The subject of this Essay is not the so-called Liberty of the Will, so unfortunately opposed to the misnamed doctrine of Philosophical Necessity; but Civil, or Social Liberty: the nature and limits of the power which can be legitimately exercised by society over the individual. A question seldom stated, and hardly ever discussed, in general terms, but which profoundly influences the practical controversies of the age by its latent presence, and is likely soon to make itself recognised as the vital question of the future. It is so far from being new, that in a certain sense, it has divided mankind, almost from the remotest ages; but in the stage of progress into which the more civilised portions of the species have now entered, it presents itself under new conditions, and requires a different and more fundamental treatment.
This essay is not about the so-called Liberty of the Will. That topic is often set against the misnamed doctrine of Philosophical Necessity. It is about Civil or Social Liberty. Specifically, it concerns the nature and limits of the power that society can legitimately exercise over the individual. This question is seldom stated and hardly ever discussed in general terms. Yet its quiet presence deeply shapes the practical controversies of our age. Soon it will likely be recognized as one of the vital questions of the future. It is far from new. In a sense, it has divided humanity since the earliest ages. But the more civilized parts of our species have reached a new stage of progress. In this stage the issue appears under new conditions. It therefore requires a different and more fundamental treatment.
The struggle between Liberty and Authority is the most conspicuous feature in the portions of history with which we are earliest familiar, particularly in that of Greece, Rome, and England. But in old times this contest was between subjects, or some classes of subjects, and the government. By liberty, was meant protection against the tyranny of the political rulers. The rulers were conceived (except in some of the popular governments of Greece) as in a necessarily antagonistic position to the people whom they ruled. They consisted of a governing One, or a governing tribe or caste, who derived their authority from inheritance or conquest, who, at all events, did not hold it at the pleasure of the governed, and whose supremacy men did not venture, perhaps did not desire, to contest, whatever precautions might be taken against its oppressive exercise. Their power was regarded as necessary, but also as highly dangerous; as a weapon which they would attempt to use against their subjects, no less than against external enemies. To prevent the weaker members of the community from being preyed upon by innumerable vultures, it was needful that there should be an animal of prey stronger than the rest, commissioned to keep them down. But as the king of the vultures would be no less bent upon preying on the flock than any of the minor harpies, it was indispensable to be in a perpetual attitude of defence against his beak and claws. The aim, therefore, of patriots, was to set limits to the power which the ruler should be suffered to exercise over the community; and this limitation was what they meant by liberty. It was attempted in two ways. First, by obtaining a recognition of certain immunities, called political liberties or rights, which it was to be regarded as a breach of duty in the ruler to infringe, and which if he did infringe, specific resistance, or general rebellion, was held to be justifiable. A second, and generally a later expedient, was the establishment of constitutional checks; by which the consent of the community, or of a body of some sort, supposed to represent its interests, was made a necessary condition to some of the more important acts of the governing power. To the first of these modes of limitation, the ruling power, in most European countries, was compelled, more or less, to submit. It was not so with the second; and to attain this, or when already in some degree possessed, to attain it more completely, became everywhere the principal object of the lovers of liberty. And so long as mankind were content to combat one enemy by another, and to be ruled by a master, on condition of being guaranteed more or less efficaciously against his tyranny, they did not carry their aspirations beyond this point.
The struggle between Liberty and Authority stands out in the early histories we know, especially in Greece, Rome, and England. In earlier times, this struggle was mainly between subjects, or some classes of subjects, and the government. By liberty people meant protection from the political rulers' tyranny. Rulers were seen, except in some Greek democracies, as naturally opposed to the people they ruled. They were a single ruler or a ruling tribe or caste. They gained power by inheritance or conquest. They did not hold power at the will of the governed. People did not, and perhaps did not want to, challenge their supremacy. They might take precautions against oppression, but they accepted the ruler's dominance. Their power was seen as necessary but dangerous. It was a weapon the rulers could use against their subjects as well as against outside enemies. To stop weaker members of society being devoured by many predatory men, people thought a stronger predator was needed to keep the others in check. But the king of those predators would prey on the flock too. So people had to stay constantly on guard against his beak and claws. Patriots therefore aimed to limit how much power the ruler could exercise. That limitation was what they called liberty. They tried two main methods. First, they secured recognized immunities, called political liberties or rights. Rulers were expected not to violate these rights. If a ruler did violate them, targeted resistance or general rebellion was considered justifiable. The second method, usually later, was to create constitutional checks. These made the consent of the community, or of a body thought to represent it, necessary for important government acts. In most European countries, rulers had to accept the first kind of limitation to some degree. They did not accept the second so readily. Winning these constitutional checks, or strengthening them where they already existed, became the main goal of those who loved liberty. As long as people were willing to fight one enemy with another, and to be ruled so long as they had some protection against tyranny, they did not push their aims further.
