described with ardor the advantages that society would receive from this courageous
attempt. For him, it was not difficult to interest him in the fate of those beings,
young, feeble, and defenceless, whom an odious bond consigns to despair. He
agreed that the injurious effects of the laws result mainly from the apathy of men,
and that it is always honorable and useful to struggle against oppression.
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We considered then our position from all points of view. Maurice agreed that
a tie like that which he was advising me to contract would suffice for happiness,
and that he would renounce, without the least regret, a world which sacrifices true
happiness to prejudices arrogantly adorned with the title of propriety. I confessed
to him that I did not feel myself high enough or low enough to brave opinion, and
that it would be sweet to me to be able to surround our love with the respect of
honest families.
He gently combated my ideas ; but the thought of his mother was joined in his
heart with all the elevated sentiments that belong to him. He finished by prom
ising me to address a petition to the Chamber of Deputies, and to await patiently
the result.
I threw myself at the feet of this man so dear, shedding tears of gratitude and
love. The efforts that I had made to control myself had so exhausted my strength
that it seemed to me that life was going to abandon me. I never felt its value so
much as at that moment.
O, my friend I thou who dost live calm and happy with the man of thy choice,
thou wilt comprehend all that passes in my heart. Thou knowest if I share the
ridicule poured upon those women who wish to be deputies, or who ride on horse
back to demonstrate that they could be at need excellent colonels of dragoons. But
thou knowest that I feel sensibly oppression where it is real. It is in striking a
blow at the true and modest happiness of woman, that the laws force her out of her
sphere, and make her at times forget her sublime destiny. Henrietta, what pleas
ures can exceed those of devotion ? To surround with comfort the man whom we
love, to be good and simple in the family, worthy and self-forgetting outside of it,
is not this our sweetest office and the one which suits us best ? It seems to me
that from the family circle radiates communities and the world, and is it not woman
who is the inspiration of them ?
NINTH LETTER.
MAUBICE TO
ROGER.
. A new grief has just burst upon her ; the monster who chains her to himself
lias been arrested on the frontier and conducted to the galleys at Toulon, where he
goes to suffer his penalty.
This event, which gives such great force to our demands, seems meanwhile to
have weakened Lucie’s courage. This heart so tender has fainted with terror
before the horrible denotement with which the laws associate her. The name that
she still bears echoes within her, loaded with infamy, and re-awakens all her
gloomy recollections. Her imperishable goodness has just added compassion to all
her wrongs. May her strength not be exhausted in this cruel struggle I No, I feel
it, laws cannot be voluntarily immoral and absurd. Evidence strikes men ; they
will break this odious bond which chains the purest being to a galley-slave.
Lucie will still suffer much ; but various circumstances have enlightened me on
all her sentiments, and I shall not sacrifice one of them to love. This noble woman
shall be a proud wife and mother, pure, true, and loving friend. The sacrifices that
she would valiantly accept for herself, she cannot bear the thought of bequeathing
to her children. May she find at last the reward of these sweet virtues ! I shall
rally my strength and my courage to subdue my impatience. 0 Roger! life has
hard trials. I send thee a copy of my petition to the Chamber.
“ Gentlemen Deputies :—There exists in the bosom of the. laws an abuse of
which the extent is frightful; permit me to signalize it by a striking example.
"A woman of twenty-two years, whose heart is pure and full of honor, finds
herself chained by marriage to a galley-slave. Fifteen years of imprisonment,
infamy, scorn, all that which separates virtue from vice, materially annuls this
odious bond.
�198
th/:
L(> rn-i.rPK
o f
augusth
comte.
" The man is civilly (lead; the woman, declared free by the tribunals, regains
possession of his fortune, which she already manages. All her rights are evident;
yet she must renounce the most precious of them, that of using the liberty of her
heart. By an inconceivable lack of foresight in the laws, this woman finds herself
" expelled from their protection, and placed by them between two abysses, misfor
tune and immorality. Which choice dare we assign her ? To adorn herself with
a barren heroism, shall she renounce love and motherhood, those beautiful and
noble rights of the wife ?
“ If isolation weighs like a sentence of death on her heart, and forces her to
contract a tie hostile to society, who will protect her against the evil testimony of
opinion, and against all the dangers attached to a false position ?
“ Between these two, there is a third, into which falls many oppressed and fee
ble natures—it is baseness.
“ Gentlemen deputies, I call your attention to this question of high morals, and
I solicit a law which establishes divorce for a single act of an infamous and criminal
character.”
TENTH LETTER.
MAURICE TO
ROGER.
Our hearts are calmer. Lucie seems happy in seeing me submissive to the laws
which govern society. May she reap the fruit of my patience !
Perhaps I have truly performed a duty. I have suffered so much for some time,
that I can no longer be a very good’judge on matters of wisdom. Abuses shock
me, and oppression inspires me with such horror that I would willingly flee before
it instead of contending with it. It may be that Lucie, in her heroism, is much
nearer than I to simple justice and morality. Few women unite as she does pene
tration and sensibility ; she is eminently loyal and spiritual. The better I under
stand this heart so tender, the more I feel that I could not too well repay her love.
How slowly each day brings the moment that unites us ! I love to surprise her
in the midst of the occupations which she invents for herself, while expecting me,,
she tells me. Yesterday I found her very busy copying a large boo’k of insignifi
cant music designed for schools. As I evinced my astonishment with much per
sistency, she ended by confessing that this work was one of her means of living. I
could not tell thee, Roger, the painful impression that this discovery made upon
me. The true duty of woman, is it not to surround man with the joys and affections
of the domestic hearth, and receive from him in exchange all the means of exist
ence that labor procures ? I would rather see the mother of a poor family washing
hei children s CiOthes, than see her earning a livelihood by her talents away from
home. I except, let it be understood, the eminent woman whose genius forces her
out of the family sphere. Such an one should find in society her free develop
ment ; for other minds are kindled by the exhibition of their powers.
I would not only that women might find in their fathers, their brothers, and
their husbands natural support; but that these supports failing them, they should
be sustained by governments. Institutions should be founded in which to unite
them and make use ot their various talents. There are many kinds of work that
can only be done by women. These labors could be performed in these establish
ments, where feeble and desolate women would at least be assured of a resource
against the wrongs which menace them in a struggle with the world without.
Our- towns would then have vast bazars where wealthy women would go to
choose their attire. We should no longer see poor girls attenuated by forced labor,
often obliged to walk all day to dispose of their work. These means, or others
analogous, would establish a slight proportion between the strength and the duties
of women, which are often so little in harmony.
�ELEVENTH LETTER.
MAURICE
TO ROGER.
Where to find a remnant of zeal in this weary, money-loving society ? Money !
that is the key to their dictionary, the word which we must absolutely grasp to
comprehend them.
I had confided to Count J--------our present position and my proceeding with
the Chamber. He thought he would benefit me by introducing me to several of the
men whom they call wise, no doubt because they have sacrificed the heart for the
good of the head. I did not believe that bluntness could go so far. The conversa
tion of these men resembled a veritable operation in stocks. It was a curious thing
to see their efforts to convert an unworldly person.
The obliging manner in which Count J----- — had introduced me to his circle
made me, in spite of myself, give my evidence. Forced to speak of my sentiments
and my opinions, I became at once the target for the whole assembly. They
defeated me in philosophy and morals. They were going to declare me sublime in
order to get rid of me, when one of the most influential men of the period took
me aside.
“ You resemble,” said he to me, “ a crow which pulls down walnuts. Do not
err thus. You have just offended men who were able and willing to serve you.
Arrange your affairs quickly ; and believe that a hero with fifteen thousand livres
rental is not strong enough to walk alone.”
This language astonished me so much that I remained silent.
“ You come,” he continued, “ to demand divorce; you are authorized by an
example striking enough. Truly, justice and reason are with you. A law restricted
like that which you demand, would pass without the least difficulty, and would be
a real benefit. Very well ! nevertheless, this law, it is a hundred to one, that you
will not obtain it.”
“ It is my conviction,” added he, while I repressed with difficulty a painful im
patience, “ the fault is yours, entirely yours. Wishing to play giant, foolishly
despising the hierarchy, refusing it deference, and exploring for all support the
arsenal of old words, is it not voluntarily taking the role of a dupe, and running,
dagger in hand, into the midst of a pigeon match ? Listen,” said he, “ if you were
not so young, you would be a fool. But that infirmity excuses everything. I offer
you, then, my influence with the ambassador of-------- . You have some position,
a noble figure ; you can advance yourself with him. You love a remarkable
woman, you will give her a station worthy of her; and believe me, love does very
well without marriage.”
Finishing his period, my worthy mentor threw me a significant glance and left,
me. I went to shake hands with Count J—
, so superior to the men by whom
he is surrounded, and I returned to Oneil with rage in my heart.
Roger, I shall promptly investigate what this man has said to me, and see if
there is no longer any trace of justice and honor in humanity. Lucie is too grand
and too pure to stoop before it.
TWELFTH LETTER.
LUCIE TO
MAURICE.
Maurice, you are noble and good. What heart can be more capable than yours
of comprehending justice and reason? 0 best and most generous of men, you to
whom I could have sacrificed with joy the peace of my whole life, could you but
know to what extent yours has been dear and sacred to me ! My beloved, it is in
vain that we attempt to struggle any longer against destiny. My soul is completely
broken under its blows. Alas ! when I gave myself up to the happiness of loving
�200
THE
LOVE-LIFE
OF
AUGUSTE
COMTE.
you, I thought to be able, in my turn, to add a charm to your life. Let me collect
my last powers in one consoling thought, hoping you will restore again to society
and your mother that which they have lost by your devotion to me. How often
have I seen your great soul incensed at the sight of the afflictions that fill the
world ! 0 Maurice! it is delicious to experience all generous emotions. What
destiny is at the same time greater and sweeter than that of the useful man ! Do
you not remember having often envied poor artisans the glory of a trifling dis
covery ? You who can do so much more than they, would you remain inactive ?
Dear, very dear friend, live to imprint on the earth your noble steps. When a man
like you appears in the midst of society, he should either bring to it his tribute of
light and virtue, or condemn himself to the silence and coldness of selfishness. I
know your soul; it is rich, and glowing as the clouds in a beautiful sky; never
would you have found happiness in isolation. Do not renounce family joys ; chil
dren will create great interests in your existence. You will find pleasure in devel
oping in them the noble germs that they will inherit from you. You will make
of their young hearts so many hearths in which the flame of yours will be diffused.
They will surround you with respect and love. O Maurice 1 are not all the felici
ties of life summed up in this single word ?
.
LAST LETTER.
DR.
L--------
TO
DR.
B--------.
My old friend, I approve the means you take in caring for yourself in turn. For
us. who believe in good, it is a painful spectacle that of society in disorder, where
nothing that is noble and great can succeed any longer. I have just witnessed
again one of those sacrifices which shock the heart and the reason. The unfortu
nate young woman whose history I have written to you, expired yesterday in my
arms, broken by sorrows that I refrain from describing to you. The man whom
she loved survived her but a few moments ; it seems as if he could comprehend
only his despair. In vain I tried to lead him to reason and calmness ; he blew out
his brains beside the death-bed. before I was able to prevent his fatal design.
Those who have known the interesting and unhappy woman whose loss I deplore, .
will comprehend the fatal passion that she inspired. She had one of those rare
organizations in which the heart and mind are equally balanced. No woman felt
more than she the possibilities of her position. She might have been an accom
plished mother and wife. Alas ! in seeing her die in my arms at the age when one
should live, I have painfully appreciated how little power is given to man to
repair the evil that he causes.
�
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Victorian Blogging
Description
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Love-life of Auguste Comte
Creator
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Croly, Jennie June [1829-1901]
Description
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Place of publication: New York
Collation: [185]-201 p. ; 26 cm.
Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. From Modern Thinker, no. 1, 1870. Printed in red on pale yellow paper. The pseudonym of Jane Cunningham Croly, an English-born American journalist and clubwoman whose popular writings and socially conscious advocacy reflected her belief that equal rights and economic independence for women would allow them to become fully responsible, productive citizens. Includes a letter from Auguste Comte to Clothilde de Vaux, 'Lucie' a novelette by Vaux and her poem 'The Thoughts of a Flower'.
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[American News Company]
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[1890]
Identifier
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G5423
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<p class="western"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br />This work (Love-life of Auguste Comte), identified by <span style="color:#0000ff;"><span lang="zxx"><u>Humanist Library and Archives</u></span></span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</p>
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Text
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English
Subject
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Philosophy
Auguste Comte
Clothilde de Vaux
Conway Tracts
-
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1d01cd321b6bda9cf4e3654a2ff937de
PDF Text
Text
Association for the
Harmonious Development of Faculties.
CONFUCIUS
Ibis 'life anb bis HJoctrine
BY
MARIUS DESHUMBERT
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
BY
CAPTAIN E. M. PERCEVAL, R.A.
WILLIAMS AND NORGATE
14, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON
20, SOUTH FREDERICK STREET, EDINBURGH
and 7, BROAD STREET, OXFORD
1897
PRICE
SIXPENCE
�Association for the
Harmonious Development of Faculties.
COMMON-SENSE ETHICS.
BY
“ THE COMMITTEE ”
Copies of the above Pamphlet will be forwarded by
PROF. DESHUMBERT, Hon. Secretary,
Camberley, Surrey
(on application).
CONFUCIUS:
HIS LIFE AND DOCTRINE.
PRICE SIXPENCE.
To be had from the Publishers,
Messrs. WILLIAMS AND NORGATE,
14, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden,
London,
Or from the Hon. Secretary,
�B 23?21^2-
NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
CONFUCIUS.
HIS LIFE.
ONFUCIUS was born in the year 550
or 551 B.c. at Shan-ping, in the province
now known as Shan-tung, the ancient
province of Lu, bathed on the east by
the Yellow Sea, and on the north by the Gulf of
Pechili.
Confucius counted among his ancestors the em
peror Hoang-ti, whose reign is placed by historians
of the Celestial Empire 2637 years before the
Christian era.
The name of his clan was Kung, and missionaries,
in calling him Confucius, have merely latinized his
real name, “ Kung-Fu-tze,” which means “ the
philosopher Kung.”
Confucius was only three
years old when he lost his father, who was Governor
�2
of Tse-u. According to tradition, at the age of six
he showed signs which gave promise of extraordinary
wisdom. He despised games familiar to childhood,
and preferred to offer sacrifices to the gods with his
little comrades, on whom he already exercised a
marked influence.
He would not eat without offering part of his food
to heaven, according to the custom of the ancients.
This custom he practised during the whole of his
life, even though the repast might only consist of rice.
He was married at the age of nineteen, as was
then usual.
At about this time, the fame of his intelligence
and virtues having reached the Prime Minister of
the kingdom of Lu, his native land, the latter en
trusted him first with the superintendence of the
granaries, and later with that of cattle and parks, or
public markets. He accepted these offices on account
of his poverty, but without any thought of becoming
rich.
At the age of twenty-two he commenced to teach.
He wished to revive ancient usages, which, in his
opinion, contained all the moral, social, and political
virtues. He made it his mission to re-establish the
rites, customs, beliefs and institutions which time
had made sacred.
�3
To gain his end, it was not sufficient to teach
only by example; he required disciples, who should
receive from him careful instruction, should go forth
to spread it throughout the empire, and should
succeed him after his death.
The intelligent young men, who wished to learn
to rule justly, soon crowded to him in numbers. He
accepted the honorariums which his disciples offered
him, being, however, always content with what was
given to him, no matter how insignificant the amount
might be. On the other hand, he sent away imme
diately those who did not show sufficient ardour for
study, or such as were not sufficiently intelligent to
understand him.
“ When,” said he, “ I have shown a pupil one
corner of the subject, and he is unable to discover
the other three, I do not repeat my lesson.”
At the age of twenty-four he lost his mother. To
obey the ancient law, he withdrew from the public
life of superintendent in order to mourn the custom
ary period of twenty-seven months, then considered
the equivalent of “ three years.”
We now come to a gap, for we hardly know any
thing of the life of Confucius for several years after
this date. Let us consider here the political state
of China at this time.
�4
China was then but a sixth part of the present
empire.
The population was only ten to fifteen
millions. The nobility was divided into six orders,
which corresponded in many respects to those of
feudal Europe.
The governors of provinces succeeded from father
to son. They are often called by historians “kings,”
and their provinces “kingdoms,” and in fact they
were almost independent. In theory the governors
received from each new emperor a new investiture.
They were bound, in theory, to present themselves
at court, at certain times, to show their submission.
They also paid to the sovereign fixed tributes, and
had to supply him with soldiers when they were
required for the security of the empire.
When, in a feudal state, the sovereign is not
sufficiently energetic or sufficiently powerful to make
his rights respected, the nobles are not slow to show
their independence and to make efforts to extend
the frontiers of their states at the expense of others.
F
At the time of which we speak, the dynasty of
Chow, which lasted from 1122 to 256 B.C., had passed
its zenith. The independence of the sub-kingdoms
was complete. From this it results that the history
of China during the seventh, sixth, and fifth cen
turies B.c. is an unbroken account of great battles,
�5
of hard-fought actions, of heroism, of tried friend
ships, and of atrocious crimes.
This reminds us of the state of England and of
France in the Middle Ages, but China 600 years B.c.
was far more civilized than was Europe during
the time of the Plantagenets, that is to say during
the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth centuries
(a.d. 1154-1399). Numerous schools existed then in
China. Each nobleman had collected around him
historians, musicians and other men of learning.
The savants expounded ancient history and com
mented on ancient poems and laws.
Instruction then was carried on brilliantly, but
justice and probity, in a word morality in all its
forms, was trampled under foot. Mencius, the
grandson and continuer of the teaching of Confucius,
tells us that decadence was complete. Justice had
disappeared. One only heard discourse that was
debasing and only saw acts of violence. Ministers
murdered the princes who had called them to power,
and children took the life of those who had given
them birth. Confucius, terrified with what he saw,
resolved to reform the world; a grand ideal to which
he consecrated his whole life.
At the age of thirty-three Confucius visited the
capital of the empire, where he admired the treasures
�6
of the imperial library. He also studied music,
which was held in great honour at Court. He had
also several interviews with Lao-tze, the father of
Taoism. On his return the same year to Lu, the
prince of that State was forced by his ministers to
flee to the neighbouring province of Tse. Confucius
accompanied him, not wishing to appear to support,
by his presence, the rebels who had driven out their
legitimate sovereign. But the king of Tse did not
treat Confucius with the honour his wisdom, virtue
and renown merited. The latter soon returned to
his native land, where during fifteen years he con
tinued his studies. During this period the number
of his disciples increased considerably. It is said
that there were as many as three thousand, and of
these seventy or eighty were distinguished for their
great intelligence. Several became statesmen of
mark. The disciples were young men of all classes,
but the majority were mandarins, public officials, or
governors of towns. All these men of letters showed
the greatest admiration and sincere respect for
Confucius, a fact which goes to prove the moral and
intellectual value of his philosophy.
At the age of fifty-two Confucius was appointed
first magistrate of Chung-too. Immediately, so the
historians assure us, a marvellous change appeared
�7
in the behaviour of the inhabitants. He was ap
pointed Minister of Justice, and crimes disappeared.
He showed his energy and his wisdom in awarding
punishment without distinction of rank, and in start
ing negotiations with the neighbouring State of Tse.
He strengthened the authority of his prince, the
king of Ln, while he weakened that of the nobles.
In order to do this he dismantled the fortified towns
where the chiefs of the principal clans could resist
the king’s authority, as did the barons of feudal
Europe.
Finally he became the idol of the people, whose
welfare was his chief interest. In them he saw the
source of the wealth and prosperity of the State.
He improved their W'ell-being by all means in his
power, especially by putting down the aristocracy,
who were everywhere hostile to those institutions
which he wished to found. He accomplished many
excellent reforms during the two years he was in
power.
The king of Tse, however, saw that if Confucius
were permitted to continue his reforms, the influence
of the king of Lu would soon make itself felt
throughout the whole empire. He determined,
therefore, to deprive this king of his minister. He
�8
showed a profound knowledge of the human heart
by sending to the king of Lu eighty dancing girls of
great beauty, and one hundred and twenty-five mag
nificent horses. These gifts were joyfully accepted
by the prince, who now not only neglected Confucius
completely, but was greatly annoyed at his remon
strances. The philosopher felt that it was not
compatible with his dignity to remain at this Court,
where his counsel was no longer accepted. He
withdrew with slow steps and with regret, hoping
that his sovereign would repent and would send a
messenger to pray him to return. Alas ! no messen
ger appeared, so Confucius sadly continued his way.
The philosopher was then fifty-six.
During thirteen years he went from province to
province, and was everywhere received with great
honour, but no prince would take counsel of him.
He saw that although men have always good
maxims on their lips still they are slow to practise
virtue.
“ Alas,” he cried, “ virtue is not cherished, and
study is not pursued with care. Though one hears
the principles of justice and equity professed, they
are not followed. The wicked and wrong-doers do
not wish to mend their ways. It is this which is
�9
the cause of my sadness.” He knew also what it
was to suffer from ingratitude, but he said, “ What
matters to me the ingratitude of men. It will not
prevent me doing them all the good that may be in
my power. If my teaching remains fruitless, I shall
at least have the consolation of having faithfully
fulfilled my task.”
Thirteen years later he returned for good to his
native land. The king was dead and his son
occupied the throne. The philosopher refused to
accept of him honours and power. He had only a
few years to live, and these he wished to consecrate
to his literary work and to the teaching of his
doctrine in the midst of his numerous disciples.
The year after his return, Confucius was then
seventy, his only son died. This left only one
offspring to perpetuate the race of the philosopher.
But what he felt still more was the loss of his two
favourite disciples, Yen-Hue, who died a year
before this, and Tze-lu, who died some months later.
The end of the philosopher was now approaching
rapidly, hastened no doubt by sorrows.
Early one morning, not being able to sleep, he got
up, and with his hands behind his back he dragged
his stick along as he walked towards the door,
�10
saying, “ The great mountain must crumble away,
the strong pillar must break, the sage must wither
and disappeai’ like a blade of grass.” He then went
back to his bed, and eight days later he died at the
age of seventy-two or seventy-three, in the year
478 b.c.
The funeral rites were performed with great
ceremony by his disciples. A great number of
them built huts close to his tomb and stayed there
twenty-seven months, wearing such mourning as
they would for a father.
His third favourite disciple, Tze-Kung, remained
five years close to the tomb mourning the sage.
The news of the death of the philosopher spread
throughout the empire with marvellous rapidity.
He who, during his lifetime, had been neglected,
became immediately after his death the object of
unbounded admiration; and this admiration has
lasted nearly 2400 years.
The tomb of Confucius is situated on a vast
rectangle outside the town of Kiuh-fow. On
passing through a magnificent gateway, one finds
before one a long avenue of cypress trees which
leads to the enormous tumulus which has been
raised over the tomb. A little in front to the right
�Il
and. left are two smaller hillocks which mark the
tombs of the son and grandson of the philosopher.
Finally to the right of the last one sees a small
house which is said to stand on the ground once
occupied by the hut of Tze-Kung, in which he
passed his five years of mourning. On all sides are
to be seen tablets on which the emperors have had
engraved enthusiastic eulogies of the defunct.
The neighbouring town is still the home of the
Kung family, and it is asserted that from forty to
fifty thousand descendants of the sage inhabit it at
the present time. The chief of the family is the
head of the seventy-fifth generation. He possesses
vast domains, given by the emperor, as well as a
title which corresponds to that of duke.
