OF THE LIMITS TO THE AUTHORITY OF SOCIETY OVER THE INDIVIDUAL

What, then, is the rightful limit to the sovereignty of the individual over himself? Where does the authority of society begin? How much of human life should be assigned to individuality, and how much to society?

So where should an individual's control over themselves end? When does society's authority begin? How much of a person's life should be left to individual choice, and how much should belong to society?

Each will receive its proper share, if each has that which more particularly concerns it. To individuality should belong the part of life in which it is chiefly the individual that is interested; to society, the part which chiefly interests society.

Each will get its proper share when each has what particularly concerns it. Individuality should have the parts of life that mainly interest the individual. Society should have the parts that mainly interest society.

Though society is not founded on a contract, and though no good purpose is answered by inventing a contract in order to deduce social obligations from it, every one who receives the protection of society owes a return for the benefit, and the fact of living in society renders it indispensable that each should be bound to observe a certain line of conduct towards the rest. This conduct consists, first, in not injuring the interests of one another; or rather certain interests which, either by express legal provision or by tacit understanding, ought to be considered as rights; and secondly, in each person's bearing his share (to be fixed on some equitable principle) of the labours and sacrifices incurred for defending the society or its members from injury and molestation. These conditions society is justified in enforcing, at all costs to those who endeavour to withhold fulfilment. Nor is this all that society may do. The acts of an individual may be hurtful to others, or wanting in due consideration for their welfare, without going the length of violating any of their constituted rights. The offender may then be justly punished by opinion though not by law. As soon as any part of a person's conduct affects prejudicially the interests of others, society has jurisdiction over it, and the question whether the general welfare will or will not be promoted by interfering with it, becomes open to discussion. But there is no room for entertaining any such question when a person's conduct affects the interests of no persons besides himself, or needs not affect them unless they like (all the persons concerned being of full age, and the ordinary amount of understanding). In all such cases there should be perfect freedom, legal and social, to do the action and stand the consequences.

Society is not based on a contract, and inventing one to justify our duties does no good. Still, anyone who benefits from society owes something in return. Living together makes it necessary that everyone follow certain rules toward others. First, people must not harm one another's interests. More precisely, they must respect certain interests that, by law or by common understanding, count as rights. Second, each person must bear a fair share, by some equitable rule, of the work and sacrifices required to protect society and its members from harm and harassment. Society is justified in enforcing these duties, even against those who try to avoid them. But it can do more. A person's actions may hurt others or show a lack of concern for their welfare without actually violating any established rights. In such cases, public opinion may rightly censure the person, even if the law should not. Whenever someone's conduct harms others' interests, society has the right to judge it. Then the question of whether interfering will promote the general welfare is open for discussion. No such question arises when an action affects only the person doing it, or would affect others only with their consent, assuming everyone involved is an adult of normal understanding. In those cases there should be complete legal and social freedom to act and accept the consequences.

It would be a great misunderstanding of this doctrine, to suppose that it is one of selfish indifference, which pretends that human beings have no business with each other's conduct in life, and that they should not concern themselves about the well-doing or well-being of one another, unless their own interest is involved. Instead of any diminution, there is need of a great increase of disinterested exertion to promote the good of others. But disinterested benevolence can find other instruments to persuade people to their good, than whips and scourges, either of the literal or the metaphorical sort. I am the last person to undervalue the self-regarding virtues; they are only second in importance, if even second, to the social. It is equally the business of education to cultivate both. But even education works by conviction and persuasion as well as by compulsion, and it is by the former only that, when the period of education is past, the self-regarding virtues should be inculcated. Human beings owe to each other help to distinguish the better from the worse, and encouragement to choose the former and avoid the latter. They should be for ever stimulating each other to increased exercise of their higher faculties, and increased direction of their feelings and aims towards wise instead of foolish, elevating instead of degrading, objects and contemplations. But neither one person, nor any number of persons, is warranted in saying to another human creature of ripe years, that he shall not do with his life for his own benefit what he chooses to do with it. He is the person most interested in his own well-being: the interest which any other person, except in cases of strong personal attachment, can have in it, is trifling, compared with that which he himself has; the interest which society has in him individually (except as to his conduct to others) is fractional, and altogether indirect: while, with respect to his own feelings and circumstances, the most ordinary man or woman has means of knowledge immeasurably surpassing those that can be possessed by any one else. The interference of society to overrule his judgment and purposes in what only regards himself, must be grounded on general presumptions; which may be altogether wrong, and even if right, are as likely as not to be misapplied to individual cases, by persons no better acquainted with the circumstances of such cases than those are who look at them merely from without. In this department, therefore, of human affairs, Individuality has its proper field of action. In the conduct of human beings towards one another, it is necessary that general rules should for the most part be observed, in order that people may know what they have to expect; but in each person's own concerns, his individual spontaneity is entitled to free exercise. Considerations to aid his judgment, exhortations to strengthen his will, may be offered to him, even obtruded on him, by others; but he himself is the final judge. All errors which he is likely to commit against advice and warning, are far outweighed by the evil of allowing others to constrain him to what they deem his good.

It would be a serious mistake to read this doctrine as promoting selfish indifference. It does not claim people should ignore each other's conduct or refuse to care about one another unless their own interest is at stake. If anything, we need much more selfless effort to help others. But that help should use means other than whips and scourges, whether literal or figurative. I do not undervalue virtues that concern only the self. They may be second in importance, if second at all, to social virtues. Education should cultivate both kinds. Even education works by persuasion as well as by force. After the period of instruction is over, self-regarding virtues should be taught by convincing people, not by coercion. People owe each other help in telling better actions from worse. They should encourage one another to choose what is wise rather than foolish, and elevating rather than degrading. We should keep stimulating each other to develop higher capacities and to direct feelings and goals toward noble objects and thoughts. Still, no one, not a single person or a group, has the right to tell an adult what he must do with his life for his own benefit. He is the one most concerned with his own well-being. Except in cases of strong personal attachment, another person's interest in his welfare is small compared with his own. Society's interest in him as an individual is tiny and indirect, except for his conduct toward others. He also has far greater knowledge of his own feelings and circumstances than anyone else can have. When society interferes to overrule his judgment about matters that only concern him, it must rely on general assumptions. Those assumptions may be completely wrong. Even if they are right in general, they are often misapplied to particular cases by people who know no more about the situation than outside observers do. For these reasons, individuality has a proper area of action. In how people behave toward each other, general rules mostly need to be followed so everyone knows what to expect. But in each person's private affairs, his personal spontaneity should be allowed free play. Others can offer advice and encouragement and even press it on him. In the end, though, he is the final judge. The mistakes he may make despite warnings are far less harmful than allowing others to force him into what they think is best for him.

