Priestley's Writings on Philosophy, Science and Politics

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.1

P RIESTL EY ' S ON

WRITINGS

P HIL O S O P HY , AN D

SCIENC E ,

P O LITIC S

COLLIER CLASSICS IN THE HISTORY OF THOUGHT

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General Editors: Crane Brinton and Paul Edwards (TITLES PUBLISHED)

Berkeley's Philosophical Writings.

Ed. by D. M. Armstrong DIDEROT: Diderot's Selected Writings. Ed. by Lester Crocker GIBBON: Christianity and the Decline of Rome (Vol. I of The De­ cline and Fall of the Roman Empire). Abridged and edited by Jacob Sloan, with an Introduction by C. D. Gordon GIBBON: Barbarism and the Fall of Rome (Vol. II of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire). Abridged and edited by Jacob Sloan, with an Introduction by C. D. Gordon HOBBES: Body, Man, and Citizen. Ed. by Richard S. Peters HOBBES: Leviathan. Ed. by Richard S. Peters HUME: Hume's Ethical Writings. Ed. by Alasdair MacIntyre HUME: On Human Nature and Understanding. Ed. by Anthony Flew .JAMES: Psychology: Briefer Course. Foreword by Gardner Murphy .JAMES: The Varieties of Religious Experience. Introduction by Reinhold Niebuhr LOCKE: Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Ed. by Maurice Cranston LOCKE: Locke's Writings on Politics, Religion, and Education. Ed. by Maurice Cranston MILL: Mill's Essays on Literature and Society. Ed. by J. B. Schneewind MILL: Mill's Ethical Writings. Ed. by J. B. Schneewind PRIESTLEY: Priestley's Writings on Philosophy, Science, and Poli­ tics. Ed. by John Passmore American Thought before 1900: A Sourcebook from Puritanism to Darwinism. Ed. by Paul Kurtz American Philosophy in the Twentieth Century: A Sourcebook from Pragmatism to Philosophical Analysis. Ed. by Paul Kurtz BERKELEY:

JOSEPH

PRIESTLEY _.,

.,­

Priestley's Writings on Philosophy, Science, and Politics E D IT E D ,

WITH

AN

IN T R O D U C TION , B Y

JOHN

A.

PASSMORE

A Collier Books Original

COLLIER

BOOKS, NEW

COLLIER-MACMILLAN

LT D .,

YORK LON D ON

Copyright © 1965 by The Macmillan Company All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, includ­ ing photocopying, recording or by any infor­ mation storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Publisher. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 64--22682 A Collier Books Original First Edition 1965

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1 , _,'. � The Macmillan Company, New York CoHier-Ma,mHlan Canada Ltd., Toronto, Ontario Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Editor's Introduction A Note on the Selections Part One/The Philosopher The Associationist Free Will and Determinism I: II: Ill: IV: V: VI: VU: VIII: IX:

The Questions at Issue The Argument from Causality The Argument from Divine Foreknowledge The Nature of the Will The Argument from Immediate Consciousness Free Will and Virtue Praise and Blame Determinism and Moral Judgments God as the Author of Sin

Materialism I: II: III: IV: V:

Of the Properties of Matter Impenetrability Of the Seat of the Mind The Materiality of the Soul Reply to Objections

Part Two/The Scientist Experimental Techniques The Discovery of Oxygen The Properties of Oxygen The Restoration of Air by Vegetation Part Three/The Unitarian Towards Unitarianism The Workings of Providence

Part Four/The Political Theorist The General Principles of Good Government The Stability of Governments

7 39 43 55

103

135 139 151 159 165 171 177 187

I Contents On Civil and Political Liberty

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I: The Two Kinds of Liberty

II: Political Liberty III: Civil Liberty On Toleration On Sovereignty Utopia

197 227 243 251

Part Five/The Social Theorist The Organization of Scientific Research On Trade Crime and Punishment

261 267 277

Part Six/The Educator An Essay on a Course of Liberal Education for Civil and Active Life On State Control of Education

285 305

Part Seven/The Historian The Importance of the History of Science The History of the Idea of Positive and Negative Electricity Science as Amusement Maxims of Historical Method

Bibliography Index

317 323 333 335

341 347

Editor's Introduction JosEPH PRIESTLEY WAS born on March 13, 1733, at Birstall in Yorkshire, the son of an impecunious cloth-dresser. His mother died in 1740, after giving birth to six children in seven years, and in 1742 Priestley was adopted by a childless, well­ to-do aunt, Mrs. Keighley. Although a convinced Calvinist, Mrs. Keighley was no bigot. "Her home," Priestley tells us in his Memoirs ( § 10), "was the resort of all the Dissenting ministers in the neighbourhood ... , and those who were the most obnoxious on account of their heresy, were almost as welcome to her, if she thought them honest and good men (which she was not unwilling to do), as any others." Priestley, for all his aunt's tolerance, did not escape the horrifying experiences common to sensitive Calvinist children. "Believing that a new birth, produced by the immediate agency of the Spirit of God, was necesary to salvation,'' he wrote, "and not being able to satisfy myself that I had experienced anything of the kind, I felt occasionally such distress of mind as it is not in my power to describe, and which I still look back upon with horror" ( § 13). The miseries of his religious upbringing left Priestley with "a peculiar sense of the value of rational principles of religion" as opposed to the "igno­ rance and darkness" of Calvinistic zeal ( § 14). And he knew from personal experience of the heretics he had met at his aunt's house that "honest and good men" could be sincerely unorthodox. His critics were to accuse Priestley of looking at religious disputes in a manner too rational and too tolerant. Both attitudes derived-the one by way of reaction, the other more directly-from his experiences in his aunt's household. From childhood Priestley's abilities \vere apparent, and it was early settled that he should enter the Presbyterian min­ istry. Until the age of sixteen he was educated at conventional grammar-schools, with their emphasis upon a classical educa­ tion. His health did not at first permit him to enter upon

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8 I Editor's Introduction more advanced studies; indeed, for the next three years he in large part educated himself, reading his way into mathe­ matics, physics, and philosophy, as well as enlarging his range of linguistic_ competence by undertaking the study not only of modern languages but of Chaldean, Syriac, and Arabic. At the age of nineteen, his health having improved, he was admitted to the newly established Daventry Academy, one of the small group of university-type institutions set up by Nonconformists, to whom Oxford denied entry and Cam­ bridge a degree. His aunt would have preferred Priestley to enter a more rigidly Calvinist academy, but he was already too imbued with unorthodoxy to be able sincerely to subscribe to the orthodox Calvinist articles of faith, as he would then have been called upon to do. "His whole writings," wrote Lord Brougham of Priestley in Lives of Men of Letters and Science ( 1 845), "which are numberless and without method, or system, or closeness, or indeed clearness, bear ample testimony to what we might expect would be the result of so very imperfect a foundation as his scanty and rambling education had laid" (pp. 404-5). Brougham's comment is typical of an older generation of biographers, accustomed to think of Oxford as the sole reposi­ tory of British culture. Priestley's view of the matter was very different. "While your Universities," he wrote in his Letter to Pitt ( 1787), "resemble pools of stagnant water secured by dams and mounds, and offensive to the neighbourhood, ours are like rivers, which, taking their natural course, fer­ tilise a whole country" (XIX, 128). 1 Priestley is largely right: The best of "our Universities"-the Dissenting Acad­ emies-were far less hidebound in curriculum than the older English universities. They were more interested in those subjects, whether physics or politics, which lay on the fron­ tiers of knowledge, and their educational methods encouraged, whereas Oxford discouraged, the questioning of orthodox and established opinion. Had Priestley gone to Oxford, he might have been-and certainly with great advantage-less volumi1 Where works are included in J. T. Rutt's The Theological and Mis­ cellaneous Works of Joseph Priestley a reference has generally been given, as here, to volume and page number.

/ 9 nous, clearer, more methodical, a better scholar, and a more elegant writer. If Oxford had had its way, he would also have been less enterprising, more respectful to authority, and less interested in the newer forms of inquiry. The habit of free discussion which Priestley acquired •at Daventry stayed with him throughout his life. Although he was a vigorous controversialist, he never flinched from criti­ cism or thought the worse of those whose views were opposed to his own. "I do not recollect," one of his pupils reported, "that he ever showed the least displeasure at the strongest objections that were made to what he delivered; but I dis-­ tinctly remember the smile of approbation with which he usually received them" (I, 50 n.). Priestley, that is, was one of those very rare people who not only approve in principle of free discussion but also rejoice in the actual practice of it. At Daventry, too, Priestley was introduced to David Hart­ ley's Observations on Man ( 1749), a book which immediately affected him profoundly and exerted an even stronger influ­ ence on him as the years went by. Hartley set out to explain all the operations of the human mind in terms of a few fun-­ damental laws-"the laws of association"-operating upon ideas derived from sensory experience. This method of ap­ proach Priestley found deeply satisfying for a number of reasons. The simplicity, generality, and freedom from mystifi­ cation of Hartley's psychology appealed to Priestley's matur­ ing scientific instincts: no "faculties," no "innate instincts," no "soul," only ideas and their interrelations. Secondly, if Hartley was right, education was all-powerful, and the pros­ pects for progress were unlimited. If children were con­ fronted with the right sort of experience, associative laws would automatically convert those experiences into habits of right action. By opening the way to human perfectibility through education, Hartley's associationism supplied a theo­ retical foundation for Priestley's faith both in progress and in education. ( Compare, in our own century, the appeal of the very similar "conditioned reflex" theories of Pavlov and of Watson to political, social, and educational reformers.) Finally, Hartley was a firm Christian, yet he rejected both the orthodox doctrine of free will and, although he was not Editor's Introduction

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Editor's Introduction

quite a materialist, the sharp orthodox distinction between soul and body. So he encouraged Priestley in his belief that a philosopher could be both a determinist and a materialist without ceasing to be a Christian. "Compared with Dr. Hartley," Priestley once wrote, ''I consider Mr. Hume as not even a child" ( IV, 368) . Even when it is remembered that Priestley does not appear to have read the Treatise, this judgment is bound to startle the modern reader. But Hume's politics were no less distasteful to Priestley than his religion, or lack of it; Priestley thought Hume's Essays frivolous, and he did not appreciate the force of Hume's Dialogues Concern­ ing Natural Human Religion, which he criticized at length in his Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever. In contrast, Hart­ ley's politics, his religion, his systematic habits of exposition, and his intense seriousness were all to Priestley's taste. Anthony Collins' Philosophical Inquiry Concerning Human Liberty and Necessity ( 1 714) had already destroyed Priest­ ley's belief in free will, but Hartley now provided him with a detailed alternative account of human action. Priestley never forgot his indebtedness to Hartley and to Collins. Hoping to introduce Hartley to a wider public, he produced in 1 775 an abridged version of Hartley's Observations, under the title of Hartley's Theory of the Human Mind on the Principle of the Association of Ideas ( 1775), and as late as 1 790 be pre­ pared for publication and wrote a preface to a new edition of Collins' Philosophical Inquiry. In 1 755, at the age of twenty-two, Priestley entered the ministry, taking over a decaying congregation at Needham Market, Suffolk. As a clergyman, he was not at first a success ; his stammering delivery and the freedom of his theological speculations-he was already on the path that would lead him from the Calvinism of his childhood to the Unitarianism of his maturity-combined to alienate his congregation. When in 1 758 he moved to Nantwich in Cheshire, his small congre­ gation-"a great proportion of them travelling Scotchmen"­ was more sympathetically unorthodox but equally impover­ ished. Priestley decided to increase his miserably small income by setting up a school. For all his poverty, one of his first steps as a schoolmaster was to buy a set of scientific instru-

Editor's Introduction / 1 1 ments, including an "electrical machine" and an air pump, and to instruct his pupils how to use them. He may well have been the first person to teach laboratory science to schoolchildren. In 1 761 Priestley left Nantwich, on his appointment as "Tutor of the languages" in the Dissenting Academy at Warrington, Lancashire-the most famous, perhaps, of the "Nonconformist Universities." As well as teaching languages, Priestley taught and, characteristically, developed new ideas about oratory, criticism, grammar, history, and law. No less characteristically, he sooner or later prepared those new ideas for publication. "It is difficult to imagine," commented Brougham, "any­ thing more adventurous , than the tutor of an academy, af­ flicted with an incurable stutter, and who devoted his time to teaching and to theology, promulgating rules of eloquence and of jurisprudence to the senators and lawyers of his country" (p. 408 ) . But if Priestley had let lack of experience stand in his way, he would never have accomplished any­ thing-the stammering Dissenting minister who published a Course of Lectures on Oratory and Criticism ( 1 777), and the self-taught lawyer who in A Few Remarks on Blackstone's Commentaries (1 769) dared to cross swords with the most learned of all commentators on English law is the characteris­ tic Priestley. He read, sometimes not enough, sometimes not wisely; he thought, sometimes not long enough or hard enough; he wrote, certainly, too rapidly. ("Composition," as he proudly said, "seldom employing as much time as could be necessary to write in long-hand anything I have published," Memoirs § 22.) That is the Priestley routine, applied to an incredible variety of topics, and naturally with varying degrees of success. One of the best-received of his earlier works was The Rudiments of English Grammar ( 1 761 ) , many times re­ printed, which sought to free English grammar from the complications introduced by classically trained grammarians, and is typical of the boldness and independence of his think­ ing. It is in large part an eighteenth-century version of Fowler's Modern English Usage; Priestley chastises Hume, in particular, for writing in a French rather than an English

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idiom. Even more popular were Priestley's A Chart of Biog­ raphy ( 1765) and New Chart of History ( 1 769). These elaborately arranged time charts, supplemented by explanatory textbooks, are testimonies both to his diligence and to the width of his interests. It is, all the same, more than a little extraordinary to reflect that the first of these charts not only won for Priestley his sole university honour, the doctorate of laws of the University of Edinburgh, but was also mainly responsible for his election to a Fellowship of the Royal Society. (The notice of his nomination reads: "March 5th, 1 766-Joseph Priestley of Warrington, LLD., author of Diverse works, particularly a Chart of Biography, was recom­ mended for election.") Priestley's days of relative isolation were now over. In 1762 he married the daughter of an ironmaster, Mary Wil­ kinson, an intelligent woman with a sense of humour and considerable force of character-qualities which were to be much called upon in the years that followed. His duties at Warrington left him free to visit London for a month each year; the principal of the Academy supplied him with an introduction to the headmaster-scientist, John Canton, and by that means be came into contact with an active London group of scientists and philosophers. Two members of the group were especially important in Priestley's life: Benjamin Franklin and Richard Price. Price, although he and Priestley came to differ on fundamental matters, encouraged his philo­ sophical and political interests; Franklin was his scientific mentor. Although it was principally for his achievements as a his­ torian that Priestley was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, he had several times in his early writings made clear his interest in science, and his nominators for a Fellowship in­ cluded such well-known scientists as Franklin, Canton, and Sir William Watson. Priestley's certificate of election, indeed, spoke of him as "being well versed in mathematical and philosophical [i.e., scientific] inquiries." His scientific interests were already sufficiently apparent to attract the attention of his new London friends, even if he had as yet completed very little in the way of experimental work. So when he mentioned

13 to Franklin his scheme for writing a history of the "order and manner in which the discoveries in electricity have actually been made," Franklin not only encouraged him to proceed with bis plan but considerably assisted its execution. Editor's Introduction

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The History and Present State of Electricity, with Original Experiments ( 176 7), has been overshadowed by Priestley's

later writings, but not with entire justice. It is, in the first place, a notable contribution to the history of science; if subsequent historians have altered Priestley's emphasis, they have uncovered very little that be completely overlooked (in spite of the fact that the History was written with extraor­ dinary rapidity). It is still extensively referred t�as, for example, by Sir Edmund Whittaker in his classic History of the Theories of the A ether and Electricity ( 1 910)-and even more extensively pillaged. Closely involved in most of the work he described, Priestley helps us to realize what more formal historians sometimes conceal, just how tentatively and uncertainly scientific knowledge advances. Modern histories of science are generally "success stories," setting out to illus­ trate the advance of science from formula to formula; Priest­ ley, in contrast, was interested in failures, where they were significant, as well as in successes, and stressed the importance of laboratory ingenuity. Last but not least, he makes science sound enjoyable; he never reads as if Mr. Dryasdust bad transferred his attention from political history to the history of science. "Science is Fun" was not, for Priestley, a propa­ gandist slogan but a simple fact. Secondly, Priestley's own electrical experiments are of con­ siderable interest and importance. In certain respects, they must be set higher as intellectual achievements than his better­ known work in chemistry. Priestley was, among other things, the first to demonstrate experimentally that, as he put it, "the attraction of electricity is subject to the same laws as that of gravitation, and is therefore as the square of the distances" (2nd ed., p. 711 ) . Thus, with Franklin, he showed how electrical theory could become an exact science, as distinct from a set of interesting but uncoordinated observations. It was left to Coulomb, however, to work out in detail what Priestley had only tentatively suggested, and a similar fate

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Editor's Introduction

befell many of his other innovations. Not for a hundred years, until Maxwell, did anyone take seriously the question Priestley had raised (p. 459), whether electrical fluid was anything more than the ether, and it was left to Sir Oliver Lodge to rediscover in 1888 what Priestley had shown (Feb­ ruary, 1770) about the oscillatory character of the "lateral force of electrical explosions" (p. 681) produced in a Leyden jar. If the ordinary laboratory scientist has heard of Priestley as a physicist, it will only be insofar as the phenomenon known as "Priestley's rings" preserves bis name. A third point of interest about The History and Present State of Electricity is that it contains Priestley's principal reflections on scientific method. Priestley is often taken to be essentially a fact-collector, contributing to the "natural his­ tory" of gases rather than to science proper. But in his writ­ ings on scientific method, he showed himself to be fully aware of the importance of hypotheses in science. "Hypotheses," he wrote, "lead persons to try a variety of experiments, in order to ascertain [test] them. In these experiments new facts gen­ erally arise. These new facts serve to correct the hypothesis which gave occasion to them. The theory thus corrected serves to discover more new facts, which, as before, bring the theory still nearer the truth" (p. 421). The danger, for Priestley, lay not in using hypotheses but in refusing to let them be falsified. "A philosopher [scientist] who has been long attached to a favourite hypothesis, and especially if he have distinguished himself by his ingenuity in discovering or pursuing it, will not, sometimes, be con­ vinced of its falsity by the plainest evidence of fact" ; such a scientist and his followers, he continued , "seem determined to warp the whole course of nature to suit their manner of conceiving of its operations" (p. 420). Whether Priestley himself was quite free from that tendency is another matter. Science, however, was far from absorbing all Priestley's energies at Warrington. Like many of his fellow Dissenters, he was greatly interested in educational reform, on which he summed up his conclusions in A n Essay on a Course of Liberal Educa tion ( 1765). The British educational system, so he argued, had been designed, and solely designed, to

Editor's Introduction / 15 produce an educated clergy. But circumstances had changed. Men now had to be educated for an "active and civil life" as much as for the ministry; to provide a proper preparation for administration and commerce, both the curriculum and the methods of teaching from grammar school to university would have to be recast. Teaching, he argued, should largely take the form of discussion, and the curriculum should strongly emphasize modem history and "civil policy" ( what we now call "social science"). Priestley liked to think that he was himself responsible for the rapid growth of historical and political studies in the eighteenth-century academies; if he somewhat exaggerated his personal influence-although he is said to have been the first to offer formal courses in modern history-there is no doubt that he at least considerably strengthened the reforming influ­ ences in education. His Lectures on History and General Policy, written while Priestley was a tutor at Warrington although not published until 1 788, provided the academies and the new American colleges with a text suitable to their needs and were recommended-indeed, even at Cambridge­ to undergraduates.They were reprinted as late as 1826. Their emphasis on commerce, law, and public administration, and their usefulness as a summary of the main historical sources, no doubt account for this popularity. They are a guide to the study of history rather than a historical textbook of the orthodox sort. In Priestley's eyes, however , the clergyman's, not the lec­ turer's, was the noblest of occupations, and in 1 767 he gladly accepted an invitation to Mill Hill, Leeds, a congregation to which his religious views were exceptionally congenial. The years he spent at Mill Hill ( 1 767-72) were extremely impor­ tant in Priestley's development; his salary, although small, sufficed for his needs, and he had a great deal of leisure for his studies. His theological opinions had changed little during the pre­ vious ten years. He had long before abandoned both the doctrine of the atonem·ent, on which he had written critically in his The Scripture Doctrine of Remission ( 1 7 6 1 ), and orthodox Trinitarianism. But now he took what was, for him,

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the :final step-from the "Arianism" of his Daventry period to the "Socinianism" of his mature theology; that is, he came to deny not only that Christ was "of the same substance" as God the Father but even that he was divine at all. For Priest­ ley, "Christ was a man like ourselves," a man who, although neither infallible nor impeccable, was yet chosen by God as a Messiah. Like Locke, he took it to be the central teaching of Christianity that Jesus was, in Locke's words, "the Messiah, the Anointed, who had been promised by God to the world." Priestley never went on, as later Unitarians were to do, to the conclusion that Christ was simply an exceptionally gifted teacher; his religion centred around the Messiah, even if his Messiah was neither God nor even a perfect being. Priestley's subsequent theological writings, only too multi­ tudinous, were largely devoted to showing that his own doc­ trine was in perfect agreement with that of the early Chris­ tians. The best known of his writings in ecclesiastical history is A n History of the Corruptions of Christianity ( 1 7 82), which had the honour of being burnt by the common hangman at Dort, but his History of Early Opinions Concerning Jesus Christ ( 1786) is the fullest expression of his theologico­ historical point of view. It is one of the earliest attempts to think of Christianity as a developing doctrine, or to penetrate to the minds of the ordinary early Christian-as distinct from, although through the medium of, the minds of the Church Fathers. "My case," he wrote in his Letters to Rev. Edward Burn (1790), "is singularly hard. The greater part of my philo­ sophical acquaintance ridicule my attachment to Christianity, and yet the generality of Christians will not allow me to belong to them at all" (XIX, 31 0). Indeed, Priestley's the­ ology puzzled and angered his contemporaries. A good many of his scientific colleagues were astonished that a man of Priestley's intellectual eminence should take Christianity seri­ ously, in however unorthodox a fashion. Christians and scep­ tics alike found it hard to understand how Priestley could accept, as he summarized his beliefs in the second part (1787) of his Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever, "all the great historical facts recorded in the Old and New Testament,

Editor's Introduction

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in which we are informed concerning the creation and gov­ ernment of the world, the history of the discourses, miracles, death and resurrection of Christ, and his assurance of the resurrection of all the dead to a future life of retribution" ( IV, 466) when, by denying that the Scriptures were wholly inspired and by exercising historical criticism upon them, he had undermined the only grounds on which those "facts" could be taken to be "historical." Gibbon certainly conveyed "the almost unanimous and not offensive wish of the philo­ sophical world" when he advised Priestley to stick to "those sciences in which real and useful improvements can be made" (Letter from Gibbon, January 28, 1 783) . On the other side, Priestley's Christian contemporaries were not disposed to accept as their champion in the fight against "unbelievers" a man who rejected original sin, the Trinity, and the doctrine of the atonement, particularly when he also described himself as a materialist and a determinist. John Wesley, indeed, de­ scribed Priestley as "one of the most dangerous enemies of Christianity"-not surprisingly, since Priestley had attacked Methodist evangelism with great vigor and considerable · pop­ ular success in his anonymous A n A ppeal to the Professors of Christianity ( 1 770 ) . Priestley fully shared Locke's distaste for any sort of religious "enthusiasm." The Methodists replied with a hymn : Stretch out thy hands, thou Triune God: The Unitarian fiend expel And chase his doctrine back to Hell 2

and agreed with the sentiments of the anonymous author o1

David and Goliath ( 1789 ) that Priestley and his followers:

move the human mind to deeds of vice When they the Scripture into pieces slice.2

The more orthodox clergy were not at all inclined to con­ tribute to the Theological Repository which Priestley founded as an irregularly appearing periodical in 1769 once he hac made it clear that he welcomed contributions from deists anci 2 Both passages are as quoted in F. E. Mineka's The Dissidence of Dis• sent, Chapel Hill, 1944.

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papists as well as from Dissenters. The Repository , indeed, was in the outcome very largely an organ of Unitarianism. Yet in Priestley's thinking Christianity is central, especially its doctrine of Providence. The idea of providential control comes to the fore everywhere in his work-and as a deeply felt belief, not as a merely conventional gesture. Few men have committed themselves in more absolute terms to the doctrine that "all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds." "Even the persecutors," he wrote in his The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated ( 1 777) , "are only giv­ ing the precedence to the persecuted, and advancing them to a much higher degree of perfection" ( IV, 450) ; and again, "every person in life with whom we have any connexion is a friend and every event in life is a benefit" (IV, 450). In the conduct of his own life he came as near as anybody could to taking such principles seriously. Yet even though every­ thing was in bis own time as good as it could be, Priestley believed that in the future it could be-and therefore would be-better. At his hands, a belief in progress was a simple application of theological truths. When his youngest son died in 1 795, Priestley expressed the hope that he "bad the foun­ dation of something in his character, on which a good super­ structure may be raised hereafter" (I, 328) . For Priestley even the dead were capable of progress. Although he only came to this belief in the last years of his life, we can see how natural it was for him to hold it. Priestley's years at Mill Hill were not, however, wholly devoted to theology. If theology was, in his own eyes, his "serious" occupation, science continued to exercise and re­ fresh his mind as well as to exemplify, in a most satisfactory way, the march of progress. He published what was intended to be the second part of a general history of science, The History of the Pres.ent State of the Discoveries Relating to Vision, Ligh t, and Colours ( 1 772), but this work, although

it is still an important source book for historians of science, did not arouse a great deal of interest, and with it Priestley abandoned his large-scale historical project. Chemistry then became his main scientific interest. In bis History of Electricity Priestley had already paid some

/ 19 attention to the properties of "different kinds of air," and his earliest scientific correspondence showed him experimenting with some of the newer chemical substances. In later life he liked to emphasize his initial ignorance of what had been achieved in chemistry; in his Memoirs ( § 10 1) he said that be had "often thought that upon the whole, this circumstance was no disadvantage to me ; as in this situation I was led to devise an apparatus, and processes of my own, adapted to my own peculiar views." One must never take a man's Memoirs too seriously. Not only, as he said himself, had Priestley attended the lectures of a competent chemical col­ league at Warrington, but he had read quite extensively in the chemical literature of the period. It would have been strange, indeed, had matters stood otherwise , considering that Priestley was not only so devoted a reader but actually a historian of science. Priestley's poverty, rather than his ignorance, accounted for the character of his apparatus. He was a poor man; and so he was forced to design simple, inexpensive apparatus­ apparatus which could then easily be copied by others, a fact that greatly facilitated the advance of chemical inquiry. He lived, at first, next to a brewery; from there he acquired con­ siderable quantities of "fixed air"-that is, carbon dioxide. He became interested in its properties, and when he moved to a more prosperous neighbourhood, he was obliged to find a means of producing the gas for himself. So "by degrees," as he put it, "I contrived a convenient apparatus for the pur­ pose, but of the cheapest kind [my italics]" ( § 1 00). Priestley's first chemical publication, in 1772, was of an unusually practical character; it described a method of pro­ ducing "mephitic julep" or soda water-"a service," in T. H. Huxley's words, "to naturally, and still more to artificially, thirsty souls, which they cannot too gratefully acknowledge." But Priestley's contemporaries saw in soda water a medicine rather than a refreshing drink; it was a substitute for imported spa waters. In the same year Priestley read a paper to the Royal Society "On Different Kinds of Air," which at once established him as a chemist of the first order. In 1 774 he prepared the first edition of his Experiments and Observations Editor's Introduction

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Editoes Introduction

on Different Kinds of Air, which he republished , in a series

of editions, with important changes in content, methods of organization, and even in title, until 1790. By the end of that period, following up the work of Black and Cavendish, Priestley had enormously enlarged our knowl­ edge of "the different kinds of air" or, as we should now say, of the chemical properties of gases. He had distinguished and described a method of collecting nine gases, of which only three had previously been known to science. Of particular importance was his preparation of "dephlogisticated air"­ oxygen-which he produced on August 1, 1 774, by heating "calx of mercury" (red mercuric oxide) ( The Swedish chemist Scheele had already "discovered" oxygen in 1772, but his work had not been published.) This was important, not only in the sense that the discovery of any new gas is important, but because it dealt a death blow to the still gener­ ally accepted view that air was an element which might be more or less pure but was certainly not by its nature a mix­ ture of gases. Priestley went on to describe many of the leading chemical properties of oxygen, and in a number of brilliant chemico-biological experiments he brought out its importance for animal life. As a resourceful experimenter, Priestley has had few equals. His new methods of collecting gases-the use of mercury instead of water in the pneumatic trough made it possible for the first time to collect the water-soluble gases-transformed gas chemistry, and these methods are now familiar to every decently educated schoolboy. But he seldom fully realized the theoretical significance of his discoveries. This was left to other men-to Cavendish, to Berthollet, and more particularly to Lavoisier. Lavoisier's mind was clear, cool, elegant , syste­ matic; Priestley was technically imaginative but not, for all his metaphysical interests, an imaginative theorist. It is some­ times said that Priestley's weaknesses derive from the fact that his work was wholly qualitative. This is not true; in fact, Priestley made a considerable number of strikingly accurate quantitative observations, as in his work on conductivity in the History of Electricity and his 1 785 gravimetric experi­ ments. B ut the fact remains-and the relative failure of his

Editor's Introduction / 21 history of optics can be ascribed to this same defect-that the significance of quantitative relationships did not strike forcibly upon his mind, as qualitative changes did. He had not a mathematical mind, even though he was by no means unin­ terested in quantities. This may, in large part, account for the most startling feature of Priestley's scientific career-his continued alle­ giance to the phlogiston theory of combustion-that is, to the view that when things were heated they gave off a sub­ stance with very peculiar properties, phlogiston. The very last scientific work he ever wrote bore the title The Doctrine of

Phlogiston Established, and that of the Composition of Water Refuted ( 1800). Priestley had produced oxygen and had

observed its importance in combustion; he had passed a spark through a mixture of hydrogen and oxygen and had noticed that dew was formed. But he continued to believe that water was an element, and that in combustion phlogiston is given off. It is easy for us to be wise after the event, and certainly Priestley did not merely ignore the evidence. Several times he wavered; even in his final work, for all the confidence of its title, there are some signs of hesitation. But he thought that there were counterexperiments which were incompatible with Lavoisier's doctrine that in combustion substances combined with oxygen; he thought, too, that he could show that water was present in all gases, and that this explained why water under certain circumstances could be obtained from oxygen and hydrogen. Fundamentally, however, the new chemistry Lavoisier was developing was based on the primacy of quanti­ tative considerations; such a primacy Priestley never admitted. If he is one of the fathers of modern chemistry-and his con­ tributions both to experimental technique and to our knowl­ edge of gases would justify that claim-he was one of those fathers who not only do not delight in but refuse even to recognize the brightest of his children. . Priestley's scientific work rapidly won him fame. As early as 1771 , Sir Joseph Banks offered him an appointment as "scientific observer" with Cook's second expedition to the South Pacific. However, Priestley's unorthodox theological beliefs were by now notorious, and Banks, alleging that "the

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Editor's Introduction

professors of Oxford and Cambridge would veto it," withdrew the nomination. This is an excellent illustration of Priestley's doctrine of providential intervention. For Priestley was con­ vinced, and had convinced the Admiralty, that his soda water was a cure for scurvy; it might well have replaced Cook's vegetable concoctions on the long voyage, with fatal results. The Earl of Shelburne was made of stronger stuff than most of his contemporaries. A man with too little of the popular touch wholly to succeed in his political ambitions, he pos­ sessed considerable intellectual gifts and striking foresight. In 1772 he offered Priestley a post as "librarian and literary companion"-one of those admirable semisinecures, provid­ ing leisure, an interesting but unexhausting task, opportunities for contact with a wider world, which were so important to the advancement of science and culture in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and are so sadly lacking in our own time. During his years with Shelburne, Priestley not only carried out much of his most important scientific work but embarked upon substantial writings on theology and metaphysics. In­ jeed, his unorthodoxy grew to a point which, it would seem, :1larmed even the Earl of Shelburne; the fear that Priestley's £·eputation for materialism might react upon Shelburne's polit­ ical ambitions may well have been-although this is by no means certain-the explanation of their amicable parting in 1780, when Priestley, refusing Shelburne's offer of a post in Ireland, moved to Birmingham. Priestley's first philosophical publication--or, as he would have put it , his first "metaphysical" publication, for by "philosophical" he generally meant what we now call "scien­ tific"-appeared in 17 74. Bearing the full title A n Examina­ tion of Dr. Reid's Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles of Commonsense, Dr. Beattie's Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth , and Dr. Oswald's Appeal to Com­ mon Sense on Behalf of Religion, it is commonly referred to, for reasons that will be sufficiently obvious, as A n Examina­ tion of the Scotch Philosophy. One might have expected that the writings of the Scottish philosophers, devoted as they were to the twin causes of piety and common sense and directed against the iniquities of David Hume, would have

Editor's Introduction / 23 won Priestley's approval and support. This is far from being the case. Priestley, as we have already seen, was a great admirer of Hartley and, through Hartley, of Locke's theory of ideas, against which the Scottish philosophers were partic­ ularly incensed, seeing in it the root of all Humean evil. Reid's work Priestiey described as "an ingenious piece of sophistry" ; he recognized Beattie's good intentions but thought his philosophical principles "very wrong" ; be read Oswald with great "astonishment and indignation," finding it "unac­ countable . . . that such a performance should ever have excited any other sentiments than those of contempt, in any person who bad been initiated into the elements of this kind of knowledge by Mr. Locke" (III, 4-5 ) . Priestley later came to regret somewhat the vehemence of his Examination, but never its sentiments ; the Scottish common-sense philosophy was, he thought, obviously reac­ tionary in trying to substitute for the simple theory of the mind put forward by Locke and Hartley "such a number of independent, arbitrary, instinctive principles, that the very enumeration of them is really tiresome" ( III, 27 ) . All these so-called instinctive beliefs of common sense-our belief, for example, in an "external world"-can, Priestley set out to show, be derived from experience by means of a single prin­ ciple, the association of ideas. The Examination, then, is an attempt to demonstrate the superiority of Hartley's psychol­ ogy to the Scottish "philosophy of common sense." Basically a polemical work, it is not of any great philosophical impor­ tance, although Priestley's introductory essay is an interesting exposition of what might be described as an "associationist logic," according to which propositions and implications are mental operations and, in fact, nothing more than exemplifi­ cations of the association of ideas. In the introduction to his edition of Hartley, Priestley had suggested, although still with a certain tentativeness, that "the whole man is of some uniform composition, and that the property of perception, as well as the other powers that are termed mental, is the result ( whether necessary or not) of such an organical structure as that of the brain" ( III, 182) . Even as a suggestion this remark created a considerable

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Editor's Introduction

uproar. "In all the newspapers, and most of the periodical publications," Priestley said in his Memoirs ( § 1 24) , "I was represented as an unbeliever in revelation, and no better than an Atheist." But he was not a man to be intimidated by clerical clamor. He was convinced that materialism was the natural metaphysical concomitant of Hartley's associative psychology; he set out to show that it was theologically, scientifically, and metaphysically tenable. On the theological side, materialism had commonly been objected to on the ground that it is incompatible with a belief in immortality. Man, Priestley replied, is not "naturally" immortal; he is immortal only because God chooses to resur­ rect him. And this resurrection is a resurrection of the body, and of the body's mental powers only as a consequence of the body's resurrection. On the metaphysical side, Priestley set out to show, most fully in his Disquisitions Relating to Matter and Spirit ( 1 777), that the commonplace objections to materialism are based upon an untenable conception of matter, as something which is by its very nature passive, impenetrable, solid, incapable of initiating action, incapable therefore of being, what mind by its nature is, a centre of activity.It was on these grounds that the Cambridge Platonist Ralph Cudworth had based his attempt to demonstrate that minds are immaterial; ironically, Cudworth's True Intellectual System and Priestley's edition of Hartley shared a common fate at Brussels : both were seized as atheistic works. To such a conception of matter, Priestley opposed the physical theories of his friend and fellow scientist John Michell, and more particularly of the Jesuit mathematician Ruggiero Boscovich. Boscovich had suggested that material objects were simply centres of force; their "solidity" is no more than their power of repulsion. Priestley first argued for this conclusion and then pointed out that if this is the nature of material objects, there is no longer the slightest reason for supposing that there is any incompatibility between being a material object and possessing mental powers. On the other side, there were very good reasons for objecting to the tradi­ tional doctrine according to which there are two wholly dis­ parate substances, mind and matter, for that doctrine is quite

25 incapable of explaining how the two substances can enter into any sort of relationship with one another. For Priestley there was no problem of "explaining how the mind can act on the body"; the interaction is between different forms of the same substance, not between different substances. Priestley had been a determinist long before he became a materialist, but not until 1777, in his Doctrine of Philosophi­ cal Necessity Illustrated, did he fully present bis case against free will, although even then he thought of himself as supple­ menting Hobbes, Hume, Hartley, and Collins with "illustra­ tions" rather than as developing a fully worked-out argument. The conception of free will is theologically objectionable, he argued, because it cannot be reconciled with the existence of an all-seeing Providence; it is metaphysically objectionable, because it makes human action quite unintelligible ; it is morally objectionable, because it diminishes the importance of responsibility. As a basis for morality and for understand­ ing the human relationships of everyday life, we need only to make that sort of distinction between voluntary and invol­ untary acts which is exemplified in the difference between leaving a country voluntarily and being expelled from it, and this does not depend upon the metaphysical conception of free will. Even those who stood closest to Priestley found it hard to accept his metaphysical doctrines. Many of his critics were merely abusive, but his old friend Richard Price was a more serious antagonist who could not be ignored either as being a bigot or as being philosophically incompetent. Price's cor­ respondence with Priestley, published as A Free Discussion Editor's Introduction

/

of the Doctrines of Materialism and Philosophical Necessity

( 1778) is, indeed, a model of candor and good temper, which provoked Priestley into a considerably fuller exposition of his views on disputed points-on the degree, for example , to which determinism is incompatible with the everyday descrip­ tion of human actions as "praiseworthy" and "blameworthy." Unlike many later exponents of a somewhat similar view, Priestley suggested that the determinist will probably avoid describing men as "blameworthy" and "praiseworthy." The determinist, he admitted, can use the language of praise and

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Editor's Introduction

blame, but he will be likely to say of moral agents, Priestley thought, that they have acted, or have not acted, from good principles and that, therefore, the general happiness will be increased, or diminished, by making them happy, rather than that they deserve praise or blame. But, he argued, "though the vulgar and philosophers use different language, they would see reason to act in the same manner," so that the difference in their language is not really significant. However they describe their actions, according to Priestley, "the gover­ nors will rule voluntary agents by means of rewards and punishments, and the governed, being voluntary agents, will be influenced by the apprehension of them." This is all that matters ; and after all, he added, ;.if the common language be in some respects inconsistent with the doctrine of necessity, it is still more inconsistent with the doctrine of liberty, or the notion of our being capable of determining without regard to motives" ( N, 74) . The utilitarian note is obvious, and is even more obvious in Priestley's political writings. There is a sense in which Priestley, as he says himself, was not interested in politics; he took no part in political maneuverings, he did not "speak the language of any party." What concerned him was liberty. His political ideas flowed from his experience as a Dissenter; he is, above all, the spokesman for minorities. Unlike most men, he became more, not less, radical as time went on, less inclined to believe that liberty could be preserved and devel­ oped within the existing sociopolitical framework. But this, in turn, was a reaction to his growing personal experience of intolerance and oppression. In his A n Essay on a Course of Liberal Education for Civil and A ctive Life ( 1765 ), Priestley bad included, by way of appendix, some observations on "Dr. Brown's proposal for a code of education." John Brown had warmly advocated a system of state education, in a book with the significant title Th oughts

on

Civil

Liberty,

Licentiousness

and

Faction

( 1765). "The British system of policy and religion," Brown complained, "is not upheld in its native power like that of Sparta, by correspondent and effectual rules of education; it is in the power of every private man to educate his child, not

Editor's Introduction / 27 only without a reverence for these, but in absolute contempt for them" (XXII, 42). What to Brown was ground for complaint was to Priestley cause for congratulation. Priestley quite agreed that a uni­ form, rigidly controlled system of state education was the best possible means of maintaining the status quo--that is precisely why he objected to it. He agreed with Brown, too, that the state should intervene only in those areas where it is to the advantage of society that it should do so ; but it is not to the advantage of society, he thought, to establish a method of preserving its character unchanged, once and for all. "Were the best formed state in the world to be fixed in its present condition," he wrote , "I make no doubt but that in a course of time it would be the worst" (XXII, 11 9). Like J. S. Mill after him, Priestley gloried in diversity. "The vari­ ous character of the Athenians," he said, "was certainly pref­ erable to the uniform character of the Spartans, or to any uniform national character whatever. . . . Uniformity is the characteristic of the brute creation" (XXII, 46-7). And diversity of character depends, he believed, upon diversity in types of education. These reflections were more fully developed in Priestley's A n Essay on the First Principles of Government (1768), which bears the subtitle On the Nature of Political, Civil, and Religious Lib.erty. ( The second edition, in 177 1 , included both Priestley's reply to Brown and a reply to Balguy's Sermon on Church A uthority, thus bringing out the fact that his opposition to state education and to church authority were the two springboards of Priestley's political thinking.) Priest­ ley distinguished between two sorts of liberty, civil and polit­ ical. Civil liberty-Priestley was writing in a tradition which goes back at least to the Jesuit Suarez, although Locke and Rousseau are his immediate masters-consists in "that power over their own actions, which the members of the state re­ serve to themselves, and which their officers must not in­ fringe"; political liberty is "the right to magistracy"-that is, the right to occupy offices, or to select those who occupy such offices (XXII, 1 1). To Priestley civil liberty was the more important. The deci-

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Editor's Introduction

sion who should have the right to participate directly in the process of government is, in the main, a practical one-one to be settled by considering who is least likely to be corrupted by power, who is most likely to act for the good of the com­ munity. Should it turn out, as Priestley was fairly confident, that men of moderate means are the best suited to govern, then the government can safely be entrusted to them, without this involving any restriction on the only sort of liberty that ultimately matters-that is, civil liberty. But the corollary is that the right of certain persons, or of a certain group, to act as governors depends wholly upon its being for the good of society that they should possess this power. "The good and happiness of the members, that is, the majority of the members of any state," wrote Priestley, "is the great standard by which everything related to that state must finally be determined" ( XXII, 13). (This, it would seem, is the passage at the sight of which Bentham, so he told us, "cried out, as it were in an inward ecstasy Eureka." ) Thus the members of a society have the right to rebel, should it be clear that the preservation of the existing political order is destructive of the greatest happiness of the greatest number or, what Priestley took to be in practice the same thing, is destructive of civil liberties. Priestley frankly admitted that it is not possible to deter­ mine a priori the degree to which legislation on any issue is necessary or desirable; but the onus of proof , for him, was always on those who claim that the legislators ought to inter­ vene. Experience strongly suggests, he argued, that they ought not to intervene in a good many matters which they have customarily taken to form part of their provin ce-in particu­ lar, in the regulation of religious belief. On this point Priestley, unlike most Nonconformist upholders of toleration and unlike his master Locke, was uncompromising; he favored "un­ bounded liberty in matters of religion," liberty for Roman Catholics and atheists no less than for Dissenters. In 1768, then, Priestley was a "radical" insofar as he stood for the right to rebel and, more generally, for the rights of minorities. He was not, however, a radical in the nine­ teenth-century sense, intent upon constitutional reform. He

/ 29 was still relatively satisfied with the political constitution of Great Britain, and if he described the Established Church as "the alliance of different sorts of worldly minded men, for their temporal emolument" (XXII , 57), and thought that thirty-eight of its thirty-nine articles "might well be spared," he did not urge-indeed be argued against-its immediate abolition. In the years that followed, he wrote a number of pamphlets in defence of Dissenters, and even, although this one anony­ mously, A Free A ddress in Favour of the Roman Catholics ( 1780). But also , perhaps under Benjamin Franklin's influ­ ence and certainly with his assistance, he began to write on a more specifically political issue : the situation of the American colonies. The Present State of Liberty in Great Britain and Her Colonies appeared, also anonymously, in 1 769. Although not in his theology or in his metaphysics, on this political issue be could stand side by side with his old friends, Price and Franklin, in defence of civil and political liberty ; like them, too, he hoped to avoid the final break between Great Britain and the American colonies. In 1 780, Priestley took up his residence in Birmingham, a city with which he is now generally identified, so much so that he is not uncommonly referred to as "Priestley of Birmingham." This seems absurd, for Priestley was forty­ seven, with most of his important work behind him, before be went to live in Birmingham. "Priestley of Yorkshire" would be, from the biographical point of view, far more accurate. Yet "Priestley of Birmingham" bas a symbolic appropriate­ ness; Birmingham was his spiritual home. Edmund Burke, visiting him there in 1781, described him as "the most happy of men, and most to be envied," a judgment from which Priestley himself would not have demurred. He preached once a week, but lived for the most part on the patronage of friends, preferring that-quite consistently with bis general principles-to the government pension which, it was suggested, he might hope to obtain. He became a member of the "Lunar Society," 3 with which were associated Editor's Introduction

8 So called because, in the days before street lights, it could meet only once a month, when the moon was full.

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Editor�s Introduction

men of the calibre of Erasmus Darwin and James Watt; he enjoyed the friendship and active help of the scientifically minded potter, Josiah Wedg,vood, who supplied him with apparatus tailor-made for his purposes. He was at the centre of the new industrialism, living in what was beginning to establish itself as the capital of Nonconformist radicalism. Nor was he at all out of sympathy with the laissez-faire attitudes of Birmingham industrialists. On the contrary, he fully shared them. We tend to think of Priestley as a humani­ tarian, and are startled by, for example, his Some Considera­ tions on the State of the Poor in General ( 17 8 7)-reprinted in his Lectures on History and G eneral Policy ( 1788)-in which he strongly opposed the poor laws, as elsewhere he opposed apprenticeship laws and laws to regulate interest rates, and indeed any sort of "social welfare" legislation.The poor laws, he argued , have "debased the very nature of man, have defeated the purposes of Providence with respect to him, and have reduced him to a condition below that of any of the brutes who, without having the capacity of man, never fail to provide for their real wants" (XXV , 314). There was in Priestley's attitude no inconsistency; he warmly supported schemes for cooperative insurance against hardship, but was opposed to any legislation that diminished independence or increased the power of the state over individuals. On crime and punishment he revealed an unexpected ferocity. The obj ect of punishment, in his view, was to prevent crime ; it was better that the innocent should suffer than the guilty escape. The use of torture, it is true, he would have severely restricted, but capital punishment , solitary confinement, star­ vation diets , all had their place in Priestley's regimen. He continued his scientific experiments at Birmingham. But the gap between what he was doing and what he thought he was doing became wider and wider.Much of his experimental work at Birmingham, under Volta's influence, combined his two main interests, electrical theory and gas chemistry : he decomposed ammonia by means of an electric spark, he pro­ duced water by passing a spark through a mixture of oxygen and hydrogen. He also did important work on the properties of gases, and especially on their thermal conductivity. But

Editor's Introduction / 31 very little of this work would he have described as we have just described it; it was left to others to interpret his experi­ ments, to see what he had achieved. Science, however, continued to be only his hobby; theologi­ cal controversy was his life-work, and books and pamphlets multiplied during the Birmingham years. His major works on ecclesiastical history began to appear in 1782, so that he now had to defend not only unitarian theology but also his view that Unitarianism was the doctrine of the primitive church. His prolonged controversy with Archdeacon Samuel Horsley was published in instalments between 1783 and 1786.Horsley was a vigorous, arrogant, and somewhat unscrupulous con­ troversialist; he undoubtedly drew attention to serious weak­ nesses in Priestley's scholarship, but in a manner which may do something to explain Priestley's growing hostility to the Established Church. All this, however, was a continuation and development of his earlier life and activities.What made the difference to his later years, both personally and intellectually, was the French Revolution and British reaction to that Revolution. As the general feeling in England became steadily more conservative, less tolerant of minority opinion, Priestley, perpetually in opposition, made his way towards a more uncompromising political radicalism, of which the main expressions are his Letters to Edmund Burke Occasioned by His Refiections on the Revolution in France (1791) and the (anonymous) A Political Dialogue on the General Principles of Government ( 1791). He there admitted that his views had changed, that he no longer thought of the British as the best of constitu­ tions, and indeed the changes were striking. He no longer spoke tolerantly of the Established Church as of an effete institution which can be relied upon to "wither away" ; he forcibly condemned it as a "fungus upon the noble plant of Christianity, draining its best juices" (XXII, 203). Sovereignty is no longer taken to exist in the balance of king, commons, and lords; "our only proper sovereign," he wrote, "is the Parliament" (XXII, 168) . An hereditary aristocracy and an hereditary monarchy, he now said, are relics of the feudal system, and must fall "before that prevailing spirit of industry

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and commerce to which it was forever hostile" (XXV, 92) . He had been accustomed to call himself "a Unitarian in re­ ligion but a Trinitarian in politics" ; now be was a Unitarian in both. "In every state," be wrote in A Political Dialogue, "as in every single person, there ought to be but one will, and no important business should be prevented from proceeding by any opposite will" ( XXV, 96). That single will should be the will of the people. Everything depended, be now thought, on constitutional amendments. If the House of Commons could be made a really representative body "every other reform could be made without any difficulty whatever" (XXV, 107). The political experiences of the Dissenters in the latter years of the eighteenth century had been bitter: no wonder Priestley was convinced that reform could come only when the power of the church and state was broken, and the coun­ try ruled by the middle classes. Priestley had been hurt and bewildered by Burke's violent opposition to the French Revo­ lution ; he and Burke bad stood closely together for many years. "We always imagined that he was one on whom we [the Dissenters] could depend, especially as he spoke in our favour in the business of subscription, and he made a com­ mon cause with us in zealously patronizing the liberty of America" ( XXII, 1 47) . But if Priestley looked, as be said, "with horror" on what be took to be Burke's treachery to the liberal cause, this was nothing to the horror which his own support of the French Revolution aroused. Perhaps, indeed, he had never fully appreciated the situa­ tion in Birmingham. He had his own circle of friends, includ­ ing many who differed from him on political and religiom grounds ; it was easy for him to imagine himself secure in that "belief to investigate, and by preaching and writing to propa• gate, religious truth�" which he took himself to possess ill eighteenth-century England. The mere fact, however, tha1 Birmingham was a centre of Nonconformist radical though1 embittered his opponents against him; church and state fel1 their position, in Birmingham, to be generally threatened: especially when the French Revolution had shown only toe clearly, so they thought, what prospect lay before them jj they were to relax their vigilance.