The dynasty of Chow disappeared 225 years after
the death of the philosopher, and was replaced by
that of Ts’in. The first emperor of the new dynasty
wished to lay the foundations of that despotic
government which still exists. The numerous men
of learning who acknowledged Confucius as their
teacher opposed this innovation. The emperor
was therefore anxious to destroy the posthumous
influence of the sage, and burned all the ancient
books to which Confucius had referred and from
which he had drawn his rules and examples.
�12
Finally he buried alive hundreds of men of
learning who regarded Confucius as their master.
But no persecution could destroy or even diminish
the influence exercised by the philosopher after his
death. All the sovereigns who reigned after the
Ts’in dynasty lost no opportunity of honouring his
memory. At the present time there are tablets
bearing his name in every school and in all
examination halls, and before them the pupils and
candidates bow as they enter.
No prayers are said to Confucius, but great
honour is rendered to him.
�HIS DOCTRINE.
Let us pass now to the study of the philosopher’s
teaching.
His moral and political doctrines are intimately
connected, but, to make our task more simple, we
shall examine them separately.
Confucius collected and placed in order all the
religious, philosophic, moral and political documents
which existed at his time. Of these he and his
disciples formed a set of doctrines under the follow
ing titles :
Yi-King (the sacred book of changes).
Shu-King (the book of historical documents).
Shi-King (the book of verses).
Li-Ki (the book of rites).
Tze-Shu (the four classic books).
Space will not permit of a complete study of all
of these. It will be sufficient for our purpose to
�14
examine briefly the first three of “ the four classic
books.”
The quotations are taken from the excellent
French translation by Pauthier.
*
The sixth phrase of the first classic book gives
the key of the whole philosophy of Confucius. The
sage wrote these words : “ From the man of highest
rank down to the most humble and obscure of men,
each has the same duty to perform : to correct and
better himself. The perfecting of oneself is the
fundamental base of all progress and of all moral
development.”
Confucius returns continually to this great duty
of perfecting oneself. He says, that “he (the sage)
develops to the highest degree the lofty and pure
faculties of his intelligence and makes it a rule to
follow always the principles of right judgment.”
Later on we find, “ Make yourselves complete
masters of that which you have learnt, and always
continue to learn. You then may become a teacher
of men.”
“ The superior man should apply his whole energy
to educate himself, to acquire knowledge.” Lastly :
* Confucius et Mencius : Les quatre livres, &c. Traduit du
chinois par M. G. Pauthier. (Charpentier, Paris.)
�15
“ He who endeavours constantly to perfect himself
is the sage, who knows how to distinguish good
from bad, who chooses the good and holds firmly to
it, never letting it go.”
“He should strive hard to learn all that is good.
He should question others with discernment, seeking
to enlighten himself in all that is good. He should
guard carefully all that is good lest he should lose
it, and should meditate on it in his heart. He
should always try to discern what is good, taking
care to distinguish it from what is bad. He should
then steadfastly and constantly practise that which
is good.” But the perfecting of oneself is not
sufficient, one must also think of the perfecting of
others.
“ The perfect man does not limit himself to his
own perfection, then to rest. He strives to perfect
others also. The perfecting of oneself is undoubtedly
a virtue, but to improve others is a high science.”
Confucius does not forget that the perfect state
must include purity, and so we find this maxim,
“ Be watchful of yourself, even in your own home.
Take care, even in the most secret place, to do
nothing which could make you blush.” Elsewhere
he says : “ The meaning of the three hundred odes
�16
of the book of verses is contained in one of its
phrases :—Do not let your thoughts be wicked.”
His altruism shows itself continually.
The philosopher having said one day, “ My
doctrine is simple and easy to comprehend,” one of
his disciples, Tsen-Tze, replied “ that is certain.”
The philosopher having gone out, the other disciples
asked what the master meant. Tsen-Tze replied,
“ The doctrine of our master consists solely in
having uprightness of heart and in loving one’s
neighbour as oneself.”
Elsewhere Confucius says : “ I would procure for
the aged, quiet rest, for friends and those among
whom one is thrown, constant fidelity, for children
and the weak, motherly care.”
“ The superior man in his dealings with men is
deferential as becomes him. He is polite and kindly
mannered, regarding as brothers all men who live
within the boundaries of the four seas.” By which
he meant the whole universe. “ Reflect carefully
and do not ever tire of doing good nor of being just
in all your actions.”
One day a disciple asked a question in these
�17
words : “ Can one express in a single word all that
one should practise steadfastly throughout one’s
life ? ” The philosopher said: “ There is one word,
‘ Shu,’ the meaning of which is ‘ Do not do unto
others what you would not like them to do unto
you.’ ”
We may perhaps translate this by the single word
reciprocity or altruism.
Confucius returns continually to the importance
of this doctrine of reciprocity, which we wrongly
call “ charity,” for it is not so much charity as
justice.
He persistently 'repeats this doctrine, in order
that all who hear him may become impregnated
with it.
The philosopher often spoke of the “ virtue of
humanity.” One of his disciples having asked what
he meant by this, he replied: “ He who is able to
accomplish five things on earth, is endowed with the
virtue of humanity: respect for himself and for
others, generosity, fidelity or sincerity, diligence in
doing good, and love of all men.” Later on, he adds :
“ Have sufficient self-control, even to judge of others
in comparison with yourself, and to act towards
them as you would wish them to act to you. This
�18
is what one may call “the doctrine of humanity,
and there is nothing beyond this.”
After the perfecting of oneself and of others,
after the love of humanity, that which should be
cultivated is justice.
Here are two maxims on this subject.
“The superior man, in all the circumstances of
life, is exempt from prejudice and stubbornness.
Justice alone is his guide. He employs all his power
to do that which is just and proper and for the good
of mankind.”
His justice extended even to animals. He used
to fish with hooks, but not with nets, he shot birds
with bow and arrow, but would not use a snare.
Practical moral counsels abound in his works, but
it is only necessary to quote some of them.
“ That which you condemn in those who are above
you, do not practise towards those below you. That
which you condemn in your inferiors do not practise
towards your superiors.”
“ If there are people who do not study, or, if they
do study, do not profit by it, let them not be
�19
discouraged, and let them, not desist. If there are
people who do not distinguish good from bad, or, if
they do distinguish it, have not a clear and distinct
perception of it, let them not be discouraged ! If
there are people who do not practise what is right,
or who, if they practise it, cannot devote all their
powers to it, let them not be discouraged ! That
which others may do at the first attempt, they may
do at the tenth. That which others may do at the
hundredth, they may do at the thousandth. He
who will truly follow this rule of perseverance,
however ignorant he may be, he will certainly
become enlightened; however weak he may be, he
will certainly become strong.”
“ When you see a wise man, think whether you
have the same virtues as he. When you see a
wicked man, look to yourself and examine attentively
your own conduct.”
“ If we are three who travel together, I shall
certainly find two teachers (in my companions). I
shall choose the good man to imitate, and use the
wicked man to correct myself.”
“ In your dealings with men, be true and faithful
to your engagements ! Let your words be sincere
and true ! Let your acts be always honourable and
�20
worthy ! Even if you were in the land of barbarians
of the south, or of the north, your conduct should
be faultless.”
“ Be true to yourself and indulgent to others and
so prevent feelings of resentment.”
He did not forget to give children his counsel.
“ Children should have filial piety in their father’s
house and brotherly love outside it. They should
be careful in their actions, sincere and truthful in
their speech to all men, whom they should love
with all their heart, attaching themselves particu
larly to the virtuous. If after having accomplished
their duties they still have energy left, they should
try to improve their minds by study and by acquiring
knowledge and wisdom.”
The advice which Confucius gives to sovereigns
is admirable. “ A prince should select his ministers
according to the promptings of his conscience,
having always the public good in view.
“ He must conform to the great law of duty, and
this great law of duty must be sought for in the
‘virtue of humanity,’ which is the source of love
for all men. This is why even a prince cannot
�21
dispense with the duty of correcting and perfecting
himself.”
“ All who govern empires or kingdoms have nine
invariable rules to know and to follow: to control
or perfect themselves, to revere the wise, to love
their parents, to honour the leading officials or
ministers of the State, to be in perfect harmony
with all other officials and magistrates, to treat and
protect the people as their children, to collect about
them the wise and skilful, to receive kindly those
who come from distant lands, and to treat as friends
all rulers under them.”
Confucius realized the power of doing good which
riches give. He says, however, “ Riches and honour
are the desires of men. Tf one cannot obtain them
by honest and fair means, they must be renounced.
Poverty and humble positions are what men hate
and despise. If one cannot escape these by honest
and fair means, one must submit to them.”
The expressions “the superior man” and “the
common man” occur repeatedly in the four classic
books. The definitions of them which Confucius
gives are clear,
“ The superior man is he who has equal goodwill
�22
towards all, and who is without egotism and
prejudice.
“ The common man is he who has only feelings of
egotism and is without a disposition kindly to all
men.
“ The superior man has equanimity and tranquility
of soul. The common man experiences continually
trouble and anxiety.
“ The superior man raises himself continually in
intelligence and in power of judgment, the man
without merit descends continually into further
ignorance and vice.
“ The superior man is influenced by a sense of
justice ; the common man by the love of gain.
“The superior man places equity and justice
above all else.”
As to the opinion which Confucius had of
himself, this is what he said on the subject. “If
I think of a man who unites saintliness to the
virtue of humanity, how can I dare to compare
myself with him 1 I only know that I strive to
practise these virtues without being disheartened
�23
and to teach, them to others without being dis
couraged or despondent.”
And elsewhere: “ The straight ways or principal
virtues of the superior man are three in number, and
these I have not yet been able to attain completely ;
the virtue of humanity which drives away sadness,
science which clears all doubts from the mind, and
manly courage which drives away fear.”
His disciples affirm that Confucius was completely
exempt from four things. He was without selfconceit, without prejudice, without obstinacy, and
without egotism.
Confucius, in spite of his profound love of
humanity, did not show towards the wicked that
excessive kindness which was taught by Lao-Tze,
his contemporary. The latter recommended the
doing of kindness to the good and to the wicked
without distinction. The good man, he said, should
be always the good man, no matter what the cir
cumstances may be.
Apropos of this, someone, remembering the
doctrine of Lao-Tze, said to Confucius, “What
should one think of a man who returns kindness for
injuries ? ” The philosopher replied, “ If one acts
�24
thus, how can one repay kindness itself ? One must
repay hatred and injuries by equity; and kindness
by kindness.” This reply appeals certainly to our
sense of justice.
Confucius, as a thoroughly practical man, only
occupied himself with what human intelligence is
capable of understanding, and always refused to
discuss metaphysics.
Still, he approved of rendering homage to Heaven,
but, perhaps, only because this was an ancient
custom.
One of his disciples asked one day how one should
serve the spirits and genii.
The philosopher replied, “ When one is not yet in
a fit state to serve men, how should one be able
to serve the spirits and genii ? ”
“ Let me ask you,” continued the disciple, “what
is death ?”
Confucius replied, “When one does not yet know
what life is, how should one know what death is ?”
Let us now make a rapid examination of the
political doctrines of Confucius, of which there is a
�25
form of resume in the Hiao-King (the sacred book
of filial piety), as translated by Leon de Rosny.
In the Hiao-King the predominant idea is the
omnipotence of the father. It requires the emperor
to give to his people an example of submission to
his mother, before whom he kneels publicly on
certain dates fixed by sacred rites.
However low and obscure may be the condition
of the father of a family, the son, even if promoted
to the highest office in the empire, is required to
show to him the respect due to a superior. A
simple peasant should be able without fear of the
slightest reprimand to box the ears of his son, even
if the latter should occupy the highest legal position,
if he should neglect to prostrate himself on meeting
him.
A great mandarin so punished should also suffer
the penalty of being degraded.
At the present time it happens every day that the
son of a peasant fills important offices, for State
employment is to be obtained by examinations in
which everyone may compete.
A son who has deserved well of his country may
obtain honorary titles for his ancestors.
�26
The fulfilment of the duties of filial piety is so
indispensable that in a family where all the sons
have been condemned to death, the youngest is
allowed to live in order that someone may be left to
tend the parents of the criminals.
Confucius said, “ Filial piety is the foundation of
virtue, from which springs all knowledge.” And
elsewhere, “ Do not fail to think of your ancestors,
and strive to copy their virtues.”
The legislation of China has always had as its
foundation the Confucian doctrine of filial pity.
One may add that the whole Chinese social life
since the time of the great moralist has had but this
one pervading sentiment.
To recapitulate, then, according to the political
doctrine of Confucius, the State is one great family,
of which the emperor is the head. The sovereign
claims the same rights from, and performs the same
duties towards the people as a father in regard to
his children.
This conception has given to China a political
stability, the equal of which one would search for in
vain elsewhere. That China has sometimes forgot
ten the words of its great teacher has been the cause
of the greatest part of its troubles.
�27
It happens in China, as elsewhere, that people do
not always conform strictly in practice to the
philosophic teaching or religion they accept. There,
as indeed everywhere, beautiful maxims are more
often on the lips than in the heart. It must be
remembered also that Buddhism and Taoism, both
much degenerated and full of superstitious practices,
unfortunately exercise great influence.
This is
especially the case with the ignorant, and they are
numerous. The pure philosophy of Confucius does
not satisfy them because they are incapable of
understanding all its beauty.
The extent to which the Chinese venerate their
ancestors is generally considered absurd by other
nations. But this sentiment is to be found more or
less developed in all nations, and it is well that this
should be so.
The comforts we enjoy, as well as our most pure and
keen intellectual pleasures, we owe, almost entirely,
to those who have preceded us. It is not we who
have thought of building houses, of making clothes,
of extracting from the hidden depths of the earth
coals and minerals. All, even to the fruits which
we eat, to the flowers which we admire, has been
invented, discovered, or perfected by our ancestors
more or less distant. Without the persistent work
�28
of generations who have preceded, us, we should
still live in a savage state, for our entire covering
we should have but hideous tattooing. If famine
should make itself felt we should offer to fiendish
gods disgusting human sacrifices, if, indeed, we did
not devour open-mouthed the still palpitating flesh
of vanquished enemies.
As regards things purely intellectual, for example,
the eternal principles of truth, of beauty, of good
ness, it is still to the philosophers of antiquity that
we owe the knowledge of them. It is then but
right that we should experience for these bygone
generations respect and gratitude.
Lastly, let us observe the complete difference
which exists between the doctrines of Confucius and
those of Buddha.
The degenerate Buddhism invites us to repose in
an eternal state of unconsciousness.
Confucius tells us to think above all of the
present life, and to minimize its sorrows and misery
by family respect and affection.
The following quotation is from Pauthier:—
“ If one may judge of the quality of a man and of
�29
the power of his doctrines by the influence they
have exercised on humanity, then one may, with the
Chinese, call Confucius the greatest teacher of men
which time has ever produced. In fact, never has
human reason been more worthily represented.
One is truly astonished to find in the writings of
Confucius the expression of such a high and virtuous
intelligence, and at the same time that of a civiliza
tion so advanced.”
We have seen that the political system of
Confucius is very simple. It rests entirely on filial
piety, and the State is but a great family whose
head is the sovereign.
We know also that his moral doctrine consisted
solely in perfecting oneself, in perfecting others, in
uprightness, in treating one’s enemies with justice,
and in loving all men as oneself.
This doctrine he did not expound as new, but as
the traditional opinion of the sages of antiquity,
which he had made it his mission to transmit to
posterity.
This mission he accomplished with
resolution, dignity, and perseverance, but not without
experiencing profound discouragement and sadness
beyond endurance.
“ This mission of teacher of the human race the
�Chinese philosopher accomplished, we say, to its full
extent, and in a manner very different from that of
any other philosopher of classic antiquity. His
philosophy did not consist in speculations more or
less vain, but was a philosophy above all things
practical, which extended to all conditions of life, to
all phases of social existence.
“ There is no doubt that one of the most noble and
gentle impressions of the soul is to be got from the
contemplation of this teaching, so distant in time
and yet so pure, of which humanity, whatever may
be its boasted civilization, may justly be proud.
“One cannot read the works of the two first
Chinese philosophers (Confucius and Mencius) with
out feeling oneself better, or at least strengthened
in the principles of truth and the practice of good,
without having a higher idea of the dignity of our
nature.”
�Association For The Harmonious
Development of Faculties.
The Committee will be pleased to receive
Subscriptions and Donations to help the Association
to carry out the objects for which it was founded,
i.e. to spread (by means of Pamphlets, Reviews,
Lectures, &c.), the principles of Ethics explained in
“ Common-Sense Ethics.”
The Annual Report and Balance Sheet will
be sent to all Subscribers, who are requested to
state whether their full names or initials are to
appear in it.
Cheques and Postal Orders to be made
payable to Prof. M. Deshumbert (Hon. Treasurer
and Secretary), Camberley, Surrey.
Copies of “ Common-Sense Ethics ” will be
forwarded by the Hon. Secretary, on application.
����
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Deshumbert, Marius
Perceval, E.M. (tr)
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Text
A
PHILOSOPHICAL CONVERSATION.
TRANSLATED •
FROM THE FRENCH OF DIDEROT.
■ !
*
• By E. N. -
PUBLISHED BY THOMAS SCOTT,'
NO. II THE TERRACE, FARQUHAR ROAD, UPPER NORWOOD,
LONDON, S.E.
----1875.
v
Price Sixpence. '
z.
■
'
‘
�LONDON :
PRINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET,
HAYMARKET, W.
�PREFACE.
This dialogue, entitled ‘ Entretien d’un Philosophe avec la Marcchale de * * * ’ was originally
published in Italian and French, professing to be
translated from a posthumous work of the poet
Crudeli. It is written in the most natural style,
and few dialogues in the French language give
such a perfect illusion of two persons conversing.
But, under a style worthy of the best writers of
comedy, the most powerful arguments are to be
seen, and a volume might be written in develop
ment of the points touched upon in these few
pages. Except in a few instances where expla
nation or reference seemed desirable, I have
refrained from adding notes ; the thinking reader
will be able to apprehend the arguments, even
those which, latent in the dialogue, would
develop most brilliantly under dramatic inter
pretation.
Diderot’s writings are too little known in
England; he is hardly ever mentioned; but his
thoughts may be traced in more than one modern
work. Apart from the errors common to all
social philosophy before Malthus wrote, and a
�4
Preface.
style perhaps too much seasoned with Gallic salt
for English taste in the present day, Diderot
stands in the first rank of philosophers and lite
rary men. To none does Humanity owe more.
As a writer, he excelled in lifelike dialogue ; an
admirable specimen of it, 1 Le Neveu de Rameau ’
was recently translated in the Fortnightly
Review; his ‘ Paradoxe sur le Comedien,’ a most
artistic production, will, I hope, soon find a
translator capable of doing justice to it. In the
piece now translated, the nature of the subject
compels rather strict adherence to the letter of
the author, and prevents his spirit from being
conveyed as well as it might be in a purely lite
rary compositiom
�DIDEROT’S
PHILOSOPHICAL
CONVERSATION.
AVING some business with the marechai de
* * * I called on him one morning ; he was
,
out, but I waited for him and was shown in to the
marechale. She is a charming woman, an angel of
beauty and piety; sweet temper is depicted on her
countenance, the tone of her voice and the simplicity
of her conversation agree perfectly with the expres
sion of her features. She was still at her toilet table;
I was asked to sit down, and we began to talk. At
some remark of mine which edified and surprised her
(for she believed that a man who denies the Holy
Trinity is a rogue who will end at the gallows), she
said:—
La Marechale. Are you not Monsieur Crudeli ?
Crudeli.—Yes, Madam.
L. M.—Then you are the man who believes in
nothing ?
Cr.—The same.
L. M.—Nevertheless you profess the same moral
principles as a believer.
Cr.—Why should I not, if I am an honest man ?
L. M.—And do you put these principles in prac
tice ?
Cr.—As well as I can.
L. M.—What! you never steal; you are neither a
murderer nor a robber ?
H
�6
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
Cr.—Very rarely.
L. M.—Then what do you gain by your unbelief ?
• Cr.—Nothing ; is one to believe because of some
thing to be gained thereby ?
L. M.—That I can hardly say ; but the motive of
personal interest is not amiss in the business either
of this world or of the next. I am rather sorry for
the credit of poor humanity; it is not saying much
for us. But, really ! do you never steal ?
Cr.—Never, on my word.
L. M.—If you are neither a murderer nor a thief,
you must own that your conduct is unreasonable and
inconsistent.
Cr.—How so ?
L. M.—Because it seems to me that if I had
nothing to hope or to fear when I am out of this
world, there are many little indulgences which I
should not deprive myself of now that I am in it. I
own to investing my good works in expectation of
repayment with enormous interest.
Cr.—You think you do.
L. M.—I do not merely think so; it is a fact.
Cr.—And might I ask you what things you would
permit yourself if you were an unbeliever ?
L. M.—If you please, no ; I keep that subject for
the confessional.
Cr.—My investment of good works is a poor specu
lation ; I shall never see my capital again.
L. M.—That is an unthrifty investment.
Cr.—Would you rather I should be a usurer ?
L. M.—Well, yes; you may practise usury to any
extent in your dealings with God, you cannot ruin
him. I know that it is a rather shabby proceeding,
but what does that matter ? The point is to get into
heaven by hook or by crook ; we must make the best
of everything and neglect nothing which can bring
us in a return. Alas ! whatever we do, our invest
ment will always be pitifully small in comparison with
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
7
the handsome return we expect for it. And so you
expect no return ?
Cr.—Nothing.
L. M.—How sad! You must own that you are
either very wicked or very foolish ?
Cr.—Indeed I cannot say which.
L. M.—What motive for being good can an unbeliever
have if he is in his right mind ? Please tell me that.
Cr.—I can tell you.
L. M.—I shall be glad to know.
Cr.—Do you not think it possible that one may be
so fortunately born as to find a natural pleasure in
doing good ?
L. M.—I think it is possible.
Cr.—That one may have received an excellent
education which strengthens the natural inclination
towards good deeds ?
L. M.—Certainly.
Cr.—And that in after-life experience may have
convinced us that, taking everything into considera
tion, it is better for one’s happiness in this world to
be an honest man than a rogue ?
L. M.—Yes indeed; but can one be honest sup
posing that bad principles combine with the passions
to lead us towards evil ?
Cr.—One may not act in consequence ; and what
do we more commonly see than actions at variance
with principles ?
L. M.—Alas ! it is unfortunately so ; believers con
stantly act as if they did not believe.
Cr.—And without believing one may act nearly as
well as if one believed.
L. M.—I am glad to hear you say so; but what
inconvenience would there be in having a reason the
more, religion, for doing good, and a reason the less,
unbelief, for doing evil ?
Cr.—None, if religion were a motive for doing
good and unbelief a motive for doing evil.
�8
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
L. M.—Can there be any doubt on that point ?
Does not the spirit of religion incessantly thwart the
promptings of this vile corrupted human nature, and
does not the spirit of unbelief abandon it to its evil
ways by relieving it from all fear ?
Cb.—Madame la marechale, this will lead us into
a long discussion.
L. M.—And what if it does ? The Marshal will
not be back for some time, and we are better em
ployed talking sense than taking away our neigh
bours’ good names.
Cr.—You see that I shall have to take up the
subject rather far back.
. L. M.—As far back as you like, provided I under
stand you.
Cr.—If you do not understand me it will certainly
be my fault.
L. M.—I thank you for the compliment; but you
must know that I have never read anything but my
prayer-book, and that my occupations have been
exclusively confined to putting the gospel in practice
and looking after my children.
Cr.—Two duties that you have well fulfilled.
L. M.—Yes, as regards the children. But begin.
Cr.—Madame la marechale, is there in this world
any good without some drawback ?
L. M.—Kone.
Cr.—What, then, do you call good and evil ?
