Limits to Society's Authority 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 founded on a contract, and no good purpose is served by inventing one in order to derive social obligations from it. Even so, everyone who receives the protection of society owes a return for the benefit. And the fact of living in society makes it indispensable that each person be bound to observe a certain line of conduct toward the rest. This conduct consists, first, in not injuring one another's interests, or rather certain interests that ought to be considered rights, either by explicit legal provision or by tacit understanding. Secondly, it consists in each person's bearing his share (to be fixed on some fair principle) of the labours and sacrifices needed to defend society or its members from injury and harassment. Society is justified in enforcing these conditions, whatever it costs those who try to withhold fulfilment. Nor is this all that society may do. An individual's acts may hurt others, or lack due consideration for their welfare, without going so far as to violate any of their established rights. The offender may then be justly punished by opinion, though not by law. As soon as any part of a person's conduct harms the interests of others, society has jurisdiction over it. The question whether interfering with it will or will not promote the general welfare then becomes open to discussion. But there is no room for any such question when a person's conduct affects the interests of no one but himself, or need not affect them unless they wish (all the persons concerned being of full age and ordinary understanding). In all such cases there should be perfect freedom, legal and social, to do the action and stand 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.

What I contend is this. There is a part of a person's conduct and character that concerns his own good, but does not affect the interests of others in their dealings with him. For that part, the only inconveniences he should ever suffer are those strictly inseparable from the unfavourable judgment of others. Acts harmful to others require totally different treatment. These include encroaching on their rights, and inflicting on them any loss or damage not justified by his own rights. They include falsehood or duplicity in dealing with them, and unfair or ungenerous use of advantages over them. They even include selfishly refusing to defend them against injury. These are fit objects of moral condemnation, and, in grave cases, of moral retribution and punishment. And not only these acts but the dispositions that lead to them are properly immoral. They are fit subjects of disapproval, which may rise to abhorrence. Consider cruelty of disposition, malice and ill nature, and envy, that most anti-social and hateful of all passions. Consider dissimulation and insincerity, anger without sufficient cause, and resentment out of proportion to the provocation. Consider the love of domineering over others, and the desire to grab more than one's share of advantages (the πλεονεξἱα [Greek: pleonexia] of the Greeks). Consider the pride that takes gratification from the humiliation of others, and the egotism that thinks itself and its concerns more important than everything else, and decides all doubtful questions in its own favour. These are moral vices, and they make up a bad and hateful moral character. They are unlike the self-regarding faults mentioned earlier. Those are not properly immoralities, and however far they are carried, they do not amount to wickedness. They may be proof of any amount of folly, or lack of personal dignity and self-respect. But they are a subject of moral condemnation only when they involve a breach of duty to others, for whose sake the individual is bound to take care of himself. What are called duties to ourselves are not socially binding, unless circumstances make 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. For none of these is anyone accountable to his fellow creatures, because for none of them is it for the good of mankind that he be held accountable to them.

The distinction between the loss of consideration which a person may rightly incur by defect of prudence or of personal dignity, and the 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.

A person may rightly lose others' regard through a lack of prudence or of personal dignity. He may also deserve condemnation for an offence against the rights of others. The distinction between these two is not merely one of names. It makes a vast difference, both in our feelings and in our conduct toward him, whether he displeases us in things where we think we have a right to control him, or in things where we know we have not. If he displeases us, we may express our distaste. We may keep our distance from a person, just 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 wish to spoil it further. Instead of wishing to punish him, we shall rather try to lighten his punishment, by showing him how he may avoid or cure the evils his conduct tends to bring on him. He may be an object of pity to us, 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 kindly by showing interest or concern for him. It is far otherwise if he has broken the rules necessary for the protection of his fellow creatures, individually or collectively. The evil consequences of his acts then fall not on himself but on others. And society, as the protector of all its members, must retaliate on him. It must inflict pain on him for the express purpose of punishment, and must take care that it is severe enough. 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 form or another, to carry out our own sentence. In the other case, it is not our part to inflict any suffering on him, except what may follow incidentally from our using the same liberty in managing our own affairs that we allow him in his.