Editor's Introduction

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33

In his Letter to Pitt, denouncing Pitt's refusal to alleviate the position of the Nonconformists, Priestley had complained of Pitt's taking orders from the bishops, who, as he put it, are "recorded in all histories, as the most jealous, the most timor­ ous, and of course the most vindictive of all men" (XIX, 118) , a remark which did not precisely endear him to the Episcopal authorities. More rashly still, in his Refiections on the Present State of Free Inquiry in this Country ( 1785), he had written of the Dissenters as "laying gunpowder, grain by grain, under the old building of error and superstition, which a single spark may hereafter inflame so as to produce an instantaneous explosion" (XVIII, 544). It was easy to repre­ sent that incautious metaphor as an appeal to violence; Priest­ ley was nicknamed "Gunpowder Priestley." He was attacked with special violence by a Birmingham Anglican clergyman, Reverend Spencer Madan, to whom Priestley himself wholly attributed the antagonism of the mob , thereby underesti­ mating, it would seem, the rising tide of public opinion against every form of radicalism, especially when it was associated with the hated name of France. On July 1 4, 1791 a dinner was organized, at which Priestley was not in fact present, by a group of "Friends of the Revo­ lution" in order to commemorate the fall of the Bastille. This was the last straw.With, it would seem, the connivance of the authorities, and determined to demonstrate their strict adher­ ence to Christian and constitutional principles, an infuriated mob attacked and burnt the dissenting Chapels. They then turned their attention to Priestley's own house, more distant from the centre of the city. They destroyed Priestley's books and furniture but found themselves without any method of setting fire to his house , even though, as Huxley put it, "with that love for the practical application of science which is the source of the greatness of Birmingham" they tried to use Priestley's electrical machine as a substitute for flame. His friends persuaded Priestley, who had at first refused to believe he was in any danger, to leave for London. He endured the riots and the destruction of his property with extraordinary calm; in his Memoirs he described the riots in half a paragraph. He was unhappy, however, to find himself shunned by his scientific colleagues in London, and he with-

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Editor's Introduction

drew from the Royal Society after it had rejected a candidate for a Fellowship on political grounds. The French honoured him, going so far as to offer him a seat in the National Assem­ bly, but this by no means increased Priestley's popularity in England, especially after war broke out in 1793. Priestley had for some time contemplated migration to America, where his three sons had already gone. In 1794 he left for New York, to the great regret of his friends, as summed up in Coleridge's Religious Musings: A Desultory Poem ( 1794) : Lo, Priestley, there, patriot, and saint, and sage Him, full of years, from his loved native land Statesmen blood-stained and priests idolatrous By dark lies maddening the blind multitude Drove with blind hate: Calm, pitying, he retired.

or in the sonnet in which he deplores that :

Riot rude Has driven our Priestley o'er the ocean swell.

Priestley's farewell sermon on The Uses of Christianity, Especially in Difficult Times had in it no bitterness, no ran­

cour. "Men cannot embrace," he said, "as sacred truth any thing at which their common sense revolts. Nor can that be considered as a truth of revealed religion, which is contrary to the most obvious and acknowledged truths of natural re­ ligion" (XV, 564). This is the classical eighteenth-century pronouncement, a more fitting farewell for Priestley than fiery denunciation would have been. After an enthusiastic welcome in New York-although the enthusiasm was not shared by the clergy-he finally settled in Northumberland, Pennsyl­ vania, where he resumed most of his old activities. He was disappointed in his hope of finding in Pennsylvania a perma­ nent congregation: whereas in England not only Priestley but a considerable body of Nonconformists had moved in the di­ rection of Unitarianism, in America Unitarianism was still sus­ pect. But in 1796 Priestley delivered in Philadelphia a series of lectures, published in that same year as Discourses Relating to the Evidences of R.e vealed Religion, which attracted con-

/ 35 siderable audiences and out of which a small Unitarian group developed. Nothing permanent came of it; the greatest disap­ pointment of Priestley's life in America was that he was offered no opportunity for regular preaching. He continued, however, to write extensively, in defence of Christianity against infidels and of Unitarianism against orthodox Christians. He became engrossed-especially after his wife's death in 1796-in the prophecies of the Book of Daniel, which he sought to apply to contemporary affairs, considerably to the perturbation of his old friends in England. As he wrote (June 16, 1798) in a somewhat pathetic letter, "being alone, having no person whatever to confer with on any subject of this kind, my solitary speculations may lead me astray, farther than I can be aware of myself" (I, ii, 404). Priestley's combination of theological liberalism with an attachment to the "prophetic" books of the Bible, of the sort which we usually associate with the more primitive and unreflective of the Christian sects, was already beginning to be strange at the end of the eighteenth century-although it had been as characteristic .of Cudworth, Locke, and Newton as it was of Priestley. At this point, as in bis earlier political writings, Priestley looked back to the seventeenth century rather than anticipating the nine­ teenth century. The historians of Unitarianism complain, indeed, that it Priestley's influence distorted the Unitarian movement until in the latter half of the nineteenth century men like James Mar­ tineau turned Unitarianism into a religion at once more humanistic, less argumentative, and less Bible-centred. Mar­ tineau himself, in his essay on Priestley (Essays and Addresses, Volume 1, 1890), accused Priestley of possessing too little "solemnity," too little "poetry," too little "sensibility." Priest­ ley would undoubtedly have replied : ''You mean-too little sentimentality." At this point, the eighteenth century con­ fronts the nineteenth in a paradigmatic· opposition. If the orthodoxy of American congregations and clergy dis­ appointed Priestley, he was also alarmed by the growth, there, of political intolerance. He did not become naturalised, and took no active part in American politics, but all the same found himself suspect, especially when a war with France Editor"s Introduction

I Editor's Introduction seemed to be imminent. In 1799, he wrote an uncompro­ mising exposition of his political and religious views in the form of Le tters to the Inhabitants of Northumberland, which by no means improved his personal situation; there was, he concluded, "less virtue as well as less knowledge in the United States than in most European countries" (XXV, 181) . He ran a serious risk of being deported, without any trial, under the Alien Act introduced during the Adams administra­ tion. But Adams himself, who was sympathetic in many re­ spects to Priestley's theology, if not to his politics, would not permit the use of the Act against "poor Priestley"-indeed it was never actually applied against anybody-and after Jeffer­ son's election as President, Priestley was at last not only secure but on good terms with authority. Jefferson treated him with both courtesy and respect; he asked Priestley's advice about a project very dear to his heart, the foundation of the University of Virginia, and it was Priestley's Socrates and Jesus Compared ( 1803) which precipitated his own "Sylla­ bus" of his religious beliefs. He persuaded Priestley to write his The Doctrines of Heat hen Religion Compared with Those of Revelation ( 1804), which was to awaken in Adams an enthusiasm for comparative religion. Priestley was happy, too, in his relations with the Philo­ sophical Society of Philadelphia. In Northumberland itself, however, he was as solitary in his science as in his theology; and although he continued to experiment, still supported by his English friends, he devoted most of his time to the defence of scientific causes which the scientific world rightly counted as lost. When, however, Erasmus Darwin, relying upon some of Priestley's previous observations-the appearance of living organisms ( converva) in water within a closed jar-tried to resurrect the idea of spontaneous generation, Priestley restated and developed a number of earlier experiments in order to show that in fact the converva were already present in the air or in the water. None of his American work, except his experimental production of carbon monoxide, the significance of which, once more, it was left to others to appreciate, is of any great importance. The last years of his life, from 1801 until his death on 36

Editor's Introduction / 37 February 6, 1 804, were marred by severe ill-health. But for :'. all his solitariness, and although at intervals he pined for Europe, Priestley's American years were not unhappy. His versatility, the diversity of his interests, remained with him to the end, so that he did not suffer from the boredom and disgust of the specialist who finds his powers failing and his interest diminishing in the only subject which has ever been of the slightest concern to him. Perhaps this very versatility had prevented Priestley from achieving the highest sort of greatness in any single field. Our age is suspicious of versa­ tility, and will easily come to that conclusion. But one may rather suggest that his was the sort of mind for which versa­ tility is appropriate; not quite of the first order in intellectual penetration, but bold, energetic, commonsensical, unrestricted by an undue respect either for tradition or for the entrenched prejudices of specialists. Even taking account only of his own contemporaries, he does not stand first among chemists, or physicists, or philosophers, or political theorists, or edu­ cators, or historians, or theologians. But in all of these :fields he did work which is still of interest to us, and in some of them his achievements are of very great importance. How many specialists can say as much'/ JOHN PASSMORE

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A Note on the Selections These selections are designed to illustrate the different aspects of Priestley's work. They have not been edited as scholarly texts; short omissions, especially when they take the form of references, have not always been noted, and the original punctuation and spelling have sometimes been modi­ fied. The exceptional volume, variety, diffuseness, and repe­ titiousness of Priestley's work justify the publication of selections from it; references to the original texts are suf­ ficiently full, it is hoped, to enable the scholar to make his way back to them without too much trouble. Footnotes marked with an asterisk are Priestley's own notes; footnotes marked · , with a number are editorial.

THE

PART ONE PH ILOSOPHER

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WHEN OUR MINDS are first exposed to the influence of exter­ nal objects, all their parts and properties, and even accidental variable adjuncts, are presented to our view at the same time; so that the whole makes but one impression upon our organs of sense, and consequently upon the mind. By this means all the parts of the simultaneous impression are so intimately associated together, that the idea of any one of them intro­ duces the idea of all the rest. But as the necessary parts and properties will occur more often than the variable adjuncts, the ideas of these will not be so perfectly associated with the rest; and thus we shall be able to distinguish between those parts or properties that have been found separate, and those that have never been observed asunder. The idea of anything, and of its necessary inseparable properties, as those of milk and whiteness, gold and yellow, always occurring together, is the foundation of, and supplies the materials for propositions in which they are affirmed of one another, and are said to be inseparable; or, to use the terms of logic, in which one is made the subject and the other the predicate of a proposition; and nothing is requisite but words to denote the names of things and properties, and any arbitrary sign for a copula, and the proposition is complete; as, milk is white, gold is yellow, or, milk has whiteness, gold has yellowness. This class of truth contains those in which there is an universal, and therefore a supposed necessary con­ nection between the subject and the predicate. Another class of truths contains those in which the subject and predicate appear, upon comparison, to be, in reality,

1 An Examination of Dr. Reid's Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense, Dr. Beattie's Essay on the Nature and Im mu tability of Truth and Dr. Oswald's Appeal to Common Sense in Behalf of Religion (2nd ed ., 1 775 ) , "Introductory Observations on

the Nature of Judgment and Reasoning, with a General View of the Progress of the Intellect," pp. :xxxvn-LXI.

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nothing more than different names for the same thing. To this class belong all equations, or propositions relating to number and quantity, that is, all that admit of mathematical demon­ stration, as, twice two is four, and the three angles of a right lined triangle are equal to two right angles. For when the terms of these propositions are duly considered, it is found that they do not really differ, but express the very same quan­ tity. This is , in its own nature, a conviction or persuasion of the fullest kind. These two kinds of propositions, being very different in their natures, require very different kinds of proof. The evidence, that any two things or properties are neces­ sarily united is the constant observation of their union. It having always been observed, for instance, that the milk of animals is white, the idea of white becomes a necessary part, or attendant of the idea of milk. In other words, we call it an essential property of milk. This, however, only respects the milk of those animals with which we are acquainted. But since the milk of all the animals with which we are ac­ quainted, or of which we have heard, is white, we c�n have no reason to suspect that the milk of any new and strange animal is of any other colour. Also, since wherever there has been the specific gravity, ductility , and other properties of gold, the colour has always been yellow, we conclude that those circumstances are necessarily united, though by some unknown bond of union, and that they will always go together. The proper proof, therefore, of universal propositions, such as the above, that milk is white, that gold is yellow, or that a certain degree of cold will freeze water, consists in what is called an induction of particular facts, of precisely the same nature. Having found, by much and various experi­ ence, that the same events never fail to take place in the same circumstances, the expectation of the same consequences from the same previous circumstances is necessarily generated in our minds, and we can have no more suspicion of a different event than we can separate the idea of whiteness from that of the other properties of milk. Thus when the previous circumstances are precisely the same, we call the process of proof by the name of induction.

/ 45 But if they be not precisely the same, but only bear a con­ siderable resemblance to the circumstances from which any particular appearance has been found to result, we call the argument analogy; and it is stronger in proportion to the degree of resemblance in the previous circumstances. Thus if we have found the milk of all the animals with which we are acquainted to be nourishing, though the natures of those animals be considerably different, we think it probable that the milk of any strange animal will be nourishing. If there­ fore, the evidence of a proposition of this kind be weak or doubtful, i t can be strengthened only by finding more facts of the same or of a similar nature. If the truth of a proposition of the other class be not self-evident, that is, if the subject and predicate do not ap­ pear, at first sight, to be different names for the same thing, another term must be found that shall be synonymous to them both. Thus, to prove that the three internal angles of a right lined triangle are equal to two right angles, I produce the base of the triangle; and having by this means made it evident that all the internal angles are equal to three angles formed by lines drawn from the same poi nt in a right line, which I know to be equal to two right angles, the demon­ stration is complete. This process exactly corresponds to the method of learning and teaching the signification of words in an unknown lan­ guage, by means of one that is known. I may not know, for instance, what is meant by the Latin word domus; but if I be informed that it has the same meaning with maison in French, with which I am well acquainted, it immediately occurs to me that it must have the same signification as house in English. And as the idea of a house was perfectly asso­ ciated with the word maison, I no sooner put the word domus in its place than the idea that was at first annexed to the word maison becomes connecteq with the word domus. For some time, however, the word domus will not excite the idea of a house without the help of the word maison; but by degrees it gets united to the idea immediately, so that afterwards they will be as inseparable as the same idea and the word maison were before. In like manner when syllogisms become familiar, the subThe Associationist

I The Philosopher ject and predicate of the proposition to be proved unite, and coalesce immediately without the help of the middle term; in which case the conclusion is as instantaneous as a simple judgment. In this manner it is that authority, as that of a parent or of God, produces instant conviction. We first put confidence in them, and then the moment that anything is known to have their sanction, it engages our assent and ac­ quiescence. I may see no natural connection, for instance, between this life and another, but firmly believing that the declara­ tions of Jesus Christ have the sanction of divine authority, which I know cannot deceive me, the moment I find that be has asserted that there will be a resurrection of the dead to a future life, it becomes an article of my faith; and not the least perceivable space of time is lost in forming the two syllogisms, by which I conclude first, that what Christ says is true because he speaks by commission from God, and secondly, that the doctrine of the resurrection is true because he has asserted it. In fact, both propositions and syllogisms are things of art and not of nature. The ideas belonging to the two terms of milk and whiteness, out of which is formed the proposition, milk is white, were originally impressed, as was observed be­ fore, at the same time, and only formed a single complex idea. So also the moment that any two terms coalesce, as lac in Latin, and milk in English, the ideas annexed to the word milk and that of whiteness among the rest are immediately transferred to the word lac without any formal syllogism. The word truth, and the idea annexed to it, is also the child of art, and not of nature, as well as the ideas annexed to the words "proposition" and "syllogism". Ideas coalesce in our minds by the principle of association, these associations extend themselves, and ideas belonging to one word are transferred to another, without our giving any attention to these mental operations or affections. But when these processes have taken place in our minds many times , we are capable of observing them, as well as the ideas which are the subject of them and we give names to these mental processes just as we do to the affections of things without ourselves. 46

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Thus the perfect coincid�nce of the ideas belonging to different terms, as twice two and four, and likewise the uni­ versal and necessary concurrence of two ideas, as those of milk and whiteness, having been observed, we make use of some term, truth , for instance, to express either of those cir­ cumstances, for being very much alike it has not been found necessary to distinguish them by different appellations. Since propositions and reasoning are mental operations, and, in fact, nothing more than cases of the association of ideas, everything necessary to the processes may take place in the mind of a child, of an idiot , or of a brute animal, and produce the proper affections and actions, in proportion to the extent of their intellectual powers. The knowledge of these operations, which is gained by the attention we give to them, is a thing of a very different nature, just as different as the knowledge of the nature of vision is different from vision itself. The philosopher only is acquainted with the structure of the eye, and the theory of vision, but the clown sees as well as he does, and makes as good use of his eyes. Suppose a dog to have been pushed into a fire and severely burned. Upon this the idea of fire and the idea that has been left by the painful sensation of burning become inti­ mately associated together; so that the idea of being pushed into the fire, and the idea of the pain that was the conse­ quence of it are ever after inseparable.He cannot tell you in words, that fire has a power of burning, because he has not the faculty of speech; or, though he might have signs to express fire and burning he might not have got so abstract an idea as that of power; but notwithstanding this, the two ideas of fire and of burning are as intimately united in his mind, as they can be in the mind of a philosopher who has reflected upon his mental affections, and is able to describe that union or association of ideas in proper terms. If you endeavour to push the dog into the fire, he will instantly spring from it before be has felt anything of the heat; which as clearly shows his apprehension of danger from a situation in which he suffered before, as if be could have explained the foundation of his fear in the form of regular syllogisms and conclusions. No philosopher who can an-

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alyse the operations of his mind and discourse concerning them, could reason more justly, more effectually or more ex­ peditiously than he does. Words are of great use in the business of thinking, but are not necessary to it. In like manner, though the knowledge of logic is not without its use, it is by no means necessary for the purpose of reasoning. And as the doctrine of syllogisms was deduced from observations on reasoning, just as other theories are deduced from facts previously known, so the doctrine of propositions and judgment was deduced from observations on the coincidence of ideas, which took place antecedent to any knowledge of that kind. There is hardly anything to which we give the name of opinion, or belief, that does not require some degree of ab­ straction and knowledge of what passes within the mind. And the common actions of life, which may be analysed into opinions and reasoning, and which discover what we call sagacity in a very high degree, may be performed without any such thing, that is, without any explicit knowledge of such mental affections and operations. Let us, for an example of this, take the belief of an external world. This is thought to be universal ; and yet it appears to me to be very possible not only that the lower animals but even that children may not have reflected so much as that, properly speaking, they can be said to have formed any such opinion. When sensation first takes place, the child has no notices of anything but by means of certain impressions, generally called sensations, which objects excite in his mind, by means of the organs of sense and their corresponding nerves. Sup­ posing the senses to be perfect and exposed to the influence of external objects, the child is immediately sensible of these impressions, some of which give him pleasure, others pain, and others sensations between both. At the same time the muscular system is peculiarly irritable, so that those muscles which are afterwards most perfectly subject to the voluntary power are almost continually in action, but in a random and automatic manner, as long as the child is awake and in health. Let us suppose now that his own hand passes frequently

The Associationist / 49 before his eye. The impression of it will be conveyed to the mind; and when by any kind of mechanism ( vibrations, or anything else) that impression is revived, he will get a fixed idea of his hand. Let now any painful impression be made upon his hand, as by the flame of a candle. The violence that is thereby done to his nerves will throw the whole nervous and muscular system into agitation, and will more especially occasion the contraction of those muscles which are necessary to withdraw his hand from the object that gave him pain, as Dr. Hartley has shown by curious anatomical disquisitions in a variety of instances. Admitting then the principle of the association of ideas, after a sufficient number of these joint impressions, the action of drawing back his hand will mechanically follow the idea of the near approach of the candle. In a manner equally mechanical, described at length by Dr. Hartley, the motions of reaching and grasping at things that give children pleasure are acquired by them. And in time, by the same process, the ideas of things that give us pleasure or pain become associated with a variety of other motions, besides the mere withdrawing of the hand and thrusting it forward, etc., and these also, as well as many circumstances attending those states of mind, get their own separate associations; so that at length a great variety of methods of pursuing pleasure and avoiding pain is acquired by us. When the different impressions nearly balance one another, the ideas or motions in the brain interfering with and check­ ing one another, some sensible space of time intervenes be­ fore the final determination to pursue any particular object or to use any particular method of gaining the object takes place. To this state of mind, when we observe it, we give the name of deliberation, and to the determination itself, that of will. But still that motion -or connected train of motions will take place which is the most intimately con­ nected with and dependent upon the state of mind, or im­ pressions, immediately previous to it. It will readily be concluded from this that the more ex­ tensive are the intellectual powers, that is, the greater is the

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number of ideas, and consequently their associations, the oftener will this case of deliberation, or suspense, occur. Brutes are hardly ever at a loss what to do, and children seldom; so that to explain their actions we have hardly any occasion for the use of the terms deliberation, volition, or will; the ideas of every pleasurable and painful object being immediately followed by one particular definite action, proper to secure the one and avoid the other; the tendencies to other actions having never interfered to check and retard it. Now it can only be during this state of deliberation and suspense that we have any opportunity of perceiving and attending to what passes within our own minds; so that a considerable compass of intellect, a large stock of ideas, and much experience are necessary to this reflection and the knowledge that is gained by it. We see, then, that a child or brute animal is in possession of a power of pursuing pleasure and avoiding pain, and in like manner, a power of pursuing other intermediate and different objects, in consequence of impressions made upon their minds by things external to them, without their having given any attention to the affections or operations of their minds; and indeed, consequently, without having such an idea as that of mind at all, or hardly of self. Some brute animals may possibly never advance farther than this, except­ ing that, their pleasurable and painful impressions being asso­ ciated with a variety of particular persons and circumstances, they will necessarily acquire the rudiments of all the passions , as of joy and sorrow, love and hatred, gratitude and resent­ ment, hope and fear, etc., each of which may be as intense, though less complex than they are found in the human species. Indeed they will be more sensible, and quick in their operations and effects from the want of that variety of associations which take place in our minds and which check and overrule one another. It is evident, however, that if time and opportunity be given for the purpose (which, for the reason assigned above, can only be obtained where there is a considerable compass of intellect, and much exercise of it), the affections of our ideas are as capable of being the subjects of observation as

The Associationist / 51 the ideas themselves, just as the attractions, repulsions and various affections of external bodies may be observed as well as the bodies themselves. And it is possible that, at length, no affection or modification of ideas shall take place, without leaving what we may call an idea of every part of the process. And as we give names to other things which are distinguished by certain properties, so we give the name of mind, sentient principle or intellect, to that within ourselves in which these ideas exist, and these operations are performed. At first a child can have no notion of any difference be­ tween external objects themselves, and the immediate objects of his contemplation. He has no knowledge, for instance, of impressions being made by visible things on his eye, and still less has he any knowledge of the nerves or brain. But having given sufficient attention to the phenomena of vision, and of the other senses, he is convinced, first, that the eye, the ear, or some other sense is necessary to convey to him the knowl­ edge of external objects; and that without these organs of sense, he would have been for ever insensible of all that passed without himself. By attending to these observations he is likewise convinced that the immediate objects of his attention are not, as he before imagined, the external things themselves, but some affection of his senses, occasioned by them. Afterwards he finds that his eye, his ear, and other organs of sense cannot convey to him the knowledge of anything, unless there be a communication between these organs and the brain, by means of proper nerves; which convinces him that the im­ mediate objects of his thoughts are not in the organs of sense but in the brain, farther than which he is not able to trace anything. This kind of knowledge is gained by observation and ex­ periment, as much as the theory of the eye and of light, though we ourselves are the subject of the observations and experiments. And our thinking and acting, in the conduct of life, is as much independent of this branch of knowledge, as the powers of air and light are independent of our knowl­ edge of them. Having, by this process, gained the knowledge of the dis-

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tinction between the immediate objects of our thoughts , and external objects, it may occur to some persons that, since we are not properly conscious, or know in the first instance, anything more than what passes within ourselves, that is, our own sensations and ideas, these may be impressed upon the mind without the help of anything external to us, by the immediate agency of the author of our being. This no phi­ losopher will say is impossible, but, of two hypotheses to account for the same phenomenon he will consider which is the more probable, as being more consonant to the course of nature in other respects. Half the inhabitants of the globe, for instance, may be looking towards the heavens at the same time, and all their minds are impressed in the same manner. All see the moon, stars, and planets in precisely the same situations; and even the observations of those who use telescopes correspond with the utmost exactness. To explain this, Bishop Berkeley says that the divine being, attending to each individual mind, im­ presses their sensoriums in the same or a corresponding manner, without the medium of anything external to them. On the other hand, another person, without pretending that his scheme is impossible , where divine power is concerned, may think, however, that it is more natural to suppose that there really are such bodies as the moon, stars and planets, placed at certain distances from us, and moving in certain directions, by means of w hich, and a more general agency of the deity than Bishop Berkeley supposes, all our minds are necessarily impressed in this corresponding manner. It is sutlicient evidence for this hypothesis, thnt it exhibits particular appearances, as arising from general laws, which is agreeable to the analogy of everything else that we ohserve. It is recom mended by the same simplicity that rec,.'1mnends every other ph ilosophical theory, and needs no otht'r evidt"nce whatever; and I should think that n pt'rs"m must have very little knowledge of the nature of philosophy , w ho shall think of having recourse to any other for the purpose. Dr. Rt" i u, however, not satisfied with this evide nce, pn·tends thut the certain hcl ief of the real existence of exh.' rnal ohjt'\.'ls is arbitrarily connected with the ideas of tht'lll . The hyp"lth('sis

The Assoriaoooist / 53 of � things by me.am of ideas only, he says, "is ancient indeed. and has been �y receive.d by philosophers, but of whidl I cmdd find no solid proof. TI:ie hypothesis I mean is that � ii pereeived but what is in the mind which percej-\"CI it; that we do not really perceive things that are extem2J, bat only certain images and pictures of them, im­ printed upon the mind, which are called impressions and ideas. '" In tact, it is not true that we necessarily believe the exist­ ence of external objects as distinct from our ideas of them. Ori.g:irudly, •·e have no knowledge of any such thing as ideas, any more than we have of the images of objects on the retina; and the moment we have attained to the knowledge of � the enema] world is nothing more than an hy­ pothesis� to account for those ideas; so probable, indeed, that few penom seriolnly doubt of its real existence, and of its being the came of. our ideas. But still the contrary may be affirmed without any proper absurdity. Thus, also, the revolu­ tion of the planets round the sun best accounts for the ap­ pearances of. nature, but the contrary may be supposed and affirmed without mbjecting a person to the charge of talking nonsense. This, however, ii the language that is now adopted when any of the dictates of a pretended principle of common , sense ii controverted; and one of the arbitrary decrees of this new infalJ ible guide to truth is, it seems, the reality of an extern.al world.

Free Wi ll and Determinism I: The Questions at Issue1 ONE OF THE chief sources of the difference of opm10n re­ specting the subject of liberty and necessity and likewise of much of the difficulty that has attended the discussion of it, seems to h ave been a want of attention to the proper stating of the question. Hence it h as come to pass that the generality of those who have stood forth in defence of what they have called liberty do, in fact, admit everything that is requisite to establish the doctrine of necessi ty ; but they have misled themselves and others by the use of word s ; and also, wanting sufficient stre ngth of mind, they have been staggered at the conse quences of their own principles. I shall therefore begin with some observations, which I hope may tend to throw light upon the nature of the subj ect in debate, and help the reader to understand what it is that as a necessarian I con­ tend for. In the first place, I would observe, that I allow to man all the liberty or power that is possible in itself and to which the ideas of mankind in general ever go, which is the power of doing whatever they will or please, both with respect to the operations of their minds and the motions of their bodies, uncontrolled by any foreign principle or cause. Thus every man is at liberty to turn his thoughts to wh atever subject he pleases, to consider the reasons for or against any scheme or proposition , and to reflect upon them as long as he shall think proper ; as well as to walk wherever he ple ases, and to do whatever his h ands and other limbs are capable of doing. In acknowledging in man a liberty to do whatever he The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated ( 1 777 ) , Section I, "Of the True State of the Question Respecting Liberty and Necessity," pp. 1-8 . 1

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pleases I grant not only all the liberty that the generality of mankind have any idea of or can be made to understand, but also all that many of the professed advocates for liberty, against the doctrine of necessity, have claimed. "How need­ less, " says Mr. Wollaston, "to me seem those disputes about human liberty, with which men have tired themselves and the world.-Sure it is in a ma n's power to keep his hand from his mouth. If it is, it is also in his power to forbear excess in eating and drinking. If he has the command of his own feet, so as to go either this way or that, or no whither, as sure he has, it is in his power to abstain from vicious com­ pany and vicious places and so on." Again he says, "I can move my hand upwards or down­ wards, etc. j ust as I will, etc. The motion or the rest of my hand depends upon my will and is alterable upon thought at my pleasure. If then I will, as I am sensible I have a power of moving my hand in a manner which it would not move in by those laws which mere bodies already in motion, or under the force of gravitation, would observe, this motion depends solely upon my will and begins there." I would ob­ serve, however, that it by no means follows that because the motion depends upon the will, it therefore begins there; the will itself being determined by some motive. Mr. Locke acknowledges that, properly speaking, freedom does not belong to the will, but to the man; and agreeable to the definition of liberty given above, he says "As far as a man has power to think or not to think, to move or not to move, according to the preference or direction of his own mind, so far is a man free." The will , he acknowledges, is always determined by the most pressing uneasiness or desire, as he also acknowledges that it is happiness and that alone that moves the desire. And all the liberty that he contend� for, and for the existence of which he appeals to experience, is a liberty that I am far from disclaiming, viz. a liberty of suspending our determinations. "The mind," says he, '·having in most cases, as is evident in experience, a power to suspend the execution and satis­ faction of any of its desires, and so of all, one after another, is at liberty to consider the objects of them, examine them

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on all sides, and weigh them with others. In this lies the liberty a man has. He has a power to suspend the prosecu­ tion of this or that desire, as everyone daily may experience in himself. This seems to me the source of all liberty. In this seems to consist that which is, as I think, improperly called free will." I would only observe with respect to this, that a determina­ tion to suspend a volition is, in fact, another volition, and therefore, according to Mr. Locke's own rule, must be de­ termined by the most pressing uneasiness, as well as any other. If any man voluntarily suspends his determination, it is not _ without some motive or reason, as, for instance, be­ cause he is apprehensive of some ill consequence arising from a hasty and inconsiderate resolution. On the other hand, if he determines immediately, it is because he has no such apprehension. In fact all the liberty that Mr. Locke contends for is perfectly consistent with the doctrine of philosophical necessity, though he does not seem to have been aware of it. All the liberty, or rather power, that I say a man has not, is that of doing several things when all the previous circum­ stances (including the state of his mind and his views of things) are precisely the same. What I contend for is that with the same state of mind, the same strength of any par­ ticular passion for example, and the same views of things as any particular object appearing equally desirable, he would always voluntarily make the same choice and come to the same determination. For instance, if I make any particular choice today I should have done the same yesterday and shall do the same tomorrow, provided there be no change in the state of my mind respecting the object of the choice. In other words, I maintain that there is some fixed law of nature respecting the will as well as the other powers of the mind, and everything else in the constitution of nature; and consequently that it is never determined without some real or apparent cause, foreign to itself, i.e. without some motive of choice, or that motives influence us in some definite and invariable manner; so that every volition or choice is constantly regulated and determined by what pre­ cedes it. And this constant determination of mind, according

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to the motives presented to it, is all that I mean by its neces­ sary determination. This being admitted to be the fact, there will be a necessary connection between all things past, pres­ ent, and to come, in the way of proper cause and effect, as much in the intellectual as in the natural world; so that how little soever the bulk of mankind may be apprehensive of it or staggered by it, according to the established laws of nature no event could have been otherwise than it has been, is, or is to be, and therefore all things past, present, and to come are precisely what the Author of nature really intended them to be, and has made provision for. II : The Argument from Causality2

To establish the conclusion defined in the preceding section nothing is necessary but that throughout all nature the same consequences should invariably result from the same circum­ stances. For if this be admitted it will necessarily follow that at the commencement of any system, since the several parts of it and their respective situations were appointed by the Deity, the first change would take place according to a certain rule established by himself, the result of which would be a new situation; after which, the same laws continuing, another change would succeed according to the same rules, and so on forever, every new situation invariably leading to another and every event, from the commencement to the termination of the system , being strictly connected; so that, unless the fundamental laws of the system were changed, it would be impossible that any event should have been otherwise than it was ; just as the precise place where a billiard ball rests is necessarily determined by the impulse given to it at first, notwithstanding its impinging against ever so many other balls or the sides of the table. In all these cases the circumstances preceding any change are called the causes of that change ; and since a determinate event or effect constantly follows certain circumstances or The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity, Section II, "Of the Argu­ ment in Favour of the Doctrine of Necessity from the Consideration of Cause and Effect," pp. 9-19. 2

/ 59 causes, the connection between the cause and the effect is concluded to be invariable, and therefore necessary. This chain of causes and effects cannot be broken, but by such a provision in the constitution of nature as that the same event shall net certainly follow the same preceding cir­ cumstances. In this case, indeed, it might be truly said that any particular event might have been otherwise than it was, there having been no certain provision in the laws of nature for determining it to be this rather than that. But then this event, not being preceded by any circumstances that deter­ mined it to be what it was, would be an effect without a cause. For a cause cannot be defined to be anything but such previous circumstances as are constantly followed by a certain effect, the constancy of the result making us con­ clude that there must be a sufficient reason in the nature of things why it should be produced in those circumstances. So that in all cases if the result be different either the circum­ stances must have been different, or there were no circum­ stances whatever corresponding to the difference in the result; and consequently the effect was without any cause at all. These maxims are universal, being equally applicable to all things that belong to the constitution of nature, corporeal or mental. If for instance I take a pair of scales loaded with equal weights, they both remain in equilibrium. By throwing an additional weight into one of the scales, I make a change in the circumstances, which is immediately followed by a new situation, viz. a depression of the one, and an elevation of the opposite scale ; and having observed the same effect before, I was able to foretell that this depression of the one scale, and elevation of the other would be the certain consequence. It could not be otherwise while the same laws of nature were preserved. In order to its being possible for it to have been otherwise, the laws of nature must have been so framed, as that, upon throwing in the additional weight the scale might or might not have been depressed; or it might have been de­ pressed without any additional weight at all. But in this case there would have been an effect without a cause; there having been no change of circumstances previous to the change of situation, viz. the depression of the scale. In fact, this is the Free Will and Determinism

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only reason why we s ay that such a n effect would h ave been produced without a cause. In every determination of mind, or in cases where volition or choice is concerned, all the previous circumstances to be considered are the state of mind ( including everything be­ longing to the will itself ) and the views of thi ngs presented to it, the latter of which is generally called the motive, though under th is term some writers comprehend them both. To dis­ tinguish the manner in which events depending upon will and choice are produced from those in which no volition is con­ cerned, the former are said to be produced voluntarily and the latter mech anically. But the same general maxims apply to them both . We m ay not be able to determine a priori how a man wil l act in any particul ar case, but it is because we are not particularly acqu ainted with his disp osition of mind, precise situ ation and views of things. But neither can we tell which way the wind wil l blow tomorrow, though the air is certainly subj ect to no other than necess ary laws of motion. A particular determin ation of mind could not have been otherwise than it was, if the laws of nature respecting the mind be such, as that the same determination sh all constantly follow the same state of mind , and the same views of things. And it could not be possible for any determination to have been oth erwise than it has been, is, or is to be , unless the laws of nature had been such as th at, though b oth the state of m ind and the views of things were the same, the deter­ mination might or might not have taken place. But in this case the determin ation must have been an effect without a cause, because in this case, as in that of the balance, there would have been a change of situation without any previous change of circumstances ; and there cannot be any other defi­ nition of an effect without a cause. The applic ation of the term volunt ary to mental de terminations cannot possibly make the least difference in this case. If the laws of n ature be such as that in given circumstances I constantly make a definite choice, my conduct through life is determi ned by the Being who made me and placed me in the circumstances in which I first found myself. For the con-

Free Will and Determinism / 61 sequence of the first given circumstances was a definite volun­ tary determination, which bringing me into other circum­ stances, was followed by another definite determination, and so on from the beginning of life to the end of it; and upon no scheme whatever can this chain of situations of mind, and consequent mental determination, or of causes and effects, be broken, but by a constitution which shall provide that in given circumstances there shall no definite determination follow; or that, without any change in the previous circumstances there shall be a subsequent change of situation; which as was observed before, would be an effect without a cause, a thing impossible even to divine power because impossible to power abstractedly considered. Besides, if one effect might take place without a sufficient cause, another and all effects might have been without a cause ; which entirely takes away the only argument for the being of a God. It may perhaps help to clear up this matter to some per­ sons, to consider that voluntary is not opposed to necessary, but only to involuntary, and that nothing can be opposed to necessary but contingent. For a voluntary motion may be regulated by certain rules as much as a mechanical one; and if it be regulated by any certain rules or laws, it is as necessary as any mechanical motion whatever. Though there­ fore a man's determination be his own, the causes of it exist­ ing and operating within himself, yet if it be subject to any fixed laws, there cannot be any circumstances in which two different determinations might equally have taken place. For that would exclude the influence of all laws. There may be circumstances, indeed, in which a variety of determinations, though confined within certain limits, might take place ; but those are general circumstances. Circumscribe the circumstances, and a number of the possible determina­ tions will be precluded; and when the circumstances are strictly limited, the determination can be no other than pre­ cisely one and the same; and whenever those precise circum­ stances occur again, the inclination of mind being the same and the views of things precisely the same also, the very same determination or choice will certainly be made. The choice

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is, indeed, his own making, and voluntary; but in voluntarily making it he follows the laws of his nature, and invariably makes it in a certain definite manner. To suppose the mos1 perfectly voluntary choice to be made without regard to tht; laws of nature, so that with the same inclination, and degret of inclination and the same views of things presented to us: we might be even voluntarily disposed to choose either oJ two different things at _the same moment of time is just a� impossible as that an invol untary or mechanical motioll should depend upon no certain law or rule , or that any othe1 effect should exist without an adequate cause. What is most extraordinary is that there are persons whc admit this indissoluble chain of circumstances and effects: so that nothing could have been otherwise than it is, and ye1 can imagine that they are defending the doctrine of philo­ sophical liberty and opposing the doctrine of necessity. Tht author of Letters on Materialism says that "the moral influ­ ence of motives is as certain though not necessitating as i� the physical cause." But this is a distinction merely verbal. For the only reason that we can have to believe in any cause and that it acts necessarily, is that it acts certainly or in­ variably. If my mind be as constantly determined by the influence of motives, as a stone is determined to fall tc the ground by the influence of gravity, I am constrained to conclude that the cause in one case acts as necessarily a� that in the other. For there must be an equally suflicien1 reason for equally constant and certain effects. No less fallacious is it to say, with this writer, that "motives do not impel or determine a man to act; but that a man from the view of the motives determines himself to act." For if he certainly and constantly determines himself to act according to motives, there must be a sufficient reason why motives have this influence over him. If in fact he never does act con­ trary to their influence, it can only be because he has no power so to do; and therefore he is subject to an absolute necessity as much upon this as upon any other method of stating the question. By such poor evasions do some persons think to shelter themselves from the force of conviction.

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ID: The Argument from Divine Forelmowledge 3 As it is not within the compass of power in the author of any system that an event should take place without a cause, or that it should be equally possible for two different events to follow the same circumstances, so neither, supposing this to be possible, would it be within the compass of knowledge to foresee such a contingent event. So that, upon the doctrine of philosophical liberty, the Divine Being could not possibly foresee what would happen in his own creation, and therefore could not provide for it , which takes away the whole founda­ tion of divine providence, and moral government, as well as all the foundation of revealed religion in which prophecies are so much concerned. That an event truly contingent, or not necessarily depend­ ing upon previous circumstances, should be the object of knowledge has, like other things of a similar nature in modern systems, been called a difficulty and a mystery; but in reality there cannot be a greater absurdity or contradiction. For as certainly as nothing can be known to exist but what does exist, so certainly can nothing be known to arise from what does exist, but what does arise from it or depend upon it. But according to the definition of the terms a contingent event does not depend upon any previous known circum­ stances, since some other event might have arisen in the same circumstances. All that is within the compass of knowledge in this case is to foresee all the different events that might take place in the same circumstances; but which of them will actually take place cannot possibly be known. In this case all degrees of knowledge or sagacity are equal. Did the case admit of ap­ proximation to certainty, in proportion to the degree of knowledge, it would be fully within the compass of infinite knowledge; but in this case there is no such approximation. To all minds the foretelling of a contingent event is equally a matter of conjecture; consequently even infinite knowledge a The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity, Section III, "Of the Argu­ ment for Necessity from the Divine Prescience," pp. 1 9-24.

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makes no difference in this case. For knowledge supposes an object which, in this case, does not exist and therefore cannot be known to exist. If man be possessed of a power of proper self-determination, the Deity himself cannot con­ trol it ( as far as he interferes it is no self-determination of the man), and if he does not control it he cannot foresee it. Nothing can be known at present except itself, or its neces­ sary cause, exist at present. Yet the whole history of Revela­ tion shows that every determination of the mind of man is certainly foreknown by the Divine Being, determinations that took place from natural and common causes, where the mind was under no supernatural influence whatever; because men are censured and condemned for actions that were so fore­ seen. The death of our Saviour is a remarkable instance of this kind. This event was certainly foreseen and intended, for it most particularly entered into the plan of divine providence; and yet it appears from the history that it was brought about by causes perfectly natural and fully adequate to it. It was just such an event as might have been expected from the known malice and prejudice of the Jewish rulers, at the time of his appearance. They certainly needed no supernatural in­ stigation to push them on to their bloody and wicked purpose; and Pilate, disposed and situated as he was, needed no ex­ traordinary impulse to induce him to consent to it, notwith­ standing his hesitation and his conviction of the malice and injustice of the proceedings; and both he and the Jews were righteously condemned and punished for it; which, I doubt not, will have the happiest effect in the system of the divine moral government. This argument from the divine prescience is briefly but clearly stated by Mr. Hobbes. "Denying necessity" says he 1 ''destroys both the decrees and prescience of Almighty God. For whatever God has purposed to bring to pass by man, a� an instrument, or foresees shall come to pass, a man, if he has liberty might frustrate and make not come to pass; and God should either not foreknow it and not decree it, or he shall foreknow such things shall be as shall never be and decree what shall never come to pass."

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Indeed many of the most zealous advocates for the doc­ trine of philosophical liberty, aware of its inconsistency with the doctrine of divine prescience, have not scrupled to give up the latter altogether. With respect to such persons, I can only repeat what I have said upon this subject in my Exami­ nation of the Writings of Dr. Beattie, etc. "Thus our author, in the blind rage of disputation, hesi­ tates not to deprive the ever-blessed God of that very attri­ bute by which, in the books of scripture, he expressly dis­ tinguishes himself from all false gods, and than which nothing can be more essentially necessary to the government of the universe, rather than relinquish his fond claim to the fancied privilege of self-determination ; a claim which appears to me to be just as absurd as that of self-existence and which could not possibly do him any good if he had it." What is more extraordinary, this power he arrogates to himself without pretending to advance a single rational argu­ ment in favour of his claim ; but expects it will be admitted on the authority of his instinctive common sense only. And yet if a man express the least indignation at such new and unheard-of arrogance, and in an argument of such high im­ portance as this, what exclamation and abuse must he not expect? IV : The Nature of the Will4

In all investigations relating to human nature, the phi­ losopher will apply the same rules by which his inquiries have been conducted upon all other subjects. He will attentively consider appearances, and will not have recourse to more causes than are necessary to account for them. He sees a stone whirled round in a string, and the planets perform their revolutions in circular orbits, and he judges, from simil ar appearances, that they are all retained in their orbits by powers that draw them towards the centers of their respective notions. Again, a stone tends towards the earth by a power which is called gravity, and because, supposing • The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity, Section IV, "Of the Cause of Volition and the Nature of the Will," pp. 25-43.