L. M.—Evil must be that in which the drawbacks
are greater than the advantages, while good must,
on the contrary, be that which has advantages
greater than the drawbacks.
Cr.—Will you please to bear in mind your defini
tion of good and evil ?
L. M.—I will remember it. Do you call that a
definition ?
Cr.—Yes.
L. M.—This is philosophy, then ?
�Diderot’s Philosophical Conversation.
9
Cr.—Excellent philosophy.
L. M.—The last thing I should have thought
myself capable of.
Cr.—So you are persuaded that religion has more
advantages than drawbacks, and that for this reason
you call it good ?
L. M.—Yes.
Cr.—For my own part I do not doubt that your
steward robs you somewhat less on Good Friday than
on Easter Monday; and that now and then religion
prevents a number of little evils and produces a num
ber of' little benefits.
L. M.—Little by little, the sum mounts up.
Cr.—But do you believe that such wretched little
advantages can sufficiently compensate the terrible
ravages which religion has caused in past times, and
which it will still cause in times to come ? Consider
the violent antipathy which it has created between
nations, and which it still keeps up.
There is
not a Mussulman who would not imagine he was
doing an act agreeable to God and the holy
prophet in exterminating all the Christians, who, on
their side, are hardly more tolerant. Consider the
dissensions which it has created and perpetuated in
the midst of nearly every nation, dissensions which
have rarely been stifled without bloodshed. Our own
history offers us examples which are only too recent
and too disastrous. Consider that it has created, and
still keeps up the most violent and undying hatred
between the members of society, between the indi
viduals of a family. Christ said he had come to
divide the man from his wife, the mother from her
children, the brother from his sister, the friend from
the friend, and his prediction has only been too com
pletely fulfilled.
L. M.—That may be the abuse of the thing without
being the thing itself.
Cr.—It is the thing itself, if the abuses are insepar
able from it.
B
�io
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
L. M.—And how can yon show me that the abuses
of religion are inseparable from religion ?
Cb.—Very easily. Tell me this : supposing a manhater had desired to render the human race as unhappy
as possible, what could he have invented for the pur
pose better than belief in an incomprehensible being
about whom men could never be able to agree, and
whom they should regard as more important than
their own lives ? * And is it possible to form a con
ception of a deity without attaching to it the deepest
incomprehensibility and the highest importance ?
L. M.—No.
Cr.—Then draw your conclusion.
L. M.—I conclude that it is an idea not without
serious consequence in the mind of fools.
Cr.—And add that fools always have been and
always will be the majority of mankind, that the
most dangerous fools are those rendered so by
religion, and that these are the men whom the dis
turbers of society know how to work when they have
need of them.
L. M.—But we must have something to frighten
men from such bad actions as escape the severity of
the law; and, if you destroy religion, what can you
substitute for it ?
Or.—Even if I had nothing to substitute for it,
there would be always a terrible prejudice the less,
without counting that in no age and in no country
have religious opinions formed the basis of national
manners. The gods adored by the old Greeks and
Romans, the finest people on earth,f were a most
dissolute set of rascals; a Jupiter who deserved the
faggot and the stake, a Venus worthy of the House
of Correction, a Mercury whose proper place was
in jail.
L. M.—And so you think that it is quite a matter
* See Appendix, Note I.
t See Note II.
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation,
11
of indifference whether we be Christians or Pagans ;
that as Pagans we should be equally good and that as
'Christians we are no better ?
Cb.—Indeed I am convinced of it; excepting that
as Pagans we should be rather merrier.
L. M.—It is impossible.
Cr.—But, Madame la marechale, are there any
Christians ? I have never seen any.
L. M.—That is a nice thing to say to me.
Cr.—I am not saying it to you: I was thinking of
a lady who is a neighbour of mine, good and pious
as you are, and who believed herself in all sincerity
to be a Christian, just as you do.
L. M.—And you showed her that she was mis
taken ?
Cr.—At once.
L. M.—How did you manage that ?
Cr.—I opened a New Testament, a well-read one,
for it was considerably worn. I read her the Sermon
on the Mount, and at each article of it I asked
her:—“ Do you act up to this ? ” I went on
further. She is a beautiful woman, and although
very pious she is not unconscious of her attraction;
she has a most delicate fair complexion, and although
she does not attach much value to this perishable
charm, she is not displeased if it excites admira
tion ; her bust is perfect, and, although very modest,
she is not averse to its beauty being observed.
L. M.—Provided, of course, that she and her
husband should alone be aware of this.
Cr.—I believe that her husband knows it much
better than any one else; but for a woman who
prides herself on high Christian principles that is
not enough. I said to her :—“ Is it not written
in the gospel that he who has coveted his neigh
bour’s wife has committed adultery already in his
heart?”
L. M.— I suppose she answered yes ?
�12
Diderot’s Philosophical Conversation.
Cr. I said to her:—“And does not adultery
committed in the heart damn as surely as a more
complete adultery ? ”
R- M.—I suppose she answered yes ?
Cb. I said, “ And if the man is damned for
adultery committed in heart, what will be the fate of
the woman who invites all those who come near her
to commit that crime?
This last question rather
embarrassed her.
C. M.—I understand ; she did not cover up that
perfect bust as completely as she might.
Cr.—Not quite. She answered that it was a
custom, as if nothing was more customary than to call
oneself Christian and yet not to be so; that it was
wrong to dress in a ridiculous manner, as if there
could be any comparison between a petty ridiculous
act and the eternal damnation of one’s self and one’s
neighbours ; that she did not interfere with her dress
maker, as if it were not better to change one’s dress
maker than to be false to one’s religion ; that it was
her husband’s fancy, as if a husband could be mad
enough to demand that his wife should push obedi
ence to a wrong-headed husband so far as to disobey
the will of God and to contemn the threats of her
Redeemer I
L. M.—I was well aware of all those childish
reasons; I might even have answered as your neigh
bour did; but both she and I would have been taken
at a disadvantage. However, what conduct did she
adopt, after your remonstrance ?
Cr.—-The day after this conversation was a holy
day ; I was going upstairs to my room, when my
neighbour was coming downstairs on her way to
mass.
L. M.—Dressed as usual ?
Cr.—Dressed as usual. I smiled, she smiled ; and
we passed one another without speaking. This was
a good woman ! a Christian ! a pious woman ! After
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
13
this example and a hundred thousand others of the
same sort, what real influence on conduct can I grant
religion, to have ? Hardly any: and so much the
better.
L. M.—How so much the better ?
Cr.—Yes, I mean it. Supposing that twenty
thousand of the inhabitants of Paris took it into
their heads to conform strictly to the precepts of the
Sermon on the Mount. . . .
L. M.—There would be some ladies’ shoulders
better covered than at present.
Cr.—And so many lunatics that the police would
be at their wits’ end to find room for them all in the
madhouses. In all inspired books there are two kinds
of morality; one general and common to every
nation, to every religion, and which is followed pretty
nearly ; another peculiar to each nation and to each
religion, in which men believe, which they preach in
their churches, which they teach in their homes, and
which they do not follow at all.
*
L. M.—What is the reason of this contradiction ?
Cr.—In the impossibility of subjecting a people to
a rule which only agrees with a few melancholy men
who have diawn it from a model found in their own
character. Religions are like monastic rules; all
become relaxed in time. They are follies which can
not hold ground against the constant efforts of nature
to bring us back to her laws. Let the statesman take
care that the welfare of individuals should be so
bound up with the common weal that a citizen can
hardly harm society without hurting himself; let
virtue be rewarded as certainly as wickedness is
punished; let merit, in whatever position it exist,
and without distinction of sect, be eligible for state
employment, and only count as wicked the small
number of men whom an incorrigible perversity of
* * See Note III.
�14
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
nature has dragged into vice. Temptation is too
near and hell is too far off; it is not worth the while
of a legislator to take in hand a system of crooked
opinions which can only keep children under its yoke,
which encourages crime by the facility of its expia
tion ; which sends the culprit to ask pardon from
*
God for the injuries inflicted on man, and which
degrades the order of natural and moral duties by
making it subordinate to an order of chimerical
duties.
L. M.—I do not understand you.
Cr.—I will explain ; but I think I hear the Mar
shal’s carriage coming, just in time to prevent me
from saying something which you might think
impudent.
L. M.—If what you are about to say is impudent, I
shall not hear it; I have a good habit of only hearing
what I choose.
Cr.—Madame la marecliale, ask the curate of your
parish which is the more atrocious crime : to defile
one of the eucharistic vessels or to blacken the good
name of an honest woman ? He will shudder with
horror at the first, he will cry sacrilege ; and the
civil law which takes hardly any notice of calumny
while it punishes sacrilege by the stake,f will finish the
confusion of moral ideas and the corruption of the
public ’mind.
L. M.—I know more than one woman who would
scruple to eat meat on a Friday, and yet would . . .
I was also going to say my piece of impudence.
Continue.
Cr.-—But, Madam, I must really go and see the
Marshal.
L. M.—Another minute, and then we will go
together and see him. I don’t know how to answer
you, and yet you do not persuade me.
* See Note IV.
t See Note V.
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation,
15
Cr.—I had no intention of persuading you. It is
the same with religion as with marriage. Although
marriage has caused misery to so many others, it has
given happiness to you and the Marshal. Religion
which has made, which still makes, and will yet
make so many men wicked, has rendered you better
than before ; you do well in keeping to it. It pleases
you to imagine, above your head, a great and power
ful being, who 'watches your journey through life ;
this idea strengthens your steps. Continue, Madam,
to enjoy the thought of this august keeper of your
mind, at once a spectator and a sublime model of
your actions.
L. M.—I see that you are not possessed by the
mania of proselytism.
Cr.—By no means.
L. M.—And I esteem you the more for it.
Cr.—I permit every one to think in his way, pro
vided he does not interfere with mine ; and, besides,
those who are destined to deliver themselves from
these prejudices have no need of being catechized.
L. M.—Do you think that man can do "without
superstition F
Cr.—No ; not as long as he remains ignorant and
timorous.
L- M.—Well then, superstition for superstition, as
well ours as another.
Cr.—I do not think so.
L. M.—Tell me truly, have you no repugnance for
the idea of being nothing after death F
Cr.—I would prefer to retain my existence'; not
withstanding that I see no reason why a Being who
has already been able to render me unhappy without
any reason, might not amuse himself again in the
same way.
*
L- M.—If, notwithstanding that drawback, the
* See Note VL
�16
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
hope of a life to come appears sweet and consoling,
even to you, why teai’ it from us F
Cr.—I have no such hope, for my desire does not
imply an expectation which I know to be vain; but
I take it away from no one.
*
If any person can
believe that he will see when he has no eyes, that he
will hear when he has no ears, that he will think when
he has no brain, that he will love when he has no heart,
that he will feel when he has no sensation, that he
will exist when he will be nowhere, that he will be
a something without measure or place,—I have no
objection.
L. M.—But this world, who made it ?
Cr.—Perhaps you can inform me.
L. M.—God.
Cr.—And what is God ?
L. M.—A spirit.
Cr.—If a spirit can make matter, why should not
matter make a spirit ?
L. M.—And why should itp
Cr.—Because I see it do so every day. Do you
believe that animals have souls ?
L- M.—Certainly I believe so.
Cr. And could you tell me what becomes, for
instance, of the soul of the Peruvian serpent which
is hung up in a chimney to dry, and remains in the
smoke for one or two years ?
L. M.—Let it go where it pleases ; what does that
matter to me ?
Cr.—You are probably not aware that this serpent,
smoked and dried, revives, and comes to life again.f
L. M.—I don’t believe it.
Cr.—Nevertheless, a clever man, Bouguer, asserts
that it is so.
>
’
, ,
* The terseness of the original deservesnotice. “Je n’ai pas cet
,e,sP°\r> Parceclue le desir ne m’en a point donne la vanite; mais je ne
lote a personne.” Another reading gives “derobe” instead of “ donne
the translation would then be, “for my desire has not deceived me as
to its vanity.”
t See Note VII.
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
17
L. M.—Your clever man has told a story.
Cr.—Suppose what he says were true ?
L. M.—Well, I should have to believe that animals
are machines.
Cr.—’Remembering that man is only a rather more
perfect animal than the rest. . . . But I think
the Marshal is . . .
L. M.—One more question; the last. Are you at
ease in your unbelief F
Cr.—-Impossible to be more so.
L. M.—Yet, if it turned out that you were mis
taken ?
Cr.—Well, and if I were mistaken ?
L. M.—All that you believe to be false would come
true, and you would be cast amongst the damned.
Monsieur Crudeli, it is a terrible thing to be con
demned to.hell, to burn there for all eternity I
*
Cr.—La Fontaine believed that we should be as
comfortable there as fish in the water.
L. M.—You may laugh now ; but remember that
La Fontaine became very serious at his last moments ;
and this is the point where I make my stand against
you.
Cr.—I answer for nothing when my head will be
no longer right; but if I die from one of those
diseases which leave the expiring man his whole
reason, I shall not be more disturbed at the moment
you mention than I am at present.
L. M.—I am confounded at your boldness.
Cr.—I think there is much more boldness in the
man who dies believing in a severe judge who weighs
our most secret thoughts and in whose scales the
most upright man would be lost through vanity, did
he not tremble through fear of being found wanting;
if this dying man had then the choice either of anni
hilation or of judgment, his boldness would impress
* See Note VIII.
3
* v
�18
Diderot’s Philosophical Conversation.
me more should he hesitate to choose the former
alternative; unless he were more insane than the
companion of St. Bruno, or more intoxicated with
his own merits than Bohola.
L. M.—I have read the story of St. Bruno’s com
panion, but I have never heard of Bohola.
Cr.—He was a Jesuit of the college of Pinsk in
Lithuania, who left at his death a coffer full of money,
with a memorandum which he had written and
signed.
L. M.—And what was the memorandum about ?
Cr.—It ran thus : “ I request the dear brother to
whom I have confided this coffer, to open it when I
shall have performed miracles.' The money which it
contains will pay the expenses of my canonization.
I have left some authentic memoirs for the confirma
tion of my virtues and the guidance of those who
undertake to write my life.”
L. M.—What a ridiculous story !
Cr.—It may be so to me, Madam, but in your case
a joke on such a subject may offend God.
L. M.—Indeed, you are right.
Cr.—It is so easy to sin grievously against your
law.
L. M.'—I admit that it is.
Cr.—The justice which will decide your fate is
very rigorous.
L. M.—True.
Cr.—And if you believe the oracles of your religion
on the number of the elect, it will be very small.
L. M.— Oh ! but I am not a Jansenist; I only look
at the consoling side of the question; the blood of
Jesus Christ covers, in my eyes, a multitude of sins ;
and it would seem to me very singular if the Devil
had the best share of mankind, although he did not
give up a son to death.
Cr.-—Do you damn Socrates, Phocion, Aristides,
Cato, Trajan, Marcus Aurelius ?
�Diderofs Philosophical Conversation.
19
L. M.—Certainly not; no one but a wild beast
could think of such a thing. St. Paul says that
every man shall be judged by the law which he has
known, and St. Paul is right.
Cjb.—'And by what law is the unbeliever to be
judged ?
L. M.—Your case is rather different. You are one
of the accursed inhabitants of Chorazin and Bethsaida, who shut their eyes to the light which shone
on them and stopped their ears so as not to hear the
voice of truth speaking to them.
Cr.—The people of Chorazin and Bethsaida were
men such as never existed elsewhere, if they were
free to believe or not to believe.
L. M.—They saw mighty works which would have
made sackcloth and ashes more valuable than gold,
had they been done in Tyre and Sidon,
Cr.—Well, you see, the inhabitants of Tyre and
Sidon were clever people, while those of Chorazin
and Bethsaida were fools. I told you a story just
now, I should like to tell you another. Once upon a
time, a young Mexican . . . But, the Marshal . . .
L. M.—I will send and find out if he is disengaged.
*
Well what about the young Mexican ?
Cr.—Peeling weary of his work, was walking one
day along the sea-shore. He saw a plank, one end
of which was floating while the other was aground.
He sat down on the plank, and then, gazing over the
vast expanse of sea, said to himself:11 My grandmother
must be doting when she tells that story about those
people, who at some long time ago landed here from
somewhere or other beyond the seas. What nonsense I
is it not plain that the sea and the sky join in the
distance ? Can I believe, against the evidence of my
senses, an old story the date of which is unknown,
which every one tells in his own fashion, and which
is nothing but a tissue of absurd traditions about
which people tear their own hearts and one another’s
�20
Diderot's Pkilosophical Conversation.
eyes ?” While he was thus meditating, the rippling
waters were rocking him as he lay on the plank and
he soon fell asleep. The wind rose and the tide
carried the plank out to sea with our young reasoner
still lying asleep on it.
L. M.—Alas1 that is a true image of mankind :
we are each of us floating on a plank, the wind rises
and the tide carries us out to sea.
Cr.—When he awoke he was already far from the
land. Much as he was surprised to find himself out
at sea, he was still more surprised when the land dis
appeared and the sea joined with the sky over the
place where he had not long ago been walking. Then
he began to suspect that he might very possibly have
been mistaken in his incredulity, and that if the wind
continued from the same point, he might perhaps be
carried to the coast inhabited by the people of whom
his grandmother had so often spoken to him.
L. M.—You say nothing about the anxiety he
must have felt.
Cr. He had none. He said to himself:—“ What
does it matter provided I get to land. I have
reasoned rather clumsily, I must own; but I was
sincere, and that is all that can be expected of me.
If cleverness is not a virtue, stupidity cannot be a
crime.” In the meantime the wind continued to
blow, the plank and its freight floated on, the
unknown shore soon began to appear, and before
very long he arrived there and landed.
L. M.—We shall meet on that shore one day,
Monsieur Crudeli.
Cr.—I hope so, Mhdcwne la marechdle; wherever
it be I shall always be delighted at an opportunity of
paying my respects to you. Scarcely had he left the
plank and set foot on shore, when he perceived a
venerable old man standing at his side. He asked
where he was and to whom he had the honour of
speaking. “I am the sovereign of this country,”
�Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
21
replied the old man. “ You denied my existence ? ”
—“True, I did.”—“And that of my empire ? ”—“ True, I did.”—“ I pardon you, because I am He
who sees to the bottom of hearts, and I have read in
yours that you were in good faith; but all your
thoughts and deeds have not been so innocent.”
Whereupon the old man took him gently by the ear,
recalled to him all the faults of his life, and at each
one the young Mexican bowed down, beat his breast,
and asked forgiveness. How, Madame la marechale,
put yourself for a moment in the place of the old
man and tell me what you would have done ? Would
you have seized this young fool and taken a pleasure
in dragging him round the beach by the hair for all
eternity P
L. M.—Indeed, no.
Cr.—If one of those pretty children of yours had
escaped from the house, and after doing all sorts of
foolish things, came back repentant ?
L. M.—I should rush to meet him, I should take
him in my arms and embrace him with tears. But
his father, the Marshal, would not take things so gently.
Cr.—The Marshal is not exactly a tiger.
L. M.—Not by any means.
Cr.—He would require a little persuasion, but he
would certainly end by forgiving.
L. M.—Certainly.
Cr.—Especially if he came to think that, before
causing the birth of this child, he knew its whole life,
and that the punishment of its faults would be use
less, either for himself, for the culprit, or for the
other children.
L. M.—But the old man and the Marshal are two
very different persons.
Cr.—Do you mean that the Marshal is kinder
than the old man ?
L. M.— God forbid ! I only mean that if my jus
tice is not the same as the Marshal’s, his may not be
the same as the old man’s.
�22
Diderot's Philosophical Conversation.
Ce.—Ah ! Madam, you do not foresee the conse
quences of that answer. Either the general defini
tion of justice is equally applicable to you, to the
Marshal, to me, to the young Mexican and to the old
man, or else I don’t know what justice is and am
totally in the dark as to the means by which the old
man is pleased or displeased.
At this point of our conversation, we were told
that the Marshal was waiting for us. As I shook
hands with the marechale, she said :—It is enough to
make one giddy, isn’t it ?
Ce.—Why should it, if the head is firm ?
L. M.—After all, the shortest way is to behave as
if the old man existed.
Ce.—Even if one doesn’t believe it.
L. M.—And if you do believe it, not to count on
his goodness.
Oe.—If that is not the politest conduct, at least it
is the safest.
L. M.—By the way, suppose you were taken before
the magistrates to give an account of your religious
principles, would you confess them ?
Ce.—I should do my best to save the authorities
from committing an atrocious act.
*
L. M.—Ah! you are a coward ! And if you were
at the point of death, would you submit to receive
the sacraments of the church ?
Ce.—I would not fail to do so.
L. M.—Eor shame! you wicked hypocrite !
* See Note IN.
�APPENDIX.
Note I., page 10.
Compare the opinions of James Mill, as recorded in his
son’s Autobiography, Chapter II. “His aversion to religion,
in the sense usually attached to the term, was of the same
kind with that of Lucretius ; he regarded it with the feelings
due, not to a mere mental delusion, but to a great moral
evil. He looked upon it as the greatest enemy of morality ;
first, by setting up fictitious excellences—belief in creeds,
■devotional feelings and ceremonies, not connected with the
good of human kind,—and causing these to be accepted as
substitutes for genuine virtues : but above all, by radically
vitiating the standard of morals. . . . He was as well
aware as any one that Christians do not in general undergo
the demoralising consequences which seem inherent in such a
creed, in the manner, or to the extent which might have been
expected from it. The same slovenliness of thought, and
subjection of the reason to fears, wishes, and affections, which
enable them to accept a theory involving a _ contradiction in
terms, prevents them from perceiving the logical consequences
of the theory.”
Note II., page 10.
Exception may possibly be taken to the Greeks and Romans
being called “ les plus honnetes gens de la terre.'’ I apprehend
that°Diderot’s meaning will be understood from the following
remarks of John Stuart Mill. “We greatly doubt if most of
"the positive virtues were not better conceived and more highly
prized by the public opinion of Greece than by that of Great
Britain . . . and it may be questioned, if even private
duties are, on the whole, better understood, while duties to
the public, unless in cases of special trust, have almost
dropped out of the catalogue ; that idea, so powerful in the
free states of Greece, has faded into a mere rhetorical
ornament.”—(Review of Grote's ‘History of Greece.’)
Speaking on the use of the Greek and Roman literatures,
Mill also says, “They exhibit, in the military and agri
cultural commonwealths of antiquity, precisely that order of
virtues in which commercial society is apt to be deficient; and
�24
Appendix.
they altogether show human nature on a grander scale ; with
less benevolence but more patriotism ; less sentiment but more
self-control; if a lower average of virtue, more striking
individual examples of it; fewer small goodnesses, but more
greatness and appreciation of greatness ; more which tends to
exalt the imagination and inspire high conceptions of the
capabilities of human nature.”—(Review of De Tocqueville on
‘ Democracy in America. ’)
It is possible that European society may have become more
honest since the middle of the eighteenth century, but at that
time Diderot might with reason regret the ancient standard
of virtue.
Note III., page 13.