A time, however, came, in the progress of human affairs, when men ceased to think it a necessity of nature that their governors should be an independent power, opposed in interest to themselves. It appeared to them much better that the various magistrates of the State should be their tenants or delegates, revocable at their pleasure. In that way alone, it seemed, could they have complete security that the powers of government would never be abused to their disadvantage. By degrees, this new demand for elective and temporary rulers became the prominent object of the exertions of the popular party, wherever any such party existed; and superseded, to a considerable extent, the previous efforts to limit the power of rulers. As the struggle proceeded for making the ruling power emanate from the periodical choice of the ruled, some persons began to think that too much importance had been attached to the limitation of the power itself. That (it might seem) was a resource against rulers whose interests were habitually opposed to those of the people. What was now wanted was, that the rulers should be identified with the people; that their interest and will should be the interest and will of the nation. The nation did not need to be protected against its own will. There was no fear of its tyrannising over itself. Let the rulers be effectually responsible to it, promptly removable by it, and it could afford to trust them with power of which it could itself dictate the use to be made. Their power was but the nation's own power, concentrated, and in a form convenient for exercise. This mode of thought, or rather perhaps of feeling, was common among the last generation of European liberalism, in the Continental section of which it still apparently predominates. Those who admit any limit to what a government may do, except in the case of such governments as they think ought not to exist, stand out as brilliant exceptions among the political thinkers of the Continent. A similar tone of sentiment might by this time have been prevalent in our own country, if the circumstances which for a time encouraged it, had continued unaltered.
At a later point in history, people stopped thinking it necessary that their governors be an independent power opposed to them. They preferred that magistrates be their tenants or delegates, removable at will. They saw this as the only way to ensure government power would not be abused against them. Gradually, the demand for elected, temporary rulers became the main goal of popular movements wherever they existed. It largely replaced earlier efforts to constrain rulers' power. As people pushed harder to make rulers answer to regular elections, some began to think limiting power had been overemphasized. That seemed a protection against rulers whose interests were habitually opposed to the people's. Now the demand was different. People wanted rulers identified with the nation. Their interests and will should be the nation's. The nation did not need protection from its own will. There was no fear it would tyrannize over itself. If rulers were truly accountable and could be removed quickly, the nation could trust them with power. The nation could dictate how that power was used. Their power was just the nation's power concentrated for convenient use. This way of thinking, or rather feeling, was common in the last generation of European liberalism. It still seems to predominate in the Continental section. On the Continent, most political thinkers accept no limits on government. The few who do, usually only for governments they believe should not exist, are notable exceptions. A similar sentiment might have prevailed in our own country if the circumstances that once encouraged it had remained unchanged.
But, in political and philosophical theories, as well as in persons, success discloses faults and infirmities which failure might have concealed from observation. The notion, that the people have no need to limit their power over themselves, might seem axiomatic, when popular government was a thing only dreamed about, or read of as having existed at some distant period of the past. Neither was that notion necessarily disturbed by such temporary aberrations as those of the French Revolution, the worst of which were the work of a usurping few, and which, in any case, belonged, not to the permanent working of popular institutions, but to a sudden and convulsive outbreak against monarchical and aristocratic despotism. In time, however, a democratic republic came to occupy a large portion of the earth's surface, and made itself felt as one of the most powerful members of the community of nations; and elective and responsible government became subject to the observations and criticisms which wait upon a great existing fact. It was now perceived that such phrases as "self-government," and "the power of the people over themselves," do not express the true state of the case. The "people" who exercise the power are not always the same people with those over whom it is exercised; and the "self-government" spoken of is not the government of each by himself, but of each by all the rest. The will of the people, moreover, practically means, the will of the most numerous or the most active part of the people; the majority, or those who succeed in making themselves accepted as the majority: the people, consequently, may desire to oppress a part of their number; and precautions are as much needed against this, as against any other abuse of power. The limitation, therefore, of the power of government over individuals, loses none of its importance when the holders of power are regularly accountable to the community, that is, to the strongest party therein. This view of things, recommending itself equally to the intelligence of thinkers and to the inclination of those important classes in European society to whose real or supposed interests democracy is adverse, has had no difficulty in establishing itself; and in political speculations "the tyranny of the majority" is now generally included among the evils against which society requires to be on its guard.
But success, in political and philosophical theories as well as in people, reveals faults and weaknesses that failure might have hidden. The idea that people need not limit their own power might have seemed obvious when popular government was only imagined or read about as something from the distant past. That idea was not necessarily shaken by temporary aberrations like the French Revolution. The worst excesses there were carried out by a usurping few. In any case, they did not reflect the regular workings of popular institutions, but were a sudden, convulsive backlash against monarchical and aristocratic despotism. Over time, democratic republics came to cover large parts of the Earth and became powerful members of the international community. Elective, responsible government therefore faced the scrutiny and criticism that come with being a major reality. People realized that phrases like "self-government" and "the power of the people over themselves" did not capture the actual situation. The "people" who hold power are not always the same as those over whom they rule. "Self-government" is not each person ruling themselves. It is each person being ruled by everyone else. In practice, the will of the people usually means the will of the most numerous or the most active part of the people. That is the majority, or those who manage to pass as the majority. The people, consequently, may want to oppress some of their members. We need safeguards against this just as much as against any other abuse of power. So limiting government power over individuals remains just as important when rulers are regularly accountable to the community, which means to its strongest party. This view appealed both to thinkers and to influential European classes who saw democracy as a threat to their real or supposed interests, so it established itself easily. In political thought, "the tyranny of the majority" is now commonly listed among the dangers society must watch for.