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the planets to have the same tendency to the sun that the stone has to the earth, and to have been projected in tangents to their present orbits, they would revolve exactly as they are now observed to do, the philosopher for that reason con­ cludes that the force which retains them in their orbits is the very same power of gravity; and on this account only, viz. not to multiply causes without necessity he refuses to admit any other cause of the celestial motions. Let us then consider the actions of men in the same natural and simple view, without any apprehension of being misled by it; and let it be enquired by what rule they are determined and what are their causes. Whenever any person makes a choice or comes to any resolution there are two circumstances which are evidently concerned in it, viz. what we call the previous disposition of the mind, with respect to love or hatred for example, appro­ bation or disapprobation of certain objects, etc. and the kind of external objects then present to the mind, that is the view of the objects which the choice or resolution respects. Let the objects be two kinds of fruit, apples and peaches. Let it be supposed that I am fond of the former and have an aversion to the latter, and that I am disposed to eat fruit. In these circumstances the moment that they are presented to me I take the apples and leave the peaches. If it be asked why I made this choice or what was the reason, cause or motive of it, it is sufficient to say that I was fond of apples but did not like peaches. In the same disposition to eat fruit and retaining my predilection for apples, I should always infallibly do the same thing. The cause then of this choice was evidently my liking of apples and my disliking of peaches; and though an inclination or affection of mind be not gravity, it influences me and acts upon me as certainly and necessarily as this power does upon a stone. Affection determines my choice of the apples and gravity determines the fall of the stone. Through custom we make use of differ­ ent terms in these cases, but our ideas are exactly similar, the connection between the two things as cause and effect being equally strict and necessary. As a philosopher therefore I ought to acquiesce in this,

Free Will and Determinism / 67 and consider motives as the proper causes of volitions and actions. And the more I examine my own actions, or those of others, the more reason I seem to be satisfied that all voli­ tions and actions are preceded by corresponding motives. In all regular deliberations concerning any choice, every reason or motive is distinctly attended to, and whatever appears to be the stronger or the better reason always de­ termines us. In these cases the choice and motive correspond precisely to an effect and its cause. In cases that do not require a formal deliberation, i.e. in cases similar to those in which I have so often determined before, the moment I perceive my situation I determine instantly without attend­ ing distinctly as before, to all the motives or reasons. But this instantaneous determination cannot be said not to be produced by motives because it is, in fact , only the same mental process abridged, the action which was formerly con­ nected or associated with the ideas presented to it by means of motives being now itself immediately connected with those ideas without the distinct perception of the motives which formerly intervened. This process is exactly similar to the assent of the mind to geometrical propositions that are not self-evident; for example that all the inward angles of a right lined triangle are equal to two right angles. I do not perceive the truth of this till the reason of it is explained to me; but when this has been once done I afterwards without attending to the reason, and · even perhaps without being able to assign it if it were demanded of me, habitually consider the two ex­ pressions as denoting the same quantity, and I argue from them accordingly. Besides, since every deliberate choice is regulated by mo­ tives, we ought as philosophers to take it for granted that every choice is made in the same manner, and is subject to the same rules, and therefore determined by motives, by something that may be called liking or disliking, approving or disapproving, etc. depending upon the previous state of the mind with respect to the object of choice ; since the mere facility or readiness with which a choice is made cannot make it to be a thing different in kind from a choice made

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with the greatest deliberation, and which took up so much time that every circumstance attending it could be distinctly perceived. Moreover, we see evidently not only that men are de­ termined to act by certain motives but that the vigour of their actions corresponds also to what may be called the intensity of their motives. If a master be actuated simply by his anger he will beat his servant more violently and con­ tinue the correction longer, in proportion to the degree of his anger or the apprehended cause of his displeasure; and kindness operates exactly in the same manner, a stronger affection prompting to greater and more kind offices than a weaker. Also opposite motives as causes of love and hatred are known to balance one another, exactly like weights in oppo­ site scales. According to all appearance, nothing can act more invariably or mechanically. Is it possible then that a philosopher, observing these constant and uniform appear­ ances, should not conclude that the proper cause of a man's actions are the motives by which he is influenced? Strengthen the motive and the action is more vigorous; diminish it, and its vigour is abated; change the motive, and the action is changed; entirely withdraw it, and the action ceases; intro­ duce an opposite motive of equal weight, and all action is suspended, just as a limb is kept motionless by the equal action of antagonist muscles. As far as we can judge, motives and actions do in all possible cases strictly correspond to each other. It cannot but be allowed by the most strenuous advocates for metaphysical liberty that motives have some real influence upon the mind. It would be too manifest a contradiction to all experience to assert that all objects are indifferent to us, that there is nothing in any of them that can excite desire or aversion, or that desire or aversion have no influence upon the will and do not incline us to decide on what is proposed to us. Now can it be supposed that the will, whatever it be, should be of such a nature as both to be properly influenced or acted upon by motives, and likewise by something that bears no sort of relation to motive, and consequently has

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a mode of action entirely different from that of motive? This cannot but appear exceedingly improbable, if not impossible. Every other faculty of the mind bas one uniform mode of operation or affection. The passions are all excited by the view of proper objects, the memory is employed in retaining the ideas of things formerly impressed upon the mind, and the judgment in distinguishing the agreement or disagreement of ideas; whereas according to the modem metaphysical hy­ pothesis the will is of such a nature as to be influenced sometimes by the passions or motives and sometimes in a manner in which neither passion nor motive has anything to do, and of which it is not pretended that any idea can be given but by saying that it is self-determined, which in fact gives no idea at all, or rather implies an absurdity; viz., that a determination which is an effect takes place without any cause at all. For, exclusive of everything that comes under the denomination of motive there is really nothing at all left that can produce the determination. Let a man use what words he pleases, he can have no more conception how we can sometimes be determined by motives and sometimes without any motive, than he can have of a scale being some­ times weighed down by weights and sometimes by a kind of substance that has no weight at all, which whatever it be in itself, must, with respect to the scale, be nothing. Another argument for the necessary determination of the will may be drawn from the analogy that it bears to the judgment. It is universally acknowledged that the judgment is necessarily determined by the perceived agreement or dis­ agreement of ideas. Now the will is but a kind of judgment, depending upon the perceived preferableness of things pro­ posed to the mind, which apparent preferableness results as necessarily from the perception of the ideas themselves, as that of their agreement or disagreement. In fact, all the differ­ ence between judgment and will is that in the former case the determination relates to opinions and in the latter to actions. And, as all the ancients have well observed, the faculties of the soul are only different modes in which the same principle acts , the judgment being the mind judging and the will, the mind willing; and it would be very extraor0

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dinary indeed if the same mind should not be determined in a similar manner in these two very similar cases, and that if there be a self-determining will there should not be a self­ determining judgment also. In reality the latter is not more absurd, and contrary to all appearances, than the former. All that is advanced above goes upon the common supposi­ tion of the will being a distinct faculty of the mind and not of its being, according to Dr. Hartley's theory , together with all the other faculties, a particular case of the general prop­ erty of the association of ideas, which is necessarily of a mechanical nature , or of its being included in the idea of desire, which Dr. Price considers as only a motive with respect to the will. But what is desire, besides a wish to obtain some appre­ hended good? and is not every wish a volition? Now is it possible that an apprehended good should not be the object of desire, whether controlled by some other desire, etc. or not? For the same reason that a present good gives present pleasure, an absent good excites desire which, like any other of the passions, is universally allowed to be a perfectly me­ chanical thing. Since therefore desire necessarily implies vo­ lition, we have here a clear case of the will being necessarily determined by the circumstances which the mind is in ; and if in one case, why not in all others? especially as, in fact, every volition is nothing more than a desire, viz., a desire to accomplish some end, which end may be considered as the object of the passion or affection? That the determinations of what we call the will are, in fact , nothing more than a particular case of the general doc­ trine of association of ideas, and therefore a perfectly me­ chanical thing, I endeavoured to show, in the Essay prefixed to my Examination of the Scotch Writers. I shall in this place go over the argument again more minutely. Till the mind has been affected with a sense of pleasure or pain, all objects are alike indifferent to it; but some, in consequence of being always accompanied with a perception of pleasure, become pleasing to us while others, in conse­ quence of being accompanied with a sense of pain, become displeasing; and to effect this nothing can be requisite but

/ 71 the association of agreeable sensations and ideas with the one, and of disagreeable ones with the other. Admitting, therefore, the doctrine of association or that two ideas often occurring together will afterwards introduce one another, we have all that is requisite to the formation of all our passions or affections, or of some things being the objects of love and others of hatred to us. The manner in which actions adapted to secure a favourite object, become associated with the idea of it, has been ex­ plained at large by Dr. Hartley ; and it being universally ad­ mitted that the view of a favourite object, of an apple to a child for instance, is immediately followed by an attempt to seize it, I shall here take it for granted that there is such a necessary connection of these ideas and motions; and that in the same manner whenever the idea of any favourite object is presented to us, we endeavour to get it into our power. If the favourite object be within our immediate reach, it will, upon these principles, be immediately seized; so that there will be no interval between the prospect and the en­ joyment, except what was necessarily taken up in the bodily motions, etc. But this interruption, being nothing more than what must always have been experienced, will occasion no pain or uneasiness; for all the parts of the whole process be­ ing intimately connected in the mind, the enjoyment will, in fact, commence the moment that the object comes in view. Thus we see that persons exceedingly hungry are perfectly easy and happy all the time of a necessary and expeditious preparation for dinner, and are never impatient, or uneasy, till the delay begins to be more than they had expected. An attentive observer of this process may call this state of mind that of certain expectation, which is always pleasurable, from the perfect association of all the stages of it with the final issue. Let us now suppose this connected · train of ideas to be interrupted. Let an apple, for instance, be shown to a child, and immediately withdrawn and thrown quite away; signs of uneasiness will be immediately perceived, the evident conse­ quence of the interruption of a train of associated ideas, which had begun to take place in the mind; and the stronger Free Will and Determinism

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the association had been, in consequence of its having been frequently repeated and seldom interrupted before, the greater pain will be felt by the interruption. This painful state of mind may be termed disappointment and despair. Let us in the next place suppose the object to be known to be capable in itself of giving a person great pleasure, but to be entirely out of our reach, as the possession of a great estate to a poor man, or of a kingdom to a private gentle­ m an. Having never had any enjoyment or hope of it, this connected train of ideas, leading from the object to the en­ joyment ( the interruption of which would have given him pain) never took place, and consequently it is regarded with perfect indifference. If we be in circumstances in which the favourite object has been known to be sometimes obtained and sometimes not, the mind will be held in a kind of middle state between certain expectation and despair, which will be called hope if we apprehend the chances to be in favour of our obtain­ ing it, and fear if it be more probable that we shall not obtain it. To this state of mind, viz. within the extreme limits of hope and fear, we apply the term desire; and it is in this state, which is of some continuance, that we distinctly per­ ceive that affection of the mind to which we give the name of wishing or willing. But what is more properly called a volition is most dis­ tinctly perceived when the object does not appear at first sight to be desirable or not, but requires that several cir­ cumstances be considered and compared. When a child sees an apple and immediately catches at it, it is a simple case of the association of ideas, and if no other cases had been known, the term volition or will would hardly have been thought of. But when the mind is kept in suspense between desiring and not desiring an object, the final preponderance of desire is called a will or wish to obtain it, and the preva­ lence of aversion is called a will or wish to decline it. This case however of a proper volition succeeding a deliberation, though more complex is not less mechanical and dependent upon preceding ideas and on the state of mind, than the

Free Will and Determinism / 73 others. It is still nothing more than association of ideas, though the final and prevailing association has been for some time prevented from taking place, by a variety of inferior associations. The term will is as little applicable to determinations and actions secondarily automatic as to those that are originally so; of which I shall give an explanation together with a case. The first motions of the fingers or legs of a child are called automatic, being the immediate and mechanical effect of an external impression, and not arising from any idea in the mind. To these motions the term volition or will is cer­ tainly not at all applicable. Afterwards the same motions become associated with ideas, at which time they begin to be called voluntary, as when a child reaches out his hand to take an apple. But the motion is called more perfectly voluntary in proportion as the ideas with which it is connected are more numerous and complex, and when other ideas, present to the mind at the same time, have a connection with opposite motions, so that it shall be some time before the prevailing association takes place. But when the motion shall be as perfectly associated with this complex set of ideas or state of mind as it was with a single idea, so that the one shall immediately follow the other, it is called secondarily automatic ; and this being as instantaneous as an originally automatic motion, the term volition ceases to be applied to it. This is the case when a person walks without attending to the motion of his legs, or plays on a musical instrument without thinking of the par­ ticular position of his fingers; each of which motions and positions, having been dependent upon ideas , was before per­ formed with deliberation and an express volition. As it is evident, from the observation of the fact that auto­ matic motions pass into voluntary ones, and these again into those that are secondarily automatic, it is evident that they are all equally mechanical, the last process in particular being nothing but the second shortened or, which is the same thing, the second or the perfectly voluntary motion being the last, or the secondarily automatic, extended. As therefore the last

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is evidently mechanical, no attention of mind being employed in it, the second must be so too, though an express attention be given to it. In every view of the subject, therefore, whether the will be considered in a popular or a philosophical sense, it ap­ pears that its determinations must be directed by certain invariable laws, depending upon the previous state of mind, and the ideas present to it, at the moment of forming any resolution; so that in no case whatever could they have been otherwise than they actually were. V: The Argument from Immediate Consciousness 5

The greatest difficulties in the consideration of the sub­ ject of liberty and necessity have arisen from ambiguities in the use of terms. To contribute, therefore, all that may be in my power to clear this important subject of the obscurity in which it has be�n involved, I shall consider the meaning of such terms as appear to me to have had the greatest share in perplexing it; and in doing this I shall take an opportunity of replying to what that excellent man and very able meta­ physician, Dr. Price, has advanced upon this subject in his Review of the Principles of Morals, because it appears to me that he has been misled by the use of such words. "We have, in truth," says he, "the same constant and necessary consciousness of liberty that we have that Wt; think, choose, will or even exist ; and whatever to the con­ trary men may say, it is impossible for them in earnest tc think they have no active self-moving powers, and are no1 causes of their own volitions, or not to ascribe to themselve! what they must be conscious they think and do. "A man choosing to follow his judgment and desires, 01 his actually doing what he is inclined to do, is what we mea1 when we say motives determine him. At the same time it i: very plain that motives can have no concern in effecting hi: determination, or that there is no physical connection be The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity, Section V, "Of the Suppose< Consciousness of Liberty, and the Use of the Term Agent," pp. 44-56

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Free Will and Determinism / 75 tween his judgment and views and the actions consequent upon them. What must be more absurd than to say that our inclinations act upon us and compel us, that our desires and fears put us in motion or produce our volitions, i.e. are agents; and yet what is more conceivable than that they may be the occasions of our putting ourselves into motion. What sense would there be in saying that the situation of a body which may properly be the occasion or the account of its being struck by another body, is the efficient of its motion or its impeller?" I do not think that this objection to the doctrine of ne-­ cessity can be expressed in a stronger or better manner, and I have purposely made this quotation in order to meet the difficulty in its greatest force, being confident that when the ideas are attended to it will appear that the writer is, in fact, a necessarian; and though unperceived by himself, is in words only an advocate for the doctrine of metaphysical liberty. In order to avoid all ambiguity myself, I shall de• scribe the fact with respect to human nature, in such a manner as, I think, it shall h ardly be possible to be misled , by words. Man is a being of such a make that when certain things, two kinds of fruit, for instance, are proposed to him, they 1 ) become the objects of desire in different degrees, according to his experience of their different qualities, their wholesome-­ ness, the pleasure they give to his taste, and various other considerations. As the desirableness in this case is complex, and the impression that each circumstance belonging to it makes upon the mind is also various, depending upon the momentary state of it, the presence or absence of other ideas, etc. it is possible that the comparative desirableness of the two fruits may vary much in a short space of time, some• times the one and sometimes the other h aving the ascendant. But, provided the man were obliged to make a choice at any one moment of time, it will not be denied that he would cer­ tainly choose that which appeared to him, for that moment, the more desirable. If he were under no restraint wh atever, it is possible that on some accounts he might choose to make

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no choice at all and he might neglect both the kinds of fruit. But still it would be because that conduct appeared more desirable than the other, i.e.preferable to it. This, I will venture to say, is all that a man can possibly be conscious of, viz. that nothing hinders his choosing or taking whichsoever of the fruits appears to him more desir­ able, or his not making any choice at all, according as the one or the other shall appear to him preferable upon the whole. But there is always some reason for any object or any conduct appearing desirable or preferable; a reason exist­ ing either in a man's own previous disposition of mind or in his idea of the things proposed to him. In things of small consequence, or in a very quick succession of ideas, the reason may be forgotten, or even not be explicitly attended to, but it did exist, and actually contributed to make the thing or the conduct appear desirable at the time. As this is all that any man can be conscious of with respect to himself, so it is all that he can observe with respect to others. Agreeably to this, whenever we either reflect upon our own conduct , or speculate concerning that of others, we never fail to consider or ask what could be the motive of such or such a choice; always taking for granted that there must have been some motive or other for it; and we never suppose in such cases that any choice could be made without some motive, some apparent reason or other. When it is said that a man acts from mere will ( though this is not common language) the word is never used in a strict metaphysical sense, or for will under the influence of no motive; but the meaning is that in such a case a man acts from wilfulness or obstinacy, i.e. to resist the control of others; the motive being to show his liberty and independence, which is far from being a case in which a man is supposed to act without any motive at all. The consciousness of freedom, therefore, is an ambiguous expression, and cannot prove anything in favour of philo­ sophical or metaphysical liberty; but, when rightly understood: appears to decide in favour of the doctrine of necessity, m the necessary influence of motives to determine the choice. If what has been stated be the fact, and the whole fact ( anc:

/ 77 for the truth of the representation I appeal to every man's own feeling and persuasion) it must be quite arbitrary and can have no sort of consequence except what is merely ver­ bal, whether I say that the cause of the choice was the motive for it ( which Dr. Price very properly defines to be the judg­ ment or the desire) or the mind in which that choice takes place, that is myself or some other person; and to this cause it is that we ascribe the agency or determining power. In the former case it is the power or force of the motive , and in the latter that of the person. In either case there is a certain effect, and the concurrence of two circumstances, viz. a motive and a mind, to which that motive is presented or in which it exists, for the cause of the effect. If, according to the description given above, any person will maintain that, notwithstanding there be a real effect and a sufficient cause, there is no proper agency at all, merely because the will is necessarily determined by motives, nothing follows but that, out of complaisance, I may substitute some other word in its place. For if it be asserted that we have a consciousness of any other kind of agency than has been described, the fact is denied, and I challenge any person to do more than merely assert it. Without any other kind of agency than I have described, the whole business of human life , consisting of a succession of volitions and corresponding actions goes on, just as we observe it to do, and every just rule of life respecting the regulation of the will and the conduct, has a perfect propriety and use, but no propriety or use at all on any other hypothesis. However, I have no objection to meet Dr. Price upon his own ground in this instance, viz. appealing to the established use of words, with respect to the proper cause of volitions and actions. He says "What would be more absurd than to say that our inclinations act upon us, and compel us, that our desires and fears put us into motion or produce our volitions." Absurd as this language appears to Dr. Price, it is in fact the common style in which the conduct of men is described, and certainly proves that if men have any ideas really correspond­ ing to their words, they do consider the motives of men's actions to be, in a proper sense, the causes of them, more Free Will and Determinism

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properly than the mind which is determined by the motives. This also is common popular language, and therefore must have a foundation in the common apprehension of mankind. Dr. Price says, "If our inclinations compel us to act, if our desires and fears put us into motion, they are the agents; whereas they are properly only the occasion of our putting ourselves into motion." But what can this be besides a mere verbal distinction. If it be universally true that the action certainly follows the motive, i.e. the inclination of the mind, and the views of things presented to it, it is all that a neces­ sarian can wish for; all his conclusions follow and he leaves it to others to ring changes upon words and vary their expres­ sions at pleasure. Dr. Price, however, is particularly unhappy in what he advances in support of this arbitrary and verbal distinction. "What sense," says he, "can there be in saying that the situa­ tion of a body, which may properly be the occasion or the account of its being struck by another body, is the efficient of its motion or its impeller?" Whereas, according to his own definition of motive it includes both the inclination or disposi­ tion of the mind and the views of things presented to it, and this manifestly takes in both the impelling body and the situa­ tion in which the body impelled by it is found; which, ac­ cording to his own description includes the whole cause of the impulse or everything that contributes to its being impelled. And of these two circumstances, viz. the inclination of the mind and the view in which an object is presented to it, it is the latter that is generally and in a more especial sense called the motive, and compared to the impeller ( to use Dr. Price's language) while the inclination or disposition of the mind is only considered as a circumstance which gives the motive an opportunity of acting upon it or impelling it and producing the proper effect. In this I appeal as before to the common sense of mankind. But, without regard to popular ideas which Dr. Price may say are often founded on prejudice and false views of things, I would consider this matter with him as a mathematician and a philosopher; and I think I can show him that, according

Free Will and Determinism / 79 to the mode of reasoning universally received by the most speculative as well as the vulgar, we ought to consider motives as the proper causes of human actions, though it is the man that is called the agent. Suppose a philosopher to be entirely ignorant of the con­ stitution of the human mind, but to see, as Dr. Price acknowl­ edges, that men do in fact act according to their affections and desires, i.e. in one word, according to motives, would he not as in a case of the doctrine of chances, immediately infer that there must be a fixed cause for this coincidence of motives and actions? Would he not say that, though he could not see into the men, the connection was natural and neces­ sary, because constant? And since the motives in all cases precede the actions, would he not naturally, i.e. according to the custom of philosophers in similar cases, say that the motive was the cause of the action? And would he not be led by the obvious analogy to compare the mind to a balance, which was inclined this way or that, according to the motives presented to it? It makes no difference to say that the motive does not immediately produce the action. It is enough if it necessarily produce the immediate cause of the action or the cause of the immediate cause, etc. for example, if the motive excite the desire, the desire determine the will, and the will produce the action. For contrive as many mediums of this kind as you please, it will still follow that the action is ultimately accord­ ing to the motive, flows from it or depends upon it; and there­ fore, in proper philosophical language, the motive ought to be called the proper cause of the action. It is as much so as anything in nature is the cause of anything else. Since the common language of men corresponds to this view of the subject, it is a proof that in fact men do see it in this light. And if they do not pursue this doctrine to its distant and necessary consequences, it is -for want of sufficient reflection or strength of mind. Indeed, this one simple truth respecting the necessary influence of motives on the human mind leads us much beyond the apprehensions of the vulgar; but not to anything that ought to alarm the philosopher or

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the christian. The foundation is a truth grounded on universal experience and observation, and we have no need to fear any [but] fair consequences from it.

VI : Free Will and Virtue6 It is on a mere verbal distinction also on which everything that Dr. Price has advanced, in proof of liberty being essential to practical virtue, turns. "Practical virtue," he says, "sup­ poses liberty. A being who cannot act at all most certainly cannot act virtuously or viciously. Now, as far as it is true of a being that he acts, so far he must himself be the cause of the action, and therefore not necessarily determined to act. Determination requires an efficient cause. If this cause be the being himself I plead for no more. If not, then it is no longer his determination, i.e. he is no longer the determiner, but the motive or whatever else anyone will maintain to be the cause of the determination-In short, who must not feel the absurd­ ity of saying my volitions are produced by a foreign cause, i.e. are not mine. I determine voluntarily and yet necessarily." Here we have the same arbitrary account of agency that has been considered before. For this is the very same whether the object of choice be of a moral nature or not, whether it relates to two different kinds of fruit, or to virtuous or vicious actions. In fact if a virtuous resolution be formed the person by whom it is formed is the object of my complacence and reward, and if a vicious choice be made, the person is the object of my abhorrence ; and there is the greatest propriety and use in punishing him. And I appeal to the common sense of mankind if it would make any difference in the case, whether it be said that the proper cause of the action was the motive or the being himself actuated by the motive, since both were necessary to the action ; and, as will be shown in a following section, a person supposed to act without the influ­ ence of any motive would not be considered as the object of praise or blame, reward or punishment at all.

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Dr. Price is as unfortunate in his appeal to the common use of words in this case as on the two former occasions. "Who," says he, "must not feel the absurdity of saying my volition was produced by a foreign cause?" meaning a motive. Now this is actually the common language of all the world, and nobody feels any absurdity in it, because the conse­ quences he draws from it by no means follow, viz. that then the volition is not my own. It is my volition, whatever was the motive that produced it, if it was a volition that took place in my mind. The distinction which this writer makes between a moral and a physical necessity is equally useless as that concerning the proper seat of agency or causation. If a man's mind be so formed, whether it be by n ature or art, that he shall, in all cases, accede to every virtuous proposal, and decline everything vicious ; if the choice be really his own, and not that of any other for him, we love and approve his character, and see the greatest propriety in rewarding him. And the case is not at all altered by saying, that the necessity by which he acts is a physical or moral one. These are but words. If the choice be certain and truly necessary it is a proof that with that disposition of mind no other choice could be made ; and whatever consequences are drawn from the consideration of the impossibility of any other choice being made, applies to this case, if to any. And yet, in the foliowing extract Dr. Price considers actions as truly necessary and yet in the highest degree virtuous; and not directly treating of agency in this place, and therefore being perhaps a little off his guard, it is remarkable that he expresses himself in a manner by no means suited to his system, but as if the proper cause of the actions was the motives that led to them, though a little before he had represented it as the greatest absurdity to say that a man can determine voluntarily and yet necessarily. "By the necessity which is said to _ diminish the virtue of good actions must be meant not a natural ( which would take away the whole idea of action and will) but a moral neces­ sity, or such as arises from the influence of motives, and affec­ tions of the mind, or that certainty of determining one way which may take place upon the supposition of certain views,

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circumstances, and principles of an agent. Now it is unde­ niable that the very greatest necessity of this sort is consistent with, nay is implied in, the idea of the most perfect and meritorious virtue; and consequently can by no means be what of itself ever lessens it. The more confidently we may depend upon a being's doing an action when convinced of its propriety, whatever obstacles may lie in his way or, mor­ ally speaking, the more efficacious and unconquerable the influence of conscience is within him, the more amiable we must think him. "In like manner, the most abandoned and detestable state of wickedness implies the greatest necessity of sinning, and the greatest degree of moral impotence. He is the most vicious man who is so enslaved by vicious habits, or in whom appe­ tite has so far gained the ascendant, and a regard to virtue and duty is so far weakened that we can at any time with certainty foretell that he will do evil when tempted to it. Let me, therefore, by the way, remark that every idea of liberty must be very erroneous, which makes it inconsistent with the most absolute and complete certainty or necessity, of the kind that I have now taken notice of, or which supposes it to overthrow all steadiness of character or conduct. The greatest influence of motives that can rationally be conceived, or which it is possible for anyone to maintain without running into the palpable and intolerable absurdity of making them physical efficients or agents, can no way affect liberty. And it is surely very surprising that our most willing determina­ tions should be imagined to have most of the appearance of not proceeding from ourselves, and that what a man does with the fullest consent of his will, with the least reluctance, and the greatest desire and resolution, he should for that very reason be suspected not to do freely, i.e. not to do at all." As a professed necessarian, I would not wish to use any other language than this. But it does not appear to me to be the proper language of an advocate for metaphysical liberty, and of that kind of liberty being essential to virtue, to talk of virtue arising from the influence of motives and affections of mind, or of the efficacious and unconquerable influence of conscience. What evidence is there in all this of a self-deter-

F1·ee Will and Determinism / 83 mmmg power, acting independently of all motives, of all judgment or desire, and of the importance of this power to virtue? Here we have the most perfect virtue established on principles on which it must be allowed that it could never be proved, or made to appear, that any such self-determining power existed. Dr. Price allows that were all men perfectly virtuous or perfectly vicious, all their actions would be necessary and might with certainty be foretold, their inward disposition and situation being together sufficient to account for all their conduct. It is plain therefore that when he does not use the language of a system, a full consent of the will, though produced by the efficacious and unconquerable influence of conscience, that is, of motives, is sufficient to constitute virtue. Here therefore we see the most absolute necessity, that is, if there be any meaning in words, virtue, without a possibility of a man's acting otherwise than he does, i.e. without his having a power, disposed as he was, to act otherwise. If this be not a just inference, I do not know what is. But how this agrees with what he observes I do not see. He there says, "It has always been the general, and it has evidently been the natural sense of mankind, that they cannot be accountable for what they have no power to avoid. Nothing can be more glaringly absurd than applauding or reproaching ourselves for what we were no more the cause of than of our own beings, and what it was no more possible for us to prevent than the return of the seasons or the revolutions of the planets." This is so expressed as if the disposition of mind which is one necessary cause of men's resolutions and actions was not at all concerned; but, taking in this circumstance to which Dr. Price himself allows a certain and necessary operation, that which he here calls a glaring absurdity is precisely his own principle, unless he will say that a man is not accountable for the most abandoned and detestable wickedness, which he expressly says implies the greatest necessity of sinning. In fact, it is only where the necessity of sinning arises from some other cause than a man's own disposition of mind that we ever say there is any impropriety in punishing a man for his conduct. If the impossibility of acting well has arisen from a

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bad disposition or habit, its having been impossible with that disposition or habit to act virtuously is never any reason for our forbearing punishing, because we know that punishment is proper to correct that disposition and that habit, and that we thereby both reform the sinner and warn others, which are all the just ends of punishment, everything else deserving no other name than vengeance and being manifestly absurd, because answering no good purpose. At the same time, pun­ ishment used with this view will be administered with the utmost tenderness and compassion. I would farther take the liberty to observe, that Dr. Price's opinion of liberty being essential to virtue has led him to adopt an idea of it that is inconsistent with what he himself has acknowledged concerning the most perfect virtue, arising from the influence of motives and affections of mind. "Instinc­ tive benevolence," he says, "is no principle of virtue, nor are any actions flowing merely from it virtuous. As far as this influences, so far something else than reason and goodness influences, and so much I think is to be subtracted from the moral worth of any action or character. This is very agreeable to the common sentiments and determinations of mankind." And again, "The conclusion I would establish is that the virtue of an agent is always less in proportion to the degree in which natural temper and propensities fall in with his actions, instinctive principles operate and rational reflection on what is right to be done is wanting." Now what is the difference between affections of mind from which, he says, arises the most perfect and meritorious virtue, and instinctive benevolence, natural temper and propensity? For my own part I see no difference, but that the former comprehends the latter. For what is instinctive benevolence or natural temper and propensity but particular affections of mind? Also the language of the former paragraph and not of this, which is the very reverse of it is, I am confident, agree­ able to the common sentiments and determinations of man­ kind. Mankind in general do not refine so much as Dr. Price. Whatever it is within a man that leads him to virtue, and that will certainly and necessarily incline him to act right or to

Free Will and Determinism / 85 do what they approve, they deem to be a virtuous principle, to be the foundation of merit, and to entitle to reward. If they allow a man more merit for having acquired this disposition or propensity than upon the supposition of his having been born with it, it is because they suppose some prior disposition to acquire it, and so strong as to have overcome considerable obstacles to the acquiring of it. But this is only carrying the principle of virtue, the foundation of merit and of a title to reward a little higher. The nature of it is still the very same. Men are charmed with a virtuous conduct, with the principle that was the cause of it, with the principle that was the cause of that principle and so on, as far as you please to go. The only reason why we are less struck with a virtuous action proceeding from what is called natural temper is because we consider it as a fickle principle , on which we can have no sufficient dependence for the future. But let that principle be supposed to be really fixed and stable, and wherein does it differ from that disposition of mind which is the result of the greatest labour and attention? If two men be in all respects the same inwardly, if they feel and act precisely in the same manner upon all occasions, how in the sight of God or man can there be more virtue in the present conduct of the one than in that of the other, whatever difference there may have been with respect to the acquisition of that temper? Everything that is so confirmed as to become habitual operates exactly like what is called instinct (for my own part I believe them to be in all cases the very same thing) but does a course of virtue become less virtuous in consequence of being persisted in, and consequently being a more easy and mechanical thing? Yet this is the natural con­ clusion from Dr. Price's principles. Valerius Paterculus, as is observed by Mr. Hobbes, praises Cato because he was good by nature, et quia aliter esse non potuit. These maxims take away all virtue, goodness and merit from the greatest and best of all beings, and likewise make it absurd to pray for virtue ; since nothing that is communicated can be entitled to that appellation. And surely the common ideas and practices of mankind, at least of christians, repro­ bate the notion. In fact, it is mere Heathen Stoicism which

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allows men to pray for external things, but admonishes them that, as for virtue, it is our own and must arise from within ourselves, if we have it at all. And yet Dr. Price, I know, prays, like other christians and with the humility of a neces­ sarian who considers everything belonging to him, temper, will and conduct, as the gift of God, and himself as nothing more than the instrument (though at the same time the object) of his gracious designs. And as I am not alarmed at the moral influence of his opinions, I hope he will not be alarmed at mine. I wish Dr. Price would consider for a few minutes ( and a very few, I should think, would suffice) what this self-deter­ mining power of which he makes so great a boast, can be. By his own confession it is not judgment, it is not conscience, it is not affection, it is not desire, it is not hope or fear, nor consequently any of the passions. It must, therefore, be mere will, under no direction or guidance, because under no influ­ ence whatever; and of what value or use can such a principle be? Supposing the thing possible ( as I deem it to be absolutely impossible that the will should act without judgment, con­ science, affection or any other motive) the determination, though dignified with the appellation of self, cannot be any­ thing but a mere random decision, which may be good or bad, favourable or unfavourable, to us, like the chance of a die, and cannot possibly be of a nature to be entitled to praise or blame, merit or demerit, reward or punishment. I cannot, therefore, persuade myself that a wise and benevolent author would have given man a power so entirely insignificant to every valuable purpose and of such a nature too, that himself, that wisdom and power in the abstract, could not control. I also wish Dr. Price would consider in what sense a deter­ mination of his mind can be said to be more his own, on account of its not having been produced by previous moaves but in a manner independent of all motives or reasons for choice. For my part, I own that, supposing the thing to be possible, as I conceive it to be naturally impossible, I cannot see either anything to boast of in such a determination or any foundation for property in it. If nothing in the preceding

Free Will and Determinism / 87 state of his mind (which would come under the description of motive ) contributed to it, how did he contribute to it? and therefore in what sense can he call it his? If he reject a determination produced by motives, because motives are no part of himself, he must likewise give up all claim to a deter­ mination produced without motives, because that also would be produced without the help of anything belonging to him­ self. If the former have a foreign cause and therefore he cannot claim it, the latter has no cause at all, and is, there­ fore, what neither himself nor any other person can claim. But the thing itself is absolutely chimerical; a power of determining without motive or a proper self-determining power , without any regard to judgment, conscience or affec­ tion, is impossible. It is to suppose an effect without a cause. The supposition is contrary to all experience and observation; and if we only admit this one undeniable fact, viz. that the will cannot properly determine itself, but is always deter­ mined by motives, that is, by the present disposition of the mind and the views of things presented to it, it cannot be any other than a necessary determination, subject to laws as strict and invariable as those of mechanics. There cannot possibly be any medium in the case . If we always choose that object or that action which, on whatever account, appears preferable at the moment of making the choice, it will always be determined by some invariable rule, depending upon the state of the mind and the ideas present to it ; and it will never be equally in our power to choose two things, when all the previous circumstances are the very same.

VII: Praise and Blame 7 The objection to the doctrine of necessity that has weighed the most with those who have considered the subject is that, if men's determinations and actions flow necessarily from the previous state of their minds, and the motives or influences to which they are exposed, the idea of responsibility or accountThe Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity, Section VII, "Of the Pro­ priety of Rewards and Punishments, and the Foundation of Praise and Blame, on the Scheme of Necessity," pp. 73-89.

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ableness vanishes, and there can be no propriety or use of rewards or punishments. Now I hope to make it appear that, when the case is rightly understood there can be no use or propriety of rewards or punishments on any other scheme, but the greatest possible upon this. In order to make this clearly apprehended let us suppose two minds constructed, as I may say, upon the principles of the two opposite schemes of liberty and necessity, all the determinations of the one being invariably directed by its previous dispositions and the motives presented to it, while the other shall have a power of determining in all cases, in a manner independent of any such previous dispositions or motives; which is precisely the difference between the systems of necessity and liberty, philosophically and strictly defined. To avoid circumlocution, let us call the former A and the latter B. I will further suppose myself to be a father, and these two my children; and, knowing their inward make and constitution, let us consider how I should treat them. My object is to make them virtuous and happy. All my precepts and the whole of my discipline are directed to that end. For the use of discipline is by the hope of something that the subjects of it know to be good, or the fear of some­ thing that they know to be evil, to engage them to act in such a manner as the person who has the conduct of that discipline well knows to be for their good ultimately, though they can­ not see it. In other words, I must make use of present good, and present evil in order to secure their future and greatest good; the former being within the apprehension of my chil­ dren, and the latter lying beyond it, and being known to myself only. This I take to be precisely the nature of disci­ pline, the person who conducts it being supposed to have more knowledge, experience and judgment than those who are sub­ ject to it. Now, since motives have a certain and necessary influence on the mind of A, I know that the prospect of good will cer­ tainly incline him to do what I recommend to him, and the fear of evil will deter him from anything that I wish to dissuade him from : and therefore I bring him under the

/ 89 course of discipline above described with the greatest hope of success. Other influences, indeed, to which he may be ex­ posed, and that I am not aware of, may counteract my views, and thereby my object may be frustrated; but notwithstanding this my discipline will, likewise, have its certain and necessary effect; counteracting in part at least all foreign and unfavour­ able influence, and therefore cannot be wholly lost upon him. Every promise and every threatening, every reward and every punishment judiciously administered, works to my end. If this discipline be sufficient to overcome any foreign influence, I engage my son in a train of proper actions which, by means of the mechanical structure of his mind will at length form a stable habit which ensures my success. But in my son B I have to do with a creature of quite another make; motives have no necessary or certain influence upon his determinations, and in all cases where the principle ' of freedom from the certain influence of motives takes place, it is exactly an equal chance whether my promises or threat­ enings, my rewards or punishments determine his actions or not. The self-determining power is not at all of the nature of any mechanical influence, that may be counteracted by influences equally mechanical, but is a thing with respect to which I can make no sort of calculation, and against which I can make no provision. Even the longest continued series of proper actions will form no habit that can be depended upon; and therefore, after all my labour and anxiety, my object is quite precarious and uncertain. If we suppose that B is in some degree determined by motives, in that very degree and no other is he a proper sub­ ject of discipline; and he can never become wholly so, till his self-determining power be entirely discharged, and he comes to be the same kind of being with A, on whom motives of all kinds have a certain and necessary influence. Had I the making of my own children they should certainly be all constituted like A, and none of them like B. Besides, the discipline of A will have a suitable influence on all that are constituted like him, so that, for their sakes, as well as on the account of A himself, I ought to bring him under this salutary treatment. And thus all the ends of disciFree Will and Determinism

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pline are answered, and rewards and punishments have the greatest propriety; because they have the fullest effect upon the doctrine of necessity; whereas it is evident they are abso­ lutely lost, having no effect whatever upon the opposite scheme. This appears to me to be the fairest and the most unexcep­ tionable view of the subject, by which it appears that the Divine Being, the father of us all, in order to make us the proper subjects of discipline and thereby secure our greatest happiness (which is all that, philosophically speaking, is really meant by making us accountable creatures) must constitute us in such a manner as that motives shall have a certain and necessary influence upon our minds, and must not leave us at liberty to be influenced by them or not, at our arbitrary pleasure. I do not think it is properly necessary to add anything more on this subject; but because this question has (perhaps more than any other in the whole compass of philosophical discus­ sion) been rendered obscure by an unfair and improper manner of stating, I shall give another view of it ; by which I hope it will appear that there is all the foundation that we can wish for a proper accountableness and for praise and blame upon the doctrine of necessity and not so much as a shadow of any real foundation for them upon any other supposition; the boasted advantage of the doctrine of liberty belonging, in fact, to the doctrine of necessity only; and I am confident that my ideas on this subject are, at the same time, those of the vulgar, and agreeable to sound philosophy, while those of the metaphysicians who have adopted a contrary opinion, are founded on a mere fallacy. When I, or the world at large, praise my son A, we tell him we admire his excellent disposition, in consequence of which all good motives have a certain and never-failing influ­ ence upon his mind, always determining his choice to what is virtuous and honourable, and that bis conduct is not directed either by mere will or the authority of any other person, but proceeds from his own virtuous disposition only; and that his good habits are so confirmed that neither prom-

Free W'ill and Determinism / 91 ises nor threatenings are able to draw him aside from his duty. In this representation I am confident that I keep back no� , ing that is essential. The ideas of mankind in general neYer , go beyond this, when they praise any person nor� philosophi­ cally speaking9 ought they to do iL Praise that is founded on any other principles is really absurd, and if it was understood by the vulgar would be reprobated by them, as entirely repug­ nant to their conception of it. This v.-ill clearly appear by considering the case of my son B. We have supposed that A has done a ,irtuous action� and has been commended because it pn."leeeded from the �nt of his mind to virtue, so that whenever proper ci..n:umstances occurred, he necessarily did what we wished him to haYe done. Let us now suppose that B does the very same thing; but let it be fully understood that the cause of his right deter­ mination was not any bias or disf)\-"lS.ition of mind in fayour of virtue or because a good motive influenced him to do it: but that bis determination was produced by something \\-ithin him ( call it by what name you please) of a quite different nature, with respect to which moth es of any kind have no sort of influence or effect, a mere arbitrary pleasure9 without any reason whatever ( for a reason is a motive) and I appre­ hend be would no more be thought a proper subject of praise. notwithstanding he should do what was right in itself, than . the dice which, by a fortunate throw, should give a man an estate. It is true the action was rigb� but there was not the proper principle and motive, which a.re the only just founda­ tions of praise. In short, where the proper influence of motives ceases, the proper foundation of praise and blame disappears with it; and a self-determining power, supposed to act in a manner independent of motive and even contrary to everything that comes under that description is a thing quite foreign to every idea that bears the least relation to praise or bfame. A good action produced in this manner is no indication of a good disposition of mind� inclined to yield to the influence of. good impressions, and therefore is nothing on which I can de!1

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pend for the future. Even a series of good actions, produced in this manner, gives no security for a proper conduct in future instances; because such actions can form no habit, i.e. no necessary tendency to a particular conduct; but everything is liable to be reversed by this self-determining principle, which can turn a deaf ear to all motives and all reasons. So difficult is it to get out of the road of common sense that even philosophical persons will further deceive themselves by saying that the self-determining power is influenced by mo­ tives, and does not determine absolutely at random. But if this be a proper influence, there can be no proper self­ determining power, except by self-determination be under­ stood what the world in general always does understand by it, viz. a power of determination not subject to the control of others, but produced by causes operating within a man's self only. If when the state of mind and every idea present to it are precisely the same, there be a power of forming either of two contrary resolutions (which is the case if neces­ sary determination be excluded) it is plain that the proper cause of the resolution, that which actually decided in the case, could not be anything either in the state of the mind itself or any idea present to it (because, notwithstanding these circumstances, there is a power of determining either flgree­ able or contrary to their natural influence) and therefore could not be anything to which mankind have ever attributed either praise or blame. It is never the action but the disposi­ tion of mind, and the motive that makes anything meritorious; and here the determination was not caused either by the state of mind or any motive whatever. I will venture to say that, let this case be stated with ever so much address and refinement, it will still be found that there cannot be any just foundation for praise, but upon a scheme which supposes the mind to be so disposed as that just views of things will necessarily determine the will to right action. The two schemes of liberty and necessity admit of no medium between them. But if any kind of medium be supposed, in which something shall be allowed to the influ­ ence of motive, and something to the self-determining power acting independently of motive, still all the virtue and merit,

Free Will and Determinism / 93 all the foundation for praise, takes place just so far as neces­ sity takes place, and fails just so far as this imaginary liberty of choice, acting independently of motive, interferes to ob­ struct it. It has been seen that punishment would have no propriety or use upon the doctrine of philosophical liberty; blame also, upon the same scheme would be equally absurd and ill founded. If my child A acts wrong I tell him that I am exceedingly displeased, because he has shown a disposition of mind on which motives to virtue have no sufficient influence, that he appears to have such a propensity to vicious indul­ gence, that I am afraid he is irreclaimable, and that his utter ruin will be the consequence of it. This is the proper language of blame; and upon a mind constituted like that of A, may have a good effect, as well as the discipline of punishment. But if the constitution of the mind of B be attended to, it will be seen that blame is equally absurd, as punishment is unavailing. If he has acted the same part that A has done, the language which I addressed to A will not apply to him. It is true that he has done what is wrong, and it must have had consequences; but it was not from any bad disposition of mind that made him subject to be influenced by bad impres­ sions. No, his determination has a cause of quite another nature. It was a choice directed by no bad motive whatever, but a mere will acting independently of any motive, and which, though it has been on the side of vice today may be on the side of virtue tomorrow. My blame or reproaches therefore, being ill founded and incapable of having any effect, it is my wisdom to withhold them and wait the uncer­ tain issue with patience. If this be not a just, impartial, and philosophical state of this case, I do not know what is so; and by this means it appears that the doctrine of the necessary influence of motives upon the mind of man makes him the proper subject of discipline, reward and punishment, praise and blame, both in the common and philosophical use of the words; and the doctrine of self-determination, independent of the infl uence of motives, entirely disqualifies a man from being the proper subject of them.

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It is said that the nature of remorse implies a self-determin­ ing power. I answer that this is no other than the same deception that I have explained before. For blaming ourselves or blaming another are things of the very same nature, and depend upon the same principles. The sense of self-reproach and shame is excited by our :finding that we have a disposi­ tion of mind leading to vice, and on which motives to virtue in particular cases have had no influence. If I blame myself for anything else, viz. for not exerting a self-determining power by which I may suppose that I might have acted otherwise independently of the previous disposi­ tion of mind and the motives then present to it, the idea is not at all adapted to excite any proper remorse. For it has been shown to afford no foundation for blame whatever and, in the nature of things, cannot possibly do it. For on this supposition there is nothing vicious, or blameworthy that is the proper cause of the action, but something that bears no sort of relation to morality. Morals depend upon inward dispositions of mind and good or bad habits; but this self­ determination is a thing capable of counteracting all disposi­ tions and all habits, and not by means of contrary dispositions and contrary habits , but by a power of quite another nature, to which the properties of dispositions and habits, such as approbation or disapprobation in a moral sense, or praise or blame, cannot possibly belong. A man, indeed, when he reproaches himself for any partic­ ular action in his past conduct, may fancy that, if he was in the same situation again he would have acted differently. But this is a mere deception; and if he examines himself strictly and takes in all circumstances, he may be satisfied that, with the same inward disposition of mind and with precisely the same views of things that he had then, and exclusive of all others that he has acquired by reflection since he could not have acted otherwise than he did. But will this conviction at all lessen his sense of grief or shame? On the contrary it will only more fully satisfy him that his dispositions and habit of mind at that time were so bad that the vicious action was unavoidable.And the sense he now has of this deplorable state of his mind and the alarming

Free Will and Determinism / 95 tendency of it, will operate so as to make him act better and become better disposed for the future; so that, upon another similar occasion he would not do what he did before. And is not this all the benefit that a man can possibly derive from a sense of shame and self-reproach, commonly called remorse of conscience? VIII: Determinism and Moral Judgments 8 The difference that Dr. Price and others make between moral and physical causes and effects appears to me to be that which subsists between voluntary and involuntary causes and effects; and this is indeed a most important difference. Where involuntary motions are concerned, as in the case of a man dragged by force, it is absurd to use any reasoning or expostulation, or to apply rewards or punishments, because they can have no effect; but where voluntary motions are concerned, as in the case of a . man who is at liberty to go where he pleases, and choose what company he pleases etc. reasoning and expostulation, rewards and punishments, have the greatest propriety, because the greatest effect; for they are applied to and influence or move the will as much as external force moves the body. It is on this circumstance, viz. the influence of motives on the will, that the whole of moral discipline depends; so that if the will of man were so formed as that motives should have no influence upon it, he could not be the subject of moral government, because the hope of reward and the fear of punishment operate in no other manner than as motives applied to the will. And since the whole of moral government depends upon the distribution of rewards and punishments, what has been called liberty or a power of acting independ­ ently of motives is so far from being the only foundation of moral government that it is absolutely . inconsistent with it. The ideas belonging to the terms accountableness, praise and blame, merit and demerit, all relate to the business of

• A Free Discussion of the Doctrines of Materialism and Philosophical Necessity, In a Correspondence between Dr. Price and Dr. Priestley ( 1778 ) , Part III, pp. 147-152.

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moral discipline, and therefore necessarily imply that men are influenced by motives and act from fixed principles and character; though, on account of our not comprehending the doctrine of causes and stopping where we ought not, we are generally under some mistake and misconception with respect to them. Therefore, to guard against all mistake, it may be more advisable that, in treating the subject philosophically, those words be disused. Everything that really corresponds to them may be clearly expressed in different language and all the rules of discipline, everything in practice, on the part both of the governor and the governed, will stand just as before. To mak� my meaning intelligible and show that I do not advance this at random I shall here endeavour to express in a strict and philosophical manner the full import of all the terms above-mentioned. In common speech we say that we are accountable crea­ tures, and justly liable to rewards and punishments for our conduct. The philosopher says that justice ought to be called propriety or usefulness, or a rule of conduct adapted to answer a good purpose, which in this case is the good of those who are the subjects of government or discipline; and therefore, instead of saying, We are justly liable to rewards or punishments, he says, We are beings of such a constitution that to make us happy upon our observance of certain laws and to make us suffer in consequence of our transgressing those laws, will have a good effect with respect both to our own future conduct and that of others; i.e. tending to our own amelioration, and operating to the amelioration of others. In common language we say a man is praiseworthy and has merit. The philosopher says that the man has acted from or been influenced by good principles, or such principles as will make a man happy in himself and useful to others; that he is therefore a proper object of complacency and fit to be made happy; that is, the general happiness will be promoted by making him happy. So also when in common language a man is said to be blameworthy and to have demerit, the philosopher says that he has acted from or been influenced by bad principles, or such as will make a man unhappy in himself and hurtful to

Free Will and Determinism / 97 others; that he is therefore a proper subject of aversion, and is fit to be made unhappy; that is, the making him unhappy will tend to promote the general happiness. Upon the whole, therefore, though the vulgar and philos­ ophers use different language, they would see reason to act in the same manner. The governors will rule voluntary agents by means of rewards and punishments, and the governed, being voluntary agents, will be influenced by the apprehension of them. It is consequently a matter of indifference in what­ ever language we describe actions and characters. If the com­ mon language be in some respects inconsistent with the doc­ trine of necessity, it is still more inconsistent with the doctrine of liberty, or the notion of our being capable of determining without regard to motives.

IX : God as the Author of Sin9

When it is considered that the distinction between things natural and moral entirely ceases on the scheme of necessity, the vices of men come under the class of common evils , pro­ ducing misery for a time; but, like all other evils in the same great system, are ultimately subservient to greater good. In this light therefore everything without distinction may be safely ascribed to God. Whatever terminates in good, philo­ sophically speaking, is good. But this is a view of moral evil which, though innocent, and even useful in speculation, no wise man can, or would choose to act upon himself, because our understandings are too limited for the application of such a means of good; though a being of infinite knowledge may introduce it with the greatest advantage. Vice is productive not of good but of evil to us, both here and hereafter, and probably during the whole of our exist­ ence; though good may result from it to the whole system. While our natures therefore are what they are, and what association has necessarily made them, and so long as we see everything in its true light we must shun vice as any other evil, and indeed the greatest of all evils, and choose virtue as The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity, Section X, "God as the Author of Sin," pp. 1 1 5-127.

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98 I The Philosopher the greatest good. Nay we shall cultivate good dispositions with more care and attention since , according to the fixed laws of nature, our present and future happiness necessarily depends upon it. And as to the good of the whole universe, or of all mankind, it can be no object except to a mind capa­ ble of comprehending it. Whether we be virtuous or vicious and consequently happy or miserable, it will be equally a necessary p art of the whole, so that this consideration, were we so absurd as to pretend to govern our conduct by it, should not bias us one w ay more than another. Our supposing that God is the author of sin ( as, upon the scheme of necessity he must, in fact, be the author of all things ) by no means implies that he is a sinful being, for it is the disposition of mind and the design that constitutes the sinfulness of an action. If, therefore, his disposition and design be good, what he does is morally good. It was wicked in Joseph's brethren to sell him into Egypt, because they acted from envy , hatred, and covetousness ; but it was not wicked in God, to ordain it to be so, because in appointing it he was not actuated by any such principle. In him it was gracious and good, because he did it, as we read, to preserve life, and to answer other great and excellent purposes in the extensive plan of his providence. If it was proper upon the whole ( and of that propriety God himself is certainly the only judge) that so important an event should be brought about by the low passions and inter­ ested views of men, it was right and wise in him to appoint that it should be brought about in that very manner, rather than a ny other; and if, it be right and wise that those vices, when they have answered the great and good purposes of him who appoints and overrules all things for good should be restrained, the sufferings which he inflicts for that purpose are right and just punishments. That God might have made all men sinless, and happy, might for anything that we know have been as impossible as his making them not finite, but infinite beings, in all respects equal to himself. Mr. Hume who in general discusses the question concern­ ing liberty and necessity with great clearness, entirely aban­ dons the doctrine of necessity to the most immoral and

/ 99 shocking consequences; a conduct which must have tended to create a prejudice against it : but how ill founded has I hope been sufficiently shown. He says (Philosophical Essays) that "upon the scheme of necessity human actions can either have no turpitude at all, as proceeding from so good a cause ( the Deity) or if they can have any moral turpitude they must involve our Creator in the same guilt, while he is acknowledged to be their ultimate cause and author." "It is not possible," says he again, "to explain distinctly how the Deity can be the immediate cause of all the actions of men without being the author of sin and moral turpitude." But did not this writer know what is known to all the world, that the motive or intention with which a thing is done is the circumstance that principally constitutes its morality? Men who act from a bad intention are certainly vicious; but though God may be the ultimate cause of that bad disposition yet, since he produces it from a good motive in order to bring good out of it, he is certainly not vicious, but good and holy in that respect. Mr. Hobbes also fails in his solution of this difficulty, justifying the divine conduct not upon the principle of the goodness of his ultimate designs in everything that he ap­ points, but on account of his power only. "Power irresistible," says he, "justifies all actions really and properly, in whomso­ ever it be found. Less power does not, and because such power is in God only be must needs be just in all actions; and we that, not comprehending his councils call him to the bar, commit injustice in it." It is possible, however, that Mr. Hobbes might not mean power simply; for when he blames men for censuring the conduct of God, when they do not comprehend his councils, he seems to intimate that, could we see the designs of God in appointing and overruling the vices of men, we might see reason to approve and admire them, on account of the wisdom and goodness · on which they are founded. I would observe farther, with respect to this question, that the proper foundation or rather the ultimate object of virtue is general utility, since it consists of such conduct as tends to make intelligent creatures the most truly happy in the Free Will and Determinism

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whole of their existence ; though, with respect to the agent, no action is denominated virtuous that is not voluntary, and that does not proceed from some good motive, as a regard to the will of God, the good of others, or the dictates of con­ science. If therefore the Divine Being be influenced by a disinterested regard to the h appiness of his creatures, and adopt such measures as are best calculated to secure that great and glorious end, this end will certainly sanctify the means that are really necessary to accomplish it with respect to him who chooses those means only with a view to that end, and who cannot be mistaken in his application of them. The reason why it is wrong i n man, a finite creature, to do any evil that good may come of it is that, our understandings being l imited, the good that we project m ay not come of it, and therefore it is best that we, and all finite creatures, should govern our conduct by certain inviol able rules, whatever advantages may seem to us to be derived from occasional de viations from them. Upon the whole natural good is to be considered as the object and end, and virtue as being at the same time a means to that end, and likewise a part of it. It is, therefore, well observed by a writer [Abraham Tucker] who calls h imself Search ( see his Light of Nature [Pursued] ) [that] "moral evil were no evil if there was no n atural evil. Because how could I do wrong if no hurt or damage could ensue therefrom to anybody? And it is no greater than the mischiefs whereof it may be productive. Therefore it is natural evil that creates the difficulty, and the quality of this evil is the same from whatever causes arising." Though Mr. Edwards has m any valuable remarks on this subject, and upon the whole has satisfactorily answered the objection to the doctrine of necessity which arises from the consideration of God being the author of sin, yet, in treati ng of it he has made one observation which, I think, is not well founded, and which seems to show that he was not willing to encounter the difficulty in its gre atest strength. He says (Inquiry ) "There is a great difference between God's being the ordainer of the certain existence of sin, by not h indering it u nder certain circumstances, and his

101 being the proper actor or author of it, by a positive agency or efficiency. "Sin," says he again, "is not the fruit of any positive agency, or influence of the Most High, but on the contrary arises from his withholding his action and energy." He also says that "though the absence of the sun is the cause of darkness, it would be improper to call the sun the source of darkness as it is of light." But if there be any foundation for the doctrine of necessity, i.e. if all events arise from preceding situations , and the orig­ inal situations of all things, together with the laws by which all changes of situation take place, were fixed by the Divine Being, there can be no difference whatever with respect to his causation of one thing more than another. And even whatever takes place in consequence of his withholding his special and extraordinary influence, is as much agreeable to his will as what comes to pass in consequence of the general laws of nature. It may, however, justly be said, and this is the proper answer to the difficulty, that the Divine Being may adopt some things which he would not have chosen on their own account, bu t for the sake of other things with which they were necessarily connected. And if he prefers that scheme in which there is the greatest prevalence of virtue and happiness, we have all the evidence that can be given of his being infinitely holy and benevolent, notwithstanding the mixture of vice and misery there may be in it. For supposing such a necessary connection of things good and evil, the most wise, holy and good being would not have made any other choice; nor do I see that it is possible to vindicate the moral attrib­ utes or the benevolence of God, of which they are only modifications, upon any other supposition than that of the necessary connection, in the nature of things, between good and evil both natural and moral. And this necessary connec­ tion is very man ifest in a variety of instances. According to the most fundamental laws of nature and indeed the very nature of things, great virtues in some could not be generated or exist, but in conjunction with great vices in others ; for it is this opposition that not only exhibits them to advantage, but even, properly speaking, creates them. Free Will and Determinism

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Where could there be clemency, fortitude, elevation of soul and deep resignation to the will of God, which form the most glorious and excellent of characters, but in struggling with difficulties that arise from injustice, ingratitude and vice, of all other kinds, as well as from outward adversity and distress; so that even the supposition of there being no general laws of nature (which would, probably, be the greatest of all evils) but of God doing everything singly, and in a manner inde­ pendent of everything else , would not be of any advantage in this case. If any person, notwithstanding this representation, should be alarmed at the idea of God's being the proper cause of all evil, natural and moral, he should consider that, upon any scheme that admits of the divine prescience, the same conse­ quences follow. For still God is supposed to foresee, and permit, what it was in his power to have prevented, which is the very same thing as willing and directly causing it. If I certainly know that my child, if left to his liberty, will fall into a river, and be drowned, and I do not restrain him, I certainly mean that he should be drowned; and my conduct cannot admit of any other construction. Upon all schemes, therefore, that admit of the divine prescience, and conse­ quently the permission of evil, natural and moral, the sup­ position of God's virtually willing and causing it is unavoid­ able, so that upon any scheme, the origin and existence of evil can only be accounted for on the supposition of its being ultimately subservient to good, which is a more immediate consequence of the system of necessity than of any other. The doctrine of necessity certainly enforces the belief of the greatest possible good with respect to the whole system, admitting the goodness of God in general, and cannot well be reconciled with the everlasting misery of any. . • •

Materia l ism

I: Of the Properties of Matter1

I AM SORRY to have occasion to begin these disquisitions on the nature of matter and spirit, with desiring my reader to recur to the universally received rules of philosophising such as are laid down by Sir Isaac Newton at the beginning of his iird book of Principia. But though we have followed these rules pretty closely in other philosophical researches, it appears to me that we have, without any reason in the world, entirely deserted them in this. We have suffered our­ selves to be guided by them in our inquiries into the causes of particular appearances in nature, but have formed our notions with respect to the most general and comprehensive principles of human knowledge without the least regard, nay in direct contradiction, to them. And I am willing to hope that when this is plainly pointed out the inconsistency of our conduct in these cases cannot fail to strike us and be the means of inducing the philosophical part of the world to tread back their steps and set out again on the same maxims which they have actually followed in their progress. For my own part I profess a uniform and rigorous adherence to them; but then I must require that my own reasoning be tried by this and by no other test. The first of these rules as laid down by Sir Isaac Newton is that we are to admit no more causes of things than are sufficient to explain appearances; and the second is that to the same effects we must , as far as possible, assign the same causes. So long as we follow these maxims we may be confident that we walk on sure ground; but the moment we depart from them we wander in the regions of mere fancy and are only Disquisitions Relating to Matter and Spirit ( 1st ed. ) ( 1 777 ) , Section I, "Of the Nature and Essential Properties of Matter," pp. 1-7.