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

And even (it will be added) if the consequences of misconduct could be confined to the vicious or thoughtless individual, ought society to abandon to their own guidance those who are 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 then there is the merely contingent, or as it may be called, indirect injury that a person causes to society. This comes from conduct that neither breaks any specific duty to the public nor causes noticeable harm to any identifiable person except himself. Here the inconvenience is one society can afford to bear, for the sake of the greater good of human freedom. If adults are to be punished for not taking proper care of themselves, I would rather it were for their own sake. I would not want it done on the pretext of keeping them from damaging their ability to provide society with benefits that society does not even claim a right to demand. But I cannot agree to argue the point as if society had no way of bringing its weaker members up to its ordinary standard of rational conduct, except waiting until they do something irrational and then punishing them for it, legally or morally. Society has had absolute power over them during the whole early part of their lives. It has had the entire period of childhood and youth to try to make them capable of rational conduct in life. The present generation controls both the training and the entire circumstances of the generation to come. It cannot, of course, make them perfectly wise and good, because it is itself so sadly lacking in goodness and wisdom. And its best efforts are not always, in individual cases, its most successful ones. But it is perfectly able to make the rising generation, as a whole, as good as itself and a little better. If society lets any large number of its members grow up as mere children, unable to be moved by rational thought about distant motives, society has only itself to blame for the consequences. Society is armed not only with all the powers of education, but with the hold that the authority of accepted opinion always has over the minds least able to judge for themselves. It is also helped by the natural penalties that inevitably fall on those who earn the dislike or contempt of the people who know them. With all this, let society not pretend that it also needs the power to give commands and enforce obedience in the personal concerns of individuals. In those concerns, on every principle of justice and policy, the decision should rest with those who must live with the consequences. Nothing tends more to discredit and defeat the better means of influencing conduct than resorting to the worse. Among the people society tries to force into prudence or moderation, some may have the makings of vigorous and independent characters. Such people will inevitably rebel against the yoke. None of them will ever feel that others have a right to control him in his own concerns, as they have a right to stop him from harming them in theirs. And it easily comes to be seen as a sign of spirit and courage to defy such stolen authority and to do, with a show, the exact opposite of what it commands. An example is the fashion for coarseness that, in the time of Charles II, followed the fanatical moral intolerance of the Puritans. As for what is said about the need to protect society from the bad example set to others by the vicious or self-indulgent, it is true that bad example may do harm. This is especially true of the example of wronging others and getting away with it. But we are now speaking of conduct that does no wrong to others but is supposed to do great harm to the person himself. I do not see how those who believe this can think anything but that the example must, on the whole, do more good than harm. If it displays the misconduct, it also displays the painful or degrading consequences. And if the conduct is rightly condemned, those consequences must be assumed to follow it in all or 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?

But the strongest of all the arguments against the public's interfering with purely personal conduct is this. 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, is often wrong. But it is likely to be right still more often. That is because on such questions they are only required to judge their own interests, that is, how some kind of conduct, if allowed, 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 best, some people's opinion of what is good or bad for other people. Very often it does not even mean that. The public passes over, with the most perfect indifference, the pleasure or convenience of those whose conduct it censures, and considers only its own preference. There are many who consider any conduct they dislike an injury to themselves, and resent it as an outrage to their feelings. In the same way, 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 equivalence between a person's feeling for his own opinion and the feeling of another who is offended at his holding it. There is no more equivalence than between a thief's desire to take a purse and the rightful owner's desire to keep it. And a person's taste is as much his own particular concern as his opinion or his purse. It is easy for anyone to imagine an ideal public. It would leave the freedom and choice of individuals undisturbed in all uncertain matters, and only require them to abstain from kinds of conduct that universal experience has condemned. But where has a public ever been seen that set any such limit to its censorship? Or when does the public trouble itself about universal experience? In its interference with personal conduct, it is seldom thinking of anything but the monstrousness of acting or feeling differently from itself. And nine-tenths of all moralists and speculative writers hold up this standard of judgment, thinly disguised, to mankind as the dictate of religion and philosophy. They teach that things are right because they are right, that is, because we feel them to be so. They tell us to search 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? What can it do but make its own personal feelings of good and evil, if they are fairly unanimous, binding 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 evil pointed out here does not exist only in theory. Perhaps it may be expected that I should name the cases in which the public of this age and country wrongly gives its own preferences the character of moral laws. I am not writing an essay on the errors of existing moral feeling. That is too weighty a subject to be discussed in passing, by way of illustration. Yet examples are necessary, to show that the principle I maintain is of serious and practical importance, and that I am not trying to build a barrier against imaginary evils. And it is not difficult to show, by abundant examples, what one of the most universal of all human tendencies is. It is to extend the bounds of what may be called moral police until they encroach on the most unquestionably 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 hold on no better grounds than this: that people whose religious opinions differ 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 embitter the hatred of Mahomedans against them than the fact that they eat pork. There are few acts that Christians and Europeans regard with more genuine disgust than Mussulmans regard this particular way of satisfying hunger. It is, in the first place, an offence against their religion. But this by no means explains either the degree or the kind of their repugnance. For wine is also forbidden by their religion, and all Mussulmans consider drinking it wrong, but not disgusting. Their aversion to the flesh of the "unclean beast" is, on the contrary, of a peculiar character, resembling an instinctive antipathy. The idea of uncleanness, once it sinks thoroughly into the feelings, always seems to excite this kind of aversion, even in people whose personal habits are anything but scrupulously clean. The feeling of religious impurity, so intense in the Hindoos, is a remarkable example of it. Now suppose that in a nation where the majority were Mussulmans, that majority should insist on not allowing pork to be eaten within the country's borders. 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 really is revolting to such a public. They also sincerely think that the Deity forbids and abhors it. Nor could the prohibition be condemned 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 defensible ground for condemning it would be that the public has no business interfering with the personal tastes and self-regarding concerns of individuals.