I do not mean that the feelings with which a person is regarded by others, ought not to be in any way affected by his self-regarding qualities or deficiencies. This is neither possible nor desirable. If he is eminent in any of the qualities which conduce to his own good, he is, so far, a proper object of admiration. He is so much the nearer to the ideal perfection of human nature. If he is grossly deficient in those qualities, a sentiment the opposite of admiration will follow. There is a degree of folly, and a degree of what may be called (though the phrase is not unobjectionable) lowness or depravation of taste, which, though it cannot justify doing harm to the person who manifests it, renders him necessarily and properly a subject of distaste, or, in extreme cases, even of contempt: a person could not have the opposite qualities in due strength without entertaining these feelings. Though doing no wrong to any one, a person may so act as to compel us to judge him, and feel to him, as a fool, or as a being of an inferior order: and since this judgment and feeling are a fact which he would prefer to avoid, it is doing him a service to warn him of it beforehand, as of any other disagreeable consequence to which he exposes himself. It would be well, indeed, if this good office were much more freely rendered than the common notions of politeness at present permit, and if one person could honestly point out to another that he thinks him in fault, without being considered unmannerly or presuming. We have a right, also, in various ways, to act upon our unfavourable opinion of any one, not to the oppression of his individuality, but in the exercise of ours. We are not bound, for example, to seek his society; we have a right to avoid it (though not to parade the avoidance), for we have a right to choose the society most acceptable to us. We have a right, and it may be our duty, to caution others against him, if we think his example or conversation likely to have a pernicious effect on those with whom he associates. We may give others a preference over him in optional good offices, except those which tend to his improvement. In these various modes a person may suffer very severe penalties at the hands of others, for faults which directly concern only himself; but he suffers these penalties only in so far as they are the natural, and, as it were, the spontaneous consequences of the faults themselves, not because they are purposely inflicted on him for the sake of punishment. A person who shows rashness, obstinacy, self-conceit—who cannot live within moderate means—who cannot restrain himself from hurtful indulgences—who pursues animal pleasures at the expense of those of feeling and intellect—must expect to be lowered in the opinion of others, and to have a less share of their favourable sentiments; but of this he has no right to complain, unless he has merited their favour by special excellence in his social relations, and has thus established a title to their good offices, which is not affected by his demerits towards himself.

I do not mean that the way others feel about a person should never be influenced by his self-regarding qualities or faults. That would be neither possible nor desirable. If he is strong in the qualities that promote his own good, he deserves admiration. He comes closer to an ideal of human excellence. If he is plainly lacking in those qualities, the opposite feeling will follow. There is a certain level of foolishness, and a kind of poor or degraded taste, which, though it cannot justify harming the person who shows it, naturally makes him a subject of dislike and, in extreme cases, even contempt. You could not have the contrary qualities strongly without feeling this way. A person may do nothing wrong to others and still force us to judge him as a fool or as someone inferior. Since this judgment is something he would want to avoid, it is a kindness to warn him of it, like any other unpleasant consequence he brings on himself. It would be better if people gave this warning more freely than common politeness now allows. It should be possible to tell another honestly that he is in the wrong, without being called rude or presumptuous. We are also allowed, in several ways, to act on our unfavorable opinion of someone. Not to oppress his individuality, but to exercise our own. We do not have to seek his company. We may avoid him, though we should not make a point of it. We have the right to choose the company that suits us best. We may, and sometimes should, warn others about him if we think his example or conversation will harm those he mixes with. We can prefer others over him for optional favors, except when those favors would help him improve. In these ways a person may suffer harsh consequences from others for faults that only affect himself. But he suffers them only because they are the natural, spontaneous results of his faults, not because people mean to punish him. Someone who shows rashness, stubbornness, vanity, or who cannot live within moderate means, or cannot control harmful indulgences, or who chases physical pleasures at the expense of feeling and intellect, must expect to be thought less of. He will win less of others’ goodwill. He has no right to complain about this unless he has earned their favour by special excellence in his social relations and so established a claim to their help that his personal faults do not cancel.

What I contend for is, that the inconveniences which are strictly inseparable from the unfavourable judgment of others, are the only ones to which a person should ever be subjected for that portion of his conduct and character which concerns his own good, but which does not affect the interests of others in their relations with him. Acts injurious to others require a totally different treatment. Encroachment on their rights; infliction on them of any loss or damage not justified by his own rights; falsehood or duplicity in dealing with them; unfair or ungenerous use of advantages over them; even selfish abstinence from defending them against injury—these are fit objects of moral reprobation, and, in grave cases, of moral retribution and punishment. And not only these acts, but the dispositions which lead to them, are properly immoral, and fit subjects of disapprobation which may rise to abhorrence. Cruelty of disposition; malice and ill-nature; that most anti-social and odious of all passions, envy; dissimulation and insincerity; irascibility on insufficient cause, and resentment disproportioned to the provocation; the love of domineering over others; the desire to engross more than one's share of advantages (the πλεονεξἱα [Greek: pleonexia] of the Greeks); the pride which derives gratification from the abasement of others; the egotism which thinks self and its concerns more important than everything else, and decides all doubtful questions in its own favour;—these are moral vices, and constitute a bad and odious moral character: unlike the self-regarding faults previously mentioned, which are not properly immoralities, and to whatever pitch they may be carried, do not constitute wickedness. They may be proofs of any amount of folly, or want of personal dignity and self-respect; but they are only a subject of moral reprobation when they involve a breach of duty to others, for whose sake the individual is bound to have care for himself. What are called duties to ourselves are not socially obligatory, unless circumstances render them at the same time duties to others. The term duty to oneself, when it means anything more than prudence, means self-respect or self-development; and for none of these is any one accountable to his fellow-creatures, because for none of them is it for the good of mankind that he be held accountable to them.

I argue that the only harms a person should face for actions that concern only their own good, and do not affect others, are the inconveniences that come from others' unfavorable judgment. Acts that harm others need a completely different response. If someone trespasses on others' rights, causes them loss or damage without justification, lies or cheats in dealing with them, uses advantages unfairly, or even selfishly refuses to defend them from harm, these acts deserve moral blame. In serious cases they may deserve moral punishment. Not only the acts, but the attitudes that lead to them are rightly seen as immoral and open to condemnation. Cruel temper, malice, ill will, that most anti-social and hateful passion envy, dissimulation and insincerity, quick anger over trivial causes, resentment bigger than the provocation, the love of domineering over others, the desire to grab more than one's share of advantages (the πλεονεξἱα [Greek: pleonexia] of the Greeks), pride that takes pleasure in humiliating others, and egotism that treats one's own concerns as more important than everything else and twists doubtful questions in its own favor — these are moral vices. They make a bad and loathsome moral character. These differ from the self-regarding faults I mentioned earlier, which are not properly immoral. No matter how extreme they are, they do not make someone wicked. They may show great folly or a lack of personal dignity and self-respect. But they are only morally condemnable when they involve failing in a duty to others, people for whom the individual should care. What we call duties to ourselves are not social duties unless they also become duties to others. The phrase "duty to oneself," if it means more than simple prudence, refers to self-respect or self-development. For these things, no one is accountable to other people, because it is not for the good of humanity that others should hold them accountable.

The distinction between the loss of consideration which a person may rightly incur by defect of prudence or of personal dignity, and the reprobation which is due to him for an offence against the rights of others, is not a merely nominal distinction. It makes a vast difference both in our feelings and in our conduct towards him, whether he displeases us in things in which we think we have a right to control him, or in things in which we know that we have not. If he displeases us, we may express our distaste, and we may stand aloof from a person as well as from a thing that displeases us; but we shall not therefore feel called on to make his life uncomfortable. We shall reflect that he already bears, or will bear, the whole penalty of his error; if he spoils his life by mismanagement, we shall not, for that reason, desire to spoil it still further: instead of wishing to punish him, we shall rather endeavour to alleviate his punishment, by showing him how he may avoid or cure the evils his conduct tends to bring upon him. He may be to us an object of pity, perhaps of dislike, but not of anger or resentment; we shall not treat him like an enemy of society: the worst we shall think ourselves justified in doing is leaving him to himself, if we do not interfere benevolently by showing interest or concern for him. It is far otherwise if he has infringed the rules necessary for the protection of his fellow-creatures, individually or collectively. The evil consequences of his acts do not then fall on himself, but on others; and society, as the protector of all its members, must retaliate on him; must inflict pain on him for the express purpose of punishment, and must take care that it be sufficiently severe. In the one case, he is an offender at our bar, and we are called on not only to sit in judgment on him, but, in one shape or another, to execute our own sentence: in the other case, it is not our part to inflict any suffering on him, except what may incidentally follow from our using the same liberty in the regulation of our own affairs, which we allow to him in his.