This passage is developed by John Stuart Mill, in his Essay
‘On Liberty’:—“Towhat an extent doctrines intrinsically
fitted to make the deepest impression upon the mind may
remain in it as dead beliefs, without being ever realised in the
imagination, the feelings or the understanding, is exemplified
by the manner in which the majority of believers hold the
doctrines of Christianity. By Christianity, I here mean what
is accounted such by all churches and sects—the maxims and
precepts contained in the New Testament. These are con
sidered sacred, and accepted as laws, by all professing Chris
tians. Yet it is scarcely too much to say that not one Christian
in a thousand guides or tests his individual conduct by
reference to those laws. The standard to which he does refer
it is the custom of his nation, his class, or his religious pro
fession. He has thus, on the one hand, a collection of ethical
maxims, which he believes to have been vouchsafed to him
by infallible wisdom as rules for his government; and on the
other a set of every day judgments and practices, which go a
certain length with some of those maxims, not so great a
length with others, stand in direct opposition to some, and
are, on the whole, a compromise between the Christian creed
and the interests and suggestions of worldly life. To the
first of these standards he gives his homage ; to the other his
real allegiance. All Christians believe that the blessed are
the poor and humble, and those who are ill-used by the
world ; that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of
a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven ;
that they should judge not, lest they be judged: that they
should swear not at all; that they should love their neigh
bour as themselves ; that if one take their cloak, they should
give him their coat also ; that they should take no thought
�15
Appendix:
for the morrow ; that if they would be perfect they should
sell all that they have and give it to the poor. They are not
insincere when they say that they believe these things. They
do believe them, as people believe what they have always
heard lauded, and never discussed. But in the sense of that
living belief which regulates conduct, they believe these doc
trines just up to the point to which it is usual to act upon
them. The doctrines, in their integrity, are serviceable to
pelt adversaries with ; and it is understood that they are to
be put forward (when possible), as the reasons for whatever
people do that they think laudable. But any one who
reminded them that the maxims require an infinity of things
which they never even think of doing, would gain nothing
but to be classed among those very unpopular characters who
affect to be better than other people. The doctrines have no
hold on ordinary believers—are not a power in their minds.
They have an habitual respect for the sound of them, but no
feeling which spreads from the words to the things signified,
and forces the mind to take them in, and make them conform
to the formula. Whenever conduct is concerned they look
round for Mr A. and B., to direct them how far to go in
obeying Christ. ”
Note IV., page 14.
See in Voltaire’s ‘Philosophical Dictionary’ the article
“Kavaillac.” It is in the form of a dialogue between a
doctor in theology and a page of the Duke of Sully. The
dialogue begins thus : ‘ ‘ Thank God, my dear boy, JRavaillac
died in holiness. He made his confession to me ; he repented
of his sin, and made a firm resolve not to fall into it again.
He wished to receive the holy communion, but that is not
allowed here as at Borne; his repentance stood in place of it,
and it is certain that he is now in paradise. . . . He was
most contrite, and contrition, combined with the sacrament of
confession, effects salvation, which leads straight to paradise,
where he is now praying to God for you.”
Note V., page 14.
This dialogue was written within a few years of the con
demnation of La Barre and D’Etallonde for sacrilege. They
were accused of having insulted a crucifix set up in a public
thoroughfare; the alleged offence was committed at night, and
the evidence was far from satisfactory. D’Etallonde fled, and
was provided for by Frederick the Great at Voltaire’s request;
La Barre was condemned by the Parliament of Abbeville ; he
was racked, his tongue was torn out, and he was then be
headed.
C
�26
Appendix.
Note VI., page 15.
The desirability of a future life is well treated in the West
minster Review for April, 1873 (Mr Gladstone’s “Defence of
the Faith.”) I will only quote the following sentence for
comparison with Diderot: “No doubt the prospect of future
non-existence may not be an altogether pleasant element to
mingle with our ideas for a few short years to come ; but by
no ingenuity can non-existence itself be represented as
unpleasant.” Compare also Mill’s ‘Three Essays,’ page 118.
Note VII., page 16.
The serpent was adored in Peru, as it is in other parts of
the world, as an emblem of eternity and of resurrection, as
well as of destruction and of regeneration. This incident in
the dialogue is evidently an allusion to the idea of resurrec
tion; Diderot, without entering into the hopeless labyrinth of
a discussion on the soul, contents himself with leading his
interlocutor into a dilemma and leaving her there.
Metaphysicians have successively given animals souls, de
graded them to machines (as compared with soul-possessing
man), and finally, perceiving the awkwardness of either posi
tion, decided on allowing them a compromise called instinct.
Note VIII., page 17.
The expediency of “hedging,” so frequently urged on
waverers in faith, is apparently an argument not confined to
modern Evangelical Christians.
Note IX., page 22.
It must not be thought that Diderot was himself so cautious
as he represents his philosopher. Although he had. with the
tolerance which was his characteristic, confided the article
Soul in his Encyclopaedia to a theologian of well-known ortho
doxy, he was attacked for the materialistic tendencies of this
very article, and the work was proscribed. His prospects
were looking gloomy ; Voltaire begged him to leave his un
grateful country, and to accept the noble hospitality offered
by Catherine of Russia; he was in vain reminded of the fate
of the Chevalier La Barre. But Diderot scorned to seek safety
in flight, and, with the scaffold before his eyes, answered Vol
taire in the following terms : “I know that when a wild beast
has tasted human blood it can no longer do without it; I know
that this beast, having devoured the Jesuits, is about to spring
on the philosophers ; I know that it has cast eyes on me, and
that I shall perhaps be the first devoured. . . I know that
one of them has had the atrocity to say that nothing will be
done as long as only books are burnt. ... I know that
before the end of the year I may remember your advice, and
�Appendix.
27
cry Solon! Solon! . . . What is existence to me if I can
only preserve it by renouncing all that is dear to me ? And
then, I rise every morning with the hope that the wicked have
repented during the night, that there are no more fanatics. . .
If I meet the fate of Socrates, remember that it is not enough
to die like him in order to merit comparison with him. . .
Illustrious and tender-hearted friend of humanity, I salute
and embrace you. No man with a spark of generosity but
would pardon fanaticism for cutting a few years off his life if
those years could be added to yours. If we do not join in
your efforts to crush the beast, it is because we are within
*
reach of its claws, and if, knowing its ferocity, we yet hesitate
to retreat, it is from considerations of which the supremacy
influences every upright and sensitive nature.”
P08TCRIPTUM.
Since writing these notes I have observed some remarkable
coincidences between the opening of the argument in Diderot’s
‘ Conversation ’ (page 8) with that in Philip Beauchamp’s
‘ Analysis of the Influence of Natural Religion on the Tem
poral Happiness of Mankind.’ The latter, published in 18221
*
under an assumed name, is generally understood to be the
work of George Grote, and it is acknowledged by John Stuart
Mill to have had great influence on his intellectual develop
ment. At pages 1 and 2 are the following passages :—
‘ ‘ The warmest partisan of natural religion cannot deny that
by the influence of it (occasionally at least) bad effects have
been produced; nor can any one, on the other hand, venture to
deny that it has, on other occasions, brought about good effects.
The question, therefore, is throughout only as to the compara
tive magnitude, number, and proportion of each.”
“The injurious effects have avowedly been thrown aside
under the pretence that they are abuses of religion; that the
abuse of a thing cannot be urged against its use, since the
most beneficent preparations may be erroneously or criminally
applied. ”
‘ ‘ By the use of a thing is meant the good which it produces;
by the abuse, the evil which it occasions. To pronounce upon
the merits of the thing under discusssion, previously erasing
from the reckoning all the evil which it occasions, is most
preposterous and unwarrantable. ”
Chapter VI. is a development of Diderot’s argument at
page 14—“Temptation is too near,” &c.
. * The bete was fanaticism, that referred to in Voltaire’s watchword J
“ Ecrasez I'infame."
t It has recently been reprinted by Truelove, 256 High Holborn.
��“ADDITION
TO THE PHILOSOPHICAL
THOUGHTS”
OF
DIDEROT.
A very rare little work has fallen into my hands,
entitled ‘ Various Objections to the Writings of dif
ferent Theologians.’ Curtailed, and written with a
little more vivacity, it would form a very good sequel
to the ‘ Philosophical Thoughts.’ I give here a few
of the best ideas of the anonymous author in ques
tion :—
1.
Doubts, in matters of religion, far from being acts
of impiety, should be looked upon as good works,
when they are those of a man who humbly acknow
ledges his ignorance and when they arise from the
fear of displeasing God by the abuse of reason.
2.
To admit some conformity between the reason of
man and eternal reason, which is God, and to pretend
that God exacts the sacrifice of human reason, is to
lay down that He at once will and will not.
3.
When God, from whom we have our reason, re
quires the sacrifice of it, He becomes a juggler who
artfully takes away what he has given.
4.
If I give up my reason, I have no longer any guide.
�30
a Addition to The Philosophical
I must blindly adopt a secondary principle and suppose
what is in question.
5.
If reason is a gift of heaven, and if we can say
the same thing of faith, heaven has made us two pre
sents which are incompatible and contradictory.
6.
To remove this difficulty, we must say that faith is
a chimerical principle, and that it does not exist in
nature.
7.
Pascal Nicole, and others have said, “ That a God
should punish with eternal torments the fault of a
guilty father in his innocent children, is a proposition
above and not contrary to reason.” But what then
is a proposition contrary to reason if that which evi
dently asserts a blasphemy is not so ?
8.
Wandering about an immense forest during the
night, I have but a feeble light to guide me. A
stranger approaches and says to me, “ Blow out thy
candle, my friend, in order better to find thy way.”
This stranger is a theologian.
9.
If my reason comes from on high, it is the voice of
heaven which speaks to me through it; I am bound
to listen to it.
10.
Merit and demerit cannot apply to the use of
reason, because all the goodwill in the world cannot
avail a blind man to discern colours. I am forced to
perceive evidence where it is, and the want of evi
dence where it is not, unless I be an imbecile,—now
imbecility is a misfortune and not a vice.
11.
The author of nature, who will not reward me for
�thoughts ” of Diderot.
31
having been a man of sense, said M. Diderot, will
not damn me for having been a fool.
12.
And He will not damn thee even for having been
a wicked man, for hast thou not already been suffi
ciently unhappy in having been wicked ?
13.
Every virtuous action is accompanied by inward
satisfaction, every criminal action by remorse ; now
the mind owns without shame and without remorse
its repugnance to such and such propositions; there
is then neither virtue nor guilt either in believing or
in rejecting them.
14.
If we still need grace in order to do well, what
was the use of the death of Jesus Christ ?
15.
If there are a hundred thousand damned for one
saved, the devil has still the advantage without having
abandoned his son to death.
16.
The God of the Christians is a father who sets
great store by his apples and very little by his chil
dren.
17.
Take away from a Christian the fear of Hell and
you will take from him his faith.
18.
A true religion interesting all men in all times and
in all places must have been eternal, universal, and
evident; none has these characteristics ; all then are
thrice demonstrated false.
19.
The facts of which some men only can be witnesses
are insufficient to demonstrate a religion which ought
to be equally believed by the whole world.
�32
“Addition to The Philosophical
20.
The facts by which religions are supported are
ancient and marvellous; that is, the most doubtful
possible to prove the most incredible thing.
21.
To prove the Gospel by a miracle is to prove an
absurdity by a thing against nature.
22.
But what will God do to those who have never
heard speak of His Son ? Will He punish the deaf
for not having heard ?
23.
What will He do to those who, having heard tell
of His religion, have not been able to comprehend
it ? Will he punish pigmies for not having been
able to walk with the steps of a giant ?
24.
Why are the miracles of Jesus Christ true, and
those of Esculapius, of Apollonius and of Mahomet
false ?
25.
But all the Jews who were at Jerusalem were pro
bably converted at the sight of the miracles of Jesus
Christ ? Not at all. Ear from believing in him^
they crucified him. We must agree that these Jews
are unlike all other men; everywhere we have seen
people carried away by a single false miracle and
Jesus Christ was unable to make anything of the
Jewish people with an infinity of true miracles.
26.
It is this miracle of incredulity on the part of the
Jews which should be placed in the strongest light,
and not that of his resurrection.
27.
It is as true as that two and two make four that
Caesar existed ; it is as sure that Jesus Christ existed as
�Thoughts” of Diderot.
33
Csesar. It is then, as sure that Jesus Christ rose again
as that he or Csesar existed. What logic! The
existence of Jesus and of Cassar is not a miracle.
28.
We read in the life of M. de Turenne, that a house
having caught fire, the presence of the Blessed Holy
Sacrament suddenly arrested the flames. Well, but
we read also in history that a monk having poisoned
a consecrated host, an Emperor of Germany had no
sooner swallowed it than he expired.
’29.
There was something more there than the appear
ances of the bread and wine, or we must say that the
poison had incorporated itself with the body and the
blood of Jesus Christ.
30.
This body becomes mouldy, this wine becomes
sour, this God is devoured by mites upon his altar.
Blind people, imbecile Egyptians open your eyes !
31.
The religion of Jesus Christ announced by ignorant
persons made the first Christians. The same religion
preached by the learned and by doctors now only
makes sceptics.
32.
It is objected that submission to a legislative
authority dispenses one from reasoning; but where on
the surface of the earth is the religion without such
an authority?
33.
It js the education of his childhood which pre
vents a Mahometan from being baptized; it is the
education of his childhood which prevents a Chris
tian from being circumcised; it is the reason of the
grown man which equally despises baptism and
circumcision.
�34
“Addition to Phe Philosophical
34.
It is said in Saint Luke, that God the Father is
greater than God the Son. Pater major me est. Yet,
in spite of a passage so express, the Church pro
nounces anathema on any scrupulous believer who
adheres literally to the words of his father’s testament.
35.
If authority has been able to dispose at its pleasure
of the sense of this passage, and as there is not one
in all the Scriptures more precise, neither is there
one that we can flatter oursfelves we understand, and
of which the Church may not make what it pleases
in future.
36.
“ Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petram cedificaho ecclesiam mean.” Is that the language of a God, or a
medley worthy of the Seigneur des accords ?
37.
ilIn dolore paries.” “Thou shalt bring forth in
pain ” said God to the prevaricating woman; and
what have the females of animals done to offend
Him which also bring forth in pain ?
38.
If we are to understand literally Pater major me
est, Jesus Christ is not God. If we are to under
stand literally hoc est corpus meum, he gave himself
to his apostles with his own hands, which is as absurd
as to say that Saint Denis kissed his head after it had
been cut off!
39.
It is said that he retired to the Mount of Olives,
and that he.prayed, and to whom did he pray ? He
prayed to himself!
40.
This God who causes God to die in order to
appease God is an excellent saying of Baron de la
�Thoughts’" of Diderot.
11
35
Houtan. Less evidence results from a hundred folio
volumes written for or against Christianity than from
the absurdity of these two lines.
41.
To say that man is a compound of strength and
weakness, of light and blindness, of littleness and of
greatness, is not to state his case, it is to define it.
42.
Man is as God or nature has made him, and God
or nature makes nothing evil.
43.
What we call original sin, Ninon de Lenclos
called Ze pecihe original.
'
*
44.
It is unexampled impudence to cite the conformity
of the Evangelists, since in some of them there are
very important facts of which not a word is said in
the others.
45.
Plato considered the Divinity under three aspects,
goodness, wisdom, and power. One’s eyes must be
closed not to see in this the Trinity of the Christians.
It was nearly three thousand years since the philo
sopher of Athens called Logos what we call the
Word.
46.
The divine persons are either three accidents or
three substances. There is no medium. If they are
three accidents, we are Atheists or Deists; if they
are three substances, we are Pagans.
47.
God the Father judges man worthy of His eternal
vengeance ; God the Son judges them worthy of His
* There is a pun here ; originel is the French for ‘‘ original,” while
original means “ queer.”
�36
“Addition to The Philosophical
infinite mercy; the Holy Ghost remains nenter.
How can this senseless Catholic verbiage be recon
ciled with the unity of the divine will ?
48.
Theologians have long been asked to reconcile the
dogma of eternal torture with the infinite mercy of
God, and they are just where they were.
49.
And why punish a culprit when there is no longer
any good to be derived from his chastisement ?
50.
He who punishes for his own sake alone is very
cruel and very wicked.
51.
There is no good father who would wish to resemble
our heavenly Father.
52.
What proportion is there between the offender and
the offended ? what proportion between the offence
and the punishment ? What a heap of absurdities
and atrocities!
53.
And at what is this God so angry ? Would not
one say that Zcould do something for or against His
glory, for or against His peace, for or against His
happiness ?
54.
It is asserted that God causes the wicked man,
who is powerless against Him, to burn in a fire
which will endure everlastingly, yet scarcely would a
father be permitted to give temporary death to a
son who should compromise his life, his honour, and
his fortune !
55.
0 Christians! you have, then, two different ideas
�Thoughts ” of Diderot.
37
of goodness and of wickedness, of truth and of false
hood. You are, then, the most absurd of dogmatists
or the most outrageous of Pyrrhonists.
56.
All the evil of which one is capable is not all the
evil possible ; no it is only he who could commit all
the evil possible who could also deserve eternal
punishment. To make of God an infinitely vindic
tive being, you transform a worm of the earth into
an infinitely powerful being.
57.
That which these atrocious Christians have trans
lated by eternal, signifies in Hebrew only durable.
It is from the ignorance of a Hebrewism and from
the ferocious disposition of an interpreter that the
dogma of the eternity of torment proceeds.
58.
Pascal has said, “ If your religion is false, you risk
nothing in believing it true; if it is true, you risk
everything in believing it false.” An Imaun can say
just as much as Pascal.
59.
That Jesus Christ, who is God, should have been
tempted by the Devil, is a tale worthy the Thousandand-one Nights.
60.
I should be very glad if a Christian, particularly a
Jansenist, would make me feel the cui bono of the
incarnation. Again, would it not need to swell to
infinity the number of the damned if one desires to
turn this dogma to any advantage.
61.
But why do Leda’s swan and the little flames of
Castor and Pollux make us laugh ? and why do we
not laugh at the dove and the tongues of fire of the
Gospel ?
�38
“Addition to The Philosophical
62.
In the first centuries there were sixty Gospels
almost equally believed. "Fifty-six of them have been
rejected as containing puerilities and folly. Does
there remain nothing of all that in those which have
been preserved F
63.
God gives a first law to men; he then abolishes
this law. Is not such conduct a little like that of a
legislator who has been mistaken and discovers it in
time ? Is it like a perfect Being to change his
mind ?
64.
There are as many kinds of faith as there are
religions in the world.
65.
All the Sectarians in the world are but heretical
deists.
66.
If man is unhappy without having been born guilty,
may it not be that he is destined to enjoy eternal
happiness without being able, by his nature, ever to
make himself worthy of it ?
67.
What I think of the Christian dogma, and saying
but one word of its morality, is this: that for a
Catholic father of a family, convinced that the
maxims of the Gospel must be carried out to the
letter, under pain of what is called Hell, seeing the
extreme difficulty of attaining to that degree of per
fection of which human weakness is incapable, I see
no other expedient than to take his child by the foot
and to dash him to the earth, or to stifle him at birth.
By this act he saves him from the danger of damna
tion, and insures him eternal felicity; and I maintain
that such an act, far from being criminal, should be
esteemed infinitely praiseworthy, since it is founded
�Thoughts ” of Diderot.
j9
on the motive of paternal love, 'which demands that
every good father should do for his children all the
good possible.
68.
I ask whether the precept of religion and the law
of. society, which forbid the murder of the innocent,
are not in reality very absurd and very cruel, when,
by killing them, we insure to them infinite happiness,
whereas, in suffering them to live, we devote them
almost certainly to eternal misery ?
69.
How! Monsieur de la Condamine. Can it be allow
able to inoculate one’s son to save him from the small
pox, and not allowable to kill him in order to save
him from Hell ? You are jesting.
PRINTED BY C. W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY-STREET, HAYMARKET.
�
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A philosophical conversation
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Diderot, Denis [1713-1784]
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 39 p. ; 18 cm.
Notes: Includes bibliographical references. Translated from French by "E.N." From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Printed by C.W. Reynell. Includes Appendix (5 p. of notes on the text) and additions.
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Conway Tracts
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French Philosophy
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B«
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NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
Old Thoughts
FOR
I
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BEING SELECTIONS
From the “ Pensees Philosophiques ” of Diderot,
TRANSLATED
WILLIAM
AND
ARRANGED BY
HARDAKER.
“ Neither do men light a candle, and pnt it under a bushel, but
on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.”
—St. Matthew v., 15.
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L0ND0N:PUBLISHING COMPANY,
28 Stonecutter Street, E.C.
PROGRESSIVE
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�DIDEROT
Was born in the town of Langres, France, in October,
1718. The illustrious creator of the “ French Encyclo
pedia” commenced his education at the Jesuits’ College
in his native town, where the sagacity of the priests of that
astute order soon discovered his rare talents, and persuaded
him to leave home without the knowledge of his parents, in order
to qualify in Paris for the priesthood. But, like Voltaire,
Denis Diderot was not destined to render the order of Loyala
illustrious. At Harcourt College he received one of those
solid educations which the reverend fathers knew so well
how to give. In the office of the lawyer, Clement de Ris, he
learned everything of law except its chicanery.
In 1743 he married against the wish of his father, and indeed
of his mother-in-law, who knew him to be without means save a
golden tongue. His married life was not happy. The first
money he earned by literature was the translation of the History
of Greece from the English. Being advanced in years, and
still poor, he resolved to sell his library so that he might assure
the future of his daughter, which was bought, without his solici
tation, by the Empress of Russia, who also supplied him with
the means to live in comfort for the short remainder of his days.
Diderot died on the 30th July, 1784, on the threshold of the
Great Revolution, which he, with Rousseau and Voltaire, helped
so materially to hasten.
�OLD THOUGHTS
FOR
NEW THINKERS.
BEING
Selections from the “ Pensees Philosophiques ” of Diderot.
TRANSLATED AND ARRANGED BY
WILLIAM
HARDAKEK.
---------- »----------
“I
of God; I count on but few readers, and small
approval. If these thoughts find favor with none, they
may possibly be simply crass; but I hold them detest
able if they please everyone.”
write
I know the bigots : they are prompt to take alarm. If for a
moment they judged that this book contained something con
trary to their ideas, I should expect to hear all the calumnies
they have spread abroad against a thousand men of greater worth
than myself. If I am only a Deist; and only a scoundrel, I shall
get off cheaply. They long ago damned Descartes, Montaigne,
Locke, and Bayle, and I hope they will yet damn a great many
others. I, however, declare to them that I do not count myself
to be either a more honest man, or a better Christian, than the
greater part of these philosophers. I was born in the Roman
Catholic Apostolic Church, and I submit, with all my might, to
her decisions. I wish to die in the religion of my fathers, and I
believe in it as much as it is possible for anyone who has never
had direct intercourse with the Divinity, and who has never
been eye-witness to any miracle. This is my profession of faith ;
I am almost certain they will be dissatisfied with it, although
they have not, perhaps, one among them in a condition to make
a better.
You present to an unbeliever a volume of writings which you
profess to demonstrate are of divine origin. But before enter
�4
ing upon an examination of your proofs, he will not fail to ask
you : Has it always been the same ? Why is it at present less
ample than it was some centuries ago? By what authority
have you banished such and such a work, revered by another
sect, and retained such and such another which it has rejected?
On what foundation have you given the preference to this
manuscript? . Who has directed you in the choice you have
made between so many differing copies ? What are the incon
testable proofs that these sacred authors have been transmitted
to you in their pristine purity ? But if the ignorance of copyists,
or the malice of heretics, has corrupted them, as you may
easily imagine is possible, you will be obliged to restore them
to their natural state before proving their divinity; for it is
not from a collection of mutilated writings that proofs will fall
with which to establish my faith; therefore to whom will you
entrust this restorat on ? To the Church. But I am not able
to believe in the infallibility of the Church until the divinity of
the scriptures is proved. You see me, then, in an inevitable
state of scepticism.
There is no answer to this difficulty, except by acknowledging
that the first foundations of the faithare purely human ; that the
choice between the manuscripts^ that the restitution of passages,
in fact, that the collection is made ..by the rules of criticism, and
I do not refuse to allow to the divinity of the sacred books a
degree of faith in proportion to their consonance with the canons
of criticism.