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entertaining ourselves and others with our own crude imagi­ nations and conceits. By these plain rules, then, let us pursue our inquiries concerning the nature and connection of what have been called material and thinking substances; concerning both which very great misconceptions seem to have very gen­ erally prevailed. And in the first place let us attend to what metaphysicians and philosophers have advanced concerning matter with respect to which (I mean its fundamental proper­ ties and what may be absolutely affirmed or denied concern­ ing them) there are very few who have so much as expressed the least doubt or uncertainty. It is asserted, and generally taken for granted, that matter is necessarily a solid, or impenetrable substance, and natu­ rally, or of itself, destitute of all powers whatever as those of attraction or repulsion etc. or, as it is commonly expressed, that matter is possessed of a certain vis inertia, and is wholly indifferent to a state of rest or motion but as it is acted upon by a foreign power. That the vulgar should have formed these opinions and acquiesce in them, I do not wonder ; because there are com­ mon appearances enough which must necessarily lead them to form such a judgment. I press my hand against the table on which I am writing and finding that I cannot penetrate it, and that I cannot push my hand into the place which it occu­ pies without first pushing it out of its place, I conclude that this table, and by analogy, all matter is impenetrable to other matter. These first appearances are sufficient for them to conclude that matter is necessarily solid and incapable of yielding to the impression of other solid matter. Again, I see a billiard table; and though I observe the balls upon it ever so long, I do not find any of them ever to change their places till they are pushed against; but that when once they are put in motion, they continue in that new state till they are stopped either by some obstacie or their own friction which is in fact the result of a series of obstacles. And therefore I conclude that had there been no obstacle of any kind in the way, the ball would have continued in that state of motion ( as, without being impelled hy a foreign force, it would have continued in its former state of rest)

Materialism / 105 forever; having no power within itself to make any change in either of those states. I therefore conclude universally that all matter, as such, is entirely destitute of power and whatever is true of larger bodies with respect to each other must be equally true of the smallest component parts of the same body; and consequently that all attraction or repulsion must be the effect of some foreign power disposing either larger bodies or their small component parts to certain motions and tendencies which otherwise they would not have had. Such appearances as these, I imagine, have led to the con­ clusions abovementioned concerning the fundamental prop­ erties of matter. But then they are no more than superficial appearances and therefore have led to superficial and false judgments; judgments which the real appearances will not auth orize. For, in fact, when the appearances abovementioned are considered in the new and just lights which late observa­ tions have thrown upon this part of philosophy, they will oblige us if we adhere to the rules of philosophising laid down above, to conclude that resistance, on which alone our opin­ ion concerning the solidity or impenetrability of matter is founded, is never occasioned by solid matter, but by some­ thing of a very different nature, viz. a power of repulsion always acting at a real and in general an assignable distance from what we call the body itself. It will also appear from the most obvious considerations, that without a power of attraction, a power which has always been considered as something quite distinct from matter itself, there cannot be any such thing as matter; consequently, that this "foreign property" as it has been called, is in reality absolutely essen­ tial to its very nature and being. For when we suppose bodies to be divested of it, they come to be nothing at all. These positions, though not absolutely new, will appear paradoxical to most persons, but I beg a candid hearing; and I appeal to the allowed rules of philosophising abovemen­ tioned being confident that they will sufficiently support my conclusions. It will readily be allowed that every body, as solid and impenetrable, must necessarily have some particular form or shape; but it is no less obvious that no such figured thing can

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exist unless the parts of which it consists h ave a mutual attraction so as either to keep contiguous to, or preserve a certain distance from each other. This power of attraction therefore must be essential to the actual existence of all mat­ ter; since no substance can retain any form without it. This argument equally affects the smallest atoms, as the largest bodies that are composed of them. An atom, by which I mean an ultimate component part of any gross body , is necessarily supposed to be perfectly solid, wholly impervious to any other atom ; and it must also be round, or square, or of some other determinate form. But the parts of such a body (as this solid atom must be divisible, and therefore have parts ) must be infinitely hard, and therefore must have powers of mutual attraction infinitely strong, or it could not hold together, that is, it could not exist as a solid atom. Take away the power therefore and the solidity of the atom entirel y disappears. In short it is then no longer matter; being destitute of the fundamental properties of such a substance. The reason why solid extent has been thought to be a complete definition of matter is because it was imagined that we could separate from our idea of it every thing else belong­ ing to it and leave these two properties independent of the rest, and subsisting by themselves. But it was not considered that in consequence of taking away attraction, which is a power, solidity itself vanishes. It will perhaps be said that the particles of which any solid atom consists may be conceived to be placed close together without any mutual attraction between them. But then this atom will be entirely destitute of compactness and hardness which is requisite to its being impenetrable. Or if its parts be held together by some foreign power it will still be true that power is necessary to its solidity and essence ; since withom it every particle would fall from each other and be dispersed. And this being true of the ultimate particles, as well as of gross bodies, the consequence must be that the whole sub­ stance will absolutely vanish. For as the large bodies would be dissolved without some principle of union, or some power, internal or external, so the parts of which they are composed would, in similar circumstances, be resolved into smaller parts

/ 107 and consequently (the smallest parts being resolved in the same manner ) the whole substance must absol utely disappear, nothing at all being l eft for the imagination to fix upon. Materialism

II : Impenetrability 2

As philosophers h ave given too l ittle to ma tter in divesting it of all powers without wh ich I presume it has been proved that no such substance can exist, so it equally follows from the plain rules of philosophising above l aid down, that they have ascribed too much to it when they have advanced that impenetrability is one of its properties. Because if there be any truth in late discoveries in phil osophy, resistance is in most cases caused by somethin g of a qu ite different nature from anything material or solid, viz. by a power of repulsion acting at a distance from the body to which it has been supposed to belong and i n no case whatever can it be proved that resistance is occasioned by anything else. Now if resistance, from which alone is derived the idea of impenetrability, is in most cases certainly caused by powers and in no case certainly by anything else, the rules of philos­ ophising oblige us to suppose · that the cause of all resistance i s repulsive power and in no case whatever the thing that we have hitherto improperly termed sol id or impenetrable matter. As all resistance can differ only in degree, this circumstance can only lead us to the supposition of a greater or less repul­ sive power but never to the supposition of a cause of resist­ ance entirely different from such a power. This would be exceed ingly u nphilosophical. To j udge in this matter is to j udge altogether wi thout, nay really contrary to evidence. But I come to the facts themselves which no philosopher will pretend to controvert. When I press my hand agai nst the tabl e as was mentioned above, I naturally imagine th at the obstacle to its going through the table is the sol id matter of which it consists. But a variety of philosophical considerations demonstrate that it genera lly requires a much greater power of pressure tha n I 2

Matter and Spirit, Section II, "Of Impenetrability, as Ascribed to

Matter," pp. 1 1-18.

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can exert to bring my fingers into actual contact with the table. Philosophers know that notwithstanding their seeming contact they are actually kept at a real distance from each other by powers of repulsion common to them both. Also electrical appearances show that a considerable weight is requisite to bring into contact even links of a chain hanging freely in the air; they being kept asunder by a repulsive power belonging to a very small surface so that they do not actually touch though they are supported by each other. I have myself, as will be seen in the account of my electri­ cal experiments endeavoured to ascertain the weight requisite to bring a number of pieces of money lying upon one another into seeming contact or so near to one another only as the particles that compose the same continued piece of metal and I found it to be very considerable. These, however, are sup­ posed by philosophers not to be in actual contact, but to be kept at certain distances from each other by powers of resist­ ance within the substance itself. That the component particles of the hardest bodies do not actually touch one another is demonstrable from their being brought nearer together by cold and by their being removed farther from each other by heat. The power, sufficient to overcome these internal forces of repulsion, by which the ultimate particles of bodies are prevented from coming into actual contact, is what no person can pretend to compute. The power requisite to break their cohesion or to remove them from the sphere of each other's attraction, may, in some measure, be estimated; but this affords no data for ascertaining the force that would be necessary to bring them into actual contact which may exceed the other almost infinitely. When light is reflected back from a body on which it seems to strike, it was natural to suppose that this was occasioned by its impinging against the solid parts of the body; but it has been demonstrated by Sir Isaac Newton that the rays of light are always reflected by a power of repulsion acting at some distance from the body. Again, when part of a beam of light has overcome this power of repulsion and has entered any transparent substance, it goes on in a right line provided

Materialism / 109 the medium be of a uniform density without the least inter­ ruption and without a single particle being reflected till it comes to the opposite side; having met with no solid particles in its way, not even in the densest transparent substances, as glass, crystal or diamond; and when it is arrived at the oppo­ site side, it is solely affected by the laws of attraction and repulsion. For with a certain angle of incidence the greatest part, or the whole of it, will be drawn back into the solid body without going on into the air where it would seem that there would have been less obstruction to its passage. Now these facts seem to prove that such dense bodies as glass, crystal and diamonds have no solid parts, or so very few, that the particles of light are never found to impinge upon them or to be obstructed by them. And certainly till some portion of light can be shown to be reflected within the substance of a homogeneous transparent body, there can be no reason from fact and appearances to conclude that they have any such solid parts ; but, on the contrary, there must be all the reason in the world to believe that no such solid re­ sisting particles exist. All the phenomena may be explained without them, and indeed cannot be explained with them. Since then it is demonstrable that no common pressure is sufficient to bring bodies even into seeming contact or that near approach which the component parts of the same body make to each other ( though these are by no means in abso­ lute contact as the phenomena of heat and cold full y prove) but the resistance to a nearer approach is in all cases caused by powers of repulsion, there can be no sufficient reason to ascribe resistance in any case to anything besides similar powers. Nay, the established rules of philosophizing above recited absolutely require that we ascribe all resistance to such powers; and consequently the supposition of the solidity or impenetrability of matter, derived solely from the con­ sideration of the resistance of the solid parts of bodies ( which, exclusive of a power operating at a distance from them, cannot be proved to have any resistance) appears to be destitute of all support whatever. The hypothesis was sug­ gested by a mere fallacy, and therefore ought to be discarded now that the fallacy is discovered. It will be said that if matter be not a solid or impenetrable

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substance, what is it? I answer with respect to this as I should with respect to any other substance, that it is pos­ sessed of such properties and such only as the actual well­ examined appearances prove it to be possessed of. That it is possessed of powers of attraction and repulsion and of several spheres of them, one within another, I know; because appearances cannot be explained without supposing them; but that there is anything in, or belonging to matter, capable of resistance, besides those powers of repulsion, does not appear from any phenomena that we are yet acquainted with; and, therefore, as a philosopher, I am not authorized to conclude that any such thing exists. On the contrary, I am obliged to deny that matter has such a property. If I be asked how upon this hypothesis matter differs from spirit, if there be nothing in matter that is properly solid or impenetrable; I answer that it no way concerns me or true philosophy to maintain that there is any such difference between them as has hitherto been supposed. On the con­ trary, I consider the notion of the union and mutual influ­ ences of substances so essentially different from one another as material and immaterial substances have been represented, as an opinion attended with difficulties infinitely embarrassing, and indeed actually insuperable. . . . The considerations suggested above tend to remove the odium which has hitherto lain upon matter from its supposed necessary property of solidity, inertness, or sluggishness ; as from this circumstance only the baseness and imperfection which have been ascribed to it are derived.Since matter has, in fact, no properties but those of attraction and repulsion, it ought to rise ia our esteem, as making a nearer approach to the nature of �piritual and immaterial beings, as we have been taught to call those which are opposed to gross matter. The principles of the Newtonian philosophy were no sooner known than it was seen how few, in comparison, of the phe­ nomena of nature, were owing to solid matter, and how much to powers which were only supposed to accompany and surround the solid parts of matter. It has been asserted and the assertion has never been disproved, that for any­ thing we know to the contrary, 1 all the solid matter in the

111 solar system might be contained within a nut-shell, there is so great a proportion of void space within the substance of the most solid bodies. Now when solidity has apparently so very little to do in the system, it is really a wonder that it did not occur to philosophers sooner that perhaps there might be nothing for it to do at all, and that there might be no such thing in nature. Since the only reason why the principle of thought or sensation has been imagined to be incompatible with matter goes upon the supposition of impenetrability being the essen tial property of it, and consequently that solid extent is the foundation of all the properties that it can possibly sustain, the whole argument for an immaterial thinking principle in man, on this new supposition, falls to the ground; matter, destitute of what has hitherto been called solidity, being no more incompatible with sensation and thought than that sub­ stance which without knowing anything farther about it, we have been used to call immaterial. I will add in this place, though it will be considered more fully hereafter, that this supposition of matter having no other properties besides those of attraction and repulsion, greatly relieves the difficulty which attends the supposition of the creation of it out of nothing, and also the continual moving of it by a being who has hitherto been supposed to have no common property with it. For, according to this hypothesis, both the creating mind and the created substance are equally destitute of solidity or impenetrability, so that there can be no difficulty whatever in supposing that the latter may have been the offspring of the former. Materialism

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Ill : Of the Seat of the Mind 3

In the two preceding sections I have endeavoured to rectify the notions which we have been taught . to entertain concern­ ing matter as not being that impenetrable, inert substance that we had imagined it to be. This being admitted will greatly facilitate our farther progress in these disquisitions; 3

Matter and Spirit, Section III, "Of the Seat of the Sentient Principle

in Man," pp. 24-32.

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as I hope we shall not consider matter with that contempt and disgust with which it has generally been treated, there being nothing in its real nature that can justify such senti­ ments respecting it. I now proceed to inquire whether, when the nature of matter is rightly understood, there be any reason to think that there is in man any substance essentially different from it; that is, anything possessed of other properties besides such as may be superadded to those of attraction and repulsion which we have found to belong to matter or that may be consistent with those properties. For if this be the case true philosophy, which will not authorize us to multiply causes or kinds of substance without necessity, will forbid us to admit of any such substance. If one kind of substance be capable of supporting all the known properties of man; that is, if those properties have nothing in them that is absolutely incompatible with one another, we shall be obliged to con­ clude ( unless we openly violate the rules of philosophizing) that no other kind of substance enters into his composition -the supposition being manifestly unnecessary in order to account for any appearance whatever. All the properties that have hitherto been attributed to matter may be comprized under those of attraction and re­ pulsion ( all the effects of which have been shown to be pro­ duced by powers independent of all solidity) and of ex­ tension by means of which matter occupies a certain portion of space. Besides these properties man is possessed of the powers of sensation or perception and thought. But if, without giving the reins to our imaginations, we suffer ourselves to be guided in our inquiries by the simple rules of philosophis­ ing abovementioned, we must necessarily conclude, as it appears to me, that these powers also may belong to the same substance that has also the properties of attraction, re­ pulsion and extension which I, as well as others, call by the name of matter; though I have been obliged to divest it of one property which has hitherto been thought essential to it, as well as to give it others which have not been thought essential to it; and consequently my idea of this substance is not, in all respects, the same with that of other meta­ physicians.

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The reason of the conclusion abovementioned is simply this, that the powers of sensation or perception and thought, as belonging to man, have never been found but in con­ junction with a certain organized system of matter; and therefore, that those powers necessarily exist in, and depend upon, such a system. This, at least, must be our conclusion, till it can be shown that these powers are incompatible with other known properties of the same substance; and for this I see no sort of pretence. It is true that we have a very imperfect idea of what the power of perception is, and it may be as naturally impossible that we should have a clear idea of it as that the eye should see itself. But this very ignorance ought to make us cautious in asserting with what other properties it may, or may not, exist. Nothing but a precise and definite knowledge of the nature of perception and thought can authorize any person to affirm whether they may not belong to an extended sub­ stance which has also the properties of attraction and re­ pulsion. Seeing, therefore, no sort of reason to imagine that these different properties are really inconsistent, any more than the different properties of resistance and extension , I am, of course, under the necessity of being guided by the phe­ nomena in my conclusions concerning the proper seat of the powers of perception and thought. These phenomena I shall now briefly represent. Had we formed a judgment concerning the necessary seat of thought by the circumstances that universally accompany it which is our rule in all other cases, we could not but have concluded that in man it is a property of the nervous system or rather of the brain. Because, as far as we can judge, the faculty of thinking, and a certain state of the brain, always accompany and correspond to one another; which is the very reason why we believe that any property is inherent in any substance whatever. There is no instance of any man retaining the faculty of thinking when his brain was de­ stroyed ; and whenever that faculty is impeded, or injured, there is sufficient reason to believe that the brain is dis­ ordered in proportion; and therefore we are necessarily led to consider the latter as the seat of the former. Moreover, as the faculty of thinking in general ripens, and

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comes to maturity with the body, it is also observed to decay with it ; and if, in some cases , the mental faculties continue vigorous when the body in general is enfeebled, it is evidently because, in those particular cases, the brain is not much affected by the general cause of weakness. But , on the other hand, if the brain alone be affected as by a blow on the head, by actual pressure within the skull, by sleep or by inflammation the mental faculties are universally affected in proportion. Likewise, as the mind is affected in consequence of the affections of the body and brain, so the body is liable to be reciprocally affected by the affections of the mind, as is evi­ dent in the visible effects of all strong passions, hope or fear, love or anger, joy or sorrow, exultation or despair. These are certainly irrefragable arguments that it is properly no other than one and the same thing that is subject to these affec­ tions, and that they are necessarily dependent upon one an­ other. In fact, there is just the same reason to conclude, that the powers of sensation and thought are the necessary result of a particular organization, as that sound is the necessary result of a particular concussion of the air. For in both cases equally the one constantly accompanies the other, and there is not in nature a stronger argument for a necessary connec­ tion of any cause and any effect. To adopt an opinion different from this , is to form an hypothesis without a single fact to support it. And to con­ clude, as some have done, that a material system is so far from being a necessary pre-requisite to the faculty of think­ ing, that it is an obstruction to it, is to adopt a method of argumentation the very reverse of everything that has hitherto been followed in philosophy. It is to conclude, not only without, but directly contrary to all appearances whatsoever. That the perfection of thinking should depend on the sound state of the body and brain in this life, insomuch that a man has no power of thinking without it, and to suppose him capable of thinking better when the body and brain are destroyed, seems to be the most unphilosophical and absurd of all conclusions. If death be an advantage with respect to thinking, disease ought to be a proportional advantage like-

/ 115 wise; and universally, the nearer the body approaches to a state of dissolution, the freer and less embarrassed might the faculties of the mind be expected to be found. But this is the very reverse of what really happens . .. . It is still more uu.accountable in Mr. Locke to suppose, as he did, and as he largely contends, that for anything that we know to the contrary, the faculty of thinking may be a property of the body and yet to think it more probable that this faculty inhered in a different substance, viz. an imma­ terial soul. A philosopher ought to have been apprized that we are to suppose no more causes than are necessary to produce the effects; and therefore that we ought to conclude that the whole man is material unless it should appear that he has some powers or properties that are absolutely incom­ patible with matter. Since then Mr. Locke did not apprehend that there was any real inconsistency between the known properties of body, and those that have generally been referred to mind, he ought, as became a philosopher, to have concluded that the whole substance of man, that which supports all his powers and properties, was one uniform substance and by no means that he consisted of two substances, and those so very different from one another as body and spirit are usually represented to be; so much so, that they have been generally thought incapable of having one common property. Accord­ ingly, the best writers upon this subject always consider the union of these two very different substances as a most stu­ pendous and wonderful thing. Materialism

IV: The Materiality of the Soul 4 In the preceding section I have represented how unphilo­ sophical it is to conclude that all the powers of man do not belong to the same substance when they" are observed to have a constant and necessary dependence upon one another, and when there is not, as far as we know, the least inconsistency or incompatibility between them. If there be any foundation ' .Yatter and Spirit, Section IV, "Additional Considerations in Favour of the Materiality of the Human Soul," pp. 3 3-3 8.

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for the establ ished rules of philosophising, the argument ought to be conclusive with us and everything that can be added to it is really superfluous. However, for the greater satisfaction of some of my readers I shall , in this section, subjoin some additional arguments, or considerations, or rather, in some cases, distinct illustrations of the preceding argument. 1. That the faculty of thinking necessarily depends for its exercise at least upon a stock of ideas about which it is always conversant, will hardly be questioned by any person. But there is not a single idea of which the mind is possessed but what may be proved to have come to it from the bodily senses, or to have been consequent upon the perceptions of sense. Could we, for instance, have had any idea of colour, as red, blue, etc. without the eyes, and optic nerves; of sound without the ears and auditory nerves; of smell, without the nostrils and the olfactory nerves, etc. etc.? It is even impossible to conceive how the mind could have become possessed of any of its present stock of ideas, without just such a body as we have ; and consequently judging from present appearances ( and we have no other means of form­ ing any judgment at all) without a body of some kind or other we could have had no ideas at all, any more than a man without eyes could have any particular ideas belonging to colours. The notion, therefore, of the possibility of think­ ing in man without an organized body, is not only destitute of all evidence from actual appearances, but is directly con­ trary to them; and yet these appearances ought alone to guide the judgment of philosophers. Dr. Clark seems to have imagined that he had fully an­ swered the argument for the materiality of the human soul from its having received all its ideas from the bodily senses, by asking whether there might not possibly have been other inlets to ideas besides our present senses. "If these," says he, "be arbitrary, then the want of these does by no means infer a total want of perception, but the same soul may, in another state, have different ways of perception." To this it is easy to reply that mere possibility is no foun­ dation for any conclusion in this case. We see, in fact, that

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r all our sensations come to us by the way of the corporeal t senses; and though our observing this will authorize us to say that if the Divine Being had so pleased, we might have had more, or fewer, or quite different senses, and, of course, should have had very difierent sets of sensations and ideas, it will by no means authorize us to say that it was even possible for us to have had sensations and ideas without any corporeal senses at all. We have no example of any such thing, and therefore cannot say that it is even possible, much less that it is actually the case. Present appearances certainly lead us to think that our mental powers necessarily depend upon our corporeal ones; and till some very different appearances present themselves, it must be exceedingly un­ philosophical to imagine that the connection is not necessary. 2. The only reason why it has been so earnestly contended for that there is some principle in man that is not material, is that it might subsist and be capable of sensation and action when the body was dead. But if the mind was naturally so independent of the body, as to be capable of subsisting by itself and even of appearing to more advantage after the death of the body, it might be expected to discover some signs of its independence before death and especially when the organs of the body were obstructed so as to leave the soul more at liberty to exert itself, as in a state of sleep or swooning which most resemble the state of death in which it is pretended that the soul is most of all alive, most active, and vigorous. But, judging by appearances, the reverse of all this is the case. That a man does not think during sleep, except in that imperfect manner which we call dreaming, and which is nothing more than an approach to a state of vigilance, I sha11 not here dispute, but take for granted; referring my readers to Mr. Locke, and other writers upon that subject; and that all power of thinking is suspended during a swoon I con­ clude with certainty, because no appearance whatever can possibly lead us to suspect the contrary. 3. If the mental principle was, in its own nature, immaterial and immortal, all its particular faculties would be so too; whereas we see that every faculty of the mind, without ex-

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ception, is liable to be impaired and even to become wholly extinct before death. Since, therefore, all the faculties of the mind, separately taken, appear to be mortal, the substance or principle in which they exist must be pronounced to be mortal too. Thus we might conclude that the body was mortal from observing that all the separate senses and limbs were liable to decay and perish. 4. If the sentient principle in man be immaterial it can have no extension, it can neither have length, breadth, nor thickness, and consequently everything within it, or properly belonging to it, must be simple and indivisible. Besides, it is universally acknowledged that if the substance of the soul was not simple and indivisible, it would be liable to cor­ ruption and death, and therefore that no advantage would be gained by supposing the power of thinking to belong to any substance distinct from the body. Let us now consider how this notion agrees with the phenomena of sensation and ideas which are the proper subject of thought. It will not be denied but that sensations or ideas properly exist in the soul because it could not otherwise retain them, so as to continue to perceive and think after its separation from the body. Now whatever ideas are in themselves, they are evidently produced by external objects, and must there­ fore correspond to them; and since many of the objects or archetypes of ideas are divisible, it necessarily follows that the ideas themselves are divisible also. The idea of a man, for instance, could in no sense correspond to a man which is the archetype of it, and therefore could not be the idea of a man if it did not consist of the ideas of his head , arms, trunk, legs etc. It therefore consists of parts and consequently is divisible. And how is it possible that a thing (be the nature of it what it may) that is divisible should be contained in a substance, be the nature of it likewise what it may, that is indivisible? If the archetypes of ideas have extension, the ideas which are expressive of them and are actually produced by them according to certain mechanical laws, must have extension likewise; and therefore the mind in which they exist, whether it be material or immaterial, must have extension also. But

Materialism / 1 19 how anything can have extension and yet be immaterial with­ out coinciding with our idea of mere empty space, I know not. I am therefore obliged to conclude that the sentient principle in man, containing ideas which certainly have parts and are divisible and consequently must have extension, can­ not be that simple, indivisible and immaterial substance that some have imagined it to be; but something that bas real extension and therefore may have the other properties of matter.

V: Reply to Objections 5

Most of the objections that have been made to the possi­ bility of the powers of sensation and thought belonging to matter are entirely founded on a mistaken notion of matter, as being necessarily inert and impenetrable and not a thing possessed of no other powers than those of attraction and repulsion and such as may be consistent with them. With such objections as these I have properly no concern, because they do not affect my peculiar system. Some objections, how­ ever, which are founded on the popular notion of matter it may be worthwhile to consider, because while they remain unnoticed, they may impede the reception of any system that bears the name of materialism, however different it may be from anything that has hitherto been so denominated. I shall, therefore , briefly reply to every objection that can be thought considerable, either in itself, or on account of the person who has proposed it. Objection I. From the difficulty of conceiving how thought

can arise from matter. It is said we can have no conception how sensation or thought can arise from matter, they being things so very different from it and bearing no sort of resemblance to any­ thing like figure or motion, which is all . that can result from any modification of matter or any operation upon it. But this is an argument which derives all its force from our ignorance. Different as are the properties of sensation 11 Matter and Spirit, Section VI II, "Objections to the System of Mate­ rialism Considered," pp. 8 1-1 02.

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and thought, from such as are usually ascribed to matter: they may, nevertheless, inhere in the same substance unless we can show them to be absolutely incompatible with one another. There is no apparent resemblance between the ideas of sight and those of hearing or smelling, etc. and yet they all exist in the same mind, which is possessed of the very different senses and faculties appropriated to each of them. Besides, this argument from our not being able to con­ ceive how a thing can be, equally affects the immateria] system : for we have no more conception how the powers of sensation and thought can inhere in an immaterial than in a material substance. For, in fact, we have no distinct idea either of the property or of the substance of mind or spirit. Of the latter we profess to know nothing, but that it is not matter ; and even of the property of perception it seems to be as impossible that we should fully comprehend the nature of it, as that the eye should see itself. Besides, they who maintain the intimate union of sub­ stances so discrepant in their natures as matter and imma­ terial spirit, of which they certainly cannot pretend to have any conception, do with a very ill grace urge any objection against the system of materialism, derived from our ignorance of the manner in which a principle of thought may be super­ added to matter. I would observe that by the principle of thought I mean nothing more than the power of simple perception, or our consciousness of the presence and effect of sensations and ideas. For I shall, in these disquisitions, take it for granted that this one property of the mind being admitted, all the particul ar phenomena of sensation and ideas respecting their retention, association, etc. and the various faculties of the mind to which those affections of our sensations and ideas give rise as memory, judgment, volition, the passions etc., will admit of a satisfactory illustration on the principles of vibration which is an affection of a material substance. I, therefore, admit of no argument for the spirituality of the soul , from the consideration of the exquisiteness, subtlety, or complexness of the mental powers, on which much stress has been laid by some; there being in matter a capacity for affec-

Materialism / 121 tions as subtle and complex as anything that we can affirm concerning those that have hitherto been called mental affec­ tions. I consider Hartley's Theory of the Mind, as a practical answer to all objections of this kind.

Objection II. From abstract ideas.

"Matter," says Mr. Wollaston, "can never by itself enter­ tain abstracted or general ideas such as many in our minds are. For could it reflect upon what passes within itself, it could possibly find there nothing but material and particular impressions. Abstract and metaphysical ideas could not be found upon it." But Mr. Locke and others have observed that all actual ideas are, in fact, particular, and that abstraction is nothing more than leaving out of a number of resembling ideas what is peculiar to each and considering only what is common to iliem �L Objection Ill.

:;

From the influence of reasons.

Mr. Wollaston argues that the mind cannot be material because it is influenced by reasons. "When I begin to move myself," says he, "I do it for some reason and with respect to some end. But who can imagine matter to be moved by arguments, or ever ranked syllogisms and demonstrations among levers and pullies? Do we not see, in conversation, how a pleasant thing will make people break out into laughter, a rude thing into a passion, and so on. These affections cannot be the physical effects of the words spoken because then they would have the same effect, whether they were understood or not. It is therefore the sense of the words which is an im­ material thing, that by passing through the understanding and causing that which is the subject of the intellectual faculties to influence the body, produces those motions in the spirits, blood and muscles." I answer that since it is a fact that reasons, whatever they may be, do ultimately move matter, there is certainly much less difficulty in conceiving that they may do this in conse­ quence of their being the affection of some material sub­ stance, than upon the hypothesis of their belonging to a

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substance that has no common property with matter. It is acknowledged that syllogisms and demonstrations are not levers and pullies, but neither are the effects of gun-powder, in removing the heaviest bodies, produced by levers and pullies, and yet they are produced by a material cause. To say that reasons and ideas are not things material or the affections of a material substance, is to take for granted the very thing to be proved. Objection N.

From the unity of consciousness.

It is asserted that the soul of man cannot be material and divisible, because the principle of consciousness which com­ prehends the whole of the thinking power, is necessarily simple and indivisible. But before this can be admitted as any argument, it should be strictly defined what unity of consciousness means. I profess that those who have hitherto written about it have given me no clear ideas upon the sub­ ject. The only meaning that I can annex to the words unity of consciousness is a feeling or perception of the unity of my nature or being; but all that can be inferred from this is that I am only one person, one sentient and thinking being, and not · two persons, or two sentient or thinking beings, which is no more an argument that this one sentient being cannot be divided, than that a sphere, being one thing, is a proof that it likewise consists of indivisible materials. It is true that it is impossible to divide a sphere so as to make it two spheres; but still the matter of which it consists is, strictly speaking, divisible, and the matter of it may be so disunited, that it shall entirely cease to be a sphere. So though that system of intelligence which we call the soul of a man cannot be divided into two systems of intelligence, it may be so divided, or dissolved, as to become no system of intelli­ gence at all. If any person can define unity of consciousness in a manner more favourable to the proof of the immateri­ ality of the soul, I shall be glad to hear it, and to attend to it.

From a separate consciousness not belonging to every particle of the brain.

Objection V.

It is said to be a decisive argument against materialism that the consciousness of existence cannot be annexed to

/ 123 the whole brain as a system, while the individual particles of which it consists are separately unconscious ; since the whole brain, being a collection of parts, cannot possess any­ thing but what is derived from them. But surely there may be a separate unity of the whole nervous system, as well as of one atom; and if the percep­ tion that we call consciousness or that of any other complex idea, necessarily consists in, or depends upon, a very complex vibration, it cannot possibly belong to a single atom, but must belong to a vibrating system of some extent. A certain quantity of nervous system is necessary to such complex ideas and affections as belong to the human mind; and the idea of self, or the feeling that corresponds to the pronoun I (which is what some may mean by consciousness) is not essentially different from other complex ideas, that of our country for instance. This is a term by which we denote a part of the world subject to that form of government by the laws of which we ourselves are bound, as distinguished from other countries, subject to other political systems · of government ; and the term self denotes that substance which is the seat of that particular set of sensations and ideas of which those that are then recollected make a part, as dis­ tinguished from other substances which are the seat of similar sets of sensations and ideas. But it may be necessary to con­ sider this objection with respect to the faculty of simple perception, exclusive of the general feeling of consciousness. For the same reason that "activity and perceptivity cannot arise from joining together dead and inert parts," which is the language of Mr. Baxter, no powers whatever could be affirmed of any mass of matter, because matter being infinitely divisible, it is impossible that the ultimate parts of it can be possessed of any powers. And there is no more reason in nature why perception may not belong to a system of matter as such, and not to the component pans of it, than that life should be the property of an entire animal system, and not of the separate parts of it. It may also, just as plausibly, be said that sound cannot consist of a vibration in the air, because no sound could result from the motion of a single particle of that elastic fluid; and yet the vibration of the whole mass of air is nothing more than the vibrations of the Materialism

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separate particles of which it consists. It might also be said that no harmony could result from a harpsichord, because the single notes, separately taken, can make no harmony. Mr. Baxter, however, says that ''if an active and perceptive substance have parts, these parts must of necessity be active and perceptive." This argument has been much hackneyed, and much con­ fided in [trusted] by metaphysicians; but, for my part, I cannot perceive the least force in it. Unless we had a clearer idea than it appears to me that any person can pretend to have of the nature of perception, it must be impossible to say, a priori, whether a single particle or a system of matter be the proper seat of it. But judging from appearances which alone ought to determine the judgment of philosophers, an organized system which requires a considerable mass of matter is requisite for this purpose. Also, judging by observa­ tion, a mass of matter duly organized, and endued with life which depends upon the due circulation of the fluids, and a proper tone of the solid parts, must necessarily have sensa­ tion and perception. To judge of the perceptive power with­ out any regard to facts and appearances, is merely giving scope to our imaginations, without laying them under any restraint; and the consequence of building systems in this manner is but too obvious. It is high time to abandon these random hypotheses, and to form our conclusions with respect to the faculties of the mind, as well as the properties and powers of matter, by an attentive observation of facts and cautious inferences from them.

Objection VI. From the comparison of ideas, etc. It is said there can be no comparison of ideas and conse­ quently no judgment or perception of harmony or proportion which depends upon comparison, upon the system of ma­ terialism ; for that , if the ideas to be compared be vibrations in the brain, they must be perceived by a different substance inspecting, as it were, and considering that state of the brain. But if the brain itself be the percipient power, as well as the subject of these vibrations, it must both feel the effect

/ 125 of every particular impression that is made upon it, and also all that can result from the combination of ever so many impressions at the same time; and as things that agree and things that disagree cannot impress the brain in the same manner, there is certainly as much foundation for a per­ ception of the difference between truth and falsehood as upon any hypothesis of a superintending mind. For the mind, it is evident, bas no ideas but what result from the state of the brain, as the author quoted above very expressly allows. Consequently, if there be no impression upon the brain, there can be no perception in the mind; so that, upon any hypothesis that is consistent with known facts, there can be no state of mind to which there is not a correspond­ ent state of the brain ; and, therefore , if the brain itself can be the seat of feeling, or of consciousness, its feeling or consciousness may be just as various and extensive as that of the independent mind itself could be. It is impossible there should be any difference in this case, unless the mind could have sensations and ideas independent of the state of the brain, which every observation proves to be impossible. It is a very gross mistake of the system of materialism to suppose, with the author of the Letters on Materialism , that the vibrations of the brain are themselves the perceptions. For it is easy to form an idea of there being vibrations wi thout any perceptions accompanying them. But it is supposed that the brain, besides its vibrating power, has superadded to it a percipient or sentient power, likewise; there being no reason that we know why this power may not be imparted to it. And this, once admitted, all that we know concerning the human mind will be found in the material nervous system; and this percipient power may as well belong to one system as to one atom. Materialism

Objection VII. From the nature of attention. It has been said that attention is a state of mind that can­ not be the effect of vibration. But as simple attention to any idea is nothing more than the simple perception of it, so a continued attention to it is nothing more than a continued

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perception of it; which is the necessary consequence either of the constant presence of the object which excites it, or of the presence of other associated ideas, in circumstances in which it must necessarily make the greatest figure and strike the mind the most. I shall here introduce some more of Mr. Wollaston's argu­ ments to prove that the body and the mind must be differ­ ent substances , though I think them unworthy of him. My replies will be very short, and sometimes ad hominem. Objection VIII. From the difference between the ideas

and the mind employed about them.

"That which peruses the impressions and traces of things in the fantasy and memory must be something distinct from the brain, or that upon which those impressions are made. Otherwise it would contemplate itself, and be both reader and book." But what is the distinction between the reader and the book, in an unembodied spirit which certainly must have a repository for its ideas, as well as be provided with a princi­ ple of intelligence to make use of them? Will not this argu­ ment affect the simplicity and indivisibility of such a spirit to say nothing of superior intelligences, and of the divine mind? Objection IX. From the expression my body, etc.

"As a man considers his own body, does it not appear to be something different from the considerer, and when he uses this expression my body, or the body of me, may it not properly be demanded who i� meant by me, or what my relates to? Man being supposed a person consisting of two parts, soul and body, the whole person may say of this, or that part of him, the soul of me or the body of m e. But if he were either all soul, or all body, and nothing else, he could not speak in this manner." According to this merely verbal argument, there ought to be something in man besides all the parts of which he con­ sists. When a man says I devote my soul and body, what is

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it that makes the devotement? It cannot be the things de­ voted. Besides, in Mr. Wollaston's own phrase, it ought, in strictness to be the body only that says my soul. Nothing surely can be inferred from such phraseology as this, which, after all, is only derived from vulgar apprehensions. Objection X. From the different interests in man.

"It is plain there are two different interests in man, on one side reason, on the other passion, which, being many times directly opposite, must belong to different subjects. There are upon many occasions contests, and, as it were , wars between the mind and the body, so far are they from being the same thing." I answer, the passions themselves are more evidently at variance than passion and reason, and therefore by the same argument ought to be referred to different substances in the human constitution. If Mr. Wollaston meant to refer the passions to the body, there will be some danger Jest desire, will, and other faculties, always acknowledged to be mental, should go with them; and so, before he is aware of it, the whole man will be material, there being nothing left to belong to or constitute the immaterial soul. Objection XI. From the mind supporting the body. "We may perceive something within us which supports the body (keeps it up) directs its motions for the better preserva­ tion of it; when any hurts or evils befall it, finds out the means of its cure, and the like, without which it would fall to the ground, and undergo the fate of common matter. The body, therefore, must be considered as being under the di­ rection and tuition of some other thing, which is ( or should be) the governor of it, and consequently, upon this account, must be concluded to be different from it." I answer, we also say that reason controls and directs the passions, influences the will and makes use of the memory, that those and all the other faculties of the mind are sub­ servient to reason etc. But does it therefore follow that they belong to a different substance?

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Objection XII. From the self-moving power of the soul. The soul is represented by Mr. Baxter and others as essen­ tially active, and possessed of a self-moving power, in opposi­ tion to matter which is necessarily inert and passive. But if we ask on what authority these positions are ad­ vanced, it is impossible they should produce a single appear­ ance in favour of them. The soul, in its present state, and we have nothing else by which to judge of its powers, has not a single idea but what it receives by means of the organs of sense ; and till it has got ideas, it is impossible that any of its powers, active, or passive, could have the least employ­ ment; so that they could not appear even to exist. Sensations and ideas comprehend all the objects of thought, and all the exertions, or emotions of the soul, as far as we can ob­ serve, always succeed sensations or ideas; and, to all appear­ ance, are as much occasioned and produced by them as any effect in nature can be said to be produced by its proper cause ; the one invariably following the other, according to a certain established law. In fact, a ball, acted upon by a foreign mechanical impulse, may just as well be said to have a self-moving power as the soul of man; sensations and ideas being as properly an im­ pelling force respecting the mind (since they always precede, and regulate, both the judgment and the will) as the stroke of a rod, etc. is an impelling force with respect to the ball. Nothing can prove a self-moving power in the soul, but a clear case of the decision of the judgment, a determina­ tion of the will, or some other exertion of the mental facul­ ties, without any preceding sensations or ideas; or at least, without such as usually precede such judgments, determina­ tions, or exertions. But while those sensations and ideas, which cannot be denied to have a real influence upon the mind, always precede mental determinations etc. it is im­ possible not to conclude, according to the established rules of philosophizing, that those sensations and ideas are the proper moving powers of the soul; and that without them it would have been incapable of any motion or determina-

Materialism / 129 tion whatever. And this, if we judge at all from observation and experience, we must conclude to be actually the case. Objection XIII. From ing principle.

the unwearied nature of the think-

Mr. Baxter likewise says, Essay on the Human Soul, that "the consideration of the indefeasibleness, or unweariedness of the principle of thought in us should perfectly satisfy us of the immateriality of our thinking part. We feel our bodies every now and then sinking down under their own infirmities; but the thing that thinks in us would never give over, if the body could keep up with it. It is busy all the day with the body, and all the night without the body, and all the day with the body again ; and thus in a constant circle without respite or intermission, that we can perceive by our strictest enquiry. For the body no sooner sinks down in weariness and slumber than this thing within us enters upon other scenes of action, and hears and sees things worth enquiring into, and this without a subserviency of its organs which are then disabled from their function." This is altogether a misrepresentation of the fact. The brain, indeed, is a thing so far distinct from the rest of the system, as that it may be but little affected by several dis­ orders, under which the rest of the system may labour; as the legs may be sound while the arms are diseased, or rather as the bones may continue sound, while the muscular flesh is disordered etc. In a case of this kind, where the brain is not itself immediately affected, as the thinking faculty de­ pends upon the brain, it may be vigorous, when the rest of the body is very languid. But that the soul enters upon new scenes of action without the help of the body in sleep, is destitute of any one fact or observation to support it. We are, according to all appearance, just as much fatigued with think­ ing as with walking, and to say that it is the body only that is fatigued in this case and not the mind itself, is absolutely gratis dictum. There is just the same reason to conclude that the thinking powers are exhausted in the one case, as that the walking powers are exhausted in the other. That we think

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at all in perfectly sound sleep, is by no means probable. On the contrary, according to appearances, the thinking powers are refreshed by rest in sleep, exactly as the muscular strength is recruited by the same means.

Objection XW. From absence of mind. It is said by Mr. Baxter that "it is altogether inconsistent with the materiality of the thing that thinks in us, that we are sometimes so wholly occupied in the contemplation of some absent objects, or some purely ideal thing, that we are quite impercipient of objects round us, and which at present act upon our senses." Among other instances, he afterwards mentions the constant pressure of our own bodies, occa­ sioned by gravitation, whether we walk, sit, or lie. But nothing is requisite to solve the difficulty in these cases but the supposition that whatever be the effect of any sensa­ tion or idea upon the brain, the impression may be so strong as to overpower all other impressions. This we know is ac­ tually the case with the eye. Let a man look attentively upon any very bright object, and immediately afterwards turn his eyes upon whatever other objects he pleases, and he either will not see them at all, or they will all appear to be of the same colour; so that, in this violent affection of the eye, fainter impressions are not sensibly perceived, though they cannot but be made upon the eye in those circumstances, as well as others. Now the brain is of the very same sub­ stance with the retina, and optic nerves; and therefore must be subject to a similar affection. This writer explains these cases by supposing that the mind "voluntarily employs itself, while it is thus inattentive to things present, in the earnest consideration of some things that are absent." But volition is not at all concerned in the case, for nothing can be more evident than that this absence of mind is altogether an involuntary thing. It is not choice that either leads to it, or prolongs it; for this would imply that the mind had been aware of other objects having so­ licited its attention, and that it bad peremptorily refused to give any attention to them. Whereas at the close of a reverie of this kind, the mind is always unconscious of any foreign

Materialism / 131 objects having obtruded themselves upon it at all, just as in the case of sound sleep.

' Objection XV. From the corruptibility of matter.

The greatest cause of that aversion which we feel to the supposition of the soul being material, is our apprehension ; that it will then be liable to corruption, which we imagine it cannot be if it be immaterial. But, for anything that we know, neither of these inferences are just, and therefore no advantage whatever is, in fact, gained by the modern hy­ pothesis. All things material are not liable to corruption, if by corruption be meant dissolution, except in circumstances to which they are not naturally exposed. It is only very com­ pound bodies that are properly liable to corruption, and only vegetable and animal substances ever become properly putrid, and offensive, which is the real source of the objection. It is possible, however, that even a human body may be wholly exempt from corruption, though those we have at · present are not, as is evident from the account that the apostle Paul gives of the bodies with which we shall rise from the dead; when from earthly they will become spiritual; from corruptible, incorruptible; and from mortal, immortal. Besides, how does it follow that an immaterial substance cannot be liable to decay or dissolution as well as a material one? In fact, all the reason that any person could ever have for imagining this, must have been that an immaterial sub­ stance, being, in all respects, the reverse of a material one, must be incorruptible, because the former is corruptible. But till we know something positive concerning this supposed immaterial substance, and not merely its not being matter, it is impossible to pronounce whether it may not be liable to change, and be dissolved, as well as a material substance. Necessary immutability is an attribute that cannot be demon­ strated except of God only; and he who made all things, material or immaterial, may have subjected them to whatever laws he pleases, and may have made the one as much sub­ ject to change and decay as the other, for anything that we know to the contrary : so that all our flattering notions of the simplicity and incorruptibility of immaterial substances are 1

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mere fancy and chimera, unsupported by any evidence what­ ever. The soul has been supposed to be necessarily incor­ ruptible because it is indivisible, but that argument I presume was sufficiently answered when it was shown that ideas which have parts, as most of our ideas manifestly have, cannot exist in a soul that has no parts; so that the subject of thought in man cannot be that simple and indivisible and conse­ quently not that indiscerptible thing that it has been imagined to be.