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 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 way than the Roman Catholic. And no other public worship is lawful on Spanish soil. The people of all Southern Europe look on a married clergy as not only irreligious, but unchaste, indecent, gross, and disgusting. What do Protestants think of these perfectly sincere feelings, and of the attempt to enforce them against non-Catholics? Yet suppose mankind are justified in interfering with each other's liberty in things that do not concern the interests of others. Then on what principle can these cases consistently be excluded? Or who can blame people for wishing to suppress what they regard as a scandal in the sight of God and man? No stronger case can be made for prohibiting anything regarded as a personal immorality than the case for suppressing these practices, in the eyes of those who regard them as impieties. Are we willing to adopt the logic of persecutors? That logic says we may persecute others because we are right, and they must not persecute us because they are wrong. Unless we are willing to adopt it, we must beware of admitting a principle whose application to ourselves we would resent as 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.

The preceding examples may be objected to, though unreasonably, as drawn from situations impossible among us. The ground would be that opinion in this country is not likely to enforce abstinence from meats, or to interfere with people for worshipping, or for either marrying or not marrying, according to their creed or inclination. The next example, however, will be taken from an interference with liberty whose danger we have by no means entirely passed. Wherever the Puritans have been powerful enough, as in New England and in Great Britain at the time of the Commonwealth, they have tried, with considerable success, to put down all public and nearly all private amusements. These include especially music, dancing, public games or other gatherings for the purpose of diversion, and the theatre. There are still large bodies of people in this country whose ideas of morality and religion condemn these recreations. These people belong chiefly to the middle class, which is the dominant power in the present social and political condition of the kingdom. So it is by no means impossible that people with these views may at some time command a majority in Parliament. How will the rest of the community like having the amusements permitted to them regulated by the religious and moral feelings of the stricter Calvinists and Methodists? Would they not, quite peremptorily, want these intrusively pious members of society to mind their own business? This is precisely what should be said to every government and every public that claims that no one shall enjoy any pleasure they think wrong. But if the principle of this claim is admitted, no one can reasonably object to its being acted on in the sense of the majority, or of any other dominant power in the country. And everyone must be ready to conform to the idea of a Christian commonwealth, as the early settlers in New England understood it, if a religious profession like theirs should ever succeed in regaining its lost ground. Religions thought to be declining have so often been known to do that.

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.