—'
I tell you there is no God; that the creation is a chimera ; that
the eternity of the universe is no more inconceivable than the
eternity of a spirit; that because I do not know how motion has
been able to engender this universe, which it knows so well to con
serve, it is ridiculous to remove this difficulty by the suppositious
existence of a being that I know still less ; thatif the brilliant mar
vels of the physical world discover an intelligence, the disturbances
so rife in the moral world, wipe out providence. I say to you
that if all is the work of a God, all should be the best possible ;
therefore, if all is not the best possible, God is either incapable
or malevolent. This being so, of what good are your revelations ?
Even were it as well demonstrated as it is not, that all evil is
the source of a good ; that it was good that a Britannicus, one of
the best of princes, perish ; that a Nero, the worst of men, reign.
How will it prove that it was impossible to attain the same end
by other means ? To permit vice in order that virtue may shine
with greater lustre by contrast, is but a frivolous advantage
to set against so serious an evil. This, says the Atheist, is what
I object; what have you to say ? . . . “ That I am a wretch; and
�i&rf if I had nothing to fear of God, I should not dispute his
existence."
Let us leave this phrase to the bigots; it may be untrue,
politeness proscribes it, and is besides uncharitable. Because
a man is wrong not to believe in God, shall we revile him ?
Invective is resorted to only in default of proofs. Between two
disputants it is a hundred to one that he who is in the wrong
will grow angry.
“Thou layest hold of thy thunder-bolts instead of replying,
said Menippus to Jupiter; “thou art then in the wrong.”
I open the book of a celebrated professor, and I read :
“ Atheists, I grant you that movement is essential to matter;
what can you make of it ? ... . That the world is the outcome
of a fortuitous aggregation of atoms? You may as well tell me
that Homer’s Iliad or la Henriade of Voltaire are the result of
fortuitous combinations of accidents.” I should be very care
ful not to offer such reasoning to an Atheist. The illustration
would give him fine play.
According to the laws of the analysis of chances, he would
say to me, I have no right to be surprised that a thing happens
so long as it is possible, and that the difficulty of the event is
compensated by the quantity of throws. In a certain number
of throws I will wager, with the odds in my favor, that I turn
up a hundred thousand sixes at a time with a hundred thousand
dice. Whatever might be the definite number of characters
with which it might be proposed I should fortuitously engender
the Iliad, there is a possible sum of throws, which renders the
proposition advantageous; my advantage would be infinite even,
if the number of throws granted were infinite. You will, no doubt,
agree with me, he would continue, that matter existed from all
eternity, and that movement is essential to it. In return for
this favor, I shall suppose, with you, that the world is boundless,
that the multitude of atoms are infinite, and the marvellous order
which fills you with astonishment does not belie the supposition.
Then, from these reciprocal concessions, there results nothing
more than that the possibility of engendering the universe by
accident is very small, but that the number of chances is
infinite ; that is to say, that the difficulty of the event is more
than sufficiently compensated by the multitude of throws.
Therefore, if anything should be repugnant to reason, it
should be the supposition that matter being self moved from
all eternity, and that their being perchance, in the infinite
number possible of combinations of forms, an infinite number of
admirable arrangements, there should not be any of these suit
able arrangements encountered in the infinite number of those
�6
she has taken successively. Therefore, the hypothetic duration
of chaos is more astounding than the real birth of the universe.
I divide Atheists into three classes. There are some who
would tell you distinctly that there is no God, and would believe
" what they said; these are true Atheists. Another numerous
class, who do not know what to think, and who would willingly
decide the question by tossing heads or tails; these are sceptics
Atheistic. There are many more who would like very much
that there should not be a God, who seem to persuade themselves
there is not, and who live as if they were so persuaded ; these
are blusterers, humbugs. I detest them ; they are false. I pity
the true Atheists. To me all consolation seems dead for them
and I pray to God for the sceptics that they may be enlightened’.
,
! Scepticism is not possible for everyone: It supposes pro
found and disinterested examination; he who doubts only be
cause he does not understand the reasons for believing is simply
one of the ignorant. The true sceptic has counted and weighed
the reasons; but to weigh reasons is no small affair. Who
among us knows exactly the value of reasoning ? Bring a hun
dred proofs of the same truth, each one will have its partisans ;
each mind looking through its own telescope in its own fashion’
An objection, which to my view appears a colossus, will diminish
to the vanishing point in yours. You find a reason light, which
crushes me under its weight. If we are divided on the question
of intrinsic value, how can we hope to be agreed on the relative
value ? Tell me, how many moral proofs does it take to'counter
balance a metaphysical conclusion? Are they my spectacles
which sin, or yours ? If then, it is so difficult to weigh reasons,
and if there are no questions in which there is not a pro and a con’
and almost always in equal measure why are we so peremptory?
From whence comes this tone of decision? What is more
revolting than a dogmatic self-sufficiency ? “ I am made to hate
the things which appear true,” said the author of the Essais
“when they are forced upon me as infallible.”
I love words which soften and moderate the boldness of our
propositions, such as, “Perhaps it maybe so,” “Let us see,”
“ It is so said,” “ I think,” and others similar; and if I had the
care of children, I would put into their mouths the habit of
replying by questions and not by affirmation; as, “I do not
understand,” “ It may possibly be so,” “ Is it true,” so that they
should rather use the manner of students at sixty than seem to
be professors at sixteen.
___
Men of passionate temperament, of ardent imagination,
cannot reconcile themselves to the indolence of the sceptic. They
�7
will choose at hazard rather than not make a choice at all;
deceive themselves rather than live in uncertainty. Whether it
be that they mistrust their strength, or that they fear the depth
of the flood, we see them for ever hanging to the branches of
which they feel all the frailty, and to which they cling in
preference to abandoning themselves to the torrent. They are
sure in all things although nothing have they examined with care.
They doubt of nothing, because they lack both the patience and
the courage. Deciding by emotion, if by chance they encounter
truth, it is not hesitatingly, but with a shock, and as a revelation.
They are, amongst the dogmatic, such as were in the religious
world styled the Illuminati. I have seen individuals of this
uneasy species who could not conceive it possible to ally tran
quillity of mind with indecision.
To be able to live happy without knowing what we are, from
whence we came, where we go, why we are here!
I pride myself on ignoring all that without being more un
happy, coldly replies the sceptic. It is not my fault if I have
found my reason mute when I have questioned it on these
things.
I shall never make myself unhappy over that which it is
impossible for me to know. Why should I regret the want of
a knowledge I am unable to procure, and which, doubtless, is
not very necessary since I am deprived of it ?
“I would as soon,” said one of the first genuises of our age,
“seriously afflict myself because I have not four eyes, four feet,
and a pair of wings.”
It may be required that I seek for truth, but not that I find it.
May not, possibly, a sophism be to me more forcible than a
solid proof ? I am in the necessity to consent to the false which
I take for truth, and to reject the truth which I take for false ;
but what have I to fear if I deceive myself innocently ? Since
we are not rewarded in the next world for having had a brilliant
intellect in this, should we be punished for our lack of under
standing ? To damn a man for being a bad reasoner, is to forget
that he is a fool in order to punish him for wickedness.
What is a sceptic ? A philosopher who has doubted of all
which he believes, and believes that which a legitimate use of
his reason and his senses have demonstrated true. If you wish
a more precise definition, render the pyrrhonian sincere and you
will have the sceptic.
IA sem2 <'5epticism is the mark of a weak mind; it shows a
�8
pusillanimous reasoner who allows himself to be. afraid of the
consequences ; a superstitions person who fears to unmask to
himself even; for if the truth has nothing to lose by examination,
as the semi-sceptic is convinced, what does he think at the
bottom of his heart of those concealed speculations, which he
is afraid to bring to the light, and which are shrouded in a corner
of his brain as in a sanctuary which he dare not approach ?
That which has never been questioned has not been proved;
that which has never been examined without prejudice has never
been thoroughly examined. Scepticism is then the first step
towards truth. It ought to be general, for it is the touchstone
of truth. If, to assure himself of the existence of God, the
philosopher commences by doubting his existence, is there any
proposition which ought to be withheld from proof ?
We risk as much by believing too much as by believing too
little. There is neither more nor less danger by being polytheist
as Atheist, hence scepticism alone can guarantee equally, in all
times and all places, from those two opposed excesses.
When the religious cry out against scepticism, it seems to me
that they understand their interest badly, or that they contra
dict themselves. If it is certain that a true religion in order to
be embraced, and a false religion in order to be abandoned, has
need only to be well known, it ought to be wished that a
universal doubt should spread over the whole surface of the
earth, and that all the world should earnestly question the
truth of their religions; our missionaries would thus find the
better half of their great labors spared them.
Reasoning which may be used equally by opposite parties
proves nothing; either for the one or the other. If fanaticism
has its martyrs as well as true religion ; and if among those who
have died for the true religion there were fanatics, we must
either believe in proportion to the number of martyrs, or
seek other motives for belief.
Nothing is more calculated to confirm irreligious ideas than
loose reasons for conversion. Sceptics are eternally taunted
with—
“ Who are you, to venture to attack a religion defended so
courageously by a Paul, a Tertullian, an Athanasius, a Chry
�9
sostom, an Augustine, a Cyprian, and so many other illustrious
personages ? You have, no doubt, perceived some difficulty which
had escaped these great men; show us,then, how much you
know more than they, or sacrifice your doubts to their decisions,
if you are agreed that they were wiser than yourself.”
Most frivolous reasoning. The profound learning of ministers
is not a proof of the truth of a religion. What cult could be more
absurd than that of the Egyptians, and what ministers more en
lightened? . . . No, I cannot adore an onion; w’hat merit has
it over other vegetables ? I should be idiotic to prostitute my
homage to things destined for my nourishment. The plant I
water and tend, and which grows and dies in my garden-plot, is
a droll sort of divinity ! “Hold, wretch, thy blasphemies make
me tremble. Wno art thou to set thy reason against the sacred
college ? Who art thou to attack the gods and give lessons to
their ministers ? Art thou more enlightened than those oracles
who were consulted by the entire universe ? Whatsoever thy
reply, I am astounded at thy impertinence and temerity.” . . .
Will Christians never abandon these miserable sophistries?
Moral: Prodigies and dogmatic authority may make dupes or
hypocrites; reason alone can make believers.
It is allowed to be of the last importance not to employ other
than solid reasons in the defence of religion, and yet those who
expose its weaknesses are assailed with virulence. What! is
not enough to be a Christian ?—must one be so illogically ?
It was in the search for -proofs that I found the difficulties.
The books which held the motives for my belief offered at the same
time reasons for being incredulous ; they are a common arsenal.
There I saw the Deist arm against the Atheist; the Deist and
the Atheist contend with the Jew; the Atheist, the Deist, and
the Jew league against the Christian; the Christian, the Jew,
the Deist, and the Atheist take sides against the Mussulman;
the Atheist, the Deist, the Jew, the Mussulman, and the multi
tudinous sects of Christianity come down upon the Christian,
and the sceptic alone against all. I was judge of the blows ; I
held the balance between the combatants ; the beam went up
and dowu according to the weight of their respective argument.
After long oscillations, the balance trembled almost imperceptibly
on the side of the Christian. I will answer for my equity: it
was not my fault if the difference were not greater; I call God
to witness my sincerity.
This diversity of opinion has evolved an argument for the
�10
Deists more singular perhaps than solid.
Cicero, having io
prove the Romans the most bellicose people in the world,
adroitly extracted this avowal from the mouths of their rivals:—
“ Gauls, to whom would you yield in courage if you yielded to
any ?—To the Romans. Parthians, after you, who are the most
courageous?—The Romans. Africans, whom would you fear, if
fear could enter your minds ?—The Romans.” Let us, following
his example, interrogate the rest of the religions, say the Deists:—
“ Chinese, what religion would be the best, if it were not yours?
—Natural religion. Mussulmans, what cult would you embrace
if you abjured Mahomet?—Naturalism. Christians, which is
the true religion, if perchance it is not Christianity?—The
Jewish religion. But, you Jews, what is the true religion, if
Judaism be false ?—Naturalism.” Therefore, continued Cicero,
that which is by unanimous consent accorded the second place,
and which itself concedes the first to none, merits incontestably
to hold that position.
“I had imagined,” said Julian [called the Apostate], “ that the
chiefs of the Galileans would appreciate how greatly my pro
ceedings are different from those of my predecessor, and that they
would therefore bear me good will. Under his reign they suffered
exile and imprisonment, and a multitude of those they deemed
heretics among them were put to the sword. . . . Under mine the
exiles have been recalled, the prisoners set at liberty, and the
proscribed re-established in the possession of their estates. But
such is the restlessness and the fury of this sort of men that,
since they have lost the privilege of devouring each other,
of tormenting both those who are attached to their dogmas,
and those who follow the authorised religion; they spare no
pains, they allow no occasion to escape of exciting revolts; fellows
without regard for true piety, and without respect for our
constitutions. . . . Nevertheless, we do not hear that they are
dragged to the feet of our altars, or that they suffer violence.
. . With respect to the common people, it appears to be their
chiefs who foment among them a seditious spirit, furious at the
limits we have fixed to their powers; for we have banished them
from our tribunals, and they have not now facilities to dispose
of testaments, to supplant the legitimate heirs, and gobble up
the succession. . . . This is why we prohibit this people to
create tumultuous assemblies and cabal at the houses of their
seditious priests. . . . This ordinance is for the security of our
magistrates, whom the rascals have insulted more than once and
put in danger of being stoned. . . . That they go peaceably to
their meetings, to pray, to be instructed, and to satisfy their
desires in the culture of their religion, we permit; but they
�11
must renounce their factious designs. ... If these assemblies
are made an occasion for revolt, it will be at their risk and peril;
I warn them beforehand. . . . Infidel people, live in peace. . . .
And you who have remained faithful to the religion of your
country and to the gods of your fathers, do not persecute your
neighbors, your fellow-citizens, whose ignorance is more to be
pitied than their wickedness is to be blamed. ... It is by
reason, and not by violence, that men should be brought back
to the truth. We enjoin, then, on you all, our faithful subjects,
to leave the Galileans in peace.”
Such were the sentiments of this prince, against whom we
may bring the charge of paganism, but not of apostacy.
I am astonished at one thing, that is, that the works of this
wise emperor have come down to our times. They contain
passages which do no violence to the truth of Christianity, but
which are disadvantageous enough to some Christians of his
time, inasmuch as they show glimpses of the singular care which
the fathers of the Church had taken to suppress the works oftheir enemies. It is from these predecessors apparently that St.
Gregory the Great had inherited the barbarous zeal which ani
mated him against letters and the arts, so that, had it rested with
this pontiff, we should be in the case of the Mohammedans, who
are reduced for all their reading to that of their Koran. For
what had been the fate of these ancient writers in the hands of
a man who ignored critical rules from religious principle ; who
imagined that to observe the rules of grammar was to submit
Jesus Christ to Donat, and who believed himself obliged in con
science to increase the heaped up ruins of antiquity.
The divin ity of the scriptures is not, however, a characteristic
so clearly imprinted on the face of them that the authority of
the sacred historians is absolutely independent of the testimony
of profane authors. Where should we be if it was necessary to
recognise the finger of God in the style of our Bible ? How
wretched is the Latin version! The originals even are not
masterpieces of composition. The prophets, apostles, and
evangelists wrote according to their capacity. Were it permitted
to us to regard the history of the Jews as a simple human pro
ductions, Moses and his successors would not bear away the
palm from Titus Livy, Sallust, Caesar, and Josephus, all of them
writers of whom no one assuredly suspects that they wrote by
inspiration.
“What is God?” is a question asked of children, and to
which philosophers cannot give an answer. The age at
X
�which children should begin to learn to read, to write, to dance,
and to sing is pretty well understood. It is only in religious
matters that the capacity of the child is not considered. Almost
before he can speak he is asked, “ What is God ?” At the same
time, and from the same lips, he learns that there are goblins,
ghosts, vampires, and a God. The most important truths are
inculcated in a manner to render them liable to be discredited
at the tribunal of reason. It cannot be surprising if, finding, on
reaching manhood, the existence of God mixed up in his head
with a crowd of absurd and superstitious ideas, he should treat
God as the magistrate treats an honest man discovered in the
company of rogues.
From the picture which is drawn of the supreme being, from
his liking to be angry, from the rigor of his vengeance, from
certain comparisons which show us the difference in number
between those he leaves to perish and those to whom he deigns
to offer the hand of salvation, the most pious soul would be
tempted to wish that he did not exist. People would be com
fortable enough in this world were they well assured they had
nothing to fear in the other ; the thought that there is no God at
all has never yet affrighted mortal, but that there is such a God
as he is painted has affrighted many.
There are those who desire that God burn the wicked, who
are powerless against him, in an everlasting fire ; and it is not
permitted a father to slay his son, who, perhaps, imperils his
life, his honor, and his fortune !
O Christians! you have, then, two differing ideas of goodness
and of wickedness, of the truth and lies. You are either the
most absurd dogmatists, or the most outrageous pyhrronians.
All the evil of which one is capable is not all the evil possible i
therefore, it is only he who is able to commit all the wickedness
possible who can merit an eternal chastisement. To make Goda
being infinitely vindictive, you transform an earth-worm into
a being infinitely powerful [to suffer].
The word these atrocious Christians have translated by eternal
signifies in Hebrew only durable. It is from ignorance of a
Hebraism! and the ferocious humor of a translator whence comes
the eternity of punishment.
�The time of revelations, of prodigies, and of extraordinary
missions is passed. Christianity has no longer any need of this
kind of scaffolding. A man taking a fancy to play amongst us
the character of Jonah ; to run about the streets crying, “ Yea,
three days, and London will be destroyed; Cockneys, repent of
your sins, cover yourselves with sackcloth and ashes, or in three
days you will perish,” would be incontinently collared by the
first policeman he might fall in with, who would bring him
before the police-magistrate of his district, who, in his turn,
would not fail to have him dispatched to the county lunatic
asylum. He might shout himself hoarse crying, “Are you less
wicked than the men of Nineveh?” No one would trouble to
reply to him ; and to treat him as a madman, would not wait for
the term of his prediction.
Elie may come from the other world whenever he may take
the fancy. Men are so, in these days, that he will be compelled
to .perform stupendous miracles ere he be well received in this.
A person was asked if there were any true Atheists. “Do
you believe,” replied he, “ that there are any true Christians p”
I hear an outcry from all sides against impiety. The Chris
tian is impious in Asia, the Mussulman in Europe, the Papist in
London, and the Calvinist in Paris. Who, then, is impious ?
All the world, or no one ?
When God, of whom we hold our reason, requires its sacrifice,
he is like a mountebank who conjures away the gifts he pretends
to confer.
If my reason comes from on high, it is the voice of heaven
which speaks by it. It is my duty to be guided by its counsels
If reason is a gift of God, and if faith is also a gift of God, he
has endowed us with two gifts, incompatible and contradictory.
Bewildered in an immense forest in the night time, I have
only a feeble lantern to light my path. Comes a stranger, who
says to me: “Blow out thy candle to better find thy way.” This
stranger is the theologian.
It is as sure as that two and two make four that Caesar
existed; it i3 also as sure that Jesus Christ existed as Caesar.
Then, it is also as sure that Jesus Christ was raised ftom the
�14
dead as that he existed. What logic ! The existence of Jesus
Christ and of Csesar is not a miracle.
Man is as God or nature made him, and God or nature make
nothing bad.
Shade of Jenner! Iam compelled to vaccinate my child to
preserve it from the small-pox, and I am not allowed to kill it
in order to save it from eternal hell ? It is monstrous mockery!
The precepts of religion and the law of society, which prohibit
the murder of innocent children, are both absurd and cruel,
when, in killing them, they are assured of an infinite happiness,
and that, in leaving them to live, they are devoted almost
surely to eternal damnation.
The God of the Christians is a father who sets great store by
his apples, but precious little by his children.
No good father would wish to resemble our heavenly father, t'
And why does he get so mad, this God ? Are we not told that
we cannot add to or detract from his glory, do anything for or
against his repose, for or against his serene majesty ?
If it is necessary to believe in order to be saved, why was
Christ crucified?
If there are a hundred thousand damned for one saved, the
devil has always the advantage, notwithstanding the death of
Christ.
A true religion would compel the attention of all men, in all
times, in all conditions ; would be eternal, universal, and evident.
No religion has these three characteristics. All are therefore
thrice demonstrated false.
Facts of which only a few persons were witnesses are insuffi
cient to prove a religion which is required to be believed by all
the world.
\
�15
.The evidence in support of religion is ancient and marvellous;
that is to say, the most suspicious possible; in proof of things
the most incredible.
To prove the gospel by a miracle is to prove an absurdity by
an act contrary to nature.
Why are the miracles of Christ true, and those of Esculapius,
of Appollonius, of Tyanseus and of Mahomet false ?
The Jews living in Jerusalem at the time of Christ were no
doubt converted on seeing his miracles? Not at all. So far
from believing, they crucified him. It must be conceded that
the Jews are a peculiar people ; everywhere may be seen people
carried away by a single false miracle; and yet Jesus Christ
could not convert the Jews with a multitude of real miracles!
“ This God, who crucified God, to appease the wrath of God ” ;
is an antithesis of more force in its pithy ridicule than a hundred
folio volumes of grave controversy.
It is said that he retired to the Mount of Olives to pray. And
to whom prayed he ? To himself!
God the father judges all men worthy of eternal vengeance’*
God the son, worthy of infinite mercy; God the Holy Ghost
remains neutral. How is this to be reconciled with the unity of
the divine will.
The question has been put to the theologians an infinite
number of times—How can the dogma of eternal damnation
be reconciled with the infinite mercy of God ? They are still
struggling with it!
Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petrum cedifioabo ecclesiam meam
Is this the language of a God or of a Cogers’ Hall punster ?
In dolores paries (Genes).—“ Thou shalt engender in sorrow ”
said God to the prevaricating apple-eating woman. And what
fault had the females of other animals committed that they also
bring forth in pain ?
�If we must take literally the words, “Pater major me est,”
Jesus Christ is not God. If we must take literally, “Hoc est
corpus meum,” he gave his body to his apostles with his own.
hands—which is just as absurd as to say that Saint Denis kissed
his head after it was cut from his shoulders.
It is matchless impudence to cite the conformity of the
gospels, while there are in some,.very important statements of
which not one word is said in the others.
In the first centuries there were sixty gospels of almost equal
authority. Fifty-six have been rejected for puerility and
absurdity. Is there nothing of these in the four which have
been retained ?
Pascal said: “If our religion is false, we risk nothing in
believing it to be true; if it be true, we risk all in believing it
false.” A Mohammedan might say the same as Pascal.
That Jesus Christ, who is God, was tempted of the devil, is
a story worthy of the “ Thousand and One Nights.”
A young woman who lived a very secluded life was one day
visited by a young man, who brought a bird. She became
enceinte, and it was asked how it happened ? Ridiculous! It
was the bird.
Why do the stories of Leda and the swan excite a smile, and
the little flames of Castor and Pollux risibility, when we accept
in all seriousness the pigeon and the tongues of fire of the
gospels ?
Printed and Published by W J. Ramsey, at 28 Stonecutter
Street, London.
�
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Old thoughts for new thinkers : being selections from the "Pensees philosophiques" of Diderot
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Hardaker, William (tr)
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NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
BEN
E L M Y.
LONDON:
FREETHOUGHT PUBLISHING COMPANY,
28, Stonecutter Street, E.C.
PRICE FOURPENCE.
�LONDON :
PRINTED BY ANNIE BESANT AND CHARLES BRADLAUGII,
28, STONECUTTER STREET, E.C.
�tJX°7
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
CHAPTER I.
THE
DAWN OF LIFE.