Like other tyrannies, the tyranny of the majority was at first, and is still vulgarly, held in dread, chiefly as operating through the acts of the public authorities. But reflecting persons perceived that when society is itself the tyrant—society collectively, over the separate individuals who compose it—its means of tyrannising are not restricted to the acts which it may do by the hands of its political functionaries. Society can and does execute its own mandates: and if it issues wrong mandates instead of right, or any mandates at all in things with which it ought not to meddle, it practises a social tyranny more formidable than many kinds of political oppression, since, though not usually upheld by such extreme penalties, it leaves fewer means of escape, penetrating much more deeply into the details of life, and enslaving the soul itself. Protection, therefore, against the tyranny of the magistrate is not enough: there needs protection also against the tyranny of the prevailing opinion and feeling; against the tendency of society to impose, by other means than civil penalties, its own ideas and practices as rules of conduct on those who dissent from them; to fetter the development, and, if possible, prevent the formation, of any individuality not in harmony with its ways, and compel all characters to fashion themselves upon the model of its own. There is a limit to the legitimate interference of collective opinion with individual independence: and to find that limit, and maintain it against encroachment, is as indispensable to a good condition of human affairs, as protection against political despotism.
At first, and still commonly, people feared the tyranny of the majority mainly because it acted through public authorities. Thoughtful people saw that when society itself becomes the tyrant, acting collectively over individuals, its methods of oppression are not limited to what political officials do. Society can and does enforce its own rules. If it issues wrong orders, or any orders about matters it should not decide, it practices a social tyranny. That tyranny can be more dangerous than many political oppressions. It rarely uses extreme penalties, but it leaves people with fewer ways to escape. It reaches into the smallest details of life and enslaves the soul. So protecting people only from the magistrate's tyranny is not enough. We need protection from the tyranny of prevailing opinion and feeling. Society tends to use nonlegal means to force its ideas and habits on dissenters. It tries to limit development or even stop individuality that does not match its ways. It pressures everyone to shape themselves into its own pattern. There is a limit to how much collective opinion can legitimately interfere with individual independence. Finding and defending that limit is as essential to a healthy society as protecting people from political despotism.
But though this proposition is not likely to be contested in general terms, the practical question, where to place the limit—how to make the fitting adjustment between individual independence and social control—is a subject on which nearly everything remains to be done. All that makes existence valuable to any one, depends on the enforcement of restraints upon the actions of other people. Some rules of conduct, therefore, must be imposed, by law in the first place, and by opinion on many things which are not fit subjects for the operation of law. What these rules should be, is the principal question in human affairs; but if we except a few of the most obvious cases, it is one of those which least progress has been made in resolving. No two ages, and scarcely any two countries, have decided it alike; and the decision of one age or country is a wonder to another. Yet the people of any given age and country no more suspect any difficulty in it, than if it were a subject on which mankind had always been agreed. The rules which obtain among themselves appear to them self-evident and self-justifying. This all but universal illusion is one of the examples of the magical influence of custom, which is not only, as the proverb says, a second nature, but is continually mistaken for the first. The effect of custom, in preventing any misgiving respecting the rules of conduct which mankind impose on one another, is all the more complete because the subject is one on which it is not generally considered necessary that reasons should be given, either by one person to others, or by each to himself. People are accustomed to believe, and have been encouraged in the belief by some who aspire to the character of philosophers, that their feelings, on subjects of this nature, are better than reasons, and render reasons unnecessary. The practical principle which guides them to their opinions on the regulation of human conduct, is the feeling in each person's mind that everybody should be required to act as he, and those with whom he sympathises, would like them to act. No one, indeed, acknowledges to himself that his standard of judgment is his own liking; but an opinion on a point of conduct, not supported by reasons, can only count as one person's preference; and if the reasons, when given, are a mere appeal to a similar preference felt by other people, it is still only many people's liking instead of one. To an ordinary man, however, his own preference, thus supported, is not only a perfectly satisfactory reason, but the only one he generally has for any of his notions of morality, taste, or propriety, which are not expressly written in his religious creed; and his chief guide in the interpretation even of that. Men's opinions, accordingly, on what is laudable or blamable, are affected by all the multifarious causes which influence their wishes in regard to the conduct of others, and which are as numerous as those which determine their wishes on any other subject. Sometimes their reason—at other times their prejudices or superstitions: often their social affections, not seldom their anti-social ones, their envy or jealousy, their arrogance or contemptuousness: but most commonly, their desires or fears for themselves—their legitimate or illegitimate self-interest. Wherever there is an ascendant class, a large portion of the morality of the country emanates from its class interests, and its feelings of class superiority. The morality between Spartans and Helots, between planters and negroes, between princes and subjects, between nobles and roturiers, between men and women, has been for the most part the creation of these class interests and feelings: and the sentiments thus generated, react in turn upon the moral feelings of the members of the ascendant class, in their relations among themselves. Where, on the other hand, a class, formerly ascendant, has lost its ascendancy, or where its ascendancy is unpopular, the prevailing moral sentiments frequently bear the impress of an impatient dislike of superiority. Another grand determining principle of the rules of conduct, both in act and forbearance, which have been enforced by law or opinion, has been the servility of mankind towards the supposed preferences or aversions of their temporal masters, or of their gods. This servility, though essentially selfish, is not hypocrisy; it gives rise to perfectly genuine sentiments of abhorrence; it made men burn magicians and heretics. Among so many baser influences, the general and obvious interests of society have of course had a share, and a large one, in the direction of the moral sentiments: less, however, as a matter of reason, and on their own account, than as a consequence of the sympathies and antipathies which grew out of them: and sympathies and antipathies which had little or nothing to do with the interests of society, have made themselves felt in the establishment of moralities with quite as great force.