PART TWO THE SCIEN TIST

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Experimental Techniques1

RATHER THAN DESCRIBE at large the manner in which every particular experiment that I shall have occasion to recite was made, which would both be very tedious, and require an unnecessary multiplicity of drawings, I think it more advis­ able to give, at one view, an account of all my apparatus and instruments, or at least of everything that can require a description, and of all the different operations and processes in which I employ them. It will be seen that my apparatus for experiments on air is, in fact, nothing more than the apparatus of Dr. Hales, Dr. Brownrigg, and Mr. Cavendish, diversified, and made a little more simple. Yet notwithstanding the simplicity of this apparatus, and the ease with which all the operations are conducted, I would not have any person, who is altogether without experience, to imagine that he shall be able to select any of the following experiments, and immediately perform it, without difficulty or blundering. It is known to all persons who are conversant in experimental philosophy, that there are many little attentions and precautions necessary to be observed in the conducting of experiments, which cannot well be described in words, but which it is needless to describe, since practice will necessarily suggest them; though, like all other arts in which the hands and fingers are made use of, it is only much practice that can enable a person to go through complex experiments, of this or any other kind, with ease and readiness. For experiments in which air will bear to be confined by water, I first used an oblong trough made of earthenware, about eight inches deep, at one end of which I put thin flat stones, about an inch or half an inch under the water, using more or fewer of them according to the quantity of water

1 Experiments and Observations on Different Kinds of Air, Volume I (2nd ed. ) ( 1 775 ) , Introduction, Section II, pp. 6-13. 135

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in the trough. But I have since found it more convenient to use a larger wooden trough, of the same general shape, eleven inches deep , two feet long, and 1½ wide, with a shelf about an inch lower than the top, instead of the flat stones above-mentioned. This trough being larger than the former, I have no occasion to make provision for the water being higher or lower, the bulk of a jar or two not making so great a difference as it did before. The several kinds of air I usually keep in cylindrical jars about ten inches long, and 2½ wide, being such as I have generally used for electrical batteries, but I have likewise vessels of very different forms and sizes, adapted to particular experiments. When I want to remove vessels of air from the large trough, I place them in pots or dishes, of various sizes, to hold more or less water, according to the time that I have occasion to keep the air. These I plunge in water, and slide the jars into them; after which they may be taken out together, and be set wherever it shall be most convenient. For the purpose of merely removing a jar of air from one place to another, where it is not to stand longer than a few days, I make use of common tea-dishes, which will hold water enough for that time, unless the air be in a state of diminution, by means of any process that is going on in it. If I want to try whether an animal will live in any kind of air, I first put the air into a small vessel, just large enough to give it room to stretch itself; and as I generally make use of mice for this purpose, I have found it very convenient to use the hollow part of a tall beer-glass, which contains between two and three ounce measures of air. In this vessel a mouse will live twenty minutes, or half an hour. For the purpose of these experiments it is most convenient to catch the mice in small wire traps, out of which it is easy to take them, and holding them by the back of the neck, to pass them through the water into the vessel which contains the air. If I expect that the mouse will live a considerable time, I take care to put into the vessel something on which it may conveniently sit, out of the reach of the water. If the air be good, the mouse will soon be perfectly at its ease, having suffered nothing by its passing through the water. If

/ 137 the air be supposed to be noxious, it will be proper ( if the operator be desirous of preserving the mice for farther use) to keep hold of their tails, that they may be withdrawn as soon as they begin to show signs of uneasiness; but if the air be thoroughly noxious, and the mouse happens to get a full inspiration, it will be impossible to do this before it be absolutely irrecoverable. In order to keep the mice, I put them into receivers open at the top and bottom, standing upon plates of tin perforated with many holes, and covered with other plates of the same kind, held down by sufficient weights. These receivers stand upon a frame of wood, that the fresh air may have an op­ portunity of getting to the bottoms of them, and circulating through them. In the inside I put a quantity of paper or tow, which must be changed, and the vessel washed and dried, every two or three days. This is most conveniently done by having another receiver, ready cleaned and prepared, into which the mice may be transferred till the other shall be cleaned. Mice must be kept in a pretty exact temperature, for either much heat or much cold kills them presently. The place in which I have generally kept them is a shelf over the kitchen fire-place where, as it is usual in Yorkshire, the fire never goes out; so that the heat varies very little, and I find it to be, at a medium, about 70 degrees of Fahrenheit's thermometer. When they had been made to pass through the water, as they necessarily must be for the sake of a change of air, they require, and will bear a very considerable degree of heat, to warm and dry them. I found, to my great surprise, in the course of these ex­ periments, that mice will live entirely without water; for though I have kept them for three or four months, and have offered them water several times, they would never taste it; and yet they continued in perfect health and vigour. Two or three of them will live very peaceably together in the same vessel; though I had one instance of a mouse tearing an­ other almost in pieces, and when there was plenty of pro­ visions for both of them. In the same manner in which a mouse is put into a vessel of any kind of air, a plant, or anything else, may be put into Experimental Techniques

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it, viz. by passing it through the water; and if the plant be of a kind that will grow in water only, there will be no occasion to set it in a pot of earth, which will otherwise be necessary. There may appear, at first sight, some difficulty in opening the mouth of a phial, containing any substance, solid or liquid, to which water must not be admitted, in a jar of any kind of air, which is an operation that I have sometimes had recourse to; but this I easily effect by means of a cork cut tapering, and a strong wire thrust through it, for in this form it will sufficiently fit the mouth of any phial, and by holding the phial in one hand, and the wire in the other, and plunging both my hands into the trough of water, I can easily convey the phial through the water into the jar ; which must either be held by an assistant, or be fastened by strings, with its mouth projecting over the shelf. When the phial is thus conveyed into the jar, the cork may easily be removed, and may also be put into it again at pleasure, and conveyed the same way out again. In order to expel air from solid substances by means of heat, I sometimes put them into a gun-barrel, and filling it up with dry sand, that has been well burned, so that no air can come from it, I lute to the open end the stem of a tobacco pipe, or a small glass tube. Then having put the closed end of the barrel, which contains the materials, into the :fire, the generated air, issuing through the tube, may be received in a vessel of quicksilver, with its mouth im­ mersed in a basin of the same, suspended all together on wires, or any other fluid substance may be used instead of quicksilver. But the most accurate method of procuring air from several substances, by means of heat, is to put them, if they will bear it, into phials full of quicksilver, with the mouths immersed in the same, and then throw the focus of a burning mirror upon them. For this purpose the phials should be made with their bottoms round, and very thin, that they may not be liable to break with a pretty sudden application of heat.

The D iscovery of O xygen1 THE CONTENTS OP this section will furnish a very striking illustration of the truth of a remark which I have more than once made in my philosophical writings, and which can ' hardly be too often repeated, as it tends greatly to encourage philosophical investigations; viz. that more is owing to what we call chance, t.hat is, philosophically speaking, to the ob­ servation of events, arising from unknown causes, than to any proper design, or preconceived theory in this business. This does not appear in the works of those who write syn­ thetically upon these subjects; but would, I doubt not, appear very strikingly in those who are the most celebrated for their philosophical acumen, did they write analytically and in­ genuously. For my own part, I will frankly acknowledge, that at the commencement of the experiments recited in this section, I was so far from having formed any hypothesis that led to the discoveries I made in pursuing them, that they would have appeared very improbable to me had I been told of them; and when the decisive facts did at length obtrude them­ selves upon my notice, it was very slowly, and with great hesitation, that I yielded to the evidence of my senses. And yet, when I re-consider the matter, and compare my last discoveries relating to the constitution of the atmosphere with the first, I see the closest and the easiest connection in the world between them, so as to wonder that I should not have been led immediately from the one to the other. That this was not the case, I attribute to the fo_rce of prejudice, which, unknown to ourselves biasses not only our judgments, properly so called, but even the perceptions of our senses : for we may take a maxim so strongly for granted, that the plainest evidence of sense will not entirely change, and often 1

Experim ents and Observations on Different Kinds of Air, Volume II

(2nd ed. ) ( 1 776 ) , Section III ,

pp. 29--49.

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hardly modify our persuasions; and the more ingenious a man is, the more effectually he is entangled in his errors; his ingenuity only helping him to deceive himself, by evad­ ing the force of truth. There are, I believe, very few maxims in philosophy that have laid firmer hold upon the mind, than that air, meaning atmospherical air (free from various foreign matters, which were always supposed to be dissolved, and intermixed with it) is a simple elementary substance, indestructible, and un­ alterable, at least as much so as water is supposed to be. In the course of my enquiries, I was, however, soon satisfied that atmospherical air is not an unalterable thing; for that the phlogiston with which it becomes loaded from bodies burning in it, and animals breathing it, and various other chemical processes, so far alters and depraves it, as to render it altogether unfit for inflammation, respiration, and other purposes to which it is subservient; and I had discovered that agitation in water, the process of vegetation and probably other natural processes, by taking out the superfluous phlo­ giston, restore it to its original purity. But I own I had no idea of the possibility of going any farther in this way, and thereby procuring air purer than the best common air. I might indeed, have naturally imagined that such would be air that should contain less phlogiston than the air of the atmosphere; but I had no idea that such a composition was possible. From the experiments which I made on the marine acid air [hydrochloric acid], I was led to conclude, that common air consisted of some acid ( and I naturally inclined to the acid that I was then operating upon) and phlogiston; be­ cause the union of this acid vapour and phlogiston made in­ flammable air; and inflammable air, by agitation in water, ceases to be inflammable, and becomes respirable. And though I could never make it quite so good as common air, I thought it very probable that vegetation in more favourable circumstances than any in which I could apply it, or some other natural process, might render it more pure. Upon this, which no person can say was an improbable supposition, was founded my conjecture, of volcanos having

The Discovery of Oxygen / 141 given birth to the atmosphere of this planet, supplying it with a permanent air, first inflammable, then deprived of its in­ flammability by agitation in water, and farther purified by vegetation. Several of the known phenomena of the nitrous acid might have led me to think, that this was more proper for the constitution of the atmosphere than the marine acid : but my thoughts had got into a different train, and nothing but a series of observations, which I shall now distinctly relate, compelled me to adopt another hypothesis, and brought me, in a way of which I bad then no idea, to the solution of the great problem, which my reader will perceive I have had in view ever since my discovery that the atmospherical air is alterable, and therefore that it is not an elementary sub­ stance, but a composition viz. what this composition is, or what is the thing that we breathe, and how is it to be made from its constituent principles. At the time of my former publication, I was not possessed of a burning lens of any considerable force ; and for want of one, I could not possibly make many of the experiments that I had projected, and which, in theory, appeared very promising. I had, indeed, a mirror of force sufficient for my purpose. But the nature of this instrument is such, that it cannot be applied, with effect, except upon substances that are capable of being suspended, or resting on a very slender support. It cannot be directed at all upon any substance in the form of powder, nor hardly upon anything that requires to be put into a vessel of quicksilver. But having afterwards procured a lens of twelve inches diameter, and twenty inches focal distance, I proceeded with great alacrity to examine, by the help of it, what kind of air a great variety of sub­ stances, natural and factitious, would yield. With this apparatus, after a variety of other experiments, an account of which will be found in its proper place, on 1st of August, 1774, I endeavoured to extract air from mercurius calcinatus per se [mercuric oxide] ; and I presently found that, by means of this lens, air was expelled from it very readily. Having got about three or four times as much as the bulk of my materials, I admitted water to it, and found

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that it was not imbibed by it. But what surprised me more than I can well express, was, that a candle burned in this air with a remarkably vigorous flame, very much like that enlarged flame with which a candle burns in nitrous air, exposed to iron or liver of sulphur; but as I had got nothing like this remarkable appearance from any kind of air be­ sides this particular modification of nitrous air [nitric oxide], and I knew no nitrous acid was used in the preparation of mercurius calcinatus, I was utterly at a loss how to account for it. In this case, also, though I did not give sufficient attention to the circumstance at that time, the flame of the candle, besides being larger, burned with more splendor and heat than in that species of nitrous air; and a piece of red-hot wood sparkled in it, exactly like paper dipped in a solution of nitre, and it consumed very fast; an experiment which I had never thought of trying with nitrous air. At the same time that I made the abovementioned experi­ ment, I extracted a quantity of air, with the very same prop­ erty, from the common red precipitate, which being produced by a solution of mercury in spirit of nitre [nitric acid] made me conclude that this peculiar property, being similar to that of the modification of nitrous air abovementioned, de­ pended upon something being communicated to it by the nitrous acid; and since the mercurius calcinatus is produced by exposing mercury to a certain degree of heat, where com­ mon air has access to it, I likewise concluded that this sub­ stance had collected something of nitre, in that state of heat, from the atmosphere. This however, appearing to me much more extraordinary than it ought to have done, I entertained some suspicion that the mercurius calcinatus, on which I had made my experi­ ments, being bought at a common apothecary's might, in fact, be nothing more than red precipitate; though, had I been anything of a practical chemist, I could not have en­ tertained any such suspicion. However, mentioning this sus­ picion to Mr. W arltire, be furnished me with some that he had kept for a specimen of the preparation and which, he told me, he could warrant to be genuine. This being treated

The Discovery of Oxygen / 143 in the same manner as the former, only by a longer con­ tinuance of heat, I extracted much more air from it than from the other. This experiment might have satisfied any moderate sceptic: but, however, being at Paris in the October following, and knowing that there were several very eminent chemists in that place, I did not omit the opportunity, by means of my friend Mr. Magellan, to get an ounce of mercurius calcinatus prepared by Mr. Cadet, of the genuineness of which there could not possibly be any suspicion : and at the same time, I frequently mentioned my surprise at the kind of air which I had got from this preparation to Mr. Lavoisier, Mr. le Roy, and several other philosophers, who honoured me with their notice in that city; and who, I daresay, cannot fail to recol­ lect the circumstance. At the same time, I had no suspicion that the air which I had got from the mercurius calcinatus was even wholesome, so far was I from knowing what it was that I had really found; taking it for granted, that it was nothing more than such kind of air as I had brought nitrous air to be by the processes abovementioned ; and in this air I have observed that a candle would burn sometimes quite naturally, and sometimes with a beautiful enlarged flame, and yet remain perfectly noxious. At the same time that I had got the air abovementioned from mercurius calcinatus and the red precipitate, I had got the same kind from red lead or minium. In this process, that part of the minium on which the focus of the lens had fallen, turned yellow. One third of the air, in this experiment, was readily absorbed by water, but, in the remainder, a candle burned very strongly, and with a crackling noise. That fixed air is contained in red lead I had observed before; for I had expelled it by the_ heat of a candle, and had found it to be very pure. I imagine it requires more heat than I then used to expel any of the other kind of air. This experiment with red lead confirmed me more in my suspicion, that the mercurius calcinatus must get the prop­ erty of yielding this kind of air from the atmosphere, the process by which that preparation, and this of red lead is

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made, being similar. As I never make the least secret of anything that I observe, I mentioned this experiment also, as well as those with the mercurius calcinatus, and the red precipitate, to all my philosophical acquaintances at Paris, and elsewhere; having no idea, at that time, to what these remarkable facts would lead. Presently after my return from abroad, I went to work upon the mercurius calcinatus, which I had procured from Mr. Cadet; and, with a very moderate degree of heat, I got from about one fourth of an ounce of it, an ounce-measure of air, which I observed to be not readily imbibed, either by the substance itself from which it had been expelled (for I suffered them to continue a long time together before I transferred the air to any other place) or by water, in which I suffered this air to stand a considerable time before I made any experiment upon it. In this air, as I had expected, a candle burned with a vivid flame; but what I observed new at this time (Nov. 1 9 ) , and which surprised me no less than the fact I had discovered before, was, that, whereas a few moments' agitation in water will deprive the modified nitrous air of its property of ad­ mitting a candle to burn in it; yet, after more than ten times as much agitation as would be sufficient to produce this alteration in the nitrous air, no sensible change was pro­ duced in this. A candle still burned in it with a strong flame; and it did not, in the least, diminish common air, which I have observed that nitrous air, in this state , in some measure, does. But I was much more surprised, when after two days, in which this air had continued in contact with water (by which it was diminished about one twentieth of its bulk) I agitated it violently in water about five minutes, and found that a candle still burned in it as well as in common air. The same degree of agitation would have made pblogisticated nitrous air fit for respiration indeed, but it would certainly have ex­ tinguished a candle. These facts fully convinced me, that there must be a very material difference between the constitution of the air from mercurius calcinatus, and that of phlogisticated nitrous

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air, notwithstanding their resemblance in some particulars. But though I did not doubt that the air from mercurius cal­ cinatus was fit for respiration, after being agitated in water, as every kind of air without exception , on which I had tried the experiment, had been, I still did not suspect that it was respirable in the first instance; so far was I from having any idea of this air being, what it really was, much superior , in this respect, to the air of the atmosphere. In this ignorance of the real nature of this kind of air, I continued from this time (November) to the 1 st of March, following; having, in the mean time, been intent upon my experiments on the vitriolic acid air above recited, and the various modifications of air produced by spirit of nitre, an account of which will follow. But in the course of this month, I not only ascertained the nature of this kind of air, though very gradually, but was led by it to the complete discovery of the constitution of the air we breathe. Till this 1 st March, 1 775, I had so little suspicion of the air from mercurius calcinatus, etc. , being wholesome, that I had not even thought of applying to it the test of nitrous air; but thinking ( as my reader must imagine I frequently must have done) on the candle burning in it after long agitation in water, it occurred to me at last to make the experiment; and putting one measure of nitrous air to two measures of this air, I found, not only that it was diminished, but that it was diminished quite as much as common air, and that the redness of the mixture was likewise equal to that of a similar mixture of nitrous and common air. After this I had no doubt that the air from mercurius cal­ cinatus was fit for respiration, and that it had all the other properties of genuine common air. But I did not take notice of what I might have observed, if I had not been so fully possessed by the notion of there being no air better than common air, that the redness was really deeper, and the diminution something greater than common air would have admitted. Moreover, this advance in the way of truth, in reality, threw me back into error, making me give up the hypothesis I had first formed, viz. that the mercurius calcinatus had ex-

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tracted spirit of nitre from the air; for I now concluded, that all the constituent parts of the air were equally, and in their proper proportion, imbibed in the preparation of this substance, and also in the process of making red lead. For at the same time that I made the abovementioned experiment on the air from mercurius calcinatus, I likewise observed that the air which I bad extracted from the red lead, after the fixed air was washed out of it, was of the same nature, being di­ minished by nitrous air like common air; but, at the same time, I was puzzled to find that air from the red precipitate was diminished in the same manner, though the process for making this substance is quite different from that of making the two others. But to this circumstance I happened not to give much attention. I wish my reader be not quite tired with the frequent repe­ tition of the word surprise, and others of similar import; but I must go on in that style a little longer. For the next day I was more surprised than ever I had been before, with finding that, after the abovementioned mixture of nitrous air and the air from mercurius calcinatus, had stood all night, ( in which time the whole diminution must have taken place; and, consequently had it been common air, it must have been made perfectly noxious, and entirely unfit for respiration or inflammation) a candle burned in it, and even better than in common air. I cannot, at this distance of time, recollect what it was that I had in view in making this experiment; but I know I had no expectation of the real issue of it. Having acquired a considerable degree of readiness in making experiments of this kind, a very slight and evanescent motive would be suffi­ cient to induce me to do it. If, however, I had not happened, for some other purpose, to have had a lighted candle before me, I should probably never have made the trial; and the whole train of my future experiments relating to this kind of air might have been prevented. Still, however, having no conception of the real cause of this phenomenon, I considered it as something very extraor­ dinary; but as a property that was pecular to air that was extracted from these substances, and adventitious; and I

147 always spoke of the air to my acquaintance as being substan­ tially the same thing with common air. I particularly remem­ ber my telling Dr. Price, that I was myself perfectly satisfied of its being common air, as it appeared to be so by the test of nitrous air; though, for the satisfaction of others, I wanted a mouse to make the proof quite complete. On the 8th of this month I procured a mouse, and put it into a glass vessel, containing two ounce-measures of the air from mercurius calcinatus. Had it been common air, a full-grown mouse, as this was, would have lived in it about a quarter of an hour. In this air, however, my mouse lived a full half hour; and though it was taken out seemingly dead, it appeared to have been only exceedingly chilled; for, upon being held to the fire, it presently revived, and appeared not to have re­ ceived any harm from the experiment. By this I was confirmed in my conclusion, that the air extracted from mercurius calcinatus, etc., was, at least, as good as common air; but I did not certainly conclude that it was any better; because, though one mouse would live only a quarter of an hour in a given quantity of air, I knew it was not impossible but that another mouse might have lived in it half an hour; so little accuracy is there in this method of ascertaining the goodness of air, and indeed I have never had recourse to it for my own satisfaction, since the discovery of that most ready, accurate and elegant test that nitrous air furnishes. But in this case I had a view to publishing the most generally-satisfactory account of my experiments that the nature of the thing would admit of. This experiment with the mouse, when I had reflected upon it some time, gave me so much suspicion that the air into which I had put it was better than common air, that I was induced, the day after, to apply the test of nitrous air to a small part of that very quantity of air which the mouse had breathed so long; so that, had it been common air, I was satisfied it must have been very nearly, if not altogether, as noxious as possible, so as not to be affected by nitrous air; when, to my surprise again, I found that though it had been breathed so long, it was still better than common air.For after mixing it with nitrous air, in the usual proportion of two to The Discovery of Oxygen

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one, it was diminished in the proportion of 4½ to 3 ½ ; that is, the nitrous air had made it two ninths less than before, and this in a very short space of time; whereas I had never found that, in the longest time, any common air was reduced more than one fifth of its bulk by any proportion of nitrous air, nor more than one fourth by any phlogistic process what­ ever. Thinking of this extraordinary fact upon my pillow, the next morning I put another measure of nitrous air to the same mixture, and to my utter astonishment, found that it was farther diminished to almost one half of its original quantity. I then put a third measure to it; but this did not diminish it any farther : but, however, left it one measure less than it was even after the mouse had been taken out of it. Being now fully satisfied that this air, even after the mouse had breathed it half an hour, was much better than common air; and having a quantity of it still left, sufficient for the experiment viz. an ounce-measure and a half, I put the mouse into it; when I observed that it seemed to feel no shock upon being put into it, evident signs of which would have been visible, if the air had not been very wholesome; but that it re­ mained perfectly at its ease another full half hour, when I took it out quite lively and vigorous. Measuring the air the next day, I found it reduced from 1 ½ to ½ of an ounce-measure. And after this, if I remember well ( for in my register of the day I only find it noted that it was considerably diminished by nitrous air) it was nearly as good as common air. It was evident, indeed, from the mouse having been taken out quite vigorous, that the air could not have been rendered very noxious. For my farther satisfaction I procured another mouse, and putting it into less than two ounce-measures of air extracted from mercurius calcinatus and air from red precipitate (which, having found them to be of the same quality, I had mixed together) it lived three quarters of an hour. But not having had the precaution to set the vessel in a warm place, I suspect that the mouse died of cold. However, as it had lived three times as long as it could probably have lived in the same quantity of common air, and I did not expect much accuracy

The Discovery of Oxygen / 149 from this kind of test, I did not think it necessary to make any more experiments with mice. Being now fully satisfied of the superior goodness of this kind of air, I proceeded to measure that degree of purity, with as much accuracy as I could, by the test of nitrous air; and I began with putting one measure of nitrous air to two measures of this air, as if I had been examining common air; and now I observed that the diminution was evidently greater than common air would have suffered by the same treatment. A second measure of nitrous air reduced it to two thirds of its original quantity, and a third measure to one half.Suspect­ ing that the diminution could not proceed much farther, I then added only half a measure of nitrous air, by which it was diminished still more; but not much, and another half measure made it more than half of its original quantity; so that, in this case, two measures of this air took more than two measures of nitrous air, and yet remained less than half of what it was. Five measures brought it pretty exactly to its original dimensions. At the same time, air from the red precipitate was dimin­ ished in the same proportion as that from mercu.rius calcinatus, :five measures of nitrous air being received by two measures of this without any increase of dimensions. N ow as common air takes about one half of its bulk of nitrous air, before it begins to receive any addition to its dimensions, from more nitrous air, and this air took more than four half-measures before it ceased to be diminished by more nitrous air, and even five half-measures made no addition to its original dimensions, I conclude that it was between four and five times as good as common air. It will be seen that I have since pro­ cured air better than this, even between five and six times as good as the best common air that I have ever met with. Being now fully satisfied with respect to the nature of this new species of air, viz. that, being capable of taking more phlogiston from nitrous air, it therefore originally contains less of this principle ; my next enquiry was, by what means it comes to be so pure, or philosophically speaking, to be so much dephlogisticated; and since the red lead yields the same

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kind of air with mercurius calcinatus, though mixed with fixed air, and is a much cheaper material, I proceeded to examine all the preparations of lead, made by heat in the open air, to see what kind of air they would yield, beginning with the grey calx, and ending with litharge. The red lead which I used for this purpose yielded a con­ siderable quantity of dephlogisticated air, and very little fixed air; but to what circumstance in the preparation of this lead, or in the keeping of it, this difference is owing, I cannot tell. I have frequently found a very remarkable difference between different specimens of red lead in this respect, as well as in the purity of the air which they contain. This difference, how­ ever, may arise in a great measure, from the care that is taken to extract the fixed air from it. In this experiment two meas­ ures of nitrous air being put to one measure of this air , re­ duced it to one third of what it was at first, and nearly three times its bulk of nitrous air made very little addition to its original dimensions; so that this air was exceedingly pure, and better than any that I had procured before.

The Properties c,f O xygen1 I ENDEAVOURED, IN a variety of ways, to find the specific gravity of dephlogisticated air, by carefully weighing the materials before and after the production; and though this is by no means an exact method of ascertaining this circum­ stance, and I had recourse to better methods afterwards, the experiments may be worth reciting. Having put into a gun-barrel two ounces four pennyweights of red lead, I extracted from it twenty ounce-measures of dephlogisticated air, receiving it in water; and the residuum, collected with all the care that I could apply, weighed 1 oz. 16 dwt. 18 gr.; so that twenty ounces of air ought to have weighed 7 dwt. 6 gr. which is beyond all proportion; so that this method must be very uncertain ; besides, no allowance was made, nor could well be made, for the fixed air which the red lead yielded, and which is the heaviest species of air that we are yet acquainted with. At other times I have found that red lead was changed into a real lead, when I was at­ tempting the same thing in this way. A second attempt came a little nearer the truth. I weighed an ounce of red lead, moistened it with smoking spirit of nitre, and dried it, when it weighed 1 oz. 6 dwt. 12 gr.I then divided the whole quantity into two equal parts, and put one of them into a gun-barrel, in order to collect the air, and the other I put into a crucible, to be exposed to the same degree of beat. The former yielded twenty-two ounce-measures of air, after the fixed air was pretty well washed out of it. It was about five times as good as common air. The latter had lost nineteen grains in weight, being just so much less than half an ounce; so that the twenty-two ounce-measures of air should have weighed nineteen grains, which is certainly a 1

Experiments and Observations on Different Kinds of Air, (2nd ed. )

Volume II ( 1 776) , Section V, pp. 91-103.

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great deal too much; besides, in this experiment, as in the former, no account could be taken of the fixed air. Finding these methods to fail, I had recourse to that which was used by Mr. Cavendish in weighing fixed and inflammable air , and which is more accurate than the method which I bad used before ( viz. filling a Florence-flask with the different kinds of air, and weighing them in it ) because, as the flask must be first filled with water, one cannot be sure, though every possible precaution be taken, that the water has been equally drained from it after each experiment : otherwise there would be a considerable advantage in this method ; because the quantity of air may be accurately known. But though this cannot be done with precision in a bladder, as used by Mr. Cavendish, because the degree of distension cannot be measured with much accuracy, yet this circumstance is more than counterbalanced by being able to change the air with compressing the bladder, without wetting it. I therefore took a glass-tube about nine inches long, and fastening it to the neck of a bladder, which with such a degree of distension as I could give it, in the manner in which the experiment was made, contained fifty-five ounce-measures, or one pennyweight nine grains of common air. The tube was so fastened, that I could take it out at pleasure ; and having the bladder thus prepared, I carefully compressed it , then filling it in part with that kind of air which I was about to weigh, I compressed it again, and then filled it entirely; so that I was pretty confident that the air within the bladder contained very little common, or any other kind of air. In this manner I proceeded to weigh dephlogisticated air, and at the same time nitrous air, and air phlogisticated with iron filings and brim­ stone, which I take for granted is the same thing with air phlogisticated by any other process. The following short table exhibits the result of all these experiments at one view. The bladder filled with

phlogisticated air, weighed ··--··-----------·---------· ------------·--------------- nitrous air -------------··----------· common air _____________________ _ dephlogisticated air ···--····

dwts.

7 7 7 7

g r. 15 16 17 19

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Th.is result agrees sufficiently well with my former observa­ tions, though they were not made with so much accuracy, viz. that both nitrous air, and air diminished by phlogistic proc­ esses, are rather lighter than common air; and it is consonant to this, that, in the present experiment, dephlogisticated air appears to be a little heavier than common air. Comparing these observations with that of the extreme lightness of inflammable air, ascertained by Mr. Cavendish , it should seem that the less phlogiston any kind of air contains the heavier it is, and the more phlogiston it contains the lighter it is; though this is by no means the case with solid substances, and indeed it is rather unfavourable to this hy­ pothesis, that nitrous air should not be lighter than dephlogis­ ticated air; for it should seem, by its property of phlogisticat­ ing common air, that it should itself contain a greater proportion of phlogiston. Also, in the abovementioned proc­ esses for making air, the more phlogiston there is in the substances moistened with spirit of nitre, the more certain it is that the produce will be nitrous air; as the less phlogiston they contain, the more certain it is that the produce will be pure air. But I suspect that there is a farther difference in the mode in which phlogiston is combined with spirit of nitre, in the constitution of nitrous air. In this experiment, the depblogisticated air was so pure, that one measure of it, and two of nitrous air, occupied the space of 4/5ths of a measure. Had the air been more pure, it would, no doubt, have been specifically heavier still. It sh_ould be observed, that sufficient time ought to be allowed to get dephlogisticated air entirely free from fixed air before it is weighed; and as this requires time, and perhaps may never be done completely, it may be suspected that the additional weight of this kind of air is owing to a mixture of fixed air. But common air also contains a great proportion of fixed air, and the dephlogisticated air, on which I made this experiment, had been produced, at least the far greatest part of it, and had been exposed to water, some weeks. It is, how­ ever, sufficiently evident, that dephlogisticated air does be­ come better by standing in water; owing probably, to its depositing more fixed air in those circumstances. Having at one time made a large reservoir of dephlogisti-

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cated air , for the purpose of experiments, I found that, in about ten days, from being 4½ , it had become 5½ better than common air. Standing in pure water must be a surer method of getting the purest dephlogisticated air, than agita­ tion in water; for though, the latter method will enable the water to absorb the fixed air faster, and therefore a little agitation at the first will be very useful, in order to expedite the purification of it; yet, as I have found that agitation in the purest water will, in time, injure common air; the same operation may be supposed to injure dephlogisticated air also; and indeed I have already observed, that having agitated in water a quantity of dephlogisticated air, a candle burned in it only as in common air, and not with that vivid flame with which it burns in this air when it is purer. I have not made many experiments on the mixture of dephlogisticated air with the other kinds of air, because the analogy which it bears to common air is so great, that I think any person may know before-hand, what the result of such experiments would be. It is pleasing, however, to observe how readily and perfectly dephlogisticated air mixes with phlogis­ ticated air, or air injured by respiration, putrefaction, etc., each tempering the other; so that the purity of the mixture may be accurately known from the quantity and quality of the two kinds of air before mixture. Thus, if one measure of perfectly noxious air be put to one measure of air that is exactly twice as good as common air, the mixture will be precisely of the standard of common air. I observed also, in making this experiment, that after mix­ ing one measure of each of these kinds of air, they made exactly two measures; so that there was neither any increase nor diminution of quantity in consequence of the mixture, as is the effect of mixing nitrous air with either common or dephlogisticated air. It may hence be inferred, that a quantity of very pure air would agreeably qualify the noxious air of a room in which much company should be confined, and which should be so situated, that it could not be conveniently ventilated; so that from being offensive and unwholesome, it would almost in­ stantly become sweet and wholesome. This air might be

/ 155 brought into the room in casks; or a laboratory might be constructed for generating the air and throwing it into the room as fast as it should be produced. This pure air would be sufficiently cheap for the purpose of many assemblies, and a very little ingenuity would be sufficient to reduce the scheme into practice. I easily conjectured that inflammable air would explode with more violence, and a louder report by the help of dephlogisticated than of common air; but the effect far exceeded my expectations, and it has never failed to surprise every person before whom I have made the experiment. Inflammable air requires about two-thirds of common air to make it explode to the greatest advantage; and if a phial, containing about an ounce-measure and half, be used for the experiment, the explosion with common air will be so small as not to be heard farther than, perhaps, fifty or sixty yards; but with little more than one-third of highly dephlogisticated air, and the rest inflammable air, in the same phial, the report will be almost as loud as that of a small pistol, being, to judge by the ear, not less than forty or fifty times as loud as with common air. The orifice of the phial in which this experiment is made should not much exceed a quarter of an inch, and the phial should be a very strong one; otherwise it will certainly burst with the explosion. The repercussion is very considerable, and the heat produced by the explosion very sensible to the hand that holds it. I have sometimes amused myself with carrying in my pocket phials thus charged with a mixture of dephlogis­ ticated and inflammable air, confined either with common corks or ground-stopples, and I have perceived no difference in the explosion after keeping them a long time and carrying them to any distance. The dipping of a lighted candle into a jar filled with dephlogisticated air is alone a very beautiful experiment. The strength and vivacity of the flame is striking, and the heat produced by the flame, in these circumstances is also remark­ ably great. But this experiment is more pleasing when the air is only little more than twice as good as common air; for when it is highly dephlogisticated the candle burns with a The Properties of Oxygen

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crackling noise, as if it was full of some combustible matter. It may be inferred from the very great explosions made in dephlogisticated air that, were it possible to fire gun-powder in it, less than a tenth part of the charge, in all cases, would suffice; the force of an explosion in this kind of air, far exceeding what might have been expected from the purity of it, as shown in other kinds of trial. But I do not see how it is possible to make this application of it. I should not, how­ ever, think it difficult to confine gun-powder in bladders, with the interstices of the grains filled with this, instead of com­ mon air; and such bladders of gun-powder might, perhaps, be used in mines, or for blowing up rocks, in digging for metals, etc. Nothing, however, would be easier than to augment the force of fire to a prodigious degree by blowing it with de­ phlogisticated air instead of common air. This I have tried in the presence of my friend Mr. Magellan, by filling a bladder with it and pufliing it, through a small glass-tube, upon a piece of lighted wood: but it would be very easy to supply a pair of bellows with it from a large reservoir. Possibly much greater things might be effected by chemists in a variety of respects, with the prodigious heat which this air may be the means of affording them. I had no sooner mentioned the discovery of this kind of air to my friend Mr. Michell, than this use of it occurred to him. He observed that possibly platina might be melted by means of j.t. From the greater strength and vivacity of the flame of a candle, in this pure air, it may be conjectured that it might be peculiarly salutary to the lungs in certain morbid cases, when the common air would not be sufficient to carry off the phlogistic putrid effluvium fast enough. But perhaps we may also infer from these experiments that though pure dephlogis­ ticated air might be very useful as a medicine, it might not be so proper for us in the usual healthy state of the body : for as a candle burns out much faster in dephlogisticated than in common air, so we might, as may be said, live out too fast, and the animal powers be too soon exhausted in this pure kind of air. A moralist at least may say that the air which nature has provided for us is as good as we deserve.

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My reader will not wonder that after having ascertained the superior goodness of dephlogisticated air by mice living in it, and the other tests above mentioned, I should have the curiosity to taste it myself. I have gratified this curiosity by breathing it, drawing it through a glass syphon and by this means I reduced a large jar full of it to the standard of common air. The feeling of it to my lungs was not sensibly different from that of common air; but I fancied that my breast felt peculiarly light and easy for some time afterwards. Who can tell but that, in time, this pure air may become a fashionable article in luxury. Hitherto only two mice and myself have had the privilege of breathing it. Whether the air of the atmosphere was in remote times, or will be in future time, better or worse than it is at present, is a curious speculation; but I have no theory to enable me to throw any light upon it. Philosophers in future time may easily determine, by comparing their observations with mine, whether the air in general preserves the very same degree of purity, or whether it becomes more or less fit for respiration in a course of time; and also, whether the changes to which it may be subject are equable or otherwise; and by this means may acquire data by which to judge both of the past and future state of the atmosphere. But no observations of this kind having been made, in former times, all that any person could now advance on this subject would be little more than random conjecture. If we might be allowed to form any judgment from the length of human life in different ages, which seems to be the only datum that is left us for this purpose, we may conclude that, in general, the air of the atmosphere has, for many ages, preserved the same degree of purity. This datum, however, is by no means sufficient for an accurate solution of the problem.

The Restoration of Air by Vegetation 1 I HAVE BEEN so happy, as by accident to have hit upon a method of restoring air, which has been injured by the burn­ ing of candles, and to have discovered at least one of the restoratives which nature employs for this purpose. It is vegetation. This restoration of vitiated air, I conjecture, is effected by plants imbibing the phlogistic matter with which it is overloaded by the burning of inflammable bodies. But whether there be any foundation for this conjecture or not, the fact is, I think, indisputable. I shall introduce the account of my experiments on this subject, by reciting some of the observations which I made on the growing of plants in con­ fined air, which led to this discovery. One might have imagined that , since common air is neces­ sary to vegetable, as well as to animal life, both plants and animals had affected it in the same manner; and I own I had that expectation, when I first put a sprig of mint into a glass jar, standing inverted in a vessel of water; but when it had continued growing there for some months, I found that the air would neither extinguish a candle, nor was it at all inconvenient to a mouse, which I put into it. The plant was not affected any otherwise than was the necessary consequence of its confined situation; for plants growing in several other kinds of air, were all affected in the very same manner. Every succession of leaves was more diminished in size than the preceding, till, at length, they came to be no bigger than the heads of pretty small pins. The root decayed, and the stalk also, beginning from the root; and yet the plant continued to grow upwards, drawing its nourish­ ment through a black and rotten stem. In the third or fourth set of leaves, long and white hairy filaments grew from the insertion of each leaf and sometimes from the body of the Experiments and Observations on Different Kinds of Air (2nd ed.) ( 177 5 ) , Part I, Section II, pp. 49-55.

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stem, shooting out as far as the vessel in which it grew would permit, which, in my experiments, was about two inches. In this manner a sprig of mint lived, the old plant decaying, and new ones shooting up in its place, but less and less continu­ ally, all the summer season. In repeating this experiment, care must be taken to draw away all the dead leaves from about the plant, lest they should putrefy, and affect the air. I have found that a fresh cabbage leaf, put under a glass vessel filled with common air, for the space of one night only, has so affected the air, that a candle would not burn in it the next morning, and yet the leaf had not acquired any smell of putrefaction. Finding that candles would burn very well in air in which plants had grown a long time , and having had some reason to think, that there was something attending vegetation, which restored air that had been injured by respiration, I thought it was possible that the same process might also restore the air that had been injured by the burning of candles. Accordingly, on the 1 7th of August, 1 771, I put a sprig of mint into a quantity of air, in which a wax candle had burned out, and found that, on the 27th of the same month, another candle burned perfectly well in it. This experiment I repeated, without the least variation in the event, not less than eight or ten times in -the remainder of the summer. Several times I divided the quantity of air in which the candle had burned out, into two parts, and putting the plant into one of them, left the other in the same exposure, con­ tained, also, in a glass vessel immersed in water, but without any plant ; and never failed to find, that a candle would burn in the former, but not in the latter. I generally found ·that five or six days were sufficient to restore this air, when the plant was in its vigour, whereas I have kept this kind of air in glass vessels, immersed in water many months, without being able to perceive that the least alteration had been made in it. I have also tried a great variety of experiments upon it, as by condensing, rarefying, exposing to the light and heat, etc. and throwing into it the effluvia of many different substances , but without any effect. Experiments made in the year 1 772, abundantly confirmed

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_. my conclusion concerning the restoration of air, in which candles had burned out by plants growing in it. The first of these experiments was made in the month of May; and they were freque ntly repeated in that and the two following months, without a single failure. For this purpose I used the flames of different substances, though I generally used wax or tallow candles. On the 24th of June the experiment succeeded perfectly wel l with air in which spirit of wine had burned out, and on the 27th of the same month it succeeded equa1 Iy well with air in which brimstone matches had burned out, an effect of which I had despaired the preceding year. This restoration of air, I found, depended upon the vege­ tating state of the plant; for though I kept a great number of the fresh leaves of mint in a small quantity of air in which candles had burned out, and changed them frequently, for a long space of time I could perceive no melioration in the state of the air. This remarkable effect does not depend upon anything pe­ culiar to mint, which was the plant that I always made use of till July 1 772; for on the 1 6th of that month, I found a quantity of this kind of air to be perfectly restored by sprigs of balm, which bad grown in it from the 7th of the same month. That this restoration of air was not owing to any aromatic effluvia of these two plants, not only appeared by the essen­ tial oil of mint having no sensible effect of this kind ; but from the equally complete restoration of this vitiated air by the plant called groundsel, which is usually ranked among the weeds, and has an offensive smell. This was the result of an experiment m ade the 1 6th of July, when the plant had been growing in the burned air from the 8th of the same month. Besides, the plant which I have found to be the most effectual of any that I have tried for this purpose is spinach, which is of quick growth, but will seldom thrive long in water. One jar of burned air was perfectly restored by this plant in four days, and another in two days. This last was observed on the 22nd of July. In general, this effect may be presumed to have taken place

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in much less time than I have mentioned, because I never chose to make a trial of the air, till I was pretty sure, from preceding observations, that the event which I had expected must have taken place , if it would succeed at all; lest, return­ ing back that part of the air on which I made the trial, and which would thereby necessarily receive a small mixture of common air, the experiment might not be judged to be quite fair; though I myself might be sufficiently satisfied with respect to the allowance that was to be made for that small imperfection.

PART THREE T H E U N I TA R I A N

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Towards Unitarian ism 1 HAVING BEEN EDUCATED in the strictest principles of Cal­ vinism, and having from my early years had a serious tum of mind, promoted no doubt by a weak and sickly constitu­ tion, I was very sincere and zealous in my belief of the doc­ trine of the trinity; and this continued till I was about nine­ teen; and then I was as much shocked on hearing of any who denied the divinity of Christ ( thinking it to be nothing less than impiety and blasphemy ) as any of my opponents can be now. I therefore truly feel for them, and most sin­ cerely excuse them. About the age of twenty, being then in a regular course of theological studies, I saw reason to change my opinion, and became an Arian; and notwithstanding what appeared to tne a fair and impartial study of the scriptures, and though I had no bias on my mind arising from subscribed creeds and confessions of faith, etc.I continued in that persuasion fifteen or sixteen years; and yet in that time I was well acquainted with Dr. Lardner, Dr. Fleming, and several other zealous Socinians, especially my friend Mr. Graham. The first theo­ ogical tract of mine (which was on the doctrine of atone­ ment ) was published at the particular request, and under the direction of, Dr. Lardner; and he approving of the scheme which I had then formed of giving a short view (which was all that I had then thought of) of the progress of the cor­ ruptions of christianity, he gave me a few hints with respect to it. But still I continued till after his death indisposed to the Socinian hypothesis. After this, continuing my study of the scriptures, with the help of his Letters on the Logos, I at length changed my opinion, and became what is called a Socinian; and in this I see continually more reason to ac­ quiesce, though it was a long time before the arguments in Letters to Dr. Horsley in Answer to his Animadversions on the His­ tory of the Corruptions of Christianity ( 1 7 8 3 ) , Preface, pp. iii-xvii.

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favour of it did more than barely preponderate in my mind. I was greatly confirmed in this doctrine after I was fully satisfied that man is of an uniform composition, and wholly mortal; and that the doctrine of a separate immaterial soul, capable of sensation and action when the body is in the grave, is a notion borrowed from heathen philosophy, and unknown to the scriptures. Of this I had for a long time a mere suspicion; but having casually mentioned it as such, and a violent outcry being raised against me on that account, I was induced to give the greatest attention to the question, to examine it in every light, and to invite the fullest dis­ cussion of it. This terminated in as full a conviction with respect to this subject as I have with respect to any other whatever. The reasons on which that conviction is founded may be seen in my Disquisitions on Matter and Spirit . . . . Being now fully persuaded that Christ was a man like ourselves, and consequently that his pre-existence, as well as that of other men, was a notion that had no foundation in reason or in the scriptures, and having been gradually led (in consequence of wishing to trace the principal corruptions of christianity) to give particular attention to ecclesiastical history, I could not help thinking but that (since the doc­ trine of the pre-existence of Christ was not the doctrine of the scriptures, and therefore could not have been taught by the apostles) there must be some traces of the rise and progress of the doctrine of the trinity, and some historical evidence that unitarianism was the general faith of Christians in the apostolical age, independent of the evidence which arose from its being the doctrine of the scriptures. In this state of mind, the reader will easily perceive that I naturally expected to find, what I was previously well persuaded was to be found; and in time I collected much more evidence than I at first expected, considering the early rise and the long and universal spread of what I deem to be a radical corruption of the genuine christian doctrine. This evidence I have fairly laid before the reader. He must judge of the weight of it, and also make whatever allowance he may think necessary for my particular situation and preju­ dices.

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I am well aware that it is naturally impossible that the evidence I have produced should impress the minds of those who are Arians or Athanasians, as it will those of Socinians; nor are men to be convinced of the proper humanity of Christ, by arguments of this kind. They must begin, as I did, with the study of the scriptures; and whatever be the result of that study, it will be impossible for them, let them discipline their minds as they will, not to be influenced in the historical inquiry, as I was, by their previous persuasion concerning the subject of it. If, however, they should be so far impressed with the historical arguments, as to think it probable that the christian Church was, in a very early period, unitarian, it will, no doubt, lead them to expect that they shall find the doctrine of the scriptures, truly interpreted, to be so too. With respect to myself, I do not know that I can do any­ thing more. Being persuaded, as I am, from the study of the scriptures, that Christ is properly a man, I cannot cease . to think so; nor can I possibly help the influence of that per­ suasion in my historical researches. Let other persons write as freely on their respective hypotheses as I have done on mine, and then indifferent persons, and especially younger persons, whose minds have not acquired the stiffness of ours, who are turned fifty, may derive benefit from it. Firm as my persuasion now is concerning the proper hu­ manity of Christ (a persuasion that has been the slow growth of years, and the result of much anxious and patient think­ ing ) I do not know that, in the course of my enquiry, I have been under the influence of prejudice more than all other men naturally are. As to reputation, a man may dis­ tinguish himself just as much by the defence of old systems as by the erection of new ones; but I have neither formed any new systems, nor have I particularly distinguished myself in the defence of old ones. When I first became an Arian and afterwards a Socinian, I was only a convert, in company with many others, and was far from having any thoughts of troubling the world with publications on the subject. This I have been led to do by a series of events of which I had no foresight and of which I do not see the issue.

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The conclusion that I have formed with �espect to the subject of this work and my exertions in support of it, are, however, constantly ascribed by my opponents to a force of prejudice and prepossession so strong as to pervert my judg­ ment in the plainest of all cases. Of this I may not be a proper judge; but analogy may be some guide to myself as well as to others in this case. Now , what appears to have been my disposition in other similar cases? Have I been particularly attached to hypotheses in philosophy, even to my own, which always create a stronger attachment than those of other persons? On the con­ trary, I will venture to say that no person is generally thought to be less so; nor bas it been imagined that my pursuits have been at all defeated or injured, by any prepos­ session in favour of particular theories; and yet theories are as apt to mislead in philosophical as in any other subjects. I have always shown the greatest readiness to abandon any hypothesis that I have advanced, and even defended, while I thought it defensible, the moment I have suspected it to be ill founded, whether the new facts that have refuted it were discovered by myself or others. My friends in general have blamed me for my extreme facility in this respect. And if I may judge of myself by my own feelings, after the closest examination that I can give myself, I am just the same with respect to theology . In the course of my life I have held and defended opinions very different from those which I hold at present. Now, if my obstinacy in retaining and defending opinions had been so great as my opponents represent it, why did it not long ago put a stop to all my changes, and fix me a Trinitarian, or an Arian? Let those who have given stronger proofs of their minds being open to conviction than mine has been, throw the first stone at me. I am well aware of the nature and force of that opposi­ tion and obloquy to which I am exposing myself in conse­ quence of writing my History of the Corrup tions of Christi­ anity , the most valuable, I trust, of all my publications, and especially in consequence of the pains that have been taken to magnify and expose a few inaccuracies, to which all

/ 1 69 works of a similar nature have been and ever must be sub­ ject. But I have the fullest persuasion that the real oversights in it are of the smallest magnitude and do not at all affect any one position or argument in my work, as I hope to sat­ isfy all candid judges; and as to mere cavil and reproach, I thank God I am well able to bear it. The odium I brought upon myself by maintaining the doc­ trines of materialism and necessity, without attempting to cover or soften terms of so frightful a sound, and without palliating any of their consequences, was unspeakably greater than what this business can bring upon me. At the begin.. ning of that controversy I had few, very few indeed, of my nearest friends who were with me in the argument. They, however, who knew me, knew my motives, and excused me; but the christian world in general regarded me with the greatest abhorrence. I was considered as an unprincipled infidel, either an atheist or in league with atheists. In this light I was repeatedly exhibited in all the public papers; and the Monthly Review and other Reviews, with all the similar publications of the day, joined in the popular cry. But a few years have seen the end of it. At least all that is left would not disturb the merest novice in these things. The consequence (which I now enjoy) is a great increase of materialists ; not of atheistical ones , as some will still represent it, but of the most serious, the most rational and consistent christians. A similar issue I firmly expect from the present contro­ versy, unpromising as it may appear in the eyes of some, who are struck with what is speciously and confidently urged. For my own part, I truly rejoice in the present appearance of things; as I foresee that much good will arise from the attention that will by this means be drawn upon the subject, and as I hope I respect the hand of God in everything, I thank him for leading me into this business; as I hope to have occasion to thank him, some years hence, for leading me through it, and with as much advantage as I have been led through the other. It is, indeed, my firm and it is my joyful persuasion, that there is a wise Providence over-ruling all inquiries as well as other events. The wisdom of God has appeared, as I have Towards Unitarianism

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endeavoured to point out, even in the corruptions of christi­ anity, and the spread of error; and it is equally conspicuous in the discovery and propagation of truth. I am far from thinking that that great Being who super­ intends all things, guides my pen, any more than he does that of my fiercest opponent ; but I believe that by means of our joint labours and those of all who engage in theological controversy ( which is eminently useful in rousing men to the utmost exertion of their faculties) he is promoting his own excellent purposes, and providing for the prevalence of truth in his own due time; and in this general prospect we ought all equally to rejoice . It becomes us, however, to consider that they only will be entitled to praise who join in carrying on the designs of providence with right views of their own; who are actuated by a real love of truth, and also by that candour and benevo­ lence, which a sense of our common difficulties in the investi­ gation of truth most effectually inspires. A man who has never changed an opinion cannot have much feeling of this difficulty, and therefore cannot be expected to have much candour, unless his disposition be uncommonly excellent. I ought to have more candour than many others, because I have felt more than many can pretend to have done, the force of those obstacles which retard our progress in the search of truth.