All things on this earth may be roughly divided into two
classes : things which have motion, and things which have
not; in other words, things which are living, and things
which are dead. The first constitute the animal and vege
table kingdoms, and the mineral kingdom contains all the
inanimate class. Motion and life seem at once to be in
timately connected ; we recognise the vitality of any living
thing, animal or vegetable, by its power of motion; whether
from place to place, as in an animal, or in simple changes of
form or aspect, as in both animal and vegetable.
Yet we must not confound motion and life. We see
motion in even the class of inanimate things. Steam will
rise in the air, a stone will fall to the ground ; both these
are instances of motion, yet even a child scarcely considers
them as any sign of life. I propose to myself the project
of pondering how far life and motion may be assumed to be
indeed one and the same element, though they may differ in
degree as much or more than a man differs from a jelly-fish.
It will be necessary first to think what phases of motion are
readily perceptible to our senses, and then to follow up that
chain till we approach forms of motion almost as little to be
rendered account of to our senses as is the ultimate mystery,
life itself. We may at any rate prove that there is a path
advancing step by step into the unknown; we may even go
along some part of the road, and we may form a just notion
as to where that road will ultimately lead us.
I have already instanced the simplest form of motion with
which we are acquainted—the falling of a stone or other
body towards the earth. This action or motion is so gene
ral or, as it were, natural, that countless generations of men
had witnessed it and it did not even occur to them to think
of rendering a reason for it. Some of the old Greek phi
losophers gave a feeble consideration to the matter, but did
�2
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
not or could not follow the question out; and there it rested till
an English philosopher, Isaac Newton, had the remembrance
of their difficulties brought to his mind by observing an
apple fall from a tree, and set himself to think why the .
apple should fall to the earth, and whether that motion
was in the apple or in the earth. The result of longthought and calculation on his part was the ascertained,
truth that every substance in the universe is attracted, or
drawn towards, or seeks to approach every other substance *
and that it will so approach if there be not forces acting in
other directions to prevent it. This attraction is called the
force of gravitation, or weight-force; and it is so called
because it is greater in proportion to the weight and density
of the body exercising that attraction.
It is this same force that accounts for the second form of
motion that I mentioned—the rising of steam through the.
air; for the particles of steam are lighter in proportion to
their size or bulk than the particles of the air; the particles
of the air are, therefore, more forcibly attracted to the earth,
and squeeze out of place or force away the steam higher up. '
into the air, i.e., farther away from the earth.
If instead of air we take water for an example, we shall
see the same series of motions repeated, for a piece of iron
will sink or drop through the water, because iron is heavier
or denser, bulk for bulk, than water; and a bubble of air or
a piece of cork will rise through water (just as steam does
through the air) because both air and cork are lighter or
less dense, bulk for bulk, than water. And now, if instead
of water we take mercury, which is also a fluid, we shall find
that a piece of gold will sink in it, but a piece of iron will
float in it; and this again for the same reason, because gold
is denser than mercury, and iron is not so dense as
mercury.
Here we may learn two things : firstly, that some solids
may be less dense than other fluids; and, secondly, that
density is after all but a comparative and conditional term,
and is proportional to the medium or atmosphere in which
the action takes place, for both iron and gold will sink in
water, or drop through the air, yet only one of them will
sink in mercury.
We all know that what is called an empty bucket, that is,
a bucket full of air, is not so heavy as a bucket full of water,
and that this again is not so heavy as a lump of iron the
same size, and this lump of iron will not be so heavy as a
�THE DAWN OF LIFE.
3
bucket full of mercury, nor this again so heavy as a similar
mass of gold.
Now the real meaning of the weight or heaviness of all
these is simply the greater or less force with which they are
•attracted towards the earth ; that force being in exact pro
portion to their density as compared with their bulk. For
'the earth is the great mass towards which all substances on
the earth are attracted, and as far as earthly things are con
sidered we may call it the centre of gravitation. It is our
. greatest and heaviest mass, and hence all earthly things pro
gress or fall towards it when not prevented by other forces
■ or obstacles. It is true that what we call celestial objects
have also an attraction for each other and the earth, and for
.all things on the earth; but distance is also an element in
..the calculation of gravitation, and the earth is so much nearer
that a stone let go at the distance of 1000 or 100,000 feet
.-.above the earth is attracted more powerfully by the earth
which is near than by the sun which is so far off, though the
sun is 1,300,000 times larger than the earth, and its attrac
tion proportionately great.
And the planets and our earth and the sun would all rush
^together but for their motion in their orbits—a circular motion
•which they have that counterbalances this attraction or
motion of gravitation and keeps them hovering at a distance.
What is the secret or cause of this circular or orbital motion
may be discovered by another Newton, but it will certainly
• be found to be but a phase of this universal force of
gravitation.
Indeed all motions and conditions seem to be but phases
or consequences of phases of this universal law. Next in
order to gravitation as generally defined, we might place
what is called the attraction of cohesion—an attraction that
does not seem quite so dependent on density, and that might
be defined as the greater attraction that substances of the
same nature have for each other under favourable circum
stances than for substances of a dissimilar nature. It is this
^attraction that causes the homogeneousness or consistency
• of t metals, or stone, or wood, &c. This attraction gives
. as its evidence the two qualities known as hardness and
tenacity. It may be exemplified by the cutting of a piece
of wood or lead with a steel knife, whereas a piece of steel
could not be cut with a wooden or leaden knife. The
mechanical explanation of this fact is that the particles of
steel have a greater attraction Of cohesion for each other
�4
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM
than have the particles of wood or lead; the particles off
wood or lead may be easily separated, but the particles of
steel are separable with difficulty.
This attraction of cohesion may seem to be but a passiveor defensive attraction, while gravitation is an active or
offensive power; yet the seemingly passive force of cohesion
is always really in action, for it must not be forgotten that
it is this force which at every instant holds bodies together
in resistance to the active force of gravitation which might
otherwise cause an indiscriminate mingling of their atoms,
with those of all the other bodies composing the mass of'
the earth. And some phases of this form of attraction are
palpably active, for under this head may be classed the
force of chemical affinity, and the force which produces and.
guides crystallization.
The force, chemical affinity, bears a very close resemblance?
to the attraction of cohesion, and may be roughly defined,
as the attraction which the particles of one clearly defined,
chemical clement or substance have for another of those
elements. At present these elements are known to have
certain affinities or combining powers with each other, and.
these attractions or affinities vary in each case, so that an.
element will leave one with which it is already combined to
join another for which it has a greater affinity, and will
again leave that, if one for which it has a still greater affinity
be presented to it.
And now we come to the force of crystallization, and must
give our earnest attention to this force ; for we get here the
first glimpse of a force or motion that in some of its actionsclosely resembles life. For we have here introduced de
fined growth towards a defined form. Crystals are of vary
ing sizes and shapes according to their substance, the same
substance generally following fixed and certain rules as to form. .
The growth of crystals is sometimes so rapid or vivid that
with some substances, and a strong magnifying glass, the
crystals may be seen forming themselves. In some instancesthis action of growth might well be mistaken for some part,
of the action that is seen in vegetable life. On ancient:
flint implements accretions of iron and manganese havebeen found which bear more than a casual resemblance to
various cryptogamous plants, mosses, lichens, and algae orseaweed. An example familiar to us all is that of the moss
like appearance of a frozen window-pane, the “ moss ” being,
simply water in a state of crystallization..
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
5
This last example brings us face to face with another
series of forces or attractions; the force by which bodies
may be brought to, and held in, any one of the three con
ditions : the solid, the fluid, and the gaseous—in a word,
how water may exist as ice, water, or steam, each of the
three conditions giving powers of combination, or altered
force, which would not be possible in any other condition.
As far as we know, all elements are capable of these conditions
under given circumstances, and there is, as just said, a con
siderable intrinsic difference in the conditions. Fluids seem
only compressible with intense force, while solids have a con
siderable and gases an excessive amount of compressibility.
Fluids and solids, again, have the attraction of cohesion, so
that solids retain their form, and fluids their equilibrium; yet
in gases the force of cohesion seems to be almost, if not
altogether, absent. A pound of any solid substance, or a
pint of any fluid, would retain their simple appearance in
a vacuum; but it would seem that the same measure of gas
would permeate and fill up (though in a rarefied or attenu
ated form) any vacuum however great.
Now, each of these conditions is distinctly defined and
separate, and the change from one to another seems to be
effected by some form of the most living force we have yet
spoken of—heat. And as we consider this force of heat we
find it to be as universal as gravitation, every substance
having specific, or intrinsic, or self-contained heat, just as
it has specific or self-contained weight. And specific heat
varies in different bodies just in a similar manner to what
specific weight or gravity does. And just as we may not
perceive the weight of a body till some displacement occurs
which allows the force of gravitation to come into perceptible
action, so specific heat may only become manifest or percep
tible when certain changes are brought about in the condition
of the substance containing it. When heat is thus manifest
or active, it does to the evidence of our senses change some
substances from the solid into the fluid state, and from that
again into the gaseous state, and a deprivation of heat will
act in just the reverse direction.
Chemical action or affinity, which has already been
spoken of, is very frequently attended by the evolution or
absorption of heat, and for the reason already given, z>., a
disturbance in the molecular conditions of elements which
makes manifest their specific heat. Chemical action, indeed,
is the main source of the heat with which we are acquainted,
�6
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
for the heat of the sun itself is but the result of chemical
action or combustion in or on the sun.
As with the other forms of force or motion or attraction
spoken of, heat is but a comparative condition, and our ex
perience of it on this earth has but a very limited range.
We may readily imagine a planet or world where the heat
was so great that water was only known in a gaseous state,
and their rivers might be of molten metal; or, on the other
hand, one so cold that ice might be their usual building
material, roofed with sheets of hydrogen, an element that we
only know in a gaseous state. And any bodily organism of
living creatures would have to be proportionately altered ;
yet there is nothing repugnant to the idea of a similar con
dition to mind, or soul, or life, call it what we will, existing
under the changed circumstances.
And I think this may be taken as a probable solution of
the question whether there is life on other planets or worlds;
for wherever there exist the forces that we have knowledge of
on this earth, there will life follow as a natural consequence.
I spoke just now of combustion. This word simply means
chemical action or combination so intense that heat and
light result. And in light we have reached almost the last
of the series of forces of which we have yet any clear con
ception. We have seen by now that the word force is to be
used in a somewhat different sense from that generally as
cribed to it. It is too generally confounded with “strength”
or “motion yet we see it may be existing where we have
only pictured inactivity, or rest, or death. We may see a
soldier standing “at ease.” He too is resting, yet the
muscles of his legs and back are all in action, or the man
would fall to the earth. And in speaking of light as a force
it might be thought that I was applying a false word. In
giving an instance or two of the power of light, we may
recognize that it is literally a force.
We know that a plant in comparative darkness will
hardly grow, and will at best be but pale and sickly. It is
light that gives the green colour to all vegetation, simply
because it is the initial force which gives the chemical
elements in vegetation the impulse to unite and form
healthy green flesh necessary for the plant’s full life. Again,
light is the force that draws all our photographic pictures.
In taking those pictures, where the light falls strongest the
chemical salts are destroyed or decomposed ; where the
light does not fall those salts are left untouched.
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
7
It must need force to do this, and light is that force,
light is certainly the initial force of a vast amount of
chemical action, and again it seems sometimes to be the
conseqtience of chemical action ; as with heat, which is in
turn the origin or result of such action. Some time we may
have knowledge of latent or specific light as well as of
specific heat or specific gravity.
As yet we know but little of the vast force involved in light.
George Stephenson said that a railway engine was driven by
the rays of bottled sunshine contained in the coals that fed the
furnace, and there seems no doubt that he was correct.
Coal is the buried vegetation of forests of millions of years ago.
The sun shone on those trees and on their leaves and branches
day by day in their growth, the light and warmth was
effective in working the chemical change that formed their
vegetable tissue, and when the trees fell, century by century,
their dead bodies contained and preserved the results of this
action ; this absorbed or latent light and heat lay buried in
them, is in them when they are mined and dug up, and when
they are put into the fire-box of the engine. The fire is lit,
and by combustion, the bottled sunbeams, developed into
the form of heat, are transmitted to the water in the boiler,
this heat turns the water from fluid into the gaseous state of
steam; the steam occupies vastly more space than water, and
in endeavouring to get room to spread itself to its natural
bulk is allowed to force out a piston, this piston moves a
crank which turns the wheel on which the engine rests, and
the whole engine moves on.
In this brief story we see what permutations or
changes may take place in the same force; now it appears
to us as light, now as heat, now as chemical action, now as
mechanical motion overcoming the attraction of gravitation.
Indeed there seems but one force, and the changes in it are
but changes in that they are more clearly perceived by some
one of our imperfect senses than by the others.
I have used the words initial force once or twice and
shall need to explain this somewhat, for the ultimate pur
poses of our argument. Initial force, then, is the impulse
which once given to matter or force is carried on in the
matter or force itself without need for repetition of the original
impulse. For instance, the mechanical action involved in
the striking of a match is the initial force which gives rise to
its combustion, and this combustion may be conveyed to
things innumerable without need for any repetition of
�8
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM
mechanical action. With a slight knowledge of chemistry,
we may remember where a single drop of sulphuric acid is
capable of initializing the same process of combustion.
In some cases the force of crystallization maybe initialized
in a similar way. A mass of salts may be in a condition
ready for crystallization, and continue in that preparatory
stage till some tiny initial mechanical impulse, such as even
the prick of a needle, is given, when the mass will at once
rush into crystals. We all know too that nitro-glycerine
may. by a slight mechanical force be driven into gas, and
possibly a frightful explosion ensue.
Any slight amount
of one kind of force may, under favourable circumstances,
be the initializer of a vastly increased mass of some widely
different phase.
And now I will only call attention to one other form of
force before endeavouring to show how all these forces, or
some combination of them, may have given the initial impulse
to the wondrous force of life. This last force to which I shall
draw attention is electricity, a force of whose knowledge we
are but yet in the infancy; and a force that seems, even as
far as our present knowledge goes, to be capable of a con
siderable number of phases. This is the force by which, to
give a simple example, a man’s words may be conveyed
almost without lapse of time from one place to another (the
electric telegraph) ; it is also the force that causes the
attraction of a magnet for iron.
Whether electricity be the cause of some of the various forms
of force already named, or simply a resultant of them, is
more than can be said at present: it sometimes appears in
the one character and sometimes in the other. It seems in
this way to add greater strength to the presumption that all
force is but some different and convertible phase of some
great and ultimate property:—the very property of being or
existing; for existence and movement or force are inalienable
and interchangeable terms. But be electricity what it may,
it is already known that all things are subject to its influence,
and that it is therefore presumably as universal and great in
its results as gravitation itself.
With all this well weighed and considered—bearing in mind the different possibilities of matter in its known con
ditions of solid, fluid, and gaseous—bearing in mind the
powers of chemical combination and the novel substances
engendered thereby—bearing in mind the power of definite
form and growth of which the force of crystallisation is an
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
9
.example—bearing in mind that an initial impulse however
slight, once communicated, may give rise to a condition so
widely differing from itself that the change is to our present
powers utterly inexplicable; and that this condition will be
perpetuated as long as there is matter favourably situated to
be affected by it—bearing in mind all this, I ask if there
is anything very inconceivable in the idea that matter has been
so acted upon by some initial impulse that has given rise to
the phase of force which we call life, with all its attendant
phenomena ?
For, after all, what is life ? Animated beings may be
traced down to a type wherein they seem little more than
inert masses of matter—masses of gelatinous substance,
or of vegetable growth scarce differing from rust—and with
little more than the power of growth or assimilation of
similar matter to that of their own substance, which they
have in common with many substances that we hold to be
but minerals with the chemical properties of cohesion and
combination.
To such a view as this the continual objection made is :
“Yes, but you never show us what is the initial force by
which inanimate matter is endowed with the property of
life.” To this I can but say: Can we yet explain any initial
impulse ? And why do you call rtvzy matter inanimate ? Is
not chemical Action itself a phase of life, just as we reason
ably presume all these other forces to be but phases of some
universal ruling principle ? And indeed to me thefe seems a
less distance between the crudest forms of living organisms
and simple chemical action, than between those same
organisnjjjRind intellectual man. This difference and pro
gress I shall make an attempt to follow in my next study,
the “ Dawn of Humanity.” And as to the question of defin
ing or pointing out the initial force which institutes the
beginning of life, that initial force is just as easy or as
difficult to point out as any other initial force of which I
have spoken : we see the results, and it is a simple matter
of comparative result on which we have arbitrarily made the
distinction of calling one phenomenon animate action, while
we stigmatize the other as inanimate.
■ Yes : the greater our power of observation, the less do wfe
see to be the distinction between life and death, between
force and matter ; death (f.e. inanimation} is but hidden life,
matter is but hidden force. Change, or rather motion, is
the one constant rule of all things; and as our senses grow,
�IO
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
and fresh capacities or organs of sensibility are developed, ,
we shall grasp at higher and still more intangible phenomena..
It is not that Nature’s workings are so mysterious, but that:
our own faculties are so small, our own eyesight so dim.
Yet if we will carefully consult and ever strive to improvethe faculties we have, and follow out and strengthen in ourbeing the perceptions of justice and truth which Nature- everywhere shows us, we shall grow to know her better, and.
to have fuller, stronger sight—we shall be worthy to know
more of the at present mysterious meaning of life. When
we are so worthy the knowledge cannot be hidden from us,.
we may become intelligent co-operators in Nature’s work
and with power in our eyes and love in our hearts weshall fulfil the poet’s golden prophecy, and become in very
deed
“ the crowning race
Of those that, eye to eye, shall look
On knowledge ; under whose command
Is earth and earth’s, and in their hand
Is Nature like an open book.”
CHAPTER II.
THE
DAWN
OF
HUMANITY.
In the previous study, I have presumed or asserted that:
matter, under certain conditions, may become a living
organism, such active life being the sequence of an initial
impulse which we may hope eventually to trace and solve..
I have further asserted that matter to which such an im
pulse has been once conveyed, may continue or even
increase that impulse under suitable conditions. . Theseassertions cover two of the most advanced theories yet
deduced from our knowledge of to-day—viz., Spontaneous.
Generation, and the Development or Origin of Species. In
plain words, the theory of Spontaneous Generation declares,
that, under certain conditions of matter, life will be initiated
and living organisms will be evolved or spontaneously geneja.ted ; and the theory of Development is that these
organisms once evolved will not only have the power of
continuing the impulse, i.e. of propagating themselves, but
also of developing further and higher capabilities under
favouring conditions, and thereby of becoming higher
organisms—organisms, in fact, such that we could no longer
j
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
II
'readily accept the supposition of their being in that condition
-spontaneously generated.
The theory of Spontaneous Generation has as yet but a
'limited acceptance, owing to the difficulty at present of
producing positive argument and irrefutable experiment in
its support, and owing, moreover, to its entire antagonism
to any biblical or other revelation, or to belief in any super
natural power. But it seems to me that the position may be
conclusively proved and justified even by negative argument;
,and it may be useful so to justify it before going further.
Evidently all primary generation (or initiation of life)
must either be spontaneous, or else the act of some creative
power foreign to the organism itself. In other words, life
is either the natural, innate, and inevitable result of certain
• conditions of matter, or it is the act of a creator external to
■ the matter. Such a presumed creator is usually styled God,
.-.and we may therefore conveniently use this term in the
1 sense specified. Nor shall we in so using the word be
-doing any wrong to the somewhat numerous class who seem
disinclined to accept the theory of spontaneity of life, while
yet rejecting the inconsistencies which become every day
more palpable in the theory of God and his creation of life.
For indeed there is no logical halting-place between the
■ two conclusions. Either all phenomena (life included) are
attributable to certain natural properties and sequences, or
■ they are due to an extra-natural power, a God.
Let us shift our questioning, then, from matter to its pre■sumed “Creator.” .Let us inquire into the origin of God.
How came he into existence? Did he' create himself? If
. so, we have a notable instance of the spontaneous generation
which his believers deny. Had God himself a creator
outside himself? If so, we may apply the same questioning
as to his creator. We only get the elephant and tortoise
fable over again.
There is but one resource left, and that is the assertion
- that God has existed for ever. This is but a begging of the
question, for no proof is given of the truth 6f the assertion ;
. and being unverified and unverifiable, it has not the least
: tangible claim to assent from our intellect.
The God theory is then placed in this dilemma: that it
' must either acknowledge spontaneity of life (which renders
i the God theory itself unnecessary), or take refuge in an
unverified assertion utterly beyond the ken of our senses
• and intellect.
�12
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
Against such a course of argument as this the constant,
objection of Theists or supernaturalists is, that there are
more things existent than can be brought to the evidence of
our senses ; but on that perfectly allowable position they
base the startling affirmation that therefore we must not
reason about God, or, at any rate, must not accept any con
clusion of our reason which leads to his rejection ! Yet in all
the assertions that they make in support of the God theory,
it is to these very senses of ours that they ultimately appeal
they have recourse with confidence to our senses and our
reason for acknowledgment of what they call the works of a
God, and thereby of a God himself, and yet they deny t(A
our senses and reason any right to evidence of, or faculty tocriticise, the hypothetical being whom they expect our reason j
to recognise !
The words reason and senses may in this connection ho
used as of the same meaning, for reason is but the collected
and developed experience of our senses. Now, if thisreason and these senses may be safely appealed to, and.
their evidence be received in the case of results, materialists
hold that the questionings of reason may be and must be
extended to causes, and that indeed the conclusions of'
reason are the only ones that can validly be accepted by the
organism that has given birth to it, and, as it were, dele
gated to it the care and power of the guidance and govern- ment of the organism.
It is to this reason and to these senses that Materialism ,
appeals, for it sees in man’s being no evidence of any
higher tribunal. Nor need it care to do so, since it also ■<
sees in the reason and the senses, and the self-responsibility of man, a faculty of development, of power, and of harmony
with nature, far beyond the feeble dreams and dulcet
cajoleries of any God theory, ancient or modern.
And Materialism claims for itself and for its evidence a ■
higher character and a greater worth of acceptance than it
holds due to any religious or supernatural or ultra-intel
lectual theory And this on several grounds. For Mate
rialism appeals to no select few, but to senses and faculties
which all possess. It does not recognise that any special
clique or class of man has received a supernatural revelation
of things in which all men have a joint and equal concern.
Its evidences are facts which have been gathered with careand painstaking by close observers and lovers of nature, not
dark fancies evolved from the tortured and ascetic brains of ‘
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
13
men who have begun their system with the assumption that
nature is an abhorrent and unholy thing. Materialism
claims the higher character, because it comes into the light
and courts the examination and aid of all, not shrouding
and hiding itself in impenetrable unintelligibleness, and
hurling threats and cursings and thunderings at those who
shall dare to deny its infallibility, analyse its inconsistency,
or despise its degrading sycophancy and terrorism.
Though I have spoken of Spontaneous Generation as not
having been to the consent of all irrefutably proved, it must
not be forgotten that there are men who decisively affirm
that they have to the evidence of the senses produced organic
life where it was previously non-existent.
The evidence
of Bastian and others is convincing that living organisms
are constantly evolved in liquids which have been her
metically sealed in flasks while boiling, or submitted to still
greater heat, and carefully preserved from all extraneous
influence of the atmosphere.