But even if people agree with this idea in the abstract, the practical question—where to draw the line between individual freedom and social control—remains largely unsettled. Almost everything that makes life worth living depends on holding others back from certain actions. So some rules must be imposed. Law must set some limits. Public opinion must set others where law does not belong. Deciding what those rules should be is the main question of human affairs. Yet, except in a few obvious cases, we have made little real progress. No two ages, and hardly any two countries, have decided it the same way. One age or country’s settled rules often surprise another. Still, people in any given time and place act as if the matter were obvious and always agreed on. The rules they live by seem self-evident and self-justifying to them. This almost universal mistake shows the strange power of custom. Custom is not only, as the proverb says, a second nature. People constantly mistake it for the first. Custom prevents doubt about the rules people set each other. This is stronger because people do not usually expect reasons to be given. They are used to believing—and some who call themselves philosophers encourage the view—that feelings on these subjects beat reasons and make them unnecessary. The practical rule that guides most people is simply this: everyone should be made to act as he, and those he feels for, would like them to act. Hardly anyone admits that his standard is only his personal liking. But an opinion about conduct that has no reasons behind it is only a personal preference. If the reasons offered are just appeals to similar preferences felt by others, then the argument is still only many people’s liking instead of one person’s. To ordinary people, though, such shared liking is not only a satisfactory reason. It is often the only reason they have for ideas of morality, taste, or propriety, except where these ideas are explicitly stated in their religion. That liking even becomes the main guide to how they interpret that religion. People’s views on what is praiseworthy or blameworthy are shaped by the same many causes that shape their wishes about other matters. Sometimes reason shapes them. Sometimes prejudice or superstition does. Often social affections influence them. Sometimes anti-social feelings do. Envy or jealousy, arrogance or contempt, also play a part. Most commonly, people’s desires or fears for themselves guide them—their self-interest, whether legitimate or not. Wherever one class dominates, much of the country’s morality comes from that class’s interests and its sense of superiority. The moral codes between Spartans and Helots, between planters and negroes, between princes and subjects, between nobles and roturiers, and between men and women were largely products of these class interests and feelings. Those sentiments then shape how members of the dominant class treat one another. On the other hand, when a formerly dominant class loses power, or its dominance is unpopular, the common moral feelings often show an impatient dislike of superiority. Another major force shaping rules of action and restraint has been people’s servility to the supposed likes and dislikes of their worldly masters or of their gods. This servility is basically selfish, but it is not just hypocrisy. It produces genuine feelings of abhorrence. It led men to burn magicians and heretics. Amid so many lower motives, the plain and obvious interests of society have also played a large role in forming moral feelings. They have done so less by reason and more through the sympathies and antipathies they created. And sympathies and antipathies that had little or nothing to do with society’s real interests have often helped establish moral codes just as powerfully.
The likings and dislikings of society, or of some powerful portion of it, are thus the main thing which has practically determined the rules laid down for general observance, under the penalties of law or opinion. And in general, those who have been in advance of society in thought and feeling have left this condition of things unassailed in principle, however they may have come into conflict with it in some of its details. They have occupied themselves rather in inquiring what things society ought to like or dislike, than in questioning whether its likings or dislikings should be a law to individuals. They preferred endeavouring to alter the feelings of mankind on the particular points on which they were themselves heretical, rather than make common cause in defence of freedom, with heretics generally. The only case in which the higher ground has been taken on principle and maintained with consistency, by any but an individual here and there, is that of religious belief: a case instructive in many ways, and not least so as forming a most striking instance of the fallibility of what is called the moral sense: for the odium theologicum, in a sincere bigot, is one of the most unequivocal cases of moral feeling. Those who first broke the yoke of what called itself the Universal Church, were in general as little willing to permit difference of religious opinion as that church itself. But when the heat of the conflict was over, without giving a complete victory to any party, and each church or sect was reduced to limit its hopes to retaining possession of the ground it already occupied; minorities, seeing that they had no chance of becoming majorities, were under the necessity of pleading to those whom they could not convert, for permission to differ. It is accordingly on this battle-field, almost solely, that the rights of the individual against society have been asserted on broad grounds of principle, and the claim of society to exercise authority over dissentients, openly controverted. The great writers to whom the world owes what religious liberty it possesses, have mostly asserted freedom of conscience as an indefeasible right, and denied absolutely that a human being is accountable to others for his religious belief. Yet so natural to mankind is intolerance in whatever they really care about, that religious freedom has hardly anywhere been practically realised, except where religious indifference, which dislikes to have its peace disturbed by theological quarrels, has added its weight to the scale. In the minds of almost all religious persons, even in the most tolerant countries, the duty of toleration is admitted with tacit reserves. One person will bear with dissent in matters of church government, but not of dogma; another can tolerate everybody, short of a Papist or a Unitarian; another, every one who believes in revealed religion; a few extend their charity a little further, but stop at the belief in a God and in a future state. Wherever the sentiment of the majority is still genuine and intense, it is found to have abated little of its claim to be obeyed.