The Workings of Providence 1 IT IS OUR business, whenever called upon, to bear our testimony to whatever we apprehend to be truth and right , upon no occasion to swerve from our real principles ( which would be equivalent to denying Christ, or being ashamed of him and his cause before men) whether we see that any good will result from what we may suffer by such a profession or not. We ought to content ourselves with acting under the express orders of one who is the proper judge of what is expedient for his interest and his church, as well as for our happiness; and we may rest assured that we can only sustain a temporary loss by such an implicit but reasonable obedience. Could we only, my friend, expand our minds fully to co_n­ ceive, and act up to, the great principle asserted in this treatise, of the truth of which we are both of us convinced, nothing more would be wanting to enable us to exert this and every other effort of true greatness of mind. We ourselves, complex as the structure of our minds and our principles of action are, are links in a great connected chain, parts of an immense whole, a very little of which only we are as yet permitted to see, but from which we collect evidence enough, that the whole system (in which we are at the same time both instruments and objects) is under an un­ erring direction, and that the final result will be most glori­ ous and happy. Whatever men may intend or execute , all their designs and all their actions are subject to the secret influence and guidance of one who is necessarily the best judge of what will most promote his own excellent purposes. To him, and in his works, all seeming discord is real harmony and all apparent evil, ultimate good. This world , we see, is an admirable nursery for great minds. Difficulties, opposition, persecution, and evils of every other 1 The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity Illustrated ( 1st ed. ) ( 1 777 ) , Dedication, pp. v1-xv1.

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form are the necessary instruments by which they are made, and even the captain of our salvation was himself made per­ fect through suffering. A mixture of pleasing events does like­ wise contribute to the same end ; but of the due proportions in this mixture we are no judges. Considering, however, in whose hands are the several ingredients of the cup of mortal life, we may be assured that it will never be more bitter than will be necessary to make it in the very highest degree salu­ tary. You and I, Sir, rejoice in the belief that the whole human race are under the same wholesome discipline, and that they will all certainly derive the most valuable advantages from it, though in different degrees, in different ways, and at different periods; that even the persecutors are only giving the prece­ dence to the persecuted, and advancing them to a much higher degree of perfection and happiness; and that they must themselves, for the same benevolent purpose, undergo a more severe discipline than that which they are the means of ad­ ministering to others. With this persuasion we cannot but consider every being and everything in a favourable light. Every person with whom we have any connexion is a friend and every event in life is a benefit; while God is equally the father and the friend of the whole creation. I hope, dear Sir, we shall always be careful to strengthen and extend these great and just views of the glorious system to which we belong. It is only by losing sight of these prin­ ciples that we adopt mean purposes and become slaves to mean passions, as also that we are subject to be chagrined and unhinged by seemingly cross accidents in life. So long as we can practically believe that there is but one will in the whole universe, that this one will, exclusive of all chance or the interference of any other will, disposes of all things, even to their minutest circumstances and always for the best of purposes, it is impossible but that we must rejoice in, and be thankful for, all events without distinction. And when our will and our wishes shall thus perfectly coincide with that of the sovereign Disposer of all things, whose will is always done in earth as well as in Heaven, we shall in

The Workings of Providence / 1 73 fact atta in the summit of perfection and happiness. We shall have a kind of union with G od himself; his will shall be our will, and even his power our power; being ever employed to execute our wishes and purposes, as well as his; because they will be, in all respects, the same with his. These heart-reviving and soul-ennobling views we cannot, my friend, in this imperfect state expect to realize and enjoy except at intervals ; but let us make it our business to make these happy seasons of philosophical and devout contempla­ tion more frequent and of longer continuance. Let them en­ croach more and more on the time that we must give to the bustle of a transitory world ; till our minds shall have re­ ceived such a lasting impression, as that its effect may be felt even in the midst of the greatest tumult of life, and inspire a serenity and joy, which the world can neither give nor take away. In these principles alone do we find a perfect coincidence between true religion and philosophy ; and by the help of the latter we are able to demonstrate the excellence of the moral precepts of the former. And the more we understand of human nature, which is an immense field of speculation barely opened by our revered master Dr. Hartley, the more clearly, I doubt not, shall we perceive how admirably is the whole system of revealed religion adapted to the nature and circumstances of man, and the better judges shall we be of that most important branch of its evidence which results from considering the effects which the first promulgation of it had on the minds of those to whom it was proposed, both Jews and Gentiles. Let us then study the Scriptures, Ecclesiastical History and the Theory of the Human Mind in conjunction; being satisfied that from the nature of the things they must, in time, throw a great and new light upon each other.

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PA RT FOU R THE POLIT ICAL TH EORI ST

The Genera l Principles of Good Government1

EVERYTHING 1s WORTHY of the attention both of a philosophi­ cal and a political reader of history which can contribute to make a people happy at home, formidable abroad, or increase their numbers; because a numerous, a secure and a happy society is the object of all human policy. This view opens a new field of the most important objects of attention to a reader of history, which it cannot be ex­ pected that I should consider very minutely. I think, however, that I shaU not fulfil my engagement to point out the proper objects of attention to a reader of history ( which implies that I should demonstrate the things I point out to be proper objects of attention) unless I explain the great leading prin­ ciples of wise policy, in an account of those circumstances which contribute to the flourishing state of societies, and the mutual connexions and influences of those circumstances. Indeed, the bare mention of them will in some measure answer my purpose, as it will make the reader attend to the things I point out, as of principal consequence to promote the happiness of society, and observe their effects in the course of his reading, which certainly leads to the best prac­ tical use that can be made of this study Of all the things which contribute to the domestic happi­ ness and security of states, Government with the various forms of it, is the first that offers itself to our notice, and this is in fact the most striking object in every history. To this, therefore, and to every circumstance relating to it, a reader of history ought particularly to attend. Man is social beyond any other animal, and the connexions which men are disposed to form with one another are infi­ nitely more various and extensive; because they are capable of doing much more for one another than any other animals 1

Lectures on History and G eneral Policy (4th ed.) ( 1 826 ) , Lecture

XXXVIII, pp. 295-305.

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are. The principle which leads men to form themselves into those larger societies which we call states, is the desire of securing the undisturbed enjoyment of their possessions. With­ out this, the weak would always be at the mercy of the strong, and the ignorant of the crafty. But by means of gov­ ernment the strength and wisdom of the whole community may be applied to redress private wrongs, as well as to repel a foreign invader. It cannot, indeed, be said that the proper use of society ( or that which we may suppose a number of persons, at first unconnected together, and of course at the mercy of their neighbours, would first think of, in forming a society) is anything more than mere security. But as they would soon find, when thus united, that it was in their power to derive much positive advantage from their union, this may also be considered as a just end of society. The danger, and it is a very great one, is, lest by aiming at too much positive artvantage, great numbers may be deprived even of that nega­ nve advantage which they first proposed to themselves, viz. security from injury and oppression, so that they shall be more incommoded than benefited by the connexion It may even happen that a great majority of the community, and ultimately the whole of it, may make such regulations as, instead of being useful, may eventually be the cause of much evil to them. For societies of men, as well as individuals, not being omniscient, may not consult the best for themselves, but miss of the very advantage they aim at, and by the very means by which they think to gain it. It would be well if the power of government was confined not only to those things in which the whole society are inter­ ested, but to those in which the power of the whole can be brought to act to the most advantage, as in defence from external injuries, which necessarily requires union, adminis­ tering justice, which requires, impartiality, and in which the parties themselves are not to be trusted ; as also in erecting some public works, and forming public institutions, useful to the whole and to posterity. Since all men naturally wish to be at Jiberty to serve them­ selves in things in which others are not concerned, and the

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good of the whole is the great rule by which everything relat­ ing to society ought to be regulated, it is evidently desirable that recourse should not be had to the power of the society, except where it can be applied with advantage; and since experience is our best guide in things of so complex a nature as the interest of large bodies of men, it is most adviseable to leave every man at perfect liberty to serve himself, till some actual inconvenience be found to result from it. As there are cases in which numbers can easily, and con­ veniently, assist individuals, so there are others in which par­ ticular individuals are best qualified to assist numbers. I n the former cases there is, therefore, a propriety in the interfer­ ence of government, but certainly not in the latter; and in this class we must rank everything that relates to the investigation of truth, and the progress of knowledge, as medicine, philos­ ophy, theology, etc., and everything in practice depending upon them in which any number of the society may volun­ tarily join without disturbing others. The reason is, that in everything of this nature, ingenious and speculative individ­ uals will always be the first to make discoveries, and it will require time to communicate them to the rest. Consequently, if the present opinions and practices of the majority of any society were imposed upon all the rest, no improvements could ever take place; and the most ingenious members of the community-those who would be the best qualified to serve it, by adding to the general stock of knowledge-would always be subject to be distressed, and to have their generous endeavours thwarted, by the interference of the more bigoted part of the community whose prejudices, against what would ultimately be for their own advantage, might in time be overcome, provided that perfect liberty was given to all per­ sons to speculate, and to act as they should judge proper. Different schemes would then be proposed by different per­ sons. The society would have the benefit of all the experi­ ments they would make ; and that scheme would at length be generally and universally adopted, which should appear to be most conducive to the good of the whole. Indeed, one of the most valuable rights of men, as indjvid­ uals, and the most important to the state itself, is that of

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giving their opinions, and endeavouring to inform others, where either their own interest, or that of the public, is con­ cerned. It is the only method of collecting and increasing the wisdom of the nation. It is therefore for the interest of the whole that, in a state of society, every man retain his natural powers of speaking, writing, and publishing his sentiments on all subjects, especially in proposing new forms of government, and censuring those who abuse any public trust. It is the easiest and best method of checking abuses. Persons may certainly do mischief by this, as well as by every other power of doing good; but it will be sufficiently checked, if every man be punished for any injury that he can be proved to have done by it to others in his property, good name, etc. But if this restriction extend to his public character and the emolu­ ments of public offices, the great use of liberty of speech and of writing will be prevented If any person be traduced as a public officer, let him vindicate himself in the same way in which he was injured, or employ his friends to do it. He has the same access to the public opinion that other persons have, and he ought to be content with it. Of those services in which it is useful for numbers to give their aid to individuals, it is not necessary that all of them should be performed by the whole society, some of those services being more conveniently performed by a particular part of it. Thus a public road, or bridge, may be most con­ veniently made by the district in which it is wanted; but the power of the state may be necessary to compel the inhabitants of that district to do it , or to direct the mode in which it should be done, whether, for example by a general contribu­ tion, or by tolls upon the use of the road or bridge. Where the latter can be done, it is the most reasonable, because every person pays in proportion to the benefit he receives. Public instruction is an object in which the whole society is interested. It may therefore be proper that the government give some attention to it. But as individuals are still more interested in it, it may be best for the state to do no more than appoint schools in every district, or direct in what man­ ner the teachers may be induced, by sufficient salaries, or the use of proper rooms, etc., to instruct all that offer themselves;

The General Principles of Good Government / 181 leaving them to derive the chief part of their maintenance from their fees for teaching. As the arts of reading and writ­ ing are of particular importance to all persons, it should seem that effectual provision ought to be made, either by rewards or punishments, that all should be instructed in them. In a very improved state of society, the occupation of each person is so limited, that in order to attain perfection in it, he must in a manner sacrifice everything else. Consequently, men would be little more than machines without some knowl­ edge of letters, and an opportunity of improving themselves by reading. In Scotland, and in North America, the judicious establishment of parish schools has enabled all the common people to read, and a great proportion of them to write and cast accounts. The provisions of government are always supposed to ex­ tend beyond the present day, the laws of society being a rule for our own future conduct and that of our posterity ; but it becomes men, as knowing themselves to be short-sighted, not to pretend to look very far into futurity, but to make provi­ sion for rectifying their mistakes whenever they shall be discovered, and to make the rectification as easy as possible. For when mankind find themselves aggrieved by any regula­ tions of their ancestors, they will, no doubt, relieve them­ selves; but, in consequence of the injudicious provisions of past ages, they may suffer extremely before they can do this. It is wise, therefore, in societies, if not expressly to appoint a formal revision of their whole constitution after a certain time, at least to do this with respect to subordinate parts, and by all means to prevent individuals from making such a dis­ posal of their property as · shall be manifestly injurious in fu­ ture ages. If the English law had not interfered in former times, such was the superstition of the people, and their sub­ jection to the priests, that the greatest part of the landed property of this kingdom would have been given to the church, and the present generation would not have had the disposal of any part of it. All alienation of property to those who have not the power of alienating it again should be carefully watched in every country, whether lands appropriated to religious or charitable

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uses, or any other object that respects future time. Otherwise, the best intentioned and the most enlightened persons may do harm when they mean to do good. For want of proper care in the management of any fund for future use, the design of it is liable to be perverted, those who superintend it not having the same upright views with those who ap­ pointed it; so that a very small advantage may be procured at a very great expense.If the provision was intended to remedy any evil, the evil itself may cease, and the fund become use­ less. The Crusades brought the leprosy into Europe, and charitable persons founded a great number of lazarettos for the reception and cure of lepers. But the leprosy is not so common at this day as many other diseases, and therefore it does not require any particular provision. When revenues are left to the disposal of trustees, they will, directly or indirectly, find a benefit to themselves, or their friends, in the trust; and so many persons will become interested in the continuance of it, that, let the abuse of prop­ erty be ever so great, a powerful interest will be formed against any reformation ; and such institutions may do much harm, before it be discovered even that they do no good. In most cases it would certainly be much better to provide temporary remedies for inconveniences, such as the relief of the poor, the maintenance of places of education, etc. If they be supported by the voluntary contributions of the living, they will be properly superintended, and they will not be con­ tinued longer than they will be found to be useful. Why should we presume that our posterity will not be as wise and as generous as ourselves? There is the greatest certainty that they will be wiser, and therefore the fairest presumption that they will be better than we are. But all perpetuities go upon the idea of there being a want of wisdom, or of public spirit in our descendants. The safe transferring as well as the secure possession of property, is a privilege which we derive from society. But it is a question among politicians, how far this privilege should extend. That all persons should have the absolute disposal of their property during their own lives, and while they have the use of their understanding, was never disputed. But some say

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there should be no testament; a man should have no power of disposing of his property after his death, but it should be distributed by the law, according to the degrees of consan­ guinity. Whereas in most, if not all the civilized states of Europe, every man has an indefinite power over his property, so that he can direct the enjoyment of it in all future time. Perhaps a medium would be the most convenient in this case. There may be good reasons ( of which private persons are the best judges) why, in particular cases, their property should not descend to their children, or nearest relations. But as no man can look into futurity, and therefore, he cannot judge what would be the best use of his property in genera­ tions yet unborn, and they who survive him will have a much better opportunity of judging, there is the same reason why it should then be at their disposal, as that for the present it should be at his. Let every person, therefore, bequeath his property to those persons in whose wisdom he can most con­ fide, but not pretend to direct them in circumstances which he will never know, and therefore cannot judge of. Indeed, the wisdom of all states is frequently obliged to interfere, and to check the caprice of individuals in the disposal of their property. A difference in industry and good fortune will introduce a difference in the conditions of men in socieiy, so that in time some will become rich, and others poor; and in case of ex­ treme old age, and particular accidents, many of the latter must perish without the assistance of the former. On this account wise statesmen will take the state of the poor into consideration. But in this respect there will be great danger of their attempting too much, and thereby encumbering them­ selves without remedying the evil. If every man who is reduced to poverty, by whatever means, be allowed to have a claim upon the common stock for subsistence, great numbers, who are indifferent about any­ thing beyond a mere subsistence, will be improvident, spend­ ing everything they get in the most extravagant manner, as knowing that they have a certain resource in the provision which the law makes for them; and the greater is the provi­ sion that is made for the poor, the more poor there will be to

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avail themselves of it; as, in general, men will not submit to labour if they can live without it. By this means, man, instead of being the most provident of animals, as he naturally would be, is the most improvident of them all. Having no occasion for foresight, he thinks of nothing beyond the present mo­ ment, and thus is reduced to a condition lower than that of the beasts. This is now become very much the case in this country, and the evil is so great and inveterate, that it is not easy to find a remedy.Better, certainly, would it have been if govern­ ment had not interfered in the case of the poor at all, except to relieve those who are reduced to poverty, or were become disabled, in the service of their country, as soldiers, seamen, etc. In this case there would , no doubt, be instances of great distress; but so there are at present, and generally of the most deserving, who decline the relief of the parish; while the idle, the impudent, and the clamorous, will have it. In general, if no provision was made for the poor by law, those who are the most truly deserving of relief would find it sooner than they now do, in the charity of the well-disposed. In this case many no doubt would give nothing to the poor. But in urgent cases something would be gotten even from them by shame; and by no means whatever can all men be made to bear an equal share of any burden. The truly well-disposed would not com­ plain of the opportunity of doing more good than others, being content with looking for their reward in a future state. The best method would perhaps be to oblige the poor to provide for themselves, by appropriating a certain proportion of their wages to that use, as is done in the case of soldiers and seamen. As they must have a present subsistence, this would only be giving the poorer sort of them a better price for their labour, and would ultimately be a tax on the product! of that labour. But it would be a much better tax, and far less expensive, than the present poor rates. If this was not done by a general law , but left to the discretion of particular towns, etc., it might be regulated so as to enforce greater industry, the appropriation being varied according to the gains of workmen. The idea of not having a perfect command of their own

The General Principles of Good Government / 185 money would, no doubt, at first give labourers and manufac­ turers much disgust, and might prevent some from engaging in manufactures. But when the regulation was fully estab­ lished, that aversion might vanish. At all events we must, out of a number of evils, choose the least.

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The Stability of Govern ments1

TuB PRESERVATION OF any constitution of government must depend upon the respect which the people have for it; and it cannot be overturned till those who have the power of doing it are both disposed to do it and have an opportunity of effecting their purpose. But the common people who have other objects to attend to will, in general, bear a great deal before they feel themselves disposed to take the trouble and run the risk of redressing public wrongs; and if they were so disposed, they might be incapable of union. Whereas the governors of a country, being few, and having a common interest, can readily assemble and take measures to keep them­ selves in power. There are, therefore, few rebellions that succeed; and when they do those who have felt the grievance have seldom thought of the proper method of redress or pre­ vention; so that the chance of being well settled after a violent revolution is very small. The people may be careful enough to avoid one extreme but they will be in great danger of falling into another. Thus the rebellions against monarchy in Greece ended in republican forms of government, so ill con­ structed that they suffered more under them than in the pre­ ceding tyrannies. The same was the case with many of the small states of Italy when they emancipated themselves from the authority of the German emperors. On the contrary, the subversion of republics has generally produced tyrannies. When a state cannot be preserved by the universal, or very general, desire of the people, it may be saved by the balancing of those powers which would tend to destroy it; and as all the different orders of men naturally wish for more power, and every individual wishes to rise above his neighbour, all governments may, in fact, be considered as in this state. It is therefore of importance so to arrange the different parts of 1

Lectures on History and General Policy (4th ed. ) ( 1826 ) , Lecture

XLIII, pp. 337-348.

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the constitution as that a struggle for power may be pre­ vented from having any dangerous effect. And perhaps it may be asserted that the more distinct interests there are in a state, the easier it will be to preserve the balance of power within it. For when there are only two interests, they will each have but one object; and any advantage they secure will not only be permanent, but be the means of gaining some farther advantage, till the whole be on one side. Whereas a third interest may preserve the balance, if no one of the three be able to overpower the other two. In this case any one can give a decided superiority to either of the other two parties, and yet may find its interest in preserving its independ­ ence, and not uniting with either of them. Our constitution is said to have this advantage as the power of the state is lodged in the king, lords, and commons. We are not, however, to be governed by names, but by things. Real power depends upon opinion, or interest. Regal power depends upon both. The mere respect for a king, in conse­ quence of his person being held sacred, does alone, in some countries, render his person and bis power inviolate whatever excesses he be guilty of, as we may see in the history of the kings of Morocco. Something of this superstitious respect for royalty is found in this country, but before the late revolution there was much more of it in France. But besides this, the power of our kings depends upon the power they have of attaching persons to them by the disposal of honours and lucrative offices, as well as by the wealth of which, as indi­ viduals, they may be possessed. These are the chief supports of the power of the crown in this country. If the king had nothing but his nominal right of a negative on the votes of both houses of parliament , it would signify nothing. He would not be a king one day after he should insist upon it. But his influence is such, by other means, that nothing is ever pre­ sented to him for his confirmation which he is not previously acquainted with, and approves. The power of the lords is better founded, as they have more real property and more natural dependents. But in this country the property of the lords is now but little compared with that of the commons, and should they take any part

The Stability of Governments / 189 against the people, their privileges would soon be abolished. But their influence in the House of Commons, directly or indirectly on the one hand, and with the king on the other, is such that there is no great danger of any bill being brought before them which they would find it their interest violently to oppose. Besides, bodies of men will always concede to each other rather than risk the consequence of an open rupture. The people in general, having had long experience of the benefit of this form of government, though great numbers of them are often aggrieved, and complain of the privileges of the nobility or of the power of the crown, yet their representa­ tives being by no means unanimous and the majority of them generally with the court, nothing can easily be effected in their favour. As so much depends upon the House of Commons and so great a part of the real power of the crown itself depends upon its influence among them , it might seem to be in the power of the members to arrogate more to themselves and to exercise the very powers that they bestow on others. Had they the power of perpetuating themselves, there would be great danger of their attempting something of this kind. But besides that their power as individuals would be small and of no long continuance, they are only the deputies of the great body of the people, who respect the government as it is, so that however willing the members of the House of Com­ mons might be to take more power into their own hands, they could not do it. The sense of the people, as we call it, though no nominal part of the constitution, is often felt to be a real check upon public measures by whomsoever they are con­ ducted; and though it is only expressed by talking, writing and petitioning, yet tumults and insurrections so often arise when the voice of the people is loud, that the most arbitrary governments dread the effects of them . When governments are of long standing, the acquiescence in them is so general that abuses in them may rise to a much greater height without endangering the constitution than in new ones which can have acquired no respect but from the persuasion of their utility, so that when forms of government have begun to change, they have often gone on to change and

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the country has been a long time in an unsettled state, till the people being weary of changes from which they have derived no benefit are disposed to acquiesce in anything that is tol­ erable. * A great means of preventing abuses of government and thereby lessening the danger of a subversion of it� is the liberty of speaking and writing. By this means the public opinion being known in good time, the abuse will not rise so high as to require a violent remedy. Governors may be teased by libels, but this is better than to be liable to be seized and . strangled before any danger be apprehended, which is the case in Turkey and the East There actions of ten precede words. Contentions for power may be as distressing to a country as attempts to change its form of government. Such are all civil wars in the East , and such were those between the houses of York and Lancaster in this country, by which it suffered more than in the civil wars in the time of Charles I, the object of which was the redress of national grievances and which terminated in a subversion of the government in which they rose. In the former case it is the ambition of individuals that is the spring of action and this could not operate unless there were such stations of wealth and power in a country as would furnish an object for such ambition. In a country, therefore, in which there are no such stations ( in which a man can enjoy for himself and transmit to his posterity, advantages much superior to those of the rest of the community) the only object of ambition must be to create such situations by persuading the people of the necessity, or the use, of them. For even force implies the voluntary concurrence of great numbers who must have a prospect of being gainers by a change; and with the advantage of force it will be more or less difficult, in proportion to the general prepossession in favour of the present government. In the monarchical states of Europe it is highly improbable that any form of properly equal government should be estab-

* This

is abundantly exemplified in the late revolutions in France.

American Edition

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; lished for many ages, the people in general, and especially in France, being proud of their monarchs, even when they are oppressed by them. * On the contrary, in North America, there seems to be no prospect of the peaceable establishment of any form of government besides one in which the rights of all shall be equal. The attachment of that country to the house of Hanover was formerly much stronger than that of this country in general. But the sense of the whole country is now strongly against monarchy in any form. They will hardly receive a stranger in the character of king, and there are no families of sufficient distinction among themselves. A sufficent degree of reverence for any form of govern­ ment in the body of the people will secure the continuance of it. For a few could never overpower the many, and make any change which the great body of the people should disap­ prove of. But a government ought to be formed in such a manner as should be most likely to gain and to preserve that degree of respect which will insure its continuance. It should provide against any man gaining that degree of power or influence which would enable him to lessen the respect for the constitution in the minds of his countrymen, and induce any considerable number of them from a regard to their personal interest, to favour his schemes of innovation. For whenever any person shall be in a situation in which he can make it the interest of others to increase his power, at the expense of the rest of the community, we may presume that he will succeed ; since the generality of mankind will prefer their private interest to the public good. No government, therefore, can be expected to stand, the constitution of which. does not make it the interest of the great body of the people to preserve it and even to watch over it, in order to prevent any encroachment upon it. So much does the stability of government depend upon opinion, and so many are the elements, as we may say, that enter into the composition of such opinions as these, that no wise man will pretend to foresee the consequences of any •

• This was written before the late revolution in France, since which the general aspect of things is greatly changed indeed, with respect to all the governments in Europe.

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great change in a complex form of government, because he could not tell how far the minds of great numbers of people would go along with his own in their approbation of it. This makes it prudent when any great changes are made, to retain at least the ancient forms and names of offices. For to these it is, in a great measure, that the public opinion is attached. Though Caesar and Augustus could safely assume the title of emperor with the most despotic power, they did not dare to take that of king; and in this country Oliver Cromwell was contented with the style of protector. In the Roman empire all the forms of the ancient free government were kept up and it was always called a free republic. So much attached does the body of a people get to the forms of government to which they have been long accus­ tomed, that it will be impossible for them all at once to exchange a worse for a better, and even which by its effects should be acknowledged to be a better. Though the governments of France and England were originally the same, or very nearly so, they are now become so different, and have been so long so, that it would be abso­ lutely impossible for the English constitution to be received in France, or the French in England. If the experiment could be made the two nations would feel as awkwardly as would two men of a different make of body on exchanging clothes. If the change extended to the minutire of things, the new officers would not be able to act their parts without constant prompting; and to teach the people in general a knowledge of their new laws, would be no less difficult than teaching them a new language. * • The revolution in the states of North America was easy. because there were few things to change. Not only did the system of law and the mode of administering it, continue the same but the general spirit of liberty which they fostered from their first establis hment in the country, though it had been infringed by the absurd policy of the mother-country, was the same; so that nothing was changed besides the executive power. There never had been any nobility in the coun­ try, no hereditary power of any kind, nor any general establishment of religion. The governors, who had before been appointed by the king of England, were afterwards chosen by the people; but they exercised the same powers with the preceding governors and in the same manner. American Edition

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It is of the greatest consequence, therefore, that no change of importance be attempted in any long-established govern­ ment, till the minds of the people be prepared for it by the experience of some inconvenience in the old one, so as to have produced a general wish for a change and, if possible, it should be made partially, and for a time, before it be finally established. An old and complex constitution of government may be compared to a part of the constitution of nature, since those who are the most conversant with it may not fully understand it. As the oldest physician is not always able to prescribe for himself, so the whole legislative body of any country are not to be trusted in their schemes of improvement. How many single laws, passed with universal approbation, are obliged to be repealed, and in a very short time, on account of inconveniences which the wisest men could not foresee? The opera­ tion of particular laws and much more the influence of a whole system of government, depend upon the principles of human nature, which are as yet but imperfectly understood. There can be no doubt, however, but that every nation has a right to make whatever changes they please in the constitu­ tion of their government, and therefore to displace, and even to punish any governors, who are only their servants, for their abuses of power in whatever manner they may have been appointed. There cannot be a greater absurdity than to suppose that the happiness of a whole nation should be sacri­ ficed to that of any individuals.It only behooves them as they must necessarily be judges in their own cause, and as they would consult their own future advantage, to proceed with great caution in any attempts to change their mode of gov­ ernment, or to punish their governors. The notion that kings reign by a divine right, independently of the designation of the people, and therefore that they are not accountable to them for the exercise of their power, is now universally and deservedly exploded. Provided states be well constituted and wisely governed, it does not seem to be of much importance whether they be of great or small extent; but if they be ill constituted, a country divided into small ones will in general be a scene of the

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greatest misery. As it requires no more hands to direct the affairs of large states than those of small ones, and great bodies of men are not easily put in motion, there is but little room for ambition in great empires. Consequently individuals apply themselves to their own affairs, and consult their own happiness, and never think of taking any part in public measures but on great emergencies such as may not occur in any one country in several centuries. But when states are small, many more persons are within the influence of ambi­ tion, factions are formed, animosity is inflamed, and one party is seldom content, without the destruction or banish­ ment of the other; as is abundantly exemplified in the history of the small states of Greece and Italy. If a great empire be tolerably well governed, private persons have long intervals of peace, it being not so easy for ambitious and interested persons to make a commotion, or a civil war, as in a small state. If men understood their real interest, and consequently saw it to consist in living on good terms with their neighbours, small states might find no inconvenience even with respect to great undertakings. For where the wealth of one state was not equal to any public work in which a number was inter­ ested, they might all join to defray the expense. But while mankind are disposed to national jealousy and hostility, it is sometimes of consequence to extend the bounds of a state, as for instance that of England over the whole island, including Wales and Scotland, because it brings an increase of strength and, what is more, cuts off occasions of war. In all governments, the largest, as well as the smallest, public business, as has been observed, will be done by a few, who have either nominally the power of the state in their hands, or who have gained the confidence of those who have. The real effective persons in the vast empire of Persia, or of Rome, were not more in number than those who transact th e same kind of business in Holland or Venice, or even in small towns and corporations, and those who do this business are not always those who are esteemed to be the wisest, or the most upright, but generally the most ambitious and bustling. Intelligent and well-disposed persons will not always give

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:'. themselves the trouble which stations of public trust nece� sarily require, and therefore easily give way to those who are willing to take it upon them, and whose interest or ambition pushes them on to do it. Considering how much interest and ambition are gratified by directing the affairs of nations, and how much more vio­ lently and steadily mankind in general are impelled by these principles than by any other, we cannot be surprised to find hardly any other than men of these characters in places of trust and power and of the two, ambition certainly makes a better statesman than avarice. The views of the former must have a connexion with the good of his country, though it be not his proper object; but the views of the latter may be the very reverse of it. No country, therefore, ought to complain if they have nothing to J.ay to the charge of their governors besides ambition, or the desire of distinguishing themselves and their families, and establishing a name with distant na­ tions and posterity, provided the rights of individuals be not sacrificed to it.

••

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On Civil and Politica l Liberty

I: The Two Kinds of Liberty1 MAN DERIVES TWO capital advantages from the superiority of his intellectual powers. The first is that, as an individual, he , possesses a certain comprehension of mind, whereby he con­ templates and enjoys the past and the future, as well as the present. This comprehension is enlarged with the experience of every day; and by this means the happiness of man, as he advances in intellect, is continually less dependent on tem­ porary circumstances and sensations. The next advantage resulting from the same principle, and which is in many respects both the cause and effect of the former, is that the human species itself is capable of a similar and unbounded improvement, whereby mankind in a later age are greatly superior to mankind in a former age, the individ­ uals being taken at the same time of life. Of this progress of the species, brute animals are more incapable than they are of that relating to individuals. No horse of this age seems to have any advantage over other horses of former ages; and if there be any improvement in the species it is owing to our manner of breeding and training them. But a man at this time, who has been tolerably well educated in an improved christian country, is a being possessed of much greater power to be, and to make happy, than a person of the same age, in the same or any other country some centuries ago. And for this reason I make no doubt that a person some centuries hence will, at the same age, be as much superior to us. The great instrument in the hand of · divine providence of · this progress of the species towards perfection, is society and consequently government. In a state of nature the powers of

1 An Essay on the First Principles of Government, and on the Nature of Political, Civil, and Religious Liberty, Including Remarks on Dr. Brown's Code of Education and on Dr. Ba/guy's Sermon on Church Authority (2nd ed.) (177 1 ) , Section I, pp. 1-10.

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any individual are dissipated by an attention to a multiplicity of objects.The employments of all are similar. From genera­ tion to generation every man does the same that every other does, or has done, and no person begins where another ends; at least, general improvements are exceedingly slow and uncertain. This we see exemplified in all barbarous nations, and especially in countries thinly inhabited, where the con­ nections of the people are slight and consequently society and government very imperfect; and it may be seen more particularly in North America and Greenland. Whereas a state of more perfect society admits of a proper distribution and division of the objects of human attention. In such a state, men are connected with and subservient to one another; so that, while one man confines himself to one single object, another may give the same undivided attention to another object. Thus the powers of all have their full effect; and hence arise improvements in all the conveniences of life and in every branch of knowledge. In this state of things it requires but a few years to comprehend the whole preceding progress of any one art or science; and the rest of a man's life, in which his faculties are the most perfect, may be given to the extension of it. If, by this means, one art or science should grow too large for an easy comprehension, in a moderate space of time a commodious subdivision will be made. Thus all knowledge will be subdivided and extended; and knowl­ edge, as Lord Bacon observes, being power, the human powers will, in fact, be enlarged; nature, including both its materials and its laws, will be more at our command; men will make their situation in this world abundantly more easy and comfortable; they will probably prolong their existence in it, and will grow daily more happy, each in himself, and more able (and, I believe, more disposed) to communicate happi­ ness to others. Thus, whatever was the beginning of this world, the end will be glorious and paradisaical, beyond what our imaginations can now conceive. Extravagant as some may suppose these views to be, I think I could show them to be fairly suggested by the true theory of human nature, and to arise from the natural course of human affairs.

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On Civil and Political Liberty / 199 But, for the present, I waive this subject, the contemplation of which always makes me happy. Government being the great instrument of this progress of the human species towards this glorious state, that form of government will have a just claim to our approbation which favours this progress, and that must be condemned in which it is retarded. Let us then, my fellow citizens, consider the business of government with these enlarged views, and trace some of the fundamental principles of it by an attention to what is most conducive to the happiness of mankind at pres,ent, and most favourable to the increase of this happiness in futurity; and, perhaps, we may understand this intricate sub­ ject with some of its most important circumstances better than we have done; at least we may see some of them in a clearer and stronger point of light. To begin with first principles, we must for the sake of gaining clear ideas on the subject, do what almost all political writers have done before us; that is, we must suppose a num­ ber of people existing who experience the inconvenience of living independent and unconnected; who are exposed, with­ out redress, to insults and wrongs of every kind, and are too weak to procure themselves many of the advantages which they are sensible might easily be compassed by united strength. These people, if they would engage the · protection of the whole body and join their force in enterprises and under: takings calculated for their common good, must voluntarily resign some part of their natural liberty and submit their conduct to the direction of the community; for without these concessions such an alliance, attended with such advantages, could not be formed. Were these people few in number, and living within a small distance of one another, it might be easy for them to assemble upon every occasion in which the whole body was concerned; and everything might be determined by the votes of the majority, provided they had previously agreed that the votes of a majority should be decisive. But were the society numer­ ous, their habitations remote and the occasions on which the whole body must interpose frequent, it would be absolutely impossible that all the members of the state should assemble,

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or give their attention to public business. In this case, though, with Rousseau, it be a giving up of their liberty, there must be deputies or public officers, appointed to act in the name of the whole body; and in a state of very great extent, where all the people could never be assembled, the whole power of the community must necessarily and almost irreversibly be lodged in the hands of these deputies. In England the king, the hereditary lords, and the electors of the House of Com­ mons are these standing deputies ; and the members of the House of Commons are, again, the temporary deputies of this last order of the state. In all states, great or small, the sentiments of that body of men in whose hands the supreme power of the society is lodged must be understood to be the sentiments of the whole body, if there be no other method in which the sentiments of the whole body can be expressed. These deputies or repre­ sentatives of the people will make a wrong judgment and pursue wrong measures if they consult not the good of the whole society, whose representatives they are; just as the people themselves would make a wrong judgment and pursue wrong measures if they did not consult their own good, pro­ vided they could be assembled for that purpose. No maxims or rules of policy can be binding upon them, but such as they themselves shall judge to be conducive to the public good. Their own reason and conscience are their only guide and the people in whose name they act, their only judge. In these circumstances, if I be asked what I mean by liberty I should choose, for the sake of greater clearness, to divide it into two kinds, political and civil, and the importance of having clear ideas on this subject will be my apology for the innovation. Political liberty, I would say, consists in the power , which the members of the state reserve to themselves, of arriving at the public offices or, at least, of having votes in the nomination of those who fill them; and I would choose to call civil liberty that power over their own actions which the members of the state reserve to themselves and which their officers must not infringe. Political liberty, therefore, is equivalent to the right of magistracy, being the claim that any member of the state hath

On Civil and Political Liberty / 201 to have his private opinion or judgment become that of the public, and thereby control the actions of others; whereas civil liberty extends no farther than to a man's own conduct, and signifies the right he has to be exempt from the control of the society or its agents ; that is, the power he has of providing for his own advantage and happiness. It is a man's civil liberty, which is originally in its full force, and part of which he sacrifices when he enters into a state of society; and political liberty is that which he may or may not acquire in the compensation he receives for it. For he may either stipu­ late to have a voice in the public determinations, or, as far as the public determination doth take place, he may submit to be governed wholly by others. Of these two kinds of liberty, which it is of the greatest importance to distinguish, I shall treat in the order in which I have mentioned them.

II: Political Liberty2 In countries where every member of the society enjoys an equal power of arriving at the supreme offices, and conse­ quently of directing the strength and the sentiments of the whole community, there is a state of the most perfect political 11 liberty. On the other hand, in countries where a man is, by 1 his birth or fortune, excluded from these offices, or from a power of voting for proper persons to fill them, that man, whatever be the form of the government, or whatever civil ' liberty or power over his own actions he may have, has no , power over those of another ; he has no share in the govern­ ment, and therefore has no political liberty at all. Nay his own conduct, as far as the society does interfere, is, in all cases, directed by others. It may be said that no society on earth was ever formed in the manner represented above. I answer, it is true; because all governments whatever have been, in some measure, com­ pulsory, tyrannical and oppressive in their origin, but the method I have described must be allowed to be the only equitable and fair method of forming a society. And since

1

: An Essay on the First Principles of Government, Section II, pp. 1 1-47.

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every man retains, and can never be deprived of his natural right (founded on a regard to the general good) of relieving himself from all oppression, that is, from everything that has been imposed upon him without his own consent, this must be the only true and proper foundation of all the gov­ ernments subsisting in the world, and that to which the people who compose them have an unalienable right to bring them back. It must necessarily be understood, therefore, whether it be expressed or not, that all people live in society for their mutual advantage; so that the good and happiness of the members, that is, the majority of the members of any state, is the great standard by which everything relating to that state must finally be determined. And though it may be sup­ posed that a body of people may be bound by a voluntary resignation of all their interests to a single person, or to a few, it can never be supposed that the resignation is obliga­ tory on their posterity; because it is manifestly contrary to the good of the whole that it should be so. I own it is rather matter of surprise to me that this great object of all government should have been so little insisted on by our great writers who have treated of this subject, and that more use hath not been made of it. In treating of par­ ticular regulations in states, this principle necessarily obtruded itself; all arguments in favour of any law being always drawn from a consideration of its tendency to promote the public good; and yet it has often escaped the notice of writers in discoursing on the first principles of society, and the subject of civil and religious liberty. This one general idea, properly pursued, throws the greatest light upon the whole system of policy, morals and, I may add, theology. To a mind not warped by theological and meta­ physical subtleties, the divine being appears to be actuated by no other views than the noblest we can conceive, the happiness of his creatures. Virtue and right conduct consist in those affections and actions which terminate in the public good; justice and veracity, for instance, having nothing intrin­ sically excellent in them, separate from their relation to the happiness of mankind; and the whole system of right to

On Civil and Political Liberty / 203 power, property, and everything else in society, must be regu­ lated by the same consideration : the decisive question , when any of these subjects are examined being, What is it that the good of the community requires? Let it be observed, in this place, that I by no means assert that the good of mankind requires a state of the most perfec,t political liberty. This, indeed, is not possible, except in ex­ ceeding small states; in none, perhaps, that are so large as even the republics of ancient Greece, or as Genoa, or Geneva in modern times. Such small republics as these, if they were desirable, would be impracticable, because a state of perfect equality, in communities or individuals, can never be pre­ served, while some are more powerful, more enterprising and more successful in their attempts than others. And an ambi­ tious nation could not wish for a fairer opportunity of arriv­ ing at extensive empire than to find the neighbouring countries cantoned out into a number of small governments, which could have no power to withstand it singly, and which could never form sufficiently extensive confederacies, or act with sufficient unanimity and expedition to oppose it with success. Supposing, therefore, that in order to prevent the greatest of all inconvenience, very extensive and consequently absolute monarchies, it may be expedient to have such states as Eng­ land, France, and Spain; political liberty must, in some measure, be restrained; but in what manner a restraint should be put upon it, or how far it should extend, is not easy to be ascertained. In general it should seem that none but persons of considerable fortune should be capable of arriving at the highest offices in the government; not only because, all other circumstances being equal, such persons will generally have had the best education and consequently be the best qualified to act for the public good, but because also they will neces­ sarily have the most property at stake, and will, therefore, be most interested in the fate of their country. Let it be observed, however, that what may be called a moderate fortune ( though a thing of so variable a nature cannot be defined ) should be considered as equivalent in this respect to the most affluent one. Persons who are born to a moderate fortune are, indeed, generally better educated, have

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consequently more enlarged minds and are, in all respects, more truly independent than those who are born to great opulence. For the same reason it may, perhaps, be more eligible, that those who are extremely dependent should not be allowed to have votes in the nomination of the chief magistrates; because this might, in some instances, be only throwing more votes into the hands of those persons on whom they depend. But if, in every state of considerable extent, we suppose a grada­ tion of elective offices, and if we likewise suppose the lowest classes of the people to have votes in the nomination of -the lowest officers and, as they increase in wealth and importance, to have a share in the choice of persons to fill the higher posts, till they themselves be admitted candidates for places of public trust; we shall, perhaps, form an idea of as much political liberty as is consistent with the state of mankind. And I think experience shows that the highest offices of all, equivalent to that of king, ought to be, in some measure, hereditary as in England, elective monarchies having gener­ ally been the theatres of cabal, confusion and misery. It must be acknowledged, however, to be exceedingly hazardous to the liberties of a people to have any office of importance frequently filled by the same persons or their descendants. The boundaries of very great power can never be so exactly defined but that, when it becomes the interest of men to extend them and when so flattering an object is kept a long time in view, opportunities will be found for the purpose. What nation would not have been enslaved by the uncontroverted succession of only three such princes as Henry IV of France, Henry VII of England or the present king of Prussia? The more accomplished and glorious they were as warriors or statesmen, the more dangerous would they be as princes in free states. It is nothing but the con­ tinual fear of a revolt in favour of some rival that could keep such princes within any bounds, i.e. that could make it their interest to court the favour of the people. Hereditary nobles stand in the same predicament with hereditary princes. The long continuance of the same parlia­ ments have also the same tendency. And had not these things,

On Civil and Political Liberty / 205 together with an independent ecclesiastical power, been won­ derfully balanced in our constitution, it could never have stood so long. The more complex any machine is, and the more nicely it is fitted to answer its purpose, the more liable it is to disorder. The more avenues there are to arbitrary power, the more attention it requires to guard them; and with all the vigilance of the people of these nations, they have more than once been obliged to have recourse to the sword. The liberties we now enjoy, precarious as they are, have not been purchased without blood. Though it be very evident that no office of great trust and power should be suffered to continue a long time in the same hands, the succession might be so rapid that the remedy would be worse than the disease. With respect to this nation it seems to be agreed that septennial parliaments have brought our liberties into very eminent hazard, and that triennial, if not annual parliaments would be better. Indeed septennial parliaments were at first a direct usurpation of the rights 9f the people; for by the same authority that one parliament prolonged their own power to seven years, they might have continued it to twice seven, or, like the parliament in 1 641 , have made it perpetual. The bulk of the people never see the most obvious tendencies of things or so flagrant a violation of the constitution would never have been suffered. But whereas a general clamour might have prevented the evil, it may re­ quire something more to redress it. But though the exact medium of political liberty, with respect either to the property of men i n offices of trust or to their continuance in power be not easily fixed, it is not of much consequence to do it; since a considerable degree of perfection in government will admit of great varieties in this respect; and the extreme of political slavery, which excludes all persons, except one, or a very few, from having access to the chief magistracy, or from having votes in the choice of magistrates, and which keeps all the power of the state in the same hands, or the same families, is easily marked out, and the fatal effects of it are very striking. For such is the state of mankind that persons possessed of unbounded power will generally act as if they forgot the proper nature and design

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of their station and pursue their own interest, though it be opposite to that of the community at large. Provided those who make laws submit to them themselves and, with respect to taxes in particular, so long as those who impose them bear an equal share with the rest of the com­ munity, there will be no complaint. But in all cases when those who lay the tax upon others exempt themselves, there is tyranny; and the man who submits to a tax of a penny levied in this manner, is liable to have the last penny he has extorted from him. Men of equal rank and fortune with those who usually compose the English House of Commons have nothing to fear from the imposition of taxes, so long as there is anything like rotation in that office; because those who impose them are liable to pay them themselves, and are no better able to bear the burden; but persons of lower rank, and especially those who have no votes in the election of members, may have reason to fear, because an unequal part of the burden may be laid upon them. They are necessarily a distinct order in the community, and have no direct method of controlling the measures of the legislature. Our increasing game-laws have all the appearance of the haughty decrees of a tyrant, who sacrifices everything to his own pleasure and caprice. Upon these principles it is evident that there must have been a gross inattention to the very first principles of liberty, to say nothing worse, in the first scheme of taxing the inhabi­ tants of America in the British parliament. But if there be any truth in the principles above laid down it must be a fundamental maxim in all governments that if any man hold what is called a high rank, or enjoy privilege, and prerogatives in a state, it is because the good of the state requires that he should hold that rank, or enjoy those privi­ leges; and such persons, whether they be called kings, sena­ tors, or nobles, or by whatever names or titles they be dis,­ tinguished are, to all intents and purposes the servants of the public, and accountable to the people for the discharge of their respective offices. If such magistrates abuse their trust, in the people therefore lies the right of deposing and consequently of punishing them.

On Civil and Political Liberty / 207 And the only reason why abuses which have crept into offices have been connived at is that the correcting of them, by having recourse to first principles, and the people taking into their own hands their. right to appoint or change their officers, and to ascertain the bounds of their authority, is far from being easy, except in small states, so that the remedy would often be worse than the disease. But in the largest states, if the abuses of government should at any time be great and manifest; if the servants of the people, forgetting their masters, and their masters' interests, should pursue a separate one of their own; if, instead of con­ sidering that they are made for the people they should con­ sider the people as made for them; if the oppressions and violations of right should be great, flagrant, and universally resented; if the tyrannical governors should have no friends but a few sycophants, who had long preyed upon the vitals of their fellow citizens, and who might be expected to desert a government, whenever their interests should be detached from it; if, in consequence of these circumstances, it should become manifest that the risk which would be run in attempt­ ing a revolution would be trifling, and the evils which might be apprehended from it were far less than those which were actually suffered and which were daily increasing; in the name of God, I ask , what principles are those, which ought to restrain an injured and insulted people from asserting their natural rights and from changing or even punishing their governors, that is their servants; who had abused their trust; or from altering the whole form of their government, if it appeared to be of a structure so liable to abuse? To say that these forms of government have been long established and that these oppressions have been long suffered without any complaint, is to supply the strongest argument for their abolition. Lawyers who are governed by rules and precedents are very apt to fall into mistakes, in determining what is right and lawful, in cases which are, in their own nature, prior to any fixed laws or precedents. The only reason for the authority of precedents and general rules in matters of law and government is that all persons may know what is law; which they could not do if the administration of it was

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not uniform and the same in similar cases. But if the prece­ dents and general rules themselves be a greater grievance than the violation of them, and the establishment of better prece­ dents and better general rules, what becomes of their obliga­ tion? The necessity of the thing, in the changing course of human affairs, obliges all governments to alter their general rules and to set up new precedents in affairs of less impor­ tance; and why may not a proportionably greater necessity plead as strongly for the alteration of the most general rules and for setting up new precedents in matters of the greatest consequence, affecting the most fundamental principles of any government and the distribution of power among its several members? Nothing can more justly excite the indignation of an honest and oppressed citizen than to hear a prelate who enjoys a considerable benefice under a corrupt government, pleading for its support by those abominable perversions of scripture which have been too common on this occasion : as by urging in its favour that passage of St. Paul, "The powers which be are ordained of God," and others of a similar import. It is a sufficient answer to such an absurd quotation as this, that for the same reason the powers which will be will be ordained of God also. Something, indeed, might have been said in favour of the dootrines of passive obedience and non-resistance, at the time when they were first started; but a man must be infatuated who will not renounce them now. The Jesuits about two cen­ turies ago, in order to vindicate their king-killing principles, happened, among other arguments, to make use of this great and just principle, that all civil power is ultimately derived from the people; and their adversaries in England and else­ where, instead of showing how they abused and perverted that fundamental principle of all government in the case in question, did what disputants warmed with controversy are very apt to do : they denied the principle itself, and main­ tained that all civil power is derived from God, as if the Jewish theocracy had been established throughout the whole world. From this maxim it was a clear consequence that the governments which at any time subsist, being the ordinance

On Civil and Political Liberty / 209 of God, and the kings which are at any time upon the throne, being the vicegerents of God, must not be opposed. So long as there were recent examples of good kings de­ posed, and some of them massacred by wild enthusiasts, some indulgence might be allowed to those warm but weak friends of society who would lay hold of any principle which, how­ ever ill founded, would supply an argument for more effectu­ ally preserving the public peace; but to maintain the same absurd principles at this day, when the danger from which they served to shelter us is over, and the heat of controversy is abated, shows the strongest and most blameable preposses­ sion. Writers in defence of them do not deserve a serious answer: and to allege those principles in favour of a corrupt government, which nothing can excuse but their being brought in favour of a good one, is unpardonable. The history of this controversy about the doctrine of pas­ sive obedience and non-resistance, affords a striking example of the danger of having recourse to false principles in con­ troversy. They may serve a particular turn, but in other cases may be capable of the most dangerous application; whereas universal truth will, in all possible cases, have the best conse­ quences and be ever favourable to the true interests of man­ kind. It will be said that it is opening a door to rebellion to assert that magistrates , abusing their power, may be set aside by the people, who are of course their own judges when that power is abused. May not the people, it is said, abuse their power, as well as their governors. I answer, it is very possible they may abuse their power: it is possible they may imagine themselves oppressed when they are not: it is possible that their animosity may be artfully and unreasonably in­ flamed by ambitious and enterprising men, whose views are often best answered by popular tumults and insurrections ; and the people may suffer in consequence of their folly and precipitancy. But what man is there, or what body of men ( whose right to direct their own conduct was never called in question) but are liable to be imposed upon, and to suffer in consequence of their mistaken apprehensions and precipitate conduct?