Let us imagine another possibility, perhaps more likely to come true than the last one. There is admittedly a strong tendency in the modern world toward a democratic constitution of society, whether or not it comes with popular political institutions. It is claimed that this tendency is most completely realized in the United States, where both society and government are most democratic. There, it is said, the feeling of the majority works as a fairly effective sumptuary law (a law restricting luxury), since they dislike any show of a more showy or costly style of living than they can hope to rival. It is also said that in many parts of the Union it is really difficult for a person with a very large income to find any way of spending it that will not draw popular disapproval. Such statements are doubtless much exaggerated as an account of existing facts. Still, the state of things they describe is not only conceivable and possible, but a probable result of democratic feeling, combined with the notion that the public has a right to veto how individuals spend their incomes. We have only to suppose, further, a considerable spread of Socialist opinions. Then it may become infamous in the eyes of the majority to own more than some very small amount of property, or any income not earned by manual labour. Opinions similar in principle to these already prevail widely among the artisan class. They weigh heavily on those who answer chiefly to the opinion of that class, namely, its own members. It is known that the bad workmen, who form the majority of the workers in many branches of industry, are firmly of the opinion that bad workmen ought to get the same wages as good ones. They hold that no one should be allowed, through piecework or otherwise, to earn more by superior skill or industry than others can earn without it. And they use a moral police, which sometimes becomes a physical one, to deter skilful workmen from receiving, and employers from giving, higher pay for a more useful service. If the public has any jurisdiction over private concerns, I cannot see that these people are at fault. Nor can I see that any individual's particular public can be blamed for asserting the same authority over his individual conduct that the general public asserts over people in general.

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 imaginary cases, there are in our own day gross invasions of the liberty of private life actually practised. Still greater ones are threatened, with some expectation of success. And opinions are put forward that assert an unlimited right in the public, not only to prohibit by law everything it thinks wrong, but also, in order to get at what it thinks wrong, to prohibit any number of things it admits to be innocent.

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.

Under the name of preventing intemperance, the people of one English colony, and of nearly half the United States, have been forbidden by law to make any use whatever of fermented drinks, except for medical purposes. For prohibiting their sale is in fact, as it is meant to be, prohibiting their use. The law proved impossible to carry out, and this has caused its repeal in several of the States that had adopted it, including the one it is named after. Even so, many professed philanthropists have begun, and are pursuing with considerable zeal, a campaign for a similar law in this country. The association formed for this purpose, or "Alliance" as it calls itself, has gained some notoriety. This came from 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 part in this correspondence is likely to strengthen the hopes already placed in him. Those hopes are held by people who know how rare, unhappily, are the qualities he has shown in some of his public appearances among those who figure in political life. The spokesman 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" that 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." In other words, he holds that matters of thought, opinion, and conscience lie outside the reach of law. Matters of social acts, habits, and relations lie within it, subject to a discretionary power held by the State and not by the individual. No mention is made of a third class, different from either of these: acts and habits that are not social but individual. Yet surely it is to this class 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. It is on that of the buyer and consumer. For the State might just as well forbid him to drink wine as deliberately make it impossible for him to get 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 his 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." This is a theory of "social rights" the like of which has probably never before been put into distinct words. It amounts to nothing short of this. It is the absolute social right of every individual that every other individual shall act in every respect exactly as he ought. Whoever fails in this in the smallest particular violates my social right, and entitles me to demand that the legislature remove the grievance. So monstrous a principle is far more dangerous than any single interference with liberty. There is no violation of liberty it would not justify. It acknowledges no right to any freedom whatever, except perhaps the freedom to hold opinions in secret without ever disclosing them. For the moment an opinion I consider harmful passes anyone's lips, it invades all the "social rights" the Alliance attributes to me. The doctrine gives all mankind a vested interest in each other's moral, intellectual, and even physical perfection, to be defined by each claimant according to his own standard.