Losing respect for someone's poor judgment or lack of dignity is different from blaming them for violating others' rights. This difference matters a lot for how we feel and how we act toward them. It matters whether they upset us over things we think we can control or over things we cannot. If they merely displease us, we may show our dislike and keep our distance. We can avoid a person like we avoid an annoying object. But we should not try to make their life miserable. We should remember they already suffer, or will suffer, the full penalty for their mistake. If someone ruins their life through mismanagement, we should not try to ruin it further. Instead of wanting to punish them, we should try to ease their pain. We can help by showing them how to avoid or fix the harms their behavior causes. They may inspire pity or dislike, but not anger or resentment. We should not treat them as enemies of society. At worst, we may leave them alone unless we step in to help. It is very different if someone breaks rules needed to protect other people. Then the harm of their actions falls on others, not themselves. Society, as the protector of all its members, must respond. It must punish them and make sure the punishment is strong enough. In that case, they stand as an offender before us. We are called on not only to judge them but also to carry out the sentence in one way or another. In the other case, it is not for us to cause them suffering, except for any harm that follows incidentally from our using the same freedom in our own lives that we allow them.

The distinction here pointed out between the part of a person's life which concerns only himself, and that which concerns others, many persons will refuse to admit. How (it may be asked) can any part of the conduct of a member of society be a matter of indifference to the other members? No person is an entirely isolated being; it is impossible for a person to do anything seriously or permanently hurtful to himself, without mischief reaching at least to his near connections, and often far beyond them. If he injures his property, he does harm to those who directly or indirectly derived support from it, and usually diminishes, by a greater or less amount, the general resources of the community. If he deteriorates his bodily or mental faculties, he not only brings evil upon all who depended on him for any portion of their happiness, but disqualifies himself for rendering the services which he owes to his fellow-creatures generally; perhaps becomes a burthen on their affection or benevolence; and if such conduct were very frequent, hardly any offence that is committed would detract more from the general sum of good. Finally, if by his vices or follies a person does no direct harm to others, he is nevertheless (it may be said) injurious by his example; and ought to be compelled to control himself, for the sake of those whom the sight or knowledge of his conduct might corrupt or mislead.

Many people will refuse to accept the distinction just pointed out. It separates the part of a person's life that concerns only himself from the part that concerns others. One may ask how any part of a member's conduct could be of no concern to others. No one is completely isolated. It is impossible to do something seriously or permanently harmful to yourself without also hurting your close relations. Often the harm reaches much farther. If he damages his property, he harms those who directly or indirectly relied on it. He also usually reduces the community's general resources to some degree. If he weakens his body or mind, he harms everyone who depended on him for part of their happiness. He then disqualifies himself from providing the services he owes to others. He may become a burden on their affection or generosity. If such conduct were common, few offenses would reduce the overall good more. Finally, even if a person's vices or follies do no direct harm, he can still harm others by example. Some argue he should be compelled to control himself. They say this protects those who might be corrupted by seeing or hearing about his conduct.

And even (it will be added) if the consequences of misconduct could be confined to the vicious or thoughtless individual, ought society to abandon to their own guidance those who are manifestly unfit for it? If protection against themselves is confessedly due to children and persons under age, is not society equally bound to afford it to persons of mature years who are equally incapable of self-government? If gambling, or drunkenness, or incontinence, or idleness, or uncleanliness, are as injurious to happiness, and as great a hindrance to improvement, as many or most of the acts prohibited by law, why (it may be asked) should not law, so far as is consistent with practicability and social convenience, endeavour to repress these also? And as a supplement to the unavoidable imperfections of law, ought not opinion at least to organise a powerful police against these vices, and visit rigidly with social penalties those who are known to practise them? There is no question here (it may be said) about restricting individuality, or impeding the trial of new and original experiments in living. The only things it is sought to prevent are things which have been tried and condemned from the beginning of the world until now; things which experience has shown not to be useful or suitable to any person's individuality. There must be some length of time and amount of experience, after which a moral or prudential truth may be regarded as established: and it is merely desired to prevent generation after generation from falling over the same precipice which has been fatal to their predecessors.

And even (it will be said) if the harm from bad behavior affected only the reckless or careless person, should society leave those clearly unfit to manage themselves to their own devices? If we accept that children and minors need protection from themselves, shouldn't society also protect adults who are equally unable to govern themselves? If gambling, drunkenness, sexual excess, idleness, or uncleanliness are as harmful to happiness and as big a barrier to improvement as many acts the law bans, why (it may be asked) shouldn't the law, so far as is practical and socially convenient, try to curb them too? And since the law is inevitably imperfect, shouldn't public opinion at least organize a strong social force against these vices and strictly impose social penalties on those known to practice them? Some will say this is not about limiting individuality or stopping people from trying new ways of living. The aim is only to prevent behaviors that have been tried and rejected throughout history. Experience shows they are not useful or suitable to anyone's individuality. There must be some amount of time and experience after which a moral or practical truth can be treated as established. The desire is simply to stop generation after generation from falling off the same cliff that proved fatal to their predecessors.

I fully admit that the mischief which a person does to himself, may seriously affect, both through their sympathies and their interests, those nearly connected with him, and in a minor degree, society at large. When, by conduct of this sort, a person is led to violate a distinct and assignable obligation to any other person or persons, the case is taken out of the self-regarding class, and becomes amenable to moral disapprobation in the proper sense of the term. If, for example, a man, through intemperance or extravagance, becomes unable to pay his debts, or, having undertaken the moral responsibility of a family, becomes from the same cause incapable of supporting or educating them, he is deservedly reprobated, and might be justly punished; but it is for the breach of duty to his family or creditors, not for the extravagance. If the resources which ought to have been devoted to them, had been diverted from them for the most prudent investment, the moral culpability would have been the same. George Barnwell murdered his uncle to get money for his mistress, but if he had done it to set himself up in business, he would equally have been hanged. Again, in the frequent case of a man who causes grief to his family by addiction to bad habits, he deserves reproach for his unkindness or ingratitude; but so he may for cultivating habits not in themselves vicious, if they are painful to those with whom he passes his life, or who from personal ties are dependent on him for their comfort. Whoever fails in the consideration generally due to the interests and feelings of others, not being compelled by some more imperative duty, or justified by allowable self-preference, is a subject of moral disapprobation for that failure, but not for the cause of it, nor for the errors, merely personal to himself, which may have remotely led to it. In like manner, when a person disables himself, by conduct purely self-regarding, from the performance of some definite duty incumbent on him to the public, he is guilty of a social offence. No person ought to be punished simply for being drunk; but a soldier or a policeman should be punished for being drunk on duty. Whenever, in short, there is a definite damage, or a definite risk of damage, either to an individual or to the public, the case is taken out of the province of liberty, and placed in that of morality or law.