The likes and dislikes of society, or of its powerful groups, have been the main force shaping the rules people must follow, whether enforced by law or by public opinion. Generally, those who led society in thought and feeling did not challenge this principle, even when they disagreed with some of its details. They asked what society ought to like or dislike, rather than whether society’s likes and dislikes should be binding on individuals. They tried to change people’s feelings on the specific points where they were heretics, instead of joining a broader defense of freedom for all heretics. The one case in which people consistently took the higher ground on principle, beyond a few lone individuals, was religious belief. This case is instructive in many ways. It shows, among other things, how fallible what is called the moral sense can be. The odium theologicum in a sincere bigot is one of the clearest examples of moral feeling. Those who first broke the power of what called itself the Universal Church were generally no more willing to allow differences of religious opinion than that church had been. But when the heat of the conflict died down without any party winning completely, and each church or sect was left to hold the ground it already had, minorities who saw no chance of becoming majorities had to plead with those they could not convert for permission to differ. It is on this battlefield, almost alone, that the rights of the individual against society have been argued on broad principles, and the claim of society to control dissenters has been openly challenged. The great writers who won most of the religious liberty we have usually argued that freedom of conscience is an indefeasible right and denied that a person is accountable to others for their religious belief. Yet intolerance is so natural wherever people really care that religious freedom has rarely been fully realized. It exists mostly where religious indifference, which prefers to avoid theological quarrels, has helped the cause of tolerance. Even in the most tolerant countries, most religious people accept toleration with unspoken limits. One person will put up with differences about church government, but not about dogma. Another tolerates everyone except a Papist or a Unitarian. Another tolerates everyone who believes in revealed religion. A few go a little further, but stop at belief in a God and in a future life. Where the majority’s feeling is still strong and sincere, it keeps claiming the right to be obeyed.
In England, from the peculiar circumstances of our political history, though the yoke of opinion is perhaps heavier, that of law is lighter, than in most other countries of Europe; and there is considerable jealousy of direct interference, by the legislative or the executive power, with private conduct; not so much from any just regard for the independence of the individual, as from the still subsisting habit of looking on the government as representing an opposite interest to the public. The majority have not yet learnt to feel the power of the government their power, or its opinions their opinions. When they do so, individual liberty will probably be as much exposed to invasion from the government, as it already is from public opinion. But, as yet, there is a considerable amount of feeling ready to be called forth against any attempt of the law to control individuals in things in which they have not hitherto been accustomed to be controlled by it; and this with very little discrimination as to whether the matter is, or is not, within the legitimate sphere of legal control; insomuch that the feeling, highly salutary on the whole, is perhaps quite as often misplaced as well grounded in the particular instances of its application. There is, in fact, no recognised principle by which the propriety or impropriety of government interference is customarily tested. People decide according to their personal preferences. Some, whenever they see any good to be done, or evil to be remedied, would willingly instigate the government to undertake the business; while others prefer to bear almost any amount of social evil, rather than add one to the departments of human interests amenable to governmental control. And men range themselves on one or the other side in any particular case, according to this general direction of their sentiments; or according to the degree of interest which they feel in the particular thing which it is proposed that the government should do, or according to the belief they entertain that the government would, or would not, do it in the manner they prefer; but very rarely on account of any opinion to which they consistently adhere, as to what things are fit to be done by a government. And it seems to me that in consequence of this absence of rule or principle, one side is at present as often wrong as the other; the interference of government is, with about equal frequency, improperly invoked and improperly condemned.
In England, because of our particular political history, public opinion probably presses more heavily, while law presses less, than in most other European countries. There is a strong distrust of direct interference by the legislature or the executive in private conduct. That distrust comes less from a true respect for individual independence and more from the lingering habit of seeing the government as representing interests opposed to the public. The majority do not yet feel the government's power as their power, or its opinions as their opinions. When they do, government will probably threaten individual liberty as much as public opinion already does. For now, many people are ready to oppose any legal attempt to control behavior in areas the law has not previously regulated. They show little discrimination about whether an issue falls within the rightful sphere of legal control. That resistance is generally healthy, but it is often misplaced as well as well founded. There is no accepted principle for judging when government interference is appropriate. People decide by personal preference. Some want the government to act whenever a good can be done or an evil remedied. Others would rather tolerate nearly any social harm than extend the range of things under government control. People take one side or the other based on these general feelings, on how much they care about the case, or on whether they believe the government would do the task as they wish. They rarely act from a consistent view about what duties a government should have. Because there is no clear rule, both sides are often wrong. Government action is about as often improperly called for as it is improperly condemned.
The object of this Essay is to assert one very simple principle, as entitled to govern absolutely the dealings of society with the individual in the way of compulsion and control, whether the means used be physical force in the form of legal penalties, or the moral coercion of public opinion. That principle is, that the sole end for which mankind are warranted, individually or collectively, in interfering with the liberty of action of any of their number, is self-protection. That the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilised community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others. His own good, either physical or moral, is not a sufficient warrant. He cannot rightfully be compelled to do or forbear because it will be better for him to do so, because it will make him happier, because, in the opinions of others, to do so would be wise, or even right. These are good reasons for remonstrating with him, or reasoning with him, or persuading him, or entreating him, but not for compelling him, or visiting him with any evil in case he do otherwise. To justify that, the conduct from which it is desired to deter him must be calculated to produce evil to some one else. The only part of the conduct of any one, for which he is amenable to society, is that which concerns others. In the part which merely concerns himself, his independence is, of right, absolute. Over himself, over his own body and mind, the individual is sovereign.