Another important example of 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 important example of illegitimate interference with the rightful liberty of the individual is Sabbatarian legislation. This one is not simply threatened, but was long ago carried into triumphant effect. Without doubt, it is a highly beneficial custom to abstain one day a week from one's usual daily work, so far as the demands of life permit. This is not religiously binding in any way on anyone except Jews. And this custom cannot be observed without general consent to it among the working classes. So, in so far as some people by working may impose the same necessity on others, it may be allowable and right for the law to guarantee to each person that others observe the custom. It can do this by suspending the greater operations of industry on a particular day. But this justification rests on the direct interest others have in each individual's observance of the practice. It does not apply to the self-chosen occupations in which a person may think fit to spend 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 work is freely chosen and can be freely given up. The workers 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 must still work for the enjoyment of others get a proportional increase in earnings. And they are not obliged to follow those occupations, if they prefer leisure to pay. If a further remedy is sought, it might be found by establishing through custom a holiday on some other day of the week for those particular classes of people. The only ground, therefore, on which restrictions on Sunday amusements can be defended must be that they are religiously wrong. That is a motive for legislation that can never be protested against too earnestly. "Deorum injuriæ Diis curæ." (Wrongs done to the gods are the gods' concern.) 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 that is not also a wrong to our fellow creatures. The notion that one man has a duty to see that another is religious was the foundation of all the religious persecutions ever carried out. If admitted, it would fully justify them. This feeling breaks out in repeated attempts to stop railway travel on Sunday, in resistance to opening Museums, and the like. It does not have the cruelty of the old persecutors, but the state of mind it shows is fundamentally the same. It is a determination not to tolerate others in doing what their religion permits, because the persecutor's religion does not permit it. It is a belief that God not only abhors the act of the misbeliever, but will not hold us guiltless if we leave him undisturbed.

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.

To these examples of how little human liberty is usually valued, I cannot help adding the language of outright persecution that breaks out in this country's press whenever it feels it must comment on the remarkable phenomenon of Mormonism. Much could be said about one unexpected and instructive fact. A supposed new revelation, and a religion founded on it, is the product of obvious fraud, not even supported by the prestige of extraordinary qualities in its founder. Yet in the age of newspapers, railways, and the electric telegraph, it is believed by hundreds of thousands and has become the foundation of a society. What concerns us here is that this religion, like other and better religions, has its martyrs. Its prophet and founder was put to death by a mob for his teaching. Others of its followers lost their lives to the same lawless violence. They were forcibly expelled, as a body, from the country where they first grew up. And now that they have been chased into a lonely refuge in the middle of a desert, many in this country openly declare that it would be right (only it is not convenient) to send an expedition against them and force them to conform to other people's opinions. The part of Mormon doctrine that most provokes the hostility that thus breaks through the ordinary limits of religious tolerance is its approval of polygamy. Although polygamy is permitted to Muslims, Hindus, and Chinese, it seems to stir up endless hostility when practiced by people who speak English and claim to be a kind of Christians. No one disapproves of this Mormon institution more deeply than I do, for other reasons and also because, far from being supported in any way by the principle of liberty, it directly violates that principle. It simply tightens the chains of one half of the community and frees the other half from any duty in return toward them. Still, we must remember that this relationship is as voluntary on the part of the women involved, who may be considered its victims, as any other form of marriage. However surprising this may seem, it is explained by the common ideas and customs of the world. These teach women to think marriage the one thing they need, which makes it understandable that many a woman would rather be one of several wives than not be a wife at all. Other countries are not asked to recognize such unions, or to release any of their own people from their laws because of Mormon opinions. But the dissenters have given way to others' hostility far more than could fairly be demanded. They have left the countries where their doctrines were unwelcome and settled in a remote corner of the earth, which they were the first to make fit for human life. After that, it is hard to see on what principles but those of tyranny they can be prevented from living there under whatever laws they please, provided they commit no aggression against other nations and allow complete freedom to leave to anyone unhappy with their ways. A recent writer, of considerable merit in some respects, proposes (in his own words) not a crusade but a civilizade against this polygamous community, to end what seems to him a step backward in civilization. It seems so to me too, but I know of no right that any community has to force another to be civilized. As long as those who suffer under the bad law do not ask other communities for help, I cannot accept that people entirely unconnected with them should step in. They should not demand an end to a state of things that everyone directly involved seems satisfied with, just because it is a scandal to people thousands of miles away who have no part or interest in it. Let them send missionaries, if they wish, to preach against it. And let them oppose the spread of similar doctrines among their own people by any fair means (and silencing the teachers is not one). Civilization defeated barbarism when barbarism had the world to itself. So it is too much to claim to fear that barbarism, once fairly brought under control, will revive and conquer civilization. A civilization that could fall to its defeated enemy in this way must first have become so degenerate that neither its appointed priests and teachers nor anyone else is able, or will take the trouble, to stand up for it. If so, the sooner such a civilization is told to leave, the better. It can only go from bad to worse, until it is destroyed and renewed (like the Western Empire) by energetic barbarians.