I fully admit that harm a person does to themself can seriously affect those close to them. It can do this through feelings of sympathy and through shared interests. It can also affect society, though to a lesser degree. When that conduct causes a person to break a clear, specific obligation to others, it is no longer purely self-regarding. It then becomes subject to real moral blame. For example, if a man, through drunkenness or reckless spending, cannot pay his debts, or if, after taking on responsibility for a family, he can no longer support or educate them, he rightly deserves blame and could be punished. But the punishment is for failing his family or creditors, not for the extravagance itself. If the money that should have gone to them had been diverted instead into even the most prudent investment, the moral fault would be the same. George Barnwell murdered his uncle to get money for his mistress. If he had done it to start a business, he would still have been hanged. Again, when a man causes his family pain by bad habits, he deserves reproach for his unkindness or ingratitude. The same applies if he develops habits that are not vicious in themselves but cause suffering to the people he lives with or who depend on him for comfort. Anyone who neglects the consideration usually owed to others’ interests and feelings should be blamed for that neglect, unless they were compelled by a stronger duty or justified by allowable self-preference. They are to be blamed for the failure, not for the private reasons that caused it, or for personal mistakes that may have led to it. Similarly, when a person, by conduct that is purely self-regarding, incapacitates themself from performing a clear public duty, they commit a social offence. No one should be punished merely for being drunk. But a soldier or a policeman should be punished for being drunk while on duty. In short, whenever there is definite harm, or a definite risk of harm, to an individual or to the public, the matter moves out of the realm of liberty and into that of morality or law.

But with regard to the merely contingent, or, as it may be called, constructive injury which a person causes to society, by conduct which neither violates any specific duty to the public, nor occasions perceptible hurt to any assignable individual except himself; the inconvenience is one which society can afford to bear, for the sake of the greater good of human freedom. If grown persons are to be punished for not taking proper care of themselves, I would rather it were for their own sake, than under pretence of preventing them from impairing their capacity of rendering to society benefits which society does not pretend it has a right to exact. But I cannot consent to argue the point as if society had no means of bringing its weaker members up to its ordinary standard of rational conduct, except waiting till they do something irrational, and then punishing them, legally or morally, for it. Society has had absolute power over them during all the early portion of their existence: it has had the whole period of childhood and nonage in which to try whether it could make them capable of rational conduct in life. The existing generation is master both of the training and the entire circumstances of the generation to come; it cannot indeed make them perfectly wise and good, because it is itself so lamentably deficient in goodness and wisdom; and its best efforts are not always, in individual cases, its most successful ones; but it is perfectly well able to make the rising generation, as a whole, as good as, and a little better than, itself. If society lets any considerable number of its members grow up mere children, incapable of being acted on by rational consideration of distant motives, society has itself to blame for the consequences. Armed not only with all the powers of education, but with the ascendency which the authority of a received opinion always exercises over the minds who are least fitted to judge for themselves; and aided by the _natural_ penalties which cannot be prevented from falling on those who incur the distaste or the contempt of those who know them; let not society pretend that it needs, besides all this, the power to issue commands and enforce obedience in the personal concerns of individuals, in which, on all principles of justice and policy, the decision ought to rest with those who are to abide the consequences. Nor is there anything which tends more to discredit and frustrate the better means of influencing conduct, than a resort to the worse. If there be among those whom it is attempted to coerce into prudence or temperance, any of the material of which vigorous and independent characters are made, they will infallibly rebel against the yoke. No such person will ever feel that others have a right to control him in his concerns, such as they have to prevent him from injuring them in theirs; and it easily comes to be considered a mark of spirit and courage to fly in the face of such usurped authority, and do with ostentation the exact opposite of what it enjoins; as in the fashion of grossness which succeeded, in the time of Charles II., to the fanatical moral intolerance of the Puritans. With respect to what is said of the necessity of protecting society from the bad example set to others by the vicious or the self-indulgent; it is true that bad example may have a pernicious effect, especially the example of doing wrong to others with impunity to the wrong-doer. But we are now speaking of conduct which, while it does no wrong to others, is supposed to do great harm to the agent himself: and I do not see how those who believe this, can think otherwise than that the example, on the whole, must be more salutary than hurtful, since, if it displays the misconduct, it displays also the painful or degrading consequences which, if the conduct is justly censured, must be supposed to be in all or most cases attendant on it.

But when the harm a person does to society is only incidental—or what you might call constructive—and does not break any clear public duty or visibly hurt any specific person except themselves, society can afford to tolerate it. The cost is worth the larger benefit of human freedom. If adults are to be punished for failing to take care of themselves, I would prefer it be for their own sake. I would rather they be punished for their own good than punished to stop them from losing capacities that society claims no right to demand. I will not accept the idea that society has no other way to raise its weaker members to ordinary standards of reason except waiting for them to act irrationally and then punishing them. Society already has complete control over them for the whole early part of their lives. Childhood and youth offer the time to try to teach them to act reasonably. The present generation controls both the training and the whole environment of the next generation. It cannot make them perfectly wise or moral, because it is itself far from perfect. Its best efforts sometimes fail for particular individuals. But it can, as a whole, make the next generation as good as itself, and a little better. If society allows a significant number of people to grow up as mere children, incapable of being guided by rational consideration of long-term motives, society must accept the blame for what follows. Society has not only the powers of education, but also the influence that accepted opinions exert over minds that are least able to judge. It is supported by the _natural_ penalties that fall on those who earn others’ dislike or contempt. Society should not claim it also needs the power to give orders and enforce obedience in people’s private affairs. On every principle of justice and practical policy, those who must live with the results should decide those matters. Using worse methods to control behavior also undermines better methods. If among the people we try to force into prudence or temperance there are those made of the material of vigorous, independent characters, they will inevitably rebel. No such person will think others have a right to control them in personal matters the way they have a right to stop him from harming others. It easily becomes a point of pride and courage to defy such illegitimate authority and deliberately do the opposite of what it demands. We saw that after Charles II., when gross fashion replaced the Puritans’ strict moral intolerance. As for the argument that society must protect itself from the bad example set by the self-indulgent, it is true that bad examples can be harmful. This is especially true when people commit wrongs against others with impunity. But we are discussing actions that do no wrong to others and only harm the doer. Those who truly believe such actions are very harmful must also admit that the example will likely do more good than harm. If the misconduct is visible, its painful and degrading consequences will be visible too, assuming the conduct is justly criticized in most cases.

But the strongest of all the arguments against the interference of the public with purely personal conduct, is that when it does interfere, the odds are that it interferes wrongly, and in the wrong place. On questions of social morality, of duty to others, the opinion of the public, that is, of an overruling majority, though often wrong, is likely to be still oftener right; because on such questions they are only required to judge of their own interests; of the manner in which some mode of conduct, if allowed to be practised, would affect themselves. But the opinion of a similar majority, imposed as a law on the minority, on questions of self-regarding conduct, is quite as likely to be wrong as right; for in these cases public opinion means, at the best, some people's opinion of what is good or bad for other people; while very often it does not even mean that; the public, with the most perfect indifference, passing over the pleasure or convenience of those whose conduct they censure, and considering only their own preference. There are many who consider as an injury to themselves any conduct which they have a distaste for, and resent it as an outrage to their feelings; as a religious bigot, when charged with disregarding the religious feelings of others, has been known to retort that they disregard his feelings, by persisting in their abominable worship or creed. But there is no parity between the feeling of a person for his own opinion, and the feeling of another who is offended at his holding it; no more than between the desire of a thief to take a purse, and the desire of the right owner to keep it. And a person's taste is as much his own peculiar concern as his opinion or his purse. It is easy for any one to imagine an ideal public, which leaves the freedom and choice of individuals in all uncertain matters undisturbed, and only requires them to abstain from modes of conduct which universal experience has condemned. But where has there been seen a public which set any such limit to its censorship? or when does the public trouble itself about universal experience? In its interferences with personal conduct it is seldom thinking of anything but the enormity of acting or feeling differently from itself; and this standard of judgment, thinly disguised, is held up to mankind as the dictate of religion and philosophy, by nine-tenths of all moralists and speculative writers. These teach that things are right because they are right; because we feel them to be so. They tell us to search in our own minds and hearts for laws of conduct binding on ourselves and on all others. What can the poor public do but apply these instructions, and make their own personal feelings of good and evil, if they are tolerably unanimous in them, obligatory on all the world?