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With respect to large societies, it is very improbable, that the people should be too soon alarmed, so as to be driven to these extremities. In such cases the power of the government, that is, of the governors, must be very extensive and arbitrary; and the power of the people scattered, and difficult to be united; so that , if a man have common sense, he will see it to be madness to propose, or to lay any measures for a general insurrection against the government, except in case of very general and great oppression. Even patriots, in such circum­ stances, will consider that present evils always appear greater in consequence of their being present; but that the future evils of a revolt and a temporary anarchy may be much greater than are apprehended at a distance. They will, also, consider that unless their measures be perfectly well laid and their success decisive, ending in a change not of men but of things, not of governors but of the rules and administration of gov­ ernment, they will only rivet their chains the faster and bring upon themselves and their country tenfold ruin. So obvious are these difficulties that lie in the way of pro­ curing redress of grievances by force of arms, that I think we may say without exception that in all cases of hostile opposition to government, the people must have been in the right; and that nothing but very great oppression could drive them to such desperate measures. The bulk of a people seldom so much as complain without reason, because they never think of complaining till they feel, so that in all cases of dis­ satisfaction with government, it is most probable that the people are injured. As to what is called the crime of rebellion, we have nothing to do either with the name or the thing in the case before us. That term, if it admit of any definition, is an attempt to subvert a lawful government; but the question is whether an oppressive government, though it have been ever so long established, can be a lawful one; or, to cut off all dispute about words, if lawful, legal and constitutional, be maintained to be the same thing, whether the lawful, legal and consti­ tutional government be a good government or one in which

On Civil and Political Liberty / 2ll sufficient provision is made for the happiness of the subjects of it. If it fail in this essential character, respecting the true end and object of all civil government, no other property or title, with which it rnay be dignified, ought to shelter it from the generous attack of the noble and daring patriot. If the bold attempt be precipitate and unsuccessful, the tyrannical government will be sure to term it rebellion, but that censure cannot make the thing itself less glorious. The memory of such brave, though unsuccessful and unfortunate friends of liberty and of the rights of mankind as that of Hannodius and Aristogiton among the Athenians, and Russell and Sid­ ney in our own country will be held in everlasting honour by their grateful fellow citizens; and history will speak another language than laws. If it be asked how far a people may lawfully go in punish­ ing their chief magistrate, I answer that, if the enormity of the offence (which is of the same extent as the injury done to the public) be considered, any punishment is justifiable that a man can incur in human society. It may be said there are no laws to punish those governors, and we must not condemn persons by laws made ex post facto; for this conduct will vindicate the most obnoxious measures of the most tyrannical administration. But I answer that this is a case in its own nature, prior to the establishment of any laws whatever; as it affects the very being of society and defeats the principal ends for which recourse was originally had to it. There may be no fixed law against an open invader who should attempt to seize upon a country with a view to enslave all its inhabi­ tants; but must not the invader be apprehended, and even put to death, though he have broken no express law then in being, or none of which he was properly apprized. And why should a man, who takes the advantage of his being king, or governor, to subvert the laws and liberties of his country, be considered in any other light than that of a foreign in­ vader? Nay his crime is much more atrocious , as he was appointed the guardian of the laws and liberties, which he subverts, and which he was, therefore, under the strongest obligation to maintain. In a case, therefore, of this highly criminal nature, salus

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p op uli sup rema est lex. That must be done which the good of the whole requires; and, generally, kings deposed, ban­ ished, or imprisoned, are highly dangerous to a nation ; be­ cause, let them have governed ever so ill, it will be the interest of some to be their partisans, and to attach them­ selves to their cause.

The sum of what hath been advanced upon this head is a maxim, than which nothing is more true, that every gov­ ernment in its original principles, and antecedent to its pres­ ent form, is an equal republic; and consequently that every man, when he comes to be sensible of his natural rights, and to feel his own importance, will consider himself as fully equal to any other person whatever. The consideration of riches · and power, however acquired, must be entirely set aside when we come to these first principles. The very idea of property, or right of any kind, is founded upon a regard to the general good of the society under whose protection it is enjoyed; and nothing is properly a man's own but what general rules, which have for their object the good of the whole, give to him. To whomsoever the society delegates its power, it is delegated to them for the more easy management of public affairs and in order to make the more effectual pro­ vision for the happiness of the whole. Whoever enjoys prop­ erty or riches in the state, enjoys them for the good of the state, as well as for himself; and whenever those powers, riches, or rights of any kind are abused, to the injury of the whole, that awful and ultimate tribunal in which every citi­ zen hath an equal voice may demand the resignation of them; and in circumstances where regular commissions from this abused public cannot be bad, every man who bas power and who is actuated with the sentiments of the public may assume a public character, and bravely redress public wrongs. In such dismal and critical circumstances the stifled voice of an oppressed country is a loud call upon every man, pos­ sessed with a spirit of patriotism, to exert himself; and whenever that voice shall be at liberty it will ratify and applaud the action, which it could not formally authorize.

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In large states this ultimate seat of power, this tribunal to which lies an appeal from every other, and from which no appeal can even be imagined, is too much hid and kept out of sight by the present complex forms of government, which derive their autho1 ity from it. Hence hath arisen a want of clearness and consistency in the language of the friends of liberty. Hence the preposterous and slavish maxim, that whatever is enacted by that body of men in whom the su­ preme power of the state is vested must, in all cases, be implicitly obeyed; and that no attempt to repeal an unjust law can be vindicated, beyond a simple remonstrance ad­ dressed to the legislators. A case, which is very intelligible, but which can never happen, will demonstrate the absurdity of such a maxim. Suppose the king of England, and the two houses of parlia­ ment, should make a law in all the usual forms, to exempt the members of either house from paying taxes to the government, or to take to themselves the property of their fellow citizens. A law like this would open the eyes of the whole n ation and show them the true principles of govern­ ment, and the power of governors. The nation would see that the most regular governments may become tyrannical and their governors oppressive by separating their interest from that of the people whom they govern. Such a law would show them to be but servants and servants who had shamefully abused their trust. In such a case, every man for himself would lay his hand upon his sword, and the authority of the supreme power of the state would be annihilated. So plain are these first principles of all government and political liberty that I will take upon me to say it is im­ possible a man should not be convinced of them, who brings to the subject a mind free from the grossest and meanest prejudices. Whatever be the form of any government, who­ ever be the supreme magistrates or whatever be their mun­ ber; that is, to whomsoever the power of the society is dele­ gated, their authority is, in its own nature, reversible. No man can be supposed to resign his natural liberty but on condi­ tions. These conditions, whether they be expressed or not, must be violated, whenever the plain and obvious ends of

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government are not answered; and a delegated power, per­ verted from the intention for which it was bestowed, expires of course. Magistrates, therefore, who consult not the good of the public, and who employ their power to oppress the people, are a public nuisance, and their power is abrogated ipso facto. This, however, can only be the case in extreme oppression; when the blessings of society and civil government, great and important as they are , are bought too dear; when it is better not to be governed at all, than to be governed in such a manner; or , at least, when the hazard of a change of gov­ ernment would be apparently the less evil of the two; and therefore these occasions rarely occur in the course of hu­ man affairs. It may be asked, what should a people do in case of less general oppression, and only particular griev­ ances; when the deputies of the people make laws which evidently favour themselves, and bear hard upon the body of the people they represent, and such as they would certainly disapprove, could they be assembled for that purpose? I answer, that when this appears to be very clearly the case, as it ought by all means to do ( since, in many cases, if the government have not power to enforce a bad law, it will not have power to enforce a good one) the first step which a wise and moderate people will take is to make a remon­ strance to the legislature; and if that be not practicable, or be not heard, still, if the complaints be general and loud , a wise prince and ministry will pay regard to them; or they will at length be weary of enforcing a penal law which is generally abhorred and disregarded; when they see the people will run the risk of the punishment, if it cannot be evaded, rather than quietly submit to the injunction. And a regard to the good of society will certainly justify this conduct of the people. If an over scrupulous conscience should prevent the people from expressing their sentiments in this manner, there is no method left until an opportunity offers of choosing honester deputies, in which the voice of the lowest classes can be heard, in order to obtain the repeal of an oppressive law. Governors will never be awed by the voice of the people,

On Civil and Political Liberty / 215 so long as it is a mere voice, without overt acts. The conse­ quence of these seemingly moderate maxims is that a door will be left open to all kinds of oppression, without any resource or redress, till the public wrongs be accumulated to the degree abovementioned, when all the world would justify the utter subversion of the government. These maxims, therefore, admit of no remedy but the last and most hazard­ ous of all. But is not even a mob a less evil than a rebellion, and ought the former to be so severely blamed by writers on this subject, when it may prevent the latter? Of two evils of any kind, political as well as others, it is the dictate of common sense to choose the less. Besides, according to com­ mon notions, avowed by writers upon morals on less general principles, and by lawyers too, all penal laws give a man an alternative, either to abstain from the action prohibited, or to take the penalty. ill: Civil Liberty3 It is a matter of the greatest importance, that we carefully distinguish between the form and the extent of power in a government; for many maxims in politics depend upon the one, which are too generally ascribed to the other. It is comparatively of small consequence who, or how many, be our governors, or how long their office continues, provided their power be the same while they are in office, and the administration be uniform and certain. All the differ­ ence which can arise to states from diversities in the number or continuance of governors can only flow from the motives and opportunities which those different circumstances may give their deputies, of extending or making a bad use of their power. But whether a people enjoy more or fewer of their natural rights, under any form of government, is a matter of the last importance; and upon this depends what I should choose to call the civil liberty of the state, as distinct from its political liberty. If the power of government be very extensive, and the suba An Essay on the First Principles of Government, Section Ill, pp. 48-72.

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jects of it have, consequently, little power over their own ac­ tions, that government is tyrannical and oppressive; whether, with respect to its form, it be a monarchy, an aristocracy, or even a republic. For the government of the temporary magistrates of a democracy, or even the laws themselves may be as tyrannical as the maxims of the most despotic mon­ archy, and the administration of the government may be as destructive of private happiness. The only consolation that a democracy suggests in those circumstances is that every member of the state has a chance of arriving at a share in the chief magistracy, and consequently of playing the tyrant in his turn ; and as there is no government in the world so perfectly democratical as that every member of the state, without exception, has a right of being admitted into the administration, great numbers will be in the same condition as if they had lived under the most absolute monarchy; and this is, in fact, almost universally the case with the poor in all governments. For the same reason, if there were no fixed laws, but every­ thing was decided according to the will of the persons in power, who is there that would think it of much consequence, whether his life , his liberty, or his property were at the mercy of one, of a few, or of a great number of people, that is, of a mob, liable to the worst of influences? So far, therefore, we may safely say, with Mr. Pope, that those gov­ ernments which are best administered are best: that is, pro­ vided the power of government be moderate, and leave a man the most valuable of his private rights ; provided the laws be certainly known to everyone, and the administration of them be uniform, it is of no consequence how many, or how few persons, are employed in the administration. But it must be allowed that there is not the same chance for the continuance of such laws and of such an administration, whether the power be lodged in few or in more hands. The governments now subsisting in Europe differ widely in their forms; but it is certain that the present happiness of the subjects of them can by no means be estimated by a regard to that circumstance only. It depends chiefly upon the power, the extent, and the maxims of government, respecting

/ 217 personal security, private property, etc. and on the certainty and uniformity of the administration. Civil liberty has been greatly impaired by an abuse of the maxim that the joint understanding of all the members of a state, properly collected, must be preferable to that of individuals; and consequently that the more the cases are in which mankind are governed by this united reason of the whole community, so much the better; whereas in truth the greater part of human actions are of such a nature that more inconvenience would follow from their being fixed by laws than from their being left to every man's arbitrary will. We may be assisted in conceiving the nature of this species of liberty, by considering what it is that men propose to gain by entering into society. Now it is evident that we are not led to wish for a state of society by the want of anything that we can conveniently procure for ourselves. As a man, and a member of civil society, I am desirous to receive such assistance as numbers can give to individuals, but by no means that assistance which numbers, as such, cannot give to individuals ; and least of all, such as individuals are better qualified to impart to numbers. There are many things re­ specting human happiness that properly fall under the two last mentioned classes , and the great difficulty concerning the due extent of civil government lies in distinguishing the objects that belong to these classes. Little difficulty, how­ ever, has in fact arisen from the nature of the things, in comparison of the difficulties that have been occasioned by its being the interest of men to combine, confound, and perplex them. As far as mere strength can go, it is evident that numbers may assist an individual and this seems to have been the first, if not the only, reason for having recourse to society. If I be injured and not able to redress my own wrongs, I ask help of my neighbours and acquaintance; and occasion may arise in which the more assistance I can procure, the better. But I can seldom want the assistance of numbers in manag­ ing my domestic affairs, which require nothing but my own constant inspection, and the immediate application of my own faculties. In this case, therefore, any attempt of munOn Civil and Political Liberty

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hers to assist me would only occasion embarrassment and distress. For the purpose of finding out truth, individuals are always employed to assist multitudes; for, notwithstanding it be probable that more discoveries will be made by a number of persons than by one person , and although one person may assist another in suggesting and perfecting any improvements in science; yet still they all act as independent individuals, giving voluntary information and advice. For whenever num­ bers have truth or knowledge for their objects, and act as a collective body, i.e. authoritatively, so that no single person can have power to determine anything till the majority have been brought to agree to it, the interests of knowledge will certainly suffer, there is so little prospect of the prejudices of the many giving way to the better judgment of an indi­ vidual. Here there is a case in which society must always be benefited by individuals, as such, and not by numbers in a collective capacity. It is least of all therefore for the ad­ vancement of knowledge that I should be induced to wish for the authoritative interposition of society. In this manner it might not be a very difficult thing fo1 candid and impartial persons to fix reasonable bounds fo1 the interposition of laws and government. They are defective when they leave an individual destitute of that assistance which they could procure for him, and they are burdensome and oppressive i.e. injurious to the natural rights and civil liberties of mankind, when they lay a man under unnecessary restrictions, by controlling his conduct and preventing him from serving himself, with respect to those things in which they can yield him no real assistance and in providing fo1 which he is in no danger of injuring others. This question may be further illustrated by two pretty jus1 comparisons. Magistrates are the servants of the public, and therefore the use of them may be illustrated by that oJ servants. Now let a man's fortune or his incapacity be sucb that his dependence on servants is ever so great; there mus1 be many things that he will be obliged to do for himself and in which any attempt to assist him would only embarr� and distress him; and in many cases in which persons do make

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' use of servants, they would be much more at their ease if their situation would allow them to do without their assist­ ance. If magistrates be considered in the more respectable light of representatives and deputies of the people, it should , likewise be considered that there are many cases in which : it is more convenient for a man to act in person than by any deputation whatever. In some respects, however, it must be acknowledged that the proper extent of civil government is not easily circum­ scribed within exact limits. That the happiness of the whole ; community is the ultimate end of government can never be doubted, and all claims of individuals inconsistent with the public good are absolutely null and void; but there is a real difficulty in determining what general rules, respecting the extent of the power of government or of governors, are most conducive to the public good. I Some may think it best that the legislature should make I express provision for everything which can even indirectly, remotely, and consequentially, affect the public good; while I others may think it best that everything which is not properly i of a civil nature should be entirely overlooked by the civil magistrate; that it is for the advantage of the society, upon the whole, that all these things be left to take their own natural course, and that the legislature cannot interfere in them, without defeating its own great object, the public good. We are so little capable of arguing a priori in matters of government, that it should seem experiments only can de­ termine how far this power of the legislature ought to extend; and it should likewise seem that, till a sufficient number of experiments have been made, it becomes the wisdom of the civil magistracy to take as little upon its hands as possible, and never to interfere without the greatest caution in things that do not immediately affect the lives, liberty or property of the members of the community; that civil magistrates should hardly ever be moved to exert themselves by the mere tendencies of things-those tendencies are generally so vague and often so imaginary; and that nothing but a mani­ fest and urgent necessity ( of which, however, themselves are to be sure the only judges) can justify them in extending

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their authority to whatever has no more than a tendency, though the strongest possible, to disturb the tranquility and the happiness of the state. There can be no doubt but that any people, forming them­ selves into a society, may subject themselves to whateveI restrictions they please; and consequently that the supreme civil magistrates, on whom the whole power of the society is devolved, may make what laws they please; but the ques­ tion is, what restrictions and laws are wise, and calculated to promote the public good ; for such only are just, right and properly speaking, lawful. Political and civil liberty as before explained, though very different, have, however, a very near and manifest connec­ tion; and the former is the chief guard of the latter, and on that account, principally, it is valuable, and worth con­ tending for. If all the political power of this country were lodged in the bands of one person, and the governmen1 thereby changed into an absolute monarchy, the people would find no difference, provided the same laws and the same administration which now subsist, were continued. But then the people, having no political liberty, would have no security for the continuance of the same laws and the same adminis­ tration. They would have no guard for their civil liberty. The monarch, having it in his option, might not choose to continue the same laws and the same administration. He might fancy it to be for his own interest to alter them, and to abridge his subjects in their private rights; and, in general, it may be depended upon that governors will not consul1 the interest of the people, except it be their own interest too, because governors are but men. But while a number of the people have a share in the legislature, so as to be able to control the supreme magistrate, there is a great probability that things will continue in a good state. For the more po­ litical liberty the people have, the safer is their civil liberty. There may, however, be some kind of guard for civil liberty, independent of that which is properly called political. For the supreme magistrate, though nominally he have aU the power of the state in his hands, and without violating

/ 221 any of the forms of the constitution, may enact and execute what laws he pleases, yet his circumstances may be such as shall lay him under what is equivalent to a natural impossi­ bility of doing what he would choose. And I do not here mean that kind of restraint which all arbitrary princes are under, from the fear of a revolt of their subjects; which is often the consequence of great oppression, but from what may be called the spirit of the times. Magistrates, being men, cannot but have, in some measure, the feelings of other men. They could not, therefore, be happy themselves if they were conscious that their conduct exposed them to universal hatred and contempt. Neither can they be altogether indifferent to the light in which their characters and conduct will appear to posterity. For their , own sakes, therefore, they will generally pay some regard to the sentiments of their people. The more civilized any country is, the more effectual will this kind of guard to political liberty prove ; because, in those circumstances, a sense of justice and honour have got firmer hold of the minds of men; so that a violation of them would be more sensibly felt and more generally and strongly resented. For this reason a gentleman of fashion and fortune has much less to dread in France, or in Denmark, than in Turkey. The confiscation of an overgrown rich man's effects, without any cause as­ signed, would make no great noise in the latter, whereas in those countries in which the forms of law and liberty have been long established, they necessarily carry with them more or less of the substance also. There is not, I believe, any country in Europe in which a man could be condemned and his effects confiscated, but a crime must be alleged and a process of law be gone through. The confirmed habit of thinking in these countries is such that no prince could dispense with these formalities. He would be deemed insane if he should attempt to do otherwise; the succession would be set aside in favour of the next heir by the general consent of the people, and the revolution would take place without blood shed. No person standing near any European prince would hesitate what to On Civil and Political Liberty

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do if his sovereign should attempt to cut off a man's head out of mere wantonness and sport, a thing that would only strike the beholders with awe in some foreign courts. Should the English government become arbitrary and the people disgusted with the conduct of their parliaments, do what the people of Denmark have done, choose their sov­ ereign for their perpetual representative, and surrender into his hands all the power of state; the forms of a free govern­ ment have been so long established that the most artful tyrant would be a long time before he could render life and prop­ erty as precarious as it is even in France. The trial by juries in ordinary cases would stand a long time; the habeas corpus would, generally at least, continue in force and all execu­ tions would be in public. It may be questioned whether the progress to absolute slavery and insecurity would be more rigid if the king were nominally arbitrary or only virtually so, by uniformly in­ fluencing the House of Commons. In some respects, so large a body of men would venture upon things which no single person would choose to do of his own authority; and so long as they had little intercourse but with one another they would not be much affected with the sense of fear or shame. One may safely say that no single member of the house would have had the assurance to decide as the majority have often done, in cases of con­ troverted elections. But on the other hand as the members of the House of Commons necessarily spend a great part of the summer months with their friends in the country they could not show their faces after passing an act by which gentlemen like themselves, or even their electors, should be much aggrieved; though they may now and then oppress the poor by unreason­ able game acts, etc., because they never converse with any of the poor except -their immediate dependents, who would not choose to remonstrate on the subject. Besides, so long as the members of parliament are elected, though only once in seven years, those of them that are really chosen by the people can have no chance of being re-elected

On Civil and Political Liberty / 223 but by pleasing the people; and many of them would not choose to reduce themselves and their posterity, out of the house, to a worse condition than they originally were. Let them be ever so obsequious to a court, they will hardly choose to deprive themselves of all power of giving anything for the future. Independent, therefore, of all conviction of mind, there must be a minority in the house, whose clamour and opposi­ tion will impede the progress of tyranny; whereas a king, surrounded by his guards, and a cringing nobility, has no check. If, however, he be a man of sense and read history, he may comprehend the various causes of the extreme inse­ curity of despotic princes; many of whom have appeared in all the pomp of power in the morning, and have been in prison without eyes, or massacred and dragged about the streets before night. At all adventures I should think it more wise to bear with a tyrannical parliament, though a more expensive mode of servitude for the present than an arbitrary prince. So lorig as there is power that can nominally put a negative upon the proceedings of the court, there is some chance that cir­ cumstances may arise in which the prince may not be able to influence them. They may see the necessity, if not the wisdom, of complying with the just desires of the people; and by passing a few fundamentally good laws, true freedom may be established for ages; whereas, were the old forms of constitutional liberty once abolished, as in France, there would be little hope of their revival. Whenever the House of Commons shall be so abandonedly corrupt as to join with the court in abolishing any of the essential forms of the constitution, or effectually defeating the great purposes of it, let every Englishman, before it be too late, re-peruse the history of his country, and do what Eng­ lishmen are renowned for having formerly done in the same circumstances. Where civil liberty is entirely divested of its natural guard, political liberty should not hesitate to prefer the government of one, to that of a number; because a sense of shame would

224 / The Political Theorist have less influence upon them and they would keep one another in countenance, in cases in which any single person would yield to the sense of the majority. Political and civil liberty have many things in common, which indeed is the reason why they have been so often confounded. A sense both of political and civil slavery makes a man think meanly of himself. The feeling of his insignifi­ cance debases his mind, checks every great and enterprising sentiment, and, in fact, renders him that poor abject creature which he fancies himself to be. Having always some unknown evil to fear, though it should never come, he has no perfect enjoyment of himself, or of any of the blessings of life; and thus, his sentiments and his enjoyments being of a lower kind, the man sinks nearer to the state of the brute creation. On the other hand, a sense of political and civil liberty, though there should be no great occasion to exert it in the cou·rse of a man's life, gives him a constant feeling of his own power and importance, and is the foundation of his indulging a free, bold and manly turn of thinking, unrestrained by the most distant idea of control. Being free from all fear, he has the most perfect enjoyment of himself, and of all the bless­ ings of life; and his sentiments and enjoyments being raised, his very being is exalted, and the man makes nearer ap­ proaches to superior natures. Without a spirit of liberty, and a feeling of security and independence, no great improvements in agriculture or any­ thing else will ever be made by men. A man has but poor encouragement to bestow labour and expense upon a piece of ground, in which he has no secure property, and when neither himself nor his posterity will, probably, ever derive any permanent advantage from it . . . . In arbitrary governments the poor are certainly the most safe, as their condition exhibits nothing that can attract the notice or tempt the violence of a tyrant. If therefore a man aspire to nothing more than to get his bread by the labour of his hands, in some customary employment, he has little to fear, let him live where he will. Like the ass in the fable, he can but bear his burden. No governments can do without labourers and artisans. It is their interest to protect them,

On Civil and Political Liberty / 225 and especially those who are dexterous in the more elegant arts that are subservient to luxury. But the poorest can hardly be- without some degree of am­ bition, except when that generous principle bas been long repressed, and in a manner eradicated, by a continual habit of slavery; and the moment that a man thinks of rendering himself in any respect conspicuous for his wealth, knowledge or influence of any kind, he begins to be in danger. If he have but a very handsome wife, he must not live near a despotic court, or in the neighbourhood of any great man who is countenanced by it.If he have wealth he must bide it, and enjoy it in secret, with fear and trembling; and if he have sense and think differently from bis neighbours, be must do the same, or risk the fate of Galileo.

On Toleration 1

· THE MOST IMPORTANT question concerning the extent of civil government is, whether the civil magistrate ought to extend his authority to matters of religion; and the only method of deciding this important question, as it appears to me, is to have recourse at once to first principles, and the ultimate rule concerning every thing that respects a society; viz. whether such interference of the civil magistrate appear to · be for the public good. And as all arguments a priori in matters of policy, are apt to be fallacious, fact and experi-­ ence seem to be our only safe guides. Now these, as far as our knowledge of history extends, declare clearly for no I interference in this case at all, or, at least, for as little as is I possible. Those societies have ever enjoyed the most happi� l ness, and have been, ceteris paribus, in the most flourishing state, where the civil magistrates have meddled the least with religion, and where they have the most closely confined their attention to what immediately affects the civil interests of their fellow citizens. Civil and religious matters ( taking the words in their usual acceptation) seem to be so distinct, that it can only be in very uncommon emergencies, where, for instance, re-­ ligious quarrels among the members of the state rise very high, that the civil magistrate can have any call, or pretence, for interfering with religion. It is, indeed, impossible to name any two things, about which in.en are concerned, so remote in their nature, but that they have some connections and mutual influences; but were I asked what two things I should think to be in the least danger of being confounded, and which even the ingenuity 1

1

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of man could find the least pretence for involving together, I should say the things that relate to this Zife, and those that relate to the life to come. Defining the object of civil govern­ ment, in the most extensive sense, to be the making pro­ vision for the secure and comfortable enjoyment of this life, by preventing one man from injuring another in his person or property; I should think the office of the civil magistrate to be in no great danger of being encroached upon, by the methods that men might think proper to take, to provide for their happiness after death. All the civil societies we enter into in this life will be dissolved by death. When this life is over, I shall not be able to claim any of the privileges of an Englishman; I shall not be bound by any of the laws of England, nor shall I owe any allegiance to its sovereign. When, therefore, my situation in a future life shall have no connection with my privileges or obligations as an Englishman, why should those persons who make laws for Englishmen interfere with my conduct, with respect to a state, to which their power does not extend. Besides, we know that infinite mischiefs have arisen from this interference of government in the business of religion; and we have yet seen no inconvenience to have arisen from the want, or the relaxation of it. The fine country of Flanders, the most flourishing and opu­ lent then in Europe, was absolutely ruined, past recovery , by the mad attempt of Philip II, to introduce the popish inquisition into that country. France was greatly hurt by the revocation of the edict of Nantes; whereas England was a great gainer on both occasions, by granting an asylum for those persecuted industrious people; who repaid us for our kindness, by the introduction of many useful arts and manu­ factures, which were the foundation of our present commerce, riches, and power. Pennsylvania flourished much more than New England, or than any other of the English settlements in North America, evidently in consequence of giving more liberty in matters of religion, at its first establishment. Holland has found its advantage in the indulgence she gives to a great variety of religious persuasions. England has also been much more

On Toleration / 229 flourishing and happy, since the establishment, as it may ( properly enough be styled, of the dissenting method of wor­ ship, by what is commonly called the act of toleration. And all the sensible parts of Europe concur in thinking both that the Polish dissidents have a right to all the privileges of other Polish citizens; and that it would be much happier for that country if their claims were quietly admitted; and none but interested bigots opposed their demands. If we look a little farther off from home , let it be said, what inconvenience did Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, and other eastern conquerors ever find from leaving religion to its natural course in the countries they subdued, and from hav­ ing christians, mahometans, and a variety of pagans under the same form of civil government? Are not both christianity and mohammedanism , in fact, established - ( the former at least fully tolerated) in Turkey; and what inconvenience, worth mentioning, has ever arisen from it? Pity it is then, that more and fairer experiments are not made; when, judging from what is past, the consequences of unbounded liberty, in matters of religion, promise to be so very favourable to the best interests of mankind. I am aware, that the connection between civil and religious affairs , will be urged for the necessity of some interference of the legislature with religion; and, as I observed before, I do not deny the connection. But as this connection has always been found to be the greatest in barbarous nations, and im­ perfect governments, to which it lends an useful aid ; it may be presumed, that it is gradually growing less necessary; and that, in the present advanced state of human society, there is very little occasion for it. For my own part, I have no apprehension, but that, at this day, the laws might be obeyed very well without any ecclesiastical sanctions, enforced by the civil magistrate. Not that I think religion will ever be · a matter of indiffer­ ence in civil society; that is impossible, if the word be under­ stood in its greatest latitude, and by religion we mean that principle whereby men are influenced by the dread of evil, or the hope of reward from any unknown and invisible causes , whether the good or evil be expected to take place 1

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in this world or another; comprehending enthusiasm, super­ stition, and every species of false religion, as well as the true. Nor is such an event at all desirable; nay, the more just mo­ tives men have to the same good actions, the better; but religious motives may still operate in favour of the civil laws, without such a connection as bas been formed between them in ecclesiastical establishments; and, I think, this end would be answered even better without that connection. In all the modes of religion, which subsist among mankind, however subversive of virtue they may be in theory, there is some salvo [saving reservation] for good morals; so that, in fact, they enforce the more essential parts, at least, of that conduct, which the good order of society requires. Be­ sides, it might be expected, that if all the modes of religion were equally protected by the civil magistrate, they would all vie with one another, which should best deserve that pro­ tection. This however is, in fact, all the alliance that can take place between religion and civil policy, each enforcing the same conduct by different motives. Any other alliance between church and State is only the alliance of different sorts of worldly minded men, for their temporal emolument. If I be urged with the horrid excesses of the anabaptists in Germany, about the time of the reformation; of the Level­ lers in England, during the civil wars; and the shocking practices of that people in Asia, from whom we borrow the term assassin ; I answer that, besides its being absolutely chimerical to apprehend any such extravagances at present, and that they can never subsist long; such outrages as these, against the peace of society, may be restrained by the civil magistrate, without his troubling himself about religious opin­ ions. If a man commit murder, let him be punished as a murderer, and let no regard be paid to his plea of conscienc� for committing the action; but let not the opinions, which led to the action be meddled with: for then, it is probable, that more harm will be done than good, and, that for a small evident advantage, risk will be run of endless and unknown evils ; or if the civil magistrate never interferes in religion but in such cases as those before mentioned, the friends of

On Toleration / 231 liberty will have no great reason to complain. Considering what great encroachments have been made upon their rights in several countries of Europe, they will be satisfied if part of the load be removed. They will support themselves with the hope that, as the state will certainly find a solid advantage in every relaxation of its claim upon men's consciences, it will relax more and more of its pretended rights; till, at last, religious opinions, and religious actions, be as free as the air we breathe, or the light of the common sun. I acknowledge, with the statesman, that the proper object of the civil magistrate is the peace and well being of society, and that whatever tends to disturb that peace and well being, properly comes under his cognizance. I acknowledge several religious and moral, as well as political principles have a near connection with the well being of society. But, as was more fully explained before, there are many cases, in which the happiness of society is nearly concerned, in which it would, nevertheless, be the greatest impropriety for the civil magis­ trate to interfere; as in many of the duties of private life, the obligations of gratitude, etc. In all such cases, where the well being of society is most nearly concerned, the civil magistrate has no right to interfere, unless he can do it to good purpose. There is no difference, I apprehend, to be made in this case, between the right, and the wisdom of in­ terference. If the interference would be for the good of the society upon the whole, it is wise, and right; if it would do more harm than good, it is foolish and wrong. Let the saga­ cious statesman, therefore, consider, whether the interference of the civil magistrate be, in its own nature, calculated to prevent the violation of the religious and moral principles he may wish to enforce. I think it is clear, that when they are in danger of being violated, his presence is so far from tending to remedy the evil, that it must necessarily inflame it, and make it worse. It is universally understood, that REASON and AUTHORITY are two things, and that they have generally been opposed to one another. The b and of power, therefore, on the side of any set of principles cannot but be a suspicious circumstance.

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And though the injunction of the magistrate may silence voices, it multiplies whispers; and those whispers are the things at which he has the most reason to be alarmed. Besides, it is universally true, that where the civil magis­ trate has the greatest pretence for interfering in religious and moral principles, his interference ( supposing there were no impropriety in it) is the least necessary. If the opinions and principles in question, be evidently subversive of all religion and all civil society, they must be evidently false, and easy to refute; so that there can be no danger of their spreading; and the patrons of them may safely be suffered to maintain them in the most open manner they choose. To mention those religious and moral principles which Dr. Brown produces, as the most destructive to the well being of society; namely, that there is no God, and that there is no faith to be kept with heretics. So far am I from being of his opinion that it is necessary to guard against these principles by severe penalties, and not to tolerate those who maintain them, that I think, of all opinions, surely such as these have nothing formidable or alarming in them. They can have no terrors but what the magistrate himself by his ill-judged op­ position, may give them. Persecution may procure friends to any cause, and possibly to this, but hardly anything else can do it. It is unquestionable, that there are more atheists and infidels of all kinds in Spain and Italy, where religion is so well guarded, than in England; and it is, perhaps, principally owing to the laws in favour of christianity, that there are so many deists in this country. For my own part, I cannot help thinking the principles of Dr. Brown2 very dangerous in a free state, and therefore cannot but wish they were exterminated. But I should not think that silencing him would be the best method of doing it. No, let him, by all means, be encouraged in making his sentiments public; both that their dangerous tendency, and their futility may more clearly appear. Had I the direction of the press, he should be welcome to my imprimatur for any thing be should please to favour the world with; and ready, if I know myself, should I be, to furnish him with 2

In his Thoughts on Civil Liberty. Compare pp. 305-3 1 3 .-Ed.

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every convenience in my power for that purpose. It is for the interest of truth that every thing be viewed in fair and open day light, and it can only be some sinister purpose that is favoured by darkness or concealment of any kind. My sentiments may be fallacious, but if nobody were allowed to write against me, how could that fallacy be made to appear? This writer [Brown] artfully mentioned only three opinions or principles, one under each class of religion, morals, and politics, as necessary to be guarded by civil penalties, and not to be tolerated; and, no doubt, he has chosen those prin­ ciples which a friend to his country would most wish to have suppressed, and with regard to which, he would least scrupu­ lous} y examine the means that might be used to suppress them. This, Britons, is the method in which arbitrary power has ever been introduced ; and is well known to have been the method used by the thirty tyrants of Athens. They first cut off persons the most generally obnoxious, and such -as the standing laws could not reach; and even that intelligent people were so far duped by their resentment, that they were not aware, that the very same methods might be employed to take off the worthiest men in the city. And if ever arbitrary power should gain ground in England, it will be by means of the seeming necessity of having recourse to illegal methods, in order to come at opinions or persons generally obnoxious. But when these illegal practices have once been authorised, and have passed into precedents, all persons and all opinions will lie at the mercy of the prime minister, who will animad­ vert upon whatever gives him umbrage. Happy would it be for the unsuspecting sons of liberty, if their enemies would say , at first, how far they meant to proceed against them. To say, as Dr. Brown does, that there are many opinions and principles which ought not to be tolerated, and to instance only in three, is very suspicious and alarming. Let him say, in the name of all the friends of liberty, I challenge him, or any of his friends to say, how many more he has thought proper not to mention, and what they are; that we may not admit the foot of arbitrary

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power, before we see what size of a body the monster has to follow it. Such is the connection and gradation of opinions, that if once we admit there are some which ought to be guarded by civil penalties, it will ever be impossible to distinguish, to general satisfaction, between those which may be tolerated, and those which may not. No two men living, were they questioned strictly, would give the same list of such funda­ mentals. Far easier were it to distinguish the exact boundaries of the animal, vegetable and mineral kingdoms in nature, which yet naturalists find to be impossible. But a happy cir­ cumstance it is for human society, that, in religion and morals, there is no necessity to distinguish them at all. The more important will guard themselves by their own evidence, and the less important do not deserve to be guarded. Political principles, indeed, may require penal sanctions; but then it is for the very same reason that religious and moral principles require none. It is because they do not carry their own evidence along with them. Governments actually established must guard themselves by penalties and intoler­ ance, because forms of government, and persons presiding in them, being nearly arbitrary, it may not be very evident that a different government, or different governors, would not be better for a state. Laws relating to treason are to be considered as arising from the principle of self-preservation. But even with respect to civil government, it is better not to guard every thing so strongly as that no alteration can ever be made in it. Nay, alterations are daily proposed, and daily take place in our civil government, in things both of great and small consequence. They are improvements in re­ ligion only that receive no countenance from the state; a fate singular and hard! Besides, so many are the subtle distinctions relating to religion and morals, that no magistrate or body of magis­ trates, could be supposed to enter into them; and yet, without entering into them, no laws they could make would be effec­ tual. To instance in the first of Dr. Brown's principles, and the most essential of them , viz. the being of a God. The magistrate must define strictly what he means by the term

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God, for otherwise Epicureans and Spinozists might be no atheists ; or Arians or Athanasians might be obnoxious to the law. The magistrate must likewise punish, not only those who directly maintain the principles of Atheism (for evasions are so easy to find, that such laws would hurt no body) but he must punish those who do it indirectly; and what opinions are there not, in religion, morals, and even natural phi­ losophy, which might not be said to lead to Atheism? The doctrine of equivocal generation, for instance, might certainly be thought of this kind, as well as many others, which have been very harmlessly maintained by many good christians. I am sensible, that in the few particulars which Dr. Brown has thought proper to mention, his intolerant principles are countenanced by Mr. Locke; but, as far as I can recollect, these are all the opinions which he would not tolerate; where­ as this writer asserts there are many ; so that he must provide himself with some other authority for the rest. Besides I make no doubt, the great Mr. Locke would, without the least reluctance, have given up any of his assertions, upon finding so bad an use made of them, and that the conse­ quences of them were so very unfavourable to his own great object , and contradictory to his leading principles; and that he would, with indignation, have given up any adherents to arbitrary power, who, from such a pretence as this, should have claimed his protection from the generous pursuit of the friends of liberty, of reason and of mankind. After all, the controversy is not about men, but principles. And so great an enemy as Mr. Locke, to all authority in matters of opinion, would not have been so inconsistent as to have excepted his own. It will be said, that a regard to l iberty itself must plead for one exception to the principles of toleration. The papists, it is alleged, are such determined enemies to liberty, civil and ecclesiastical, and so effectually alienated from the in­ terests of a protestant country and government, that protes­ tants, who have a regard for their own safety, and the great cause in which they are engaged, cannot tolerate them. If

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they do it, it is at their own peril ; so that the persecution of papists is, in fact, nothing more than a dictate of self­ preservation. This plea, I own, is plausible; and two centuries ago it is no wonder it had considerable weight; but persecution by protestants, in this enlightened age, appears so utterly re­ pugnant to the great principle of their cause, that I wish they would view it in every point of light, before they seriously adopt any such measure. And I cannot help thinking, that the result of a more mature consideration of this subject will not be to render evil for evil to our old mother church, but rather a more indulgent treatment than we have as yet vouch­ safed to afford her. In the first place, I cannot imagine that the increase of popery, in these kingdoms, will ever be so considerable, as to give any just alarm to the friends of liberty. All the address and assiduity of man cannot, certainly, recommend so absurd a system of faith and practice to any but the lowest and most illiterate of our common people, who can never have any degree of influence in the state. The number of popish gentry must grow less, partly through the influence of fashion, and partly through the conviction of those who have a liberal education, which will necessarily throw protestant books into their hands. If the popish priests and m1ss1onaries have the success which it is pretended they have, I am almost persuaded, that the most effectual arguments they have employed for this purpose, have been drawn from the rigour of our present laws respecting the papists. They tell the people, that, con­ scious of the weakness of our cause we dare not give them full liberty to teach and exercise their religion; knowing that the excellency of it is such, that, if it were publicly exhibited, it would attract universal admiration; and that what we are not able to silence by argument, we suppress by force. Were any more laws restrain i ng the liberty of the press in force, it is impossible to say how far they might be construed

/ 237 to extend. Those already in being are more than are requisite, and inconsistent with the interests of truth. Were they to extend farther, every author would lie at the mercy of the ministers of state, who might condemn indiscriminately, upon some pretence or other, every work that gave them umbrage; under which circumstances might fall some of the greatest and noblest productions of the human mind, if such works could be produced in those circumstances. For if men of genius knew they could not publish the discoveries they made, they could not give free scope to their faculties in making and pursuing those discoveries. It is the thought of publication, and the prospect of fame which is, generally, the great incentive to men of genius to exert their faculties, in attempting the untrodden paths of speculation. In those unhappy circumstances, writers would entertain a dread of every new subject. No man could safely indulge himself in anything bold, enterprising, and out of the vulgar road; and in all publications we should see a timidity incom­ patible with the spirit of discovery. If any towering genius should arise in those unfavourable circumstances, a Newton in the natural world, or a Locke, a Hutcheson, a Clarke, or a Hartley in the moral , the only effectual method to prevent their diffusing a spirit of enterprise and innovation, which is natural to such great souls, could be no other than that which Tarquin so significantly expressed, by taking off the heads of all those poppies which overlooked the rest. Such men could not but be dangerous, and give umbrage in a country where it was the maxim of the government, that every thing of importance should for ever remain unalterably fixed. The whole of this system of uniformity appears to me to be founded on very narrow and short-sighted views of policy. A man of extensive views will overlook temporary evils, with a prospect of the greater good which may often result from, or be inseparably connected with them. He will bear with a few tares, lest, in attempting to root them out, he endanger rooting up the wheat with them. Unbounded free enquiry upon all kinds of subjects may certainly be attended with some inconvenience, but it cannot be restrained without in­ finitely greater inconvenience. The deistical performances Dr. On Toleration

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Brown is so much offended at may have unsettled the minds of some people, but the minds of many have been more firmly settled, and upon better foundations than ever. The scheme of christianity has been far better understood, since those deistical writings have occasioned the subject to be more thoroughly discussed than it had been before. Besides, if truth stand upon the false foundation of preju­ dice or error, it is an advantage to it to be unsettled; and the man who doth no more, and even means to do no more, is, in fact, its friend. Another person seeing its destitute and baseless condition, may be induced to set it upon its proper foundation. Far better policy would it be to remove the diffi­ culties which still lie in the way of free enquiry, than to throw fresh ones into it. Infidels would then be deprived of their most successful method of attacking christianity, namely, insinuation, and christian divines might , with a more manly grace, engage with the champions of deism, and in fact en­ gage with more advantage when they both fought on the same equal ground.As things are at present, I should be ashamed to fight under the shelter of the civil power, while I saw my adversary exposed to all the severity of it. Hitherto, indeed, few of the friends of free enquiry among christians have been more than partial advocates for it. If they find themselves under any difficulty with respect to their own sentiments, they complain, and plead strongly for the rights of conscience, of private judgment, and of free en­ quiry; but when they have gotten room enough for them­ selves, they are quite easy, and in no pain for others. The papist must have liberty to write against Pagans, Moham­ medans, and Jews; but he cannot bear with protestants. Writers in defence of the church of England justify their separation from the church of Rome, but, with the most glaring inconsistency, call the protestant dissenters, schis­ matics; and many dissenters, forgetting the fundamental principles of their dissent, which are the same that are as­ serted by all christians and protestants in similar circum­ stances, discourage every degree of liberty greater than they

On Toleration / 239 themselves have taken, and have as great an aversion to those whom they are pleased to call heretics, as papists have for protestants, or as Laud had for the old puritans. But why should we confine our neighbour, who may want more room, in the same narrow limits with ourselves. The wider we make the common circle of liberty, the more of its friends will it receive, and the stronger will be the common interest. Whatever be the particular views of the numerous tribes of searchers after truth, under whatever denomination we may be ranked; whether we be called, or call ourselves christians, papists, protestants, dissenters, heretics, or even deists (for all are equal here, all are actuated by the same spirit, and all engaged in the same cause) we stand in need of the same liberty of thinking, debating, and publishing. Let us, then, as far as our interest is the same, with one heart and voice, stand up for it. Not one of us can hurt his neighbour, without using a weapon which, in the hand of power might as well serve to chastise himself. The present state of the English Government ( including both the laws, and the administration, which often corrects the rigour of the law) may, perhaps, bear my own opinions without taking much umbrage; but I could wish to congratulate many of my brother free thinkers, on the greater indulgence which their more heretical sentiments may require. To the honour of the Quakers be it spoken, that they are the only body of cbristians who have uniformly maintained the principles of cbristian liberty, and toleration. Every other body of men have turned persecutors when they had power. Papists have persecuted the protestants, the church of Eng­ land has persecuted the dissenters, and other dissenters, in losing their name, lost that spirit of christian charity, which seemed to be essential to them. Short was their sun-shine of power, and thankful may Britain, and the present dissenters be, that it was so. But the Quakers, though established in Penn­ sylvania, have persecuted none. This glorious principle seems to be intimately connected with the fundamental maxims of their sect, that it may be fairly presumed, the moderation they have hitherto shown is not to be ascribed to the smallness of their party, or to their fear of reprisals. For this reason,

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if I were to pray for the general prevalence of any one sect of christians (which I should not think it for the interest of christianity to take place, even though I should settle the articles of it myself) it should be that of the Quakers; be­ cause different as my opinions are from theirs, I have so much confidence in their moderation, that I believe they would let me live, write, and publish what I pleased unmo­ lested among them. And this I own, is more than I could promise myself from any other body of christians whatever; the presbyterians by no means excepted. The object of this forced uniformity is narrow and il­ liberal, unworthy of human nature. Supposing it accom­ plished, what is it possible to gain by it, but perhaps, a more obstinate and blind belief in the vulgar; while men of sense, seeing themselves debarred the very means of conviction, must of course be infidels? In those circumstances, it would really be an argument of a man's want of spirit, of sense, and even of virtue to be a believer, because he would believe without sufficient evidence. Who would not, with every ap­ pearance of justice, suspect any cause, when he was not allowed to examine the arguments against it, was only pressed with those in its favour? What sensible and upright judge would decide a cause, where all the witnesses on one side were by violence prevented from giving their evidence? Those who converse with deists well know, that one of their strongest objections to christianity arises from hence, that none of the early writings against it are preserved. How much stronger, and even unanswerable, would that objection have been, if christianity had been, from the beginning, so effectually protected by the civil magistrate, that no person had dared to write against it at all. Such friends to the evidence and true interests of christianity, are all those who would suppress deistical writings at this day! Suppose any article in a system of faith, so established and guarded, to be wrong, which is certainly a very modest sup­ position ; let any of the advocates of this scheme say, how it is possible it should ever be rectified; or that, if the truth should insinuate itself, by any avenue which they had not sufficiently guarded, how it could bring its evidence along

241 with it, so as to command the attention and acceptance which it deserved. Indeed, it is not so much from the mistaken friends of truth that we apprehend these measures of rigid uniformity; but rather from those who would sacrifice truth, and every other consideration to public tranquillity; from those MERE STATESMEN who, looking upon all systems of religion to be equally false, and not able to bear examination, will not suffer that examination to take place; for fear of destroying a system, which, however false , they imagine to be necessary to the peace and well being of the state. The most unrelent­ ing persecution is to be apprehended, not from bigots, but from infidels. A bigot, who is so from a principle of con­ science, may possibly be moved by a regard to the con­ sciences of others; but the man who thinks that conscience ought always to be sacrificed to political views, has no prin­ ciple on which an argument in favour of moderation can lay hold. Was not Bolingbroke the greatest promoter of the schism bill in England, and Richelieu of the persecution of the protestants in France? Besides, as was, in some measure, observed before, all these systems of uniformity, in political or religious institutions, are the highest injustice to posterity. What natural right have we to judge for them, any more than our ancestors had to judge for us? Our ancestors, from the time of the Britons, had, no doubt, as high an opinion of their political and religious institutions as we can have of ours. But should we not have thought the fate of Great Britain singularly unhappy, if they had been entailed upon us, and the very same reason of complaint will our posterity have, if we take any methods to perpetuate what we approve, as best for ourselves in our present circumstances; for farther than this we cannot pretend to see. Let us, by all means, make our own circumstances as easy as possible; but let us lay posterity under no difficulty in improving theirs, if they see it convenient: rather, let all plans of policy be such as will easily admit of extension, and i improvements of all kinds, and that the least violence, or difficulty of any kind, may attend the making of them. This On Toleration

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is, at least, very desirable, and I believe it is far from being impracticable. However, though it should not be thought proper to unfix anything which is at present established, let us proceed no farther than is manifestly necessary in those establishments. Posterity, it may be said, will never complain of our insti­ tutions, when they have been educated in a strong and in­ vincible attachment to them. It is true; and had we been pagans or papists, through a similar system of education, fixed in a more early period, we should not have complained. We, like the old Spartans, or the sons of bigotry in Spain and Portugal at present, might have been hugging our chains, and even proud of them. But other persons, who could have made a comparison between our actual condition, and what it would have been, had those institutions not been made, would have complained for us. They would have seen us to be a less great, wise, and happy people; which affords the same argument against throwing difficulties in the way of future improvements. Highly as we think of the wisdom of our ancestors, we justly think ourselves, of the present age, wiser, and, if we be not blinded by the mere prejudice of education, must see, that we can, in many respects, improve upon the institutions they have transmitted to us.Let us not doubt, but that every generation in posterity will be as much superior to us in political, and in all kinds of knowledge, and that they will be able to improve upon the best civil and religious institu­ tions that we can prescribe for them. Instead then of adding to the difficulties, which we ourselves find in making the im­ provements we wish to introduce, let us make this great and desirable work easier to them than it has been to us.