This essay defends a single simple principle about how society may use compulsion and control. That includes legal force and the moral pressure of public opinion. The only reason people, alone or together, may interfere with another person's freedom of action is self-protection. Power over a member of a civilized community may be used against their will only to prevent harm to others. Their own good, whether physical or moral, is not enough reason. No one may be forced to act or to refrain just because it would be better for them, or make them happier, or because others think it wise or right. Those reasons justify arguing, reasoning, persuading, or pleading with them, but not compelling them or punishing them if they refuse. To justify coercion, the conduct to be stopped must be likely to cause harm to someone else. A person is responsible to society only for actions that affect others. In matters that concern only themselves, their independence is, by right, absolute. Over themselves, over their own body and mind, the individual is sovereign.
It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to say that this doctrine is meant to apply only to human beings in the maturity of their faculties. We are not speaking of children, or of young persons below the age which the law may fix as that of manhood or womanhood. Those who are still in a state to require being taken care of by others, must be protected against their own actions as well as against external injury. For the same reason, we may leave out of consideration those backward states of society in which the race itself may be considered as in its nonage. The early difficulties in the way of spontaneous progress are so great, that there is seldom any choice of means for overcoming them; and a ruler full of the spirit of improvement is warranted in the use of any expedients that will attain an end, perhaps otherwise unattainable. Despotism is a legitimate mode of government in dealing with barbarians, provided the end be their improvement, and the means justified by actually effecting that end. Liberty, as a principle, has no application to any state of things anterior to the time when mankind have become capable of being improved by free and equal discussion. Until then, there is nothing for them but implicit obedience to an Akbar or a Charlemagne, if they are so fortunate as to find one. But as soon as mankind have attained the capacity of being guided to their own improvement by conviction or persuasion (a period long since reached in all nations with whom we need here concern ourselves), compulsion, either in the direct form or in that of pains and penalties for non-compliance, is no longer admissible as a means to their own good, and justifiable only for the security of others.
It is unnecessary to say that this doctrine applies only to people whose faculties are mature. This does not include children or young people below the legal age of adulthood. People who still need care must be protected from harming themselves and from harm by others. For the same reason, we can exclude societies that are still in an early, undeveloped stage. Early obstacles to spontaneous progress are so great that there is rarely any choice of means to overcome them. A ruler eager to improve things may be justified in using any measures that actually achieve that improvement. Despotism may be a legitimate form of government when dealing with barbarians, provided the goal is their improvement and the methods actually work. Liberty as a principle does not apply before people are capable of being improved by free and equal discussion. Until then, their only option is implicit obedience to an Akbar or a Charlemagne, if they are lucky enough to have one. Once people can be guided to improve themselves through conviction or persuasion—which long ago became true in the nations we need to consider—compulsion is no longer acceptable as a means to their own good. This includes direct force and punishments for non-compliance. Such compulsion is only justifiable to protect others.
It is proper to state that I forego any advantage which could be derived to my argument from the idea of abstract right, as a thing independent of utility. I regard utility as the ultimate appeal on all ethical questions; but it must be utility in the largest sense, grounded on the permanent interests of man as a progressive being. Those interests, I contend, authorise the subjection of individual spontaneity to external control, only in respect to those actions of each, which concern the interest of other people. If any one does an act hurtful to others, there is a primâ facie case for punishing him, by law, or, where legal penalties are not safely applicable, by general disapprobation. There are also many positive acts for the benefit of others, which he may rightfully be compelled to perform; such as, to give evidence in a court of justice; to bear his fair share in the common defence, or in any other joint work necessary to the interest of the society of which he enjoys the protection; and to perform certain acts of individual beneficence, such as saving a fellow-creature's life, or interposing to protect the defenceless against ill-usage, things which whenever it is obviously a man's duty to do, he may rightfully be made responsible to society for not doing. A person may cause evil to others not only by his actions but by his inaction, and in either case he is justly accountable to them for the injury. The latter case, it is true, requires a much more cautious exercise of compulsion than the former. To make any one answerable for doing evil to others, is the rule; to make him answerable for not preventing evil, is, comparatively speaking, the exception. Yet there are many cases clear enough and grave enough to justify that exception. In all things which regard the external relations of the individual, he is de jure amenable to those whose interests are concerned, and if need be, to society as their protector. There are often good reasons for not holding him to the responsibility; but these reasons must arise from the special expediencies of the case: either because it is a kind of case in which he is on the whole likely to act better, when left to his own discretion, than when controlled in any way in which society have it in their power to control him; or because the attempt to exercise control would produce other evils, greater than those which it would prevent. When such reasons as these preclude the enforcement of responsibility, the conscience of the agent himself should step into the vacant judgment seat, and protect those interests of others which have no external protection; judging himself all the more rigidly, because the case does not admit of his being made accountable to the judgment of his fellow-creatures.