The strongest argument against public interference in purely personal matters is simple. When the public interferes, it usually does so wrongly and in the wrong place. On questions of social morality, or duty to others, the majority can be mistaken. Still, they are more likely to be right here because they only need to judge how a behavior would affect themselves. When a similar majority imposes its view as law on matters that concern only the individual, it is as likely to be wrong as right. In those cases public opinion is, at best, some people's idea of what is good or bad for others. Often it is not even that. The public may ignore the pleasure or convenience of the people they criticize, and consider only their own preferences. Many people treat any conduct they dislike as an injury to themselves and resent it as an outrage. For example, a religious bigot, when accused of disregarding others' religious feelings, has been known to retort that those others disregard his feelings by persisting in their abominable worship or creed. There is no equality between the feeling of someone for their own opinion and the feeling of someone offended by it. It is like the difference between a thief's desire to take a purse and the owner's desire to keep it. A person's taste is as much their own concern as their opinion or their purse. It is easy to imagine an ideal public that leaves individual freedom and choice alone in uncertain matters, and only asks people to avoid modes of conduct that universal experience condemns. But where has such a public ever existed? When does the public care about universal experience? In its interference with personal conduct it is seldom thinking of anything but how shocking it is to act or feel differently. That standard of judgment is thinly disguised and presented as the dictate of religion and philosophy by nine-tenths of moralists and speculative writers. They teach that things are right simply because we feel they are right. They tell us to search our own minds and hearts for laws of conduct binding on ourselves and on everyone else. What can the ordinary public do but follow these instructions? If they are reasonably unanimous in their feelings, they make those feelings obligatory on all the world.

The evil here pointed out is not one which exists only in theory; and it may perhaps be expected that I should specify the instances in which the public of this age and country improperly invests its own preferences with the character of moral laws. I am not writing an essay on the aberrations of existing moral feeling. That is too weighty a subject to be discussed parenthetically, and by way of illustration. Yet examples are necessary, to show that the principle I maintain is of serious and practical moment, and that I am not endeavouring to erect a barrier against imaginary evils. And it is not difficult to show, by abundant instances, that to extend the bounds of what may be called moral police, until it encroaches on the most unquestionably legitimate liberty of the individual, is one of the most universal of all human propensities.

The harm I'm pointing out is not only theoretical. You might expect me to list cases where the public of this age and country wrongly treats its own preferences as moral laws. I'm not writing an essay on the errors of current moral feeling. That subject is too large to be discussed parenthetically or merely as illustration. Still, I need examples to show the principle I defend matters in practice. I'm not trying to build a barrier against imaginary evils. It is not hard to find many instances. Expanding what we might call the "moral police" is very common. It often ends up intruding on the clearly legitimate liberty of the individual.

As a first instance, consider the antipathies which men cherish on no better grounds than that persons whose religious opinions are different from theirs, do not practise their religious observances, especially their religious abstinences. To cite a rather trivial example, nothing in the creed or practice of Christians does more to envenom the hatred of Mahomedans against them, than the fact of their eating pork. There are few acts which Christians and Europeans regard with more unaffected disgust, than Mussulmans regard this particular mode of satisfying hunger. It is, in the first place, an offence against their religion; but this circumstance by no means explains either the degree or the kind of their repugnance; for wine also is forbidden by their religion, and to partake of it is by all Mussulmans accounted wrong, but not disgusting. Their aversion to the flesh of the "unclean beast" is, on the contrary, of that peculiar character, resembling an instinctive antipathy, which the idea of uncleanness, when once it thoroughly sinks into the feelings, seems always to excite even in those whose personal habits are anything but scrupulously cleanly, and of which the sentiment of religious impurity, so intense in the Hindoos, is a remarkable example. Suppose now that in a people, of whom the majority were Mussulmans, that majority should insist upon not permitting pork to be eaten within the limits of the country. This would be nothing new in Mahomedan countries.[^14] Would it be a legitimate exercise of the moral authority of public opinion? and if not, why not? The practice is really revolting to such a public. They also sincerely think that it is forbidden and abhorred by the Deity. Neither could the prohibition be censured as religious persecution. It might be religious in its origin, but it would not be persecution for religion, since nobody's religion makes it a duty to eat pork. The only tenable ground of condemnation would be, that with the personal tastes and self-regarding concerns of individuals the public has no business to interfere.

As a first example, consider the antipathies people feel for others who simply have different religious beliefs. These feelings often arise because those others do not follow the same religious practices, especially abstentions. For a trivial example, nothing in Christian belief or practice angers Mahomedans more than Christians eating pork. Mussulmans find this way of eating especially repulsive, more than most things Christians and Europeans find disgusting. First, it offends their religion. That does not fully explain how strongly or in what way they dislike it. Wine is also forbidden in their religion. Drinking wine is seen by all Mussulmans as wrong, but it is not seen as disgusting. Their dislike of the flesh of the "unclean beast" is different. It is more like an instinctive disgust. Once the idea of uncleanness takes hold, it produces a deep feeling of repulsion. This happens even among people whose personal habits are not very clean. A strong example is the Hindoos' intense feeling of religious impurity. Now suppose a population where the majority are Mussulmans, and that majority insists on banning pork within the country. This would be nothing new in Mahomedan countries.[^14] Would this be a legitimate exercise of public opinion's moral authority? If not, why not? That practice truly revolts them. They sincerely believe the Deity forbids and hates it. You could not call the ban religious persecution. It might come from religion, but it would not be persecution for religion. No religion requires anyone to eat pork. The only solid reason to condemn it is this. The public has no business interfering with people's personal tastes and private concerns.

To come somewhat nearer home: the majority of Spaniards consider it a gross impiety, offensive in the highest degree to the Supreme Being, to worship him in any other manner than the Roman Catholic; and no other public worship is lawful on Spanish soil. The people of all Southern Europe look upon a married clergy as not only irreligious, but unchaste, indecent, gross, disgusting. What do Protestants think of these perfectly sincere feelings, and of the attempt to enforce them against non-Catholics? Yet, if mankind are justified in interfering with each other's liberty in things which do not concern the interests of others, on what principle is it possible consistently to exclude these cases? or who can blame people for desiring to suppress what they regard as a scandal in the sight of God and man? No stronger case can be shown for prohibiting anything which is regarded as a personal immorality, than is made out for suppressing these practices in the eyes of those who regard them as impieties; and unless we are willing to adopt the logic of persecutors, and to say that we may persecute others because we are right, and that they must not persecute us because they are wrong, we must beware of admitting a principle of which we should resent as a gross injustice the application to ourselves.