The arguments used by opponents to explain or contra
dict these experiments, is what is known as the “ germ '*
theory—an assertion that there are countless seeds of living
organisms floating in the air, and ever ready to develop
themselves into active life when favourable conditions of
matter are presented. It is true that these germs may be
invisible in even the most powerful microscope, and so im
perceptible as to elude the subtlest chemical test, yet the
theory has the convenient property of continuing to refer the
initiation of life to some primary act on the part of a creator. ’
It is to such germs, also, that many forms of disease, epi
demic or otherwise, are attributed ; so that if the theory of
the creation of germs be correct, it will follow that the ap
pearance of certain new and previously unknown forms of
disease, such as diphtheria or rinderpest, is an evidence that
the creation was not an act once accomplished and done'
with, but that the Creator still busies himself from time to
time with doubtful benefits to his creatures.
Let it be understood that Materialists do not deny that low,
organisms may propagate themselves by germs, as well as byj
other means more clearly visible to our senses. Materialism,
simply denies any extra-natural creation or origin of these'
germs, and the materialistic explanation of a new form of
parasitic disease would be that certain novel conditions of
matter had evolved or developed into a new form some low,
type of organism, which, once generated, might propagate.
�14
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM. .
itself either by cell-growth or by germs. The Germ theorists
would say, that if all the germs or spprules of small-pox,
typhoid fever, &c., could once be destroyed, we should never
see those diseases more ; the Evolutionist says that similar
unsanitary conditions to those that now exist where those dis
eases are rife, would again evolve them.
It must not be forgotten that it would be no refutation of
spontaneous generation even if men had not yet succeeded
in producing it. It is the action of nature that is in ques
tion, rather than man’s power, to evoke that action. And
certainly, whether by spontaneous generation or other
wise primitive and extremely simple organisms are,
under favourable circumstances, everywhere readily and
plentifully generated, and in an ascending scale from them
we have a series of ever higher developments.
As instances of fairly lowr (though not the lowest) animal
and vegetable organisms, I may take the amoeba and the
algae, previously referred to as “masses of gelatinous sub
stance, or of vegetable growth, scarce differing from rust.”
The amoeba is but a floating speck of jelly that absorbs or
covers other floating particles of matter which can afford
sustenance to it. It has no defined organs of nutrition, or
of any other function ; it simply lets the floating particle
sink into its jelly-like substance, and then, by a process no
more vital than chemical affinity, or even simple attraction
4|f cohesion, it absorbs what there may be in the floating
particles analogous to its own substance, and lets the re
mainder Jgain sink or drop through. Its action seems no
more a living one than is the action of the isinglass used in
“ fining ” beer. The isinglass that is there introduced falls
gradually to the bottom of the cask, enfolding in its own
substance, and bearing down with it, every floating speck of
turbid matter, and leaving the beer clear. And, undoubt
edly, any particle of isinglass or other gelatinous matter
that might previously have existed in the floating specks
would be absorbed from out them into the homogeneous
mass of the isinglass itself. Why this action of the isinglass
is to be set down as mechanical action, while that of the
amceba is to be exalted to the dignity of living action, it is
not for me to say, since I do not believer in the dis
tinction.
Some forms of the alga, are a sort of grey-green mould or
rust : they “ vegetate exclusively in water or in damp situa
tions ; they I cquire no nutriment, but such as is supplied by
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
“water and the air dissolved in it, which they absorb equally
by every part of their surface.'” These are the words of one
•of the most strenuous advocates of the God theory. Yet if
' for alga we substitute the word rust, how perfect a descrip
tion we get of .the action of moisture or water on iron. And
what is the difference between the two actions ? As far as
I can see, it is simply this, that the alga form a compound
•of three lements, oxygen, hydrogen, and carbon, while the
iron merely absorbs oxygen from the air or water, and so
forms a compound of only two elements, oxygen and iron.
No one disputes the spontaneous evolution of rust, that is,
■ of a compound of iron and oxygen : strange that men should
find it so hard to credit the spontaneous evolution of a
• compound of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen !
Two objections may here be raised : firstly, that rust will
• only appear or propagate itself where there is iron or some
other metal to feed it; and, secondly, that the action of
algae, or, at any rate, of other living organisms, is more vivid
than that of rust. To the first objection it is a sufficient
^answer that neither will algae nor any other organisms appear
■or propagate themselves where there is not suitable food for
them; and to the second, I would reply that I am not
asserting an equal degree of vital action in both the cases,
but simply that both instances are but different degrees of
the same natural and spontaneous action ; the dragging of
•one stick across another may seem to be action remote
-enough from that of combustion, yet we know that combus
tion is but an enhanced form of such action, and is, under
given circumstances, educible thereby.
In the lower living organisms, the distinction between
animal and vegetable is frequently so confused as to render
the organisms incapable of being classified with certainty;
■some motionless and apparently vegetable growths having
■ other well-defined animal properties, whilst some actively
moving organisms are, in other respects, as undoubtedly
1 vegetable. One would almost say, that on the threshold of
life the organisms are debating and undecided as to which
1 -of the two great channels they will follow. When this
choice is made, the same indecision seems extended again
somewhat to choice of species ; the mass of the primitive
■ organisms being involved in a hazy mist, to which only a
•very self-confident man could venture to assign defined
•limits and arbitrary classifications.
In these lower forms of life, the methods of extension or
�iU
STUDIES IN MATEfWCCTSSt
spreading, or repetition of both animal and vegetable,
organisms are, as might be presumed, identical; and are
visibly effected by either gemmation, or fissure, or both.
Gemmation is only another word for budding; buds form
on the original organism, which break off and become inde
pendent organisms. Fissure means that the original organ
ism, when grown, splits into two or more independent,
organisms. Some of the lowest organisms are asserted to
consist of single cells of animated organic matter, and it is,
of course, the development of further cells that renders,
practicable either gemmation or fissure. Yet we may soon
find organisms with a considerable accretion of cells not.
separating from each other, but remaining with the parent
organism, and, as it were, helping in the mutual and better
development of each; and we then begin to find special
groupings of these cells fulfilling certain definite functions,
in the economy of the organism, becoming, in point of fact,,
the organs for the support and growth and propagation of
the organism.
Here, too, we begin to come on clearer distinctions
between animal and vegetable; whose main difference has
been roughly, but fairly well-defined in the observation,
that with a vegetable the food is mainly applied to con
tinually increasing its fabric throughout its life, whereas,
with the animal, the food is only applied to growth till the
adult form is attained, and is then simply used to maintain,
that condition in efficiency.
We then go on to find special and peculiar formations,
and growths of cells for various purposes in the structure of
the organism; so that, eventually, we have cells whose
special purpose is to form the tissue or flesh of a plant,,
while others of different structure form the bark or fruit;.
and in animals we have cells which form the fibres of the
muscle, somewhat different ones forming the bone, and
others yet different forming the brain or nerve matter,.
&c., &c.
This development of different cells and functions is but
one form of the variations which are taking place, of which,
perhaps, the most important is the adaptation of the organisms
themselves to altered circumstances in which they may find
it convenient or necessary to live, and the development of
varied forms and poweis which will render that life more
acceptable and enjoyable to them. And it may fairly
be said that this variation or development is a fact in which
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
"7
»aZZ classes of observers agree, though not all are willing to
lallow to it the same great ultimate results. It is the reason
ing out of such of these results as we have undoubted
cognizance of to their possible and logical conclusions, and
the acceptance of those conclusions, that constitutes the
theory already referred to of development or origin of
species.
In the lower forms of organisms this development or
variation is, as I have previously intimated, very conspicuous,
so that fructification or generation has frequently to be
waited for and observed before the organisms can with any
certainty be assigned to a definite class. And this question
of fructification or generation brings us to one of the most
vexed and evaded questions in the whole history of physio
logy or development—that of alternate generation, which
will be presently discussed.
For a further phenomenon has manifested itself in the
< course of these developments—the difference of sexes ; and to
this I shall need to draw your careful attention, since in his
• own case man has based on that difference a series of arti
ficial and arbitrary, and therefore unjust, distinctions which
. have done more than any other act to retard the progress
. and hinder the happiness of the human race.
We noticed that in the extension or propagation of the
lower forms of life, the growth or birth of further cells was
■followed by a constant budding or splitting off from the
•parent organism, but that in somewhat higher forms we find
' cells remaining and allotting themselves to various special
functions, and forming special organs for those purposes.
As might naturally be supposed, a substitute is at once pro
vided for the superseded actions of gemmation or fissure ;
-so that among the first definite organs we find those for
the extension or propagation of the species, and with such a
• specialized function we also find, as we might anticipate, a
-more methodical manner of fulfilling that function. The cells
•or germs which will form the infant organisms are no longer
■indiscriminately severed as soon as formed ; but are stored in
■• •assigned receptacles to await what shall seem to the organism
. a fitting time for their evolvement and extrusion. To con■wey this fitness and impulse for extrusion is the function of
a further organ, which in its turn has secreted special cells.
In these two sets of organs and their difference of cells
;-We have the first glimpse of separate male and female func
tions. To distinguish the two classes of cells, the latter are
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
usually called germ cells, and the former sperm cells. Thesecretion of sperm cells, and their application, in due time,
to the germ cells, is the function of the male organs ; the
secretion of the germ cells, and the care of their develop
ment after impregnation, is the female function. For a
long time we find both these organs existing in the same
creature ; and this arrangement is very general throughout
vegetable life, from the lowest forms to the very highest. It
also extends into some fairly high grades of animal life, the
oyster being a notable instance of hermaphroditism, as this
union of the two organs in one being is termed.
At first, too, both these functions may be performed
within the one being without any extraneous aid; but pre
sently it would seem that a better result is attained by some
intermingling of possible slight variations, and we find two
individual organisms uniting in a mutual and utterly reciprocatory act of parentage, each being having fulfilled the
functions of father, and accepted the responsibilities of
mother, to an ensuing progeny. But this intermingling
does not seem an inevitable necessity, for there is evidence
that many such organisms have the capacity of both self and
reciprocal impregnation. Here, too, the strange fact may’
be noted that in some organisms the co-operation of threeindividuals is necessary to effect the generative act.
The change from gemmation to sexual generation is by
no means an invariable or fixed one, for we have here inter* vening the strange phenomenon of alternate generation just,
referred to. Various organisms may propagate a progeny by
means of sexual organs, and the members of this progenywill be of a totally different type to their parents in nature,,
appearance, and capabilities, and having no sexual organs,
but giving birth to their progeny by the primitive methods,
of gemmation or fissure; yet this further progeny will befully developed like the first set of parents, having sexual
organs, yet giving birth in turn to organisms that differ in
type, and only propagate by gemmation. It is, as it were,
an inheritance from grandparent to grandchild, with an in
tervening generation of an utterly different and inferiororganism. In some instances this descent seems to run.
through three forms of organisms before reverting to the
original type.
This phenomenon is affected to be made somewhat light
of and readily explained away by the holders of the God.
theory; apparently because it militates somewhat against.
�STUDIES in mateulwism,
I?
their idea of a creation, and is equally strong evidence in
&VOUr of the materialistic theory of development or origin
of species. If, as is the case, a stationary and, in so far,
vegetable-like polyp can give birth to an independent and
totally different swimming creature (a form of medusa),
which lives its life and gives birth again to stationary polyps,
it is easy enough to say that the one is but a latent or inter
vening form of the other; but this does not explain the
difference, nor destroy the evident fact that some organisms
under certain circumstances do evolve an utterly different
form of being. It were perhaps to “consider too curiously
to ask the God theorists which of the types was the one
originally created, and whence came the other ?
It is too much the habit of the God theorists to play fast
and loose with species ; holding, when it suits their purpose,,
to the idea of the special creation of each individual species,
and dropping that idea when the conclusions become at all
inconvenient. Yet there are only two possible ways of
accounting for species. Either they are the results of the
development of accidental or beneficial natural variations ;
or they must be the result of distinct creative acts. In the
first case the materialistic theory of development must be
accepted with all its consequent inductions (summarized
towards the end of this paper); in the second case all the
logical consequences of special creation must be accepted,,
of which consequences we may readily find an exemplifica
tion.
It is a definite and accepted fact, for instance, that
there are various species of entozoa or internal parasites find
ing a congenial habitat in the flesh and organs of special
animals and incapable of existence elsewhere. There are
also varied species of external parasites which make their
dwelling-place on the skin of animals, and live by extract
ing the grateful juices from within, nor can they exist on
other than specified animals. In the case of man, we may
instance psoriasis (as the itch is technically called), the
presence of exceedingly small but irritating animalculse,.
without troubling to refer to larger easily remembered in
sects. With the creation theory, or with the germ theory as.
propounded by non-evolutionists, we must accept the conclu
sion that the first man and animals had within and without
them all the various types of the parasitic organisms with which
their descendants are still troubled.
�20
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
II.--- THE DAWN OF HUMANITY.
Surely, none but a fabled God, the dark imagination of
•an ignorant and uncultured mind, could look upon poor
Adam or any other man, afflicted inwardly with tcenia and
ascarides, busied externally with the prolific pediculi that
enliven the solitude of the primitive savage, and having
the monotony of his consequent reflections diversified by
the chigo of the West Indies and the guinea-worm of torrid
Africa; could look too upon the sheep with a diseased liver,
owing to the fasciolae or “ flukes” therein existent; could gaze
on the pig evincing more than a suspicion of trichinae or
“ measles,” and upon the potato for the food of the same
pig already bearing the germs of the dreaded “disease,”
and pronounce such a sample of his creative powers as
“ very good 1”
Let it not be thought that these conclusions are only
ludicrous ; they are very serious indeed—for Bibliolaters
and the germ theorists. Nor let it be said that I am speak
ing of repulsive things : the man who believes that God
made all these things and called them good, must also
believe that God made what repulsiveness they have ; and it
is not my fault if the theory of creation is capable of a
reductio ad absurdam.
To return to the gradations and developments of func
tions, we find, at the stage at which we had just arrived,
individual organisms with only one set of generative organs
and functions—those of the male or those of the female
respectively; though, again, it does not follow that this is
an instant and unvarying result, since we may find forms of
the same organisms in which some individuals have only
male or female organs or functions, while others have both,
powerfully developed. This is even the case in some of the
orchids, plants bearing a very high rank in vegetable life.
In some species of gregarious insects, as ants or bees, we
find a further variation, for there are a very small number
with female organs, a larger number with male organs, and
a vast majority without any sexual organs at all; yet the
grubs, which would otherwise have become non-sexual in
sects or working bees, can be, in case of need, developed
by the other working bees themselves into perfect females or
queens.
Difference of sex is, as we all know, the rule in the
higher grades of animal life. We find, too, an increasing
�STUDIES IN MATKKIJIXIKI.
21
importance and responsibility attaching to the female func
tions. In some cases, as in fishes (which are classed very
high in animal life, being vertebrated}, the functions of both
male and female may continue to be as simple or even more
simple than in some of the primitive forms already men
tioned ; for with most fishes no congress of the sexes is
needed for the act of generation. The ova of the female
are simply extruded in some convenient locality, and the
secretion of the male is extruded in the water near by.
But with birds, and with the mammalia upwards to man,
the maternal function is one of increasing burden and
responsibility; no longer limited to the simple formation
and extrusion of germs or ova containing, as it were, latent
life, but now nourishing and cherishing the impregnated
cell or cells within their own body or otherwise, till even
tually an almost perfectly developed progeny is put forth
into the world. In this natural function and adaptability
we have a link which stretches through all remaining types
of life, in very deed “ one touch of nature ” that “ makes
the whole world kin;for in the system of development
that I have roughly sketched we have, in the incident of
separation of sex, arrived at or passed through all the phases
of living organisms of which we have any knowledge—the
lowest organisms as well as articulata, crustacese, insects,
fishes, reptiles, birds and mammalia—all therein included.
At the head of these as intelligent beings may be probably
placed the insect the ant, and the mammal zwzw.
I cannot attempt to explain in brief words all the evidence
that is adduced by materialists in favour of the assertion
that man has been eventually developed by simple natural
laws from lower organisms somewhat such as now surround
us. I will only draw attention to two inevitable conclu
sions : firstly, that if we verify any one instance in an
organism of development or adaptation to an altered con
dition of surroundings, there is no logical bar to such a
series of developments as would eventually result in man,
and might through him go on to still higher beings; and
secondly, that if we concede the spontaneous generation of
any one living organism we at once lay a sufficient basis for
such a series of developments as is just suggested.
Both these conclusions are antagonistic to and utterly do
away with any necessity for recourse to imaginary forces
outside the natural properties of matter. And this is, in brief,
the essential point of Materialism. In matter, ?.<?., in that which
�22
BTUbllS in MATERIALISM.
is perceptible to our senses, we find the basis of, and the
potentiality for, all of which those senses and their resultant
reason can give us any knowledge. We find, for example,
in the fact of man’s mind or intellect, simply a high instance
of this potentiality of matter; mind or intellect being but an
empty phrase, without the existence of brain and reason
{i.e., experience of the senses) to evolve and contain it.
Materialism does not, as is falsely assumed, degrade the
vital forces of life and thought to the level of the inert and
inanimate conditions usually attributed to matter; on the
contrary it elevates ignorantly despised matter to the capa
bilities and possibilities of the highest existence and most
subtle energies; materialism is no adding of death unto
death, but a resurrection of all things unto life. It does not
hold matter as alien or foreign to spirit, it sees in the one
but a capacity or phase of the other ; it does not say
matter is a vice, it finds no vice resultant anywhere but from
the want of knowledge of the laws of matter; it does not
look on matter as a foe to virtue and high intelligence, it sees
in matter the noble mother of all living.
I have wronged my argument somewhat by seeming to
assume that an hypothesis was necessary for the first of the
conclusions given above. But development is already more
than a theory, it has established itself in the region of in
disputable fact.
One of the most recent observations on
this point is that concerning the axolotl, a Mexican lizard,
furnished with gills, and living only in the water; but which
by accidental natural circumstances, or by such circumstances
artificially imitated, may be developed into a perfect land
salamander (hitherto considered of an entirely different genus,
which is a greater distinction than a species), breathing only
by lungs and being incapable of a life in the water; its gills
having disappeared together with the tail-fin, dorsal ridge and
other especially aquatic adaptations, and corresponding
capacities for a life on land having been developed.
Now if the variation from a life only possible in water to
one only possible in air,—if such a variation or adaptation
or development can be brought about during the brief period
of existence of one little reptile, who shall dare to assign a
limit to the variations and developments that may be
evolved in untold myriads of years ? This factor of time
is one of the most difficult to realize and grasp the full
import of, since we have but such a tiny experience of it
in our own life, or even in all the centuries during which
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
23
man has left any written or graven record of his life and
.acts. Thirty or forty centuries would seem to be the limit
of the period during which we have anything like historical
record of man, though we may grasp that there were then
many and diverse races of men, some of which had at
tained a high state of civilization. Nor does there seem to
be any indubitable change traceable in the actual bodily
framework of man during that time. But sufficient expla: nations of this at once suggest themselves. In the first
place, that, as has been already noticed, it is in the lowest
and simplest organisms that cardinal changes are most
readily evolved, and we may expect in the case of so high
.an organism as man that many generations may pass away
before any distinct and palpable development may have
manifested itself; and that indeed no change would be neces. sitated in such organs as had, during all that period, been, suffi
ciently adapted to the circumstances ; secondly, that in tracing
the record of man through prehistoric times, in such evi
dence as is afforded us by fossil implements and bones of
man himself, we do get irrefutable evidence of development
since that more distant period ; and, lastly, that if we will
consider the case of organs or faculties which have ?z<7/been
.sufficiently adapted to the circumstances, we shall get here,
too, distinct and indubitable evidence of development.
Somewhat of such development it will be my effort to
trace in the next study—the Progress of Civilization ; the
■development of the faculties by which we have reached
from the material into that which has been usually, and, we
hold, incorrectly, styled and considered the immaterial.
With more highly developed faculties we may find how all
things are material : i.e., ultimately reducible to the cogni.zance of the senses; we shall find in materialism the even
tual explanation of all that lay outside the ken of duller
senses, and was therefore attributed to ultra-intelligible and
extra-natural agency; we shall find in materialism the sure
basis and touchstone for both the outward and inward
conduct of- man—all true work, all true science, all true
morality being therefrom deducible and provable. Nought
of despondency, nought of untrust is there in Materialism,
no dark, cold, fanciful belief, but simple knowledge, full of
Nature’s warmth and life and light. Not ours
“to seek
If any golden harbour be for men
In seas of Death and sunless gulfs of Doubt,”
�24
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
for to us Doubt is not sunless, it is the very bright and'
bracing air in which we grow ever more strong, more
humble, more confident,—and we trouble about no poetical
fictions as to Death ; for we hold that, as far as man is con
cerned, Death is but the condition of non-existence, and it
is manifestly absurd to endow the sheer absence of existence
with either charms or terrors.
in.—THE PROGRESS OF CIVILISATION.
In tracing the progress of man from a simple animal condi
tion to one of high intellectual power or civilisation, twomethods of inquiry are available; firstly, such historical
record as is afforded by writings and monuments, together
with what pre-historic evidence we may gather from fossil
bones or implements, or other evidences of man; and,
secondly, such knowledge as we may deduce from the con
ditions and characteristics of existing uncivilised races. To
my mind the evidence resultant from the comparison of
present existing conditions is less open to difference of
opinion than the historic or pre-historic source. It is on this
account that I have preferred to exemplify the development
theory by reference to now existing types and conditions
from the lowest organisms up to man, and by showing a
power and action of development in those which infer a
previous course of development ere reaching their present
condition, rather than to base my position more specially on
fossil forms and types which indubitably establish such
development, according to some observers, whilst others
dispute the conclusions thus arrived at. In man, however,
with both these sources of inquiry at our command we may
adduce evidence of development which it is impossible to
controvert, and I think we may further prove that such pro
gressive development has been incessant, and will, under
given circumstances, continue to be so.
In considering man and the higher organisms by com
parison with the lower and primitive types, we may take the
greatest acquired difference as that of sex. And for this
diversity of sex the Materialist may find a ready and natural
explanation. In the lowest types of life, as we have already
seen, the beings have the powers and functions of both sexes
(?.<?., impregnation and conception) united in one body, and
these functions may presently be exercised either indepen
dently of another being, or reciprocally with another being.
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
2$
Now, it is a natural fact, and resultant from obvious reasons,
that liability to conception may and does exist before the
power of impregnation is existent. For impregnation can
only be effected by an animal already arrived at puberty,
while the capacity for reception and retention of the sperm
cells exists, and may come into operation before the actual
capacity for conception, which is also an attribute of puberty.
If, therefore, we presume a double-sexed animal at just
this stage of its existence taking part with, or being forced
to submit to an older and fully developed animal in what
should virtually be a reciprocal act, we shall find as the result
that the immature animal will receive and retain sperm cells,
with which its germ cells will in due time be vivified, while
the mature animal will have received no sperm cells from,
its partner, and its own germ cells will, therefore, remain
unimpregnated and unvivified. In plain words the first
animal will have found exercise for its female organs alone,
and the second for its male organs alone. And, supposing
no further intercourse or exercise of the organs to take place,
it is evident that the one animal will have fulfilled the func
tion of a mother only, and the other that of a father only.
It will also be seen, and I call special attention to this fact,,
that an animal might be forced or coaxed into the position
of maternity before its own impulses or capabilities would,
have prompted any such responsibility.
Another singular natural feature now comes into play.
Where an act is susceptible of repetition, the use of the
necessary organ has a tendency to cause an increased ability,
of that organ ; and the disuse of an organ has a corre
sponding tendency to produce debility or atrophy of that
organ. So that in the next acts of intercourse of the two
individuals we have presumed, there will be a tendency to?the uni-sexual function alone being exercised. Taught by
experience, too, the older individual may have learnt that by
being careful always to select young and scarcely mature
individuals it may secure what amount of gratification is
afforded by the sexual act, without any resultant burden or
incommodity of maternity to itself. It might, in fact, readily
act as a male being, with the tendency to masculinity con
tinually increasing throughout its life. And some of its progeny would inherit this tendency to be of the male sex
only; as also others of the progeny would, from the mother's
induced habit, have a corresponding tendency to be of the
female sex only. With these tendencies once developed into.-
�26
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
■fixed habits, and they certainly will so develop, the fact of
•division into separate sexes is accomplished.