I should say at the start that I do not rely on the idea of abstract right as something separate from utility. I see utility as the final standard in ethical questions. But utility must be understood broadly, based on the lasting interests of human beings as progressive creatures. I argue that these interests justify limiting an individual's spontaneous actions only when those actions affect other people's interests. If someone harms others, there is a primâ facie case for punishing them by law. If legal penalties are not appropriate or safe, public disapproval is justified. There are also many positive acts people can rightly be compelled to perform for the benefit of others. For example: to give evidence in court; to take a fair share in common defense or other joint work needed by the society that protects them; and to perform certain acts of personal beneficence, like saving another person's life or stepping in to protect the defenseless from abuse. When it is clearly a person's duty to do these things, society may rightly hold them responsible for failing to act. A person can injure others not only by what they do but by what they fail to do, and in both cases they are rightly accountable. The latter case, however, calls for much more caution before we use compulsion. Holding someone responsible for actively harming others is the usual rule. Holding them responsible for not preventing harm is, by comparison, the exception. Still, many cases are clear and serious enough to justify that exception. In matters that affect other people's external relations, a person is de jure answerable to those whose interests are concerned, and if needed, to society as their protector. Often there are good reasons not to enforce that responsibility. Those reasons must come from the specific circumstances. For example, either because in that kind of case the person is likely to act better when left to their own judgment than if society tried to control them, or because attempting control would cause greater harms than it would prevent. When such reasons rule out enforcement, the person's conscience should take the place of external judgment. They must protect the interests of others that have no external protection, and judge themselves more strictly because they cannot be held accountable to others.
But there is a sphere of action in which society, as distinguished from the individual, has, if any, only an indirect interest; comprehending all that portion of a person's life and conduct which affects only himself, or if it also affects others, only with their free, voluntary, and undeceived consent and participation. When I say only himself, I mean directly, and in the first instance: for whatever affects himself, may affect others through himself; and the objection which may be grounded on this contingency, will receive consideration in the sequel. This, then, is the appropriate region of human liberty. It comprises, first, the inward domain of consciousness; demanding liberty of conscience, in the most comprehensive sense; liberty of thought and feeling; absolute freedom of opinion and sentiment on all subjects, practical or speculative, scientific, moral, or theological. The liberty of expressing and publishing opinions may seem to fall under a different principle, since it belongs to that part of the conduct of an individual which concerns other people; but, being almost of as much importance as the liberty of thought itself, and resting in great part on the same reasons, is practically inseparable from it. Secondly, the principle requires liberty of tastes and pursuits; of framing the plan of our life to suit our own character; of doing as we like, subject to such consequences as may follow: without impediment from our fellow-creatures, so long as what we do does not harm them, even though they should think our conduct foolish, perverse, or wrong. Thirdly, from this liberty of each individual, follows the liberty, within the same limits, of combination among individuals; freedom to unite, for any purpose not involving harm to others: the persons combining being supposed to be of full age, and not forced or deceived.
But there is an area of action where society, as opposed to the individual, has at most an indirect interest. It covers the part of a person's life and conduct that affects only themselves. If it affects others, it does so only with their free, voluntary, and undeceived consent and participation. When I say only himself, I mean directly and primarily. Whatever affects a person may affect others through himself. I will consider objections based on that possibility in the sequel. This, then, is the proper domain of human liberty. First, it includes the inward domain of consciousness. That requires liberty of conscience in the fullest sense. It requires liberty of thought and feeling and complete freedom of opinion and sentiment on every subject, practical or speculative, scientific, moral, or theological. Freedom to express and publish opinions might seem to belong to a different principle, since it involves conduct that concerns other people. But it is almost as important as freedom of thought and rests largely on the same reasons, so it is practically inseparable from it. Second, the principle requires freedom of tastes and pursuits. It means planning our lives to suit our own character and doing as we like, accepting the consequences. Others should not interfere, as long as what we do does not harm them, even if they call our conduct foolish, perverse, or wrong. Third, from each individual's liberty follows the freedom, within the same limits, to combine with others. People may unite for any purpose that does not harm others, provided they are adults and not forced or deceived.
No society in which these liberties are not, on the whole, respected, is free, whatever may be its form of government; and none is completely free in which they do not exist absolute and unqualified. The only freedom which deserves the name, is that of pursuing our own good in our own way, so long as we do not attempt to deprive others of theirs, or impede their efforts to obtain it. Each is the proper guardian of his own health, whether bodily, or mental and spiritual. Mankind are greater gainers by suffering each other to live as seems good to themselves, than by compelling each to live as seems good to the rest.
A society that does not generally respect these liberties is not free, no matter its government. No society is fully free unless those liberties are absolute and unqualified. True freedom is pursuing our own good in our own way. This applies only so long as we do not try to deprive others of theirs or block their efforts to obtain it. Each person is the proper guardian of their own health, bodily, mental, and spiritual. We gain more by allowing each other to live as we see fit than by forcing everyone to live as others think best.