To bring this closer to home: the majority of Spaniards see any form of worship other than the Roman Catholic as a grave offense against the Supreme Being. No other public worship is allowed on Spanish soil. In all of Southern Europe, people view a married clergy as not only irreligious but unchaste, indecent, and disgusting. What do Protestants make of these sincere feelings, and of the effort to force them on non-Catholics? If people are justified in interfering with each other's liberty in matters that do not affect others' interests, how can we consistently exclude these cases? Who can blame people for wanting to suppress what they see as a scandal before God and man? To those who regard these practices as impieties, you cannot make a stronger case for prohibiting anything called a personal immorality. Unless we accept the persecutor's logic — that we may persecute others because we are right and they must not persecute us because they are wrong — we should be careful. We must not admit a principle whose application to ourselves we would rightly call a gross injustice.

The preceding instances may be objected to, although unreasonably, as drawn from contingencies impossible among us: opinion, in this country, not being likely to enforce abstinence from meats, or to interfere with people for worshipping, and for either marrying or not marrying, according to their creed or inclination. The next example, however, shall be taken from an interference with liberty which we have by no means passed all danger of. Wherever the Puritans have been sufficiently powerful, as in New England, and in Great Britain at the time of the Commonwealth, they have endeavoured, with considerable success, to put down all public, and nearly all private, amusements: especially music, dancing, public games, or other assemblages for purposes of diversion, and the theatre. There are still in this country large bodies of persons by whose notions of morality and religion these recreations are condemned; and those persons belonging chiefly to the middle class, who are the ascendant power in the present social and political condition of the kingdom, it is by no means impossible that persons of these sentiments may at some time or other command a majority in Parliament. How will the remaining portion of the community like to have the amusements that shall be permitted to them regulated by the religious and moral sentiments of the stricter Calvinists and Methodists? Would they not, with considerable peremptoriness, desire these intrusively pious members of society to mind their own business? This is precisely what should be said to every government and every public, who have the pretension that no person shall enjoy any pleasure which they think wrong. But if the principle of the pretension be admitted, no one can reasonably object to its being acted on in the sense of the majority, or other preponderating power in the country; and all persons must be ready to conform to the idea of a Christian commonwealth, as understood by the early settlers in New England, if a religious profession similar to theirs should ever succeed in regaining its lost ground, as religions supposed to be declining have so often been known to do.

Some may object that the earlier examples are unrealistic. They argue such things could not happen here. They say public opinion is unlikely to force people to abstain from certain foods, or to interfere with how people worship or whom they marry. But the next example shows an interference with liberty we are still at risk of. Wherever the Puritans were powerful, as in New England and in Great Britain during the Commonwealth, they tried, and often succeeded, in shutting down public and most private amusements. They targeted music, dancing, public games, other gatherings for pleasure, and the theatre. There are still large groups in this country who condemn these pastimes on moral and religious grounds. They come mostly from the middle class. That class is the dominant social and political force now. It is therefore possible that people with these views could one day win a majority in Parliament. How would the rest of the community like their allowed entertainments to be decided by the strict Calvinists and Methodists? Wouldn't they firmly want these intrusive, pious people to mind their own business? That is exactly what should be said to any government or public body claiming no one should enjoy a pleasure they consider wrong. If you accept that principle, then no one can reasonably object if the majority enforces it. Any prevailing power could impose its view. Everyone would have to accept the idea of a Christian commonwealth as the early settlers in New England meant it. That would happen if a similar religious movement ever regained influence, and declining religions have often returned before.

To imagine another contingency, perhaps more likely to be realised than the one last mentioned. There is confessedly a strong tendency in the modern world towards a democratic constitution of society, accompanied or not by popular political institutions. It is affirmed that in the country where this tendency is most completely realised—where both society and the government are most democratic—the United States—the feeling of the majority, to whom any appearance of a more showy or costly style of living than they can hope to rival is disagreeable, operates as a tolerably effectual sumptuary law, and that in many parts of the Union it is really difficult for a person possessing a very large income, to find any mode of spending it, which will not incur popular disapprobation. Though such statements as these are doubtless much exaggerated as a representation of existing facts, the state of things they describe is not only a conceivable and possible, but a probable result of democratic feeling, combined with the notion that the public has a right to a veto on the manner in which individuals shall spend their incomes. We have only further to suppose a considerable diffusion of Socialist opinions, and it may become infamous in the eyes of the majority to possess more property than some very small amount, or any income not earned by manual labour. Opinions similar in principle to these, already prevail widely among the artisan class, and weigh oppressively on those who are amenable to the opinion chiefly of that class, namely, its own members. It is known that the bad workmen who form the majority of the operatives in many branches of industry, are decidedly of opinion that bad workmen ought to receive the same wages as good, and that no one ought to be allowed, through piecework or otherwise, to earn by superior skill or industry more than others can without it. And they employ a moral police, which occasionally becomes a physical one, to deter skilful workmen from receiving, and employers from giving, a larger remuneration for a more useful service. If the public have any jurisdiction over private concerns, I cannot see that these people are in fault, or that any individual's particular public can be blamed for asserting the same authority over his individual conduct, which the general public asserts over people in general.

Imagine another possibility, maybe more likely than the one I just mentioned. There is clearly a strong modern trend toward a democratic social order. This may or may not include popular political institutions. People say that in the country where this trend is most fully realized, where both society and government are most democratic, the United States, the majority's feeling acts like an effective sumptuary law. The majority dislikes any display of a richer lifestyle they cannot match. In many parts of the Union, it is hard for someone with a very large income to spend it without public disapproval. These claims are probably exaggerated. Still, the situation they describe is not only possible and conceivable. It is a likely outcome of democratic sentiment combined with the idea that the public has a right to veto how individuals spend their money. Add widespread Socialist views, and it could become shameful to own more than a small amount of property. The majority may even condemn any income not earned by manual labor. Similar opinions already exist among the artisan class. They weigh heavily on people who care mainly about that class's opinion, especially its members. Poor workmen who form the majority in many trades think that bad and good workmen should get the same wages. They believe no one should be allowed to earn more through piecework or superior skill and effort. They use a moral police that sometimes turns physical to stop skilled workers from accepting higher pay and employers from offering it. If the public has any right to intervene in private matters, these people are not to blame. Nor can we fault a group for using the same power over its members that the general public uses over everyone.

But, without dwelling upon supposititious cases, there are, in our own day, gross usurpations upon the liberty of private life actually practised, and still greater ones threatened with some expectation of success, and opinions proposed which assert an unlimited right in the public not only to prohibit by law everything which it thinks wrong, but in order to get at what it thinks wrong, to prohibit any number of things which it admits to be innocent.

But without dwelling on hypothetical cases, we already see severe encroachments on private life. Some are actually practiced now, and even larger ones are threatened and expected to succeed. There are opinions that the public has an unlimited right to outlaw by law anything it deems wrong. To get at what it calls wrong, the public would ban many things it admits are harmless.