Upon thp incidents mentioned in the earlier part of the
preceding paragraph two others follow almost as corollaries;
firstly, that with the idea of the evasion of the incommodity of
maternity once conceded, it would need the exercise or develop
ment of but a very slight amount of cunning or instinct to lead
an experienced mature animal to evade the maternal function
when trafficking with even a matured animal of less experi
ence ; and, secondly, that in addition to the induced
femininity of the younger animal, there would be developed
and perpetuated a sort of habit of juvenility which might
explain the seeming secondariness of development or immatury in some aspects of females generally; and further, the
general earlier capacity of parentage on the part of the female
than of the male which is now existent.
And I think it may easily be shown that maternity is an
incommodity sufficiently great to prompt to its evasion in
the manner I have suggested. For in even the lowest or
ganisms the fact of the organism being gravid, or heavy
with young, will necessarily restrain its liberty of action or
locomotion, and yet will entail on it a necessity for increased
action in order to find the extra food for the formation of its
• coming progeny.
The habit of unisexuality on the part of either male or
female, would be further established by the fact that with
many of the lower types, both of animals and vegetables, the
act of fructification once fulfilled the being dies. Those of my
readers who have kept silkworms may have noticed how the
male moth will live even for several days, should not a female
moth be present, but that the sexual act once accomplished
the male forthwith dies. And the fact of the female receiv
ing and retaining the male secretion may be well seen in the
female moth who does not begin laying eggs till two or three
days afterwards, and who has within her body, in common
with many other insects, a special cavity, called the sper■motheca, for the storing up till time of need of the secretion
received from the male. In the ant also, the instant death
of the male after the sexual act, and the long-continued
impregnation of the female, is a prominent example of this
phenomenon.
I instance these things to show that I am not drawing on
hypothesis alone, but also on facts and parallels for the
theory as to origin of sex. I hope, at least, to have shown
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
27
that there may be a perfectly intelligible and natural way of
accounting for difference in sex, and of refuting the super
natural fiction that “ male and female created he them.”
It is but one contradiction the more of the fable of creation
that primitive and even some advanced forms of animal life
are not of divided sex.
Among the evidences that can be adduced in proof of the
some time general hermaphroditism of the progenitors of
animals that are now of clearly defined sexes, is the fact that
the rudiments or survivals of the organs and characteristics
of either sex are found in animals of the opposite sex;
rudiments of specially male organs or characteristics being
traceable in every woman, as are likewise rudiments
of the female organs in every man. Man, with other
male mammals, has nipples, and there are known cases
in which a perfectly developed man has given milk in
sufficient quantity to suckle a child. It would even seem
from recent observations in Germany that this faculty and
power may be somewhat readily called into activity. In
women, when the specially female functions have lapsed
through age, the male characteristics more or less assert
themselves; there is a distinct tendency to a more masculine
type in feature, voice, &c., and not unfrequently some ap
pearance of hair on the lips or chin. In the domestic fowl,
a hen past laying will acquire spurs and comb like the male,
and the habit of crowing. Again in the human being, if
accidentally or purposely the specially sexual organs are
removed, there is an instant and persistent tendency to the
development of the stirviving organs and characteristics of
the opposite sex (as though these organs had only been
kept in a state of dormancy by the predominances of the
previous set) ; thus male eunuchs are beardless, their
muscles less firm in texture, and their breasts grow and
soften; and, conversely, in women from whom the ovaries
have been removed, the breasts shrink and disappear, and
masculinity of voice and bearing supervene.
A still stronger exemplification of this survival of double
sexuality remains. As it is in the generative organs that the
main departure from the stage of hermaphroditism has
been made, so also is it there that we must be prepared to
furnish crucial proofs if we would maintain a still existing
identity of being in male and female; such an identity, I
mean, as should do away with all distinctions other than those
really existing in Nature. And it is precisely in those organs
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
that survival can most clearly be evidenced, most celebrated
anatomists and physiologists asserting that precise analogues
or rudiments of every portion of the female economy are
to be found in the man, and vice versa.
I am calling attention at this length to the present and
real identities and differences of male and female, becau-se
in the case of the human being the natural difference has
been very much over-rated, and, as I have already said, man
has based a series of artificial and arbitrary and unjust distinc
tions on that difference. I wish it to be clearly understood
that I am but relating what seems to me a very probable
history of the origin of sex. Whether my theory be alto
gether correct or not, we shall undoubtedly, by searching,
■eventually find out that division of sex has been as simply
and naturally induced as any other phenomenon which was
at one time a mystery, but is now clear. Such a mode of
natural action as I have suggested would go far to account
for all the good and evil of existing civilisation. For the
difference of sex is certainly at the very base of civilisation
as far as man is concerned : from this difference (as I shall
-endeavour to show) have arisen all the conditions of social
and political life, all the working of men together for mutual
and common interests, all the good that has been en
gendered by reciprocity of action and sharing of benefits,
and all the social evil from which the world still groans,
and which is but the resultant of selfishness or non
reciprocity.
For I take civilisation* to mean the banding of many to
gether to do that which could not be done by one, and the more
entirely mutual and reciprocal the benefits received from
such union are, the higher and truer is the civilisation. It is
the custom to credit man alone with being civilised, but it
will be seen that under the definition I have adopted many
other animals may be included, some sorts of ants, bees
and wasps among insects, while perhaps the beaver is the
only other among mammals. It will be seen that intelligence
alone does not imply civilisation, for though the elephant, the
dog, and other animals have a high degree of intelligence,
yet the cases are rare in which they seem to combine for a
general good. And when such instances do occur, they
seem but temporary and transitory conditions, whereas, in the
beaver and the insects named the union is a permanent
one, insomuch that fixed habitations are erected for the
general welfare of the community. Indeed the word civis
�STUD IE S IN MATERIALISM.
29
means a denizen of a city or State, and in all the animals I
have classed as civilised the construction of cities or com
monwealths is an essential feature. Yet the art of building
.alone does not constitute civilisation: birds, squirrels, and
.sticklebacks build nests, though generally only for temporary
purposes ; moles dig passages and chambers, spiders make
webs, and catapillars spin cocoons.
It is in the fact of community that we find civilisation ; it
.is in what tends to and ensures the general benefit of that
community that we find the good of civilisation : it is where
the personal acts or interests of an individual are selfish,
.and, therefore, irrelevant or inimical to the general well
being that we have evil resultant. I know it is asserted by
some sophists that all actions of man spring from a selfish
motive, but we need not trouble much about such a defini
tion ; it will be sufficient for our purpose to distinguish
.between the acts in which a man may believe that his own
well-being or happiness will be an eventual result of benefitting others, and the acts in which he seeks a personal
advantage utterly irrespective of any evil consequences of
such acts to others. Few of my readers will hesitate to
call the former acts good and unselfish, and the latter
.selfish and evil.
Now, it would seem that the class of actions confined to
•.self-interest alone had their origin as a natural consequence
■ of the primitive unisexual and self-sufficient condition, and
that the wider class of feelings and actions have been the
eventual outcome of separation into sex—i.e., of the render,
ing each individual reciprocally helpful to, and more or less
•dependent on, the well-being and full life of some other.
For in looking for the primitive origin of man’s power of
feeling, passion, idea, thought, and reason, we must be ready
to recognize and accept beginnings utterly small and infini
tesimal as compared with his present powers; we must be
prepared to find that the love of a mother for her child had
.as rudimentary and material an origin as the breast and the
milk with which she suckles the babe. As we may already
.ascribe back the wondrous delicacy of finger of a Benve
nuto Cellini or a Michael Angelo to slow development
from such power as lies in the vague changes of form of the
amoeba, so may we look for the birthplace of all the pas
sions that a Shakespeare pourtrays, of all the wisdom with
* which a Socrates and a Bacon enrich the world, in the
^cravings of hunger and the sensations of heat and cold on
�the unisexual being, and then, with wonderfully increased'
impetus, in the fresh set of feelings evolved when quest for
love was added to the quest for food. For many of the
capabilities evolved and developed in either quest would
become of avail in the other, the mutual action and reaction
giving to the organs an acceleration and extent of develop
ment which they might not otherwise have attained.
In speaking of sensations of heat, cold, and hunger in the
lowest organisms, no further intellectual action is implied on
their part than is involved in the simple chemical, or even
mechanical, effects of heat and cold, moisture and dryness
some such action, for instance, as is seen in the rotifer, a
fairly advanced organism, which, in the absence of moisture,
dries up, and will lie, to all intents and purposes, as dead
matter, even for years, but will instantly revive and resume
full activity with the advent of a few drops of water.
A distinct tendency of animated matter is to accept suchconditions as are favourable to animation, the distinguishing
power of locomotion being developed and constantly exerted
to this end. Nor can it be doubted that constantly
recurring experiences of things inimical to the organism’s
well-being will cause even a mechanical tendency to the
avoidance of such evil things, and will develop a pro
vision from the remembrances of experiences, which is the step
ping-stone to an intellect. We see the pimpernel flowerclose itself when rain is coming, that its pollen may not be
injured by the moisture. Doubtless the mechanical causeof this is that some condition of the atmosphere previous
to rain causes a relaxation, and therefore a closing, as in sleep,,
of the flower. We see men and women, when rain is coming,
take an umbrella, that their clothes or their health may not
be injured. They are warned by some evidence of theirsenses: a dark cloud in the sky causes a mechanical relaxation,
in the retina of their eye analogous to the relaxation of the
corolla of the pimpernel, or they see a change in that furthermechanical contrivance, the barometer. Why are we to call,
the carrying of an umbrella an intellectual act, and the closing
ota flower a mechanical act ? Men only use a further de
veloped set of experiences and remembrances and mecha
nisms ; the base of the action and the resultant are essen
tially the same, the avoidance of a condition hurtful to thewell-being of the organism. Man’s intellectual chain may
be longer than that of the pimpernel, but the links are forged,
of the same metal.
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
31
The fact is that every experience of an organism is in
some way duly registered in the organism, just as truly as
every touch of a sculptor’s chisel has its effect in the image
he produces. One result of this law—a result that will at
some time be as clear to our understanding as it is now in
many instances to our vision—is that the accretion of experi
ences produces, as might be expected, some definite change
or growth in the organism itself, such change being, in point
of fact, an organ ; and so truly is this the case that it is by
examining the organs of any living thing that we arrive at
the knowledge of the conditions and experiences of its life.
Indeed, we should not greatly err in calling organs materi
alized experiences. In such a way we may not only clearly
explain the necessarily slow progress of development, but
we may also show the very how and why of its existence.
And so the varied necessities of food and love induced
the gradual evolution and development of the organs and
faculties of touch, sight, hearing, smell, taste, locomotion,
prehension, speech; and from the experiences and remem
brances attendant on their continual use arose by similar
slow evolution all the powers that we call intelligence, or
mind, or soul. For we may find a fully sufficient basis for
mind and all its phenomena in such experiences and
remembrances, such impressions, inherited or acquiredimpressions inherited from countless ages of progenitors as
unconsciously, but just as tangibly, as our limbs are in
herited—impressions from our own smaller experiences—-im
pressions which we acquire from others by living converse,
or by bookly intercourse with the mighty dead.
It is the quest for food and the quest for love that are at
the bottom of the two laws so clearly enunciated by Charles
Darwin—Sexual Selection and the Survival of the Fittest.
It must be borne in mind that this survival of the fittest
simply means the survival of the types or animals best
capable of living under certain conditions and contingencies ;
it does not mean the survival of the animals which man
might have considered the most fitting denizens of the earth
as far as his ideas were concerned. For further considera
tion as to these two laws, I must refer the reader to the
works of the author just mentioned. I simply wish here to
note that the quest for food, coincident with the survival of
the fittest, and the quest for love, which evolved the prin
ciple of sexual selection, opened out two separate and widely
varying vistas of impulse and action.
�32
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
As already estimated, the quest of food involved feelings
mainly concerning the self of the organism, and affecting
only the inward personality of the individual; while from
the quest for love, for intercourse and companionship with
fellow-beings, have arisen the feelings concerning the larger
world outside the individual—the feelings which have their
outcome in parental affection, social relations, and civilisation.
And in the commingling and interaction of these inward and'
outer interests we may find the source of all intellectual action.
For, indeed, the reaction of these two sets of feelings on
each other has been so incessant and so multitudinous that
it is difficult, if not impossible, now to classify some of the
many varied passions of man according to their original
incentive. And the organs naturally bear evidence to this
intermingling of causes and events, for the gentle murmur
ing of words of love is as delicious to the lips and tongue as
is the most delicate fruit, and “ the warmth of hand in hand
is more tender and delightful than the sunniest glow of
summer skies.
In man, as in the male of many other animals, this inter
changeability of usage of the organs has been temporarily
used to evil ends, for the organs of prehension acquired in
the quest for food have been in some instances developed
by the quest for love into instruments of outrage; so that, as
already said, the young of the opposite sex have continually
had enforced on them the function of maternity before their
own strength or inclination would have suggested any such
burden or responsibility. In looking at the means of pre
hension used for amatory purposes by male animals gene
rally, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that the maternal
office has been a matter of compulsion rather than of equal
and voluntary acceptance. In some beetles, the cruellooking specially-developed organs of prehension are repul
sively suggestive of the idea that conquest and not endear
ment is their purpose, and that it must have been a great re
pugnance on the part of the female which has necessitated
such implements of brute force in the male.
It is true that in the course of time a habit of tolerance,
or even of perfect acquiescence, has been acquired by some
females, yet the habit is far from universal, and, perhaps,
never will be so, so long as the female remains exposed to
the capacity of having maternity forced upon her despite
her own will, while the male is incapable of having the office
of paternity enforced by outrage on him.
�TUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
33;
In the primitive and savage condition of mankind we
have such evidence of the abominable treatment and out
rage of the young females as to leave us without wonder
that the result has been to make woman of a generally
more feeble type than man, and to have induced in her an
utterly abnormal and unnatural phenomenon from which
men and even female animals are exempt. At the first
glance it is pitiful to reflect that man’s vaunted superiority
over the brute, the greater activity of his brain, and thesubtler cunning of his hand have for so long lent them
selves to the oppression that has resulted in such pernicious,
consequences and in the still existent slavery, social and
physical, of the female of his own species. The function
of child-bearing has been exaggerated to an utterly dispropor
tionate degree in her life; it has been made her almost sole
claim to existence. Yet it is not the true purpose of any
intellectual organism to live solely to give birth to succeed
ing organisms; its duty is also to live for its own happiness
and well-being. Indeed, in so doing, it will be acting in
one of the most certain ways to ensure that faculty and
possession of happiness that it aims to secure for its pro
geny. But up to the present woman has scarcely been
treated as an intellectual being. In earlier history her fate
was entirely subordinated to the passions of man, nor has
our civilization yet sufficiently advanced to leave her to
choose her own life, or to develop the powers, the inclina
tions, or the individuality which lie within her nature; and
in our still feeble intellectual powers, in our narrow sym
pathies, and in our stunted capacities, we men are reaping
the natural consequences of our blindness and injustice.
Truly the tale of man’s ignorant injustice will be a bitter
one when unfolded; yet there is the bright hope and con
fidence that to know the wrong will be to redress it. And
it is by intelligent materialistic research that we can alone
assure such knowledge, and by the destruction of all reli
gions and priestcrafts. For a main basis and element in
the constitution of these is the subjugation of woman,
enunciated in tacit and open assumptions and assertions of'
her inferiority and secondariness to man, or in hideous and
insulting fables proclamatory of her innate baseness, and
exculpatory of the condition to which the wrong and selfish
ness of man has alone reduced her.
Further and very conclusive evidence in favour of develop
ment by interaction of these sets of motives and quests is.
�34
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
offered by the nervous system in organised beings. This
system comprises the organs of intellect and of action, and
divides into two main conditions having these specific func
tions. In the lowest organisms little evidence of nervous
structure is presented beyond disjected filaments, but with
■organisms of more experiences (and, therefore, develop
ment) the nervous system becomes an apparatus of filaments
combined with knots or ganglia. And with division into
sets we have the accession of a cephalic ganglion or brain,
at any rate in the more advanced organisms. The minute
ness of many intelligent organisms (such as ants, bees,
wasps, beetles, &c.) throws greater difficulty in the way of
obtaining precise statistics concerning their nervous struc
ture, but in the vertebrata we have greater facilities. That
the brain seems to be a special outcome of wider experiences
■and motives is evidenced by its greater bulk in proportion to
Average Proportion of Weight of Brain to Body :
Fishes ........................... I to 5568
Reptiles ........................ 1 ,, 1321
Birds ........................... 1 ,, 212
Mammals....................... I ,, 186
Man............................... I „ 35
The spinal system, which we are assuming to be more
-specially developed by, and connected with, the narrower
series of motives implicated in self-preservation alone, offers
a similar confirmatory result in its proportion to the amount
of brain, as in the ensuing fairly accurate table :—
Proportion of Weight of Brain to Spinal Marrow :
Fishes ............. • i£, or 2 to 1
Reptiles ......... • 2, „ 2% „ 1
Birds .............
,, 1
Mammals......... • 3> „ 4 „ 1
Man ................. • 23, >, 24 „ 1
This proportion ot brain or mental power to spinal or
active power shall be noted with the coincident sexual,
parental, and social conditions, as follows :—
Fishes.—In general there is no approach of the sexes,
and no indication of parental feeling, except in very rare
instances.
Reptiles.—Approach of the sexes, and sometimes (as in
the viper) fairly developed parental care.
Birds.—In general a greatly increased degree of parental
care, with, in some cases, a steady companionship of two
individuals of opposite sex, which may even endure through
out life.
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
35
Mammals.—Parental, or rather maternal, care has here
evolved a special organ, affording food to the young; the
degrees and conditions of parentage, and of sexual affection
and companionship, vary greatly. In many birds and mam- .
mals a power of affection, outside sexual or parental feeling,
has been developed. In animals which have been much
cared for by man, and become domesticated, this affection
may be so prominent as sometimes to override both the
quest for food, and sexual or parental affection. Instances
are not rare o*f the dog or the horse who willingly refuses a
meal in order to be with his master, or who will leave puppy
or colt at the sound of the same dear voice.
Man.—The office and issues of parentage have been ex
tended through simple paternal brute force, with subjugation
of wife and child; patriarchism, with attendant slavery ■
autocracy, with attendant servitude; limited monarchy, with
attendant subjection; to Republicanism, with recognition of
equality of individual right. And from some phase of these
have arisen the vast majority of the existent relations
between man and man. These form the subject of the
further science of materialism called Sociology, and to that
branch of the subject we must leave them, as also the wider
discussion of the development of love in man to its grand
phases of conjugal love, parental and filial affection,
patriotism, and general humanity.
I need only draw attention to one further incident before
bringing these papers to a close ; the fact that the superiority
of man’s primitive culture over that of animals is mainly
evidenced in three things—agriculture, the use of tools, and
the use of fire, each of these having contributed its quota to
the development of man’s intellect. Agriculture would seem
to be an outcome of the habit, common to many animals, of
hiding a superfluity of food till a time of need, though there
is, of course, a vast distance between the simple hiding of
food and the sowing of seeds and the preparing of land for
the purpose, yet it is not difficult to imagine that the acci
dental growth of a store of nuts or roots hidden in the
ground gave to man the idea of providing for food in that
manner.
Evidence of the origin of the use of tools is to be found
in the habit of some birds in carrying to a height and
dropping shell-fish which they have not the strength to
break or open ; monkeys, too, are known to break cocoa-nuts
by dropping them. In these cases the earth itself is used as
�36
STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
a hammer, and the unintentional dropping of a shell or a
cocoa-nut offers an easy solution for the origin of the habit,
which would readily spread by imitation and inheritance.
The next step in the scale of mechanical progress is evi
denced in some monkeys, who use a stone as a hammer, or
a stick as a lever. Then follows man, with the adaptation
of the lever (or handle) to the stone, and the use of sharp-edged stones (knives and axes), and with the advent of fire
•and the smelting of metals we gradually arrive at the whole
series of tools and machines that may be found in an inter
national exhibition.
There seems no glimpse of any approach to the creation
■of fire in any animal but man, though many animals willingly
accept its artificial warmth, and prefer the food that is
cooked by its aid. In primitive times the chipping of his
flint implements must have afforded man many instances of
sparks of fire, and possibly of undesigned conflagration, with
•attendant flame and heat. The observation of this may
well have led some thoughtful man to turn the unexpected
discovery to profit and to imitate it; and the evolution by
friction of a heat similar to that caused by fire might suggest
to him or to others the continuance and increase of that
friction till flame would be the reward of their curiosity and
perseverance. And all this would be the consequence of as
clear and simple a train of reasoning as that which led
Columbus to discover land to the west of the Atlantic, or
James Watt to foresee that the force which could raise the
lid of a teakettle could also drive mighty engines.
We do not now dignify either of these men with the title
■of gods, or suppose that they stole their knowledge from
heaven, our times are already too materialistic for that; yet in
n preceding age we have the invention of fire attributed to
■such agency, and the shrewd and patient woman who
evolved the primitive art of the culture of corn and fruit
figured as a goddess, whose name we still use when
speaking of our cereal productions.
Yet, though we no longer dream of referring such inven
tions or knowledge to supernatural power, though we no
longer place faith in fictions of the divinity of the inventors,
we, as a majority, present the pitiable spectacle of still
accepting such primitive and infantile explanations of all the
phenomena that man’s intellect has not yet had the per
severance or the opportunity to solve. The inquisitiveness
and habit of research evolved in man’s natural quests have
�STUDIES IN MATERIALISM.
led him to continually inquire into the origin and sequence
-of all the circumstances that he sees around him, and, where
-want of true knowledge has supervened there have not been
wanting those who have offered all sorts of fictitious and
baneful explanations. It is the evil of all religions, from
that of Confucius to that of Comte, that they are, in the
main, a compound of unverified assertions concerning man’s
physical and social condition, together with a series of selfstyled moral aphorisms deduced from such assertions. It is
only when the spirit of materialistic inquiry shall be carried
into the region of ethics, when every action and idea and
sequence of man’s intellect and mind shall be accredited
solely on the same terms as any other physical fact, that we
shall arrive at any true morality, at any assured knowledge
■of living to the best for ourselves and for each other. Pro
ceeding in this way we shall find that man’s intellect will
have power to find the solution of all that that intellect can
suggest, and to speak of anything further is simply to speak
■of what is for man non-existent.
It has been my purpose to indicate somewhat of the line
.and method of thought which 'may be available in this
further research, but each man must be left to travel by
himself along that road. Sect and name-following can find
no place there; open eyes for Nature’s facts, open hearts
for Nature’s love, these will be our unerring guides to the
■ever-increasing knowledge, the ever-growing happiness, the
-ever-higher potentiality of life, and love, and humanity.
Farewell.
��
Dublin Core
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Title
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Victorian Blogging
Description
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A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
Text
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Original Format
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Pamphlet
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Studies in materialism
Creator
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Elmy, Ben
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: London
Collation: 37 p. ; 17 cm.
Notes: Printed and published by Annie Besant and Charles Bradlaugh. Tentative date of publication from KVK. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection.
Publisher
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Freethought Publishing Company
Date
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[187-?]
Identifier
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N207
Subject
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Materialism
Philosophy
Rights
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<a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a><span> </span><br /><span>This work (Studies in materialism), identified by </span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk"><span>Humanist Library and Archives</span></a><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
Materialism
NSS