On Sovereignty1 CONSIDERING HOW MUCH has been written on the subject of government since the Revolution [of 1688] in this country, an event which more than anything else contributed to open the eyes of Englishmen with respect to the true principles of it, it is not a little extraordinary that any man of reading and reflection as you [Burke] are, should depart from them so much as you have done. To vindicate this Revolution, Lord Somers, Bishop Hoadley, Mr. Locke, and many others, have laid it down as a maxim, that all power in any state is derived from the people, and that the great object of all government is the public good. As a consequence from these fundamental principles, they mai_n­ tain that all magistrates, being originally appointed by the people, are answerable to them for their conduct in office, and removable at their pleasure. The right of resisting an oppres, sive government, that is, such as the people shall deem to be oppressive, they bold most sacred. You, Sir, do not directly and in so many words, deny these great principles of all government, or the general conclusion drawn from them. In fact, you admit them all, when you allow that "civil society is made for the advantage of man." But you advance what is really inconsistent with these leading principles, and you would tie up our hands from making any , effectual use of them. You seem to have forgotten what you must have formerly learned ; but it is too late for us to go to school again and re-learn the first elements of political science. What our predecessors took great pains to prove, we now receive as axioms and without hesitation act upon them. To make the public good the standard of right or wrong, in whatever relates to society and government, besides being Letters to the Right Honourable Edmund Burke ( 3rd ed . ) ( 1 79 1 ) , Letter III, "On the Nature of Government and the Rights of Men and Kings," pp. 23-33.

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the most natural and rational of all rules, has the farther recommendation of being the easiest of application. Either what God has ordained, or what antiquity authorises, may be very difficult to ascertain; but what regulation is most con­ ducive to the public good, though not always without its diffi­ culties, yet in general is much more easy to determine. But suppose a nation should never have had a free government, or could not prove that they ever had one, are they for that reason always to continue slaves? Would it be unlawful, or wrong, in the Turks to do what the French nation has now done? You treat with ridicule the idea of the rights of men, and suppose that mankind, when once they have entered into a state of society, necessarily abandon all their proper natural rights, and thenceforth have only such as they derive from society. "As to the share of power," you say, "authority and direction, which each individual ought to have in the man­ agement of the state, that I must deny to be among the direct original rights of man in civil society; for I have in my contemplation the civil, social man, and no other. It is a thing to be settled by convention." But what does this convention respect beside the secure enjoyment of such advantages, or rights, as have been usually termed natural, as life, liberty and property, which men had from nature, without societies or artificial combinations of men? Men cannot, surely, be said to give up their natural rights by entering into a compact for the better securing of them. And if they make a wise compact, they will never wholly exclude themselves from all share in the administration of their government, or some control over it. For without this their stipulated rights would be very insecure. However, should any people be so unwise as to leave the whole administration of their government, without any ex­ press right of control, in the hands of their magistrates, if those magistrates do not give the people what they deem to be an equivalent for what they gave up for the accommoda­ tion of others, they are certainly at liberty to consider the original compact as broken. They then revert to a state of nature, and may enter into a new state of society, and adopt

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a new form of government in which they may make better terms for themselves. It is one of the most curious paradoxes in this work of , yours, which abounds with them, that the rights of men abovementioned ( called by you, "the pretended rights of the , French theorists") "are all," you say, "extremes, and in proportion as they are metaphysically true, they are morally and politically false." Now by metaphysically true can only be meant strictly and properly true, and how this can be in any sense false, is to me incomprehensible. If the abovementioned rights be the true, that is the just and reasonable rights of : men, they ought to be provided for in all states, and all forms of government; and if they be not, the people have just cause to complain, and to look out for some mode of redress. You strongly reprobate the doctrine of "kings being the choice of the people," a doctrine advanced, but not first ad­ vanced, by Dr. Price in his Revolution Sermon. "This doc­ trine," you say, "as applied to the prince now on the British throne, is either nonsense, and therefore neither true nor false, or it affirms a most unfounded, dangerous, illegal, and uncon­ stitutional position. According to this spiritual doctor of poli­ tics, if his majesty does not owe bis crown to the choice of his people, he is no lawful king." On the same principle you equally reprobate the doctrine of "the king being the servant of the people," whereas the law, as you say, calls him "our sovereign lord the king." * But since you allow that "kings are in one sense, undoubtedly, the servants of the people, because their power has no other rational end than that of the general advantage," it is evident that it is only Dr. Price's words that you quarrel with. Your ideas are, in fact, the very same with his, though you call bis doctrine, not only unconstitutional, but seditious ; adding that, "it is now publicly taught, avowed, and printed"; where­ as it was taught, avowed, and even printed, before either you or Dr. Price were born. !

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Has not the chief magistrate in every country, as well as the chief officer in every town, a certain duty to perform with certain emoluments, and privileges, allowed him in considera­ tion of the proper discharge of that duty? And if the town officer, though having chief authority in his district yet in consequence of being appointed and paid for his services by the town, is never considered in any other light than that of the servant of the town; is not the chief magistrate in any country, let him be called sovereign, king, or what you please (for that is only a name) the servant of the people? What real difference can there be in the two cases? They each discharge a certain duty, and have a certain stipulated reward for it. The office being hereditary, makes no real difference. In our laws, and those of other nations, there are precedents enough of men's whole estates being confiscated for crimes; and this of course excludes the heir. If, as you expressly acknowledge, the only rational end of the power of a king is the general advantage, that is, the good of the people, must not the people be of course the judges whether they derive advantage from him and his government or not, that is, whether they be well or ill served by him? Though there is no express, there is, you must acknowledge, a virtual, compact between the king and the people. This, indeed, is particularly mentioned in the Act which implies the abdication of King James, though you say "it is too guarded and too circumstantial" ; and what can this compact be, but a stipulation for protection etc. on the part of the king, and allegiance on the part of the people? If, therefore, instead of protection, they find oppression, certainly allegiance is no longer due.Hence, according to common sense and the prin­ ciples of the Revolution, the right of a subject to resist a tyrant, and dethrone him; and what is this but, in other words, shocking as they may sound to your ears , dismissing, or cashiering, a bad servant as a person who had abused his trust. So fascinating is the situation in which our kings are placed, that it is of great importance to remind them of the true relation they bear to the people, or, as they are fond of calling them, "their people." They are too apt to imagine that their

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rights are independent of the will of the people, and conse­ quently that they are not accountable to them for any use they may make of their power; and their numerous depend­ ents, and especially the clergy, are too apt to administer this pleasing intoxicating poison. This was the ruin of the Stuarts, and it is a danger that threatens every prince, and every country, from the same quarter. Your whole book, Sir, is little else than a vehicle for the same poison, inculcating, but incon­ sistently enough, a respect for princes, independent of their being originally the choice of the people as if they had some natural and indefeasible right to reign over us, they being born to command, and we to obey; and then, whether the origin of this power be divine or have any other source inde­ pendent of the people, it makes no difference to us. With the superstitious respect for kings and the spirit of chivalry, which nothing but an age of extreme barbarism recommended and which civilization has banished, you seem to think that everything great and dignified has left us."Never never more," you say, "shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified obedi­ ence, that subordination of the heart, that kept alive even in servitude itself the spirit of an exalted freedom. The un­ bought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, is gone. It is gone; that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honour, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which enobled whatever it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness." This is perhaps the most admired passage in your whole performance; but it appears to me that in a great pomp of words it contains but few ideas, and some of them inconsistent and absurd. So different also are men's feelings-from the difference, no doubt, of our educations and the different sentiments we voluntarily cherish through life-that a situa­ tion which gives you the idea of pride, gives me that of meanness. You are proud of what, in my opinion, you ought to be ashamed, the idolatry of a fellow creature, and the abasement of yourself. It discovers a disposition from which

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no "manly sentiment, or heroic enterprize" can be expected. I submit to a king , or to any other civil magistrate, because the good order of society requires it, but I feel no pride in that submission; and the "subordination of my heart" I reserve for character only, not for station. As a citizen, the object of my respect is the nation and the laws. The magistrates, by whatever name they are called, I respect only as the confiden­ tial servants of the n ation, and the administrators of the laws. These sentiments, just in themselves, and favouring of no superstition, appear to me to become men whom nature has made equal, and whose great object when formed into socie­ ties it should be to promote their common happiness. I am proud of feeling myself a man among men, and I leave it to you, Sir, to be "proud of your obedience, and to keep alive" as well as you can "in servitude itself the spirit of an exalted freedom." I think it much easier, at least , to be preserved out of a state of servitude than in it. You take much pains to gild your chains, but they are chains still. If, Sir, you profess this "generous loyalty, this proud sub­ mission, this dignified obedience and this subordination of the heart" both to rank and sex, how concentrated and exalted must be the sentiment where rank and sex are united ! What an exalted freedom would you have felt, bad you had the happiness of being a subject of the Empress of Russia, your sovereign being then a woman? Fighting under her auspices you would no doubt have been the most puissant of knights errant, and her redoubted champion against the whole Turkish empire, the sovereign of which is only a man. It is to no purpose to say, as you do, "that the king of Great Britain reigns at this day by a fixed rule of suc­ cession, according to the laws of his country, and that he holds his crown in contempt of the choice of the Revolu­ tion society which has not a single vote for a king among them, either individually or collectively" when you acknowl­ edge that "all the kingdoms of Europe were, at a remote period, elective," and that "the present king holds his rank no longer th an while the legal conditions of the compact of sovereignty are p erformed by him." This, Sir, is granting all that we, seditious as our doctrine is, contend for. Here is,

/ 249 according to yourself, a certain condition on which kings reign. If therefore that condition be not performed, the obli­ gation of allegiance is discharged. Though we do not choose any particular king the nation originally chose to be governed by kings with such limitations with respect to their duty and prerogatives as they then chose to prescribe. And whether the departure from the original and proper duty of a king be made at once, or by degrees, which has generally been the case, and though the people may have been restrained by their circumstances from checking the encroachments of their kings, the right of doing it must ever remain inherent i n them.They must always have a power of resuming what themselves gave when the condition on which it was given is not performed. They can surely recall a trust that has been abused and reinstate themselves in their former situation or in a better if they can find one. If there be what you allow a compact of sovereignty, who are the parties but the people and the king; and if the compact be broken on his side are not the rank and the privileges which he held upon the condition of observing the terms of the compact, forfeited; "The rule of succession," you say, "is according to the laws of his country." But what, according to yourself, is the origin of both our common and statute law? "Both these descriptions of law," you say, "are of the same force and are derived from an equal authority, emanating from the common agreement and original compact of the state ( comm uni sponsione reip ublicte ) and as such are equally binding on king and people too, as long as the terms are ob­ served, and they continue the same body politic." Laws then, not coming down from heaven, but being made by men, may also be changed by them; and what is a constitution of govern­ ment but the greater laws of the state? Kings, therefore, as well as the people, may violate these l�ws by which they are equally bound; and if other violaters of law be punishable by degradation or otherwise, why should kings be excepted? Are their violations of the law or the constitution less injurious to the commonwealth than those of other transgressors? Let the punishment of kings be as "grave and decorous," as you please, but let justice, substantial justice, be done. On Sovereignty

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I CANNOT CONCLUDE these Letters, without congratulating, not you, Sir [Burke], or the many admirers of your perform­ ance who h ave no feeling of joy on the occasion, but the French nation, and the world-I mean the liberal, the rational, and the virtuous part of the world-on the great revolution that has taken place in France, as well as on that which some time ago took place in America. Such events as these teach the doctrine of liberty , civil and religious, with infinitely greater clearness and force than a thousand treatises on the subject. They speak a language intelligible to all the world, and preach a doctrine congenial to every human heart. These great events, in many respects unparalleled in all history, make a totally new , a most wonderful and important, era in the history of m ankind. It is, to adopt your own rhetorical style, a change from darkness to light, from super­ stition to sound knowledge and from a most debasing servi­ tude to a state of the most exalted freedom. It is a liberating of all the powers of man from that variety of fetters by which they have hitherto been held. So that, in comparison with what has been, now only can we expect to see what men really are, and what they can do. The general ity of governments h ave hitherto been little else than a combination of the few against the many ; and to the mean passions and low cunning of these few, have the great interests of mankind been too long sacrificed. Whole nations h ave been deluged with blood, and every source of future prosperity has been drained, to gratify the caprices of some of the most despicable, or the most execrable , of the human species. For what else have been the generality of ki ngs, their ministers of state, or their mistresses, to whose wills whole Letters to the Right Honou rable Edm und Burke ( 3rd ed. ) ( 1 79 1 ) , Letter XIV, "Of the Prospect of the General Enlargement o f Liberty, Civil and Religious, Opened by the Revolution in France," pp. l4_i-l 5 5 . 1

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kingdoms have been subject? What can we say of those who have hitherto taken the lead in conducting the affairs of nations, but that they have commonly been either weak or wicked and sometimes both? Hence the common reproach of all histories that they exhibit little more than a view of the vices and miseries of mankind. From this time, therefore, we may expect that it will wear a different and more pleasing aspect. Hitherto, also, infinite have been the mischiefs in which all nations have been involved on acount of religion, with which, as it concerns only God and men's own consciences, civil government, as such, has nothing to do. Statesmen, misled by ignorant or interested priests , have taken upon them to pre­ scribe what men should believe and practice in order to get to heaven, when they themselves have often neither believed, nor practised, anything under that description. They have set up idols to which all men, under the severest penalties, have been compelled to bow; and the wealth and power of populous nations, which might have been employed in great and useful undertakings, have been diverted from their proper channels to enforce their unrighteous decrees. By this means have mankind been kept for ages in a state of bondage worse than Egyptian, the bondage of the mind. How glorious, then, is the prospect, the reverse of all the past, which is now opening upon us, and upon the world. Government, we may now expect to see, not only in theory and in books but in actual practice, calculated for the general good, and taking no more upon it than the general good re­ quires, leaving all men the enjoyment of as many of their natural rights as possible, and no more interfering with mat­ ters of religion, with men's notions concerning God, and a future state, than with philosophy, or medicine. After the noble example of America, we may expect in due time to see the governing powers of all nations confining their attention to the civil concerns of them, and consulting their welfare in the present state only, in consequence of which they may all be flourishing and happy. Truth of all kinds and especially religious truth, meeting with no obstruc­ tion and standing in no need of heterogeneous supports, will

Utopia / 253 then establish itself by its own evidence; and whatever is false and delusive, all the forms of superstition, every corruption of true religion, and all usurpation over the rights of con­ science, which have been supported by power or prejudice, will be universally exploded, as they ought to be. Together with the general prevalence of the true principles of civil government, we may expect to see the extinction of all national prejudice and enmity, and the establishment of uni­ versal peace and goodwill among all nations. When the affairs of the various societies of m ankind shall be conducted by those who shall truly represent them, who shall feel as they feel and think as they think, who shall really understand and consult their interests, they will no more engage in those mutually offensive wars which the experience of many cen­ turies has shown to be constantly expensive and ruinous. They will no longer covet what belongs to others, and which they have found to be of no real service to them, but will content themselves with making the most of their own. The very idea of distant possessions will be even ridiculed. The East and the West Indies, and everything without our­ selves will be disregarded, and wholly excluded from all European systems; and only those divisions of men, and of territory, will take place which the common convenience requires, and not such as the mad and insatiable ambition of princes demands. No part of America, Africa, or Asia, will be held in subjection to any part of Europe, and all the inter­ course that will be kept up among them will be for their mutual advantage. The causes of civil wars, the most distressing of all others, will likewise cease, as well as those of foreign ones. They are chiefly contentions for offices, on account of the power and emoluments annexed to them. But when the nature and uses of all civil offices shall be well understood, the power and emoluments annexed to them will not be an object sufficient to produce a war. ls it at all probable that there will ever be a civil war in America about the presidentship of the United States? And when the chief magistracies in other countries shall be reduced to their proper standard, they will be no more worth contending for than they are in America. If the

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actual business of a nation be done as well for the small emolument of that presidentship as the similar business of other nations, there will be no apparent reason why more should be given for doing it. If there be a superfluity of public money it will not be employed to augment the profus ion and increase the undue influence of individuals, but in works of great public utility­ which are always wanted and which nothing but the enormous expenses of government and of wars, chiefly occasioned by the ambition of kings and courts, have prevented from being carried into execution. The expense of the late American war, only, would have converted all the waste grounds of this country into gardens. What canals, bridges, and noble roads, what public buildings, public libraries, and public laboratories, etc. etc. would it not have made for us? If the pride of nations must be gratified, let it be in such things as these, and not in the idle pageantry of a court, calculated only to corrupt and enslave a nation. Another cause of civil wars has been an attachment to certain persons and families, as possessed of some inherent right to kingly power. Such were the bloody wars between the houses of York and Lancaster in this country. But when, besides the reduction of the power of crowns within their proper bounds (when it will be no greater than the public good requires) that kind of respect for princes which is founded on mere superstition (exactly similar to that which has been attached to priests in all countries) shall vanish, as all superstition certainly will before real knowledge, wise nations will not involve themselves in war for the sake of any particular persons, or families, who have never shown an equal regard for them. They will consider their own interest more and that of their magistrates, that is, their servants, less. Other remaining causes of civil war are different opinions about modes of government, and differences of interests be­ tween provinces. But when mankind shall be a 1 ittle more accustomed to reflection and consider the miseries of civil war, they will have recourse to any other method of deciding their differences in preference to that of the sword. It was taken for granted that the moment America had thrown off

Utopia / 255 the yoke of Great Britain, the different states would go to war among themselves, on some of these accounts. But the event has not verified the prediction, nor is it at all probable that it ever will. The people of that country are wiser than such prophets in this. If time be allowed for the discussion of differences, so great a majority will form one opinion, that the minority will see the necessity of giving way. Thus will reason be the umpire in all disputes and extinguish civil wars as well as foreign ones. The empire of reason will ever be the reign of peace. This, Sir, will be the happy state of things, distinctly and repeatedly foretold in many prophecies, delivered more than two thousand years ago, when the common parent of mankind will cause wars to cease to the ends of the earth, when men shall beat their swords into plough shares, and their spears into pruning hooks , when nation shall no more rise up against nation, and when they shall learn war no more. This is a state of things which good sense, and the prevailing spirit of commerce, aided by christianity and true philosophy can­ not fail to effect in time. But it can never take place while mankind are governed in the wretched manner in which they now are. For peace can never be established but upon the extinction of the causes of war which exist in all the present forms of government, and in the political maxims which will always be encouraged by them. I mention this topic in a letter to you, on the idea that you are a real believer in revela­ tion, though your defence of all church establishments, as such, is no argument in favour of this opinion; the most zealous abettors of them, and the most determined enemies of all reformation having been unbelievers in all religion, which they have made use of merely as an engine of state. In this new condition of the world, there may still be kings, but they will be no longer sovereigns or supreme lords, no human beings to whom will be ascribed such titles as those of most sacred or most excellent majesty.There will be no more such a profanation of epithets, belonging to God only by the application of them to mortals like ourselves. There will be magistrates appointed and paid for the conservation of order,

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but they will only be considered as the first servants of the people, and accountable to them. Standing armies, those instruments of tyranny, will be unknown, though the people may be trained to the use of anns for the purpose of repelling the invasion of Barbarians. For no other description of men will have recourse to war, or think of disturbing the repose of others; and till they become civilized, as in the natural _ progress of things they necessarily must, they will be suffi­ ciently overawed by the superior power of nations that are so. There will still be religion, and of course ministers of it, as there will be teachers of philosophy and practitioners in medicine; but it will no longer be the concern of the state. There will be no more Lord Bishops or Archbishops, with the titles and powers of temporal princes. Every man will provide religion for himself, and therefore it will be such as, after due enquiry, and examination, he shall think to be founded on truth and best calculated to make men good citi­ zens, good friends , and good neighbours in this world, as well as to fit them for another. Government being thus simple in its objects, will be un­ speakably less expensive than it is at present as well as far more effectual in answering its proper purpose. There will then be little to provide for besides the administration of justice or the preservation of the peace, which it will be the interest of every man ,to attend to in aid of government. They are chiefly our vices and follies that lay us under contribution in the form of the taxes we now pay; and they will, of course, become superfluous as the world grows wiser and better. It is a most unreasonable sum that we now pay for the single article of government. We give, perhaps, the amount of one half of our property for the secure enjoyment of the rest, which, after all, for want of a good police, is very insecure. However, the enormous debts which our present systems of government and the follies of our governors have entailed upon us, like all other evils in the plan of providence, promise to be eventually the cause of the greatest good, as necessary means of bringing about the happy state of things above described. And the improvement of Europe may serve as an

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I example to the rest of the world and be the instrument of other important changes which I shall not dwell upon in this I place. By means of naticnal debts the wheels of several European l !: governments are already so much clogged that it is impossible they should go on much longer. We see our taxes, even without war, continually increasing. The very peace establishment of France could not be kept up any longer and the same must soon be the situation of other nations. All the causes which have operated to the augmentation of these debts continue to operate and with increased force, so that our approach to this great crisis of our affairs is not equable, but accelerated. The present generation has seen the debt of this nation rise from a mere trifle to an amount that already threatens ruin. And will not the next generation, if not the present, see this ruin? If the present change of the French government brought on, to use a phrase of yours, by fiscal difficulties, has been attended with such an interruption of their manufactures, such a stagnation of their commerce, and such a diminution of their current specie, as has greatly added to the difficulties of that country, what are we to expect from a similar crisis in this country which depends so much more upon manufac­ tures and commerce than France ever did, and which has far less resource within itself? If you, Sir, together with your old or your new friends, can steer the ship of the state through the storm, which we all see to be approaching, you will have more wisdom and steadiness than has yet been found in any who have hitherto been at the head of our affairs. And if, in these circumstances, you can save the church, as well as the state, you will deserve no less than canonization and St. Edmund will be the greatest name in the calendar. But great occasions call forth, and in a manner create, great and unknown ability as we have lately seen in the history of the American revolution. A good provi­ dence also governs the world and therefore we need not despair. If the condition of other nations be as much bettered as that of France will probably be, by her improved system of 1

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258 / The Political Theorist government this great crisis, dreadful as it appears in pros­ pect, will be a consummation devoutly to be wished for and though calamitous to many, perhaps to many innocent per­ sons, will be eventually most glorious and happy. To you, Sir, all this may appear such wild declamation as your treatise appears to me. But speculations of this kind contribute to exhilarate my mind as the consideration of the French revolution has contributed to disturb and distress yours; and thus is verified the common proverb which says, One man's meat is another man's poison. If this be a dream, it is, however, a pleasing one, and has nothing in it malig­ nant, or unfriendly to any. All that I look to promises no exclusive advantage to myself or my friends; but an equal field for every generous exertion to all, and it makes the great object of all our exertions to be the public good.

PA RT F I VE TH E SO CIAL THE O RI ST

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philosophy [science] is so multiplied, that all the books of general philosophical transactions cannot be purchased by many persons, or read by any person. It is high time to subdivide the business, that every man may have an opportunity of seeing everything that relates to his own favourite pursuit; and all the various branches of philosophy would find their account in this amicable separation. Thus the numerous branches of a large overgrown family, in the patriarchical ages, found it necessary to separate; and the convenience of the whole, and the strength and increase of each branch were promoted by the separation. Let the young­ est daughter of the science set the example to the rest, and show that she thinks herself considerable enough to make her appearance in the world without the company of her sisters. But before this general separation, let each collect together everything that belongs to her, and march off with her whole stock. To drop the allusion; let histories be written of all that has been done in every particular branch of science, and let the whole be seen at one view. And when once the entire progress, and present state of every science shall be fully and fairly exhibited, I doubt not but we shall see a new and capi­ tal era commence in the history of all the sciences. Such an easy, full, and comprehensive view of what has been done hitherto could not fail to give new life to philosophical enquiries. It would suggest an infinity of new experiments, and would undoubtedly greatly accelerate the progress of knowledge; which is at present retarded, as it were, by its , own weight, and the mutual entanglement of its several parts. I will just throw out a farther hint, of what, I think, might be favourable to the increase of philosophical knowledge. At 1

THE BUSINESS OF

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The History and Present State of Electricity ( 1 767 ) , Preface to the

first edition, pp. xvn-xxiv.

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present there are, in different countries in Europe, large incor­ porate societies, with funds for promoting philosophical knowledge in general. Let philosophers now begin to sub­ divide themselves, and enter into smaller combinations. Let the several companies make small funds, and appoint a direc­ tor of experiments. Let every member have a right to appoint the trial of experiments in some proportion to the sum he subscribes, and let a periodical account be published of the result of them all, successful or unsuccessful. In this manner, the powers of all the members would be united and increased. Nothing would be left untried, which could be compassed at a moderate expense, and it being one person's b usiness to attend to these experiments, they would be made, and reported without loss of time. Moreover, as all incorporations in these smaller societies should be avoided , they would be encour­ aged only in proportion as they were found to be useful ; and success in smaller things would excite them to attempt greater. I by no means disapprove of large, general, and incor­ porated societies. They have their peculiar uses too; but we see by experience, that they are apt to grow too large, and their forms are too slow for the dispatch of the m inutia of business, in the present multifarious state of philosophy. Let recourse be had to rich incorporated societies, to defray the expense of experiments, to which the funds of smaller socie­ ties shall be unequal. Let their transactions contain a sum­ mary of the more important discoveries, collected from the smaller periodical publications. Let them, by rewards, and other methods, encourage those who distinguish themselves in the inferior societies; and thus give a general attention to the whole business of philosophy. I wish all the incorporated philosophical societies in Europe would join their funds ( and I wish they were sufficient for the purpose) to fit out ships for the complete discovery of the face of the earth, and for many capital experiments which can only be made in such extensive voyages. Princes will never do this great business to any purpose. The spirit of adventure seems to be totally extinct in the present race of merchants. This discovery is a grand desidera­ tum in science; and where may this pure and noble enthu-

/ 263 siasm for such discoveries be expected but among philos­ ophers, men uninfluenced by motives either of policy or gain? Let us think ourselves happy if princes give no obstruction to such designs. Let them fight for the countries when they are discovered, and let merchants scramble for the advantage that may be made of them. It will be an acquisition to philos­ ophers if the seat of war be removed so far from the seat of science ; and fresh room will be given to the exertion of genius in trade, when the old beaten track is deserted, when the old system of traffic is unhinged, and when new and more exten­ sive plans of commerce take place. I congratulate the present race of philosophers on what is doing by the English court in this way* ; for with whatever view expeditions into the South Seas are made, they cannot but be favourable to philosophy. Natural Philosophy is a science which more especially requires the aid of wealth. Many others require nothing but what a man's own reflection may furnish him with. They who cultivate them find within themselves everything they want. But experimental philosophy is not so independent. Nature will not be put out of her way, and suffer her materials to be thrown into all that variety of situations which philosophy requires, in order to discover her wonderful powers, without trouble and expense. Hence the patronage of the great is es­ sential to the flourishing state of this science. Others may project great improvements, but they only have the power of carrying them into execution. Besides, they are the higher classes of men which are most interested in the extension of all kinds of natural knowledge; as they are most able to avail themselves of any discoveries, which lead to the felicity and embellishment of human life. Almost all the elegancies of life are the p roduce of those polite arts, which could have had no existence without natural science, and which receive daily improvements from the same source. From the great and the opulent, therefore, these sciences have a natural claim for protection; and it is evi­ dently their interest not to suffer promising enquiries to be suspended for want of the means of prosecuting them. The Organization of Scientific Research

* Written

in the year 1 766.

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But other motives, besides this selfish one, may reasonabl) be supposed to attach persons in the higher ranks of life tc the sciences ; motives more exalted, and flowing from the mos· extensive benevolence.From Natural Philosophy have flowec all those great inventions, by means of whioh mankind ir general are able to subsist with more ease, and in greate1 numbers upon the face of the earth. Henc·e arise the capita: advantages of men above brutes, and of civilization abovt barbarity. And by these sciences also it is, that the views o1 the human mind itself are enlarged, and our common nature improved and ennobled. It is for the honour of the species ! therefore, that these sciences should be cultivated with the utmost attention. And of whom may these enlarged views, comprehensive of such great objects, be expected, but of those whom divine providence has raised above the rest of mankind. Being free from most of the cares peculiar to individuals, they may em­ brace the interests of the whole species, feel for the wants of mankind, and be concerned to support the dignity of human nature. Gladly would I indulge the hope, that we shall soon see these motives operating in a more extensive manner than they have hitherto done; that by the illustrious example of a few, a taste for natural science will be excited in many, in whom it will operate the most effectually to the advantage of science and of the world; and that all kinds of philosophical enquiries will, henceforward, be conducted with more spirit, and with more success than ever. Were I to pursue this subject, it would carry me far beyond the reasonable bounds of a preface. I shall therefore conclude with mentioning that sentiment, which ought to be uppermost in the mind of every philosopher, whatever be the immediate object of his pursuit; that speculation is only of use as it leads to practice, that the immediate use of natural science is the power it gives us over nature, by means of the knowledge we acquire of its laws; whereby human life is, in its present state, made more comfortable and happy; but that the greatest, and noblest use of philosophical speculation is the discipline of

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the heart, and the opportunity it affords of inculcating benev­ olent and pious sentiments upon the mind. A philosopher ought to be something greater, and better than another man. The contemplation of the works of God should give a sublimity to his virtue, should expand his benev­ olence, extinguish everything mean, base, and selfish in his nature, give a dignity to all his sentiments, and teach him to aspire to the moral perfections of the great author of all things. What great and exalted beings would philosophers be, would they but let the objects about which they are con­ versant have their proper and moral effect upon their minds! A life spent in the contemplation of the productions of divine power, wisdom, and goodness, would be a life of devotion. The more we see of the wonderful structure of the world, and of the laws of nature, the more clearly do we compre­ hend their admirable uses, to make all the percipient creation happy: a sentiment, which cannot but fill the heart with unbounded love, gratitude and joy. Even everything painful and disagreeable in the world ap­ pears to a philosopher, upon a more attentive examination, to be excellently provided, as a remedy of some greater incon­ venience, or a necessary means of a much greater happiness ; so that, from this elevated point of view, he sees all temporary evils and inconveniences to vanish, in the glorious prospect of the greater good to which they are subservient. Hence he is able to venerate and rejoice in God, not only in the bright sunshine, but also in the darkest shades of nature, whereas vulgar minds are apt to be · disconcerted with the appearance of evil.

On Trade1 No SOONER no men find that they can subsist, than they discover a desire to improve their situation and increase their accommodations. If the present desideratum be not to be found at home, they will look for it abroad; and there is no situation man ever yet arrived at, or probably ever will arrive at, in which he can entirely acquiesce, so as to look out for no farther improvements. This endless craving to which the nature of man is subject, together with the activity of the human genius, gave rise to commerce, by which mankind are supplied from abroad with the conveniences whlch they could not find at home. By commerce we enlarge our acquaintance with the terra­ queous globe and its inhabitants, which tends greatly to ex­ pand the mind, and to cure us of many hurtful prejudices, which we unavoidably contract in a confined situation at home. The exercise of commerce brings us into closer and more extensive connexions with our own species , which must, upon the whole, have a favourable influence upon benevo­ lence; and no person can taste the sweets of commerce, which absolutely depends upon a free and undisturbed intercourse of different and remote nations, but must grow fond of peace in which alone the advantages he enjoys can be had. The punctuality essential to all commercial dealings must inculcate upon the minds of all concerned in it the principles of strict justice and honour. The only inconvenience is lest a constant attention to gain should estrange the mind from the sentiments of generosity and lead to a sordid avarice. But they are persons who deal in small gains, and who are per­ sonally concerned in buying and selling, that are most liable to this inconvenience ; whereas the large dealings of mer1

Lectures on History and General Policy (4th ed. ) ( 1 826) , Lecture LI,

pp. 412-425.

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chants have often a remarkably contrary effect.By commerce numbers acquire both the wealth and the spirit of princes. Trade and commerce were so long confined to the lower orders of society, while all the free and the noble were em­ ployed in hunting, or in war, that the idea of the former being mean and illiberal is still annexed to it in many parts of Europe, and especially in France. * But the wealth and generosity of merchants have a tendency to change these ideas, and the sentiments of the majority will always influence the minority. Where the greater number of rich people are in business, the rest will be ashamed of being idle. This they say is the case in Holland; and in time the business of a soldier may come to be as disreputable as that of a public execu­ tioner. The capital, the proper and immediate advantage of com­ merce is that it excites industry and increases labour, by the fruits of which a nation may procure themselves the con­ veniences they want; and thus human life be rendered much happier. The benefits of commerce arise from the exchange of what can be spared for what is wanted, especially that of provisions or unwrought materials, raised by the farmer, living in the country, for manufactures produced by those who live in towns; and the less trouble there is in making this exchange the better. If everything I want is to be had within the island, it is not my advantage to go abroad for it; and if the exchange could be made without money, it would be better still. For money is only a convenience in making exchanges. The foreign consumption of any commodity occasions the increase of it, by the encouragement given to industry at home, so that the more there is exported of any commodity, the more will be raised of it at home ; which abundantly con­ firms the maxim of Sir William Decker, that It is exportation

* But

the case is much otherwise since the Revolution in France. The more wealthy individuals, having no court to look up to, and no titles of nobility, or any exclusive privileges, to obtain, will employ their wealth in manufactures and commerce, by which alone they can now rise to much distinction; so that riches will probably be an object with the French as much as it ever has been in England, or even in Holland. American Edition

/ 269 which enriches a nation, and demonstrates, more especially, the wisdom of encouraging as much as possible the exporta­ tion of necessaries. While the English raised corn sufficient to supply other countries, they were in no danger of a famine at home. But, before this, history informs us that they had frequent famines. The abundance which the scriptures inform us King Solo­ mon introduced into the Kingdom of Israel, of silver, and of all things requisite to form the conveniences and elegancies of life, by means of his fleets, both on the Red Sea and on the Mediterranean, is a fact, similar to innumerable others which history can exhibit in favour of commerce; from which we may conclude universally that commerce never fails to make a people wealthy, populous and powerful. These advantages never fail to attend commerce in a greater or less degree, whether it be of that kind which is denominated active, or whether it be passive ; that is, whether a nation export their own commodities and manufactures, or the exchange be made by the shipping of those countries with which they have dealings. But an active commerce is by far the most advantageous. The very article of making and man­ aging the ships themselves employs a great number of hands ; the gain arising from the freight is considerable; and the naval force it brings to a state is a vast accession of power, and a great security to it. On the other hand, a passive commerce may be of such a kind as to be of manifest prejudice to a state, just as a private person may spend his fortune in a foolish and extravagant manner. That commerce only can be gainful to a nation which pro­ motes industry, so as to enable the people to live in affluence without exhausting their revenues. The most gainful com­ merce to a state, therefore, is of all others, that in which we export our own manufactures made from home materials.For this employs the labour which is necessary to the cultivation . of the unwrought materials, the manufacturing of those mate­ rials, and the exportation of the commodities which are made from them. In this view also, fisheries are peculiarly valuable; as, by On Trade

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means of them, it requires nothing but labour to enable us to open a very gainful market. Fisheries also promote na viga­ tion, so as to employ a great number of seamen; and in fact, it is evident from the history of trade, and of all maritime powers, not one excepted, that the establishment of great fisheries have always been epochs of a great trade and navigation. Next to the exportation of home manufactures, and fisher­ ies, the importation of unwrought materials for manufactures is valuable to a nation. It is better than the importation of money: because the manufacture of those foreign materials employs many of our hands at home; and the goods that are made from them are sure to bring in, at the least, much more than the price of the raw materials. The gain of the merchants , it is said, is not always the gain of the country in general. If, for instance, a merchant import foreign goods, by which the consumption of national manu­ factures is hurt, though the merchant should be a gainer by those goods, the state is a loser. As, on the other hand, a merchant may export the manufactures of his own country, to his own loss, and the nation's gain. But if the merchants be gainers , the consumers-that is, those for whose use man­ ufactures are established, having a power of purchasing or not, at pleasure-must be so too. And if, after sufficient trial, it be found that merchants importing foreign goods can sell those cheaper than the manufactures can be bought at home, it is an indication that it is not for the interest of the nation at large to encourage such manufactures. Though exportation makes a nation rich, we are not to judge of the quantity of riches which a nation gains by trade from exportation only. The importation must also be consid­ ered. If these exactly balance one another, nothing can be said to be gained or lost, just as a person is not the richer for selling a quantity of goods, if he buy to the same amount. Nay, though the exportation be lessened, if the importation be lessened more than in proportion , it proves an increase of gainful trade, notwithstanding the decrease of exportation. This, however, is estimating the value of commerce by the mere increase of money. But a nation may flourish by internal

On Trade / 271 commerce only; and what is external commerce between two nations not united in government, would be internal if they should come under the same government. In every fair bar­ gain, the buyer and the seller are equally gainers, whether money be acquired by either of the parties or not. It is a great mistake to confound the king's revenue with the gain a nation makes by its trade.No man would presume to say it is more for the public benefit that the nation should expend a million or more every year with foreigners, in order to raise a hundred thousand pounds to the revenue by the customs, than to save that million or more within ourselves, and to raise only the hundred thousand pounds some other way. But ministers of state are apt to estimate the value of everything to the country by the gain it brings, and that immediately, to themselves. As commerce increases the wealth and populousness of a nation, it cannot fail to raise the value of lands; so that what is called the landed interest is nearly concerned in the support of commerce. And it may easily be shown that a decrease of commerce would more sensibly affect the landed interest than even the merchants, traders, and manufacturers themselves; as these could more easily transport themselves and their fortunes into other countries, than persons who had estates in land. It is true, however, that trade may increase the value of land, till the value of land become an obstruction to the further increase of trade. For certainly, in a country where the trade arises chiefly from its own productions, as is very much the case with England, it cannot exist if the price of land be exorbitant; because that will raise the price of all commodities, so that they will not have the same advantages as before in foreign markets. The commerce of Holland is of a different kind, as the price of the4 commodities is more independent of their lands ; but then that kind of commerce is very fluctuating and uncertain, as the materials of their manufactures must be supplied by other nations , who in process of time may choose to manufacture them themselves. The legislature of any country has seldom interfered in the affairs of commerce, but commerce has suffered in conse-

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quence of it, owing to the ignorance of statesmen, and even of merchants themselves concerning the nature of trade.And indeed the principles of commerce are very complicated and require long experience and deep reflection before they can be well understood. But the famous English navigation act, passed in the time of the Commonwealth, is an exception to this remark. The purport of that act is, that no nation shall be permitted to import into England any commodities but such as are the growth of the country which imports them. This act was chiefly levelled against the Dutch, who before supplied the English with materials for most of their manu­ factures: but since that time they have fetched them them­ selves; and the consequence has been such an increase of the shipping and commerce of England, as has far exceeded the most sanguine expectations of those persons who projected that act. But to make such a regulation as this beneficial to a nation, it must be the interest of other nations to trade with it on its own terms, and one country must take advantage of the necessities of others. The time may come in which it will be as politic to repeal this act as it was to make it. Most politicians have injured commerce by restricting, con­ fining, or burdening it too much; the consequence of which has been that by aiming at great immediate advantage, they have cut off the very springs of all future advantage. The inconveniences which have arisen to a nation from leaving trade quite open are few, and very problematical, in compari­ son of the manifest injury it receives from being cramped in almost any form whatever. It may perhaps be admitted as a good general rule that no restrictions upon commerce are useful but such as oblige the people to increase their own labour and extend and improve their own manufactures. When Louis XIV was importuned to admit the English and Dutch herring boats, he said, "No, by no means; if my people will have herrings, why do they not catch them, as the English and Dutch do?" M. Colbert, a man of great probity, knowledge and indus­ try, was not only disposed, like ot her European ministers, to encourage the industry of the towns more than that of the

On Trade / 273 country; but, in order to it, he was willing even to depress and keep down that of the country. In order to render provi­ sions cheap to the inhabitants of towns, and thereby to en­ courage manufactures and commerce, he prohibited the exportation of corn, and thus excluded the inhabitants of the country from every foreign market for the most important part of the produce of their industry. He would have done better to have l istened to the advice of an old merchant, who being consulted by him about what he should do in favour of trade said, Laissez nous faire ( Leave us to ourselves). Great concerns which require large stocks and unanimity in the conduct of them, must necessarily be managed by companies with excl usive privileges. Companies have doubt­ less been greatly serviceable for the advancement of national commerce in early times. It seems agreed on all hands, that if the East-India and African trades had not been in com­ panies, they could not have been established. But, notwith­ standing these effects, in process of time commerce is gen­ erally able to do better without them ; and the continuance of them often becomes a great obstruction to the trade being carried on in its full extent. Private or separate traders are universally known to take more pains, and to manage more frugally than companies can or ever will be able to do. It may, however, be proper to observe, in order to prevent mis­ takes, that regulated companies have not always one joint stock ; but in many of them every member trades upon his own bottom, under such regulations as their charters empower them to make. The reason why companies are orten continued much longer than the interest of the trade requires is that, growing wealthy, they, by lending money or other means, become of consequence to the government, which cannot well do with­ out them. Exclusive and coercive powers vested in towns corporate, and subordinate societies, have all l ikewise been highly useful in the infancy of trade. In the turbulent times of the feudal system there cou ld have been no security for handicraftsmen and traders but in privileged places, in which they were pro-

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tected by the lord of the soil, and in consideration of the service they did him. But they are now generally esteemed an obstruction to it, by enabling the members of those cor­ porations to impose upon their fellow-subjects, and by dis­ couraging industry. As commerce consists in the exchange of one thing for another, all the laws which impede the alienation of land, or of any other commodity, obstruct commerce; besides, that they sink the value of land. Commerce never flourished in England till the alienation of land was made easy, by the disuse or abolition of the feudal laws and customs, which confined it to the descendants of the original possessors. All laws which make the naturalization of foreigners diffi­ cult are a discouragement to commerce. To foreigners, Eng­ land is indebted for all its manufactures and for all its wealth. And as it is by no means fully peopled, naturalization ought certainly to be made as easy as possible. No prince can take a more effectual method to ruin the trade of his dominions in a very short time, than by persecu­ tion on account of religion. Philip II of Spain absolutely ruined the fine trade of Flanders, and enriched the Dutch and the English by introducing the inquisition into those provinces of his empire. The Protestant religion is, on many accounts, more favourable to commerce than the Catholic. In Protestant countries no persons are confined to convents and a single life; and the manufacturers have not their hands so much tied up by holidays. The Japanese are great sufferers by confining their trade to the Chinese and the Dutch, occa­ sioned by the aversion they have conceived for the Jesuits. The Chinese are said to gain a thousand per cent in their trade with Japan, and the Dutch nearly the same. In enumerating the things and circumstances which are, or would be, favourable or unfavourable to commerce, it is not improper to mention that the uniformity of weights and measures, as well as of coins, would greatly facilitate general commerce. It seems impossible to effect this throughout the world, or throughout Europe; but one would think there could be no very great difficulty to effect it in any particular kingdom. The uniformity of weights and measures would

/ 275 greatly facilitate the internal commerce of Great Britain, and this of itself is certainly an object of considerable importance. On Trade

Let us not be discouraged by unsuccessful attempts to extend our commerce into countries yet unknown. Even the abortive attempts of the English, French, Dutch and Danes, for the hitherto impracticable north-west and north-east pas­ sages to Chin a and India, have been productive of several new and considerable sources of commerce, and of the increase of n avigation to those northern countries, and to the no small benefit of all the rest of Europe. For to those attempts are owing the Greenland fishery, the Hudson's Bay trade, and the trade to Russia and Lapland. Many of the received maxims of commerce have for their object the enriching of one nation at the expense of others, arising from national jealousy, as if the gain of one must necessarily be the loss of the other. But the maxim is by n o means true ; and on the same principle every town in the same country might be as jealous of its neighbouring towns, as nations are of their neighbours. In reality, as I have observed before, every fair bargain is a gainful transaction to both the parties and consequently all nations are benefited by their commercial intercourse. And of the two, the poor are greater gainers than the rich, because the wants of the poor are of a more serious nature than those of the rich. The more wealthy any nation is, the greater power it will have to purchase the commodities of other nations; and no country has so many resources within itself as not to stand in need of others , at least for superfluities. The happiness of all nations, therefore, as one great com­ munity, will be best promoted by laying aside all national jealousy of trade, and by each country cultivating those pro­ ductions or ma nufactures which they can do to the most advantage ; and experience, i n a state of perfect liberty, will soon teach them what those are. In this state of things, the only advantage will be on the side of industry and ingenuity, and no man, or nation, ought to wish it to be anywhere else. In this natural course of things, the connexions of mankind,

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in consequence of being found advantageous, would be so multiplied, that they would find a common interest in being at peace with one another, and a common loss in hostility. When differences arose they would find some other method of deciding them than by force, and the world would in time recover its pristine paradisaical state. The present [1 792] commercial treaties between England and France, and be­ tween other nations formerly hostile to each other, seem to show that mankind begin to be sensible of the folly of war, and promise a new and most important era in the state of the world in general, at least in Europe. Our jealousy of trade operates to make other nations poor at our own expense. For if it be the wish of any people to trade with another nation, it is a proof that they find themselves benefited by that trade. If any restriction on commerce was ever for the interest of a nation, it was, as I have observed, that which was in part procured for this country by the act of navigation.It made it necessary for us to increase our navy, and thereby made us more formidable in time of war. But this was necessarily at the expense of the nation in other respects. For it is evident that we were apprehensive of being served with many com­ modities by foreigners cheaper than we could be by our own people in the natural course of things: it was therefore only another mode of taxing ourselves for our defence. Dr. Smith justly observes in his Wea/th of Nat ions that no regulation of commerce can increase the quantity of industry, and consequently the wealth of any society, beyond what its capital can maintain. It can only divert a part of it into a direction into which it might not otherwise have gone; and it is by no means certain that this artificial direction will be more advantageous to society than that to which it would have gone of its own accord.

Crime and Pun ish ment1 THE OBJECT OF the criminal law is to lessen the number of crimes in future and thereby to give every man a sense of his personal security ; and if this could be done without the actual punishment of any criminal so much evil would be prevented as his punishment implies. Consequently, punish­ ment has no reference to the degree of moral turpitude in the criminal. It has been justly observed, that, properly speak­ ing, a man is not hanged for stealing a sheep in this country, but that by the terror of his punishment sheep may not be stolen; and that, without any anxiety, persons may leave their sheep in the fields unguarded. Crimes committed by violence and also by night ought to be punished with more severity than those committed by stealth, or in the day; because the apprehension of the former subjects men to greater dread, and their greater vigilance avails them but little, whereas in cases in which their own care can secure them from injury, the state has less occasion to interfere. Very strict notions of liberty may be unfavourable to a great degree of security. It is, no doubt, a capital advantage to this country that our lives, our liberties and our property, are not at the mercy of men, and that we cannot be deprived of them but by express l aw, rigorously construed. But this circumstance makes the proof of a crime so difficult that many criminals escape for one who suffers the punishment which the laws inflict. In this case, the chance of impunity being so very great, there is too much encouragement to crimes. It is commonly said with us , that it is better that a hundred criminals should escape, than that one innocent person should suffer. But what the innocent daily suffer by the hundred criminals who escape should be taken into the 1

Lectures on History and General Policy (4th ed. ) ( 1 826) , Lecture

XLVII, pp. 375-3 85.

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account as well as the chance of an innocent man sufferin1 as a criminal. In this case he ought to consider his life a: sacrificed to the security of the rest of his countrymen. How ever, the chance of losing truly upright and worthy character: by severity in the administration of justice is very little. Witl us some, no doubt, do suffer for crimes which they did no: commit; but they are generally such as have committed othe1 crimes, and who, on that account, have no character to mak€ their innocence probable. In order to prevent the commission of crimes, punishments: at the same time that they ought to be adequate to the of­ fences, should be such as inspire the greatest terror; so that iJ slavery be more dreadful than present death, as it is to many, the lives of criminals should be spared, and they should be confined to hard labour, either at home or abroad. In this case some advantage might be derived from them in compen­ sation for the injury they may have done to society. In this country, however, there would be great danger of criminals escaping from their confinement to labour; and the loss to society by the destruction of criminals is soon made up by the production of better subjects. How few die by the hand of the executioner compared with those who die in conse­ quence of war. Is there, then, any mercy in sparing criminals when the lives of soldiers are in a manner sported with? The only inconvenience from severe punishment is, lest criminals having no hope of escaping if they should be apprehended, should be guilty of greater violences in order to prevent detection. In order to inspire terror it is of particular consequence that punishment should immediately follow conviction which was the case with all the ancient nations. Thus, our Saviour, after being condemned, was immediately led to execution. Our mode of respiting, for the sake of benefiting the souls of the criminals, has arisen from a notion that such repent­ ance as that of a condemned criminal may be of some avail to him with respect to his future state; a notion false and dangerous in the extreme, as it encourages the whole com­ munity to persist in evil courses, thinking that a few days, or

/ 279 hours, of repentance may cancel all their guilt, and prepare them for future happiness. A wise and prudent legislature will endeavour to prevent the commission of crimes, as well as to see to the punishment of them when they are committed. For this purpose, it is of great consequence that every incentive to profligacy and vice be removed as far as possible. The prospect of improving men's fortunes by lotteries diverts them from the true pursuit of honest gain and in the cause of making great numbers desperate. A multitude of alehouses and other places of enter­ tainment which tempt men to spend their money when their families are in want of it, is another great nuisance in this country. And the long confinement of criminals together, and in some cases of debtors and criminals promiscuously, with every means which they can command of riot and debauch while they are in prison, makes it a perfect school of vice. They teach and harden one another; and as nine out of ten escape execution, they come into the world better taught in the arts of villainy than before. Common sense, one would think, should have taught us long ago what the excellent Mr Howard has taken so much pains to inculcate , viz. that every criminal should be confined alone, and be limited to the bare necessaries of life. Perfect solitude gives room for reflection, and will often reclaim when nothing else would do it. * Great severity, as well as great lenity, ought to be avoided in the sanctions of laws. The severity of laws hinders the execution of them. Persons of humanity would rather let a criminal escape than see him suffer more than they think he deserves. When punishment bears no proportion to the nature of the crime, men are punished under the idea of their being more wicked than they really are, which is contrary to the spirit of a moderate government. Besides, when punish­ ments are very severe, there can be little room for a differ­ ence in the animadversions upon offences. Hence persons Crime and Punishment

* This, however, should never be in the dark, without the opportunity of reading proper books, or some means of amusement. Otherwise sol itary confinement would, with many, terminate in insanity. Great attention should by all means be given to the characters and peculiar circumstances of criminals in this case. American Edition

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who are once criminal in any degree have nothing left ti restrain them from greater excesses. Thus in countries wher◄ the punishments of robbery and murder are the same, robber always commit murder. This inconvenience must happen un less, as it is often the case, and particularly in England, th1 gentleness of the administration softens the rigour of the law But this evidently tends to introduce the most lawless pm ceedings. When the Voconian law at Rome appeared t0< harsh, every praetor decided according to his own ideas 01 equity; that is , without law. Of all governments the Japanes( is the most severe. In Japan the whole district is punishec where the crime was committed; and thus Alfred was obligec to enact with respect to England. So rigorous were the forest laws in France that, as th