Under the name of preventing intemperance, the people of one English colony, and of nearly half the United States, have been interdicted by law from making any use whatever of fermented drinks, except for medical purposes: for prohibition of their sale is in fact, as it is intended to be, prohibition of their use. And though the impracticability of executing the law has caused its repeal in several of the States which had adopted it, including the one from which it derives its name, an attempt has notwithstanding been commenced, and is prosecuted with considerable zeal by many of the professed philanthropists, to agitate for a similar law in this country. The association, or "Alliance" as it terms itself, which has been formed for this purpose, has acquired some notoriety through the publicity given to a correspondence between its Secretary and one of the very few English public men who hold that a politician's opinions ought to be founded on principles. Lord Stanley's share in this correspondence is calculated to strengthen the hopes already built on him, by those who know how rare such qualities as are manifested in some of his public appearances, unhappily are among those who figure in political life. The organ of the Alliance, who would "deeply deplore the recognition of any principle which could be wrested to justify bigotry and persecution," undertakes to point out the "broad and impassable barrier" which divides such principles from those of the association. "All matters relating to thought, opinion, conscience, appear to me," he says, "to be without the sphere of legislation; all pertaining to social act, habit, relation, subject only to a discretionary power vested in the State itself, and not in the individual, to be within it." No mention is made of a third class, different from either of these, viz. acts and habits which are not social, but individual; although it is to this class, surely, that the act of drinking fermented liquors belongs. Selling fermented liquors, however, is trading, and trading is a social act. But the infringement complained of is not on the liberty of the seller, but on that of the buyer and consumer; since the State might just as well forbid him to drink wine, as purposely make it impossible for him to obtain it. The Secretary, however, says, "I claim, as a citizen, a right to legislate whenever my social rights are invaded by the social act of another." And now for the definition of these "social rights." "If anything invades my social rights, certainly the traffic in strong drink does. It destroys my primary right of security, by constantly creating and stimulating social disorder. It invades my right of equality, by deriving a profit from the creation of a misery, I am taxed to support. It impedes my right to free moral and intellectual development, by surrounding my path with dangers, and by weakening and demoralising society, from which I have a right to claim mutual aid and intercourse." A theory of "social rights," the like of which probably never before found its way into distinct language—being nothing short of this—that it is the absolute social right of every individual, that every other individual shall act in every respect exactly as he ought; that whosoever fails thereof in the smallest particular, violates my social right, and entitles me to demand from the legislature the removal of the grievance. So monstrous a principle is far more dangerous than any single interference with liberty; there is no violation of liberty which it would not justify; it acknowledges no right to any freedom whatever, except perhaps to that of holding opinions in secret, without ever disclosing them: for the moment an opinion which I consider noxious, passes any one's lips, it invades all the "social rights" attributed to me by the Alliance. The doctrine ascribes to all mankind a vested interest in each other's moral, intellectual, and even physical perfection, to be defined by each claimant according to his own standard.

In the name of preventing excessive drinking, people in one English colony and in nearly half of the United States have been forbidden by law to use alcoholic drinks except for medical purposes. Banning their sale is, in practice and by design, a ban on their use. The law proved hard to enforce and has been repealed in several states that adopted it, including the state that gave it its name. Yet despite that failure, many self-described philanthropists have begun a zealous campaign for a similar law here. The association calling itself the "Alliance" was formed for this purpose. It gained attention from a public exchange between its Secretary and one of the few English statesmen who believe politicians should base their opinions on principle. Lord Stanley's part in that exchange will encourage those who already pin hopes on him. They see rare qualities in some of his public appearances. Unfortunately, people with such qualities are rare in political life. The Alliance's official paper says it "deeply deplores the recognition of any principle which could be wrested to justify bigotry and persecution." It tries to draw a "broad and impassable barrier" between those principles and its own. "All matters relating to thought, opinion, conscience," it says, "are outside the sphere of legislation. Matters that concern social acts, habits, and relations fall within it. They are subject to the discretionary power of the State, not of the individual." It does not mention a third category: acts and habits that are not social but individual. Drinking alcoholic liquor surely fits that private class. Selling alcoholic liquor, however, is trade, and trade is a social act. Yet the real restriction affects the buyer and consumer, not the seller. The State could just as well forbid him to drink wine as make it impossible for him to obtain it. The Secretary says, "I claim, as a citizen, the right to legislate whenever my social rights are invaded by the social act of another." And he defines these "social rights" like this: "If anything invades my social rights, certainly the traffic in strong drink does. It destroys my primary right to security by constantly creating and stirring social disorder. It violates my right to equality by making profit from a misery I must help pay to fix. It blocks my right to free moral and intellectual development by surrounding my path with dangers and by weakening and demoralizing the society from which I expect mutual aid and intercourse." This theory of "social rights" is probably new in plain language. It amounts to saying every person has an absolute social right that everyone else behave exactly as he thinks they should. If anyone falls short in the smallest detail, they violate my social right. That gives me the right to demand the legislature remove the grievance. Such a principle is more dangerous than any single interference with liberty. It could justify any violation of freedom. It recognizes no real right to freedom, except perhaps to hold opinions in private and never speak them. The moment someone voices an opinion I find harmful, it invades the "social rights" the Alliance claims for me. The doctrine gives everyone a vested interest in everyone else's moral, intellectual, and even physical perfection, each defined by the claimant's own standard.

Another important example of illegitimate interference with the rightful liberty of the individual, not simply threatened, but long since carried into triumphant effect, is Sabbatarian legislation. Without doubt, abstinence on one day in the week, so far as the exigencies of life permit, from the usual daily occupation, though in no respect religiously binding on any except Jews, is a highly beneficial custom. And inasmuch as this custom cannot be observed without a general consent to that effect among the industrious classes, therefore, in so far as some persons by working may impose the same necessity on others, it may be allowable and right that the law should guarantee to each, the observance by others of the custom, by suspending the greater operations of industry on a particular day. But this justification, grounded on the direct interest which others have in each individual's observance of the practice, does not apply to the self-chosen occupations in which a person may think fit to employ his leisure; nor does it hold good, in the smallest degree, for legal restrictions on amusements. It is true that the amusement of some is the day's work of others; but the pleasure, not to say the useful recreation, of many, is worth the labour of a few, provided the occupation is freely chosen, and can be freely resigned. The operatives are perfectly right in thinking that if all worked on Sunday, seven days' work would have to be given for six days' wages: but so long as the great mass of employments are suspended, the small number who for the enjoyment of others must still work, obtain a proportional increase of earnings; and they are not obliged to follow those occupations, if they prefer leisure to emolument. If a further remedy is sought, it might be found in the establishment by custom of a holiday on some other day of the week for those particular classes of persons. The only ground, therefore, on which restrictions on Sunday amusements can be defended, must be that they are religiously wrong; a motive of legislation which never can be too earnestly protested against. "Deorum injuriæ Diis curæ." It remains to be proved that society or any of its officers holds a commission from on high to avenge any supposed offence to Omnipotence, which is not also a wrong to our fellow-creatures. The notion that it is one man's duty that another should be religious, was the foundation of all the religious persecutions ever perpetrated, and if admitted, would fully justify them. Though the feeling which breaks out in the repeated attempts to stop railway travelling on Sunday, in the resistance to the opening of Museums, and the like, has not the cruelty of the old persecutors, the state of mind indicated by it is fundamentally the same. It is a determination not to tolerate others in doing what is permitted by their religion, because it is not permitted by the persecutor's religion. It is a belief that God not only abominates the act of the misbeliever, but will not hold us guiltless if we leave him unmolested.