Though this doctrine is anything but new, and, to some persons, may have the air of a truism, there is no doctrine which stands more directly opposed to the general tendency of existing opinion and practice. Society has expended fully as much effort in the attempt (according to its lights) to compel people to conform to its notions of personal, as of social excellence. The ancient commonwealths thought themselves entitled to practise, and the ancient philosophers countenanced, the regulation of every part of private conduct by public authority, on the ground that the State had a deep interest in the whole bodily and mental discipline of every one of its citizens; a mode of thinking which may have been admissible in small republics surrounded by powerful enemies, in constant peril of being subverted by foreign attack or internal commotion, and to which even a short interval of relaxed energy and self-command might so easily be fatal, that they could not afford to wait for the salutary permanent effects of freedom. In the modern world, the greater size of political communities, and above all, the separation between spiritual and temporal authority (which placed the direction of men's consciences in other hands than those which controlled their worldly affairs), prevented so great an interference by law in the details of private life; but the engines of moral repression have been wielded more strenuously against divergence from the reigning opinion in self-regarding, than even in social matters; religion, the most powerful of the elements which have entered into the formation of moral feeling, having almost always been governed either by the ambition of a hierarchy, seeking control over every department of human conduct, or by the spirit of Puritanism. And some of those modern reformers who have placed themselves in strongest opposition to the religions of the past, have been noway behind either churches or sects in their assertion of the right of spiritual domination: M. Comte, in particular, whose social system, as unfolded in his Traité de Politique Positive, aims at establishing (though by moral more than by legal appliances) a despotism of society over the individual, surpassing anything contemplated in the political ideal of the most rigid disciplinarian among the ancient philosophers.
Although this doctrine is not new and may seem like a truism to some, no doctrine clashes more directly with current opinion and practice. Society has spent as much effort, by its own lights, trying to force people to follow its ideas of personal excellence as it has in enforcing social standards. The ancient commonwealths believed they had the right to regulate every part of private conduct by public authority, and ancient philosophers approved this. They argued the State had a strong interest in the physical and mental discipline of each citizen. That way of thinking might have made sense in small republics surrounded by powerful enemies. Those states faced constant risk from foreign attack or internal unrest. A short lapse in energy or self-control could be fatal, so they could not wait for the long-term benefits of freedom. In the modern world, larger political communities and, above all, the separation of spiritual and temporal authority reduced legal interference in private life. That separation put control of consciences into different hands than those that handled worldly affairs. Still, moral pressure has been used even more harshly against people who differ in self-regarding matters than in social ones. Religion has been the most powerful force shaping moral feeling. It has usually been driven either by hierarchical ambition, aiming to control every part of human conduct, or by Puritanical zeal. Some modern reformers who opposed past religions have been no less eager than churches or sects to claim the right to spiritual domination. M. Comte, in particular, lays out in his Traité de Politique Positive a social system that seeks to establish, by moral rather than legal means, a despotism of society over the individual. That despotism goes beyond what the strictest ancient disciplinarian philosophers imagined.
Apart from the peculiar tenets of individual thinkers, there is also in the world at large an increasing inclination to stretch unduly the powers of society over the individual, both by the force of opinion and even by that of legislation: and as the tendency of all the changes taking place in the world is to strengthen society, and diminish the power of the individual, this encroachment is not one of the evils which tend spontaneously to disappear, but, on the contrary, to grow more and more formidable. The disposition of mankind, whether as rulers or as fellow-citizens to impose their own opinions and inclinations as a rule of conduct on others, is so energetically supported by some of the best and by some of the worst feelings incident to human nature, that it is hardly ever kept under restraint by anything but want of power; and as the power is not declining, but growing, unless a strong barrier of moral conviction can be raised against the mischief, we must expect, in the present circumstances of the world, to see it increase.
Besides the particular beliefs of individual thinkers, there is a growing tendency worldwide to expand society's control over the individual. This happens through public opinion and even through laws. Since many changes now strengthen society and weaken individual power, this encroachment will not disappear on its own. It is likely to become increasingly serious. People, whether rulers or fellow citizens, often try to impose their opinions and preferences as rules for others. This impulse is supported by some of our noblest and basest instincts. It is rarely restrained except by a lack of power. Because power is rising rather than falling, we should expect this tendency to grow unless a strong moral barrier is raised against it.
It will be convenient for the argument, if, instead of at once entering upon the general thesis, we confine ourselves in the first instance to a single branch of it, on which the principle here stated is, if not fully, yet to a certain point, recognised by the current opinions. This one branch is the Liberty of Thought: from which it is impossible to separate the cognate liberty of speaking and of writing. Although these liberties, to some considerable amount, form part of the political morality of all countries which profess religious toleration and free institutions, the grounds, both philosophical and practical, on which they rest, are perhaps not so familiar to the general mind, nor so thoroughly appreciated by many even of the leaders of opinion, as might have been expected. Those grounds, when rightly understood, are of much wider application than to only one division of the subject, and a thorough consideration of this part of the question will be found the best introduction to the remainder. Those to whom nothing which I am about to say will be new, may therefore, I hope, excuse me, if on a subject which for now three centuries has been so often discussed, I venture on one discussion more.
To keep the argument clear, instead of starting with the general thesis, let us first focus on one part of it. That part is the Liberty of Thought, which is inseparable from the related liberties of speaking and writing. These liberties already form a significant part of the political morality in countries that claim religious tolerance and free institutions. Yet the philosophical and practical reasons for them are not always familiar to the public. Many opinion leaders do not fully appreciate those reasons either. When properly understood, these reasons apply much more widely than to this one issue. So a careful look at this part will serve as the best introduction to the rest. If nothing I am about to say is new to some readers, I hope they will forgive me. This subject has been debated for three centuries, but I venture on one more discussion.