Another clear example of improper interference with an individual's rightful freedom is Sabbatarian legislation. Without doubt, taking one day a week off from ordinary work, as life allows, is a very beneficial custom. It is not religiously binding except for Jews. Because the custom only works when the working classes generally agree, some people by working could force others to work too. So it may be reasonable for the law to protect each person's observance of the custom by pausing major industrial operations on that day. But that justification only applies when others’ interests are directly affected. It does not apply to activities a person freely chooses for leisure. It certainly does not justify laws that ban amusements. It is true that some people's job is to provide entertainment. Yet the pleasure and useful rest many gain is worth a little labour by a few, if the work is chosen freely and can be given up freely. Workers are right to fear that if everyone worked on Sunday, seven days' work would be required for six days' pay. But as long as most jobs are suspended, the few who still work get higher pay in proportion. They are not forced into those jobs if they prefer leisure to extra pay. If more fairness is needed, custom could set a holiday on another day for those specific workers. So the only real defense of banning Sunday amusements is that they are religiously wrong. That is a reason for law that must be strongly protested against. "Deorum injuriæ Diis curæ." Someone must show that society or any of its officers has a commission from on high to avenge supposed offences against Omnipotence, unless those offences are also wrong against other people. The idea that one person must make another religious was the basis of all religious persecution. If accepted, it would justify those persecutions. The feeling behind repeated attempts to stop railway travel on Sunday, or to keep Museums closed, is not as cruel as the old persecutors. But the mindset is the same. It refuses to tolerate others doing what their religion allows, just because it is not allowed by the persecutor's religion. It assumes God not only condemns the unbeliever's act, but will also hold us guilty if we leave him untroubled.

I cannot refrain from adding to these examples of the little account commonly made of human liberty, the language of downright persecution which breaks out from the press of this country, whenever it feels called on to notice the remarkable phenomenon of Mormonism. Much might be said on the unexpected and instructive fact, that an alleged new revelation, and a religion founded on it, the product of palpable imposture, not even supported by the _prestige_ of extraordinary qualities in its founder, is believed by hundreds of thousands, and has been made the foundation of a society, in the age of newspapers, railways, and the electric telegraph. What here concerns us is, that this religion, like other and better religions, has its martyrs; that its prophet and founder was, for his teaching, put to death by a mob; that others of its adherents lost their lives by the same lawless violence; that they were forcibly expelled, in a body, from the country in which they first grew up; while, now that they have been chased into a solitary recess in the midst of a desert, many in this country openly declare that it would be right (only that it is not convenient) to send an expedition against them, and compel them by force to conform to the opinions of other people. The article of the Mormonite doctrine which is the chief provocative to the antipathy which thus breaks through the ordinary restraints of religious tolerance, is its sanction of polygamy; which, though permitted to Mahomedans, and Hindoos, and Chinese, seems to excite unquenchable animosity when practised by persons who speak English, and profess to be a kind of Christians. No one has a deeper disapprobation than I have of this Mormon institution; both for other reasons, and because, far from being in any way countenanced by the principle of liberty, it is a direct infraction of that principle, being a mere riveting of the chains of one half of the community, and an emancipation of the other from reciprocity of obligation towards them. Still, it must be remembered that this relation is as much voluntary on the part of the women concerned in it, and who may be deemed the sufferers by it, as is the case with any other form of the marriage institution; and however surprising this fact may appear, it has its explanation in the common ideas and customs of the world, which teaching women to think marriage the one thing needful, make it intelligible that many a woman should prefer being one of several wives, to not being a wife at all. Other countries are not asked to recognise such unions, or release any portion of their inhabitants from their own laws on the score of Mormonite opinions. But when the dissentients have conceded to the hostile sentiments of others, far more than could justly be demanded; when they have left the countries to which their doctrines were unacceptable, and established themselves in a remote corner of the earth, which they have been the first to render habitable to human beings; it is difficult to see on what principles but those of tyranny they can be prevented from living there under what laws they please, provided they commit no aggression on other nations, and allow perfect freedom of departure to those who are dissatisfied with their ways. A recent writer, in some respects of considerable merit, proposes (to use his own words), not a crusade, but a _civilizade_, against this polygamous community, to put an end to what seems to him a retrograde step in civilisation. It also appears so to me, but I am not aware that any community has a right to force another to be civilised. So long as the sufferers by the bad law do not invoke assistance from other communities, I cannot admit that persons entirely unconnected with them ought to step in and require that a condition of things with which all who are directly interested appear to be satisfied, should be put an end to because it is a scandal to persons some thousands of miles distant, who have no part or concern in it. Let them send missionaries, if they please, to preach against it; and let them, by any fair means (of which silencing the teachers is not one), oppose the progress of similar doctrines among their own people. If civilisation has got the better of barbarism when barbarism had the world to itself, it is too much to profess to be afraid lest barbarism, after having been fairly got under, should revive and conquer civilisation. A civilisation that can thus succumb to its vanquished enemy, must first have become so degenerate, that neither its appointed priests and teachers, nor anybody else, has the capacity, or will take the trouble, to stand up for it. If this be so, the sooner such a civilisation receives notice to quit, the better. It can only go on from bad to worse, until destroyed and regenerated (like the Western Empire) by energetic barbarians.

I cannot refrain from adding to these examples of the little account commonly made of human liberty the language of downright persecution that comes from the press of this country whenever it notices the remarkable phenomenon of Mormonism. It is striking and instructive that an alleged new revelation, and a religion built on it, is believed by hundreds of thousands. That revelation seems a palpable imposture and lacks the _prestige_ of an extraordinary founder. Yet it became the basis for a whole society even in the age of newspapers, railways, and the electric telegraph. What matters here is that this religion, like others, has its martyrs. Its prophet and founder was killed by a mob for his teaching. Others of its adherents also lost their lives to the same lawless violence. They were driven out en masse from the country where they first grew up. Now they have been chased into a remote recess in the midst of a desert. Many here openly say it would be right (only that it is not convenient) to send an expedition against them and force them to conform to other people’s opinions. The part of Mormonite doctrine that provokes this strong hostility is its sanction of polygamy. That practice is permitted to Mahomedans, Hindoos, and Chinese, yet it seems to excite unquenchable animosity when practiced by English-speaking people who profess to be a kind of Christians. No one disapproves of this Mormon institution more strongly than I do. I condemn it for many reasons. It also directly violates the principle of liberty, by rivetting the chains of one half of the community while freeing the other from reciprocal obligation toward them. Still, we must remember that the relation is as voluntary for the women involved as it is in other forms of the marriage institution. That may surprise some, but it has its explanation. Common ideas and customs teach women to regard marriage as the one thing needful. Given that teaching, many women may prefer being one of several wives to not being a wife at all. Other countries are not asked to recognise such unions or to release any of their inhabitants from their own laws because of Mormonite opinions. But when dissenters have conceded more than justice required, when they have left countries where their doctrines were unwelcome and have settled in a remote corner of the earth which they were the first to make habitable, it is hard to see on what grounds other people can prevent them from living there under the laws they choose. This is so provided they commit no aggression on other nations and allow anyone dissatisfied with their ways to leave freely. A recent writer, in some respects of considerable merit, proposes, to use his own word, not a crusade but a _civilizade_ against this polygamous community to put an end to what he sees as a backward step in civilisation. I agree that it is backward, but I am not aware that any community has the right to force another to be civilised. So long as those harmed by the bad law do not ask for help from other communities, I cannot accept that people entirely unconnected with them should step in and require that a state of things, with which those directly interested appear satisfied, be ended because it offends people thousands of miles away who have no part or concern in it. Let them send missionaries, if they please, to preach against it. Let them oppose the spread of similar doctrines among their own people by any fair means. Silencing the teachers is not one of those means. If civilisation defeated barbarism when barbarism once had the world to itself, it is too much to act as if we fear barbarism may revive and conquer civilisation. A civilisation that can thus succumb to its defeated enemy must first have become so degenerate that its appointed priests and teachers, and no one else, has the capacity or will to stand up for it. If that is the case, the sooner such a civilisation receives notice to quit the better. It can only go from bad to worse until it is destroyed and regenerated, like the Western Empire, by energetic barbarians.